“And I you,” the Duke nodded, studying her face.
“And Charlotte approves. I am glad of it. Father will approve. Of course how could he not approve. You are a Duke.” She stopped and looked at him then. “I shan’t care if father approves though. Do you think that makes me a horrible daughter?”
“Nothing could make me think you horrible,” he promised.
“What does your friend, Lord Taftwater say about me? Surely men gossip amongst themselves as women do?”
The Duke laughed in the cool dusk air.
“I like your friend,” she said. “And if he is to marry Charlotte, we must get on, you know. She is my best friend, more like sisters than cousins. It would be so horrid if she were to marry someone I could not abide.”
“I was not aware that Taftwater had offered for Miss Charlotte,” the Duke said.
“Oh he will.”
“I shall be sure to inform him.” The Duke said dryly.
“Oh do not!” she said, suddenly aware that the conversation had spun out of her control.
“I am sorry,” she said, placing a gloved hand to her mouth. “I misspoke. Charlotte cautions me I speak before I think. She will be so vexed with me if she thinks I ruined her chances.”
“So she is not taken with Shelby Egglandton?”
Philippa groaned and the Duke laughed.
“I understand,” The Duke said. “I will not speak of it. In fact, Taftwater cautions me in most aspects of my life.”
“He cautions you about me?”
“He does. But as I said, he cautions me about a great many things. Wine. Fox hunting. Gambling.” The Duke waved a hand above his head. “He is a careful man full of careful thoughts. I do not share in his carefulness.I think you can be assured of that.”
“He cautions you of me because he fears I am some hysterical woman who does not know how to conduct herself in polite society?”
“Nearly his words exactly,” the Duke said.
“I do know how to conduct myself, she said. “I just cannot bring myself to care what they think.”
The Duke nodded. “I do not concern myself with the talk of gossips.”
“It was not so bad as the gossips make it out to be. Mr. Goldthwaite was prone to exaggeration.”
The Duke was unsure of what to say. It was the first time she had voluntarily mentioned Simon. He was unsure of whether or not he believed what she said. She went on. “I am glad it happened in a way. If it had not, I would be married to Goldthwaite and you to…what was her name?”
“Lady Margaret,” he supplied.
“You would not have had your time with The Duchess,” she whispered.
“I loved her,” he said.
“I know.”
“Janet, not Margaret. Once I thought I loved Margaret…”
“She was not worth a farthing,” Philippa said, surprised at her vehemence.
If he expected that to sour the walk he was surprised when she let the matter drop, and they continued their circuit around the grounds.
“Did you love Simon Goldthwaite?” he asked at last.
“No,” she said. “I do not think I did. I was hurt of course. My pride was devastated, but no, I did not love him. I did not know that then, of course.” Philippa hadn’t known what real one felt like then, but she knew it now, because at last she was really in love…with the Duke of Chesney.
He caught her hand and held it. When they returned to the front door the sky was nearly dark, and the Duke bid Miss Dunn a good night. He kissed her cheek, and she touched his face. “I am glad that you loved her,” she said. “It means that you have the capacity to love, Your Grace. Many men do not.” She turned and went inside leaving him thoughtful.
* * *
8
“What is wrong sweet cousin?” Charlotte asked, placing a hand on Philippa’s back.
Philippa sat up suddenly. She had not heard Charlotte enter. “I am a nervous ninny,” she said.
“The Duke of Chesney has left?”
“He has.”
“He cares for you.”
“I hope does,” Philippa said.
Charlotte laughed. “And then what ever is the trouble?”
“Only that I am not skilled at polite conversation, dear cousin. I may have ruined your chances with Lord Taftwater. I am so sorry.”
“What happened?”
“I misspoke. I mentioned that it would be grand if he married you and …”
“You said no such thing!” Charlotte chastised her.
“I’m sure it will be fine. The Duke only laughed and said he would not tell Taftwater that he should offer for you, but I am sure he will. The conversation just keeps running over and over in my head. I keep thinking of things I should have said instead…It all works out so much better in my head, Charlotte. I am a fool. I nearly ruined things for you, and I am deluding myself. He is a duke.”
“Poppycock,” Charlotte exclaimed. She sat across from Philippa, and with the tongue of a woman who would seemingly be much older than her few years, she calmed her cousin.
“If you think like that, such fantasies will float in your head forever, you are wrong. No matter what that gentleman may be, if you love him, and he loves you, then that is enough. Or it should be. If you refuse to let it be, then you are forcing yourself to a life of sadness and loneliness that you do not have to experience. I do declare, Philippa, I think you find ways to be sad even when life offers you happiness.”
“I do not. Truly.” Philippa smiled weakly at her young cousin, but the words would not penetrate the bitter core she had built up over the years.
Philippa was a being made up of hurt and confusion and yearning. It had been too long since she had known anything else. She had fallen for the Duke; there was no doubt about that, but she could not let herself hope. She wanted to see him again, but she would not hope for more.
* * *
Two days after their last walk around the grounds Philippa and the Duke sat in the parlor, sipping wine.
“I want to see more of you,” the Duke said simply.
“And here you are.”
“No, I mean…. I am thinking of spending more time here. I tire of London.
“What of Parliament?”
“Well, obviously, I will always have that responsibility, but I want to return here, to my home, to relax. And I want you to be here too. I want to see more of you.”
“You plan to set up residence here, Your Grace?”
“Yes.”
“And do what? Ride around on your horses all day?” She blushed as she thought of their last ride.
“Would that be so burdensome?” he asked. “Would you ride with me?”
He looked at her searchingly and she felt that she could not breathe.
“I would court you,” he said.
“Court me? I am not court-able, if you would listen to your friend, or countless others. The things they say, those whispers at my back when they think I cannot hear. They will say similar things of you if you let them.”
“I am a Duke,” he said.
“It does not make you immune to gossip. Quite the opposite.”
“I do not care what they say,” The Duke said sharply and then he stood and before Philippa could stop herself she stood as well, putting a hand on his arm to calm him. He was not calmed.
He took her into his arms, and she could feel the strength of him. Their lips met. He tasted of the wine, and of passion. She closed her eyes. He pressed his body to hers. Her heart beat frantically beneath the swell of her small bosom pressed against his hard chest.
He looked at her for a long moment and then kissed her again, softly. “Forget the courting,” he said. “I am not a young man and you are no blushing debutante. I am certain of my intent.” He took a slow breath, and then asked, “Will you become my wife, my darling Philippa?”
“You jest,” she said.
“I do not.” He returned sharply.
She realized that he was offended by her reply.
Dare she hope he was speaking truthfully?
“You want to marry me?” she blurted, entirely overcome.
“I think you have some fondness for me,” he said. “I have not yet undertaken the task, but I will speak with your father…”
She touched his lips. They were so very warm. “I do have a fondness for you, Your Grace,”
“Gregory,” he corrected.
“I do have a fondness for you, …Gregory,” Philippa whispered. “But we cannot announce wedding plans. It is lent.”
“As soon as Easter is past then; I do not care. Just say that you are mine.”
Philippa did not answer, and he continued.
“I do not expect your love. I know these things take time, but I think we have a good companionship. We both like novels, and I will enjoy you taking my accountant to task with your skills in mathematics.” He grinned at her. “We both enjoy riding,” he said. “And I can see many a day down by the stream, when you will not be so shy with your stockings.”
“Your Grace!” she said embarrassed.
“You are no child, and you must know that my parents grow anxious that I do not yet have an heir. I think the task would not be unpleasant…” He kissed her again then, and when he let her come up for breath, she realized that the thought of bearing his children and all that entailed struck a fire in her soul.
“Gregory!” Philippa said, forgoing his title. “I do love you.” She continued breathless. “I do not know how it happened; I never thought I would love anyone. I tried not to; I kept to myself. After Simon, I was so unwilling to feel that pain once more, that stinging hurt of betrayal. I did not want to be hurt.”
“I will not hurt you,” the Duke promised, his voice deep and soft.
“I believe you. Despite everything; despite myself; I love you. I love reading with you and riding with you and talking about novels and even about the gossips. I do. There is nowhere I would rather be than beside you.” Philippa said.
“You will marry me then?” the Duke asked, “Just say yes, everything else can wait as long as you say yes.”
“Yes,” she breathed at last, and he kissed her again, and in his arms she was not a shrill shrew-like woman. The Duke had made Philippa see her own worth. In his eyes, she was a duchess.
“After Easter,” she said. “When love springs anew.”
“With you, my dear Philippa, love shall always be new.”
He kissed her again and she knew it was true.
* * *
Continue reading for a sneak seek of…
The Countess and the Baron ~ Prudence
by Isabella Thorne
* * *
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Prologue
Miss Prudence Baggington’s fine light brown hair had been arranged atop her head with a garland of minuscule white flowers that her maid called baby’s breath. She still wore her dressing robe, but the voluminous folds of her wedding gown were draped over the edge of the bed and ready to be worn. She still could not quite believe that this day had arrived. She expected someone to come and snatch the victory away from her.
Outside her window, dawn colored the sky with the most beautiful array of red and orange sunbeams that Prudence had seen in weeks. She had thought to have once heard a saying about a crimson sky in the morning being a cause for alarm, but shook her head and laughed at the silly, childish notion.
Of course there was nothing more beautiful than a rose-hued sunrise. The weather was beautiful and she was about to be wed. At last. She let herself breath in the cool scent of the morning and sighed with relief.
Marriage. Escape was perhaps a better word, but marriage would do. Once married she would be safe. She had dreamed of little else for most of her life, and she had prayed most dearly for these past few years. At last her prayers were answered, though not in the way she expected.
Of course Prudence did not want to stay on as a spinster in her father’s home. Perish the thought. Still she had thought her groom would have been the wealthy and oh so handsome Duke of Kilmerstan, but Garrett Rutherford had evaded her every move, and eventually married that little mouse of a woman, Juliana Willoughby.
Prudence huffed. Juliana was on the shelf for years. How could she have succeeded where Prudence failed? The thought still irritated but Prudence pushed it from her mind. She could not be bothered by that now. It was her wedding day.
She may not be marrying a duke, but an earl would certainly do. She would be a countess. That status had to count for something. A bit of cheer bubbled in to halt her consternation. She would make all the hypocritical biddies who called her “the baggage” eat their words. She smiled at the thought, took up her wedding dress, and twirled around the room. She could not ever remember being so happy. She smiled at herself in the glass.
“Yes, Countess,” she said. “Right away, Countess.”
She carefully hung the gown again. It was true that her situation was not what she had once hoped, but there was good in it, she thought. One unexpected kiss of passion with a near stranger, an earl no less, had led to the marriage arrangement and the reading of the banns.
She had expected each Sunday to have someone object to her impending marriage, but looking around the church she saw no one speak to oppose it, not even the Earl of Fondleton himself.
At first, Prudence had been nervous about the marriage and about the Earl’s absence at each reading of the banns, but the happy day had arrived. Marriage to an earl had not been her plan, but he was titled, and wealthy. He was not old, nor was he terrible to look at. What more could a lady ask? They would grow to know and love each other in time. She was sure of it. Certainly, this was a better option than her current situation.
She shuddered.
The truth was that Prudence would have married just about anyone to get out of her father’s house. She, and her mother, had been plotting for months to catch eligible gentlemen in the Nettlefold countryside, but all to no avail. No expense had been spared. They had ordered the most extravagant gowns and perfumes to catch the attentions of the gentlemen. Prudence had been hesitant at first to follow the advice of a London socialite, but her mother paid heavily for the designs, so Prudence capitulated.
She had shrugged her shoulders and gone along with the ploy, even attempting to enact an overly feminine accent that she had been instructed would appeal to the gentlemen’s ears. She thought she sounded akin to a banshee, but the gentlemen did take notice. Still, it was a relief to know that she could return to her normal tone, even if some said she had a voice like a man. Perhaps speaking normally would bring an end to the hoarseness and sore throat which plagued her in the mornings.
Prudence had thought all the glitter and glam a farce, but perhaps her mother was right. Perhaps such maneuverings worked. After all, the machinations did end with her engagement. She would be Lady Fondleton.
“Lord and Lady Fondleton,” she had whispered to herself in the mirror as the hope for her future lay ahead in an endless road of promise. While their meeting had been abrupt and, of course, improper, there was some romance to it as well. One could not be kissed in a stable without the thought of romance, she supposed.
She brought her fingers to her lips, remembering. The kiss was rather abrupt and rough, but she supposed the Earl had not thought so well of her at the time. He did not know she was a lady. In the dark he seemed to think her someone else, perhaps a kitchen wench or some drab. She would not censure him she decided if he wanted to take a mistress, as long as he was discrete and she was with child first. He would want an heir, of course. She tapped her fingers nervously with the thought. She remembered the first and only time she had met her soon-to-be husband.
Upon literally bumping into one another in the stables of the Inn, Prudence had nearly fallen off balance. She was sure she wind milled her arms in a most unbecoming way, and her hat had fallen askew, but instead of
being put off by her unladylike stance, the man caught her. Overcome with passion in that moment, he had swept down upon her, gathered her close to his very masculine form and planted a hard kiss upon her lips.
She had not been prepared. Never before had she felt quite so overwhelmed. She had perhaps just this once earned the nickname of baggage, because she was so thrilled in the moment, that she had not decried his boldness. Instead, she had allowed the kiss. Well, she supposed she did not really have a choice in the matter. She did not even have time to be afraid.
He had her in his arms, one hand laced through her hair and the other clasped to her to him in a very ungentlemanly way. She should have been afraid. He was so audacious and overwhelmingly male, she found herself as meek as a kitten. She could not even utter a squeak. Such was not a disposition that others expected of Prudence – lioness perhaps, or jackal, but not kitten. She was certain that the Earl’s passionate kiss had been a sign of their destined future, and then they were well and truly caught.
Once caught in such an embrace and there had been no explaining it. Prudence had swooned in his arms and he had held her. He had kissed her quite thoroughly and she imagined that she looked quite flushed and disheveled with the whole affair when Mrs. Hardcastle came upon them and exclaimed her outrage. She couldn’t even blame Mrs. Hardcastle for outing them. After all, the woman knew Prudence was contending for a husband. Mrs. Hardcastle knew her situation, and she saw a solution. Prudence took it. Perhaps she should thank the woman.
Prudence twirled a recalcitrant curl around her finger tucking it into place.
Perhaps the Earl loved her, Prudence thought suddenly. She wondered, could it be love at first sight on his behalf? She could only hope that love might grow between them, but no matter. It would be better than home. She had to believe that.
Still, as the passion of their wedding night approached, Prudence could not help but worry. She remembered the Earl’s embrace. It had not been full of love, but full of lust. She shuddered with the thought, but she reminded herself, she would be his wife. She would have stature.
Love Springs Anew: A Regency Romance Novella Page 6