Regency Romances for the Ages

by Grace Fletcher

  Dorothea wanted to laugh in her face, assure her that yes, it did matter to them obviously, but she could not. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said quickly, needing to get away from the gathered ladies. “I find myself in need of refreshment.”

  She could feel their eyes on her as she left, pressing a hand to her stomach, and she fled to the privacy of another room. Leaning against a bookcase, she sucked in a breath, feeling the burn of tears in her eyes. The door opened behind her and startled, Dorothea looked up quickly.

  “I apologize,” she said, not knowing who was approaching.

  “Lady Durham,” Lady Herron, Penelope, said. “I apologize for their attitude.”

  Dorothea closed her eyes. “Thank you for your input.”

  “Ladies like those have no place being in society,” Lady Herron grumbled. “I am new to money, but I have found it difficult to navigate.”

  Silence fell and eventually Dorothea found it easier to breathe. “I apologize for my quick departure.”

  “Nonsense.” Lady Herron rested a hand on Dorothea’s arm. “They had no right to bring up something so personal without provocation. I believe I might have reacted in the same way.”

  Lady Herron stayed with her for a few minutes more and then gestured back over her shoulder. “I must return to the party. Will you be alright?”

  “Yes,” Dorothea assured her, managing a smile. “Thank you.”

  Left once again on her own, Dorothea closed her eyes and leaned against the sofa. It was a plush and beautiful piece of furniture. Dorothea knew she would have to return to the party soon. If it wasn’t Rowden looking for her, it would be Lady Sharp or even her husband, angry about the accusation on their party skills.

  Though it was the last thing she wanted to do, Dorothea steeled herself and returned to the party.

  Chapter 9

  Revelations

  Rowden could not put his finger on what was different, but something about Dorothea had changed since their first party. She had become more withdrawn though her activities around the house hadn’t changed. The stresses of the estate hadn’t lessened any, but he had become more adept at handling them and often managed to eat with Dorothea at breakfast and dinner.

  A few days after the latest social engagement, they shared dinner together and Rowden made it a point to remain civil as best he could. Dorothea was distracted but smiled easily and wasn’t short with him. He wished he knew what had her so upset.

  “Is everything alright with you?”

  Dorothea’s eyebrows raised. “Why do you ask?”

  “You have not seemed like yourself lately.” Rowden settled his cutlery on the plate and sat back to give the maid plenty of room to take it when she came to clear the table. “I am worried that I may have done something.”

  “No,” Dorothea said almost immediately. “You have been attentive in all the right places. I appreciate you dining with me more often.”

  Rowden wondered if he had done her a disservice by not present. “Perhaps we could spend the evening together, if you will allow it.”

  The smile on Dorothea’s face was far more genuine and kinder, and with a hint of something that Rowden didn’t recognize. “I would like that very much.”

  “Very well,” Rowden said, with a smile of his own. He was startled at the flush of warmth in his chest. The idea of sitting around idle and talking with a woman would never have crossed his mind before. To be truthful, he still wasn’t certain it would pass quickly, but Dorothea was his wife for better or worse, and he could do no less than make sure she was happy. “I know you spend a lot of the time in the library.”

  Again, Dorothea’s smile was genuine and delighted, her eyes bright. “I have managed to get through a number of books. There are so many things to learn. I have also been keeping a journal.”

  “You write?”

  “A little,” Dorothea admitted, giving the maid as kind a smile as she had given Rowden. He knew society would not look so well on that, but something about it struck him. He hadn’t wanted to change, and Dorothea wasn’t; she was behaving as she always had, and he couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to see it. “It’s mostly been about my time here, though admittedly it hasn’t been varied.”

  “We will have to change that,” Rowden said. “I was considering extending the stables. We only have carriage horses at the moment, but I remember you saying before we earned these titles,” he said the last with only a little disdain, “you loved riding.”

  “I do,” Dorothea said, staring down at her dessert, a blush rising on her cheeks. “I wasn’t aware you remembered.”

  Rowden remembered everything. It had been a bane while he was fighting, remembering every explosion and scream and death. Perhaps he could utilize it for something at the other end of the scale; for Dorothea’s wants and likes, and the better things about his life now. Not that he was going to seek them, but if they came to him, it would be all too easy to remember them. “We shall have more horses.”

  It was a rash decision to be sure, and he was certain plenty of people would have something to say about it, but he was the Earl of Durham. If he wanted something to be done, it would be done. Dorothea hadn’t smiled as much of late and he wanted to give her something.

  The rest of the meal passed smoothly, and the two of them retired to the library, where Dorothea chose her next book. Rowden was surprised to find a great many books on the art of warfare, estate building, and all manner of subjects that he had always been interested in.

  “I don’t know why this is the first time I am seeing these.”

  “Perhaps if you took a few hours off now and then,” Dorothea said quickly, and her cheeks tinged pink, as if afraid of his reaction.

  Rowden did feel the familiar rush of anger, but he was learning to curb his temper, discovering that society was far less willing to tolerate his outbursts. As much as he found the adjustments difficult, this was his life now and he could not alienate everyone. “I will try.”

  It was all he was going to offer, but it seemed to suit Dorothea just fine.

  “I was thinking,” he said, choosing one of the architecture books. Dorothea was sitting on one of the sofas, curled up at one end, a book balanced on her knees. Before he could finish his sentence, the door opened, and Dorothea’s maid stepped in, a tray balanced on her hands.

  “Some tea my Lady, My Lord.” The maid exchanged a smile with Dorothea—one much more familiar than the one she shared with the dinner maid—and then bowed her head at Rowden.

  “Thank you, Greta,” Dorothea said warmly, again, much more than she did with Rowden, and Rowden paused. He wondered what she would sound like talking to him in such a way and grew angry with himself. It was pointless to think like that. Their marriage was convenience. It wouldn’t do to think of it as anything else.

  “Thank you,” Rowden echoed.

  “You were thinking?” Dorothea prompted, when Greta had closed the door behind her.

  Rowden sat in the armchair close to the fire, turning to the first page. He had lost track of his conversation and took a moment to collect his thoughts. “We have attended so many parties of late. I wonder if perhaps we shouldn’t host one of our own?”

  If Rowden hadn’t been looking at her, he might have missed the shudder that passed through Dorothea, or the way her smile turned brittle and sad for a moment, before her expression smoothed back into one of fondness.

  “Society dictates we must hold one at some point,” Dorothea offered, using the same derisive tone that Rowden himself used when talking about their new world. “Who would we invite?”

  “Everyone who has thus far invited us.” Rowden smoothed down the page, pursing his lips in thought. “The Herrons, the Barretts and the Lindons.”

  The list went on and on, but Dorothea’s expression grew more wooden with every mention.

  “You are not happy?”

  “I am,” Dorothea rushed to say, and though she aimed for a smile, she only managed a slig
ht grimace. “I suppose I have a headache.”

  Rowden didn’t call her on the lie, but he was more concerned than he wanted to be. Frustrated, he placed his book on the coffee table. “Are you happy here?”

  “Here?” Dorothea raised her head and met his gaze unflinchingly. “I didn’t think I was at first. It has taken time to get used to, but I love this house. This library in particular.”

  “Good.” Rowden pressed his hands together, wondered what could be upsetting her. He didn’t want to press; it was obvious she was not willing to tell him, so he would have to keep an eye on her, hope that he found out himself. Perhaps some staff were being unkind though he couldn’t think of any that would deliberately dislike Dorothea when she went out of her way to treat them with respect. “If you wish to retire, I will not stop you.”

  Dorothea looked unhappy though Rowden suspected it was for an altogether different reason. “This is the first evening we have been able to share.”

  “I promise there will be others.” Rowden was being honest, and he hoped it showed. He had been neglecting everything of late, and though perhaps they didn’t have feelings for each other, he couldn’t deny her that.

  Hesitating, Dorothea nonetheless nodded and closed her book. “I apologize.”

  Rowden was startled when Dorothea reached over to take his hand, but he let her. She stared down at their clasped fingers and looked wistful, even longing.

  “Thank you.”

  “No thanks are necessary,” Rowden said, and squeezed Dorothea’s hand before letting go. “I will see you for breakfast.”

  Dorothea departed reluctantly, abandoning her tea and shutting the door quietly behind her. Pensive, Rowden sat back and stared into the fire. He wondered what was bothering her. It was the first affection she had shown in the privacy of their own home and he could not understand his own reaction to it.

  It was difficult to deny that he wanted more.

  Chapter 10

  A Relief

  Dorothea did not want to throw a party.

  It would go ahead; Rowden had the idea and Granger had informed him that it would be well received. Though they had few friends in society, Granger had been working at the estate for decades and knew well the workings of the upper echelons.

  The entire house seemed consumed with making the party an affair to remember, though Dorothea went through the motions half-heartedly, concerned with the families being invited. Though she was happy with a few of the choices—Penelope would be a delight—but having Abigail Sharp arrive would cause no amount of distress.

  “The Sharps are important,” Granger told them, and Rowden stared at her, concerned.

  “Do you wish for me to leave them off the guest list?”

  Dorothea could tell from the expression on Granger’s face, from what she already knew of society herself, that Rowden could not exclude a couple from a party without great cost to their reputation. “No. I am just being silly.”

  As she left the room, she could feel Rowden’s eyes on her. He was becoming more adept at reading her, but they still weren’t as close as they could have been. Greta was her closest confidant, the only one who knew why she was distressed with the party, but there was little she could do to help. Dorothea was going to have to get through this alone.

  Rowden came to her the next morning with plans for the stables. Dorothea allowed herself a brief hope and gave him what little input she had to spare, and Rowden actually listened and nodded. Dorothea felt her opinion was important and listened to, and she allowed herself another brief touch of his hand before he departed for his study. She was startled when Rowden allowed it, and then returned her gesture with one of his own, giving her hand a squeeze.

  Feeling light and happy for the first time in a long while, enjoying the meals she and Rowden were now sharing, there were things about him she hadn’t let herself see before. Beneath his gruff exterior, the part that kept him aloof and had no doubt served him well while he was fighting, was a kind-hearted man who was trying to see her well.

  Unfortunately, she was not given a lot of time to savor it before the party.

  “I do not think I am ready,” Dorothea said, meeting Greta’s eyes in the mirror. It seemed they spoke a lot this way.

  “You will be.” Greta finished tying Dorothea’s hair up into a bun and came to stand to her right. “My Lady, you can be strong when you wish it. I have no doubt that you will see tonight through the same way.”

  Dorothea said nothing but hoped that Greta was right. As she went through the rest of her routine, choosing a dress that Rowden had presented her with recently, and putting the finishing touches to her makeup, Dorothea steeled herself for what was to come.

  The house had been decorated well, and as Dorothea passed through the great hall, Granger met her there, walking through to the ballroom with her.

  “I trust all is well, my Lady?” Granger inquired, a concerned furrow to his brow.

  “It shall be,” Dorothea said, smiling as best she could. She had no idea if Granger believed her words—or her smile—but Rowden was already in the ballroom, surveying everything one last time before their guests were due to arrive. “Is everything to your liking?”

  “It is,” Rowden said, and his stance was relaxed and open where before it may not have been so. He had gone through so many changes since they arrived in Durham, and Dorothea wondered if he could see changes in her—and if they were for the better or worse.

  There was a ringing of the bell and Granger departed.

  “I believe the party is set to begin,” Rowden said, offering Dorothea his arm. She took it, resting a hand on his wrist as he led her back out to the hall. “I hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”

  It sounded like more than just a passing hope, and Dorothea forced herself to meet his eyes, to lean into him just a little. “I am sure I will. You have a done a wonderful job.”

  “It was mostly the staff,” Rowden pointed out, but there was a smile on his face and Dorothea couldn’t help but return it.

  When they entered the hall, Dorothea was delighted to see that it was Lord and Lady Herron.

  “I had hoped you would be here,” Dorothea said, pressing a kiss to Penelope’s cheek.

  Penelope’s eyes were soft as she returned the greeting and squeezed Dorothea’s arms. “How have you been feeling? And I know you’ve spent the afternoon telling yourself you are fine, but how are you really?”

  Dorothea allowed herself the chance to be honest. She and Penelope weren’t as close a friend as she would like, but she had been a confidant when they out at various parties and functions. “I am nervous about what this party will bring.”

  They followed their husbands into the ballroom where a pianist and his accompanying violinist and cellist were already playing a soft melody. Dorothea led Penelope to a cluster of chairs and perched on the end, watching Rowden pick Lord Herron’s brains about something. Though a lawyer of some repute, Dorothea had never had time to talk to him. She doubted she would be the kind of person he would impart wisdom too.

  There was another flurry of activity outside the room and Dorothea stood, ready to perform her hosting duties, aware that both she and Rowden would find it uncomfortable. Thankfully, an hour into the party, she was given a reprieve and retreated to the library, her safe space. Aware that it would be seen as a slight against the party for the hostess not to present, she nevertheless needed to catch her breath.

  The ballroom was full, dancers in full swing, and many of Rowden’s colleagues clustered around, congratulating themselves on their various endeavors. Dorothea was trying her best to get involved, but it all seemed vapid and ridiculous. She could not engage with many of her fellow wives, especially when they were led by Lady Sharp.

  “Ah, Lady Durham, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time.”

  Dorothea sucked in a breath, forcing her shaking hands to still. She looked up, threading her way between the sofa and the armchair to meet Lady Sharp at the door.
“I was just checking on a few things. Perhaps we could talk on our way back to the ballroom?”

  Lady Sharp took in the surrounding room, lip curling a little. “Is there a reason we cannot speak in here?”

  “I cannot be away from the party for too long.” Dorothea felt a rush of irritation that she couldn’t keep at bay. “I trust that as a hostess yourself, you understand.”

  A flash of viciousness crossed Lady Sharp’s face. “It is any wonder you have guests at all.”

  Dorothea swallowed around the lump in her throat, feeling like she had that first day. Lady Sharp was amongst her biggest threat. “I do not know what you mean, Lady Sharp, but I must get back to the party.”

  Lady Sharp neatly slipped between Dorothea and the door. “I have the unfortunate feeling that you do not hold me in high regard, Lady Durham.”

  “I have as much as regard for you as you for I,” Dorothea said without missing a beat. The fear that was settling in her stomach gave way to a visceral anger that she let fuel her words. “Excuse me.”

  Dorothea swept past Lady Sharp, pulling open the door, but Lady Sharp wasn’t done with her, and followed.

  “How anybody could hold you in any regard is a mystery. You’re are a disgrace.”

  “Why?” Dorothea managed, turning to look Lady Sharp in the eye. “What have I possibly done to upset your opinion of me?”

  Lady Sharp gave Dorothea a pointed look, from her toes to her head. “A woman who cannot bear her husband children has no right being a paragon of society. Lord Durham deserves better than a barren nobody!”

  “That’s enough!”

  The words cracked through the room like a whip, and Lady Sharp’s face paled. Dorothea recognized the voice immediately, closing her eyes against the nausea rolling through her stomach. Rowden’s shoes seemed too loud on the floor of the hall, and Dorothea could feel more eyes on them. They had drawn a crowd, and she felt sick, dizzy, and clutched at her stomach.