Romancing Lord Ramsbury: A Regency Romance (Brides of Brighton Book 3)

by Ashtyn Newbold

  “Does that mean you wish to bestow my inheritance upon me once again, without stipulation?” Edward asked.

  His father shook his head, his eyes rolling back as he coughed. “No,” he said, the word strangled. “As I said before, you must be engaged before my death. Only then will I know you are in earnest. An earl is nothing without a countess. Your mother has been my life. Without her I would have been lost.”

  Edward still felt betrayed. All his father had ever given him was this inheritance, and even then, it had not been given by his father, but by Edward’s birthright—by the laws of primogeniture. To find a way around the law through extensive effort, just to destroy his eldest son’s livelihood was more nefarious than Edward ever thought his father could be.

  He wished he had never told Grace of his father’s stipulation. It led her to question everything he did and said.

  “Continue to rest, Papa.” Edward patted his father’s leg through the blanket. “And I will continue to romance Miss Grace.”

  A whisper of a smile crossed his father’s face before it dissolved in a frown. “If your success with her is unlikely, consider seeking a different woman. As you can see, my time here is short.”

  Edward’s heart burned with grief again, just as he shook away his father’s suggestion. No other woman would suffice now, not since Edward had spent more time with Grace. He was realizing that he didn’t want a woman that would bend to his every request, ramble flattering nonsense in his ear, and giggle in the false manner Grace once had. She had played the role of the common Brighton woman quite well, but he was discovering that she was all but common. She was intriguing. Fascinating. And utterly maddening.

  “Hope isn’t yet lost,” Edward said, standing. He gave his father a heartfelt look. “But I would appreciate if you would stay alive as long as possible.”

  “If the woman wants to marry you, she will do so whether you ask today or next week,” his father grumbled. Edward smiled. His father’s gruff honesty had never failed. But his father didn’t know Grace. Even if she did have feelings for Edward, she would never marry him without persistent effort on his part. Her pride wouldn’t allow it. Just as his pride wouldn’t allow him to receive no for an answer.

  But his heart was becoming more and more involved, swallowing his pride in small increments. Whether she married him or not would depend on whose determination was stronger. And Edward had never met a more determined lady than Grace.

  “Stay alive, Papa. Juliet and Henry and Mama will miss you. As will I.” He clamped his jaw, watching for any sign that his words had touched his father’s semblance of emotions.

  “Please look after Juliet,” his father said in a barely audible voice. “She will need a man’s influence, and I will not be here. I’m afraid I have never been present for my children. And for that I offer my… belated apology.”

  Edward couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Pins prickled over his heart, drawing out old memories, sending them trickling down through his body—speaking to his father and being dismissed, greeting his father after a long journey, only to be given a brief glance. There was much Edward wanted to say, but to not accept a dying man’s apology was cruel.

  His shoulders tightened as he met his father’s gaze. “I will look after Juliet the way Uncle looked after me.”

  A shadow passed over his father’s face—a shadow of regret.

  Edward gave him a soft smile as he left the room in silence, closing the door behind him. He breathed the fresh air of the vast hallway, clearing his lungs of the stuffiness in his father’s chambers.

  A familiar, quiet sobbing reached him from down the hall. He turned to the left to see Juliet, sitting against the wall with her knees pulled to her chest. Grief struck again, digging into Edward’s heart like knives. His mother stood above Juliet, struggling to console her.

  Edward walked closer, stopping above his sister. Her crying had seized her small frame, causing her shoulders to shake as tears fell down her cheeks.

  His mother turned to him, her own eyes red. “She will not listen. I cannot leave her here, Edward.” She looked on the brink of collapse, in desperate need of rest.

  “I will stay with her.” He placed his hand on his mother’s cheek. “Not to worry.” His mother hid her emotions well, just like his father. Being strong for the sake of another was exhausting her. She covered his hand with hers, gratitude shining in her eyes before she stepped away, rubbing her forehead as she walked down the long hall.

  “Juliet,” Edward said, stooping down. She lifted her face from where it was buried in her arm, blinking away her tears. “Papa requested that I ask a favor of you.”

  Juliet sniffed. “What is it?”

  “He asked that you accompany me to town to purchase one of his favorite confections from the baker. I am told I cannot be trusted among so many fine treats, for I will return home with the lot of them.”

  One side of her mouth twitched. “Why did he not send a servant?”

  “Because he knows that only you can select the best Shrewsbury cake, and that I will likely eat it on my travel back if you are not present to stop me.”

  She giggled, swatting at her cheeks to rid them of the tears. “But Papa does not feel well enough to eat a Shrewsbury cake.”

  “Then perhaps, with a bit of luck, he will give it to you.” Edward winked.

  Her eyes brightened before her face melted into contemplation. “We might purchase multiple… perchance Papa does want his.”

  Edward laughed, extending his hand to help her up from the floor. She dusted off her skirts, gleaming with excitement. Her face was still splotched from her tears, but the joy in her eyes outshone it.

  “Off to the bakery we go,” he said.

  Juliet smiled, and the sight warmed Edward to his core. To know he had been responsible for that smile felt like his life’s greatest accomplishment. Today he would concentrate on his sister, on bringing her comfort amid her worry and fear, instead of focusing on his own. He could wait until the next day to worry himself with Grace. Distance from her would be beneficial, and would give him the strength of mind to scold his heart into indifference.

  It would also give him time to plan his next proposal.

  CHAPTER 11

  Harriett stopped at the window of the cordwainer shop, admiring a pair of boots in the window. Grace had been concealing her boredom for the last hour, her mind focused on everything but the leather boots. They had already stopped at the millinery, and the milliner had greeted Harriett as if she were an old friend, not merely a customer. After both Grace and Harriett had been matched to a set of colored ribbons best suited to their complexions and eyes, Harriett had discussed her next headpiece in great detail, and how it would match her favorite dress.

  Grace’s stomach rumbled as she stared at the confectioner’s shop across the cobbled streets. She had not yet eaten that day, and she had a definite weakness for Brighton’s Shrewsbury cakes. The Brighton baker made the best she had ever tasted, and the scant coins in her reticule jingled with temptation.

  “Harriett,” Grace said, pulling her sister’s own tempted gaze from the cordwainer shop window. “If you accompany me to the bakery I will purchase you a treat of your choice.”

  “But the boots…”

  “... are far too expensive for your current state.”

  Harriett released a sigh of deep regret. “I know. It is a dreadful shame.”

  “Indeed,” Grace said, her voice airy as she stared at the sweets shop. If she could eat a Shrewsbury cake then the trip to town would be worth every moment. Linking her arm through Harriett’s to prevent her escape, Grace waited for a gig to pass before crossing the road. Just the thought of the flaky, lemony biscuit made her mouth water.

  Reaching the door, she stepped aside as a man exited the shop, nearly colliding with her.

  “Pardon me,” she said, glancing up to see a set of familiar and handsome blue eyes. She stepped back, her heart thrashing around like a wil
d thing in her chest. Lord Ramsbury appeared just as surprised to see her standing in the doorway of the shop as she had been to see him. Why was it that after years of only seeing him around town occasionally, she now seemed to find him everywhere she turned? His ever-present smile had been wiped from his face by her abrupt appearance, but he soon recovered, lifting his mouth into a devastating grin.

  “Are you following me? I am flattered that you could not resist my company for more than an hour, but don’t you think the public will start to wonder if there is an agreement between us?”

  Grace willed her heart to slow. “You would like the public to think that. You would like that very much.”

  “I cannot deny it.”

  Before she could stop it, a silly grin had plastered itself over her face. She pressed it down as quickly as she could manage, clearing her throat as she looked down at little Juliet, who clung to her brother’s arm. Her eyes were rimmed in red, as if she had recently been crying.

  “What brings you to the bakery?” Grace asked the girl with a smile.

  Juliet glanced up at her brother, as if unsure of whether she was allowed to speak. With a shy grin, she said, “We wanted to get a Shrewsbury cake for my papa. I was meant stop Edward from purchasing too many, but he did so anyway.” She giggled, a soft, musical sound.

  Grace glanced up at Lord Ramsbury, her heart skipping all over again at his loving smile as he stared down at his sister. Grace cursed herself for caring. She had spent three years creating a monstrous image of Lord Ramsbury in her mind. To see him now, not at all how she had imagined, was thoroughly unsettling. His eyes found hers, remnants of his loving smile still shining through them. “I cannot resist Shrewsbury cakes,” he said with a shrug.

  Harriett gripped Grace’s arm, recalling her attention. She lowered her voice in her ear, a mischievous smile lurking behind her words. “I will return to the cordwainer shop so you may be alone. I saw Miss Daventry enter. I shall walk home with her.”

  Grace almost protested, but caught Lord Ramsbury watching. Harriett offered him a polite nod before hurrying away.

  “She has set her fancy on a pair of boots,” Grace explained, attempting to excuse her sister’s abrupt departure. “She could not bear to be apart from them for the smallest moment.”

  “Just as you could not bear to be apart from me,” Lord Ramsbury said, a teasing glint in his eyes.

  Grace chose to ignore his comment, as well as the flutter it caused in the pit of her stomach. “I hope you left a cake for me.” Grace rose on the balls of her feet, straining her neck to see around him into the shop. “That is why I am here.”

  “We took them all,” Juliet said.

  Grace’s eyes widened. “All of them?”

  “Edward is quite hungry.”

  Grace noticed the large box Lord Ramsbury was using to hold the door open. An older couple was waiting to exit the shop, their passage blocked by him. Stepping aside, Lord Ramsbury came to a stop beside Grace on the busy street, the warm scents of the bakery drifting away as the door closed.

  “Juliet had the responsibility of stopping me from purchasing all of them.” Lord Ramsbury opened the box to peer inside. “But she encouraged me instead.” He gave his sister a teasing frown. “So the fault is yours, not mine.”

  Juliet giggled.

  He turned to Grace. “But you are in luck. I am a very generous man, and so I will offer you as many Shrewsbury cakes as you would like.”

  She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “And what do you require in return?”

  He chuckled. “Why do you assume I require compensation?”

  “Well, if you truly love Shrewsbury cakes as much as I do, then I know you would not sacrifice one, and certainly not multiple, unless it was for a very beneficial purpose.”

  He exchanged a glance with Juliet before casting Grace a winning smile. “You are right. I should ask for something in exchange.”

  “No, I—” Grace clamped her mouth shut. Why had she given him the blasted idea?

  “I would request that you spend the afternoon with Juliet and me. We are quite bored with one another’s company, you see.”

  Juliet stomped on his boot, throwing him a frown that only seemed half-genuine. “How dare you say you are tired of me? I’m telling Mama.”

  Edward pinched her nose, and she swatted his hand away with a laugh. “You know I could never tire of you, Juliet.”

  She smirked. “I know.”

  Grace watched the exchange with a smile, letting out a quiet sigh of misgiving. She had hoped to spend the day far away from Lord Ramsbury. It seemed that every time she saw him, his effect on her grew stronger. He haunted her thoughts, and he did strange things to her heart and the rhythm of her breathing. But a small part of her—a weak part—wanted to be near him. And a large part of her wanted a Shrewsbury cake.

  “Very well,” she said. “Harriett is with her friend, Miss Daventry, so I will spend the afternoon with you. I do enjoy Juliet’s company.” She smiled down at the young girl, trying to ignore the deep laugh of amusement coming from Lord Ramsbury.

  Juliet’s large blue eyes stared up at Grace, a deep affection glowing there that surprised her. Juliet snatched Grace’s hand, pulling her toward the mantua maker’s shop. “Would you like to see the dress that I wish to wear for my first ball?” Juliet asked.

  Grace nodded, her own grin increasing. The young girl’s excitement was infectious and refreshing. They started toward the shop, with Lord Ramsbury trailing behind them. Grace spoke to Juliet about all the styles of gowns she preferred, as well as her favorite colors and trims. Grace did not know nearly as much as Harriett did about gowns, but she was able to keep Juliet entertained with her stories of the gowns she had worn.

  “My very first ball occurred when I was sixteen years old.” From the corner of her eye, Grace could see Lord Ramsbury behind them, listening intently. “The ball was held during summer at the residence of the Livingston family. I wore a yellow dress with a blue sash at the waist. It had embroidered vines across the bodice, and added lace on the sleeves. It is still the most beautiful gown I have ever worn.”

  Juliet’s eyes shone with awe. “Did you dance with many gentlemen?”

  Grace’s spine prickled as Lord Ramsbury stepped up beside her. “She danced with me.”

  “Truly?” Juliet gave a tiny gasp.

  “Yes.”

  Grace stared at the ground ahead, focusing her gaze on one cobblestone that stood higher than the rest, loose from constant feet trampling over it. Her heart squeezed with the memory of that ball, of the hope that had burned in her heart, the feeling that she was special. A man of consequence had chosen her to dance with all evening. He had set his attention on her, and all her friends had declared that he would be intent to further their acquaintance. Her heart had soared with excitement and joy and romance. She had felt very much like a character from her favorite books. Important, wanted, beautiful.

  And then came the memory of her second ball, four months later. She still remembered the effort she had taken in front of the looking glass, Harriett at her side. They had debated for twenty minutes over one curl, whether it should hang around her face or be pinned atop her head. The decision had been made to pin it away from her face. Her stomach had fluttered with fear and anticipation as she entered the ballroom. Her cheeks had flushed as she saw Lord Ramsbury. She had approached him, waiting for him to acknowledge her, but he never did. His eyes had met hers only once before drifting away.

  She had watched him from the corner of the room for most of the night, tears burning behind her eyes as her friends questioned why she was not with him. But he had found a different lady, and then another, and another to dance with. And Grace had remained alone the entire evening, too dejected to dance at all.

  After that night, Grace had set her heart against Lord Ramsbury, determining that the man could not be trusted. His words, his promises, his flattery were all false.

  False. His attention towa
rd her now… how could it be anything but?

  “Is it true, Miss Grace?” Juliet’s small voice cut through her thoughts. “Or is my brother jesting again?”

  Grace swallowed. “No, it is true.”

  “Did she look beautiful in her yellow dress, Edward?”

  Grace waited for a string of insincere words to flow from his mouth, to hear all the things she knew to be a lie.

  He was silent for a long moment. “I wish I remembered,” he said finally. “But it was very long ago. I was a fool to have forgotten so quickly. If I had known her then as I know her now, I would have kept her close and never let her escape, no matter how much she wanted to. But I would wager, as one only could, that Miss Grace looked beautiful in that yellow dress.”

  Grace’s heart pounded in her ears as she looked up at him. Regret loomed in his eyes, mingled with an unspoken apology.

  “That is the dress!” Juliet’s exclamation made Grace jump. She looked at the window ahead, an extravagant pink gown hanging on the display.

  “You will look stunning in that, Juliet,” Grace said, keeping the tremor from her voice. “Only a few more years and you may wear one just like it.”

  Juliet ran up for a closer look, practically pressing her nose against the glass.

  Lord Ramsbury turned toward Grace, speaking in hushed tones. “Our father’s condition has been very upsetting for her. I am so glad we found you here. I could never speak with her so knowledgeably about dresses, a subject which never fails to make her smile. I must thank you for that.”

  Grace smiled, relieved that Lord Ramsbury had changed the subject. “Harriett has given me all the practice I need in discussing fashion.” She looked up at him, his gaze still fixed on Juliet.