Trimmed in Blue Read online

  Table of Contents

  Trimmed in Blue | Colors of Scandal | Book three | Sandra Sookoo

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Blurb

  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

  The End

  Regency-era stories by Sandra Sookoo

  Author Bio

  Stay in Touch

  Trimmed in Blue

  Colors of Scandal

  Book three

  Sandra Sookoo

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author.

  TRIMMED IN BLUE © 2020 by Sandra Sookoo

  Published by New Independence Books

  ISBN- 9798671601503

  Contact Information:

  [email protected]

  [email protected]

  Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com

  Edited by: Victoria Miller

  [email protected]

  Book Cover Design by The Midnight Muse

  https://midnightmusedesigns.com/site2/

  Font placement and back cover by: David Sookoo

  Publishing History:

  First Print Edition, 2020

  Dear Readers,

  No matter how much I enjoy writing, there are some books that are more personal, more difficult to write for me than others. Trimmed in Blue is one of those books. We all have demons from the past lurking in our closets. I guess my subconscious was tired of having the stuff I shoved to the back of my mind knocking about and getting in the way of joy, so my muse decided to drag out those skeletons and deal with them.

  Writing is often cathartic, and now these particular demons have been vanquished. Maybe this book will give you the courage and confidence to air out your closet too and encourage you to let some stuff go so you have room for more happy memories.

  I hope you love Trimmed in Blue. This couple is amazing together, and like them, may you never stop fighting for your power.

  Sandra

  Dedication

  To every woman who has been kept under a man’s thumb, has been abused by men who assume they own you or did it just because you’re a female, or to any woman who has been knocked around and dictated to by arrogant, drunk jackasses. Never forget that you’re worthy, you have the right to exist, you don’t owe them anything, and you have the strength to take back your power.

  No means no, and that’s a complete statement.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Jennifer Lewis and Mary Dieterich for helping me out with cleaning supplies due to the virus making it difficult to obtain them.

  Blurb

  Engaging the heart instead of the fists can often make a more powerful statement.

  Miss Louisa Harcourt’s life isn’t what she’d envisioned. A widow, she returned home to protect her younger brother from domestic threats, but that put her into the soup as well. After constantly rebuffing unwanted attentions, she’s wearied of living in fear. Knowing something must be done, she hires someone who can teach her the skills she needs to defend herself—a champion in fisticuffs—but her trust in men has been dented.

  The Honorable Cecil Carrington, fourth son of a viscount, is a glassblower by trade. It earns him a tidy income but not nearly as much as his second love—boxing. For years he’s funneled his energies into learning the skills as a pugilist, which has made him a celebrity in ton circles. When a woman arrives at his shop with obvious bruises, asking for him to teach her how to fight, his protective instincts flare. She’s pretty and determined, but he’s wary of every woman’s motives.

  As the chilly autumn days slip by, Louisa learns the basics of fighting and Cecil continues to engage in illegal, professional matches. Through the small victories and failures, an unlikely friendship forms. When romance follows, it takes them both by surprise, but evil lurks in the wings, always threatening. Things come to a head one rainy night, forcing Louisa to take back her life on her terms. And if she’s lucky, she’ll win the heart of a jaded boxer.

  Trigger Warning: Some of the content found in this book may be triggering and/or sensitive. Sexual violence, sexual assault and attempted rape/abuse are some of the topics mentioned within the pages and might illicit a strong or potentially harmful emotional response.

  Chapter One

  October 24, 1818

  Somewhere between Surrey and London

  Miss Louisa Harcourt—because it was easier on the ears than the Widow Wiggenmeyer—peered out the window glass of the closed carriage. The rhythmic jostle of the vehicle grinded through her bones, and ordinarily the travel would have lulled her into blissful slumber. Not today. Not with him staring. She had to remain on her guard. As autumn days went, it was beautiful and sun-drenched. Though the air was decidedly chillier than the summer months had been, she welcomed the crisp air and looked forward to the cheerful fire that would be waiting in the drawing room upon their arrival in London.

  Where the iron poker could double as a weapon if need be.

  But for now, she was in a carriage... with nowhere to run. Her nerves felt strung too tight and the ever-present knot in her belly pulled, reminding her of its presence. They had left her stepfather’s estate in Surrey for the townhouse in London. Baron Althrop had business in the capital, and though Louisa was perfectly content in the country alone, she feared what would happen if her stepfather decided to sneak back to Surrey while well into his cups.

  No matter that she was a woman grown at the age of thirty and a widow besides, she feared being alone, for it meant giving the predator an advantage.

  Bad luck, that. Ever since her soldier husband had died in the war a little over three years ago, her life had been riddled with that insidious emotion of fear, for the left-behind spouse of a penniless soldier meant she’d had no choice but to live with her mother and her mother’s second husband. It wasn’t a choice she would have willingly made, but desperation sometimes forced a person’s hand.

  But it wasn’t all bad, for her half-brother, who was fifteen years her junior, was pleasant and entertaining enough—a bright spot in the family. He needed a protector more than she. He was bullied in the village, in London, at Eton, and from his own father. Louisa was happy to slip into the role of defender. It took her mind off her own troubles. If only she had the adequate skill set to truly help him.

  However, those troubles stayed in the background, for the one who made her life a living nightmare was her stepfather, Baron Althrop. The man who was in his cups more than he wasn’t, but both sides of his personality sickened her. He had the revolting and disturbing habit of sneaking into her bedchamber at night with the intent to defile her.

  A shiver of revulsion fell down her spine. So far, she’d been able to circumvent his dastardly intentions, but sooner or later he’d prevail. Drink always made snakes like him stronger and more foolish. Statistics decreed it. A person couldn’t always fail in their quest, just like a person wouldn’t always triumph.

  And that terrified her.

  Not to mention the baron was fast contemporaries with high-ranking members of the House of Lords as well as other notables in society, and he used that precarious position as permission to
do whatever he wanted. That relationship trumped hers, and her mother oftentimes sided with him, no matter how grievous the crime brought to her ears. She turned a blind eye. Whenever Louisa spoke of his inappropriate interest, her mother said she was seeking attention, or perhaps she was jealous, for she no longer had a man.

  That fact both horrified her and shot holes through any hope she had remaining.

  There was nothing to be done in that quarter, and it wasn’t a topic she could talk with her younger brother about; he had concerns of his own, for they stemmed from the same person though in a different way.

  A tiny sigh escaped her. So, here she was, forced to pretend that nothing was amiss in their family and to make nice while in polite society, regardless that she was shrinking and dying inside. Heaven forbid members of the ton find flaws with the baron’s name or his shiny false veneer. The bitterness of bile hit the back of her throat and she swallowed, hoping she wouldn’t gag. How long can I possibly last? When will my strength and my luck give out?

  “Don’t frown, Louisa,” her mother chided from where she sat across the narrow aisle. “Your face will permanently wrinkle, and men don’t like sour looks.” She shook her head. Not one hair of her dark coif was out of place. Perhaps even Nature didn’t wish to tangle with one so disagreeable. The green spencer didn’t compliment her skin tone. “How will you catch another husband if you spoil what beauty you have at such an advanced age?”

  Because it would be so difficult for you to acknowledge I’m not ugly? Louisa shoved the thought from her brain and her tongue, and instead focused on something else. “Why do you assume I want another husband? Perhaps Edward was the love of my life.” Her chest tightened at the memory. No, he hadn’t been, and they certainly didn’t have an enduring sort of love that would last the ages.

  She’d had him for two years, but the war took him as it had seemingly taken everything else—and irrevocably changed her life. For the better? That remained to be seen.

  Her mother snorted. “Pish posh.” She waved a gloved hand. “Women need a man in their lives, and surely you must want children. What sort of an existence is it without them?”

  “Breeding and making myself attractive enough for a second marriage, according to the ton, will raise my worth in their eyes?” She glared at her parent. “Or in yours?” None of them, apparently, cared that she hadn’t found herself increasing with her first husband. Where the problem lay, she didn’t know, for she hadn’t had the heart to see a doctor or to hear the potentially devastating diagnosis.

  The bald fact was, if she were barren, any chance, however remote, she had of marrying again—if she indeed wished it—would dry up like water in the sun.

  “How rude you’ve become in recent days.” Her mother frowned. Obviously, she didn’t need to worry about ruining her looks.

  Louisa tamped down her rising temper. It had steadily been building over the course of a few years. Soon, she’d burst with it, and then what? The guilt of displeasing her mother couldn’t grow any higher, surely. What she wouldn’t give to feel her father’s arms around her and hear his encouraging voice right now. But that, too, had disappeared into the sorrow-riddled past. “Perhaps my words and attitude are a defense. Life has become trying of late. You’d know that had you bothered to pay attention.”

  “What have I done to suffer such insolence and ungratefulness?” Her mother threw up her hands and shook her head. “I’ve done everything for you.”

  “Have you? I’d rather like to see what nothing brings, then.” At her side, her brother snorted. Louisa bit back a gasp at her daring as she flicked a glance to the baron, who regarded her with a dark, unblinking stare, much like a reptile. Then she dismissed him to focus on her mother again. “Perhaps eventually, if I do manage to spoil my looks, I’ll cease being an object of interest... to everyone.”

  What would safety and peace even feel like?

  Her mother didn’t have a chance to answer, for the baron cleared his throat. “All your childish tantrums and protests have no bearing, for by year’s end, it is my aim to match you with someone.” An expression of high dudgeon crossed his face. “It’s disgraceful you’re this age and still unclaimed. The ton will begin to wonder if you’re damaged goods.”

  “As if I’m an item left on a shop shelf, too broken to be of interest?” Another swath of anger rose, swift and hot, in her chest. How dare this man presume to dictate to her. “I am a widow, not an old maid. I really don’t think it’s any of your business whether I’m attached or not.”

  “Louisa Anne, hold your tongue,” her mother chided, with a tone that brought the interior of the carriage down at least ten degrees. “Althrop saved our family from the ruin your father put us in.”

  “He’d have funds left if you hadn’t decided to outfit every room with new furnishings his estate couldn’t afford.” As it was, being a country squire didn’t pay much, and when he’d died, the amount of debt he’d taken had left the family penniless and without a home.

  Which was why her mother had married the baron as soon as the proper mourning period was over. And practically fawned over the odious man. He’d paid the debts, but at what cost?

  If one only wanted a husband for keeping a roof over their heads, that was as pitiful as marrying for position.

  “It matters not.” The sound of the baron’s voice broke into her thoughts. He waved a hand. “I’ve grown tired of providing your room and board without reimbursement.” His eyes roamed over her face and then dropped to her spencer-covered bosom. “As a favor to your mother, I’m guiding your future.”

  A sick feeling clogged Louisa’s throat. “It’s not your place—”

  “It is as your stepfather.” He smirked like the self-righteous prick he was. “I have the man picked out for you, and I expect you to do the pretty and entertain him when he calls on you in a few days.”

  “Isn’t that wonderful?” Her mother beamed, but her clenched hands in her lap belied the sentiment. “You’d do well to agree to the match.” Instead of meeting Louisa’s gaze, her eyes remained downcast. Why? “It’s easier and cheaper than making the rounds in society.”

  So then, I’m to be sold to the highest bidder as if I’m merely cattle? “To whom?”

  “Viscount Wrycroft.” The baron’s grin turned her stomach, and she fought off the proclivity to dry heave. “He’s a contemporary of mine, doesn’t mind that you’re long in the tooth or widowed, and he’s eager to set up his nursery.” His eyes glittered. “That should keep you occupied so you won’t go poking into things you oughtn’t.”

  “Then I’m expected to become a brood mare?” The urge to retch brought hot saliva into her mouth. She quickly swallowed. “Assuming I can conceive.”

  Her stepfather shrugged. “Wrycroft is anxious to wed. It will go a long way into making him more... palatable in the ton. No doubt he wishes to have things done with before Christmastide.”

  “The viscount is a rather unsavory sort.” She’d heard her father talk about him years ago. The man’s fortune was rumored to have come from the slave trade. And he was as slick and slippery as the baron himself.

  “Talk some sense into your daughter, Meredith,” the baron ordered with a look that quelled any protest.

  “Be grateful Althrop has done this for you, Louisa,” her mother snapped. Ever so slightly she edged away from her husband on the bench. “You keep yourself from men so most of them think you a frost queen.” Again, her actions were at odds, for she then patted her husband’s knee. “It’s not as if you’re battling a slew of offers. Bear the viscount a few children and then your life is your own again.”

  Hot shame infused her cheeks. Why were they even talking about this? She swallowed again and shook her head. I don’t need his sort of help. God knew what strings would come attached. Aloud, she said, “I’ll think the offer over.”

  “You’ll have a week after meeting him, for we’ve a meeting then to discuss the marriage terms. I’m graciously putting a nice-size
d dowry upon your head to sweeten the arrangement.” His smile was full of innuendo and malice.

  Could no one else see it?

  “Good God, Father, this isn’t the Middle Ages,” her half-brother Jonas said, breaking his previous silence. “Let her alone. Life is difficult enough.”

  “Thank you for the support,” Louisa murmured for his ears alone with a slight smile. Over the years, they’d adopted a friendly relationship where they each looked out for the other, especially when the enemy was one they had in common.

  The baron’s face grew mottled red with rage as he looked at her. “You and your mother coddle the boy too much. No wonder he can’t hold his own at Eton.”

  Immediately, her sibling shrank into himself and huddled against the carriage wall. “If I defend myself against the bullies, the headmaster punishes me. If I don’t, the bullies do it for him,” Jonas said in a quiet voice. “I can’t win, and I don’t want to go back.” Sunlight glinted off his metal rimmed spectacles.

  Angular, scrawny, and thin, he hadn’t grown into his body yet. No longer a boy but not yet a man, he’d often confided in her that he felt unwanted everywhere he went, that he didn’t fit in. But he had soulful eyes and dark hair like hers. The one thing holding him back, as he perceived it, was a perpetual limp due to one leg being two inches shorter than the other. As well as a slightly lazy eye, which necessitated the need for spectacles, which made him a further target. Eventually, he’d find his way if he could survive this awkward stage.

  “You’re going.” The baron’s outburst rang through the carriage interior. “Everyone in my line has gone there, and I won’t let your weaknesses embarrass me.”

  Louisa glared at the baron. Lord, she despised him. From the roots of his black hair sprinkled with gray to the tips of his shined boots, every inch of him was selfish and evil. “Could you, for once, think about someone else instead of yourself?” Not giving him an opportunity to answer, she turned to her brother. “If you’re already in the soup, why not fight your bullies?”