The Dowager Countess of Blackwood visited them at Blackwood Chase frequently, although she still preferred to live at Blackwood House in London, close to her friends. She was visited as frequently in return. Though she wasn't the type of woman to be ostentatious with her praise and affection, she was vastly pleased with her new daughter-in-law, and was very glad that she hadn't known, a year ago, what was happening between her son and his housemaid. If she had known, she would doubtless have done everything in her power to thwart the affair.
Society was happy with the Earl's match too. The rumour - as it still remained, as no decisive proof had surfaced – of Constance's family relationship to the Dowager Duchess de Montfort had worked its potent magic. As time passed, proven or not, it was becoming believed as established fact. But related to the de Montforts or not, Constance was admired and respected – and much sought after by the ton – for her own personal merits. And for her beauty, which seemed to deepen with each passing month. In fact, Perry had come within a whisker's breadth of fighting a duel with the Earl of Radford, having heard him praise Constance a little too effusively in a Trafalgar coffee-house.
Though this had been defused by their mutual friends, a certain animosity remained between them, and Perry, just to 'keep himself up to scratch' thought it wise to practice his gunmanship, fencing, and boxing on a regular basis.
As for him, though he was nearly forty-four years old, he could probably pass for thirty-four. Beneath his robustly handsome visage he was happier than he had ever imagined it was possible for a man to be. Everything, after five miserable stormy years, had come right. All thanks to Constance.
He stood now, with her in his arms, little George fast asleep in the room next door, and their daughters happily occupied. Amelia in her room, reading a book on the geology of southern England, Harriet kneeling between the open doors of her wardrobe, happily burrowing through her clothes in anticipation of her imminent coming out Ball, Clara drinking hot chocolate with the dashing young Lord Alberry, a frequent caller, down in the drawing room, with a maid sitting quietly in the corner, to ensure that nothing improprietous happened.
It was twilight now, and the swallows and swifts were swooping about the eaves of the house, whilst a crescent moon was rising above the ancient trees of the park.
“Only one thing is required to make my happiness complete this evening, dearest.”
He strode over to their bedroom door and turned the key, locking it firmly.
Constance felt her heart beginning to beat quickly on a rising tide of the familiar, and seemingly tireless, excitement.
“And what is that my Lord?”
“'My Lord' -yes, it thrills me tremendously to hear you say that when we are alone... for I hope that I am, in truth, always to be your Lord. But… what will complete my happiness? Can you guess?”
“No, but there's little need. I'm beginning to see the outline of what you have in mind.”
“Can you indeed? Well, let's see if we can add substance to the outline, shall we?”
Taking her in his arms again, he slid the loose gown slowly down over her smoothly gleaming shoulders, over the high compact mass of her beautiful, so fruitful breasts, down to her hips, and placed a long deep kiss upon her upturned mouth.
In the days after their marriage, Constance had continually marvelled that Perry desired her as passionately as he had before they were wed.
'Surely, now that he has me, his ardour will gradually lose its force? However much he loves me, as of course he does, he cannot withstand nature, and it's only natural for passions to cool. So I'd best prepare myself for the inevitable.' Such had been her thoughts.
But, 'the inevitable' remained unfulfilled, though Constance, to her joy, did not; in fact, the passionate Earl seemed to want her with even more urgency and desperation than when they had been denied each other, when the whole of Society had seemed to continually block and hamper their union. He would pounce upon her unexpectedly, or so arrange things that they were completely alone for an hour or two. Sudden unexpected trips arranged for the girls, or the sudden announcement of a trip for the two of them alone.
Being married had unleashed an amorous imagination which often surprised Perry himself. Some of his suggestions were even a little alarming – to both of them – for the degree of their impropriety.
Only recently, returning home late one night from a social event, he had been seized by a fit of intense passion, and had started kissing his wife so fervently that she herself was on the point of knocking on the roof to signal the driver to stop so that they could dash into the woods together to relieve themselves of the need for each other – and why not? But it was too late for rapping. After a momentary preparation he had pulled Constance onto his lap, where all was in attentive readiness, and they had ridden the rest of the way home in the carriage, their muffled motions matching the tireless trot of the horses, their mutual blissful release happily coinciding with their turning into the drive which led to their door.
What was it about marriage that had so dramatically eroticised Perry? Constance kept meaning to ask him, but was far too occupied by his exciting schemes to find a suitable occasion. Such as now, for instance. He had her completely naked, except for her new pearl necklace. He extinguished all of the lights except for one candle and led her to their four-poster bed. As she lay back on the shimmering purple silk covering, he completed his own undressing, allowing her excitement to build as his manly beauty slowly but most surely, was unveiled.
Rather than complacently turning to fat like most married men, he had made the conscious decision to do as much exercise as his duties and responsibilities allowed. He rode Zenobia, he fenced, he helped on the estate, he boxed, he swam. The result was a physique that rippled with tautened muscle.
Muscle complemented by even broader shoulders, a stomach 'as flat as one of Mrs Bell's washboards' Constance often quipped, thighs as rounded and firm as the mahogany bedposts of their great bed, and, a springing, headstrong energy to his manhood which saw him 'ready for action' at a moment's notice.
Constance, looking upon its lengthy ardency now, stretched herself lasciviously, ready to receive him, to begin the night's long amorous campaign.
“Tomorrow... Oh!... TOh!... morrow... I must ask him... h..... Oh!... w he.... acc... Oh!... ounts for this... this... ratcheting up of his... passion!”
~~~~~
Several hours later Constance awoke. Perhaps it was the Moon, which was pouring its light directly into the room. She kissed Peregrine lightly on the shoulder and slipped out of bed. Opening the window, she breathed in the cool night air, fragrant with flower scents carried by the light mist. What she really felt like doing was running through the dew which was sparkling on the grass, each blade distinct as the prongs of a fork. It was something she used to do when she was young, at home in Edinburgh, running into their broad back-garden in her bare feet. And what was the point of being a Countess if she could not do so now, should she wish it?
Mr Collins, troubled by his usual sleeplessness, noted her rather unladylike sweep down the stairs and across the hall to the door in her black velvet cloak, but was somewhat startled by the bare feet that glimmered whitely beneath its sweeping hem.
She looked so self-contained and bent on some business of her own that he thought it best not to intrude, and said nothing, watching her unbolt the great door, and with a quick look behind her, slip out of the house.
He stepped gingerly to the window and looked out. The Countess of Blackwood, the hood of her cloak thrown back, was walking slowly, arms held out aloft like some pagan worshipper, delighting at the prints her bare feet made in the shimmering moonlit dew. Mr Collins, in deference to his mistress's private moment, withdrew to the kitchen to try to placate his insomnia with yet another cup of Mrs Bell's strongly stewed tea.
There was no one left to observe Constance as, mesmerised by the shimmering beauty around her, she followed her feet across the spangled park, out under the tre
es, within whose leaf-thickened branches fresh stars were entangled. Blackwood Chase itself perhaps watched, its numerous windows the eyes of the Earl's ancestors, or the Moon itself, or the old owls that sat as sleepless as Mr Collins in their nests.
Finally, Constance slowed her meandering, skittish progress, stopped, and turned to look back at the great country house. She thought of Clara and Harriet and Amelia, all three growing up so quickly, asleep now. She thought of dear Margaret, nearby, asleep but doubtless up soon, still rising early out of old habit, and of Mrs Temp and Mrs Bell and Mr Collins - poor Edward and his insomnia!
She located the window of the nursery, where her firstborn George slept, and, next to it, the window of their own dear bedroom filled to the brim with so much love and passion. Would she ask her dear Perry tomorrow why he still loved her so?
Tomorrow? What was the hurry? There would be a million tomorrows.
She ran her eyes over stately, mellow, austere, quietly gay, quietly naughty Blackwood Chase, and all the life it contained.
“I am finally at home, for good! In love, for good! And - I'm so amazingly happy!”
The End
I hope that you enjoyed
‘The Scottish Governess’
You’ll find a preview of another of my books,
‘The Gift of a Christmas Scandal’,
just after the ‘About the Author’ section of this book.
About the Author
Arietta Richmond has been a compulsive reader and writer all her life. Whilst her reading has covered an enormous range of topics, history has always fascinated her, and historical novels have been amongst her favourite reading.
She has written a wide range of work, from business articles and other non-fiction works (published under a pen name) but fiction has always been a major part of her life. Now, her Regency Historical Romance books are finally being released. The Derbyshire Set is comprised of 10 novels (8 released so far). The ‘His Majesty’s Hounds’ series is comprised of 17 novels, with the last having just been released.
She also has a standalone longer novel shortly to be released, and four other series of novels in development. She lives in Australia, and when not reading or writing, likes to travel, and to see in person the places where history happened.
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Here is your preview of
The Gift of a Christmas Scandal
Regency Romance
Arietta Richmond
Chapter One
“This contract is, in my opinion, completely legal. It will stand as binding, Your Grace.”
Alexander Fortescue, Duke of Southolton, glared at the lawyer before him, and cursed under his breath.
“You are quite certain of that, Warrington?”
“Quite, Your Grace. I have examined it in detail. It was well written. My predecessor in dealing with your family’s legal matters was a thorough man, as was your father.”
Alex paced about the room, unconscious of his own fluidity of movement, his frustration driving him.
The wintry afternoon sun caught deep red highlights from his almost black hair, and burnished his lightly tanned skin to a richer gold.
He was a man who was admired, and, to some extent, feared.
He had left England an untried youth, and returned from seven years on the continent as a mature and experienced man, with a physique and an intellect to be envied.
All of which physical and mental power was, it seemed, impotent in the face of his father’s bloody-minded determination, and manipulative cunning. Even from beyond the grave, his father had made sure that his wishes would drive Alex, no matter what Alex himself wanted.
“Is there no possible way I might avoid the marriage?”
“Not that I can see, Your Grace. Unless Lady Phyllida herself cried off – and that is beyond unlikely, as both she and her parents seem most set on the match – there is no option. If you cried off, not only would Lady Phyllida be ruined, but they would have a legal right to demand your compliance, or substantial compensation, if they chose to accept such a thing.”
“Damn! I won’t ruin the girl. I have nothing against her, personally – she is just not at all what I want to marry – in fact, I can’t say that I am anywhere near ready to even consider marriage at all, especially marriage arranged at someone else’s whim!”
“Ah… then the only other thing I can think of is no use to you either.”
“What other thing? Tell me anyway – I must consider every possibility – I am determined to find a way out of this contract, without ruining her, and without paupering the estate to pay them off.”
Warrington looked more hesitant than Alex had ever seen him – albeit he had not seen the man often, for Warrington had taken on their business whilst Alex had still been in Italy. The lawyer stared out of the window for a moment, then straightened his shoulders and turned back to Alex.
“This is, you must understand, Your Grace, not the sort of thing that a man like myself, in good standing, should ever seriously suggest. But you have asked for all possibilities in this matter. The only way in which I can see you getting out of this contract, without ruining Lady Phyllida, or your estate, is to do some damage to your own reputation, and that of another woman.”
“Warrington, I have no idea what you mean – what other woman?”
“Any other woman that suits you, Your Grace. If you were found in a compromising position with another woman, a lady of rank, then you would be expected to marry her – Lady Phyllida would be expected to reject you, as would her parents. The difficulty of this solution is, of course, that you would need to find a suitable woman to compromise – one you were then willing to marry. So… if you are not ready to consider marriage at all… then you are still trapped by the contract, and will be expected to marry Lady Phyllida Wormington by the time of her twenty-first birthday. Which is, I believe, at the beginning of February.”
Alex had halted in his pacing at the words ‘compromising position’, and now met Warrington’s eyes, his lips twisting into an almost sardonic smile. He gave a snort of self-deprecating laughter.
“That is definitely a rather outrageous suggestion from a legal man. And you’re right, it’s not much help to me at all. Much though the young women of the ton seem willing to volunteer to be compromised…”
It was Warrington’s turn to laugh.
“You’ve only been back two months, and they’re throwing themselves in your path, in the hope of becoming your Duchess, aren’t they? And none of them appeal to you? Too milk and water, after those fiery Italian beauties, eh?”
Alex grinned, refusing to confirm anything about fiery Italian beauties.
“They are all rather… bland… and persistent. And lacking in conversation, and, I suspect, in intelligence. I cannot imagine anything worse than spending my life tied to one of them. Keep looking for ways out. I will keep delaying, until the last possible day, if I mus
t, hoping that we find a solution. And I will keep the option of complete scandal in mind, just in case the utterly improbable happens, and I meet a woman I’d be willing to marry.”
“I will, Your Grace. But… to potentially find a woman you might be willing to marry, you’ll need to attend social events, allow them to flock around you, and be nice to them…”
Alex scowled. His tone when he spoke had a sarcastic, almost bitter edge.
“Actually, I don’t need to be nice to them at all. They get all in a flutter when I glare and sneer at them, and behave with the utmost arrogance. They find me being ‘dark and dangerous’ all exciting. Which only proves to me how boring their lives are. No amount of rudeness scares them away. But I will have a chance to get to know more of them. My mother has arranged a Christmas House Party, and invited half the ton, including Lady Phyllida.”
“I doubt she intends you to be looking at the other young women then.”
“My mother may not, but all of their mothers still hope. I won’t be able to move in my own home without tripping over eyelash fluttering damsels at every step. The only thing that gives me the slightest hope is that I have managed to avoid my supposed betrothal to Lady Phyllida from being announced about the place – although many in my mother’s circle of friends know of the arrangement, if not the detail of the contract.”
“I wish you well of it then, Your Grace. I will let you know if I discover any loopholes – but, if I were you, I would prepare myself for my fate.”
“Warrington, if I didn’t know that you were a serious man of the law, I would almost think that you were enjoying watching me struggle in this trap.”
Warrington affected an expression of offended innocence.
The Scottish Governess: Regency Romance Page 15