Laura Carroll Butler Read online

  The Price of a Pearl

  A Novel

  Laura Carroll Butler

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art: Woman Holding a Balance, Johannes Vermeer, c. 1664; courtesy of the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D. C.

  For Chuck, Charlie and Thomas, my drive and my inspiration.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Cover Art Acknowledgment

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue: June 2, 1780

  Chapter One: March 1773

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight: 1774

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty: August 1776

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five: July 1778

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  ‘“What is truth?” said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer.’—Of Truth, Sir Francis Bacon

  Prologue

  June 2, 1780

  All of London was ablaze. As Rebecca Edderle stared out of the window of her bedroom, she watched the haze of smoke become heavier and flames leap from buildings as the mob smashed their way into Soho. She couldn’t see the rioters, but she could trace their path of destruction by the acrid smoke rising from the fires as they were ignited. Though a pair of armed guards patrolled the gates in front of the Edderle home, Rebecca wasn’t concerned the mob would come any closer to her home. They had done their damage and were now moving away from Mayfair.

  She turned to her husband, Davis, unnaturally peaceful in his bed. But for the bruises and cuts on his face, he might have been asleep. He was not sleeping, though; he was unconscious. “For the better,” the doctor had said. “Otherwise he might not stand the pain.”

  Davis had been awake when his carriage returned home, too early for Parliament to have been dismissed. Rebecca barely noticed his shocked and blood-stained colleague, Lord Dalgliesh, who helped carry Davis inside. She was focused on her husband. The blood on Lord Dalgliesh was Davis’. She discovered this once he was settled in a bed, moaning softly. A frightening wound bled profusely from somewhere under his dark blonde hair.

  It took the strength of two men to pull Davis’ dislocated shoulder back into place. The doctor believed that some of his ribs were cracked, but not broken. It was the head wound that he was most worried about, though he wouldn’t concern Rebecca with the particulars. She was Davis’ wife, but like many doctors, he believed women were too fragile to deal with medical truths. Davis could die of his injuries or he could survive with permanent damage. The doctor didn’t trust that the beautiful Lady Edderle would not become a quivering mess when he needed her to direct her husband’s care. So he said nothing more than that sleep was the best treatment for Davis.

  Rebecca walked to Davis’ bedside. She absent-mindedly petted his beloved Springer spaniel, Cicero, who waited vigil with her. She wanted to lie with Davis, take him in her arms and absorb his pain. But she sat next to him and held his hand instead, wishing his fingers would wrap around hers as they used to. She’d forgotten how big Davis’ hands were. She’d forgotten much about how Davis felt; it had been so long since they had touched each other with tenderness.

  She sighed in weariness. Dalgliesh was too traumatized to answer her questions: How? Why? Who would do this? She remembered at lunch, Davis suggesting the ladies and children remain indoors because of some “picketers” that were expected at Westminster. But surely the rioters would have recognized the seal on Davis’ carriage. He was respected by his peers and the press for his fairness, his concern for the poor. And if the mob was upset about the repeal of the Penal Laws, it made no sense to target the Lord Edderle; his position was of tolerance, but he remained a faithful Anglican.

  Davis’ eyes moved slightly behind his lids, but the doctor had left for his supper so she couldn’t ask what it meant. Still, it was the first conscious motion she had seen in him since his shoulder was set.

  “Davis,” she whispered very softly, her lips close to his ear. “Don’t leave me, Davis. I can’t lose you, too.”

  He didn’t respond. She laid his hand gently on her lips and kissed it.

  Chapter One

  March 1773

  To marry well was Rebecca Newland’s goal. Her mother had prepped her from a young age on what she needed to be to attract the right husband. Rebecca spent her life becoming that woman. She was delightful, attractive and wealthy and she was pursued by many men. But she had not cultivated herself into the ideal mate to marry just anyone. She wanted a title.

  So she danced and charmed, promised, but never delivered and became the perfect partner for the elusive man she sought. On a visit to her cousin’s home in London, Rebecca found him shortly before her twentieth birthday.

  *************************

  Davis Edderle would have slipped away to a card game, but his sister brought over to him the most striking woman at the party. Her dark hair was curled and stylish, though not as outlandish as some of the other women. She was beautifully dressed in a peacock blue embroidered gown that complemented her vibrant, flushed cheeks. He had watched her while she danced, impressed with her confidence and skill.

  “Davis, darling, I want you to meet Miss Rebecca Newland. She is visiting her cousin, Lady Martha Toles, for the Season.” Johanna said.

  Davis graciously took Rebecca’s hand to kiss it. She knew that this was a planned introduction, no matter how spontaneous everyone pretended. Davis’ father was the Third Baron Edderle with an estate in Swinstoke, Hampshire. When he died Davis would inherit the estate and become the Fourth Baron of Swinstoke. He was already an MP and a rising star for the Tories. From a distance, Davis was obviously handsome. Up close, he was even more splendid, tall and square-jawed, with a cleft and hint of a dimple in his smile. She was surprised and delighted at the unfamiliar flutter in her stomach when his lips touched her palm.

  “Delighted to meet you.” He bowed politely and dropped her hand gently.

  “You might remember Rebecca’s brother, Tristan Newland. He was at Trinity also,” Johanna continued pointedly.

  “Of course, I do,” he nodded. “He was a few years behind me, I believe, a pleasant young man. I am not surprised that Tristan’s sister is so lovely and such an accomplished dancer.” Davis’ dimples deepened into a more genuine smile.

  “Do you dance, Mr. Edderle?” Rebecca asked. “I don’t recall seeing you out on the floor.”

  He laughed, a little self-consciously. “I’m afraid that I’m not as graceful as you.”

  “Nonsense!” Johanna exclaimed. “Davis is a wonderful dancer; I think he is more interested in his cards this evening. Or he was,” she teased.

  Rebecca smiled up at him. “I adore cards,” she said, “but I prefer dancing more.”

  Davis was charmed. “Then may I have this dance?”

  Joh
anna knew that Davis and Rebecca would make a glorious couple. All she’d had to do was make sure that they were in the same room and, with a little nudge, they would find each other. Davis’ education was complete, the Tour done and Father wheezing his final breaths. She knew he was ready to settle down. Rebecca was suggested by Lady Martha, a life-long friend of Johanna’s.

  “Her mother is lovely. Her father, though, was an awful man,” Martha Toles confided. “I doubt he had any real desire to see Rebecca married. He was quite controlling.” Johanna was empathetic.

  She introduced herself to Rebecca at the first ball of the Season. By the end of the evening she knew that she had met the next Lady Edderle. Moreover, she honestly believed that Rebecca could make Davis happy.

  The couple danced twice then Rebecca suggested she accompany Davis to his card game as his “good luck charm”, cleverly keeping him close.

  *************************

  Despite her exhaustion, Johanna was up with Davis the next morning. “Well?” she asked, pouring a cup of coffee for herself and refreshing Davis’ cup.

  He laid aside his paper and smiled. “You were right. She is delightful.” Johanna took a sip of coffee, satisfied, but not triumphant. “I told her I would see her this evening.”

  She could tell there was more. “And?”

  “And I sent a bouquet this morning. Or was that too forward?” he teased.

  Now Johanna didn’t hide her elation. “That was perfect. So you do like her?”

  “She is different,” he answered with a curious look in his eyes. “She’s not ‘seasoned’ in that way that can be so off-putting. I believe she’s genuine.”

  “And she is hungry to marry, but not starved.” Johanna commented.

  “That’s an odd way to put it,” he said.

  “I don’t mean that critically or unkindly,” she added quickly.

  “No, I understand. I’ve just never heard of this ‘pursuit’ for a husband spoken so honestly,” he chuckled.

  Johanna sipped her coffee lost in thought. “She reminds me somewhat of…” She stopped.

  “Yes, she seems to have the same sweetness as Mother,” Davis finished.

  Ava Edderle had been gone for 12 years, but the pain was as acute as though it were only 12 days. Everything changed when she died, for her, for Davis and poor Colin. “She would approve of Rebecca,” Johanna said firmly.

  “Yes, she would.” He stood and kissed Johanna on the forehead. “I must leave for Westminster now; I’ll be home before six.”

  *************************

  In Martha Tole’s house in Belgravia, Rebecca had finished telling her mother of the previous evening’s events when the butler brought in a large bouquet of lilies. “They’re from Mr. Edderle,” Rebecca exclaimed.

  “I believe you made a memorable first impression,” Sarah said.

  “He says that he will be at the Duke of Richmond’s ball this evening, Mother! You will be going also, won’t you?”

  “I will. Someone will need to keep any eye on Susanne.”

  Rebecca’s smile twitched for a moment as she sorted out the flowers. “I’m sure she will be on her best behavior,” she remarked, only half sure she believed herself.

  Sarah gently stroked her daughter’s soft curls, her earlier delight absent. “Susanne is not a child anymore. And I will impress upon her the importance of making a gentle appearance, if only for your sake.”

  “I am sure she will be on her best behavior,” Rebecca repeated.

  *************************

  For the Duke of Richmond’s ball, Rebecca wore an ivory brocade sackback gown. Panniers were going out of style (Thank the Lord, she thought), though her stays uncomfortably guaranteed perfect posture. Martha’s maid dressed her hair in pearls and one of Davis’ lilies. She had been a proud peacock the night before, demanding everyone’s attention. Tonight, she would be a demure flower for the enjoyment of only one.

  As she entered the ballroom on Tristan’s arm, Rebecca scanned the room in search of Davis. He was conversing with a splendidly dressed woman. When his eyes met hers, he smiled in recognition.

  “I believe that he was waiting for you,” Tristan said as Davis walked toward them.

  Rebecca’s heart actually skipped a beat at the sight of Davis; he was even more handsome than the night before. She could easily read the disappointment in the woman when he left her for Rebecca. It took him a minute to navigate the crowded ballroom. Tristan automatically offered Rebecca’s hand to Davis and if the men spoke, she was not aware of what was said. Davis maneuvered her onto the dance floor with the assurance of a man in charge.

  “I see you received the flowers I sent,” he said.

  She touched the lily in her hair. “Yes, thank you. I sent a note.”

  “It’s probably sitting on my desk.”

  “How did you know that lilies are my favorite?” she asked. It was true, though if he had sent marigolds they would have been her favorite as well.

  “Last night I watched you walk up to a bouquet of lilies and inhale them as if they were your life’s breath.” Her eyes widened at the seduction of his words. He paused for a beat then added with a tantalizing grin, “And Lady Martha told me when I asked.”

  Rebecca laughed self-consciously. “Mr. Edderle, you amuse me. For a moment I thought you were serious.”

  They were not paired at supper. Through the courses, she glanced his way. She felt a twinge of envy when she saw him paying close attention to his dinner companion; but then their eyes met and he subtly lifted his wine glass to her before taking a sip.

  After supper, he mentioned that the Duke of Richmond had recently acquired a Vermeer and would she like to see it. She tried to think of who Vermeer was, then remembered, “Dutch painter.” But she had already answered, “Of course.”

  “I’m not a fan of his,” Davis said. “I prefer the Italians. A little less stuffy. But I suppose I should see it if only to the complement the Duke on his extraordinary taste.”

  Rebecca didn’t know what this Vermeer looked like or how it might compare to an Italian painting, but she nodded in agreement.

  Davis saw the couple in the shadows before Rebecca did. He gently tried to steer her away. But the man stepped into the light when he heard them, turning his back to adjust his clothing. The woman giggled and pushed at his back, then stepped into the light, pulling her bodice back in place. Rebecca froze in recognition.

  “Rebecca!” her sister Susanne drunkenly greeted her. She tugged on the shirt of the man who was trying to escape. “You should meet my friend, Paul.”

  “Peter,” the man corrected.

  “Peter,” Susanne slurred. Peter was a groom. Rebecca didn’t know what was more embarrassing: her intoxicated sister or her choice in paramour.

  Davis quietly but firmly said to the young man, “I’m sure that Lord Hargrave would be disappointed to find his carriage unattended.”

  “Yes sir,” the groom apologized, exiting as quickly as he could.

  Susanne pouted a little then turned to Rebecca and said, “Pity; he was a nice boy.”

  Rebecca swallowed hard and said pleasantly to Davis, “Mr. Edderle, this is my sister, Susanne Newland. Susanne, Mr. Edderle.”

  Mr. Edderle. Oh no, Susanne thought. She flushed and tripped on her curtsy, distressed that she had embarrassed her sister. “I’m sorry, Mr. Edderle,” she stammered suddenly on the verge tears.

  But Davis offered his other arm before she fell and said to Rebecca, “Your sister isn’t feeling well. Perhaps we should escort her home.” Before she could answer, he added, “Johanna and I intended to visit Lady Toles tomorrow. Will you be there?” And just like that, everything was back to normal.

  Rebecca did not show her disappointment at her night ending so suddenly. “Yes,” she replied, pasting on her familiar smile. “I would enjoy seeing you again. Thank you for your offer,” she said in a stronger voice, “But Tristan can escort us home.”

  Davis kissed
her hand. “Goodnight, then. Johanna and I will see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  *************************

  Susanne. She refused to do anything the proper way. She had been Father’s favorite and he forgave her everything. He encouraged her to reject her mother’s instruction on proper behavior and for years she regarded these lessons as a waste of time. She knew how to attract men without her mother’s help. Susanne did what she pleased no matter the consequences to herself or others. It was the same selfishness her father practiced, but the results for Susanne were more devastating. There was talk, rumors about her that found their way to London. As children, Tristan and Rebecca had to tolerate her careless attitude. Now that she was an adult and Father was gone, they were impatient for the damage she caused their name.

  In the carriage ride back to Martha’s home, Tristan was too angry and Rebecca too dejected to speak. But Sarah made up for them.

  “Drunk! Like some bar wench! Do you have any idea how you’ve made your sister look?”

  Maybe it was the drink or genuine remorse, but Susanne was upset. “I’m sorry, Mother! I was having fun and…”

  “And, and, and! Always excuses with you! You may not care about your reputation, but Rebecca has worked too hard for you to wreck her chances for a decent marriage!”

  Tristan finally spoke. “Father may have forgiven your escapades, but I’m the man of the house now and I will not allow you to act so common.”

  His words stung. She hadn’t meant to become intoxicated; she hadn’t meant to slip away with a servant (“A servant!” Sarah had exclaimed in horror). But the young man-Peter? Paul? Whomever? He was so lovely and his kisses so warm. It wasn’t as though any of the Lords would have paid her any mind in the light of the ballroom. Only in the shadows.

  Typical Susanne, Rebecca thought as the carriage became quiet. Susanne was sniffling in a corner, the tongue-lashing over. Rebecca had never understood why Henry Newland favored Susanne over her. Rebecca always obeyed her father, always looked to him for his approval. She was gentle and quiet, just as a woman was expected to be. But Henry Newland had been a bully and Rebecca could not understand that it wasn’t she that he despised, just everyone in general.