“It was part of what I needed to learn. We had the most amazing instructor at my first club. Then I learned how to use a saber when I was training to be an officer. Goldstone belonged to my first club, but not to the one where I am a member now.”
“That’s how you know he loses control when he gets hurt?”
“Yes,” Roger said, “That’s how I knew. What amazes me is that you were able to hold him off, even for a minute or two.”
“I nearly didn’t,” Dahlia admitted. “I was so very glad when Miss Scarlet hit him on the head.”
“I could have lost you,” Roger said, bending his head to kiss her.
“Oh, no, Roger,” Dahlia reassured him. “You will never lose me. Not unless you want to.”
“I will never want to lose you,” Roger kissed her again, and she returned it passion.
Dahlia’s breath came fast, and she felt as if she were melting. She wanted, she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted. But it started with kissing, and she knew she wanted more of that. She pulled her knees up under her so that she could better face Roger. He supported her, wrapping his arms around her.
“Nephew, Lady Dahlia, your parents need be reassured of your good behavior.” Mrs. Garrity stood in the doorway.
Roger groaned softly. “Yes, Aunt Garrity. We will be there shortly.”
“Mind that you are, Nephew, let us get you wedded before you are bedded. Or do we need to make another barley posset and invite the whole house?”
Dahlia rested her forehead in the curve of Roger’s neck, completely disarranging his neckcloth. “Soon, love, soon,” he said, kissing her hair.
“Soon,” she replied, lifting her face and kissing him back before uncoiling off the sofa and standing up. “I’m on my way, Aunt Amelia. I’ll let Roger convey my good night to my father, and I will do the same for him to his mother.”
Their hands clung together for a moment before they turned away, going to their separate beds. But the look they gave each other promised much.
Epilogue
Eight Months Later
It was spring of 1818. Their wedding had been delayed twice. Once when they thought the Duke of Cottleroy was not going to live to see the nuptials he had originally opposed, and once while the Duchess, who now insisted that she was the Dowager Duchess, fought a battle with pneumonia.
Dahlia stood and turned obediently as Priscilla Kingman, wife of the late Duke of Shelthom, and mother to the current one, inspected her wedding gown. It was a lovely shade of sapphire blue that matched Dahlia’s eyes, and contrasted beautifully with her fair complexion. A wreath of white blossoms, courtesy of her father’s orangery, sat atop her fair hair. A strand of pearls was wound through her golden curls, matching her pearl ear bobs. Suzanne had outdone herself with dressing Dahlia’s hair, and no lady anywhere could have looked finer.
Her sisters, dressed in gowns of softest pink, stood ready to act as her attendants.
“Lovely, absolutely lovely,” the Dowager Duchess said. “I can quite see why my son chose you. I am glad he has found a bride of good sense and spirit. You will need to keep an eye on him, and guide his choices.”
“I will take good care of him,” Dahlia promised.
“You look beautiful,” Rose echoed the Duchess’s comment. “I am so glad you have this chance at happiness.”
“You will have your turn,” Dahlia assured her. “Your first season is just beginning. How fortunate that you will have someone besides me to guide for footsteps.”
“I am so glad that Aaron thought to send us visiting with his friend’s sister,” Rose said, “I should have been terrified to have been left at home when you ran away.”
“I wouldn’t have been,” Violet put in. “I’m sorry I missed it, especially the duel and then Sister using that old mop for a quarter staff. I want to learn more about how to use a quarter staff. Why didn’t Aaron teach me, Dahlia?”
“I suspect it is because he was away at Oxford,” Dahlia said. “But if you wish to learn, we can restart your lessons when I return from our honeymoon.
Aaron tapped at the door. “It is time,” he called. Because their father still could not walk, and was not likely ever to be able to do so again, Aaron would accompany her down the aisle and give her away. It seemed fitting to Dahlia that the reliable older brother who had played with her, protected her and brought her books, would be the one to accompany her to the beginning of this next adventure.
It was a small wedding party, as these things go, and not a particularly fashionable one. It was held in the garden at the Shelthom townhouse. Dahlia’s simple gown was unlikely to make waves among the ton, nor were the dresses her sisters wore. But no wedding anywhere could boast a lovelier bride who went more eagerly to the altar, nor a groom who beamed with greater pride as his beloved walked down the grassy aisle toward him.
The groom’s mother and the bride’s father sat companionably in large, wheeled chairs on the front row. The audience was a strangely eclectic mix of Oxford school boys, servants, military men and a few very odd sorts including a very tall woman with an amazing abundance of black hair, and a very small Asian woman in a crisp white wimple.
Members of the ton were there also, of course. Lady Amory and Lady Witley saw to that.
But neither Roger or Dahlia took notice of the people around them. Their eyes were upon each other, and they waited impatiently for the parson who was an old friend of Mr. Garrity’s, to give his message and then to get down to the business of prompting them through their vows, the exchange of rings and finally to the kiss for which they had waited so long.
The parson then introduced them to the world as “The Duke and Duchess of Shelthom.”
The same group of musicians who had provided music at their first ball played a lovely waltz, and the newly wedded couple stepped out onto platform that had been set up just below the dais where they had so recently said their vows.
Roger and Dahlia danced together, intent upon each other, eagerly anticipating the moment when they could slip away to explore the wonders of just being together.
Roger smiled down at Dahlia with that peculiar expression as they danced. “I love you,” he said. “Forever and always.”
“And I love you,” Dahlia said, “for even longer than that.” Then she looked at him intently. “Is that what that expression on your face means?”
Roger spun her about with an extra flourish, “I can’t see my own face love, but I promise that I do love you. If these few months are any indication, we are in for the adventure of a lifetime.”
Dahlia lightly followed his lead, leaning into the flourish and back out again. “I cannot imagine it being any other way.” And she turned her face up to be kissed, which he did most thoroughly.
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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More sweet historical romance
Turn on to the next page to read the first chapters of The Salvation of the Deceived Lady, my latest best-selling Amazon novel.
The Salvation of the Deceived Lady
About the Book
Because two can keep a secret if one of them is dead…
The diamond brooch she accidentally discovers the night of the ball at Langley Hall is all it takes for Miss Selina Terrell to see her quiet life turn into her worst nightmare.
Through a twist of fate, she becomes the puppet of a mysterious man lurking in the shadows. He bestows upon her a single mission: to spy upon the handsome Marquess of Northfolk – the man she is secretly in love with – or see her honor forever sullied in the eyes of society.
As she’s runnin
g out of time, she has but two days to make a choice - save herself or risk it all to protect the only man she has ever cared about.
Chapter 1
The scent of lavender followed Selina as she entered the garden and turned toward Caddington Park, her family home. She didn’t relish giving up the independence of her morning walk, but any further delay was sure to inspire one of her mother’s lectures, another tirade of her faults.
She stopped and turned back toward the woods, wishing to hide among the trees and blend into the foliage; perhaps they would not notice her absence. Selina sighed. Avoidance was useless. Her family needed her as a place to hang their disappointments. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin before leaving the wild wood behind her and crossing the manicured garden.
The morning’s solitary walk afforded her a peace that eluded her most days, and she stole little moments of respite as often as possible. This morning, she had awoken early, the first rays of the sun slipping through her window, inviting her outdoors. Not wanting to alert the household to her plans, Selina dressed herself before retrieving her flower basket and shears from the garden house. She strolled along the avenue that meandered around the wooded estate. Like her, the flowers bloomed more abundantly away from the critical eye of her mother, and those were the ones she coveted for her flower arrangement.
Frequently, she wandered from the path in pursuit of those, moving with a single-minded purpose, paying no heed to the mud obstructing her. It was not a simple love of beauty that spurred her forward. Her mother often commented that not everyone had an aesthetic eye and Selina was determined to prove that the subtle snub was undeserved. She was certain her selections would impress her mother, although that was an impossible accomplishment.
As the path emerged from the wood, Selina shifted her basket which overflowed with the fragrant blossoms of Sweet William and foxglove. She breathed in their perfume as she clutched the handle of the basket and returned home.
Selina heard her mother’s voice rising on the wind before she saw her family on the veranda, enjoying their breakfast in the open air. Her body tensed in preparation of her mother’s imminent critique.
“Selina,” her mother said, putting down the letter she had been reading. “You really should tell someone your itinerary before disappearing so early in the morning. Your father was terribly worried, were you not, Lord Downe?”
Her husband grumbled as he shifted in his seat without lifting his gaze from his newspaper.
“I am terribly sorry to have worried you, Mama. I simply went for a walk to cut some flowers for the front hall.” To emphasize her point, she displayed the blossoms to her mother.
“Yes, well,” her mother said, eyeing the blossoms dismissively. “We decided not to delay our breakfast while awaiting your return, darling, but you should eat something now.”
Selina nodded, then took her seat at the table. As she spread jam on her toast, she could feel her mother’s eyes lingering over her dress, specifically taking in the mud covering her hem.
“We have discussed this, Selina. It is unbecoming for a young lady of your standing to parade around as filthy as a field hand. What, pray tell, happened to your clothes?”
Selina sipped her tea and avoided her mother’s gaze. “I did not want to make a fuss, it really was not such an alarming event. It only felt so very urgent at the time,” she said, her mind racing to fill in the rest of her story. Traipsing through the mud, hunting the perfect petal, would only solidify her mother’s poor opinion. She needed a story that would improve her mother’s evaluation of her, not crush it.
“Good heavens, Selina. What happened?” Lady Downe asked, color rising in her cheeks.
“Yes, do tell your story,” Rebecca, Selina’s older sister, said, raising her eyebrow. Upon any other field of battle, Rebecca would be her fiercest ally, but against the formidable adversaries that were their parents, one sister’s misfortune was another’s victory. Each of Selina’s missteps elevated the stature of Rebecca.
Lady Downe stared at her youngest daughter as Selina struggled to swallow a bit of toast. “Well,” she said, pausing to dab crumbs from her lips. “I had just stopped along the footpath to cut an exceptionally lovely stem of foxglove when I heard the squeal of children. I turned and looked up hill in time to see Mrs. Davies’ twins taking turns rolling down that rather steep hill in the meadow.”
“Do not tell me you took a tumble with them,” Rebecca laughed.
“Of course not!” Selina said, her cheeks flushed.
“Do not be flippant, Rebecca,” her mother said to her middle daughter. “Mrs. Davies?”
“Yes. She is the cook at Langley Hall. Her cottage is on the edge of the wood,” Selina said.
“I cannot say that I have ever made her acquaintance,” Lady Downe said. “But that is no matter. Continue, Selina.”
The frantic beating of Selina’s heart slowed slightly. She was grateful that her mother paid no mind to the lives of servants. She cleared her throat before beginning. “Well, they seemed to be having a marvelous time, Mrs. Davies’ twins, so I turned back to my flowers. That was when I heard the crying.”
“Crying? From whom?” her mother asked, concern rising in her voice. She may not know Mrs. Davies, but she had the sympathy of a mother. Selina needed to proceed with caution. She did not want to incite her mother’s charitable spirit.
“One of the girls rolled off course and found herself tangled in some brambles. The poor thing could not get herself free.” That was not entirely true. She had seen the girls playing, and they often gleefully rolled down the hill in that meadow. Even if they did not find themselves in any mischief today, Selina was sure they must have found themselves ensnared at one point or another.
“It would appear that Mrs. Davies allows those children to run wild,” her mother tsked. “But what does that have to do with your dress?”
Selina’s heart lightened. If her mother was able to pass judgment upon Mrs. Davies’ parenting, then she trusted the tale. She leaned in as she picked up the story. “Her sister could not free her from the briars, and so she called to me. I could not just leave her there, could I? That would not have been the Christian attitude, would it, Mama?”
“No, I suppose not,” her mother said as she poured another cup of tea. “Perhaps I should call upon Mrs. Davies and enquire after the girl. I do hope the briars spared her face.”
“Oh, no, Mother,” Selina said quickly, terrified of an encounter between her mother and Mrs. Davies. It would be impossible to free herself from the tangles of this little lie. “There is no need for that, Mama. The child was remarkably unmarred by the experience. I dried a few tears, and she joined her sister in another frolic. The only casualty seems to be my hem.”
“Hmm,” Rebecca said, studying her sister’s face. “It’s uncanny how easily you find yourself in the right place for mischief.”
It was clear that Rebecca had not believed a word of her story. While her sister openly enjoyed her discomfort, she would never expose Selina. Sibling rivalry had its limits. With pursed lips, Selina forced a smile for her sister. “It just seems to be my luck.”
“Well, the Davies twins were lucky you were there,” Lady Downe said with conviction, unaware of the hostile exchange between her children. “Such reckless play so early in the morning! I wonder if their poor mother even knows they were out.”
“Do let it go, Mama. Children make mistakes. I daresay they learned enough from this one,” Rebecca said casually. She winked quickly at her sister. Selina released the breath she had been holding. She smiled appreciatively to her sister.
“I don’t know,” her mother said, “some children have a very difficult time learning from their mistakes.”
Selina felt her cheeks grow hot under the gaze of her mother. “Is that letter from Marianne?” Selina asked, changing the subject. Her eldest sister, Marianne, married Lord Richard Percy at the start of the season, just after Easter. Both families expected them to tak
e a house in London after the wedding, but as a surprise for his new bride, Lord Percy took Marianne on a journey to Italy. Selina felt the absence of her oldest sister keenly, and she looked forward to their return to England.
“It is,” her mother said, picking up the letter again. “She and Richard are having such a lovely time in Italy,” Lady Downe said, caressing the paper as if it were a piece of her daughter. “At first I disapproved of such an ostentatious trip after the wedding, but it seems to be a wonderful experience.”
“Are they still visiting Richard’s great aunt?” Rebecca asked, bored by the interrogation of her younger sister and intrigued by news of her eldest.
“Yes. Percy has not been to Italy since he was a child, and his relations there are so eager to become acquainted with him and his lovely bride, that they are constantly surrounded by interesting people. Marianne is being entertained by family that they are both meeting for the first time,” her mother said. “I think their match will be quite a success.”
Lord Downe cleared his throat. “Richard will only have peace if Marianne gives him a son,” he said, as he placed his paper on the table. “A man can only rest easy when he is awarded a son to replace him, to inherit his land and his title. Otherwise, there is no purpose for his accomplishments.” The melancholy in his voice resonated with a familiar ring. It was his favorite subject, and the women in his life were well versed in that point of view.
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