Regency Romances for the Ages

by Grace Fletcher

  Charlotte couldn’t agree more. And it sounded like the best plan. She followed Angela to the library and stepped inside. Angela closed the door, and then Charlotte heard the key turning in the lock.

  She spun around and tried the door. It really was locked. What was Angela up to? Why was she being locked in like this? She was hardly going to run away right now.

  “Charlotte.”

  Charlotte spun around, pressing herself up against the door. West stepped out from behind the curtain, the door to the terrace open behind him. He looked as though he had barely slept, looking thinner than before and a handsome beard growing on his jaw. The past month had not been kind to him.

  “Your Grace!” Charlotte gasped. “What on earth?”

  “Forgive me for doing it this way, but I didn’t think you wanted to speak to me.” West approached her cautiously as if he was expecting her to run. “It was easier to go through James.”

  James had been a part of this? Charlotte was going to have his head for this.

  “Don’t be upset with him, Charlotte.” West reached out and touched her shoulder. Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to pull away, her heart in her mouth. She could feel her pulse rushing at a dizzying pace. “He was acting in our best interests.”

  “Our best interests?”

  “The entire household has treated me with sullen silence since you left.” West gave her a soft smile. “They believed you the entire time.”

  “I never doubted that part.” Charlotte could feel the heat of his hand through her dress. “But why am I here?”

  West sighed, his fingers brushing against her jaw.

  “Because I wanted to apologize to you. I couldn’t find you to speak to you when all the time you were in Baroness Audrey’s household.”

  “She said she would always have a position if I ever left your service.” Charlotte knew she should pull away, but she found herself leaning towards him. “And she was true to her word.”

  “I know.” West swallowed, cupping her head in his hands, resting his forehead against hers. “Please, Charlotte. Forgive me. I was a fool not to trust you. Lady Jane was overheard boasting about getting rid of you with a lie. I have banished her from my presence and she is not permitted to be in the same house as me ever again.” Then he kissed her forehead. “I have also told her to release her maid unless she wants it known that her maid is a thief.”

  Lady Jane had boasted about it and got caught. Charlotte didn’t think she was that foolish to do that unless she thought she couldn’t be touched. Charlotte would have loved to have seen the woman getting a dressing down. But now was not the time. She didn’t want to think about the awful woman.

  “Why…why would you do that?”

  “Because I’m a fool. Isn’t that enough?”

  “You wouldn’t have done this ridiculous charade to get me here,” Charlotte pointed out. “You would’ve gone to Baroness Audrey’s yourself.”

  West grunted, giving her a wry smile.

  “Baroness Audrey sent me a letter, telling me that my behavior towards you was reprehensible and unless there was a heartfelt apology, neither myself nor Lady Jane would be granted permission to be in her presence.” He stroked Charlotte’s jaw, pressing another kiss to her head. “I did this because I love you, Charlotte. I know it’s not something that’s looked upon kindly, a nobleman and a servant, but you can never get your heart to listen to Society’s rules. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in the rain, waiting like a damsel in distress but with the grace of a princess.”

  Charlotte felt like someone had felled her with a feather. She had never heard a confession like this, not even with her husband. Donald had been practical. Not like West at all.

  “You love me?” she whispered faintly. “But…what about Lady Jane?”

  West snorted.

  “I was never going to marry Lady Jane. I dislike her a great deal but I tolerated her for her father’s sake. I doubt we’re going to have a good relationship now, not after the way I spoke to his daughter. She was smarter than I gave her credit for though.” West brushed his fingers across Charlotte’s mouth. “She could tell that I was in love with you before I even realized it myself and she didn’t like the fact I preferred a housekeeper, a commoner, over her.”

  “She’s not a very nice person.” Charlotte said faintly. Her mouth was throbbing from his touch. “Beautiful, yes, but that doesn’t go very deep.”

  “I know. It rarely does with women like her.” West’s expression softened, and he smiled. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m in love with you. I can’t change how I treated you but I plan to make it up to you for the rest of my life.”

  Charlotte was stunned. Her mind was turning over and over, trying to keep things in place. The Duke of Westminster loved her? That felt like something you only read about in fantastical stories.

  “Don’t say anything right now, Charlotte.” West drew her into his arms and hugged her close, kissing her head. “Except to say that you love me back. And don’t try to deny it. Practically everyone has been telling me that you are in love with me. Angela Dixon was most insistent about it and Mrs. Bartlett said it was a shame that you were not of noble blood. That I don’t care about. I know what I want and that is you.”

  Charlotte could feel his heart pounding against her cheek. It was racing. He was scared, she realized. Scared that she would reject him.

  She couldn’t do that if she tried.

  Charlotte raised her head and kissed him. West’s arms tightened around her but he didn’t push it further. It was as if he was afraid she would run. Charlotte had no intention of running. She pulled away and stared at him.

  “Please tell me this is a dream.” she gasped. “Because I don’t want to wake up.”

  West chuckled and kissed her again.

  “It’s very real, Charlotte. I love you and I want you as my wife.”

  Charlotte Asquith, Duchess of Westminster. That sounded pretty good to her. But, of course, Charlotte didn’t come alone.

  “You do know that by marrying me that makes Mary your daughter.”

  “And I fully encourage it. I want to meet her, be the father she needs.” West hugged her close. “She is a part of you and I wouldn’t have anything less.”

  “Well, that would have been my only stipulation to accepting a proposal.”

  “So, is that a yes?”

  Charlotte grinned and tugged his head down for another kiss.

  “It’s a yes. Just don’t expect me to be the regular duchess. I don’t think I could be one of those people who sits around doing nothing except looking pretty.”

  West laughed and spun her around, lifting her off her feet.

  “I wouldn’t complain either way.”

  *** The End ***

  The Duke &

  the Scandalous

  Miss Lacey

  Regency Romance

  Grace Fletcher

  Chapter 1

  The Garden Party

  T he Duke of Wellington wanted to leave. Moments after arriving, he was regretting accepting his close friend’s invitation to his garden party.

  It was nothing against the Duke of Plymouth or his wife. Both were consummate hosts and Wellington adored the pair of them. If it were just them, Wellington would not be feeling like he wanted to leave at the first available moment.

  The problem was the short, curvy woman with snow-white powdered hair at the other end of the garden in deep conversation with a beautiful girl barely of age with russet-coloured hair curled around her face. She had been dogging him the whole time and Wellington was beginning to regret saying he could attend.

  It was practically impossible to avoid the lady. She always found a way to turn up out of the blue and make Wellington’s teeth grind painfully.

  “Why the long face?”

  Wellington looked up. He had been staring at the glass in his hand, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in case they wanted to talk to him. A blond
-haired man Wellington’s age was approaching him with raised eyebrows and a slight smile on his face. Wellington scowled at him. “Why do you think?”

  Matthew Littlewood, the Duke of Plymouth, shook his head as he reached his close friend. “I can’t see why you would be upset, Wellington. You’ve had several beautiful women come up to you, and they’re clearly vying for your attention. But you barely give them a glance and dismiss them almost immediately. My wife and I are perplexed.”

  “Perplexed?”

  “Yes. You are one of the most polite people we know. I’ve never seen you so rude.”

  Wellington grunted and sipped at his glass. The champagne was losing its bubbles. “If you were watching me turn away so many young ladies, you would have noticed that before every single one of them came to greet me, they were in deep conversation with my mother.”

  Plymouth scoffed. “That’s nonsense!”

  That was when Wellington spied the brunette coming through the crowd towards him. She had just been speaking to Lady Muriel, Dowager Duchess of Wellington. She looked a little nervous, but her head was held high. Wellington nudged Plymouth and nodded at her approach. “Just watch this.”

  The girl—Wellington couldn’t describe her as a woman, not with how young she looked—reached them and curtsied to both of them. “Your Grace,” she said in a soft-spoken voice.

  “My lady.” Wellington nodded back. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m in conversation with the Duke of Plymouth. I will come and seek you out later.” Then he turned away, effectively giving the girl his back. Wellington didn’t look back, but heard the girl huff accompanied by the sound of stomping.

  Plymouth looked startled before his mouth twisted in an attempt not to burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you did that. She’s a pretty little thing.”

  “And she stomped away like a spoiled little child, didn’t she?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Plymouth’s shoulders were shaking. “Forgive me, she looked so much like my daughter when she’s having a tantrum.”

  Wellington grunted.

  Then another man appeared at his side, this one just as tall, raven-haired, and slim as Wellington himself. He looked very fine in his best silks, his hair slightly curlier than Wellington’s own and with a trimmed moustache and goatee. He raised his eyebrows at Wellington. “How many is that now?”

  “Today? Seven.”

  Plymouth blinked. “You two are keeping count?”

  Joseph Fitzroy, Wellington’s younger brother, shrugged without apology. “We need to have something interesting to do.”

  “Charming. I’ll let my wife know you love her hospitality.”

  Wellington rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing against your wife’s hospitality, and you know it. Lady Amelia is a perfect hostess.” Wellington pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. “But our mother does like to put a dampener on things.”

  “Well, you are a duke who needs to be married,” Plymouth pointed out.

  “No, I don’t need to be married. But Mother thinks that I should be. She can’t get it into her head that I’m happy to be a bachelor.”

  Wellington had seen how the loveless marriage between his parents had worked out, and that had put him off getting married. He liked having his autonomy and not having to worry about heirs. Lady Muriel, on the other hand, didn’t see it as a good thing. She saw Wellington as someone she could impose on him a girl of her choosing so she could have grandchildren to raise.

  Wellington loved children, but he didn’t love them enough to have them subjected to his overbearing mother.

  Fitzroy chuckled. “Mother wants my big brother to have children so she can be certain I never get the dukedom.”

  “I thought you didn’t want it.”

  “I don’t. I’m happy with my wife and children as I am. But Mother doesn’t believe that. You know what she’s like.”

  “I do know.” Plymouth sighed. “I’m glad I’m married.”

  Not only was he married to a beautiful woman who had given him four adorable children, but his parents-in-law were absolute saints. Wellington knew the Duchess of Plymouth’s parents and was in love with them himself. They were kind, generous people who had the grace for Society but were not afraid to roll up their sleeves and help out if need be.

  Plymouth had chosen very well with his wife.

  “You have to help me, Plymouth,” Fitzroy said with a dramatic clutch to his chest. “My big brother is so close to actually choosing a girl because he’s giving in to Mother’s shenanigans.”

  Plymouth’s eyes widened. “No, we can’t have that. You need to stay strong.”

  In spite of himself, Wellington laughed at his brother and friend. “You can say that all you want, but you’re not the one who’s having marriage slipped into every conversation you have with your mother.”

  “My mother can take a hint when to leave something alone.”

  “Can she teach our mother?”

  Fitzroy laughed. Then he nudged his brother. “Well, before you decide which lady you’re finally going to take down the aisle, you might want to take a look at the lady who’s about to arrive.”

  “You mean Miss Lacey?” Plymouth asked.

  Wellington stared. “Camilla Lacey, the artist’s model?”

  That was a name that had been whispered in every corner of Society for the past six months. Camilla Lacey’s family was wealthy, but they were freethinking, artisan types. Camilla herself had modelled for a painting that had practically scandalized the Season. She had been shunned from Society for what she had done and had kept a low profile.

  Wellington had never met her but had seen the painting. The portrayal from the artist had shown her to be a lovely woman. That was all that was needed to pique his interest. But she had barely shown her face in Society since the painting had made its unveiling.

  “I thought she was still in hiding.”

  “She’s been slowly coming back into Society since being shunned.” Fitzroy answered.

  Plymouth nodded. “My wife is good friends with her and invited her here today. Miss Lacey said she would come for Lady Amelia, but she wouldn’t stay long. She didn’t want to cause a scene.”

  From the sound of it, Wellington had a feeling Camilla Lacey would cause a scene just by walking into the crowd.

  There was a slight lull in the crowd and tension seemed to settle about Wellington’s shoulders. He didn’t need to turn around to know that the woman they had just spoken of had entered the room. Turning, Wellington saw Lady Amelia, Duchess of Plymouth, approach a dark-haired young woman in a blue dress, who was trying and failing not to look nervous. She greeted the newcomer warmly and then the woman smiled.

  Wellington’s heart staggered and took a moment to catch itself. The artist’s rendition of Camilla Lacey hadn’t done her justice. She was beautiful. And that smile would have any man falling at her feet.

  It was a shame she was completely inappropriate for him. Wellington had a feeling she would make an excellent duchess.

  Then he saw a movement off to his right and turned to see Lady Muriel staring in absolute fury at Camilla, who was still talking to Lady Amelia. She looked like she was about to burst a blood vessel.

  Wellington could sense a confrontation about to happen. He held out his glass to a nearby servant who put his tray out for Wellington to place it down.

  “Excuse me a moment. I sense a storm brewing.”

  Fitzroy grimaced. “Rather you than me. I’m staying out of it.”

  Wellington very much wished he could.

  Chapter 2

  A Public Embarrassment

  C amilla was aware of people watching her, a lot of them with curiosity and a few with outright disdain. She knew they were thinking, “Why is she here?” This was a delicate Society, and Camilla Lacey had no place here.

  Before the painting had made its appearance, Camilla had not cared what anyone thought. She was doing something th
at she considered art and wasn’t ashamed of it. Up until now, her belief was that she had done something to be not embarrassed about. But now, with everyone staring at her, Camilla had her first moment of doubt.

  Then she saw Lady Amelia Littlewood approaching her, and relief started to set in. Amelia was one of those women who was perfect for Society but didn’t bat an eyelid when someone of ill repute or questionable reputation came on the scene. She made everyone welcome.

  Camilla had been a friend with the duchess since before she married, and Amelia was one of the few people who had stuck with her throughout the scandal. She was sure the Duke of Plymouth had something to say about it, but Amelia simply rolled her eyes and got on with it.

  Now the duchess had joined Camilla, grasping her hands with a pleased smile. “I’m so glad you could come, Camilla.”

  “Thank you.” Camilla gave the crowd a glance, noticing that they were still watching them. “I really ought to leave, though. I’m creating a scene just by being in the room.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Amelia pointedly turned them away from the watching eyes and they walked away. “You can stay as long as you want. You’re my guest here and I insist.”

  “If you insist…” Camilla tried not to look over her shoulder. It wasn’t easy trying to be normal when she was aware of everyone staring at her. “I may be your guest, but I’m clearly not wanted by anyone else.”

  “You are my guest, and I will have you here if I wish.” Amelia squeezed her hand before plucking two glasses of champagne off a nearby tray and handing one to Camilla. “Nobody will argue with that, not even my husband.”

  Camilla had to concede that. Plymouth was devoted to his wife. She was a perfect hostess and duchess, and Plymouth didn’t try to change a thing. It was the personality and the way she carried herself that had made the duke fall in love with her. Even though Plymouth had made his distaste of Camilla known, she couldn’t fault him for loving his wife and her closest friend.