The School of Charm: Books 1-5

by Maggie Dallen

  He titled his head to the side as if to see her better. “From your aunt, I’d expect to be hurt. I did not see it coming from you, however.”

  Prudence winced. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—”

  “Then why did you leave without a word?” He let out a huff of air and ran a hand through his hair. When he spoke next he softened his voice. “Why, Pru? Was it because…” He licked his lips and shifted his stance as if bracing himself. “Was it because you knew what I was going to say? Did you suspect that I would propose?”

  She saw the hurt in his eyes and it made her own ache intensify a millionfold. But she couldn’t lie. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He flinched and closed his eyes briefly. “And you thought that it would be easier to avoid the conversation altogether than to reject me.”

  It wasn’t a question, but still she said, “Yes.”

  He stared at her for a long, excruciatingly quiet moment. Then he shook his head slowly, his brows coming down in confusion. “Why?”

  She blinked in surprise. Wasn’t it obvious?

  She blinked again when his expression shifted from confusion to suspicion and he took a giant stride in her direction, closing the gap so thoroughly that she could not breathe.

  Well, she could, but she didn’t wish to. If she were to inhale his scent, feel his warmth…

  She didn’t trust herself to be strong. But she needed to be, for his sake.

  He leaned in close, his eyes peering at her as though she were a science experiment. “Why, Pru? Why would you say no when I know for certain that you love me?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  As far as proposals went, this was not exactly what he’d had in mind. Damian hadn’t spent much time daydreaming about how he’d one day propose, but if he had, he wouldn’t have guessed that it would be like this.

  Demanding the woman he loved to admit that she loved him back.

  But now that the word ‘love’ was out there, and his gamble paid off because the look in her eyes…

  It said everything.

  He’d been right. Her shock, her horror… While they were hardly flattering—horror was not the first emotion he’d hoped to see during his proposal—they were the affirmation he needed. Rudely jabbing a finger in her direction, he couldn’t help but crow, “I knew it.”

  She jerked back as if he’d struck her. “You...what?”

  “I knew you loved me.” He stalked toward her. If she thought he was going to let her run away again, she could think again.

  “I-I didn’t say that,” she said.

  “But you do.”

  She glared.

  He grinned.

  This was more like it. “Why did you run, Pru? Why did you leave without a goodbye when you had to know that I’m in love with you, too.”

  His voice rose in anger as he spoke and he ended with a huff. No, that was definitely not how he’d planned to tell her that he loved her. But now that his panic over her welfare was fading, frustration was taking its place.

  And, if he were being totally honest, alongside frustration there was pain. His pride was stinging and his chest still ached just as it had when he’d discovered she’d left without so much as a farewell.

  “Y-you’re in love with me?” she echoed. Her eyes were deliciously dazed. “But you can’t be.”

  He frowned, his hands on his hips as he glowered at her. “And why is that?”

  “Because I’m not—that is, I will never be….” She seemed to give up with a loud sigh of exasperation that was so very Pru it made his lips twitch with amusement.

  Her mouth pursed and her expression became unbearably superior. So very sanctimonious. “What you feel for me isn’t love, Damian.”

  “I beg your pardon,” he interrupted.

  “It’s sympathy,” she continued. He caught a flicker of a wince before she added, “It’s pity.”

  “Sympathy? Pity?” His head jerked back and his voice was so loud he wouldn’t be surprised if her friends rushed in to save her. Running a hand through his mussed hair, he gave his head a shake in disbelief. “You think I want to marry you out of pity?”

  She pressed her lips together tighter. Priggish Pru in all her glory. With a little shrug, she added, “You feel sorry for me. Admit it.”

  He leaned in toward her, lowering his voice as he tried to contain his frustration. “You are a very difficult woman to feel sorry for, do you know that?” He started pacing to keep from reaching for her. He wanted to pull her close, to kiss her, to make her promise that she would never run from him again.

  But he couldn’t do any of that until he got this simple truth through her thick skull. “I do feel sorry that you were stuck with such a poor excuse for a guardian your whole life,” he said, still pacing as she stood still as a statue in the center of the room. Her hands folded neatly, her face composed as she’d been taught.

  “See?” Pru sniffed. “It’s merely sympathy because you are a kind man.”

  “Kind...kind?”

  Her brows drew together at his insensible railing, but really. Kind? That was all she saw in him?

  She drew in a deep breath. “Yes, kind. But one day you will realize that you don’t really love me and you’ll regret your decision. I am not fit to be a marchioness and I am not the woman you should be tied to for the rest of your life.”

  He gaped at her for a long, tense moment.

  “Prudence Pottermouth.” He drew her name out as he moved toward her slowly. “I’ve called you many names over the years and have accused you of being a goody two shoes, a prudish prig, a—”

  “Is there a point to this?” she snapped.

  “Yes, because I never once suspected you to be a martyr.”

  She stiffened, her brows drawing down as she returned his glare.

  “It seems I’ll have to add that to your list of faults,” he continued. “And yes, I am well aware of your faults, just as I suspect you are very well acquainted with mine.”

  She pinched her lips together tight and he could practically see her tallying a list of said faults.

  “But if you’d let me continue, I was going to say that while I do feel sorry for your plight, I am not asking for your hand out of some sense of obligation. You more than anyone ought to know how much I detest duty and responsibility as a motivation.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. He had her there.

  “And besides, you feel sorry for me as well,” he added.

  “What?”

  “Of course you do,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I lost my parents, you lost yours. We’re both pitiable to a degree.”

  She frowned again, looking flustered.

  Flustered he could do. He was hardly calm and collected himself. He supposed being in love made flustered a common state.

  “But are your feelings for me based in pity?” he asked.

  She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment before shaking her head.

  “Then why is it so hard for you to believe that mine aren’t either?”

  She took a deep breath, she opened her mouth, but to his surprise—and he suspected to her surprise as well—she started to cry.

  Sniffling, she bit her lip, and his anger and frustration faded fast in the face of her tears. “Oh, Pru,” he groaned as he closed the distance between them and tugged her into his arms. When she burrowed into him, her face nestling against his chest and her arms wrapping around his waist...he felt himself crash. His heart was no longer his and he knew it.

  He’d been falling in love with her for who knew how long, but in this moment he hit rock bottom. She owned him, heart and soul. He couldn’t stay angry with her because she was a part of him, whether she knew it or not.

  When she pulled back to look at him she was still sniffling but her tears were easing and she swiped away the last of them with impatience. “How can you love me? My own friends can barely tolerate me and…” She pulled back to look down at herself and he could see th
e self-loathing, the critical judgement that came from years of emotional abuse. “You cannot love me.”

  His heart threatened to break in two with those words but he lifted a hand to tilt her chin up so she was forced to meet his gaze. “No, Pru, you cannot love you. Not yet, at least. But I hope in time you will come to see yourself the way that I see you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes again and her lower lip trembled.

  “I see a woman who is strong and brave, clever and genuine, and who has so much love to give.”

  She flinched a bit, and he knew without her saying that she was fighting the words, that while she might want to believe him, she didn’t.

  “I know that you do not see it yet,” he continued. “I know that you are struggling. But luckily for you, I can love you enough for both of us.”

  She gasped, her eyes widening.

  “For now, at least,” he amended. “But I hope that with enough time I can help you to see how amazing you truly are.” He reached up a hand to stroke a stray lock back from her temple. “You’ve been told for so long that you must be perfect to be loved, but that is so far from the truth,” he said, his voice gruff and low. “It is your imperfections that make you who you are. None of us are perfect. We’re human.” He forced a small smile as he wiped another tear away. “Whether you admit it or not, you are human.”

  She let out a sound that was part laugh and part exasperated huff.

  He loved that sound.

  His voice turned teasing as hope burned within him. He hated to see her tears but he was getting through to her and he knew it. “You are human,” he repeated, leaning down until his nose brushed against hers. “And you’re in love with me.”

  Her breath caught. He could feel her tense in his arms, their lips a breath apart.

  “Admit it,” he said, his command a gruff whisper.

  She licked her lips and he held her tighter. When she nodded his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. “Yes, I love you.”

  He claimed her lips with a bruising kiss that she returned with just as much passion, just as much fervor.

  Of course she did, because his Pru might act like the uptight sanctimonious snob but she was filled with more love than she even knew. His lips moved over hers as she leaned into his embrace.

  She was his, and he was almost certain that she knew it.

  The ‘almost’ was enough to give him pause and he grudgingly pulled back so he could look down into her sweet, dazed eyes. “Will you marry me, Prudence?”

  She blinked a few times, her lips parting on a gasp.

  “Before you answer, I need you to know that I meant it when I said that I may not be a marquess. That I hope I am not. I know that the promise of a title—”

  She clapped a hand over his mouth with a huff that was so very Pru. “You cannot truly believe I would marry you for a title.”

  He grinned behind her hand. He hadn’t. Not for a second. But it was still nice to hear. He removed her hand gently. “But you will marry me.”

  Her lips curved up at the corners and his heart leapt in response. “Are you certain this is what you want?”

  He grinned as he held her so tight she was pressed against him from head to toe. “You are everything I want.”

  She bit her lip, her eyes dancing with a happiness that he hoped he’d see every day for the rest of their lives. “Then yes,” she said with a happy sigh. “I would love to marry you.”

  As he kissed her they heard an explosion of noise from the foyer. Cheers and hoots and whistles surrounded them and Prudence pulled back with a laugh. “And I suppose it’s time that you meet my friends.”

  He dropped his arms to reach for her hands. There was still so much he wanted to say, so many kisses he ached to give. But now he knew that he had the rest of his life.

  “Something tells me I will love these friends of yours since they are the family you never had.”

  Her smile softened as her friends drew away from the doorway in a flurry of giggles and whispers. One of them had the good sense to click the door shut and give them privacy.

  Prudence tipped her head to the side to study him. “You’re right. My friends and Miss Grayson have been like a family to me. But you…” She smiled so sweetly his heart swelled in his chest. “You are my home.”

  He groaned as he pulled her close once more. Home. He’d never once thought he’d feel like he fit in anywhere well enough to call it home. But she was right. That was exactly what he had with Prudence. “Maybe your friends can wait for just a little while longer,” he teased as he lowered his head.

  She tilted hers back and went up on tiptoe to meet his, her lips curved up in a smile. “They can definitely wait.”

  Next up, Miss Grayson finally meets her match with Damian’s uncle in the novella The Mistletoe Mistake of Miss Grayson.

  Snag a FREE sweet regency romance novella now when you sign up for Maggie Dallen’s monthly historical romance newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/dgUNif

  The Mistletoe Mistake of Miss Grayson

  School of Charm: A Christmas Novella

  Chapter One

  Miss Madeline Grayson ran her fingers over the letter on her lap, the crinkling of the paper the only other noise in this carriage aside from the clattering of hooves on the snow-covered dirt road.

  The silence was pleasant, she decided. Far better than having a companion. She looked out the small window beside her at the snowy landscape rather than the empty space around her, the dark clouds gathering ominously overhead. The atmosphere suited her mood.

  It was perfect wallowing weather.

  But self-pity was not a trait to be admired, she reminded herself. A great aunt she’d stayed with for a time had told her that. The same great aunt had also liked to say that she’d best mind her manners or she’d find herself on the shelf.

  She wished that great aunt were still alive today so she could inform her that all the good manners in the world hadn’t spared her from that fate.

  A hint of a smile tugged at her lips despite this irritating sense of melancholy that had been plaguing her for the duration of her journey to her newly married friend Prudence’s house.

  On the shelf. Madeline could vividly recall the image that phrase had conjured when she’d been young. She’d imagined a little old lady being perched on the kitchen cupboard beside the flour and the sugar, left there until needed.

  A rueful laugh escaped at the thought and her fingers ran over the letter once more. To think, as a child she’d thought that a lady knew the moment she’d been put upon the shelf, as though there was some unofficial ceremony or a secret rite of passage.

  She had not realized that becoming a spinster was such a slow, quiet sort of journey. A sudden realization that years had passed since her dearest cousin’s wedding. That months now went by before she received any correspondence from her other long-since-married childhood friends.

  The sudden understanding that no one would bat an eyelash if she did not travel with a chaperone.

  She eyed the empty seat once more and that melancholia threatened to grow into something more intense and far more pitiful. Closing her eyes, she swallowed down this poisonous sensation that seemed to be eating at her lungs, searing her throat and making her belly churn.

  It was just the time of year, that was all. Christmastide had always made her emotional. It was a time to celebrate with family, of which she had little. Her closest family was her second cousin Amelia, who was happily wed and expecting her first child. She and her husband were on their way back to England after an extensive tour of the continent, otherwise she knew she would have been welcome to spend the holiday with them.

  As it was, she was headed to Prudence’s new family home. Her husband’s uncle was a marquess and was hosting a small house party to celebrate the holidays. Prudence and her husband Lord Damian had insisted that she join them.

  Truth be told, she’d had any number of invitations to choose from so there truly was no valid re
ason to be feeling so lonely. She could have gone off to Addie’s or Louisa’s or Delilah’s. Each had offered up her new home, but after careful consideration she decided that it was Prudence who perhaps needed her most. Before becoming engaged to Lord Damian, Prudence had seemed just as lonely as Madeline. Her parents had abandoned her with a terrifying great aunt who’d seemed to Madeline like some villain from a gothic horror.

  Her gaze fell upon the empty seat across from her. The latest letter from Prudence, addressed to Madeline at the finishing school she’d been running these past two years. The School of Charm had been her home as she’d had the honor of guiding and assisting the four loveliest young ladies of her acquaintance.

  Until all at once, each and every one of them had gone and fallen in love. They’d married in a succession just as quickly this fall. Madeline could not have been happier for her charges.

  There was that surge of pain again.

  She was happy for her charges...yet also sad for herself. Was it possible to be so happy for others while so sad for oneself?

  Yes. In this matter, Madeline had quite a bit of experience. In fact, she considered herself an expert on the topic.

  The carriage twisted around a turn and Madeline rested a hand against the seat beside her to keep her balance.

  It was a good thing she had, because not a minute later the carriage jostled and bounced wildly as they hit a rut then came to such an abrupt halt that Madeline found herself jostled off the seat and only just caught herself as she tumbled to the floor.

  A breath hissed out of her in the echoing silence that followed.

  The silence only lasted a beat before she heard the driver of the carriage talking—to his horses, no doubt. Then he was pulling open the door and his scruffy face was peering in. “Are you all right, missus?”

  “Yes,” she said, taking note of each limb as she straightened. “A little bruised, perhaps, but fine.”

  She managed a smile in the face of his obvious concern. His weathered face was wrinkled as he eyed her from head to toe.