Married To A Marquess

by Joyce Alec

  Emma listened to her complaints all evening with half an ear. Her heart still tingled from his words, and she allowed herself to remember every word, every gaze, and every smile from the day. How he remembered exactly how she preferred her tea, how he noticed the ink on her fingers and teased her about it, how he expressed sincere sympathy about her father's death. Her mother's words drifted around her while her mind rolled out the memory of the day.

  Emma never expected to see him again. They were brushing past each other on the road of life. He was headed in one direction, she the other. She'd have to bundle her heart away, along with each memory she had of Paul, for those long winter nights ahead, when she'd try to stay warm with her thoughts of a love that could never be. And live alone, with only her mother for company. Although she knew what her life had in store, she could help but entertain a dream of marriage to a man who seemed to accept her idiosyncrasies. She prayed for guidance before falling asleep. Getting over Paul was not going to be easy, so she put her trust in God's wisdom and not her own limited understanding.

  The next few days, she roamed the aisles of the bookstore, duster in hand and a pinafore apron over her dress, unloading a shelf at a time, cleaning every inch of space. Busywork kept her focused at a time when she was decidedly unfocused. The few customers who wandered in were almost an interruption. But she smiled, offered help and reading suggestions, and totaled up the orders.

  Still no Paul.

  Chapter Six

  On her fifth day of solitude, the shop sparkled from her labors, and she had run out of things to dust and polish. There was nothing left to do except to shelve some books customers had pulled out and then decided against. Emma sighed softly. Such is the life of a bookstore owner. She should be grateful she at least had a shop with a good reputation. Her father hadn't left them entirely destitute. She already had made it halfway to the magic number of twenty books sold each month, and the store's bank account was a bit plumper than it had ever been. Even though her situation was better than it had been in a long time, she couldn't shake her melancholy.

  She lowered her head into her hands, fighting against tears. What would people say if they wandered into the shop, only to find the owner crying about her lot in life? They'd run in the opposite direction, no doubt. She had to be strong, and support both herself and her mother. Lifting her head, she wiped away any trace of tears and set about replacing the books that had been left on the counter.

  A tinkle of the shop's bell attached to the door announced the arrival of a new customer. Emma pasted a smile on her face before she pivoted and faced the person who had entered. Her breath caught in her throat when she recognized her new patron. It was the Duke! Her knees threatened to buckle, so she leaned up against the bookshelf and stared at him.

  "Your Grace," Emma whispered.

  He came forward and took her hand in his. Shots of current ran up her arm at the contact, and she quit breathing altogether. Her stomach began fluttering when, instead of relinquishing his hold on her, he came closer. The breath she'd been holding whooshed out of her.

  "Hello, Miss Carter," his deep voice washed over her like a caress.

  "You've returned," Emma stated the obvious in a weak voice. "Why?"

  "Because I realized I'd forgotten something." He continued to stare at her.

  "I can't imagine what that might be." Emma's gaze darted around the room. "I've just spent five days cleaning everything in the shop and found nothing unusual."

  "I didn't say I left anything behind, only that I'd forgotten something." His smile lit up his face, exposing his dimples and an errant lock of his brown hair cascaded over his forehead. Emma lifted the hand he wasn't holding to brush his hair back before she realized her intent, and lowered it again. Embarrassed, she quickly looked down, but didn't draw back her hand from his hold.

  ***

  Paul took a deep breath before he spoke again. He needed to get this right. "You asked me once how it was I remained single, and I brushed off the question."

  "You don't owe me an explanation," Emma's gaze came back to him, and she narrowed her eyes, studying him intently.

  "I believe I do. I was once engaged, to a lovely, but somewhat impulsive, young lady named Margaret. We were out walking one winter's day, and she ran ahead of me onto an ice-covered lake. I urged her not to head in that direction, since I couldn't follow her. She knew I feared the water, but laughed and ran on ahead. The ice wasn't thick enough to hold her weight, and she fell in." He stopped, took another deep breath, and ran a hand over his eyes.

  "And you couldn't save her," Emma finished for him.

  Paul closed his eyes, as visions of his nightmare threatened to overtake him again. When he opened them, Emma stood in the sunlight, holding his hand. The nightmare abated, finally. His future was in front of him.

  "No, I couldn't." He shook his head. "Ever since, I've tried to assuage my guilt by associating with women who haven't had the best reputations. It's all I thought I was worthy of, since the finest woman I'd ever met I let slip beneath the ice."

  Emma's hand raised as she gave in to her impulse and brushed back a lock of his hair. "I'm so sorry for your loss. It must have devastated you. But why are you telling me this?"

  "Because it's time to put the nightmare in its place." Paul smiled slightly. "My mother enjoyed you and your mother's company quite a bit the other day. She told me I'd suffered long enough for Margaret's death, and I should get on with life, while there was still time for her to enjoy her grandchildren."

  He could hear the sharp intake of Emma's breath, and her hold on his hand tightened as she spoke. "I'll ask again. Why are you telling me this? I am not a member of your class, and although my reputation may be solid, I'm hardly worthy of your time."

  Paul finally relinquished his hold on her hand, only to pull some tickets from his pocket. "Well, I disagree with your assessment of your merits. Mother and I would like to invite you and your mother to come with us on an outing. We'll see where it leads from there." He handed her the tickets.

  "The opera? We're going to the opera?" Her eyes grew large as she stared at the tickets.

  "Not just any opera. Note which performance we'll be attending." He ran a finger under the title. "The Marriage of Figaro. Maybe we'll get some ideas on where to go next."

  Emma began to shake, and he wrapped her in an embrace. "Just say yes to the opera for now. That's all I want. And a kiss, if you're so inclined."

  "Yes to the opera," she whispered. "And yes." She raised her face to him and stood on her tiptoes. His gaze fell to her mouth. He lowered his mouth to hers, and a feeling of warmth and rightness surrounded him. Paul and Emma had finally found contentment.

  ***

  THE END

  Bonus Content

  Regency Tales of Love

  A Heart’s Rescue

  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

  A Heart’s Rescue

  By: Caroline Johnson

  A Heart’s Rescue

  Chapter One

  England, 1843

  Eliza smiled and held out her dance card, bestowing a gracious smile on the gentleman in front of her. She curtsied, nodded, and smiled some more, grateful that her card was almost full. At least then he could not hound her as he had done these last few days. Letting out a br
eath, she turned her eyes to the dancing.

  “Ah, Miss Williams,” a voice said in her ear. “I see your dance card is not quite full. Let me rectify that.”

  Numb, Eliza allowed the odious man to grasp her wrist before writing his name on her dance card in one of the few remaining spaces. A waltz, no less. He looked at her, all charm and smiles, dropping a short bow before walking away, glancing back at her with a look of triumph.

  “Oh no,” Eliza whispered to herself, dropping into a nearby chair. “Oh no…”

  “Are you quite all right, my dear?”

  It was her mother.

  “Yes, Mama, yes of course. I just felt a trifle warm; that is all.” She smiled brightly, attempting to push aside her fear and trepidation. She knew she could not share her burden with Mama.

  Her sister danced past her, looking overjoyed at her partner’s attentions, but Eliza knew it was nothing more than flirtation. At least she’s enjoying herself, Eliza thought grimly. Sophie had no idea about the horrific situation Eliza was in – not that she would be of much help.

  “Miss Williams, shall we take to the floor?”

  It was Lord Stockton. He had signed up for the quadrille, and Eliza was relieved to see him. He has been showing me particular attentions lately, Eliza thought, seeing her mother's beaming smile as she watched Lord Stockton escort Eliza to dance floor.

  “Are you quite well, Miss Williams?” Lord Stockton asked as they prepared for the dance. “You seem a little distracted this evening.”

  “Do I?” Eliza asked, gazing to the left of his shoulder. “I feel a little fatigued, that is all. I am sure.”

  Lord Stockton said nothing, dancing the quadrille in silence. Once it was over, he tucked her hand under his arm and escorted her to an empty chair.

  “Would you like some ratafia, Miss Williams?” he asked, his face clearly concerned. She smiled in response, trying to ignore the sight of Lord Penn approaching her.

  “Indeed, Lord Stockton. Still, I should much rather come with you, if you please?”

  Surprised, Lord Stockton did as she requested, allowing her to place her hand on his arm as he escorted her towards the refreshments. However, she was not to make her escape; the firm hand of Lord Penn grasped her arm.

  “Miss Williams! Surely you cannot have forgotten that this is to be my dance?”

  Lord Stockton, dropping his arm, turned about to face Lord Penn.

  “Ah, Lord Penn, how do you do?” He executed a short bow. “Indeed, I would not deny you your chance to dance with Miss Williams, but only on the promise that you will return her to my side once the dance is over!” He chuckled, turning to Eliza. “Miss Williams, I will have refreshments waiting for you upon your return.”

  Bowing again to Lord Penn, he left her alone. Eliza closed her eyes briefly. Lord Stockton was not to know, but she desperately wished he had not been so much of a gentleman. Had he demanded that she take some refreshment, she might have been spared this dance with Lord Penn.

  “Shall we?” he smirked, his eyes triumphant as he took her hand. Resisting the urge to tug it away from him, Eliza allowed him to lead her onto the floor. Odious man! He had chosen the waltz specifically, she was sure. The feelings of his arm around her waist made her shiver as she determined to remain silent, no matter what he said.

  “Have you considered my proposal, Eliza?”

  Her eyes flashed. She had not given him permission to use her given name. He laughed.

  “I can tell that you have. You will see that there is no way out, my dear. You must acquiesce, despite how much it may pain you. You will let me know when I am to take collection of the item? I cannot wait to hold it in my hands!”

  Eliza bit her lip, refusing to speak a single word, despite the retort that pressed against her lips. She stared straight ahead, willing the dance to come to an end.

  “I will hear from you soon, Eliza. Very soon, I imagine.” He bowed, escorting her from the floor and back to the waiting arm of Stockton, bidding them both farewell. Eliza was not surprised. He had fulfilled his purpose of coming here tonight; there was no need for him to stay.

  “Did you enjoy your dance, Miss Williams?” Lord Stockton asked, handing her a glass of ratafia.

  “I did,” she replied shortly, wishing she could tell Stockton the truth, but knowing she could not. Lord Penn had made it very clear that she would be forever ruined in the eyes of the ton, should she breathe a word to anyone. She did not know how he would achieve such a thing, but she had no doubt that he would.

  Lord Stockton cleared his throat.

  “I was wondering, Miss Williams, if I would be permitted to call on you tomorrow? Perhaps a drive through Hyde Park?”

  Eliza looked up at him quickly, realizing with a smile that he was blushing slightly. The poor man. She needed to put him out of his misery.

  “Of course, Lord Stockton. I should like that very much.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Lord Stockton replied, a smile crossing his face. “I shall call for you at precisely three o’clock.” Seeing Eliza’s mother approaching, he bowed and took his leave, leaving Eliza feeling both excited and happy, Lord Penn’s words completely forgotten.

  “My dear!” her mama called, sailing over and taking both of her hands in her own. “I see Lord Stockton has been at your side on several occasions this evening.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Eliza replied, in a quieter tone. “He is coming to call on me tomorrow at three o’clock. We are to go driving in Hyde Park.”

  “Oh, my dear! How delightful.” her mama gushed. “Lord Stockton is a wonderful man, and I am sure would make an excellent husband. Rich too! You shall be set for life.”

  “Slow down a little, Mama,” Eliza laughed, patting her mother’s hand. “It is merely a drive in the park, not a proposal of marriage.” She bore her mother away to the refreshments, trying not to wonder what it would be like to be Lady Stockton.

  Chapter Two

  Anthony Russell, the Earl of Bessington, relished the cool mornings. He could be himself, with no one around to spot him, to enquire after his health or to debase themselves in order to earn his favor. Ever since his father's death a few months earlier, Anthony had found his new responsibilities both wearying and frustrating. There was so much to do that he barely had time to go for a ride; there was always a tenant to take care of, accounts to go through, or debts to pay. He had barely known his father, but was not in the least bit surprised to find that he had left mountains of unpaid debts that had almost critically wounded the estate. It had proved to be much harder work than he had anticipated, but it seemed the estate was finally beginning to turn a profit. And, of course, his mother had organized a house party to celebrate, as if they needed to fritter away money on such frivolities.

  She had not taken his criticism well, promising, at least, that he would not have to make much more than one or two appearances. At least that was a relief. He wandered through the woods that surrounded the estate, appreciating the little things, such as the dewdrops on a spider’s web and the colorful toadstools that littered the path. His valet would have a fit when he returned to the house, but Anthony didn't care. His loose shirt, trousers, and old boots were all he required for an early morning walk, the sense of freedom overwhelming his senses. This was what he needed. This was his relief.

  ***

  Eliza only half-listened to her mother and sister's eager chatter, her wish that it would not last for the entire journey going unanswered. They would be pulling into the Bessington estate in a few moments, and Eliza could not wait to escape the confines of the closed carriage. Her mother, who was old friends with the Dowager Countess of Bessington, had been vastly excited to receive her friend's invitation to the house party, and, having been asked to arrive one day early before the other guests, instantly made all the preparations—much to her husband's amusement. Eliza's father had opted to remain at home, citing business affairs that required his attention. Lord Stockton would also attend the house party, m
uch to Eliza's delight. Their carriage drives had become a regular occurrence, and Eliza was sure there was a proposal of marriage in their future. To her utmost dismay, she had also been told that Lord Penn would be attending, shuddering as she remembered the letter he had sent.

  “My dear Miss Williams,” it had read. “I am delighted to inform you that I, too, shall be attending the Bessington house party. What a pleasure it shall be to spend such a prolonged length of time with you. By now, I am certain that you have seen the sense in my proposal. I shall expect you to bring the Williams necklace to the house party and, at the end of the week, it shall be given to me and remain in my possession. If you do not, you know what the consequences will be. Speak to anyone of this matter, and you shall find yourself ruined in society’s eyes, and what will Lord Stockton think of you then?”

  Eliza stared out of the carriage window, focusing on preventing any tears from falling—not that Sophie or Mama would notice. Lord Penn had her firmly in his grip, and she could see no way out. He wanted the Williams necklace, the family heirloom that was only worn by Mama on very special occasions, and would, one day, be passed to her. It was made up of jade, diamonds, and rubies and was the family's safety net. Lord Penn had courted her a long time ago, but both Eliza and Sophie spurned his advances, much to his displeasure. It now became clear that Lord Penn was determined to have the Williams necklace, and unless she could find a way out, he would get it. If she did not give it to him, he would call in her father's debts, which would ruin the family entirely. They would lose everything: their home, their social standing, and their chances to make an eligible match. However, Eliza knew that if she did give him the necklace, Mama would be heartbroken and her father furious.