A Duke’s Relentless Courting: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance Novel

by Leah Conolly

  Eleanor simply nodded and leaned her head against the frame of the carriage window. “Do you think I shall ever marry? I mean, what if I’m not able to walk again?”

  Lydia and her aunt exchanged glances. “That I do not know. In my experience, men are hard to understand. But there must still be some kind, decent men out there who would look past your affliction and see just what a wonderful and beautiful a person you are. I would not worry too much about it now, Elle,” Lydia said, using her childhood nickname. “You are only seventeen. You have plenty of time.”

  “You’re right, I suppose. I just wonder sometimes.”

  “I know you do. And it’s perfectly normal to wonder, but don’t give up hope just yet.” Lydia teased and winked at her. Eleanor grabbed her hand and grasped it between both of hers.

  “How did I end up with the best sister in the whole world? I tell you; I am the luckiest girl to have a family such as mine,” Eleanor said.

  Lydia wrapped her free arm around her sister’s shoulders and hugged her close. “I am the lucky one,” she said.

  Chapter 3

  Christopher raked his hands through his hair in frustration.

  “Yes! Who is it?” he yelled. Someone had knocked on his door every fifteen minutes for the last hour. A footman popped his head around the door, wearing an apologetic look on his face.

  “I’m sorry, my lord. Her ladyship has sent another note for you,” he said.

  Christopher waved him into the room, “Yes. Hurry up, then,” he said impatiently, holding out his hand for the note. His mother had been calling for him and sending messages, imploring him to come downstairs for tea.

  He looked at the note, then quickly crumpled it and threw it on the floor. He stood and went to the mirror. He resembled a madman, with his short hair standing on end. He smoothed it down and huffed. “How am I to get any work done with her constant nagging?” he said to no one in particular. The footman was still standing in the room, waiting for an answer.

  “Well, what is it?” Christopher asked him harshly.

  “What answer shall I give her ladyship?”

  “You shall give her no answer,” he said flatly.

  The footman left with a curt bow, closing the door quietly behind him. Christopher went back to his writing desk near the window and tried to concentrate.

  He was in the middle of writing his new book, a philosophical piece, and he had been struck with writer’s block. Of course, his mother’s constant interruptions were not helping matters. He wrote a few words and then sat staring out of the window, his quill braced between his teeth, waiting for inspiration to come.

  Unfortunately, his momentary quiet did not last. Another knock sounded, and he nearly flipped his writing desk over as he stood up, enraged that he was being interrupted yet again. He strode to the door and opened it so abruptly that the edge banged loudly against the opposite wall.

  “What?!” he yelled, thinking it was the footman again. His mother stood outside his door, stunned by his tone.

  “Really, Christopher. I thought I’d raised you better than to shout at a woman,” she entered his room and looked around, noting his quill and paper on the writing desk.

  “What do you want, Mother? I’m very busy,” he said crossly.

  “I miss my son. I would like him to come down to tea and spend time with his dear mother. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Yes, it is,” he said, walking back to his writing desk and sitting down with a huff. She followed him, and he realized that he was not going to get any peace until he did as she wanted.

  “Please, son. I never see you anymore,” she whined. “Why are you so distant and cold with me? We used to get along so well.”

  That was before Father died, and you married another man. Before you became insufferable, he thought but did not dare to say. She was doing it again, manipulating him into feeling guilty for not paying her enough attention.

  The truth was she had pushed him away with her behavior over the last few years. He could not abide high-maintenance women, even if they were his own mother.

  “Very well. I will come down for one cup of tea, and that is all. In return you must promise to leave me be for the rest of the afternoon,” he said.

  “I promise, dear. Now come along,” she said excitedly.

  He rolled his eyes and followed her reluctantly. He paid little attention to his surroundings as he trailed after her into the parlor, but he froze when he realized it was not just his stepfather waiting for them. A young lady sat at the table as well, her hands folded decorously in her lap. His mother had ambushed him.

  “Son, this is . . .,” but before his mother could say anything more, he turned and left without a word. The butler opened the door for him and helped him put on his jacket before he stomped out of the house.

  He didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to get away from his mother. She was driving him insane, and her nagging about marriage and presenting eligible young ladies to him was making him livid. How could she keep doing this to him?

  Before long he found himself in the center of London. He thought he might as well check how his latest book was selling while he was there.

  He walked down to Newton and Hughes, a book shop specializing in rare and old volumes. Christopher had asked the owner if he would sell his book, and the man had agreed.

  A young girl greeted him as he walked in, the owner’s daughter, who worked the counter, so her father could sit in the back and repair old books.

  He approached the counter and gave a slight nod.

  “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “Have any of my books sold this week?” he asked, not caring to exchange pleasantries.

  “No, sir, I’m afraid not,” she replied.

  He looked around the counter and saw that they had been pushed to the back behind some other volumes. They were stacked in a higgledy-piggledy fashion, with no real attention paid to their display at all.

  “Well, no wonder,” he said and started rearranging the counter, so that his books were at the forefront. He stacked some of them into a pyramid and then placed one at the very top, propping it upright with the cover making a V-shape.

  The red leather binding and gold lettering on the cover was very striking. Impossible that his book would not start selling now! His work was of exceptional quality. It needed only to be perfectly displayed to the public. He had a vision of sales pouring in and his words becoming famous, like those of Plato.

  “Please, sir,” the girl said and started gathering the books he had moved to the side. He hadn’t realized that some had dropped to the floor in his haste to arrange his own. She bent down, a scowl on her face.

  “I’m sorry, I . . .,” he started, then promptly turned and left the shop, not knowing what else to say.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and continued to walk along the cobbled streets. Why wasn’t his work selling? True, the owner had some authors worth reading, but most of it was silly romantic slop. His books, on the other hand, were well-written, perfect masterpieces for the world to marvel at. If that silly girl hadn’t virtually hidden his books, he might have sold them by now.

  He walked through the streets a while longer, hoping that by the time he returned home the lady to whom his mother had wanted to introduce him would be gone.

  When he finally reached home, however, he was sorely disappointed. He heard voices coming from the parlor, one he did not recognize among them.

  He held a finger to his lips, motioning for the butler to keep quiet about his return. He tried to creep upstairs, but his mother caught him as his foot touched the first step of the staircase.

  “Ahh! Christopher, there you are. Come, my dear, we have been waiting for you so that we can go into lunch,” she said and took him by the arm, leading him into the dining room. His stepfather had escorted the young lady there already and was pulling out her chair.

  “Mother, I have told you a million times, I do
n’t want to court or marry anyone,” he whispered harshly, not caring if the girl heard him.

  “Shhhh. You wouldn’t know what was good for you if it hit you on the head,” his mother whispered back as they walked into the room and took their seats. He scowled at the girl momentarily, folding his arms over his chest.

  “Christopher, may I present Lady Diana Horn, daughter of the Marquess of Abbeton?” His mother asked.

  “How do you do, Lord Beaumont?” Lady Horn inquired. Her sweetness was sickening.

  “I am well, thank you,” was his only reply.

  He remained quiet and distant throughout the meal, leaving his stepfather and mother to engage the young woman in conversation.

  When the meal was over, he stood and gave a slight bow to the girl. “Lady Horn,” he nodded. “It was nice to meet you, but I doubt we will meet again. Good day,” he said and left the room.

  Chapter 4

  Lydia walked into Newton and Hughes the next day, happy to help her friend run the shop for the day. Patricia’s father was out scouring the city for more books.

  “Good morning, Lydia,” Patricia’s voice sounded from behind the counter. Lydia smiled and looked around for her friend. Patricia was nowhere to be seen. Lydia took off her cloak and hat and lay them on the counter, standing on her tiptoes and leaning over the edge in search of her friend. Patricia looked up at her, as she knelt by stack of books on the floor.

  “And good morning to you,” Lydia laughed. “I thought I was talking to a ghost for a moment.”

  Patricia straightened. “No, just little old me,” she replied good-naturedly. Patricia slid the display of Lord Beaumont’s books to the side ever so slightly, so she could see Lydia’s face.

  “Honestly, Lord Beaumont is becoming a nuisance,” Patricia sighed. She bent down again, took six large volumes in her arms, and began to make her rounds around the shop, organizing and filling the shelves with new books.

  “Was he here again?” Lydia asked.

  “Came in yesterday. He had the nerve to tell me how to display his books in my own shop! Can you believe the gall of that man?”

  Lydia clicked her tongue. “In his case, I certainly can. Who does he think he is, coming in here to telling you how to run the shop?”

  Lydia went around the counter and picked up several volumes from the stack Patricia had been organizing. She followed her friend around the shop, placing them on the appropriate shelves.

  “He came in to ask if any of his books had sold and when I told him that none had, he took to rearranging the counter, so that his books were front and center. I have a good mind to put them behind the counter, but Father would scold me. He likes having Lord Beaumont’s patronage. He thinks it will bring more customers into the shop.” Patricia rolled her eyes, “I don’t know how anyone ever gets through his books. They seem terribly dull to me. Philosophy.”

  Lydia nodded. “I enjoy some books on philosophy. But I agree, if one is only rambling, one’s work is not worth reading.”

  “Yes, our customers think the same. I, on the other hand, prefer romance novels. Have you read Jane Austen’s new book yet?”

  “Yes, and it’s wonderful, although her second book will always be my favorite,” Lydia replied.

  “You only say that because one of the characters has the same name as you,” Patricia laughed.

  “But not the same character and morals, I assure you,” Lydia said, pretending to be offended.

  Patricia came to her side and linked arms with her. “Of course not,” she said with a grin.

  ***

  A few weeks later, Lydia was at the shop again. She had a novel open and was absorbed in the story, as it had been a slow day. Patricia was up on a ladder in the back of the shop. She had been working all morning, stocking books that her father had just acquired from an estate sale.

  Lydia glanced up as a customer came into the shop, his back turned to her as he pushed the door open. He had an enormous sheaf of papers clutched to his chest, and, when he turned, she realized it was Lord Beaumont himself. She steeled herself against what she dreaded would be an impolite conversation.

  Patricia climbed down from the ladder and came to her aid, knowing how Lydia detested the man.

  “Good day, Lord Beaumont. What can I do for you today?” Patricia asked briskly.

  “Good day. I have come to present a new manuscript to your father and ask his permission to sell it here along with my other books, once it is published. It is sure to be a bestseller and fly off the shelves.” Lord Beaumont said, a smug smile on his face.

  Lydia and Patricia both had to stifle laughs. Lord Beaumont was undoubtedly full of himself. Patricia stepped forward and reached for the manuscript.

  “As you have sold so many of your other books, I can see why you would think so.” Patricia said.

  He had sold barely twenty copies of his other three titles combined. “Would you like my father to review it for you before you take it to the publisher?” she asked.

  He handed the manuscript over to her waiting arms, “I would indeed. Is he about today? I’d much rather discuss the matter with him.”

  Patricia looked offended, “Why? Am I not able to pass along a message?”

  Lord Beaumont looked down his nose at Patricia. He scowled, “I would not like to leave such an important matter with a woman who clearly has no knowledge or appreciation of philosophy.”

  Patricia’s mouth hung open in shock. Lydia bristled at such a slight.

  “Excuse me, sir. There is no need to be rude. Mr. Newton is out at present, but Patricia is very capable and can pass along the manuscript and any message you may like to leave with it when her father returns.”

  Lord Beaumont said nothing, waiting for Lydia to continue. He lifted an eyebrow at her.

  She squared her shoulders and went on, determined not to be undone by his high-handedness. “It would not hurt you to say ‘please’ and ‘thank-you.’ Mr. and Miss Newton are taking great pains to see that your book does well in their shop. A little kindness goes a long way.”

  Lord Beaumont laughed, making Lydia bristle even more.

  “Is that what is dictated by London etiquette, Miss . . .?” Lord Beaumont waited for her to tell him her name.

  “Lady, if you would be so kind. Lady Lydia Baker,” she replied.

  “Oh yes, the social butterfly whom everyone admires,” he said, his eyes scanning her up and down.

  Lydia suppressed the urge to kick him. Why was he so rude? The man was insufferable. She glared at him and went back behind the counter,“If there is nothing further you need, we have a lot of work to do,” she said coldly.

  Lord Beaumont flashed a toothy smile at her and gave a sweeping bow. “Of course, my lady. Thank you for your precious time.” He straightened and gave another laugh.

  When he had closed the door behind him, Lydia stomped over and looked after him, seething at his mockery. “What nerve he has!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes, it is a pity,” Patricia said dryly. “All the handsome ones seem to be arrogant, pompous wind-bags.”

  “After meeting Lord Beaumont, I’m inclined to agree with you,” Lydia said. She took up a stack of books and followed Patricia to the back to help her organize the shelves.

  Lydia began placing books on the shelves, banging them loudly against the wood without even realizing she was doing so. Patricia stayed her hand, taking the rest of the books from her.

  “I’ll do the rest. I can see Lord Beaumont has upset you. You should go and take Eleanor for your evening walk before it gets too dark,” Patricia said.

  Lydia sighed, “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn't allow his bad manners affect me,” she replied. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help you finish? I promise I won’t take my frustration out on the books.”

  Patricia laughed, “No, you go and see Eleanor. This won’t take me long.”

  “Thank you,” she squeezed her friend's shoulder and retrieved her shawl and hat. “I’
ll see you tomorrow,” she called as she exited the shop.

  “Until tomorrow!” Patricia called back before the door closed.

  Lydia set off down the street and made a right turn onto her own. It was very convenient, living so close to the book shop. Even though she only volunteered at the shop, it gave her some much-needed time away from home. As her sister’s sole caretaker, it was hard to find time to herself.