Regency Romances

by Grace Fletcher

  “But--”

  “Cherry Hammortree is the woman I plan to marry, not Isabella Velazquez. I don’t want to have her even in the wedding party. She is not welcome here anymore.” Derby reached behind him and found Lucy’s hand, which squeezed his. “She will be lucky that I don’t file charges with the local magistrate.”

  “But…” Lady Derbyshire floundered as she realized her control was slipping. “Isabella is the one you’re supposed to marry. I made a deal with her father--”

  “And I’m going to rescind it. I’m going to make sure Mr. Velazquez knows that Isabella is not allowed to be in my vicinity ever again.” Derby stepped to the side, taking Lucy with him. “And you’re going to pack tonight. You’re off to Wales.”

  The color drained from his mother’s face. She looked like she was about to faint.

  “What? No! You can’t!” She reached for him but Derby moved out of her reach. “No, Derby, please…”

  “I can and I will. I’ve let you remain here far too long, Mother.” Derby shook his head. “I should’ve carted you off as soon as Henrietta died but I was grieving and I wanted my family around me. Instead you borrowed money, forced a woman on to me for marriage and practically driven away the woman I love. You’re not going to be around to meet any future children or have anything to do with Lucy and Michael.”

  He didn’t need to add himself into that; he came as a packaged deal with his children. His mother looked like she was about to cry. She sank to her knees and began sobbing.

  “Don’t do this to me, Derby!” She wailed. “I’m your mother!”

  “A mother would never do to a child what you have done.” Derby slipped an arm around Lucy’s shoulders and steered her towards the door. “I’ll get Bass to escort you to your room. You’re leaving in the morning.”

  He could still hear the wailing through the closed door when they stepped out into the foyer. Derby felt exhausted. The whole incident had worn him out.

  He couldn’t believe that Isabella and his mother would do that. To use his own child to get his attention was disgusting. Derby was glad he would never have to deal with them again.

  Lucy hugged his around the waist.

  “Shall I go and fetch Bass?”

  “Please, honey.”

  Derby kissed his daughter’s head. Then Lucy drew back and glanced towards the bay window further down the hall.

  “I think there’s someone you need to talk to.”

  Derby turned and saw Cherry sitting on the window seat, her hands clenched in her lap. She didn’t blink as she stared back at him.

  Derby wasn’t going to wait any longer. He started to walk towards her.

  ***

  Cherry had been in a bit of a daze after Lady Derbyshire and Isabella had left. But she had snapped out of it moments later when Lucy came in and dragged her out, saying that she had something to tell her and she needed to be there when Derby had the news broken to him.

  She had been shocked that Isabella had pushed Michael simply to garner his father’s attention. And that the dowager countess had encouraged it. With those two milling about, Cherry could understand why Michael hadn’t said anything; they were scary to an eight-year-old boy.

  Cherry admired Lucy's tenacity. She had hovered around outside the door listening. She had heard Lady Derbyshire slap Lucy and Derby stand up for his daughter. And hearing his decision on his mother’s future was satisfying. It shouldn’t be, he was sending an old lady to Wales and away from her family, but then Cherry remembered everything Lady Derbyshire had done and knew it was the right thing.

  And now Derby was walking towards her. Cherry couldn’t stop staring at him, her heart hammering, as he approached and stood before her.

  “You heard all of that?”

  “I did.” Cherry glanced down the hall and saw Lucy talking to Bass, pointing towards her father’s study door. “I think Lucy wanted me to hear it.”

  Derby grunted. Then he sighed and sat beside her. Cherry didn’t object when he took her hand, holding it in his lap as he spoke.

  “I’m so sorry about Mother. She’s gone too far, and I let her.”

  Cherry was sure he didn’t even know half of what his mother had done. She ploughed right over everyone no matter what. Cherry squeezed his hand.

  “You stood your ground. I won’t blame you for that. I just hope you’ll stand your ground on everything else.”

  “I plan to.” Derby’s expression softened. Then he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles with a whisper of a kiss. It sent tingles down her arm. “Because I’m not letting you walk away from me. You’re staying right here with me, Cherry. I won’t let you go.”

  Cherry couldn’t help herself. Even though this was the most possessive thing, the most protective thing she had ever heard, she found herself giggling as the thrill ran through her.

  “Asking me might’ve been nice.” She teased.

  Derby smiled. He shifted closer, his other arm slipping around her waist, and he tugged her against his chest. Then he was kissing her so thoroughly Cherry could only clutch at his jacket and hold on. The kiss made her mouth tingle, and she felt lightheaded. This was something she didn’t want to stop.

  But stop it did when Derby pulled back, kissing her cheek with a brush of lips and then her forehead.

  “Cherry Hammortree, will you stay here with me? Marry me and become a mother to Lucy and Michael?”

  Cherry rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help herself.

  “And I thought proposals were supposed to be romantic.”

  “I thought that was romantic.” Derby frowned. “And I thought that was a proper proposal.”

  “The proper proposal for me is simply ‘will you marry me’ and going down on one knee.” Cherry put her arms around his neck and giggled. “It’s a good thing I love you and I don’t care about that.”

  Derby grinned.

  “You cheeky--” He started but then Cherry was kissing him, stopping his laughter.

  *** The End ***

  Caring for

  the

  convalescing

  duke

  Regency Romance

  Grace Fletcher

  Prologue

  Captain Isaac Rutherford, Duke of Cleveland, winced as the carriage ran over a dip in the road, jarring his wounded leg. He rubbed at the aching muscles, almost imagining he could feel the scar beneath the material of his trousers. It felt as if just yesterday he had been wounded, pain exploding up his calf, and head aching with the force of the impact.

  He didn’t remember much about the circumstances of his wound, only that he had woken on the battlefield surrounded by medics, hands trying to assess the damage. Nobody had realized Isaac was partially deaf until he’d ended up back at the emergency hospital.

  The hospital had saved him, and Isaac would be forever grateful to the nurses that treated him, but he was glad to be on his way back home. There was no requirement that he re-enter the war and Isaac had taken the chance to go home, to remain at the Cleveland Estate.

  Peering out of the carriage window, the rain still battering against the sides of the carriage, Isaac could see the house jutting above the hill. It was a severe-looking building, imposing and cold, but Isaac had missed it. He knew that as soon as he crossed the threshold, the warmth of the house would wash over him, and everything would be as it should. His mother would be there to meet him, and his convalescence would continue under her ever-watchful gaze.

  The house itself stood at the top of a hill surrounded by trees either side. They had entered the grounds a good half hour ago and as a child, the vast distances had been irritating, but now they seemed like an adequate barrier between Isaac and the rest of the world.

  Closing his eyes, Isaac rested his head against the soft cushion of the seat and tried to even out his breathing. It had been too long since he’d slept the night through and exhaustion was starting to set in. Though the nurses had gone above and beyond to make sure that he was co
mfortable, Isaac would often be assaulted by memories and emotions from the battles and need to take time to re-acclimatize to the hospital atmosphere. With his leg healed and no further help for his deafness, Isaac was aware there was nothing they could do for his nervous disposition and had requested to be allowed home.

  As a duke, he had been granted a return home and it could not come soon enough. There were too many opportunities to become wrapped up in his own while at the hospital. He had nothing to do but think on his situation, the lack of friends—many of whom had been taken during the fighting—and only a mother waiting for him back home. He had never married.

  “And now,” he said to himself, looking out over the estate grounds. “I don’t suppose I ever will.”

  It was a sobering thought. He was a duke and thus, desirable on that alone, but he was also injured, partially deaf, and prone to bouts of anxiousness that he could neither predict not control. Perhaps he would find someone who would take an injured duke, but he had no wish to subject himself to society and the pity that would no doubt accompany occasions.

  The carriage started up toward the house, the pillars and columns comforting in their familiarity. Isaac had played amongst them many a time as a child when his brother had still been alive. As the carriage came to a stop, Isaac waited only long enough for the door to open before he started out, ignoring the helping hand of the footman.

  Though he had to grit his teeth against the pain, Isaac had no interest in accepting help of any kind. He had been injured, but he was still capable. Staring up at the open doors, Isaac felt nervous, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. The nervousness disappeared as he saw his mother framed in the doorway, dressed for the evening, but still relaxed enough to assure him he had not interrupted her dinner.

  “Mother,” he said, reaching the top step.

  Though she was aging, his mother was still spry and beautiful, and he was reminded of her strength when she pulled him into a hug, pressing a hand to his neck. Her breath hitched, as though she wanted to cry, and Isaac hugged her tightly.

  “I feared,” she started, pulling back to get a good look at him. “How are you feeling?”

  “Cold,” Isaac admitted.

  His mother tutted, leading the way back in the house. The estate butler and head housekeeper, a married couple who Isaac was sure had always lived at the estate, immediately set about getting him some tea and starting the fire in the drawing room. Isaac was guided to the sofa, and he could not help but groan in satisfaction as he stretched out his wounded leg, rubbing at his tired eyes.

  His mother touched his hand and Isaac looked her in the eye. “Your injuries?”

  Isaac nodded and waited until the head housekeeper, Laura, had deposited the tea and left them to their conversation. “My leg hurts often enough to be irritating. This ear,” he said, gesturing at his left ear, “is almost completely devoid of sensation, and I fear I shall never find myself a wife.”

  If his mother was startled by the odd addition of the wife comment, she did not say as much. “I am glad you are home.”

  Closing his eyes, Isaac squeezed the hand his mother was still holding against his thigh. “I am glad to be home. It was an experience I shall not soon forget.”

  “That is what I am afraid of,” his mother said, though her voice was soft enough that he did not know if he was meant to hear it.

  Chapter 1

  Belle

  There was something about Catrina Bell that caught the eye of all who met her. She was beautiful, hair of a golden blonde and eyes as blue as the ocean. Her sister, by comparison, was oddly plain and unassuming, but that was just as Miss Frances Bell would have it. She had never seen the need to be well-liked or society’s darling; she was content with the quiet life.

  Unfortunately, her parents were not of the type to leave her be, and she found herself dragged along with Catrina to many a party and ball. They hoped she would either find a beau herself, or contrast so perfectly with Catrina that Catrina would find a suitable match.

  Though she abhorred her parent’s behavior, Frances went along to the balls and dinner parties and soirees on the off-chance that she would find stimulating conversation and interesting guests amongst those gathered. It had been a long time since she had found either.

  “There is to be a ball at the Cleveland Estate,” Catrina said abruptly one morning, sweeping into the room in a whirl of sea-green skirts. The dress itself was ridiculous for a breakfast meal, but Frances kept her mouth closed around a comment. Her sister would start a fight and Frances did not wish to hear their parents support Catrina yet again. “I wish to attend.”

  “Of course, darling.” Marla Bell was beautiful herself, though her hair was more of a light brown than blonde, tinged with gray. She had an angular nose, but a soft face and kind eyes. Though Frances had never seen kindness reflected back at her.

  “I shall require a new dress,” Catrina said, in the manner of someone who knew she would have it.

  Frances did not know how they could afford a new dress for her, but their parents would find a way. Somehow, they always did.

  Harold Bell slipped into the final seat at the table, looking at Catrina fondly. “Perhaps you will go shopping this afternoon.”

  Resisting the urge to make a biting comment, Frances finished her breakfast while Catrina read out the rest of the invitation. Apparently, the duke was in search of something. Frances supposed it would be a wife now that he had returned from the fighting.

  “It has not been so long since his injury,” she pointed out. “Perhaps he has been forced into finding a wife.”

  Catrina gave her a dirty look, but their mother looked thoughtful.

  “The Dowager Duchess is a savvy woman. She will want to see an invalided son married as soon as possible.” Marla gave Frances an impressed look. Instead of making her feel proud, it just set Frances on edge. “I think perhaps your sister is right.”

  Harold pressed a hand to his mouth. “We must see about presenting you well. If we are to impress the duke enough to have him notice you as a potential wife, we will need to show you off to the highest standard.”

  “What was he like?” Catrina asked, meeting Frances’s eyes slowly. It was rare for her to be so civil, but Frances was distressed that she would have to talk about a patient in one act of camaraderie between sisters.

  “I cannot say,” Frances said, trying to find a subject that would not cause friction between them. “Not because I do not wish to,” she added at Catrina’s shifting expression and her father’s disapproving frown. “He was not conscious for most of the time under my care. It was difficult communicating unless you stuck to the right side so that he could hear, and I am afraid his attitude left a lot to be desired.”

  It was unfair, perhaps, to paint the duke as a cold man when he had been incapacitated and lost friends to a fight it seemed impossible to escape from, but Frances thought of her sister approaching a duke who had seemed far too introverted and careful than most of the men Catrina and their parents found suitable.

  Frances had spent a lot of time in the hospital making sure the duke was well taken care of. Perhaps she was still thinking along that vein of thought. “I think I may attend.”

  Immediately she was hit by three identical expressions of distaste and surprise. Frances was expecting it, but it still hurt. She had never taken to society like her sister, but she still wished to fulfill her duty to the family. If she thought any man would choose her over Catrina, she would have been married off as soon as she entered society herself.

  Instead, Frances had managed to alienate herself from society and declared herself undesirable as a result. It was an awful word thrown about within earshot and though Frances could not deny its validity, it was still incredibly rude and insulting.

  “Why would you wish to come?” Catrina said, looking like a petulant child. “It is not as if you relish these events.”

  “It is the first party I will be able to attend this season,” F
rances pointed out. “Besides, I wish to see how the duke has settled back into life.”

  Harold and Marla exchanged a look, but it was loaded with enough emotion and thought that Frances could pinpoint nothing for certain.

  “You are not to stand in the way,” Harold warned. “Catrina has the best chance of getting noticed by the duke and I will not have you interfering.”

  “Do not fear, Father,” Frances said, pushing aside her plate and climbing to her feet. She could not keep her anger at bay. “I know which of your daughters you prefer.”

  Her father immediately sucked in a breath, his face red, as though to shout and berate her, but Frances did not want to stick around to see it. She was treated unkindly and unfairly, and there was a reason she had been involved with the battlefield hospital in the first place. Though part of her reasoning was to see the duke and to make sure he was comfortable, she could not deny that using that connection against her sister would bring her as much—if not more—satisfaction.

  Chapter 2

  The Dance

  “Are you sure you wish to do this?”

  Frances gave her mother an exasperated look. She had chosen her best gown, which had nothing on Catrina’s, but was nice enough to stand out in a crowd. She may not hold as much attention as her sister, but she was determined to catch the attention of the duke at least. “Like the last ten times you asked, yes. I am sure.”

  Marla and Harold exchanged another look, something Frances was growing used to seeing between them, and she turned away, looking out the window of the carriage. They had been traveling for about a half an hour and she was beginning to tire of the company. She had listened to her sister bemoan the state of her gown, the carriage, the boredom and more. Their parents had taken turns assuring Catrina everything would be fine and trying to convince Frances she had no business attending.

  Frances was a grown woman, as much as her parents liked to pretend otherwise, and she was not going to take their words to heart. It was easy enough to ignore them; the only reason they still wanted her under their roof was for the gift a dowry would give them should someone want her hand in marriage.