“Welcome, Mr and Mrs Westby, please do take a seat – can I offer you some tea?”
Looking confused still, they sat, allowing the habit of politeness to guide them.
“Thank you, yes.”
Once tea was in hand all round, and the requirements of politeness had been served, Sybilla rose, impatient. Everyone looked at her, and she spoke.
“Mrs Westby, Isabel, if I might presume to call you so, you know that I discovered, back before Christmas, that your grandfather was my great grandfather. I am making the assumption that you told your brother of what we had discovered, and that you showed him Ella and Stanford’s letters?”
John nodded, looking interested, but confused. Sybilla continued.
“What neither of you know, is that, upon returning to Meltonbrook Chase for the Christmas season, I discovered something more, about what happened after Stanford left Ella, and married my great grandmother, so that he might get an heir. Whilst my great grandmother lived, Stanford was faithful to her, and made no attempt to contact Ella and Genevieve, even though he would have wished to know what was happening in their lives. But once my great grandmother died, he did try to find them again. By then, Ella was dead, and Genevieve had married, and moved to another parish, with your father. No one here would tell him where they had gone. He was devastated, for he had truly wished to meet his daughter again, before he died. He never found them. But he did do something, in the hope that he might. It seems that he never gave up hope. In the end, age defeated him”
John and Isabel looked at her, with shocked expressions.
“You say that he did something? What? I don’t understand.”
Isabel’s face echoed John’s confusion.
“He bought a property, with the intent of giving it to Genevieve, to ensure that she had a home, and some financial security, no matter what else happened in her life. And he left his journal, telling us that, in a locked chest, with the deeds to that property. My brother has managed that property, as he does all of our estates, as did our father before him. It has never been lived in, but the two tenant farmers and their families care for the land and the houses. We decided, as a family, that you should have it – it was bought for your mother, and, if she had received it while she lived, then it would have been yours now.”
“An estate? With more than one house, and an income from farms? That is…” John gulped, and Isabel clutched Mr Westby’s hand. “That is greater wealth than I ever expected to hold.”
“And to know that our grandfather cared enough to do that, even if far too many years too late – that is good – that changes my thoughts on him, even more than his letters did.”
Tears shone in Isabel’s eyes.
Sybilla handed her the small chest which had sat on the mantelpiece whilst they spoke, and she opened it staring at the papers and the journal within.
“The papers in there are the original deed, and all of the papers which transfer it into your names. You own it, now. Stanford’s journal is with them, for I felt that you should have it.”
As John and Isabel sat, speechless, Oliver stood, and came to them. Bart and Sybilla smiled at each other, pleased to see all of this happening as planned, healing the hurts of generations past, between two families.
Sybilla sat, and reached for Bart’s hand.
“Isabel and John, you have not seen me for many years, you may not even remember me, for I was still a boy when I left here. I am Oliver Kentworthy, the Marquess of Dartworth.”
John and Isabel looked startled, rather overwhelmed by everything that was happening. Oliver continued speaking.
“Lady Sybilla and Lord Barton have told me all of the story behind this, and I am here because you are my relatives too. You are as much my second cousins as you are Lady Sybilla’s. I am rather unconventional in outlook. I am not the least concerned by the rather improprietous circumstances of your mother’s birth, truth to tell, I am more disgusted by the fact that my great grandfather chose to leave his wife in isolation, all those years, and to provide so little towards her, and her daughter’s survival. He may have had cause, by the letter of the law, but his actions were not those of a charitable man. I choose to act to provide a better ending to this generations old story of ill-fated love, as has Lady Sybilla. I have established, for each of you, an annuity, which you may use as you like, which will continue for the rest of your lives. You need never fear being without a home, or without funds, again.”
Isabel burst into tears, overwhelmed by their actions. Some hours later, once they had recovered from the shock, a time was arranged, a few days hence, to take them to Feltonbury Manor, and introduce them to their tenant farmers.
As they all left Gallowbridge House, only Bart remaining, it was as if the house breathed a sigh of relief, its old timbers creaking. It felt as if the lingering presence of Ella’s despairing love had finally departed, leaving only peace behind.
A peace that would be the cocoon for Bart and Sybilla’s love, for the rest of their lives.
~~~~~
The wedding did not happen, in the end, until July, for, whilst planning had been happening at Gallowbridge House, events had moved on elsewhere, and Raphael was now not only raised to the peerage as an Earl, but about to be married. For the Hounds, it was the year of weddings, it seemed.
That would leave, once they too were wed, only Gerry as a single man. Bart hoped, for his sake, that he would find his match soon.
They chose, for the sanity of all concerned, to wait the extra month after Raphael and Sera’s wedding. Sybilla’s mother had forgiven her for hiding away for so long, when presented with a wedding to arrange. She had even forgiven her for wanting to hold it somewhere other than Meltonbrook Chase, once she had seen the newly refurbished ballroom at Dartworth Abbey.
The day arrived far sooner than seemed possible, and the church overflowed with people. For two who had each thought that they would spend their life alone, their world had become full of company. Once the words were said, and they went out into the sunshine, Sybilla finally allowed herself to believe that it was real.
Back at Dartworth Abbey, the ballroom was soon full to overflowing and, as Oliver had predicted, their wedding celebration had become the event of the year in the county. They drifted through the crowds, talking and laughing with everyone, and Bart was delighted when he realised, as the evening was coming to an end, that none of the loud noises and sudden movements inherent in a crowd of people had affected him in the slightest.
They stepped out onto the terrace, the warm summer air wrapping around them, laden with the scent of flowers from the gardens, intermingled with the scent of horses and hay from the stables. Sybilla looked up at Bart, her face serious for a moment.
“My love, I have finally decided what to name my wedding present. It came to me today, that her name should be Courage – for she helped you to gather up enough courage to ask me, finally, to be your wife.”
He laughed, surprised and pleased. For now, every time he saw the horse, he would be reminded of the rewards that came from having courage - in the apparently small things in life, as well as on the field of war.
“Perfect.”
He pulled Sybilla to him, folding her into an embrace, which soon became a kiss.
The End
Continue reading after the ‘About the Author’ section for a preview of the next book in the series!
About the Author
Arietta Richmond has been a compulsive reader and writer all her life. Whilst her reading has covered an enormous range of topics, history has always fascinated her, and historical novels been amongst her favourite reading.
She has written a wide range of work, from business articles and other non-fiction works (published under a pen name) but fiction has always been a major part of her life. Now, her Regency Historical Romance books are finally being released. The Derbyshire Set is comprised of 10 novels (7 released so far). The ‘His Majesty’s Hounds’ series is comprised of 14 novels, wi
th the ninth having just been released.
She also has a standalone longer novel shortly to be released, and two other series of novels in development.
She lives in Australia, and when not reading or writing, likes to travel, and to see in person the places where history happened.
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Kissing the
Duke of Hearts
His Majesty’s Hounds – Book 10
Sweet and Clean Regency Romance
Arietta Richmond
Chapter One
“Perfect! You look wonderful, and Mistral is carrying herself so well.”
Miss Isabella Morton immediately spoiled the perfect seat and movement that she was being praised for by turning to her companion with a happy smile, allowing her mare to fall back into a lazy walk as she did so.
“Oh! I just lost that, didn’t I? Wait a moment, let me see if I can do that again – it felt lovely when everything was working properly.” She concentrated, and adjusted her seat and hands, gently, until the mare came back to the elegant gliding slow trot that she had been doing before. “This is so much more comfortable than the bumpy trot she was doing before you taught me how to do things correctly.”
Lady Harriet Clarence laughed, delighted that her friend was doing so well. She had feared, when they started, that Bella’s propensity for extravagant movement when she talked might make it rather difficult to teach her to ride well.
After all, every movement would be interpreted, by the horse, as a command – with potentially alarming results. But things were working out well. Bella was clever – far more than she seemed at first meeting, and capable of being utterly focused on a task, if she cared about it. And it seemed that she cared about riding.
“You really are doing well. Soon all of the gentlemen will be watching you, admiring your style. Not many young ladies actually ride well.”
“I know. I have seen some of them, they sit like this…” Bella attempted to demonstrate, and destabilized herself completely, losing the beautiful trot and bumping about. “Bother! Let me get that back. I must remember not to demonstrate. But now that I have tried to, when actually on a horse, I am even more amazed that they don’t all just fall off, to land in inelegant heaps in the middle of Rotten Row.”
“Perhaps you have noticed that they spend rather a lot of their time at the walk?”
Harriet’s voice was full of cynical amusement.
“But surely they would get more notice from the gentlemen if they could do more?”
“Well, yes. But you have just demonstrated how hard it is to concentrate on two things at once. And most of them are rather focused on studying the gentlemen around them – which leaves them little attention to focus upon their riding.”
“Oh, that makes sense.”
They let the conversation lapse for a while, as Bella concentrated on her riding.
The July heat surrounded them, and they knew that soon, most of the ton would depart Town for a month or two, to escape the heat and the stink of London in summer. But many were still here, and Bella had to consider that there was some entertainment value in watching them.
All of those who thought themselves important came here, to see, and be seen. Bella had very rapidly discovered that they were most likely to ignore her. She was, after all, not noble born. That her brother, Raphael, had recently been granted the title of Earl of Porthaven had only marginally improved her status, as he had been, and still was, a merchant. The ton had little tolerance for those that they saw as upstarts, especially those whose hands were sullied with trade. It had, at least, made them be polite to her face.
Lady Harriet was different, her brother was one of Raphael’s closest friends, and she had always been nice to Bella. She rode, and drove, better than any other woman that Bella had met.
When Bella had finally raised the courage to ask for her assistance, she had been thrilled to help. So now, most days, they rode through Hyde Park as Bella learned. She was learning more than riding, as well, for Harriet could tell her who all of the important personages were, as well as much of the gossip about them. Bella liked to be well prepared for the moments when she entered Balls or soirees, and was faced with a sea of potentially hostile faces.
Finally settling into the slow gliding trot without it taking every ounce of her concentration, she turned her attention to the group of gentlemen riding ahead of them. There were a few that she had seen before, men of little conversation and too much self-importance. But one, she had not seen before.
He was tall, and lean, and he rode with the kind of casual fluid elegance that only came with much practice, and a superb awareness of one’s own body. His hair was blond, tied back with a plain black ribbon, where it fell below his hat. It glinted in the sun, a rich pale gold colour, similar to the unusual colour of his horse, which was the palest chestnut she had ever seen. He rode beside two other men, and, whilst the other two were talking, he seemed to be silent, watching his surroundings with what might be affected ennui, or might be actual boredom – she could not tell. He was, she thought, not simply handsome, but also beautiful, in the way that a cat could be beautiful – danger sheathed in languid relaxation. He attracted her, as other men did not, for he was interesting in a way that most would never be. She wondered who he was.
“Harriet… that man, the blond one, on the pale chestnut horse, do you know who he is? I don’t think that I have seen him before.”
Harriet looked at the men, considering, then shook her head.
“The other two are amongst the crowd who are a little disreputable – prone to gamble, but not to extremes, and thinking themselves more appealing than they are. But him – no, I don’t know him, which is odd – I know most people, at least by sight. I will attempt to find out, before we next meet.”
With that, Isabella had to be content, but his image stayed in her mind, long after he had ridden away from her sight.
~~~~~
Lucian Merryhew, the Duke of Hartswood, was bored. Again. He stood with Edgar Holborn, Viscount Hailfort, the only man he truly regarded as a friend, at the side of a ballroom. Even though this might be their last chance to talk, before Edgar departed for the jungles of South America tomorrow, they had given up on conversation for the nonce. They sipped cups of insipid punch, and attempted to maintain the farce of politeness to the fluttering flock of society misses that surrounded them.
Edgar had likened the girls to the flocks of butterflies found in some forests – beautiful when seen together, clothed in delightful colours, but utterly unintelligent in their movement, fluttering about together, hoping to accidentally come upon a source of food. Except that this flock of young women were looking for husbands, not something as simple as food. But their behaviour was otherwise as unintelligent as could be.
He bowed to the relevant ladies, made polite rejoinders to their rather stupidly inane discussion of the weather, and steadfastly refused to ask any of them to dance. Their mothers glared at him across the room, and he took delight in ruining their hopes of making their daughters a Duchess. It did no good, of course. No matter what he did, they still flocked around him. His reputation as a rake and a gambler did not deter them.
He knew that, amongst the women, and even amongst some of the young men who envied him, he was referred to as ‘the Duke of Hearts’, in ‘tribute’ to the number of women who had supposedly succumbed to his charms. At first, he had been almost flattered, but now, like everything else about society life, he had ceased to find it
amusing. But they persisted with it. He had heard it whispered upon his arrival tonight, a susurration behind fluttering fans.
He had only come this evening for a chance to catch up with his friend, before Edgar’s departure to pursue his naturalist interests on the other side of the world. Even that was failing, he thought morosely. How he had ever found these events entertaining, a few years ago, he did not know – perhaps he was becoming jaded. He glared at the girl in front of him, and she fluttered her fan, attempting to look enticing.
Damn! Was there no expression which would drive them away?
As he was about to lose his temper completely, and push his way rudely through the young women to escape to the card room, he caught a glimpse of a girl, across the room. She was dressed elegantly, with a heart shaped face, surmounted by hair so dark as to be almost black. There was a continental look about her, yet her skin was English fair. It made her striking, and she moved with elegance, even though she seemed quite young. That she was talking quietly with someone, rather than immediately joining the flutterers around him, made her stand out as well. Briefly he wondered who she was, and was grateful that the sight of her had reminded him that some women were not throwing themselves at him – that some might even be potentially intelligent. No, that was probably too much to hope for.
He turned back to Edgar, and Edgar nodded, understanding his intent. They moved.
“Excuse me Ladies. So sorry, but we have an appointment in the card room.”
The relief as he exited the room was extreme.
~~~~~
Bella stood Lady Harriet, and Lady Serafine, her sister-in-law, watching the room as they talked. She was nervous, as she always was at events like these. She hoped that, in time, she would get used to it – to the disdain of the ton for her ‘merchant class origins’ and to their frosty politeness. She understood that the fact that the Prince Regent had favoured her family was the only thing that ensured even that frosty politeness.
Love in the Moonlight: A Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Collection: 7 Delightful Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Stories (Regency Collections Book 6) Page 15