Regency Christmas Box Set: Risking it all

by Regina Darcy

  “Lady Jemima,” she said tartly, throwing him a disdainful look over her shoulder. “You were, of course, attempting to meet my sister, Lady Madeline, given that she is the incomparable beauty in this family.” There was a sharpness to her words that left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Luckily for us all, I think it is early enough for you to remove yourself without being seen, sir.”

  “Alexander, Earl of Denhaven,” he muttered, managing to scramble to his feet as his head began to pound. “Thank you. You are a very good person, Lady Jemima.”

  She snorted and shook her head. “You consider me good just because I do not wish to tie myself to a gentleman who has broken into my father’s house in an attempt to secure the hand of my sister, whether she wishes it or not?” she asked, swinging around to face him. “My goodness, Lord Denhaven, you must consider yourself very highly indeed to make such a remark as that!”

  For a moment, he was quite at a loss for words. Staring at her, he saw anger flashing in her eyes, the slight flush of pink in her cheeks. She was quite right. He had behaved intolerably, even by his own standards. “I will go now,” he muttered, scraping a bow. “Forgive me, Lady Jemima.”

  The little maid who had woken him with her scream now hurried towards the door. Opening it, she peered out carefully and then beckoned him out. His head was aching so terribly that even to keep his eyes open was decidedly painful, but Alexander forced himself to move as quickly and quietly as he could. The house was still rather gloomy, given that it was a cold, crisp December morning, although Alexander was relieved that there appeared to be very little movement from either the staff or the Marquess himself. The maid scurried forward, and he hurried after her, reaching the top of the staircase with ease.

  “The servants’ staircase is below,” she whispered, hurrying down the stairs quickly, her feet making very little noise. “Do be quick, my lord.”

  A little frustrated that he was being spoken to so firmly by the little mouse of a maid, Alexander hesitated for a moment before following after her. His footsteps made more sound than hers had done, rendering him even more exasperated with his own lack of sense. Whilst he considered himself a rogue and was, in fact, quite proud of the title, as though it were some sort of accolade, he had never once allowed himself to become endangered in such a way as this. This was entirely down to his own foolishness, his own desire to feel as though he had every right still to bear that particular title. Had he not lost at cards, then he might not have made such a ridiculous promise and might now be awakening at home, albeit with the same sore head as he now experienced.

  “Ahem.”

  Alexander stopped dead, one hand on the staircase rail. The maid turned around, her face growing as pale as milk as a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman walked towards Alexander.

  “My lord,” the maid whispered, curtsying. “I was just—I mean, this gentleman fell asleep in one of the rooms last evening, and I was assisting him out of the house.”

  Alexander swallowed hard, aware that the gentleman who was now glaring at him was none other than the Marquess of Parkham. He did not need to be introduced, for such was the man’s bearing that it could not be anyone else. “I do beg your pardon,” he stammered, bowing as best he could. “It is just as the maid said. I must have wandered off last evening, and given that you have very fine brandy, I—”

  “I do not recall inviting you,” the Marquess interrupted gravely. “I do not know your face nor your name. I must therefore presume that you have been in my house uninvited.”

  Not quite sure what to say, Alexander hung his head, his mortification growing with every moment.

  “Come,” the Marquess said firmly. “You too, Sarah. Into my study with you both, and we shall see if we cannot get to the bottom of this.”

  Unable to do anything other than trail behind the Marquess and feeling as though he were some sort of naughty schoolboy being dragged aside by the headteacher, Alexander walked behind him into his study and took his seat by the fire, as indicated by the gentleman.

  “I am truly sorry, my lord,” he began before the Marquess could speak. “I have done nothing to your daughter, I swear it. I was much too foxed last evening, although how I quite managed to get into her bedchamber, I still cannot understand. Your maid will attest to the fact that I was found by the fire, sound asleep. Your daughter also will state that I did not lay a finger on her.” He drew in a long breath, his voice shaking slightly as he finished. “I have done a great wrong, Lord Parkham, and this, I will not deny, but I would like to avoid the consequences if I can, for both our sakes.”

  The Marquess had sharp blue eyes that seemed to pin Alexander in place. His thick greying hair and bushy side-whiskers gave Alexander the impression that he was quite a severe sort of gentleman, unwilling to take up with nonsense or the like. There was little doubt in Alexander’s mind that the gentleman would be willing to allow such dishonourable behaviour to go without recompense, and he wilted inwardly. He had been so close to freedom, and yet within sight of the servant’s staircase, he had been pulled back.

  The Marquess lifted one eyebrow. “Your name, sir?”

  Alexander flushed with embarrassment. “Earl of Denhaven,” he stated dully. “Alexander.”

  “Ah, yes,” the Marquess murmured, tilting his head.

  There came then a moment or two of silence, leaving Alexander growing more and more uncomfortable. He did not know what to expect, half fearing that the Marquess would suddenly call him out, and he would be forced to duel with the older gentleman.

  “And am I to understand that my daughter sent you from her bedchamber?” the Marquess asked, his tone steadier than Alexander had expected as the strained silence was broken. “That she herself did not wish to wed you?”

  Alexander cleared his throat. “Yes, that is so,” he said as clearly as he could. “She did not wish to be tied to me.” The angry words she had flung at him still pierced his mind. “She made that remarkably clear.”

  The Marquess let out a heavy sigh. “That is to be expected when she has so many admirers,” he murmured sadly. “And yet—”

  “It was not Lady Madeline, my lord!”

  The Marquess’s head shot up, his gaze fixed now on the maid. “It was not?” he asked, staring at Sarah as though he could not quite believe it. “You mean to say it was Jemima?”

  Sarah nodded. “Yes, my lord, it was.”

  Feeling as though something had shifted in the atmosphere of the room, Alexander twisted his fingers together uncomfortably, seeing the way the Marquess’s eyes now lingered on him, a flicker of interest in his expression.

  “Well, well,” he murmured slowly, as Alexander waited with bated breath. “That does change things, Lord Denhaven.” Slowly he got to his feet and, with his hands behind his back, wandered to the window. “I think, Lord Denhaven, that I will expect you to do the honourable thing,” he stated calmly, sending Alexander’s spirits straight into the floor. “But given that only Sarah here has seen you thus far, I will not insist upon it being immediate.”

  Alexander wanted to groan aloud but knew he could not, given the gravitas of what the Marquess had said.

  “You must throw a house party,” the Marquess continued as though he expected Alexander to do everything just as he said. “We shall leave tomorrow, for that is the day I intended to leave London anyway. Whilst I expect to spend Christmas Day at my own estate, we shall spend the remaining fortnight at your estate, Lord Denhaven. There, you will court my daughter and, hopefully within that time, find a friendship that will make your marriage a happier one than it would be should you marry tomorrow.” He turned around to face Alexander, a small smile on his face. “You will propose to her before we depart on Christmas Eve,” he finished calmly. “Is that all to your understanding?”

  Alexander wanted to say that he had no intention of returning to his estate and that he certainly did not want to throw a house party! His staff would be in a fit if he demanded they throw a house party with only
a few days’ notice! And yet, when he opened his mouth to protest, the words died on his lips, leaving him feeling weak and useless.

  “I understand, my lord,” he stammered eventually, giving himself up to the fact that he was going to have to face the consequences of his very foolish behaviour. “I shall invite only a few friends, I think.”

  “Ones that will not lead you into the vices you currently struggle with,” Lord Parkham replied wryly. “Oh, and I would have you invite Lord Mowbray also. He is a gentleman of the highest order and, despite only being a viscount, is quite besotted with Lady Madeline.” He smiled, his eyes appearing rather bright for a gentleman who had only just heard that a scandal had taken place within his own household. “Who can tell whether or not I may have two betrothed daughters before this year is over?”

  Alexander did not share his enthusiasm, rising to his feet and feeling as though every part of him was made of lead.

  “Thank you, Lord Parkham,” he stammered, without really being aware of what he was thanking the gentleman for. “I will do all that you have asked.”

  The Marquess’s eyes narrowed, the smile gone from his face in a trice. “See that you do,” he stated firmly. “My daughter may not easily welcome your courtship, but she will soften in the end. There is a good deal more to her than anyone other than myself and her sister sees.”

  “I’m sure there is,” Alexander replied flatly.

  “You will treat her well,” Lord Parkham continued, ignoring him. “She has been overlooked because she is not a diamond of the first water as her sister is. Yet, there is more beauty within her, more kindness, sweetness, and gentleness of spirit than you will find in any other lady of the beau monde, I am quite sure of it.”

  In Alexander’s mind rose a vision of the lady he had seen this morning, recalling only her furious gaze and sharp tongue. Whether or not her father believed her to be sweet and gentle, Alexander was quite sure that the young lady would not show any such characteristics towards him! What of those curves? The thought came unbidden.

  Irritated with himself, he shook it off.

  “You may go,” the Marquess said, gesturing towards the door. “Although, please do make your exit discreet. I look forward to receiving the note with your directions, Lord Denhaven.”

  There was nothing left for him to say. With a heavy heart and a mind filled with regret, Alexander made his way out of the study and back into the hallway. He could not think of anything other than the fact he was soon to be wed to one Lady Jemima, the weight of it sitting directly over his heart. Not even the cool, crisp air of the December morning could lighten his mind or clear his dark thoughts.

  He had failed, completely and utterly. Instead of returning to White’s to declare his victory, he would have to scurry back to his townhouse and begin organising a blasted house party, simply because Lord Parkham demanded it. And yet, despite his own anger and frustration, Alexander knew that he could not have expected anything less. He had been wrong to climb into a bedchamber, and the Marquess had every right to demand that he wed Lady Jemima.

  Groaning aloud, Alexander stopped in the middle of the London street and buried his face in his hands. Lady Jemima was not a classical beauty nor was she anything like any of the ladies he had pursued before. As far as he could see, this was simply a way for Lord Parkham to ensure that his elder daughter, the one close to being on the shelf, found herself a husband.

  He threw his head back and let out a loud exclamation of anger and regret, startling an older lady walking by him. There was no way for him to escape now, no way to remove himself from this circumstance.

  He was trapped.

  FOUR

  Jemima shook her head violently as the carriage trundled up the driveway towards a very grand manor house.

  “No, Father,” she said again, even though she knew to refuse would be utterly useless. “I do not wish to greet Lord Denhaven nor further my acquaintance with him.”

  “But you must,” her father reminded her gently. “You are to wed him.”

  Her stomach dropped to her toes, and she shuddered violently. “I do not want to.”

  “But you must,” he said again with a small shrug. “He is an earl, Jemima. That is perfectly respectable. You must not be foolish about this. Yes, he was quite ridiculous and narrowly managed to avoid a scandal because of his own behaviour, but it has turned out quite well for you, do you not think?”

  The memory of Lord Denhaven sitting, grey faced and still half-drunk climbed into her mind, making her lip curl with distaste. “No, Father, it has not,” she stated firmly, fear edging into her heart. “He came to find Madeline. That does not make me warmly inclined towards him in any way.”

  Her sister leaned towards her, looking quite concerned.

  “But he has never met me before, Jemima. Therefore, it was not as though he had found himself in love with me and wished to try and secure my hand in marriage. No, indeed. He was simply being quite foolish due to his overindulgence in liquor. You cannot think that he has seen me and now regrets climbing into the wrong window.”

  This did not bring Jemima any comfort. She knew that she ought to be a little pleased that her father had found her such a wonderful match, but the way it had come about displeased her intensely.

  “We shall have Christmas Day at home, just as I said,” her father added, as though this would lighten the burden on her mind. “But enjoy this time here, my dear. Try to further your acquaintance with Lord Denhaven and see if he is not the sort of gentleman you might get along quite well with.”

  Jemima shook her head, feeling sick to her stomach.

  “Have you not heard of his reputation, Father?”

  “I have,” her father replied mildly. “But that is all it is. A reputation. A way of living that will have to change, one way or the other. That is what is going to happen now, my dear. Lord Denhaven will have no other choice but to settle down, to leave his foolish ways of living in London, and make a life for himself here with you.”

  Madeline smiled as though this was a wonderful opportunity for Jemima. “Just think,” she said, as the carriage came to a stop. “This time next year, you may already have a child of your own!”

  Jemima froze in her chair as her father exited the carriage, turned to help her sister down, and then waited, albeit a little impatiently, for Jemima. With legs that felt like wood, she tried to remove the image that had burned into her mind but found that she could not. Looking up at the grand manor house, all she could see was a vision of herself holding a baby, a smile lighting her face as she did so. This could be her future, the happiness she had always pretended she did not want.

  The only problem was that it would have to come by way of Lord Denhaven.

  “You will give him the opportunity to prove himself to you, Jemima,” her father said, as the gentleman in question appeared at the top of the steps. “Do not be so set against him.”

  Part of her wanted to scream that he did not understand how she felt, whilst the other part wanted to burst into tears and cling to her father, begging him to take her home. Neither of those feelings were allowed to take hold, however, for she immediately had to put a smile on her face as Lord Denhaven came to greet them all.

  She allowed her gaze to linger on him as he welcomed first her father, then her, and then her sister. His eyes did not quite meet anyone’s, so he was evidently a little ashamed of his behaviour. Good. She was quite glad about that, given that he ought to be truly chastised for what he had done.

  But then again, perhaps his chastisement came in having to marry her.

  Her heart began to ache as Lord Denhaven turned back towards her.

  “Lady Jemima,” he stammered, his brown eyes finally meeting her own. “We have not had the chance to either meet or converse since we last…” He trailed off, looking mortified. “Might you wish to walk around the grounds for a few minutes? The rest of my guests have already arrived, including my grandmother, the Dowager Countess Denhaven, who w
ill be eager to meet you, but I think perhaps a short conversation between the two of us might take preference.”

  This was all said at great speed as though he could not quite get the words out fast enough. Lord Denhaven ran one hand through his carefully styled hair, ruining it completely, and Jemima was immediately reminded of how he had appeared that morning he had been in her room.

  Seeing that everyone was waiting for her answer, she stifled a sigh and let a tight smile pull at her lips. “Very well, Lord Denhaven,” she said, turning away from her father without another look in his direction. “But only for a few minutes, if you please. I am quite fatigued after my journey.”

  “But of course,” Lord Denhaven said at once, looking quite relieved. “Lord Parkham, Lady Madeline, my staff will show you to your rooms. Oh, and Lord Mowbray has also just arrived.”

  “Lord Mowbray?” Madeline exclaimed, her cheeks suddenly burning with a rosy glow. “I did not know he was to attend.”

  Lord Denhaven said nothing but inclined his head rather awkwardly as though he could not find a simple explanation for the gentleman’s inclusion. Jemima hid a smile as she turned away, seeing the gleam in her father’s eye. Evidently, her father had arranged this, which was just as Jemima might have expected. Lord Mowbray had been most attentive to her sister of late.

  “Lord Denhaven,” she murmured, as he came to walk alongside her. “I shall come directly to the point, I think.” He looked at her in astonishment, but Jemima did not hesitate at speaking her mind. “My father has insisted we wed, which I understand, you have agreed to.”

  Lord Denhaven cleared his throat. “Yes, that is so.”

  “Very well,” she stated, despite the frustration growing within her. “You will discover, Lord Denhaven, that I am not particularly pleased with this arrangement, but it seems as though I have very little choice in the matter. My father has insisted upon it, but I am quite convinced that, should I make my reasons for my sluggishness clear, he will accept them.”