A Perfect Bride

Avon Books

Chapter One

London
Late March 1815

Devon St. James was in a dreadful fix.

Two days hence, the rent was due on the cellarroom where she lived. Her landlord, Mr. Phillips,had raised it to an outrageous sum. Devon was bothfurious and amazed, for the room was scarcely ableto accommodate a stool and the narrow bed she hadshared with Mama before she died. To make mattersworse, he'd informed her but yesterday, the wretch!

"Thieving monster," Devon muttered under herbreath. She tugged almost viciously at the ribbons ofher bonnet. The same treatment was accorded the tiesof the voluminous cloak she flung over her shoulders.A sad, limp affair, its hem ratty and uneven, itwas far too large for a frame as small as hers. Inplaces it nearly touched the ale-spotted, pitted plankflooring beneath her feet. But it served its purpose -- as did the remainder of her clothing -- and for thatshe was grateful.

Carefully smoothing a hand over the rounded mound of her belly, she paused at the back entranceto the Crow's Nest, the tavern near the Strand whereshe worked. Shutting the door firmly behind her, shestepped out into the damp, misty night. Not a nightwent by that she didn't dread the long walk homethrough the crisscross of dark alleyways. Tonight itwas even later than usual before the last patron hadstumbled from the taproom. Seeking to fortify herself,she reminded herself she'd made the journeysafely for nearly a year now.

A year. God above, a year.

For the space of a heartbeat, a wave of bleaknesschilled her soul. God, but it felt as if a lifetime hadpassed since then! When Mama had died, the losswas like a knife to the heart. Indeed, she thoughtwith a pang, at times it was difficult to refrain fromdiscouragement. But something inside would not allowher to resign herself to working as a barmaidforever. Mama had hated that she worked there --and so did she. No, she would not give up her hopesand dreams. Indeed, she was more determined thanever ...

Someday she would find a way out of St. Giles.Some way ...

It was a vow made long ago. Avow she was determinednot to forsake.

But how was another matter, for Phillips's wordsof this morning echoed in her brain. Though it hadcost her dearly, she had swallowed her pride andpleaded with him. If he would only allow her sometime to cover the sharp increase in rent ...

"I will not!" he had snarled. "Me mind is made up.Ye'll pay, missy, else ye'll find yerself out on thestreet!"

His angry flare had left her in no doubt. He meantwhat he said.

He was, she decided blackly, a scoundrel. She haddespised him for years now, for the wretch had alwaysbeen rude and hateful to her mother. But howevermuch she might wish Phillips to the devil andbeyond, it would not solve her own dire straits.Only money could do that.

Continuing on toward St. Martin's Lane, Devonconsidered the precious stash of coins nestled in theleft pocket of her gown; her wages had come due today.Only a week ago, she'd been so certain therewould be more than enough to cover the rent! She'deven imagined she might be able to buy anothergown, and improve her chances of obtaining employmentother than as a barmaid. But now it wouldtake every penny of her wages to cover the rent ...and more.

A chill seized hold of her, a chill that had nothingto do with the cool night air. Dear God, what ifPhillips did cast her out?

Rounding the corner, she managed to quell thedread roiling in her belly. Instead she directed her attentionback to her surroundings. It was quiet, asquiet as it could be in this part of London. Darknesssmothered the rooftops. During the day, horses andcarriages jostled for room along narrow streets.Tradesmen's shouts filled the air, struggling to beheard above the bustle of activity.

Her cloak flapped about her ankles as she hurriedpast the Seven Dials -- not easy given the bulk of hermiddle. She slipped once on the cobbles, slick froman earlier shower. The girth of her belly made herbalance tricky, but she managed to right herself without mishap. Her gaze swept around again asshe did so. There was no one about.

"Your plight might be easier were you to takesome of the patrons in the back room now and then,"Bridget had commented earlier that day. "That'swhat I do when I'm in need of a shilling or two."

The ease with which she advised was telling --Bridget scarcely gave a second thought to such activity.While Devon was aware that Bridget meant well,she could hardly do as Bridget suggested. For she refusedto make her living on her back.

Another promise she'd made to herself.

As she tugged her cloak more closely about thebulk of her middle, her gaze encompassed the nextcorner. God knew, the streets of St. Giles were meanand merciless -- no place for a lady.

Especially at night.

Of course, not that she was a real lady, as Mamahad been. Though Mama had worked as a seamstressfor as long as Devon could remember, sheknew that her mother had been employed as a governessbefore she was born.

But society, she thought with a trace of bitterness,was not forgiving of an unmarried woman with achild at her breast, and it was that which had forcedher mother into poverty.

Almost without knowing it, her hand stole to thepocket of her gown. Warm fingertips brushedagainst cool metal. She fingered the cross. Remembranceflooded through her ... As Mama hadbreathed her last, Devon had slipped the necklacefrom her mother's pocket ...