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

by Leah Conolly

  Victor gave him a wry smile. "She's your match, Christopher. I've known that from the first time I saw you two together."

  Christopher nodded, allowing a smile to spread across his lips. "Thank you."

  Victor stood, reached out his hand, and pulled Christopher out of his chair. He wrinkled his face at the stench. "Ah, but I suggest a bath and a shave first, and then a visit to your fair lady. How long have you been marinating in here?"

  Christopher rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Two days."

  Victor waved him towards the door, but they were interrupted by a knock.

  "Yes?" Christopher called, once again in good humor.

  "A letter for you, my Lord." Florence poked her head around the door, handing him a missive.

  "Thank you," he breathed. It was from Lydia! He took it in his right hand and patted it against his open left hand. "I shall read this in private, if you don't mind."

  "Yes, on the way to your bath, if you please."

  "Very well, I have taken the hint," Christopher laughed, as Victor walked out the door holding his nose.

  Christopher made his way to his bedroom, bounding up the staircase in anticipation. Finally, a letter from Lydia. He rang for his valet and ordered a bath drawn. He read Lydia's letter while it was readied.

  Dear Lord Beaumont,

  I hope you will forgive me for writing in Lydia's stead, but she is being stubborn and does not know what is best for her. I found this, written on a page from the last book which you recommended. I have enclosed it here and hope that you will come to us as soon as you are able. Lydia has not been herself since she tried to break things off with you.

  I have it on good authority from our friend, Patricia, that Lady Horn came into the bookshop and told Lydia that you and she were about to be engaged. She said that the only reason that you were paying Lydia any attention was because you pitied her and nothing more. I know that is not true. I have seen it in your eyes.

  Father has been pushing her to get married, and I know that you are the only one she wants. All of this has been a horrible misunderstanding.

  Do come as soon as you have read this.

  Sincerely,

  Eleanor

  Christopher then took out a thin sheet of paper, torn ragged on one edge. He recognized Lydia's hand immediately.

  You were the first man I ever loved, the first man I trusted with my heart completely. Your heart understood mine, I did not even have to say a word. I feel lost without you now, in a perpetual fog that will not lift from before my eyes.

  Why have you treated me thus? Why make me believe you loved me when you felt no such thing?

  I will have to marry soon, and my biggest regret is that I will never be able to tell you how I truly felt about you. How I feel. I have loved you more than you can know. . .

  His heart swelled, and he wished there were more, but she had obviously run out of room on the paper. The other side of the page was filled with printed material from the publisher.

  He decided to write a note to Eleanor immediately, by return, telling her that he was including a letter for Lydia and asking her to deliver it for him. He did not want to ambush Lydia by coming without her knowledge or consent.

  My dearest Lydia,

  There is no one for me, but you. I am sorry that Lady Horn has been tormenting you, but I can assure you that there is absolutely nothing between us. It has all been devised and fabricated by my mother and Lady Horn.

  I hope you will forgive my silence this past week. I thought I had lost you. Please, allow me to call.

  "Bless you, Eleanor," he said under his breath and went to shave and bathe. He did not want to barge into their home unwanted. He would wait to hear from Lydia before going to their house. But at least now, he had hope soaring in his heart. He smiled to himself. She loved him! All the weeks of torment wondering if she had feelings for him were over. The next steps were clear, as if invisible blinders had been lifted from his eyes. He was going to ask the love of his life to marry him, and all would be well.

  ***

  Diana Horn sat in the drawing-room with her mother after dinner. Her father was still sipping his port in the dining room. Diana huffed as her mother won the trick in the game of Hearts they were playing.

  “What is it, Diana?” her mother asked, looking up at her sharply.

  “I am heartily sick with Lord Beaumont. What is taking him so long to propose? He said he was going to propose soon. I want to get this settled and done,” she replied. Her face was set in a sour pose, her lip pouting in a very unbecoming manner.

  “Have you been to see him lately?” her mother asked as she dealt the next hand.

  “Not since last week. I thought to let him come to me this time. I have done my share of groveling to get him this far. It’s his turn,” Diana said haughtily.

  “You might as well start looking for another prospect then, my dear. You cannot let him make up his own mind. Go and visit him tomorrow and press the matter,” her mother instructed.

  “I don’t want to! It’s not fair. He should be the one groveling, not me,” Diana argued.

  “Diana, how many times have I told you that men have to be coaxed into marriage? Prodded even. Do you know what I had to do to get your father on the hook?” she asked, lowering her voice just in case her husband could hear her. “He was thinking of marrying another woman. I destroyed her reputation. You have not followed through with my suggestion, keeping Lady Baker close and destroying her from within.”

  “I tried. But I could not stand to pretend to be her friend for one moment longer. Besides, Lord Beaumont told me outright that he was going to propose to me when I visited him last week. Why keep up the pretense?” Diana said flippantly. She smiled as she won the next trick.

  “Ha! Ha! I win,” Diana said triumphantly.

  “Stop fiddling about with the card game and listen to me,” her mother said, throwing her cards down on the table. “Your whole future is at stake!”

  Diana shrank back. Her mother was known to become violent when angry. “Very well, Mother. I shall call on Lord Beaumont in the morning,” she said, trying to placate her.

  “Mark my words, Diana. You will marry Lord Beaumont by the summer’s end, or we shall enter into negotiations with the Marquess of Kent. I’ve had enough of your dilly-dallying. The marquess is far richer than Lord Beaumont anyway. I should have put my foot down and made you marry the marquess months ago.”

  Diana screwed up her nose at this. The marquess was a man in his mid-forties, with greying hair and two daughters who were nearly as old as she. She must snatch Lord Beaumont from Lydia Baker if she did not want to end up with a husband as old as Methuselah. And the thought of having stepdaughters made her cringe. Her whole future was riding on her next move. She felt like she was playing a chess match with life and death consequences.

  “I’ll do whatever is necessary, Mother. I’ll see Lady Clarkson tomorrow. She listens to me. Perhaps I can spread some more rumors about Lady Baker. That should further cement my standing with his mother,” Diana replied.

  “We both know that Christopher doesn’t listen to Lady Clarkson. The person you should have been talking to all this time is Lord Clarkson. If you destroy his high opinion of Lady Baker, he will convince Lord Beaumont that she is not a suitable match for him.” Her mother glared down at her, still sitting at the card table.

  “Very well. Then, I shall call on Lord Clarkson tomorrow and try to talk to him,” Diana said. She was a little afraid of talking to Lord Clarkson. He had never given her the time of day. But anything was better than being married off to the crusty, old marquess.

  “Whatever is necessary.”

  Chapter 28

  Lydia pushed Eleanor in the wheelchair, strolling slowly through the park. She had been to two parties the previous week to look for a husband. But she could not bring herself to dance with any of the young gentlemen, or even speak to them for long. She had spent most of her time in a corner, la
menting her situation, and pining over Lord Beaumont. Why must love be so hard?

  "I know what you are thinking," Eleanor said.

  "Really?" Lydia asked. "And what is that?"

  "You are thinking about Lord Beaumont."

  Lydia shook her head. "How did you come to be so perceptive? And I don't know how you knew that, anyway."

  "You're mumbling. You mumble when you're upset. And you're upset about Lord Beaumont, anyone can see that." Eleanor motioned for her to stop. "Come around here so that I can see your face."

  Lydia pushed her towards a bench and then did as she was told, sitting down to face her sister.

  "I got a letter from Lord Beaumont today," Eleanor said, revealing the letter that she had tucked into her reticule. "He sent one for you as well."

  Lydia sighed and looked away, ready to stand.

  Eleanor placed a hand on her arm before she could do so. "Now, before you dismiss him, just read what he has to say. Give him a chance to explain his side of the story. Have you ever had reason not to trust him?"

  Lydia shook her head.

  "And how many times has Lady Horn given you a reason to mistrust her? She has been playing you, both of you, all this time!" Eleanor said passionately.

  Lydia took the letter from her sister's hand, surprised that he had reached out to her at all. After her meeting with Lady Horn, she was surprised he wanted to see her again.

  She turned away from her sister, so that she could read the letter in privacy. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she realized the horrible mistake she had made. Eleanor was right. Lady Horn had been toying with them both the whole time! What a fool she had been! She looked up and wiped her tears, turning back to her sister.

  "He wants to see me," Lydia said softly.

  "Of course, he wants to see you. He's in love with you. And you're in love with him. What is holding you back?" Eleanor asked.

  Lydia shook her head. "I've made such a mess of things. I'm so ashamed. How can I ever face him again?"

  Eleanor softened. "He loves you, Lydia. 'Love covers a multitude of sins,'" she quoted.

  Lydia smiled. "I suppose so," she sighed again. "I need a little time to think."

  Eleanor nodded. They returned home, and Lydia occupied herself with reading and listening to her sister play the piano. Their father even joined them. He had been home more often of late, instead of spending all his time at the club. It was nice to have him around. Perhaps he was trying to make up for lost time?

  Lydia watched as Eleanor and their father sang a duet together. Her father was making a great effort, trying to make amends for the last ten years. Lydia was thankful that her sister was receptive. This is how it always should have been, Lydia thought.

  Later that evening, after they had eaten their dinner and retired to the drawing room, Eleanor and Lydia sat near the fire, working on their needlepoint. Their father read to them from The Iliad.

  Eleanor leaned over and whispered, "Have you answered Lord Beaumont yet?"

  Lydia shook her head. "No, not yet."

  "Well, do not wait too long," Eleanor prodded. She straightened and continued to listen to their father's firm, melodic voice as he read the epic.

  In truth, Lydia was hesitant to answer him. She was so ashamed of herself. She had ruined everything, and now it was too late. What if his mother continued to object to the match and drove him away again? She could not bear the thought of losing him a second time.

  Eleanor and her father decided to retire early that night. Lydia said goodnight as Jane wheeled Eleanor to her bedroom. Her father kissed her on the forehead, surprising her.

  She looked up at him, shock written on her face. He sat down next to her, taking her hand.

  "I know that I have not always been the father you deserve since your mother died. Eleanor and I have been talking quite a lot lately. Well, actually, we had quite the fight a few weeks ago. And she said some things that made me realize that I have been such a fool. I was grieving for your mother for so long that I neglected you and your sister. Not so much in physical comforts, but I have been distant. I have been afraid," his voice broke.

  "I have been afraid of losing you two, as well. When Eleanor had her accident, I was sure that she would be taken from us. I closed off my heart from loving you as you should have been loved, for fear of losing you."

  He wiped the tears away with his handkerchief and took a steadying breath. "Can you ever forgive me, dear Lydia? I will try to mend the divide between us, if only you will forgive your old Papa," he pleaded.

  Lydia had begun to cry as well. "Of course, Papa," she said. He touched her cheek tenderly.

  "Thank you." He took another breath. "I have one more thing to say. I am sorry that I have pushed you to marry. It is not your responsibility to provide for this family. It is mine. I want you to marry, of course, but I want you to do it in your own time. I want you to marry for love, as your mother and I did."

  Lydia cried even harder then, relieved. She wrapped her arms around her father's neck. "Thank you, Father. You don't know what that means to me," she sobbed.

  He patted her back, like most Englishmen, uncomfortable with the show of affection. "Yes, well. I'm just sorry it took me so long to realize the error of my ways."

  Lydia let him go and wiped her tears.

  "Now, I think I shall retire," he said.

  Lydia watched him leave the room. He had not said it in so many words, but she knew that he loved her. No matter what happened with Lord Beaumont, at least she would always have her family.

  ***

  Once in her room, Lydia sat down to her writing desk and took out a sheet of paper. She stared at the blank sheet for what seemed like hours. The stub of candle sputtered and threatened to go out. She retrieved a new one and jumped as the grandfather clock down the hall struck one o’clock.

  She decided to change into her nightdress while she was up and then return to drafting a letter to Lord Beaumont. It was more difficult than she had imagined.

  What could she say? How could she express that she still had so many questions without scaring him away for good? How could she make him understand that she was in love with him, but frightened to let herself be loved in return?

  She huffed, struggling with her stays, wishing she had taken them off before her maid had gone to bed. Finally, she got them loose, climbed out of her dress and into her nightgown. She took a deep breath for the first time all day. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and sat back down.

  Dear Lord Beaumont,

  Lydia penned and then halted. It sounded so formal, so aloof. She crinkled the sheet of paper and threw it into the corner. She then took out a clean piece of paper and started afresh.

  My dear Christopher,

  I have thought long and hard about what I want to say, but words escape me. I wish there were a way to convey all that I am feeling . . .

  She shook her head. Why was it so difficult? She glanced over at her bedside table and saw the last book that Lord Beaumont had suggested she read. She went and retrieved it, flipping to the cover page where she had written her thoughts a few days back.

  But when she turned to where it should have been, she found only a ragged edge of the page that had once been there. She looked around as if the culprit could be hiding in her room still.

  She closed the book and held it to her chest. Who would do such a thing? It had to be either one of the maids or Eleanor. But surely Eleanor would not disrupt her privacy in such a blatant way?

  Her face turned red with anger. Had one of the maids seen her private letter and taken it to make fun of her? She trusted her own maid, implicitly. But there were two scullery maids that she did not know at all. She weighed up the consequences of waking the maids at this hour. But when she thought of the violation of her privacy, she threw caution to the wind. She rang for Mrs. Dodson, their housekeeper. It took several minutes for her to appear. She looked to have dressed quickly in her black dress, her nightcap still askew o
n her head.

  “I am sorry for calling you here so late, Mrs. Dodson. I believe one of the maids has stolen something from me. I would like to talk to them immediately.”

  “Stolen?” Mrs. Dodson asked, alarmed.

  “Yes, from a book here on my bedside table. Would you go and wake them please?” Lydia asked.

  “Of course, my lady.” Mrs. Dodson went to do as she was bid and returned several minutes later with the maids.

  They had not bothered to change back into their work attire. Their eyes were wide and frightened as they came into the room, their white nightdresses brushing the wooden floor.