She took her mother’s hands. “Thank you. You’ve made me feel confident.”
“Good. Now I’d best find His Lordship. I’ll see you in the reception line in an hour.”
“You will, indeed.” Bria kissed Her Ladyship’s cheek.
“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” asked the maid.
“No, you’ve done a fine job. Thank you.”
Before she joined Drake in his chamber, she had two people to see. First, she slipped down the corridor to Pauline’s chamber. Thank heavens her dearest friend was able to travel north for the soiree. After knocking, she popped her head inside. “Oh my, you look lovely.”
Dressed in a lovely pink frock, Pauline sprang to her feet and pulled Britannia into her embrace. “Me? You look like a queen.”
Bria gave her a squeeze, then twirled to make her skirts flair. “A duchess, perhaps.” She tapped her fingers to quell her stomach upset.
“Are you unwell?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
Pauline snatched her fan and shook it. “How long have we known each other?”
Gulping against the little bit of nausea, Bria took in a deep breath and smiled as brilliantly as she could. The excitement bubbling through her blood far outshone her mild discomfort. “I think I’m with child!”
Gasping, Pauline’s jaw dropped. “That’s wonderful!”
“I wanted you to be the first to know.” Bria stepped in and lowered her voice. “I just want to be sure about this before I tell His Grace.”
The dancer giggled. “If you keep turning green, you won’t have to say a word.”
“Right. But I do not want him to worry for naught.
“Oh my.” Pauline tapped her chin with the fan. “I just thought.”
“What?”
“The theater, the ballet.”
“That’s one of the reasons I asked you to visit. Are you ready to be the principal ballerina next Season? Because there’s no one on this earth I want performing the lead role at Chadwick Theater more than you.”
“Truly?”
“Oui, ma chérie. I’m a duchess now and my place is beside the duke. Duchesses don’t walk the boards, mind you.” Even though Drake would have been happy to allow her to continue dancing, her life had taken a new path—one filled with the growing family she’d dreamed about for years.
Together they joined hands and spun in a circle—not so duchess-like, but very appropriate. “Oh Bria, you’ve made me so happy!”
“You deserve to be.” She gave Pauline’s cheek a peck. “Now I must haste away. I’ll see you below stairs anon.”
Checking the mantel clock, she had fifteen minutes to pay a visit to the nursery, and she hastened up one flight of stairs and knocked on Johnny’s door. “Are you ready?”
He opened. “Bloody hell, you look ravishing.”
“Language, young man. That’s not exactly the sort of greeting you give a duchess,” said the governess.
Bria smiled at the woman. “I’m sure you’ll have Master John well-versed in proper etiquette in no time.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The governess curtsied and excused herself.
Johnny stood quite like a gentleman, dressed in a velvet suit of clothes complete with an expertly tied neckcloth. Bria stood back and gave a head-to-toe inspection. “Now, show me a proper bow and kiss my hand.”
He flipped out his coattails and performed as directed. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Excellent.” She ruffled his hair just to make him look more like the Johnny she knew. “Tonight you’ll stand in the receiving line, and then come back up here for bed.”
“But why can’t I stay?”
“Children are not allowed at balls.”
He kicked the rocker of a wooden horse. “Why?”
“I don’t make the rules, but we must follow them. When you come of age, you’ll attend so many balls you’ll grow sick of them.”
“But if I asked the dowager duchess to waltz, she might like me.”
“Mm.” Bria studied him. “What makes you think she doesn’t like you.”
“She purses her lips and looks at me as if I’m a guttersnipe.”
“I think she just isn’t quite sure how to take you.”
“Huh?”
“The rose garden is full of new blooms. Perhaps you might consider collecting a bouquet and taking it to her on the morrow. Tell her how important it is for you to be in her good favor.”
“Can I tell her how you and His Grace rescued me from the convict ship?”
Bria smoothed her finger over the gems encrusting her neckline. “Why not. And then tell her about your plans to become a ship’s captain and put an end to penal colonies.”
Drake stood outside the open nursery door and listened to Britannia speak to their ward for a moment before he stepped through. “I thought I’d find you up here.”
When Britannia turned, his knees buckled. Never in his life would he grow tired of seeing his lovely wife. “How do you do it? Every time I see you, you are more radiant.”
“And you grow more handsome.” She stepped in playfully and kissed him.
“Mush,” Johnny complained.
Drake eyed the lad. “You’re expected in the entrance hall in a half-hour.”
“Very well, Your Grace.”
“And Master John…”
“Yes?”
“You look very dapper this evening.”
The boy’s expression grew stunned as Drake escorted his wife down to his chamber.
Britannia leaned on his arm. “I cannot believe how gentlemanly he looks—and he’s only been here a month.”
“He’s fitting in well. His riding instructor tells me John is exceptional with horses.”
“Wonderful news.”
Drake pulled her into his chamber and closed the door. “But I don’t want to talk about the lad right now.” He held his wife at arm’s length admiring perfection. “You truly are the most beautiful woman I have ever gazed upon. Why, I think being a duchess suits you. You’re glowing.”
Her hips swayed as she stepped into him and fingered his neckcloth. “Must we go down?”
“We’re the hosts, darling.”
“But the guests will have a lovely time without us.”
He drew her into his arms and kissed her. “I love the way you think almost as much as I love you.”
“I suppose it would be awfully difficult to undress and dress with so little time.” She slid her hands down his lapels. “But I’m expecting grand things later.”
“A new position, perhaps?” he asked. She’d proved a tigress in the boudoir, growing wilder by the night.
“Oh yes, one you haven’t shown me yet.” Pressing her fingers to her lips she gulped and then fanned her face.
“Or would you prefer to command the…ah…position?”
Bria, clamped her hands to her midriff and lurched as if she were going to be sick.
“My heavens.” Throwing his arm around her, he helped her to the chair. “Are you feeling unwell, my love?”
“I’m all right. It’s just a wave of nausea now and again.”
“Nausea?” He kneeled before her. “You are ill. You must take to your bed immediately.”
“No, not tonight! I am fine.”
“But—”
She hid her face in her hands. “I think…I think I might be with child.”
Stunned, he watched her face as a dozen starbursts took to flight in his heart. Had he heard correctly? “You…what?”
“I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. The queasiness comes and goes. Please, we must hasten below stairs before Pennyworth sends someone to fetch us.”
Surrounding her in his arms, he showered Britannia’s darling face with kisses. “Oh, my love, are you certain you are up to this? I could make your apologies.”
“Absolutely not. I will be fine.”
Drake gathered her up and stood. “Shall I carry you below stairs.”
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“And make a spectacle? No.”
“But—”
“Put me down this instant.” She thrust her finger toward the floor. “I will walk on my own two feet, and you will pretend nothing is amiss.”
“Spoken like a true duchess—your wish is my command.” Drake gently set her on her dainty toes. “But if you grow tired, or feel the least bit ill, I will insist that you take to your bed forthwith.”
She winked. “Our bed.”
He chuckled. “I think your confinement might prove good sport.”
Giggling, together they headed for the stairwell.
On Drake’s arm, Britannia swayed. “You never told me the story of why you embarked upon the task of building Chadwick Theater.”
“Hmm.” Drake pulled her to a stop and kissed her—he’d never in his life enjoy enough of his wife’s kisses. “It started as a wager with Percy. He thought such a grand venture would ruin me.”
“But you’re not so shallow to embark on such a risk without being passionate about it.”
“Do not misunderstand, I was and am most passionate about Chadwicks. My life has always been a bit of night and day. During the Season I’m expected to be in London and sit in the House of Lords. As a boy I attended Eton and then Oxford and once I inherited the title, I was expected to play the role of duke which, in my mind, can be dreary at times—Percy feels the same. And as we were commiserating over several glasses of brandy at Whites, I looked at him and said I intended to build a theater and premier only the most elite ballets and operas in all of Christendom.”
“And he wagered against you?”
“More or less.”
“What a foolish thing to do.” She rose on her toes and brushed the whisper of a kiss over his lips. “I would never bet against you, Your Grace.”
He chuckled, glancing back to the bedroom and wondering how long the guests would wait. “Nor you.”
“And this night you’ll collect on your wager.”
“Indeed, and oh, how sweet it will be.”
“What will you do with your booty?”
“Well, you must realize that some wagers are not about the sum at risk, but are placed merely for the thrill of winning.”
She gave him a coy glance. “Soooo…how much was at stake?”
“One pound—with which I plan to begin an endowment for Master John.”
“Oh, I do like that idea—as long as the fund grows exponentially.”
“Would you like to wager that it will?” After one more kiss, Drake cast a forlorn look to the bedchamber door and forced himself to break from their embrace. With his arm around Britannia’s shoulders, he rubbed her tummy. “Do you know how happy I am?”
“If you’re as happy as me, we’ll float through this night as if on angel wings.”
Unable to resist, he stopped once more, this time giving her a deep, passionate and meaningful kiss. “You and I are soaring on the wings of the Sylph. Not just this night, but every night for ever and ever more.”
Author’s Note
I cannot tell you how much fun I had writing this book. It was my first foray into the Georgian Era. I had originally wanted to write a strict Regency romance, but the romantic era of ballet didn’t begin until the opening of La Sylphide with Marie Taglioni playing the Sylph in 1832. And I definitely wanted ballet to be at the core of this story.
Dance is near and dear to my heart. I started dancing when I was four years of age. In high school, I danced in Ballet Tacoma and as a senior, the Tacoma Performing Dance Company. From there I toured with Follies on Broadway for three years before injuries helped me decide to hang up my toe shoes and go to college.
There are a few other things to note about this story: The term prima ballerina did not exist at this point in history. There were many places in the text where I wanted to use prima ballerina but resisted. I do try to make my stories historically correct where possible, though I’ll be the first to admit that I am far from perfect.
The lead characters in this book are fictional as is Chadwick Theater. And interestingly, there is a Robin Hood’s Bay north of York where Ravenscar (a coastal village in the Scarborough district) at the beginning of the 18th century was known as “Peak” or “The Peak”, which is not to be confused with the more widely known “Peak District” south of the Pennines.
I hope you enjoyed The Duke’s Fallen Angel, for no matter in which era I write my characters always seem to embark on adventures of peril, finding love and happiness along the way.
Happy reading ~ Amy
Learn more about Amy Jarecki at amyjarecki.com
Preview The Duke’s Untamed Desire
Book 2 of the Devilish Dukes Series
16th May 1818
Georgiana gaped at the actor while her dreams crumbled about her feet like an overdone pound cake. “You cannot read?”
Mr. Walpole winced, tugging on his neckcloth. “Ah…no, my lady.”
Could things grow worse? Left with few options but to hire Palmer Walpole, Georgiana had already made too many mistakes. Yesterday during his audition, his soliloquy had been flawless; he’d also seemed quite sober. Though this morning the actor had shown up smelling as if he’d slept on the floor of a tavern.
Now it was too late to find a replacement. Moreover, if she, a mere woman, summoned the courage to stand on a platform at the Southwark Fair and hold forth about her late husband’s steam pumper, she’d be laughed off the stage and carted to an asylum.
At least Mr. Walpole looked the part—a bit of gray at his temples, a contemplative expression fixed on his face, which might be due to the effect of stupefaction brought on by imbibing in too much gin. Nonetheless, all the man need do was recite from the script she had prepared listing the attributes of the new steam-powered fire engine. Except he couldn’t read.
Dash it, she should have thought of such a conundrum.
The actor held the parchment within an inch of his nose and examined it upside down. “You didn’t say you needed me to study lines.”
“No?” she asked, doing her best to contain her frustration. “How else would you know what to say?”
Mr. Walpole rubbed the back of his neck—not a good sign. Goodness, he’d performed at Covent Garden. Yet, of all the questions she’d asked him yesterday, the ability to read hadn’t been one of them.
Georgiana drew the list from his fingertips. “How do you usually manage to learn your part?”
“Someone reads me my lines and I memorize.”
She glanced to the machine. Everything was ready. This was her chance to find a financier. The moment she’d been waiting for. Biting her bottom lip, she gave him a once-over. “If I succinctly relay each important point, can you commit my list to memory in ten minutes?”
Though his mouth was agape, he uttered no sound for at least five seconds. “All that in ten minutes?”
“This has the workings of a disaster.” She threw out her hands. “But you’ve done demonstrations at fairs before.”
“Oh, absolutely. All manner of acting and dancing—fairs, the Garden, Vauxhall. I sing as well as play the violin.”
“I’m sure a delightful waltz will help draw investors,” she said dryly, looking to the skies. This was her due for hiring an unknown. Well, she couldn’t back down now. “Here’s how we’ll proceed: I’ll stand behind you and whisper your lines whilst you act as if you are the most renowned inventor in the world. Can you manage that?”
Mr. Walpole smoothed his fingers down his lapels like a distinguished gentleman. “I most certainly can, my lady.” At least his ability to perform was never in question.
“Very well.” With a bit of improvisation, the demonstration might be a success after all. “The most important thing to remember is the steam pumper is far superior to any fire engine in use today. Every town and estate ought to have one. It pumps two hundred gallons per minute—far more than a hand-operated pump, and—”
“A moment, please.” The actor cleared his throat
. “That enormous contraption is a steam pumper did you say?”
Good glory, I am doomed. “Yes.” She gestured to the iron engine on wheels—the culmination of six years of tireless work, the last of which she’d accomplished alone without Daniel—the true inventor and scholar. “The most important fact to remember is this new invention is a fire engine powered by steam.”
“Does it work?”
“As long as there is a water supply nearby—” At Walpole’s blank expression, Georgiana’s explanation abruptly halted. For this man to understand the significance of her husband’s design, she must make things clearer. “The current manual-stroke pumps tire the strongest of men in five to ten minutes. Correct?”
“Ah…yes, yes you are correct, madam.”
“Excellent. Now picture this: The steam pumper does not require manual labor at all and shoots more water farther than its hand-stroked counterparts. Is that clear?”
Mr. Walpole smiled—not precisely a smile, but more of a grimace. “Perfectly.”
Why wasn’t she convinced?
“Are you ready, my lady?” asked Roddy, the errand boy she’d brought along to light the fire and keep it burning. With an intelligent glint in his eye, Georgiana was convinced the lad of fourteen would be a far better spokesperson than Palmer Walpole, who had already insisted on half his wages up front.
She looked to the fire engine and back to the young man. “We’ll need to make a slight adjustment for the demonstration. Remember when I showed you how to throw the lever?”
“I sure do.”
“Well, it turns out I’m required on stage, so you must do it.” She grasped the boy by the shoulders. “Once you engage the engine, you’ll need to be quick. It is imperative that you assume control of the hose immediately and douse the flame. Can you manage that for me?”
With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection Page 205