The School of Charm: Books 1-5

by Maggie Dallen

  Not that marrying Tumberland was a hook.

  Far from it.

  Tumberland had turned out to be her very own dream come true. Just the thought made her giddy. All those years of dreaming about some noble, stoic, upright man who thought she was perfect just the way she was…

  Even she hadn’t quite been able to believe that her personal fairytale could come true.

  And if anyone had told her just a few weeks ago that he would come in the form of the oh-so-proper Tumberland, well…

  She sighed happily, lost in her own pleasant thoughts until her mother snapped her out of it.

  Literally.

  Her mother snapped fingers in front of her face.

  “What is wrong with you, Louisa? Are you suffering from a fever? You look delusional.” Her mother’s words wiped some of her happiness from her face, but not her heart.

  She clung to Tumberland’s words from the day before with all her might. Maybe one day she would not need his reassurances to feel confident in herself, but until then…she took heart in the fact that she trusted him.

  Why?

  She had no idea. She didn’t know him well enough to trust him. That was what her mind said, but her heart and her instincts rebelled. She trusted him. And despite what logic might state, she knew him.

  Every time she’d looked in his eyes, she’d known it as surely as she knew her name was Louisa.

  She knew him.

  Crazy as it might be, she knew him in a way no one else seemed to. Like she’d been given a magical looking glass that revealed the true Tumberland.

  Lawrence.

  He’d told her to call him Lawrence and it was about time she started.

  “The marquess is here,” her mother hissed. “Now is not the time for a visit, silly girl.”

  “Mother, she could not have known,” Margaret chastened quietly.

  Louisa looked from one to the other. She had known. It was the reason she was here. But she had no desire to argue with her mother or explain that he wanted her here.

  “Is he…” She cleared her throat and tried again, as nerves were getting the better of her. “Is he with Father?”

  That was all it took to make her mother forget her anger in lieu of outright excitement. It made Margaret’s skin pale so drastically, Louisa worried she might faint.

  “Margaret,” she said quietly. “Perhaps we could have a word alone—”

  “Absolutely not,” her mother snapped. “Margaret must be available to speak to Tumberland alone the moment he’s done with your father.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Do not argue, Louisa,” her mother interjected.

  “But—” She was about to argue further when the sound of male voices had all three ladies shooting desperate glances toward the door.

  The voices were her father’s and Tumberland’s and they were growing ever louder as they drew closer.

  Louisa felt a surge of inexplicable nerves. How had her father responded? What would her mother say? Would Margaret feel betrayed?

  Worse, would anyone even believe that he wanted her? That thought turned nerves into panic. She was not ready to face her family’s disbelief, not when she was only now beginning to trust in this newfound love.

  Her heart raced. Her stomach churned. As the door opened, the panic became unbearable. That was the only excuse she could come up with later for her actions.

  She ducked.

  When her father and Tumberland entered the room she dove behind the settee.

  It was beyond ridiculous and she found herself staring up at the ceiling in abject humiliation as all voices went silent and her mind went blank.

  A heartbeat passed and then the most handsome, dear face in the world came into view above her, blocking her view of the crown molding.

  A small smile tugged at Lawrence’s lips and his eyes danced with laughter as he reached a hand out to help her up. “Ah, here she is now,” he said mildly, as though it were not at all unusual to find her sprawled on the floor, hiding from her own family.

  “Louisa, whatever are you doing?” her mother hissed.

  She was vaguely aware of her father reaching out to her mother, trying to stop her.

  “Please excuse Louisa, my lord,” her mother was saying.

  Lawrence never stopped gazing down at Louisa. It wasn’t entirely certain he’d even heard her words.

  “I don’t know what’s come over her,” their mother said with a stilted, nervous laugh.

  Lawrence wrapped a hand around her waist and his gaze was filled with unrestrained adoration as he squeezed her tightly against his side and addressed her mother. “Never apologize for Louisa,” he said. “Certainly not to me.”

  “P-pardon me?” Her mother’s voice was growing faint.

  Either that, or Louisa was losing the ability to hear anything now that her heart was thumping wildly in her chest, her blood roaring in her ears at the sight of Lawrence’s blatant affection—aimed at her and on full display.

  Her mouth went dry as those blasted tears filled her eyes again. Why oh why did she turn into such a watering pot around this man?

  “Torrent, did the present I asked for arrive?” he asked her father.

  “Yes, yes. An unusual request, certainly,” her father said with that same nervous laughter that her mother had used. “The servants left it in the ballroom upstairs as you requested.”

  Louisa arched her brows at him in silent question and his answering grin was outright mischievous.

  She loved it.

  “Come,” he said, tugging her waist so she was falling into step beside him. “I have something to show you.”

  “But you mustn’t,” her mother called after them. “What about Margaret? She could go with you.”

  He paused in the doorway and Louisa was forced to turn back with him. She caught Margaret smothering a grin as their father pulled their mother to the side with a hurried “I shall explain everything to her” in Lawrence’s direction.

  Lawrence gave a curt nod. “You do that.”

  “What’s going on?” her mother was saying as Lawrence started to turn with her still attached to his side. He was holding her so tight, like he might never let her go.

  But then he stopped and threw a quick comment over his shoulder. It was directed to Margaret. “I have invited my friend Mr. Allen to join us for dinner this evening. I do hope that is all right.”

  “What? Oh, of course it is, but…” their mother was babbling a response but Lawrence and Louisa only had eyes for Margaret, and her smile was more genuine and heartfelt than any Louisa had ever seen from her sister in the past.

  “You did that for her,” Louisa whispered as they made their escape.

  “I did it for them both,” he said. “I have a suspicion that Gregory is just as smitten with your sister as I am with you.”

  “And now thanks to you and your generosity, Margaret can marry whomever she wishes,” she said.

  He gave a grunt of a laugh. “Please. I am hardly a selfless saint. Everything I did I did for you alone.”

  “Oh.” She had no idea what to say to that and the moment they stepped into the empty ballroom, she forgot what she ought to say because she was too curious. “What are we doing up here?”

  He steered her toward a painting that was covered in oilcloths. “I’ve spoken to your father…” He stopped and she stood before him, vibrating with tension and nerves and more excitement than she knew how to handle. His gaze turned earnest and oh-so-serious. “If it is amenable to you, my dear Louisa, I should very much like to ask for your hand—”

  “Yes.” She clamped her mouth shut in embarrassment. “Sorry, I ought to have let you finish.”

  He laughed before kissing her so thoroughly she forgot how to breathe. “Will you marry me?” he asked when he pulled back.

  Now it was her turn to laugh. “Yes. Yes, yes, and yes!”

  “First, I mean to court you,” he informed her in that droll voice she loved so well
. She loved that it covered up such deep emotions just as his stoic expression hid a fantastic wit and a lust for life and adventure that rivaled her own.

  “Very well,” she said, holding her arms out wide. “I am here to be courted.”

  He laughed. “But first I’d like to give you an early wedding present.”

  She looked down at the painting and back up in question.

  “Rather than work out arrangements for a loan, I thought it might be easier for your father to accept my money if I were purchasing something from him. So, in addition to the plot of land he was hoping to sell, I made him an offer on this painting…for you.”

  He removed the cloths and she started to laugh. “Sir Edmond!”

  Lawrence shifted before her and for the first time she realized that he was just as excited and nervous and overcome by emotions as she was. She sighed melodramatically as she looked to the man who’d once been her ideal of all that was romantic.

  She’d had no idea.

  “Poor Sir Edmond,” she said. “Do you think he’ll be very heartbroken when he realizes he’s been replaced in my heart by a living, breathing man?”

  Lawrence grinned. “On the contrary. If he truly cares about you, he’d wish you all the happiness in the world. And if he can see all in his ethereal state, he’ll know that the man you chose wants nothing so much as your happiness in life.”

  “Then poor Sir Edmond,” she said as she leaned into his embrace. “But lucky me.”

  He kissed her long and tenderly before pulling back and adopting a pose for a waltz. “I thought Sir Edmond was an apt present to mark our betrothal,” he said quietly as he moved in time to a silent melody only they could hear. “Do you know, up until I stepped into your arms that night, I felt rather like a ghost.”

  “No!” she said, tilting her head to the side. “How so?”

  “My life had become terribly dull. Gray, even. The future was starting to look tedious, nothing more than obligations and duties. I was going through my days half asleep, taking my life for granted and focusing on all the things that did not matter.”

  She touched a hand to his cheek. “How sad.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” He leaned down to kiss her. “But then I discovered you, and you…you saved me.”

  “I did?” she asked with delight.

  “Yes, you took this ghost of a man and made him feel.” He took one of her hands and placed it over his heart so she too could feel it pounding. “You made me feel, and you brought color and life into my gray existence.” He stopped dancing to pull her in tightly. “You reminded me what it was to be alive. You showed me what it was to love. And now…” He rubbed his nose against hers. “And now I am so eager to see all the future has in store.”

  She leapt up suddenly, her toes dangling as she tackled him in an embrace. “You saved me too, you know. I never thought I’d meet anyone who loved me just as I am. I never thought I’d find someone who looked at me the way you do. Like I am truly special.”

  His arms wrapped around her tight. “Then perhaps we saved each other.”

  “You know, people will think you are crazy for choosing me.”

  She felt his grin against her cheek. “And they’ll think you are insane for leaping into marriage with me.”

  She laughed. “Maybe we’re both a little crazy then.”

  “Or maybe we both have faith. In love and in each other…”

  “Faith,” she repeated, pulling back to meet his gaze head on. “I like that. Marriage will be an adventure and this…” She pressed her hand to his heart again, feeling it leap with joy and love just as hers did. “This is a leap of faith.”

  Turn the page for Delilah’s story in The Miseducation of Miss Delilah.

  Be sure to check out Maggie Dallen’s FREE full-length sweet regency romance, A Lady’s Luck, the prequel story to a brand-new romance series, Bluestocking Battalion.

  For a free regency exclusive romance novella, sign up for Maggie Dallen’s monthly historical romance newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/dgUNif

  The Miseducation of Miss Delilah

  School of Charm #3

  Chapter One

  Miss Delilah Clemmons held her teacup to her lips for a moment longer than necessary as she took a deep, fortifying breath.

  The scent of tea leaves and sugar, she’d found, was far superior to the stench of illness that had permeated her family home for as long as she could remember.

  “How is father?” she asked once she’d lowered her cup.

  Her stepmother’s voice was cold and even. “The same.”

  Delilah nodded. The same. That was the response she always got. She couldn’t quite recall at what point her father’s health had fallen into decline, but it often seemed as though he had been plummeting toward death for as long as she’d known him.

  His mental faculties were still there and her father, the baron, still ruled over this small family and his estate with an iron fist. Metaphorically, of course. In reality, he was confined to his bed day and night, and sent orders through his wife.

  His wife who despised Delilah.

  Perhaps that was unfair. Maybe despised was too strong of a word. What the Baroness of Linden felt for her stepdaughter could hardly be said—not even by Delilah. The older woman was difficult to read, but her interactions with Delilah had always been cold. There was no heat of anger, just a general sense of disdain and disapproval.

  Even as a small child, Delilah had sensed it, and she had known better than to take offense. It was well understood that Delilah had failed her father horribly by not being born a boy. She supposed she’d failed her stepmother even more so.

  With the estate entailed, she and her stepmother would be in a precarious position when her father passed.

  Unless Delilah married well, of course.

  Which she would. After all, it was the least she could do.

  Besides, her father had set aside a small fortune and the one unentailed property he owned along the coast to ensure it. Whatever was not going to his heir had been tied to her dowry to ensure that she land a gentleman of means and power.

  Delilah took another small sip and stole another breath of tea-scented air as a clock ticked loudly behind her.

  She’d always hated this drawing room. So stiff, so dreary. Her stepmother’s cloying perfume mixed with the smells of medicine and the stale scent of a house that hadn’t seen sunlight or fresh air in far too long.

  Altogether it made Delilah’s stomach churn with unease.

  From the moment Miss Grayson had informed her she’d been summoned home for a visit, she’d felt it—the clawing sensation of panic barely suppressed. At the finishing school, where she lived amongst her friends, she could ignore it. Sometimes she even managed to convince herself it was gone altogether, this unpleasant mix of fear and anticipation. The sensation that her life was about to take a turn. That she was hovering on a precipice just waiting for a good shove.

  Her stepmother set down her teacup with a rattle that seemed to shake the room. “Your father has found you a husband.”

  And there it was.

  The air left Delilah’s lungs so suddenly she felt lightheaded. A deep breath of that heavy, noxious air only made her head spin more. “Oh yes?” she said, taking another sip of tea.

  It was through sheer habit that she managed to sound so cool and unemotional.

  It had always been this way between Delilah and the baroness. A battle to see who could be the most contained. Which of the two beauties in this house had the most decorum.

  Delilah would hardly give her stepmother the pleasure of stumbling now. She’d been training all her life for this.

  The free-falling sensation that had her stomach plummeting was disguised beneath a haughty sniff and pursed lips. “And who might I be marrying?”

  There. Not even Miss Grayson at the School of Charm could find fault with that delivery. She was practically the epitome of grace and nobility. She was—

 
“John Faring, the Baron of Everley.”

  For the first time since she was six, Delilah forgot to don her façade. Horror shot through her, making her blood curdle and her stomach heave. “Lord Everley.”

  She whispered his name, but it was the nickname her friends at school had given the man that clanged in her head like a bell. Lord Evil.

  Silly nickname—no doubt Louisa had thought of it. The girl lived for melodrama. And yet…

  Much as she tried to tell herself it was ridiculous, the nickname echoed in her skull.

  Evil.

  A man they called Evil.

  This was who she was to marry.

  Her stepmother’s lips quirked up a bit at the corners. “I see you are familiar with the man.”

  Delilah stared at the baroness with lips frozen in shock. Familiar with him? The man had threatened to financially ruin Louisa’s family. He’d suggested Addie’s cousin should kill her little brother.

  In jest, one might hope, but even so…

  Her stepmother’s eyes glinted with malice. Or maybe amusement.

  Or perhaps with her stepmother they were one and the same. It was difficult to say. The baroness had a sort of cruel beauty about her. Half the age of the baron, she’d come from a good family and embodied excellent breeding. Fair hair and unmarked skin. Blue eyes and a spine of steel. She’d taught Delilah well in the art of gentility and manners.

  Delilah called on those lessons now as she steeled herself, forcing her shoulders to lower, her lips to snap shut, and her brow to clear. “Indeed,” she said, her voice pleasantly even. “I have made his acquaintance.”

  “Excellent,” the baroness said. “He will host an engagement ball in a fortnight and the banns will be read.”

  “But—” The protest died on her lips as she met her stepmother’s cold, malicious gaze.

  But he is a monster. But they call him Lord Evil. But…what if I don’t wish to marry him?

  Nothing she said would change matters. If anything, it would only add to her stepmother’s pleasure.