Persuaded to Love: A Kendawyn Paranormal Regency

by Amanda A. Allen

  “Don’t mind her,” Martha said with a sneer. “She’s young and too pessimistic for anyone’s good. She seems to think it makes her seem more intelligent than the rest of us. Why not the Duke?”

  Venetia bit the inside of her lip as she watched Ana sit back with a look of extreme satisfaction. Antigone caught the expression, and her lips twitched. It was a shame that they hadn’t gotten to know Ana Wells before this day. Venetia was certain in that moment that they’d have loved Ana.

  She was just as lovely as her sister but not nearly so ripe and made up. She didn’t put herself forward like Martha, so it was easy to look past the younger Wells when exuberant, rude Martha was around.

  Since no one was paying attention to the two of them while Antigone added details, Venetia turned her eyes on Ana and raised a brow. Ana considered what the expression said, eyes on her sister who was cruel beyond belief to everyone—including Ana.

  “You’re right, of course, Martha dear. I’m sorry. Fairytales do come true. This is Kendawyn after all. Not the Mortal Realm. But I heard the Duke has been told to reconsider his decision. One such as him can not marry too low. But a Baron...well. It's not like we're common rabble here. Also, Alice has written about how horrid the Duke can be, but says that the Baron...he's charming and kind.”

  "And rich," Venetia said.

  “Of course fairytales come true,” Martha replied. She smoothed her hair as if the Duke of Wolfemuir and Lord Stanwullf were about to be presented and she wore a look of utter satisfaction. She was the loveliest woman in Plavington. She was well-connected. It was reasonable enough to feel as if she had a chance given the nonsense the two of them had just delivered.

  “Perhaps, Mrs. Wells would consider a ball,” Venetia mused, smoothing her hair as well—attempting to copy Martha to better deliver the whopper they’d just told. “After all, there are so few chances for young people to interact in Plavington. And you do such a lovely job of such things. I have it on special authority that Lord Stanwullf is particularly focused on finding a bride. His youngest brother, after all, recently married leaving him quite the target of his mother’s ire.”

  “That’s why you’re here isn’t it,” Ana asked, eyes narrowing. But it was all an act, and the smile that hovered at the edge of her lips might have given her away if Martha bothered to glance her sister’s way.

  “Indeed,” Antigone said. “My cousin is a recluse. Venetia’s dear uncle prefers quiet, small parties. Mrs. Wells you are our only hope.”

  And then it was Mrs. Wells who smoothed her hair. A look of utter self-satisfaction came over her face.

  “It is because everyone else stints. If you’re going to have a party,” she announced, “you must be willing to put on a show. Parsimony is not the answer.”

  Though Martha hated Antigone and Venetia, Martha leaned back with satisfaction as she said, “We won’t let you down. I’ll send out invitations this morning. Come Ana, I’ll need your help.”

  The look Ana shot the two friends had said they better deliver on torturing Martha or Ana would get her vengeance.

  When the two friends left the Wells House, Venetia said. “Should we stay long enough to accept the invitation for the not-parsimonious ball?”

  Antigone snorted and tapped her lips before she said, "I think not. We should, however, stay long enough to place an order for a new ball gown with Mademoiselle Beaulieu.”

  “And,” Venetia added, wickedly, “be sure to tell the good news, on the sly, to the Misses Mallory.”

  “Indeed,” Antigone replied with a ring of laughter. “Indeed.”

  They went over that afternoon to Letitia and Constance Mallory’s and informed them of both the ball and the matrimonial pursuits of the Wolfemuir. They were not nearly so lovely or conceited as Martha Wells, but those sisters were just as determined.

  Wicked, mischievous grins were constant as Antigone and Venetia made their way back home.

  * * * * *

  “Where are they?” Oliver asked. Rhys’s eyes were narrow. They’d stopped by and introduced themselves to both the Uncle and the cousin, inviting them to go shooting in the following days just for the opportunity to trap the females. But they’d been unsuccessful. Their quarry had been gone since long before either of the men had even returned to Edgefield.

  “It doesn’t matter, Mr. Malvern confirmed that both were expected for dinner and invited us. He looked too pleased, I thought,” Rhys said. The Duke mounted his horse and wheeled it away from the Malvern Manor house. The gardens around it were astounding, and even Rhys stopped to appreciate the beauty before heading down the lane.

  “Of course he did. He’s no fool and I suspect he knows the two far better than we.”

  Rhys simply growled low in reply before leading the way across the fields and back to Edgefield. He went with single-minded purpose and didn’t stop until they were in the library with an open decanter of port. He poured them each a glass. Only one sip was necessary before he set it down with a grimace and said, “You didn’t bring your own?”

  “You didn’t either,” Oliver replied, forcing down another sip of the swill.

  “This must be remedied.”

  Oliver didn’t bother to reply. He leaned his head back and wondered, for a moment, why he was working so hard in tracking down an elusive miss who did not wish to be tracked. But his wolf growled at the thought. The creature had gotten as close to being interested in mating Venetia in one dance as he had in any other woman over the course of Oliver’s nearly two hundred years.

  “I am. . .I would say flummoxed, but it wasn’t like Alice didn’t warn me. She did. She made it clear that her Antigone wouldn’t want me. But that very lack of wanting. I am intrigued why any well-bred woman would immediately decide against me. ”

  “And all your money, houses, and titles?" Oliver said the words idly but he already knew the answer. It was unheard of for any woman to not at least...consider...someone like Rhys. He was the Duke of Wolfemuir. He was the pinnacle of what a well-bred woman supposedly dreamed of."

  Oliver didn’t explain his long reverie the evening before where he’d thought he’d found his soul mate. That couldn’t be true, could it? No intelligent man saw a woman and thought this one. This is the one for me.

  Did they?

  “Why are you interested in someone who doesn’t want you?” Oliver asked without opening his eyes as he took another sip of the port. Why was he?

  “I have been chased, like a fox, from a pack of hounds every time I have come across a female’s path who thinks she could have a chance with me. They see my title, my fortune, etcetera. Not this one. With this one, my wolf tells me to walk carefully. My wolf demands I hunt, but he tells me to...be wise. It makes no sense.”

  “You didn’t believe Alice,” Oliver said. “Also you’re an insufferable ass.”

  As was Oliver. By the full moon, he was also an insufferable ass. Venetia had made it clear she had no interest in him. So why was he pursuing her regardless? He didn’t know. He couldn’t explain it to himself, but all he knew was that if he could get her to give him a chance—well, he couldn’t guarantee success, but at least he’d know he tried. He wouldn’t always wonder. Even still, the thought of failing made him sick.

  “I didn’t,” Rhys agreed, ignoring the insult. “Am I chasing for the novelty or is she special?”

  Oliver didn’t bother to reply. After all, only Rhys could answer that but given what Oliver was experiencing, he suspected that Rhys was chasing because of Alice. Their cousin-in-law had captivated each of the main family of the Wolfemuir pack. From their mothers to the pack of alpha cousins. She crooked her finger, and they found themselves dancing to her tune.

  If Alice had said that Antigone was the female for Rhys—then Alice would be listened to. At least long enough for Rhys to see for himself.

  Now if only Oliver could answer the question of whether Venetia was right for him. He was, however, very much afraid that he already knew. And that he just migh
t fail.

  * * * * *

  When they entered the drawing room before dinner, Venetia’s Uncle Bradford Malvern rose immediately. He had taken in young Venetia when she’d appeared from the Mortal Realm. The “Uncle” or “Aunt” title was given to a person who adopted a **Tyros** who’d come into Kendawyn as a child. Usually, the child was tested for abilities and matched with a family who wanted her and met a similar ability. Bradford Malvern was a noted mage with plant magic. Oliver could only assume that Venetia was the same.

  The two ladies turned, both with frozen expressions on their faces that smoothed into polite masks. Oliver hid his smirk as he took in the face that had haunted him since she’d left the public ball the evening before. It was perfection.

  Her chin had a small scar that was old and only drew attention to the perfection of the rest of her face. Her face was smooth and creamy, her golden hair curled, her eyes were an amazing shade of blue-green. She was simply lovely.

  And yet, it wasn’t her physical beauty that drew him in so completely. Diamonds of the First Water had thrown themselves at his feet more than once, and he’d been unmoved. It was the scent of her, the angle at which she held her head, the way her eyes lit up with intelligence and mischief. It was the prank the Venetia had pulled with her friend without ever losing a moment of poise. He envied their unspoken ability to communicate with each other. The friendship that was so real and clear that they didn't even need to speak to set up that stunt.

  He suspected if he could persuade her to love him that they’d spend the rest of their lives laughing at each other, their children, and their friends. They’d wake with smiles and jokes and fall asleep to plans and machinations.

  He couldn’t imagine anything more perfect that stealing jam tarts with this beauty simply because he’d done it all of his childhood and every time he did as an adult, it brought the boy that he was back.

  When Oliver crossed to her, he held out his hand for hers. She might have denied him but her Uncle was at his side. The affection she felt for Bradford Malvern colored her actions—and her face. So, she placed her hand in Oliver’s, and he admitted that the feel of her skin was a sensation that would never get old for him. The zing of want that shot from him to her was even more intriguing.

  He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them—it was too much, but Bradford Malvern had a very good idea of what was happening and didn’t seem to object.

  “Well, then,” Bradford said when Venetia yanked her hand from Oliver’s grasp.

  “And how was your day?” Oliver asked.

  “Warm,” Venetia said.

  “You should have gone for a cooling swim,” Oliver said with a smirk that said how much he appreciated the joke. Her lips quivered for a moment before smoothing back into poise.

  * * * * *

  “Not that one,” Alice said. She was standing behind Hugh, leaning down to read over his shoulder.

  “It seems to be a nice set of rooms,” Hugh said. “It has what we need. It’s better situated than these other places.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” Alice replied and then pointed to the largest of the houses, “this one.”

  “My dear, Alice,” Hugh said. But really…she could have whatever she wanted. He didn’t care. “The walk will be longer.”

  Alice didn’t bother to reply. It was Hugh’s veiled way of being worried about how far she was walking or if she was resting enough and such. He didn’t know it, but she’d seen a Healer-Mage already and the craft had forecast two daughters. She should tell him. She would. Later, though. After all…he was already smothering her with his mother hen ways.

  “This one,” Alice repeated, pointing to the description of a house that his man-of-business had sent. She should explain, but she was enjoying his befuddlement too much. The careful way he was giving her whatever she wanted and had watched over her anxiously as she tried to learn her way around this monstrosity of a house. She’d hated it the moment she saw it.

  Until. . .she’d seen his face when he hadn’t realized she was looking. He loved his horrendous pile of bricks. It might have made her love it a little bit. And somehow when she looked at it next to him, she could see a pack of little ones running through the halls—chased by their father. She hoped he looked as slightly befuddled then as he had over the last few days as she demanded random things to see if he’d give them to her.

  She shouldn’t do that to him. She promised herself she’d quit teasing him quite so much once they reached Arathe-By-The-Sea. Normally, he would have teased her back, but now that she was carrying a baby—babies—he seemed to be addled by a constant internal dialogue.

  Last night she’d made him find a pudding for her. The night before, she’d gotten him to rub her feet. Every time she woke, she woke him just to see the look on his face. That first moment before his brain fully settled all he had to show was his instinctive reaction—utter adoration.

  She might wake him every night until the day they faded just to see that look on his face. She couldn’t wait to see this expression when she joined Venetia and Antigone in whatever they were planning. Alice would have to side with her friends because she was certain they were furious with her. Amends and all that. But she would have joined in with her friends regardless just to see Hugh's shock. She was certain dear Hugh would never believe just how much trouble they’d successfully caused in school without her giving him some glimpses.

  “Alice, my love,” Hugh had a pained look at the corner of his eyes that, she had to admit, delighted the wicked side of herself.

  “Yes, Hugh, darling,” She smiled at him, letting her fingers trail over the back of his neck.

  “Why Arathe-By-The-Sea?”

  She told the smallest part of the truth, “I believe the sea air will be good for me.”

  She couldn’t say baby. That would be a lie, and she wouldn’t lie to him, but she did so want to spring two daughters on him all at once. He owed it to her for being part of the reason she’d had a spell laid on her before she married him and almost ruining their chance at love—even though that wasn’t his fault. Besides which, he knew he loved her for a long time and never just told her. For that reason, she’d been kidnapped, had to set her hands on fire to escape, and then been forced onto a ledge in an attempt to flee to safety.

  Of course, he had come to her rescue and had her hands healed by the very best mage-healers. Even then, he winced every time he saw the quickly fading scars.

  “Healer Manchester is here. He’s very good.”

  “Yes,” Alice said, turning her face to nibble his ear—and distract him. “But there are very good healers in Arathe-By-The-Sea as well.”

  He growled as she nipped his ear and it took only moments for their positions to be reversed and Hugh to be the one distracting Alice.

  Chapter Six

  Bradford Malvern winked at Oliver before pulling Antigone aside to show her some trinket she clearly had seen before. With that movement, Malvern forever cemented himself as Oliver’s friend. Rhys followed the other two without a pause, attracting the ire of Antigone while Oliver turned to Venetia.

  “It’s a lovely evening,” Oliver said. He knew his grin was a smirk, but even pretending to return to small talk after they’d been so blunt was ridiculous. He was astounded again by her loveliness. If he were successful in his pursuit of her, it would be in moments like these that he’d be able to steal a quick caress, nibble on her fingers, or other such wonderful things. Whole new vistas of possibilities were unfolding before him, and the doubts of the previous day were burning away in the sunshine of her face.

  Her lips twitched before she replied with a bored, “Indeed.”

  “Now I can’t help but wonder where the best place is for a late night swim the excursion yesterday was quite refreshing…until of course, the side effects.”

  Her perfect lips twitched again. Oliver grinned at her, refusing to hide one iota of his amusement in her joke. Her eyelid twitched as she realized he’d only become m
ore intrigued.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she lied. She crossed to the piano-forte and lifted the cover over the keys. When she sat, he sat next to her ruining her plan to avoid him through music. Instead she’d created a cozy little environment where he could try to work his wiles on her unobstructed.

  “A duet?” His voice and look were a clear dare. One he hoped she’d pick up.

  Her eyes narrowed hiding those brilliant blue pools, he thought he should be grateful. The more he stared into them, the more he wanted to never look away. He had become a sentimental fool. A sentimental, melodramatic fool.

  He started playing, forcing her to join him or cry-off in front of her uncle. Oliver had seen already, however, that her affection for her uncle would prevent her from being overtly rude, something he intended to abuse freely.

  When she began to play, he found that she was just as energetic as he—not always as accurate, but close. He increased his speed as she played her part, and she followed suit. Oliver slowed his down, making it a game of fingers tripping over each other to throw the other off. A game he had played many times with his mother, and Oliver could have soundly crushed Venetia. Instead, he made sure that he never quite threw her off too much, so she could keep up.

  It didn’t take long for there to be a smile on her face.

  As his flourishes became more and more dramatic, hands rising high over the keys to pound down, she laughed. He tripped his fingers down the keyboard only to be in the position where he could wrap his arm around her shoulders. When she stiffened, and it wasn’t an act, he glanced at her, saw that her tiny smile had fled, and immediately gave her space.

  He wanted her to play with him—not despise him.

  They played until he was the one who tripped over his fingers—and not even on purpose. He blamed her perfect scent, he was distracted by the nearness of her whereas his presence seemed to give her focus.