by Shana Galen
Thérèse laughed. “Her partner looks harmless enough.” She gave him her hand and allowed herself to be led to the dance floor. She danced with him twice more as well as several members of the guild, and at the end of the night her feet hurt, and she was happily exhausted.
Bethanie recounted every moment of the ball on the ride home in the carriage, and before they stopped at the Okoro house, Charlotte put a hand on Thérèse’s arm. “I do hope you will join us for dinner soon. Chibale says I make the best currant buns in London.”
“I would love to try them,” she said. “I adore currant buns.”
“Tomorrow evening then?” Charlotte asked.
“Oui. Merci beaucoup.”
When they were alone again, Chibale leaned forward. “That was kind of you, but I’ll make your excuses.”
She tapped his arm with the tip of her fan. “You’ll do no such thing. You just want the currant buns all to yourself.”
He tilted his head. “I thought you didn’t want to go to dinner with my family.”
She flicked her fan open and waved it in front of her face. “That was before.”
“Before?” he asked as the carriage sped across London toward her flat.
“Before I realized I’m in love with you,” she said. Her fan was snatched out of her hand as Chibale grasped her wrists and pulled her to him. He looked her directly in the eyes, his own eager and hopeful.
“Did you just say you love me?”
“You should see a doctor about your hearing.”
“Say it again, Thérèse.”
“I love you, Chibale.”
He kissed her, the kind of kiss that melted all of her reservations away and made her want to do all sorts of wicked things to him. She barely noticed when the carriage stopped, but he opened the door, gathered her in his arms, and carried her up the stairs and to her door. She was laughing by the time he set her down so she could retrieve the key from her reticule. “You should save some energy for dessert, mon chéri.”
“I have stamina to spare,” he said.
“I’m counting on that.” She opened the door, and they tumbled inside.
A long time later, he looked down at her and spread her hair out on the silk pillow. She smiled lazily up at him. “You know what I want to ask now,” he said.
“Another marriage proposal.” She pretended to yawn, but inside her heart was pounding.
“Should I ask again?”
“Definitely. And one of these days I promise to say yes.”
Twenty-Two
Earlier that day near Hungerford, Modesty had been reading in the library at Battle’s Peak when the butler entered and cleared his throat. She looked about and realized she was the only one in the room. “Are you looking for me?”
“You have a visitor, miss.”
She sat straighter. “I have a visitor?”
“Shall I show him in, miss?”
Modesty didn’t know how to answer, but the butler was already retreating. He returned a moment later with Samuel Brown. Samuel held his hat in his hands, his windswept brown hair falling over his forehead.
Modesty stood. “Mr. Brown. This is...unexpected.”
“I’m so sorry to intrude.” He glanced back at the butler, clearly uncomfortable.
“You’re not intruding. Please, sit down.”
The butler closed the door, and Mr. Brown sat on the edge of one of the straight-backed library chairs. He didn’t speak right away, and Modesty had to curb her own desire to fill the silence. Her father had always told her listening was more important than speaking. On that point, she agreed.
Finally, her half-brother spoke. “I heard Mr. Payne won his fight.”
“He did.” She smiled. “Did you wish to speak to him? He’s not here, I’m afraid.” He had ridden to see about obtaining a special license so they could marry. He’d left very early this morning, kissing her gently before climbing out of her bed. “I don’t expect him to return until tomorrow.”
“No, I came to see you, actually. I was surprised you were still in the country. I thought you would return to Town immediately.”
“That is the plan upon Mr. Payne’s return.” Modesty felt the need to do something with her hands, besides clutch the book she held. “Should I ring for tea?”
“No. I wouldn’t want to trouble anyone. Miss Brown—”
“We are family. You should call me Modesty. May I call you Samuel?”
“Of course. Modesty, I’m here on behalf of our father.”
Modesty gripped the book tighter, her hands beginning to ache. She looked down at her white-knuckles and tried to relax her fingers.
“He regrets the way you parted.”
“Is that what he regrets?” she said archly. Immediately, she wished she could take the words back. “I’m sorry. None of this is your fault.”
He passed his hat from one hand to another. “I feel as though it is, in part. I knew about you, and there were times I thought of going to London and confronting him and meeting you. I never did so.”
Modesty gave him a sad smile. “The threat of his disapproval is a powerful deterrent.”
He nodded. “Yes. You understand.” He set his hat on his knee. “But I think the threat of your disapproval was also a powerful force in his life. When you left him yesterday, he sank into a melancholy I have never seen before. I heard him speaking with my mother when he thought we were asleep. He fears he has lost you forever. He told my mother that would be the biggest regret of his life. He loves you, Miss Brown.”
Modesty pulled the book into her belly, clutching it tightly. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t feel as though I have the right to ask anything of you, but if you could find it in your heart to forgive him, I know he would like to see you again. I think we would all like to see you again. We’d like to be part of your life.”
Modesty shook her head, and Mr. Brown rose, his hands outstretched. “Don’t feel as though you need to give me an answer. I came to tell you how we felt. I hope one day to see you again.”
Modesty stood. “I hope so too,” she said, extending her hand. He took it, squeezed it, and then was gone. Modesty sat again and opened her book, but she couldn’t read a word.
THE NEXT DAY MR. STERLING returned to London. Before he set off, he delivered Modesty to a small tenant farm a few miles from Battle’s Peak. Modesty wished him safe travels and started up the walk.
Her legs felt wobbly, and her heart was in her throat. She was not at all certain this was the right decision, but she’d thought and prayed about it all last night, and this morning she’d been resolute in her desire to see her father.
The door opened and the same boy and girl who had greeted her last time stood in the doorway again. “Miss Brown!” they cried.
Modesty couldn’t help but smile at a greeting like that. “Call me Modesty,” she said, pausing at the entrance to the cottage. “And what are your names?”
“Grace,” said the girl.
“John,” said the boy.
“Grace, John, how lovely to see you again. Is your mother here?”
“I’m here,” said Mrs. Smith—Brown, coming into view behind the children. Modesty gave her a formal nod.
“I’ve come to see my father, if that’s agreeable to you.”
“Of course. Come in.”
Modesty entered, her back stiff and straight in the presence of her father’s mistress. She might not blame the children, but she did not know when or if she would ever be comfortable around her father’s second wife. Mrs. Brown led her to her father’s bed. He was seated much as before, but this time, he sat forward, having heard her arrival and anticipating speaking with her.
As before, Modesty entered the makeshift chamber, and Mrs. Brown pulled the curtain closed. Modesty stood awkwardly before him. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Better,” he said. “Stronger every day.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I will be returning to Lon
don soon. I imagine you intend to stay here.”
“I think that’s best,” he said. After a long pause, he added, “Where will you live? I could write the Plineys.”
Modesty shook her head. “I’m to be married.”
The jolt that went through him at this news was visible. She could see his face tighten, see him resist the urge to argue with her. After all, he hadn’t been consulted about a marriage. Finally, he took a deep breath. “And who is the lucky man?”
“He’s a pugilist, Mr. Rowden Payne.”
Her father’s eyes grew wide, and she raised a brow, waiting for him to express an objection. An objection he would make while lying in his mistress’s bed.
“I wish you every happiness,” he said through gritted teeth. “Is it possible for me to meet him before you wed?”
At his response, his acceptance, a heavy weight seemed lifted off her shoulders. She sank into a chair beside the bed. “He wanted to come and ask for your blessing. He has gone to fetch a special license. I can send him when he returns.”
The minister frowned. “He has the influence to obtain a special license?”
“His father is a duke.” The rest of the story was Rowden’s to tell, if he ever chose to reveal it.
“Modesty,” her father began, and she tensed at the way he looked at her. As much as she wanted to hear what he would say next, she dreaded it too. “I am sorry for my actions. I never wanted to lie to you. I knew it was wrong. I knew my relationship with Fanny was wrong, while your mother was alive. Sometimes love makes us do things we wouldn’t normally do. It’s not an excuse, I know, and I ask for your forgiveness.”
Modesty looked at him for a long time. Sometimes love makes us do things we wouldn’t normally do. That statement resonated with her more than any other her father had ever made. She had certainly done things she had never expected for love. “I forgive you,” she said.
Her father’s face broke into such a huge smile that she wished she had forgiven him earlier. His joy was undeniable. “If you will allow it,” he said, “I’d like to be the one to perform the marriage ceremony.”
Modesty nodded, feeling tears prick her eyes. “I will have to speak to Rowden. If he agrees, we would still need to postpone for just a little while.”
“Why is that?” her father asked.
“I would like my Aunt Augusta to attend.”
Her father blinked. “Your mother’s sister?”
“Yes. I’d like to meet her. I’d like to write to her and ask her to come to the wedding.”
Her father looked away. “She never approved of me, you know. She said your mother should marry someone of her own class. Someone deserving of her. I suppose I proved her correct.” He looked back up at her. “But she will want to see you. I regret that I tried to keep her away from your mother and you. It’s past time, you came to know her and your mother’s family.”
Modesty took his hand. “It’s past time I came to know your family too.”
He nodded. “I’d like that.”
“So would I.”
THE WEDDING WAS HELD a fortnight later in the chapel at Battle’s Peak. Lord Nicholas did not attend, but his sister Lady Florentia was thrilled to have a reason to open the house to visitors. The ceremony was small, but the wedding breakfast was crowded and raucous. Mostyn and Lady Lorraine had not come from London, but Lady Lorraine had written to say she was quite recovered and directing all about her from a comfortable chair. Her husband had taken to spending more time with her—she lovingly called him her jailer—and Rowden had told Modesty Mostyn was pleased Rowden had agreed to partner with him at the boxing studio. With the new baby coming, he could use the help.
Mr. Okoro and Madame Renauld attended. They were not yet engaged, but Modesty did not think it would be long. Madame Renauld had sent a wedding dress as a gift, and Modesty adored the pretty sprigged muslin in pale green and blue.
Mr. Sterling had also attended, bringing some of Rowden’s other comrades in arms and their wives. Modesty was trying to learn all of their names, but she feared she’d have to be reminded when she next saw them.
Even Trogdon was there. He was supposed to be helping the other footmen serve champagne and tea, but he had mysteriously injured his elbow this morning and now simply stood by a door looking distinguished.
Most importantly to her, her family was there. Her Aunt Augusta had come, and Modesty had spent a great deal of time with her the night before. Her aunt had told her stories of her mother and promised to spend a great deal of time with Modesty when they both returned to London. Her half-siblings and her father and his wife were also in attendance. Her father had tears in his eyes when he performed the marriage ceremony. Modesty thought she might have seen the sheen of tears in Rowden’s eyes as well. But now he was all smiles and laughter as he spoke to his friends and accepted congratulations. While his attention was on the others, Modesty knew his thoughts were always on her. He kept a hand on her back or her arm or her shoulder. He seemed to always be touching her, keeping her close by him. Modesty didn’t mind. She wanted to be close to him now and forever.
AFTER A LIGHT SUPPER with Lady Florentia, Rowden led Modesty to their bedchamber. Lady Florentia had made an early exit easy for them, saying they must be so tired by the events of the day that they would certainly want to retire early.
Rowden hadn’t argued. He closed the door behind Modesty, locked it, and took her in his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed.
“Happy?” he asked.
“Perfectly.”
He looked down at her, amazed at the changes in her. Gone was the little figure in black with the pale face and the large, hollow eyes. In her place stood a beautiful woman in a lovely green and blue dress that seemed to shift the color of her hazel eyes every time she looked at him. Her cheeks were rosy, and her auburn hair no longer hid under a cap.
But the biggest change, he thought, was in himself. Before his life had been all about the next mill, the next big purse to be won. Now he didn’t care if he ever fought again. That might be in part because his jaw still hurt where the German had punched him weeks ago. But mostly it was because he didn’t need the roar of the crowds and the thrill of the fight to block out the loneliness and pain. He would always love Mary. He would always mourn the loss of her and his child.
But there was enough room in his heart for Modesty, and perhaps, one day, children with her. The light and the dark could exist together, and he could allow himself to live in the light.
“I hope you’re not too disappointed we must wait for our honeymoon.”
She tilted her head. “I told you I didn’t mind. The weather is too cold to travel at present anyway. Besides, Mr. Mostyn needs you. You are the co-owner of a boxing studio now. You have an obligation to your business.”
“My mother will swoon with shame when she hears.”
“Who cares?” Modesty said lightly. “I am proud of you. Your friends are proud of you. And you have a new family now.”
“Your family?”
“Yes.” She led him to the bed and began to strip off his coat. “My aunt is thrilled we will be in London and able to spend time with her.”
He angled his body so she might start on the buttons of his waistcoat. “And your father wants you to visit him every other week.”
“Yes, well...” She concentrated on maneuvering the waistcoat from his shoulders. She took his hands to unfasten his cuff links.
“You may have forgiven him, Modesty, but that doesn’t mean you have to forget. No one would blame you for taking time to rebuild your relationship.”
She looked up at him as she tugged at his neckcloth. “He will blame me.”
“Let him.” Rowden plucked a pin from her hair and then another until it began to fall from its confines. “You’re a married woman now. Your husband needs you.”
“You don’t need anyone, Rowden Payne,” she said unfastening the buttons at his neck.
“Not true, my love. I de
sperately, desperately need you.” He bent to kiss her as she tugged the tails from his shirt out of his breeches and slid her hands underneath to touch his bare skin.
“And I need you,” she whispered.
He pulled the shirt over his head and then pulled her hard against his bare chest.
“You have me now, Modesty Payne. Like it or not, I’m yours forever.”
She put her hands on his face and looked up at him adoringly. “There’s nothing I want more...” She smiled shyly. “Except perhaps for you to remove the rest of your clothing.”
He raised a brow, pretending to be scandalized. “Mrs. Payne, what will you do when I strip down?” He reached for the fall of his trousers, but she covered his hand and unfastened it herself, causing him to inhale in sharp surprise.
“Let’s find out.”
About Shana Galen
Shana Galen is three-time Rita award nominee and the bestselling author of passionate Regency romps. Kirkus said of her books: “The road to happily-ever-after is intense, conflicted, suspenseful and fun.” RT Bookreviews described her writing as “lighthearted yet poignant, humorous yet touching.” She taught English at the middle and high school level for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston's inner city. Now she writes full time, surrounded by three cats and one spoiled dog. She's happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.
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Want more Rowden? Keep reading for an excerpt from Sweet Rogue of Mine, Nash’s story, on sale now!
One
SOMEONE WAS IN THE house. Nash Pope might be half asleep and half drunk, but he knew when someone was in his house. He was a trained sharpshooter, and his body was attuned to even the most subtle changes in atmosphere. Just a few minutes before, the air in Wentmore had been stale and still, the only sounds were of mice scampering in the attic and the creak and groan of the ancient timber beams and floorboards settling.