A Perfect Match: A Sweet Regency Historical Romance

by Donna Hatch

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright Mirror Lake Press, 2019

  Cover art and interior format by Lisa Messegee, The Write Designer

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without express written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Published in the United States of America

  To my fans who wanted to know how the story of Genevieve and Christian began, this prequel is for you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Donna Hatch

  Chapter 1

  England, Summer 1818

  Genevieve Marshall gazed out of the coach’s window, her joyful anticipation of reuniting with her friend fading at the sight of the dark, grotesque abbey. Why, all it needed was the clichéd dead tree, complete with a cawing crow, to make an ideal setting for a Gothic novel. Genevieve couldn’t imagine a drearier place in which to have a house party.

  “I can hardly believe Matilda grew up here,” Genevieve murmured.

  Indeed, the structure seemed determined to inspire melancholy rather than Matilda Widtsoe’s irrepressible liveliness.

  Mama pushed back the curtain and peered out. Auburn ringlets, the same color as Genevieve’s, framed her face and contrasted with her lace cap. “Good heavens, what a cheerless dwelling.”

  Chuckling, Papa set aside his newspaper to admire the view. “That ‘cheerless dwelling’ is Bainbridge Abbey, built in the eleventh century to withstand sieges.”

  Genevieve sent him a wry smile. “I don’t suppose you can promise a few ghosts to add to the ambience?”

  “I’ll speak to Admiral Widtsoe.” Papa’s chocolate brown eyes crinkled.

  “Tell your ghosts to stay out of our bedchamber,” Mama said primly. “I’ll not have our privacy invaded by their shenanigans.”

  “I’m sure they can be reasonable,” Genevieve quipped.

  She studied her Mama for signs of undue fatigue or distress. One can never be too careful with a weak heart. However, despite a two-day journey, Mama’s color remained good at the moment. Still, as soon as they reached the abbey, she’d see to it that her mother rested.

  Genevieve resettled into the seat cushions and imagined her reunion with her friend Matilda Widtsoe. It seemed a decade since they’d last conversed, but it had only been a year. Letters were no substitute for lively conversation, although the capitalized and underlined words and the prolific use of exclamation points certainly reflected Matilda’s passionate manner of speech.

  And who was this young gentleman who’d captured her friend’s heart this Season and occupied a large portion of Matilda’s letters? Genevieve fairly tingled with anticipation. She must determine if this young man was worthy of her friend.

  The coach bumped over the curving road and stopped in front of the to the ominous structure’s main entrance.

  As Genevieve took Papa’s hand and stepped out, she looked up at the dark building. “Oh, my.”

  “Look at the gargoyles on the parapets.” Papa pointed. “This is truly a well-preserved structure. I’m happy to see they didn’t make any additions to try to modernize it.”

  “Mrs. Widtsoe said they’ve updated inside,” Mama said. “They even have modern bathing rooms with shower baths.” She raised her brows.

  A bath sounded delightful after the dirt and grit of the road. But not as delightful as reuniting with Matilda.

  While footmen shouldered the family’s trunks, Genevieve followed her parents up the front steps. They’d no sooner been admitted into a cavernous great hall than a squeal of delight and a bundle of ruffles launched itself at Genevieve and hugged her until she let out a squeak herself.

  “Oh, Jenny, you’re here at last! I have so much to tell you!” Matilda drew back enough to let Genevieve breathe.

  She’d forgotten their height difference. Though Matilda stood at average height, Genevieve barely reached the tip of Matilda’s perfectly English nose. They grinned at one another.

  Matilda curtsied to Genevieve’s parents before resuming her bobbing as if her excitement refused to be contained, her honey-colored curls echoing every bounce. “Welcome, Captain Marshall, Mrs. Marshall. We’re so happy you’re all here. I trust your journey was not too tiring?”

  Before Mama and Papa got off more than a few words, Matilda said, “Good, good. Mrs. Pearce will see you settled.” She took both of Genevieve’s hands into hers, and Matilda’s words started tripping all over themselves in her excitement. “Oh, Jenny, I can’t wait for you to meet him. He and his father are attending the house party. Isn’t that wonderful? His father is an earl, you might recall, so it’s quite an honor that they’re coming, but of course, that’s not why I adore him. Oh, Jenny, he’s handsome and stylish and polite and even a bit mysterious, but I’m sure he’ll be more forthcoming here with so many opportunities to converse.” With her hands still entwined with Genevieve’s, Matilda started hopping up and down with more vigor, her curls keeping pace.

  Genevieve laughed weakly in the face of such a force of nature. “I look forward to meeting him. I only hope he’s good enough for you, Mattie.”

  “Wait until you meet him! Oh, just wait!”

  “Good heavens, child, show some decorum,” came a voice from behind them. Mrs. Widtsoe approached, shaking her head, a resigned smile touching her lips. “Welcome, Captain and Mrs. Marshall, and of course, welcome to you, Miss Marshall.”

  Admiral Widtsoe arrived, greeting Papa heartily and bowing to Mama and Genevieve.

  Mrs. Widtsoe asked, “Would you like refreshment first, or to rest in your rooms?”

  “Tea would be lovely,” Mama said. “But I do believe I ought to rest soon thereafter.”

  Genevieve cast an anxious look at Mrs. Widtsoe. Catching her meaning, the perceptive lady suggested, “Shall I send a tea tray to your chamber so you might rest without delay?”

  “Thank you, that might be just the thing,” Mama agreed.

  Genevieve disentangled herself from her exuberant friend with a promise to return momentarily. After ensuring Mama got her tea and was resting comfortably, her heart medicine within reach if needed, and good-naturedly enduring Mama’s calling her ‘little mother,’ Genevieve changed out of her carriage dress, freshened up, and followed a maid to the parlor. The longed-for bath would have to wait until after Genevieve enjoyed a coze with Matilda.

  In the parlor, decorated in shades of rose and pink, Matilda arose from a settee where she’d been perched and cast a glance at her mother who sat speaking with a group of matrons. “We’re going for a walk, Mother.”

  The lady nodded and gave them a loose wave. Matilda glided, with hardly any bouncing, to Genevieve. Taking her arm, she tugged her outside. The moment they stepped through the French doors onto the terrace, Matilda’s flow of words began, as did her bouncing. With her blue eyes shining and her cheeks pink, she painted a lovely picture.

  “Oh, Jenny, I have been waiting for this moment for ages! I just know you’re going to love him. I declare that I will do anything to secure
a place in his heart. Wouldn’t it be lovely if he chose the house party to propose?”

  Genevieve nodded. “Indeed it would.”

  Matilda pressed a hand dramatically over her heart. “There has never been a more perfect man in all the earth. I am most violently in love with him!”

  Smiling, Genevieve couldn’t help tweaking her friend just a bit. “Weren’t you violently in love with the Duke of Suttenberg last year?”

  Matilda waved away the past. “Oh, well, I admit I did have a bit of a tendré for him—he’s so handsome and proper, and of course comes from ancient lineage—but we hardly exchanged two words. It was more like admiration from afar than true love.”

  “And this is true love?”

  “Oh, yes! He is mysterious and quiet. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was shy. But that’s quite unheard of for such a handsome man of fashion, and an earl’s son besides. He’s merely thoughtful and doesn’t speak unless he has something important to say. Oh, and he’s so artistic! I asked him to paint my portrait while he was here, and do you know he agreed? He painted the loveliest portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire. It’s simply exquisite! He’s developing quite an impressive reputation as an artist of both landscapes and portraits. I vow half of the fashionable houses in London are graced with one of his paintings.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen landscapes and portraits of his.”

  “I wish he had a twin so you could have one of him, too. He has brothers but none of them are coming. The eldest, the viscount, is off visiting his aunt and uncle somewhere, and the next eldest is at sea—a pirate, if you believe rumor, although I can’t believe anyone in that family being such a scoundrel. And the next one is in London, but he seems to shun society. Scarred, too, I hear. Oh, but Christian is so handsome. He and his father look a great deal alike, both tall and broad-shouldered and blond. Mama says he looks like Hercules, but I think of him as Adonis.” She sighed theatrically and pressed both hands over her heart.

  Genevieve smiled at the romantic image her friend created. “Your mother approves, I take it?”

  “Of course! And Father has already said he’ll give permission promptly and not tease Christian when he seeks him out. Can you imagine? Me? Married to such a handsome man, and the son of an earl? Why, all my friends will be green with envy! Except you, of course, Jenny. You’re a true friend.”

  Genevieve squeezed her hand. “I hope he makes you happy, Mattie, I truly do.”

  She made a silent vow to give this paragon a careful study to be sure he wasn’t a clever roué who trifled with her friend’s heart. After all the losses her dear friend had suffered, Matilda deserved true happiness. Genevieve would do anything to ensure Matilda found it.

  Matilda sighed. “I suppose we ought to return to the others. Mama wishes me to help her greet our guests. The guest list is quite impressive, I assure you. Oh, Jenny, I hope someone comes who is suitable for you. It would be lovely to have a double wedding!”

  Smiling, Genevieve said, “I hardly think a week-long house party is adequate time to fall in love with a stranger and decide to marry.”

  Earnest blue eyes met hers. “Sometimes love happens instantly and you just know.” She pressed a hand over her heart. “It was that quick for me.”

  Genevieve nodded and kept her doubts to herself. She sent up a silent prayer that if this so-called perfect Christian Amesbury weren’t good enough for Matilda, his flaws would become apparent before Matilda suffered true heartbreak.

  They turned back to the house as more guests arrived. Carriages lined up and servants scurried to settle the arrivals.

  Matilda halted before they entered the great hall. She took both of Genevieve’s hands and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here, Jenny. It’s been torture to be in such raptures without anyone to share it with who really understands and listens.”

  Her words trailed off. Genevieve followed her gaze to a tall, distinguished older gentleman with silver streaks brushing his dark hair. He stood amid the chaos of boxes, trunks, and scurrying servants, surveying the scene with barely suppressed disdain. Sophisticated in his stylishly tailored riding clothes and lean form, he fingered his riding crop as if wishing he could control the servants the way he controlled his horse.

  Matilda lowered her voice. “That’s Lord Wickburgh, a viscount and an acquaintance of my father’s.”

  “He’s a very elegant gentleman.”

  “Yes. Very.” For once, Matilda didn’t elaborate.

  Lord Wickburgh’s gaze passed over the great hall. As his focus landed on Genevieve, he looked so hard at her that she turned her gaze downward. His stare contained a chill that settled into her backbone.

  Admiral Widtsoe greeted the impressive lord, and soon the viscount ascended the staircase, presumably to his bedchamber. Genevieve let out a breath and worked the feeling back into her toes. Others arrived, and Matilda greeted them with her mother. Genevieve hung back so as not to be in the way and offered assistance when possible.

  A young gentleman arrived with a couple. The bright-eyed older woman reminded Genevieve of a sparrow with her bright black eyes and the way she fluttered about. Matilda introduced them to Genevieve as Mr. and Mrs. Ashton and their son.

  The young Mr. Ashton bowed low over her hand and offered a wan smile. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Marshall.” The kindness in his eyes was at odds with the monotone quality of his voice and he gave her a rather lingering look.

  Genevieve murmured a reply and blushed under Matilda’s delighted grin.

  Later came a very young man who didn’t appear to have reached his majority, with his brown hair in the youthful-looking Cherubin style which sported short curls all over.

  Mrs. Widtsoe clasped his hands. “So happy you are here, Sir Reginald. I hear you earned your degree from Oxford?”

  “Yes, indeed I have, ma’am. My mother sends her love.” He turned warm eyes onto Matilda. “Always a pleasure to see you, Mattie.”

  Matilda grinned. “Good afternoon, Reggie. I suppose you feel all grown up now, eh?” All at once, Matilda let out a strangled sound of glee, clearly forgetting Sir Reginald, and grabbed Genevieve’s arm. “He’s here!” Her urgent whisper drew Genevieve’s focus.

  Matilda gestured toward a breathtakingly perfect young gentleman. Genevieve had frequented art museums with sculptures and paintings of mortal men and gods, some so beautiful she could almost fall into a swoon over them. But never in her life had she seen one come to life. Though she’d always had a preference for dark-haired men, probably influenced by her penchant for reading Gothics, this stunning vision was a study in gold, from the gold of his glorious hair, to the lightly golden tones of his sun-kissed skin, even the gold threads in his waistcoat. His riding coat brought out the summer-sky blue of his eyes that glanced about and then darted to a man who could only be his father—a thinner, older image of the blond vision. The young gentleman’s eyes narrowed in concern as they focused on his father.

  This beautiful young man must be Christian Amesbury. No wonder Matilda was besotted!

  In a hushed voice, Matilda said, “His father is the Earl of Tarrington.”

  The young Mr. Amesbury spoke quietly to his father, but the earl waved off his son’s words. A faded version of a smile touched the older gentleman’s mouth as he greeted Admiral and Mrs. Widtsoe. Matilda barely managed to pull her gaze of his son to greet the earl.

  As if feeling the weight of Genevieve’s stare, the stunning Mr. Amesbury glanced at her briefly before lowering his gaze, a half smile curving his full, shapely lips that conjured visions of stolen kisses underneath rose bowers.

  Genevieve flushed. A pity she’d left her fan behind. Ashamed she’d been mooning over her friend’s preference, Genevieve cast an anxious glance at Matilda. Her friend stared rapturously at the vision, her hands clasped to her bosom. Good. Genevieve’s guilty secret remained safe.

  Silent while his father greeted the hosts, Mr. Amesbury only looked her in th
e eye for an instant. But oh, what an instant!

  A timeless sense of recognition hit her with all the fanfare of a royal parade but light as a cat’s whisker. The empty place deepest inside her heart, one she’d not before known existed, cried out for its other half.

  This must be what Matilda felt.

  It must never happen again.

  Genevieve was here to meet the gentleman of her friend’s dreams, not form dreams of her own. She squared her shoulders and vowed to discover if his heart were as fair as his face. Most especially, she must learn whether he was worthy of her dearest friend.

  Chapter 2

  Christian Amesbury greeted his hosts, the Widtsoes, while keeping an eye on his father, the Earl of Tarrington. Leaving the healing waters of Bath and traveling to this house party might prove too taxing to the earl’s failing strength. But this had been the first social event his father had expressed a desire to attend since Mama’s death, so Christian had encouraged their attendance.

  While still in the Widtsoes’ hall, Christian searched for signs that their decision to come would prove too dangerous to his parent’s health. However, besides fatigued, Father seemed well enough at present, even showing a keener interest in his surroundings than he had in months. Perhaps the trip would boost his flagging spirits and revive his vitality in a way Bath had failed to do.

  Besides, Christian had never visited this rugged terrain before, and his artist’s eye had already found new subject matter to paint. Not to mention, Admiral Widtsoe had commissioned him to do a painting of the abbey, and his lively daughter had already begged him to paint a portrait of her. The trip might be good for his father and him.

  Father drew Christian into the conversation as he greeted his long-time friends. “You remember my son, Christian—my right-hand man.”