Weddings and Scandals: Regency Romance Collection

by Alec, Joyce

  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 except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First printing, 2019

  Publisher

  Love Light Faith, LLC

  400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825

  Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311

  Prologue

  Nineteenth Century, England

  Viscount Arthur Wickton sighed heavily as his sister, Miss Charlotte James, stood in front of him, waiting for him to give his opinion.

  “I do not know, Charlotte,” he sighed, waving a hand. “One dress looks just as good as the other.”

  His sister stopped dead and stared at him. “It is not the dress I am asking your opinion on, Wickton,” she stated, a touch icily. “Do you truly not recall our conversation just some minutes ago?”

  Arthur frowned, sitting up in his chair a little more as his sister’s eyes narrowed. The truth was he had thought that Charlotte had asked him his opinion on some matter or another and then had disappeared quickly thereafter. He had thought nothing of it, only for her then to reappear and stand in front of him. The only thing he could think of was that Charlotte was asking him what he thought of her gown, having had no recollection of what she had been wearing at the first.

  “You are ridiculous, Wickton,” Charlotte sighed heavily, turning away from him. “It is as though you do not know me at all!”

  Arthur cleared his throat gruffly and tried to make amends for his lack of clarity. “Indeed, indeed, you would not be asking me questions about your gown, you are quite right,” he admitted, knowing that his sister—being determined about practically everything—would not have asked his thoughts on a cut or color of her gown. She had never done so before, and therefore, would not have done so now. “What was it you were asking me about, then?”

  Charlotte waved a hand in his direction, throwing herself down into an overstuffed chair by the fire and sighing discontentedly.

  “Come now,” Arthur said, trying to cajole her. “You need not be like that. Ask me whatever it was you wanted to discuss with me and I shall pay wholehearted attention.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes and blew a tendril of fair hair out of her eyes. She did not look particularly pleased. “I hardly think—”

  “Oh, do not be tiresome, please,” Arthur interrupted, growing a trifle frustrated with his sister even though he was the one at fault. “You know very well that I have been distracted of late.”

  Charlotte arched one eyebrow. “Wickton, you are almost always distracted by something or another.”

  “Regardless, what was it you wanted to ask me?” Arthur repeated, growing more and more irritated with every passing minute. “Is it something of consequence?”

  His sister sighed heavily, tipped her head and gestured to the small table to his left. “I asked you if you might share your opinion on a certain quote I read recently. I then withdrew to find the book, came back with it open and read it aloud. Then I set the book on the table and waited for you to respond.”

  A wave of embarrassment broke out over Arthur. “Oh.”

  His sister let out a frustrated breath, closing her eyes for a moment. “You truly are distracted this week, Wickton. Whatever is wrong this time? It cannot be anything as serious as last year.”

  Arthur grimaced. Last season, he and Charlotte had been caught up in a set of most concerning circumstances with one Lady Chaucer—as she had been known then—and his dear friend, Francis Newton. It had all come to rights in the end, however, and he had been glad to set it all behind him and return to society and the joys of the season, although his sister had continued to be just as irritating as she had been before and refused to even greet a single one of the gentlemen he had suggested to her. After a year back at the estate, he had found himself back in London again, all the more determined to find his sister a suitable husband.

  “It is not to do with my lack of suitors, I hope,” Charlotte said, a dangerous note of warning in her voice. “I will not have your continued interference, Wickton.”

  Grimacing, he eyed her carefully. “You must wed soon.”

  “Why must I?”

  He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Because you are my sister and it is my duty to ensure your wellbeing. I cannot marry until you are settled.”

  Charlotte snorted. “That is a self-imposed rule, Wickton, and I will not allow you to pressure me into matrimony by continually repeating it.”

  “I am not pressuring you,” he said insistently. “I am urging you.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “That is one and the same thing.”

  Arthur held back his first sharp retort, wishing to goodness that his sister was even a touch more pliable. “It is for your own good, Charlotte.”

  She tossed her head. “I think I am able to determine that myself, Wickton. You seem to think that parading these gentlemen before me will somehow make me fall head over heels in love with one or more of them, and then all shall be just as you expect.”

  A little surprised at this, Arthur felt some of his irritation drain away. “I have not heard you speak of love before, Charlotte.”

  Her eyes narrowed again. “And what of it?”

  “I would have thought,” he said slowly, not meaning to ruffle her further and therefore choosing his words with the greatest of care, “that with all of your learning and the like, you would have determined that such a thing as love is not something worth pursuing.”

  Charlotte arched one thin eyebrow at him, her blue eyes sharp with criticism. “Good gracious, Wickton, it is as though you do not know me at all. Of course I think that to have an affection for one’s spouse is important. I believe it to be of the utmost importance, in fact.” Her mouth twisted for a moment. “Although, that being said, it must be returned if it is to be a marriage of contentment that will endure with both happiness and satisfaction.”

  Arthur could not help but grin. “That does sound a trifle calculated, my dear sister. Not everything can be managed in such a calm fashion.”

  She shrugged. “After what we witnessed with Henrietta and Newton, I must believe that love can spring no matter the circumstances.”

  “Even if a gentleman is, as you said, paraded before you?” Arthur asked at once, not missing the opportunity. “After all, did not Newton himself say that he simply had to look at Henrietta before he lost his heart completely?”

  Charlotte stilled, her hands balling into fists in her lap. Her jaw worked, her delicate features in her oval face seeming to become hard. She had not been able to answer him, it seemed, and Arthur felt himself glow with the sense of triumph.

  “I have a suggestion for you,” he stated grandly, as though now he had the upper hand. “You know that I wish for you to find yourself a husband. You know that I am greatly concerned that you have not yet done so despite the fact that this is our third season.” He ignored the way that Charlotte snorted with disdain and looked away, reminding himself that, very soon, she would be considered a spinster. “You rebuff my attempts to help you, being quite determined that none of the gentlemen I suggest are suitable in any way. Is that not so?”

  Charlotte sighed and nodded, although her expression was swiftly becoming one of sheer boredom. Determined not to be swayed from his endeavors, Arthur battled on.

  “It is also a trifle more difficult with you, Charlotte, because you appear to be determined to prove yourself both a bluestocking and a wallflower at the very same time.”

  Charlotte bristled instantly, her shoulders rising. Arthur swallowed back his next few words, seeing the redness growing in her cheeks and aware that he had, somehow, managed to insult her
terribly.

  “I am not a wallflower, Wickton,” Charlotte said angrily. “A wallflower is a young lady who seeks to be a part of society but finds herself fading into the background. I have no such desire. I deliberately choose the shadows and, as you have said, rebuff those who seek me out simply because you have urged them to do so. That is the difference.”

  “Very well, very well,” Arthur said hastily, holding up his hands. “You are choosing to appear as a wallflower, then, although you cannot pretend you are not a bluestocking.”

  “I do not consider that to be either an insult or something worth shunning,” Charlotte replied primly. “I enjoy reading and learning and think it ridiculous that it is only considered suitable for a gentleman to further his own knowledge.”

  Gritting his teeth, Arthur attempted to gather his thoughts and stop his temper from flaring. Truly, his sister was impossible.

  “Be that as it may,” he bit out firmly, “you have only just now stated that love may stem from any circumstance, no matter now difficult or inconsequential. Therefore, you and I shall throw a ball together and, for that night only, you will allow yourself to be courted by every gentleman who seeks you out.” Quietly, Arthur wondered if there would be anyone at all, given just how many Charlotte had turned away. “You will speak to them politely, you will accept dances from them and will appear to be a charming lady in every single respect.” He lifted his brows in silent challenge. “And thereafter, I shall never hound you again.”

  Charlotte did not immediately throw his suggestion away like he had thought she might. Instead, she frowned, a furrow cutting between her eyebrows as her eyes fixed on his. “You mean to say that you will never again force me to consider a gentleman of your selection?” she asked slowly, as though thinking him to be telling her mistruths in order to catch her out somehow. “You will never talk repeatedly about my lack of interest, nor my lack of success?”

  Arthur placed his hand over his heart. “I swear it to you, my dear.”

  Charlotte’s eyes did not lift from his, nor did she agree to do as he asked. Instead, she considered him for some minutes, silence stretching out between them like a vast chasm.

  “There must be a consequence, then,” she said eventually. “A consequence for you if you do not keep your word.”

  Arthur frowned, a warning beginning to sound in his mind. “I do not know what you mean,” he replied, a trifle awkwardly. “I have every intention of doing as I have said.”

  “Oh, I am more than aware that you have every intention of doing as you say,” Charlotte replied tartly, “but you forget that I know you rather well, brother dear. Therefore, I know you are inclined to forget what you have said and then state unequivocally that you have no memory of the fact. Therefore, I must come up with something that will both encourage you to remain entirely focused on our agreement and ensure you do not forget what you agreed to either.”

  “Oh.” Arthur’s stomach dropped to the floor like a stone, his heart beating a little more quickly as he saw his sister’s inscrutable expression. He did not know what it was she was thinking but found himself wishing that he had not thought of such an idea in the first place. Charlotte was clever and could often outsmart him. Why had he not realized that before he had suggested the idea of a ball?

  Charlotte sighed happily to herself, relaxing back into her seat and folding her hands contentedly on her lap. Her smile was broad and her eyes began to twinkle as she looked at him, filling him with a growing sense of unease.

  “I have it,” she declared, sounding much too pleased for Arthur’s liking. “I shall insist that should you forget to do as you have agreed, should you continue to insist that I meet a particular gentleman or bemoan my lack of intent, then you will have no other choice but to court a lady of my choosing.”

  Arthur’s mouth fell open.

  “You may think it overly severe,” Charlotte continued, ignoring his reaction. “But I think that, in order to ensure that you do as you have promised, the consequences must be rather fierce. Therefore, I will not ask you to simply dance with or converse with a lady of my choosing, but rather seek to court her for a time. You do not know what it might lead to.” She laughed softly at his astonished reaction, leaving Arthur feeling entirely outmaneuvered, as though he had played a game of chess and was already in checkmate within the first few minutes.

  “I think that is a trifle… overstated,” he said lamely, trying to find a way out of his current predicament. “You are being ridiculous, Charlotte.”

  She shrugged, her expression still filled with mirth. “You need not accept it, Wickton,” she replied plainly. “You may simply turn around and state that the entire idea is quite foolish and that you have no intention of throwing a ball. I shall not need to dance and converse with the gentlemen you send in my direction and I will have no need to carefully select a young lady from amongst my acquaintances for when you fail in your promise not to speak to me again of my own unmarried status.” Now, the challenge was in her voice and her eyes instead of in his own. “It is, as I have said, in your hands.”

  Arthur closed his eyes, his mind working hard. He had wanted to try and force his sister into accepting that she would not always be able to control her situation and that one day, she would need to permit him to encourage particular gentlemen in her direction. However, now he felt as though he was on the losing end of the agreement, fearing that he would do as she thought and fail entirely. What then? Would he have to court a lady he did not know, pretending that he truly thought the best of her?

  “You know as well as I do, Wickton, that you are inclined to forget your agreements,” Charlotte said softly, breaking into his thoughts. “Let us just forget the idea and put it behind us entirely. We need not speak of it again.”

  “No!” The word expelled itself from his mouth before he could prevent it. Charlotte’s eyes widened as he thumped the chair’s arm with one fist, feeling a growing sense of frustration. “No, indeed,” he stated firmly. “It shall be as you say. The agreement is made. I will throw a ball and you will, for that entire evening, do as I bid you. You will be charming and elegant and accept the compliments of every gentleman who seeks you out.”

  For a moment or two, Charlotte was silent. Then, she shrugged, rose to her feet and walked towards him, holding her hand out to him. “Then we have an accord,” she said plainly. “Just so long as you remember that you are not to bother me with your complaints and worries as regards my near-spinster state in the days, months and years thereafter.”

  Arthur got to his feet and shook his sister’s hand firmly, a fresh determination rifling through him. “I have nothing to fear,” he told her decisively. “For it may very well be that you find a gentleman to court you on the night of our ball and I will not need to fear for your future any longer. Then where will you be, my dear girl?”

  Charlotte’s lips quirked although he saw that she attempted to smother her smile. “You are right, Wickton,” she said, letting go of his hand. “I may very well be swept off my feet and rush into your arms with gratitude and delight.” The sarcastic tone of her voice gave him no hope that she was, in fact, filled with such a desire. “Or it may be, Wickton, that you are the one who is caught up with a rush of affection instead.” She smiled and opened the door, making to take her leave. “We shall simply have to wait and see.”

  “Indeed we will,” he declared, trying to put as much conviction into his voice as he could. “And already, I feel quite certain about my success.”

  Arthur closed his eyes, grimacing darkly as the sound of his sister’s laughter echoed towards him as she made her way out of the door. Apparently, he was not the only one who was intent on succeeding.

  1

  “It is ridiculous, I know,” Charlotte laughed as she linked arms with her close friend, Miss Emily Smythe. “My dear brother. He thinks that he is doing the most wonderful thing for me in setting up this ball and promising that he will not speak to me about my singleness thereafte
r, but I seem to have come out the victor!”

  Miss Smythe frowned, her green eyes glittering curiously. “You think he will fail, then?”

  Charlotte laughed again, her mirth rushing through her joyously. “Of course he will fail,” she said, having no doubt in her mind whatsoever. “My brother is inclined to forget a good many things and often finds himself lost in thought without accounting for the conversations we have had only moments before. There is no hope of him keeping his promise, I am certain of it.” She tossed her head in triumph, feeling a few tendrils of fair hair bouncing around her temples. “Now I shall simply have to decide which of my acquaintances to press under my brother’s nose.” Chuckling with a sudden thought, she squeezed her friend’s arm. “It should be someone most frustrating, with irritating habits and a tendency to talk without ceasing. My brother will, of course, find this incredibly irritating and yet will have to court her for a time before bringing it to a timely end.” She grinned but saw that Emily was not smiling at all. “What is wrong? Do you think me cruel?”

  Much to Charlotte’s surprise, Emily flushed a deep, rosy pink and looked away. Startled, Charlotte came to a stop, turning so that she might face her friend. “What is it, Emily?”

  Emily dropped her head but did not answer. A slow, startling realization began to creep over Charlotte, making her mouth fall open a little as she stared at her friend. “You wish me to insist that my brother court you?”

  Emily shot her a quick glance, before shrugging helplessly. “I—I confess that I do,” she admitted, her voice soft. “Is that so terrible?”

  Charlotte blinked rapidly, astonished at such a thing. Emily was something of a wallflower, which was why she and Charlotte rubbed along so well together. Emily enjoyed reading and conversation, although she was more inclined to novels than furthering her own knowledge, but during social occasions found herself very rarely looked upon by any of the gentlemen. Charlotte had never once thought that Emily was particularly concerned by such a thing, and certainly had never imagined that she felt so strongly about Wickton.