A Night Rose for the Duke: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance

by Fanny Finch

  When he had learned that she played the pianoforte rather excellently, Charles had declared interest in seeing her play. Of course, she had been shy, but he had remained persistent, and had continued trying to persuade her.

  Eventually, like any one would in her shoes, she had given in. Because her household was often delighted to watch her play, they had all decided to attend when they learned of it. Now, she had a full audience.

  She looked to the little girl by her side, the one whom she had rescued from the hand of that troublesome trader, and taken off the streets - Olivia. Olivia was to play with her.

  Olivia filled Eleanor with so much pride, love and joy. She felt all of this, just from looking at the child. Right before her eyes, Olivia had blossomed into her full beauty - like a daisy in spring.

  All of her reservations had been chipped away. Her English had vastly improved, and her bones were no longer so obvious under her skin.

  Also, she could now cook almost every meal there was, and she learned fast. One day, she would play the pianoforte even better than her tutor, Eleanor.

  She was a beautiful girl, and Eleanor had no doubt that, someday, she would become the wife of a very lucky man. Eleanor would make certain of it.

  “Are you ready, Olivia?”

  The little girl smiled up at her. The adoration she felt towards Eleanor shone in her eyes.

  “Yes, my lady. Thank you for this honor.”

  “Pshaw, Olivia. You do know the honor is mine. You shall make me shine.”

  The girl giggled happily, and Eleanor smiled in return. Then, her eyes fluttered back to the man who was looking at her like she was the only person in the room.

  Her heart fluttered, her stomach drummed its own rhythm, and her fingers began to pluck the keys of her pianoforte.

  Softly, she played. It was an old tune. One she had tweaked over the years and perfected in her own style. Like a master, Olivia played beside her, complimenting Eleanor’s keys with hers.

  Echoing silence overwhelmed the room, and as they played, she felt every blessed key in her heart. In her soul, she sang the words, powerfully, but her lips simply hummed, afraid to ruin the beautifully music her pianoforte was producing.

  The music rang loud, birthing the sweetest harmony Eleanor had ever heard. She wished that the song was not so simple, so short. She wished it would go on forever.

  At last, she struck the last key, and the rendition came to an end. Her eyelids, which had closed sometime during the play, fluttered open and as they did, cheers and claps erupted from her small audience.

  Her heart soared and she rose to curtsy, feeling honored by their cheer.

  Members of her household had heard her play countless of times. It was Charles’ thoughts she was more concerned with. As she rose, she sought him out once more.

  He begun to stride towards her, and she waited, unable to tear her eyes away from his, flames refusing to bow from the sea.

  He finally reached her and took her hand in his, his face radiant as though his skin was the cloud the sun had chosen to hide behind.

  “What do you think?” she asked, too eager to hear him speak.

  He brought her hand to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. “Eleanor, I have never heard anything as beautiful, and I do not say that in an attempt to flatter you. This is raw honesty, coming from the depths of my heart. You play beautifully, and the whole world should hear and watch you.”

  She felt warm all over and she knew her face was as red as an overly ripe tomato. It was only then she tore her gaze away, even though just for a brief moment.

  “Such high praises, Your Grace. I am afraid I am not worthy.”

  “Nonsense! You are beyond worthy, Eleanor. Your music could heal the weariest of souls. It gave me a peace that transcended any I have ever felt.

  “Such skill, it’s rare. It is a gift and should be recognized as such. Thank you for blessing me on this beautiful day.”

  His words were fire, and in that moment, her heart became nothing but a piece of wax.

  “Charles.” It was all she could say as she searched his eyes and read the sheer honesty in them. Then, releasing her tongue from its bondage, she said what seemed fitting in the moment.

  “Thank you. Believe it or not, you have honored me. I am glad I was able to make you feel that way with my music.”

  He chuckled and released her hand, so he could lift his left to caress her cheek, like the touch of a feather.

  “I should be thankful to you.” He moved on to suggest, “It is such a beautiful day for a walk. Do you mind touring the gardens? I heard you have very beautiful daisies.”

  She nodded eagerly, and linked her arm with his as they turned to leave the study.

  The rest of her audience had left as she spoke with Charles. Fool as she was, she had not even noticed this until now. She shook her head at herself.

  Where Charles was concerned, there was no longer just a feeling of fondness. It was more.

  She was beginning to fall for the Duke of Finchester, and she was falling fast.

  She quickly fumbled for a subject to distract herself from these thoughts.

  “Benjamin’s mother, bless her sweet soul,” she said. “She was the one responsible for the garden. I never got the privilege to meet her. However, I was told that the daisies were a favorite of hers and she cared for them, as one would care for a child.

  “Seeing as the Lord only entrusted Benjamin into her care, she had more than enough time to personally tend to her garden, amongst other things. She has my admiration and respect.”

  Charles nodded as they stepped out of the study, leaving the doors wide open behind them. One of the staff would take care of this, she was certain.

  They finally exited the house, and stepped out into the gardens. Unable to resist, Eleanor took in a lungful of the air. Her spirits lifted even higher and a permanent smile came to rest on her cheeks.

  Then, the man by her side had all of her attention. Charles Duncan.

  It had been a fortnight since Charles had showed up in her home, listened to her story, and told his. A fortnight since he had asked her to be his friend. A fortnight since she agreed.

  The past two weeks had been filled with nothing but bliss.

  They met almost every day. Most times, they went for one outing or the other. Other times, like today, they remained in the vicinity of her home.

  She was yet to visit Charles’s home, and did not think she ever would. No matter how close they had gotten, it did overstep the boundaries of their acquaintance, for a widow to visit a widower.

  Here, in her home, her servants could be trusted to act as chaperones. However, in his home, society would never believe that something untoward was not happening.

  Not that society mattered - she simply wanted a quiet season. At least, no louder than it already was.

  Indeed, she and Charles had grown closer. They were often seen together. At the theatre, opera house, library, the park and of course, the past three balls they had danced together.

  Whispers were beginning to turn into murmurs and perhaps it was only a matter of time before they became clear voices. In all honesty, day by day, it mattered less and less to Eleanor.

  With Charles, around Charles, she was happy. On addition to that, his charming mother doted on her, his sister and her husband loved her and she felt just as strongly for them in return.

  Edwin liked Charles, Frances did too. To her, these were the only people that mattered and the only people that would continue to matter where her friendship with Charles was concerned.

  She was quite content to continue basking in this newness of joy that he had brought to her.

  And though she knew she was hopeless when it came to falling in love with him, though she knew she would never be able to ask him for more than they had already, and that she may be the only person in this feeling of love, she was willing to enjoy it while it lasted.

  They were way into the season. In another few week
s, it would come to an end and she would be on her way to Grenshire.

  Until then, she would enjoy Charles’s company and continue to pray for him, so that the Lord may keep him and his, safe.

  For she feared still, deep down in that part of her heart where she kept her deepest emotions locked away, that place where she seldom visited…

  She feared that history would repeat itself, and she would lose Charles like she had lost the others before him.

  Even just thinking of it now, sent shivers down her spine and she struggled against the urge to shudder.

  “You seem far away from here, my lady. May I offer a penny for your thoughts?”

  She looked up at him, her permanent smile growing as her eyes lit up.

  “Hm? Oh, of course. A penny shall be perfect. I was only thinking about how beautiful the weather is today.”

  He looked up at the sky and back at her. “It is, isn’t it? That rain must have been a blessing.”

  “Indeed, it is. So, Your Grace, you were saying?”

  “I see some flowers I do not recognize. I wonder if you would mind educating me?”

  “Of course not. Come, I shall tell you their names and their peculiarities.”

  The rest of the day was spent in the garden, until evening came and he had to leave.

  Chapter 24

  Sarah

  Sarah Wimbledon was a number of things: an evil genius, a jealous woman, greedy, ambitious, as sly as a fox, proud, smug. However, one thing she was not, was a quitter.

  No. Sarah Wimbledon did not quit, and she did not accept defeat. No matter what form it came in.

  Especially not from a silly little girl, whom she had watched grow into a woman who now seemed to have more courage than Sarah had ever wanted her to.

  Yes, Eleanor Ashford had become a pin in her corset, and she pricked her skin, filling her with pain and discomfort wherever she went.

  It was something Sarah could not have. Something she could not allow.

  Its allowance would only mean that she had grown soft, weak, and that the Countess had somehow won in this game that they had been playing for ages.

  Although, in all fairness, she suspected that the child had not been, and was still not aware of any such game.

  It mattered little. Eleanor was getting it all: a title, a nice life, a young, dashing duke who was in love with her. That meant she was winning.

  She was winning.

  Sarah shot up from the sofa in the drawing room and began to pace.

  Where is this boy? How long shall he tarry still? Is he a lady that must fuss with appearing pretty and lovely?

  She scoffed at the thought and spied a look at the huge pendulum clock, hanging on the wall.

  It was a few minutes past the time they had agreed to meet. She had contemplated on the wisdom of inviting him to her house, but had decided it was her best option.

  If she had had to meet with him somewhere out of the house, anyone could have seen them. She did not want to be connected to him in any way.

  However, visiting their townhouse could mean a number of things.

  If anyone saw him, they would simply believe he was paying James a visit, or perhaps, someone from the staff. After all, he was only a gentleman and it would not be beneath him to fraternize with household staff.

  She stopped as she reached the end of the room, and turned to resume pacing towards the other end.

  This boy would be the end of Eleanor, she would make sure of it. Better him than anyone else.

  It had been heart-wrenching enough for her when she had learned of the girl’s marriage to an earl. And when the earl had died, she had been more than happy to fuel more rumors to damage Eleanor’s reputation.

  Then, the news had come that she would continue as countess, and that her late husband had left a large part of his fortune to her. Sarah had almost died of pain.

  One would wonder what the child had done to her. In all honesty, she could not point to one thing.

  Eleanor, at the moment Sarah had been introduced to her, had been a shy, sweet girl, desperately in need of a mother’s love.

  Sarah had easily read the mixed emotions in the child’s eyes, as her father told her that she now had a new mother. There had been hurt, apprehension, fear, but most of all, there had been hope.

  Sarah had enjoyed squashing that hope, as much as she had enjoyed feeding her own hope.

  As a woman who had had a lowly birth, Sarah had fought for all that she had. Growing up, she had been cast aside and overlooked by other girls who had simply been privileged enough to be born to nobles.

  Many of them had mothers who had been nobodies, but had fought their way up in society. Their mothers had given them that privilege. It had made Sarah look at her own mother in disgust and anger.

  She had vowed that she would not make the mistake that her mother had made. A handmaid, falling in love with a blacksmith.

  She had been fourteen at the time, but she had eradicated every notion of love from her head.

  A life of comfort, luxury, and affluence had become her aim. So, she had concerned herself with her looks. She had whined until her father had gotten her a governess they had barely been able to afford.

  The governess had taught her well, and the woman had transformed her into a lady. She had worked hard, scrubbing floors and washing dishes for years. Over the years, both her parents had died.

  With what little fortune they had left for her and what she had managed to save over the years, Sarah had entered society when she was twenty-two.

  Old, truly old at that time to seek a suitor. However, she had been clever, and she had pleaded her case well.

  She had introduced herself as a high-bred lady from a distant county on the borders of England. And she had told whoever cared to listen, that her debut had been delayed because she had been by her sick parents’ side, nursing them back to health.

  Most of their fortune had been spent on the terrible illness that had ended up taking them, and after two years of mourning, she had decided to enter society. Oh, she had been a beauty - still was.

  The men had been charmed by her, they had fallen in love easily and had bought her sob tale. And the best part of it? They had fought over her.

  She had finally agreed to marry a very successful merchant. Not that she did not aim higher, but he had seemed the only man she was certain she would be able to wield control over.

  She had been happily married to him for fourteen years. Then, one night, he had slept and never woken up.

  She had observed her mourning period, and then some more. But her late husband had been a gambler - a habit she had not been able to stop.

  What was left of the funds he had been unable to squander, had been barely enough to enable her to continue the lifestyle she had grown accustomed to.

  So, as soon as she was done mourning, she had set her trap for another unsuspecting wealthy man.

  How lucky for her that she had found James. Recently widowed, lonely and sad. He had been the perfect man for her.

  Slowly, she had wormed her way into his heart, had consoled him, comforted him and loved him.

  He had proposed in three months and their marriage had happened in less than two weeks. He had told her of his children, and she had lied that she was fine with it.

  Deep down, she had simply wanted his children out of the way.

  Right from the start, she had wanted Edwin’s rights as an heir for her son, William. And she had wanted the love of a father that James showed his girl, for her daughter Anna.

  It had been easy to turn James against his children. Too easy. And she had enjoyed making their lives miserable as she did.

  Imagine her joy when Edwin had accepted to be his cousin’s heir, and had left Manhampton for good.

  Then, the little nuisance had gone and fallen in love with a man like Luke.

  Indeed, he had no title, but he wielded enough fortune to ensure her daughter would have the kind of life Sarah had sworn to
give her.

  So, the moment the engagement between Luke and Eleanor became official, she started to send Anna to him at nights.

  She had failed to seduce him the first four times. Luke had resisted her, good man that he was.

  However, he had been a man nonetheless. And there had been a limit to what he had been able to withstand. So, the fifth time she had gone to him, he had fallen victim to her charms. Their affair had begun that night.