Finding the Bluestockings Heart (The Colchester Sisters Book 3)

by Charlotte Darcy

  Finding the Bluestocking’s Heart

  The Colchester Sisters

  Charlotte Darcy

  Fair Havens Books

  Copyright © 2019 by Charlotte Darcy

  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.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Introduction

  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

  Epilogue

  The Beast and the Baron’s Daughter Preview

  Also by Charlotte Darcy

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Sweet Regency Romance

  This is a complete story and can be read alone but it is the third of three books about the three Colchester sisters. If you missed the first book you can grab it here

  Or book 2 here

  Charlotte Darcy writes sweet Regency romance that will take you back to a time when life was a little more magical.

  Fall in love again,

  Chapter One

  “Verity, you are quiet,” Amos said as he and his sister walked arm in arm through the grounds of their father’s estate.

  “I am quiet, I know. I am a little lost without Esme and Jane here,” she smiled up sadly at him.

  “I am a poor substitute for a sister, I daresay.”

  “Oh no, Amos. You are not a substitute at all. You are a brother, a very fine brother. I do not seek to fill that chasm with you. You occupy your own place in my world and it is an important one. I miss our sisters and I will just have to miss them. I cannot replace them with you any more than I could ever replace you with them.” Verity was as earnest as always.

  “My dear Verity, there is even a sense of logic and reason to your grief.” Amos laughed.

  “But I am not grieving, Amos, I am only sad. I still see Jane so often and Esme too, although I see much less of her. I have not lost them forever.”

  “You see things so clearly that I sometimes wonder if there is just a little too much clarity in your world.” He patted her hand as it rested on his arm.

  “How can a person see things too clearly?” She looked sideways at him quizzically.

  “If I was as clever as you, I might be able to explain it. But since I am not, I think I should just keep quiet.” He laughed, and she continued to look at him with confusion. “It is just a feeling I have. I suppose I would like to see a little happiness in your life.”

  “What does that have to do with seeing things clearly?”

  “Oh, Verity! You are so serious. I think that is what I am trying to say. Even helping Jane to find her own true love, that wonderful romance, has not changed you.” He was still laughing. “You are the same Verity as ever you were.”

  “Of course, I am. Why should I have changed?”

  “I just thought you might have seen just what you were missing out on when you helped to bring Jane and Richard together. I hoped it might have given you some aspirations of your own. Perhaps not as romantic as Jane’s aspirations always were, but romantic nonetheless.”

  “You think because I am not romantic like Jane that I am not happy? That does not make sense. People are all different and their happiness is specific to them.”

  “Of course, it is. Happiness is specific!” he said a little sarcastically.

  “Well, it is!” Verity said, and began to grow exasperated with the conversation. “I know what it is you are trying to say to me, Amos, and I suppose I appear to you to be a little obtuse for not agreeing wholeheartedly. But you have to understand that when I say all people are different, I include myself. I am not looking for the fairy-tale marriage that was Esme’s, nor am I looking for the great romance that Jane sought. I am not looking for any of these things, Amos, and I wish that you would simply understand that that is who I am.”

  “Oh, please do not be angry with me,” Amos said, his face full of boyish apology. “Not when you are my favorite sister.”

  “Now you are just trying to flatter me to get yourself out of trouble,” Verity said waspishly.

  “I am, my dear. Is it working?” He grinned at her and Verity could not help but laugh.

  And she knew that she really was Amos’s favorite. Perhaps not favorite, but he certainly had a great fondness for the youngest of his siblings. There were almost ten years between them but unlike most brothers, Amos truly seemed to enjoy her company.

  “Yes, it is working,” Verity said truthfully. “What a good brother you are. I should not tell you off when you have been kind enough to spend your afternoon with me. Most brothers would be out hunting or working or doing any one of the hundred things that meant they did not have to pander to a lonely sister.”

  “I am not pandering to you, my dear. I have always enjoyed your company as well you know. You are just unusual enough to be interesting.” He teased her.

  “Well, that is kind of you.” Verity decided on a little teasing of her. “I think most people find me just unusual enough to be avoidable.”

  “Perhaps if you had friends younger than Mrs. Barton. Really, she is older than Mama.”

  “What? What if I had friends younger than Mrs. Barton?” Verity said a little confused.

  “Well, I just think that you would be out in the world more, Verity. The assembly rooms or attending the buffets and dances you ordinarily find some way to get out of. If you had younger friends, I think you would enjoy things more.” Amos led her along a little path lined with yew trees to a beautiful and ornate wrought iron bench just beyond. “So, shall we sit for a while? I know it is a little chilly and we can return to the house if you would prefer.”

  “No, I do not want to go back to the house just yet, Amos,” Verity said, thinking that it would be best for the two of them to talk thoroughly before they returned.

  She could see that Amos still had all his old concerns for her and she needed to soothe his fears. If she did not, he would continue to interfere, and she was finding it a little draining.

  “Are you angry with me again, Verity?” he asked as the two sat side-by-side and stared out over their father’s grounds.

  “No, I am not angry with you. And I do not want to upset you either, Amos, but I am bound to tell you that I would have friends closer to my own age if they were at all interested in me. But they are not, you see, and so I gravitate towards the people who are.” She paused for a moment and tried to find the right tone.

  She did not want to make Amos feel sad for her circumstances, neither did she want to make him feel responsible for her in any way. But if she did not explain things to him just as they were, he would continue trying to change her. And Verity Colchester did not want to be changed.

  “I have always understood that to have an abundance of female friends of my own age that I must turn myself into something I am not. I would have to keep quiet about my interests, I would certainly never be able to bring up the subject of the microscope that Papa recently bought me,” she laughed
and was pleased when Amos did the same. “I would have to deny my interest in architecture, botany, science of any kind, almost everything that I enjoy. In short, I would have to give up being myself, Amos.”

  “I would not like to see that,” he said solemnly.

  “No, neither would I. And it is for that very reason that I am not searching for the perfect union. In fact, perfect or not, I am not searching for a union of any kind. I am in a very fortunate position, am I not? To have parents who would not push me… and a brother who, when he inherits, will let me stay here forever. If that is still your intention.” She gave him a rueful smile.

  “Verity, I would be happy to keep you here with me forever, I really would. And I would do so for my own selfish reasons, for I could never imagine being pleased to part with you. But at the same time, I want more for you in this life than to watch everybody else’s children being raised. I want you to have marriage and a home. You deserve it.”

  “But I do not want it, Amos. You must understand, you are wishing for me things that I would not wish for myself. I do not want to be denied my interests, I do not want my intelligence to be forced into a dark corner until it does not exist anymore.”

  “You look rather bleakly upon us men, sister. We are not all the same. I would never expect you to be anything other than yourself.”

  “But that is you, Amos. It does not describe the vast majority.”

  “You really are quite determined, are you not?”

  “I am determined, Amos. I have my interests and I do not want to give them up. I do not want to wait until I am a widow like Aunt Mary before I am able to pick up the reins of my life again. Really, I had no idea what an interesting person she was until that dreadful husband of hers passed away. She could not be herself in safety whilst that man still walked the earth. Really, it is such an awful thing that I wonder you can even ask me to explain myself.”

  “But what if you met a man who was different? One who loved you for everything that you are and wanted you to remain yourself at all times? What would you do then?”

  “I would write it down in one of Jane’s romance novels, for such a man does not exist,” Verity said with a laugh before getting hurriedly to her feet. “Come, let us go inside now. I really am a little cold.”

  As they walked arm in arm back towards the house, Verity sincerely hoped that she had laid Amos’ fears to rest if only for a little while.

  Chapter Two

  Irving Ayres walked into Clarendon’s gentlemen’s club with quiet, well-hidden amusement. He was ushered through the entrance hall to a small office where he was very quickly signed in as the guest of Amos Colchester.

  Everywhere he went the walls were covered with dark wood paneling. The curtains and rugs were all in the deepest, plainest red, and there were portraits everywhere of notable former members; men for whom death was the only thing which could force them to relinquish their membership at Clarendon’s.

  As nicely as the place was kept, he could still detect the faint aroma of tobacco smoke and liquor. Everything was so masculine, from the decor to the smell of the place that it was almost feral. There was a darkness to it, as if they dared not throw the shutters wide in case they found a group of unwanted women peering in through the windows.

  Irving stifled a chuckle; he was here to meet his old school friend and he knew he must behave himself. Although, why a man as bright and friendly as Amos would choose to spend so many of his evenings at Clarendon’s was beyond him.

  Amos was a man whose life was constant movement; was always outside doing something, and the austere, sober maleness of the place seemed so at odds with his character.

  “Ah, marvelous.” Amos greeted him in the dining room with customary enthusiasm, much to the annoyed stares of some of the other, older men who were silently enjoying their meals. “I have already ordered for the pair of us, I do hope you do not mind, Irving?”

  “Not at all,” Irving smiled and sat down at the little table opposite Amos. “So, how are you? Well I hope?”

  “Very well indeed, Irving. And you look jolly well, Sir, I must say.”

  “Perhaps so, but I believe I am developing the little aches and pains of one who is approaching thirty.”

  “Yes, as we all,” Amos chuckled and looked over at a smartly dressed young man, one of the servants at the club, and nodded at him in silent request for him to fill their sherry glasses. “I must admit, at nearly thirty myself, I am starting to wonder if I am no longer a young man anymore,” Amos went on.

  “And yet it does not seem such a long time since we were boys at Eton, does it?”

  “No, it does not.” Amos treated the young man who had filled their glasses to a broad smile. “Thank you.”

  “Do you ever think of settling down in life, Amos? Or is it a little too early for you?” Irving asked from motives of only the very vaguest interest.

  The truth was, that seemed to be the direction in which the conversation was naturally heading, although Irving was really not interested in such discussions.

  “I think the time is coming, my dear fellow. I have it narrowed down currently to a choice between three young ladies.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Irving said and laughed genuinely. “But if none of them stands head and shoulders above the rest in your affections, Amos, I do not think that you are particularly well suited to any of them.”

  “Actually, that is a very sensible slice of advice.”

  “I am happy to help,” Irving said and began to forget the oppressive decor of the gentlemen’s club as he settled into his enjoyment of Amos’s company.

  “What about you, Irving? Any young lady of note on your horizon?”

  “No, there is none,” Irving said.

  “You seem a little downcast, Irving. But surely a fine man such as yourself does not want for the attention of the ladies,” Amos said quizzically, “you have that fine estate and are impressive in sport, if I remember correctly.”

  “I do not lack for female attention in truth. What I lack is female attention I have any time for,” Irving said.

  “Nobody who catches your eye?”

  “They catch the eye, Amos, but failed to catch the imagination,” Irving said, feeling suddenly hungry and wishing that the food Amos had ordered would soon arrive, whatever it was.

  “Out of interest, Irving, why is that?” Amos, ordinarily a light-hearted sort of man who rarely seemed to pay full attention to anything, looked suddenly serious and leaned his elbows on the table between them and observed Irving rather closely.

  “I suppose the fact is that most young women seem the same to me. They are all looking for something that they have been forced to believe is absolutely essential to their very existence. And in many cases, it is.”

  “And that is?”

  “A good marriage. A man who will be able to provide for them. And so that they do not have to live in reduced circumstances or fear of starving to death, most of them will do absolutely anything to achieve that stability. And who can blame them, Amos? When those are the options they are handed, who on earth can blame them?”

  “Would it not then be a kindness to marry one of them, my dear chap?”

  “Simplistically, yes.” Irving shrugged. “But I am afraid that I do not want to be married to a woman who only wants to please out of a secret struggle to survive. They are instructed by mothers who felt that same struggle, you see, and so I find it does not matter whose company I am in, it always seems the same. They are accomplished in arts they think pleasing to us. Simple, frivolous things which would not threaten any of us.”

  “Perhaps you ought to meet my sister,” Amos said and laughed heartily. “You would certainly find her one who bucked that trend.”

  “I am sure,” Irving said politely, having no desire at all to meet Amos’ sister.

  Irving really did wish that they could change the subject altogether. He had long wondered what life would be like if he were a married man but knew that
he could not live such a stilted existence. With his own parents as an example, he could see quite clearly how such things worked.

  His father had chosen his mother because there was nothing about her to challenge him. She determinedly swallowed down her own intelligence and talents so that his might look all the more impressive. But his father had grown bored with such a woman, little understanding that it was nothing more than his very own demands which made her of such little interest to him. He lived in a world he had created and yet he resented the woman who had, like so many others, been coerced into their own blankness. And, of course, Irving’s father, like so many other men, did not even see their own part in it. It was an offense and a tragedy all at once, one which Irving Ayres did not intend to involve himself in.

  “So, you would be looking for a learned sort of a woman?”

  “They are all learned, Amos. They are taught all manner of things and undoubtedly pick up no end of wonderful ideas on their own through books. And then, in the interest of survival, they forget all of it. Or deny ever having known it, at any rate.”

  “And I suppose you still have the same run of interests that kept you a little apart from the rest of us at school?” Amos said in a light-heartedly blunt manner that Irving had always liked for the very fact that he knew it to be entirely self-conscious.

  “I am good at sports, as you say, but I am not a hunting man nor a socializer particularly.” Irving began. “I like books, I always have. I like learning, expanding. I attend lectures now and again, evenings of interest. So yes, I daresay I do have the same run of interests, only I have added to them over the years.” Irving was his own man and had long since given up feeling the need to apologize for his own character.