Heaven Sent the Wrong One

  VJ Dunraven

  What Real Readers are Saying:

  Heaven Sent (the Wrong One) is, by far, one of the greatest book I've read in a long time. It transports you to another place and time with characters you'd wish you knew. The author moves you across time and sticks you right in the middle; a place you'll never want to leave. If you don't pick this book up, you are passing on one of the greatest stories.

  ~Justin C. USA

  Your writing skill is impeccable! I was easily drawn to your books/stories and been raving about them with my friends. Heaven Sent the Wrong One is a perfect shot of romance and humor. Thank you, VJ Dunraven, for sharing your stories to the world. They're truly amazing.

  ~Geraldine Langamon, Philippines

  Heaven Sent The Wrong One is my own "happy-hormone" booster! :) It was the reason why I woke up one day and greeted my moody neighbor "good morning sunshine!" As always, VJ Dunraven did an excellent job. ~Fe Maricar Bisnar, Philippines

  Heaven Sent (the wrong one) made me laugh, cry and realize that love stories don't always end the way we expect them to end. This story is a love story really close to reality. I love it!

  ~Reinaur Aluning

  I was very excited to read this book and to read Allayne's story. From what I read from the Wattpad version, I wasn't disappointed at all. After a magical view of Cassandra's story, it was only fair we could view his magical world also. VJ Dunraven is a writer that I most definitely will never forget. She has a way with words that no writer can hope to achieve, and I seriously hope that she can be more known worldwide.

  ~Mariana Aleixo, Portugal

  Copyright © 2011 VJ Dunraven

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Ordering Information:

  Orders by U.S. and International trade bookstores, wholesalers, corporations, associations, and others, please contact:

  RVHC Customer Service at: Tel: (909) 560-9884

  or visit

  www.VJDunraven.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2011

  Heaven Sent (The Wrong One) is a work of fiction. The characters and their names, including the venues used are fictional, except for some well-known localities and landmarks in the period it was written. Historical references, though used with descriptive accuracy and in correct chronological order, were manipulated to accommodate the events in the story. Some euphemisms were utilized intentionally ahead of their etymology, morphology, and glottochronology in historical linguistics to fit the characters’ personalities.

  Lastly, this author has chosen to forego conformity to customary regency standards of decorum in favor of presenting strong, unconventional, and memorable characters close to her heart.

  VJ Dunraven

  Table of Contents

  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

  VJ Dunraven

  CHAPTER 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Nothing at all

  Spring, 1826

  Grandstone Park

  Seat of the Duke of Grandstone

  Allayne Carlyle set his sight on the mark. Carefully, he released the safety lock and steadied his grip on the pistol. His green gaze narrowed on the tiny red dot.

  He pulled the trigger.

  A flock of birds flew from the trees at the deafening sound. The target quivered from the impact of his bullet.

  He lowered the gun and raised his head. A smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

  Perfect.

  A footman unhooked the wooden disk and hurriedly brought it to Jeremiah Devlin Huntington, Marquess of Waterford, and Richard Christopher Radcliffe, Duke of Grandstone, for a closer inspection.

  "Damn it," Richard hoisted the disk at an angle so that sunlight filtered through the burnt hole. "How does he do it?"

  "Well, old chap, you trounced us soundly once again," Jeremy shook his dark head as he examined the missing small center circle on the board with Richard.

  "It's useless to compete with you," Richard handed the board back to the footman. "You have eyes as sharp as an eagle."

  "And an aim as accurate as a damn sharpshooter," Jeremy motioned for his valet to gather his pistols and pack them in the gun cases.

  "Where are you going?" Allayne handed his pistol to his own valet for a reload.

  "Home," Jeremy shook off the gunpowder from his hands and pulled on his gloves.

  "I'd best go too," Richard said, and gave instructions to his valet to wipe his pistols and put them in the leather cases. "You’re welcome to practice here as long you like. I will have Gordon bring more refreshments."

  Allayne swore under his breath. "Gentlemen, it is three o'clock in the afternoon. It is a fine day for outdoor activities! If you like, we can go riding instead."

  "Thank you, but no," Jeremy replied as his valet helped him put on his coat. "I must join Cassie for tea and I promised Edward I'd take him fishing at the pond."

  "Tea?" Allayne scoffed at his brother-in-law. "Since when did you start taking tea?"

  "Never. Cassie has tea, but she makes my coffee for me," Jeremy lifted his chin to let his valet fix his cravat.

  "You'll ride all the way back to Waterford Park just to have your damned coffee," Allayne raised a tawny brow in disbelief.

  "Well, no," Jeremy flashed him a crooked grin. "I'm going home because I miss your sister—and I'll be damned if I don't see her soon enough."

  "Good God, man!" Allayne threw his hands in the air and shook his head. "We've only been out for two hours!"

  "I'm afraid that is long enough," Richard interrupted. "I must go see Desiree. The twins should be up from their nap and I promised to let them go fishing with Edward."

  "Damnation!" Allayne waved at his valet to pack up his pistols. "Both of you have turned into domestic bores."

  "Ah, but you don't understand domestic bliss, my friend," Richard patted his back, humor twinkling in his blue eyes, "at least, not yet."

  "Gah!" Allayne raked his fingers through his long, wavy, honey-blond hair. "Please—I have no desire to get leg-shackled any time soon."

  "But shouldn't you be thinking about it?" Richard plunged his arms into the sleeves of the velvet coat his valet offered. "You're three and thirty—you're not getting any younger."

  "I don't care. I'm content with my life, my sport, and my books," Allayne let his own valet assist him with his coat. "I don't need some chit hovering over me—not even for sex. God knows I have more than enough invitations to indulge in liaisons to fill my calendar for the next five years."

  Jeremy laughed. "I know what you mean, old chap," he slapped Allayne on the shoulder. "But I guarantee—you'll eat every single word you said once you find T
he One. You just haven't met her yet."

  Allayne rolled his eyes heavenward. "Oh please—not another lecture from Reverend Jeremy, our very own fallen profligate."

  "I vacated the throne as the most notorious rake in England when I fell in love with your sister," Jeremy waggled his brows, his dark eyes teasing. "And the last time I looked, you—Allayne Carlyle, have taken up residency as the new King of Rakes."

  Allayne shrugged. "The more reason why I don’t need to tie myself up to a single chit—when there's a whole buffet of them to sample out there."

  "Spoken like a true Corinthian," Richard chuckled as his valet tied his straight blond hair loosely with a black ribbon at his nape. "I can't wait to see you swallow your own tongue when you finally meet your match."

  "Speaking of a match," Jeremy interjected. "Cassie said your mama is quite determined to send you off to Bath to meet the Earl of Weston's daughter at the Countess Dowager Penthorpe's house party in a few days."

  Allayne snorted. "Lord, I just wish my dear mother would stop this relentless matchmaking," he rubbed the back of his neck. "She even has a list—can you believe it? I have met every single one of them and rejected them all, and still—she will not leave me alone. Now she's dispatching me to her friend's godforsaken house party! I don't even know anyone, nor do I have the acquaintance of the hostess, Lady Penthorpe, who I assume shall introduce me to this chit. I told her this would be the very last time I am letting her manipulate me into one of her schemes. If this chit turns out to be as insipid as the other ones, I am moving to Waterford Park—away from my mother," he thrust a finger at Jeremy's chest, "and don't even think about saying no—I'll sleep in the stables if I have to."

  "Of course you can stay with us at Waterford Park," Jeremy replied, with a sweep of his hand to brush the lock of black hair that had fallen on his brow.

  "Or, you can hide here at Grandstone Park," Richard added, with a suppressed grin.

  Allayne watched his two best friends exchange mischievous glances.

  "Good God," Jeremy suddenly exclaimed. "What a damn pickle!"

  He and Richard burst out laughing.

  "Do you think this is funny?" Allayne glared at both men. "What am I supposed to do in Bath for a fortnight with a bunch of peers my parents' age?"

  Richard and Jeremy looked at each other.

  "Well, if you ask me, it seems Lady Carlyle purposely arranged for both you and the chit to be out of place," Richard replied, his lips twitching. "Perhaps to encourage more time together?"

  "Ah, Lady Carlyle has finally learned from the master," Jeremy did a theatrical bow.

  Both men dissolved into another fit of laughter.

  "This discussion is over. I'm going home," Allayne said in irritation, cocking his head at his valet who hastily gathered his things. His friends had certainly turned into silly love-struck buffoons.

  "Nonsense," Jeremy anchored an arm around his shoulders and strolled with him to the path leading to the driveway. "You're coming with me to Waterford Park to visit with your nephew and my wife."

  Richard caught up next to him and gave him a slap on the back forceful enough to dislodge his tonsils. "Better than going back to Rose Hill, old chap—your mother might concoct yet another scheme."

  Allayne began to protest, but changed his mind. What good would it be to go home if his mother would not leave him alone? He could not even read his books in peace, for heaven's sake, without her whining about their fortune going down the drain someday if he did not produce an heir. And not just one—she wanted a dozen! The lady must think he was some buck rabbit who could churn out a nest of bunnies in a single mating. "Alright," he finally acquiesced.

  "Excellent," Richard turned towards the garden entrance of Grandstone Manor. "My family and I shall see you there in an hour and a half. Joshua and Diana can't wait to go fishing."

  "Cassie has plans to take Desiree to the village for some shopping," Jeremy called over his shoulder. "That should keep them occupied while we're at the pond."

  "Splendid! We'll see you then," Richard waved at them by the door before he went in.

  The grooms brought their horses around and held the reins. Allayne mounted alongside Jeremy.

  My family. Richard's voice echoed in his mind, as they urged their horses into a gallop. My wife. Jeremy's voice simultaneously sounded in his ear.

  Goddammit! Allayne rattled his brain free from the uncanny taunts. What the hell was he thinking of? Yes, times have changed and his friends have other priorities now—but so what? He could still go on his merry way to London if he wanted to. He was a free man, without any liability and commitment to no one. He could do anything he desired!

  Minutes later, they turned their mounts onto the tree-lined drive of Waterford Park. At the very end of the road where the wide steps to the mansion's entrance flowed, Cassie stood with Edward, waving at him and Jeremy.

  Jeremy jumped off as soon as the groom steadied his horse. He went straight to his wife and gave her a kiss thorough enough to embarrass the servants, and make his son Edward blow a loud whistle with his fingers.

  Allayne chuckled and gave his nephew a sideways hug. As they waited for Cassie and Jeremy to pry their eyes away from each other, he could not help but feel a certain yearning in his heart.

  It must be nice to have someone waiting at home for you, who loves you like that, a little voice in his head whispered.

  No, thank you! Allayne reprimanded the annoying voice in a stern tone and shuffled his feet with unease.

  "Did you say something?" Cassie swiveled her head at him, her eyes shining with happiness.

  "Me? No—" He dropped a kiss on his sister's blushing cheek. Oddly, he felt alone—like an outsider, even though he was family. "I was just—it's nothing. Nothing at all."

  Chapter 2

  Money and Romance

  City of Bath

  Somerset

  A Fortnight Later

  Lady Alexandra Davenport, only child of the Earl of Weston, kneeled on a small pillow and propped her elbows on the seat inside the crested carriage.

  This trip was the last thing she wanted. She had contrived all sorts of excuses, reminded her father she knew no one—not even the hostess to convince him to let her pass, but the man was as stubborn as a ram. He had threatened to take away her most treasured possessions—her horse and her pistols. And when she balked, he added poor Mr. Benton, her fencing instructor, to the chopping block.

  Hence, here she was, banished to yet another humdrum house party, in which the only motive for her presence was to offer her up to the next available gentleman.

  She pushed away a stray chestnut curl from her cheek, bowed her head, and closed her eyes.

  Dear God, she prayed, forming a steeple with her hands. Please, please, please, don't let me be stuck with a man who is just like the other ones. I know I avoid my father whenever he brings up the subject of marriage, but I swear, Dear God—I do not mean to be disobedient. I know my father has good intentions, but his selection of eligible men either borders on the old and rickety—or the potbellied and smelly. Say for example the Duke of Deadfellow—I mean, Redfellow—he is such a nice, fabulously wealthy man, but—Dear God, he is so old that he could be an artifact at the museum.

  Then there's the Marquess of Sweetham—he has such good humor and demeanor, but his girth is so hefty that I can spread a tablecloth and have my afternoon tea on his belly.

  And finally, yet most importantly, the Earl of Bedsham—I know he is young and looks decent enough, but Dear God—he laughs at himself and talks to his hand—he might as well be called the Earl of Bedlam. Also, did I mention the—

  A loud snort interrupted the solemnity of her supplication. Alexandra turned her head and glared at Anna, her maid, who was kneeling next to her with a constipated grimace.

  "Excuse me, milady," she immediately stopped simpering and bit her lower lip.

  Alexandra rolled her eyes and shifted her position. She cleared her throat and procee
ded with her petition.

  Please forgive Anna, Dear God, I promise I did not make her fart. Now to get back to my predicament—is it too much to ask if all I want is a kind, God-fearing gentleman, who is pleasant to look at, has all his teeth, and doesn’t pick his nose or scratch his groin when he's out in public?

  It will help if he has a title too, but if not, I suppose it will be just fine—as long as he is gentry with an income of his own. I am not too keen on fortune hunters and I ask you keep me safe from those scoundrels and rakes.

  But if I may speak plainly, Dear God, truth be told—I have no burning desire to marry. I know you commanded us to go and multiply—and I have nothing against that, but I am happy like I am and do not need anyone. If I were to tie myself to a man who is a sneeze away from becoming a corpse, or eats like boar, or chatters like a magpie when no one is around, then I would rather be a spinster or enter the convent and become a nun.

  As you probably can foretell by now, Dear God, I desperately need your help. You can either send the one I want or enlighten my father to leave my affairs alone. I simply cannot abide by this tiresome routine any longer.

  Please, please, please, Dear God, make this scheme of his, the very last.

  "Ahem, milady," Anna peered outside the window. "We've arrived."

  Alexandra quickly scrambled to her feet and parted the curtains. Their carriage was still a reasonable distance away, but she could clearly see the bustling driveway ahead. "Oh dear," she sighed, as she observed the passengers alighting from the line of carriages that arrived before them. "Everyone is ancient."

  ~

  In the elegant carriage bearing the crest of Viscount Carlyle, Allayne watched in consternation as the guests of Countess Dowager Penthorpe ambled towards the grand entrance. He knew not a single soul, but it was no wonder—everyone looked twice his age.