A chance at love (The Winter Sisters Box Set) : Special Edition Regency Romance

by Regina Darcy

  After all, what good would it do?

  Little by little, she was starting to recall the nature of her eldest sister’s marriage, and Theodora and the Duke of Sotheby’s deep and undying devotion to each other. Unexpectedly, it had filled her with a yearning, a longing for something she could not put into words. That yearning was fuelled further by Caroline’s own relationship with her betrothed. Indeed, being surrounded by so many happy couples made her feel out of sorts, far more than she imagined.

  Yet, it helped her understand her reluctance.

  Beatrice believed that for the first time in her life, she wished for passion, a deep and wild fire that consumed her and lit up her days. Alas, she did not believe such an experience was possible should she continue her engagement to Mr Percival.

  Oh, she had no doubt he was a good man, the best sort of man in fact, but she was beginning to wonder if he was the sort of man for her. As her legs ached, and her eyes stung, she began to ponder the possibility. Abruptly, she drew to a halt, crouched in front of a bush and began to run the fine blades through her fingers.

  For a lengthy moment, she entertained the idea, the notion that Mr Percival was not the ideal match he seemed to be. It soon soured her mood. She sighed deeply, straightened her back and made her way back to the house.

  Either this was her chance at love, or this was an opportunity to seek it elsewhere. With little time to uncover the truth, Beatrice knew she had to find her answers, and make her peace with them once and for all.

  FOUR

  “I am sorry to interrupt your morning tea, sir.”

  Percival set his cup down and beckoned Mathew forward. The butler shifted and stepped inside, inclining his head in his employer’s direction before he withdrew to his earlier position.

  “Lord Graves has come calling, sir,” Mathew said, in a crisp lilting accent, bright eyes fixed on the wall behind Percival and beyond the window.

  Percival drank the remaining sips of his tea and stood up.

  “Show him in please, Mathew,” he instructed, moving from around the desk and standing in front of his cosy armchair.

  “Very good, sir.” Mathew gave another quick bow, then hurried out of the room. Seconds later, Percival’s oldest friend stepped in, ducked his head and handed his top hat and coat to Mathew. Alexander’s blue eyes smiled as soon as he saw Percival.

  “Alex,” Percival greeted, face erupting into a grin. “How are you, old chap? It has been far too long.”

  “Entirely too long,” Alexander agreed, his mouth stretching from ear to ear. “I hope I am not interrupting.”

  “Not at all,” Percival assured him. He gestured to the seat in front of him, poured a generous amount of bourbon into two glasses, and handed one to his friend. The two of them clinked their glasses together before he took a long sip.

  “How is Elizabeth faring?”

  “Being in the country has much improved her health,” Alexander replied, relief evident in his tone. “I fear that she has grown far too used to the country air, and its peace and solitude. Though, I suppose she was never one of those ladies who preferred the hustle and bustle of the city.”

  “That is a good thing,” Percival said, taking a seat and sinking back against his own chair. His eyes swept across the study with its large windows overlooking a garden out back, portraits of family members hanging side by side, and walls painted a dark and sombre shade of brown. “And I see she has improved your clothing. Why, you even dress like a gentleman now with your cravat and boots.”

  Alexander threw his head back and laughed.

  “It is a wonder she ever looked my way considering I looked wretched before in my breeches and with my shirt flapping in the wind.”

  “Indeed,” Percival agreed, eyeing his friend over the rim of his cup. “What brings you to the city?”

  “Oh, I have some business to attend to,” Alexander told him. He paused and leaned forward. “And I recalled our discussion about a certain Lord Barrington.”

  Percival stilled. “He is back?”

  Alexander nodded. “I’m afraid he is.”

  Percival set his cup down, the liquid churning around in the pit of his belly. “And what news have you been able to learn?”

  “The rumour is Lord Barrington is in debt,” Alexander informed him.

  Percival frowned. “I had a feeling he would be.”

  Lord Barrington.

  Just the thought of him filled Percival with a deep sense of sadness and regret. After all, the three of them had gone to school together and developed a deep and lasting sort of friendship, believing they could take on the world side by side. When Barrington’s mother passed, everything had changed.

  Overnight, his friend had withdrawn and grown sadder. Eventually, he retreated into his shell altogether and refused to interact with any of them until his father recalled him to the estate. He resurfaced many years later as a troublesome rogue.

  Yes, Percival knew all too well that behind the carefully crafted façade of a man who cared for nothing save for gambling and women, was a morose little boy who missed his mother and the simplicity life had offered him. But he was no longer in a position to help his old friend.

  And it was not for a lack of trying.

  Over the years, both Alexander and Percival had attempted to reach out to Barrington, to try and help him find his way back again. However, no matter what they did, they were met with stony silence and even more reckless behaviour.

  Afterwards, through a mutual agreement, both of them had left Barrington to his own devices until he swept back into their lives three years prior.

  Neither Alexander nor Percival wanted to think of their friend, much less hear of his return.

  Still, Percival had found it prudent to keep an eye out, lest he should return, bringing trouble and mayhem with him. Unfortunately, it appeared Lord Barrington was up to his old tricks once more, and no one could dissuade him from the dark path he had chosen for himself.

  “What else have you discovered?” Percival asked, eyeing Alexander carefully. “I fear by the look on your face that it is not good news.”

  “I have it on good authority that he is looking for a wife,” Alexander said through clenched teeth, a flash of anger springing up in his eyes. “The scoundrel. It’s a wonder he dares to show his face again after everything that has transpired.”

  “Alex,” Percival began, “you must not allow your anger to cloud your judgement. We have all moved past it.”

  “I know,” Alexander acknowledged, his grip tightening around the glass. “But he is up to no good again.”

  “No woman in her right mind would agree to marry him,” Percival reminded him. “Everyone is aware of his scandalous behaviour towards women, and of his gambling debts.”

  “Not everyone,” Alexander pointed out, setting his glass down and turning to face Percival, his tone sombre. “He has his sights set on an heiress.”

  “An heiress?” Percival repeated. “We do not have many of those here.”

  Alexander sighed. “Percival, he has his sights set on Beatrice Winters.”

  “What?” Percival demanded, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Surely you have been misinformed. She is already taken.”

  “Apparently he has caught wind of her memory loss, and sees this as an opportunity,” Alexander told him, apologetically. “And he knows that the Duke of Sotheby has provided substantial dowries for the Winters sisters.”

  “He means to use her money to pay off his debts,” Percival realised with mounting ire. “I thought he could not sink any lower. She has lost her memory, and he would really have no qualms about taking advantage of that?”

  Of course he would not.

  Barrington had already proven he was beyond saving, and that he had no use for reproach. Beatrice was the perfect target, having no memory of him during the last year. It would be far too easy, especially with his charm.

  “Have you made no progress with Miss Winters?” Alexander asked, worry
colouring his tone. “I am certain if she were to remember you, or at least spend time with you, that Lord Barrington would pale in comparison.”

  “Is it not going well,” Percival admitted. “I had hoped to convince her of my sincerity by now, but she still regards me with suspicion.”

  “Because you have never opened your heart to her,” Alexander deduced. “Now is a good time to do so, Percival. After all, you do love her, and she loved you once. Which means she can do it again.”

  “I do not believe it is that simple,” Percival told him. “She wants proof of my previous affections, and I have none.”

  “You have never written her a letter, or taken a lock of her hair?”

  Percival shook his head. “You know I have difficulty expressing myself, and I am not a romantic.”

  Alexander leaned back and clasped his fingers together. “So, what do you plan on doing then?”

  “I hope she will grow to like me over time, and that I will be able to convince her,” Percival revealed. “I know it is not a good plan, but I can think of nothing else. I will keep an eye on Lord Barrington in the meantime.”

  Alexander made a face.

  “How is it you plan to stop him? We have no proof of his nefarious intentions.”

  “I will simply keep an eye on Beatrice. He is sure to try and win her over with his charm and easy smile,” Percival concluded. He mirrored Alexander’s position, his mind racing in a million different directions and devising several scenarios before he discarded them.

  Most of all, his concern for Beatrice coloured every instance, and he wished for nothing more than to shield her from the cruelties of the world, and those who would wish her harm. As it was, he was certain Lord Barrington would rob her of her inheritance and leave her bereft, and with nothing but the shattered remains of a broken heart to see her through the dark and dismal days she would face.

  No, my Beatrice is stronger than that. She will not fall prey to his charm.

  Your Beatrice? Another voice scoffed in response. Do not be a fool, Percival. She does not remember you, and it seems she does not want you.

  Angrily, he shoved the negative notion out of his head and pressed his lips into a small smile. He was certain that all she needed was time, and space, and he would give her plenty of both until she realised the depth and authenticity of their feelings.

  Meanwhile, he would make sure that Lord Barrington went nowhere near her.

  FIVE

  “I do not understand why we must go to a ball.”

  Beatrice dropped into the soft couch in the corner of her room and ran her fingers through her dark locks as she stared at her sister.

  “Why not?” Caroline asked. “A ball is a good chance to get dressed up and go dancing.”

  “I do not feel much like dancing,” Beatrice replied, in a quiet voice. Caroline continued to flutter around the room with various pieces of fabric in different colours, holding a few up against Beatrice before giving a slight shake of her head and mumbling under her breath.

  In truth, Beatrice had not been feeling well of late. Physically, she was fine. The physician had declared her sound of body. He further reassured everyone that the bump atop her head was fully healed, and would not leave a mark in its place.

  But there was still the question of her memory.

  Little by little, snippets of her sisters, her father, and herself seeped into her brain. Bright flashes of colour and blurry outlines with vague notions, and she filled in the rest of the blanks. But her betrothed remained, as ever, an elusive mystery.

  In fact, she was no closer to understanding him today than she had been all those weeks ago when he had sat across from her, eyes pleading with her to remember. Oh, she believed she did love him once, there was certainly evidence of that, and her sisters and father had attested to it. But for the life of her, she could not find any proof that Mr Percival’s affections were anywhere equivalent to hers for him.

  Surely she hadn’t been foolish enough to lose her heart to someone who did not reciprocate?

  No, that was not the case. She shook her head in denial.

  Yes, he had been kind to her, stopping by for long walks in the park, and graciously enduring her line of questioning, even when she herself had been horrified by her own conduct. He was most definitely an intelligent man, but she had not been able to see past the veneer, behind the public persona he had crafted, and it left her with a knot in the pit of her stomach.

  “You do realise this ball is a good opportunity to observe Mr Percival in a social setting?” Caroline said, spinning around to face her and pining her with a look.

  “I don’t know,” Beatrice confessed. “Are gatherings his forte?”

  “Not particularly,” Caroline replied, holding up a gown made of the finest silk, and in a light shade of violet. It complimented the creamy complexion of her skin. “Yes, I do believe this is the dress for you.”

  “What if I do not wish to go?” Beatrice asked.

  Caroline frowned. “Are you not feeling well?”

  Beatrice raked her fingers through her hair. “No, I mean, yes, quite. I am fine, Caroline. We both know Mr Percival will be in attendance. I just do not know how to face him without an answer. He has been nothing but patient and kind. What if I cannot learn to love him again?”

  Caroline sighed and sat down next to her. “Has he not invoked any kind of feeling in you?”

  Beatrice paused and tilted her head to the side. “I suppose he has, but I do not know what to make of these feelings, and whether or not they are genuine.”

  “It sounds to me as if you are afraid,” Caroline told her. The last frames of light highlighted her sister’s delicate features, her small nose and defined cheekbones, before they were plunged into semi-darkness as the sun dropped well below the horizon and bathed the world in orange and red.

  “If you decide you do not wish to marry Mr Percival, no one will think less of you,” Caroline assured her, giving her hand a quick pat. “Least of all Mr Percival. He is a good man, but I think you owe it to yourself to go tonight, and try.”

  “When did you get so wise?” Beatrice teased, bumping her shoulder against her sister’s.

  Caroline scoffed, tossed her hair behind her back and stood up, spinning around in circles as she did. “I have always been wise,” she declared, in between giggles. “Now, come on. Let’s get ready for the ball.”

  Two hours later, their carriage pulled up outside Baxton manor, a large brick estate done in muted shades of grey, with a pathway in the centre that circled around a fountain. Clear liquid poured forth in spades, and thick green foliage grew on either side, with neatly trimmed green bushes lining the path leading up to the main house.

  It was the most impressive thing Beatrice had ever seen. She heard the whispers of approval as she tucked her arm into her father’s elbow, her dress swishing against the floor as they made it up the stairs and through the wide open doors, past footmen dressed in their best livery.

  Inside, the manor was even more magnificent, with high vaulted ceilings, paintings and portraits lined up on either side of the wall, a grand staircase made of the finest mahogany, and corridors branching out into several rooms. Overhead chandeliers glittered as people milled about the room, the women hiding behind their fans, and the men conversing loudly as uniformed waiters went around with trays in their hands.

  “Lady Westermere’s balls are legendary,” Lord Lockley said, his voice filled with pride and awe. “It is always a pleasure to come here.”

  Beatrice patted his hand. “It is beautiful, Papa.”

  In reality, the display of wealth was a bit too much for her. She suddenly felt drab in her violet dress, her hair pined up to show off her long and elegant neck, soft grey slippers peeking out from underneath the folds of her dress.

  “My dear Miss Beatrice,” a gentleman called out, offering her a deep bow before he straightened himself and adjusted the ruffled colours around his chin. His dark eyes were sunken and
pressed against his face, and his bright hair matted against his forehead. “How good it is to see you again.”

  Beatrice straightened her back and turned to face him, confusion playing out across her features. Surely no unknown gentleman would approach a lady without formal introductions first.

  “Do I know you?”

  “Oh, yes, I heard all about your unfortunate accident,” he told her, ducking his head and offering her a smile full of sympathy and concern. “I pray you are feeling better. I am Lord Barrington.”

  “I’m sorry, Lord Barrington, but I do not remember you at all,” Beatrice said, politely. “Were we well acquainted?”

  “I would certainly say so,” Lord Barrington replied. “You and I are quite well acquainted, my dear Miss Beatrice. I daresay even more than you and Mr Percival.”

  “You know Mr Percival?”

  “Unfortunately, I do,” Lord Barrington answered.

  Beatrice leaned backwards, eyes narrowed in confusion while Barrington adopted a neutral expression, his dark eyes watching and appraising, as if she were some kind of prize. Lord Barrington seemed to be a charming sort of fellow, doubtless used to a flock of women by his side and men who liked to associate with him.

  There was something altogether insincere about his manner.

  “Why is it unfortunate? He seems a pleasant man,” Beatrice noted.

  “Pleasant? Oh, yes, I suppose he is rather, but he is not a man of feeling.”

  “He is not?” Beatrice echoed disappointment lacing her words.

  “No, I am sure you have noticed that he is a cold man,” Lord Barrington continued. “I pity the poor woman who is to become his wife, for the task she has ahead of her is no easy one.”

  He gave a tight smile, then focused his gaze on her. “Miss Winters, you are a most enchanting creature” Lord Barrington gave a deep bow. He lifted himself up to his full height and flashed her a row of white teeth. “I shall not be able to enjoy my evening unless you agree to accompany me during the first dance.”