by Stacy Reid
“Oh Amalie, are you very certain?” Bess asked, staring at her fretfully.
She gripped her dearest friend’s gloved hands between hers. “Do not appear so stricken. I only mean to travel for a few years. Italy, Paris, Constantinople! I daresay it will be a grand adventure.”
“But you are going alone, that is what I am worried about.”
A flash of wild grief and pain gripped her, and Amalie did her best to appear indifferent. “Pffs!” She waved aside her friend’s concern. “I shall be well.”
Her voice cracked on that last bit, and she tried to shore up herself with a smile that wobbled alarmingly.
Unexpectedly the crowd tittered and surged, and she glanced up to see Max descending the wide staircase into the heart of the ballroom. He was garbed in a navy blue trousers, matching jacket, and a silver waistcoat. Each of his steps seemed infused with coiled elegance, and his popular set rushed to greet him.
“I heard that Lady Rebecca, and the marchioness went down to Hertfordshire at Lord Kentwood’s mother’s invitation! It seems an alliance would soon be announced.”
She was conscious of a low, moan of denial slipping from her. Amalie tried to hide her misery at Bess’s probing stare. Filled with a terrible vulnerability, she clasped her gloved hands tightly before her. “Bess,” she whispered, her throat aching, “I must leave now. I cannot... I simply cannot bear to stay!” Tears trembled on her eyelids and she would die should they spill over in such a public setting for the worst gossipers to witness.
“Do not,” Bess urged, wonder in her tone. “I think.... Good heavens! I think the earl is coming directly to you!”
Amalie snapped her head up, shocked to see the lazy, almost predatory grace with which her lover... no! not her lover, Lord Kentwood moved with through the crowd. He did seem to head in her direction, but Amalie couldn’t be so certain. The closer he drew to her, the louder the whispers behind the fans came. “What is he doing?” she gasped. “Is he really coming to me?”
Then he was upon her. Everyone in her immediate vicinity had gone frightfully quiet.
“Lady Weatherston,” he greeted smoothly, dipping into a bow. “I see the quadrille is about to start. Will you be my partner?”
Someone close by gasped dramatically.
Amalie just stared at him. “No one has asked me to dance in...in years,” she said inanely.
“I am astonished at their idiocy,” he said, holding out his hand. “If you would do me the honor, I would be in your debt.”
Her heart hammered. What are you doing, Max? Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she looked around, painfully aware that everyone stared at them, waiting to see if she accepted his invitation. She lifted her chin, smiled, and dipped into a small curtsy. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”
She rested her hand on his arm as he led her to the dancefloor to join the other three couples gathered for the dance. Amalie’s heart pounded so furiously, and she could only imagine how flushed she appeared. He stood by her side, held her elbows as they waited for the lively melodies to start. Amalie felt breathless, and they hadn’t started moving yet. She could feel the intense scrutiny of the ton and of the other pair of dances in their square formation.
The orchestra started to play, and she glided with him, past another couple, then he spun her into a twirl before she faced her other partner. The lively dance lasted for several minutes, and to her amusement and equal discomfort, everyone was overly invested in watching them.
The dance ended, and he led her back to Bess without speaking. Then he bowed and departed to speak with his friend George.
“What was that about?” Bess murmured, flicking open her fan.
“I...I do not know,” Amalie whispered, still breathless. “He said nothing, and I was too out of sorts to ask.”
There were still several murmurs but the attention they had just garnered dwindled. She snagged a flute of champagne from a passing footman and took several sips, truly at a loss why he had danced with her. After their parting she hadn’t expected to meet him socially, or for him to ever approach her in public. She glanced at him discreetly, and he paid her no mind, thoroughly engaged in a discussion with his friends.
Was this his way of offering an apology? Because surely society will not forget that he had chosen to dance with her when she had been snubbed for so many years. An ache blossomed through her heart, and she wished she could march over to where he stood and thank him. His actions just now truly showed that he was not afraid for their name to be publicly linked nor was he ashamed of her. Mortification clawed through her at how easily she had judged his actions base on her own experiences with the ton over the years. I should have known you were not like them.
Regret curled through her like acid. Please look at me, she silently beseeched.
But he did not turn to face her, and she could only look away so as not to embarrass herself by wearing her sleeves on her shoulders. “I must send him a note tomorrow, thanking him,” she said huskily.
“He has done much tonight to help in restoring your reputation, but surely he should see that a dance is not enough,” Bess said tartly. “At least some conversation would make it more evident that he does not sit in judgement like the other crows.”
Amalie smiled, her heart warming at her friend’s unwavering support. “It is not his job to restore my reputation. What he just did was a great kindness, and it is sufficient.”
Except her heart was still hurting from wanting him so much. How can I bear to let you go again when you are the only man I’ve ever loved? Yet what exactly should she do? Amalie only knew she could not run. She had done that once and five years and miles of heartache separated them. Even if she needed to swallow her pride and fears and have one last conversation with him, that she would do. And if they must part forever, the last conversation to linger in their memories would not be the bitter and painful one she had left in Derbyshire.
A waltz was announced, and the eager couples took to the dance floor.
“Oh my,” Bess said breathlessly, now fanning herself vigorously.
Amalie cast a quick glance at her friend. “What is the matter with—”
“Lady Weatherston,” a smooth voice drawled. “May I ask you to do me the honor of partnering me for this dance?”
Amalie snapped her head around and stared at Max with ill-concealed shock. He was dancing with her twice in one evening. Good heavens! She could not find her tongue to ask him anything, nor could she gather her scattered wits to protest when he stepped forward, placed her hand upon his arm and led her to the dancefloor.
The waves of murmurs that crested through the room surpassed the crowd’s earlier response. Even those already on the dancefloor gawked shamelessly. If she weren’t so anxious about what he was doing, Amalie would have been amused by their reactions. Instead, she stared at him helplessly, so many feelings writhing inside she was unable to separate them into any semblance of clarity.
The violins leaped to life and the beautiful strains filled the ballroom. He took her into his arms as they soared together. Just being held in his arms was sinfully delicious. The way he stared at her. Do you want to start a scandal? she wanted to ask, but her tongue remained tied. He swung her, and she swiveled, and the heat of his hands on her lower back burned through her gown. The rest of society faded as they stared in each other’s gazes, never once breaking that connection for the duration of the dance. Once again when it ended, he led her to the sidelines, and dipped into a bow. His lips curved into his beloved crooked smile, and he drifted away.
When she glanced at Bess, her friend was smiling widely behind her fan.
“I daresay your man has come to his senses.”
“Has he?” she cried, not understanding the anxiety pounding through her. “Oh, Bess what is he doing? Everyone is looking at me. Why has he danced with me twice and render no explanation? What...what is he saying? Is he just trying to give his stamp of approval or...or does he mean more? I am so afr
aid to hope!”
“Dancing twice in one evening is more than an approval, and three times is a declaration.”
“Three times? I—”
“Lady Weatherston, may I have your hand for the second waltz?”
Amalie faltered into remarkable stillness.
He gave her an unreadable look. “Are you going to leave my hand hanging, my Amalie?” he asked tenderly.
Filled with a terrible vulnerability she lowered her gaze to the hand he held out. Her heart began to hammer wildly, and her cheeks grew flushed. Placing her hand into his, she went on the dance floor with him. Those in Thea’s townhouse appeared more confused than Amalie.
The second waltz for the night started, and the hand she placed atop his shoulders trembled. This was a declaration. She felt wrapped in an invisible warmth. “People...everyone is looking at us,” she croaked, able to feel her palm sweating through her gloves.
“Let them look,” he said, peering down at her, his eyes somber and glowing with a tender look that made her feel flustered...and dare she hoped, happy!
“You have danced with me for three dances,” she whispered, still unable to credit his actions. “You’ve made a statement tonight and the news of your outrageousness will be all about town tomorrow. Then in the papers!”
“Let it spread,” he said spinning her in a graceful arc. “I want the whole of England to know.”
Her heart pounded so fiercely she feared fainting was a possibility. “Know what?” she asked so softly it was a wonder he heard.
He spun her in several sweeping arches before bringing her back closely.
“I want everyone to know it is you who I choose.”
The earth fell from beneath her feet and her hands tightened on his. Amalie stumbled, and he caught her, twirling into the waltz effortlessly.
“I confess the moment I met you, Amalie, you’ve had all my heart.”
She was enthralled by what she saw in his gaze and her heart pounded an erratic rhythm.
“I want everyone to know it is you who is most important to me. I want you and everyone to know I have never been ashamed of being seen with you. I want them to know I love you.”
Her world shattered at her feet at his declaration. This time she faltered, uncaring they had come to a complete stop in the center of the grand ballroom. “You love me?”
He cupped her cheeks and a delicious shock ran through her.
“I have been agonizingly in love with you, my Amalie, for years. The years without you, there have been a void in my heart that expanded and filled with joy and hope the moment I saw you again. That is why I so eagerly consented for us to be lovers. I needed you in my life and any excuse would do. I hope you can forgive my idiocy and consent to be my wife.”
“The scandal—”
“Hang the scandal, the gossips, and those who believe we need their approval. You entered society knowing they would still judge you, but you did so fiercely, bravely, unflinchingly. Walk beside me, always, in the same manner, and I promise I will do the same.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, and uncaring they were there she laughed waterily. “Yes, I’ll marry you! I love you with my entire heart, Max!”
He smiled and swept her back into the dance until the last strain of the orchestra died away. And then to simply be outrageous, with the consent and approval of their hostess, he made the announcement that, Lady Amalie Weatherston had agreed to marry him.
That night a few debutantes fainted, and Amalie could only assume it was theatrics at losing the season most eligible bachelor. His friends and few other notable lords with their charming wives offered sincere congratulations, while some still whispered behind their fans and turned their noses into the air.
Nothing dimmed Amalie’s joy, and when he had outrageously demanded a fourth and a fifth dance, she had laughingly and joyously walked into his arms.
Six months later...
Christmas Eve
Max’s family had revealed themselves to be warm, caring, and a pleasure to be a part of. Once he had boldly declared himself in front of the ton, the scandal which had erupted had been heartbreaking. Everything which had died down years ago had resurface. The newssheet headlines had once again screamed of the wanton lady who had caused her husband’s death with her shameful manners.
Her husband hadn’t thought it his family’s business as to what happened then, but she had called a family meeting, which included all his family, and her parents. There she had explained that she had run from her home to escape being attack and hurt. His family had been appalled, but they had rallied in their support.
They had closed their ranks around her, and while their connections were not the most powerful, the obvious show of support had influenced society. The newssheet headline had shockingly one day speculated that perhaps she had been running from a vile despoiler and had bravely saved herself. She had been lauded as heroic and an example for many young ladies who might find themselves in such a situation what was frightfully common when dealing with libertines and rakes. Amalie suspected someone from the family had used their connections with the owner of that newssheet, but everyone had been secretive.
Though the tide had shifted, there were still those who turned their noses when they saw her and her earl together. What affected those prigs the most was how uncaring Amalie and Max was about their opinions. Many declared them to be a darling couple of the ton and was envious of their love match. And she was living her most joyous and happiest life with her husband.
They skated on the iced over lake some distance away from the rest of the family. Everyone had gathered in Hertfordshire for Christmas. The palatial country home was grand and beautiful. Though his aunt had offered to move to Bath with her daughter to grant the newlyweds privacy, Amalie had refused. Cardis Park was more than large enough for everyone to reside there, and his aunt had graciously relinquished the duties of the lady of the house to Amalie. Hundreds of lanterns lit along the snowy embankment creating an ethereal glow on the ice. They came to a stop, and he wrapped his hand around her waist from behind.
“Max?”
“Hmm,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her nape.
“I...I am with child.”
He went so still she feared he did not breathe.
“Are you certain?”
She turned in the cage of his arms. “It is very early yet, but I am certain.”
He cupped her cheeks and kissed her lovingly. “I love you, my Amalie.” Then her mouth was on his, being thoroughly, sweetly ravished.
“I love you, too,” she said, breaking their kiss to lean her head on his shoulders, never imagining her life could be this full and happy.
* * *
Thank you for reading Forever Yours Series Bundle 3! I do plan to continue this series with at least six more novellas with characters you have met over the course of the series.
I would like to introduce you to another series of mine, The Sinful Wallflowers! These stories are full length, all over 90,000 words and will feature six friends as they embark on their perilous journey to find love.
If you keep reading, you will find the first three chapters of MY DARLING DUKE, to introduce you to this new series of my heart. If you have not read MY DARLING DUKE yet, and you enjoy the preview, I hope you will grab a copy and indulge in Kitty and Alexander’s wonderful romance!
Love,
Stacy
MY DARLING DUKE
Excerpt
Chapter One
Brampton Manor
Hertfordshire
“We will have to be wicked, improper, and terribly scandalous.”
Those words fell trembling from the lips of Lady Maryann Fitzwilliam, a young lady who wouldn’t know what it meant to be scandalous if it slapped her across the face at the crest of each dawn.
It was a concept wholly improbable to the Honourable Katherine Iphigenia Danvers—Kitty to her friends and family—but nevertheless she felt effortlessly captivated. Or perhaps
the sinful plan burning within her heart—the one she had prayed for, asking for a sign—was being validated.
It has to be. Ladies who were regulated to the status of wallflowers and spinsters were never wicked…and most assuredly never terribly scandalous.
“Wicked!” all four other young ladies present at their intrepid meeting chorused.
There was a breathless pause, the only sound in the drawing room the strains of the orchestra filtering through the closed doors as they played from the grand ballroom several doors away.
“Yes,” replied Maryann empathically, her gaze piercing her audience with its bright resolve. She stood and sauntered to the center of the room, the hem of her elegantly draped icy blue gown swishing over the Aubusson carpet. How delightful Maryann appeared this evening, yet Kitty knew she had not yet been asked to the dance floor.
Maryann folded her arms beneath her bosom and captured all their attention with a steely gaze. “I am not content with my lot. I cannot believe any of you is happy with your situation. We must be daring and take what we need instead of waiting, wasting away on the shelves our family and society have placed us on. We are all over two and twenty, we’re not getting any younger, and our prospects grow dimmer each year. What have we to lose?”
“I daresay you may be correct, Maryann,” chimed in Lady Ophelia Darby, another member of their society, jokingly named the Sinful Wallflowers. Only they hadn’t done anything sinful, except for the time they had emptied a bottle of Ophelia’s father’s finest whiskey among them, giggling and hiccupping like loons in the night. Ophelia was their most illustrious member, being the daughter of a marquess, albeit without a dowry. Her deep golden-brown eyes were filled with trepidation—and a glimmer of excitement, if Kitty was not mistaken.
