The Duke's Headstrong Woman: True Love In London (Regency Romance: Strong Women Find True Love Book 2)

by Virginia Vice

  "M-m'lady! I'm..." she gasped, covering her lips. "I'm not... certain, if I am meant to answer that question, or if it's s... simply..."

  "You can speak freely, Mary, in fact I prefer that you would be honest, and of course I'd never hold your answer against you," Lady Havenshire assured her.

  "Y... yes, m'lady, I've been intimate with men, before," she replied, her voice full of shame.

  "You've nothing to be ashamed of, Mary. You're a grown woman, and you're free to find men handsome and interesting, I certainly wouldn't hold it against you," Nadia said. "I have a... query," she continued hesitantly, "about... the first man you were intimate with. How often did you interact with him after?"

  "The first man? Oh, he had been a friend of mine for some time," Mary recalled; the line of questioning clearly unsettled the maidservant, whose voice grew unsteady as she began to pick up odds and ends left scattered about Lady Havenshire's bedroom, pulling linens from the corner and idly ensuring the surfaces to be dust-free. "We've... not spoken, often, since then," she said; the manner of her speech suggested to Nadia Mary had not thought much on the subject until prompted. "...I don't see him as much as I used to."

  "Do you think there's a reason for that, Mary?" Nadia pressed her, glancing up from the bed.

  "I'm... not well-versed in the manner of men," Mary laughed nervously. "I suppose... some men, are simply... well, they've an idea of what they wish to have, and once they've gotten it, they move on with their lives. Perhaps that's what... my friend, thought. The other serving girls, they've... mentioned it, of how men have treated them. It's an unfortunate part of how the world is, I wager." Mary pondered, before blushing embarrassingly. "Men of the sort I spend time with, anyway. I'm certain the kind of gentleman you'd find would be quite different, m'lady. Why do you ask?"

  "No reason in particular," Nadia said dismissively, though the reason proffered weighed quite heavily in her mind. She felt embarrassed herself, having such little experience in these matters; she had spent her years abroad studying, thinking, learning about the wild ideas the world had to offer, but when it came to matters of the sexes and of relationships, she found her own viewpoint quite lacking. She hadn't even considered so crass a thought before the sight of Lord Beckham had enticed her so deeply.

  Had she been used?...

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "You'll never be the man you think you are, or the man you ought to be!"

  Those words, fallen from the mouth of his love Anna, stuck with him; they hurt him, crippled him. He imagined that day with her; he had found her rather inebriated and in a compromising position with Lord Rossing, a man he had only ever held the foulest of contempts for. He had retrieved his love, but her actions had brought great sorrow to his heart. He asked her if she had ever truly loved him.

  She said she had.

  "Anna, please," he pleaded; scaling the stairs of Berrewithe Manor he followed her to her room, only to find she had locked the door shut. "I'll... I'm sorry," he pleaded, pressing his shoulder against the door, longing to feel her body against his once more. "I love you... I want to have your hand in marriage, Anna, doesn't that mean anything to you?"

  "Of course it does! I find that you think otherwise to be quite insulting," her voice, muffled, rumbled through the locked door.

  "M'lady, I didn't—I would never intend to insult you, please," Lord Beckham pleaded.

  "If you hadn't meant to insult me you wouldn't have questioned my integrity over matters so simply as an evening with Lord Rossing!" she sniped back, her voice hysterical.

  "Anna, please... I'm... sorry, I..." his heart throbbing, he couldn't bring himself to break his last barrier; to let her take so complete a control over him. He had to stand up for himself, he thought... he couldn't simply let another man have his wife so thoughtlessly. But he couldn't bring himself to do it; to chastise her. He loved her too deeply, and so caught was he in her spell that nothing could break it.

  "You can't even apologize properly for something so outrageous!" she shouted.

  "I..." he withered against the door, falling to his knees, eyes full of tears. Ms. Cauthfield had warned him of the woman and her capricious cruelty; of her manipulations. Still, he couldn't say no to someone he loved so deeply.

  "Won't you ever say you're sorry for wronging me?" Anna shrieked through the door.

  "You're not going to apologize, are you?" Ms. Cauthfield emerged from the shadows, having listened to the conversation. "She's devastated you, m'lord! Spending the evening with another man? She's using you," Ms. Cauthfield whispered. Broken, Lord Beckham looked up to his loyal servant; a woman who had helped raised him, a second mother.

  "What am I to do, Ms. Cauthfield? I love her dearly. She is everything to me," Lord Beckham pleaded, tears at his eyes.

  "You deserve loyalty, m'lord. Anyone - man, woman, or otherwise - who gives love, deserves love back," Ms. Cauthfield excoriated him.

  "Marshall? Marshall! How dare you ignore me!" Anna screamed through the door. Lord Beckham's expression fell, his voice cowed.

  "I'm... sorry."

  ***

  His eyes flashed open, that fetid reverie still clinging like spores of mold to the back of his mind. She had been right, all along; she had broken him, and he knew he could never make a woman like Nadia happy. Anna had been his nadir, but she had taught him that his love would never be enough.

  Worse yet, he had claimed the woman's first time; something which had grown to a great storm of dread in the depths of his churning stomach. Since returning to the manor he had drowned himself in loathing for being so crass, so short-sighted, as to steal one of the most sacred things to a young woman! The more the panic set into him the more he convinced himself of the need to settle this the only way he could now, without ruining Nadia's life as he had ruined his own, and his sister's.

  "She's quite a creature, isn't she? Takes after her mother, who had all those same, wild, unmarriageable characteristics," Lord Havenshire's hoarse laugh echoed through the hall as night began to creep across the moors. Watching night fall at the top of the stairs, where a towering window gave him view of night's silvery lunar eye, Lord Beckham turned at the sound of the old man's voice, his dark coat bathed in the moonlight.

  "M'lord," he said with a nod.

  "Quite a storm we had today, hmm?" the old man nodded knowingly, excitement criss-crossing his worn, pale face as he hobbled weakly up the stairs to try to join the younger man. "Did you and my daughter manage to find refuge from the rain somewhere safe?"

  "Thankfully so, though unfortunately not before taking a bit of the storm on my back, as you might be able to tell," Lord Beckham chuckled humbly, glancing down at his own rather frumpy-looking, still-damp shirt. "Your daughter is... quite the rider."

  "She bloody ought to be, given all the money and time she spent on lessons!" Lord Havenshire commented with a laugh. "I can only imagine how the two of you managed to pass the time."

  "We found a gameskeeper's cabin out in the wood," Lord Beckham responded hesitantly. "It had... a fireplace, and some firewood still, thankfully. We talked. It's... been a pleasure getting to know her, and for your sake I feel we may wish to speak in your study, if you have one available." Lord Havenshire's face lit up.

  "I think you'd make Nadia the happiest woman in all northern England. Ms. Mulwray, she might have a tendency towards the shrewish at times, but she's got quite an eye, and she regaled me today with a story of just how excited Nadia was to see you this morning," the elder lord exclaimed. The more he spoke, the more uncomfortable Lord Beckham grew. "Have you a mind for pursuing her, then? Let's away to the study for some brandy," Lord Havenshire offered, struggling to drag himself along the stairs.

  "It's not quite..." Lord Beckham's words caught in his throat; he didn't quite know how to explain the situation to the sickly old man. Your daughter is wonderful. She's far, far too wonderful for me. But I know of your predicament. I don't want to disappoint her, or you; I don't want to shame her. At
least I can help make her happy by giving her freedom. He wished he could say it aloud; instead, he only thought on it as the ailing duke led the two of them through the corridors in a weak hobble. He seemed more ill each time the two of them met, and that only exacerbated the worry in his heart. Need to do this quickly.

  "Here we are, the coziest room in all the manor," Lord Havenshire exclaimed in his rasp, hurrying to set upon one of the two armchairs facing a roaring fire, bookshelves and desks arrayed along the walls. Lord Beckham quickly took to one of the writing desks, searching for pen and inkwell, drawing a piece of parchment along the desk.

  "I've a proposal for you, and for your daughter, m'lord," Lord Beckham said, as the old man nearly collapsed into the chair behind him.

  "Come, there's no need for a rush! I'll have Ms. Mulwray get one of the serving girls to grab a pair of glasses for us and a bottle of some of the finest the cellars have in stock. This is a time for celebrating, after all!" Lord Havenshire exclaimed. Lord Beckham realized that the old man had come to hope his daughter would fall in love... that the marriage would be fruitful for the two of them. Perhaps she had... but he knew no matter how much love the two of them held, love could never work for him. Anna had made sure to show him that this - a marriage just for the sake of name and title - is the most he could do for a woman. At least he could make himself useful in some manner.

  "M'lord, it's fine, I don't think this will take long," Lord Beckham insisted, scribbling out the terms as quickly as he could. He took to phrasing them as succinctly as necessary, putting to paper the thoughts he had in his head, but couldn't dare speak aloud.

  "I must confide, Lord Beckham, I had little doubt you'd find her manner agreeable - or, at least agreeable as any manner of lord in this entire nation would find her agreeable," Lord Havenshire coughed out with a laugh. "Below the skin, and the fire, and all those wild ideals she carries in her head, she's one of the gentlest, sweetest, and most dedicated hearts you'll find. She came all the way back, here, to England," he continued, "...simply on hearing her father wanted to see her. Of course, I had much... more dire need of her, than I had let on in my letters," Lord Havenshire admitted, as Marshall scribbled hastily across the piece of parchment. The ailing lord's words stung, each of them a reminder of his own failings; that he would fail so beautiful and wonderful a woman as Nadia. "I'm fortunate to know a man like you will be taking care of my Nadia, and the estate, once things... well, once I'm gone."

  "There's no need to be fatalistic, m'lord. Nadia will have what she wishes," Lord Beckham insisted, finishing the last lines. He drew an 'x' and a line at the bottom of the contract, drawing a line across it and scribbling his name to the terms he had drawn up - then left another empty line for Lord Havenshire, and another for Nadia. He turned abruptly and offered the page to Lord Havenshire, who began to read its terms with a face full of mirth.

  "May it be known Lord Marshal Beckham, Duke of Berrewithe, and Lady Nadia Havenshire of Emerys, be joined into a contract of matrimony to be consummated at the nearest church - oh, consummated, I like that," Lord Havenshire smiled, "and maybe it be known that their marriage be one of... financial, marital convenience, for the method of keeping title, and that Lady Nadia Havenshire shall be known as steward of Emerys, bound not by the usual... sorts of marital expectations..." Lord Havenshire's voice fell away as he continued to read the terms; Lord Beckham recalled them in his head, and when the old man finished, he nodded.

  "A marriage simply for your daughter's convenience. For your title, wealth, and lands. She'll not be beholden to me. She'll be free to court and to live as she pleases. I'll have... well, nothing to do with her. It's... best this way, m'lord," Lord Beckham painfully insisted; he felt warmth in his cheeks as a melancholy struck him, as if tears threatened to well over his eyes and splash upon the pages of the contract. "I only want to make her happy."

  "B... but, m'lord, Beckham, certainly you don't think my daughter would be happy with this? Ms. Mulwray..."

  "I feel she was mistaken about your daughter's... excitement, perhaps. I don't... think, I'm the man that your daughter would want - far from it, m'lord. But for your sake, and for hers... I want to ensure everything is good and proper before anything dreadful should happen to you," Lord Beckham pleaded; he kept his voice stern and settled, though he felt a fire raging inside of him. He realized all too deep in his gut that he had fallen for her; that he had begun to love this wild firebrand, and that he shared her father's disillusionment.

  But he knew this is how it had to be, in this twisted world they lived in.

  "Lord Beckham, did you... not get along, with my daughter, today? Did... something happen?" the shocked old man asked through a cough. "I was certain you would... grow to... love her," he said, his words limp and pained.

  "We... we got along fine, m'lord. Knowing your daughter... this is what she wants. It's what's best for her," Lord Beckham said resoundingly. He could see the heart break in the father's eyes as he came to terms with the contract. "If you'll sign it, and have Nadia do the same, we can have a wedding publicly, if you like... or privately. Whichever is simplest for her."

  "I just don't... understand, I suppose," Lord Havenshire sighed. "My daughter... she deserves love. I had hoped I would see it, before I died. Her face... experiencing that amazing feeling. Do you know it, Marshall?" Lord Havenshire asked, crestfallen. Lord Beckham looked away, stilling his raging heart.

  "I should really be off for the eve, m'lord," he evaded answering the question deftly.

  "You won't stay the night? Certainly, it's too late to be out among the moors. Bandits often prowl these roadways at night, and the sheriff..."

  "I should be off," Lord Beckham insisted.

  "...Very well," Lord Havenshire said with a weak sigh, a coughing fit claiming him.

  "It's been a pleasure, m'lord," Lord Beckham said.

  "... A pleasure," the ailing man replied.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The day broke and the sun draped across Lady Havenshire's body, still lain atop the sheets as she had been while speaking with Mary. She'd drifted away; the day had been exhausting, even life-changing; but worry knotted her stomach the moment she rose from the bed, worry over the nature of her relationship with the man who had claimed her intimately for the first time; the man she found herself helplessly falling in love with.

  Men can be animals... men can take what they want and leave. Ms. Mulwray had said the same thing; had warned the girl against being taken advantage of. Nadia considered herself far too strong, far too independent to ever be taken advantage of by something so simple as a man, or silly concepts like love.

  Of course, it's those too full of hubris and confidence who often fail to see those signs. Her self-doubt welled up as a sickness in her stomach; she longed to see him, and hoped that, perhaps, he had stayed the eve in the guest-rooms on the grounds. That would give the both of them an excellent chance at speaking about the issues that had come up between them; perhaps they could clear the air, and reignite whatever passion had wavered after their intimate time together in the cabin. A knocking on the door alerted her and she sprung from the bed, still clad in her messy riding uniform; she pulled it off, throwing it into a pile in the corner, grasping at her collection of soft, silken-white gowns to face the day with.

  "Who is it?" she asked, her heart ringing hopeful that she'd hear a man's deep, stormy voice on the other side of the door.

  "M'lady, your father wishes to see you," came the prickly and stern response. Ms. Mulwray's voice proved not nearly as pleasant as Lord Beckham's, and the harsh tone of her gave pause to young Nadia, who held in her churning stomach a strange little bit of excitement for today's events, hoping to reaffirm her love for the man who had showed her what it meant to be close; showed her just what love could feel like.

  "I'll be down in just... a moment, Ms. Mulwray," she responded, her voice shaky. The tone had upset her, and she hastily threw on whatever garment she could get ahold of, runnin
g her hands down to smooth the rumples and curls; glancing in a mirror, she paid particular attention to herself; her hair still a mess, her skin dirty, her face tired... she could never present herself to Lord Beckham like this, she thought. Her nerves alight and her heart thumping, she yet hoped she could see him - perhaps he would accept her, no matter how desperate she looked. Her dreams had not been kind; that simmering fear in her stomach had turned to wild dreams of abandonment; Mary's words had made her imagine the duke leaving, never to speak to her or the house staff again.

  She contemplated the dream as she fixed her hair, wrapping it into a small bundle with a pretty yellow ribbon. He wouldn't do that, would he? Certainly not. He couldn't! Not when he'd so intimately spent time with her; not when her father had searched him out so. He couldn't do that.

  Or perhaps that was the simple girl inside of her talking; the girl with no knowledge, no understanding of relationships. The words of a hopeful heart crying out for him, while her stomach turned, unsure of what to expect when she left her bedchamber.

  "He's waiting in the study, and he's quite fragile this morning, m'lady," Ms. Mulwray warned, her eyes focused deeply on Nadia. "Don't set him to desperation today, please."

  "Father, yes... is Lord Beckham in the manor? Or in Emerys, perhaps? Did he stay the evening?" Nadia asked tensely, searching the hallway for any sign of the nobleman. Ms. Mulwray's expression flooded with confusion.

  "Did you expect him to?" Her words struck Nadia like a resounding cudgel thudding against her head; he hadn't stayed... of course he hadn't. What a stupid girl I'd been, Nadia thought, to expect him to. She walked along the corridor like a tormented revenant; slow, plodding steps, searching endlessly for a love she began to fear she had lost. Why wouldn't he stay? Had he not wished to see her? Wouldn't a man in love be dying to sleep so near to his lover? Wouldn't a man in love spend his waking moments begging, pleading to see his love once more?