The Lady to Match a Rogue: Faith (The Baggington Sisters Book 4)
Contents
Also By Isabella Thorne
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The Lady to Match a Rogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Don’t Miss The Baggington Sisters
Sneak Peek of The Duke’s Daughter
Chapter 1
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Also By Isabella Thorne
Also By Isabella Thorne
The Ladies of Bath
The Duke’s Daughter ~ Lady Amelia Atherton
The Baron in Bath ~ Miss Julia Bellevue
The Deceptive Earl ~ Lady Charity Abernathy
The Hawthorne Sisters
The Forbidden Valentine ~ Lady Eleanor
The Baggington Sisters
The Countess and the Baron ~ Prudence
Almost Promised ~ Temperance
The Healing Heart ~ Mercy
The Lady to Match a Rogue ~ Faith
Nettlefold Chronicles
Not Quite a Lady; Not Quite a Knight
Stitched in Love
Other Novels by Isabella Thorne
The Mad Heiress and the Duke ~ Miss Georgette Quinby
The Duke’s Wicked Wager ~ Lady Evelyn Evering
Short Stories by Isabella Thorne
Love Springs Anew
The Mad Heiress' Cousin and the Hunt
Mischief, Mayhem and Murder: A Marquess of Evermont
Mistletoe and Masquerade ~ 2-in-1 Short Story Collection
Colonial Cressida and the Secret Duke ~ A Short Story
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The Lady to Match a Rogue ~ Faith
The Nettlefold Chronicles ~ The Baggington Sisters
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Lady to Match a Rogue Copyright © 2019 by Isabella Thorne
Cover Art by Mary Lepiane
2019 Mikita Associates Publishing
Published in the United States of America.
www.isabellathorne.com
1
It was early morning on the first pleasantly warm spring day on the Mortel Manor grounds, outside of the little town of Upper Nettlefold. Mud and some frozen patches still littered the path, but the twins, Faith and Hope Baggington, had already been in their private writing lair for several hours. The girls’ elder brothers, Simon and Jessie, had once used the old storehouse as a sort of club. When the boys discovered the girls had a greater need than they to escape their abusive father, the boys had lent the twins the use of their clubhouse.
Isaac and Lucas had even added bits of furniture stolen from the upper rooms of the manor, and when their brothers had all gone away to school, the twins took the space entirely as their own. It was cold in the winter, but the weather had broken and although the young ladies still needed cloaks against the chill air, they were anxious to work on their new play in the privacy that the remote building offered.
Hope suggested that they would have a better feel for the characters if they spoke the lines aloud. It was a well-used and common way to escape from a block that hindered their writing.
Hope brandished a wooden sword and pronounced her lines awaiting her twin’s reply, but Faith slapped her own pages down with a frown and pulled off the fake mustache she had acquired for the event. Perhaps donning gentleman’s garb made her bold.
“What is it, Faith?” Hope asked concerned. She pushed up her makeshift pirate patch, so she could see her sister with both of her dark eyes.
“This is useless,” Faith said, pacing. “We are no longer children to playact our stories. If all we do is speak them in this old barn, nothing will come of our work. Nothing! We are ladies grown and no one pays us any more mind than if we were children still.”
“We will one day get the stories published,” Hope consoled her sister. “We only must be patient.”
“No,” Faith said pacing away. “No. I am tired of being patient. I want to see the words in print. I want to give others joy with our writing. I want an audience to see our female characters are not milksops, but brave young ladies. I want to hear the people exclaim about the daring deeds of our heroines.”
“They will,” Hope said confidently. “One day.”
Faith fixed her twin with a determined glare and flopped down on one of the benches. “I do not want to waste away in this old storehouse. I want to see our characters live, Hope. I want to see them playacted, not here, but on a real London stage.”
Hope’s eyes opened wide at her sister’s audacity. “And how will that ever happen?” Hope said putting her own pages aside and sitting on the bench beside her twin. “We have never even been to London….and theaters…” She shook her head. “Oh Faith, Isaac has worked so hard to make us respectable.” Hope caught her twin’s hands and implored her. “We must appreciate that, my dear sister…unless you truly are against a husband?”
“Husbands,” Faith snorted. “I shan’t care a wit about husbands.” Faith pulled away and Hope would have spoken again, but Faith stopped her with a finger raised before her sister’s face. “You know well how marriage worked out for our mother,” she spat.
Hope was silent, biting her lip.
Faith knew there was not much to be said on that account. Their abusive father, the late Viscount Mortel, was dead, but his specter still hung over the family. Faith and Hope were never physically touched by his abuse, but they were not entirely unscathed. The early morning sunshine shone through the open door of the storehouse and dust motes floated, giving the air a magical look, but for all their fun at making imaginary worlds, the Baggington sisters all knew there was no such thing as magic.
Their father was a monster who had made every one of his children miserable. Faith had felt trapped. Her older sisters suffered more than she, but it was their mother who could never escape…not until the monster died, Faith thought bitterly. May he rot in hell for all the pain he caused. She knew her eldest sister, Temperance would tell her let the hate go from her heart and cleanse her soul, but Faith could not.
Temperance spent five years in a nunnery to escape their Father. Faith had sat awake at night clutching her twin’s hand in the dark and dreading the day he would darken their door. Mercy said that the twins were not aff
ected by their father’s debauchery, but she was wrong. Their bodies were not touched, but Faith knew her soul still bore the stain brought about by his rages and his cruelty to her elder siblings.
Hope was speaking, trying to reason with her sister. “But Faith,” she said, “Theaters are only one step above a brothel, and Isaac has worked so hard to repair the reputation of our family after the mark Father left upon our name. We must support Isaac.”
“I do, but I do not care about being respectable,” Faith snapped. “I do not care one whit what others say. I care about one day seeing our plays on stage.”
“So do I,” Hope said, but she shook her head. “I just do not see how it can happen, unless one of us marries a man who is in support of the idea.”
“There is no such man,” Faith intoned.
“A woman cannot publish her work, or at least it is exceedingly rare, and no female author is really accepted.” Hope shook her head. “Certainly no female playwright; If we publish ourselves, we would never marry. Such an action would completely ruin our chances.”
“Which do you care about, marriage or our writing?” Faith snapped, giving her sister an ultimatum.
“Writing,” Hope said with no little reluctance. “It is only if you wish to see our work played….”
Faith sighed. “Then we shall have to publish under a pen name. I see no other course. We shall be gentlemen.” Her eyes sparkled with the thought. “And then, we shall be free,” she said.
Faith thought a pseudonym was just the thing. There was really no help for it. A gentleman was granted much more leeway than a woman. Writing poetry or novels might be left to women on occasion, but writing plays was an entirely different situation. Only a gentleman would be taken seriously in such an endeavor, and Faith planned to be taken seriously.
Hope left early in the morning for a shopping trip in town with Mother, but Faith had stayed home working on the plot of their next project; her writer’s block finally broken. She had several pages written for her sister to see later in the day. Wouldn’t Hope be surprised when she came home, and Faith had the whole of their new story plotted! Faith smiled at the thought.
As Faith wrote, a deep determination began to form. Although Hope had not been sure about the idea of writing under a pseudonym, and in fact, disagreed with the notion, Faith knew she would soon come around, especially when she saw their work in print. It was a heady thought, and Faith knew her twin well enough to know that her excitement would echo Faith’s own.
For that reason after Hope and Mother left the house, Faith had packaged up a neat and careful copy of one of their best works, The Pirate Prince. She paused a moment before writing the byline she had chosen: Arthur Emeryss. She chose the first name, Arthur because the famed ancient king believed in equality at his round table even though he had the flaw common to most men, excluding women. And Emeryss because, deep down, she did want to believe in magic, and wished to add just a touch of good luck to the manuscript. After a moment Faith decided that the name might sound too false. The Welch name was too unique. Arthur Emerson was a better choice.
She wrote it carefully. Faith would still know that she and her sister were named for two of their favorite legendary heroes: Merlin and King Arthur. How could they fail? Hope would be thrilled when she heard the news that their play was to be printed. Faith would no doubt meet her sister in town and ride back with Hope and their mother, but right now, the brisk walk was just what she needed.
Faith tucked the manuscript, tied with brown paper and string, into her reticule. It was a tight fit and she could not also fit the journal she usually carried just in case her muse struck her. Yes, Faith thought, she would walk into town and post the manuscript. Perhaps she would stop at the new bookstore as well. She could use a bottle of ink.
Faith changed into a fine walking dress, the violet one that always brought her luck. She wore her sturdy leather boots. They would do best to keep out the water that pooled along the road. A long cloak completed the outfit and would protect her from a chill. She pulled on her gloves and stuck the nub of a pencil and her journal in the pocket of her cloak, along with a small apple from the kitchens. Faith never went out without some writing utensil, lest an idea strike and be gone before it could be captured on paper.
As Faith began her walk to town, she thought, soon enough, the summer would be upon them and she would require nothing but a ribbon to tie her hair back from the breeze. She pushed the hood from her head and let the air caress her.
Hopefully, there would not be too many more cold days, although she was sure the rain would make an encore appearance. After all, she did live in England. She looked up at the sky and hoped it did not rain until after she arrived in Upper Nettlefold proper and posted the manuscript to the printer, she had heard tell of at the new bookstore. Perhaps she could send the manuscript through the bookstore, she thought. Then she, or rather Mr. Emerson, might not be seen at all.
The wind gusted sharply and she shivered, but she would not be deterred. Faith determined that the brisk air might bring some life to her spirit. It was a sunny day, even though it was cool, and the sun was enough to call her out of doors.
The Baggington estate at Mortel Manor boasted several miles of walking paths that Faith knew as well as the creases of her own hands although she and Hope usually braved the paths together, but Hope had deserted her in favor of a new dress. Faith grinned. She had no need to stand and be pinned and prodded to get a new dress because she and Hope were exactly the same size and coloring, right down to their last dark curl, but their personalities were quite different.
Hope liked shopping. Faith would rather enjoy the fruits of her sister’s labor. The thought of standing in Mary Merton’s stuffy little shop on the first sunny day in an age, was just not something Faith could appreciate. It was indeed beautiful without a cloud in the sky. She looked up momentarily considering her characters and let the thoughts ramble about in her mind. At length, she pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in her pocket. She began scribbling in her journal.
When the thought ended, Faith considered, biting the nub of her pencil. What would Cassondra do when her love had not arrived? Was he caught? Had their tryst been discovered? A chill breeze blew and Faith shivered, losing the ethereal thought.
Off she set with determined steps as if she could chase down her story. She plodded through the damp undergrowth until her boots were fresh cleaned and sparkling in the sun. The exercise brought a rosiness to her cheeks and a quiver to her breath from the exhilaration. There was nothing quite so pleasant as the out of doors. The Baggington siblings had a unique connection and respect for nature as it had often given them a reprieve from the violence and terrors of their own home.
Most of her family loved horseback, and Faith did as well, but she was just as happy on her own two feet. It was difficult to write in her journal on horseback. She had tried it and her mare had wandered aimlessly. The stable-master was actually quite cross with her for allowing the animal to graze through the bit, and she was contrite for her absentmindedness. She certainly did not want her favorite horse to colic with the spring grass. Still, the out of doors had always been an escape for the many Baggington siblings. Now, she might enjoy the landscape for the beauty and the wonderment of nature.
Faith ambled along, wandering hither and fro, often leaving the path rather than taking the most effective route. That was, after all, how the Baggington siblings had come upon the old abandoned storehouse that had been a favorite haunt since the early years of their childhood. She allowed herself the excuse of avoiding the puddles that had formed from the freshly melted snow. The truth was that she much preferred the cushion of moss beneath her feet over the muddy lane, but soon brambles blocked the roadside and forced her to the center of the path. She walked along a ridge of dirt as if it were a tightrope that held her up out of the mud, but as she crested the hill, the mud subsided.
A thought came to her, one that had been seated on the edge of her mi
nd for some time, but had refused to be pried forth. With an exclamation she once again withdrew the small pocket journal and the pencil from the folds of her gown. She muttered to herself as she put the words to the page, her thrill growing with each scratch of the graphite upon the paper. She rushed to preserve the words lest they be forgotten forever. That first burst of creativity was a fragile thing not easily captured, and Faith had to coax the words forth immediately, no matter that she stood in the middle of the lane.
None used this lane anyway. Its only access was to Mortel Manor and one other quaint cottage that sat a short distance away. The cottage had not been let in several years, leaving her with no concern that she might be set upon by some stranger, or be run aground by a rogue carriage. Besides the spring thaw had already rutted the road, meaning that a carriage would have to crawl along at a snail’s pace.
Faith let the hum of water as it tumbled over rocks in the winding Nettlerush River soothe her. The rapids had only just completed their thaw from the frigid winter air and Faith realized that she had missed the sound of their babbling these several months. She wondered if Cassondra would feel the same. Faith could not lay eyes upon the river from her location upon the path, not that she ever attempted to look up from her story, but the knowledge that it was near kept her oriented during her strolls. The town of Upper Nettlefold was just over the next hill.