by Joyce Alec
“I swear I shall never do such a thing again,” he promised, holding out his hand to her. “You must know that I was never unfaithful to you.” He looked deep into her eyes. “Will you honor this blackguard with your trust, even though I know I do not deserve it?”
Alice studied him for a moment, thinking just how changed he was from the man she had first met. He was broken and entirely vulnerable, laying himself open for her regard. She found that she did not wish to punish him and discovered that she could, at the very least, begin to give him the trust he craved.
“I will,” she said, softly, taking his proffered hand.
For a long moment, he did not speak, simply looking down at the hand that held his. Alice did not know whether she wanted to laugh or cry, her heart so full that she felt it might burst from her chest.
“You have captured my heart. Who would have guessed that the woman I had such affection for would prove to be my wife?” he said eventually, lifting his head so that he might meet her gaze. “How will we explain this to society?” he laughed half-heartedly. “I will take all the blame of course.”
“I confess that I have found myself drawn to you,” Alice admitted, seeing the sudden spark in his eyes. “I did not wish to be, of course.”
He took a small step closer so that they were only inches apart. “Do you think you might come to love me in time?” he asked almost breathlessly. “I believe that I have already lost my heart to you, for you have captured me like no other.”
Alice considered this, allowing one of her hands to drape over his shoulder, finding that she reacted strongly to the touch of his skin against hers. “I believe the first stirrings of love are already within my heart,” she murmured, looking up into his face. “So long as you do not abandon me again, William, then I do not think that it shall be long before these small shoots blossom into something beautiful.”
“I swear to you, I shall never leave your side again,” he promised, putting both arms around her waist and making her tremble inside. “Never.”
Alice pressed her lips to his, feeling her shattered heart slowly begin to mend as he returned her kiss. It appeared her trip to town had been entirely successful.
***
THE END
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About the Author
Joyce Alec grew up in Colorado and graduated from college with a degree in business. After developing a passion for books, she spent countless hours reading a variety of genres, but fell in love with sweet, historical romances. Joyce’s passion for reading eventually cultivated into a love for writing, so creating Regency-era tales of love is a dream come true for her.
After planting her roots in Florida, Joyce found another passion: the ocean! In her free time, you can find Joyce at the beach with a big floppy hat, flip-flops, and a vanilla iced coffee in hand. She lives in the Sunshine State with her prince charming and wildly vivacious son.
Bonus Content
Regency Dukes: A Collection of Novellas
Delayed Duchess
Text Copyright © 2016 by Caroline Johnson
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2016
Publisher
Love Light Faith, LLC
400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33302
www.LoveLightFaith.com
Delayed Duchess
By: Caroline Johnson
Delayed Duchess
Chapter One
Chloé’s entire world shattered in one fell swoop. She received word that her dearest father, Sir Henry Dalton, had just fallen at Quatre Bras.
Sir Henry joined Wellington’s Army with the sole purpose of defeating Napoleon and reclaiming the France he had grown to love. The gentleman left his native England years before to marry the love of his life, Vivienne. When he lost Vivienne to consumption, his daughter, Chloé, was all he had left. He would not let the rogue general destroy her home. France was destined to be at war with Britain and the rest of the world as long as Napoleon was in power. Sir Henry had amassed quite a fortune for a man of gentle birth, and he wanted it secured for his daughter. Even in France, a daughter’s inheritance was little protected.
Sir Henry knew that there was but one way to ensure Chloé would not lose her home. She must marry. He never feared she would have any trouble finding a suitor because of her radiant beauty. Although, she did give her opinion quite forcefully for a woman on most occasions, a trait he hoped to hide from eligible prospects.
Chloé’s beauty was well-known throughout the South of France, and Sir Henry hoped to parley her popularity to Paris at her debut, which would occur within the year. He believed he would be returned from the duke’s army well before. He would not chance Chloé’s future, however, and orchestrated a deal with his distant English cousin, the Duke of Dorchester, when it appeared as though Napoleon’s army would be tougher than imagined.
Chloé was devastated the dark, rainy day she got the letter. Her bright blue eyes flooded with hot tears as she sank to the cold, wood floor. Her brilliant pink skin faded to a malevolent paleness. She pleaded with God to not let it be true. She could not imagine a world without her father. She had lost her mother at such a young age, her father had become everything to her. Her mother’s family disowned them shortly after Sir Henry joined Wellington’s army. Vivienne’s cousin, Michel Ney, was a top Marshal of Napoleon. Her father was all the family she had. She was now alone. Her morning gown grew wet with her unrelenting pain.
She held the letter tightly to her bosom late into the night, trying to dry her tears in front of the warm fire. “Oh, Papa, que dois-je faire,” she whispered. The reality of her situation was setting in on her. She was but seventeen. And she was a woman. There was little chance she would be allowed to keep her family home outright. She would need to speak with her father’s attorney immediately.
Chloé Dalton was no impotent woman. She was brilliant and possessed a will equal to any man. She would find out what needed to be done, and she would make it happen at all costs. Her home was now all she had. It echoed with the laughter of her father and mother. It reeked with the smells of her father’s snuff, an odor she had always detested, but now was a corporeal connection with him. She felt the love of her family still there. She must not lose that.
She ordered her footman to send a letter to Marseille, directly requesting the presence of Monsieur Le Clerc in the morn. She would find out what to do tomorrow. For now, her dizzied mind must rest. She retired to her room, hopeful her weary body would somehow find sleep.
***
The Duke of Dorchester received the same letter of Sir Henry’s demise, prompting him to call upon his London-based son. The duke thought his cousin’s proposition to be the perfect answer to all their problems. His only son, Edward, the future Duke of Dorchester, seemed more interested in sq
uandering their dwindling family fortune on London society than doing anything productive with his life. The duke, fearing for the future of the dukedom, hastily answered his cousin’s request. He thought if he could acquire his cousin’s fortune and get his dandy son married, his family may survive. The duke’s health had been rapidly failing, and he feared his time was short. Making his son comply was of most importance.
“What are you doing here?” Edward’s severe tone irritated the duke.
“Your father is calling on you. Is that acceptable?” the duke answered, equally severe.
His son stepped back, allowing the plump older man into the grand foyer of his London townhouse. The three-story house was modern, stocked with the best furnishings, and smelled of a warm chestnut fire. Edward ushered his father into the large, book-filled study.
“What do I owe the honor, Your Grace?” Edward chided. Their relationship was obviously strained. It was clear neither one ever gave in, hence their obstinate lack of proper communication.
The duke sat down on the tufted leather sofa and asked for a drink. Edward suspiciously complied and asked again, “What do you need, Your Grace?”
“Edward, do you really need to be so stalwart in your affectations toward your father?”
Edward sat across from the duke and relaxed. “Duly noted,” was his only reply.
The duke rolled his eyes and took a long swig from his brandy sifter. Edward watched him closely. He was looking exceptionally old lately. Edward was suddenly apprehensive about his father’s health considering this strange behavior. He despised the man, but felt a twinge of sorrow at the thought of losing him, and it would distress his beloved mother to lose the old coot. She adored the man. Edward had no idea why. He was abrasive, judgmental, and snooty, and Edward would never be good enough for him.
“I need you to do something, Edward,” the duke began, “for the family.”
Edward couldn’t believe the old man was asking him a favor. “Yes, what is it?”
The duke cleared his throat. “You are most likely unaware that our family fortune has almost disappeared. Your… our debts have taken a gross toll. We have little resources for recovery, and unfortunately must use our only asset, the dukedom.”
Edward could not believe what he was hearing. Of course, his lifestyle came at no small cost, but it was necessary to maintain his standing with the ton. It was his job, as he saw it. If his father was proposing he remove himself from society, he was wholly incorrect. Edward would never forsake his standing. There must be another way. “Father, I will not…” he began.
“Edward, you will do this for me. For your mother,” the duke interrupted.
Edward was taken aback at the mention of his mother. He would do anything for her. His ire softened. “What exactly is it that I should do, Your Grace?”
“You will marry your French cousin, Chloé Dalton.”
The young duke-to-be sat silent, his eyes hardening and his square jaw clenching. “I will not,” he objected, rising to his feet.
“You will, son,” the duke commanded gently. “You must. It is the only way.” He dropped his eyes, coughing harshly into his shoulder.
Edward could see the pain and resignation on his father’s face. He was suddenly overwhelmed with duty. “Yes, father. I will.”
Edward could have sworn he caught a glimmer of pride in his father’s eyes. His happiness was short-lived however, as his father rose. “If you are to be the next duke, Edward, you must not be selfish. The duties of title range far and wide. Remember that.” He marched past Edward without another word and out the door.
“And so it is,” Edward sighed, falling back onto the plush sofa.
Chapter Two
Chloé rose to a warm orange sun. She always loved the morning after rain. Her feeling of joy melted with the return of the words that ripped her perfect life apart. “Nous regrettons…” It was the perfect way to begin such a letter. We regret. Death is all about regret. Chloé’s heart began to ache again.
Her handmaiden helped her dress, and she descended the steep, curved staircase just in time to see Monsieur Le Clerc entering the foyer. “Monsieur,” she said, easing toward the stocky little man. “Welcome. Thank you for coming.”
“I am so sorry to hear about your brave Papa, dear Chloé,” he said with a bow.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, a tear forming in her eye. She blinked it back, knowing that she was in charge now. She must be strong. “I need to speak with you regarding the estate,” she continued, guiding him to the nearby parlor.
“I have your father’s papers. There is something most important I must tell you.”
“Plenty of time for that,” she cut him off. “I have some very specific plans.” They each sat in large wooden chairs on either side of a tiny tea table. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “I have a letter from your father.”
Chloé’s hand started to shake. She almost spilled tea all over the poor gentleman. “From my father?” The innocence in her question saddened the attorney. She would surely be upset about her father’s wishes. He had conveyed them to Le Clerc in a letter only months ago. Le Clerc was to set everything up for the legal transfer to Chloé’s new husband immediately upon their marriage.
Le Clerc handed Chloé the letter. She sat back silently reading her father’s last wishes, and what was left of her soul began to crack. Pained tears streaked down her pale cheeks. She could not believe what her father was asking her to do. She looked up from the letter. “There must be another way,” she said resolutely to Le Clerc.
“I believe there is not, Chloé. This is the only way to save the estate, your inheritance.”
“But I thought…” she trailed off. She actually wasn’t sure what she thought. She thought the rules of the land might not apply to her. She thought she had options. “What is his name?” Her eyes stared down at the words, which were starting to blur from her tears.
“Edward Cayley.” He had some information on Chloé’s new betrothed that he had gathered after Sir Henry contacted him. He handed the papers to Chloé.
“He is to be a duke?” she asked, surprised. “And he is coming here to take over the estate?”
“That is what was expressed to the duke in your father’s correspondence to him. I have not spoken, myself, with the duke as of yet.” He watched her studying the paperwork. She may have been but seventeen, but her intelligence did not betray it. “I will leave tomorrow to call upon the duke in London.”
She stared down at the papers, not really reading any of the words. She nodded, acknowledging the man’s remark. “You will write to me once you speak to him?”
“Yes, mon cherie, of course,” he replied, rising. He left her still staring at the papers.
***
Edward stayed locked in his stateroom for most of the trip to Marseille. He hated traveling by boat. Everything about it made his stomach churn. At this point, he just wanted it to be over. He was only doing it for his mother. He loved his lifestyle and was not ready for it to change, so the idea of suddenly becoming a husband was one that made him physically ill. He didn’t plan on changing anything. Many men of the ton left their wives at home most nights to gamble at Almack’s. He meant to do the same.
At least this was to be a short trip. He was to meet the girl and inspect the estate. His father told him he was to live there, but there was no way that was going to happen. He planned on liquidating the property and refunding the dukedom with the profit. He had researched and found that the estate was worth more in cash than yearly profit, so he had made his decision. His father did not truly care. He was only interested in the dukedom.
Edward’s stomach flipped as the large ship swayed from side to side. “Ugh, please Lord, let this be over soon.”
***
Chloé anxiously anticipated the arrival of her betrothed. She had finally convinced herself that she may still have a chance at happiness. The dossier Le Clerc lef
t her was very interesting. The Duke of Dorchester and his wife had been married for decades with no scandal of any import. They had two sons, the oldest of which died as a child, leaving only Edward to inherit the dukedom. As far as she could tell, the dukedom was in financial strain. Edward appeared to be a dandy of the ton. She was not much informed on the traditions of English society, but she assumed they must be similar to those in France. She only hoped that her new husband had an amiable demeanor and regarded her as his equal. She thought that not too much to ask for, so she remained optimistic.
Chloé had her handmaiden pull out her best visiting gown, and she pinned her long, fiery red curls atop her head. Her crimson locks were a gift from her mother. She regaled Chloé of stories of her cousins and their scarlet curls. Her mother’s mane was more golden blond, and she always wore it in a tousled mess on her crown. Chloé loved the way it looked. It was perfectly messy. She was so French.
Chloé’s azure eyes were set off by small sapphire gems adorning each ear. They accented her beautiful white gown. Chloé’s mother had hired the best dresser in all of Marseille for their household, and she had now been with the family for almost twenty years. She made the most delicious dresses. Chloé could not live without her.
Just as she was smoothing her skirts, the footman alerted her of Edward’s arrival. She tentatively entered the drawing room. Edward was standing at the window looking out onto his vast new estate. Chloé studied his figure. He was tall, his waistcoat stretched snugly across broad shoulders. His legs were remarkably long. His well-fitted breeches did not escape her attention either. “My lord,” she addressed him slightly louder than warranted.