Love in the Moonlight: A Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Collection: 7 Delightful Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Stories (Regency Collections Book 6)

by Arietta Richmond

  The young man who had been listening to Eveline’s tale shook his head.

  “That is truly amazing.” His eyes looked out at the bonfire. Once again it was All Hallows’ night and the young man had spent the whole evening nervously fretting over how to approach the young girl who danced captivatingly near the flames. “Then, what do you think I should do, Lady Darlington?”

  Eveline smiled good naturedly. “Well, I could always have my husband sort the matter for you as he did with Mr. Byrd so many years ago.” She leaned closer then and put a hand on the boy’s wrist. “I think though, you would be better served being bold and approaching this girl yourself.”

  The boy nodded nervously. “I suppose you are right. Perhaps I can take inspiration from your husband and try to use the divination games of the season to convince her that I am right for her.”

  Eveline laughed.

  “Well you had best find a convincing looking rock. I wish you luck.”

  Lord Darlington wandered over slowly. He had a cane but he spurned using it except on really cold nights.

  “Who was that young man?”

  Eveline cuddled into her husband as she watched the man depart.

  “Oh, just someone who needed a prod in the right direction to follow his heart.”

  The End

  If you enjoyed reading The Superstitious Earl Finds Love then I’m certain that you will also enjoy my other recent releases: You can pick them up now for FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

  As a special thank you for reading I’m including a preview here for you to enjoy. Turn the page (after the ‘About the Author’ section) for your preview of ‘Christmas with the Duke’

  About the Author

  Katherine Keats writes sweet and clean Regency Romance. She's a hopeless romantic who loves music, dancing, and long walks on the beach. She enjoys writing stories of true love that defy all odds.

  You can connect with Katherine on her Facebook page at:

  https://www.facebook.com/KatherineKeatsAuthor/

  Or follow her on her author page at:

  https://www.amazon.com/Katherine-Keats/e/B01N3R8L65/

  Get in touch at:

  KatherineKeatsBooks@gmail.com

  Other Books by Katherine Keats

  Clean Regency Romance

  The Duke's Dangerous Dilemma

  Rescuing the Earl

  The Duke and the Dressmaker

  Christmas with the Duke

  A Christmas Surprise

  The Duke's Unforgettable Kiss

  A Gentleman's Gamble

  Escaping the Duke

  The Duke's Love Letter

  A Summer Surprise

  Here is Your Preview of

  Christmas

  with the Duke

  Katherine Keats

  Chapter One

  George Fortescue, the Duke of Chester, was not surprised to find his carriage held up on the road south. Highwaymen were a fact of life in the country, they were becoming almost as dependable as toll roads, and were just another expense to be endured. With the country's militias mostly fighting overseas in France, there was little policing of the roads and the Duke was convinced that this was what had bred such boldness in the thieves who plied the roadways of the country.

  Leaning out of the carriage window, the Duke gave an amused smile to the band of three horsemen bearing down on him at speed. His carriage was never going to make a getaway. The snow was thick and the going difficult already for the cumbersome vehicle. Tapping the roof, the Duke called up to his driver, “Don't worry about trying to outrun these men. Let's just stop and give them an early Christmas, shall we? If they know their business, they'll take their petty spoils and we'll be on our way in short order.”

  As the carriage slowed and drew to a halt, the Duke took a moment to straighten his jacket and waistcoat. He wanted to look presentable and suitably indignant to his pursuers. This was not his first hold up, and he had learned the value of looking regal and disinterested during such events. It was important to hold on to decorum, and to let his assailants know that, no matter what they took from him, they would not be making a dent in his fortune.

  The Duke leaned back and offered an affable smile to the first horseman to pull up at his window.

  “Greetings of the season to you, Sir. I am sure that you and your accomplices must be very cold from staking out this barren stretch of deserted heath-land. I have a flask of whisky here if you want to take the edge off the cold. While we're at it, I should note the flask is silver and should be worth a fair bit if you can find a buyer who won't question the engraving.”

  The bandit leaned in and took the flask cautiously. He had in his spare hand a pistol, which he kept trained on the Duke as he took a swig.

  “My thanks, Your Grace, it seems what we heard about you was true.”

  The Duke raised an eyebrow then shook his head.

  “Oh dear, am I getting a reputation among your sort? Just because I do not kick up a fuss when someone pulls a gun to my face I am seen as an easy mark, is that it?”

  “No, I was warned that you were a rather insufferable sod to hold up. Fortunately, the haul will be worth it I reckon.”

  The highwayman's eyes seemed to look to the carriage itself now, examining the lacquer on the wood. And running his finger appraisingly over the smooth grain of the exterior.

  George Fortescue frowned, not liking the way this highwayman was inspecting his vehicle.

  “I have presents in here for my sister and friends which will be worth a fair penny and those are all unmarked. I've certainly got enough coin to keep you and your men fed and housed in the best Inns for a good week.”

  The bandit stroked his chin but his brown eyes remained on the carriage itself.

  “Well thank you for being so forthcoming, but I am sure that my men and I can sort through your possessions easily enough. Your driver will be most useful for that. Now, would you step out of the carriage please, Your Grace.”

  The Duke did not like where this was going. All other robberies he had ever faced on the road had been relatively painless affairs. He had been made to step out of his carriage to have his pockets fleeced, but never had a highwayman looked so intently at his actual transportation, or threatened to make off with his driver. Still, there was nothing else to be done, and the Duke stepped out of the carriage and into the cold snow. He looked up at his driver, a middle-aged man who had driven his family for years.

  “Do not worry Jeffery, I will not let them take you.”

  The driver was watching his master intently and took a deep breath. A smile, inexplicably out of place given the circumstances, spread across his lips. A moment later, the leader of the group of robbers handed the man the hip flask and the driver took a long and grateful swig.

  “Oh, that won't be necessary young master. Fact of the matter is, I am quite happy to be going with these men. I was the one who told them where to find us, after all.”

  The Duke’s eyes widened in shock.

  “Jeffery, what is the meaning of this? You've been our family's coachman for years now. Have you gone insane?”

  “Aye, maybe I have, Your Grace,” the driver confessed. A malevolent leer spread across his face as he tucked his master's hip flask into his jacket. “After years of measly wages from your late father, and constant complaining, I figure I can be forgiven for being a little touched in the head.”

  The highwaymen did not seem at all interested in the exchange between servant and master and their leader waved the other two over to begin their work.

  “Come on now, it's cold and I don't much care to listen to your long spiel about all the wrongs the Duke's family did to you Jeffery; we heard enough of that the other night at the Inn.”

  The coachman pursed his lips, clearly irked at not being able to have his moment to gloat in the face of his master.

  “Very well, but I still expect you to honour that one part of the deal we made.”

  The leader of the group l
ooked up at the coachman, his one eyebrow raised and an incredulous look plastered on his face.

  “Really? You really want to do that?” When the man saw the coachman's expectant face, he shook his head and turned back to the Duke. “My apologies Your Grace, this is not usually something we do, but I must request that you take off your clothes.”

  “What... you can't be serious?” the Duke protested, looking about the sea of callous faces for any kind of sympathy.

  Only the leader of the highwaymen seemed at all concerned and he reached into his saddle bag.

  “Look I've got some clothes for you here. None of your fancy finery, but it'll keep out at least some of the cold.”

  “Hey, that was not part of our deal.”

  Jeffery looked angry and he took another swig from the hip flask to quench his disappointment.

  “Look old man, we're highwaymen not murderers. I'm not going to leave the man naked in the snow, he'd die before he even made it two miles down the track. I may be a thief, but I don't want any man's death on my conscience if I can help it.” The robber then threw out an assortment of old and very dirty clothes at the Duke's feet. “Now come on, put those on if you please. We've got a long ride ahead of ourselves to get this carriage of yours somewhere we can sell it, and I can guarantee you'll be wanting to make a start to find shelter as soon as possible. It may be cold now, but you wait until night falls.”

  George Fortescue bit his lip to suppress his anger. Trying to retain some of his dignity, he began to undress, one item of clothing at a time. He took great care to put on the old pauper’s clothes as he undressed, and concentrated on shutting out the laughs of the two other highwaymen and his own treacherous driver.

  Before being turned loose, one of the highwaymen did a thorough job of fleecing the Duke of his rings and jewellery. The leader had one more surprise in store too, as he rode close to the Duke and poured the contents of a bottle over him.

  “Sorry for that. But if you come across anyone too quickly who you might tell your story to, it might do us well for them to think you're just a raving drunkard.” Leaning down, he handed the bottle to the Duke. “There's still half left, hopefully the alcohol will keep you warm on your journey.”

  Left in ill fitting, itchy clothing, the Duke of Chester watched with mixed fear, terror and loathing as his carriage began to move away, flanked on all sides by the highwaymen who took up a merry song as they rode away.

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  Regency Romance

  The Bride of Stirling

  Lenora Levon

  Copyright © 2017 by Lenora Levon

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The material in this book is for entertainment purposes ONLY. Enjoy.

  Chapter One

  Dr Vincent and Sophia Stirling travelled down the packed earth road, their coachman humming a slow tune. Vincent pulled his curtain back, allowing the country breeze to flow past Sophia’s worried face. They were about to engage in a new life together. Her father had thought that it would be the best life for her, after he had felt compelled to marry her off to the doctor, in recompense for saving his wife’s life.

  In between whistled tunes from their driver, Vincent would turn to Sophia and ask, “Are you surviving the journey?”

  Who was he to assume that she had never traveled before? Every time he asked her, she gave him the same reply.

  “I am rather enjoying the journey, Doctor Stirling.” Then she would glance out of the carriage window.

  “My first name is Vincent, and your name is Sophia?” asked Vincent.

  “Yes, I believe you know my first name,” she replied.

  “Then talk to me as if you know mine.” He cleared his throat.

  Sophia stared out of the window, wishing that she could leave the carriage ride with this stranger. She longed to be with her recovering mother, helping her regain her strength. Instead, she was being sent away as the bride of her mother’s saviour. She had agreed to marry this man because he had cured her mother of consumption.

  Doctor Vincent had been able to conjure up a concoction of rum, boiled milk, and loaf sugar to relieve the destruction of the dreaded disease. Her poor father, having no money to part with, could only offer his sole daughter as payment.

  He had been grateful to hear of Doctor Stirling passing through the town, on his way home from London. The doctor had spent time in the city, doing medical research, and having his way with the more amorous widows of the ton. Her father had welcomed him into their home, to help save her mother from the painful coughing. The doctor had paid no attention to their meager dwelling, or to Sophia, while he worked. He had appeared to dismiss her, even as she offered any assistance he may have needed. She was always taught to show respect, and they would have bowed at his feet, if it was necessary, to make her mother healthy again.

  “I have never been made to be ashamed of my formality before,” said Sophia. “If you can please allow me the required time to become comfortable with you.”

  “I have no time requirement. Most women seem happy to fall right into bed with me, as I expect you to do, as my new wife, tonight.” Vincent flashed a sly grin.

  Sophia had noticed that he was handsome, as he sat by her sickly mother. Seeing his grin now increased her fear of falling deeply for this mysterious stranger, before she could get to know him. He did not seem to apply the code of propriety as she had expected that he would. As a doctor, she had assumed that he would uphold the unspoken rules they lived by.

  “I do require time and, if you will respect my wishes, it is deeply appreciated,” said Sophia. She stared straight ahead. “As my father has respected you so much as to bestow upon you my hand in marriage, the least you can do is to respect his daughter as a lady.”

  “That is often the case in an arrangement such as ours. Therefore, I will give you the time that you desire,” said Vincent as he patted her gloved hand. “However, say nothing when I do not come home at night.”

  Sophia felt nothing when he touched her.

  They traveled through Eckington, and soon made their way to their final destination. The carriage began to roll over a gravelled driveway. Sophia moved her curtain back to reveal thick tall trees lining the edge of the driveway. They spread thick branches overhead, blocking out the rays of the bright sun.

  “These trees are lush and pretty,” said Sophia, staring up at the trees

  “They are not meant to be pretty. They are here to do their job. To block the harsh light of the sun.”

  Sophia scrunched up her eyebrows as she continued to look out at the mature trees.

  “I am certain that I will become accustomed to them, as I take in my daily strolls,” replied Sophia.

  “I am sure that you will find an abundance of obscene nature to observe here,” said Vincent. He stroked his chin. “You can walk wherever you like. However, remember that you are not yet familiar with the landscape.”

  Sophia sighed.

  “I am prepared to learn my way around with time.”

  The driver pulled the carriage up to a massive mansion. It was located on four acres of the English countryside. The land was filled with an overgrowth of greenery of all kinds, and appeared to be unkempt. Beyond, the immediate grounds, the land gave way to a dark forest. Sophia was not so sure that she was brave enough to explore that dense landscape.

  “Is all of that your land too?” asked Sophia, as she pointed to the forest.

  “Of course it is all mine. You are free to venture in there, but, if you d
o, I may never see you again,” Vincent laughed.

  Sophia cocked her head.

  “I beg your pardon, but I do not find humour in your comment, Sir.”

  “If you are looking for an apology you will never find one here,” Vincent said, turning away from her.

  Sophia gawked at the mansion towering before her. It glared back at her with its crumbling white paint peeling down in strips. The large windows strained to shine against the overpowering layer of dust.

  He ought to have bartered for a window washer and a gardener. Not a new wife.

  She turned away from the overgrown trailing green tangles, which spilled out from all sides, when she heard the coachman addressing her.

  “This way ma’am.”

  The coachman carried her trunks up the steps to the wide double wooden doors.

  Sophia followed close behind. A small cough came up from her throat as she inhaled the dust from the outside landing.

  “Are you quite well?” asked Vincent, following her through the front door.

  “I think it is the heavy dust and something else, which I am not acquainted with,” answered Sophia placing her gloved hand over her mouth.

  “You will become accustomed to it soon enough.”

  “I am not so sure that I want to,” she said, following the coachman into the house.

  A short older woman met them in the parlour.