Regency Romance Omnibus 2018: Dominate Dukes & Tenacious Women

by Virginia Vice

  “Ladybug, please - I wish only the best for you and for the future of our family,” the elder lord insisted in anguish. “This man, he’s a lovely man, and he understands you.”

  “He understands me?” Anne spat back angrily. “Is that what you’ve told him, Lawrence Strauss, Duke of Amhurst?” she bit with venom at the title he carried; Lawrence stammered back in his own defense.

  “M’lady, I simply shared with your father that we had met before, and—”

  “Have you heard how he speaks of you, Anne? Have you?” The viscount insisted. “He is a man of prolific title, a man deserving of you. And you need marriage, Anne. You need—”

  “And so, two men, men of wealth and stature, conspire beyond the reach of my ears, on who shall marry me, and who shall take my dignity, and who shall take my happiness and my soul,” Anne said, burning with irritated passion. “And you never thought to question me on the matter, father?”

  “Anne, I have spoken with you at length, and I understand your feelings, but this man - he’s different, he understands—”

  “He doesn’t understand anything, and neither do you father! Privilege in this world has warped you both,” she erupted, her skewering glare piercing through Lawrence. “Your sister knows that world quite well, doesn’t she?”

  “My sister,” Lawrence said, his own ire building. “My sister—”

  “I should have expected this from father,” she bristled. “I suppose I should’ve expected it from you, too, Duke of Amhurst,” she followed up harshly, before turning to storm away. A sigh fell from Lawrence’s lips; he had known himself unworthy of the hand of a beautiful woman, especially one as free and fiery as Anne, but he had hoped perhaps he could pull from the fire those few embers which he knew burned for him. Instead he had managed only to extinguish whatever small pleasure had risen between them both. The doors to the grand estate swung open, light creeping through the foyer, before they slammed shut with a resounding thud.

  “She is something,” the viscount commented after a long moment of silence, his voice laced with mild disappointment.

  “I didn’t mean to offend, m’lord,” Lawrence said.

  “She is something,” the viscount repeated, “but she’s something I wouldn’t give up. And, I don’t think you would, either,” the old man added slyly. “Would you?”

  “I...” Lawrence breathed out heavily.

  “There’s a cottage in the woods past the glare of the estate walls,” the old man said. “Once belonged to the hunters I employed to bring game back to the manor. Stuffed with bookshelves full of old stories, ones she would spirit away to read by cover of the night,” he mused. “She still likes to abscond to that place, in trying times. She often enjoyed riding out to that place, upon her horse, Midnight,” he added. “Perhaps you might catch her in the stables.”

  Resolve had not left Lawrence. Though his worst anxieties had come to bear, he still felt it - that yearning, that elemental need to right what had gone so wrong between himself and this beautiful woman. She deserved it - and she deserved the freedom he knew she craved. And though he had fallen flat in trying to explain himself, he would give it one more chance - for the sake of that dying man. For the sake of his sister. For her own sake.

  “Yes, m’lord,” he responded simply, taking a deep breath and pushing the doors to the dining hall open once more.

  Chapter Seven

  “M’lady!” Lawrence called as he left the manor, the heavy wooden doors crashing shut behind him. The sun had begun to retreat beneath an encroaching cloak of graying darkness, cottony-white giving way to churning storm clouds. He looked to find the stable, where she may have fled to - and instead found the lady Anne standing face-to-face with the Earl of Carteret, a shock rattling the duke’s spine. He cleared his throat, watching the two stare tensely at one another, before he stepped gingerly along the stairs.

  “Ah, Lawrence! What an... unexpected sight, to see, here, as I came to visit my future bride,” the earl announced proudly. “Her father is inside, is he not? And Anne - so stunning,” he added, his cloying nature overbearing.

  “I’d sooner throw my rotting corpse upon the moors than find myself married to so impossible a man,” Anne spat. “What are you doing on my estate? Has my father sent for you, as well? Has his illness gripped him so thoroughly as to render him mad, mad enough to see you as a potential suitor for me?”

  “Come now! We had quite a pleasurable evening at my dinner party only a fortnight or so past, did we not? I found your company quite ravishing, m’lady,” the earl said, his slimy countenance utterly repulsive to a woman of class. Lawrence stepped closer, though he kept his words to himself.

  “I’d never seen a more ridiculous gathering of chattering ladies wooed so thoroughly by so odious a man as I did at your dinner party, m’lord,” Anne’s contemptuous nature roared. “If one were to evaluate the party by that standard, then yes, I most certainly enjoyed watching you trip over yourself as you boldly gallivanted off to dark corners of your estate to have your way with wanting and wanton maidens.”

  “M’lady, I’ve heard the tales, even from your father himself, and you’ve no need of denying my allure any longer. You need a husband,” the earl announced, “and I need a wife. A goodly wife, a wife of firm stature in society, and a wife capable of bearing me many suitable heirs. On factors germane to my choice, I find none in as good of standing as you, Anne Hatley of Roxborough,” the earl said, his sarcasm dripping. “Or, perhaps more accurately, I promised your father I’d help you to find your proper place in life. You’re so angry! And so lost,” he said, his voice dropping to a salacious purr. “And I can help find you, m’lady.”

  “H-how dare you!” Anne exclaimed, but before she could lift her palm to strike the impertinent and bold noble, Lawrence stepped forward, clearing his throat loudly.

  “Martin, were you in fact invited to the manor today? I had thought myself the only contemptible fellow allowed on the grounds until sunset,” Lawrence joked self-deprecatingly, offering a disarming smile. His heart pulsed; he had never so boldly stood up to the earl, a young man with a profile rising quickly among the nobility, whose influence had quieted him that night he had shared at the dinner table with Anne. Instead, he now stood confident - on the outside, anyway.

  “That’s quite a question to ask, Lawrence,” the earl rebuffed him. “The lady’s father opened his manor to me for discussions of matters relating to courtship, and the disposition of his estate when he passes. I should expect any sudden arrival of myself upon the premises to be met with courtesy, not... well, not whatever it is this virago of a woman has to offer,” Martin said with a look of disdain drawn in Anne’s direction. “She ought to learn where she belongs.”

  “She is already quite where she belongs, is she not? This is her family’s estate, after all,” Lawrence laughed. The earl resented the sly remark, his gaze burning in to Lawrence.

  “And what are you doing here, then? Were you invited?” he asked harshly.

  “In fact I was,” Lawrence said with a smile, though beneath the smile smoldered a sick sense of satisfaction. Anne mirrored his feelings with a surprised little look of joy reaching through her visage, full of scorn. “The viscount and I had quite a nice meal and a discussion on the state of affairs here upon the Roxborough estate.”

  “You’re bluffing,” the earl growled. “He and I spoke of an agreement.”

  “Kindly see yourself off of the estate property, lest I summon assistance,” Anne’s voice coiled like a snake ready to strike as she exchanged another tense glance with the earl. In a huff, she started towards the stable, sunlight left to bear down upon the two remaining noblemen.

  “You think yourself quite clever, don’t you, Lawrence?” the earl said, voice on the edge of threatening.

  “I think of myself as a simple man who cares for the autonomy of a woman, and she has little need for a man like yourself in her life, Martin,” Lawrence answered simply.

  “She
needs precisely someone like myself in her life. Her father has let her run ragged across his estate for who knows quite how long. He’s allowed her to conjure these ideas of some manner of self-determination, as if she has a say in her current position. She does not,” the earl warned.

  “And you think yourself the cure for her nature, do you?” Lawrence responded.

  “I think of myself as helping her realize she needs me, and my help. Women do not know themselves well enough to realize their own good, much less do they know what’s best for family, for wealth or for the future of their families. And you, Lawrence - I beg a thousand pardons, but you’ve not the spine to stand up to her,” the earl continued.

  “Your appraisal of my character is noted, m’lord, but the viscount seems to disagree,” Lawrence said with an unassuming shrug. “For some radical reason, he sees some sense of value in the unruly manner of his daughter. Who’d have thought?” Lawrence asked sarcastically. Nursing his wounds, the earl’s ever-present grin faded into a scowl.

  “I’m a man who gets what he wants, Lawrence. I only warn you, and that harpy, once. I get, what I want,” he threatened. “Driver! Let’s be off,” he called to the chauffeur of his gaudy carriage, painted in popping pastel colors that glowed bright in what sunlight remained. A twinge of pride swelled in Lawrence’s chest; even if he could not cure the trouble brewed between himself and Anne, he at least felt some manner of redemption in thwarting the crass nature of the Earl of Carteret. He could not spend long savoring the sound of the earl’s carriage clopping away, though, as he knew it would not be long before the lady of Roxborough rode at a fevered pace out of the stable upon Midnight, carrying her far afield and away from his apologies and explanations.

  “M’lady!” he called after her, stumbling with a sense of awkward urgency towards the stable. A simple building hewn of stone with a wooden roof suspended over the animals within, he reached its threshold and peered within, finding the stable hand at Anne’s side, saddling up a horse with skin and a mane colored jet-black; a curious rarity, indeed, and he could understand why the girl had named her steed ‘Midnight’. The seat latched upon the proud creature’s back, the stable hand wheeled a small set of wooden stairs up beside the creature, the rickety device creaking as Anne strode haughtily atop its height to throw herself side-saddle atop the animal.

  “M’lady,” the duke repeated, stepping spirited through piles of hay strewn between the simple, spacious stalls, each housing a tall, proud - and certainly quite costly - courser of excellent breeding. His call this time sung out boisterous and convicted, and it caught the eye of both the young, blonde-haired boy tending the stables, and the proud woman atop Midnight, her eyes narrowed dangerous.

  “Have you no sense for the emotions of women? Perhaps that’s the reason you’ve remained a bachelor for so long,” Anne spoke cuttingly. Lawrence winced; she had a cruelty about her, but he could sense she defended herself in good faith, and had every reason to do so - especially given the earl’s appearance. “I wish to be alone - and certainly not in your company, m’lord,” she spoke his title with pained sarcasm.

  “M’lady, I have no wish of imposing upon you,” the duke insisted, pleading his case in his warm baritone as he approached closer to the midnight-colored horse, “but I feel I owe you an apology, and an explanation. Perhaps more than one,” he said.

  “If you’ve no wish of imposing yourself upon me, m’lord, then why are you still here in the stables?” she replied flippantly. “I would think our prior encounter within my father’s domain would’ve reminded you precisely why I’d no wish of speaking with you.”

  “I feel the explanation is quite important for you to hear,” the duke insisted.

  “Do you? My father has invited every bachelor from across England in waves to this estate, to find one willing to deign to marry so wild and unmanageable woman as myself,” Anne concluded. “Perhaps he’s taken a shine to you on account of your pliability, but he has no interest in my own future, only in the future of his name. I love my father, but...” she wavered as the stable hand latched the reins upon the whinnying creature upon which she said, “...he does not understand me. I have no wish of seeing my family line extinguished, but...” she took a deep breath. “He does not understand precisely how I feel.”

  “I think he does, m’lady, and I think I do, too,” the duke counters with a tempered confidence. Anne looked down upon him from her place upon the saddle, a curious shift of perspective given her place in society. “He knows precisely how you are - and precisely that you wish for the freedom a spirit like yours deserves,” the duke announced. “He understands. Which is why he put out an invitation to me - and not to the earl.”

  “And do you again presume to understand me or my predicament?” Anne sneered.

  “I try to refrain from making such crass assumptions, but in this case, I think I know you more than you like to admit,” the duke expressed, emotion laced frilly and warm in his tone.

  “Know me? Pfeh! We spoke over dinner, and only for a few moments, before you folded beneath the pressure of the same world I abhor, spoken with so thick a disgust from that boorish man’s throat,” she howled in disdain.

  “I know our exchange did not last long, m’lady, but there’s far more to it than that. I... I feel I do understand you, because like you yourself admitted, we are both chained - chained by the manacles of a world we had no wish of living within, but circumstance has seen us forced into prisons, like birds with wings clipped,” the duke spoke with a passion welling in his tone.

  “What do you know of social disadvantage? Has anyone ever told you to do something you had no desire of doing?” Anne spat, gripping the reins of her steed tightly as she prepared to depart.

  “They have,” he admitted with a sigh.

  “When?” Anne asked derisively, expecting some manner of a silly answer.

  “When the law forced me to inherit over my dear sister,” he said. Anne rolled her eyes, but listened nonetheless as the duke paced about the stables, gripped in savage memory.

  “Wealth and title can be so burdensome,” she murmured.

  “They can,” he called back, jagged as a sharpened sword. “They can. They can ruin your relationship with friends - with family. My sister was...” he sighed. “Her heart burned like no man I have ever met. She could start a fire from dried lumber as well as she could recite passages from classic literature, or retell the history of a dozen battles, and with such fervor. She taught me to climb trees - and I would fall from their branches far more often than she,” the duke recalled with a lamenting laugh on his lips. “I loved my sister with clearest heart and conviction, m’lady. I had interests abroad - I had found love elsewhere, in exploring the world; in seeing its many worlds and its many peoples. I had wanted the same freedom you clamor for, in that sense, m’lady,” Lawrence admitted, shame burning on his cheeks. “But it was not meant to be for a man with only a single, older sister capable of inheriting. A sister who refused to take a hand in marriage out of want of privilege, or convenience,” he recalled, blustery, a tear biting at his eye. Surprise quieted Anne’s expression as she watched the duke recount his story.

  “But you could have... done something, couldn’t you?” Anne pleaded, almost silently.

  “I hope not to equivocate your burden with mine, as I know women bear the pain of expectation in their own way,” the duke said, “but we are not so different in our suffering, m’lady. My father expected me to inherit from him. He had no interest in passing the estate to his daughter, a woman far more capable of managing and impressing and socializing and fulfilling all the duty one would expect of a noble,” he lamented. “Yet he refused to consider the possibility, for expectation laid those responsibilities upon my shoulder. And when my sister knew I would fulfill those expectations, though I did not wish to, she turned away from me - from the family,” Lawrence recounted, gripping his fists tightly, so tight in painful memory that his knuckles burned white. Anne caught her br
eath awkwardly, her visage still spread wide in surprise at the tale.

  “And... so...” she reasoned. “Your... your sister, she...”

  “Love has eluded me for far longer than I wish to recount, given the expectations upon all of our shoulders as gentlemen and women of privilege in a system that favors marriage, but more than anything - more than love, or greed, or power - I’ve wanted only to see the world set right, so that what happened to my sister shall never happen again,” Lawrence admitted, looking away from the lady upon the horse, watching the sun through the stable window, cresting over a hill as cottony-dark clouds gathered in a cloak across its fiery orange-yellow surface. “I have no wish to dominate you, m’lady. I have no wish to force you to attend silly frippery like the earl’s extravagant dinners. I do not expect you to bear me seven children and knit stockings and clean up after each of them. I have no interest in the conventional. In that, I feel we can find some measure of common ground,” he breathed out, though he could not bring himself to look upon her face and see her response, which he certainly presumed to be rightfully scornful. Instead, silence fell between them, only the spit and whinny of Midnight filling the air. He broke the silence with one last admission. “I do not want that passion, that fire inside of your chest, to die away. I do not want the unconventional to fade.”

  “I... m’lord,” Anne responded with a clearing of her throat. “Would... would you like to ride with me?” The question drew surprise across the duke’s expression, his dark-gray eyes narrowing and his brow furrowing in confusion as he turned to find Anne, her cheeks in a subtle blush. “I’m... I’m sure one of my father’s steeds would suit you, if... if you have a mind and a want for riding, that is,” she added with a smile.

  “I’ve not much of a... talent for riding,” Lawrence admitted.

  “You haven’t?” Anne said with a little smirk. “Perhaps I could show you how, then,” she chirped. Lawrence lamented that he had never spent much time around the stables; he had always preferred hiking, climbing, and traipsing through the wilds of the Amhurst estate by his own will and wherewithal, and not upon the back of a beast of burden.