Regency Romances for the Ages

by Grace Fletcher

  Duke Rutland put his forehead on hers, smiling at her words. She smiled too, happy to have found her happiness at last. She longed for her father to be here, so he could see her this happy and content. Dorothea knew he was watching over her and always would, wishing her well. The lovers embraced, basking in the declarations of their love for one another. Darkness had been won over with light. Evil had lost in the face of true love, strength, and good.

  *** The End ***

  The Duke’s Deathbed Promise

  Regency Romance

  Grace Fletcher

  Chapter 1

  The Promise

  B eatrice Turner looked up from her book when she heard some harsh coughing coming from the bed. Victor was awake again! Beatrice had been bracing herself that her brother might never wake up.

  This felt like a miracle to her. Shutting her book with a snap, Beatrice slid off the window seat and hurried to her brother’s side, falling to her knees as she grasped his hand.

  “Victor?”

  Her brother looked awful. Barely thirty and he was practically skin and bones. He was pasty white and his face was sunken. The chill he had caught during the rain had developed into full-blown pneumonia, and the doctors were confused as to why he was deteriorating like this. Maybe there was something underlying that nobody had picked up on and was exacerbated by the pneumonia. Maybe Victor’s body had just given out. He hadn’t been this weak before he went to war in France. He came back a changed man, and suddenly he could catch a cold far too easily.

  Beatrice knew Victor had taken a beating in terms of his health in the last few years. But she refused to believe this was the end. Her brother was her rock, her most loyal servant. He couldn’t be dying. She wouldn’t believe it.

  But as the days went on, Beatrice had been terrified that it might be coming true. She wouldn’t let it take hold. Victor was going to get through this and he was going to live.

  He had to. She would be all alone otherwise.

  Victor managed to turn his head enough for his almost cloudy dark eyes to focus on her.

  “Beatrice,” he rasped. “I…” He started coughing again.

  Beatrice put her book on the dresser and poured out a glass of water. Then she helped Victor raise his head and take a sip. Victor gulped the water down greedily, pulling his head back with a heavy sigh.

  “Thank you. I feel like I’ve been eating sand.”

  Beatrice lowered his head to the pillow and put the glass to one side. Then she sat on the bed and took his frail hand in between hers. “The doctor is on his way.”

  “He won’t get here in time.” Victor’s breathing sounded rattled. “I’m on my way out.”

  Beatrice’s throat tightened. “Don’t say that, Victor,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to hear you say it.”

  “You’re not a child anymore, Beatrice. You can’t live in a fantasy world.” Victor closed his eyes briefly before opening them. “People die.”

  “But not you. You’re too young.” Beatrice wiped away the tears that escaped and were trickling down her cheeks. “Please, Victor, fight this. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I can’t fight this, Beatrice.” Victor wheezed. “It’s taken hold, stronger than I anticipated.” He gave another heavy sigh. “I’m tired of fighting it. I don’t think I’ve got much longer.”

  Beatrice couldn’t help herself. She burst into tears, lowering her head so her brother wouldn’t see her tears. “You’re really scaring me now.”

  “I’m being realistic, little sister.” She could feel Victor trying to squeeze her hand. “You need to know that I’m not going to be here forever.”

  “I know that. But I thought I had fifty years, at the very least,” Beatrice whimpered. “Not now.”

  She didn’t want to believe it. She refused to believe it. Her brother, her strong, loving brother was not dying. He was just badly ill and would pull through in a few days. He was just exhausted from the illness.

  Victor Turner was not dying.

  “I’ve made sure you’re looked after, Beatrice.” Victor said quietly. He was so quiet Beatrice almost didn’t hear him. “You won’t be alone.”

  That had Beatrice wanting to burst into tears again. She didn’t want to be looked after by anyone other than her brother. “I won’t be alone if you’re with me,” she protested, not bothering to hide the tears now.

  “You have to realize that this won’t be the case.”

  Beatrice didn’t want to hear anymore. This was getting too much for her. Taking a shaky breath, she leant over and kissed his forehead. “Don’t say things like that. Save your strength.” She was sitting up when there was a gentle knock at the door and Sanders, Beatrice’s maid, came into the room. The petite woman curtsied at them.

  “The Duke of Cornwall is here to see you, Mr Turner.”

  Beatrice snapped her head around to stare at her maid. The Duke of Cornwall? She had heard of him many times, mainly from Victor when he told stories of how they served in France together, but she had never met him. What on earth was he doing here?

  Victor didn’t look or sound surprised. He merely gave a small smile and waved at Sanders. “Thank you, Sanders. Show him in.”

  “What are you…?”

  Beatrice’s protests faded when a tall, imposing man came into the room. She couldn’t stop herself from staring. The Duke of Cornwall was magnificent. At least six feet tall, solidly slim and looking like a commander even in civilian silks. His light brown hair was cut shorter than was the normal style, close to his head, and his skin was as brown as Victor’s skin was white. And his eyes…

  Beatrice had seen hazel eyes before but nothing like the duke’s. One was green and hazel and the other was blue and hazel. It was startling and Beatrice couldn’t drag her eyes away from him.

  “Beatrice,” Victor’s voice pierced into her daze, “I don’t think you’ve met my commanding officer. Captain Frederick Lennox, Duke of Cornwall. Captain, this is my sister, Beatrice.”

  Beatrice remembered her manners. Just barely. She dropped into a curtsy, aware that Cornwall was watching her very closely. “Your Grace,” she mumbled.

  “Miss Turner.” Cornwall gave her a bow in return, his eyes glinting as he looked her over. “May I speak with your brother privately?”

  That was when Beatrice began to panic. She didn’t want to leave her brother’s side. What if something happened to him? She would never forgive herself if Victor died, and she wasn’t holding his hand.

  Then Beatrice remembered. Victor wasn’t going to die. He was going to be fine, this was just one of his worst days. He would be up and about before the week was out.

  She couldn’t really argue with the duke, anyway. Nobody argued with the gentry, especially not a duke. Reluctantly, Beatrice glanced at her brother as she headed towards the door. “Please call me in as soon as you’re done.”

  “I will.” Cornwall promised.

  Beatrice closed the door and had to force herself to walk away.

  ***

  Cornwall was shocked to see Turner as bad as he was. He knew that Turner had turned from a strong young man who could hardly catch a cold to a man who caught practically everything.

  It looked as though his body was finally giving out.

  “Thank you for coming, Captain,” Turner rasped.

  Cornwall moved to sit on the bed. “Of course, Corporal. I came as soon as you summoned me.” He paused. “I never thought I’d see you at death’s door like this, though.”

  Turner managed a weak chuckle. “Not like the last time.”

  Cornwall winced. He didn’t want to remember the last time. Turner had been a brash but tough soldier and had jumped in front of a bullet meant for Cornwall. He had saved his commanding officer’s life, and Cornwall would forever be grateful for that.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Turner once they got back to England. Cornwall had been embarrassed that Turner had ended up severely wounded because of him.
But the other man had walked away with his head held high. He was regaled as a hero which he was. But Cornwall always felt a wave of embarrassment whenever he thought about one of his men.

  He hadn’t protected his men, they had protected him. Cornwall always had mixed feelings about that.

  But he had made a promise to Victor Turner before they parted ways years before. Turner had said Cornwall owed him. He would be calling in his debt sometime in the future. Cornwall knew he shouldn’t have entered into that promise, but he was a gentleman, and Turner had saved his life. It was the least he could do.

  “I asked you here…” Turner began before coughing violently. Cornwall winced and waited until Turner got his voice back. “You owe me, Your Grace. I’m calling in that debt.”

  “Are you sure you should?”

  “Yes. Because I need your help and you’re the only one I can trust.”

  Cornwall didn’t believe that, but he wasn’t about to walk away now. He leant forward as Turner’s breathing quietened. “Go ahead.”

  “When I die,” Turner wheezed, “Beatrice will be all alone. She’ll have no money, and she’ll be homeless. A distant cousin is taking everything, so my sister will have nothing.”

  Cornwall could see it coming. He could see the debt coming from somewhere, but he had no idea what Turner was actually asking him to do. But he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. “Where do I come into this?”

  There was no mistaking what Turner said next. “I want you to take her in and marry her.”

  Chapter 2

  An Unconventional

  Proposal

  “P ardon?” Cornwall stood to his feet. He couldn’t believe his ears.

  “She needs to be married to even have a chance in this life.” Turner coughed, his face going ashen. “And I know you’ll be able to look after her.”

  “I…” Cornwall floundered. Marriage. That was something he had never wanted. Not now the object of his desire was not an option. Turner knew about this. So why was he making Cornwall do something that the duke had refused to do unless it was with the woman he loved?

  “You said you would do anything for me,” Turner pointed out.

  “Of course I did. But…” Cornwall ran his hands through his hair as he began to pace. “You know I have no intention of marrying.”

  “Then there shouldn’t be any competition.”

  How could Turner joke at something like that? He had never been married. Cornwall had made his views on marriage perfectly clear. He would remain a bachelor for the rest of his life. The dukedom could go to a cousin, someone who already had a wife and children.

  That wasn’t him.

  “My heart’s not in it, Victor.” Cornwall was still pacing, trying to vent his frustration anywhere except at the dying man in the bed. “You know that. The woman I love married someone else while I was in France. I can’t bring myself to love someone else.” The thought of loving another woman when his heart was with someone else made his stomach knot.

  “I’m not asking you to love her, Captain.” Turner managed to sit up, grabbing Cornwall’s wrist with surprising strength to stop the other man’s pacing. “You know as well as I do that love rarely participates in a marriage. You don’t want to marry anyone else, and Beatrice needs a husband to keep her out of the poor house. Because she will end up there.”

  “So… a marriage of convenience.” Cornwall said grimly.

  It was happening every day. Turner was right that love wasn’t often a part of it. Nobody would bat an eyelid. But Cornwall would. He would know about it, and the knowledge that he was married to a woman who wasn’t Josephine… that didn’t sit well.

  “You don’t have to do anything except marry her and look after her. That’s it.” Turner let go of Cornwall’s wrist and slumped on the bed. “I’m not asking for you to have children with her.”

  “People will wonder if there are no children.”

  “We’re not thinking about that, are we? Marriages can go for years without children or none at all. It’s not uncommon.” Turner coughed, rolling onto his back and weakly hitting his chest. “All I want is Beatrice not to be homeless. And you do owe me.”

  “There are days when I wish I didn’t.”

  Turner tried to laugh but then he started coughing, this time louder and his whole body shook. Cornwall knelt beside him and waited. It was a while before Turner could speak, his voice even weaker. “Please, Cornwall. I don’t have much time left. I need to know your answer.” He gripped Cornwall’s lapel. “Your word is your bond, you always said that to us. Please, look after my sister. Give me your word.”

  Cornwall knew he was trapped. He was a man of his word, and he had promised Turner that he owed a debt to him for saving his life. But this… Cornwall took a deep breath and nodded. This word he couldn’t go back on. “All right. I’ll give you my word.”

  Turner gave him a shaky smile and his hand fell from Cornwall’s lapel, falling onto the bed.

  “Get my sister.”

  Cornwall didn’t wait to be told twice.

  ***

  She was just too late. Beatrice couldn’t stop crying over the fact she had not been at her brother’s side when he died. Between the duke calling for her and Beatrice reaching Victor’s room, Victor had taken his last breath.

  Beatrice was still brokenhearted over that. She had promised to be at his bedside, and now she had failed to keep that promise. Her brother was still warm, but she didn’t get to hear his last words, tell him before he passed that she loved him. She ended up collapsing at the side of the bed, clutching at his hand and sobbing.

  The duke had been decent enough to give her space. He kept his distance and let Beatrice mourn without him crowding her. She was aware that he was staying in another part of the house, but Beatrice wasn’t focused on him. It was a long drive from Cornwall, so it was necessary to spend a few days before he went back. She wasn’t going to turf him out. But he respected her mourning period by not bothering her to be a hostess.

  Now Beatrice had another problem. She was penniless. All of Victor’s money was going to a relative who lived in Ireland. That relative didn’t want Pencroft and said Beatrice could do whatever she wanted with the estate. But Beatrice couldn’t run Pencroft without money. She had nothing to pay the servants, to keep the house in good condition, nothing. Pencroft was going to turn into a ruin.

  Life was not fair on women when it came to wills. If Victor loved her, he would have given her something. But it was tradition. Women just weren’t given inheritances unless for a dowry and there was barely any left for that.

  She had no money and would eventually have no home. Beatrice wished she could get her brother back. That was the only thing that could make her happy.

  “Ma’am.”

  Beatrice looked up. She had been sifting through Victor’s belongings, packing them away and finding an appropriate outfit for the funeral. Nothing seemed to be appropriate.

  Then again, she hadn’t thought she would be preparing Victor’s funeral so early.

  Sanders was in the doorway, her head bowed. Beatrice put down the folded shirts on the bed.

  “Yes, Sanders?”

  “The Duke of Cornwall wants to speak to you.”

  Beatrice hesitated. She didn’t really want to speak to him. Aside from the fact that she didn’t care for him at all, she didn’t like how she felt whenever he was close by. Her heart stumbled and was all aflutter. Her mouth went dry and her stomach felt like she was housing butterflies.

  It was awful to know she found a man she didn’t like attractive. That made Beatrice feel awful.

  But she couldn’t argue with a duke. No one said no to a duke.

  “Show him in, Sanders. I’ll see him in here.”

  Sanders curtsied and left. Moments later, Cornwall was in the doorway. Beatrice could feel his dark eyes on her and tried not to show that she was affected, turning back to packing her brother’s clothes into his trunk.

  “
Your Grace.”

  She knew she was in bad form for not curtsying to him, but Beatrice didn’t care. Cornwall didn’t say anything, merely giving her a tiny bow.

  “Miss Turner. You have my utmost condolences on your brother’s death.”

  “Thank you.” Beatrice gritted her teeth as she forced herself not to cry. “I just wish I had been at his side when he passed.”

  She knew she was being petty as Cornwall had done his best, but she was still sore about it all. Cornwall stayed near the door and said nothing, watching her closely as Beatrice started folding Victor’s jackets. She didn’t know what she was going to do with them, hoping that someone else would find them good enough to use again. Victor wasn’t materialistic in that way, always willing to give away things he didn’t want or things that didn’t fit any longer. He was a good person like that.

  “He asked me to make a promise to him,” Cornwall said suddenly.

  Beatrice paused. She didn’t know about this. “Really?”

  “It concerns you, too.”

  That had Beatrice looking up in surprise. “Why would it concern me?”

  “Your brother wanted you married and taken care of, to make sure you were not left out on the street. With your brother gone, you lose everything.”

  “I know that. He’s been telling me that since he got ill.” Beatrice was confused. “I think I’m a little slow on the uptake right now. What are you talking about?”

  Cornwall was scowling. He did not look happy at all. His jaw tightened, and he squared his shoulders. “He made me promise to marry you.”

  Beatrice stared. It took a moment for the words to sink in. She felt her legs getting weak and leant against the bedpost. “He did what?”

  “It shocked me when he said that’s what he wanted, but I did say I would repay a debt to him. He saved my life, and he made me promise.” Cornwall’s eyes darkened as he shook his head. “I don’t break promises.”

  Chapter 3

  Becoming the Duchess