by Noël Cades
“In twelve months, if your mutual affection remains unchanged, then you may consider yourself engaged to the man, Catherine,” Lord Elstone had said.
Kitty had taken it hard, seeking the assistance of the new Lady Elstone in changing her father’s mind. But it was to no avail, and Kitty ended up vowing that she may as well enter a convent. This sentiment had soon been dispelled by Richard Owen pointing out that he found her far more becoming in her rose silk gown than he feared he would in a habit and wimple. Kitty had laughed and dried her tears, and vowed to wait ten years if need be.
But this left the issue of what to do with Kitty now her father was remarrying and also planning his own wedding tour. She could not remain in town alone, and to languish at Elstone Court without company was a dreary prospect. Miss Berystede was more than willing for Kitty to stay with her when she returned to Somerset with Mrs Owen. But she was wise enough to recognise that however charming the countryside, it would be little more entertaining for a young woman than Elstone Court.
It was Ann who had solved the problem. "But you will accompany us on our tour, will you not? It would be my very greatest pleasure to have you there, and I am sure your father will not object."
Kitty was uncertain of intruding on what was supposed to be a honeymoon, but Ann had dismissed her concerns.
"It will be far more comfortable for me to travel with another woman in our party. I have always wanted a daughter, and it will be a pleasure for us to become more closely acquainted."
Thus it was settled, and Lord Elstone and his wife and daughter sailed for the continent some weeks after the Earl and Countess of Southwell.
On their first night in Bilbao, Jemima and Marcus enjoyed an excellent dinner provided by their host, Don de Merlos, whom Jemima charmed utterly. Marcus was having to get used to the regard that other men had for his bride, and was learning to replace his jealous instincts with a feeling of pride. For there was no doubt that his bride was still enamoured of him.
Nonetheless he was troubled, as he considered a particular matter. "My dearest, I wonder if we should refrain from our activity until we are back in England. For I fear I have not taken the care that I ought, and it is only by chance that you remain as you do."
Jemima had rarely been more confused. She turned onto her side and regarded the chiselled features that were so beloved to her. "What can you mean?"
"It is only that were your condition to become delicate, it might cause certain difficulties in our travel plans."
For one moment Jemima had thought he was referring to illness. Then she realised. "O! That. Well, there is nothing to be done there."
"There is very much so, my darling. There are ways in which a man can…" Marcus paused, still finding it difficult to discuss these matters with her. He was surprised by the merriment appearing on her face.
"I mean that it is far too late, my lord."
"Too late?" Marcus was gripped with sudden apprehension.
"Indeed. You must surely have realised. For otherwise I would have been indisposed at times, and I have not been, have I?" There was not a single night that she had declined his advances or sought them herself.
"But you cannot be!" Marcus was not so green as to be ignorant of certain female matters. Any man who had ever had a mistress knew that there were times when the lady might be discreetly indisposed. He had, however, been so enraptured with his bride that he had failed to notice certain signs. "But how? When?"
Jemima smiled, a glint in her eyes. "I am sure you are well aware how, my lord. As for when, I would imagine the night of our wedding."
Marcus was stupefied. "As long as that! But I would never have taken you overseas, had I realised."
His wife’s smile grew. "Exactly as I thought, which was why I did not tell you."
Once again, the Earl of Southwell was left at a loss. "Were it not for your condition, you would deserved to be spanked for that!" He cast his mind back to when they had sailed, and how Jemima had suffered from seasickness. Could that have been an indication that he missed? He remembered her having claimed to be an excellent sailor, who had not been troubled at all by her voyage over the rough Irish sea.
Jemima traced her hand over her belly. "Do you not think I am grown fat, then?" She placed her husband’s hand there, so he could feel the firmness and the faint swell.
The sensation and the knowledge of her state affected Marcus powerfully. He had imagined he would feel a protective instinct, which he did, but his near painful arousal was quite unexpected.
Jemima, noticing, laughed. "I am glad that I do not repel you, at any rate."
"Would that you did, for we probably now should refrain from such things," Marcus said. He feared it would not be easy for him, but he was reluctant to injure her. He was anxious that he had already done so, given the vigour of their lovemaking.
"There is no need for that. For I asked the doctor who examined me in Italy, when you thought I suffered from a malady of the stomach," Jemima reminded him. "He indicated that there was no problem at all."
Marcus recalled the occasion. "He spoke scant English. I cannot imagine how you communicated such a thing to him," he said. If nothing else, it explained the man’s effusive congratulations and oddly knowing nods and smiles when he had made his report to Marcus.
"He had also studied Latin. So by writing down some words, we managed," Jemima told him. "You can be gratified that all the classical instruction you insisted upon had a useful purpose after all."
But Marcus was not thinking of Latin or Greek at that moment. Before him lay the slim, sensual curves of his wife, her tresses of hair spilling over the pillow as her silvery eyes gazed with amusement at him. Far too young for him, he knew, but he was almost mad with love for her. The prospect that she was now swelling with his seed was enough to drive him to the edge. He could not have held back if a hundred doctors had ordered it.
Bringing his lips down on hers, he embraced her and knew her and once again made her his. His ward, his wife, his countess, the love of his life. The person who had taught him the most valuable lesson of all: that to love is not to alter, but to accept.
About Noël Cades
Noël Cades is a British writer who currently lives in Sydney, Australia. A fan of romance from historic to erotic, some of Noël’s favourite authors include Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer, Jilly Cooper, Elizabeth Rolls and Victoria Holt.
Noël is always delighted to hear from other fans, readers and writers of romance.
You can contact Noël at [email protected]
Noël’s website is at http://www.noelcades.com
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More hot, forbidden romances by Noël Cades. These links go to the Amazon US versions, but should be available in all other markets too.
Regency Romance
The Substitute Bride
Marcus Harlington, Earl Southwell, is furious to discover that the alluring young woman he romanced at a ball is his runaway ward, Jemima. Having entrusted her education to others, he now desires to play personal tutor... in teaching her some rather more wifely duties.
Student-Teacher Romance
Falling From Grace
Gabriel entered the priesthood after a betrayal left him bitter. But when he meets troubled, beautiful Leonie, he wonders if he made the right choice.
His Model Student
When Sera’s new art teacher mistakes her for a model and demands that she strip naked, sparks start to fly. Will Mr Marek be able to keep his student at arm’s length after seeing everything she has to offer?
Tempting Her Teacher
Catholic school teacher Carl Spencer faces a crisis of faith when he falls for his student Juliet, how can he resist the temptation to be with her? But while he struggles to resist his growing attraction, she’s starting to realise that it’s become more than just a game for her.
French Kissing
Marcy falls head over heels for the hottest guy she's ever met, then discovers he's her new high school French teacher. When they end up in the same theatre group, forbidden sparks start to fly.
Summer’s Edge
When Stewart Walker finds out the girl he kissed is a student at his school he’s furious and determined to keep away. But 18-year-old Alice has fallen hard and won’t give up.
Forbidden Lessons
When boarding school pupil Laura meets her new German teacher her world is turned upside down. She can’t get Mr Rydell out of her mind. But as her teacher, he’s totally forbidden fruit.
Forbidden Study
Falling in love with her teacher Mr Rydell has overturned Laura’s world. But can their relationship survive the subterfuge or will it buckle under the pressure? The thrilling, passionate sequel to Forbidden Lessons.
Celebrity Romance
Man of the Match
Broken-hearted student Cara has no idea that the handsome stranger who seduced her on holiday is England cricket captain Matt Curran. Shocking twists and sexy action in the glamorous world of international cricket.
Other Romance
My Cousin Io
Beautiful Cousin Io comes to stay and sets about seducing everyone from the vicar to the village vet. Until she finally falls in love herself, and turns everyone’s lives upside down.
Excerpts from The Substitute Bride - a Regency Romance by Noël Cades
Scarcely able to breathe from nerves, Lily tried to gather her courage as Betsy helped adjust the heavy lace veil over her face. Lily’s own hand trembled as she pinned her hair with a pearl ornament, a wedding gift from her cousin.
"I can’t take that, it must be valuable. Aunt Maud will notice it’s missing," Lily protested.
"She won’t. She’ll think I wore it, remember?"
They stood back to review the finished ensemble. Lily felt like a white ghost and was sure her face was even paler than her gown.
"You look lovely," Betsy told her. "The gown fits you perfectly, it suits your figure much better than mine." She could afford to be generous now that her younger cousin was relieving her of this terrible fate.
Lily’s head was in such a spin that she barely gave a thought to how the gown looked or felt. But with the veil to disguise her face, they might just get away with this. It wouldn’t deceive anyone who saw the two cousins side by side, but were the servants to glimpse Lily by herself they might be satisfied that she was Betsy.
"What will you do?" Lily asked Betsy. "They’ll expect you to attend me."
"I’ll stay quietly up here. You can mention to John that I - that Lily - is unwell and wishes to be undisturbed. He’s so hard of hearing that he won’t recognise it’s the wrong voice behind the veil."
John was Sir Robert’s steward, an aged retainer who had managed the other servants and household for many years. He was a kindly old fellow, assiduous in his duties, and Lily hated to deceive him.
But needs must. Feeling very alone, she made her way down the staircase and crossed towards the chapel. The house was cold and draughty: fewer fires were lit when Sir Robert and Lady Maud were away.
John met her and bowed. "Miss Elizabeth." He had always seemed the least censorious of Betsy’s dishonour, his eyes saddened rather than scandalised when she had returned home in disgrace. He had known her since infancy: were it not for the uncrossable boundaries between family and servant, he might nearly have been a kindly great-uncle.
He had shown kindness to Lily too when she had first arrived there, grieving her father and missing her home, and assailed with constant, pointed reminders of her uncle’s charity in taking her.
"Your cousin is not with you?"
Lily mumbled the untruth about a severe headache. It was unsettling to be lying about herself.
John paused for a moment. His white hair had grown sparse but he still stood upright and kept his black uniform as impeccably smart as possible. "It’s not my place, Miss Elizabeth, but…"
He seemed to waver and then straightened, extending his arm. "I can’t have you walk up there alone. Let them say what they will."
It was the most defiant he had ever been, but this was the last time he would probably ever see his young mistress. Lily felt a pang of guilt that it was the wrong young woman that he offered to escort.
Gratefully she took his arm and they stepped together into the chill of the chapel. The altar at the far end glowed softly with candles. There were no flowers.
Lily kept her head bowed, hardly daring to look up. She had suddenly realised that she might have to lift the veil up at some point and what then? John would doubtless see, what would he do?
For now she had to brazen it out.
It was only a small chapel but the walk up the aisle seemed the longest ever. Reaching the altar Lily looked up to see a tall, dark figure standing there.
The man turned to her and she suppressed a gasp, thinking for a moment it was the wrong man.
He wasn’t elderly - he was perhaps little more than thirty-five, she guessed - and his dark, chiselled features were set in a rigid fury. He nodded abruptly to her, more an acknowledgement of her presence than any form of greeting.
Lily was so terrified that she closed her eyes as the curate read the solemn words. She and the tall man were both facing him, but Lily’s mind wandered from the Book of Common Prayer and she looked up at the profile of the stranger who was about to vow matrimony to her.
She was both relieved and troubled that he was so much younger than they had imagined. Troubled because perhaps if Betsy saw this man, she might not be opposed to marriage with him as a respectable future. Lily agonised over whether she should speak up and perhaps fetch her cousin. It would cause shock and outrage to reveal the deception now, but far less, perhaps, than a month hence with the marriage irrevocable. For the truth would be revealed eventually.
Troubled, also, because her secret hope had been than an elderly husband might be less inclined to require of her those duties that older women alluded to in hushed remarks. But this man was clearly… virile. If only Betsy could have given her better advice about those duties.
As if he sensed her gaze on him the man turned slightly to her and Lily quickly lowered her eyes again. Not that he could see where she was looking through the dissembling lacework.
"I, Gervase Revelston Dainard, take thee, Elizabeth Ann Cosgrove…"
His voice startled her. It was deep and eloquent. He might be angry but his tone was measured, perhaps in recognition of the solemnity of the vows.
Given the set of his jaw and the muscle that clenched in his cheek, Lily had expected him to speak with an icy fury. But he spoke with resolve, not anger.
All too soon it was her own turn. She tried to keep her voice steady. "…to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth." Her voice broke on the last words but she held her head up and did her best.
Now a ring was slipped onto her finger and a strong, warm hand took hers. Having imagined a thin, elderly claw with papery skin - or worse, something soft and clammy like that of Aunt Maud’s unpleasant brother - this grasp was a comfort. Lily’s own fingers felt ice cold but she returned the grip with a gentle firmness.
Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.
The rest of the curate’s words passed in a blur, until the words "Man and Wife". It was done. It was too late to confess now, to change her mind, to run away.
Old John, satisfied that Elizabeth was now passed properly into her husband’s care, bowed to them both and departed. Lily felt loss and relief. Her last friend was gone, even though he had not known who she was. But at least he could not now expose her.
"Now we are Man and Wife there can be no need for this curtain between us." The voice was dry, the tone deep and masculine as before. Lily started as the Marquess lifted her veil and looked upon her for the first time.
Something momentarily
flared in his eyes and for a second Lily was terrified that he had realised her deception. But how could he? He had never met either of them, nor seen their portraits. Lily might have dark golden hair where Betsy’s was a light brown, but both girls would have been described as "fair" if anyone had been asked about their appearance.
"Dark" was a term used for the colouring of this man who now stood before her. With her lace removed and a candle shining more directly on his face since he had stepped towards her, Lily could see him clearly.
His hair was jet black with no streak yet of grey, likewise his brows, and his eyes were the colour of stormy skies. Lily was of a good height for a young woman but he towered over her. His dress was immaculate: his coat of a flawless cut that accentuated broad shoulders tapering to lean hips.
Surely Betsy would have admired this man, or come to admire him? Her Tom could not have been so very much better looking than this? Lily had rarely been in the society of men outside her family but she was quite certain that this man would be considered extremely handsome.
This man. Her husband. She had to start thinking of him as that.
"Madam."
Realising she had forgotten herself and was staring, Lily quickly lowered her head and curtseyed. "My lord".
"I do not require that of you, now that you are my wife. An address will suffice."
Confused, Lily nodded.
"We make for Westford Park tonight. If the servants have arranged your things, we leave immediately."
