Her Lady's Whims and Fancies: Sweet Regency Romance (Lords for the Sisters of Sussex Book 3)

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  “What are you doing? Stand up.” He checked to make certain none of the departing lords had looked back to notice.

  “Oh, fine. But I have something to ask you, and you’re making me nervous.”

  Joy hammered through him. “Have you now? Well, out with it then.”

  She held up Matilda’s ring. “I even have a ring for myself, for now.”

  “Is this? May I?” Logan studied it. “This is incredible. This could have been touched by William the Conqueror himself.”

  “And Matilda.”

  “Yes, quite.”

  “And still, I haven’t had a chance to ask my question.” She lowered to her knees again.

  He looked around at a new group of people gathering. “You’re drawing a crowd.”

  “Do you think it’s the dress?”

  “Or it has something to do with you down on your knees. Or it’s the hat.” The purple feathers that rose out of the top of her hat shimmered from her movement.

  “I care not what they think. Logan, I can’t live without you. I’m so terribly sorry about Whims and Fancies. I didn’t write any of the things that came after we became . . . close. None of it. I should have told you, but it was just so difficult, and I kept trying to fix things. We made up a fictional person. A paragon of fashion in Bath. And then you showed up as him.”

  His smile grew.

  “You know all this, I know. I told you, but just in case you forgot . . .”

  “Yes.” Logan pulled Kate to her feet again and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. ”Can we walk?”

  “Don’t think you’re getting out of hearing my question.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” He patted her hand. “After I read your message in Whims and Fancies, I paid a visit to His Grace.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, quite. And he told me the sordid details of your time as the fashion plate creator and writer of Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies.”

  “And?”

  “And I have to say, I feel a bit humbled to be in your presence.”

  “Stop.”

  “No, really. You have become the female Beau Brummel of our time. Think of the power you have. If you wished it, everyone would be wearing brown.”

  “Brown?”

  “Certainly.”

  Kate considered him. “So am I forgiven?”

  Logan’s eyes turned serious. “I cannot stay angry with you. Shortly after my departure from Brighton, I already regretted my words.”

  “You’ve made a good name for yourself, I hear.”

  “Yes, the prince is aiding us. And there is a good chance we can make a difference with these ideas.”

  “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Yes, yes. I am happy as well. But I thought you came to talk of other things?”

  “Oh, certainly. I did, yes.” She knelt down again. This time, he let her.

  “Lord Dennison, will you please, please, please take me to be your wife?”

  He pulled her back to her feet. “As proposals go, that was pretty mild.”

  “Would you like me to add another please?”

  “No, please. Do not do such a thing.” He raised one of her hands to his lips. “My dear Kate. I need you in my life. I’ve been a cad to stay away so long. I love you with all that I have, and beg you to please, please, please be my wife.” He tried to push it away, but his heart shuddered with fear, a small flash of Olivia’s refusal sweeping through his memory.

  “Yes. Oh yes. Yes, yes. I will.” Kate stepped into his embrace. “Yes, I can think of nothing that matters more to me than to simply be your wife.”

  Logan stared down into her face, shining all the love he could imagine. “My dear Kate.” He pressed his lips to hers, which were soft and warm, and spent far too little time there. “I have papers already drawn up. We have a special license. We can marry whenever you would like.”

  “We need at least a month for the dresses to be made, and that’s if the modiste has time and makes only our clothes. And to reserve the church. I presume we can find a day. But flowers. And wouldn’t it be lovely if we could host the ball at the castle? Those renovations won’t be finished for sixty days, at least. What about three months?”

  He sighed. “Would it could be tomorrow. But I should have known you would want to design the dresses.”

  “Naturally.”

  He placed her hand back on his arm. “Then we shall plan it in three months’ time.”

  Kate’s attention seemed to wander.

  Logan cleared his throat once, twice, and then she looked back in his direction. “Might I make a small request?” he asked.

  “What might that be?”

  “That this particular dress not make a reappearance.”

  She looked down at her skirts. “Do you know, I forgot I had this on?”

  “I can’t understand how you would.”

  “I did! But it did the trick. You couldn’t possibly ignore me while wearing this.”

  “And that was your main goal? To catch my attention?”

  “That, my dear Logan, is always my main goal.”

  They walked along, his smile twitching at his lips, trying to come out for so long, until she laughed into the sky. “Are you as happy as I?”

  “I don’t think anyone could ever be as happy as we.”

  “No one.”

  They walked a minute more, then he frowned. “Where am I taking you?”

  “I’m staying at Morley’s townhome.”

  “Oh, of course . . . And you’re here in the park alone?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Logan paused and looked around them. Then squinted his eyes into a copse of trees. “Is that?”

  Grace’s giggling made it to their ears, and then she and Lucy and Charity stepped out followed by Jane.

  “What! You are all here?”

  “Of course. We couldn’t let Kate come propose by herself.” Grace stepped closer and up on tiptoes. “Welcome to the family.” She kissed his cheek.

  Lucy and Charity did the same.

  “Thank you. I feel I have just entered a very exclusive club.”

  “You have. Not everyone can be a part of the Sisters of Sussex.”

  “No indeed.”

  The Duke’s Second Chance Chapter One

  The duchess’s labor had started in the carriage while returning to their London townhome. Perhaps her pinched face and general malaise during the earlier parts of the day should have clued the duke in that all was not right, but she gave no complaint, and now he was left only to wish she had expressed a word or two of her condition. He’d carried her himself into her room, her gowns wet through. At last on her bed, he was relieved she would be in the hands of someone more experienced than he who knew how to care for her. But as he brushed the hair from her forehead, as he gazed on his beloved’s face, he couldn’t bear to part, not yet, not with her in the utmost misery.

  Gerald clasped his wife’s hands in his own, hoping the strength of his love for her would scare away the pain.

  Her face pinched, and she doubled over, large drops of sweat falling off her forehead. “Don’t leave!”

  “I’m here. Our illustrious midwife will have to unleash her dragon claws on me before I leave.”

  That brought a tiny laugh from his wife which gratified Gerald to no end. He tried to keep up a form of banter with Camilla who was clenched in the pains of childbirth, but in truth, if she wasn’t gripping him so tightly, everyone in the room would see the trembling in his own limbs. She cried out. “It’s getting worse. Is this supposed to happen?” Her eyes, wide with terror, made him frantic.

  “Someone do something!” He had tried to find his deep barreling voice but the order came out more of a squeak than anything.

  The midwife sidled up to him, “Pardon me, Your Grace. If I may?” She attempted to separate their hands, but he and Camilla resisted, gripping tighter. She continued, “She is doing wonderfully. Her body is performing just as we would ex
pect it to. Everything is progressing as it should. Soon you will have a new baby.”

  Camilla rolled toward him onto her side, moaning and writhing on the bed.

  “If I might?” The midwife gently tried again to pry their fingers apart, but Camilla clung to him. “No.” Her no came out as a long drawn out syllable and he almost stepped back in fear. But her grip on him offered no mercy, and no movement.

  “I’m here.” He stated his determination to remain at her side. Though even to himself, his tone sounded less sure.

  He hesitated one more moment, then Camilla screamed as though she were on a torture rack and released his hands, clutching instead the soothing cool fingers of their midwife, her cooing tones soothed Gerald as much as Camilla.

  Gerald scooted further away. The door opened behind him. “Your Grace. I came as soon as I could.”

  Gerald turned. “Dr. Miller. Thank you for coming.”

  The doctor held the door open for him. “I’m presuming you were on your way out?”

  Gerald nodded. “Yes, quite.” Just for a moment he would step into the hallway.

  His wife turned eyes to him, beautiful, shining eyes full of love. “I shall be finished shortly they tell me.” Then her body clenched again and she curled into a ball. “Make it stop. Please make this stop.”

  “I love you, Camilla.”

  She waved him away, clenched in apparent agony.

  The doctor shooed him out the door and before it closed firmly behind him, Gerald heard a quiet, “I love you too.” Gerald leaned up against it, breathing heavily. What a daft thing to do, impregnate his wife. What in the blazes was he thinking doing such a thing to them both? He closed his eyes, her scream audible through the thick door.

  “Oh this will not do.” His friend’s voice lessened the strain that wound inside Gerald like a tight net.

  Gerald whipped his eyes open, a welcoming smile interrupting the pain of his moment. “Cousin Morley. I’ve ruined her. She’ll never forgive me, I’m certain, and she’s in the most incredible pain.”

  Another scream interrupted. The door flung open and a maid ran out, carrying linens and a bucket. The door shut firmly after her.

  Morley gripped his shoulder. “Come, man. This is not the place for husbands. Wives always seem just fine after it’s all over.”

  “I don’t know. She seemed determined I stay by her. I’m taking a break.” He swallowed.

  “No, they say that at first, but what woman wants you to see her like that? It’s only going to get worse. You should have seen my sister’s household. The whole place was in a upheaval, everyone thinking their lady was going to fire them all.”

  Morley considered his friends words. “And when it was over, she was recovered?”

  “Certainly. She was in the best of moods, gave them all an increase in pay.” Morley put an arm across his shoulder. “Come. We don’t belong anywhere near her. It’s off to the study with your fine brandy.”

  Gerald nodded. “Indeed. That sounds like just the thing.” He hesitated a moment more and then allowed the good will of his dearest friend to lead him along to a brighter manner in which to pass the time.

  The farther away from her bedroom, the more the fibers of worry lessened, and Gerald told himself his wife was in the best of hands, that women gave birth all the time and that surely she would be well. He pushed away a persistent, niggling worry that something terrible was happening, pushed it as far as he could. For just as his friend said, what more could he do? She would be well soon enough and he could meet his son or daughter. Their lives would continue as before.

  Morley made himself comfortable in the study as he always did. Leaning back in his favorite chair, he said, “Remember when we convinced Joe that his cow was about to give birth?”

  Gerald snorted, almost losing his mouthful of brandy. “Clueless Joe believed us, with not a bull in sight on their estate.”

  Morley laughed and raised his cup in the air. “To Joe.”

  “To Joe.”

  They downed their cups, and Morley poured two new ones.

  “Thanks for being here.”

  “Would I miss the best thing you’ve ever done?”

  Gerald eyed him with suspicion. “That sounds very sentimental…”

  “We hope. If your child is anything like Her Grace, then we’re sure of you doing a service to society…”

  “And if the child’s like me?”

  “Then we’ve just inflicted society with another Campbell, and I don’t know how I feel about that.”

  “Being a Campbell yourself.”

  “Precisely. I know what a pox we are on the land.”

  Gerald downed his second cup, grateful for a reason to laugh. “Tell me cousin. Will there ever be another Campbell in your life?”

  “If my mother has anything to say on the matter.”

  “And what say you? Surely someone has caught your eye?”

  Morley looked away, his face drawn in an uncharacteristic frown. “I’ve found women to be nothing more than a silly, grappling means of entrapment.” He coughed. “Present wives excluded.”

  Gerald sympathized with his friend. Finding a woman to marry should not be so difficult. He felt supremely lucky, blessed, in his marriage to Camilla. They had fallen in love straight away, both of them happy to pursue a courtship, their parents pleased, society approving, but he knew it wasn’t so easy for most people.

  “Come, man. I shall devote the next bit of my life to making you the happiest of men.”

  Morley held up his hands and shook his head. “Assistance not necessary. In fact, quite unwelcome.”

  “Think nothing of it. I want you just as happily situated as I am, for marriage has brought nothing but the best of feelings. Today’s activities aside, naturally.”

  A man cleared his throat in the doorway.

  The doctor, at last. Gerald rushed forward, shaking his hand. “Are you the first to congratulate me?”

  Morley arrived at his side, his face pinched.

  The doctor looked tired, older by ten years since he’d arrived. “Your Grace.”

  Alarm spiked through Gerald. “What is it? Camilla? Is she well? The baby?”

  Dr. Miller shook his head. “We could have never known the baby would be sitting backward, that the duchess would bleed like she did…” Dr. Miller rubbed his head with a shaking hand. “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

  Gerald grasped the man by the shoulders, trying to clear his mind, trying to shake the brandy from his cloudy thinking. “Speak sense man.”

  “We lost her.” The words left the doctor’s mouth in a slow motion, his face falling into a sick despairing expression.

  “What?” He turned from Dr. Miller and ran to his wife’s bedroom, his heart willing the doctor’s words to erase. Holding his breath, wishing to erase the last hour. He pushed open the door, a maid falling to the floor on the other side as he rushed to his wife’s side, lifting her frame into his arms, her sickly white skin still warm to his touch. He clutched her to his chest. “Camilla.”

  Her arms hung limp at her side. He lifted them, holding them close to his chest. Her neck drooped, her head hanging uselessly at her shoulders. “No.” He lifted her head so it was upright. “Camilla. Can you hear me?”

  Someone stood at his side. And a familiar hand clasped his shoulder. “Gerald.”

  He shook his head.

  “Gerald.”

  He clenched his eyes tight, blocking out the world, blocking out Camilla’s lack of response, blocking out the friend at his side, even the doctor’s words.

  And then a cry broke the silence. A baby’s cry.

  Gerald’s eyes fluttered open, and his heart pounded. Turning his head, he clutched Camilla tighter. A baby cried in the arms of their midwife. He could not make sense of this infant. Why was there a baby in the room making all that racket? Didn’t they know that his Camilla needed help? He blinked, trying to understand what he was seeing. Morley stepped to the side of the midwife a
nd took the child into his arms. “Looks like you have an heir.”

  And then everything seemed to speed up and race past him. And he made sense of his situation. “Take him out.”

  “Pardon me, Your Grace?” The midwife seemed hard of hearing all of a sudden.

  “Out. Now. I don’t want to lay eyes on the creature who was the cause of Camilla’s death.”

  “Oh, but surely this slip of a thing had nothing—”

  Morley placed a hand on her arm, shook his head, and the woman wisely held her tongue.

  Then Morley said some nonsense about the nursemaid before it was once again blessedly quiet. He released Camilla’s dear body and placed her precisely the way she liked to sleep, on her side, with one hand under her cheek. Then he pulled the blankets up to her chin and tucked her in carefully. He was surprised by the tears that fell from his eyes, wetting everything. His body shuddered, his breaths coming with great effort, fighting against a new tightness that filled his chest.

  He stood, unsure what to do. Did he stay by Camilla? Yes. He sat back down. But what more did she require of him? She was at rest, the ultimate rest. He stood. Who took care of such things? Her burial. Someone had to let Camilla’s parents know. He covered his eyes, the wetness there again surprising him.

  “Gerald.”

  Morley stood at his side.

  Gerald turned again to his oldest friend. And the man who stood a hand taller than him, pulled him into his broad chest and hugged him like a young lad. And Gerald clung to him until his body quit shaking. Then he stepped back, at last able to take in a full breath. “What is to be done?”

  “I’ll take care of it. We’ll notify everyone who must know. We will make arrangements for her burial.”

  Gerald turned away. Camilla already looked so far away. Her lifeless form had nothing to do with the vibrant soul who used to inhabit it. The light that had shone through her eyes, that broadened her smile, the laugh that had started deep in her belly and bubbled overflowing into a great and joyful music…everything that made Camilla who she was, was gone. And Gerald didn’t know where she went. He reached down and placed his hand on her forehead, seeking the last bit of warmth left, finding precious little, he whispered, “Goodbye, my love, my dearest Camilla.”