Ladies and Their Secrets: Regency Romance Collection

by Alec, Joyce

  First printing, 2018

  Publisher

  Love Light Faith, LLC

  400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825

  Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311

  1

  London 1814

  “I am afraid it is a very serious illness, my lord.”

  Matthew Arthur, the Duke of Harrogate, ran one hand through his carefully styled chestnut-colored hair, sighing heavily.

  “I am sorry, your grace,” the doctor continued with a shake of his head. “It appears the duchess has contracted an illness after the birth of your daughter.”

  A heavy weight settled in Matthew’s stomach. He barely knew the duchess, and now it appeared that she was to be gone from this world in a very short time.

  “I should send for her parents,” he muttered to himself, passing one hand over his eyes before blinking at the doctor in an attempt to order his thoughts. “They should be here, should they not?”

  It was a question meant to ascertain just how ill the duchess was, and with only a momentary hesitation, the doctor nodded slowly.

  “Yes, your grace, I think that would be wise,” he said softly. “I am sorry I cannot do more.”

  Matthew nodded mutely.

  “You have a wet nurse for the child?”

  That brought Matthew’s head up sharply. He had almost forgotten his newborn daughter, the one who was now being held tightly in the nurse’s arms in the corner of the room.

  “I do,” he replied, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, as he thought of his daughter growing up without a mother. “She has taken good care of my daughter thus far.”

  “I do not mean to question you, of course,” the doctor murmured, glancing behind him. “But so often these things can be forgotten in the wake of tragedy.”

  A sudden terror clutched at Matthew’s throat, making him lunge for the doctor’s shoulder as he turned away.

  “She is not ill?”

  Lifting his grey, bushy brows, the doctor looked back at Matthew inquiringly.

  “My daughter, I mean.”

  “Oh,” the doctor replied with a sad smile. “No, she is not ill. She is as hale and hearty as I have ever seen a babe, and one of the female persuasion at that! Ensure she has a good nurse, plenty of milk, and she will remain just as vigorous, I am sure of it. Send for me again if you require me, your grace. I am at your disposal.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Matthew murmured, as the man turned away again and headed for the door. “I will ensure that you are paid for your work here.”

  There was no reply, and as Matthew turned his gaze back to the small, frail figure in the corner of the room, he felt his breath escape him in a long, painful sigh.

  This was his wife, the Lady Elizabeth Donnington, who had been placed on his arm only a few days before their wedding was due to take place. He had never laid eyes on her until that day, and it had been a disappointment to realize that there would never be any kind of love between them. Not that he expected that, of course, for a gentleman such as he was, had to marry responsibly and that meant a marriage of convenience and practicality. Lady Elizabeth Donnington had been his chosen bride. She was not chosen by him, of course, but by his father when he had been in infancy. Mathew’s father was quite happy to see Matthew wed, and relieved to know that Matthew’s wife was with child. Apparently awash with relief, the duke had taken to his bed and succumbed to his weak heart. That had only been a few months ago, and now, it seemed, Matthew was to stare death in the face all over again.

  Walking toward the bed, Matthew looked down at the pale figure lying there, his heart sore for her. It was not as though he had ever loved her, nor had she ever loved him, and since the very day of their marriage, they had lived very separate lives. It had brought about a degree of loneliness, which he had never quite been able to remove from himself, and now that loneliness was to deepen only further.

  A slight murmur came from the corner of the room, and glancing over at the nurse, Matthew saw her throw him a slightly terrified look before shushing the baby quietly.

  “Do not worry,” he murmured, not wanting the wet nurse to think him cruel. “She is a baby, I suppose.” He held his arm out to her, his heart thundering with a sudden, furious tension. “Bring her to me.”

  He had not held his daughter yet, since his wife’s condition had worsened with almost every passing hour these last three days. Now, however, he wanted to hold his child in his arms, to look into her tiny face and see if there was anything of himself there.

  Not quite sure how he was meant to hold her, he glanced at the wet nurse, who gave him a small smile, clearly less afraid of him now.

  “There, your grace,” she said quietly, lifting the baby from the crook of her arm. “Just like that. Put her head in your elbow and hold her close to your body with this arm.” She smiled again as Matthew took the tiny baby from her, doing exactly as she said and felt as though he might break his child were he to hold her too closely.

  “Perfect,” the nurse whispered, tugging the blanket a little more snugly around the child’s neck before stepping away to sit back amongst the shadows.

  Drawing in a long breath, Matthew looked down at the baby in his arms. She was sound asleep, her cheeks pink and tiny, rosebud mouth half open. She was the most delicate, most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and deep within him, Matthew felt his heartbreak open with a love he had never experienced before.

  How he could love someone he had only just met, only just seen, was quite beyond him, and yet, from a well of love springing into life within him, Matthew knew that he would never let this child go. He would do everything he could for her, showing her the love and affection a father ought to show to his daughter. A love he had not experienced from his own father.

  “If you will forgive me, your grace,” the wet nurse said quietly. “Do you have a name for the child? I was not told.”

  Blinking, Matthew lifted his head and looked at the nurse, who was sitting with a patient expression on her face. Had he truly never given his daughter a name?

  “Of course,” he mumbled, his gaze dragged back down to the child in his arms. “She should be called after her mother.” But even as he said those words, Matthew felt his eyebrows draw down into a dark frown. Yes, the girl should be called after her mother, but there was something in him that did not want to remember the pain of his arranged wedding, and the loneliness that had grown between them. “She will be Sarah Elizabeth,” he said, firmly, taking his mother’s name and setting it before his wife’s name. “Sarah Elizabeth. Yes, that will do.”

  “A lovely name, to be sure,” the wet nurse murmured, coming over to him and holding out her hands as Sarah Elizabeth began to fuss. “I should feed her now and put her to sleep.”

  It was as though he were the servant and she the master, for Matthew found himself doing exactly as the wet nurse said. Handing over the child, he paused for a moment, as her tiny hand wrapped around one of his fingers, making him catch his breath.

  She was utterly perfect. The only good thing to come out of what had been a difficult and lonely marriage between two people who did not care for one another very much at all.

  And then his wife drew in a long, sharp breath and let out a soft moan – before falling completely silent.

  The wet nurse hurried away, the servants by his wife’s bed gasped, and Matthew hurried to her side.

  Taking her cold hand in his, Matthew tried desperately to find a pulse, but there was nothing there. A sheen of sweat was on her brow, and as he wiped it away, he felt the coolness of her skin beneath. Her eyes were closed, purple veins showing through her almost translucent skin.

  “My wife is gone,” Matthew said quietly, reaching for the blankets and pulling them up around her shoulders, as though to warm her. “Send for the coroner.”

  The servants left the room at once, the wet nurse with them. Matthew was left alone with his wife, the blackness tugging at his heart and mind all over again. He was alone. His mother h
ad gone some years before his father, and now his wife had left him alone in this world. With only a brother to speak of – a brother who was something of an adventurer and currently traveling the world – Matthew felt more isolated than he had ever done before.

  “I am sorry, your grace,” the butler murmured, as he came into the room to stand next to Matthew. “She was so young. It was not her time.”

  “It appears it was, Jenkins,” Matthew replied heavily. “Have you maids to dress the body?” The words were torn from his lips, his heart so heavy with a sudden grief that he felt as though he could barely stand.

  The butler nodded. “The maids are ready, your grace. Just whenever you wish it.”

  “Now is as good a time as any,” Matthew muttered, taking one last look at his wife. “I shall be in my study.”

  “Very good, your grace,” came the quiet reply, and on legs that felt like blocks of wood, Matthew walked from the room and made his way to the solitude of his study.

  Once there, he poured himself a stiff drink and sat down by the fire, his eyes looking deeply into the flames. His mind thought of nothing, his expression blank and eyes distant. It was not as though there had been any love between himself and his wife, but yet there came a sadness with her passing. It was as if he had hoped for them both to find a way together, as though sometime in the future they might grow closer. He had perhaps thought that the baby would be the reason for such a change, that the child could draw them closer. That, somewhere in the distant future, there might be a true friendship and even an affection between them.

  All that was gone now. His hopes shattered. His dreams in pieces at his feet.

  “I shall be both mother and father to you, Sarah Elizabeth,” he said softly, half to himself, as he continued to watch the flickering flames of the fire. “No matter what we will face, we will face it together. I will never leave you. I will always be by your side.”

  Lifting his glass to the flames in memory of his wife, Matthew drank deeply, but the liquor took none of his pain away.

  2

  Five Years Later

  “There is nothing for it, I am afraid. You are going to have to find yourself a situation.”

  Miss Sophia Weston stared at her brother in shock, her whole being crumbling beneath his scornful gaze.

  “A governess or the like,” he continued airily. “Something in that regard. I am quite sure there will be plenty of men looking out for such a thing.”

  “In fact, I have managed to procure you a few advertisements,” Sophia’s sister-in-law crooned, holding out a sheaf of papers. “And one from a duke as well! My dear friend, Lady Margaret, had a letter from him and thought you might be inclined to reply to him. I am quite sure you will be able to find something suitable.”

  Sophia did not take the papers from the new Viscountess Brookridge, keeping her gaze trained on her brother, who was looking away from her with all the careless disregard she had grown used to.

  “Why are you doing this, Peter?”

  Her brother drew himself up, as though he expected her to refer to him now as ‘my lord’ instead of the usual Christian name she had used for two decades. “You, Sophia, cannot live on my charity any longer. It is time that you found your own path in life.”

  “But you promised Papa that you would take care of me!” Sophia exclaimed, her vision blurring with tears, as she thought of her dear father, who had passed only a little over a year ago. “You stood by his deathbed and vowed that–”

  “And this is how I have chosen to take care of you, Sophia,” he grated, interrupting her. “When I made that promise, I did not mean that I would allow you to live here, using my possessions and eating up my wealth.” He gave a harsh laugh, just as the viscountess smiled in agreement. “You are somewhat plain, and I have no intention of allowing you a Season—for that would simply be even more of my funds lost for no good cause, so I think a governess would be best.”

  “Or a teacher, should you care to write back to one of the many schools that are keen for new blood,” the viscountess said, setting the papers down on the table to her left. “You will not, I am sure, refuse to thank me for all my hard work in finding these positions for your scrutiny.” One arched eyebrow rose, as she fixed Sophia with a stern gaze, as though reminding her that she was less than nothing in her eyes.

  A deep, unsettling fury began to rush through Sophia’s very core, sending molten heat into her veins.

  “I will not thank you for throwing me from my own home,” she breathed, her eyes narrowing as she looked back at the lady she had once hoped to call a friend. “This is your doing, is it not? You are the one who has persuaded my brother to push me aside, to send me away from the only home I have ever known. And to think, all of this so that he can spend more money on you!”

  She did not know where the torrent had sprung from, but the anger made her say things she had kept within her for so long. The fury at being so discarded, being so easily cast aside by the brother who had promised to care for her, burned hot and furious.

  “You, dear brother, have treated me with more disdain than I ever thought possible. You made a promise to our father, which you are now reneging on. Taking away any hope of a future from me by sending me away was not what our father intended for me, and you know it! How can you be so unfeeling?”

  Drawing in a sharp breath and aware of just how hot her cheeks were, Sophia waited impatiently for her brother to speak, ignoring her sister-in-law entirely. Peter shifted a little uncomfortably, one hand tugging at his cravat, as he cleared his throat.

  “I suggest you look through those advertisements, Sophia. They may be your best chance at a successful post, as Evette has done her best to vet each of them carefully. I would have expected you to be a little more grateful that she showed you such kindness, but then again, you have become rather churlish of late.” He sniffed disdainfully, although his eyes did not quite meet her gaze. Linking arms with his wife, he lifted his nose in the air. “Come, my dear. Let us leave my spoilt little sister to consider her future.”

  As he walked away, Sophia felt herself begin to crumble from within, tears clogging her throat. Blinking furiously to keep them at bay, she silently urged her brother and his wife out of the room so that she might finally collapse with grief and pain without their knowledge.

  “Oh, and Sophia,” came her brother’s voice, just as they reached the door. “I expect you gone within the month. So, do get on to writing those letters just as soon as you can.”

  A quiet chuckle came from the viscountess, as he led them both out of the drawing room. Sophia, her lungs gasping for air as she forced herself to take short, slow breaths, clenched her hands tightly together in an effort to stop herself from trembling.

  As the door closed behind her brother, Sophia sank down into a chair, the sheaf of papers just to her left. Tears began to pour from her eyes, her soul sinking into despair. Her brother had once been the kindest, gentlest man imaginable, and she had hoped that their relationship would always be one of care and consideration, given just how close they had been. However, her brother’s marriage appeared to have changed all that. Now, she was little more than an afterthought.

  Wiping her eyes, Sophia hung her head and stared at the floor, her mind scrambling for an idea of what she might to do counter this plan for her life. After all, she was the daughter of a fine family and had a significant dowry tucked away for her, but now, it seemed, she was to be sent away because of the proclivities of her brother’s new wife. There appeared to be no way out. How foolish she had been to ever hope that she and Evette could become friends. Evette had hated her presence in her new home ever since the day they had returned from their honeymoon, even though Sophia had her own bedchamber and drawing room. It was not as though they were even much in each other’s company, but it was now evident that the little time they spent together was too much for her sister-in-law. She had clearly been collecting advertisements for a few weeks, given the number of papers on th
e table.

  “Oh, Papa,” Sophia whispered, pain rifling through her, as she thought of her dear, loving father, who had never had a cruel word to say to anyone. “How much I miss you.”

  With a deep, heart-wrenching sigh, Sophia picked up the papers and stared at them blindly. So, this was to be her future. She was to be sent away, entirely without love or loyalty from her family, to start life as a governess. She had never taught a child before; she had never even been involved with children, and yet, this was what she was expected to do. There was no doubt in Sophia’s mind that her brother meant every word he said. Were she not to find a position, then she would be left on the doorstep of the manor house with all her earthly possessions in a few bags at her feet. The cruelty within him had grown steadily, ever since he had taken a wife.

  Closing her eyes, Sophia forced herself to draw in a few steadying breaths, forcing the rest of her tears back. Were she to get through the next few weeks, she would have to find a determination within herself, a strength of character that she had not often had to call upon before this day. She would separate herself from her brother as much as possible, take meals in her room, and concentrate on what she would need to take up the role of governess or teacher, whichever came her way first. Her fine gowns would have to go, although Sophia knew she could not bear to part with them all. New, dowdy, plain gowns would be bought and worn, dark colors surrounding her, as was expected of a governess. No longer would she have the beauty and light and color she was used to. Peter had taken all that away.

  Leafing through the papers with shaking fingers, Sophia read each one in turn, trying not to feel the pain that deepened with every word she took in. There were posts for teachers, posts for governesses, and even one for a matron, which she disregarded at once.

  None caught her interest; none tugged at her heart. There was not a situation that called out to her more than the others; they were all much the same. Besides which, Sophia knew she could not afford to be choosy. To be out of her brother’s home in a month meant that she would have to write back to each of these advertisements at once, aside from the request for a matron. Five letters, each with the hope that she might receive at least one response.