With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  “I shall make inquiries,” said Mrs. Cole before turning to a row of maids. “You heard His Grace. Beds need to be made, the nursery prepared.”

  “I don’t need no nursery,” said Johnny.

  “No?” asked Drake. “It is filled with toys.”

  “Toys for babies?”

  Drake winked at Bria. “Not at all. Perhaps you should see it before passing judgement.”

  “I’ll show him,” said a lad stepping forward from the crowd.

  A man dressed in working clothes grasped the boy’s shoulder. “James, you mustn’t speak out of turn.”

  “What a grand idea.” Drake moved toward them. “Thank you, James, would you mind showing Master John about?”

  The boy looked to his father who gave a nod. “Aye, Your Grace.”

  “He needs a proper bath first,” said Bria.

  “Oh, hogwash.” Their new ward grabbed James by arm. “Let’s go afore she douses me.”

  Bria shook her finger at the lad’s retreating form. “A bath. After supper. It is not negotiable.”

  Drake offered his elbow. “Going is the best idea I’ve heard today. Shall we, my dear?”

  Her stomach leaped. “Is it grander than Ravenscar Hall?”

  “Larger and filled with relics, though I’m not certain grander is the right descriptor.”

  And it wasn’t. Peak Castle was a marvel all its own. With over four hundred rooms, each one was decorated with a different theme. The dining hall was painted a light green with French paneling and furniture. The drawing room was lined with pastoral tapestries and gilt furniture. There was an armory displaying years of weaponry with the unicorn family crest at the focal point. A china turret, a salon with a pianoforte, a ballroom for dancing, a library, withdrawing rooms, vast kitchens, and so many bedchambers, Bria lost count.

  “I think this is my favorite chamber,” she said, dropping to her back on Drake’s enormous state bed.

  He crawled up beside her, resting on his side and propping his head in his hand. “Not the duchess’ bedchamber?”

  “Of course not. My favorite is yours. You do not intend for us to sleep apart, do you?”

  “I would die if we did.” He kissed her forehead. “Because I want to do this any moment I desire.” Cupping her breast, he kissed her cheek then growled, nuzzling into her neck

  Giggling with delight, Bria scooted aside. “And what about your theater?”

  “We could create a scandal and open next season with La Sylphide.”

  “I liked your idea about creating a ballet just for me.”

  “Hmm.” He frowned, brushing his fingers over the tops of her breasts.

  “Are you not enthralled with the idea of your wife on the stage?”

  “What if you are with child?”

  “Then I must have a very talented understudy.”

  “Have you someone in mind?”

  “I do. Pauline is very talented and too sweet to rise through the corps on her own.”

  He squeezed her side playfully. “Are you telling me you’re not sweet?”

  “Stop!” Bria brushed his fingers away with a squeal. “I’m tenacious.”

  “That you are.”

  She tugged on the end of his neckcloth. “Your mother is going to be devastated about us.”

  “She’ll come around in time.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “She’ll have to. Besides, once she comes to know you better, she can’t help but love you.”

  “I hope so.”

  “We must burn this costume.” With a sly grin, Drake pulled the sleeves from her shoulders. “Perhaps I’ll suggest Mother marry Mr. Peters.”

  “The gunsmith?”

  “We both know they’ve been having something of an affair. I would be far happier if she married the man than if their liaison became the subject of the scandal sheets.”

  “He’s wealthy, is he not?”

  “New money, but mother needs neither wealth nor title. She’ll always be the dowager duchess even if she marries a commoner.”

  “You married a commoner.”

  “Since women cannot hold titles, in truth, all peers marry commoners.”

  Bria sat up. “Then why is London’s marriage mart such a thing?”

  “Because of perceived breeding—gently-bred ladies and the like. Though in truth, it always been more about the exchange of wealth and keeping that wealth within certain families than one’s lineage.”

  “Unless the child of a nobleman is born out of wedlock—even if the breeding is superlative.”

  “As in your case?”

  “My father was a king. My mother is a baroness. I am a bastard.”

  “You are a duchess now.” Bria’s heart brimmed with joy as her husband pulled her back to his side and kissed her. “Mind you, do not forget it. Now make passionate, unabashed love with me, Your Grace.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “How long has it been since you wrote to Calthorpe?” asked Bria, the reins still a tad unsteady in her hands, though over the past few weeks she and Drake had ridden every morning.

  She wore a new riding habit, one fitting for a duchess. Though inside, Bria still felt much the same aside from being content and happier. “I dispatched a letter to them the day after we arrived home. I sent one to my mother as well.”

  “I’m surprised we haven’t heard back.”

  “I’m more surprised about Mother,” Drake said, leading them into open pasture. “I expected to hear from her lady’s maid advising that Her Grace had taken to her bed with a mysterious illness.”

  Bria’s knee tightened around the upper pommel of her sidesaddle. “Do you think she will ever accept me?”

  “She has no choice but to do so.”

  “But she may always harbor a grudge.”

  “Not for long. Mother might put up a fuss at first, but once she realizes she has been beaten, she always pulls in her daggers.”

  Picking up a trot, Bria rode up beside him. “I’ve received a letter from Pauline.”

  “Good news I hope.”

  “Good and bad. It seems Lord Saye is no longer in the picture.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “But she’s excited about opening the Chadwick Theater Ballet School.”

  “Splendid—and act as your understudy?”

  “Are you still certain I should dance—you once told me dukes don’t tread the boards. Will it not be awkward for you if I do?”

  “I no longer care what polite society thinks. Besides, your circumstances are entirely different. You were a smashing success last Season—London’s darling. I think it will be fitting for you to continue at least until…” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

  Bria knew exactly what he meant and the idea of starting a family made her insides tingle. She returned his smile. “I think Pauline will be happy to understudy knowing I do not plan to play the lead for long. And she needs a strong supporting role. I’m sure there will be no problem choregraphing an extra piece or two for her.” She ran the reins through her gloved fingers. “On that note, has Perkins found a choreographer? He’ll need to start soon.”

  “Perhaps there’s a whole parcel of mail due to arrive—aside from Pauline’s missive. There are too many people who owe us responses, and the last thing I want to do at the moment is travel to London.”

  A team of horses sounded in the distance. “Look there.” Drake pointed. “A carriage is approaching.”

  Indeed, a shiny, black carriage turned onto the long, sycamore-lined drive. “I think that coach is far too well-appointed for a mail courier.”

  “Come.” He turned his horse toward the castle. “I’ll race you home.”

  Leaning forward, Bria tapped her crop and kicked her heel, but racing the Duke of Ravenscar was nothing short of futile. He was as comfortable in a saddle as she was at the barre. Besides, a woman seated in a sidesaddle who was just learning to ride didn’t have a chance.

  Though Dra
ke could win twice over, he didn’t even try. Together, they cantered side by side and reached the entry in plenty of time to be standing on Peak Castle’s front steps when the carriage came to a halt.

  A footman opened the door.

  “There you are at last!” said Lady Calthorpe, accepting the man’s assistance. His Lordship followed.

  Drake shook the baron’s hand. “Her Grace and I were just discussing how long it has been since I sent word of our return to England.”

  Beaming with a radiant smile, Lady Calthorpe fanned her face. “Her Grace…Britannia, your title has such a lovely ring.”

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t come sooner,” said the baron. “We were set back by the weather. We should have been here three days ago.”

  “But I’m still surprised to see you.” Bria clasped her mother’s hands and gave them a squeeze. Mother, the name made her warm all over. “My word, you came all this way.”

  Her Ladyship return the squeeze and kissed Britannia on the cheek for the first time in nearly twenty years. “I would sail to Australia to see my only daughter.”

  “And she nearly did,” said Calthorpe. “If His Grace hadn’t dispatched a missive telling us he was in pursuit, I believe Charlotte would have attempted to swim.”

  Bria gestured toward the door. “Come inside and I’ll order lemonade and sandwiches.”

  Drake led the way. “Perhaps Calthorpe would enjoy something a tad stronger.”

  “A tot of brandy wouldn’t go astray,” said the baron.

  “Pennyworth, brandy for the gentlemen, sandwiches for all and lemonade for the ladies, if you please,” said Ravenscar, heading to the drawing room.

  The butler bowed. “Straightaway, Your Grace.”

  Her Ladyship pulled Bria onto the settee. “When we were traveling to Plymouth, we had a long discussion about you, my dear.”

  The baron nodded emphatically. “We did.”

  “And we decided it was high time to legitimize you as our daughter.”

  “Yes, yes,” echoed Calthorpe, his head still bobbing.

  Unable to believe her ears, Bria looked from her mother to the baron to Drake who stood with his hands over his heart and his mouth agape.

  Tears stung her eyes as the realization began to sink in.

  “Even before you returned to England,” Her Ladyship continued, “we had already submitted the documents to legitimize your birth.”

  “And thus, you are the sole heir to my fortune,” said the baron.

  Blinking, those pesky tears slipped from Bria’s eyes as she gasped. “I-I cannot believe it. This far exceeds my wildest dreams.”

  “You have made this a glorious day,” Drake agreed.

  “We’re so happy to have our Britannia in our lives.” Her Ladyship plucked a lace kerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “I only wish we could have been there for the wedding.”

  “Now that we’re on home’s soil, we’ll have to plan a grand ball. I’m sure my mother will be anxious to make the announcement as well.”

  A footman brought in the sandwiches while they discussed timing, the guest list, invitations and music. In the distance, Bria heard the wheels of another carriage, and hoped it might be the mail courier with a missive from Drake’s mother.

  Not long and voices came from beyond the door just before a ruffled Pennyworth entered, tugging down his sleeves. “Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Ravenscar and a Mr. Edwin Peters.”

  Not just a missive, but the woman herself.

  Bria’s new mother-in-law swept into the room, her gaze immediately homing in on her son. “How dare you leave London without a word for an entire month? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

  Drake’s chair scraped the floorboards as he rose. “Mother—”

  “We came as fast as we could,” she said as Mr. Peters stepped beside her. “The dreadful rain added three days to our journey.”

  Bowing, Drake, kissed her hand. “Britannia and I were just wondering why we hadn’t heard from you.”

  Her Grace shot a glare Bria’s way, one filled with heat and distaste. “So, your missive was not a forgery. You have, indeed, run off and wed the dancer.” The word was spoken with such disdain, there was no question what the woman thought of Bria’s profession. “I would be remiss if I didn’t say here and now I have approached the bishop and we can take steps for an annulment.”

  The room erupted in a cacophony of voices while Lady Calthorpe sprang to her feet with daggers in her eyes, shouting above everyone else, “How dare you speak so contemptibly toward my daughter!”

  Clapping her hands over her mouth, Bria burst out with laughter while tears flooded her eyes. Her mother was as fierce as a badger, defending her against a duchess. Nonetheless, it was glorious and horrible all at once.

  Not to be overshadowed by the baroness, Drake rang the bell. “Silence!” Before he uttered another word, he gave Mr. Peters a healthy once-over, then returned his attention to his mother. “I assure you there will be no annulment.”

  “Absolutely not.” Lady Calthorpe shook her fan. “Britannia, I mean, Her Grace, is the sole heir to the barony which comes with a handsome dowry, mind you.”

  “Thank you, such dower funds will be for Her Grace’s use as she sees fit,” Drake said, his gaze not leaving his mother’s face.

  “A dowry?” Bria whispered, clasping her hands over her heart.

  But Ravenscar looked anything but pleased. He took a step toward her. “I expect you to apologize to my wife forthwith, else I shall have you removed from my home and deposited in the dower house.”

  Her Grace’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I would.” Drake gestured to Britannia, looking as if he were about to go in search of his cane—the weapon with the silver ball on the end. “Now. Mother.”

  Looking as if she’d swallowed a canary, the woman drew a deep breath through her nose and leveled her gaze at Britannia. Within the blink of an eye, she assumed the posture of a queen and floated across the Oriental carpet and offered a polite curtsy, dipping no further than absolutely necessary. “Your Grace, please accept my congratulations for your turn of fortune. I trust you will make every effort to ensure my son’s continued happiness.”

  Bria bowed her head, affecting a serene smile, praying she was behaving duchess-like. At her first opportunity, she would ask her mother for a quick course on proper behavior for an English gentlewoman. “My only care will always be for my husband’s health and happiness.”

  “Well put.” Seemingly satisfied, Drake offered his hand to the dowager duchess. “Though we have one more issue to discuss as long as we’re amongst family.”

  “Oh?” his mother asked.

  Everyone’s eyebrows shot up.

  Drake ushered her toward Mr. Peters and addressed the gunsmith. “I hereby grant you permission to marry my mother posthaste. Your courtship has gone on long enough.”

  Remaining a model of composure, she squared her shoulders. “Son, this time you speak out of turn.”

  “I think not, Priscilla.” Mr. Peters took the woman’s hand and dropped to one knee. “The thing is, all these years I’ve been asking for your hand, but you’ve always put me off. I agree with His Grace. ’Tis time we seal our love and marry. If you’ll have a common man.”

  “Oh, stand up, Edwin. Of course I’ll marry you.”

  “Refreshments are served.” In the nick of time, Pennyworth entered carrying a tray.

  From behind him, Johnny flew past the butler and snatched a neatly appointed cucumber sandwich. Shoving it into his mouth, he stopped short and gaped at all the new faces. “Cor, Your Graces, where did all these dandies come from?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  One month later

  Drake’s mother and Mr. Peters had recited their vows before a small gathering of family and friends on the previous day. And tonight, in celebration of both marriages, Bria was preparing to preside over her first royal ball as duchess.
>
  Lady Calthorpe sat primly on the ottoman—who, as it happens, was variolated for smallpox before traveling to Bayeux—hence the reason her daughter did not contract the disease.

  Mother. While the lady’s maid pinned Britannia’s hair, she still couldn’t believe the woman in the portrait was her mother and had loved her since the day she was born. But deep down, she’d always known the truth. Why else would she have found the handkerchief and the miniature if she was to go through life without knowing who her parents were?

  Her Ladyship smoothed her hands over her embroidered organza skirts. “The wedding was lovely.”

  “It was. And I even think the dowager duchess will come to tolerate me.”

  “Tolerate you? How can anyone not adore you, especially if Mr. Peters has anything to do with it. He’d been trying to convince that woman to marry him for years, and now that she has wed a man outside the noble ranks, she has not a leg to stand on where you are concerned.”

  The lady’s maid gave Bria’s hair a pat. “There you are, Your Grace. All ready.”

  “Let me have a look.” Mother sprang to her feet and pulled Bria in front of the full-length mirror. “Oh my, you are stunning.”

  Drake had insisted on a gown of ivory lace, the neckline embroidered with pearls and amber crystals—matching her eyes he’d said.

  She pressed her fingertips into an unusually queasy stomach. “I am nervous.”

  “No need. You were a pupil of the Paris Opera Ballet. You have the best training of all of us.”

  Bria thought of the governess they’d hired for Johnny, not to mention the riding and fencing instructors. She’d had none of those. “Hardly.”

  “Mind you, ballet has taught you to present yourself as the highest-ranking nobility.”

  “But I’m worried I might say the wrong thing.”

  “Hogwash. You’re a duchess, incapable of making a blunder. And you’ll do well to remember that. Every word you utter must be done with utmost conviction to its sureness.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “It is if you play the part. I’ve seen you perform on stage. You’re not only a beautiful dancer, you’re a talented actress, and isn’t that what these affairs are about?” Her Ladyship smiled and cupped Bria’s face. “We all have a role to play and, tonight, you are the lady of the evening. No one, not even the dowager duchess can take the limelight from you.”