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    Loving the Wrong Lord: Tales From Seldon Park, #22
    Loving the Wrong Lord: Tales From Seldon Park, #22
    Loving the Wrong Lord: Tales From Seldon Park, #22
    Ebook300 pages5 hours

    Loving the Wrong Lord: Tales From Seldon Park, #22

    By Bethany M. Sefchick

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Lord Phineas Trew, the Duke of Fullbridge, must take a wife.  Or rather a new wife.  He is a widower, after all.  However, after a string of balls, house parties and other social events, he is no closer to selecting a young lady to become his bride and his new duchess – save for one woman who is strictly-off limits.  As the social season comes to a close, Phin decides to host one last house party in a desperate attempt to find the right woman.  Or at least find a woman he can tolerate.

    Lady Josephine Marshwood is not in London under the best of circumstances.  Her disgraced, scandal-attracting father, the Earl of Telford, has been found dead in the Thames.  Thankfully, Josie has still been allowed entrance into Society so that she might make a decent match – and she believes that she has with the Duke of Fullbridge.  However, everyone has been quite clear that Josie needs to avoid the duke at all costs, unless she wishes to stir up more gossip.

    Taking a risk, Phin invites Josie to his house party, hoping that if they spend more time together, he might grow bored with her or discover that they do not suit.  After all, he is most certainly the wrong lord for her.  Or is he?  As Phin and Josie grow closer, they must decide if love will win the day, or if scandal and gossip will doom their chance for happiness.

    This 77,200 word novel is written in the modern, Regency romance style for a slightly hotter and sexier read.  It may not be appropriate for younger audiences.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBethany M. Sefchick
    Release dateFeb 12, 2020
    ISBN9781393007227
    Loving the Wrong Lord: Tales From Seldon Park, #22
    Author

    Bethany M. Sefchick

    Making her home in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, Bethany Sefchick lives with her husband, Ed, and a plethora of Betta fish that she’s constantly finding new ways to entertain. In addition to writing, Bethany owns a jewelry company, Easily Distracted Designs. It should be noted that the owner of the titular Selon Park - one Lord Nicholas Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood, a.k.a. "The Bloody Duke" - first appeared in her mind when she was eighteen years old and had no idea what to make of him, or of his slightly snarky smile.  She has been attempting to dislodge him ever since - with absolutely no success. When not penning romance novels or creating sparkly treasures, she enjoys cooking, scrapbooking, and lavishing attention on any stray cats who happen to be hanging around. She always enjoys hearing from her fans at: bsefchickauthor@gmail.com

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      Loving the Wrong Lord - Bethany M. Sefchick

      Prologue

      July 1815

      Havenhurst

      Just outside of London

      The screaming had finally stopped, though truthfully, Phin couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or an omen of doom.  One glance at his father-in-law, however, made it clear what the other man believed.

      At last, my daughter is finally at peace, may God above rest her soul.

      Given the miserable state of his marriage to the man’s daughter, Phin had a chilling sense of unease at the man’s words.

      Still, Phin was about to ask Vicar Wilson just what he meant when the door to the birthing room slammed open with a loud bang.  There, standing in the doorway, was the physician that Phin had brought from London after the midwife that the vicar had insisted upon providing from his home village of Tunning-on-Green back in Suffolk proved insufficient to deal with Faith’s difficult delivery of their babe.  Unfortunately, Dr. Hastings did not look pleased with the outcome of whatever had transpired on the other side of that closed, locked door, making the knot of fear in Phin’s gut tighten all the more.

      Phin, of course, only knew the door was locked because Vicar Wilson had made repeated attempts to barge into the birthing room, especially after Dr. Hastings had unceremoniously tossed one Mrs. Gretchen McKinney – the good vicar’s preferred midwife – out on her arse for making a muck of things and endangering lives. 

      That had caused yet another disagreement – Phin disliked the word argument, even though that’s what their shouting match had been – between him and his father in law.  Not that anyone who knew the two of them would be surprised to learn they were once again not seeing eye to eye on something.  The two men were forever disagreeing on just about everything.

      Doctor? Phin asked a bit tentatively, hating the fear in his voice.  While he and Faith had far from a perfect marriage, she was still his wife, and he had no wish for anything terrible to befall her.

      He might not have truly wished to marry her, but he didn’t wish for her passing, either.  No matter what her father believed.

      Rather than reply, Hastings stepped aside and allowed his assistant, a young man by the name of Gibson Blackwell, to emerge from the darkened room, gently cradling a small bundle in his arms.

      Your son, your grace.  The young man placed the blanketed bundle in Phin’s arms, and it was all Phin could do not to drop the tiny infant as the child yawned followed by a small whimper.  What did that sound mean?  Was the child in distress?  Did his son need care of some sort?  Gads, Phin wished that he knew.

      He was not prepared for this.

      An infant, for God’s sake!  What did he know about infants?  Nothing.

      That was to be Faith’s responsibility, though he doubted she knew very much either.

      Still…

      A son.  Phin had a son.  An heir.

      However, he was not quite as certain the child had a mother any longer.  Because while Phin knew precious little about newborns, he did think they were required to be with their mothers at a time like this.  Weren’t they?  God, if only he and Faith would have spoken more, especially in these last few weeks of her confinement!  Maybe she would have had some wisdom to offer.

      Then again, given how precious little Faith knew of the natural world, including both how babies were conceived and then born, perhaps not.

      And my wife?  Phin knew his tone was overly harsh, especially when he saw Blackwell flinch.

      Unfortunately, she did not survive the birthing process, your grace.  Had I been here from the first, there might have been something I could have done.  As it was, I was brought in too late.  There was too much…damage already done by the time I arrived.  That came from Dr. Hastings as the young man, Blackwell, was still looking on a bit apprehensively, seemingly ready to scoop the infant from Phin’s arms should he look as if he was about to drop the child.

      Phin also noted that if looks could kill, the midwife would have been long dead by now, if not from Dr. Hastings, then from Gibson Blackwell.

      A part of Phin wanted to simply get up and run from the room, pretend that none of this was happening, but instead, he clutched his son closer.  He needed to be strong now, for his son if for no one else.  She has…passed?

      Phin couldn’t bring himself to say the word dead.  That was too final, no matter how true it might be.  Again, he might not have loved Faith – at least not as people believed that he did – but he hadn’t wanted her to die.

      He didn’t want anyone to die.  Ever.  That didn’t stop death from happening, however.  After all, there was a reason he was a duke at such a young age.  He was no idiot and well understood how the world operated.

      Still, there had been so much death as of late.  Far too much for his liking.  His parents, to begin with, killed in a boating accident in the Lake District.  Now, two young women that had so much left to live for were gone, as well.  One by choice and the other?  Well, perhaps Faith’s passing was her choice as well.  Knowing Faith, she might have died simply to spite him.

      However, Phin’s son still survived, so that was a blessing, at least.

      My daughter.  Beside him, Phin was vaguely conscious of Vicar Wilson blessing himself over and over again.  I must go to her.

      Still clutching his new son tightly, Phin followed the other man into the darkened room.  The scent of death hung heavy in the air, as did the sharp tang of blood, and the edges of Phin’s vision darkened and grew blurry.  He stumbled, or at least he assumed he did, for hands were immediately reaching for the child he carried and numbly, he relinquished his bundle.

      The child began to cry, his wails filling Phin’s ears and mixing with the cacophony of sounds already roaring to life in his head, the ones that had begun at Hastings’ last words and were now so ear-shatteringly loud that Phin could barely think.  Then the crying quieted, and a sucking sound replaced it, indicating that the wet nurse Phin had hired at Dr. Hastings’ urging a few days ago was feeding the babe.

      Good.  That was…good.

      Again, his son lived.  His wife, however, did not, and once more, Phin stumbled as his head began to feel muzzy.  His feet felt as if they were made of lead and his body of stone.  There was a dull numbness spreading inside of him.  Nothing.  He felt nothing now, and he wasn’t certain he ever would again.

      Phin hadn’t loved Faith, but he hadn’t wanted this ending for her either.  He had cared for her in his own way, and because of that, he grieved.  Theirs had not been a great love affair, but there had been affection and now?  That affection was gone.  He was alone with a child he did not know how to care for, and he had no idea what to do next.

      Somehow, Phin managed to reach his wife’s side, placing one foot in front of the other until he was there, gazing down at her lifeless form.  For a long moment, he could have sworn he saw her chest rise and fall as she drew breath, but when he looked closer, her skin was waxy looking and her color ashen.  Her once-shining golden curls had dimmed, her inner light now gone.

      You didn’t love her.  Vicar Wilson’s voice was full of venom and rancor.

      You knew that when you and my father forced us to wed.  Still, I respected her.  Faith was my wife.  The truth was, Phin hadn’t loved her, though both her father and his had gone to great lengths to pretend they had for reasons Phin had yet to decipher.  Likely political ones.

      Her name was Mercy, the other man snapped peevishly, though Phin allowed the tone to pass.  This man had just lost his daughter, after all.  Mercy Faith Wilson.

      She preferred to go by her middle name of Faith.  Lady Faith Trew, Duchess of Fullbridge.  That was an inane comment, but it was all Phin could think of to say just then that would not make things worse.  She was my wife.  I should know that much about her, at least.

      That earned him a snort of disgust from the vicar, but Phin didn’t care.

      Reaching down, Phin took Faith’s hand in his, but it was already starting to cool.  He wasn’t surprised.  Faith had been dying for five days now, ever since she had gone into early labor.  Again, while he knew little of the birthing of children, he knew that the amount of blood she had lost from the first signs of labor was not good.  The midwife hadn’t been able to stop the bleeding, and by the time Phin had been allowed to summon Dr. Hastings, it had been too late.

      He had known this moment was coming from Faith’s first ear-shattering scream.  That still didn’t make the reality any easier to bear, however.

      Lady Mercy Faith Trew, the only daughter of Vicar Herbert Wilson and his late wife, was gone – and had been leaving this life from the moment she had tripped on the stairs after throwing a vase at Phin’s head in a fit of temper when he refused to pay to redecorate the nursery for a third time before their child was even born.

      You will honor her.  Always.  The vicar’s words cut into Phin’s thoughts.  Even if you remarry, she will remain your great love.

      I would never think to do otherwise.  Slowly, he met the man’s eyes.  They were icy cold.  Well, so were Phin’s, at least if the coldness in his heart was any indication.  I did not love her, despite what you and my father wished, but I wed her as you both directed.  I respected her and never harmed her.  Not once.  No matter how she carried on or attempted to harm me.  However, no one will ever know the true depths of our unhappiness.  That is a secret I shall take to my grave.  As will you.

      And little Herbert?

      Phin raised an eyebrow.

      The first-born son of any generation of the Wilson family is always named Herbert Fitzmore.

      Phin supposed he could fight the man on the name.  However, it might be wiser not to do so.  While the vicar could not take Phin’s son away from him – no matter how much Faith had threatened that her father would do just that if he ever learned how miserable she was in their marriage – the other man could still make life difficult for Phin.

      At the moment, his life was difficult enough, thank you very much.

      The dukedom was only now recovering financially after his father had nearly emptied the family coffers from excessing gambling, whoring, and general spending.  His mother had spent funds as if money grew on trees.  Phin’s own reputation was at stake now as well, for most in the ton believed that the apple did not fall from the proverbial tree, and he had worked hard all of these years to prove that he was a better man this his father.

      To fight or give in?  Well, Phin reasoned to himself, Faith preferred her middle name.  Why couldn’t his son do the same when he was of age?

      Herbert Philip, Phin corrected firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.  Philip is my family’s middle name of choice going back generations.  It suits dukes well.  And my son shall be a duke one day.  Not a vicar, which is what you desired all along, isn’t it?  Then he notched his chin, as if daring the other man to contradict him, as well as subtly reminding the man that, in the end, dukes trumped vicars every time.  And always would.

      The vicar thought about arguing over the matter.  Phin could see the conflict in the man’s eyes.  More than that, he could see the man’s desire to take the child and run, but vicar or not, that would not go over well in the eyes of the law.  Vicar Wilson would not necessarily hang for that sort of offense, but time in Newgate was not pleasurable either.

      You will, of course, be able to visit the boy whenever you like, Phin offered, sweetening the pot just a bit.  If nothing else, over the last few years, he had learned a good deal about human nature and what motivated a person.  And as my now late wife’s father, you will also, of course, be provided a stipend that is well above your salary as a vicar.  It is the right thing to do, after all, since you no longer have your daughter’s company and companionship.

      Phin hated how stiff and formal his voice sounded just then, but he couldn’t help it.  He felt stiff and formal.  Actually, those were the only things he felt.  Otherwise, he was simply numb.

      Vicar Wilson was tempted by the money now, just as he had always been.  Phin could almost see the greed in the other man’s eyes, though it was hardly surprising.  After all, it was the lure of money and ducal power that had prompted the man to push his shrew of a daughter at Phin in the first place so that they would be caught out and forced to wed.

      No, Phin knew exactly what this man desired – and how to get him to bend to Phin’s will.

      After all, if he hadn’t learned to tempt people with what they wanted, there would be no Herbert Philip to argue over, for it had taken Phin so very many years to convince his frigid wife to even allow him to touch her.

      Phin had been a mere eighteen when they had wed, after all, and his cold, unfeeling wife only seventeen.  Getting her into their marriage bed had been the greatest challenge of his life, one that had forced him to learn more skills or persuasion than he had even dreamed was possible at such a tender age.

      In the end, though, he had succeeded.  His son was proof enough of that.

      And Phin would succeed now as well.

      Like father, like daughter.  Phin had learned that lesson as well, too.

      My daughter will forever be your great love, Wilson repeated.  Even if you remarry.  Faith will forever be the duchess.

      She will be my first love, Phin corrected, his voice like iron now.  The man pushed too far.  You know as well as I that a dead woman cannot hold the title of duchess. Love?  Yes.  Duchess?  No.

      His words were harsh and hard, but then so were the vicar’s demands.  Faith remain Phin’s duchess, even in death?  Preposterous!

      Though, again, for your pain, there will be a generous settlement.  Phin could all but see the coins dancing in his man’s eyes.  You have lost your daughter, after all.

      Finally, as if sensing that Phin would not allow himself to be pushed further, the vicar nodded.  Then, I shall see about taking my daughter home to be buried next to my wife in the church graveyard.

      Again, Phin should protest.  After all, as his duchess, Faith should be buried in the Trew family’s crypt back at Greenfield Abbey, the dukedom’s original country seat back in Suffolk.  However, as fresh pain washed over Phin, he could not bring himself to argue that point.

      As you like.

      And you will forever treat women with more respect than you showed my daughter, the vicar growled, and he moved to quit the room.  Or Lady Elizabeth.  Females are precious.  Fragile.  Delicate.  And you should treat them as such!

      And once more, Phin was in too much pain to argue as his son began to wail anew, most likely missing his mother just as Phin did.  Because while he hadn’t loved Faith, he had respected her as his wife, and she was gone now.  And that hurt.  Just a bit more than he had imagined it would.

      Chapter One

      Early April 1821

      Lady Chillton’s Ball

      London

      Phin glanced down at the rather remarkable young lady standing by his side as they watched Phin’s good friend, Harry, and the lady’s cousin, Penny, sneak out of Lady Chillton’s ball, likely believing that no one was watching them depart.  Really, Harry of all people should have known better.  He was a renowned Bow Street Runner, after all.  Yet he was carrying on as if the two of them were utterly alone in the world.

      Do you think they know we are watching?  The sprite beside him cocked her head to the side, and for a moment, Phin was struck once more by how utterly lovely she was.

      Phin shrugged and twitched his lips.  I doubt it, though Harry, at least, should know.  He’s a Runner, after all.  He paused.  Then again, when one is in love, Lady Josie, one does not always see the obvious.

      And they are in love.  Deeply.  I am happy for them.  Truly.  Normally, Phin would dismiss such words from someone so young as fanciful drivel, but there was a wisdom in this woman’s eyes that spoke of an old soul who had endured much.  Her years might be few, but they had been filled with hardships he could not even imagine – at least from what he knew of her thus far.

      As it happened, Lady Josie wasn’t quite what Phin was expecting at all.

      She should have been a shrew.  Or a cunning seductress.  Or, worse, a devilish vixen with the eyes of an innocent angel.

      Instead, she was none of those things.  She was…peculiar – though not in a bad or off-putting way.  A bit unsophisticated and unpolished for she had never spent much time in London, perhaps, but when she laughed and smiled, all of that seemed to matter very little.  She was, well, alive, for lack of a better word.  Alive in a way he’d never quite seen in a lady before.

      And for a man as often cold and buttoned-down as Phin could sometimes be?  For he was strong enough to admit that, occasionally, those rumors about him were true.  That spark of life was even more seductive than a pair of bared breasts might be right at the moment.

      They deserve all the happiness, Lady Josie continued brightly, blissfully unaware of Phin’s thoughts, or at least Lady Penny does.  My father…  She trailed off, unable to finish that sentence.  Then she shook her head, as if banishing the unpleasant thought.

      Phin didn’t blame her.  Her father was a madman, and that was being polite about the matter.  Not that he would mention such things because doing so wasn’t proper.  Phin was always proper.  Well, not really, but everyone believed he was, and this young lady was likely no different.

      Or was she?

      Did she see what everyone else did?  Or did she, with her wise eyes and old soul, see more?  Did she see past the gossip and the scandal and the frigid, proper façade to the living, breathing man beneath?

      Could she tell there was more to Phin Trew than the stiff and proper illusion that was the Duke of Fullbridge?

      Or maybe he was just being foolish and fanciful.

      Lady Josie was from Cumbria, after all, and she had lived there for her entire life as a virtual prisoner of the man the Bloody Duke and several of Phin’s friends had carted off to the docks less than an hour ago.  Perhaps she had no knowledge of who or what Phin was supposed to be, save for whatever lies her father had told her over the years.

      And whatever she read in the papers, of course.  Phin assumed The Town Tattler reached Cumbia – eventually.

      Lies she likely did not believe, however, as she was currently standing alone next to him – though still in full view of almost the entire ballroom as was proper.  If this pixie truly believed Phin was as wretched as her father had claimed?  She probably would have run screaming from this place an hour ago, begging to return home.

      Or something similar.  Phin had little experience with hysterical females as his sister Priscilla didn’t have a hysterics-prone bone in her body.  And Faith?  Well, Faith had been temperamental and quick to anger, but fits of hysterics – true hysterics anyway – were not in her repertoire.

      Still…this fairy sprite hadn’t fled when she’d had the chance.  Instead, she had shown remarkable strength in standing up to her father and then determination when she’d been introduced to Phin himself.  Phin admired that about her.  Like him, there was more to this slip of a woman than met the eye.

      Your father is no longer here.  Phin was tired of melancholy.  He’d endured enough of that over the years.  Ever since Faith had died during childbirth and her recently-not-so-dearly-departed-father had hounded him – no, blamed him – in the years that had followed, Phin’s life had been nothing more than duty mixed with coldness and a touch of misery.

      No, he is not here, is he?  Lady Josie notched her chin higher, and for a long moment, she stood there looking proud and defiant.  Lord above, Phin wished that she was older or at least a lady of looser morals.  He had a feeling she would be a hellion in bed.

      Not that the saintly Lord Phin was supposed to think about women in his bed.  At least not according to the gossips and his late father-in-law.  No, he put women of all sorts on pedestals and treated them like glass because he was still in mourning for his first love.  Phin certainly wasn’t supposed to imagine tumbling ladies like this one in the middle of his conservatory back at Havenhurst.

      Or at least that’s what people thought.

      Except that Phin was still very much a man and while he needed a wife and mother for his son?  He also had far more physical needs.  Very base ones if the way his mouth all but watered at the thought of Lady Josie’s rather lovely breasts was any indication.

      God above, what was wrong with him?  Too long without a good fuck, most likely.  As a general rule, he didn’t dally with courtesans or bar maids, and he only occasionally took mistresses.  His last mistress had left him the previous fall.  Meaning he was in desperate need of female companionship.

      Too bad it wasn’t proper for him to just pick a woman – much like Lady Josie – and give her a good bedding.

      And if the old tabbies and dragons of London – many of whom had given him his saintly status where females were concerned – even imaged he had such lustful thoughts?  They would likely pass out where they stood.  Or run screaming from the nearest ballroom.

      That, he grinned to himself, would be something delightful to see.

      Is something amusing you, my lord?  Lady Josie raised one delicate eyebrow in question, a quizzical expression on her face.  "Or is the company not to your liking?

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