The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  “It wasn’t?” Her voice held a hint of teasing.

  “No…” He put his other hand upon her waist and gazed down into her eyes. “It has become increasingly clear to me, Alicia, that I love you. I long for the moments when you appear out of nowhere, to come and distract me from my labors. And I can think of nothing finer than spending an evening talking to you or walking in the estate with you. I often find myself watching the horizon, waiting for you to come to me.”

  Alicia’s heart swelled. “It has become increasingly clear to me, too, that I love you in return.”

  It had taken her some time to come to the conclusion, though her heart had been fixated upon him ever since their first meeting on the road. It might not have been love, back then, and they had experienced their fair share of conflict, but it had transformed into something wonderful. Something she did not want to be without, now that the world had seen fit to gift her with it.

  “I have not had much cause for happiness, for many years,” she continued, speaking past the lump that had formed in her throat. “Indeed, I did not know that I was destined for happiness. It seemed impossible. And then you came into my life, and you sought to make matters better for myself and my father, and that… that was when I knew I loved you.”

  He lifted his hand to her face. “I feared my feelings would not be reciprocated, considering all we have been through.”

  “You should not have feared,” she replied, her teeth grazing her bottom lip. “As I have said to you before, you were not the one I needed to forgive. You did not know who you were, or what had transpired between your family and mine. You are blameless, yet you are the one who has taken steps to repair everything that was broken.”

  “It does not trouble you that I have English blood in my veins?”

  “No more than my own English blood,” she answered softly.

  “It does not trouble you that I cannot give back what was taken?” His eyes turned sad, but she pulled her lips into a smile.

  “Only the old Duke could have done that, and he is gone. We exist in a new world, in a new life, and we must take it for what it is, instead of living in the past. If we do that, how can we ever look to the future?”

  He swallowed, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “With that in mind, might you… Alicia Price, might consent to be my wife? I have spoken to my mother of this proposal, and she is delighted by the prospect of having you for a daughter-in-law. I have also spoken to your father, and he has given his permission. I believe that is why he was so eager to be away to the dairy.” He hesitated. “We will need to wait some months before we can be wed, given Owen’s passing, but I will be patient, if you can be patient.”

  She no longer sought to hide her joy. “Yes… yes, I will consent to be your wife. Yes, a thousand times, yes! Let us start a life together and rebuild together, so we can look forward instead of backward.”

  “I love you,” he murmured, trailing his fingertips down to her chin and tilting it up.

  “I love you,” she replied. His lips met hers in a tender graze, soft and nervous and wondrous. Alicia’s heart leapt as she looped her arms about his neck and sank into his embrace, knowing that this kiss would be the first of many.

  She kissed him back as the sunlight smiled down on them, and the old ruins whispered their delight at this unlikely union. It was a far cry from the evening she had spent in the cold and the fog here, waiting for him so they could try and discover the threat upon the house and those within. She had felt lost then, but this felt like coming home.

  Finally, she had a place where she belonged, and where she was loved, and where she no longer had to fear what lay around the next corner. And though they had endured pain and conflict to get here, they had managed it. They had found one another, despite the differences that might have kept them apart.

  And now, they could look toward the manor together, knowing that life could only get better from here. They could heal the rifts that had been torn asunder by those before them, and bring peace upon a turbulent land, living examples of how English and Irish blood could coexist in harmony.

  “I love you,” she murmured, kissing him again.

  He smiled against her lips. “And I love you.”

  “I will never grow tired of hearing that.”

  He chuckled. “Neither will I.”

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later…

  True to their vow of patience, after six months of glorious courtship, in which their love had only continued to blossom, Jacob came to stand at the altar of the Ballyroyal chapel, awaiting his bride. Alicia had been his sole reason to smile since the events that had taken his brother, and he found himself beaming then, as the music began to play.

  He turned slowly and the congregation rose. Tom stood by, serving as his groomsman. His heart leapt as Alicia appeared, holding the arm of her father. He could not have managed Ballyroyal without Mr. Price’s assistance, and the two men had developed a firm friendship, that Jacob hoped would only be strengthened by this long-desired marriage. By the day’s end, he would have gone from being Mr. Price’s employer to his son-in-law, and he could not wait.

  A moment later, Alicia appeared before him, her face just visible beneath a gauzy veil. She, too, looked remarkably different from the first time they had met upon the road. The Dowager Duchess had taken her under her wing, treating her as a niece at last, and though there was the occasional conflict, given Alicia’s strong will and stubbornness, a delightful bond had been formed between the two women. Jacob could see his mother’s delight as he cast her a fleeting look.

  “I have never seen you look more beautiful,” he whispered, looking back at his bride.

  “That is because you cannot see my face,” she retorted, with a stifled laugh.

  Jacob grinned, as they turned together toward the vicar. He listened as best he could to the service and the vows, but Alicia’s pull drew his gaze back every time. He could see her smile through the veil, and it warmed his heart. Soon, she would be the Duchess of Woodworth. It might not have been the way it ought to have happened, but he was more than pleased that matters had concluded thusly.

  As the vicar declared them man and wife, Jacob turned back to his bride and lifted her veil. She grinned up at him in that mischievous manner, her eyes twinkling with joy. Delicately, he took a strand of her fiery hair and wrapped it gently around his finger, as he leaned in and kissed his wife for the very first time. He had kissed her many times before, but never with that exquisite title.

  My wife… she is my wife!

  An eruption of applause exploded through the chapel, making Alicia laugh in his arms. He pulled away, laughing heartily, before taking her hand and leading her back down the aisle and out of the chapel all together.

  They stood alone in the overcast morning, but they did not need the sun to shine down on them. From this day on, they would be the sunlight in one another’s lives. Already, he could feel the warmth of her love bathing him as she gazed into his eyes. And he hoped she could feel the warmth of his love, felt in equal measure.

  She stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck, while his hands held her waist.

  “I love you, Alicia,” he murmured.

  “Not nearly so much as I love you.” She sealed her words with a kiss, pressing her lips eagerly to his as he held her. He kissed her back with twice as much fervor, pulling her closer. This time, he did not fear anyone happening upon them, as he had done in the shadows when he had drawn her away from her father’s ire. For who could complain at a young pair of newlyweds who were utterly and completely in love with one another?

  His lips moved against hers, playing out a gentle dance, while her fingertips ran through his hair. He relished in the feel of her body so close to his, and the new title with which she would stand at his side, making their kiss legitimate and proper, and all the more wonderful. Alicia, Duchess of Woodworth. He did not think he would ever tire of hearing it or saying it, for it was far more than
a name. It represented the closing of a circle, and the healing of a rift, all managed by the strength of their love.

  “Shall we return to our home, Duchess?” He paused in his kiss.

  “In a moment. I’d like another kiss first.” She tugged his head back down toward her, their lips joining once more, as if they had been made to kiss one another.

  It felt wonderful to be happy without guilt, knowing that this union would only lead to more happiness. They finally had a reason for joy. Alicia had been a weakly commoner of ill health, with only a memory of finer days. Jacob had been an outcast, sent away so he would not trouble his family with a reminder of his origins. Yet, somehow, they had found their way to one another, and they were determined in their mutual resolve to fix the damage caused by those who had gone before.

  And, if they could do that, Jacob felt sure they were capable of enduring anything that might come their way. Happiness and love would echo in the halls of Ballyroyal once again, and he could not wait to begin the rest of their lives.

  The End?

  Extended Epilogue

  Eager to know more on how Alicia and Jacob’s relationship evolved? Then enjoy this free complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple.

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  But before you go, turn the page for an extra sweet treat from me…

  The Rise of a Forsaken Lady

  About the Book

  She was his wonderful secret that he never wished to share…

  Lady Penelope Dawson has had enough of her brother’s antics.

  Openly disgruntled by his persistence to marry her to his childhood friend, the Baron of Hillbrook, she finds herself at her wits’ end when one of her Earl brother’s parties goes awry and a bodyguard is assigned to protect her.

  Newly-hired footman, Heath Moore, quickly discovers that serving as the bodyguard of the beautiful but elusive Lady Penelope just might be his hardest task yet. Especially when it becomes apparent that not only is he hopelessly in love with her, but she is also a target.

  When a body is discovered on the Dawsons’ lands, and Penelope’s brother is accused of murder, Heath must reveal a secret of his own. His true identity holds the key to the riddle and quite possibly, to the salvation of the Crown itself.

  Prologue

  London, 1814

  The mood in the private room in the back of White’s was somber, and two parties sat surrounded by the smell of sweet cigar smoke and strong brandy. One was sporting a greying beard and sly wrinkles around his eyes. The other was younger.

  Half-filled glasses and a bottle of brandy sat between the two on a grimy wooden table where a thrice-read and discarded broad-sheeted London Gazette lay tossed in the middle. The two drank the same liquor in the same room where they met once a month. After seven months, they became adept at reading each other’s responses to the same topic that brought them together.

  It was customary for them to sit in silence, allowing the faint strains of classical music to seep from the clubhouse and through the air, until the older broke in. However, this time, the younger party was brave enough to disrupt the ritual.

  He took a fortifying sip of the brandy. “So, I remember your proposition from last month.”

  “You’ve come around then?”

  “There was no issue of me coming around,” the younger man drew in his breath with a hiss, then measured his tone back to respect. “It is more of figuring how to do what needs to be done.”

  “I told you—”

  The young man lifted the bottle and refilled his glass. He spoke dismissively. “Yes, yes. I know. You’ve drummed it into my head over and over again. It’s the only way, you say, but how?”

  “Do not mistake my intelligence or yours. You already know what to do and how to do it.”

  He grunted acceptation of his older partner’s rebuke.

  The man took a low draw on his pipe, then relaxed in a long slow exhale of smoke. “If you want your own credit line from the suppliers in the continent that come from my connections, then yes, it is the only way to get the payoff you seek.”

  He leaned in and looked right into the young man’s eyes. “Unless, of course, I had misjudged you and you are not as hungry for success as I thought you were.” He slowly leaned back, pipe in hand. “If so, I fear that the last seven months of our meetings have been a waste.”

  “I am as dedicated as ever,” the younger man was growing angry. “But I am sure there can be a less…damaging way of going about it.”

  “For you to rise, someone has to fall,” the gruffer voice said. “That is how it has been from the dawn of time, for personal gain, there must be a sacrifice.” He raised his eyebrows quizzically. “I am sure you know our history. Marcus Brutus and Caesar…Ephialtes of Trachis and King Leonidas of Sparta…and now it is your time to do the same.”

  “I was sure you were going to tack on Judas Iscariot,” the younger man said humorlessly.

  “Your target does not have the power to amass a legion of angels to assist him,” the man said wryly. “And furthermore, do you have the suicidal deliberation of killing yourself?”

  “No,” the younger man cringed.

  “Then, let us skirt that example,” the older man said dryly. “He has concealed his contacts overseas for too long, suppressing your ventures and making you lose out. Don’t you think it is time for your patience to run out?”

  “I agree, but…this?”

  “It has to be done one way or another,” the older man replied sagely. “You are close to him, and our association needs what he knows and who he has. And, with him out of the way, you can finally have what, or whom, you want, hmm? He stroked his greying beard. “If you choose not to, you will lose the momentum you have built in the last three years.”

  “So, blackmail is what you are resorting to?”

  “Admit it,” the older man’s voice was sage. “You are tired of his honorable shenanigans too, and how comfortable he in his position when he—and you—could be so much more.”

  “I do not think it is his contact really,” the younger man stressed. “As far as I know, he has not used those contacts since he rose to power. I think they are his fathers…or were anyway.”

  The senior leaned in, “And they are not dead, so be it if they are his father’s or not. With him out of the way, and if you do wed the lady, those connections will be yours by default. I told you a year ago,” tapping his forefinger on the table to emphasize his point, he continued. “and I will tell you for the last time, as this is prime time for you to do so. Do what you have to do, and you will see how much it works out…for both of us. Untold riches are ours if you do this right, and you want that, do you not?”

  The shuddering breath the younger man let out was answer enough, even before he replied, “Undoubtedly.”

  “Then we have an agreement.” A hand was stuck out over the table and lingered there before another hand grasped it.

  “We have...it’s agreed. In three months, someone will be in jail or dead, and we will be so much richer.”

  Both men leaned back in resignation, signaling that the matter was decided on.

  Chapter 1

  The Earldom of Allerton

  October 1814

  The butler bowed to Edward Dawson. “Your guest, My Lord, as by your orders, is in your study,”

  “Wonderful,” the youngest Earl of Allerton tugged off his riding gloves from his long fingers. “Tell him I will be in shortly. Where is Lady Penelope this evening, Gastrell?”

  “I believe she is in the library, My Lord, regaling her maid with a tale in French, one which I believe, she had written herself.”

  “Really…” Edward’s voice dipped to a suspicious tone. Knowing his sister’s wily ways, he looked at the butler directly. “Are you sure about that?”

  “As sure as I
can be, My Lord.”

  Edward huffed under his breath. Gastrell was not the one who would know about the avant-garde behavior that defined Penelope. It was her maid Martha Bell, Penelope’s best friend, and her premier partenaire en crime. He suspected Penelope had snuck out to go riding while he had tended to matters in the town, but he did not have time to investigate her activities at the moment.

  Since the death of his ailing father, Richard Dawson, and late Earl, the estate had come to the point it needed an overhaul. Though he could rely on Gastrell and Mrs. Copperfield to assess all the maids, footmen and other servants needed to run the estate, Edward allowed himself the eccentricity of doing this one on his own.

  England was still at war with France, and although the majority of the battles were fought—many won and some lost—he was not going to allow the mistake of allowing just anyone into his home. His father had been no-nonsense when it came to rule over his Earldom, so he had to be especially careful.