Always the Courtesan (Never the Bride Book 3) Read online

  Always the Courtesan

  Never the Bride

  Book 3

  Emily E K Murdoch

  © Copyright 2020 by Emily E K Murdoch

  Text by Emily E K Murdoch

  Cover by Dar Albert

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  [email protected]

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition May 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Dearest Reader;

  Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.

  Happy Reading!

  CEO, Dragonblade Publishing

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch

  Never The Bride Series

  Always the Bridesmaid (Book 1)

  Always the Chaperone (Book 2)

  Always the Courtesan (Book 3)

  Always the Best Friend (Book 4)

  Always the Wallflower (Book 5)

  Always the Bluestocking (Book 6)

  *** Please visit Dragonblade’s website for a full list of books and authors. Sign up for Dragonblade’s blog for sneak peeks, interviews, and more: ***

  www.dragonbladepublishing.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Always the Best Friend

  About Emily E K Murdoch

  Chapter One

  “Excuse me, may I sit here?”

  The young woman was staring at him, waiting for a response.

  Josiah blinked, utterly dazzled. She was beautiful, with an elegant smile and fashionable gown. She was pointing to the empty space in the pew beside him.

  Heart thundering, Josiah opened his mouth, and absolutely nothing came out.

  “I said,” the vision in cream repeated with a sparkling smile, “would you mind? Is this space free?”

  Josiah swallowed. He was the Earl of Chester. There was absolutely no moment in his life when he should be overwhelmed, let alone by a pretty face.

  This was it, though. This would be the story they told their children, of how their father and mother met in a church at a crowded wedding in the heat of summer.

  “Yes,” he said, finally finding his voice and dropping his gloves as he stood abruptly. “Please, there is plenty of room.”

  She beamed. “Thank you, kind sir. Come on, the gentleman says there is plenty of room—not for you to stand on the pew, young George, sit down like a civilized young man!”

  Josiah’s happy smile faltered as the lady welcomed not a few, but no less than four rambunctious children into the pew, followed by a harassed looking gentleman with a cheap collar and wiry mustache.

  It was too much to hope a woman so young could be unencumbered by something as irritating as a husband—though the four offspring were a surprise. Josiah sighed and sat next to the uncivilized George. The boy stuck his tongue out.

  Well, it was no more than he deserved. Why should these conversations be so complicated?

  But there was no more time to berate himself for his assumptions. A hush had fallen, and the organ struck up. In came the bride on her brother’s arm, a long silk train following her as every woman sighed.

  By the time Lady Charlotte St. Maur reached the altar, no one in the church would have believed she was five and thirty. No matter what the gossip sheets said, she was quite the beauty. Her future husband clearly thought so.

  They were invited to be seated by the rickety old rector, and Josiah scowled at the small boy who had left a large stick on his side of the pew. The child stuck his tongue out again.

  Josiah dropped the stick and tried to concentrate on the vows but could not prevent a wry smile as the words rolled over him. Why do relationships have to be so complicated? They were all games and lies when it came down to it.

  Why, he’d never seen any sort of courtship start, continue, or end—for better or worse—without a ridiculous amount of deceit. It was all a game—how barefaced will my lies be today? Will they be believed, or will I be called out?

  Josiah snorted and was forced to suffer the indignant glance of the people sharing his pew.

  Even when he attempted to be honest, it became complicated.

  “—now pronounce you man and wife!”

  Josiah started. Lost in his thoughts, he had entirely missed the marriage service.

  “May I be the first to congratulate you,” the vicar was saying in a hearty tone. “The Duke and Duchess of Mercia!”

  There were smiles all around, and Josiah could not help but be one of them. He wasn’t entirely bitter. He could spot true love when he saw it, and he had never seen William Lennox so happy. It was strange to see Charlotte married after so many years, that was true—but it was good. Good had triumphed. True love won the day.

  It was a fairytale, the story which never happened in real life.

  There was a turgid sermon to sit through, but the vicar knew his audience. The champagne was cooling, and footmen were lined up at Stonehaven Lacey, and it seemed the vicar was as eager as his congregation to get there.

  “…so go in peace,” he finished with a beaming smile, “to love and serve the Lord.”

  The organ blasted, and Josiah rose ha
stily, remembering the etiquette drilled—and at times beaten—into him. The bride and her groom sailed down the aisle in a haze of happiness and lace, and the congregation swelled to follow them.

  Swept up in the commotion, Josiah allowed himself to be pushed out of the church.

  Was he the only one with any sense? Weddings were all well and good, but wasn’t it exhausting getting there, to the stage where you could devote yourself forever to another person?

  The newlyweds were standing in their own world, but Josiah saw from the corner of his eye the dreaded Mrs. Bryant and stepped forward hurriedly.

  “I wish you both well.” There, he had managed it—and with hardly any falsehood either. He did wish them well. He was just astonished they had made it this far.

  Holding out his hand, William beamed at him. “Have you thought about it, Chester?”

  Josiah frowned as he shook the Duke of Mercia’s hand. “Marriage? God, no. I am exhausted enough with politics and games, deceit, and lies as it is. No, the one thing I am looking for is simplicity, and sadly, matrimony does not offer that.”

  He grinned at Charlotte, who returned his smile and said, “I do not believe there is anything so simple as finding the person you love and being with them.”

  She looked at Mercia as she spoke, that mischievous smile he knew dancing across her lips. There was a story there, and no mistake. Perhaps the gossips were right—perhaps there was something interesting about the way the major-turned-duke and the chaperone had found each other.

  But what did it matter? They had managed to do more than he had.

  “I would say you are exactly right,” Josiah sighed. “As long as you can find the right person! I cannot tell you how tiring it is, all these ladies trying to catch me. I’m tired of the whole blasted game, the interfering mothers, and the trickery—the wigs! Mercia, you will not believe it when I tell you about this one girl I—”

  But he was interrupted, and though not by Mrs. Bryant, by someone as equally importune.

  “Ah, Chester! I thought I espied you at the back there!” Miss Theodosia Ashbrooke, the matchmaker whom gentlemen around the country feared, advanced. “You thought you could hide from me, then? Not a chance, my dear boy—no, I have just the person for you, and there is no running from me this time!”

  His friends laughed as Josiah looked for an escape route but saw none. He sighed. There was nothing to do but face her. Resigning himself to a conversation with Miss Ashbrooke was rather like permitting a cat to scratch his expensive boots. You were almost certain you were safe, but one wrong move, and it would all become painful very quickly.

  “Ah, Miss Ashbrooke,” he said in his most charming, distant voice. “I was actually about to go and speak to—”

  “I met such a lovely young lady a few days ago, and the instant I saw her, I knew she would be perfect for you,” began Miss Ashbrooke, but she was not allowed to continue.

  “I am sorry, Miss Ashbrooke,” Josiah replied curtly. “I am not interested.”

  If only there was some way of pretending an acquaintance was on the other side of the lawn…

  “Not interested?” She blinked dramatically. “What on earth do you mean, not interested? You do not know a thing about her yet.”

  Josiah smiled. “And yet, my lack of interest is undeniable. I am not interested in matrimony, Miss Ashbrooke, so there it is.”

  He had intended his brief words to be an end of the conversation, but Miss Ashbrooke clearly did not agree. “But my lord, you are a gentleman at the perfect age for marriage! Just as His Grace, the Duke of Mercia is, and you see how happy he is—and the wedding went ahead with his sister still missing, a very strange—”

  “Good day, Miss Ashbrooke.”

  “But you still persist in feigning no interest in matrimony yourself?”

  “No, thank you, Miss Ashbrooke.”

  Miss Ashbrooke was looking aghast, as though he had announced he would be foregoing breeches in public.

  Josiah sighed. Turning five and twenty had brought him no joy and plenty of complications. Now considered a man of maturity, the women had swarmed about him, and he was done, absolutely done with politics and games, deceit and lies.

  “I do not wish for complications,” he said gruffly. “If you will excuse me, Miss Ashbrooke.”

  He strode away, but she was rushing to keep up with him.

  “What complication?” Miss Ashbrooke panted. “You meet someone agreeable, after a suitable period of time has passed, you come to an understanding, you marry—my lord, would you mind stopping so I can catch my breath?”

  Josiah was sorely tempted to reply that he would not and break into a run, but he controlled himself. He was the Earl of Chester. It would not do for someone of such breeding to be so impolite to anyone—let alone a young woman of considerable influence in the tittle-tattle sheets of London and Bath.

  But he could not help laughing. “My dear, Miss Ashbrooke, no one but an unmarried matchmaker would say that! It is never so simple, and if it is, then you are doing it wrong. Why, you don’t know the first thing about marriage!”

  “I—I beg your pardon!”

  But Josiah was in full flow, that stinging tone which he tried so carefully to control, completely out of his grasp. “I am only sorry, Miss Ashbrooke, that no one has ever explained it to you, but let me see if I can put it simply. There, look. You see the gentleman there?”

  Despite her obvious indignation, she looked over at the gentleman he was pointing at in a green jacket and breeches, and nodded.

  “And the young lady he is conversing with—you see her?”

  Miss Ashbrooke nodded. It was hard to miss her, after all, wearing such a florid, crimson gown.

  Josiah leaned toward Miss Ashbrooke and lowered his voice. “There they are. Two innocents, or so they appear, conversing in a public place about probably idle gossip. They are nothing to each other, and why should they be? But here it changes. One of them wants marriage. The other does not. And no matter how many smiles, lies, games, moments of flattery, and moments of madness, if they do not agree on this, it will lead to heartache for both. There goes the tale, Miss Ashbrooke, and you can watch it come to life all around you. Just open your eyes when at least five unmarried people are together in the same room.”

  Miss Ashbrooke was gaping in utter astonishment. “But it is not like that, not like that at all!”

  “Isn’t it?” Josiah’s voice hardened. “My God, Miss Ashbrooke, what I said in jest not two minutes ago is entirely true. You don’t know the first thing about marriage, and I am only sorry you do not because it gives you the entitled feeling to lecture all the rest of us. Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  His temper flared, and he took a deep breath and saw, with regret, he had genuinely hurt the matchmaker. God’s teeth, but she had it coming to her. Why was her view of life so rosy? Had she not seen plenty of potential marriages break down before they had even started because of the silly games women played?

  “I must say,” she said coldly as a footman passed with a bottle of champagne, “you will not be attracting any young ladies, and then what will happen to the earldom?”

  Josiah shrugged. “There are plenty of male cousins. Perhaps Harry could have it, that would give everyone a laugh. I see no reason why I, as the eldest, should have inherited.”

  He shouldn’t have said that. There was nothing like a bit of teasing to wind up Miss Ashbrooke, and she was horrified enough as it was. “Harry? That would be quite out of the question.”

  Josiah rolled his eyes. “But that is hardly the point, is it Miss Ashbrooke? No, all I want is the simplicity of companionship with none of the emotional ties. Marriage is not the solution to that problem.”

  Miss Ashbrooke sniffed. “It most certainly is not—and if I may be so bold as to say, if that is truly all you wish, then you know precisely where you can get it!”

  Without another word, she stormed off toward another gaggle of young people who evidently
just needed her guiding hand to suggest a few matches, and wedding bells would soon ring.

  Josiah watched her go with a wry smile. He should not have teased her—and what’s more, he probably shouldn’t have been honest. It was unbecoming of an earl to speak his mind, but since he had risen to the title a year ago, he had been shockingly bad in that respect. Perhaps Harry would have made a better earl.

  You know precisely where you can get it!

  His smile faded. If only it was that simple—if only Miss Ashbrooke could procure young women for companionship and perhaps a little pleasure, with none of the irritations of choosing wallpaper for the second dining room, or impulsively accepting invitations to dine with boring neighbors.

  And it was when a footman offered him a glass of champagne that the idea struck him. You have servants for all kinds of things, don’t you? A coach driver, a footman, a butler, and valet.

  Why not consider this another act of servanthood? After all, he was not looking for a wife. It was a scandalous thought, but half the gentleman in England had thought about it—and those with means had acted on it. Why not him? Why shouldn’t he find a little pleasure?

  Miss Emma Tilbury walked up to him and gave him a winning smile as only the mistress of the Earl of Marnmouth could. “Penny for your thoughts, my lord?”

  He grinned. “No time, dear lady. I’m off to find a brothel.”

  Chapter Two

  Try as she might, Honora Lennox could not fight the shiver rippling through her body. There was a disapproving cough from Madam, and Honora bit the inside of her cheek. She wished she had put on a thicker gown or a pelisse. Madam was standing in the hallway wearing a gentleman’s greatcoat and looked the warmest of them all.

  Wind rattled around the room, making the few candles flicker.

  “You there,” the gruff words leered. “Turn around—slowly mind, I want a good look afore I make my decision.”

  The gentleman was hidden in shadow, but Honora could make him out. Not a regular, but an infrequent visitor, usually at the beginning of the month, after wages had been paid. It was impossible to hide the flush on her cheeks, but she turned slowly.