Regency Romances for the Ages

by Grace Fletcher

  “I know.” Ipswich kissed her forehead, holding her tightly to his side. “I can’t believe Allwood would go that far because he hated you.”

  Deborah didn’t want to think about the man who almost destroyed them. She could see how much it was affecting her husband. Tugging his head down, Deborah kissed him. “He isn’t worth your time, Peter,” she said gently. “Right now, focus on us and our child. Allwood doesn’t deserve it.”

  Ipswich closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. His arms tightened around her more before loosening, tucking Deborah against his chest. “You’re right. I love you, Deborah. Don’t forget that.”

  “I love you, too.” Deborah smiled up at him. “I’ll always be there.” The smile she got in return was warm and loving.

  “I know.”

  *** The End ***

  The Earl’s

  Promise to Keep

  Regency Romance

  Grace Fletcher

  Chapter 1

  The Promise

  All Stephen Rowden knew was pain.

  His leg was throbbing, fire chasing up his leg, and he struggled to get his breathing under control. Around him, the sounds of explosions and men shouting seemed to be coming to him through murky water. It all felt too far away, too removed from the narrowness of pain and exhaustion.

  “Rowden!” There was the touch of a hand to his chest and Rowden forced himself to stare up into the face of a fellow soldier and friend. Keith George hovered above him, brow furrowed in pain and concentration. “We’re going to move you.”

  Rowden didn’t know much beyond that; the pain was a constant companion, following him through the rough movements as he was loaded up and carried away from the battlefield. It was never an easy task during gunfire and explosions, but he was thankful for the quick and effective medics who had come to rescue him.

  When he finally came around, he could not tell how many hours—day, weeks—had passed. His body ached in a way that was familiar from previous wounds and battles. It took a lot out of him just to open his eyes, but as he acclimated to the darkness in the tent, he could make out the shapes of other soldiers in beds. There was a nurse walking between the beds, checking out her patients, and Rowden waited for her to reach him.

  “How are you feeling?” The nurse’s voice was soft, and her hands were warm as she went through her checks.

  Rowden hated those words. He had been injured in the midst of a fight he did not particularly want to be a part of, but he waved her off. “What happened?”

  “You took shrapnel to the leg,” the nurse said, voice sympathetic but all business. She adjusted his sheets even though there was nothing wrong with them, and her mouth was a thin line as she ran her eyes down the bed. “The doctor is concerned about your range of motion.”

  Rowden’s heart thudded in his chest. That would mean a possible discharge and being sent back to England. Though he was not a keen fighter, all he knew was war and fighting. His life was about being a soldier and if that was taken away from him, he did not know what he would do.

  “You could always marry my sister,” George said a few days later, perched on the edge of Rowden’s bed. He had been given a moment’s leave, on the cusp of being moved out yet again, but had come to look in on Rowden.

  Rowden was not in the mood for jokes and hoped that his expression spoke volumes.

  George sighed. “It was less of a joke than you might think.”

  Rowden had no interest in finding out what George was talking about, but anything would be better than focusing on his leg and the dull ache that seemed to accompany it almost constantly. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me why.”

  “She suffered an accident as a child,” George explained, glaring down at the floor as if it was responsible. “She cannot bear children.”

  Rowden felt a brush of discomfort and sympathy. He could appreciate why not bearing children would be difficult for a woman, but it was something that should have been personal. “Unfortunate.”

  “There is no man back home that would ever consider her for marriage. I wish to see her safe and secure in her future.”

  There was a heavy feeling in the pit of Rowden’s stomach and he was almost afraid to ask. “If you have something to ask me, do so.”

  George gave him an unimpressed look, but thankfully smoothed out his face. As someone who had spent his many years analyzing peoples’ postures and body language, Rowden knew George was relieved. “You once told me that you had no intention to marry.”

  Unfortunately, Rowden now knew for certain where George was hoping this conversation would need.

  “I do not know,” George continued, finally meeting Rowden’s eyes, “whether I will ever make it back home.”

  Rowden wished to refute his pessimism, but he was currently lying in a bed with a bum leg that would probably never work properly again. He could understand the view of inevitability. “You wish for me to marry your sister.”

  George blew out a slow breath, straightening up and affecting a look of stubbornness. Rowden had little use for it; if he did not wish to marry George’s sister, he would not, no matter how strong George’s own resolve. “You do not understand. She has nothing if I do not come home. She will die destitute. I know you would not see that happen.”

  Though it was on the tip of his tongue to argue, Rowden knew that he couldn’t. He did not have any siblings of his own, but he understood the need to protect the ones you loved. He could only imagine the lengths he would go to make sure his mother had been cared for before she died. Now that he knew George’s sister was in trouble, he doubted he would be able to see her alone. It was a facet of his personality he had tried time and again to ignore, but he had never been able.

  “Say you will marry her,” George pressed. “She needs someone to protect her, to look out for her.”

  It was a distaste to think that every woman should need protection when Rowden’s mother had gone above and beyond to make sure he was cared for, but he nodded abruptly, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg. The anger settling in his chest was making it worse, and he needed George to leave before he lost his temper with the only friend he had.

  “I will marry her,” he said eventually, mouth twisting with the distaste. “But only if you do not return.”

  George’s eyebrows raised, but it was the only way Rowden would ever marry, even for convenience. There was a hesitation and then George was holding out his hand, grip strong when Rowden shook it. “Agreed.”

  Chapter 2

  An Arrangement

  We regret to inform you…

  Miss Dorothea George crumpled the paper in her hand and bowed her head. She had suspected, of course, when Keith had been drafted into the service that he would come back changed or would never come back at all. Still, there was no preparing for the emotions that came along with it.

  Keith had always done his best to protect her, and though he was sometimes extreme in how he approached doing so, she could understand his reasons. Pressing a hand to her abdomen, she closed her eyes and let out a slow, shaky breath. It was not often she allowed herself the weakness of thinking about her injury or about the implications it had left her with, but without Keith, she had no choice but to consider what was left to her.

  That afternoon, as she did her best not to think about what had happened, she started to make tea in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Her brow furrowed. It was rare she received visitors with her condition, nobody in the town wanting to associate with someone disgraced in the way that she was. Setting the kettle back on the cooker, she wiped her hands on a towel and stepped out into the hall. She could not make out the shape through the door and approached slowly.

  The man on her doorstep was shorter than her brother but still a head taller than her. He held himself stiffly, in the same manner as a soldier might, but he was wearing civilian clothing. His hair was brown, curling slightly at the ends as if not used to being so long, but he did not have a kind face.


  “Can I help you?”

  The man looked uncomfortable, though he tilted his head a little higher, defiant and stubborn, though Dorothea didn’t know what he needed to be stubborn about. “I am Captain Stephen Rowden. Your brother—Keith George—asked that I come here should anything happen to him.”

  Dorothea clasped her hands together and frowned. Despite her irritation with her brother, Dorothea stepped back as propriety demanded. “Please, come in.”

  Captain Rowden bowed his head and stepped through the door. Dorothea could see him favor his left leg and felt a burst of sympathy in her chest. Clearly Rowden had been injured during his service. She wondered if that was the reason he had been sent home.

  Shutting the door, she gestured towards the sitting room. “Would you care for some tea?”

  Rowden hesitated, looking as if he was going to refuse, and then something rippled across his face, an emotion Dorothea could not place. “Please.”

  While Rowden stepped through to the sitting room, Dorothea headed back into the kitchen, glad she had only just started making the tea before Rowden arrived. She did not want to spend a lot of time thinking over the reasons Rowden could be here.

  Rowden was standing in front of the mantle when Dorothea carried a tray of tea into the sitting room. His hands were clasped at the base of his spine in the manner Keith would often hold himself, a holdover from his service.

  “I apologize,” Dorothea said gently. “I have no idea why my brother felt is necessary to have you watch over me.”

  Rowden’s lips pursed. He took the proffered tea but held it in his hands, staring down into the cup. “I believe that might have something to do with a conversation we had during my convalescence from my injury.”

  Dorothea settled back onto the settee and rested the saucer on her knee, feeling the heat seep through her dress. “I hope my brother wasn’t too forward.”

  There was a smile on Rowden’s face at that. Small and self-deprecating, but a smile nonetheless. Dorothea found herself appreciating what a smile did for Rowden’s overall bearing. He could stand to do it more often. “When you hear his request, perhaps you will think him so.”

  “What did he ask of you?”

  Rowden took a sip of tea and stared at her over the rim of the teacup. “Your brother conversed with me about your accident.”

  Immediately Dorothea was simultaneously embarrassed and angry. “He had no right,” she said forcefully, clenching a hand around her teacup, unable to handle the betrayal. “It is not something to just be discussed.”

  Holding up one hand, Rowden slid his teacup onto the tray. “Believe me, Miss George, I no more wished to hear it than you to have it told.”

  Dorothea tightened her grip but nodded once, an acquiescence that Rowden could not help what he heard. “And? What did my brother do with such information?”

  “He loved you,” Rowden said, so suddenly and with such reluctance that Dorothea could believe it. Men did not discuss such things about others, not without provocation. “He wished to see you cared for and looked after. I told him that I would, but only on the condition that he was not around to do it himself.”

  So, the letter about Keith’s death had precipitated the visit. Dorothea knew exactly what it was that Keith had asked Rowden to do, something he had been threatening to do whenever she turned down a suitor. It was not that she found them repulsive or did not appreciate that her brother wanted her safe, but most of the men he chose had no desire to marry her for her; they were all desperate or in need of a wife for one cause or another.

  “And why,” she said eventually, when she found her voice, “should I accept such a proposal?”

  Rowden was startled, momentarily speechless in the face of her—correct—assumption. He sobered quickly, expression torn between frustration and surprise. “You know, then, what he asked of me?”

  “My brother was not a subtle man, Captain Rowden. He has been trying to marry me off for some time. The fact that he chose a fellow soldier is a surprise. He always told me not to.”

  “I do not wish to be married,” Rowden said, though for the first time since he’d entered the house, his expression was kind. “I am not an… easy man to live with nor to be around. I do not wish to have a wife and I do not wish to share my life with someone. I did, however, promise your brother that I would care for you and make sure you were looked after. I wish to fulfill that promise to somebody who was my friend when I did not deserve one.”

  Hearing that she was not wanted was not unusual. Dorothea had spent many a year hearing that she was damaged that her brother would never find a good match. It hurt that were they married, Rowden would not want her around as anything more than a companion. “So, are we to ignore each other completely?”

  Rowden sighed and shook his head. “No. Having a friend has taught me they are invaluable, even necessary. I would like–I cannot promise it will be easy, but I would like to honor the promise I made to your brother.”

  “Very well,” Dorothea said, without allowing herself to think about it. Though she suspected Rowden was a very difficult man, she could not abide the fact that she would end up alone forever—or married to someone she despised.

  She did not yet despise Rowden. Only time would tell whether that would change.

  Chapter 3

  The Reveal

  Though marrying Miss George was difficult to accustom to, Rowden could not deny that having company around, even company that he had not planned for, was not abhorrent. Miss George took care of the arrangements herself as he had no interest in planning a wedding, and she seemed content enough to do so.

  It would be a simple and easy affair; Miss George’s family was sparse, many of whom would not attend, and Rowden had only one cousin that he hadn’t seen in quite some time. His parents had died when he was young, and he had never had any siblings.

  Rowden’s cousin Jacob would not be in attendance due to a debilitating illness. Rowden was a little concerned at the news, but he and Jacob were not close. Rowden sent a letter in return, expressing his well wishes and turned back to arranging his own affairs.

  Miss George had yet to move into his home and if he was being honest with himself, Rowden was not anticipating her coming into the house. It would mean a vast change in his lifestyle and he was afraid that he would not take to it with enthusiasm.

  He made a promise to George to look after his sister and he would do so. Thankfully, Miss George seemed just as reluctant as he was to follow through with the marriage. Rowden sighed, staring over the documents that would need to be filled out before the marriage could conclude.

  His house was small and minimal, perfect for his needs, and where he sat at his desk, he could see out into the street. It wasn’t a busy area of the town and Rowden was happy with that. Coming home after serving was never an easy transition and Rowden often found himself uncomfortable and irritated in crowded places. His house, and the street, gave him a sense of privacy he hadn’t had in a long time.

  Perhaps that was why he found it so difficult to adjust to the idea of being married.

  The day of the wedding approached quickly, and Rowden did his best to appear pleased, or at the very least less apathetic, about the occasion. Miss George seemed just as nervous, barely looking at Rowden as she surveyed the room, the lack of guests. Rowden could appreciate where her mind was at; he had learned from his mother that women often longed for their wedding day, for the opportunity to be married. And though Rowden did not wish that for himself, he could appreciate that Dorothea might have wanted it.

  “I apologize,” he said, after the ceremony.

  Dorothea’s face was flushed, a small tease of a smile on her face, so perhaps this day had not been a complete disaster. “What for?”

  “I know weddings are supposed to be lavish.”

  There was an unfamiliar expression on Dorothea’s face. She rested a hand on his arm and squeezed gently before remembering herself and dropping her hands to her sides.
“I am just pleased to be married.”

  Rowden nodded quickly. It wasn’t that he forgot about Dorothea’s condition, but he was often struck by society’s need to shut out of mind those who were less acceptable. “I would discuss with you our living arrangements.”

  Dorothea’s eyebrows raised, and though she appeared happy, her smile brittle, she acquiesced. “I suppose you wish for me to live with you?”

  Rowden had not yet considered what he would do with Dorothea’s house. Given George’s death he assumed that Dorothea would want to leave it as soon as possible, but her expression was telling him otherwise. “Is that not what you wish?”

  “I don’t know what I wish for,” Dorothea said honestly. She sat on a bench outside of the church and cradled her hands in her lap. “I am not sure I ever imagined this would happen.” She waved her hand to indicate the church and their attire. “Thinking beyond that has never been something I’ve had to do.”

  Sitting beside her on the bench, Rowden looked out over the small park that sat behind the church. “You have the opportunity to do so now.”

  Dorothea’s smile was a little more genuine this time, and Rowden sat back, letting his body relax into the bench. He could not fault Dorothea’s company. She rarely talked and seemed happy enough to answer questions when Rowden posed them.

  “Thank you.” Dorothea turned her smile on him and lifted a hand as if she was contemplating touching him. She aborted the movement and settled her hand back in her lap. “I don’t think I said so before.”

  It was an immediate reaction to refuse her thanks. Marrying her was as much a part of his own selfish promise to George, but he could not deny that seeing Dorothea smile was pleasing. In the short time he had known her, he rarely saw it, trapped as she was in her own home.

  They remained in silence for a little while longer and then Dorothea let out a soft sigh. When Rowden looked over, she was smiling, so he didn’t worry that it was anything bad.