A Preacher's daughter for the smitten Duke (Regency Romance) (Regency Tales Book 6)

by Regina Darcy

  “Miss Williams...Amy, may I call you Amy?” he asked. When she nodded, he continued, “Amy, I must tell you that I have formed an attachment to you.”

  “Your Grace, I’m sure I do not know what you mean,” she replied tremulously.

  “I mean that I have formed an affection for you that I have never had for another woman,” he told her. “I mean that I think of you every day. You are my last thought each night, and my first upon rising. My attachment grows more intense daily.”

  She stopped walking. “I cannot take any pleasure in these words, Your Grace. Not when I know that you have someone already waiting to be your wife.” She looked at him with sad, wounded eyes. “I had thought you a better man.”

  SEVEN

  Percy stared at her in horror. She was completely serious, and held his gaze without flinching. “I vehemently deny your accusation,” he said at last, confused and hurt by her words. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “My brothers saw you with your betrothed,” she told him. “You were going for a ride.”

  Percy thought back to any period since the Williams’ arrival when he had taken a woman riding. It had been the week of the house party, and he had gone riding with his cousin, Amelia. His horror evaporated as he realised the cause of her distress and of the misunderstanding between them. He smiled, curious to know why Amy’s brothers had paid him an unscheduled visit.

  “Your family has a penchant for trespassing, it would seem,” he said, amused. “And in this instance, it did not bode well for you.”

  “How so, my lord?” she asked haughtily. “They saw what they saw.”

  “Do you recall our last conversation, Amy?” he asked. “The one where we spoke of trusting the judgments we make based upon appearances?”

  She stared at him, unblinking. “I do, Your Grace. Nor do I judge you. But I must accept what appears to be evidence that you think me a wanton, and a light-skirted woman by virtue of my station. Why else would you feel free to speak to me of your ‘affections’?”

  “The only woman I have taken riding in the time since your family has been here has been my cousin, the Lady Amelia Lockhart.” He made the statement baldly, and watched as shock, then hope, then despair crossed her expressive face.

  “I must apologise for my hasty judgment, then, Your Grace,” she said in a low voice, lowering her eyes to her hands. “A woman in my circumstances does not normally receive the attentions of a member of the upper classes except in exchange for payment for services rendered.”

  “But you are a virtuous woman, like the one you once read about. And you know that virtue is rewarded. So will you accept my addresses to you?” he asked. “Or at the very least allow for the fact that my feelings for you are genuine?”

  “I cannot dare to hope for such, Your Grace,” she said regretfully. “Think how it will be for someone like me to appear within your circle of relations and acquaintances. Their assumptions would make it most awkward,” she continued, “and you would soon find that you were no longer interested in having me around in any capacity. You cannot long wish to associate yourself with someone such as myself.”

  “You are more than your social circumstances, Amy,” he said. “Surely you can see that?”

  “No, Your Grace, I cannot. Not in this case,” she protested, clearly distressed. “Aside from the objections on your side, you must know that my father would be vehemently opposed to any such arrangement.” She looked back at her sister, who was watching them closely. “Please, do not speak of this again.”

  She turned and walked away, and Percy was forced to follow her. He could well understand her confusion and despair, and though he did not care what anyone in his circle thought, he did not know how to help her see that what others thought was less important than how she might feel. Additionally, the obstacle presented by her family was not to be taken lightly.

  “May I see you again?” he asked, coming up beside her.

  “I do not think it wise, Your Grace,” she answered in a low voice. “There can be no happy ending to your attentions.”

  She was as good as her word, and Percy did not manage to catch a glimpse of her on any of the occasions, over the next week, that he rode by or stopped to ask. He was well aware that her father, who before had been reluctant to permit him to speak with her, was now adamantly opposed to any contact between them. It forced him to resort to using his steward as his emissary.

  “Please deliver this letter to the hand of Miss Amy Williams, and only to her,” he told the man on that first morning when he wrote to her. “Should you not see her, or should you be unable to get her alone, return it to me. Is that clear?”

  “It is, Your Grace,” Mr Hayward said, though Percy could see he was scandalised by the whole affair.

  He did not owe his servants, or anyone else for that matter, any explanations for his actions, but he would not allow the man to gossip about the woman he was growing to love, and so he issued a further warning. “Should it ever come to my attention that you have maligned Miss Williams, or spoken of her to anyone in any way as to sully her virtuous reputation, it will not bode well for you. I trust that your loyalty to me will be your guide in this matter. Is that understood?”

  “It is understood, Your Grace,” his steward replied, and took the missive from him.

  In his first letter, he spoke with passion of the causes of his affection for her.

  I have never been with another woman who so enlightens my thoughts by her words and actions. Your wit and wisdom envelop me in their warmth. I am free to be my best self when you are near.

  In the third letter, he wrote:

  I am kept in hope of you having a change of heart soon, my beloved, by virtue of your not having asked my man to refrain from bringing you any further letters from me.

  After a week, he could not keep the words of love from spilling onto the page.

  I crave even a word from you, my love.

  I find myself thinking of you when I should be concentrating on the affairs of my estate.

  My love for you has made me poor company to others, who have remarked upon my lacklustre attention to their comforts.

  I need you to relieve me of the burden of this love by accepting it as your own.

  Hayward told him how she smiled upon receipt of that last missive, and he wrote another for her in like fashion. He would give her smiles, until she saw fit to let him give her his love as well.

  He was not to know that things would go ill for her a result of a fateful discovery made by her unhappy sister Mary Anne.

  Amy’s feelings for Percy, as he had been signing his letters, were growing with each letter that he sent her. On that first morning, when his steward had discreetly handed her his first letter, she had been torn between sending it back and keeping it. In the end, she had kept and read it over and over, until the words were imprinted on her heart: “Your wit and wisdom envelop me in their warmth. I am free to be my best self when you are near.”

  Even now as she thought of them, her heart soared with silent joy. She had just helped to clean up after lunch and was walking by herself along the edge of the woods, where the stream disappeared into the forest, when Mary Anne appeared.

  Things had not been smooth between them since that first time when she had betrayed Amy to their father, making it appear that she herself were not as much at fault for harbouring hope where Percy was concerned as Amy was. Her efforts to regain Amy’s trust had not been rewarded, and after the walk, where he had asked her to give them room to speak, she had grown steadily more spiteful. Amy knew it stemmed from jealousy, and found it in her heart to pity her sister, who was not used to being ignored by anyone, and most especially not by men.

  She watched her approach holding something aloft in her hand. Her heart froze as Mary Anne neared and she recognised one of the letters that Percy had sent her. How could she have gotten it? Amy had been so careful to hide them away where no one would find them unless they went looking for them
, that she knew it was deliberate. She wondered what had been the trigger for this latest betrayal, and suddenly recalled that two days ago, at the time of the last letter from Percy, as Mr Hayward was handing her the note, Mary Anne had appeared. She had hastily swept the missive beneath her bonnet on the pretence of adjusting the headgear on her head.

  “What have you got there?” Mary Anne had asked, hurrying over.

  “I have nothing, sister,” Amy had replied, and had shown her both her hands. “Say good afternoon to Mr Hayward. He was just passing on his way to the village.”

  The steward had smiled widely and tipped his hat to them before going on his way, but Mary Anne had clearly not believed her story.

  “I saw him give you something,” she had insisted. “What did you do with it?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mary Anne,” she had replied, sending up a silent prayer of repentance for lying.

  It seemed, though, that Mary Anne had found the evidence that she sought, and Amy resigned herself to what was sure to come.

  “You have been consorting with that man!” her sister began, brandishing the letter in front of Amy’s face. “How could you stoop so low,” she continued, “as to accept the attentions of a man who can have no interest in you as anything other than his mistress?”

  Amy’s face flamed. Those were the very arguments she had given Percy for why they could never be together. Even her own sister believed that he was treating her like a common trollop.

  “I’m sure Papa will be very interested in what the duke has to say to his daughter,” Mary Anne announced, turning away.

  EIGHT

  Amy watched her go, and refused to follow her. She would not defend herself. What was she to say? That she loved a man of whom they would never approve simply because he was in a higher social class than they? That she believed that he truly loved her? Nothing she said would make a difference. Her father would hear only what Mary Anne wanted him to hear, and her fate would be decided based on her sister’s pain.

  She turned away instead, and walked down to the edge of the stream, sitting on the stone seat and watching the water flow over the rocks. She sensed her father approaching. It was as though the very air around her was charged with his anger and disappointment. When he called her name, she turned to face him.

  “Your sister seems to think that you are harbouring feelings for our landlord,” he began, “and she provided proof that you have been actively encouraging his attentions, despite my instructions that you were to tell me if he approached you.” He held up the letter that Mary Anne had given him. “He is very persuasive, and it is clear from your continued silence that you believe him.” He sighed when she looked steadily at him but still refused to speak. “Have you nothing to say for yourself, my child?”

  Amy looked her father in the face and shook her head sadly. “You had already decided on a course of action before you came out here, Papa,” she said. “What could I say that would make a difference?”

  Her father stared at her with anger and regret in his face.

  “You leave me no choice, Amy,” he said. “It is my job to protect you. I do not believe that this man’s intentions are honourable, or he would have come to see me and asked to address you formally. He would not have chosen to communicate with you clandestinely through his manservant. I forbid you to speak with or in any way communicate with the duke or any of his emissaries. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Papa,” she replied in a resigned voice, and looked over his shoulder at her sister, who stood behind him with a look of triumph on her pretty face. She did not offer any words of rebellion, but turned and walked away. No one came after her.

  After that incident, Amy was never left alone, except when she washed herself, and even then, if Mary Anne was not busy, she was close by. If she were not so wounded by her father’s refusal to see her as an adult, and to treat her as such, she would have found it amusing. Instead, it only hurt her. She lost her appetite and hardly ate anything, except at dinner, when she tried to swallow more than a mouthful of food for the benefit of their host and hostess, who must have eventually guessed that something was wrong. She did her chores, but only stayed in company when she had no choice. Otherwise, she sat apart, reading quietly, or helping the farmer’s wife by working on some new pattern of embroidery. She kept herself busy, but distant. Not even Jacob, her favourite sibling, could penetrate the barriers she had put in place.

  “Amy, what can I do to make you feel better?” he asked one evening as she sat apart from the others in the big kitchen. “I don’t like to see you so sad.”

  She shook her head. “There is nothing to be done, Jacob,” she said. “But I am glad that you care enough to make the offer.”

  “How do you know that you love this man?” he asked suddenly in an urgent whisper.

  She turned startled eyes to his face. “I feel it in my bones that he is right for me,” she said. “Thoughts of him are what have kept me sane since Mary Anne betrayed me. I believe his words. I know it makes no sense, but surely my heart would not deceive me?”

  “I cannot understand how Father can be so narrow-minded,” Jacob said bitterly. “To be sure, there are those among the peerage who are snobbish and do not care for their neighbours, but that is true for the gentry as well.”

  “Do not be angry with Papa, Jacob.” Amy advised him.

  “At least, not about his beliefs. He is doing his best to keep us protected. Some children have never even had a father, never mind one who provides for and supports his children, despite the odds.”

  “You are too kind, sister,” her little brother said. “I would not be so forgiving.”

  That comment brought a smile of acknowledgment to her face. “Of course, we all know that.”

  The next day, Amy noticed Jacob talking briefly with Mr Hayward, and she wondered what he could possibly be saying to the man. After he rode away, she emerged from her hiding place and followed Jacob back into the tent. Their father had gone to the next town for more supplies, and Jacob was in charge of watching her.

  “What was all that about?” she asked.

  “He wanted to know how we all were faring,” Jacob said, “although if you ask me, I think he really wanted to know how you are. So I told him.”

  “Oh, Jacob, what on Earth did you tell him?” Amy’s heart fluttered wildly.

  “Only the truth,” he retorted. “That you are pining away for the duke, and that you have been forbidden to speak to or communicate with him.”

  ‘You are a dear, little brother,” she told him, hugging him gently, “but I don’t want you getting into more trouble with Papa on my behalf.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, grinning. “I have broad shoulders. I will be fine.”

  On Friday morning, Amy woke before everyone else in the house aside from the farmer. Not wanting to disturb her sister, who was most grumpy in the mornings, she took her book down to the parlour and sat quietly reading away the time until the farmer’s wife awoke. She could see her father and brothers through the open window as they moved about, exercising the horses. When Mrs Smith came down to make breakfast, Amy helped her lay the table. She wanted eggs, so Amy collected the few the hens had laid and took them in. By the time the Williams men came over to the farmhouse, everyone was awake, and breakfast was served.

  Today being the first market day of the weekend, the boys took the produce into town with the farmer, while the girls helped with the baking. Mrs Smith asked Mary Anne to handle the cleaning of the house, including the washroom, and Amy could see her distaste for the task plainly on her face. However, she went away to do as she was bid, and Amy kneaded dough and cut them into rolls and loaves, all of which she placed in the oven. Then, after clearing away the baking utensils, she decided not to go out till closer to lunch time. Instead, she stayed inside, curled up to near the furnace in the kitchen and read.

  Just as she was reading her most favourite passage, Jacob appeared in
the kitchen with something in his hand.

  “You’re looking pretty pleased with yourself,” she commented with a smile. “Which means you’re up to something.”

  Jacob chuckled and pulled his hand from behind his back. “I’ve brought you something to put that smile permanently back on your face,” he said, and held up the envelope.

  Tears threatened, but Amy valiantly ignored them, and hugged her brother tightly before letting go and taking the gift. “Thank you, Jacob,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Ripping it open impatiently, she almost missed the beautiful jewel that was nestled between the folds of the missive.

  My dearest heart,

  It pains me to hear of your suffering on our behalf. It is clear to me that you will never receive the blessing of your father on our union, and I find myself too impatient to continue to wait for that outcome. It seems that there is only one option left to us. I wish to marry you. There is no more permanent position that a man can offer to the woman he loves than that of wife. Will you marry me, my love, and be my wife? If you consent, we will have to elope, as you may not marry without your father’s consent.

  If I find you by the stream ready to ride with me this night, I will take that as your consent. I hope to see you there, my dearest love.

  Ever yours, Percy.

  Amy’s hands trembled, as did her lips and limbs. She turned away from her brother to get herself back under control, and when she was certain that she could speak without trembling, she turned back to face him.

  “You have done me a great service, Jacob. I cannot thank you enough.” She hugged him again, and then slipped upstairs to hide the letter with the others in the new hiding place that Mary Anne would never find. Back in the kitchen, she said, “Now let us away to the tent. We must hurry so as not to be late.”