The Rogue Debutante: A Novella (Beau Monde Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  The Rogue Debutante, Copyright Maggie Dallen

  Published by Maggie Dallen

  Cover design by Yosbe Designs

  Formatting by www.formatting4U.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at [email protected]. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For more information on the author and her works, please see [email protected]

  For Mom & Dad,

  The living definition of unconditional love

  Chapter One

  The short flight from the floating isle of Beau Monde to the gritty streets of London was utterly and completely uneventful—anticlimactic, really, given the fact that this journey marked the start of Delia’s great escape.

  Delia raised the collar of her cloak to better shield herself from the bitter wind as she stepped onto the deck of the dirigible. The faces in the crowd below were starting to become clear as the airship made its final descent. A gaggle of girls her age streamed around her, their bustles brushing up against her in their eagerness to seek out their friends and family among the throng.

  “Having trouble finding your family, dear?” Coraline stopped beside her. She didn’t seem to notice the irritated glances tossed their way as the other girls stepped around them to find any unoccupied spots near the deck’s railing.

  Delia kept walking; she didn’t want to cause a scene. But Coraline, bless her heart, hovered beside her like a mother hen.

  “I’m sure they’re here somewhere,” Delia said.

  “Well, of course they are. I’m sure you’ll—” Whatever words of encouragement Coraline had been about to utter were lost in the wind when she spotted a tall, older woman who shared Coraline’s fair good looks and blond ringlets. “Auntie Rose!”

  The woman waved furiously and Coraline responded in kind. She glanced back at Delia, face aglow. “Oh, it’s so good to be home again.”

  Home. Delia tried to muster a genuine smile for Coraline’s sake. The two girls didn’t know each other well—Coraline, like most girls their age, split her time between her family’s house in London and their estate on Beau Monde, while Delia had been stuck on the secluded isle her whole life.

  “What’s the matter, Delia? Is your chariot of gold running late?” Several girls tittered in response to Penelope Brainsworth’s question.

  Coraline’s mouth tightened into a scowl. “Ignore her.”

  “I always do.”

  She and Coraline paused by the rail and watched the spires of London grow in the distance as they waited for the other girls to pass. But Penelope wasn’t so easily dismissed.

  “Poor Delia, all alone in a big city.” Her upturned nose wrinkled with feigned concern. “How frightening for you, especially after your...ordeal.”

  Delia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She had been kidnapped by pirates when she was twelve years old during a trip to town with her chaperone. It was big news at the time—after all, it wasn’t every day that a young heiress was held captive for months. But nearly seven years had passed and the ton was still obsessed with learning the sordid details.

  It was a topic Delia dreaded talking about. Not because it was a harrowing, traumatic experience but rather, because it was not. Of course she’d been scared at first, when the black hood had slipped over her head and strong arms hauled her off her feet and whisked her away from her chaperones. But then... well, then she’d made friends.

  Once the hood was removed and Delia saw that she was on a real, live pirate airship, fear was replaced by excitement. The man she later learned was Blackheart greeted her with an extravagant bow and welcomed her to the ship as though she was an eagerly-awaited guest.

  For the remainder of her stay Blackheart and his crew went out of their way to make sure she was safe and happy. More than that, they made certain she felt at home.

  But that wasn’t the type of story the gently bred members of society wanted to hear. No, they wanted salacious details and scandalous gossip—and no one was more bloodthirsty than the young ladies of her acquaintance.

  That was one of many reasons she had so few friends among the ton.

  Well, that and the fact that she had absolutely nothing in common with the majority of her peers. Ever since her kidnapping she’d been under lock and key in her father’s home on Beau Monde and while she yearned for a taste of freedom, she had not missed this particular brand of company.

  She turned to face Penelope and donned a smile. Kill them with kindness. That was what her dearly departed mother had always said. “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you it is unnecessary. I make frequent trips to town every season to shop.”

  Penelope’s eyes widened. “Oh, how silly of me! Of course I knew that. My father has seen you. Or should I say, he’s seen your entourage. My goodness, I don’t know how you get around with all of those guards.”

  Delia looked around pointedly, resisting the urge to whoop for joy at the utter lack of security surrounding her. The smug, pinched-faced girl before her had no idea how hard she had fought for this level of independence.

  “No guards?” Penelope asked.

  “No, I imagine my father thought they wouldn’t be necessary. He seemed certain that Lord Crawford would see to my safety.”

  Her words had the desired effect. She watched Penelope’s smile falter and her eyes widen at the mention of the viscount.

  “Crawford? You know Lord Crawford?”

  “Oh yes, the Crawford family are dear friends with my father. They’ve agreed to act as my hosts for the season.”

  Now all of the girls surrounding them on the dock were listening, reeled in by mention of the Crawfords, whose eldest son was a famously eligible bachelor. Better yet, he was also young, handsome, and wealthy. Or so Delia had heard. She had never actually met the man in question, but her chaperones loved to gossip.

  “I’ve heard he’s exceedingly handsome,” a young debutante near Delia said.

  “My sister said he’s an incorrigible rogue,” another said.

  “What do you think, Delia? Is he as handsome as they say?”

  Before Delia could come up with a vague non-answer, Penelope interrupted to scold her followers. “Shame on you. We all know Delia is spoken for. What interest would she have in Nicholas Crawford?”

  Delia swallowed a bitter retort and clenched her hand, at the ready to smack the smug look off of Penelope’s face. Instead she kept a cool smile and did her best to ignore the stares.

  The heavy silence was broken by Coraline’s quiet voice. “Is it true, Delia? Are you promised to Lord Templeton?”

  Delia flashed her friend a knowing smile and deftly avoided answering. “If I were promised to someone, do you really think I'd be here right now?”

  The other girls exchanged looks, but no one questioned her further. She had made an excellent point. Everyone knew the true reason behind a young girl's debut was to find a husband. Why would she be here if she already had one?

  Because her father and fiancé-to-be believed in keeping up appearances, Delia could have told them. If anyone noticed that Delia had evaded answering the question, they had no time to call her out on it because the airship landed with a jolt, sending crew members scurrying and the girls into a tizzy of excitement.

  The airmen secured the ship and the gangway was lowered. The girls scrambled to disembark. Coraline turned to her with a little frown. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  Delia smiled at her friend and gently pushed her toward the crowd. “Don’t worry about me. Go greet your family before they jump the gates and storm the ship.”

  Coraline laughed and handed Delia a calling card. “Please, come visit any time.” With that she ran off to meet her aunt and Delia was left to scan the crowd—for what, she didn’t know. She had no idea who the Crawfords were sending to greet her.

  Storm clouds darkened the sky and rain threatened to fall at any moment. Heaven help her if she got stuck in the rain on her first appearance in society.

  “There’s the Crawford crest over there!” a girl behind her shouted to her friend. Delia spotted the carriage and strode toward it with a show of confidence she didn’t quite feel.

  One lone man stood near the horses, cursing under his breath as he adjusted some contraption on the reins. His shirtsleeves were rolled up above his elbows and mud splattered his riding boots.

  “Eh-hem.” Delia delicately cleared her throat. When the man with the dark hair continued to ignore her, she coughed again, this time far louder and much less daintily.

  The man spun around to face her and Delia was momentarily rendered speechless. Chiseled cheekbones and an errant lock of black hair framed absolutely riveting gray eyes, which were—at that particular moment, at least—glaring at her.

  “It’s about time,” he snapped. Almost instantly the unkempt man seemed to realize his mistake. She watched as his gaze swept over her chestnut curls and multi-layered emerald
satin gown and his expression changed from annoyance to chagrin. “Pardon me, miss, I was expecting someone else.”

  Delia raised an eyebrow. “Pardon me, sir, but I believe I am exactly the person you were expecting.”

  At his blank stare she continued. “You were sent by the Crawfords to escort me to their home, were you not? I am Miss Delia Langley.”

  When the handsome young groom continued to stare at her, Delia flashed the man a smile; she was accustomed to strangers being startled by her name. She was a celebrity of sorts, after all. Whether she liked it or not.

  She gestured toward the carriage. “Shall we be off?”

  That seemed to bring the man back to his senses. “Excuse me, miss, but shouldn’t we wait? The others will be back momentarily. You see, we ran into a bit of an issue with one of the wheels on our ride over here and—”

  “Is the carriage so damaged that it cannot take us to the Crawfords?” she asked.

  The groom looked bewildered for a moment as he glanced from Delia to the crowds passing by. “Well, no, but it wouldn’t be proper to leave without an escort.”

  Delia waved away his concern. She could feel the stares from the people around her as they headed toward their own carriages. “I’m sure propriety will overlook my lack of a chaperone in light of extenuating circumstances.” She drew her cape closer around her shoulders and clutched her parasol tighter against the bitter wind.

  The man cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder. “Aren’t you traveling with a chaperone?”

  Delia, who was growing more and more uncomfortable between the frigid wind and the intrusive stares of passersby, allowed a touch of annoyance to slip into her voice at the servant’s impertinent questions. “No, I did not bring a chaperone. I’m sure my father assumed the Crawfords would be gracious enough to provide one.” She drew a deep breath and glanced around her pointedly. “But since they did not and the escort you mentioned is nowhere to be found, you will have to do, I’m afraid.”

  The crowd now watched them with unabashed interest. She let her perfectly prim debutante façade to slip a bit—after all, this servant wasn’t one of the foppish dandies she had to dupe. She leaned forward until her lips were close to the stranger’s ear. “Come now, be brave. You’re not really going to let a bunch of old biddies stop us, are you?”

  The man’s lips seemed to twitch and his gray eyes were laughing, but in the end he conceded. “As you wish, miss.”

  He extended an arm to help her into the carriage and Delia felt a jolt of excitement as her fingers touched the strong, muscular tendons. She glanced back toward the gathered crowd one last time and was pleased to see that Penelope was watching her, her mouth agape. She gave the girl a playful wave before slipping into the relative warmth of the carriage and allowed herself a moment to revel in a small victory. She was traveling alone with a male servant. Unheard of amongst the ton. Just that little hint of rebellion was enough to satisfy Delia—for the moment at least.

  Delia was fascinated by the view from the carriage as it drove away from the dock. Craning her neck outside the window, she glanced up at the overcast sky. Beau Monde was a dark mass in the clouds overhead, a giant rock hanging over the city. And they were heading right toward it, which meant this servant was driving them straight into the Shadowlands.

  Everyone on Beau Monde had heard of the Shadowlands, but few people of Delia’s acquaintance had ever seen it. No one on Beau Monde wanted to be reminded of it since the ghetto’s very existence was a result of the creation of the exclusive floating island. After the last great revolution, during which the lower classes rose up against the wealthy, some of the most elite members of society decided to create a safe haven far above the hoi poloi—and so Beau Monde was built. Steam generators kept the isle afloat and stationary, casting the neighborhood directly below into endless shadows.

  Delia’s breath caught in her throat. She had never been permitted to stray beyond the main road from the Langley’s private airstrip to the center of town with the most expensive shops. She’d never witnessed with her own eyes the heart-wrenchingly dismal neighborhoods in the underbelly of the city, the squalid lands that were a by-product of the man-made haven hanging overhead, forever blocking out the sun.

  The scenery outside her window changed drastically as they approached the infamous neighborhood. A young, harried mother wearing little more than tattered rags held a little youngster who was far too dirty and skinny to be healthy as she cleaned the steps of her hovel. An old man, barely more than a skeleton, lay sleeping on the dirt on the side of the road and frail, filthy children stared at the carriage with tired, weary eyes as she passed. The stench was almost unbearable, but Delia couldn’t turn away.

  She breathed through a handkerchief as the streets narrowed into muddy alleys and the hovels that lined the road grew more and more decrepit and dismal. She’d long since hoped to see this neighborhood—on Beau Monde, the Shadowlands was as unimaginable as any bedtime story. But now that she was here, Delia couldn’t wait to leave.

  The atmosphere was claustrophobic and the sights and sounds were heartbreaking and surreal. No one should be forced to live like this. A braver person would wish to stay and help, but all Delia wanted was to escape.

  Just as she admitted that truth to herself, the carriage came to a jarring halt, sending Delia toppling off of her seat. Before she could gather her wits to move, she heard the servant cursing as he made his way to the carriage door.

  “Are you all right?” he called in through the carriage window.

  Delia pulled herself into a sitting position and reached for the handle. “What happened?”

  “Don’t.” The servant held the door shut when she tried to open it. “Stay where you are. It’s not safe out here.”

  Delia saw two men exiting what looked like a run-down pub a few doors down. Beneath the grime, their flesh was sickly and pale. But it wasn’t their appearance that had Delia frozen in place, it was the look in their eyes as they walked toward the carriage.

  They were focused on Delia and for one moment she could see how she must have looked to them. She was wealth personified. Everything about her screamed money, even this carriage with its gold-encrusted crest was a mockery on this depressing street.

  They wore the sharp-eyed look of predators. And she was their prey.

  Don’t be ridiculous. Delia straightened in her seat. She may be in new territory, but that was no excuse to turn into a simpering dimwit.

  These men were sick and hungry, most likely. They were to be pitied, not feared.

  “What seems to be the trouble, friend?” one of the men asked.

  The other man was eyeing the carriage like he might devour it in one gulp.

  “No trouble here,” the servant said, turning his back to Delia and moving so she was blocked from their view. Delia sighed in annoyance at the misplaced chivalry and shifted so she could see over his shoulder.

  He gestured toward the front wheel. “It seems our carriage wheel is stuck in a rut.”

  The first man made a tsking noise as his friend grinned, revealing an alarming lack of teeth. “Pretty careless, friend. You should really pay attention to where you’re driving.”

  Delia saw the servant’s shoulders stiffen. “It’s hard to see a giant rut when it’s hidden beneath a layer of leaves.”

  The second man’s grin slipped and he took a step closer to the carriage. It hardly seemed possible that the stench could get worse, but the noxious scent of his body odor brought tears to Delia’s eyes.

  The first man’s eyes narrowed on the servant and Delia found herself holding her breath.

  “What are you implying, friend?”

  Tension hung in the air. These men wanted a fight. That much was clear. They were hoping to get a bit of vengeance along with their shillings. Though she couldn’t see anyone in the windows of the buildings nearby, she was certain she felt curious stares of onlookers. And something told her they would be no more welcoming or helpful than the two men they were facing on the street.

  If left up to the servant, they would never make it back to the manor—or at least, not without bloodshed.

  Delia smoothed the folds of her dress with a sigh. Clearly it was time for some female delicacy.