Extraordinary Tales of Regency Love: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance Collection
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Copyright
Copyright © 2019 by Fanny Finch
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Table of Contents
Extraordinary Tales of Regency Love
The Duke’s Cautious Governess
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
The Extended Epilogue
A Lady’s Choice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
The Extended Epilogue
An Earl for her Hopeless Heart
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
The Extended Epilogue
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A White Rose for the Marquess – Preview
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
The Portrait of a Rebellious Lady – Preview
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Also by Fanny Finch
Extraordinary Tales of Regency Love
The Duke’s Cautious Governess
Chapter 1
Agnes Hubbard had not planned on the journey taking so long. The plan had been for her to depart in the afternoon and be at the Duke of Portsmouth's manor by evening two days later. The journey had not, however, gone according to plan. If anything, they would not be there for another day, and they were already over a day late.
Her coach driver had taken ill after something or other he ate at the inn, and had been incapacitated for some time. Agnes knew better than to hire another driver who she did not know and trust them to return the Duchess of Dorset's carriage on time.
So she would have to wait. And possibly ruin her first job as a governess.
She understood the situation, but that did not make her feel any more at ease. She did not know the Duke of Portsmouth, she did not know if he would be understanding and caring, or a beast and a brute.
In fact, she really did not know anyone in person. Although her father had raised her well, and taught her all the rules of etiquette, he had never given her room to explore and grow socially. She knew all she ought to do in order to be a proper lady. But she had been taught nothing about how to make a friend laugh, how to avoid becoming an enemy to a peer, or, indeed, how to tell an employer that your delay was beyond your control.
She hoped he would be reasonable. Hoping was all she could do.
Agnes sighed and looked out of the inn window. This was a far cry from her past life as the daughter of the Earl of Kent. Back then she had lived comfortably and happily, always with servants to care for her, always with some money to send people on errands. And, in the last couple of years, always with friends to keep her company.
She missed it all. She missed waking up and knowing that all was well, that she was safe, that the day ahead would have no ups, no downs, just a steady pace of activities.
Nobody seemed to realize just how far she had fallen. She had always been the apple of her father's eye, his little doll. Of course, he had perhaps sheltered her a little too much. But what was she to do about that? It was not her fault that, after her mother's passing, he could not bear the idea of losing what remained of his family. After all, from what little Agnes's father had told her, her mother had passed away most suddenly and of unexplained causes. It had probably been a traumatic experience to him, even if she could not remember it.
He did not mean to hurt her or restrict her. He did not intend to make her cry when he refused to allow her to go to balls, or to tear into her pride by refusing to invite suitors round. He just could not bear the idea of losing his dearest and only daughter. She forgave him. He only loved her.
And all her family seemed to love her just as dearly. She could not recall a single relative who would treat her with anything but love. They would visit and talk to her frequently, knowing that she had a largely friendless childhood and a fairly solitary first few years of adulthood.
She had only made three friends her entire life, and they too had been welcomed into the folds of her family. After all, their fathers were all men of standing, all men who had business connections to one another, and added m
uch to society. Their daughters were seen and treated as the beautiful pearls they were, and Agnes had no cause to believe that anything but happiness awaited the four of them.
But as soon as her father's ship vanished, it was as though a dark cloud had landed over Agnes. No, a fog. Deep and murky, slowly swallowing her and pushing away all she knew and all she loved. All of a sudden, she was invisible. Her relatives talked about her father but slowly ceased to visit her. At his funeral, nobody offered to help pay the costs of the burial. The burial of an empty casket. Nobody even offered their condolences.
She retired home to an empty mansion, where her footsteps echoed like ghosts of her past life. Nobody came to see her or talk to her. The first letter she received after her father's funeral was one declaring the debts she had to settle. The second was a dispute over inheritance. From there, she realized she had no income and a mountain of bills and debts to pay.
As her wealth was stripped, she reached out for support, and yet she found none. It made no sense to her. She had always been there for them. Her father had always shared his wealth with them when he had the opportunity. And now that she needed money, they did not see her.
Even worse, all were fighting for a slice of the pie. There were four men insisting on their rights to the Earldom of Kent, and at least two of them were considered more rightful heirs than herself. And many relatives claimed her father had been indebted to them and demanded repayment.
And through it all, not a kind word or gesture passed her way.
She got her answer in speaking with her cousin, Tiffany Hubbard. At thirteen years of age, she was old enough to know these matters but young enough to not play along. She was overjoyed to spend a day out, window-shopping and eating boiled sweets, showing off her latest most fashionable bonnet.
As the girl lapped up her first tastes of freedom, she eagerly divulged that their entire family despised Agnes's mother, saw her as a stain on their name, and only humored Agnes because her father loved her so very much. Now he too was gone, they felt liberated to treat her as they felt she deserved, and let her know that her bloodline was condemned and despised.
Agnes had been indignant when she found out. She had always assumed her mother was as loved and respected as herself. Nobody had given her any cause to think otherwise. Of course, nobody had said anything pleasant about her mother either. But she had taken for granted that the woman who her father married would be beloved by all.
It was even more of a shock to realize that all the apparent love they showered on her was, in reality, a combination of pure pity for such a wretched child, and a desire to win over the earl and drain as much wealth and influence out of him as they could manage.
And now that the earl was gone, Agnes did not matter. She had not inherited the earldom and therefore she was nobody to them. She was just the child of a broken woman and a man who had been no more than a wallet, or a bank, to their eyes. They continued to attack her from every front, chopping up her estate, draining her inheritance, and ripping her title from her, until she was left with nothing at all.
Even though she now had nothing to live off, none of her family extended a helping hand. None of them offered so much as a job, a basic income, a place to stay, or a bite of food. She was like a used and empty peel, discarded now the fruit had been eaten.
When she actively reached out to them, desperate, afraid, often in tears, they were disgusted. Many of her relatives did not reply to her letters. Several did not even meet her at their door, sending servants to reject her. The few who she saw in person pretended not to know her.
Agnes had been so naive until then. But once the heartache began to fade, she felt nothing but anger.
How could they cast her aside as if she was some sort of a monster? How could they transfer their hatred of her mother onto her? Of course, she could not deny the possibility that her mother had been a truly wretched woman, someone detestable. But Agnes had not even known her.
She, for one, would never hold a grudge against children for what their parents had done. She couldn't see why they could not forgive her. Or at the very least treat her as an individual and give her the opportunity to prove herself to them. Even a dog from a bad litter would be given the benefit of doubt. And in all their years of knowing her, had she not proven herself to be educated, polite, kind, and above all ladylike? Had she not allowed them to take all they wanted from her inheritance, hoping only for friendship and company in return?
It made her wonder what exactly it was that her mother had done to offend them so very much, and why it had never been discussed.
It was not as if she was born out of wedlock, or to someone of lower breeding. Her mother had been a wonderful noble lady, betrothed to her father from her early teens and married by the age of twenty. She had been a skilled musician, even composing her own works that were admired across the country.
From her paintings, Agnes could tell that she was a beautiful woman, and, however unusual her clothing was, how eccentric the way she arranged her hair and powdered her face, Agnes could see an artistic flair, a kind eye, and a warm, subtle smile.
Not that any of that meant she could not have done something wrong. Or, indeed, something that rubbed her father's family the wrong way. Nobody could be expected to get along with everyone, but normally when someone died, so did any grudge held against them. The proper thing to do was to not speak ill of the dead. In that sense, she could not help but wonder if that was why her family never spoke of her mother. They had nothing nice to say of her, so they simply said nothing at all.
Nevertheless, Agnes had seen no indication that they thought of her just as poorly. And, even in other cases where a relative had been truly despised, she saw that people would move on after they died, forgive the sins, and take good care of the children left behind. Nobody wore the mark of their parents' mistakes.
Agnes had assumed that was the case in her personal circumstances too. But apparently not. Apparently, she was to carry the black mark of her mother's sins, like Cain's children, permanently burned not into her skin, but into her name, onto her face, and throughout her entire identity. Now her mother was gone, it was Agnes's duty to receive the righteous anger of her family. It was her duty to atone for the sins of her mother, possibly even the sins of her father. Whatever they might be.
Neither herself nor her young cousin had managed to extract from their older relatives precisely what Agnes's mother had done wrong. Agnes had been ignored, and Tiffany had been dismissed as a nosy child who asked too many questions for her age and sex. Shortly after that, Agnes had been told to cease attempting to reach Tiffany and to stop influencing the poor young girl.
And, just like that, her last contact with her family had been severed.
As her only three friends, however supportive they were being, had also lost their fathers and their wealth, Agnes had only had one more person to reach out to. The Duchess of Dorset, a dear friend of her father and owner of a school for noble ladies. There she had been taught how to act as a governess to an educated young lady.
And so, Agnes had fallen. From Young Mistress Hubbard, heiress to the Earldom of Kent, to Miss Hubbard, governess to the Duke of Portsmouth.
Chapter 2
After a night of less than excellent rest, Agnes could not help but wonder just how long it would take her to get there. She was not used to being so responsible. She was not used to being so out of control. In her past life, she had full control over what happened to her, and the responsibility for her safely accomplishing her goals lay with someone else. She always got what she wanted and never had to face the consequences.
Agnes had never thought of herself as spoilt before. After all, her father expected so much from her. She had to work hard at making a great impression, presenting herself beautifully, studying her books and practicing languages and etiquette. She thought she was, not necessarily the opposite of spoilt, but at least not truly coddled. And now she saw that she had been more coddled than she
knew.
If she arrived late now, it was not only beyond her control, but she was entirely to blame. It felt so horribly unfair.
She wanted to make the best first impression possible, but it was far too late for that at this point. She simply had to make a better impression once she arrived. That was something she was in control of. And, as she saw they were passing signs for the Duke's mansion, she began to arrange her hair and skirts, stretch her back, and adjust her posture, to ensure she looked as dignified as possible. At least, as dignified as one could after a long coach ride.
Turning the corner, an enormous building came into view, peering from behind giant metal gates that were held open for free passage of carriages and horses. The mansion was just as she expected it to be. The vast limestone walls and elaborate gardens exuded opulence. The exotic flowers filled the air with a rich, musky, sweet scent that overpowered the senses and left her quite giddy. The sunlight reflected off little ponds and fountains spread out around the gardens, creating a sort of ripple in the air above the lawns.
Birds threw themselves into song as the carriage passed by them, and some flew up into the blue sky, only dotted by a few clouds. She could see they were not native birds, but ones brought over, probably specifically to live in the garden. A peacock meandered between the legs of the coachman as he opened the door for Agnes, nearly tripping him and causing him to unleash a couple of unsavory words.
And yet, as she dismounted, she realized the slight disrepair the whole place was in. From the unweeded flower beds to the dusty window ledges, to the bird feathers strewn across the lawn. The fountains seemed to be pumping water which had not been cleaned in some time, and there was a track of dirty brown from the base of the stairs to the front door, where guests had dragged grime in.