Regency Romances for the Ages

by Grace Fletcher

  When he had made the decision to leave London and come back to talk things out with Letitia, he could not have foreseen this. The days since she had left London had been tough, with Helena and Frederick contesting his decision, but Argyll was no fool. He knew he was within his rights with every decision he made, and he would not be coerced into changing it.

  He had arrived back at Inveraray in good time, heading for the vicarage. Letitia’s stepmother had opened the door, raising her eyebrows at him, though there was a quirk to her lips.

  “She is out walking,” Mrs Arnold had told him. “She will be back soon if you would like to wait.”

  The door had been pulled open wider for him to enter, but with his mind made up, Argyll wished to get things between himself and Letitia sorted as quickly as possible. He had decided to find Letitia himself, and Mrs Arnold had given him the vague route she had taken.

  That was how he had found himself coming upon Letitia—and the dirty looking man who had her pinned against the wall. With terror in his heart, he could do nothing but attack the man, to protect his wife, whether she saw herself as such or not.

  As he approached the estate, the door was already opening. Henry, the young lad from the alley, tumbled out. Mrs Fenway was following, frowning.

  “Your Grace,” Henry said, bobbing his head a couple of times. “She didn’t believe me!”

  “I do now, lad,” Mrs Fenway said, her hands clasped together, her eyes wide with horror as she took in Letitia’s form.

  “Some coin,” Argyll said, gesturing at Henry with his head. As Mrs Fenway took her leave into the castle, Argyll gave him a sincere, relieved smile. “Thank you for your quick feet.”

  “No problem, sir,” the boy said, thanking them both profusely as Mrs Fenway returned with a little money for his trouble.

  As he took off back down the road, Argyll entered his home, Mrs Fenway at his elbow, muttering about fool boys and disgusting men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

  It was brazen talk, but Argyll had killed a man to protect Letitia this night, and he was in no mood to chastise.

  As Argyll entered the sitting room, laying Letitia gently on the sofa, he tucked her hair back from her face. Her eyes were open, staring off somewhere he could not describe, and her hands were clenched against her chest. She looked terrified but did not rouse as he spoke her name.

  Mrs Fenway knelt beside him, her old bones cracking a little, but she made no complaint. Touching Letitia’s cheek, she brushed a thumb against the skin just underneath her eyelid. “Your Grace,” she said gently. “Come now, child, and look at me.”

  There was a moment where Argyll despaired enough that he contemplated calling for her family, but Letitia blinked once, twice, and then focused her eyes on Mrs Fenway.

  “Mrs Fenway?”

  “Aye, lass,” Mrs Fenway said, her lips curving into a rare, honest smile. “Would you sit up for me, Your Grace?”

  The title seemed to jolt something in Letitia and her eyes shifted to Argyll. She sucked in a breath, sitting up quickly enough that she pressed a hand to her eyes, groaning.

  “Take it slow,” Mrs Fenway said, rising to sit next to Letitia on the sofa. “You are safe.”

  Letitia’s hand dropped away, and slowly she looked Argyll in the eyes. “That man—”

  Argyll swallowed thickly, shame heating up his face, and he tucked his hands behind his back, attempting to gain control of himself. “I saw what he was doing,” Argyll said, gesturing at her scrunched and dirty dress, “saw what he might do, and saw red. I could not help my reaction, Letitia. I apologise if I scared you.”

  His wife was strong, Argyll thought, as Letitia straightened a little in her seat, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Did you kill him?”

  There was a pause, wherein Letitia could have determined the answer for herself, but she seemed to want him to say it to her. With a sigh, Argyll turned away from her looking out of the window. He had been so preoccupied with getting Letitia back to the castle that he had not taken the time to examine how he felt about his actions back in the alley.

  He understood that he was justified in everything he had done—he had been concerned for Letitia, and he would not see her hurt at the beggar’s hand. Still, he had never been given cause to harm someone, let alone kill anyone. “I did.”

  Argyll did not know what to do. The act of taking someone’s life had seemed the right thing to do, but he had been so angry—he tried not to think about the look in the man’s eyes or the way he had sounded as he crumpled to the ground.

  “Your Grace.” Letitia’s voice sounded closer than it had, and as he turned his head, he could see her at his elbow.

  “I am sorry,” Argyll said, looking her in the eye. He owed her that much at least. “I would not have been so angry if he had not been touching you.”

  Letitia’s expression did not change for a moment. She held his gaze, stronger than he would have given her credit for, but she rested a hand on his arm, squeezing. “Thank you. For saving me again.”

  Argyll nodded, swallowing thickly, taking her hands in his own. “I am glad I found you before he could do anything.”

  A cloud passed over Letitia’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She sighed. “I had hoped that you would contact me about the annulment—”

  “I don’t want an annulment,” Argyll said quickly, turning to face her. Her eyes were wide, and she looked sad.

  “Your Grace,” she started.

  “Please hear me out.” Argyll waited for her nod and then touched her cheek with his hand, gently and with as much love as he could muster. “When you left, I was devastated. I had let things get out of control, and I will never forgive myself for leaving you unhappy for so long.”

  Letitia’s warm eyes and the soft ‘o’ of her mouth showed her surprise. “You did not owe me anything.”

  “As your husband,” Argyll told her seriously, squeezing her hand with his, “I owed you happiness at the very least. I did not see how distressed you were becoming at the way you were being treated. I turned my back for too long.”

  “You are not mad that I left?” Letitia asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

  “No. I am mad at myself for not fighting for you. I did not know how I felt about you, Your Grace. I wanted to help you, to make sure that you were happy and safe. Now I understand that I had not been kind to you in accepting my own feelings.”

  Letitia looked a little confused. “I do not know what you are saying to me.”

  “I love you,” Argyll said bluntly. Letitia’s eyes widened in surprise again, and she took a step back, covering her mouth. Argyll refused to let her actions be a sign that she was trying to get away from him or hide from him. “I fear it may be too late, that your mind is made up, but I would very much wish for you to remain my wife. I wish to start again with you, as Duke and Duchess of Argyll, proper.”

  Letitia did not say anything for a long time. Argyll gave her the time and space she needed, having bared as much as he was able. His chest was tight with apprehension, and it was not often that he found himself afraid, but this was one of those moments.

  “I love you,” Letitia said slowly, curling her hands back into Argyll’s. Her smile reminded him of her acceptance of his proposal, what should have been the start of their life together. Instead, this moment would suffice as their promise to each other, of his to protect her from everyone who would see her ousted. “Of course I will remain your wife.”

  There was a shadow in her eyes that did not dissipate, however, and Argyll could easily place why it was there. He brushed the hair from her face, smiled as she leaned into the touch. It was obvious, now that he was staring at her, that she had been so very unhappy in London. There was a brightness here, in the castle, about her face and her bearing.

  “London,” Argyll started and affirmed his assumptions as the light dimmed a little. “I fear, it is too much for me.”

  Letitia took a moment, startled, but
there was a hope to her expression that had Argyll smiling. “Your home is there.”

  Argyll shook his head, gesturing with his free hand around them, and dropping his to take her hand. Letitia clasped it tightly as though grounding herself to this moment. Argyll could empathise; his heart had quickened, and his lips and throat were dry from his nerves. Who would have assumed that it would be so difficult talking to the person you love? “My home is here, in Scotland. With you.”

  If he had thought her smile bright before, it was nothing to the expression on her face now, as grateful and happy as he could ever remember seeing anyone. He leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. Letitia’s grip tightened on his hand and she breathed out slowly. “I love you, Your Grace.”

  Epilogue

  Letitia’s heart was fit to burst.

  Upon her decision to remain married to Argyll, Mrs Fenway had returned to the room, neither of them sure when she had taken her leave. She announced that Henry, the young man who had heralded her arrival at the castle, was back to inform them that there was to be an inquiry into the beggar’s death, but there had been enough witnesses to Argyll’s actions and the state of Letitia after the event, that they doubted any charges would be brought.

  For the first time that night, Letitia and Argyll shared a room. It had been innocent and chaste, Argyll curled around her protectively, and she had slept soundly in his embrace. It was everything she had imagined and more, and she was grateful for having left Argyll—if this is what she gained in return.

  The next morning over breakfast, Mrs Fenway informed them that Letitia’s father wished to see her.

  “We shall invite him here,” Argyll said, giving Letitia a small smile. “If he has the time, of course.”

  Mrs Fenway nodded decisively. “I will inform him immediately.”

  “My sister,” Letitia started.

  “Of course she shall come,” Argyll said, reaching a hand across the table to squeeze her hand. “Your stepmother too. Though,” he added gently, “I can see that it causes you distress to be around her.”

  Letitia had never felt able to talk candidly about her family life, but it was safe within these castle walls. Her home, Letitia realised slowly, and a permanent one at that. “After my mother died, I think she found it difficult raising a child who was not her own. It does not matter now,” she said, raising her head to give him a bright smile that she felt right down to her toes. “I have you now.”

  “Indeed,” Argyll said, a smile teasing at his lips.

  They turned back to their breakfast, and Letitia was looking forward to seeing Greta and her father and letting them know the good news. She was sure her stepmother would be pleased, but she refused to dwell on the reasons why.

  As lunch pressed closer, and Letitia once again accustomed herself to the castle, she was called down to the sitting room where her family were waiting. Greta’s smile was huge, and catching sight of Letitia in the doorway, she bounded over, grace and decorum seemingly forgotten in the moment.

  “Greta,” Rebecca snapped.

  “It is all right,” Letitia said, as Greta paused mid-step and looked down at the floor, shamed. “Just this once.”

  Greta grinned, leaping at Letitia and wrapping her arms around her middle. “You’re duchess for real again?”

  Letitia met Argyll’s eyes over the top of her sister’s head. “Indeed I am.”

  “Does that mean I have to call you Your Grace?”

  “It could,” Letitia agreed, though she pressed a finger to Greta’s nose carefully. She leaned down to whisper in her ear. “When we are alone, perhaps we shall call each other Letitia and Greta, as we are used to.”

  Greta giggled and pulled away. As she turned on her heel, she bowed low at the waist. “Your Grace.”

  Argyll looked at Letitia quickly before returning the bow. “My Lady.”

  It was unnecessary and improper, given their status, but Letitia’s heart was full of love for her husband.

  Greta stared, eyes wide, and clapped her hands together. “I am not a lady!”

  “Who says?” Argyll said, affecting a look of mock outrage. “To me, you are a lady.”

  Greta giggled again and bounded over to her mother, who drew her to the sofa, whispering furiously about rules.

  Letitia tried to ignore it, instead turning to look at her father, who had been watching the exchange quietly. “Father.”

  “Are you well?” he asked, clasping her arms gently, eyes running over her form. “When Mr Ford told me what had happened to you—”

  “I am well,” Letitia assured him, allowing the kiss to her cheek. “Your Grace saved me.”

  Her father gave Argyll a nod, appreciative and welcome, and sighed. “It is well, then. It is one thing to hear that you are safe, another to see it with my own eyes.”

  Letitia allowed her father’s hug and then stepped away. Argyll held out his hand and Letitia’s father took it, and their grips looked strong.

  “I am grateful to you,” Letitia’s father said, resting his free hand atop their joined ones. “For both saving her, and for being her husband.”

  Argyll nodded but said nothing more.

  Letitia slipped closer to her husband and leaned in close as he wrapped an arm around her, confident and careful in front of her family.

  “Will you be leaving for London?” Letitia’s stepmother’s expression was difficult to read, and Letitia couldn’t tell which outcome would suit her better.

  “No,” Argyll said, giving Letitia a gentle squeeze. “It is much more beneficial for the both of us to remain here, in Inveraray.”

  Greta’s happy exclamation, and her father’s relieved expression was everything Letitia needed at that moment. This, she realised, staring up at her husband’s face, was what true happiness felt like.

  *** The End ***

  Failing to Entice

  the Earl

  Regency Romance

  Grace Fletcher

  Chapter 1

  Doing a Favor

  This had been a long time coming. It would have happened sooner or later. But now, standing at the edge of the ballroom, staring out at everyone enjoying the evening looking splendid in the various gowns and finely cut clothes, Julie Watts wished she wasn’t here. She felt like her dress was out of season, her hair wasn’t done correctly, and she stood out like a sore thumb.

  What she wanted to do was pull back and leave as soon as possible. This wasn’t how her first season was supposed to go.

  “Julie!”

  Julie jumped when her voice was said very loudly in her ear. She dropped her handkerchief, which fluttered to the floor. Julie looked up and glared at the brunette standing beside her, shaking her head in disapproval.

  “You’ve not listened to a word I’ve said, have you?”

  “Don’t shriek at me like that, Beverley, please,” Julie grumbled, snatching her handkerchief off the floor. “I nearly screamed myself.”

  “I wasn’t shrieking.” Beverley Nye pursed her lips. “But I might as well have done, seeing as you didn’t hear me the first time.”

  Now she was being thoughtless. Julie had agreed to come to this ball with her friend to step into Society, finally. Beverley would be at her side while she negotiated her way about.

  “Forgive me.” She sighed. “I’m not very comfortable right now.”

  “I gathered that. You’ve been picking at your handkerchief so much I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen apart.”

  “I am very nervous.”

  Beverley smiled and squeezed Julie’s hand.

  “It’s natural.”

  Two years behind everyone else, Julie had suffered the tremendous loss of her mother, who had always been a rather sickly woman. Her death and the family’s subsequent mourning had happened around the same time Julie was about to enter Society as a new eighteen-year-old woman. Now she was out of mourning, her father was urging her to do as Society dictated.

  Julie hadn’t minded. She wasn’t
one of the most sociable people. Being in a room full of people had her feeling like the walls were closing in. She got tongue-tied and preferred to be in a corner watching everyone, or at home with a good book. Mourning had allowed her to do the latter. Now Julie wished she could do the former. But she was the daughter of an earl; she needed to make herself known.

  “Don’t worry,” Beverley nudged her affectionately as they started walking the edge of the ballroom. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Mother said that before, but I didn’t believe her.”

  “From what my Mama said, your mother was the life of the party when she was your age. She didn’t let her sickness get in the way.”

  “I’m not my mother, though,” Julie pointed out. “Mother was more graceful sick than I am well.”

  Beverley laughed.

  “You will blend in to Society with no problem at all, Julie. I promise you. And I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to see a friendly face.”

  Julie smiled. She sometimes wished she was like Beverley. Her parents were wealthy landowners and had come into their wealth through hard work. Beverley was accepted into the Ton because her father had made many influential friends. They had been neighbors as children and Julie couldn’t think of a more down-to-earth, sensible friend than Beverley Nye.

  “Thank you for staying with me.”

  “Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Beverley’s eyes glinted. “Also, I do need a favor off you.”

  “A favor?”

  “Yes.” Beverley linked arms with Julie and sighed. “I plan on getting married this season.”

  Julie pulled up. This was the first she had heard of it.

  “Really? Congratulations.”

  “Don’t congratulate me yet. I need to get the man’s attention first.”

  That had Julie staring. What had she just said?

  “Wait a minute—you’re planning on getting married this season and yet the man you want to marry doesn’t know about you?”