To Save My Own Angel

Chapter 1

2 June 1814

London, England

Duke of Wellington's Ballroom

All hers and her stepdaughter’s hopes and plans were in danger of being up ended. Or at the very least, altered. Which would destroy her stepdaughter’s chances of finding happiness with the man she loved and wanted to marry. Just because another bankrupt Scottish peer needed to marry a wealthy English heiress. Or so the gossips kept telling her.

Even so, she couldn't stop glancing his way. Lady Lavinia Desmond, Dowager Countess of Merriton, suspected that no one in the ballroom could keep from staring at the man. He was quite simply the most extraordinary human being she had ever laid eyes on.

But it wasn't only his incredible size that had ensnared everyone’s attention. Which was, to say the least, impressive. The man was nearly seven feet tall. He literally towered over everyone else in the ballroom. Yet, it wasn't his size alone that held her attention, it was the lightheartedness on the face of the giant. So at odds with the stodginess of most of polite society. 

At least she thought she saw mischievousness in his eyes, as she had only gotten a brief look at the man when they entered the ballroom at nearly the same time. However, without her glasses, Vi wasn’t sure she had seen what she thought she had. It might have been a trick of the flickering chandeliers and her bad vision.

Additionally, the enormous man had a woman on his arm who was taller than most of the men and as angelic looking as the giant. Vi had been close enough to see the white-blonde-haired beauty unaided. A Greek goddess come to life, with light green eyes. A perfect match for the man who could only be described as Hercules, or Atlas, come to Earth and walking among the mortals.

Although, Vi had never imagined a god having bright red hair and a face full of freckles. Which might be why she believed that the Greek deity had a boyish façade. She had been so startled when he had turned, his soft brown eyes had collided with hers. Even as shortsighted as she was, she knew – or believed – he was grinning at her. Or grinning at them. More likely, he was gazing at her stepdaughter, who was standing beside Vi. At eight and ten, Lady Pamela was everything Vi was not: young, beautiful, and a very wealthy heiress. The wealthiest one on the marriage market this year.

Even an hour after first seeing him, Vi kept catching him looking in their direction. In spite of her blurry vision, she could tell he was staring, seemingly probing her soul, and she had not been able to turn away to save her life. When the man smiled at Vi, a tingle of excitement enveloped her. She felt her mouth fall open but couldn't close it. Not until the man actually winked at her, as if they were intimately acquainted.

After that, she had refused to glance in his direction until they were a full ballroom apart. Even with the whole of the ballroom and hundreds of people between them, she was inexplicably aware of his presence. Only from this distance, he was merely a tall, bulky, and hazy face floating above the brightly colored women and somberly dressed men. She had her glasses in her reticle. But years of being ridiculed for wearing them in public kept them firmly in her bag and him a red-topped blur on the other side of the dance floor.

Vi avidly listened to the rumors that were swirling about the man. He was way too unusual for the gossips to ignore. Despite being dressed in formal black – as most of the non-military men were – his bearing proclaimed him a soldier and an officer. Apparently, he served with the Iron Duke himself during the war with Napoleon. Which perplexed the gossip mongers, as he wasn't dressed in a uniform like the other soldiers. From what she had been able to tell, the close fitting attire had been made for his body as it emphasized his huge muscles. No need for padding as so many of the fops and dandies tended to use.

The whispers also said he was a barbarian. A Scottish Highlander who had come to London after the war to find a wealthy English bride and take her back to his stronghold in the most isolated part of the Highlands.

So far, all the speculations were nothing but rumors. Vi knew all too well how rumors could be wrong. During her marriage to the Earl of Merriton, rumors about her had abounded. So had rumors about her husband. Unfortunately, most of the rumors about the earl had been true. On the other hand, none of them about her had been correct. As a result, she realized how unreliable they could be. Which meant Vi needed to discover the truth about the mountainous man, who had not stopped glancing in her direction during the long, arduous night. Or more to the point, he had not stopped staring at her stepdaughter.

Lady Pamela Desmond was making her debut tonight. She was surrounded by a dozen hopeful swains – most of them fortune hunters like the Scottish giant. The ton had already proclaimed her a diamond of the first water. An unrivaled beauty with golden blonde hair and soft blue eyes. It didn’t hurt that she was one of the wealthiest heiresses in England at the moment. Which meant that if the stories were true about the Scottish barbarian, then Pam was exactly what he was looking for in a bride.

"Mother," Pam whispered from beside her. "Lady Arland is offering her condolences on the loss of Lord Merriton."

Neither her stepdaughter nor Vi had ever been able to call the man by anything but his title. He had never been a real husband to her nor a father to his daughter.

Pulling her eyes away from the enigmatic man across the ballroom, Vi faced one of the ton's doyennes and busybodies.

"Thank you, Lady Arland," Vi said and hoped it was the expected response.

"It must have been a great shock to lose such a wonderful man," Lady Arland gushed.

Bile stuck in Vi's throat. Everyone in polite society was all too familiar with the kind of man the earl had been. Not a vile man, merely one consumed by his wealth and new position as the first Earl of Merriton. He had been a typical ton rake and profligate. Nothing more. Yet nothing better, unfortunately for her and his daughter.

Actually, according to the rumors, many in not-so-polite society knew of her husband's exploits too. He apparently had dozens of mistresses. And even more dalliances with barmaids, housemaids, milkmaids, and other women unfortunate enough to be wearing a skirt and under the age of ninety.

Any words Vi might have uttered lodged in her throat, allowing her to insincerely smile at the woman. Let her think what she wanted. The earl was dead and she was free of him.

"I'm not sure I could go on if my dear Frederick was taken from me so suddenly. I would be prostrate with grief for years," Lady Arland continued, as she eyed Vi's dark blue ball gown. 

The viperish woman. She wasn't talking about the earl's death, she was trying to find out why Vi and Pam were attending a ball a mere two months after Langdon's death. According to the ton's rules, they should be in full mourning for a year and then half mourning for another six months. 

But here they were, at a ball just two months after he finally succumbed to the disease that had ravaged his body for nearly five years. More egregious, as far as the ton was concerned, neither one of them were dressed in black crêpe as was called for. Vi had opted for a somber dark blue, better suited for half-mourning. Her stepdaughter wore a stunning pale pink and white satin gown that shimmered under the hundreds of candles.

"The earl's death was not so sudden, Lady Arland," Vi replied. "As I'm sure you are aware, he was ill and indisposed for several years. His last wish was for his daughter to have her season. Even if he could not be here for her."

"How gallant of him." Lady Arland glanced down at Vi's dark blue ball gown. She then turned her scrutiny on Pam and swept Vi’s stepdaughter's pink and white ball gown with an equal censoring gaze. "How brave of the both of you to go on as if he hadn't recently passed on."

Langdon had become repentant the last years of his life. Or he had once he accepted the fact he was dying of consumption and nothing could be done to save him.

At first, he had raged at the injustice of it all. Then he had raged at Vi and his daughter for every little slight. Eventually, he had become withdrawn and morose. Silently sitting in the midst of them as if he were already dead. Yet, apparently observing – and hearing – everything.

So he had seen the disrespectful way his brother and sister-in-law had treated them. As if Vi and Pam were interlopers in their own home. Worse, he had overheard the plans the two were making for the earldom when they were in charge. Including how they intended to beggar Vi and dominate his daughter.

With his mortality staring him in the face, his attitude had undergone a transformation. Langdon had rarely been around the first eleven years of their marriage. Consequently, he had never seen the obnoxious way his brother and sister-in-law had always treated his wife and daughter when he wasn't in residence.

From that day until his death, Langdon had worked with Vi to right the wrongs he and his family had done. Which had indeed included his wish, or more like demand, that they not mourn his passing.

Anger roiled in Vi's stomach as she glared at the odious woman. A biting retort was forming on her lips when a loud disturbance at the front of the ballroom drew Lady Arland’s attention.

"His Royal Highness has arrived," the woman said in awe.

Turning, Vi spotted the rotund Prince of Wales coming down the main staircase. She was not fond of the man. She didn't despise him, although she had plenty of reasons to, as her husband had been one of the Prince's drinking, gambling, and whoring buddies before becoming too sick to keep up with the crowd that circled around the Prince.

"Excuse me, Lady Merriton," Lady Arland quickly said. "Frederick has been promised an audience with the Prince Regent." Without a backward look, the woman was off in pursuit of the Prince of Wales, like most of the others in the ballroom.

From the corner of her eye, Vi saw Pam exhale, sliding closer. "What a horrible woman."

"Quite." Vi shook her head. "I did try to warn you what people would say if we came tonight."

"Yes, Mother, you did. Yet, what choice did we have?" Pam replied.

Yes, what choice did they have? Langdon's family had all but been waiting by his bedside for him to die so Gilford could claim the title and everything that went with it. Which in the new earl's mind included Vi's and Pam's inheritance. As well as control over both of them. Something she couldn’t allow, no matter how many tongues it set to wagging in the ton.

Rather than replying to the question, she asked one of her own. "Have you seen your soldier yet?"

Pam's soldier was Lieutenant Paul Ragnar Francom. A man who looked like the Viking ancestor he was named after. Also the man her stepdaughter had fallen madly in love with a year ago. The fact that he was probably unaware of Pam's infatuation had not stopped the girl from declaring she would marry him and no other.

"No, Mother, he is not here," Pam replied. Vi could hear the sadness in her voice. "I asked Captain Lord Hendricks about Paul's regiment while we were dancing and he told me they are being held on the Continent until an agreement can be reached at the Congress of Vienna. Apparently, many in the government are worried Napoleon will still be able to cause trouble, even imprisoned on Elba."

"Then there is no reason for us to remain. Is there?" Vi asked. Disappointment clouded her stepdaughter's face. She was sure that the discontent was not from Vi’s wanting to be quit of the ball. It was from her lieutenant not being in attendance.

"No, there is not." Pam glanced over and Vi followed her gaze to the Prince Regent and his entourage.

"I suppose we will have to wait until the Prince finishes making his rounds or we will be seen as unaccountably rude," Pam murmured. Vi could hear the longing to leave in her daughter's voice.

Following Pam's line of sight, she watched as the cluster of people around the Prince of Wales cut a swath through the ballroom. En masse, they stopped in front of where the barbarian stood. With the mass of people between them, Vi couldn't see exactly who the Prince of Wales spoke to, but the group appeared to be directly in front of him. Nevertheless, she was fairly sure it wasn't him the Prince was addressing, because the giant was slowly scanning the ballroom and not paying the least bit of attention to the Prince. 

Unexpectedly the giant turned in her direction and his head stopped as if she had called to him. His face still looked little more than a red and tan blur, yet Vi was positive that he was looking at them once again. Overdramatically, he nodded and she knew without a doubt he was watching Pam.

Her heart stuttered and her body grew warm. She recognized that he wasn't actually acknowledging her but rather Pamela, standing right beside her. Fortunately, her stepdaughter was only five-foot-six, a full two inches shorter than Vi and couldn't have seen his over-the-top gesture.

Thanks to polite society’s disdain for ladies wearing glasses in public, she didn’t know exactly what he looked like. She remembered that he had bright red hair and a plethora of freckles. Yet, from the moment he had turned to her in the receiving line, all she had been able to see was his soft brown eyes. They had seemed so serious at first. Then when they connected with hers, they had widened slightly as if he recognized her. His gaze quickly dropped as he catalogued her dark blue ball gown, then returned to her face with a smile. Vi had the impression he was laughing at her or at some joke only known to him, because he had winked at her then turned to address the woman on his arm.

Vi's first impression of the man was that he was a boy with a giant's body. But the longer she thought about those few seconds, the more she doubted her initial conclusion. After all, according to the gossip, he was a soldier, an officer, and probably a gentleman. Although a number of wealthy gentry and merchants were present at the ball as well, so there was no telling if he was a nobleman or the son of a wealthy merchant's family. Money was all it really took to buy a commission as an officer in the army. Unlike the navy, where rank had to be earned and not purchased. 

Her speculations about the man were halted when Lady Frances Treandale walked over. "I see you are as impressed with the Prince Regent as I am," Lady Frances whispered.

Pam laughed behind her fan and Vi snorted behind hers. Lady Frances had been a childhood friend of Vi's. However, unlike Vi, who had spent most of the last fourteen years ensconced in the country, Frances had become a leader among the ton. Thankfully, she had agreed to launch Pam into polite society for Vi and had accompanied them tonight.

"Mother, I'm going to the lady's retiring room while we wait," Pam said, drawing Vi's attention away from the giant as the Prince and his entourage began moving in their direction.

Concerned, Vi asked, "Are you feeling all right? I am sure your Viking is perfectly well. The fighting has been over for some time now."

Pam smiled back and squeezed her mother's hand. "I am perfectly fine, Mother. I just don't feel like standing around and watching the spectacle."

That was something Vi could understand. She might no longer harbor resentment towards the Prince of Wales for his part in corrupting the Earl of Merriton, but Pam had never forgiven the man for his part in taking her father away from them. And even the remote possibility that the Prince Regent would honor them with his presence was not something Pam would tolerate.

"Vi, I'll walk with her if you want to wait here," Lady Frances said.

Glancing over Pam's shoulder, Vi suggested, "Use the balcony. It will get you past the majority of the crush waiting for an audience with the Prince."

"Thank you, Mother," Pam replied. She leaned over and bussed a quick kiss on Vi's cheek.

With that, her stepdaughter and friend slipped through the open French windows and disappeared into the darkness. An uneasiness immediately assaulted her. She quickly stepped through the opening and watched as they scurried down the balcony to the open doors at the far end. Once they were safely back in the ballroom, Vi's disquiet lessened. But not her restlessness. She was in no mood to confront the Prince of Wales any more than Pam was. She turned in the opposite direction and wandered over to a shadowy part of the balcony.

A soft breeze rustled through the garden and caressed her skin. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a wren calling to his mate with an answering song from his lady love bird. A mating ritual not unlike that going on inside the ballroom behind her.

Tilting her head, Vi watched the clouds as they drifted overhead. A smattering of persistent stars twinkled through the coal dust and grayish haze cast by millions of candles and gas lights illuminating the denizens of London.

A sense of longing washed over her as she closed her eyes and imagined the same sky from her home in Essex. On a clear night a million stars were clearly visible and called to her.

"When I was a bairn, I would sit for hours just staring up at them. But it is a wee bit harder here in London."

Vi gasped and spun around to find a huge, hulking shadow several feet away. His body was casually leaning against the side of the stone wall with his arms crossed over his massive chest, while one tree-trunk of a leg was nonchalantly crossed at his ankles. What was visible of his head was turned upward toward the nighttime sky, his face nearly obscured by the darkness, but there was no mistaking the man who had been watching her and her stepdaughter all night long. 

"You're the barbarian," Vi huffed out.

He didn't move. Nor did he look down. The man shrugged his massive shoulders and said, "I've been called worse."

Appalled at her rudeness, Vi blinked several times as she gazed up at him. Even from several feet away he was enormous. Nevertheless, for some reason she didn't feel threatened by him. She wondered about that as she perused his massive body leaning so casually against the wall, which might account for not feeling that he was dangerous. But she suspected it wasn't his nonchalant attitude that kept her calm. It was his deep gentle voice. His very English voice. One with perfect upper English elocutions and not a Highlander's burr that she had been expecting to hear.

"You're not Scottish," she said without thinking.

She saw a flash of white as he smiled up at the stars. "Oh, but I am, madam. A Highlander, just as the rumors report." 

He finally glanced down. She was disappointed to realize that even though he was close enough to see, thanks to the darkness she still couldn't glimpse his face clearly. 

"But a Highlander who left home as a mere bairn and spent most of my life around Englishmen." He shrugged. "English noblemen. They saw to my education," he hesitated then added, "in a number of ways."

Vi wasn't sure what he was talking about, yet unaccountably his soothing voice was putting her at ease. Not so much that she forgot her earlier concerns about this man, however.

"The rumors also say you're looking for a wife."

He laughed, the rich sound causing a sensual tingling in her belly. "No. I'm not looking for a wife yet as I've recently made sergeant. Therefore, a wife will have to wait.”

She was surprised. And for some reason, a little disappointed that he wasn't an officer. "Waiting until you become an officer?" she asked.

His laugh came out as more of a bark than a true laugh this time. "Good God, no! I don't want to be one of those poor sods. I like working for a living." He nodded. "I'll stay a noncommissioned officer as long as I stay in the army."

The rumors were proving just as unreliable about this man as they had about her. To clarify, she carefully asked, "So, you are not an officer? You are not a Highlander looking for a bride? And you are not. . ?"

"A gentleman?" he finished for her. Vi exhaled as he shook his head. "No. I'm just a common soldier. My father was a farmer. A distant cousin of a nobleman, but still a commoner. And my mum was a butcher's daughter."

Vi gazed at him suspiciously and asked, "Then how is it that you are attending a formal ball given by the Duke of Wellington?"

He shrugged his massive shoulders again. "I imagine the same way you are, I'm working. Or I was, until a few minutes ago."

Working? She glanced down and knew, dressed as she was, she resembled the companions gathered around the edge of the ballroom and not one of the true guests. 

Content to let him think so, she asked, “Working? As in a footman?" 

He shook his head. "No. I was guarding the new Duchess of Belfort." He shrugged and added, "And I'm a personal guest of the Duke of Belfort and the Duke of Wellington."

Startled, Vi backed up a step. "Then the rumor that you served with the Iron Duke is true?"

He straightened away from the wall but did not try to approach. "Not directly. However, I did serve in one of his regiments. I've known him, off and on, for about ten years."

Vi filtered through all the rumors whirling around about the giant. Several of them said this man was a personal friend of the Duke of Wellington. "Ten years," she repeated absentmindedly.

"Since I joined the army in 1804," he replied.

Vi did a quick calculation in her head. Most nobleman joined the army right out of university. She wasn't sure if commoners did the same thing. If he had, then he was in his late twenties or earlier thirties. Which made him older than she had originally believed. It must be his freckles that had made her think he was younger.

Filing that away, she went back to his first statement. "You said you were working. Why does the new Duchess of Belfort need protecting?"

He began fidgeting. She wondered why he hesitated. He had been so open previously. Then he shrugged. "I don't suppose it is a secret. Not with Katie being abducted last week." 

A cold chill of trepidation washed over her, and Vi backed up against the banister. 

"I was protecting the new duchess. The duke's cousin was out to marry her and wouldn't take no for an answer. So Gabriel, I mean the Duke of Belfort, hired a few of us from his old regiment to make sure his cousin didn't make a pest of himself tonight. That's all."

Katherine McNair was the niece of Lady Chloe McNair. Vi had never met the young lady, yet she knew of her through her Aunt Chloe, an old acquaintance of Vi’s. According to her aunt, the girl was a vibrant and lovely young woman. Also as nearly unique as Chloe herself. 

Vi had been devastated when she had learned that the vibrant lady had died suddenly in a carriage accident. She had been profoundly relieved and happy when she read in the papers the other day that Miss Katherine McNair had married the missing Duke of Belfort. She had even sent a note around yesterday inviting the new duchess to tea next week.

"I would think with the notices in the paper the other day that the duke's cousin knows he cannot marry her now," Vi said.

The man nodded. "One would think so. But Gabe, the duke, likes to be careful is all," he replied.

Vi didn't know the man. No one did. He was called the missing duke because he had gone missing for more than twenty years, only returning to England a few weeks ago. The rumors about him were just as wild as those about her had been. Vi had discounted most of them as improbable.

Vi shook her head. "So all the rumors about you are wrong. You’re not a gentleman in search of a wife.”

"Thank God," he inserted.

She laughed and gazed up towards his still-shadowed face. Curiosity was driving her mad. And since he wasn't a gentleman, she didn't feel the need to hold to the ton's rules about introductions.

"Then who are you?" she asked.

He bowed. "Sergeant Jeremey Cavendish, 1st Scottish Grenadiers at your service, Miss. Or is it Mrs?"

The way he was treating her confirmed her earlier suspicions; he believed she was a companion for one of the noblewomen at the ball. For reasons she didn’t want to examine too closely, Vi didn't want him to know the truth about who she was.

"Mrs. . . Mrs. Lavinia Desmond," she stuttered. Vi had never been very good at fabricating lies. Especially on the spur of the moment. "My husband was a . . . a sergeant in the . . . cavalry. He was killed in action a few . . . last . . . last year."

He shifted ever so slightly, sending off warning bells in her head. "Are you here with someone?" he asked.

Vi's mind emptied of possibilities of whom she was here with. "I'm . . . I'm. . ." She glanced down at her gown and quickly added. "I am escorting my . . . niece tonight."

“Your niece? The young girl I saw you with earlier?" he asked.

She nodded but then realized he might not be able to see her any clearer than she could see him. "Yes."

He hesitated a moment than said, "I thought you might be her companion."

Oh God, this was becoming more complicated by the moment. "Oh, I am. My sister was gracious enough to take me in after my husband died. And in return, I agreed to watch out for my niece."

“You hardly seem old enough to be a companion. At least, from what my friends have told me of such dragons."

Vi laughed and relaxed a little. As she did, she became aware of a growing commotion from the open doorway. She was just about to comment on it when Pam burst through the doors and skidded to a stop. 

Completely ignoring the giant at her elbow, Pam fixed Vi with a horrified look and blurted out. "The Duke of Belfort and his new wife have been killed in a horrible attack only blocks from here."