Never and Always (Emerson Book 6) Read online

  ALSO BY MAUREEN DRISCOLL

  THE EMERSON SERIES

  ALWAYS FOREVER (BOOK 5, ROSE)

  ALWAYS BELIEVE IN LOVE (BOOK 4, NICK)

  ALWAYS HAVE HOPE (BOOK 3, WINIFRED)

  ALWAYS TRUE TO HER (BOOK 2, JAMES)

  ALWAYS COME HOME (BOOK 1, COLIN)

  THE KELLINGTON SERIES

  NEVER TURN AWAY (BOOK 6, JOSEPH)

  NEVER DENY YOUR HEART (BOOK 5, LIAM)

  NEVER RUN FROM LOVE (BOOK 4, HAL)

  NEVER WAGER AGAINST LOVE (BOOK 3, ARTHUR)

  NEVER MISS A CHANCE (BOOK 2, LIZZIE)

  NEVER A MISTRESS, NO LONGER A MAID (BOOK 1, NED)

  THE POLITICAL SATIRE

  DATING GEORGE CLOONEY

  NEVER AND ALWAYS

  By

  Maureen Driscoll

  To my incredible mom.

  And to my amazing readers who’ve taken this journey with me through two series.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Love Story of Lord Wesley Addington and Miss Violet Kellington

  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 love story of Lord Robert Carmichael and Lady Leticia Emerson

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  The love story of Mr. Mark Jones and Miss Anna Emerson

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eton, 1867

  Mark Jones had to fight the urge to turn the carriage around as he stepped onto the grounds of Eton College to deliver his youngest son to one of England’s best educational institutions. Countless Prime Ministers, generals and world-class scholars had begun their ascent to greatness at the famous school. Mark himself had gone here, some forty years earlier. And while his son Quentin was an exceptionally bright and clever boy who looked forward to following in the footsteps of so many men in their family, Mark found it difficult to even think about leaving him alone at the imposing school.

  Which is why he had brought so many family members along for support.

  As Quentin looked up at the grand school in front of him, he moved just a bit closer to his father. “Papa,” he said. “You liked Eton, did you not?”

  Now that would be a difficult question to answer honestly. For Mark had been miserable in his early months at the school, not only because he had been a charity student from the London stews, but also because he had begun mid-year in January, instead of during the usual Michaelmas term in early September. By the time he had arrived, most of the boys had already found their friends and roamed the school in packs which could be quite vicious. And while Mark’s early life on the streets had made him more than capable of defending himself physically, the loneliness had been excruciating. But then he thought about the reason he had grown to like Eton. It wasn’t for the education, though he would be forever grateful for his schooling. It was because he had met two of his best friends here.

  “This is where I met your uncles, Quentin. This is where we went on some of our grandest adventures.”

  Now Quentin looked particularly unsure of himself. “Do you think I shall make friends here?”

  Of all their extended family and friends, Quentin would be the only boy to arrive at Eton without knowing anyone else. Mark was once again tempted to put him right back in the carriage. He hated thinking of his son having to endure what he had. But as difficult as it was, he knew it was time for his son to begin this journey.

  “Of course you shall make friends. I did, after all. And if I hadn’t come here, I never would have met your beautiful mama.”

  Quentin frowned. “I am glad you met Mama, but I don’t want to meet girls. I just want to have friends.”

  “You will make plenty of friends,” said Robert Carmichael, Marquess of Selden, who had insisted on accompanying Mark and his son.

  Mark believed Robert had come to support him just as much as Quentin.

  “This is where we all met,” added Lord Wesley Addington, who was also along for the ride. “And one day when you bring your son to school, mayhap your two best mates will come along with you, too.”

  “But doesn’t that mean I’ll have to get married, too?” asked Quentin, rather shaken by the notion.

  “By that time I think you’ll have grown quite accustomed to the idea,” said Wes.

  “If you say so,” said Quentin dubiously.

  “All three of us met our wives because we came to Eton,” said Wes.

  “I thought girls aren’t allowed here.” The day seemed to be getting worse and worse for poor Quentin.

  “That was true back then, as well. But your papa and Uncle Robert and I forged a friendship on the green over there.” Wesley pointed to a patch of grass and in an instant he was transported back to the middle of his first school year.

  The Love Story of Lord Wesley Addington and Miss Violet Kellington

  CHAPTER TWO

  Eton, February, 1826

  Wes could not remember being this cold for this long as he walked across the green. He had spent all thirteen years of his life in England so he was used to the cold, dreary winters, but he had formerly spent much of his time indoors next to a fire at either his family’s comfortable country estate or in the Mayfair mansion when his father the earl had duties in the House of Lords. He had spent little time walking anywhere without benefit of a carriage. And he had never experienced interior temperatures which were only a few degrees warmer than outside. Yet it had taken only a semester at England’s most prestigious school to acquaint him with all the deprivations he never thought it was possible to endure.

  Coming to school had been a shock in many ways, not the least of which was the poor quality of the food and the drafty houses where the students took their lodging. He had thought Eton might be a junior version of the comfortable clubs his father belonged to.

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  Conditions were especially rough for first-year students like himself. The upperclassmen liked to steal blankets at night and you could even face similar treatment from boys your own age if you belonged to the wrong group of friends. Fortunately, Wes was part of one of the most popular groups at school. He and his mates still suffered abuse, but not as much as other boys. The charity students had it worst of all, of course. For most of them couldn’t simply write home with a plea for more blankets. For the charity boys, the loss of a blanket one night might mean an entire term without one.

  But to tell the truth, it wasn’t just the cold which was making him feel out of sorts. It was his mates,
as well. Wes was the third son of the Earl of Mayhew. As such, he had been invited to be part of the most exclusive group of first years at school, all of whom were either heirs or wealthy second sons. He had known most of them for years, since their fathers all served in the House of Lords. The group was headed by Percy Reynolds, the heir to the Duke of Mallory. Wes’s own father had predicted that Percy would be the leader whom everyone followed and that with any luck, Percy would choose Wes to be part of his group. Father had been right, but there was only one problem: Percy was an arse.

  Percy was an average student and a mediocre athlete. But there was one area he excelled in – being meaner than almost any other boy at school. Percy was a bully par excellence. Wes didn’t like the boy, but knew life would be easier as part of Percy’s group rather than as a target of its cruelty. So, he had accepted Percy’s invitation, drunk enough ale to make himself sick while swearing loyalty to his new mates, then promptly passed out.

  As it turned out, that would be one of the more pleasurable nights spent in Percy’s company. The boy never passed up an opportunity to taunt someone else, even his so-called friends. Wes had red hair and dark blue eyes, so Percy thought himself incredibly clever for likening Wes to anything with red in it, from flames to robins. Percy’s gang never failed to laugh at his jokes, no matter how moronic they were. But Wes did not care how many times Percy referred to his private parts as the carrot patch. It was easier to ignore him than to be one of the boys Percy truly hated, which included anyone not in their group.

  Boys with spots were tormented. Those with spectacles were accused of being unnaturally feminine. And one unfortunate boy who stammered learned to never open his mouth in Percy’s presence. However, Percy reserved his worst treatment for the charity students and Lord Robert Carmichael, Viscount Lorton, who was the heir to the Marquess of Selden.

  With his fair hair and green eyes, Lorton should have been the target of every scullery maid at the college. But Lorton walked with a severe limp since his right leg was significantly weaker than the left. He was a clever boy, cheerful and good-natured, despite his weakness. Unfortunately, he had few friends since anyone seen with Lorton would invite Percy’s wrath. It was one reason why Wes spent as little time with Percy as possible. The boy was just plain mean.

  It was a cold day at the end of January as Wes walked across the green, trailing Percy and the others. All he wanted was to return to the relative warmth of their quarters, before being called to dinner. His head was down against the cold, so he had no warning of what was about to happen.

  “Look,” said Percy. “It’s the gimp.”

  Wes groaned aloud to see Lorton slowly making his way across the green, no doubt with the same goal of finding some warmth. But it appeared they would all be delayed now that Percy had spotted him and wanted some fun.

  Percy immediately began imitating Lorton’s limp. That, of course, set the other boys off into gales of laughter.

  “Reynolds,” said Lorton with a brief nod of his head. “It takes a clever man to be able to see I limp. You are sure to take firsts at Oxford with that wit.”

  Wes couldn’t help but laugh, which was a mistake, as Percy turned to scowl at him. “What are you laughing at? Everyone knows gingers have small cocks.”

  Wes could not care less which insults Percy threw at him, but Lorton decided to not let it pass. “I am curious to learn how you know what a ginger’s cock looks like, Reynolds. Seen enough to become an expert on them, have you?”

  That really angered Percy, who motioned for his two worst thugs to surround Lorton.

  “Percy, let’s go!” said Wes. “Appleton just smuggled in some French postcards. The older boys will have confiscated them if we don’t get to them first.”

  “Bugger off, ginger. I’ve business to attend to.” Percy strode over to within a foot of Lorton. All that separated them was a mud puddle. “Take that back, cripple!”

  “I will do nothing of the kind,” said Lorton, even as he eyed the boys warily. “You are naught but a halfwit bully.”

  “Better a halfwit than half a man, which is all you’ll ever be,” sneered Percy.

  “So you admit you’re a halfwit.”

  Wes wanted to laugh, but he knew Lorton would pay for it. This was how it always was with Percy. He bullied weaker boys mercilessly, which was why Wes had been finding more and more excuses to try to avoid the group.

  “Drink from that puddle!” Percy said to Lorton.

  Lorton was looking quite nervous now, with the other boys so close. He was tall, but lean. The other boys were big and heavy. It was obvious what would happen in a physical confrontation. But he raised his chin defiantly. “No.”

  “What’s that?” asked Percy, playing for the crowd which was now gathering and cheering him on. No one wanted to be on Percy’s bad side, so it was always safest to play along.

  “I said no,” said Lorton. “And what’s more, you’re a bastard. And...a whoreson. And a bloody imbecile.”

  Wes was simply staring, mouth agape, at the viscount who must surely have a death wish. For there was no way that Percy would be made a fool of without beating the other boy senseless. Lorton was surely the bravest boy Wes had ever seen.

  Then Lorton did something even more courageous. He took a swing at Percy. He even connected enough to bloody Percy’s nose, though, unfortunately, the momentum he’d used threw him off balance and he fell to the ground.

  “Kick him!” said an enraged Percy to the other two boys, who immediately obeyed orders.

  But then something even more extraordinary happened. A tall boy in a shoddy robe threw off first one attacker, then the other. They were stunned for a moment, then they both rushed him at once. But with a few deft moves, the boy deflected their attack and somehow left them both on their backs winded.

  Percy was astonished. “Get off your arses and hold him while I beat him!” But just as Percy started toward the boy, the most extraordinary thing of all happened. Wes punched him as hard as he could, knocking Percy out cold.

  * * *

  A quarter of an hour later, a groggy Percy had been escorted away by his bewildered mates who kept looking at Wes as if he had lost his mind. He could not quite believe it himself, especially since retribution would be certain and painful. The onlookers had all left to tell the other boys what had just transpired on the green. The only ones who remained were Wes, Lorton and the tall boy in the shoddy robe.

  Lorton had risen to his feet and was brushing the mud off himself. “I have a feeling we three will pay for that. Well, maybe not you, Addington, since you’re Percy’s mate. But Jones and I will.”

  “You know my name?” asked the tall boy as he handed Lorton the book he had dropped.

  “Of course I do. You are the smartest boy in our class. I daresay you’re smarter than most everyone at school. But any time I’ve tried to find you after lessons, you had disappeared. You are, unsurprisingly, much faster than I.” He held out his hand. “Robert Carmichael, though most people call me…”

  “Lorton,” said the tall boy as he shook his hand. “Mark Jones.”

  They both turned to Wes and he suddenly felt like an outsider, which was especially odd since he had never seen either of these two boys with friends. “I am Wesley Addington. And I’m not really Percy’s friend.”

  “You’re with him and that gang of his often enough,” said Jones, with an accent which placed him firmly in London’s East End.

  Wes wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just nodded.

  A bell rang out in the tower.

  “I have to go,” said Jones. “I serve in the dining room.”

  “Do you want to study some night?” asked Lorton, with an eagerness which told a great deal about his existence at school.

  Jones didn’t answer for a moment, and Wes was afraid the boy would say no. For some reason, he very much wanted Lorton to have a friend. Finally, Jones nodded, his dark brown hair flopping into his eyes. “Aye. I’d like that.”
r />   “I’m on the top floor,” said Lorton. “Above the old servants’ quarters.”

  “Isn’t that a bit difficult for you?” asked Wes, before realizing how insensitive his question was. But even he would find it tiring to walk up and down four flights of stairs multiple times a day. He could not imagine how Lorton managed it with his weak leg.

  “It is,” said Lorton with a grin. “But my parents seem to think it will somehow cure me if I walk up and down those blasted stairs every day. I’ll be heading up there again after dinner and I’ll probably be there for the rest of the night. So that’s where you can find me, Jones.” After a moment, he added, “And, you too, Addington. If you’d like.”

  Wes tried not to take it personally that the invitation to Jones had been issued with a good deal more warmth than the one directed toward him. But he was part of Percy’s gang. He didn’t blame Lorton for being suspicious of him.

  “I never know how long I have to work,” said Jones. “But I’ll be there when I’m done for the night.”

  Wes wasn’t sure what to say. An evening away from Percy would be a relief. But he also did not wish to direct any more of Percy’s ire toward Lorton than had already been generated. For that matter, he wasn’t sure what his reception would be when he returned to his lodgings, other than he knew it would involve a beating. “I’m not quite sure what my plans are tonight. But thank you for the invitation.”

  Lorton looked a bit disappointed, but also unsurprised. Jones simply assessed him silently. Wes had a feeling he did not come off well in the evaluation.

  The three boys parted ways and Wes was surprised by how much he wanted to spend an evening with two new acquaintances who did not spend their time making other people miserable. He also realized this could be the opportunity to break away from Percy and his gang, if he only had the courage to do so. As much as he disliked Percy, he did not look forward to being an outcast for the rest of his time at school.

  He was figuring out just what to do when he reached their suite of rooms, only to see all of his possessions dumped in the hallway. Judging from the unpleasant scent, at least some of his clothes had been urinated on. He would have to pay the maid extra to launder his things.