The Christmas Promise: Regency Romance (Rogues and Laces)

by Regina Darcy

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  BONUS CHAPTER: THE VISCOUNT’S REVENGE (Part of LOVE ONE AUTUMN BOXSET)

  KEEP IN TOUCH!

  Copyright © Regina Darcy 2018

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  For queries, comments or feedback please use the following contact details:

  reginadarcy.cleanandwholesomeromance.com

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  ONE

  Miss Julianna Wade, only child of Viscount St James, looked up defiantly into the eyes of her old, unflinching uncle.

  “No, Uncle,” she stated firmly. “I will not be married off to Lord Faversham, no matter what you might think.”

  Her uncle chuckled, his expression dark. “You will do just as you are told, my girl. And I shall have a tidy sum for my troubles.”

  Julianna lifted her chin. “I refuse. I shall not give my consent.”

  Her uncle rolled his eyes and sighed, as though she were simply being a little awkward instead of utterly defiant. Julianna felt herself wither inwardly, all too aware that she had very little choice but to obey her uncle’s demands but still quite certain she would not do so.

  “I think, Julianna,” her uncle said slowly, “that you would do well to remember that you ought to be grateful for what it is I am offering you. I can see no gratefulness in your eyes, my dear child, and that displeases me.”

  Drawing in a long breath, Julianna tried to steady her resolve. “That is because, Uncle, I do not believe for one moment that you are truly considering me. I think this is nothing more than a selfish ploy to gain some more money for yourself. Why else would you be so willing to marry me off to someone I barely know and who is at least twenty years older than I am?”

  Her uncle’s expression changed. Instead of the rather bored expression, his colour began to darken. His grey, wispy brows lowered over his small, narrowed brown eyes. His jowls wobbled furiously as he pointed one chubby finger in Julianna’s direction. his cracked and broken teeth gritting together with rage. “Now you listen here, girl,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing. “You will do as you are told, and you will be grateful for it. Your father left me to take care of you, and that is precisely what I am doing.”

  “I do not think, Uncle, that my father ever meant for you to simply marry me off to the highest bidder,” Julianna replied bitterly. “You are doing this for yourself, for your own ends. You need not pretend with me.” She did not see nor expect the hard slap to her cheek, which sent her staggering back across the room.

  Her uncle glared at her furiously as she rubbed her face hard, hot tears burning in her eyes as shock overwhelmed her.

  “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again,” her uncle bellowed, his voice filling the small drawing room and making her tremble with a sudden, fierce fear. “I am doing whatever I have to in order to get rid of my responsibilities when it comes to you. Do you think that I really want to be laden with a niece who has neither the intelligence nor the inclination to see a good match when it is set out before her?” He waved a finger at her again, his lip curling. “My brother was much too soft on you, Julianna. You should have been married off the first year you came out.”

  Julianna dropped her hands to her hips. A sudden, fierce fire replaced her anger. “My mother made me promise to marry for love,” she stated angrily. “My father too urged me towards finding someone who cared for me so that I might have the same, wonderful life as my own dear parents. I believe that my father hoped that you would acknowledge his wishes in that regard.”

  Her uncle threw back his head and roared in laughter, as though what she had said was perfectly ridiculous. “Your father was nothing more than a fool,” he replied harshly. “As though love would make any difference in a man’s life. He was not even able to produce an heir, now was he?”

  Julianna stood her ground, even as the insults about her parents rang in her ears. Her stomach twisted this way and that, her heart aching terribly over the loss of her beloved mother and now, more recently, her father.

  “Your year of mourning has come to the end, Julianna,” her uncle finished, walking towards the door of the drawing room. “You will be wed within the fortnight. And I expect no more complaints or the like, my dear niece. Or it will be all the worse for you.” His small, dark eyes gleamed with a warning, sending a shiver all through her.

  Forcing herself to remain exactly where she was, Julianna held her uncle’s gaze steadfastly, although she dared not say anything more to him. To do so would only incite his anger further, and she did not wish him to strike her again. It had come as a shock the first time, and Julianna now realised that her uncle would likely be more than willing to do so again, if not worse, should she continue to be defiant.

  “Hmph.” Her uncle pulled the door closed with a sound of disgust lingering in the air behind him.

  Julianna collapsed into a chair, her heart aching with grief. This was not what she had ever dreamed would be in her future.

  “Oh, Father,” she whispered brokenly. “I do miss you so.”

  It had been over a year since her father was reported missing, having been lost somewhere on the continent during an excursion to see his holdings there. She still had the letter in her bedchamber, the letter that had told her the dreadful news that she was never to see him again.

  Not that they had ever found his body or been able to confirm that he was gone from this earth, but the fact that they had searched and found no trace of him was enough to write to Julianna and tell her that, as far as they were concerned, her father no longer lived.

  Julianna had never felt more alone than in that moment, having lost her dear mother only a few years prior just before Christmas Day. Left alone in the house, surrounded only by her household staff and her companion, one Mrs Black, she had been torn apart. Her uncle arrived a short time later, only to make everything all the worse.

  He had dismissed Mrs Black, replaced a good number of the servants, and informed Julianna that, once her year of mourning was completed, she should expect to marry.

  She had silently hoped that she would be given the opportunity to travel to London for the Season, but her uncle had never mentioned it, and now that the little Season drew near, she had prayed that this would be her opportunity to find a suitable match.

  Her hopes had been dashed the moment her uncle had introduced her to Lord Faversham who, being fat, bald, lewd, and entirely disgusting, had turned Julianna’s stomach. The way Lord Faversham had looked at her, the comments he had made, and the way he had laughed as he saw her disgust had frightened her more than she had been able to say, but her pleas to be allowed to choose her own suitor had fallen on deaf ears. Her uncle had been quite certain that Lord Faversham was the perfect match for his niece, even though the man was surely twenty years older than her own nineteen tender years.

  Leaning forward in her seat, Julianna buried her face in her hands and attempted to control her breathing. She could not find a way forward in this matter, not when her uncle refu
sed to consider her feelings and was quite determined that she should marry Lord Faversham.

  She had heard the two of them talking, with Lord Faversham promising to give some sort of financial reward to her uncle for her hand in marriage. Given that her uncle had only just taken on the responsibilities as the new Viscount St James, Julianna had been quite unable to understand the pull of wealth, only to realise just how selfish and greedy her uncle truly was. He cared nothing for her or her future. He was driven to have as much as he could for himself, and that included selling her to the highest bidder.

  “Now, miss,” her maid Florence murmured, coming into the drawing room and seeing Julianna so broken by her uncle’s words. “I’m sure it cannot be as bad as all that.”

  Julianna sobbed quietly, comforted just a little by her maid’s words.

  “I’m to take you to your room, miss,” Florence continued gently. “You’re to prepare yourself for dinner.”

  Julianna looked up into Florence’s kind face but did not miss the anxiety lingering in her maid’s eyes. “He’s here, is he not?”

  Florence hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Your uncle is to welcome Lord Faversham for dinner this evening, miss. That’s why he wants you ready.” Her eyes lingered on Julianna’s cheek, her face paling slightly. “Tell me he did not…?” She searched Julianna’s face, her eyes registering horror as Julianna turned her face away.

  She did not want to speak of it now.

  “I– I’ll get a cool compress for that,” Florence said with infinite gentleness. “Come now, miss. You must get to your room, else Lord St James will be angry.”

  Resigning herself to the fact that she was going to need to do just as her uncle expected on this occasion, Julianna allowed Florence to help her to her feet and guide her towards the door.

  “You are to wed Lord Faversham then?” Florence whispered, as Julianna began to walk towards the staircase that would lead her to the confines of her bedchamber.

  “I am,” Julianna admitted dully. She could not think of any way to escape the prison that was slowly being built around her. “My uncle has decreed it, and therefore I must resign myself to it, I think.” Even as she said those words, a flame burst to life within her, sending her a sudden new resolve. “But I do not see how I can agree.”

  Florence shook her head to herself as she watched her mistress climb the stairs hurriedly. “What is it you intend to do, miss?”

  “I can continue to refuse to wed him,” Julianna said slowly, even as the maid hid a gasp behind her hand. “I know what my uncle will threaten and what he might even do, but how can I bear to marry a man such as Lord Faversham?” The thought of what Lord Faversham might do to her as his wife sent both a wave of revulsion and a cloying fear crashing over her. “I promised Mama that the love I saw so plainly between herself and my father was the same kind of love I would seek for myself,” she whispered, pushing open the door to her bedchamber. “She told me that, if only I would believe in it, then such a love would find me.” Sitting down carefully in a chair by the grate, she let her gaze rest absently on the small miniature of her mother on her dressing table.

  “To allow my uncle to force me into matrimony will only make my life even more difficult than it is now.”

  Florence looked troubled. “But your uncle might do worse to you than he has already done, miss,” she said gently, wringing out a cloth in the small basin of cold water she had brought in from the dressing room.

  “What then?”

  Julianna was forced to suck in a breath with the pain that radiated through her face as Florence pressed the cloth gently against her cheek. Her uncle’s blow had been harder than she’d realised.

  “Then I must endure,” Julianna whispered, trying to find the courage deep within herself to continue standing against her uncle’s determination. "This is my life, my future. If I will not stand up for myself, then who will?”

  Dashing away a wayward tear that had spilt from the corner of her eye, she grabbed her powder trinket and started to cover up the evidence of her uncle’s violence.

  TWO

  The Honourable Charles Ingraham, youngest son of the Earl of Davenport, sighed heavily as he ran one hand through his hair before sitting down heavily at the old wooden table. A splinter caught his hand, and he hissed in frustration, pulling it out gingerly.

  This inn was not exactly well looked after.

  Sighing again, Charles sat back in his chair and ordered another whisky with a simple snap of his fingers. It was set before him in an instant, along with the promise that his meal would be with him in another moment or two. Charles did not mind. The rest of the gamblers wouldn’t arrive for an hour or so yet, which gave him plenty of time to enjoy his food.

  Being the youngest son of an earl and with very little responsibilities, Charles had decided upon a life of cards, merriment, and quite frankly, as much money as he could get his hands on. He had become quite proficient in his gambling and was rather proud of the fact that he had managed to add to his coffers quite substantially over the last year.

  His father despaired of him, but Charles did not give that even a moment of his consideration. His father, as far as Charles was concerned, needed to worry about his eldest son and heir, Tyndale, who was everything Charles was not. No doubt he would make an excellent earl when the time came.

  Charles, of course, being without title but still being very well respected and with a substantial fortune, had no wish to go into the army nor into any sort of profession that required him to work particularly hard. Nor did he wish to marry and produce any number of children, given that this would require him to settle down and become a reasonably respectable gentleman. No, Charles was quite content with his life, such as it was. It was simple, enjoyable, and lacked the cares and considerations so many other gentlemen of the nobility had to bear.

  He looked around the inn as the plate of what appeared to be some sort of stew was placed before him. Choosing to speak the language of the country he was in, he passed the servant boy a couple of coins as he thanked him, seeing the young boy’s eyes light up. That had been a month’s wages, Charles was quite certain, but it meant very little to him.

  At this present time, he had more money than he knew what to do with, although that did not stop him from gambling. It would, he supposed, be helpful should he ever lose heavily, although he did not intend to do so tonight. This gambling circle was bound to be profitable, even if most of them were Frenchmen.

  Charles chewed slowly, savouring the taste of the stew, which even though it had not looked particularly appetising, was in fact quite tasty. He often came to France in between the two London Seasons, finding it rather enjoyable to leave the country of his birth for a time. After he played his games here, however, he would have to think about returning to England, knowing that the little Season was soon to be upon them. There would be more gambling, more cards and the like back in London, and he was, he had to admit, ready to return.

  Of course, what with it soon being Christmas, he would have to ensure that he paid an extended visit to his father, as was expected. It was not any particular trouble, although Charles was quite sure he would be given an earful by his father at some point, as though he were still a small boy in need of correction.

  He glowered at no one in particular, thinking darkly about his home and family. He simply wanted to be allowed to live as he pleased without being dragged over the coals for being less than proper.

  “Stop! Let me go!”

  The door to the inn slammed open, startling him. A gentleman of some description walked proudly into the inn, his eyes roving around the taproom as though they all ought to be in admiration of him. Just behind him came two other men, holding a young lady between them.

  “Please!” The young lady was crying now, as two footmen dragged her up the staircase in the corner of the room. The hood of her cloak fell back, and her blonde curls cascaded down her back.

  Charles felt his stomach twist,
his anger suddenly burning hot. He did not know this gentleman, nor who this young woman was, but to see anyone so treated made his blood run hot.

  “Get her up there!” the gentleman called out, a dark grin sliding across his face. “And make sure she's… ready for me.”

  A few sniggers broke out across the taproom, making Charles’s lip curl. The gentleman in question laughed aloud, turning towards the innkeeper who had approached him. Evidently, this had all been arranged.

  “Faversham!” Another gentleman walked into the inn, a small, mousy looking maid trailing behind him. She did not look to the left or right but rather kept her face downcast, although Charles was quite sure he could see her lips trembling.

  “You don’t have to linger,” Charles heard Lord Faversham say. “I’ll get her to the church tomorrow. She won’t have anything left in her to refuse me.”

  The other man grinned as a cloth bag filled with coins was deposited into his hand by Lord Faversham. “I hope you enjoy her,” he commented, shoving the young maid forward with a hard push. “Although I’d recommend giving her this maid of hers when the time comes to prepare her for church. The only reason I kept her on is because she’s good at calming the chit down – and very good with a bit of powder, if you understand my meaning.”

  Lord Faversham laughed harshly, whilst Charles was forced to put down his cutlery, as his fingers curled into fists. He wanted to get to his feet, slam a fist into Lord Faversham’s face, and then go in search of the young lady, whoever she was. It was not that she had caught his attention in some way, not that he found himself suddenly head over heels in love with her, but rather that he could not bear to see nor hear a young lady being treated in such an appalling manner.

  “I won’t need her yet,” Lord Faversham said, dismissing the maid to a corner of the taproom. “You sit there until I call for you. Not that it’ll be for an hour or so.”