She urged her horse onwards again, and enjoyed an exhilarating gallop across the downs while the wind whipped at her with all its might. Her cousin had famous breeding stables, and she was enjoying the fruits of them immensely. Riding—no, galloping—was the one thing she missed the most when in town.
As she entered the house, stripping off her riding gloves and handing her crop to the butler, she was informed that her father’s man of business awaited her company in the library.
“Thank you, Barnes.” She smiled charmingly at the elderly earl’s butler who had served her uncle Wyndham since before she was born. Why would her father’s solicitor be seeking her out? It was Anjou who was awaiting news. Perhaps there was news of Aidan, and just after Anjou had set out! She tidied her wind-blown hair as much as she could and she entered the doorway to find her cousin, Mr. Harlow, and another man in deep conversation. She paused and knocked.
“Ah, Jolie. Please join us,” Lord Easton said as all of the men stood.
“Lady Beaujolais, may I present Mr. Norton, and you are acquainted with Mr. Harlow, I believe.”
She nodded as the men bowed. She took her seat curiously and looked to her cousin.
“Jolie, Mr. Norton is here on behalf of the Duke of Yardley.”
What has that to do with me? She wondered, but kept her tongue. Her pulse sped up nevertheless. She had heard of Yardley, the duke who was reputed to be cold and reclusive, but had never met him herself.
“I will let you explain, Mr. Norton if you would,” her cousin said.
“Your ladyship, I will be brief. His Grace has decided to marry, and has selected you as his choice.”
An unaccountable wave of anger swept through her. Was the duke sending his proposal of marriage through his solicitor without so much as an introduction? How dared he! He felt himself to be above common civilities? True, it was flattering in some respects, but she would never marry someone so arrogant, so…so…she could not even think of a proper word to describe the audacity! Had he made an arrangement with her father to pay his addresses? No, her father would never. She sat in silence attempting to control her temper and manage a dignified response. All that came from her mouth was, “I see.”
The solicitor interpreted her silence as shocked pleasure, and continued. “He has made you a most generous settlement, my lady.”
He handed her a piece of paper outlining his offer. She struggled to keep the paper from shaking in her hands.
“You will be settled in high style, with your own house and estate and several thousand pounds a year. And it is not contingent on providing an heir,” the solicitor said, as if she should be flattered.
Jolie could feel her cousin’s eyes on her. She met them with her own questioningly, and could see by his expression that he was as shocked as she was. How would her father have handled this? She supposed Easton felt it was her decision to make. Jolie had to take a deep breath so she did not strangle the messenger. She stood and waved the men back to their seats while she walked to the window, her thoughts in a whirl.
After a few moments she turned and asked, “Sir, would you be so good as to inform His Grace that I would rather rot in hell than accept his offer.”
She tore the settlement in two and dropped it in his lap.
“Gentlemen,” she said as she walked out of the room.
Other Titles by Elizabeth Johns:
Surrender the Past
Seasons of Change
Seeking Redemption
Shadows of Doubt
Second Dance
Through the Fire
Melting the Ice
With the Wind
Out of the Darkness
After the Rain
First Impressions
About the Author
Like many writers, Elizabeth Johns was first an avid reader, though she was a reluctant convert. It was Jane Austen’s clever wit and unique turn of phrase that hooked Johns when she was ‘forced’ to read Pride and Prejudice for a school assignment. She began writing when she ran out of her favourite author’s books and decided to try her hand at crafting a Regency romance novel. Her journey into publishing began with the release of Surrender the Past, book one of the Loring-Abbott Series. Johns makes no pretensions to Austen’s wit, but hopes readers will perhaps laugh and find some enjoyment in her writing.
Johns attributes much of her inspiration to her mother, a former English teacher. During their last summer together, Johns would sit on the porch swing and read her stories to her mother, who encouraged her to continue writing. Busy with multiple careers, including a professional job in the medical field, writing, and mother of small children, Johns squeezes in time for reading whenever possible.
Preview of Melting the Ice
What man wants to marry unless he needs an heir?” Benedict asked scathingly.
“There are those who find companionship, if not love with a lady, your Grace,” Hughes remarked encouragingly, with little regard for His Grace’s tone.
“Ladies are good for one thing only,” Benedict retorted.
“But you must marry one of them to produce a legitimate heir.”
“Must I?” he asked softly with an underlying challenge in his voice.
“The last heir has died, your Grace.”
“You are certain?” he asked rhetorically.
“Quite, quite certain. Mr. Norton has made an exhaustive search.” The secretary held up the damning news just received from the solicitor.
“I see.”
“It must be done, your Grace.”
Benedict Stanton, Duke of Yardley, sighed loudly. He was now faced with the one thing he’d vowed never to do again: marry. He remained silent, digesting this new-found information along with his beefsteak and kidney pie, which was suddenly souring his stomach.
The duke’s secretary was used to His Grace’s ways, and stood quietly while his employer made a decision.
Benedict exhaled audibly again.
“I suppose, Hughes, that you have made me a list?”
“Yes, your Grace.” The ever efficient secretary promptly produced a list with twelve names and their resumes, including bloodlines, properties, and dowries.
“As you can see, your Grace, I have listed them in order of eligibility.” He paused.
Benedict shooed the list away.
“You may begin negotiations with the first one on the list. I have little care for their qualities other than breeding.”
The secretary cleared his throat nervously, which produced an elevated eyebrow from His Grace.
“I also took the liberty of providing those considered to be the Incomparables.”
The secretary placed the list on the desk before the duke.
“Incomparable is synonymous with idiot, Hughes. Is there a point?”
“Perhaps not quite synonymous, your Grace. Let me tactfully say that some of the eligibles are not necessarily of prime stock, whereas others…” he said leadingly, using horseflesh terminology most like to convince the duke who preferred equine company to human.
“I care little for appearances,” the Duke retorted.
“I think it best for you to make the decision, your Grace. Or I could ask the Duchess…”
His Grace ignored the last taunt about involving his mother. “I should send you to negotiations with,” he glanced at the first name on the list, “Cohen’s daughter, a Lady Mary, but I gather you do not approve?”
“Lady Mary is all that is amiable, your Grace, but she resembles your finest Arabians and she titters.”
The Duke cringed. Perhaps a mite of scrutiny would be called for.
“Have you seen all of them?”
The secretary flushed red. “Certainly, your Grace.”
Yardley stared in stupefaction at his normally staid secretary blushing like a fresh youth.
“Very well. Make an offer to the first one you deem most suitable to my preferences.”
The secretary bowed and left the room.
&nb
sp; Benedict wanted little to do with any female ever again, unless they had four legs. It had been nearly ten years since his first fiasco of a marriage, and the taste in his mouth was as bitter as the day it had happened.
Jolie pulled her horse to a halt as she skirted the edge of the chalk cliffs, inhaling the scent of the sea. As fond as she was of London, the reprieve to her cousin, Lord Easton’s, house in Sussex had been welcome. This Season did not boast any new suitors she could take seriously, and her family had all departed England, leaving her feeling lonely for the first time that she could remember.
She would return to London soon with Lady Easton as her chaperone, but there was no one serious contender for her affections. She would never confess to anyone, save her sisters, her fears of becoming a spinster. Her sister, Margaux, would rather that than marry someone she could not love. But not Jolie. She wished for a good match with someone she could respect, and who could make her life comfortable. She was not so mercenary as to accept anyone. She had, in fact, turned down so many proposals she had been teasingly nicknamed Ice, though nothing could be less apt to describe her. She had simply never found said qualities in one person. She did not require a title, contrary to popular belief. But being a duchess certainly would not hurt, she thought mockingly to herself.
She urged her horse onwards again, and enjoyed an exhilarating gallop across the downs while the wind whipped at her with all its might. Her cousin had famous breeding stables, and she was enjoying the fruits of them immensely. Riding—no, galloping—was the one thing she missed the most when in town.
As she entered the house, stripping off her riding gloves and handing her crop to the butler, she was informed that her father’s man of business awaited her company in the library.
“Thank you, Barnes.” She smiled charmingly at the elderly earl’s butler who had served her uncle Wyndham since before she was born. Why would her father’s solicitor be seeking her out? It was Anjou who was awaiting news. Perhaps there was news of Aidan, and just after Anjou had set out! She tidied her wind-blown hair as much as she could and she entered the doorway to find her cousin, Mr. Harlow, and another man in deep conversation. She paused and knocked.
“Ah, Jolie. Please join us,” Lord Easton said as all of the men stood.
“Lady Beaujolais, may I present Mr. Norton, and you are acquainted with Mr. Harlow, I believe.”
She nodded as the men bowed. She took her seat curiously and looked to her cousin.
“Jolie, Mr. Norton is here on behalf of the Duke of Yardley.”
What has that to do with me? She wondered, but kept her tongue. Her pulse sped up nevertheless. She had heard of Yardley, the duke who was reputed to be cold and reclusive, but had never met him herself.
“I will let you explain, Mr. Norton if you would,” her cousin said.
“Your ladyship, I will be brief. His Grace has decided to marry, and has selected you as his choice.”
An unaccountable wave of anger swept through her. Was the duke sending his proposal of marriage through his solicitor without so much as an introduction? How dared he! He felt himself to be above common civilities? True, it was flattering in some respects, but she would never marry someone so arrogant, so…so…she could not even think of a proper word to describe the audacity! Had he made an arrangement with her father to pay his addresses? No, her father would never. She sat in silence attempting to control her temper and manage a dignified response. All that came from her mouth was, “I see.”
The solicitor interpreted her silence as shocked pleasure, and continued. “He has made you a most generous settlement, my lady.”
He handed her a piece of paper outlining his offer. She struggled to keep the paper from shaking in her hands.
“You will be settled in high style, with your own house and estate and several thousand pounds a year. And it is not contingent on providing an heir,” the solicitor said, as if she should be flattered.
Jolie could feel her cousin’s eyes on her. She met them with her own questioningly, and could see by his expression that he was as shocked as she was. How would her father have handled this? She supposed Easton felt it was her decision to make. Jolie had to take a deep breath so she did not strangle the messenger. She stood and waved the men back to their seats while she walked to the window, her thoughts in a whirl.
After a few moments she turned and asked, “Sir, would you be so good as to inform His Grace that I would rather rot in hell than accept his offer.”
She tore the settlement in two and dropped it in his lap.
“Gentlemen,” she said as she walked out of the room.
Afterword
Author’s note: British spellings and grammar have been used in an effort to reflect what would have been done in the time period in which the novels are set. While I realize all words may not be exact, I hope you can appreciate the differences and effort made to be historically accurate while attempting to retain readability for the modern audience.
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