Gaelen Foley - My Wicked Marquess

My Wicked Marquess

Gaelen Foley

Inferno Club Book 1

Dear Lord Rotherstone,

If you are reading this, then I must welcome you gladly back to London after your long and perilous journeys. You charged me with no small task in your absence, but I have forged on without ceasing and now am pleased to present you with the fruits of my labor. After months of making all the inquiries you requested, also using the unusual research methods that you imparted to my understanding, I have assembled the list you desiredfive of Londons most sought-after aristocratic brides for your consideration.

Rest assured that all five excellent young ladies meet Your Lordships exacting criteria of health, youth, breeding, beauty, pleasant temperament, good family, and above all, a stainless reputation. Your prospective brides names are as follows:

• 1. Miss Zoe Simmsage nineteen, excellent singing voice, highly accomplished. Niece of the Duke of Rowland.

• 2. Miss Anna Brightage eighteen, daughter of the Bishop of Norwell; a budding essayist, first published work titled Virtues for a Young Lady.

• 3. Lady Hypatia Glendaleage twenty-one, known as a spirited sportswoman and huntress, rides to the hounds.

• 4. Miss Adora Walkerage sixteen. Though barely out of the schoolroom, considered the greatest beauty Society has seen in many years, thus a coveted prize.

• 5. The Honorable Miss Daphne Starlingage twenty, a leading belle of the ton, known for her kindness to strangersbut problematical, my lord. Beware! (See Post Script.)

I am at your service to discuss my findings in greater detail, though I surmise Your Lordship will wish to continue the investigation in person from this point onward. All my files on this matter are available as soon as you wish me to send them. (As you directed, I assembled a file on each young lady containing more detailed biographical information, as well as upcoming social calendars and typical weekly schedules. This should more easily allow Your Lordship to observe each girl at your own convenience.)

Awaiting your further instructionsand again, my lord, with all the joy of Englands great victory at the end of this dreadful warwelcome home.

Your servant respectfully, Oliver Smith, Esquire. Solicitor & Gentleman-of-Business

Post Script: About Lady Number Five, sirYou may wish to cross Daphne Starling off your list straightaway, for over the past few weeks, there has been an unfortunate whiff of scandal concerning this young lady.

Due to her recent refusal of a suitor, a leading dandy by the name of Lord Albert Carew, I fear Miss Starling has begun to gain a reputation as a jilt.

S he entered the realm of lost souls in a single horse gig with her footman and maid. Leaving the safety of the well-traveled Strand, she crossed into the shadowy labyrinth.

Her horse tossed its head in protest, but obeyed Williams urging, walking nervously into the narrow lane between the crowded buildings. Above them, half obscured by the thick morning fog, the great blocks of tenement houses loomed, as forbidding as medieval towers.

The clip-clopping of her trusty geldings hooves echoed everywhere off grimy brick and stone, but little else stirred at this hour. The rookery came alive only at night. To be sure, they were far from the green, sculpted grounds of her fathers elegant villa now.

This was no place for a lady.

But these days, however, what the world thought of Daphne Starling mattered to her less and less.

Losing her reputation was proving to be oddly liberating. It had given her a new perspective on things, and refocused her attention on what mattered most.

Like getting the children out of this nightmare world.

Wraiths of mist floated past her small, open carriage, which was loaded with sacks of supplies that she had collected for the orphanage since last weeks visit. Though she had been coming here for some time, the conditions of the rookery still shocked her.

A stray dog with protruding ribs scavenged for a meal in a pile of refuse in the alley. An unhealthy odor fouled the air; neither fresh breeze nor sun could penetrate the tight, crooked alleys. People here dwelled in constant twilight due to the closeness of the buildings, their broken windows like the broken lives of all those who had simply given up. Here and there the homeless slept: inert, shapeless bundles strewn by the gutter.

A dark spell of despair hung over this place. Daphne shuddered, drawing her pelisse a bit closer around her shoulders. Perhaps she should not be heresometimes she felt as though she was living a double life.

But she knew how it felt to be orphaned young. At least she still had a loving father, a safe home, enough to eat. It was Mama, anyway, who had early ingrained in her the duties of a gentlewoman toward the less fortunate.

More importantly, she knew deep in her heart that if someone did not go into the dark places of the world and give a little love to those who had no one, then life was truly meaningless. Especially the pampered life that she had always known as the only child of a viscount with a large fortune and an ancient title.

Still, however privileged she was by birth, she did not ever want to become one of those selfish, artificial creatures like some of those in the ton who had been turning against her so easily of late.

A fleeting thought of Lord Albert Carews smirking face flashed through her mind, but every time she thought of his oh-so-romantic proposal, she wanted to scream. The leading dandy and the leading bellea perfect match! What do you say? Alberts arrogance made him blissfully unaware of just how obnoxious he generally was. There was only one true love in Lord Albert Carews life: himself. Daphne gritted her teeth and kicked her jilted suitor out of her mind as William made the turn into Bucket Lane, where the dreary orphanage sat amid the squalor.

Bucket Lane, or Slops Bucket Lane, as the rough locals jokingly called it, was a street were sin vied openly with virtue. Unfortunately, darkness seemed to be winning the battle here.

Though a small city church still made a stand at the end of the lane, one last crumbling stone angel looking on in dismay, there was a large raucous brothel on the corner, a pub across the street, and a gaming house a few doors down from that.

Last month there had been a murder in the alley.

Two Bow Street officers had come by asking questions, but no one could be found who would cooperate, and the lawmen had not been back.

Life in Bucket Lane had gone on as usual.

Tell me again what were doing here, miss? her maid, Wilhelmina, peeped as they proceeded down the lane.

Hunting adventure, I reckon, Wilhelminas twin brother, William grumbled.

Though there might be a grain of truth to the charge, Daphne looked askance at him. The country-bred pair were known in the Starling residence as the the two Willies. They were good-hearted and exceedingly loyal, as their accompanying her each week to the orphanage proved.

Look to the window, William. Daphne nodded upward as she waved a gloved hand in greeting. Theyre why were here.

Little faces full of excitement were peering down through all the grimy windows; little hands waved back.

He harrumphed. I suppose youre right, miss.

Daphne sent her footman a bolstering smile. Dont worry, Will. We wont be long. Perhaps an hour.

Half an hour? he pleaded as the gig rolled up to the orphanage. We dont have Davis today, miss.