A Merchant’s Extraordinary Lady (Preview)

Prologue

Twenty-eight Years Ago, Spain

Maria was not a great milk lover, but her cousin swore by warm milk, honey, and herbs to help her sleep better. The child she carried in her womb had become active lately, keeping her awake until the early hours of the morning.

“Tonight you will sleep, little one. You have kept me up long enough.”

Rubbing her distended belly, she sipped the milk, grimacing at its bitter flavour. It seems Alba did not put enough honey. She would call her handmaiden to do so, but Lydia had walked with a limp this afternoon. Her old injury has made itself known today, but she denies it. I do not wish to bother her with something so small.

Surely it would not be a hardship to finish one bitter glass of milk? If she blocked her nose and gulped it down, it shouldn’t be too unbearable. A few hard-boiled sweets were kept in a tin beside her bed; she could suck on one to remove the taste from her tongue.

Stretching, she shook one sweet free of its confinement and promptly drank her prepared drink with speed, popping the sweet into her mouth directly after.

Maria sucked on it furiously, trying to trick her mind that the terrible aftertaste in her mouth was not as disgusting as it was. Slowly, the sweet’s citrus flavour took over the last of the lingering herbs, bringing swift relief. Even as a child, she had hated medicine and usually threw a tantrum when anyone tried to force her.

“I drink this milk out of desperation. ‘Tis not good for a countess to fall asleep while she is listening to the plight of the poor.”

Tomas no longer allowed her to leave their estate to give alms to the poor, so she had several servants do it on her behalf. Every mid-morning, they came to inform her of any needs and complaints of the poor, and she would do her best to ensure that many were helped. The load of caring for the poor had become lighter since Alba came to stay with them, endearing the younger woman to her.

“’Tis lovely to see that she has matured wonderfully in the years I have not seen her. She always appeared to be a selfish child growing up, and I seldom had time for her entitled ways.”

She and her cousin had often played together as their mothers were sisters, although the woman was four years younger than her. The last time Maria had seen her cousin had been during her wedding to Tomas two years ago, a man eleven years her senior. It had been an arranged marriage, but she had soon discovered that her husband was deeply in love with her, and had been from the moment he had set his eyes on her during the king’s seasonal balls. She had come to love him as well over time, seeing him more as her husband than the Count of Santa Sessa.

Drowsiness soon grabbed hold of her, a welcome feeling after being awake for much of the previous night. She missed lying beside her husband, but when her child began to trouble her sleep, she had moved into another chamber not to disturb his sleep. He had insisted that it was no bother, but what kind of a wife would she be if she didn’t think of his well-being?

‘Tis only a matter of weeks before our babe is born, and I shall be back at his side.”

With that happy thought, she settled into bed, her eyes drifting close after mere minutes.

***

Lydia woke up with a start, her body damp with perspiration. Terrible dreams of life and death had assaulted her for much of the night, worrying her.

“Something is wrong; something is terribly wrong.”

She could sense it deeply within her, so strongly that sleep was no longer a possibility. Sweet Lord, what is it? My heart is heavy with despair. She winced as she left her bed, her leg protesting the movement.

“Do not trouble me! I must find out what the matter is. There is something amiss in this castle, and I shall not return to my slumber until I know what it is.”

Lydia would first see to her mistress, and once she was content that Countess and the unborn babe were fine, she would do a brief walk through the castle for her own peace of mind. Her room was not far from the countess, making it easier to attend to her needs without the barrier of distance. It wasn’t customary for a servant to sleep on the same floor as her mistress, but the countess had insisted on it.

Lydia smiled as she recalled the day her mistress had argued with everyone to keep her near, and as with all things, she had got her way. The count had not wanted to enter into a dispute with his young wife, not when the sun rose and set upon her head. One could take that quite literally as it did truly seem as though the sun shone continually on the countess’ hair. Golden hair was not a common colour in Spain, where most were dark-haired, setting her mistress apart from the rest. She may look angelic, but her fiery nature is anything but.

She continued to smile all the way to her mistress’ chamber, using a secret doorway to avoid alerting the guards outside and causing a raucous. Not many people knew of the secret tunnel that connected most of the rooms in the house, but it was helpful for her injured leg. The scars she carried were deep and frightful, but the ones within her were more so. She would forever be grateful to the countess for saving her from a situation she preferred not to think about. I owe her my life, and I shall serve her with it.

From the moment she entered the room, Lydia knew that the horrible feeling she had felt had to do with the woman currently curled into a ball on her bed. Forgetting about her old aches and pains, she rushed to the bed, kneeling.

“Señora! What is wrong?”

“Thank goodness you are here,” the woman said weakly, her skin pale. “I do not have the strength to call out for anyone.”

Lydia ran her eyes over her mistress, her chest feeling tight. She was but eighteen, but she knew enough of the world and illnesses to see that the countess was in frightful pain. I am almost too afraid to touch for fear of hurting her.

“But what is wrong? Why do you clutch your belly so? Did you eat something that did not agree with you? I did tell you not to eat so many olives.”

Her mistress shook her head. “Something is terribly wrong, Lydia. I feel weak, so weak. And so much pain.”

Alarmed, Lydia stood up. “I will call the Conde!”

“Wait, wait. Do not leave me.”

Kneeling by the bed, she took the Countess’ hand. “Please, tell me what I can do. I cannot bear to see you like this.”

“My baby, he is coming, I think.”

“You are in labour?”

“Yes, but ’tis not normal. Something is wrong, Lydia.”

Each word was spoken with much difficulty, as though the countess was struggling against an unseen force. She had been in good health today; what could have happened within the space of a few hours?

“I will fetch the castle midwife.”

“No, shout for the guards outside the room. They will fetch the midwife and my husband, but you must remain by my side.”

Lydia could see the stark fear in the woman’s eyes, tasting the oddly metallic flavour of her own. Or had she bitten her tongue when she stood up? Struggling to get the words out at first, she swallowed past the lump and cotton feel of her tongue, glad when her voice was freed.

“Guards! Guards!”

The men came rushing in within seconds, their weapons poised in the air as their eyes raked the room for possible danger. Their eyes were respectfully averted from the bed, bowing their heads before the countess when they deemed the room secure. They truly were a menacing sight, reminding her of a horrendous day from her past.

“Señora,” they said.

“Tell them, Lydia,” her mistress urged.

Her tongue still felt like swollen, but she managed to speak. “Hurry, you must call the midwife and alert the Conde that our Condesa will have her babe soon. Do not tarry.”

The men bowed again and sped away, their armour clinking in their haste. Lydia turned to the woman she loved like her own sister, holding her limp hand to her cheek.

“You will be well, Señora; nothing can happen to you.”

A shadow of a smile crossed the woman’s face. “You are naturally more pessimistic than I. How is it that you came to be so positive?”

“You jest at such a time?” Lydia scolded lightly. “Please, rest now. The midwife will come to observe you and pronounce you and the babe in good health.”

“What if that is not the case?”

An icy grip tightened on Lydia’s heart. “Hush, do not say such things. Rest now.”

The countess nodded. “Yes, rest is good. I feel tired, so very tired. I do not know which is more demanding, my pain, or my weakness.”

Her mistress’ eyes closed, but her brow remained etched with lines. Dear Lord, what has become of the countess? Why is this happening? Lydia continued to ask these questions as she remained kneeling beside the bed, vaguely aware of the pain in her leg.

It took but five minutes for the count to arrive, and another ten for the midwife. Standing aside, Lydia watched the carefully masked expression of the midwife as she examined the pregnant woman, waiting for news of her situation. The count had got into the bed by then and had tenderly laid his wife’s head in his lap, requesting a damp cloth to dab her brow. She appeared sound asleep, but Lydia had a feeling she was wide awake.

Finally, the midwife pulled back, her expression grim. “Señor, both mother and child are losing strength. I cannot understand it as the condesa was healthy when I last examined her, but today …”

“What?” the count demanded. “What is wrong with my wife? You said yourself that she was healthy this afternoon.”

“That may be, but these conditions are … are unpredictable. I am sorry to say this, but ’tis unlikely the condesa and your child will survive.”

Lydia grabbed the nearest chair, her mind swimming. What? Her mistress would die? That cannot be! The count remained staring at the midwife, his expression one of confusion and fear.

“That cannot be true,” he denied.

“I would not lie to you, Señor,” the midwife replied, shaking her head. “Something has happened between then and now. I do not know what it is. Maybe ’tis the Lord’s will.”

Lydia could have wrung the woman’s neck for saying that, but the count beat her to it with harsh words.

“Do not be foolish, woman! How can it be the Lord’s will for a good woman and her child to die in such a way? Look at all the work she has done for the poor! She gives, and gives, and gives past endurance – she cannot die!”

The midwife bowed her head. “Forgive me, Señor. I can only say what I see. Perhaps if everyone was to pray …”

“Yes,” the count answered quickly. “We will pray, but you must do all that you can to save her. Preserve the life of my wife and child, and I’ll give you up to half my riches.”

Lydia saw the desperation in her master’s eyes, the fear facing him with the reality of losing the love of his life and his heir all at once. It was a terrible fate for anyone to bear. If only I could die in my mistress’ place! I am but a useless person, but she can do much in this world. Please, Lord, do not allow her to die.

The midwife wrung her hands, sorrow evident on her face. “Please, Señor, I cannot take anything of your wealth. This matter is out of my hands.”

“No,” came a feeble voice.

Everyone appeared momentarily stupefied, looking at each other in confusion. It took several further seconds to realise it was the countess who had spoken.

“Mi amor, you will be well,” the count promised fiercely, stroking his wife’s damp tendrils from her brow. “I will not allow anything to happen to you.”

The countess shook her head. “’Tis too late, Tomas.”

“Hush, do not say that,” he pleaded. “You cannot leave me, Maria.”

“I will not allow our child to die, mi amor, but I cannot remain in this world any longer. I know that I must leave it.”

“No, no, no, no. Why are you saying these things? You cannot leave me.”

Her mistress’ voice took on a tone that invited no more argument. “Leave us, Tomas. I will bear this child, and you will have your heir.”

“No one will chase me from your side, Maria. I do not care what anyone may say; I will remain right here.”

Remain here while her mistress gives birth! Had anyone heard of such a thing? However, Lydia knew better than to argue with the count in this condition. It seemed that everyone else agreed because they remained silent. The five other women who had accompanied the midwife stood to the side, their plump faces sombre as they looked on.

The birthing materials were organised at a pace Lydia had never witnessed before, with everyone rushing about in panicked silence as cloths and warm water were given to the midwife. Lydia remained by her mistress’ side, not budging, while the count knelt beside his wife, his face devoid of colour as he whispered into her ear. Lydia could not hear what he said, but she imagined his words were sweet with encouragement and love.

The midwife examined the countess once again, deeming her ready to start pushing. How would her mistress push when she hardly had the strength to sit up?

“Some must sit behind her and help her,” the midwife ordered. “She must get into position to help the babe along.”

The count immediately did so, gingerly shifting his wife as he settled her between his legs. Lydia dabbed her brow, a lump forming in her throat at how determined her mistress was to give life to her child.

“You will push when I tell you to, yes?” the midwife said.

The countess nodded, her head lolling about as though her neck were not much support. What was this that had taken over her mistress? How could she lose strength so quickly?

Lydia took a step back to rinse the cloth and re-dab her mistress’ brow, knocking the nightstand in the process. The glass upon it toppled over, but she caught it before it rolled off the table. Putting it back on the table, she caught a whiff of something she vaguely recognised. She lifted it to her nose, recognising milk, but what was that odd smell? It smelt like a herb, one her grandmother had once used to poison a neighbour’s flock of sheep. That cannot be right. Why would this herb be here?

She had no more time to consider the issue when her mistress uttered a broken cry, startling her.

“What is it, mi amor?” the count asked.

“’Tis normal, Señor,” the midwife assured. “A woman feels much pain during birth, but once she holds her babe in her arms, she will forget about it.”

Would her mistress get to hold her child? Lydia hoped so.

Time crept by slowly in silence, save for the countess’ cries. I can no longer hold the tears I feel. My mistress is growing weaker by the moment, and there is nought I can do.

“I can see the head!” the midwife cried excitedly. “It will not be long now, Señora.”

Lydia saw her mistress smile, the pain in her eyes lightened by relief. Dabbing her brow once more, she prayed beside the young woman who had always been in good health but now lay frail and exhausted. She was but twenty-three and should by all means have her whole life stretched before her. What cruel twist of fate was this to plague such a wonderful woman with this strange sickness?

Quite suddenly, the beautiful countess slumped, alarming her husband.

“Mi amor!” he cried, his voice high-pitched.

“I … I cannot do it, Tomas,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I cannot feel my body.”

Lydia’s heart beat quickened as she knelt down, taking her mistress’ hand, and not caring what anyone might think about it. The countess rolled her head towards her, her pale and dry lips trembling as tears coursed down her cheeks. Sniffing back her own tears, Lydia squeezed the weak woman’s hand.

“Please, Señora, do not give up! You will feel your child on your breast very soon. Just one more push, just one more. Please.”

“Lydia …”

“Oh, Señora,” she sobbed brokenly. “Do not leave us.”

“Push, Señora!” the midwife urged. “Push, or your baby will die.”

The countess closed her eyes for a moment, her brow slightly furrowed. When she opened them, they were full of the determination Lydia was so used to seeing in her beloved mistress.

“Help me,” she asked simply.

Lydia knew what to do. Nodding, she got to her knees and moved to the woman’s distended abdomen. Putting her hands just below her mistress’ breasts, she gently pushed down. She had seen it done once or twice on the women from her own village, the ones whose strength had left them during the birthing process.

The countess sat up a little straighter, her body trembling as she pushed, her groans and grunts tearing at Lydia’s heart. The count had grown silent as he watched on in helpless horror. What was it about men that rendered them useless in such a time? Lydia shook her head, continuing to push. Several seconds later, a wet swoosh was heard before a baby’s cry broke through the air.

“’Tis a boy!” the midwife exclaimed excitedly. “Señor! Señora! You have a beautiful boy! And he is perfect.”

“A boy,” the count wept. “You have given me a boy, mi amor.”

The countess cried silent tears, her hands lifting off the bed but flopping back down soon after.

“Put the child on her breast,” Lydia commanded. “The señora wants to see her child.”

The midwife obeyed, swaddling the child and bringing him to his mother. Seeing that she could not hold her child, Lydia took the babe, bringing him to her mistress’ face. The count also reached out, touching his son’s brow.

“He truly is beautiful, mi amor,” he said. “I will let the castle know of his birth.” He paused, looking down at her. “But I cannot leave you. I will see you regain your strength first.”

“No,” she insisted. “Go, tell them.”

Nodding, the count moved away, bringing pillows to take his place behind her. He kissed his wife’s brow and leapt off the bed. His joy was evident, as was the hope he carried that all would be well. When Lydia looked into her mistress’ eyes, she saw the opposite.

A wet nurse was called to see to the babe, and once the afterbirth had been dealt with, and the countess was cleaned, everyone but Lydia left the room. The countess’ tears flowed heavily down her face then, her lips trembling, “Lydia,” she whispered.

“Yes, Señora?”

“Bring my son to me. I wish to see him once more.”

Once more? Heart in her throat, Lydia took the child from where he lay asleep, having been fed by a wet nurse. She laid the child on her mistress’ breast, turning him that she may see her son’s face. The countess kissed him repeatedly, nuzzling her face against him. After some time, she pulled away.

“Put him in his bed and come here. I wish to say something to you.”

Lydia did so, kneeling beside her mistress when she returned. The countess’ eyes had taken on a dull look, her light of life fading.

“Lydia,” she began.

“Yes, Señora, I am here.”

“You must take care of my son. Take care of him as though he were your own son.”

“You need not ask such a thing! I will always be there for you and your son.”

“Listen to me; I will not survive the night. Tomas does not wish to believe it, but I feel that I am fading away by the minute. You must take care of him, guard him with your life. Do you promise me? Put your hand in mine, and swear upon your life that you will take care of him when I am gone.”

Lydia didn’t think twice about the promise, putting her hand in that of her mistress.

“I swear upon my life, Señora, it will be as you said. No harm will come to him.”

Her mistress’ body suddenly sagged, her beautiful blue eyes closing as her hand grew limp.

“Señora? Señora?”

No response. Panicked, Lydia fled the room, screaming for help at the top of her lungs. She was barely coherent as she mumbled that the countess needed help before she blacked out.

When she awoke, she found herself in her bed. For a moment, she was confused about what had happened. Had she not been with her mistress? Memories of the night flooded back without warning, alarming her.

Using the secret passageways once again, Lydia ran to the countess’ chamber, hearing wailing as she got closer. That could only mean that what she feared was true.

“My mistress has died.”

She paused just outside the room, almost fearful of going inside. I cannot see her in this state! What would she do without the countess? The woman had become the centre of her life – she could not live without her. Sliding to the floor, she slowly drew her knees to her chest. What now? Bowing her head, she wept.

Lydia did not know how long she sat there in the darkness, but when she eventually stood up, the wailing had grown faint. Instead, two women were speaking in her mistress’ room. She quickly identified one as Alba, the countess’ cousin. Lydia never liked the woman, not from the moment she stepped foot in the castle. I have seen the covetousness in her eyes when she looks at the count, and the pure evil when she watched my mistress.

“She is truly dead?” Alba asked.

“See for yourself,” the other woman said. “The castle would not be wailing if it were not so. The poison worked quickly.”

A painful jolt of fear travelled through Lydia’s body. Poison? Her mistress had been poisoned?

“At last!” Alba laughed. “I finally have the upper hand. The count will be mine as he should have been from the very start. Maria stole him from me, but today I have won.”

“Keep your voice down. Who knows who is listening at the door?”

“I have a guard stationed outside, do not fear. Tell me, I did not hear anything of the babe. Did he die as well?”

“No,” the other woman said. “He lives.”

“What? No! That child will destroy all my plans if he is allowed to live! No one but I will give the count an heir. He must be done away with before the count comes to his right mind. Make his death look like natural causes. No one should question his death.”

Lydia was trembling at this point. Kill her mistress’ child? Never! But what could she do? If she were to run to the count and tell him all she had heard, Alba would turn everything on her and blame her for the countess’ death. After all, I am always with her. They will say I poisoned her. What could she do?

“The babe is in the west wing,” the woman said. “I will go when the castle sleeps and smother him.”

The west wing? That means they had moved him to his nursery. Oh, sweet Lord, what can I do to protect my mistress’ child from this evil woman? Alba was but nineteen, but her wickedness was akin to an aged woman who had lived all her life wickedly.

Pacing the dark corridor, she paused when an idea came to her. She would take the child!

“Yes,” she whispered. “I will take him and run away.”

Once they were far away, she would think of a way to get word to the count. She waited for the perfect time with that in mind, gathering food and milk, praying that the child would live well in her care. She knew that no one would wonder where she was, not while they were mourning the countess’ death. Only when the child was discovered would the castle be alerted and her absence questioned.

“What if the count were to come after me?”

No, she didn’t think that would happen. Alba wanted the child dead, so perhaps she would convince the count of another story to avoid searching for his son. ‘Tis better he thinks his child dead for now. At the stroke of twelve, Lydia used the secret passageways to enter the child’s room. The wet nurse lay asleep beside him, but thankfully she did not stir as Lydia took the child, snuggling him against her bosom. She didn’t look back as she fled, leaving the castle and eventually her country.

Chapter One

Present Day – 1812, England

Aurora could hardly contain her fury as she paced the length of her room. Up and down she went, touching the wall on the one side, and kicking the door when she got to the other side. Not too hard, mind you, lest she hurt her foot. She wasn’t such a fool as to hurt herself, though it seemed that much of England thought her a woman without sense.

“I suppose I earned that title through my many antics, but I would have had no need of them had my father shown enough sensitivity and sense in the first place.”

His foolishness had caused her to appear foolish and rather mad by most standards. Rolling her eyes, she flipped her braid to her other shoulder, fiddling with the bright yellow ribbon tied at the end. Having it confined to a braid was the only way she could handle the mass of hair that fell to her knees. She would have cut it years ago if not for Nanny.

“The woman is too fond of hair seeing as she only has about four hairs on her head.”

Oh, she really shouldn’t be so rude! It was this dratted predicament she found herself in that lent her to such a foul mood. Aurora loved Nanny and all the other servants who had raised her and given her the attention her own father and brothers would not.

“Would not because they very well could, but they were too concerned with their own affairs to give the time of day to a little girl.”

Narrowing her grass-green eyes, she made a dramatic pout, touching her upper lip to her pert little nose. Something had to be done about these men in her life. For seventeen years, she had gone and done as she pleased, and now as she neared her eighteenth birthday, they had decided to meddle in her perfectly content world.

“If I were a man, I would put them in their places without delay. They wouldn’t know where to hide their smarting faces once I’d done with them.”

But she wasn’t a man, was she? She was but a girl teetering towards womanhood while trying to hold onto her childhood with both hands. Well, she had become a woman in the fleshly sense during her fifteenth year, but her mind had clung to the innocence of her childhood where it could. Unfortunately, with each year that passed, greater revelation of the world’s ways and her eventual place in society plagued her life. It was as though she had gone to sleep one night and woken up in a world that was far removed from the one she had existed in for so long.

Now, she was stuck desperately trying to figure out a way to chase away the current eligible bachelor her father had brought into the house.

“Does that sodden heap of cow dung think he can make an ‘honest’ wife of me?”

She had spied him from the upstairs balcony as her father had led him to the front door. Her first impression of the gentleman had been positively frightful! Weak-chinned, a mousy hair colour that was visibly thinning on the top despite his attempts to brush his mop over the area. In short, the man was not her cup of strong-brewed English tea. If anything, he was the tea made with tea leaves that had passed through several cups of steaming water until it vaguely resembled its former look and taste.

“Bland, that’s the word. He’s as bland as Netty’s gruel.”

Netty was a fantastic cook, but she tended to believe that every Sunday was a day of penance and everyone in the household – save her father and brothers – had to eat a diet of bland food to maintain a contrite spirit.

“It will take more than bland food to create such a spirit within me. One first has to be a sinner, and I have not sinned a day in my life.”

Unless one counted all the tricks she had played on the servants or her penchant for stealing butter biscuits out of the pantry. Netty would say all of these were acts of disobedience and were not acceptable in a child of the Lord. Oh, very well! I am a sinner. Rolling her eyes, she adjusted her loosely-fitted breeches, wondering what the gentleman downstairs might think if he saw her in them. They were much easier to wear when out about in the woods, and paired with a baggy shirt, no one was the wiser that it was a woman under the clothes unless they were close enough. She knew it was entirely scandalous, but did people truly expect her to go foraging in the woods wearing a cumbersome dress?

“They should be thankful that I do not prance around in them around outsiders.”

Only the servants and her father were aware of her tendency to dress up in men’s clothing. Not even the land tenants had figured out that the tiny male figure that could be seen daily around the estate was indeed her. They believed it to be one of the young boys who worked the land.

“I am not entirely insane, although I wonder if the rest of the world is.”

Whether or not the world was crazy, the suitors sent her way definitely were. Aurora couldn’t understand why they kept coming faster than she could repel them. Did anyone realise how much work went into driving them away? There was indeed one word to sum up the men of England, and that was tenacious.

“Father must have a silver tongue, or these men truly think that I will change once they come into my life. No man can change me! What an absurd notion.”

Michael Pilkington had been the first suitor to attempt to mould her into what he believed was the perfect woman. Aurora had not been aware of the man’s intentions at first as her father had not made any mention to her of the need to be married.

“I believed he wished to be a friend, not a potential husband. For days he repeatedly came to call on me and would bore me with his talks of literature, war, and England’s superiority.”

Aurora was an avid reader, but Michael had made her question her love of books. How could one person make everything sound so monotonous and boring? It took a special kind of power to do that.

When she finally discovered that he was courting her, it had been the end of him. His very last visit had likely been his most traumatic one as she had led him into the deepest part of the woods and left him there to find his own way back.

“I told him that if he did not make it out before the next morning, he would likely be dead, and good riddance to that.”

She hadn’t meant it, but desperate times had called for desperate measures. While she had been able to return to the house without difficulty as she knew the woods like the annoying freckles on her nose, he had been stranded. It had been the late afternoon when she had left him, so when he had finally made his way back to the house, night had set in along with the cold.

“The poor man’s teeth had chattered uncontrollably, hardly able to get a word out.”

But he had managed some words, calling her a horrid girl who was friends with the Devil. Aurora wanted to tell him that she had been about to look for him as she had not intended any harm to come to him, but his nasty words had glued her lips closed. Not even a sound scolding from her father had pulled any sort of reaction from her. Anger had made her leave the man in the woods, but it was her pride and pain that had kept her from apologising.

“One would think that hearing of Michael’s terrible ordeal would be enough to repel any other man, but clearly not.”

Eight other suitors had followed after Michael, and with the one downstairs, that rounded up the number to ten.

“I am running out of ideas to chase these men away. I must have used every prank in my repertoire!”

Michael had told whoever would listen of her cruel ways and that an evil spirit may possibly possess her. So, when the other suitors had appeared, she had been flabbergasted. Acting insane had been her second favourite way to get suitors out of her home. The fourth suitor, Arthur Flint, had been a handsome man by the day’s standard, but he could have been a donkey dressed in a suit for all the appeal he held for her.

“Where does Father find all these men? They must be desperate for a wife, or they would never brave my presence.”

Poor Arthur Flint would never look at a tea set quite the same. Aurora had maintained her composure for much of the meeting, but when he had become comfortable enough, she changed from her polite self to a deranged woman. Smashing every teacup and saucer onto the floor, she had prayed that Millie wouldn’t take her to task for doing so. The housekeeper was finicky about everything being in its place, but at least Aurora had used a tea set that no one had particularly cared about. Had it been her mother’s set, she would have never done such a thing.

Needless to say, Arthur ran out of there like the hounds of Hades were at his heels. She had quarrelled with her father that night as they hurled accusation after accusation at each other. I suppose he believes that I live to embarrass him before the whole world. As the Baron of Leeds, he had an image to uphold, and his children were expected to uphold that image. After all, children were an extension of their parents, a visible proof of the nature of one’s household. Aurora was a source of shame, a splotch on her family’s clean record.

“I have likely done more harm to his reputation than he could have done in his entire life!”

And yet there was nothing within her that wished for her father’s embarrassment. Aurora only wanted what was fair.

“He wishes to get rid of me because he cannot control me. Why can he not understand that I will not be controlled by any man? Be that my father, brothers, or husband.”

No, no husband. Control was a fate worse than death, especially when she had lived in freedom all her life.

“I will bow to no man! The sooner he realises this, the better it will be for his self-respect and my peace of mind.”

And so what if she was of age according to man’s standards? Besides, marrying her off had nothing to do with age and everything to do with getting rid of her. Did they think she wasn’t aware of how they blamed her for her mother’s death? Her every birthday only served to remind her that her mother died giving birth to her.

“My mother lost her life that I may have life. That is the greatest sacrifice any mother can give her child, but it has been somewhat of a curse for me.”

Aurora was thankful to have life, but she wished it hadn’t been at the cost of her mother’s life. It would have been better had she lived instead, then Aurora would not have had to deal with a loveless family.

“I have a father and five brothers, but they treat me as though I am not a part of them.”

They gave her no love, and she knew why, but that didn’t stop her from craving it. It is every daughter’s right to be loved by her family. Family was synonymous with love, was it not?

“But it was the servants who gave me what my own flesh and blood could not. Is it any wonder why I feel more affection for them?”

As far as she was concerned, her family was the servants who had raised her and taught her values her father had failed to teach. That was why it angered her that he believed he had any right to dictate her life when he had left her alone for nearly eighteen years.

“I have never had a meal with him, for goodness sake! I have never had a decent conversation with him.”

Millie and Nanny had been the ones to make sure she had all she needed, taking it upon themselves to arrange for all her daily needs. Miss Bridgewater, her governess, had taught her etiquette, languages, the pianoforte, and everything else a young lady required. Aurora was not as wild as people believed and could hold her own in any formal setting, but she chose not to.

“Stuffy and obnoxious! The lot of them! I would sooner listen to a pig snort than hear their blubbering mouths.”

Flipping her braid to the other shoulder, she sat cross-legged on the floor, chin in hand. Nanny found her like that some minutes later, her dear old face none too happy with her.

“Have you still not dressed?” she asked. “Cleaned your feet and face? Your father and his guest have been waiting for you close to an hour.”

Aurora stretched her arms above her head, bending her back inwards. This earned her an eyebrow lift.

“Oh, do not be annoyed with me, Nanny. You know that I have no wish to see them. Why not tell them that I am ill?”

“Your father would not believe me. I can count on my one hand the number of times you have been sick in your entire life – he knows I would be lying. Would it be such a terrible thing to meet the man? He might be a wonderful person.”

Aurora laughed. “Come, come, now, Nanny! You know all too perfectly well that my father chooses men that are like him in thought, dress, and deed. I can never marry a man like that.”

“You are fighting a losing battle, child. Your father is just as stubborn and has determined to have you married by any cost.”

Aurora pursed her lips, her eyes narrowed. Yes, her father had proven to be rather stubborn in this. When she had successfully driven away the third suitor, she had thought herself free since her father had almost pulled out his hair and declared her a fool. It appears he has not learnt his lesson. How much more humiliation will he face at my hands? The best thing for all would be to leave her alone and pretend that she didn’t exist, just as they had been doing for her entire life.

“Aurora,” Nanny called.

“Hmm?”

“Do get dressed! Do you wish your father to scold me? He will not be pleased to see me come down the stairs without you.”

She certainly didn’t want Nanny to be troubled! Only her father and that stupid, balding man. I’m surprised my brothers are not here to support my father. One of them has always been present during such moments. As though she would think differently by having her siblings here! James, her eldest brother, had washed his hands of her when she had run off one of his good friends. That had been rather amusing as she had never been on his hands in the first place. And had he thought she would marry a man more than twice her age? A man old enough to be her father? Foolish man!

“Aurora,” Nanny sighed. “What will I ever do with you?”

“Help me drive the latest suitor away?” she asked hopefully.

The woman shook her head. “I have no authority to do such a thing. I am but a servant.”

“A servant? You are more than just a servant, Nanny! You have been like a mother to me, you and Millie. If anyone should have a say in my life, it should be both of you, not my father.”

“Life does not work like that child. Our feelings may acknowledge our relationship, but society does not. You are the daughter of a baron; you might as well be from a different world. Circumstances gave you to us to love, but it cannot continue like this. At some point, you shall have to accept that you must move on without us.”

Two little lines appeared between Aurora’s brow, the only evidence of the distress within her. Why was Nanny saying these things? Did she, too, wish to get rid of her?

“Am I a burden to you?” she finally asked, her voice a little tremulous.

Nanny gasped, a hand flying to her bosom. “How can you think such a thing, dear?” The woman flew to her, hugging her around her shoulders. “How could you ever be a burden to us? We love you as though you were flesh of our flesh.”

“Then why would you say such things to me? I do not wish to leave you all behind. You know this, and yet you would have me married just as my father and brothers wish to. What kind of love is that?”

“None of us wishes to see you go, but we cannot decide matters for you. This is the way the world is, child. Although, I do wish to see you happily married to a man who will cherish and adore you as you deserve. You cannot believe me to be unkind for thinking that, can you?”

Aurora sighed, shaking her head. “I suppose not, but there is no man alive who will take me as I am, Nanny. They all seek to mould me into someone I am not. Besides, you know that I have certain … fears regarding marital dues.”

She would never accept her husband in the truest sense, not at the risk of being with child. Aurora believed she was doomed to suffer the same fate as her mother, and nothing anyone said would change that.

“A fear you needn’t have if you would but listen to us,” said Nanny, removing her arms to sit beside her on the floor. “Very well, you might not choose to go downstairs, but what will I tell your father?”

It would be easy to refuse his request, but he could very well convince the man to marry her without having spoken to her. If the man had heard of her reputation (which he likely had), then it might take more than a few words dripping with honey to convince him. Father might grease his palms – everyone has a price.

“Tell him I will come in a little while.”

Nanny raised an eyebrow. “You will?”

“Yes, but do not think that I accept anything. I will find a way to make that man run out of this house just as I have the others.”

The older woman smiled. “What do you have up your sleeve this time? I do not condone your methods, but I must say that we have been amused by your antics.”

Aurora returned the smile, doing a mock bow. “Glad to be a form of entertainment. I am not certain of what I shall do, but it will come to me before I reach the parlour.”

“Very well. Do not take too long.”

Nanny got to her feet with some help, touching Aurora’s hair before leaving her room. Pacing once more, she thought long and hard.

“I do not have much time to conjure up a plan, but I never accept defeat. No doubt, Father has told him of my usual tricks; thus, I cannot use the same ones.”

She looked down at herself, seeing her men’s clothing. I suppose I have one last unexpected trick up my sleeve. Grinning, she left her room.

---

“A Merchant’s Extraordinary Lady” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Aurora is a headstrong young woman, who holds onto her freedom tightly and doesn’t intend to allow any kind of man to rule over her. When her father, a well-known baron, arranges an unlikely match for her, she immediately devises a plan to dissuade the suitor. Her efforts are in vain though, as the man, a tenacious and handsome merchant, perseveres and marries her anyway. Dismayed, Aurora resolves to make her husband’s life miserable, but to her shock, she finds her heart softening towards him. As her bewildering new feelings intensify, will they challenge her determination to fight against her husband and her desire to be a free woman?

Carlos’s life has been driven by his need to avenge his mother’s death and claim his rightful place as the son of a Spanish count. An opportunity falls into his lap when he overhears an irate baron offer his troublesome daughter as a wife to anyone who will have her. Marrying this stubborn young woman gives him a clear path towards meeting his father for the very first time, but also makes him her enemy. He might not have minded this, if he wasn’t also unexpectedly and uncontrollably drawn to his mesmerising wife… With his birthright finally within his grasp, will his heart instead force him to explore powerful feelings he hadn’t bargained for?

As Aurora clings to her independence amid her developing emotions, Carlos is troubled by his guilt over marrying an unwilling woman to advance his plans. Thrown together by fate, neither can deny their life-changing connection for much longer. With Aurora’s safety suddenly being threatened, will justice matter more to Carlos than the woman he has come to care so deeply about? Will Aurora ever be able to set aside her fears and hurt and give them both a chance to discover the true depth of their shared feelings?

“A Merchant’s Extraordinary Lady” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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