by Joyce Alec
Well aware that Lord Morton would be easily able to stain Lady Ellen’s reputation if he said anything more, George stepped forward, letting go of Lady Ellen’s hand.
“Lord Morton,” he said, firmly and loud enough for everyone else to hear. “Let me be perfectly clear. I am more than delighted with my forthcoming marriage to Lady Ellen. She is the perfect lady and will make me the proudest man in all of London on the day she takes my name. I was once as you describe, but it has been her very presence that has brought about this change in me. I will never turn back to my old ways, I promise you. Lady Ellen has stolen my heart, and I consider myself more than blessed to call her my betrothed and—one day—my wife. It is only unfortunate that you do not understand matters of the heart, for then you would be less willing to make a fool of yourself.”
The murmurs all around him told George that his words had made quite an impact on the crowd, but he did not look away from Lord Morton. He prayed silently that the man would choose to remain silent, given that it would be in his own best interests to do so, but—unfortunately—it appeared that Lord Morton was not yet finished.
“I know what I saw,” Lord Morton hissed. “It was she who pressed her attentions on you, she who was desperate for you to go to her. I know that—”
George did not hesitate but grasped Lord Morton’s collar and hauled him up, cutting off his speech.
“That is quite enough, Morton!” he exclaimed, as the gasps of the audience met his ears. “I have already warned you about speaking falsehoods about Lady Ellen, and I will endure them no more. Name your seconds. We duel this very night. I shall see you in the gardens in half an hour. I trust you brought your blade with you.”
Letting go of Lord Morton, George kept his gaze trained on him, as he saw Lord Morton’s face pale. Evidently the man had not expected him to follow through with his threat, but George had every intention of keeping Lady Ellen’s honor intact.
“It is in my carriage,” Lord Morton muttered, as the silence in the room grew in anticipation.
“Half an hour,” George replied firmly, before turning on his heel and walking away from Lord Morton with Lady Ellen on his arm.
“George,” she whispered frantically, clinging to him. “You cannot do this.”
“I must, my dear,” he replied, patting her hand, as they walked up the staircase together and ignoring the whispers that followed them. “I will not have your reputation damaged in any way, and Lord Morton knows that. I gave him ample warning, and it was his choice to ignore that. It shall be swords, and I shall win, never fear. I know Lord Morton well, and his skill in that area is severely lacking.”
Lady Ellen looked up at him, as they came to the balcony, standing quietly together for a few moments. George knew that Ellen’s parents would soon come in search of her, and he did not want to hide her away from them. Yet, he found himself needing to stay away from the crowd below.
“I shall have to fetch my sword,” George murmured, as she took her hand from his arm. “You need not fear for me, Lady Ellen. I will not lose, and I certainly will not kill him.”
She shook her head, her eyes glassy. “I do not want you to do this, George.”
“I must,” he replied, gently, lifting her chin with one finger. “I cannot allow anyone to put a stain on your reputation.”
Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She swallowed hard once, twice, and then threw her arms around his neck, crushing herself against him.
George held her tightly, hating that she was upset. “I could not allow Lord Morton to continue to speak,” he said softly. “You are more important, more precious to me than any other, Ellen. I will defend you with my very last breath if I have to.”
“I pray it will not come to that,” Ellen whispered, her voice a little muffled. “I would prefer to have a stain on my name than to let you do this.”
A small chuckle escaped from George’s lips. “So, it appears we are both as determined as each other then. Unfortunately, since I have already laid down the challenge, I cannot easily back down. You will simply have to trust me.” He waited until she had lifted her head and looked into his eyes before smiling at her. “Do you think you can do that?”
A single tear splashed onto her cheek, but she nodded, leaning into his palm as he gently wiped the tear away. “I can trust you,” she whispered. “Not because I have to, but because I want to. You are proving yourself to be the fine gentleman you once pretended to be.”
“Lord Hartley? Ellen?”
Making their way quickly toward the staircase, George hoped that he was not about to find himself berated by Ellen’s mother who was quickly ascending toward them.
“I only just heard what happened!” she exclaimed with a broad smile on her face that George could not quite understand. “It now appears that Lord Morton has taken to his heels and run!”
George stared at Lady Fancot, whilst Ellen laughed aloud beside him.
“It is quite true, I assure you!” the countess exclaimed with alacrity, seeing George’s astonished look. “He made a meal of going to get his sword from the confines of his carriage, stepped inside, and then was off. He is now the laughing stock of the ton – and you have no need to defend Ellen’s honor, although it was very fine of you to be so willing to do so.”
“My goodness,” Ellen breathed, her fingers tightening on his own. “And so, the threat has passed and all that remains is to look forward to our wedding day.”
“So it seems,” George replied, awash with relief and surprise. “Who would have thought it?”
The Countess of Fancot smiled, her eyes filled with happiness for them both. “I shall leave you for a few minutes, but I think it best that you return to the ball very soon,” she said, with a slight warning in her voice. “It would be best not to start any new scandals since we have managed to quash the other with such success!”
George laughed and nodded, promising to take Lady Ellen downstairs after a few moments.
“Well,” Ellen murmured, turning to face him. “It seems you have been given a reprieve, my love. And I must say, I am glad of it.”
“As am I,” George agreed softly, aware of the tenderness in her gaze. “Come, my dear. I do not want to waste these few precious moments.”
Aware of the crowd below them, many of which would be watching them he was quite sure, George took Ellen’s hand and led her to a small alcove where they could be entirely hidden. His heart was beating frantically in his chest, as his desire to have her in his arms grew with every passing second.
“Ellen,” he whispered, as she drew close to him. He did not need to say anything more, for there was an understanding in her eyes, a willingness that he had not expected. When he put his arms around her waist, she stood on tiptoe and gently placed one hand on his chest. When George lowered his head, she raised her face to his, their lips meeting in a gentle and tender kiss.
It stole his breath, his heart pounding as she kissed him, feeling her softness underneath his hands. This was the first kiss they had shared where there had been a full understanding and acceptance of one another, and,with it, there came a measure of healing.
His blood began to burn as he angled his head. Ellen wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling herself tightly against him, and George felt his whole being respond to her. There was so much passion within her that George had to pull back.
“My dear,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers. “I confess to you now that my heart is yours. I love you with all my heart and soul.”
The smile on her face made his heart lift. “I confess I feel the same,” she whispered, stepping out from the alcove, her hand in his. “Despite everything, I cannot deny the love growing in my heart. The love for my betrothed, the reformed Lord Hartley.”
THE END
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About the Author
Joyce Alec grew up in Colorado and graduated from college with a degree in business. After developing a passion for books, she spent countless hours reading a variety of genres, but fell in love with sweet, historical romances. Joyce’s passion for reading eventually cultivated into a love for writing, so creating Regency-era tales of love is a dream come true for her.
After planting her roots in Florida, Joyce found another passion: the ocean! In her free time, you can find Joyce at the beach with a big floppy hat, flip-flops, and a vanilla iced coffee in hand. She lives in the Sunshine State with her prince charming and wildly vivacious son.
A Duke to the Rescue
Text Copyright © 2018 by Caroline Johnson, Emily Williams, and Eleanor Swan
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2016-2018
Publisher
Love Light Faith, LLC
400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33302
Bonus Books: Regency Romances
Part I
A Heart’s Rescue
By Caroline Johnson
1
England, 1843
Eliza smiled and held out her dance card, bestowing a gracious smile on the gentleman in front of her. She curtsied, nodded, and smiled some more, grateful that her card was almost full. At least then he could not hound her as he had done these last few days. Letting out a breath, she turned her eyes to the dancing.
"Ah, Miss Williams," a voice said in her ear. "I see your dance card is not quite full. Let me rectify that."
Numb, Eliza allowed the odious man to grasp her wrist before writing his name on her dance card in one of the few remaining spaces. A waltz, no less. He looked at her, all charm and smiles, dropping a short bow before walking away, glancing back at her with a look of triumph.
“Oh no,” Eliza whispered to herself, dropping into a nearby chair. “Oh no…”
“Are you quite all right, my dear?”
It was her mother.
“Yes, Mama, yes of course. I just felt a trifle warm; that is all.” She smiled brightly, attempting to push aside her fear and trepidation. She knew she could not share her burden with Mama.
Her sister danced past her, looking overjoyed at her partner’s attentions, but Eliza knew it was nothing more than flirtation. At least she’s enjoying herself, Eliza thought grimly. Sophie had no idea about the horrific situation Eliza was in – not that she would be of much help.
“Miss Williams, shall we take to the floor?”
It was Lord Stockton. He had signed up for the quadrille, and Eliza was relieved to see him. He has been showing me particular attentions lately, Eliza thought, seeing her mother's beaming smile as she watched Lord Stockton escort Eliza to dance floor.
“Are you quite well, Miss Williams?” Lord Stockton asked as they prepared for the dance. “You seem a little distracted this evening.”
“Do I?” Eliza asked, gazing to the left of his shoulder. "I feel a little fatigued, that is all. I am sure."
Lord Stockton said nothing, dancing the quadrille in silence. Once it was over, he tucked her hand under his arm and escorted her to an empty chair.
“Would you like some ratafia, Miss Williams?” he asked, his face clearly concerned. She smiled in response, trying to ignore the sight of Lord Penn approaching her.
"Indeed, Lord Stockton. Still, I should much rather come with you, if you please?"
Surprised, Lord Stockton did as she requested, allowing her to place her hand on his arm as he escorted her towards the refreshments. However, she was not to make her escape; the firm hand of Lord Penn grasped her arm.
“Miss Williams! Surely you cannot have forgotten that this is to be my dance?”
Lord Stockton, dropping his arm, turned about to face Lord Penn.
“Ah, Lord Penn, how do you do?” He executed a short bow. “Indeed, I would not deny you your chance to dance with Miss Williams, but only on the promise that you will return her to my side once the dance is over!" He chuckled, turning to Eliza. "Miss Williams, I will have refreshments waiting for you upon your return."
Bowing again to Lord Penn, he left her alone. Eliza closed her eyes briefly. Lord Stockton was not to know, but she desperately wished he had not been so much of a gentleman. Had he demanded that she take some refreshment, she might have been spared this dance with Lord Penn.
“Shall we?” he smirked, his eyes triumphant as he took her hand. Resisting the urge to tug it away from him, Eliza allowed him to lead her onto the floor. Odious man! He had chosen the waltz specifically, she was sure. The feelings of his arm around her waist made her shiver as she determined to remain silent, no matter what he said.
“Have you considered my proposal, Eliza?”
Her eyes flashed. She had not given him permission to use her given name. He laughed.
“I can tell that you have. You will see that there is no way out, my dear. You must acquiesce, despite how much it may pain you. You will let me know when I am to take collection of the item? I cannot wait to hold it in my hands!”
Eliza bit her lip, refusing to speak a single word, despite the retort that pressed against her lips. She stared straight ahead, willing the dance to come to an end.
“I will hear from you soon, Eliza. Very soon, I imagine.” He bowed, escorting her from the floor and back to the waiting arm of Stockton, bidding them both farewell. Eliza was not surprised. He had fulfilled his purpose of coming here tonight; there was no need for him to stay.
“Did you enjoy your dance, Miss Williams?” Lord Stockton asked, handing her a glass of ratafia.
“I did,” she replied shortly, wishing she could tell Stockton the truth, but knowing she could not. Lord Penn had made it very clear that she would be forever ruined in the eyes of the ton, should she breathe a word to anyone. She did not know how he would achieve such a thing, but she had no doubt that he would.
Lord Stockton cleared his throat.
“I was wondering, Miss Williams, if I would be permitted to call on you tomorrow? Perhaps a drive through Hyde Park?"
Eliza looked up at him quickly, realizing with a smile that he was blushing slightly. The poor man. She needed to put him out of his misery.
“Of course, Lord Stockton. I should like that very much.”
“I am
glad to hear it,” Lord Stockton replied, a smile crossing his face. “I shall call for you at precisely three o’clock.” Seeing Eliza’s mother approaching, he bowed and took his leave, leaving Eliza feeling both excited and happy, Lord Penn’s words completely forgotten.
"My dear!" her mama called, sailing over and taking both of her hands in her own. "I see Lord Stockton has been at your side on several occasions this evening."
“Yes, Mama,” Eliza replied, in a quieter tone. “He is coming to call on me tomorrow at three o’clock. We are to go driving in Hyde Park.”
“Oh, my dear! How delightful.” her mama gushed. “Lord Stockton is a wonderful man, and I am sure would make an excellent husband. Rich too! You shall be set for life.”
“Slow down a little, Mama,” Eliza laughed, patting her mother’s hand. “It is merely a drive in the park, not a proposal of marriage.” She bore her mother away to the refreshments, trying not to wonder what it would be like to be Lady Stockton.
2
Anthony Russell, the Earl of Bessington, relished the cool mornings. He could be himself, with no one around to spot him, to enquire after his health or to debase themselves in order to earn his favor. Ever since his father's death a few months earlier, Anthony had found his new responsibilities both wearying and frustrating. There was so much to do that he barely had time to go for a ride; there was always a tenant to take care of, accounts to go through, or debts to pay. He had barely known his father, but was not in the least bit surprised to find that he had left mountains of unpaid debts that had almost critically wounded the estate. It had proved to be much harder work than he had anticipated, but it seemed the estate was finally beginning to turn a profit. And, of course, his mother had organized a house party to celebrate, as if they needed to fritter away money on such frivolities.