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

by Henrietta Harding

  Andrew sighed deeply. “It has been happening so gradually that I have barely noticed it.” He stared out the carriage window. “Where once I was glad to be in London, and attend all the balls and assemblies, now I simply find it wearisome. I desire nothing more than to be at the Kent estate, in the country. And if I could have a beautiful and good wife at my side there, all the better.”

  Miles nodded, but he didn’t share his brother’s sentiments. Although he loved Kemp Hall, their ancestral home where they had grown up, he felt strangely restless there now. London provided diversion, and distraction. Yes, it was often superficial and petty, but he found nowadays that he didn’t want contemplation. If he was in a whirlwind of activity, then it stopped him thinking too much.

  His face darkened slightly. He didn’t want to think about it too much; what had happened all those years ago. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps distracting himself in London was his way of not thinking about it. One had to just get on with life. There was no point brooding about the past, was there?

  Andrew, in the mercurial way of the slightly tipsy, suddenly turned happy again. He fixed his brother with a wide smile.

  “Were you serious about our wager before?” he asked. “Are you actually going to do it?”

  “Of course,” Miles replied, smiling brightly. “If you are up for it, then I am. It will be a bit of harmless fun.”

  “To harmless fun,” said Andrew, raising an imaginary glass.

  “To harmless fun,” repeated Miles, raising his own. They made a great show of clinking their glasses, then started laughing again, rolling around the carriage.

  But by the time the carriage had pulled up in Grosvenor Square, at their parents’ house, they had gotten themselves together, and walked almost without a stumble to the grand front entrance, determinedly avoiding eye contact.

  Chapter 3

  Ara stepped down from the carriage, gazing up at the tall building in front of her, which was set on a wide tree-lined boulevard. She sighed deeply.

  London, she thought darkly. Yet another season, with its interminable round of balls and assemblies, picnics and tea parties. How on earth am I going to endure it?

  Ruth, who had stepped out of the carriage just behind her, gripped her arm excitedly. Her pale blue eyes were shining. “Oh, it is wonderful to be here, is it not, Ara?” Her eyes swept along the street. “Already I can feel my blood start to run a little quicker. As soon as we reached the outskirts of London, my heart surely leapt.”

  Ara smiled fondly at her cousin. “I am glad to hear you are in such good spirits, Ruth. London seems to suit you.” Her smile faded a little. “I wish that I were as fond of it as you are. But the whole time that we are here, I must confess that all I dream of is the country.”

  Ruth laughed a little. “You are turning into a country door mouse, Ara! You are only one and twenty, you know. Hardly old enough to fade into obscurity, my dear.”

  Ara gazed at her cousin. Why did it always seem nowadays that Ruth was the elder of them, counselling her, when she was still only seventeen? And everything was so uncomplicated for her cousin. All that she desired was to wear pretty gowns, go to balls, and hopefully find a husband. Exactly what a young lady was supposed to desire.

  Ara bit her lip, gazing down the wide street again. Well to do ladies and gentlemen were strolling down it, seemingly without a care in the world. Sometimes they would stop and chat, before continuing on their walk. It was the pattern of London that she was already familiar with, and which bored her to tears.

  See and be seen. Parade along the streets on display. Make good connections. That was all that it was about, really.

  “Girls.”

  Ara jumped a little. It was her mother, standing on the doorstep of their London residence, staring back at them a little crossly.

  “It is not seemly to titter in the street,” Mrs. Nott announced. “Come along now, before all the curtains in the neighbourhood start twitching.”

  Ara smiled faintly. “Yes, Mama. We are coming.”

  Mrs. Nott nodded imperiously but didn’t say another word, sweeping into the house. Ara sighed. Her mother had barely spoken to her since her outburst after her wild ride on the beach. She had tried to make amends and be compliant since, but Mama had not forgiven her yet.

  ***

  Ara walked into the study, located in the east wing of the house. It was where her father, Mr. Moses Nott, practically lived when they were in their London residence. Every day after breakfast, he would retire there to read the papers. He didn’t like to be disturbed unless it was a dire emergency. This fact alone caused her to tremble a little; that Papa had summoned her here to his domain.

  He was sitting at his desk, bent over some papers. Ara studied her father covertly. He was a portly man, in his fifties, with blackish grey hair. At the sound of her footsteps, he looked up. His thick grey eyebrows drew downwards, looking for all the world like wings, contemplating her.

  “Arabella,” he said, in his most severe voice.

  Ara trembled more. Papa only called her by her full name when he was about to deliver a lecture. When he was happy with her, he always called her his sweet Ara.

  “Sit down, daughter,” he commanded. “I need to speak with you.”

  She did as he commanded, settling herself on the chaise lounge in the centre of the room. Papa stood up, pacing the floor.

  “Your mother and I are concerned about your attitude,” he said slowly.

  Ara sighed deeply. “Papa, I am sorry. I have already apologised a hundred times to Mama, but she still will not speak to me…”

  Her father stopped pacing, staring at her. “She is tired of it, Arabella, just as I am. It seems that despite all your promises to stop your reckless behaviour, you cannot comply.” He took a deep breath. “And yet you must, daughter. For your own sake, and the sake of your reputation.”

  Ara hung her head a little, feeling tears sting behind her eyes. Had she really done such a bad thing, by riding Pem on the beach and missing the dressmaker’s appointment?

  She raised her head, a little defiantly. “If I were a young man, no one would have even mentioned my ride. It would have not even been remarked upon…”

  “But you are not a young man, Arabella,” he interjected sharply. “You are a young lady. And as such, there are certain ways that you are expected to behave.”

  She stiffened. She had been hearing this all her life.

  “The way that you spoke to your mother was disrespectful,” he continued. “Your mother went to great trouble to arrange for the dressmaker to make a home visit, and yet you decided that riding your horse was more important than that.”

  The tears stung harder behind her eyes. She held them back with difficulty.

  “I am sorry I was disrespectful to Mama,” she said slowly. “What more can I say? I have tried to do everything that I should since then, but she still refuses to speak to me.”

  “Because she is tired of your excuses,” he said sharply. “She is hurt, daughter, and rightly so. Your mother devotes herself to you. All that she wants is for you to be secure in this world, well married, and well placed. Why is that so hard for you to understand? Why must you fight and resist her efforts?”

  A single tear fell down her cheek. “I do not know,” she said, her lip trembling. “I try, Papa. I really do try to be good, and be like all the other young ladies.” She took a deep, ragged breath. “I wish that I were more like Ruth. But it is so difficult for me.”

  His frown deepened. “You must try harder, daughter. It is your duty to marry well. I must have your word that you will participate in your season here to the utmost.”

  Another tear fell down her cheek, and she hung her head. She hated it when Papa was mad with her.

  “I will participate in the season,” she said slowly. “Please, do not be angry with me anymore.”

  Her father’s face softened a little. “We only do this for your benefit, Ara. It is our duty as parents. Y
ou do realise that, do you not?”

  Ara nodded slowly. Yes, she understood that her parents were no different to any other well to do family in that regard. All mothers sought a good match for their daughters and worked tirelessly towards it. All fathers wanted to see their daughters married well and protected. It was universal.

  She knew and understood all that. And still, the thought of marriage was anathema to her. Her very soul shrivelled just a little at the thought of being owned and controlled by a man.

  She sighed deeply. It didn’t help that all the young men she had met in her London seasons left her cold. While all the other young ladies smiled and preened like peacocks on display at the balls and assemblies, flirting openly, she wondered what the fuss was about. No young man had moved her in any way. Some were more interesting to talk to than others, but she had never had a marked preference for any one of them in particular.

  She sighed again. She could make an effort…couldn’t she?

  “I know you and Mama are doing your duty,” she said slowly. “I will make a greater effort, Papa.”

  He smiled. “That’s my girl! Run along now, Ara. I still have two more newspapers to peruse.”

  She stood up. “Thank you, Papa.”

  He waved a dismissive hand, heading back to his desk. Even before she had opened the door to leave, he was engrossed once more, not even turning his head to look at her.

  ***

  Ara sat in the window seat of her room, staring down at the street below morosely. London was always so grey and drab. How she longed for the rolling green hills of Dorset. How she longed to be riding out on Pem, with the wind in her hair, and not a worry in her mind.

  There was a soft knock at the door.

  “Come in,” she said wearily.

  Ruth entered. She stared at Ara, a surprised look on her face.

  “Ara,” she rebuked. “Why are you not ready? We are going to the tea rooms, remember?”

  Ara’s eyes widened. Somehow, she had forgotten that entirely.

  With an effort, she stood up. “I am sorry, Ruth,” she said listlessly. “But my gown is good enough, is it not? And all I need is to get a bonnet and my gloves…”

  Ruth’s face softened. “Oh, Ara, it is not that bad! You act as if you are about to go to the gallows, not a tearoom.” She paused. “It is only tea, after all.”

  Ara nodded. “Yes, yes, I know that you are right.” She sighed. “And all that I need to do is smile and nod, to all the dowagers that Mama confers with…”

  Ruth studied her carefully. “You really find it all insufferable, don’t you? It seems to genuinely pain you.”

  Ara blinked rapidly. “Yes, it is true, Ruth. I cannot hide my feelings, but I am trying to do my duty regardless.” She paused. “You are the opposite to me, dear cousin. How I wish that I were more like you. Life would be so much simpler if I was.”

  Ruth stared at her. “Do not say that, Ara,” she said slowly. “I think that you are wonderful.” She hesitated. “Sometimes, I wish that I were more like you. You are so independent and can speak your mind. Whereas I tremble to say anything, thinking that all are judging me.”

  Ara smiled faintly. “We are a silly pair, are we not? Each wanting to be the other?” Her smile widened. “How about we stuff our faces with all the cream pies and scones? Just like we did when we were children.”

  Ruth giggled a little. “Do you remember the day that we made ourselves sick, when we ate too much? I had to go to my room with a stomach ache.”

  Ara laughed. “You have always had a sweet tooth, dear cousin! Let us go and indulge. I am game if you are.”

  Ruth giggled again. “Oh, Ara! I am so happy that you sound like your old self again!”

  Ara blinked back tears. She loved Ruth dearly. She loved all her family dearly, and it always pained her when they were angry at her.

  She would try harder. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

  She took a deep breath, holding out her arm towards her cousin. “Let us depart to the tea rooms, cousin, to eat until we are bursting.”

  Ruth’s eyes sparkled. She took Ara’s arm. Together they descended the stairs, leaning towards each other. Ara’s heart lifted. It meant so much to her that things were good between her and Ruth again.

  In the carriage ride towards the tea rooms, Ara stared out of the window. They were passing Hyde Park. Her heart lifted just seeing the acres of green. Some people were strolling the paths in the park, but others were on horseback, enjoying an afternoon ride.

  Her heart seized a little. She missed Pem. If only he were here, perhaps it would make London more tolerable.

  She took a deep breath. She would try to walk in the park, at least. Perhaps that might allay her awful homesickness, just a little.

  Chapter 4

  The very next morning, as Ara was scraping marmalade onto her toast at breakfast, the butler entered with a crisp, white letter on a silver tray.

  Her mother stared at him, wide eyed, putting down her tea cup quickly. The butler gave it to her, and within seconds she had opened it, reading it avidly. Ara watched her curiously. Whatever the letter contained it seemed to bear good tidings. Her mother’s face was quickly suffused with excitement, her eyes almost bulging.

  Mrs. Nott put down the letter on the table. “We have been invited to a ball, in a fortnight’s time,” she cried excitedly. “And not just any ball!”

  Mr. Nott gaped at her, still spooning his soft boiled egg into his mouth. “What is it, my dear?” he asked after he had finished his mouthful, carefully wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  Mrs. Nott was so excited she was fidgeting in her seat. “It is the Duke of Lancaster,” she breathed, her eyes shining like two silver coins. “Lord Andrew Comerford. Not only is he a duke, but he has an impressive reputation as a gentleman. He is holding a grand ball, specifically to meet eligible young ladies!”

  “He says that in the invitation?” asked Mr. Nott, looking amused. “I must say, that is being honest, at least! He is on the marriage market, by the looks of it, and does not want to waste any time in the process.”

  Mrs. Nott looked overcome, fanning herself with her napkin. “To think he has done us the honour of inviting us!” Her eyes slid to Ara and Ruth. “He has heard that we have two young ladies in the house, obviously! And he must have been informed what great beauties they are!”

  Ruth blushed demurely. “You are too kind, dear Aunt! I am afraid that I am no great beauty, unlike my dear cousin.” She stared at Ara. “I only wish I was a fraction as pretty as my cousin.”

  “You are too modest, Ruth,” said Mrs. Nott quickly. “You are every bit as lovely as Ara, just in a different way, my dear.” Her eyes shone. “And both of you shall look even lovelier for the ball!” She turned to her husband. “My dear, this calls for new ball gowns for the girls. They must look wonderful, and they do not have anything that is special enough for such an occasion…”

  Mr. Nott rolled his eyes a little. “Grace, my dear, you already spent a small fortune on gowns for them before we left Dorset. Surely you must have ordered a new ball gown for each of them?”

  Mrs. Nott waved her hand impatiently. “Of course I did, Moses, but they are not good enough for this occasion. It is the Duke of Lancaster, after all. There will be the cream of society at this ball. The girls must have gowns made in London, from the very best dressmaker on Bond Street….”

  Ara picked up her toast, chewing desultorily. Her mother sounded almost fevered. And now there would be another round of boring dress fittings. Again.