A Lady's Passion Knows No Distance: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Henrietta Harding

  “I will not be long,” she had whispered back. “I will only take Pem a little distance beyond the grounds.” She had glanced furtively at her mother, who was sipping tea at the end of the table. “Do not worry so, dear cousin. I will be back in time for the dressmaker, and my mother shall not be any the wiser.”

  Ruth’s brow had puckered anxiously. “You are wicked to do it, Ara! You know that your parents do not like you riding beyond the grounds of the estate alone…”

  Ara had sniffed. “What they do not know will not hurt them.” Then her gaze had softened as she stared at her cousin. “Do not fret, Ruth. I shall not cause a fuss.”

  Ara sighed again, as she kept gazing at the ship in the distance. She should turn around and head back to Rudwick House now if she were to be on time for the dressmaker. She knew that. And still, she couldn’t bring herself to turn the horse around.

  She stirred restlessly in the saddle. The sea was so inviting, and the beach so wide and beautiful. What would it hurt if she went down there and rode along the beach, just for a little while? She could be quick.

  “Come on, Pem,” she said aloud, spurring the horse onwards. She knew a safe path down to the beach that would not tax the horse too much.

  She smiled as the wind whipped her hair around her face. Already, she was anticipating the thrill of the ride along the sandy beach, with the sea glittering alongside her.

  ***

  Ara’s heart sank a little as she approached Rudwick House. The ride had been brilliant; all that she had imagined it would be. But she had spurred Pem on to a gallop, and her hair was a mess now. And she wasn’t at all sure if she was still on time for the dressmaker.

  She left the horse in the stables, heading to the house by the back path. Sometimes, if she was quick, she could make it in and head to her room before her mother even noticed. If she managed to avoid her, then she could quickly fix her hair and be downstairs in a heartbeat.

  Suddenly she saw Ruth approaching, walking quickly towards her, a pained look on her face. Ara frowned, sighing deeply.

  “There you are, at long last,” said Ruth, the moment she was near enough. “Your mother is on the warpath, Ara….”

  But Ara brushed past her cousin, smiling vaguely in her direction. “I cannot stop, dear Ruth! I must fix my hair before I go downstairs.”

  She kept walking fiercely. If she could just get inside, then all might still be well.

  She had almost made it to the staircase when she heard footsteps approaching. Warily, she turned around. Her heart sank further. It was her mother, staring at her with thunder in her eyes.

  “Mama,” she said, smiling weakly. “I was just about to go to the parlour…”

  “Arabella,” growled her mother, her eyes trailing over her. “You are a disgrace! You are positively windblown. Your hair looks like a bird’s nest, your gown has sand all over it, and Mrs. Gibbs has been forced to leave for another appointment.”

  Ara hung her head. “I am sorry, Mama.” She looked up at her mother pleadingly. “But it was such a beautiful morning for a ride! I did not intend to be so long…”

  “You never do, do you?” said her mother sharply. “It is always the same. Always the same excuses and apologies, and yet it never stops you doing it again the next time, does it?” She sighed huffily. “I despair of you, daughter! How on earth are we to find you a good husband when you insist on still being a tomboy? You are too old for this now, Arabella! You must set your mind and heart in the right direction…”

  Ara stiffened slightly. She was used to her mother’s tongue lashings, but it still rankled.

  “We are heading to London next week,” continued her mother. “It is important that you are fitted for new gowns. Because of your rudeness, I have had to schedule an emergency appointment with Mrs. Gibbs in Frasby tomorrow. She has only just managed to squeeze us in, and only because she values our custom.” She paused for breath. “How will you ever entice a suitable young man to pay court to you if you are not properly attired? They notice such things in London…”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mama,” interjected Ara, impatience overcoming her. “I do not care for things like that! I do not care a whit for any of it!” She took a deep breath. “All I want is to stay here, at Rudwick House, and ride. I do not care for London, or new gowns, or for finding a husband there! It is all so insufferable that I could scream!”

  Mrs. Nott gaped at her, looking completely flabbergasted. “You must find a good husband! How can you say such things? It is the only goal a well brought up young lady should have! And there are no suitable candidates around here, as well you know. All the young men are either already married or not good enough…”

  Ara sighed heavily. “As you have told me a hundred times or more, Mama. I simply do not care! Why should a young lady’s only mission in life be to find a husband? It is so utterly wearisome.” She looked mutinous. “I will not partake in it anymore! I am not a horse to be paraded at auction, with the fashionable young men of London the buyers…”

  Mrs. Nott paled. “I do not understand you, daughter.” She paused, her bottom lip trembling, as if she would surely break out in tears at any moment. “I do not understand you at all. After all that I have done for you! All the balls I have taken you to, all the London seasons, all the gowns and jewellery that we have spent a small fortune on…”

  Ara glanced at her sharply. “I did not ask you for any of it. I do not want any of it. I have no need for a man telling me what to do! I want to live my own life, just the way that I want to!”

  Mrs. Nott stared at her as if she had lost her wits entirely. Behind her, Ara could see Ruth hovering near the doorway to the conservatory, wringing her hands. For a moment, Ara felt a stab of guilt. It always distressed Ruth when she and her mother locked horns like this. And she knew from long experience that poor Ruth was always the peacemaker afterwards.

  Mrs. Nott drew herself up to her full height. “Go to your room, Arabella. Your father shall hear of this. I do not want you to leave it until he sends for you…”

  Ara gazed at her contemptuously. “That is just fine with me, Mama. At least in my room, I do not have to listen to talk of husbands all the time.”

  She didn’t wait a moment longer. With a pounding heart, she ran up the stairs, tears stinging behind her eyes.

  I am a duck out of water, she thought sadly. And it seems that I shall never find my lake.

  Chapter 2

  Lord Miles Comerford tossed back the last of the whiskey in the glass, feeling it sting as it hit the back of his throat. He gazed at his elder brother, Andrew, the Duke of Lancaster, who was sitting across the table from him with slightly bleary eyes.

  “We are rather longer here than intended,” he said, his voice thickened by the drink. “We were stopping by for just one whiskey and one game of cards, were we not?”

  Andrew grinned. “That we were, brother. But then I beat you into the ground as I always do, and you had to seek solace in a bottle of Michaelson’s finest.” He paused, staring at the man walking towards them. “You save it just for us, do you not, Michaelson?”

  Miles laughed, staring at the man as well. Richard Michaelson was the owner of the establishment. Brown’s was one of the finest and most fashionable gentlemen’s clubs in London, located on Bond Street. Michaelson sat down opposite them, gazing at them both fondly.

  “You both know I always keep a few bottles just for the two of you,” he said, smiling. “The Duke of Lancaster and Lord Comerford are two of my finest customers.” His smile broadened. “May I tempt you to more indulgence, maybe of the feminine kind…?”

  Miles stirred uneasily in his chair. He was slightly too drunk for that. And besides, even though he had partaken of Michaelson’s high class escort services more than once in the past, he had never really felt comfortable with it. He just wasn’t the type to love and leave a lady in that way.

  Andrew shook his head firmly. “Heavens, no, Michaelson! We should leave. We are h
ours beyond what we thought we would be and are expected for dinner at home.” He gazed at the owner of the club. “Can you put it on the tab?”

  “Of course,” said Michaelson. “Anything for you, Lord Comerford.”

  “But not me?” said Miles, a little cheekily. “I am Lord Comerford too, you know. Even though I am not the Duke…”

  “For both of you,” smiled Michaelson.

  “Come on, old chap,” said Andrew, heaving himself out of the chair. “We should be off, before we really cannot move at all!”

  The two brothers walked down the steps of the gentlemen’s club, down Bond Street, towards their waiting carriage. Andrew always asked it to park a fair distance down the street. He didn’t like to advertise that he was in Brown’s.

  Miles lurched a little, quickly steadying himself. He felt pleasantly tipsy; it was enough to get him through what was sure to be a long and wearisome evening. In the distance, he saw two young ladies approaching them, fashionably dressed, with parasols aloft, even though it was almost five o’clock and the sun was not in appearance at all.

  “Which do you prefer, brother,” he whispered, not breaking his stride. “The blonde, or the brunette?”

  Andrew grinned. “You know that I always prefer brunettes, little brother. I will take pity on you and let you monopolise the little blonde, if you like.”

  They were almost to the ladies, who were gazing at them with wide eyes. The two brothers slowed down a little, indicating their willingness to talk.

  “Why, you are Lord Comerford,” squeaked the blonde, staring directly at Andrew. “I met you at the opera just the other night.” She curtseyed deeply, and the other lady followed her lead. “It is an honour, Your Grace.”

  Andrew bowed, clearing his throat. “I think that I may remember you. Miss Davidson, from Exeter, is it not?”

  The blonde lady blushed. “Indeed it is, Your Grace. I am thrilled that you remember me. And this is Miss Hart, my dear friend. She was at the opera as well.”

  Andrew bowed again. “Miss Hart. It is a pleasure.”

  Miss Hart laughed merrily. Miles noticed her blue eyes were shining brightly, gazing directly at his brother. Miss Davidson was gazing in rapture at his brother too. They had barely even glanced in his own direction. But then, he was used to it. It was always the same when Andrew was with him. The lustre of his title blinded young women to anything, or anyone, else.

  Andrew introduced him to the ladies, who nodded politely to him, but straight away went back to talking to the Duke. Eventually Miles grew bored, gazing off down the street. The ladies were laughing and dimpling, flirting up a storm, and he could see that Andrew was not immune to it.

  He studied his brother covertly. He was a handsome enough man, of two and thirty, with straight brown hair and hazel eyes. Andrew was also charming, witty and agreeable. But it was not any of those things which were so entrancing these two young ladies. He could have been portly and staid, and they would still have been hanging off his every word.

  Eventually the two young ladies drifted off, down the street, and they resumed walking. Andrew had a slight grin on his face.

  “You look like a monkey,” teased Miles, gazing at his brother. “Those two young ladies were not entranced by you, big brother. It is just your title, and you know it.”

  Andrew’s grin widened. “Jealous, Miles? I guess some of us just have it, and others do not. Poor you!”

  Miles laughed. “Brother, it is ridiculous how they throw themselves at you, just because you were born first with a better title!”

  He expected Andrew to laugh with him, but his brother suddenly looked uncharacteristically sombre. He abruptly stopped walking, staring at Miles, as if something momentous had just occurred to him.

  “I am tired of it all, Miles,” he said simply. “I am tired of the scene, and the circuit, and a hundred young women throwing themselves at me because of what I am, not who I am.” He paused. “I would really like to settle down. I want to find a woman to marry, at long last. A woman who appreciates me.”

  Miles stared at him as if he had just started to sprout gibberish. To say that he was surprised was putting it mildly. Andrew had always revelled in his bachelorhood, claiming that he enjoyed his freedom.

  “How long have you been thinking along these lines?” he asked quietly.

  Andrew sighed. “A while now, I suppose. Long enough that I have become quite fixated on the idea.” He paused. “I am going to throw a ball, Miles. A ball to attract all the eligible young ladies, with a view to perhaps finding my soulmate.”

  Miles stared at him. “Like Prince Charming in Cinderella? I only hope that the one who catches your eye does not turn into a pumpkin by midnight.”

  Andrew smiled faintly. “You can tease me all you like, but I am deadly serious, brother. I am in my thirties now, and bachelorhood has started to pale. What better idea than to cast out a net and try to catch as many lovely young ladies as there are in London for the season?” He paused. “I hope to find my future wife there.”

  Miles slowly started laughing. “You can have any woman you choose, brother.”

  Andrew frowned. “The young ladies do not like me just because of my title, Miles.”

  Miles grinned. “I think you are wrong, brother. Do you think that you are extremely better looking than me, or intrinsically more charming?”

  Andrew grinned back. “I could say yes, but to be fair, not really…”

  “Exactly.” Miles was nodding. “Therefore, it is the title. Miss Davidson and Miss Hart just proved it. They barely glanced at me sideways, while they were eating out of your hand…”

  Andrew laughed. “No, no, you have it all wrong…”

  “Do I?” Miles grinned again. “How about we not only prove the point, but we drive it home? What say you that I pretend to be you, to any young lady who does not know you from Adam, in the time between now and your ball?” He paused dramatically. “Let us see how many fall at my feet, then.”

  Andrew’s eyes lit up. “A wager? Would you do it for coin?”

  Miles nodded. “Of course I will, brother! It is a good wager, is it not?”

  Andrew nodded as well. “It is. Two guineas. I win if you fail to attract any young ladies. You win if you do. Agreed?”

  Miles held out his hand. “Agreed. Shake on it then.”

  Andrew stared at the outstretched hand. “Should we not spit into our hands, like we did as boys?”

  Miles laughed so hard he almost fell off the pavement. He really was more intoxicated than he had first thought, and so was Andrew, judging by the way he was grinning inanely.

  “Let us get to the carriage,” he laughed. “Before it has to come to us.”

  The next minute they were ensconced in the carriage, and it was hurtling through the London streets. The carriage driver took a left turn a little too sharply, and Andrew slid across the carriage, bumping into Miles with a crash.

  They both started laughing again, so hard that they could barely contain themselves. When the hilarity had finally died down, Andrew grew sombre again, staring out the carriage window as if searching for the meaning of life.

  “I am looking forward to this ball,” he said contemplatively. “I am too old for these London seasons, and it would be a godsend if I could finally find the woman that I am searching for.”

  Miles blinked rapidly. “You really are committed to the idea, aren’t you? London and all of its excitements no longer holds you in its thrall?”