Regency Romances

by Grace Fletcher

  “Oh, she can. A wife has a husband’s ear, remember?” Newcastle grumbled. “If you can control the wife, you control the husband. That’s why I refuse to take a wife from the women Mother chooses.”

  Catherine stared at him. He was very adamant about that. He would not bow down to his mother. Catherine had adored her mother. She couldn’t imagine feeling anything other than adoration and love for the woman who raised her.

  Then again, not every relationship was the same. Newcastle had probably had a nanny and a governess raising him. His mother just went around looking like the belle of the ball. She probably didn’t even have anything maternal towards her son, who was simply the heir to the dukedom.

  Catherine pitied arranged marriages for convenience.

  Chapter 8

  The Love Letters

  “Do you think you’ll ever marry?” she asked quietly.

  Newcastle sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I’m nowhere near thirty. I don’t have to think about it just yet. But if I do, I want someone who isn’t going to be swayed by my mother.”

  Catherine smiled. “You might have a problem with that. Everyone respects their elders, even when they’re not very kind. It’s engrained in us at a young age.”

  “Kind is not a way to describe my mother,” Newcastle muttered. Then he groaned. “Speaking of which, I need to buy her a Christmas present. It’s Christmas in a week and a half, and I still haven’t got her a present.”

  Catherine saw the way he was looking at her. Almost pleadingly. She smiled. “You want my advice on a present, do you?”

  “I might need a woman’s touch. Should save me making a fool of myself.”

  That was fair enough although Catherine had a feeling it was a ploy for something else. She nodded. “All right. If it will stop you putting your foot in it.”

  The smile Newcastle gave her was worth it. He took her hand and kissed it, still smiling. “You are an angel, Catherine Patrick,” he declared. “You really are.”

  Catherine was too speechless to respond.

  ***

  The next week passed by so well, Newcastle didn’t want it to stop. Every day he spent as much time as he could get away with at Catherine’s side. They went for walks, whether in the woods or in the parks, or they would go shopping. Catherine refused to let Newcastle buy anything for her, or even her family, for Christmas. But she had a good touch when it came to choosing presents, and Newcastle was impressed with what she found. Lady Georgia would be very happy. Although she wouldn’t be if she found out who had chosen the presents. That Newcastle was keeping to himself.

  As the days passed, Newcastle knew, without a doubt, that Catherine was going to be his wife. Once she got past her shyness, she was warm and inviting. She had a ready smile was and relaxed whenever she was around members of the nobility. Newcastle would see her at social engagements – they never went together, as per Catherine’s request – and admired how she lit up the room, both with her singing and her smile.

  It hadn’t taken much to fall in love with her.

  Newcastle was determined to have her as his duchess. And he had ordered a special ring for her. Catherine and Louisa were coming over for Christmas lunch after which Newcastle would propose. To become a married man by the new year would be perfect if only there were a way to get the banns published in time.

  Maybe Gretna Green would be perfect. And Lady Georgia couldn’t argue with it. This was what Newcastle wanted. His mother was not going to stop any of it.

  The day before Christmas Eve, Newcastle headed downstairs in a good mood. Catherine was coming over to help him decorate the huge Christmas tree that was in the living room. Even as an adult, he loved the spirit of Christmas, and a tree always had to be in the house. Catherine had never had a tree – they had been too poor to afford one – so Newcastle had offered to let her help him decorate it. It was a huge task he wanted to do every year, no matter how old he got. Catherine had eagerly agreed.

  Newcastle was still in a good mood as he finished his breakfast and headed into the study. There was time to check the letters that had come in the morning mail before Catherine arrived. The more paperwork he could get out of the way before she arrived, the more he would be able to spend with her.

  He was whistling as he went into his study. There was only one parcel on the desk, wrapped up neatly with string. Newcastle cut the string and opened up the parcel. Letters slid across the desk, some tipping onto the floor. Confused, Newcastle picked them up. The address on the front was Catherine’s address. And they were addressed to Miss Patrick.

  What was this? Why was someone sending him letters to Catherine?

  Curiosity getting the better of him, Newcastle opened one and scanned the first few lines. Then wished that he hadn’t. The language in it made his eyes burn, anger building in his chest.

  There was no question as to what they were. These were love letters. All addressed to Catherine. And the dates were recent. The one in his hands was dated three days before.

  Had she been leading him on? Had Catherine been lying to him? Newcastle could hardly believe that she would do that. Catherine wasn’t the sort of person who could deceive someone.

  But she had.

  “Your Grace?”

  Newcastle looked up. Roberts was in the doorway, frowning at his master.

  “Are you well, Your Grace? You’ve gone pale.”

  “Did anyone see who delivered this parcel?” Newcastle asked with a growl, indicating the fallen letters.

  Roberts shook his head. “No. Bradley said when the postman arrived, the parcel was already on the doorstep.”

  Newcastle snarled, slamming the letter onto the desk. Then he saw the time. “Is Miss Patrick here yet?”

  As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Roberts tilted his head when a familiar female voice filtered through the door. “Sounds like her now.”

  “Send her in immediately.” Newcastle paced around the desk. “I want to see her right now.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Roberts looked like he was going to say more, but he decided against it. He disappeared, Catherine reappearing moments later in his place. She looked exceptionally lovely in a pale green dress with a pale yellow shawl around her shoulders. She smiled as she entered Newcastle’s study, giving him a curtsy before approaching him. “Good day, Newcastle. I…” Then she stopped when she saw his expression, her smile fading. “What is it? You don’t look well.”

  “You could say that.” Newcastle took a deep breath. This was harder than he thought. “I want some answers from you, Miss Patrick.”

  Catherine blinked. But she nodded, still looking confused. “I’ll answer you as best I can.”

  “Someone delivered these to me this morning.” Newcastle picked up some letters, waving them in Catherine’s direction. “They look like love letters, from a Lieutenant James Perrier.”

  Catherine frowned. “What?” She hurried forward, holding out a hand. “Let me see.”

  “You want to see them again?” Newcastle sneered.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me see.”

  Newcastle passed one across.

  Catherine ripped the letter open and read it. Her hands were shaking, her face paling as she looked up at Newcastle in complete bewilderment. “I don’t know where these have come from. I don’t even know who this Lieutenant Perrier is.”

  “Oh, you don’t?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  The pain on her face had Newcastle wanting to go to her. But he kept the desk firmly between them. Newcastle gestured at the letters scattered in front of him. “What am I supposed to believe when these are left on my doorstep? From the dates, it looks like you have been writing to another man while you’ve been going out with me.”

  Catherine stared. Then she held up one finger. “One, I didn’t realise we were an official couple. And two” – she held up another finger – “I haven’t written to another man. But
you clearly don’t believe me.”

  “Well, they’re addressed to your house to a Miss Patrick. And Lieutenant Perrier calls you Kitty. That’s short for Catherine, isn’t it?” Newcastle picked up something he had seen while he was waiting for Catherine. One look at it had told him everything. “I found this among it all, as well. It’s your handwriting. Looks like you forgot to send it off.”

  Catherine strode across the room and snatched the paper from him, scanning the letter. Her eyes widened. “But… I wrote this years ago! I was a little girl with an infatuation for a neighbour’s son. I haven’t seen that in nearly ten years.”

  “You wrote to a boy that you love him, that you can’t wait to see him again?” Newcastle snorted. “You can do better than that, Catherine.”

  “I wrote it as a letter, yes, but I never sent it. I was too afraid.” Catherine gestured at the letter. “Look at the paper. It’s all yellowed.”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore.” Newcastle was confused. And in pain. He ran his hands through his hair. “I thought you were different.”

  Catherine’s face went through a lot of emotions. Newcastle didn’t like witnessing it. Finally, she settled on anguished pain. She swallowed hard and tried to keep her composure.

  “You really think that I would write to another man when you’re paying me attention?” she whispered. “I’m not like that. But you’re not prepared to listen to me, so that’s telling me something.”

  Chapter 9

  Tying Up Loose Ends

  “What’s it telling you?”

  “That we really weren’t meant to be.” Catherine bit her lip. She looked as though she would burst into tears if her composure slipped. “I cannot be associated with someone who believes me to be a liar. I never lie, and I would never lie to you.” She turned and swept away, heading towards the door. “Good day, Your Grace.”

  It wasn’t until the door shut behind her that Newcastle realised that his life had walked out with her. He felt empty, his chest hollow.

  He slumped into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He couldn’t have been wrong, surely; those letters were clearly to Catherine, and they were very clearly love letters. Was Catherine telling the truth, or was she trying to cover herself now she had been caught?

  Deep down, Newcastle knew there was something wrong. But he didn’t know what.

  “Your Grace?” Roberts was standing before the desk.

  Newcastle hadn’t heard him come in. Newcastle sat back and let out a heavy breath. “Why do I feel like this has gone horribly wrong?” he lamented, tossing more of the love letters off his desk. “Things were going so well between Miss Patrick and myself. I thought I had found the woman I wanted to marry. I don’t care what part of Society she comes from.” Newcastle went on as Roberts opened his mouth, “Catherine Patrick was meant to be my right. And then these letters appear.” He kicked the desk, almost toppling his chair over. “I don’t know what to make of it. Have I been lied to this whole time?”

  “I don’t think you have, if that makes you feel any better, Your Grace,” Roberts answered. He was frowning. “Sounds a bit too convenient, if you ask me.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes.” Roberts picked up one letter, turning it over in his hands. “Does anyone know about you and Miss Patrick?”

  “On my side, just the household, seeing as Miss Patrick has spent a lot of time here. On her side, I don’t know. Her sister, possibly?”

  “Not your mother?”

  Newcastle snorted. “Not a chance. I haven’t spoken to her since she attempted to ruin my evening with Miss Patrick.”

  “Maybe this is her making sure that marrying Miss Patrick doesn’t happen.”

  That made sense. But Newcastle couldn’t agree with it. Something wasn’t right. He shook his head. “It seems too subtle for Mother. She wouldn’t leave them on the doorstep. She would bring them in herself. And even then, how would she get hold of them if these really are genuine?” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “Something else is going on.”

  “Do you believe Miss Patrick wrote these?” Roberts asked.

  Newcastle didn’t know. He thought he knew Catherine’s handwriting, and the one letter – the one that was older than the others – was certainly hers, but he didn’t know with the others. The address and the writer addressing her as Kitty had sealed it for him.

  “Do you know anything about this Lieutenant James Perrier, Your Grace?” Roberts queried.

  “His grandfather is in the House of Lords, and his father is a tough politician.” Newcastle had crossed paths with the two men before, and he respected them. He had never met the son. “Perrier is over in France with the British army fighting for Wellington.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Roberts held up the letter he had been holding. Newcastle hadn’t noticed him opening it. “This is his most recent letter. It says he’s getting off the boat on Christmas Eve and will be in the docks. Perhaps you should go and talk to him.”

  Newcastle had every intention of doing that. Perrier had a lot to answer for.

  ***

  It was agonizing waiting an extra day to confront Lieutenant Perrier, but Newcastle somehow managed it. There were moments when he wanted to seek Catherine out, to apologise on his knees to her. But he stopped himself. There were too many unanswered questions, and Newcastle wanted them answered before he went to her.

  This was turning into a very awful Christmas.

  With Roberts at his side, Newcastle ventured into the docks. Various soldiers, still in their red coats, were milling around, making the most of their freedom. They barely paid any attention to them as Newcastle and his valet headed through the throng into the nearest tavern. Roberts went to the bar and spoke to the owner while Newcastle hovered near the doorway. He was aware of several women giving him interested looks, but he ignored them. None of them could hold a candle to Catherine. All Newcastle was thinking about was whether he could rectify any damage between him and Catherine before Christmas Day came around in a few hours.

  Roberts joined him, pointing towards the back of the tavern. “The redheaded man with the lieutenant stripes in the blue coat,” he said over the noise. “That’s James Perrier.”

  Newcastle could see he was clearly a Perrier. Jonathan Perrier had fiery red hair with a temper to match. His own father, Michael Perrier, was no different, although his hair was snowy white with his old age and hidden under a wig.

  They picked their way through the tavern, coming up to Perrier as he sat talking to two women, who were giggling over whatever story he was regaling them with. Newcastle tapped him sharply on the shoulder. “Lieutenant James Perrier?”

  “That’s me.” Perrier looked up at him, his smile fading to a frown. “Who wants to know?”

  “This is Christopher Cunliffe, the Duke of Newcastle,” Roberts snapped. “You’d better be more respectful.”

  That was when Perrier’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. Then he stood and bowed to Newcastle. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I didn’t recognise you.”

  “I can accept that for now.” Newcastle grabbed his arm and led him towards a door in the back. “We need to talk to you. Now.”

  Perrier didn’t argue as they went into the backroom, Roberts closing the door behind them. He hovered near it as Newcastle ushered Perrier to sit down before he paced around the younger man. “How was your campaign?”

  Perrier looked confused, but he answered him. “The French are holding strong, but we’re winning the war.”

  “Good.” Newcastle glanced at Roberts. “But that’s the only thing you’re going to be winning.”

  “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

  Newcastle leant against the table and folded his arms. He wasn’t going to go into this softly. “I’ve seen the letters.”

  “Letters?” Perrier looked genuinely startled. “What letters?”

  “The ones you wrote to Miss
Catherine Patrick.”

  “You mean the singer? But I’ve never written to Miss Patrick.”

  “Then why did I get letters addressed to her from you on my doorstep?” Newcastle demanded. “Would you care to explain that?”

  Perrier’s mouth opened and closed. He looked like one of the fish in the pond in Newcastle’s garden. Then his mouth closed, his eyes narrowed. “What is this to do with you, anyway?” he asked.

  “Catherine Patrick is about to become my wife, and I want to know what you two had.” Newcastle was aware of Roberts staring at him at such a blatant declaration, but he ignored his valet. He was more focused on Perrier, whose eyes had widened.

  “I… I only know her as Louisa’s sister, that’s all. I’ve never even met her.”

  “But you know Louisa Patrick.”

  “Yes, of course I do. I met her at a social engagement my father threw at his house. She was playing the piano, and she captivated me. Shortly after, I went to France, but we wrote to each other every week. I was in love with her, and she was in love with me.” Perrier swallowed. “I was going to propose to her as her Christmas present.”

  Newcastle began to see what had happened. Catherine had been innocent in all this. And she had been unjustly accused.

  Roberts seemed to have the same idea. “So, the letters my master received were from you written to Louisa Patrick?” he asked.

  Perrier nodded. “Yes.”

  “But you’re addressing someone called Kitty. That’s short for Catherine.”

  “She wanted me to call her that. It was her pet name when she was a child.”

  Newcastle and Roberts exchanged looks. It sounded like Louisa wasn’t as loyal as Catherine thought. Newcastle felt pity for the young man sitting before him, the light dawning in his eyes. He beckoned for the soldier to stand. “Come with us, Lieutenant. We’ve got a lot of things to discuss.”

  Chapter 10

  The Confrontation

  “Oh, Catherine.” Louisa knelt before her sister and took her hands. “Don’t cry, please.”