by Valerie King
A Daring Courtship
By
Valerie King
***
Kensington Publishing Corp. edition 2004
Copyright © 2003, 2014 by Valerie King
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced in whole or in part, scanned, photocopied, recorded, distributed in any printed or electronic form, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Formatting and cover by Bella Media Management.
Published by Twin Bridges Creations LLC at Smashwords.
First Edition Ebook.
***
Dear Reader,
I wrote A DARING COURTSHIP after a wonderful trip to Britain. I had the opportunity to stay with friends in the county of Sussex in which the story is set, so I know firsthand the beautiful rolling landscape of southern England.
A DARING COURTSHIP follows the plight of Madeline Piper as she battles her deceased mother’s strictures about how society should be managed. Having a Scotsman propose to her goes against every principle she’s been taught and she only enters into what proves to be a secret betrothal with Sir Roger Mathieson because her father tells her he’s gambled away the family fortune.
Knowing of Madeline’s deep prejudice against his Scottish heritage, Sir Roger insists that the only way he’ll wed her -- thereby saving her family from disgrace -- is if she brings him into fashion in her stodgy Sussex neighborhood.
Never one to shy from a challenge, Madeline takes up the gauntlet but finds herself taken down by Sir Roger’s warm embraces!
As many of you know, I write and have been published in several genres, including, Regency Romance, Contemporary Romance, Paranormal Romance, and Western Historical Romance, though the pseudonyms vary at times.
When I first started thinking about releasing my Regency backlist, I knew I wanted to add a few touches here and there to each story, nothing major but sufficient to modernize the style for a new readership. I’ve kept the edits light in order to maintain the original vision of the story.
I hope you enjoy A DARING COURTSHIP and the Regency world that I came to know and love so many years ago!
Enjoy!
Valerie King
To learn more about Valerie King and to sign up for her newsletter go to http://www.valerieking-romance.com/
***
Chapter One
Sussex, England, 1818
“You were not so kind at our last meeting,” Sir Roger Mathieson said, one haughty brow lifted faintly.
Madeline Piper stared at Sir Roger, unable to credit he could be so ungentlemanly as to have reminded her of their last encounter but a month past. Presently, she stood on the walkway of Pelworthy Castle’s tall curtain wall, a gentle breeze tugging at her bonnet and toying with the golden curls surrounding her face. She should have been deeply content, for the castle had been a favorite haunt of hers since childhood and the views of Chilchester Valley below were unequalled. Her heart, however, beat erratically, her knees wobbled and her mouth had grown very dry. She had merely exchanged civilities thus far, but Sir Roger had not been so receptive as she had hoped. Indeed, she could see that he meant to be difficult.
She drew in a deep, silent breath and attempted to calm the pounding of her heart. “I had not meant to be unkind,” she responded stiffly, “the last time we spoke.”
He barked his laughter. “You threw a clock at my head.”
Madeline compressed her lips, vowing to keep her temper at all costs. “If you will recall, I had been sorely provoked.”
“Because I offered for your hand in marriage? You consider that a provocation?”
She felt a blush climb her cheeks. “Well, yes, of course, that . . . and . . .” Oh, dear, this was not going at all as she had planned. The set of his chin was as mulish as ever, and if she did not have a care, she would fail in her quite specific, albeit odious, purpose in coming to the castle in the first place. “I wish we might forget our last exchange.”
“I might be willing to,” he responded with a suspicious light in his eye, “if you will give me the kiss I asked for but was summarily denied when last we met.”
Her ire spiraled up to the top of her skull and nearly exploded into the air. “How dare you.”
“Just as I thought,” he remarked, leaning negligently against one of the few portions of the castle that was not in a completely decayed state. He crossed his arms over his chest, undoubtedly for emphasis. “So what the devil do you want with me, Miss Piper? For I cannot credit that you have called merely to be polite. Though perhaps I have been mistaken in you. Do you mean by this visit to acknowledge me and to perhaps begin drawing me into Chilchester society?”
Madeline whirled away from him, not for the purpose of taking her leave, but to regain her balance. How easily he could set up her back. No man, certainly no gentleman, had ever done so before. At least her present anger had had the good effect of calming her nerves. Only, how was she to proceed? She did not know, for she had never been required to go a-begging before.
Sudden, unexpected tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back quickly, refusing to surrender to them. She would not become a watering-pot for any man, let alone the horrid Scotsman who had so brazenly invaded her pristine neighborhood. Why, he was even taking what had been a charming ruin of a castle and rebuilding it stone by stone. Horrid, horrid man.
Only this was not the day to be either scrupulous or hen hearted. She was the daughter of Lucretia Cowdray Piper of the Kent Cowdrays and Horace Piper of Fairlight Manor. Her mother had been deceased these many years and more, but her legacy of proper conduct had been firmly instilled into Madeline’s head. She knew her duty on every score and intended to do it now, even if in doing so she violated numerous other scruples. There were, however, certain pecuniary circumstances which made it possible to set aside the general precepts of the beau monde. Sudden financial need no matter the cause always overrode the most stringent of tonnish dictums such as the avoidance of an alliance outside of one’s station in society.
Madeline shuddered faintly. Wedding a Scotsman was so far removed from all that she had been taught was proper and decorous that she felt tinged with some unnamed malady at the mere thought of it. However would she endure such a terrible fate?
Endure it she must, however. After straightening her spine, she turned back to Sir Roger, a little surprised to find a rather concerned expression on his handsome countenance. She could not imagine its source. Perhaps some errant thought or other about the cost of the refurbishment of Pelworthy Castle had tripped through his head. Whatever the case, she knew what she must do, and so she said, “I have reconsidered your kind and quite generous offer of a month past and, if you are still inclined, I would be happy to accept of your hand in marriage.” Her voice had not broken once during this speech, but her knees had returned to feeling watery and useless. She could not tell by his expression how he had received her declaration.
~ ~ ~
Sir Roger met her gaze, every feeling bristling in resentment at her words. He was suspicious and angry, yet at the same time drawn to the beauty standing so proudly before him. She was of medium height and elegant in every manner and gesture. She had been groomed to secure a handle to her name if ever a lady had been thus directed. Her eyes were an unusual green, large, and thickly fringed with long lashes. Her
brows were arched in a patrician manner further bespeaking her breeding. Her nose was straight, her lips a delightful shape which, when easing into a smile, had more than once set his senses reeling. He had early in his acquaintance with her concluded that when Madeline Piper smiled she was the fairest of creatures on God’s great earth.
He had had a tendre for her since first seeing her upon his arrival in the charming Sussex valley. The town of Chilchester and several surrounding villages were cradled in the downs, like many Sussex neighborhoods. Pelworthy Castle had been his object for many years, a ramshackle collection of stones erected on the hillside and waiting for a new master to restore its turreted charms to former glorious days. The very day that he had purchased the castle some five months earlier, he had been walking the perimeter of his newly acquired property only to return to the bailey and find a great beauty waiting there. She was seated on an ancient horse-block, covered in dark green wool. Her face was tilted skyward, her eyes closed as she bathed in the weak winter sunshine.
He had not known who she was at the time, nor had he even the smallest notion why she was there. He had seen only the secretive smile on her face and had been enchanted. Who was this beauty who had come to visit the owner of Pelworthy the first day of his arrival in Sussex? A goddess? A wool-draped fairy? A ghost?
He had watched her for a long moment, a cold blast of arctic wind battling past the crumbling curtain wall and buffeting her green bonnet. She did not even seem to notice, but kept her thoughts and her gaze upward into the heavens. Blond curls, having escaped the bonnet, danced over her cheek.
He had approached her at last and quoted a new poet, John Keats:
For, indeed, ’tis a sweet and peculiar pleasure
(And blissful is he who such happiness finds),
To possess but a span of the hour of leisure,
In elegant, pure, and aerial minds.
She had jumped at the sound of his voice. She had stared at him as though he had been the specter, not she. “Who are you?” she cried.
“I am master here,” he said, gesturing in a broad sweep of his hand to the broken walls banked in shaded places with mounds of February snow.
She rose to her feet. “Then it is true. Pelworthy is sold?”
“Aye,” he responded.
“You are the Scotsman, then?” she inquired, her chin lifting, her lovely smile long since vanished. In her green eyes, he saw past her present disgust and detected a glimmer of loss so profound that he was at once surprised and curious.
“I am,” he returned firmly, proudly. “I am also the Englishman who has purchased the castle. My mother was a native of Sussex. I must confess, however, that of the two heritages, my northern roots call to my soul more often, more powerfully.”
He watched her swallow—nervously, he suspected. She was a proud one, easily seen in the resolute set of her shoulders and spine.
“I must go,” she said. “I beg your pardon for having trespassed on your property. I hope you will forgive the intrusion, but I was used to come here since I was a child and wished to say good-bye.”
“You need not offer your farewells. I hope you will come as often as you desire. I am certain the castle will be missing you as well.”
At that, a glimmering of her former smile appeared at the edges of her mouth, but quickly disappeared behind her careful reserve. She dropped a curtsy. “Good day, sir.”
He bowed and let her pass without inquiring after her name. He felt certain she would be offended were he to attempt to do so. He also knew that such a beauty could not be unknown in the nearest village.
The months that followed had been a stormy sea which had battered him severely. He had begun repairs on the castle immediately, which had endeared him to stonecutters and masons, but not in the least to the haut ton of Chilchester society. The doors had been lodged firmly shut
against him from the beginning. No attempt on his part had prevailed to permit him the smallest entrée. Miss Piper, a prominent member of that society, had all but given him the cut direct.
He had not expected better, the prejudices of small, country neighborhoods being what they were, profound and deep-seated. Even the permanent resident in his house, Lord Anthony Stephens, the son of the Earl of Selsfield, had not pried open even one societal door for him. In the face of such opposition, however, he found himself oddly pleased, for he had come to stay, and one day Chilchester society would accept him, happily or not. He had known all too well the manner in which a group of narrow minds could set themselves steadfastly against even the most
charming and intelligent of individuals.
His mother had been such a one, and her only crime had been that she had married a Scotsman.
To have, then, the lovely Miss Piper ask him, quite against her will, to marry her, was an interesting turn of events full of promise. His offer of a month ago he had laid at her feet because it pleased him to torment her in precisely that manner. Of course, he had begged permission from her father to pay his addresses to her and had often wondered just what reason Mr. Piper had to allow the proposal in the first place. This he doubted he would ever know, or at least thought he would not—until now. So, Madeline Piper desired a husband, and not just any husband. She desired him. But why?
“Are you in love with me?” he asked, his lips twitching.
She seemed to recoil. “Of course not. This would be a marriage of convenience. If you must know, certain unfortunate circumstances have arisen that have made it necessary for me to seek a husband.”
“I see, but why me?” he asked, pressing the point.
A faint blush arose on each creamy cheek. “I will not insult you by telling whiskers. Because of your wealth, of course.”
“I see. And when did it become necessary for Miss Piper to marry for such a reason as this? I had been given to understand your dowry is considerable.”
“The difficulty is not mine, but my father’s. A recent embarrassment, if you will.”
He believed he understood, yet found himself surprised. He had heard nothing untoward concerning Horace Piper, not a single jot of servants’ gossip that would have led him to believe he had suffered a severe reversal of fortune. Regardless, Mr. Piper’s daughter was standing before him speaking of quite the opposite. “You have several suitors who would be willing to do the job, Miss Piper, and who would undoubtedly have sufficient largess to redeem whatever vowels your father has promised. Again, I must ask, why did you choose me?”
At that, her demeanor grew rigid and haughty. “I should have known you would press me with ungenteel questions.”
“I will not be fobbed off by such a remark. I demand a clear answer of you. Why did you choose me, when a dozen others would do as well?” Was it possible she was in love with him? The flaming glare which she cast on him did not, however, support this notion.
“If you must know,” she said, if haltingly. “I, that is, you . . . how shall I explain myself? You are not from among the society here, and in wedding you I would not have to expose the true nature of my father’s situation.”
“Proud to the last.”
Her spine stiffened a little more. “Have it as you will. I am in need of a husband of some substance. I am proud, but not so proud that I have come to you. The choice is yours. Will you renew your addresses, or not?”
He was furious, but kept his temper tightly in check. Did she think to command him so easily or that she was so tempting a morsel that she thought he would grasp at the chance to husband her? Well, she had a lesson or two to learn, it would seem, about him and about offended Scotsmen in general.
“I might be persuaded,” he said at last. “I have conditions, however, which you might not like.” Her gaze became almost shrewd, an expression that intrigued him suddenly. He had been so little in her society that in truth he did not know a great deal about her except that he desired more than anything to take her in his arms and kiss her, something he intended to do today regardless of how strongly she mig
ht protest against the notion.
“Such as?” she inquired.
“I have lived in Sussex for nigh on six months, Miss Piper. I am generally extremely fond of society, but have had little here. I would expect to have many doors opened to me were I to court you.”
She seemed horrified. “You cannot possibly think—”
“Oh yes, indeed,” he countered. “I would expect you to bring me into fashion.”
“But it cannot be done. You do not know what you ask.”
“I believe I do know,” he responded.
She shook her head, her green eyes appearing wild. “Bring you into fashion? Good God.”
“If you are clever enough, it could be done.”
“I suppose I might manage an invitation or two were it to become known that we were betrothed.”
“No,” he drawled. “Not betrothed. You and I will have an understanding that must remain secret. No, you must bring me into fashion while I court you over, let us say, the next month. That would place the date, if I am not mistaken, near Lady Cottingford’s harvest ball, which I would expect you and me to attend.”
She blinked several times, and for a long moment he felt certain she might faint. “Lady Cottingford’s harvest ball? You are not serious. Surely you understand even I have never attended so prestigious a fete. The . . . the guests are comprised primarily of her London acquaintances, the Park Lane set—Wellington, Byron, and the like. Even the Regent has been known to attend.”
He shrugged. “It sounds quite hopeless, then. So I suppose I will have to reject your offer, Miss Piper, for it will be the harvest ball or nothing.”
~ ~ ~
Madeline stared very hard at the man before her. He still leaned against the wall, and his arms were yet locked over his broad chest. Even leaning as he was, she still had to look up into his face. His light blue eyes flashed over her, his thoughts reflected in each purposeful glint. It seemed clear to her he was enjoying her discomfiture immensely.
“I believe you must have gone mad. Either that or you have no proper understanding of what you ask.”
