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

by Bridget Barton

  “I do not think it is something I can yet put into words.”

  “But please try,” she said and looked up at him.

  They were standing just inches apart, and he was so tall and broad that Georgina wanted to walk into his arms and have him hold her tightly.

  He was wearing a lightweight brown tailcoat, and the colour suited him very well as always. His thick, unruly hair lifted a little here and there on the light summer breeze, and she wanted so much to reach out to touch it. Georgina did not want any idea of romance between them to merely be a piece of theatre, something to keep her father’s family occupied and diverted away from their original intention. She wanted it to be real, to be theirs.

  Georgina could not understand why it was so difficult to find the words to simply tell him as much. After all, he was her oldest friend, and there was not a person on earth with whom she felt so at ease as she did with him.

  She studied his face intently and could see that he was struggling with something. Perhaps he was simply trying to find the words to tell her that he knew he would hold little interest for her if he were still the servant he had been back then. Perhaps he was trying to find a way to tell her that he could not forgive her for the idea and could therefore never love her.

  However, Emerson did not speak. Instead, he took hold of her upper arms quite suddenly and stared into her eyes intently. She had not realized how big his hands were before that moment and stood as still as a statue as she waited for him to say or do something that would take them from one moment to the next.

  Still holding onto her upper arms, Emerson took his final step towards her, and there they stood, face-to-face, their bodies almost touching. And then, as suddenly as he had taken hold of her in the first place, he kissed her.

  His lips felt warm and smooth and wonderfully unexpected. For a moment, Georgina could not move, could not respond. She merely stood there with her eyes closed and her entire awareness focused on her own lips as if her very soul lived there.

  The moment she had come to her senses and decided to return his passionate kiss instead of simply standing there, he suddenly released her. He released her entirely, letting go of her arms and stepping back from her with a look of such regret on his face that Georgina could have cried.

  “Georgina, forgive me,” he said hastily. “Please, forgive me … I should not have done that.”

  “But Sammy, really, it is not …”

  “I am afraid that I was overcome by foolishness, and I promise you that there will be no repeat of it. Can you forgive me, Georgina?”

  “I do not need to forgive you, Sammy.”

  “But I should like you to know that I am sorry, nonetheless,” he said and turned back towards the house.

  “You need not think about it,” she said and quickly took his arm, keen that he should suffer not a moment longer.

  If only she could find the words to tell him how wonderful his kiss had been, how very welcome. If only she could find the words to ask him to kiss her again.

  Chapter 22

  After an almost entirely sleepless night, Georgina had risen early to take some hurried breakfast before settling down in the morning room with a small pot of tea.

  The night seemed to have been filled with all manner of alternative versions of events which would have seen the preceding afternoon end in a very much happier and more excited tone.

  Georgina had imagined herself immediately responding to his soft, warm kiss, instead of standing as still as a statue in the afternoon sunshine. And in her imaginings, Emerson spurred on by her obvious interest, kissed her yet more passionately still.

  However wonderful the little piece of theatre that her own mind had conjured up was, each time it led her back to the idea that he had thought her appalled. After all, why else would she stand stock still and make no response whatsoever? How was he to know that it was simply a case of nervousness, excitement, and awe?

  Worse still, when her mind went to darker places, she imagined him truly believing that she had not wanted to kiss him because, in her own heart, she still thought of him as a servant. An orphan boy that even the Hatfield home for children could not find room for.

  If only she could have found the words to tell him that she would have given anything for the kiss to go on and on forever. But she knew, of course, that a mixture of a careful upbringing and the judgement of society at large had rendered her as mute as it would have any other member of her own sex. Ladies were not expected to give voice to such feelings. In truth, she wondered if they were even expected to experience them at all.

  She knew that there were women who did not entirely conform to the expectations of the day, she just wished that she were one of them. She just wished for an ounce of such courage.

  Georgina was not due to see Emerson again until they set off in a few days’ time for Cornwall. She hoped that he was not suffering in any way, not heartily regretting his actions or finding himself awake night after night as his mind produced alternative little pieces of theatre for him as hers was doing.

  They had a task to perform, and it was one of the greatest importance. If there was any awkwardness between them, Georgina could not help wondering if it would in some way affect their inquiries. If they were awkward with one another, then surely Fleur and Jeremy would feel awkward also. And then if the whole party was awkward, would that not create a great awkwardness at Wighton Hall? She felt certain it would not lead to a frank exchange between herself and Beatrice, at any rate.

  And, in the end, she knew that the careful questioning of Beatrice Ellington would be her own responsibility. It had not been discussed, and yet she knew it. She was the granddaughter of Elizabeth Jeffries, the one who had, as far as the Earl of Wighton was concerned, been so determined to speak with his aunt.

  The Duke himself could not possibly request an audience with the old lady; it was just not appropriate. As far as that family was concerned, the Duke’s only connection to them was through Georgina herself.

  As she sipped the scalding hot tea and stared out of the large windows into the uncommonly grey summer morning, Georgina felt the weight of responsibility settle around her shoulders. And it was not a sudden responsibility, but one that had been more than ten years in the making. To let Emerson down would be to let the young Sammy White down. Whatever she thought of his kiss now ought not to matter.

  She would have to let it go; for the time being, she was certain of it. She could not do what must be done with such a thing hanging over her head. Instead, she would have to forget it for a while, put it to the back of the bookshelf as it were. But she would need Emerson to do the same.

  And so it was that Georgina decided to write him a brief but friendly note. She would mention nothing of the kiss but be enthusiastic about her excitement for the next few days and what answers they might bring. She would add in a few practical sentences about the volume of their luggage and that sort of thing to lend it even more normality.

  Hastily, she put her teacup back down on the tray and determined to write the letter immediately. Just as she was rising to her feet, the door to the morning room opened inwards, and there stood Mirabelle Allencourt.

  “Good morning, Aunt Belle,” Georgina said and lowered herself onto the couch again.

  “Am I interrupting, my dear?” the old lady said and gave no hint of waiting for an answer as she closed the door behind her and hastened to the couch opposite her great-niece.

  “No, not at all. Would you like some tea? I can race to the breakfast room and collect another cup and saucer,” Georgina said brightly, all the while feeling that she had been entirely found out.

  She had known all along that Mirabelle Allencourt was nobody’s fool and would very quickly perceive the trip to Cornwall to be anything other than an innocent acceptance of an invitation. The moment had come to tackle the thing head-on, just as she had decided she would.

  “No, I have already had more tea than I can stand this morning, Georgina,�
� she said, raising one of her palms out in front of her to keep Georgina in her seat as she slowly lowered herself into her own. “No, no more tea.”

  “I see,” Georgina said, not knowing what else to say.

  “So, your little mission takes you to Cornwall, does it not?” Mirabelle Allencourt was going to get straight to the point.

  “So it would seem, Aunt Belle.”

  “And the sudden Duke is in on it all, I gather.”

  “The sudden Duke?” Georgina said feeling curious and nervous all at once; whatever could her aunt have meant by that?

  “Yes, I often refer to him in my own head as the sudden Duke. Sometimes it is the sickly Duke.”

  “But why?”

  “I think you know very well why, my dear.” Despite the fact that the elderly lady was squinting at her thoughtfully, still, there was nothing of her sister’s meanness in Mirabelle’s face.

  Her face was round and lined and her eyes still kindly, even when they were at their most shrewd. Georgina did not fear her great aunt at all, she simply feared the ever-widening knowledge of her old friend’s uncertain origins. As much as he had claimed he wanted now to move only forward and never back, Georgina did not want to give another ounce of information away about him.

  “I can see from your face that you do,” Mirabelle went on when Georgina remained silent. “You see, I have always thought it a little strange, the long-running illness that had kept the heir apparent away from home for so many years. Not the illness itself, you understand, but the idea that nobody knew of the existence of the boy before he was returned home and proclaimed to be healthy.”

  “And so, you called him the sudden Duke or the sickly Duke,” Georgina said quietly, her mouth dry.

  “But only quietly to myself, my dear. It is not something I discuss at tea with Maud Aston,” Mirabelle said and laughed brightly. “And it has to be said that I am a particularly inquisitive old lady with a lot of time on my hands. The rest of the county accepted the entire situation a decade ago and with ease. So much so, my dear, that it is all long forgotten.”

  “But you have not forgotten it.”

  “No, but that is just the sort of person I am.”

  “But might there not be other ladies of advancing years with time on their hands who think as you do?”

  “I have no doubt of it, but I do not think that your young man should fear them. After all, old ladies are, quite literally, a dying breed, are they not? We are none of us set to live forever, are we?”

  “Aunt Belle!” Georgina said, not at all keen to discuss the demise of an aunt she had come to think so highly of.

  “Oh, do not be so delicate, Georgina, it does not suit you. You do a very good imitation, but delicacy is not really your thing, not deep down.” Once again, Mirabelle narrowed those shrewd eyes. “And, of course, old ladies like me are extraordinarily loyal to Crown and Country. Things like title and estates and bloodlines are things which are bred into us as being most important. And so, you will not find me or any other inquisitive old lady causing your young man any trouble at all.”

  “He is not my young man, Aunt Belle.”

  “If he is not now, then he very soon shall be.” Mirabelle laughed and shook her head. “The poor boy.”

  “So, you know that Beatrice Ellington is still alive?” Georgina said, realizing that she was to a certain degree diverting her aunt from the subject of Emerson Lockhart.

  “I gathered it the moment dear Felix told me that you were all to go and stay with the Earl of Wighton in Cornwall. I am not so foggy as to think that it is Beatrice’s husband who is still the Earl, for the man would be many years older than even I am.” She laughed again, and Georgina felt comforted by it. “But I realize there could be no object in you going at all unless Beatrice herself was still alive.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “You want to question her,” Mirabelle corrected her.

  “I wish I could say more.”

  “You need say nothing, my dear. The very fact that your Duke is going with you and seems to be in on all of this speaks for itself.”

  “Does it?” Georgina said nervously.

  “Fear not, it only speaks for itself to me. It is not something that anybody else would easily discern, so you need not worry about that.”

  “I see.”

  “I can see that you are in a great quandary, my dear. You do not want to hide anything from me since we are now getting along so well, but you do not want to part with the confidence that Emerson Lockhart has placed in you. It is an unenviable position, Georgina, and I do not come here today to make things all the harder for you.”

  “I thank you for your understanding, Aunt Belle,” Georgina said truthfully.

  “And I think I realize now that the young Duke thinks very much as I do. He is not convinced by the story of his origins either, and I daresay he is seeking to fill that particular gap in his knowledge.”

  “Aunt Belle, I …”

  “Do not say anything. And I will not say anything more on that particular part of the conversation than I have done already. I do not expect you to confirm my suspicions; it is not necessary. There, you have given away no confidence at all, and I am still only very vaguely informed.”

  “I wish I could tell you all of it, but I cannot.”

  “I know, my dear,” Mirabelle began gently. “But I do not intend to ask you to tell me anything at all. You might think that I followed you here today to speak to you in private and to persuade you to tell me all your little secrets, but that was not my intention. I did not come here to seek information, only to give it. Well, not information as such, but rather advice.”

  “And what advice is that?” Georgina said quietly.

  “I realize that Beatrice Ellington is no longer a young woman. She is likely very frail, perhaps even frailer than I am. She might very well appear much as I do, a harmless old dear who is counting the days.” Mirabelle paused for a dramatic effect that was entirely uncharacteristic of her, and Georgina, recognizing it, had to stifle a laugh. “But you must not be taken in by that. Beatrice Ellington is the sort of woman who would lie, cheat, and steal to get whatever she wanted in this world, and I daresay that age has not mellowed her. Her body might be weak, but do not trust her black heart. I cannot quite explain it, cannot put into words how it is that I know this to be true, but Beatrice Ellington is evil, and she always has been. And I think too much of you, my dear, to let you go into that house without that certain knowledge. Do not take anything she says for granted and never, ever turn your back on her. And whatever questions you have for that woman, you just ask them. Do not dance about the thing, and try to be polite, for Beatrice Ellington will simply see that as a weakness, and she will seize upon it. And if she does so, your journey will have been for nothing. Not only will she not give your young man the answers he obviously needs, she will do and say things to lead him in the wrong direction altogether.”

  “But why?”

  “Because she takes delight in such things, my dear. She always has. She looks upon other people in this world as a puppeteer looks upon his puppets. Everyone in her sphere is simply laying in stasis until she reaches out and takes their strings in her hands. And, as far as she is concerned, only she can make them walk or make them dance or make them jump. She truly is the darkest human being I have ever met, and you must keep that to the forefront of your mind in all your dealings with her.”

  “I shall, I promise,” Georgina said, feeling a creeping sensation at the back of her neck that was making her most uneasy.

  She knew, in truth, that she really ought not to be afraid of an elderly lady, even one as harsh as Beatrice very likely was. But the fact that Mirabelle Allencourt was not a woman given to drama, not a person to gild the lily or exaggerate at all, led Georgina to believe that it must surely all be true.

  And, as frail and as old as her grandmother’s closest friend might be, the idea of finally meeting the woman unnerved Georgina m
ore than she could say.

  “You just take care, my dear, and leave all thoughts of romance to one side until it is safe for you to drop your guard and think about such things.

  “Romance? But …” Georgina began to protest, but her aunt was already rising to her feet.

  “Surely you have realized by now that you do not fool me, my lovely girl,” Aunt Belle said as she made her way out of the morning room, a low rumble of laughter rolling in her ageing chest.

  Chapter 23

  If Georgina had never been to Calder Hall, Wighton Hall would have been the grandest place she had ever seen in her life. It was not as big as Calder Hall, but it was still so very vast.

  The hall itself was a single block of three stories, with none of the additional wings that Calder Hall enjoyed. But that single block was so large, with so many windows. And it was built of the most appealing stone, almost pale peach in colour. Georgina had never seen stone that colour before, and it made Wighton Hall even more striking to look at.