Regency Romances for the Ages

by Grace Fletcher

  The maid arrived quickly, hands clasped in front of her. “Can I help you, my Lady?”

  Dorothea paused. “I wish to take my mid-morning tea in here, if possible? And if there are writing implements?”

  Looking confused by the request but recovering quickly, the maid nodded and darted out of the room. Everyone was leaving so fast and looked as confused and out of place as she and Rowden felt. Perhaps they were not the only ones adapting to the new ownership. Dorothea had no doubt that they would find their equilibrium eventually, but it was worth considering for all of them.

  The maid returned a little while later with the writing implements.

  “Thank you.” Dorothea gave the maid a bright smile. “I’m not yet sure where everything is.”

  “I have no doubt you will figure it out, my Lady,” the maid said loyally, her lips quirking into a shy smile.

  Dorothea placed the ink on the table. “It may take a while.”

  She exchanged a small chuckle with the maid over a shared secret and then the maid ducked away once she was sure Dorothea didn’t need anything else. It was less lonely when the staff were around. She knew she couldn’t request their presence all the time but perhaps the more time she spent around them, the easier it would be for all of them, and the silences might get less overwhelming.

  Chapter 7

  Management of a Life

  There was something to be said for living the life of an ex-soldier.

  Rowden was up to his neck in his business for the estate and it was more of a headache than he was expecting it to be. When he had agreed to take on the title and all that went with it, Rowden had expected a little work, but nothing at the degree he was dealing with.

  Massaging his temples, he stared down at the documents currently littering his desk. It was a mess of staff documents, plans for the estate, and law deeds and information.

  The knock at the door startled him away from the work. “Come in.”

  Granger was at the door and he ducked his head. “My apologies for the interruption. Dinner is served, My Lord.”

  Rowden turned away from Granger, scowling. He did not have time for dinner, but he knew better than most that not eating would sap strength quickly. He would have to make time. “I will be there directly.”

  “Of course.” Granger disappeared.

  Pushing away from the desk, Rowden placed the documents securely in one of the drawers and then made his way towards the dining room. He hadn’t had much time to explore the house as Dorothea must have done, and it was upsetting to think that he didn’t know the home he was currently living in looked like.

  Dorothea was already in the dining room when he arrived, and Rowden was startled by the smile on her face. She seemed happy enough but there was a tightness around her eyes that he didn’t know the root of.

  “Dorothea.” It felt strange to address her by her name, but some tightness eased and his chest loosened.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you,” Dorothea said. She looked beautiful, hair tied up and her dress new. Most of her clothing had improved, though Rowden hadn’t found her previous attire distasteful, but there was something radiant about her that wasn’t there before. “Granger informed me that you would be otherwise engaged the whole day.”

  “I have a lot of work to do,” Rowden told her, accepting his food from Greta with a nod. “I apologize.”

  Dorothea smiled. “There is no need for apologies.”

  Rowden said nothing but gave her what he hoped was a calm smile. They ate the rest of their dinner in silence but as time moved on, Rowden felt his headache return. Dorothea was talking, something about the grounds and what she planned to do the next day.

  “I am sorry,” Rowden said eventually, when his headache increased too much to ignore. “I will have to retire for the evening. I am too tired.”

  A flicker of disappointment crossed Dorothea’s face, but she said nothing about it, just nodded once.

  “Do you have something to say?”

  For a moment Rowden thought Dorothea might remain silent. When she looked up at him, her brow was furrowed and the hand around her fork was tight. “I thought perhaps you would take the time to eat with me tonight.”

  “My headache is not an excuse,” Rowden snapped.

  “I am not saying that it is,” Dorothea said, her own voice laden with anger. “We have been in this house over a week and this is the first time I have seen you in all that time. When I told you that I was going to marry you I did not expect you to be absent so much of the time.”

  Rowden felt the pounding in his head increase and he blamed that for the reason he snapped. “It is not my fault that I have inherited a place such as this, that I inherited so much work.”

  Dorothea looked upset, her mouth a pinched line.

  “I have to get everything sorted as quickly as possible.” Rowden threw his napkin onto the table. “If you have a problem, perhaps you should reconsider whether you really want to be here.”

  With a quick gasp of her breath, Dorothea dropped the fork onto the table and stood up in one smooth motion. “Perhaps I will.”

  Without waiting for a reply—not that Rowden was going to give one—Dorothea strode from the room with as much dignity as she possessed. Rowden was not apologetic about his outburst. He had not wanted to marry Dorothea in the first place and now he had an estate he had not asked for. She was a breath of fresh air around his life and perhaps he would have liked to have something else to focus on, but he had his own problems to deal with.

  By the time he had arranged with Granger to have the rest of the dinner dealt with, he retired to his room, noting as he did so that Dorothea’s door was firmly shut. He paused outside of her room, almost wanting to knock and apologize, but changed his mind at the last minute.

  Shutting himself in his own room, he realized how sparse it was, much like his home before. Crossing to the window he saw the grounds splayed out before him and he curled his fingers around the sill. It was a beautiful estate, and one that under other circumstances he might have found himself awed to be living in. As it was, he had too much on his shoulders to be able to appreciate it.

  There was a knock on the door before Rowden could retire and he opened it slowly. Granger was on the other side, hands clasped at the base of his spine and a respectful head tilt. “I apologize for disturbing you, My Lord, but I thought you should have a reminder. There is to be a gathering tomorrow night at Lord and Lady Sharp’s.”

  “And this couldn’t have waited until morning?” Rowden didn’t mean to take out what anger remained on Granger, but the words were out before he could stop them.

  “Apologies again,” Granger said, his voice and expression tight. “I thought it bore reminding you given how busy your mornings are.”

  Rowden sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Granger, I am sorry.” Granger inclined his head again, ever respectful, and Rowden gave him what he hoped was a kind, if tired smile. “Please let Dorothea know. I will be available for the dinner.”

  Granger nodded and turned away from the door, leaving Rowden to shut it behind him. Rowden couldn’t remember the last time he had been so on edge, so quick to shout and release his anger in such a manner. He wasn’t used to having to censor himself and though he was irritated with the fact that he would have to learn to, there was something to be said for having people he could rely on, even if most of those people were staff.

  Chapter 8

  A Knife’s Edge

  Dorothea’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

  Staring at herself in the mirror, face pale and black shadows beneath her eyes, she knew she looked as nervous as she felt. Greta was due around at any moment to help her prepare for the dinner, and Dorothea knew she would need all the help in covering up the signs of her distress.

  The knock at the door startled her, even as she was expecting it, and she clutched a hand to her chest and called for Greta to come in.

  “My Lady,” Greta said,
breathless, and hurried over to the dressing table. “What is the matter?”

  “I find myself uncomfortable with the thought of a society dinner.” Dorothea closed her eyes, dropping her hands to the edge of the dressing table and clutching at it to ground herself. “It is the first time I will be doing so, and I cannot help but think I will cause distress.”

  “I fail to see how,” Greta told her, picking up Dorothea’s brush and running a hand through Dorothea’s curls. “My Lady, you are wonderful. As much influence as my opinion holds.”

  Dorothea met Greta’s eyes in the mirror and her smile was genuine. “Your opinion means a great deal to me, Greta, thank you. However,” she continued, closing her eyes as Greta started to brush her hair, “as soon as people find out my condition, I fear they will treat me differently.”

  There was a telling silence from Greta and the knots were teased gently from her hair. After a while, Greta let out a small huff of breath. “Society can be unkind,” she said slowly, “at times, if you don’t mind my saying so. I hope it will not be towards you.”

  “As do I,” Dorothea said. She fingered a comb on the dressing table, eyes still closed, and let out a slow breath. She had hoped that Rowden would have offered words of comfort, but he had failed to mention the party at dinner the night before. He had also failed to show up for breakfast and she blamed the way they had parted, something that still caused her distress.

  She knew he was under a lot of pressure with the estate, but he had been short and ill-tempered. She understood headaches and migraines, but there was no excuse for taking it out on her. She had married him out of a sense of self-preservation perhaps, but her feelings of affection and friendship were genuine. She had hoped he would feel the same, but she thought maybe she was wrong.

  “Let’s cover up your paleness, My Lady.”

  “Thank you, Greta.” Dorothea meant for more than just her appearance, and she had a feeling that Greta understood, from her smile and the delicate way she touched her face. Dorothea remained silent and still, always relishing when someone else brushed her hair. She had spent many a day having Keith brush her hair for her after their parents died. It had been one of the few times they had been able to talk freely. She missed him, still, but as she opened her eyes and saw Greta in front of her instead, it did not upset her as much as she expected. They talked in the same way, and it was a new revelation that the same could be said of her makeup.

  “My Lady,” Greta said as she stepped back, looking pleased. “You look beautiful.”

  Turning to stare at herself in the mirror, Dorothea was startled by the change. Greta had done wonders with her makeup and Dorothea could no longer see the tiredness nor the distress in her appearance. “You have done an amazing job, Greta.”

  “Thank you, my Lady.” Greta beamed and then bowed her head. “I have to go and help with the cleaning of the house, if you are done with me?”

  “Of course,” Dorothea said. “Thank you again.”

  When she was once again alone, some of the nerves returned, but Dorothea refused to let them overwhelm her. She had been strong about her condition for years, had always done her best to never let it get her down. Just because she was in a strange house and her entire life had been uprooted did not mean she had to give in now.

  She was better than this.

  Clenching her hands into fists, Dorothea gave herself one last look, a steely determination in her eyes, and left her room. They weren’t due to leave for a little while yet, but Dorothea wanted to be sure everything was ready for their departure and felt nervous enough that she needed to move.

  To her surprise, Rowden was already downstairs, looking amazing in his soldier best, and Dorothea couldn’t help but find him attractive. He really was handsome even when he wasn’t dressed up, but even more so now.

  “Good afternoon,” Rowden said. He looked apprehensive. Dorothea felt a surge of satisfaction at that, but then sighed, knowing he wasn’t accustomed to running an estate.

  She stood a little distance away, hands clasped in front of her and raised her eyebrows. “I missed you at breakfast.”

  Rowden dropped his eyes, uncomfortable, and then stared at her. “I would like to apologize for my behavior at dinner last night.”

  Dorothea let out a soft sigh. “I understand that running an estate is difficult. I can only imagine. But I do not deserve your derision.”

  “Neither do you have it,” Rowden assured her, holding out his arm. After only a brief hesitation, she threaded her own through it, leaning against him a little. “I will endeavor to be better.”

  “Let us just enjoy this evening,” Dorothea said. She knew even as she said it that her tone implied anything but.

  Rowden seemed to understand, for his grip on her tightened as they stepped out onto the porch, their carriage already waiting at the bottom. “We can leave whenever you are ready.”

  “Likewise,” Dorothea said, though she knew out of propriety they would both stay until the end. This was their first showing in society and it would be a gross insult to leave before an appropriate time.

  Thankfully the Sharp Estate was already busy when they arrived, carriages trundling up and down the drive. So many people had Dorothea uncomfortable, but Rowden remained a steady presence at her side, and as he helped her down from the carriage, he gave her hand a squeeze.

  She did not know what to do with the attention, but as they entered the entrance to the entrance hall, Dorothea was awed. Their house wasn’t as large at Durham Estate—for obvious reasons—but it had the splendor and care of a society home.

  They were announced quickly, and almost immediately a man and a woman swept over to them. Dorothea could see a number of other people in the room whispering and talking amongst themselves, and she wondered what they were saying, if they were judging them.

  The gentleman headed for them had a well-cut suit and a mustache that he obviously cared for meticulously. His eyes were kind. “Lord Durham,” he said, inclining his head. “It is an honor that you have accepted our invitation.”

  “The honor is ours,” Rowden said.

  Dorothea turned her attention to Lady Sharp, who, unlike her husband, did not have kind eyes. Her smile had an edge, and when she bowed her head, it was only a touch respectful. Her husband, however, clasped her hand and kissed the back of it gently.

  “My Lady. I had no idea his Lordship had such a beautiful wife.”

  “Thank you,” Dorothea said, feeling a blush rise on her cheeks. “Nor you.”

  Lady Sharp’s lips quirked up in a facsimile of a smile, but nobody else seemed to pick up on it. “I do hope you will come and meet some of my friends.”

  Dorothea could think of nothing she wanted less, but Rowden was nodding his head, looking hopeful and longingly at Lord Sharp, so Dorothea nodded and stepped away. “I would be delighted.”

  Lady Sharp led the way through the crowd, a step ahead of Dorothea. “I had wondered if you would come.”

  Immediately, there was a shudder up her spine, and Dorothea gritted her teeth. “For a particular reason?”

  Saying nothing, Lady Sharp threaded her way through a couple of tables and then gestured at a group of women currently seated in a semi-circle. Dorothea recognized none of them obviously though they seemed to be well-to-do.

  “Ladies,” Lady Sharp said, and the women turned at varying levels of interest. “This is Lady Durham.”

  Some ladies immediately smiled with the kind of expression that Dorothea was fast recognizing as fake respect, others with genuine interest, and a couple of them with the same smile as Lady Sharp.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Dorothea said, hovering awkwardly at the edge of the group. Immediately, one of the more genuine ladies gestured to a chair next to her. Dorothea sat awkwardly. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” the woman said. “I’m Lady Herron. My husband is a lawyer.”

  That explained the genuine greeting; Dorothea was learning there was a hierarc
hy to society and that some people were considered less elegant than others. Lady Herron clearly fell into the latter category.

  “So,” Lady Sharp started as she took her own seat. “How are you finding society so far?”

  Lady Herron looked put out, slightly angry, but Dorothea didn’t mind the question. She assumed that everyone knew she was new money.

  “It is a change from what I am used to. However,” she added, as some women looked between themselves, “my husband and I are looking forward to what it has to offer.”

  Lady Sharp’s smile turned nasty. “And you do not expect your condition to affect you in any way?”

  Dorothea’s blood ran cold, and she found it difficult to talk. Some ladies looked startled and upset, Lady Herron had clenched her hands into fists, but most of the ladies were looking intrigued and nastily at her.

  “My condition?” Dorothea was proud that her voice was even.

  “Yes.” Lady Sharp sat demurely on her chair as though butter wouldn’t melt, but Dorothea found a surge of anger and wished to scream and shout, to slap her. She could not make a scene, not if she expected Rowden to want to stay with her, to not throw herself into a life—once again—of solitude. “Is it not true that you will never have children?”

  There was a murmur from the gathered ladies and though Lady Herron looked as if she, too, wanted to slap Lady Sharp, she said nothing.

  “It is true,” Dorothea said, though her voice was less stern than she would have liked it. “What does that have to do with my being affected in society?”

  Lady Sharp laughed, a little cutting.

  “Nothing,” Lady Herron said, eyebrows furrowed.

  “Don’t be naïve, Penelope,” Lady Sharp said. “You always were the wistful type. Of course,” she added, turning her attention back to Dorothea, “it doesn’t matter to us. It may to some in society.”