Dukes to Fall in Love With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  As long as Isabella did not ruin things by forcing Esme to attend Coldwell Hall, the lair of the monster, against her will.

  Isabella determined there and then that she would be entirely honest with Esme and let her know it was to be her choice. She would not force her or beg her.

  She would not manipulate her kind nature and tender emotions. It had to be the truth and nothing else.

  “Right.” Isabella rose to her feet so suddenly that Kitty jumped a little. “Breakfast it is.”

  Chapter 21

  “My Dearest Esme,

  I have so much to tell you that I hardly know where to begin. I shall first update you with the news that Elliot and I are truly reconciled. After our emotional meeting in the tower, Elliot remained quiet, as I think I told you in my last letter. I did not see him for two days, but I was certain that I was forgiven.

  I sneaked once more to his chamber in the daytime and was relieved to see the doll in his very own room. He had placed it on a narrow armchair which sits beneath the portrait of his beloved sister. Anyway, I did not linger long since I have a habit of being caught there, as you know.

  I knew that Elliot was simply coming to terms with all the feelings he had likely raked up when he told me all in the tower in the woods. I knew we would soon be in each other’s company again. In fact, I had no doubt at all.

  But the manner of our next exchange was really so surprising, Esme! In the middle of the night, I heard a noise outside my chamber door. When I set the lamp, I could see that I had received a note. It was from Elliot, no less. The note said that Elliot wished to apologize for the strained relations between us and that his apology was in the library.

  Well, you can imagine my surprise when I sneaked through the darkness and found a brand-new piano awaiting me. I could hardly believe it, so much so that I wondered if I had not made a mistake of some kind.

  But no, the piano was mine. When I hurried down to the library this morning, I knew it had to be what Elliot had meant.

  As usual, Elliot was nowhere to be seen. I do so wonder how it is he fills his days, especially since dear Crawford Maguire spends so much less time at Coldwell Hall these days.

  But I must admit to being grateful for my solitude today, for it gave me an opportunity to practice my new piano in private. Oh, and privacy was certainly needed, I can assure you.

  My playing was truly awful at first. It was the playing of a child who is struggling with their lessons. And when I opened the beautiful velvet-covered piano stool to find new sheet music inside, I realised just how much I had forgotten.

  I struggled to remember how to read the musical notes, and it took me all morning to recover my memory of that skill. All the while stumbling over the keys and striking wrong notes in every bar.

  In the end, I settled upon a piece by Haydn. It was one I remembered from much practice in my youth, and the sheet music I found in the piano seat was nicely printed and wonderfully clear.

  I spent the rest of the day in determined practice of that same piece, over and over. I remembered how Elliot told me how he used to play for his mother and what a wonderfully appreciative audience she was for him.

  And I must say that I fell to imagining myself playing the piece flawlessly whilst Elliot sat by the fire in the near darkness of the library as I was bathed in the light of the silver candelabra. I have already placed one upon the piano so I might play in the evening.

  Of course, it was at that point in my imagination that I struck another wrong note and stopped playing altogether. Realizing I could only truly play well in my own imagination, I wondered if I would ever feel comfortable playing the piano for my husband. After all, he has now twice played the violin in my presence, and I think I ought to return such a favour. Oh, but is it any true favour when a person is not so blessed with musical prowess?

  But then I remembered something that Elliot once said to me when we talked about learning to play an instrument, specifically me learning to play the violin. I told him that I would never play as well as he does, and Elliot asked me if that really mattered.

  He said that the joy was in playing music for music’s sake, not the good opinion of another. I had not really thought about it much at the time, but the idea came at me with full force as I sat there in the silence and solitude of the library.

  I knew then that he was right. Music is supposed to be enjoyed; it is not an accomplishment, as my own mother always had it. It is not a simple tool to impress others and make you more appealing a prospect for marriage. It is music, and that is that.

  After that, I played without the same concerns. I did not try to imagine myself playing flawlessly for my husband or anybody else. Instead, I watched as my fingers danced across the keys, and I listened to every note. The melody was wonderful. Not flawless, but really and truly wonderful. I cannot say that I have ever played so well or enjoyed playing so much.

  There, you will think me quite mad now; I have no doubt.

  This evening after dinner, which I still take in my room for fear of loneliness at the dinner table, I returned to the library. When I made my way in, I could see no sign of Elliot. I had thought he would be there and was disappointed that he was not.

  So, I lit the candles in the candelabra to see if I could really play by that light alone. It was wonderful; the glow of the candles showered light over the keys, and I settled down to play the Haydn piece once more.

  Again, I had let go of the self-conscious playing concerned only with the judgement of others and instead played from the heart.

  Imagine my surprise when, almost halfway through, I heard the beautiful sound of violin accompaniment. Yes, Elliot had come silently into the room with his violin and gently joined in to play the piece with me.

  It was as if we were in perfect synchronicity. We played it as one person almost, I am sure of it. At first, I felt the old pressure returning and almost lost the melody at one point to my nerves at the performance. And then I remembered Elliot’s words once again.

  Does it matter?

  And those words, long ago spoken, lifted my doubt and let me play again with joy in my heart. And Elliot most certainly played from his heart too, for it was the most wonderful sound.

  When we had finished the piece, Elliot came into the room and took his customary seat by the fire. He had stood behind me throughout the piece, and I had not felt his presence until he moved away. It was as if I noticed the loss of him more, much as I have done these last days of our estrangement.

  “You played that beautifully, «he began to speak as soon as he had settled himself.

  “Thank you,” I replied. “And thank you for this wonderful gift. I had never expected such a thing.”

  “I really am very sorry for all that has passed between us these last days. And all that has not passed between us. I have grown too used to my own absence as a way of managing my world, and I think it is a habit I ought to break.”

  “Elliot, I have understood every moment of these last days, and I do not wish you to make any apology at all.” And then I went on, «But I should like to keep the piano nonetheless.” At which point Elliot roared with laughter.

  His laughter, when entirely unguarded, is a tremendous sound. It is deep and loud and has a reverberation that I can often feel deep inside the walls of my chest. But it is like a roar; a lion’s roar to begin with.

  As comforting as I find that laugh, I cannot help thinking that it would have made me afraid in the beginning, back when I still thought of the Duke of Coldwell as a mythical, dreadful monster.

  “To hear you play has given me too much pleasure to allow me to return the piano. And so, it is safe.” He was still amused, I could tell.

  Just a week before, I never thought that I would hear Elliot laugh in my presence again. I never thought he would forgive me for moving the doll and disrupting what I now know had come to be something of a shrine to his lost family.

  But to hear him this evening laughing once more has given me mo
re relief than I could have imagined.

  And the evening carried on in laughter too. Elliot begged that I would open the piano seat and take out another piece of the sheet music so that we might play again. I immediately told him that I had been practicing the Haydn piece all day and would only be able to stumble my way over any new piece that I attempted without first practicing.

  “That does not matter, «he said, and I was reminded again of his words.

  The words gave me courage, and I hurriedly opened the seat and searched for another piece. I chose Beethoven this time; a piece I have heard many times but rarely played. But I felt encouraged, just as the young Elliot must have done when his mother had listened with kind appreciation.

  By the time I had set up my sheet music on the stand, Elliot had already made his way to stand behind me again.

  I did not turn, knowing how uncomfortable my direct gaze makes him, even in the darkness. Instead, I just began to play. And yes, I did stumble over a good deal of it, especially the more complicated parts, which I simplified in a way that would have made Beethoven himself weep.

  And yet I enjoyed it immensely, and it was a joy to hear the violin played so beautifully behind me. I had stopped several times along the way as I peered at the music and tried to get it right. And each time I stopped, Elliot stopped also. At one point, I began to laugh at my own ineptitude and could hear Elliot laughing too. But it was not unkind at all. We were both amused, and the whole thing was so very lighthearted. I cannot think that I have enjoyed myself this much nor laughed so much since I was parted from you, my dear Esme.

  In the end, we stayed in the library until almost midnight. We have never stayed in each other’s company for more than two hours before, and I could hardly believe that more than four hours had passed so quickly.

  Elliot walked me to the bottom of the staircase as he has done before, and bid me goodnight before heading back through the entrance hall. I cannot say where he was going. Perhaps he simply wanted something from the kitchen and would make his own way up the stairs afterwards.

  And so it is that I am still awake past one o’clock in the morning as I write this letter to you. You might wonder why I have chosen to stay up when I might finish it in the morning, but I have something to ask you and wanted this letter to go out first thing tomorrow.

  My dear Esme, I should like to invite you here to Coldwell Hall for afternoon tea. It does not matter which day and so, if you care to accept, you may choose the day and let me know it in your letter.

  Elliot has made it clear that I may receive any guest I wish and, of course, I should only wish to see you.

  But I would not like you to feel you must come because I know well that you must feel a certain amount of trepidation at the idea of coming to the place about which we told so many terrifying stories in our younger days.

  If it would put your mind at rest at all, Elliot would not be joining us. We would have privacy to talk, and you would not be meeting him at all. We could wander the immense grounds, and I could show you around Coldwell Hall. You of all people would be in awe at the enormity of the ballroom. A ballroom that has lain silent and empty for almost two decades.

  I should so like to see you, especially when I once believed that we would never meet again. But where my own father sought to divide us, my husband would seek to do no such thing, and I would hope you may take heart from such a sentiment.

  And yet I have another reason for inviting you. I have been scheming with dear Kitty to find some way of returning my husband to the world.

  I believe I have told you in one of my previous letters the dreadful tale of the final outing which forced Elliot to take refuge in his own home to the point of making himself a prisoner here. Well, Kitty and I have plans to help Elliot live a very different sort of life. Simply having a visitor here in his home, a place where visitors have not entered for many years, would be a tremendous step. Even though Elliot himself would not be greeting you, he would know he has a visitor here, and perhaps it will help him to expand.

  There is more that I would wish to do to help him, and many ideas that I think you could provide, just as you always did when the two of us were together. But I shall not tell you anymore, nor seek to tug at your heartstrings. I will not play upon your considerable sympathies in hopes of enlisting your help. You must do whatever is right for you and know that I shall not blame you if you would sooner not come here to Coldwell Hall.

  Regardless of your choice, I should still like to hear from you. I very much enjoy your lengthy letters with all the news from your world. You must not think that I shall stop writing if you choose not to come for tea, for I shall never stop writing to you, my dear friend.

  In the meantime, I shall continue to practice the piano and find interesting things to tell you about when I next write.

  Until then, take very good care of yourself.

  With much love,

  Isabella.”

  Chapter 22

  “How could I not come?” Esme said excitedly when the two women embraced not three days later.

  Esme had responded to Isabella’s letter by return of post. Isabella could hardly believe that she had a response by the afternoon of the day her letter had been sent, and she had laughed heartily to see how hastily the response had been written.

  Esme had clearly been so keen to get word to her friend that she had hurried over her writing, and the paper was liberally splashed with ink. There were smudges everywhere, and Isabella could only imagine what sort of state Esme’s frilly white sleeve cuffs must be in.

  “My Dear Isabella,

  I shall come on Friday for afternoon tea. But I shall come at midday, so we have several hours together.

  In truth, I am so excited that I would have come to you tomorrow, but I realise that you will have much to plan, and so I must be patient, must I not? But still, I wish it was already Friday now, and that we two were together again.

  Anyway, I shall keep this short for I wish to make this afternoon’s post.

  With much love,

  Esme.”

  The hastily scribbled letter was something that Isabella knew she would keep safe for the rest of her life.

  When she had first opened it and read its contents, tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Isabella was touched, relieved, excited, and every wonderful emotion it was possible to have. She had missed Esme so much and could hardly believe they would soon be reunited.

  But she was also relieved that Esme had not turned away from her, afraid to enter Coldwell Hall and come face to face with the monster. Of course, Isabella had known all along how important it was for her to have her dearest friend accept her husband, even just the idea of him. And it had been that which had stopped her from inviting Esme to Coldwell sooner.

  Now that that particular obstacle had been brushed aside, Isabella knew that Esme would throw herself into the efforts to have the Duke of Coldwell rejoin the world.

  “I should never have doubted you; I know that now. But we were both so afraid of the Duke, or at least the idea of him when my father first said I must marry him. And I would not have blamed you if you had felt a little afraid.”

  “If I am honest, my overriding feeling when I received your letter was one of burning curiosity.” Esme was smiling, and her eyes gave away her excitement. “And, of course, I could not wait to see you again.”

  The two women embraced for the fourth time, and Isabella felt as light as a feather.

  “Well, what would you like to do first? A tour of the house, or the grounds, or would you prefer to wait until we have taken tea?”

  “Oh, the house please,” Esme said excitedly.

  “Then take my arm, and I will guide you.”

  As they walked through the corridors and rooms of the ground floor, Isabella felt proud to be showing Esme around the place that was now her home.

  “Good heavens! Look at him!” Esme almost ran through the entrance hall to where the great inanimate horse, with its r
ider made of armour, stood. “One could almost believe that there is a real knight inside that armour. If he moved, I would not be at all surprised.”

  “Elliot’s father always told him that it was real.” She smiled. “And told him many tales of lots of adventures the knight encountered in the world.”

  “How wonderful.” Esme was enthused and still staring up at the grand sight. “And this entrance is almost the size of half my father’s entire house. Really, I never imagined that Coldwell would be so large. I suppose that is because it cannot be seen from the outside, and so one is left guessing.”

  “I still lose my way from time to time.” Isabella laughed. “Let me show you the library.” Isabella was keen to show off her new piano.

  “I say, what a lovely piano. Your husband has found the very best, has he not?”