by Joyce Alec
Jane felt her lip tremble, so she resorted to nodding in reply.
She felt tears well in her eyes. “I had hoped that you could forgive me.”
“Of course I forgive you, my darling,” he replied softly, his hands grasping her shoulders. He squeezed them gently. “Of course. I always will.”
“I had forgiven you as soon as you left. I thought you had every right to be as upset as you were.”
“No, I never have the right to be that upset. And never will I again unless you are in danger or someone has wronged you.”
They looked into each other’s faces, and she wondered, not for the first time, why she had ever looked anywhere else.
“Now,” he said, taking a step back from her, and straightening his jacket. “All of that unpleasantness aside, I have come here with a singular purpose. It was the same purpose for which I came last time, and I do hope that you will allow me to discuss such matters with you.”
His propriety brought joy to her heart. She had spent so many years training and learning how to be a proper lady for this very moment, when a man of high stature would choose her. She squared her shoulders and looked at him with all of the grace and poise she could muster.
“Of course, my lord.”
He smiled. “I had hoped to ask for your hand in marriage. I suppose that my intentions are not a mystery to you, and I dearly hope that you can forgive me for my delay. When I left, I had wondered if it was still the right choice.”
He looked at her in the eye, and held her gaze. “Asking you to marry me was always the right choice. I knew it the moment I walked out of the house, I would still choose you. In every situation, in every way, I shall always choose you, regardless of how I may feel in the moment. I will never be able to forget you, and I shall never be able to move past you. You have been the object of my affections since the moment I met you, and I hope that you know that I have adored the very ground you have walked upon.”
Her body warmed from his touch, as it gave her much comfort. Jane could not take her eyes from his.
“If you will have me, my offer still stands.”
She forced herself to become still again, and she grinned up at him.
“Lord Greenshire, it would be my absolute pleasure to be your wife.”
*****
THE END
Christmas with an Earl
Regency Holiday Hearts
Text Copyright © 2017 by Eleanor Swan
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, 2017
Publisher
Love Light Faith Books
[email protected]
www.LoveLightFaith.com
Christmas with an Earl
Regency Holiday Hearts
By: Eleanor Swan
Christmas with an Earl
Chapter One
Lady Isabella Gareden looked out of the window, the rain obscuring her view of the street below. It had been raining for days, and she was growing tired of doing nothing but needlepoint. The morning calls had dwindled, all of London satisfied to stay ensconced in their warm houses instead of making their rounds.
If they had, Isabella was certain that her parents’ formal parlour would be overflowing with callers, congratulating her on her engagement to Lord Vistley. Some would be surprised, and Isabella couldn’t blame them.
She had been surprised herself.
With a sigh, she set aside her needlepoint, the large emerald ring catching her eye as she did so. The night that the baron had put the ring upon her finger had been quite a shock to her, and she had been unable to do anything but accept his proposal and the whiskered kiss on her cheek that followed. The baron was not a horrible man by any means, nor had he ever shown any sort of deviance in any way.
No, the problem with Lord Vistley was that he was nearly thirty years Isabella’s senior, as well as a business associate of her father’s. He had not been her choice, nor had he been what she would have perceived to be her future husband.
But her father and the baron had come to an agreement in which she was the prize.
Isabella walked over to the window, the ring on her finger feeling heavy and still foreign. She was almost concluding her first London Season, a success in all the sense of the word. She had not caused a scandal and she was lauded by one of the matrons as a ‘true diamond in the first water.’
While there had been no rush to take her hand in marriage, Isabella was not concerned. Even her mother had stated how Isabella would be at the top of the list when the Season concluded, and the real work began to make the successful arrangements of marriage.
Now, though, there was no need to worry about anything. She was well and engaged to a man who her parents deemed suitable.
The parlour doors opened and her father walked in, followed by her fiancé. The baron was not terrible to look at--he was even somewhat handsome given his advanced age, with a long mustache and a head full of hair that he styled expertly. His clothing was of the current fashion and he was neither flashy nor garish in his color choices.
He just was not for her.
“My sweet Isabella,” her father, the Earl Gareden, said as he grasped her hands in his with a smile on his weathered face. “We are here to say goodbye.”
“Papa,” Isabella said, squeezing his hands affectionately. Lord Gareden had announced that he and the baron would be travelling to Scotland that day for business, despite the rain, and they were due to return right before Christmas. “I do wish you a safe journey and hope that you will write to me.”
“Isabella,” he chuckled, releasing her hands. “We will only be gone three weeks. I would beat the letter back to you.” He then turned and motioned for the baron to come forward. “But I am sure that Henry will write daily.”
“There is no need,” Isabella murmured as Lord Vistley stood before her, his hat in his hands. “I wish you a safe journey as well, my lord.”
“Henry,” he said softly, reaching out to take her hand in his. Isabella could feel the warmth of his hand through his leather gloves, watching as he lightly ran a finger over the ring. “I will have you using my given name, Isabella.”
“Henry, then,” she stated, the name foreign on her tongue. Could she spend her waking moments with this man? What kind of life would they have? She could not imagine the man sitting in the study in the evenings, sharing news of London and the books they had read over a cup of hot tea. She could not imagine him kissing her with such fervor as the couples in the romance novels she read, making her toes curl with anticipation of what was to happen next.
No, she could not imagine any of that, which was why she felt that they were an ill-suited match.
“Would you like for me to bring you something from Scotland?” the baron asked, his fingers lightly caressing hers. “Something for the wedding, perhaps?”
“That is kind of you,” Isabella forced out, pulling her hand out of his. “Whatever you feel I would like.”
He nodded and leaned over, pressing a kiss to her cheek, his mustache tickling her sensitive skin. “I shall miss you, my dear.”
“And I you,” Isabella replied, as she would be expected to do so. “Safe travels.”
Lord Vistley straightened, and she was surprised to see the spread of pink along his cheeks as he doffed his hat and walked away.
“Behave yourself, Isabella,” Lord Gareden said, winking as he followed the baron out.
Isabella gripped her hands tightly together as she waited to hear the front door shut firmly before she blew out a breath, wiping away the remainder of the ki
ss on her cheek. Why could her father not allow her to choose her own husband? She knew that once Christmas was over, she would be forced to choose a wedding date, something that would allow for the entire ton to attend. Her mother was already beside herself with the prospect, stating that her daughter would be the envy of the ton on her wedding day.
Wrenching off the heavy ring, Isabella tucked it into her pocket, glad to be rid of it for at least three weeks. Her father might think that he had given her a wonderful future with Lord Vistley, but it was not the wonderful future she had envisioned. No, she wished for so much more, including the ability to choose a husband.
As the rain beat down on the windowpanes, Isabella could only relate to the dreary day. Her mood was not much more than that.
Chapter Two
“All of London has come out tonight!” Isabella said as she smoothed the front of her cream silk ballgown and stepped inside the home of Lord and Lady Hastings, glad that it was not raining for once.
The entryway was cluttered with people, all eager to have a night out now that the rain had let up. Isabella, for one, was glad to be out of her home and her mother’s incessant need to plan Isabella’s wedding. For two days since her Lord Gareden had departed, her mother had peppered her with a variety of questions, including what flowers Isabella preferred and what color she preferred for her wedding dress.
So, when the rain had finally relented, Isabella had picked the first invitation off the silver tray and announced that they were going to a ball. And it seemed that the rest of London had done the same.
Isabella and her mother made their way through the entryway until they were in the ballroom, where Lady Hastings found them immediately. “My dears!” she cried enthusiastically, greeting them both with gusto. “I am very fortunate that you have graced my ballroom this evening!”
“Oh, posh,” Isabella’s mother replied, greeting her old friend with a smile on her face. “As if we would miss your events, Druenda. You must be pleased for the crush.”
“I am,” Lady Hastings agreed, fanning herself with her lace fan. “And I hear there are felicitations in order.”
Isabella chose that moment to escape the talking women, not wishing to discuss her engagement. Tonight, she wanted to enjoy herself, to forget that her future was already planned for her. Carefully, she moved down the stairs to the main level, where the dancing was already in full motion, the whirl of the couples catching her eye. She loved to dance, and as a debutante, her dance card was never empty.
Her eyes on the couples, she forgot about the last step of the stairs and tumbled forward, the brightness of the polished floor rushing up to greet her.
Strong hands pulled her away at the last moment, and before Isabella knew it, she was back on her feet, staring at an expertly tied cravat. “Whoa, now,” a deep timbre stated near her ear, the warmth of the hands that had caught her leaving her arms. “No one enjoys seeing a lady fall, especially a beautiful one.”
Her breath catching, Isabella’s eyes traveled upward until she was staring into a pair of blue eyes, fringed by dark lashes. “I, uh—”
The owner of the tied cravat and striking eyes stepped back, and Isabella took in her savior. He was tall and well formed, with a head full of blond curls that matched his teasing blue eyes. She did not remember ever seeing him during the entire season, for had she done so, Isabella doubted she would have forgotten him.
“Thank you,” she said softly, inclining her head slightly.
The man bowed before holding out his hand towards her. “I will only accept your apology if you dance with me. I do hope there is room on your card, my dear lady.”
Isabella’s breath seized in her lungs as she saw the twinkle of laughter in his eyes, her heart pounding against her chest. Oh my. This was the type of gentleman she had longed to meet this season. “I’m afraid I have not had a chance to get it filled,” she said, “as I have just arrived.”
“My luck, then,” he stated, beckoning with his long fingers. “Shall we?”
She placed her gloved hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, where the strains of the waltz were just starting. They took their positions, and soon Isabella found herself swept into the stranger’s powerful arms, his grip light but assuring. “We have not been formally introduced, so shall I ask for your name?” he said lightly as he executed the turn.
“Isabella,” she breathed, not bothering with formality, enraptured by the way she felt in his presence.
“A beautiful name for a lovely lady,” he said with a grin. “I am James, Earl of Rearden,” he added, also offering his Christian name.
“Have you been enjoying the season, my lord?” Isabella asked breathlessly.
James shook his head as they turned yet again, his hand tightening on hers. “I have only returned from a long trip. I am afraid I have missed out on the fun.”
So, he did not know that she was engaged. Isabella could hardly contain her excitement. Not that it changed anything about her life. Her parents were set on her marrying Lord Vistley, but tonight, she could pretend otherwise. She would pretend otherwise.
“Have I trodden on your toes, Isabella?”
Isabella looked up and saw the grin on James’ face, a smile coming easily to her lips as well. She loved the sound of her name as it passed his lips. It was not proper, of course, but it was her night to pretend that the world was perfect. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”
“The frown,” he replied. “I am afraid my dancing is quite rusty.”
“It is lovely,” Isabella said softly as the dance came to an end. “You were an excellent dance partner, Lord Rearden.”
James chuckled as he escorted her off the floor. “You, madam, know how to make a gentleman feel like a king. May I introduce you to my sister? She has just come to London, and I feel you two will have much in common.”
“Of course,” she answered. “I would be delighted.” Any reason not to have to go back to her mother.
James led her over to a small alcove where a young woman with striking features sat, her eyes lighting up as she spied them coming. “Oh!” she exclaimed as they approached. “You found a partner to join you in a dance. How lovely. I hope you did not trod on her slippers,” she said with a smirk.
“He did not,” Isabella laughed as James relinquished her hand.
James began to introduce the young woman. “Lillian, I would love for you to meet—” He paused. “Well, I must confess that I do not know how to formally introduce you.”
Isabella laughed. “I must apologize for my informality. Lady Isabella Gareden.”
“Ah, very good,” said James. “Lady Isabella Gareden, please meet my sister, Lady Lillian Brenton.”
“I am most pleased to have your acquaintance,” said Isabella with a small curtsy. “Your brother said that you are new to London.”
“Why, yes. I have only recently arrived,” the young woman said with a smile, patting the seat beside her. “Be a good chap and get us some negus, James.”
Isabella watched as James bowed to his sister, winking at her before disappearing into the crowd. She could not believe her good fortune, meeting both of them.
“He’s charming,” Lillian murmured once James had left, “but don’t be fooled by him. He can be ghastly when he wants to be.”
Isabella turned toward Lillian, surprised, but she laughed as she saw the smile on the woman’s face. “Tell me all of his sordid past.”
Chapter Three
The next morning, Isabella climbed the steps to the handsome townhouse in the fashionable Mayfair Square, happy that it was not yet raining again. After last evening, she was looking forward to her first call, one that would likely be her only one, if she could help it. Turning back, she waved off her maid. “Go back to the house with the carriage.” she said. “I shall be fine here.”
“As you wish, my lady,” the maid answered, climbing back into the carriage before she hit the side of it and the driver pulled off. Isabel
la drew in a breath as she watched the carriage amble down the street, feeling the last visages of constraint ebb away. She climbed the rest of the stairs and rapped on the door, glad when it opened instantly, the warmth of the interior seeping out of the opening and chasing away the cold chill. “I am here to see Lady Lillian,” she stated to the butler, who admitted her immediately.
After taking her wrap and hat, the butler left her in the entryway as he went to fetch Lillian. Isabella didn’t mind; it gave her the chance to get her first view of the earl’s home. It was lovely, the understated wealth clear at every turn. There was a certain warmth in the air, one that she felt at her own home, and Isabella knew that she was safe and welcome there.
“You cannot do this! I have done everything you wished, everything you wanted, and yet you will not grant me this boon!”
“You are just now becoming the responsible man I have raised you to be. Surely you understand I cannot give you this.”
Startled by the sudden shouting, Isabella looked down the hall. No one was visible, but she could see an open door from which came the sound of angry voices , and one of those voices sounded suspiciously like James.
“Then I shall not ask for anything else.”
Isabella jumped at the sound of something slamming before she caught a glimpse of James coming out the very room in question, his stride furious and hurried. He stopped as he saw her, his eyes widening. “Lady Isabella.”
“Lord Rearden,” she stated, clasping her hands together tightly. “I…I am meeting your sister for tea.”
Some of James’ anger left his expression as he shoved a hand through his hair roughly, sending his blond curls scattering. “I am glad that you two have become quick friends. Lillian is a lovely young woman, and she could use some companionship.”
“I need more than that, brother,” Lillian announced as she hurried down the stairs in a blue morning gown that complimented her light features. “I would really love to have a sister.”