Three Rogues and Their Ladies - A Regency Trilogy

by G. G. Vandagriff

  She felt as though she had stepped on a fast-moving coach carrying her in the wrong direction. Ever since she had agreed to Lord Harry’s energetic marriage proposal and put her father’s mind at rest, every part of her had refused to believe that this was anything more than a charade that could be ended at any moment.

  Pansy entered Caro’s sitting room, flushed and bright eyed. “Excuse me, my lady, but Miss Caroline has a caller.”

  “It is too early for callers,” Lady Jonathan pronounced.

  “Who is it, Pansy?” Caro asked, anxious for a reprieve from the tedious activity.

  In answer, her little maid came up to Caro and handed her a calling card.

  Caro’s brow furrowed. When she read the name on the card, she became lightheaded and stumbled off the stool into a nearby chair. She sat looking at the card in pure bewilderment.

  “Caro! Get back up on the stool!”

  “No, mama. I certainly will not.” Her eyes flew to Pansy’s. “Is it really he?”

  Pansy bit her bottom lip and nodded her head vigorously. “And ever so handsome he looks, Miss.”

  For a moment, she stood absolutely stunned. Ned is here! He is alive!

  Caro’s hands flew to the strands of her hair that were coming down. Then she began to tear at the fabric swathing her. Pins flew everywhere.

  “Miss!” protested her dressmaker.

  “Caroline!” her mother said.

  “Well, Mama, my duke’s come home,” she said, her heart, roused from months of torpor, beating a tattoo. “He’s come back to me! Help me make myself presentable, for mercy’s sake.”

  Stunned, her mother’s hands flew to her own hair. “Oh, my goodness.”

  Mrs. Feather was unpinning as fast as it was possible.

  “Tell Hitchens to inform the duke that as he was unexpected, it will take me a few moments before I can join him.”

  Standing in her chemise, Caro’s eyes flew over the room. “Mama, you look lovely. Now you must help me. Can you bring the apricot gown I wore to the fête?”

  “But that is a summer gown! It is November!”

  “I shall wear a shawl. The brown and green figured one. Hurry, or the duke will batter down my door before I am dressed!”

  At length, she was clothed and Pansy had returned to set her hair to rights. Caro bit her lips and pinched color into her cheeks, though they were rosy enough already with excitement.

  The fear that she had never acknowledged—that she was mistaken—dissolved, and her spirits soared.

  I must restrain myself. I am not a hottentot!

  She managed to walk down the stairs at a measured pace. However, when she entered the sitting room, she halted, unable to proceed further. Pansy had been right. The Duke did look uncommonly handsome. Whatever activity he had been engaged in had bronzed his skin, and his straight black hair was longer, giving him a dashing, dangerous appearance. He looked directly into her face, his deep blue eyes somehow deeper and bluer than she remembered.

  “Your grace,” she said, curtseying deeply, striving for irony. “How kind of you to call.”

  Her mother was on her heels. “Yes, your grace, it has been a very long time since we have seen you.”

  “I fear I was detained in Ireland,” he said, his face solemn.

  “Ireland!” Caro said, still unable to move.

  “Jack encountered me there not three days since. I understand that you, Miss Braithwaite, were convinced I had lost my memory, while everyone else thought I was dead.” Turning to Caro’s mother, he said, “Now. It is a bit brisk, but nevertheless a lovely fall day. Lady Jonathan, would you allow me to escort your daughter on a walk? We have a deal of things to say to one another.”

  “The garden is sadly depleted except for the chrysanthemums, but perhaps you would care to walk there. May I say, your grace, how very good it is to see you?”

  “And you, Lady Jonathan. You are looking particularly well.”

  He walked forward to Caro. “Have you lost the use of your limbs, Miss Braithwaite?”

  “I think I must have,” she said, her voice hardly above a whisper, her eyes never leaving his.

  He pulled her cold hand through his arm. His hand was rough and callused as he laid it on her own. “I think you will require a pelisse.”

  Her mother rushed out of the room. Caro could hear her telling Pansy, who was evidently hovering in the hall, to fetch the article and the hat and gloves that went with it.

  While these things were being acquired, Caro stood, still rooted to the ground, still gazing at Ned as though afraid he might disappear. He put his other hand up to her face and gently caressed the line of her jaw with the backs of his fingers. He moved a stray curl from her forehead. “Even when I had no memory, you were with me,” he said in a low voice.

  Tears rushed to her eyes. With her free hand, she dashed them away and gave a little sniff. “I cannot think why I am crying.”

  “’Tis the shock. I confess, when Jack recognized me, I, too, wept.”

  At last, Pansy arrived with Caro's outdoor things. The duke assisted her to put them on. His touch was so gentle performing this simple act, it made her tremble. Caro felt as though they were in a bubble by themselves, encapsulated by an unseen intimacy so strong it could have been a castle wall. Hitchens, her mother, and Pansy all stood there, but she was conscious only of Ned.

  “It is a bit like the old days,” she said, whispering once more, “when you kissed my hand at a ball. How could you not see that even with all those people around, I only saw you? The world stopped in those moments.”

  He smiled for the first time, and she saw the old glint of mischief. “I was indeed blind. Now, it is time we went.”

  Hitchens opened the door. Once outside, they turned their steps toward the garden, Caro’s arm through Ned’s. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath of the earthy fall air. His solid bulk beside her felt wonderful, though she had the sense that he was thinner and his muscles were harder.

  “Now, Caro, my love, I understand that you have contracted an unfortunate engagement to that scamp, Kate’s cousin. I could swear you had better sense.”

  “I once had the questionable sense to fall in love with you, your grace.”

  “You cannot be in love with that buck.”

  “Why not? He is most eager for my company. He does not disappear to Oxfordshire or Ireland at the drop of the hat.”

  “But has my love not spoiled you for any other man?”

  They stopped and turned toward one another, holding hands, his words hanging in the air. Suddenly, he gathered her in his arms and pulled her to him with a fierceness that deprived her of breath. For a moment, he just held her to him, his hand cupping her head, as he moved gently from side to side. “Oh, Caro, I swear it was the idea of you that kept me alive. For days, I drifted in the Irish Sea. I was discovered by fishermen. By then I was delirious and knew not my own name. But I never forgot you. You visited me in my dreams. Love for you filled my emptiness even though I did not know your name.”

  “I knew you were not dead. I knew that somewhere you still lived,” she said, her face held close next to the cape of his greatcoat. “Nevertheless, it was even worse than when Johnny died.”

  “May I kiss you?”

  “I only wonder what has taken you so long.”

  His mouth descended on hers and she instantly lost all reticence. His kiss was hot and demanding, and she met it with like hunger. He drew her bottom lip into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue, and she boldly did the same. She wanted all of him, not only his mouth. She tried to span his forearms with her hands, clutching at him desperately. Caro needed to believe this was real, that he was actually here, holding her, loving her.

  He threw her bonnet to the ground, then pulled all the pins from her hair until it cascaded down her back. Running his hands through it, he drew his mouth away from hers, and pulled her to him again. “Do you still think me an idle, useless sort of person? I have spent
the last two months grooming and exercising horses.”

  She tried to imagine it, and found it not difficult. “Did you mind very much?”

  “Surprisingly not. I have always loved horses. I was very lucky not to starve. I am a different man, Caro.” He continued stroking her hair.

  “You were already a different man than I knew. Your orphanage . . . I was stunned. You would have loved seeing those little boys in their play. They enjoyed it thoroughly.”

  He chuckled, and she loved hearing his chest rumble with it.

  “Come,” she said. “Let us go sit in the arbor out of the wind. I want to hear all about Ireland. We have so much to say to one another.”

  “First, my dear, I need to know. Are you going to marry me or that fribble?”

  “It depends on whether you can keep an appointment with Papa.”

  “You must first break your engagement.”

  “Harry is not going to take it well.”

  “Would you prefer that I simply carried you off?”

  “Mama would not like the scandal.”

  “Then you must find a way to make it palatable to Lord Harry.”

  She sighed. “I will. I will marry you. There is nothing I desire more, though the reason escapes me.” She gave him a rousing kiss. “Can it be that I love you, your grace?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  IN WHICH OUR HERO

  CONTEMPLATES HAPPINESS

  “Well, dashed if my daughter doesn’t have a sixth sense,” said Lord Jonathan to the duke at luncheon. “She always said you were alive.”

  “If only you had listened to me, Papa, we would not be facing this difficult situation with Lord Harry.”

  “You think he will be difficult?”

  “Deuced likely to call me out, if I remember him correctly,” Ned said.

  “We must think how to handle this diplomatically,” Lord Jonathan said.

  “I do not see how,” Caro said. “He is likely to cut up rough. He likes his way, Papa.”

  “I believe it is a jolly good thing, I turned up, my dear,” Beverley said. “It is clear he would not have made a comfortable husband.”

  “Should I send for him, do you think?” Caro asked. “Or write him a letter detailing the turn of events?”

  “I think he is bound to turn up here in any case,” the duke said. “You might as well send for him. I will be here to see the thing does not descend into a farce.”

  “You are quite certain you do not have urgent business in Ireland or some such place?” Caro inquired sweetly.

  “I shall be conveniently situated at Jack and Kate’s, I promise.”

  “Shall I see you in my library this afternoon, then, your grace?” Lord Jonathan asked.

  “Yes. Without question.”

  * * *

  “I know that this last incident could hardly be blamed on you, your grace, but the fact is that you have broken my daughter’s heart three times. That is scarcely the way to embark upon a marriage,” Lord Jonathan told him as he faced Ned across his desk.

  He considered this. “You do not think she is convinced of my love?”

  “I think it would be best if you made a rather extraordinary effort to make her feel secure in it. But then, I am her father, and have been her companion in pain. You cannot guess at what she has suffered. And valiantly, too.”

  “I will spend my life trying to make up for her heartbreak. In the first case, I had no idea I meant more to her than any other member of her court. She kept her secret too well. But in the second instance, I was surely thoughtless and unintentionally cruel. I acknowledge that. She punished me well. I beg your forgiveness for the insult I rendered you at that time, as well.”

  “I only ask that you make my daughter happy and never give her a reason to doubt your fidelity. I know that is a lot to ask of a duke.”

  “Not this one. These last two months have changed me forever, I hope. I do not expect to receive any extraordinary consequence or privilege due to my rank. I am only a man like any other, when all is said and done.”

  For a time, they discussed his experiences in Ireland. Ned then discussed his holdings in Cornwall, his orphanages, and some plans he had for the future to help widows who had been deprived of support when their husbands died.

  “I was tormented in Ireland by the thought that the woman I dreamed of and loved was my wife and that she had been left without financial support. It occurred to me then that there are many such in this country.”

  “I can see that you have a social conscience. That is a good thing. You and my Caro will suit well. I must confess, I am feeling better about this marriage of yours.”

  Every time Ned saw Caro, all he wanted to do was to hold her in his arms. Recovering her meant more to him by far than recovering his dukedom. The ardor that she had always aroused in him only increased. In order to restrain it somewhat, he suggested a horseback ride that afternoon.

  “But only if you have written to that scoundrel,” he said.

  “My letter is duly written. It only remains for you to frank it.”

  Once he had done this, she said, “I’ve always longed to be kissed while on horseback.”

  It proved to be an exhilarating experience for both of them. They stopped their horses at the crest of the Braithwaite property. A mist made tiny crystals on Caro’s eyelashes and in her hair.

  Once he had finished kissing her as thoroughly as possible while seated on horseback, he said, “You look like a queen with a diamond crown.”

  “I shall just have to content myself with being your duchess,” she said—and initiated another kiss.

  That night, when he returned to his room at Northbrooke Park, he was so full of joy, he could not sleep. Kate had filled the desk in his room with vellum stationery, a quill, and a bottle of ink. Taking them out, he wrote Caro a long letter in which he told about Ireland; Persephone, who was to be her wedding gift; and his plans for the future. He ended it with a declaration.

  Would that I were a great writer. My heart is so full of love for you, it will never be spent. I regret more than I can ever express each moment of anguish you suffered on my behalf. I shall use what remains of my life endeavoring to make you happy and working beside you to make others happy. As my duchess, you will never be beneath me in consequence. You will reside in my heart. You are its very beat.

  I love you.

  Ned

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  IN WHICH OUR HEROINE RECEIVES LORD HARRY

  Caro read Ned’s epistle with a full heart in the privacy of her sitting room. She held it to her breast, and her ecstasy overflowed in tears. To be so loved! She could not contain her joy.

  “I am become a watering pot!” she chastised herself.

  But still, a little niggle of unease nagged at her and do what she might, she could not banish it.

  When she joined Beverley in the sitting room, she asked, “Why do I feel this happiness is too good to last?”

  “You have had far too much sorrow,” he said. “You must learn to be used to me. I am not going anywhere. I am not going to leave you.”

  He encircled her with his arms, holding her to him, and placing kisses on her hair. Each one felt like a blessing.

  In general, however, their friends and Caro’s mother conspired not to leave them alone together. Frustrated, most of the time, they had to content themselves with long looks and holding hands. Caro could never get enough of looking into Ned’s blue, blue eyes. Never had she thought such a severe-looking man could be so changed. And his hands were just as dear to her with the calluses that signified to her that he was far more than a duke. Still, she could not banish the feeling that something was going to happen to shatter their happiness.

  She did a dramatic reading of “The Horrible Haunting of Cranberry Manor,” which entertained Ned hugely. When they picnicked with Jack and Kate at a ruined abbey, he urged her to plot another Gothic tale with the ruin as its setting. In his spare hours at the racing stables,
Ned had taken up whittling. Caro encouraged him to whittle toy soldiers for the parish children, and helped him to paint them in the evenings, while her father played the pianoforte and her mother began monograming her wedding linens.

  On the third day, Lord Harry arrived. They had decided that Lord Jonathan should impart the news of the duke’s return. That proved to be unnecessary. Caro and Ned were returning from Northbrooke Park where they had enjoyed luncheon with Jack and Kate, when Lord Harry rode up the Braithwaite’s drive. He met the couple striding down the same drive, their gloved hands joined.

  Halting his mount, he immediately descended, his face an angry red, his voice like thunder as he demanded, “What is afoot? Are you not aware, Beverley, that I am betrothed to Miss Braithwaite?”

  Caro drew closer to Ned. “You knew, Harry, that it was thought that the duke was dead. He has come back to me.”

  Lord Harry flexed his riding crop between his hands. “I will call you out, your grace. I served three years on the Peninsula and am a crack shot.”

  Drawing herself up at these words, she looked Lord Harry dead in the eye. “Do you suppose I would marry anyone who killed the man I loved?”

  “We will just see about this!” her erstwhile fiancé said. He remounted his horse and promptly kneed it into a gallop back down the drive.

  “He is going to Northbrooke Park,” Caro said. “You had better remain here tonight.”

  “You think I am in danger?” he grinned down at her.

  “Not at all. But I want to spare Kate and Jack unpleasantness.”

  “There will be no unpleasantness. The pup will be asleep by the time I return. I intend to stay here to woo you until the wee hours. We might even have a romantic game of billiards.”

  Caro lay awake a long time after Ned had returned to Northbrooke Park. They had indeed enjoyed a game of billiards, punctuated with kisses escalating in passion with each point gained. But Caro could not dismiss the anxiety growing within her. Beverley sensed it.

  “What can the man do?” he asked.