Regency Romances for the Ages

by Grace Fletcher

  Glastonbury turned to his mother, giving her a smirk.

  “And you, Mother…I wonder how Sittingbourne is at this time of the year.”

  “What?” The duchess’ face went even whiter, and she stood, swaying towards him. “You’re not sending me away!”

  Glastonbury knew what she was trying to do. She was going to pretend to faint and have him fuss over her. He grabbed her arms before she fell and lowered her to the ground. Then he stood and stepped back before she could let out a wail and throw her arms around his neck as she was prone to do.

  “I should’ve sent you away a long time ago. You’ve done nothing but put me down, upset my staff and pushed away the woman I love. If it wasn’t for what Father left in his will regarding you, I’d have cut you out altogether.” Glastonbury turned and strode towards the door.

  “Can we talk about this?” His mother whimpered.

  But Glastonbury wasn’t in the mood to talk. There was only one person he wanted to talk to, and that was Emily Hartley. His mother could wait.

  If she was still there when he got back.

  ***

  Emily had no idea what was going to happen. She hadn’t been turned away by Glastonbury but by his family. In her mind that was bad enough.

  Or maybe the duchess was right. Maybe she had been getting too big for her boots and Glastonbury wanted to let her down. Except he was too cowardly to do it himself.

  Emily got home quickly and hid in the library. Sir Anthony had tried to talk to her but Emily refused to say anything. She simply slid onto a window seat with a book and attempted to read to take her mind off the fact she had been cruelly rejected. But the words kept running together and her head hurt after a while.

  She put the book aside with a sigh. There was no chance of her trying to escape into a book as she had done before. The Duke of Glastonbury still had a hold on her and Emily didn’t like it.

  Maybe the best thing to do was to leave and go home. Her mother would be surprised that she was home but Emily didn’t care. She just wanted to get out of London.

  Then Emily heard voices in the hallway. They were muffled by the door but Emily recognized her uncle’s, loudly declaring that he didn’t want the other person in the house. Then, after a few minutes, he started to calm down. Moments after that Emily heard footsteps as he walked away.

  Then the library door opened and Glastonbury entered. He looked like he had been running through the streets with his hair in disarray and his collar undone. Emily shot to her feet in alarm. What was he doing here?

  “Your Grace? What are you doing here?”

  “I needed to speak with you.” Glastonbury approached her. “Your uncle almost didn’t let me in. But this is important.”

  Emily wanted to move, but she was stuck between the duke and the window seat. She drew herself up to her full height and met his gaze squarely, almost faltering when she saw the fire in his eyes.

  “I apologize if I’ve been pestering you. I won’t do it again.”

  “What?” Glastonbury looked confused. “Who said you were pestering me?”

  “The dowager duchess.” Emily swallowed. Had she read it wrong? “She said I was dreaming too much.”

  Glastonbury snorted.

  “She spoke out of turn and I won't have it. She’s leaving today.”

  “She is?”

  “Her behavior towards you was unacceptable. The Earl of Huntingdon has left as well. I won’t permit either of them back into my house again.”

  They really had left? Emily found herself swaying. She sat before her legs gave way, her hands trembling.

  “Why would you do that? They’re family.”

  “That’s as may be but I will not stand for what they did.” Glastonbury knelt before her and took her hands. “They ruined a good day for me. I just hope I can salvage it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Glastonbury smiled. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a beautiful diamond ring. It was clearly a family heirloom with a huge diamond in the setting. But it was simple and Emily fell in love with it as soon as she saw it. She gasped.

  “That’s a beautiful ring, Your Grace.”

  “This belonged to my grandmother. She left it to me in her will.” Glastonbury lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, never looking away from her. “She told me to give it to the woman I fell in love with.”

  Emily was staring at the ring. It took a moment for his words to sink in. She stared at him.

  “Did you just say the woman you fell in love with?”

  Glastonbury chuckled and fell on to his knees.

  “You’re a bright woman, Emily.” He cupped the back of her neck in his hand. “What do you think?”

  Emily was still staring at him when he kissed her. Then she sighed and closed her eyes, resting her hands on his shoulders. Glastonbury’s fingers tightened a little in her hair before he pulled back, smiling at her startled look.

  “I may not be able to express myself in words but I do know actions speak louder.”

  Emily did know that. He may not have said the words directly, but she could see in his eyes and the fact he was starting to slide the ring onto her finger said everything.

  Her mouth felt dry. She never expected this. It had been a dream and now the dream was becoming real.

  “I… I never thought…”

  “You never thought it would happen?”

  Emily shook her head. The ring glinted on her hand.

  “Well, Joyce is prettier than I am. I thought you were going to ask her at one point.”

  Glastonbury laughed and kissed her again.

  “Taunton would kill me if I tried. He said he was going to take her out today and propose to her in the park. Sir Anthony gave his blessing this morning.”

  Emily now found herself smiling and it wouldn’t stop. Joyce had been anticipating an engagement for the last two weeks. From the way Taunton acted around her, it would have been only a matter of time.

  How could she have noticed that happening and she didn’t notice Glastonbury’s pending proposal?

  “Joyce will be thrilled. She adores Taunton.”

  “And what about me?”

  Glastonbury raised his eyebrows, a glint in his eye. Emily laughed and flung her arms around his neck.

  “Would it help if I said I adore you, too?”

  Glastonbury laughed, hugging her close.

  “It’s a start.”

  *** The End ***

  Eleanor

  &

  The Duke

  Regency Romance

  Grace Fletcher

  Chapter 1

  The Northern Stranger

  T he Duke of Beaufort, Richard Wellesley walked down the broad, cobbled streets of Mayfair, London. Given the opulence and high market value of the area, only families of the highest ranking lived in the elegant mansions that lined the streets. Beaufort loved walking the streets of this part of London, especially at dusk as it was then. The area was devoid of the usual London pollution or sounds, adapting a rather peaceful quiet at that time of the day. Smiling to himself, he eagerly breathed in the air heavy with the scent of flowers, vanilla and tea.

  On his arm, accompanying him on this walk was his friend, Lady Louisa Spencer. Louisa was the eldest daughter of his father’s business associate who was also godfather to Beaufort. The two of them had spent some parts of their childhood together but were mostly unfamiliar with each other due to the distance in his father’s and his godfather’s estates in the country side. They had scarcely met on special occasions, of which there were few in the family. However, that had not stopped her father from jumping on the opportunity when Beaufort had acquired his father’s title after his demise. He had been courteous enough to wait until his father’s death was behind him and had presented his daughter for marriage to him.

  The proposal had not quite pleased Beaufort. Not that he didn’t like Louisa or that he wished not to marry. To him, marriage was a nece
ssity for a man of his social status and holdings. The only thing that bothered him was how hungry Lord Spencer was for powerful family ties. The more your connections, the more you shined in the Kingdom. And that is all the motivation that the Lord had needed. Duke Beaufort had not let himself be too bothered by the fact that after his acquisition of the title of Duke, most people interested in him were purely for the title.

  The truth was that Beaufort had no desire to have the title of “Duke” against his name. Neither did he wish for lands or power. He was a poet, a man of literature and that was what he wished to pursue in his life. But alas, his responsibility to his royal house and name did not allow for him to engage in such follies. Especially since his power hungry younger brother, James had reportedly claimed that he wished to be duke and he believed that Beaufort was not worthy of the title.

  The man was not cruel or conniving; he just wished to be in power and could not stand Beaufort holding the title. To preserve the sanctity of his house, Beaufort was bound to disregard his wishes. He had told no one of this and aimed to take the secret to his grave, lest he have a social outcry from the royal society of Britain at his hands. Just then, a bit of a clamor interrupted his train of thought; as if someone had dropped a rather heavy piece of furniture.

  “What be that sound?” he asked, looking around, annoyed at how the peaceful silence of the area had been compromised, “Sounded as if someone had dropped something.”

  “We shall see in a minute, Beaufort," replied Lady Spencer, gesturing to a turn in their path, “The noise came from the road leading up from that turn.”

  “Aye, it did,” replied Beaufort as residents of the area poked their heads out of their windows to investigate the ruckus.

  Just then, a man darted out of a parlor just a few steps ahead of him and peered down the street, almost banging into him. Beaufort tucked in his shoulder to avoid the man before seeing that it was the Marquis of Mallen’s manservant. With a jolt, he remembered that the parlor belonged to dear old Mallen, too. Slightly annoyed at the man’s carelessness, however, Beaufort stared at him.

  “Have you no eyes, man, that you did not see us walking here?” asked Lady Spencer, glaring at the man as well, “What insolent behavior!”

  “Your grace, my Lady,” he said, bowing in greeting as he went white at the thought of having offended some of the most powerful people in the city, “My humblest apologies, sir. It was very careless of me; it was just that the sound had me startled.”

  “Be careful next time,” muttered Beaufort as Louisa huffed next to him, “How is dear old Mallen?”

  “Lord Mallen is good,” replied the man, nodding, “He is currently off hunting in the northern country side and I am watching the parlor in his absence.”

  “Give him my warm regards,” replied Beaufort before nodding and moving ahead as the man nodded eagerly and bowed at them.

  “You let him off too easy,” muttered Louisa, “These people need to be shown their place before they feel as if they can meddle in the lives of the higher society and get away with it.”

  “Perhaps,” he replied before sighing. It wasn’t as if he disagreed with the social construct of London society. Rather, the fact that sometimes the disparities lead to cruelty and conflict was what bothered him.

  By then, they approached the turn in the street and turned to see a medium sized mansion on the corner of the street being loaded up with different kinds of furniture and ornaments. A few carriages stood outside the house and a man stood there, contractor by the looks of it, who was overseeing some laborers and urging them to be careful with the objects as they carried them into the house. A broken chair lay discarded on the side of the street. The pitiful thing would surely be turned into firewood for the winter considering how it looked to be unrepairable.

  “Seems as if someone is moving in,” observed Beaufort, “But I heard of no house planning to acquire a mansion here.”

  “I think I know who they are,” replied Louisa before being interrupted by a man bursting out of the house, shouting at the apparent contractor.

  “Yer men break another chair--or anything else, come to that--ye answer to me, eh?” he asked her in a rough, northern English accent.

  “Aye!” replied the contractor weakly before the northern man nodded and rushed back into the house.

  “Rather, my Duke, I know who they are,” said Louisa, an amused smile on her lips, “What just happened confirmed my doubts.”

  “Which were?” he asked and raised an eyebrow, looking up at the house as they walked by in front of it.

  “That’s a northern family that goes by the name of Bryant. They’re from North Yorkshire and the man you just saw is richer than Marquis Mallen, if I’m not mistaken,” she said, “He struck gold at an industrial auction and bought a few mills on credit. Three months later, he paid back his debt with interest and still had more than enough left over to establish an estate in London and even make a trip to dear old Paris.”

  “Impressive,” replied Beaufort, nodding his head slowly in approval, “How do you know all this?”

  “They were the talk of the night at the Egerton Ball last Sunday,” replied Louisa with a small chuckle, “Their new money hasn’t gone hidden. Not the people you would want associating with, considering their brutish behaviors…”

  What Louisa said next fell on deaf ears as the duke looked up to see a woman of impossible grace peer out a window on the first floor of the newly established household. She looked young, a few years his junior, but poised. She stared down at the distance, at the sinking sun, oblivious of him and his stare. She wasn’t necessarily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen but there was something about her that intrigued him beyond measure. Extremely curious all of a sudden, he interrupted Louisa’s rant with a curt raise of his hand.

  “Do they have any daughters?” he asked her.

  “Yes, just daughters, in fact,” replied Louisa, blinking rapidly, confused at his sudden reaction, “Four of them.”

  “Oh,” he replied, nodding as he looked back at her. Louisa followed his eye and saw the girl, causing her expression to harden immediately.

  “Ah, so that is what plagues this conversation,” she said in a curt tone, forcing the duke to look at her. She smiled a tense smile, “You seem rather enchanted by the commoner girl, are you not?”

  “Nay,” he replied immediately, composing himself, “Of course not.”

  “Of course not,” she replied with the same uncomfortable smile. “Surely you hold your name and the name of your family to a high enough regard to not even consider something of the sort.”

  With that, she turned to face the street and quickened her pace, suddenly converting their cheery walk to an uncomfortable silent affair. He walked besides her, matching her brisk face. She was offended, and he knew that he would have to bear the brunt of that soon. As they neared the end of the street, he dared another glance over his shoulder at the house to find the window empty of the northern stranger.

  Chapter 2

  Eleanor Bryant

  “E leanor Bryant!” called her father as she stood by her window, looking down the street at a couple, walking arm in arm away from the house.

  They seemed to be of noble birth with the man dressed in a waistcoat over tailored pants. He walked with his head held high and a footing that made her think of royalty. It wasn’t that she had ever had a run in with royalty but there was no better way to describe the gentlemen. He looked young too, seemingly just a few years her senior. The woman next to him was dressed as elegantly in a blouse made of the lightest cloth and a long frock that came down to her ankles. She too, walked with a sense of royalty with her hand confidently on her companion’s arm. Her hair was slightly curly, and she wore a scarf around her neck. She was truly beautiful and elegant.

  “Yes?” she called back, refusing to look away from the couple, as she felt obliged to respond to her father.

  “Come down here, girl!” came his voice rather loudl
y. Her father wasn’t a rude person or someone who turned to shouting and yelling at the slightest of conflict. He was actually very well versed and soft-spoken. However, he tended to be louder than usual when he was frustrated. Not angry or discourteous, just loud.

  “Coming!” she replied before getting up from where she sat on a trunk, looking out the window and turned to head downstairs.

  Stopping at the newly purchased mirror in her room, she looked at herself disapprovingly. Attempting to untangle the mess of hair on her head, she ran her fingers through it only to have them getting stuck halfway down. Grunting, she managed to dislodge her fingers and sighed as she ran her finger over the small acne bumps and freckles on her face. She truly despised how she looked, especially her paler than pale complexion that did nothing but to make her freckles seem more prominent. The fact that she had lost a lot of weight the last few months because of the constant travelling the family had to do due to her father’s newly found business made her look even worse. She looked sickly, like someone suffering from the plague.

  “Eleanor, darl!” called her father again, “Come down, girl. I needed ye here ten minutes ago. Hurry up now!”

  “Aye, I’m coming!” she called back before rushing out her room and down the stairs, “Aye, Da? What do you need?”

  “This wardrobe, girl,” he replied, pointing to a wooden wardrobe with numerous small sections and drawers, “Does this go in yer and Anne’s chamber or Henrietta and Laura’s?”

  “I don’t know, Da,” she replied, unsure of what to say, “I think Henrietta would want it with her, she is quite fond of the thing.”

  “So are you, ain’t it?” he asked in a soft tone, “Wouldn’t you want it in your chambers? I could have it taken up there.”

  “Henrietta wouldn’t stand it, Da,” she replied with a sheepish smile, “I wouldn’t want no bloody murder on me hands.”

  “I could say that the wardrobe wouldn’t fit in her chambers,” he whispered, “None of them are here to be the wiser.”