A Scandalous Love for the Enticing Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Henrietta Harding

  She said nothing, looking away for she knew he spoke the truth. They had been more than accommodating, and she was aware of how insensitive and ungrateful she was coming off, as.

  “What if I’m not attracted to him? What if there’s no pull at all when we meet?”

  Her mother dissolved into a fit of laughter, and they both turned to look at her.

  “Nicholas is a fine young man, Agnes. If you are not attracted, then you should be worried. Do not bother your head with such silly things. You will meet with Nicholas, and you shall agree to marry him. That is final. If you do not want to do this for yourself, do it for your sisters. They cannot marry until you do. It is not fair that you keep them waiting.”

  The ultimate blackmail, but the truth nonetheless. Accepting that there was no way out of this one, she bowed her head in submission.

  “Yes Mother.”

  “Good. Then it is settled. We shall write a letter to Henry and Elizabeth. You may leave. I will keep you informed of developments as time goes by.”

  She nodded and rose to her feet. Then she dropped a deep curtsy for both her parents and turned to walk out of the study. It took great effort not to slump, but she knew her mother’s eagle eyes were watching her, for the slightest falter in her gait.

  As she stepped out of the room, she heard her mother say to her father, “I told you we only had to put our feet down, Williams. Now, she’s finally going to be married.”

  The tears she had been holding in dropped then. Yes. She was going to be married, and it would not be to Alan Sheldon.

  Chapter 4

  Nicholas Stamford rubbed his temple as he felt a sudden headache start to come on. When he had received the summons from his parents, never in his wildest imagination had he thought he’d be coming to receive news such as this. It couldn’t be true, could it?

  “Is this a prank, Mother?”

  “No. I am afraid, it isn’t. It is as we have just told you, Nicholas. Your father and I sent a proposal to the Birminghams a fortnight ago, and their response has just returned. They accept,”Elizabeth Stamford replied in a clipped tone.

  Exasperated was too small a word for the feelings he was experiencing at the moment. Unable to remain on the chair which his mother had gestured him to when he arrived, he got up and began to pace.

  “How can they accept a proposal I did not even make? What absurdity is this? Did you not think to inform me beforehand? Before writing this letter to these people you speak of?”

  “You know the Duke and Duchess, Nicholas. You will address them with the level of respect befitting their persons. Moreover, a proposal from us in your name is as good as a proposal from you,” his father scolded, and he scoffed.

  Nicholas could not believe his ears. He stopped his pacing to regard his parents, to really see if they meant these words, for never in his wildest imagination had he thought they would be capable of such things. When they remained unfazed and unyielding, he realised that they were, in fact, not pulling a prank on him.

  “You two are actually serious? You both have gone behind my back and set me up to be married to a girl I barely even know, someone I have never met in my entire life. And where did you get the idea that it would be peachy, making such a life-changing decision for a grown man such as myself?” His voice was slightly raised, and while this was the last thing he wanted to do, he could not help himself. Marriage? He was only twenty-eight years old! This was 1818! Who made arranged marriages for men, these days? In truth, though, if he was to admit, he was more vexed about the fact that his consent had not been sought before actions were carried out.

  His parents remained quiet after his outburst, and as the silence continued, he forced himself to calm and resume his seat. As he got over his anger, he spoke again. His voice was a reasonable volume this time.

  “I do not think it entirely fair that I am only hearing of this now, after the deed has been done. While I apologise for raising my voice, I too demand an apology.”

  It was almost a grumble, but the Duke and Duchess heard, anyway.

  “We apologise, son,” they chorused right away, and he raised his head, so he could hold their gaze. They were smiling at him, and he knew that they were indeed, sorry. He found his lips curving in a brilliant smile of their own, in response. He loved his parents and knew that they wanted the best for him.

  “So, what can you tell me about this Lady Agnes?”

  “Oh, she’s wonderful!” his mother exclaimed, rising from her seat to come to him. As she arrived at his side, she perched on the arm of the sofa which he sat and placed her arm around his shoulder.

  “I have met her a couple of times. You would have too if you did not shy away from social functions, especially balls. She is as fair as the morning star, quite sensible too. She strikes me as calm, a lady who has her wits about her, and who would do a great job, organising and managing her household. Her hips look excellent for child bearing too. No doubt, she would birth you beautiful heirs. Thankfully, she has the bosom to feed them all, including you. There is absolutely nothing to worry about, Nicholas.”

  Nicholas felt heat stain his cheeks at his mother’s words. His intended wife’s bosom and what he would do with it, was not a topic he found comfortable discussing with his mother. He cleared his throat and looked at his father who mirrored the teasing smile that had been in his mother’s voice.

  “Why now? I was going to get married, eventually. I was planning towards when I clock thirty.”

  “Thirty, twenty-eight, what difference do a couple of years make? Your grandfather used to say there is no better time than now. Wise man, he was.” Nicholas heard his father, but he was more concerned about how his old man looked. He seemed pale and frail, and he spoke with care. Though that was not quite glaring, his father was always sharp and about, but ever since he arrived, the Duke had been on his chair, not moving an inch.

  “Of course he was Father, bless his soul. Are you feeling well?” He felt his mother stiffen beside him, but before he could turn to look at her, Henry answered.

  “Ah. I am afraid, not so well. I have been battling a flu for about a week now. It’s left me weakened, but I can feel my strength gradually starting to return.”

  It must be a serious flu to knock his father down so hard, Nicholas thought. He even looked like he had lost a few pounds of weight. He battled with going to him but sound judgement won. His father would not want to be treated like a weakling, so he remained where he was.

  “Do feel better, Father. I would love to see you up and about in no time.”

  Henry gave a hearty laugh, no doubt at the concern in his voice, and his worry eased. If he could laugh so well, then obviously, there was nothing to worry about.

  “That you Will. By the time the season rolls around, I’ll be as good as new. You will partake fully in this season too if you must court your betrothed.”

  Hearing that word made it sound all the more official, and Nicholas wondered if he was indeed ready to take this step. Yet, he knew his father was right. He was bound to get married at some point. What difference did now make from later? Better to get it over with while he could. In fact, now that his initial shock and anger had vanished, he almost felt grateful that his parents had taken the chore of finding a wife off his hands.

  “I suppose that is fair.” The prospect of participating in the season held no thrill for him, but if he was to be married, then he had to socialise more.

  “I must say this though, if upon meeting the Lady Agnes, I do not find her agreeable, I am afraid I would have to call off whatever agreement already stands between our family and theirs. I understand that love grows in marriage as you two have so often told me and proved. However, I will not enter into a marriage with a woman whom I do not feel the slightest bit of emotion for.”

  His parents exchanged meaningful looks, and he knew they were having a perfect conversation. It was something that always awed him, right from when he was little. He wondered, like he usually did
, if he was ever going to be able to have this surreal connection with the woman that would be his wife.

  “That is reasonable and only to be expected, since we would not want a failed marriage for you, either. We agree.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Henry gave him a curt nod, and he turned to look at his mother.

  “You too, Mother. I shall do my best to make the both of you happy and proud.”

  “Oh dear!”she exclaimed as she palmed his cheeks, cradling his face. It did not matter if they were still discussing his marriage. He knew he would always be a little bit to his mother.

  “Seeing you happy and doing the right thing by your heart, gives us that joy and pride. You are the best son anyone could have asked for.”

  “Now, you are going to cause me to shed a tear,” he teased. “Do not let Benjamin hear that, though. You know how he gets at the slightest hint of your preference for me.”

  They all broke into laughter at that, and Elizabeth placed a kiss on his forehead.

  “I do love Benjamin so much. He is my son by heart, but you are my son by heart, and by blood. It is only to be expected that I feel a bit more attached to you.”

  “Ahh. Nice way to put it. Much safer!”he exclaimed as he bobbed his head. “I would so hate to be killed in a fit of jealousy.”

  They broke into laughter again, and when his mother wrapped her arms around him this time, he hugged her in return. After that discussion, he joined them for dinner but declined their invitation to spend the night. Someday, the house in which he had grown up would be his own. For now, he would rather enjoy the home he had built with his sweat and handiwork.

  Chapter 5

  “She does cause one to envy her. I become perplexed with wonder, when I consider how much she loves the glamour and the soiree.” Agnes murmured to her youngest sister, Eleanore, as they prepared for the first ball they would be attending that season. The person in question was Isabelle, her younger sister who always seemed to be able to gather so much excitement for balls. How? Agnes wondered, for she found them terribly exhausting, herself.

  They arrived in London a couple of weeks earlier to adequately make plans for the commencement of the season. These preparations had mostly included shopping for more dresses and pestering Madam Rosette to push out ten lovely ball gowns for each daughter of the Duke of Cambridge, as if they did not already have enough in their wardrobes. Thankfully, most of the lectures about how to behave during the season had been skipped, for none of them were schoolgirls, freshly out of schoolrooms and debuting into the society. Eleanor, who was the youngest at her eighteen summers, had made her debut last year. For Isabelle, this was her fourth season, and as for Agnes, well, this was her seventh, having debuted at age eighteen.

  A soft giggle rangout, and she turned to look at her baby sister whose hair was being done by maids too, in front of another vanity. They all had agreed to get dressed up for the ball in the same room and would continue to do so until the end of the season. To her left, Isabelle was having cosmetic applied to her face, her hair already in a clean knot at the base of her neck. Not that any of them needed so much fuss, they were all very beautiful.

  “I believe Isabelle is just such a spirit, Agnes. She enjoys it all, because it is who she is. Just like Mother, only, with a kinder and softer heart,” Eleanor teased, and they all chuckled at this.

  “Careful little sister. The walls have ears. Mother would not like to hear that, I am certain,” Isabelle warned, though it was no secret that none of them minded the servants.

  Snorting, Agnes replied, “Mayhap, but it is not as though she can deny it. She glorifies in her iron will, relishes being called the tigress. She can scarcely get angry at Eleanor’s proclamation of what she is now, can she?”

  Her middle sister seemed to consider this for a while, before replying, “Indeed. You are right. That, she cannot. Mother is not that bad, over all. She is just as you said, iron willed. Deep inside, I am certain she has a heart of gold. Otherwise, she never would have been able to get the attention of such a gentle soul as Father.” Isabelle sounded happy, obviously in high spirits like she always was. Many times, Agnes wished she had her sister’s spirit.

  “He says they complement each other. I am sure he is the only one to have ever dug deep enough to find that gold,” she clipped in reply, not a fan of her mother, especially with recent developments. The both of them had butted heads so many times, that her opinion of their mother did not come as a surprise anymore.

  “Oh now, you are just being cruel, Agnes. I insist, Mother isn’t so bad.”

  “Of course not, Isabelle. She isn’t.” She turned to look at her figure in the mirror, so she would see if the pearl necklace that had just been placed on her neck, suited her.

  “You are not the one being forced to marry a stranger, after all,” she added under her breath, aware that in truth she had no one to blame but herself for her dilemma. Or should she say, her heart...

  The pearl necklace was lovely. This, she could not deny. It sat beautifully on her neck as though it had been made for her. Against her beautiful skin and her coral ball gown, it shone perfectly well. She took this time to admire her reflection. Agnes was not one to be vain, but she spoke the truth as she saw it. She was beautiful; she knew this. They all were, thanks to her Father’s handsomeness and her mother’s beauty. Tonight, she looked even more beautiful. A little cosmetic had been added to her face to enhance her features. Black ink lined her eyelids, bringing out the hazelnut colour of her eyes. As for her cheeks, they were stained with the softest blush, and she was grateful for this. At least, she would not have to pretend too hard, to be flattered when she met her betrothed later that night. Her lips shone with the brightest of crimson, so much that it reminded her of Rosanda whom Mother had taught them to refer to as the cheer giver, for she gave her woman gifts freely to any man who cared to sample and seldom wore clothes that left enough for imagination. She wondered if her mother would make the connection and decide if she was okay with it. If she was not, Agnes knew she was not likely to agree to have it cleaned off and replaced with a softer shade.

  Rosanda or not, she loved the boldness of crimson. It represented who she was inside. Bold, outspoken, assertive, and courageous. All that was forbidden for women to be in this age and time, all of which the women of Birmingham household proudly were. A little voice whispered inside of her, calling her a coward and a liar, and she brushed it off.

  That was another case entirely. That was a secret she could never share, one she would likely take to her grave.

  “Will that be all?”she enquired, looking up at the maids whom she knew spoke everything to her mother. It did not make her feel angry at them. They were mere servants after all, and they were unlucky to be under the employ of Victoria Birmingham. The only ones whom she treated with the least civility were those whom she knew revelled in their jobs as her mother’s informants. The likes of Louis and Betty.

  They nodded, as they secured her loose bun with one last pin and then stepped away. Instinctively, she released a breath she did not know she had been holding in. It did feel nice to be free from all the prying and prodding. She shifted her chair backwards and rose with grace, one of those things that came effortlessly after years of practice. One of the many perks for being the daughter of her mother.

  She could now see her full length in the huge mirror before her. She took in herself, focusing on her hairdo and the gown she wore. Its cleavage was deep, but it was only normal as that was the style in fashion now. It did not do to think that the older one got without a husband, the deeper it went, until one became no different from Rosanda, the cheer giver.

  Her waist looked even smaller, thanks to the corset whose strings had been tightly pulled and tied behind her. Her sleeves were short, blowing into puffs as lace trimmings and other frail decorations lined them, just as they did the hem of her gown. Her skirt was quite full with all the undergarments she wore beneath, and she wondered tirelesslyabout the ne
ed for so much clothing for a ball that would be packed with people struggling for air.