His Michaelmas Mistress Read Free Page A

she knew what kind of a bastard she’d agreed to marry—if she’d seen what he had come from…how he had raised himself out of the gutter…what a little street rat he’d been, he felt quite certain she wouldn’t have agreed to marry him, let alone, fallen in love with him.
    The Army had made a gentleman out of him, and his contacts from those days had eventually led to him being ennobled as a baron. And, he counted his time in the Army as the best time in his life. It had given him so many blessings. It had given him The Angels of Death. A group of men from high society and lowborn guttersnipes like him who had to learn how to get along, or else die.
    They’d crossed many social barriers during their time in that specialized group, and enlisted men and officers had found that they had to rely on each other—count on each other, or else, they were as good as dead.
    He’d come into a fair bit of money in August. One of the mines he’d invested in along with Doc, Tiny, Mole and Lucky had started to produce at a mind boggling rate. They would all be swimming in lard for the rest of their lives. Never again would he have to worry about going hungry.
    Never again.
    He went into the Billiards Room and instead of playing like he thought he would, he sank into a chair. His beer was brought to him, and he sat drinking it, while he tried to shove thoughts of Julia out of his mind. He reached for his stiff cravat with his left hand, and started to take the ruddy thing off. Once he had it loosened, he gave up, and drank some more of his beer. The footman had been wise enough to give him two pints. He’d probably need a third, at the rate he drank it.
    Today was supposed to be a day of merriment. They should have been having their Wedding Feast now, where they would drink, dance and be merry, and yet, here he was, without his lovely bride smiling up at him.
    Julia was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes upon. He didn’t know what a diamond of the first water was, but it had to be something good because that was what Lord Charles called Julia, and she was a jewel amongst women.
    Images of her smiling at him, and telling him that she loved him, swept through his mind. He groaned, and shook his head. They’d had a whirlwind courtship, and he believed it was because she’d fallen hard and fast for him, and now he wondered if it was really because she just wanted to marry so that her mother would stop haranguing her.
    Had he just been a means to an end?
    He took another large swig of the beer, and sighed heavily.
    He had to get out of the restrictive clothing he wore. He looked like a bloody dandy, and he was definitely no fop. He was no swell of the first stare. Lord Charles looked like a bloody toff, and he usually hated his sort. He felt a bit of pity for the poor bastard, as he couldn’t imagine losing all that he was, to live amongst the French for over ten years. The thought almost terrified him. Still, Lord Charles looked like a right and proper snob, and he didn’t know if Julia could live with such a man, after all that she’d been through in the years since Lord Charles went away.
    Depression clawed at him. He quickly drank down the rest of his beer and stood up. He wasn’t even slightly drunk. He’d have to drink a whole lot more to get as foxed as he wanted to be. They’d have to bring him some gin, whisky or brandy to do the trick.
    “So this is what you left me to do?”
    Julia’s softly feminine voice broke him away from feeling sorry for himself. Maybe he’d drank too much after all. He took his finger to his ear and tried to clear it. He had to be hearing things. He’d left her at the church with her lost love.
    Her first love.
    Surely, they’d be arranging for a special license so they could live in wedded bliss together?
    “You do not exist. You are the stuff of dreams,” he said succinctly. He needed more.
    “Looking for another tipple, are you, sir?”
    His mind was running away