“Nervous? You?” Lydia asked bewildered. “What do you have to be nervous about? You’ve done this hundred - probably thousands - of times before!”
The Marquess had the good grace to blush, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Your estimation of my previous endeavours is just a little off the mark, my love,” he said with a rueful smile. “And you are quite wrong, for I’m just as new to this as you. You see, I’ve never actually done this with a woman that I love, and as such, I’m as at sea as you are.”
“You are?” Lydia looked at him quizzically.
“Well,” Gabe grinned, “I suppose I’ve a better grasp of the basics than you, but I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly enough.”
Before she could admonish him for teasing, the Marquess caught her lips in a searing kiss, and despite her inexperience Lydia found herself kissing him back. Everything was forgotten, as Gabe led her toward the bed - her fear, her nerves, and even the poor chamber-maid with the bathwater, who had the good sense to leave the newlyweds alone when they did not answer her knocking. Nothing mattered to the couple as they sealed their union, nothing bar the love between them, which seemed to Lydia to have become even greater after the act was finished.
“How was it?” Gabe asked later, as they lay in bed, his fingers stroking her hair, which was fanned out on the pillow they shared.
Lydia pretended to think very deeply on his question, her eyes alight with mischievousness.
“Well,” she said seriously, “I think I’ve mastered the basics, my lord, and am ready for a more advanced lesson.”
“Oh, you are?” Gabe smiled rakishly, rolling over to trap her beneath him, his hard, muscular arms pinning her own to the bed. “Then you’d best pay attention Lady Sutherland, or I fear I’ll have to repeat the lesson over and over until I deem you accomplished.”
“Have I ever told you what a poor student I am?” Lydia asked with a grin, but her husband did not reply, he merely kissed her and set about giving her a more advanced lesson in love.
Chapter Twenty-One
On their return trip, the newly-weds had stopped for a night at a coaching-inn on the outskirts of London, where Gabe had sent a messenger on to inform his sister, his staff, and the Dowager Duchess, to expect them in St. James’ Square the next day. As such, when Gabe enthusiastically carried Lydia over the threshold of his London seat, ignoring her squeals of protest, there was quite the audience gathered in the double-height entrance hall to witness their home-coming.
“Aunt Tibbs,” Lydia cried with delight as Gabe set her down, running toward her aunt who had watched the proceedings with misty eyes.
“Oh, Lydia,” the Dowager Duchess sobbed, as she wrapped her arms around her nice, in a bone crushing hug. “How I missed you, and how worried I was when you first disappeared.”
“Can you forgive me?” Lydia whispered into Tibby’s ear as they embraced. “I know that by marrying in Gretna Green, we have probably caused an awful scandal.”
“Oh, pish-posh,” the Duchess waved away Lydia’s concerns. “You’re a Marchioness now, no one can reproach you for your actions. And it is I who should be asking for forgiveness, Liddy, for I foisted that awful Italian upon you, when it was clear that you had no interest in him.”
“Well he was rather handsome,” Lydia consoled, “Even if he was deviously insane.”
“There’s no fool, like an old fool trying to rewrite her youth,” Tibby said, with a touch of melancholy, and her eyes misted once more as Lydia hugged her again.
Gabe caught Lydia’s hand, and drew her toward his sister, who was standing nervously beside Bernard and a young teenage lad, that Gabe presumed was the infamous Edward.
“Welcome to the family, my dear,” Caroline said, drawing Lydia into a warm embrace. Introductions were made, and Gabe gave young Edward a hearty slap on the back, which nearly sent the poor lad sprawling on the chequered marble floor.
“Our family has doubled in size in just a few days,” he said happily, and Caroline smiled widely and contentedly at this pronouncement, in a way her brother had never seen.
“Is she trying to fatten you up yet?” Gabe asked the nervous young boy, with a wink.
“Honestly Gabe,” Caroline patted her hair, before turning her attentions to young Edward’s shoulders and dusting away imaginary specks of dust. “Don’t say things like that to him, or he’ll think me like the witch in Hansel and Gretel. Though it has been hours since breakfast, and you do look a bit peckish Edward dear. Shall we have lunch?”
The mismatched group made their way into the dining room, where the smashed plates had been replaced, and a buffet of cold meats and salads laid out. Toasts were raised to the newly-weds, which had to be repeated when the Duke of Blackmore arrived with his Duchess. Then repeated again, when Sebastian and Aurelia called.
“Blackmore,” Gabe smacked the imposing Duke on the shoulder, an act that was akin to hitting a boulder, so dense were his muscles. “We’re family now. What do you make of that?”
To the Duke’s credit, he only looked mildly horrified by this statement of fact, and his wife made up for his lack of enthusiasm by hugging the Marquess and Lydia tightly, and professing her delight at their union.
“And what of Amberford?” Gabe asked suddenly, when the toasts and the gaiety had died down.
“Well,” Bernard gave his brother in law a wink, “Your idea of baiting him with false leads on Zitelli was quite a masterstroke Gabriel.”
Gabe avoided Sebastian’s eyes, as his friend discreetly turned an amused laugh at this notion, into a discreet cough.
“Yes,” Blackmore spoke, lifting his glass in a toast to the Marquess. “Inspired work Sutherland, well done.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Gabriel demurred, in a way which made him appear most modest, and he fought valiantly with a blush that was creeping up his neck.
“I’m so lucky to have such a wise and clever husband,” Lydia whispered in his ear, a wicked smile upon her face.
“That you are,” Gabe replied, clinking his glass with hers. “Though I, of course, am infinitely luckier to have a wife who is cleverer and wiser than I could ever hope to be. And more loyal than I deserve…”
“Point taken,” Lydia murmured, smiling, and toasted her husband’s supposed cleverness with the rest of the group.
“I just need to freshen my nose,” she said, after a few minutes had passed. In truth, she just needed a minute to herself, for marriage - though lovely - had not changed the fact that she was naturally an introvert and crowds of people left her tired. Lydia slipped into the vast entrance hall, thinking to find a powder-room of some sort and instead she found a rather miserable looking Marguerite, sitting on a low bench to the right of the front door, a suitcase at her feet.
“Marguerite!”
Lydia had never squealed before in her life, and she had also never been so happy to see her lady’s maid. The French girl’s eyes, however, welled at the sight of her mistress.
“Oh Marguerite,” Lydia cried, coming to sit on the bench beside her, and taking her hand in her own. “Whatever’s the matter?”
“Oh mademoiselle,” Marguerite sighed heavily. “I came to say goodbye, for now you are a Marchioness, you will no longer want me as your lady in waiting.”
“Why,” Lydia stammered, “That’s ridiculous. Of course, I still want you to work for me Marguerite.”
The beautiful girl gave a heavy sigh, and looked away into the distance.
“I would love to stay,” she responded, her eyes watching Lydia mischievously. “But now that you are married to a Marquess, your appearance will need so much more attention. Eet is too much for just one person to do alone.”
“Oh,” Lydia struggled to keep her composure and quell the giggle that was rising in her chest. The lady’s maid had promised to follow her to the back-of-beyond, when the back-of-beyond seemed like less work, but now that she was a Marchioness, the going appeared to have become too tough for poor Margue
rite.
“We could always arrange for some help for you,” Lydia suggested mildly, and to her shock the French girl leapt to her feet, clapping her hands enthusiastically.
“Oh, oui mademoiselle!” Marguerite said with glee, “I ‘ave always wanted a maid of my very own.”
“Oh,” Lydia responded, wondering if that was actually what she had suggested, but not wishing to upset Marguerite any further, she let the matter lie. “Perhaps we shall get you a French girl, to talk with and assist you with your tasks?”
“Oh, non.”
Marguerite sat down abruptly, and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in her mistress’ ear.
“I know you could not fathom it, Lady Sutherland,” she said very seriously, “But unlike me, some French maids can be, as you English say, bone-idle with laziness.”
“No,” Lydia adopted a look of mock horror, that went completely over Marguerite’s pretty head.
“Oui,” the girl shook her blond curls sadly, then perked up. “But never fear, I shall find a girl who will do ze work of two maids!”
“I’m sure she will,” Lydia said dryly, thinking that whoever this poor maid was, she would end up doing Marguerite’s chores as well as her own. The French girl grabbed her bag, now resolute on staying with her mistress, and went in search of the housekeeper to arrange a room for her to sleep in. Marguerite had officially moved into Sutherland House.
“Are you, all right?” Gabe asked, as Lydia returned to the dining room and slipped into her seat beside him. “You were gone rather a long time.”
“I was just attending to my household duties,” Lydia replied cryptically, whilst wondering what on earth her new husband would think of her if he discovered her lady’s maid had her own lady’s maid. She was sure he’d think her quite the spendthrift - but then she did have rather a lot of money to spend.
“Wonderful, I never realized you were so domesticated,” Gabe whispered, a smile tugging at his lips.
“I’m not really,” Lydia confided, “But I’m sure with your best efforts, my Lord, you might make a good stab at taming me.”
Gabe’s eyebrows shot up to heaven at the challenge, and if they weren’t surrounded by family and friends, Lydia was certain that he would have thrown her down on the table and made a very valiant attempt at taming her, right there and then atop the fine linen.
“I fear we’re going to be nauseatingly happy and smug for years to come,” Gabe said solemnly.
“I fear you’re very, very right on that account, my Lord,” Lydia replied with a smile, pinching herself at the thought that this beautiful man was now her husband.
“Did I tell you I own ten thousand acres in County Sligo?” Gabe added as a casual aside, tossing a peeled grape into his mouth.
“You did not,” Lydia whispered, her heart skipping a beat.
“So, we can be nauseatingly smug in Ireland, if that’s what you desire?”
“My home is where ever you are Gabe,” she said softly, threading her fingers through his. “Though Ireland might be nice for a holiday…”
Epilogue
One Year Later…
Although it had past eleven o’clock, there were still vestiges of the setting sun streaking the night’s sky. It was like watching a living watercolour as red and orange ran into the dark purple of the gathering night. The sun set in the west, Lydia reasoned, as she marvelled at the struggle they dying light was giving, and there was nowhere more westerly than Connemara.
Gabe lay sprawled on the huge four-poster bed in the bedroom, his face boyish and innocent as he lay dreaming. Lydia glanced at the floor, where the discarded footman’s uniform lay, and thought wryly that innocent was perhaps the wrong word to use to describe her insatiable husband. They had not been intimate since the birth of their son, and Gabe’s dressing up as footman - as he had promised he would one day do - was his way of telling her that he wanted back in her bed. He was right, she mused afterward, that was where he belonged. Sleep had evaded her after their lovemaking, and after checking on the baby, who slumbered peacefully in the nursery just off their own room, she had gone to the window to watch the last of the sunset.
It had taken longer than she would have liked to reach her childhood home. Her pregnancy with Finn had been most difficult, and she had not been able to travel, but now she was blessed with a babe as sweet as the day was long, and the struggle was quite forgotten.
Her father had seemed smaller than she remembered, when she saw him for the first time after five years apart, but hours spent with his grandson - who he swore was a prodigy - seemed to restore the Earl to the man he had been, even before her mother and sisters had died.
“Do you know, young man,” Lydia had overheard Lord Beaufort saying congenially to Finn as he gurgled in his bassinet. “Our family shrank considerably, many years ago, and I thought that was the end of us. But here you are, you’ve proved me wrong, and I have never been happier to have one of my theories discredited.”
Lydia had smiled to hear him speak so hopefully, and Gabriel was wonderful with him. He happily went hunting and fishing with his father in law, and every time they returned from one of their trips, her father was full of wonder at the things that had changed in London in his absence.
“You’ll have to come visit, to see for yourself,” Gabe suggested over a dinner where they discussed the advent of gas-lighting and railroads.
“Yes, perhaps,” the Earl looked dubious.
“And you shall have to come see Finn,” Lydia added, sensing his reticence. “For he shall miss you terribly when we leave.”
It was decided there and then; the Earl would winter in England and spend his summers in Connemara.
“For I should hate to upset Finn,” he said solemnly.
Lydia sensed that Gabriel was holding back laughter at her father’s eccentric idea that a three-month-old babe would even notice his absence, but she quelled his mirth with a stern look. Her father was not mad, she knew that now that she had a child of her own. To have lost two children in one night was enough to kill a man, or at least render him lost to the world for decades, like her poor father. Finn had brought new life to their family, and her father, if treated with kid gloves, might be encouraged to grasp hold of that life, and live the remainder of his years with some semblance of happiness.
Lydia had thought often of her mother and her sisters, when she first returned, and as she had walked through the grounds with the baby she had pointed out landmarks from her childhood with Lila and Lucy, even though she knew he could not understand what she was saying. She wanted to share something with her son, of the two small girls who had shared her childhood and who had haunted her dreams for so long. But their memories had faded somewhat, with all the years that had passed, and Lydia thought it was time enough to leave her two sisters in peace. When she dreamed of them now, they were happy, they no longer haunted her or begged her to join them.
The sun had set completely now, and the clear night sky was like a window into a heaven filled with glittering stars. A movement at the edge of the woods caught her eye, and Lydia blinked. It was a wolf, she was sure of it. The animal stopped just before it reached the shadows thrown down by the trees, and looked straight up at the window where Lydia stood.
Come with me, she could almost imagine it saying, and the old Lydia would have gladly followed, for the old Lydia had been lost completely.
And now I am found, she thought happily, as she glanced lovingly at her snoring husband and crept past him to the nursery to where her baby slept.
Author's Note
When the first settlers from Britain arrived to Ireland in the 1600s, as part of the Cromwelliam Plantation, they found the heavily forested island filled with wolves. They were horrified, for wolves had been extinct in England since the fifteenth century, and remained only in the remotest highlands in Scotland. They found so many wolves on the isle of Ireland, that in 1653 the Cromwellian Government offered the enormous sum of £5 for the death of a
male wolf and £6 for a female. This incentive, coupled with the deforestation of the island, meant that the numbers of wolves in Ireland soon dwindled.
The last authenticated record of a wolf in Ireland came in 1786, when a sheep farmer, who lost many of his stock to the animal, hunted it down and killed it, on Mount Leinster in Co. Carlow.
Proposing to a Duke
Book One in the Regency Black Hearts Series:
Proposing to a Duke
At the age of five and twenty, confirmed spinster Isabella Peregrine is given an unexpected ultimatum by her new step-mother: find a husband or I'll find one for you.
Thoroughly in a tizz, Isabella proposes a marriage of convenience to the nearest male to her - who just so happens to be the brooding, intimidating Duke of Blackmore. When he rebuffs her clumsy advances, Isabella leaves for London, determined to find the man of her dreams and soothe her bruised ego.
Michael Linfield, Duke of Blackmore is a legendary, fearsome, war hero; famous for reducing debutantes and their mothers to floods of tears with just one glance. The brooding, giant of a man is hiding a secret however - a debilitating stammer that has haunted him since childhood. When the delightful Miss Peregrine proposes a marriage of convenience to him - with no benefits - Michael is so startled that his stammer reappears and all he can manage to reply is "N-n-no".
When news of Isabella's success in London soon reaches his ears, Michael is determined to go to town and win her as his own, if only she'll give him a second chance at love.
This sweet and clean Regency Romance is a stand alone novel with a guaranteed HEA.
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