Regency Romance: The Rake's Fake Marriage (Historical Arranged Marriage Romance) (19th Century Victorian Romance)

by Sarah Thorn

  “H…Hello.”

  “Can I help you, lady Helen? Did you not receive the breakfast you wanted this morning?” The older woman looked at her sympathetically.

  “Um… no… I just… wanted to see how you were doing. How have you been?”

  The cook blinked at her, her face revealing her confusion. “I’m well, madam. I hope that you were able to sleep.”

  “Yes, I…I certainly did. I… am famished so I will just… get going now.” She grinned and backed out the way she’d come in.

  She berated herself for going into the kitchen without thinking that it would not be where this family would eat. There was a great dining hall across from the vast living room. She pulled open the double doors and slipped through, pulling them closed behind her. Her father was seated at the head of a long table, holding a newspaper in front of him while he ate from a plate of eggs, biscuits and bacon strips.

  She eyed the bacon hungrily. It had been a very long time since she’d eaten. She felt like it had been days. She hurried to the seat on his right and sat down. He gazed at her.

  “You are still feeling happier?” He asked.

  “I am, papa.”

  “That’s wonderful. Have you chosen to change your seat then? You will sit next to me now?”

  She moved her eyes down the table and saw that a plate had been set in front of a seat further down the table. She looked back at him. “I don’t want to sit far away from you, papa.”

  He gestured to one of the girls standing on the other side of the room. She came over to him, holding her hands clasped in front of her.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Bring Helen’s plate and utensils down here, Anna. She will sit here from now on.”

  Anna grinned wide at Eve. “I’m so glad. Would you like me to take your plate and get your breakfast for you, madam?”

  “Yes, please.” Eve nodded. “And may I please have a few extra pieces of bacon?”

  Anna’s eyes widened. “More than usual, madam?”

  Eve hesitated. It sounded like that might be quite a lot of bacon from the tone of Anna’s voice. She nodded. No matter how much bacon came on her plate, she felt strongly she would eat it.

  When Anna left, she turned back to her father. “Papa, do you have a painting of me with the dress that I was wearing last night to the ball?”

  Mr. Downing put the paper down and looked at her, lifting a large glass of water and taking a sip. “I don’t believe so, Helen.”

  “Will you commission one to be painted for me? I love that dress, and I never ever want to forget it.”

  “I would be happy to do that.” He smiled with that warm smile again, and she loved him for it. She could see some resemblance to her own father, though the hundred plus years between them had made many changes to the family appearance. She was amazed she looked so much like her ancestor that it fooled them all into thinking she was her.

  But it was time to return home. And she couldn’t do that without the painting.

  “How long do you think it will take for the painting to be complete?”

  “That depends on the artist, dear. And are you in a hurry? Is this going to be…some kind of gift?” He was teasing her.

  She grinned. “Yes, it’s for your birthday. It’s going to be a surprise!”

  He laughed. “Not now, it isn’t.”

  “That’s okay. It was a surprise when I just told you!”

  They laughed together.

  The first time she saw the painter her father had chosen, whose name was Eric Anthony, she was enthralled with him. He was not like the men at the ball or even the men in her Jane Austin novels. He seemed so down to earth, almost as though he had come from a more relaxed period in time, like she did. He shied away from pomp and circumstance.

  She admired his looks, as well as his calm and relaxed demeanor. He was tall, with short brown hair and a trim beard and mustache. When he saw her in her green dress, his face lit up.

  “Good morning, Lady Helen,” he said when he entered the room, his hands full with an easel, a bag filled with paints and brushes, a paint palate and an untouched canvas. She rushed to him, holding out her hands.

  “May I carry something for you, Sir Anthony?” She offered.

  He took a step back at first, gazing at her in wonder. Then he held out the hand holding the canvas. “You could take this canvas before it falls from my fingers, if you’d like.”

  “Certainly.” She took the canvas and followed him to the area he was using to paint. He took it from her without a word after he set up the easel. He was still giving her a strange look. She just smiled at him.

  “You may go over there and stand while I paint. Do you have a tall stool to sit on or will you be standing for this portrait?”

  “I will stand.”

  “This could take some time. Several weeks, in fact.”

  Her heart thumped, and she held in a gasp. “Several weeks?”

  “Yes, my lady. I hope that is not going to inconvenience you.”

  “Can we put a rush on it?”

  “Put a rush on it?” He repeated. It was a strange phrase he hadn’t heard before.

  “Can we hurry with it?” She regretted her use of modern terms. She wasn’t talking like Helen did, that much was for sure. She was glad they were both from Virginia so that her accent would be much the same.

  “Yes, madam, if you would like to. I can try to hurry. Put a rush on it.” He grinned slightly, enjoying the new phrase. “However, if you want quality work, it will take at least five sessions.”

  She sighed. “All right. You may do whatever suits you, Sir Anthony.”

  “Please call me Eric.”

  “All right, Eric.”

  “Stand here.” He came over to her and adjusted her as if she was a mannequin, being careful not to touch her too frequently and cautious about where he put his hands.

  For the next few hours, she stood listening to him. Whenever she wanted to speak, he would shush her abruptly. “You must not move!” He would say in a firm voice. She resisted grinning whenever he said it, mostly because he had usually just asked a question and she was trying to answer.

  “How am I supposed to answer your question if you keep yelling at me not to move?” She asked at one point.

  “I guess you will not be able to answer my questions then.” He looked around the canvas at her to see if she could tell he was joking with her. She could see it and it warmed her heart. He talked to her about his family, how they had immigrated from France originally but that he had no ties to the country and couldn’t speak the language. She found out he was born and raised here in Virginia, he had two sisters and a brother, whom he adored and that his favorite animal was the horse.

  “Such majestic creatures they are, you know,” he said. “They have minds of their own. They will do what they want to do whenever they want to do it. They are free spirits, roaming the mountains around us.”

  “I agree.”

  “Do you?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  “You mustn’t move.” This time, he said it very gently.

  Five days later, after hours of standing for the portrait, Eve was relieved to hear he was finished.

  “Come and take a look,” he said, standing back. “I hope for your approval.”

  When she moved around to see the front of the painting, she felt a wave of emotion. It was exactly as she remembered. She would surely be able to get back now.

  The problem was that she had come to think of this as her home, this time as her own. There had been no more dances or balls, only standing for the portrait being created with strong hands by a handsome man she had come to adore. His voice was deep and gentle. His words were always encouraging and positive. He held an outlook on life that matched hers, in a way, at least, how she felt when she wasn’t constantly being questioned by a negative, angry man.

  “Do you approve?” He asked in a gentle voice.

  She looked at him an
d then back at the painting. “I do.” She breathed.

  “I am happy to hear that. Will you be giving it to your father for his birthday?”

  She wondered how he knew about that little joke she had shared with her father earlier that week. She laughed softly. “It was never really intended for that but…I might.”

  She had been waiting so long for the portrait. But in the meantime, she had fallen in love. The look in Eric’s eyes when she looked at him made her feel as if perhaps the feeling was mutual. She wasn’t sure she could leave now.

  “How…did you know I was thinking of giving it to him?” She asked.

  He lifted one hand and brushed a lock of her hair back from her cheek. The slight touch sent chills over Eve’s body.

  “I talked with him this morning before coming in to finish the portrait.”

  “Oh?” She gazed at him, biting her lower lip.

  “Yes. I…I also asked him a very important question.”

  She felt her heart thumping when she gazed up at him. She wanted to grab him and plant a huge kiss on his soft-looking lips. But she couldn’t do that. How inappropriate would that be!

  “I asked him for your hand in marriage, Helen.”

  She almost fainted but held her own. “Oh?” The question came out shaky. She cleared her throat.

  “Would you like to go for a walk with me sometime? Perhaps we could get to know each other better before taking a step that large?”

  “What did my father say?”

  Eric smiled. “He gave his approval.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. She was supposed to go home. She thought about her grandmother.

  When she looked back up at Eric, she knew what her decision would be.

  “Will I be able to talk on this walk?” She asked.

  He laughed. “You will be able to talk all you like, my lady.”

  “Then yes. I will stay with you.”

  “Stay?” He tilted his head.

  “Yes. A walk would be lovely. So very lovely.”

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. “That makes me very happy.”

  She could only smile at him. She was about to change her family’s history books.

  *****

  THE END

  REGENCY Romance - The Bet of the Season

  ''Lord and Lady Ashington and their daughter Emily,'' the announcer shouted.

  Emily stood with her parents at the top of the marble staircase and looked down into the ballroom. She noticed how everyone seemed to be looking at her.

  ''I hadn't expected there to be so many people,'' she whispered to her mother.

  ''As you know, your father and I always host the first ball of the season. We like to invite as many people as we possibly can. We find it gets the season off to a rousing start. This is the first ball you have been to here since your coming out. It's going to be a splendid occasion.''

  ''It all looks very spectacular,'' Emily whispered, just before her father led them down the stairs to their eager guests.

  When they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Emily's mother turned to her, ''there are several eligible young men here this evening my dear. Please don't wander off with your cousins before I have had a chance to introduce you to some of them.'' Emily looked around, curious to see who her mother could possibly mean.

  She was very familiar with her surroundings. Although this was the first ball she had been allowed to attend at Priory Manor, she had spent many a childhood hour in the ballroom with her sister and cousins, hosting pretend balls. Emily remembered how exasperated her mother had been when she had borrowed her pearls to dress up in. ''They are priceless, and you are swinging them around like you found them in a back alley,'' she'd told her.

  The ballroom was the largest in the County of Yorkshire. Priory Hall had been the seat of the Ashingtons since the days of King John. It was one of the finest stately homes in the land. Emily was amazed at how colorful the event was. At her debutante ball the previous summer, all the young ladies had worn white. That was behind her now, and she was able to go to balls where the ladies wore splendid colors. She had chosen to wear a striking gold muslin dress with gilt edges and silk flowers woven into it.

  ''Cousin Emily,'' Beatrice exclaimed, enthusiastically. ''You look stunning. I adore your gown. Such beautiful silken flowers. And your tiara of pearls is simply exquisite. You are the most amazingly beautiful woman here this evening.'' She looked at her cousin, who she adored, and tried to see what was different about her this evening. Emily was tall and slender, and Beatrice thought her dress showed off her tiny waist to perfection. She noticed Emily's Mediterranean blue eyes sparkling under the light of the giant chandelier. Her blonde hair falling beautifully to her shoulders in perfectly manicured locks. Then Beatrice realized. It was her makeup that was different. In particular her lips. Emily had voluptuous lips, as perfect as was humanly possible and this evening she had used lip rouge. She looked stunning.

  ''Nonsense cousin, if anyone is the Belle of the Ball, it is you.”

  ''Well then, let these two beautiful women go and find themselves, two handsome princes. There are so many unattached men to choose from; we'd better hasten, or we will run out of time.”

  ''Oh cousin, I would like nothing more than to go with you but mummy has asked me to say here. Apparently she wants to introduce me to some eligible young men of her choosing. I am terrified. She has such poor taste. Every man she points out to me is so dreadfully dull. I am young, and I want someone handsome and dashing, not someone twice my age.''

  ''Well then, I will go and search for us while you are meeting these dull creatures. Come and find me when you have finished. You never know, I might have some success.''

  Emily watched her walk down the side of the dance floor and strike up a conversation with a tall looking gentleman of similar age.

  ''Emily, please come over here,'' her mother said. ''I would like to present the Duke of Bedford.''

  The Duke took Emily's hand and pressed it to his lips. ''Enchanted,'' he said.

  ''My Lord, it is a pleasure to meet you,'' Emily replied as she curtsied. She looked at the man her mother presumably found to be of sufficient breeding to contend for her hand. She was pleasantly surprised. The Duke was not old and stuffy. He was young and handsome. ''Miss Emily, would you do me the honor dancing with me?''

  Emily was keen to dance with the handsome Duke. She was relieved it was a country dance and not one of the more intricate dances. A country dance was simple and would allow her maximum time with him. A lot of other dances called for many more partner changes. She'd never seen the point of being asked to dance by a man, only to spend the rest of the dance in the arms of several other men.

  As they undertook the required steps, Emily studied him. He was, at least, six feet tall, and he had a very elegant Roman nose. His eyes were green, and his hair was dark. How on earth did such a young man become a Duke, she wondered? She'd always imagined Dukes to be old. Emily recognized his uniform and was impressed to note he was an officer in the Dragoons, one of the bravest regiment in the British Army.

  ''Thank you, Miss Emily, you are indeed a very fine dancer. You have learned the art well. Now I promised to return you to your mother. I believe she has some more guests she would like you to meet.''

  *****

  ''She really is the most impressive young lady. Her beauty knows no bounds,'' Robert Masters said.

  The Duke nodded in agreement. ''She is indeed an amazing creature. Any man would give all he is worth to take her hand in marriage. What do you say Charles?''

  ''I say if she were in an auction only the richest men in the land need attend. She is a very fine woman I agree.''

  Robert Masters, The Duke of Bedford and Charles Carrington were standing in the corner of the ballroom looking on as Emily endured a dance with one of her mother's less inspired choices.

  ''You mentioned an auction, Charles. That really is an interesting thought.'' Robert said.r />
  ''Yes, that's it,'' the Duke exclaimed. ''We all three admire her. Any one of us would take her as a wife at the drop of a hat. Instead of competing with each other and risking our friendship, why don't we three place bids for her? The highest bidder earns the right to court and marry her ahead of the lower bidders. We'll bid in five rounds. The last bid to be the final word. What do you say?''

  ''A bid a week for five weeks, Robert said.''

  ''Agreed,'' said Charles.

  *****

  ''Emily, Emily, the most terrible thing has happened.''

  ''Beatrice, what on earth can be so terrible on this magnificent occasion?''

  ''I hardly want to tell you. It is so shameful.''

  ''Really, Cousin. Tell me.''

  ''Alright,'' Beatrice took a deep breath. ''I believe the three men over there,'' she nodded her head clandestinely, ''have decided to buy you?''

  ''What? What do you mean, buy me? I'm not for sale.''

  ''No, sorry, I don't mean buy, I mean bid for you.''

  ''Really, Beatrice, you are making no sense whatsoever.''

  Beatrice was so enthusiastic to tell her cousin what she'd overheard; she had lost all clarity of thought. She took another deep breath and tried again. ''I heard the three men over there talking about you. They all like you, in fact, they would all marry you at the drop of a hat. The man in the uniform said it would be a pity if their friendship were to be spoiled by them falling out over you. To avoid this, they have decided to place bids. The highest bidder will win the sole chance to approach you, and they assume marry you. There are going to be five rounds of bidding, one each week.'' Beatrice let out her breath, relieved she had managed to convey the story accurately this time.

  ''How very presumptuous of them. I wonder what makes them think I am interested in marrying any of them?''

  ''I really don't know cousin. But you must admit, they are all very handsome.''

  ''They are as you say, quite handsome. But they have rendered themselves much less so by entering into to this ridiculous activity. I have an idea.''