Regency Christmas Box Set: Risking it all

by Regina Darcy

  When plotting her revenge, she had assumed that the Duke would be a man of loose morals who was eager to engage in a flirtation with an underling, and Henrietta had intended to turn that ignoble trait to her advantage. But the Duke apparently kept his dark, secret life hidden, as if he were two people, leaving Henrietta unsure of how to properly ensnare him.

  She looked across the room. The conversation about the ball was still continuing.

  “Ah, will this be the moment when Edward’s icy heart finally melts to the warmth of Lady Charlotte’s tender ministrations?” Green asked. “Will this be the Christmas ball when there is to be the announcement that there will soon be a new Duchess of Farringdon?”

  “My heart is not in the least icy,” the Duke declared, accepting his grandmother’s offer of more tea. “And Lady Charlotte will no doubt enchant some other lucky gentleman, but it will not be me.”

  “You aren’t going to marry her, are you, Uncle Edward?” Jacqueline entreated.

  “I am not.”

  “She is rather pretty,” Lord Anson said thoughtfully. His grey eyes alighted upon Henrietta. “Not so pretty as some, to be sure, but she has a fine figure, a good seat on her horse, and a title. What are the qualifications for a duchess?”

  “Anson, my dear, you speak as if marriage were a horse auction,” his grandmother protested.

  “Do you tell me that it is not?” her grandson inquired with a bark of laughter. “Do not all parents review the potential brides and grooms as if they were matching up chestnuts at Tattersall’s? ‘This one has a pretty face, but alas, no money. That one is titled, but there was that rumour last year that something untoward happened during a walk in the garden. This one is the heir, but gambling debts may well ruin the inheritance.’ And so on. Each proposal is weighed as if it were an investigation of the breeding record of a champion horse. We’d do better to open the mouth, check the teeth, and be done with it.”

  “You are in sour mood this evening,” his cousin commented. “Was it an unpleasant visit?”

  “I was eager to return home,” Lord Anson said without explanation.

  “The snow has delayed many other travel plans. I hope it does not interfere with the ball. But such a storm is unlikely to repeat itself.”

  Anson Green seemed to have lost interest in the topic of the ball. His attention, except for random moments when he looked up from his teacup to study Henrietta, was seemingly on matters of importance solely privy to him and not shared with the others.

  EIGHT

  Henrietta went to the schoolroom early each morning, immediately after she had finished her breakfast, so that she could prepare the lesson for the day. She was engaged in that task when she heard footsteps approaching the schoolroom. It was not Jacqueline’s eager running.

  “Ah, the lovely governess, alone. How fortuitous,” said Lord Anson.

  Hiding her alarm, Henrietta looked up from the paper upon which she was writing.

  “May I help you, Lord Anson?”

  “You could very well do so, if you but choose, and yet I have a feeling that you would not,” he said cryptically.

  “Sir?”

  “You are quite the loveliest young lady I’ve seen in some time,” he answered. “I should very much like to see more of you. And at the same time, see less of you.”

  There was no mistaking the lewdness of his intent. Henrietta felt her fair skin flush at his jibe and she was annoyed with herself. Had not Madame said that the shrewd woman knew how to blush when it suited her and not because circumstances incited it? It was irritating that all of Madame’s instructions should have no opportunity to be put to use with the Duke, and were now needed to address the insolence of the Duke’s cousin.

  “I’ve seen you somewhere,” Lord Anson continued, walking closer to her desk. “I cannot think where, but I assure you, I never forget a pretty face or figure.”

  “Lord Anson,” Henrietta said, “I beg you to allow me to continue with my work. Lady Jacqueline will be here soon and we begin our lessons right away.”

  “She is still breakfasting with Grandmamma and will not be here yet. I could make love to you right in this room and be clothed again before she came upon us.”

  Henrietta gasped. She had never heard a man speak so crudely. Even in the salon where Madame held court, gentlemen were more respectful in their speech.

  He was grinning at her as if he enjoyed her discomfort.

  “Shall we try?” he inquired, coming around to the side of the desk.

  Immediately, Henrietta was on her feet. “Lord Anson, I shall not be treated as if I were a barmaid at an inn—”

  Abruptly, she halted. That was where she had seen him.

  The man who had been so covert in his movements from the stable on the night of the snow, who had looked up at her window as she looked out, the man who had stopped at her door before continuing to his room. But how could he have been at the inn when he had told the Duke he had been in Nottingham visiting friends?

  He did not seem to find her comment revealing.

  “All women are alike, Miss Jamieson, whether they are barmaids or governesses or other men’s wives. They are there for the taking, to be plucked like ripe fruit which ruins if it is left on the vine for too long. You’re the finest-looking bit of female flesh that’s been seen in these parts for ever so long and if my cousin were not such a hidebound man of probity, he would be helping himself to the delights that you would undoubtedly offer. That bountiful golden hair would look far more enticing if it were loosed, and that prim grey dress would benefit from being taken off—”

  Jacqueline bounded into the room. “Mademoiselle—oh, Cousin Anson, I did not know you were here.”

  “You are early to rise, this morning,” Lord Anson said, turning away from Henrietta, who tried to restore her composure so that Jacqueline would not be distressed at her state.

  “We have lessons now,” Jacqueline told him. “I cannot dally in bed, Grandmamma says. There is much to learn.”

  “Indeed,” Lord Anson said. “I have no doubt that Miss Jamieson is a most admirable teacher. Perhaps I should take lessons from her.”

  Jacqueline laughed. “How very funny you are sometimes, Cousin Anson. Gentlemen do not take lessons from ladies.”

  “Oh, but they do, sweet child. I assure you, we gentlemen are but unlettered pupils to the instruction of the ladies. Miss Jamieson, we shall speak again of your admirable credentials in the art of instruction.”

  Henrietta did not acknowledge his comment but was already placing the books for the lesson upon the table where she and Jacqueline shared instruction when the child was not working on her own at her desk. His mocking laughter drifted into the room as he left.

  Jacqueline wrinkled her nose, her usual gesture when she was perplexed. “I do not always understand Cousin Anson’s jokes,” she admitted. “Uncle Edward says not to worry because they are not as funny as Cousin Anson thinks they are.”

  “Perhaps your uncle’s advice is wise,” Henrietta said, still perturbed by Lord Anson’s unseemly comments. In his mention of having seen her before was an intimation of something out of place. She doubted that he had seen her well enough to recognise her as she stood at her window, but even if he had, there was nothing remarkable in the incident. She had certainly not been at the window for any nefarious purpose and he was the one whose motives for being at the inn when he was believed to be elsewhere were suspect. But she knew that she needed to take care not to be alone with Lord Anson. He gave the impression that he would, if circumstances were supportive, do whatever he wanted regardless of how a woman felt about the matter.

  When she and Jacqueline went to the library that afternoon as usual for tea, Henrietta was uneasy at the sight of Lord Anson in the room before her. But he merely bowed as they entered.

  “The Dowager Duchess says that she will be along directly,” he said. “She is going over recipes with Cook for the Christmas ball. Miss Jamieson, I trust that you are being tre
ated well? My cousin will want to assure himself that you are happy in your position.”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said quietly.

  Jacqueline had already taken a seat. “Where is Uncle Edward?” she asked.

  “We returned from the village together,” Lord Anson muttered absentmindedly. “Miss Jamieson, pray sit down.”

  “It’s unlike him to be late,” Jacqueline said.

  “Fear not, I am here,” the Duke announced as he entered the library. “I apologise for being tardy but I was called upon to settle a most important matter. Should the ballroom be decorated in silver or in gold? Grandmamma is most unhappy with me because I said both.”

  Lord Anson looked up as the butler entered the room. “Ah, Danvers, tea is most welcome on this cold day. Grandmamma being detained, we must ask Miss Jamieson to pour for us.”

  It was an unusual directive, but Henrietta obediently moved to the teapot and began to pour the beverage into the dainty pink, gold-rimmed cups. The line of a woman’s arm as she performs a housewifely task, Madame had said, is surprisingly erotic to a man. When performing a function that reminds a man of hearth and home, do not forget that it is in the mundane that a man’s ardour leaps to the sensual.

  She handed the Duke his cup first, as befitted his title. Their fingers briefly touched and she caught a look in his eyes that left her confused. He thanked her with a gravity that seemed most unlike him. Chewing on her lower lip, she wondered if this was how he had seduced her mother.

  She looked up to see Lord Anson’s eyes taunting her with a lascivious gleam as he accepted his cup, but she maintained her calm and did not react to him.

  “Thank you, my dear,” the Dowager Duchess said when she arrived and saw that the tea had been served. “I apologise for being late. Edward was no help at all in deciding that we should decorate with both silver and gold.”

  “Then you ought not to have sought my opinion,” her unrepentant grandson replied. “I like gold and silver adornments, and holly branches and pine boughs and I am not at all averse to sprigs of mistletoe adroitly placed to advantage. But not at the ball,” he cautioned. “There would be so much angling that we should not get through a single dance. Have the servants put it throughout the manor, unawares, so that it will take a discerning eye and an adventurous spirit to act upon the inspiration it provides.”

  “If we have mistletoe throughout the manor, we shall not see anything done but kissing,” his grandmother retorted with asperity. “Every maid and footman will be stealing kisses instead of doing their work.”

  “It’s Christmas,” the Duke said indulgently. “There’s no harm in a stolen kiss or two, as long as the maid does not mind the theft.”

  The Duke locked gaze with Henrietta and the world stood still. With slightly shaky hands, she lifted her cup and drank her tea.

  Staring stubbornly at the fireplace she gathered her resolve. What dishonest words, she thought, to speak of stolen kisses when he had stolen much more from a woman who had assuredly minded the theft. How nimbly he spoke of kisses, and what a counterfeit life he lived with such adroitness.

  Here, in the wholesome affection of his family, he played the part of the head of the household. Elsewhere, he had more in common with his dissolute cousin. She would steel her heart against his seductive nature and deny that the very thought of being kissed by the Duke, was making her heart race.

  NINE

  Edward Winston, the Duke of Farringdon, was in his drawing room, nursing a whisky, feeling quite indecisive. Ever since Jaqueline’s new governess had arrived, his inner coolness had been anything but icy.

  He knew he had done a good job of concealing his affections, but truth be told, from the moment he had laid his eyes on Miss Jamieson he had known he had lost his heart forever.

  The Farringdon men all had one thing in common. They fell in love once and once only. A coup de cœur.

  Having reached the grand old age of two and three scores without experiencing this phenomenon, Edward had simply assumed this did not apply to him. Love makes a fool out of all of us.

  He rose and went to his desk, once again glancing at the correspondence he had received prior to hiring his beguiling governess. She was more than she seemed.

  But whatever she was hiding, his heart seemed not to care. Her pearly laugh pierced his heart every time he heard it. The way she cared for and nurtured his niece, made him long for her to raise their children. What’s more, her beguiling figure had left him sweaty many a night.

  He longed for her, like a man in the desert longs for water. Never before had he felt thus. Not for a woman of the beau monde or any courtesan.

  He sighed heavily. Yes, he was very much done for it. Now, the only question was whether the lady held similar affections. He certainly hoped so, otherwise this was about to turn into the most miserable Christmas ever.

  With his mind finally made up on what action to take, he downed his whisky and walked out of the room with a new purpose in his stride.

  ***

  Jacqueline was so excited at the prospect of the ball that she could scarcely concentrate upon her lessons. Henrietta decided that they would forego the afternoon lessons so that Jacqueline could nap, in order to be able to stay awake once the ball commenced. Jacqueline objected but was finally persuaded that her governess’s advice was sound, and she went to her room after reminding Henrietta to wake her promptly.

  With Jacqueline napping, Henrietta decided that it would be a good time to stock the minstrels’ gallery with the supplies that they would need in order to have a comfortable sojourn there whilst watching the dancing.

  Her arms laden with blankets, she brought them to the gallery, placing some on the floor so that she and Jacqueline would be comfortable as they sat. She was about to leave in order to go to the kitchen to bring up some of the things that Cook had prepared, when she was startled to see the Duke entering the gallery. In his hand was a sprig of mistletoe. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

  “Miss Jamieson,” he said. “I apologise. I thought no one would be here.”

  “Lady Jacqueline is resting. I convinced her that she ought to sleep now so that she would be able to stay awake later. She is very excited about the ball.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Miss Jamieson… I hardly know where to begin… You will think me very forward, I fear.” He laughed shakily. “You see me at my most Machiavellian, I fear.” He pointed to the mistletoe in his hand. “My plot was to hang it here so that I could beg a kiss from you later tonight. It would all be quite circumspect, with my niece present, and yet I confess that a ceremonial kiss is not what I covet but rather, a kiss between a man and the woman with whom he has fallen deeply, inexplicably, irrevocably in love.”

  He saw the expression of disbelief on her face. The silence that followed his declaration was deafening.

  “I have shocked you, I see,” he said. “I apologise. I would not force my attentions where they are not welcome.”

  As he turned to go, Henrietta cried out, “Wait!”

  He turned back eagerly. “Yes?”

  “I—you misunderstand me. You have startled me, that is all, not offended me. I… This is rather sudden, you must admit.”

  “I always expected that I would be ambushed by love,” he answered, “so for me, it is not a surprise, but rather a fait accompli. I knew from the first time I saw you that you are the love that I have sought. Do I still startle you, my dear Miss Jamieson?”

  “I…” She lowered her eyes so that he could not witness the triumph she was feeling. He had fallen and she had not fired a shot! “I am unprepared, Your Grace. I am but a governess, and you are a duke. I must ask you, what are your intentions?”

  “Why, marriage, of course!” the Duke exclaimed. “I am not one who would woo a woman without the intention of making her my wife.”

  “This is rather unexpected, you must admit.”

  “For you, perhaps.” He placed the mistletoe over their heads.
“For me, it has finally come true.”

  The Duke lowered his head. In wonder, Henrietta felt his lips upon hers, gentle but searching as if the kiss would lead him to a further discovery.

  Henrietta found herself responding to his kiss, standing on her tiptoes to rise to his lips, engulfed in his one-armed embrace as the other hand resolutely held the mistletoe above their heads. She forgot who he was and what he had done, abandoned to the passion that arose within her at his embrace.

  He broke away, laughing. “I will not presume that you are so readily won,” he said. Kneeling down before her, he gazed up at her. “My dear Miss Jamieson, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? I lay my fortune and my heart at my feet and if you will consent to be my duchess, I will consider myself heaven blessed.”

  “I… I must have more time, Your Grace. I am honoured by your proposal but I do not see how we can be a match. Our states are so different. You will be scorned for marrying a governess and I will be despised.”

  “If I am happy and if you are happy, what do we care what the tongues in London or even in the county are saying?”

  “Your reputation will suffer grievously,” she protested. “You will come to hate me.”

  “Miss Jamieson… Henrietta… I am no green schoolboy. I served with the Duke of Wellington, not only as a soldier, but later in his spy corps as a member of the Hounds of Wicket. I am not easily gulled nor am I a pawn to the tongues of society. I choose a wife for what pleases me, not the ton.”

  “You do not know me,” she said, a trifle desperately now that her plans were coming to fruition and she was not sure how to handle the victory.

  “I know more than you think, perhaps,” he said. “As I said, I am not easily fooled.”

  What did he mean by that? What could he know? He could not read her heart. He could not know that her uncle, her mother’s brother whose surname was not Jamieson, was a man of wealth and cosmopolitan tastes, a man of prestige in Paris. He could not know of the influence that Madame had had on her after the death of her mother.