The Spencer Sisters Forbidden Loves and Broken Hearts

by Christine Donovan

  “Was it true?”

  “No, but it didn’t help.” He cradled her face in his hands and brushed his thumb across her lips. “Please forgive me for causing you undo pain and anguish. I planned on telling you everything before we wed. But then you overheard...”

  “I’m sorry.” She removed the covers and rose up on her knees. “I should’ve had more faith in you. Let you explain. Instead I thought the worst.”

  He placed one hand on her soft, warm cheek and she leaned into his palm. “We both made mistakes. I swear to you,” he placed his hand over his heart, “I swear to God, I will never be that man ever again.” They may have solved that problem, but they still had his physical problems to discuss. But for the rest of the night he wanted to love her as she deserved to be loved.

  Edward took his time making love to his new bride. Every time he looked at her naked body, flush and beautiful, his heart constricted. Her cheeks rosy, her eyes illuminating with desire and love brought emotions to the surface he never knew existed inside him. For as long as he lived, he would remember this night. The night his wife trusted him with her heart and soul and her future. A future he hoped included children and many, many years of happiness, good health, and love.

  “Edward,” Elizabeth gasped as he entered her. “I love you. Forever and ever and more.”

  Burying his face in her neck he murmured, “And I you. Forever and more.” Their lips met and Edward kissed her with everything he had inside himself. He gave himself over to her fully. And he was rewarded as she gave herself over to him completely when her body shattered in his arms.

  Epilogue

  The Spencer family spent a fortnight together at the Spencer Estate in Dover. Elizabeth and Mary’s mother and grandmother attended. Grandmother was getting on in years, but Mother was blossoming with renewed health, which pleased Elizabeth to no end. It meant she would be around for many years to come to enjoy her grandchildren since all three Spencer ladies were increasing. Miranda was due first, then Mary and then to Elizabeth’s utter happiness, her.

  There were not three prouder men in all of England than Spencer, Robert, and Edward. One would think having children was something new. Not a blessing that had happened since the beginning of time. But seeing their men, proud and happy, made all three women more than ecstatic and excited to welcome the additions to the family.

  After visiting several specialists for Edward’s back, he had improved. Elizabeth thought much of it had to do with his new outlook on life, easing his guilt from the accident and the worry of trying to hide so many secrets. His conscience was eased.

  Robert was currently working with the War Office. A job the Duke of Newbury had offered him. He still worked private cases. Thankfully, none of his friends and family needed his services.

  Mary loved married life. Perhaps invitations to some of the most prestigious balls in London didn’t arrive in her daily mail, but she didn’t mind. She had the man she loved, a baby on the way, and the love of her family and friends. What more could a woman want? Although—she did want one thing—for her husband to be safe in his new career. Besides worrying for his safety, life was more filling and complete than she ever thought imaginable. Happily-ever-afters did come true to those who fought for it and never lost hope.

  The End

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Christine Donovan is an International Bestselling Author who writes romance that touches the heart, soothes the soul and feeds the mind. She is a PAN Member of RWA and belongs to Novelist, Inc. and Rhode Island Romance Writers. She lives on the Southeast Coast of Massachusetts with her husband. She has four grown sons, one granddaughter, three cats and one spoiled golden retriever. As well as writing historical romance set in the regency era, she also writes contemporary and paranormal. In her spare time, she can be found at the beach, reading, painting or gardening. She loves to tackle DIY projects. Please visit her at http://www.christinedonovan.org

  OTHER BOOKS IN THIS SERIES

  THE RELUCTANT DUKE

  A Seabrook Saga, Book One

  London 1816

  “IT APPEARS, YOUR GRACE, you have bested me and left me destitute.”

  Thomas Seabrook, the Duke of Wentworth, met the eyes of Mr. Charles Hamilton, known as the New Bedford Whaling Tycoon, and could not shake off the prickling sensation that plagued the back of his neck. The Englishman had amassed his fortune in America during the past twenty years yet looked anything but upset at his loss. And it was a fortune indeed. Thomas could not even begin to contemplate his good luck. Deep down, however, intuition warned him to proceed with caution.

  “Mr. Hamilton, how is it you came to be here today?” Thomas leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled on the table in front of him. He tried his best to appear relaxed and unaffected by the turn of events. “I’ve never had the pleasure of your company before. Nor have I heard rumors of your passion for the gaming tables. I do believe, sir, you were in over your head. Because of this, I will take the monies you lost, at least what is on the table. But I must pass on the rest.”

  Gasps came from Thomas’s two friends at the table in a small private room at the back of White’s. Thomas ignored them. How could he, in good conscience, take everything this man had worked for his entire life? True, Thomas’s family was desperate for coin, thanks to the foibles of his late father, but he could not profit to this extent at the expense of another. Besides, he rarely indulged in games of chance. He had seen too many gentlemen of the ton lose everything in the gambling hells––their self-respect, properties, and fortunes lost in the shuffle of a card or the roll of bones.

  Often gambling led to disgrace, scandal, and sometimes worse. He would not be responsible for this particular gentleman’s fall, could not subject this man’s family to what still haunted him on a daily basis.

  Edward Worthington, the Marquess of Amesbury, spoke quietly into his ear. “Wentworth, do you realize what you are passing up? Here is your chance to regain your fortune and make the necessary repairs on your holdings. And bugger all, he might call you out. You have insulted his honor. Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  Myles Fredrickson, the Baron of Norwich and heir to an earldom, added his two pence worth. “Have you forgotten your sisters’ dowries or your brother’s commission?”

  Thomas had not forgotten anything. Bloody hell, how could he? Yet the tingling that had begun on his neck now spread down his spine. He never ignored his intuition and knew that no good could come of it if he ruined this man. Yet how could he, as a gentleman of the ton, ignore honor and integrity by refusing his winnings? And disgrace both Hamilton and himself in the process?

  Hamilton abruptly pushed his chair back, crossed the room, and knocked on the closed door. From the room beyond a servant handed him a large packet, a packet Mr. Hamilton then held out to Thomas. “I’m aghast that you would insult my honor in the presence of these two gentlemen. I insist you accept from me what you are due. I believe, Your Grace—” he dropped the packet on the table, the sound of it resonating around the small room, “these now belong to you.”

  Without further ado, he bowed, turned, and left the establishment.

  With unsteady hands Thomas drained his glass of brandy, tucked the papers into his waistcoat, and left without a word to his friends who tried to congratulate him on his good fortune. They could attribute his rudeness to shock, which indeed was the truth.

  When he stepped outside, the cold blasts of wind and rain that shrouded London in midday gray did not register, nor did he remember that he had left his greatcoat, gloves, and hat at his club.

  Thomas signaled his driver. Once settled within his carriage, he stared at the packet in his lap, ignoring the damp chill clinging to the inside of the coach.

  THE REST OF THE DAY and into the evening Thomas sat at the mahogany desk in his study at his home on Cavendish Square, a brandy bottle in hand, now half empty as he swigged it straight. The papers he had acquired, spread across his desktop, did little to ease his
foul mood or the crushing weight upon his chest. Through it all, the gruesome picture of his dead father haunted his vision.

  His father’s years of wasteful spending, drinking, and whoring had contributed to his declining health. Dead at the age of fifty-one, in the decimated body of a ninety-year-old. Thomas shuddered as he remembered finding his father, lying dead on the floor of his study. His wasted body and the putrid stench of vomit had hung sour in the air. He gagged even now as he remembered.

  SEVERAL DAYS LATER found Thomas back at his desk, his mind still contemplating his altered situation. The arrival of his valet, Giles, interrupted that.

  “Excuse me, Your Grace, there is a gentleman here to see you.” Giles reached out to hand the duke a calling card, but Thomas waved it off.

  “Read it for me.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. A Mr. Charles Hamilton begs leave to see you. Shall I send him in?”

  Thomas caught Giles’s critical gaze as it scanned the cluttered room.

  “Perhaps you should meet him in the blue drawing room?” Giles suggested brazenly.

  “Give me five minutes and escort him to me here.” So what if his study looked lived in? He had nothing to prove to this stranger.

  Devil take it. What can the man want with me? And do I care?

  He pondered this as he buttoned up the top three closures of his starched white shirt and tied his cravat. Thomas might be a duke and used to being dressed by his valet, but he was far from helpless. He tied a damn fine knot if he did say so himself.

  Thomas scanned his study for his waistcoat before remembering he’d come down from his rooms without one. He had thrown all propriety to the wind the past several days––barely eating, bathing, or changing his clothes.

  He put his bottle of brandy, his only trusted companion, into the deep drawer of his desk and waited for his visitor to be presented.

  Though his friends Amesbury and Norwich had called each day since the fateful card game, he had refused to see them. What must they be thinking? That he finally needed to be committed to Bedlam? A knock sounded on the study door.

  “Enter.”

  Giles led Mr. Hamilton into Wentworth’s study and closed the door quietly after a silent bow. The small rotund man, several decades Thomas’s senior, was dressed impeccably in shades of brown. But if one looked closely, as Thomas did, the man’s skin looked grayish. He appeared to be terribly ill.

  “Excuse the intrusion, Your Grace.” His visitor bowed his head.

  “Please sit down, Mr. Hamilton.” The man sat, and Thomas continued. “What is your purpose in coming here?”

  Was he here to reclaim his losses? Hope fluttered wildly in the duke’s chest.

  “I’m here to see to the future of my estate and holdings in America.” Hamilton held up his hand. “Before you interrupt me, let me explain several things to you. I played you the other night. I wanted to lose to you. I wanted to get to know you in a familiar setting. See for myself what type of gentleman you are.”

  Hamilton paused. “Your father and I were close friends during our younger days. After my family was disgraced, my father hung, and all titles and holdings stripped by the Crown, your father gave me money to start over in America. He was new to the title and had many obligations for those funds, yet he would never let me repay him. I’m repaying him now by saving your family from financial ruin.”

  The duke opened his mouth to ask a question.

  Hamilton ignored him. “Please let me finish. I’m also being selfish, for my daughter’s sake. I am dying. I’m not sure I will survive the crossing back to Boston, and I need you to take control of my businesses and the guardianship of my daughter, Emma. Everything is explained in these papers––everything you need to know about my daughter and my businesses and holdings. There is also a private letter for my daughter. Please give it to her upon her marriage or when she turns twenty-five.”

  “But—” Words escaped Thomas as his world shrank down to his own pounding heartbeat and the gentleman facing him with so much pain and sadness in his eyes.

  “I realize,” Mr. Hamilton continued as he rose from his chair, “all this comes as a surprise to you, but I assure you when you read the private letter addressed to you, you will understand my reasoning. All I ask is that you do not disappoint me where my daughter is concerned. Take her under your wing, introduce her into Society, and arrange a good marriage for her. I have made you my heir, with a substantial amount in a trust for my daughter.”

  Hamilton hesitated, clearing his throat. “But whatever you do, you must not let her find out about our family’s past, about our card game, my illness, or how I die. And no one other than your immediate family and the two trusted friends from the gaming table must know any of this. It would ruin all I have planned for and done if the ton finds out my daughter’s real origins. I have left a letter for her explaining my illness and reasons behind my decision regarding you. I have not divulged my family origins and I want it kept that way. Some secrets will only hurt when unearthed. And my daughter will be hurt enough from my death. Keep my secrets.”

  Mr. Hamilton rose, took a step toward the door, and turned. “I will not have her suffer for my father’s sins.”

  THE LADY AND THE EARL

  A Seabrook Family Saga, Book Two

  “PLEASE, DO NOT BE AFRAID.”

  Was he serious? How could she not be afraid?

  Lady Amelia Seabrook struggled with her skirts as she waded through the shin-deep water to retrieve her boots and stockings from a nearby rock. Her muslin skirts were soaked to above her knees and clinging most embarrassingly to her legs; her stockings and shoes were drenched as she had splashed them in her hurry to exit the water. The mile walk back to her home, one she normally enjoyed, would be uncomfortable because of the dampness of her clothing. Most important of all was that she make haste to remove herself from this intruder.

  How dare this stranger ruin the time she spent daydreaming about Captain Rycroft, her beloved? How dare he interrupt? It was only during these lonely, quiet times that Amelia allowed herself to think of him. To dream and wish he still lived. But today, when she needed this time to remember and to reflect, this stranger had destroyed the moment.

  Amelia turned, her chin held high. She would not cower before anyone. “Who are you, sir?”

  “Lord Bridgeton. My land abuts this creek.”

  By the narrowing of Lord Bridgeton’s eyes, Amelia knew she failed to hide her shock at his intrusion here. She’d long known the earl lived as a recluse because of a scandal involving his older brother and his brother’s pregnant wife. Amelia had learned this from servants’ gossip.

  Looking at him now, he did not look dangerous. Frightening perhaps, the way he sat on his fine stallion and towered over her, but not dangerous. Amelia admitted he was even handsome, with his dark, wavy hair, streaked with silver here and there. The earl wore it unfashionably long, however, and it grazed his shoulders. He had strong features and high cheekbones. What drew Amelia’s interest, despite her angst, were Lord Bridgeton’s eyes––a pale blue so light they were almost gray. Very striking against his dark hair and sun-bronzed skin. The color did not mesmerize her, rather it was the pain she recognized radiating from them. A pain she understood all too well.

  Remembering her loss, she wiped a tear from her cheek, knowing her eyes would reveal her sadness and despair. She must look a sight after crying for so long. Her brothers had warned her to stay away from this earl and his property. Had they believed the gossip? Did they know more than she’d learned from servants’ gossip?

  “Are you going to continue to stare at me so rudely, or are you going to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here?” the earl demanded, slapping his riding crop against his thigh impatiently.

  She should have been offended and cast him away like an irritating insect. But there was something compelling in his tone and his words that, though meant to intimidate her, did not. Instead, his voice, so demanding, deep, and smooth, wr
apped around her like a blanket warmed by the fire.

  “I’m Lady Amelia Seabrook, Thomas Seabrook, the Duke of Wentworth’s sister. I live here and have been for several weeks now.”

  “If that is true, what, pray tell, is a lovely, young, privileged member of the ton doing crying in the country during the height of the Season?”

  “That, Lord Bridgeton, is none of your concern.” Amelia looked down and again fought the burning of tears in her throat and in her eyes. She would not cry in front of this stranger. After all the crying she had done the past year and a half, she promised herself she would never cry another public tear as long as she lived. She had come to accept the fact that she would never dance at another ball or attend Almack’s or any such silly soirees that other young ladies attended during the London Season. And she did not care. Their loss did not make her cry. Losing Captain Rycroft did.

  Lord Bridgeton’s eyes widened before he bowed his head ever so slightly. “Please accept my sincere apologizes for my rudeness. You obviously have a good reason to be here instead of London.” He held up his hand. “And, of course, that reason is none of my business. Once again, I apologize.”

  “Indeed, no, it is none of your business. Oh!” Amelia backed up several steps as Bridgeton dismounted from his horse. Her heart pounded as her eyes darted about for an escape.

  “Please, I told you not to be afraid,” he repeated. “You just surprised me with your presence here. I come here almost daily, and I’ve not seen you here before.”

  Once again the warmth from his voice cocooned Amelia in a kind of radiance. Why did the voice of this stranger have such an effect on her? “I’m truly not afraid. You just startled me.”