P.S. I Loathe You (Regency Rendezvous Book 8)

by Diane Darcy

  Diane Darcy

  Regency Rendezvous

  A Scarsdale Publishing Perfection Imprint

  Copyright P.S. I Loathe You: ©2017 Diane Darcy

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved*

  Cover Design R. Jackson Designs

  Images Period Images

  www.scarsdalepublishing.com

  SP

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Romancing the Rogue

  Other Regency Rendezvous Romances

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Perthshire, Scotland

  July, 1802

  Alexander MacGregor, only son and heir to Inverdeem, was hiding in the bushes from a slip of a girl.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this.

  For two weeks every single summer, he had to put up with the little sprat.

  It wasn’t fair. She was but fourteen to his sixteen, and his entire life he’d known he’d have to marry the ugly little pug.

  Must she follow him around, as well?

  So what if their mothers were the best of friends? Did that mean they’d had to betroth them? He’d known from the moment he’d been old enough to understand, that they were to be married.

  Everyone knew it.

  Curse her hide, anyway.

  His father had taken an English bride, and his mother had gotten it into her head when her dearest friend gave birth to a daughter in England that their two children should be betrothed.

  Why his father had gone along with it, he didn’t know.

  Well, he did. His father was canny, and the girl’s family came from wealth. Not only would his oldest son inherit his properties, but his bride would bring even more to the MacGregor coffers.

  But did she have to follow him everywhere? He dreaded the month of July the entire year. He always did.

  “There you are! I found you!”

  Feeling foolish, his jaw set and he rolled his eyes before standing and turning. He considered simply trying to outrun her, wondered if that was even possible, and decided not to subject himself to the indignity, and the amusement, of anyone watching. “So ye did.” His tone was sour.

  “What’s the matter with you today? You are always in a bad mood.”

  He looked down into her brown eyes, always sparkling with fun and mischief, and at her frizzy red hair and her stained dress. Frizzy Lizzie. Why did she have to be so ugly? His anger got the better of him and he clenched his teeth. “Mayhap I just wished a moment alone.”

  “What for?” Lizzie seemed genuinely confused, and he felt a little bad.

  Both his mother and father had reminded him numerous times, that she was his future bride, and he needed to be kind to her or he might be sorry later.

  Resentment over that fact welled within him once more, and kindness flew out the window. “Why do ye have to follow me everywhere?”

  Lizzie glanced around as if looking for an answer to his question. “Don’t you wish to play with me?”

  “No, I doonae wish tae play with ye. Yer a girl, and what are girls good for anyway?” Even as he said the words, he knew what he meant was what was she good for, because girls had certainly garnered his interest as of late. Especially their neighbor’s daughter. Blonde, with China blue eyes, and a giggle that set his heart racing.

  Agatha.

  Even her name was beautiful.

  He looked at his future wife in disgust. Red-haired, freckled, and flat-chested. He knew in his mind that her childish figure wouldn’t last forever, but he resented the fact he was bound to her.

  Unable to stand the sight of her, he strode away, and once again she followed, close on his heels.

  She grabbed his arm. “What’s the matter?”

  He shook her off.

  She followed.

  This would be the last year they were thrown together, as he’d be going off to school, and then the military. That made him think. He had to admit they’d had some fun times together. Last year they’d rescued a dog outside of Huntington Hall, her family seat in Lincolnshire. She still had the mutt, named Fluffy now, and it had been fun. They’d built forts, foraged in the trees, floated on Rutledge Pond, but of late, the restrictions of her company were starting to chafe.

  He wanted to kiss a lass.

  Agatha to be precise.

  He looked at the skinny girl in front of him and considered. If she was to be his, and he needed practice, then why not?

  His gaze fell to her lips, which looked as soft as any girl’s.

  Before he could think the better of it, he leaned forward, pressed their mouths together, and kissed her.

  He straightened, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. Before he had a chance to examine his own reaction, Lizzie lifted her arm and wiped her sleeve across her mouth. “Ugh, you’re revolting! What did you do that for?”

  Revolting? That wasn’t the reaction he been hoping for, and heat seared his face. His temper was quick to follow. She didn’t like his kisses? Well, he didn’t like her. “Yer spotty, skinny, and loudmouthed. I wish I was betrothed to Agatha! Why cannae ye look like her? Why cannae ye have blonde hair and blue eyes? Ye are the last girl in all of Britain that I would ever wish to marry!”

  She looked stricken, even as her own face started to turn red. “Then I don’t want to marry you either!”

  “Ye dinnae have a choice!”

  “I do have a choice! I’ll tell my mother you kissed me, and she’ll slap your face and take me home!”

  His ego still burned from her rejection over his kiss and now she threatened to tell her mother? Humiliation burned through him at the prospect. “Yer naught but a tattletale. A skinny, frizzy-haired, mud-eyed tattler!”

  “You take that back!”

  “I willnae take it back. Do ye think I dinnae have eyes in my head? If ye wish to know what a girl should look like, then go and look at Agatha. Blue eyes and blonde hair. Every girl should have such.”

  Again she looked stricken and her lower lip trembled. “I’m not going to marry you anymore.”

  He suddenly felt bad. “We dinnae have a choice. We never have.”

  Her lip trembled all the more and she spun away, running toward Inverdeem Castle. To tell on him?

  He turned and hurried in the opposite direction. She could say whatever she liked. She could tattle ’til the cows came home. But if they couldn’t find him, they couldn’t slap his face, could they?

  He thought about Agatha once more, and wondered if he truly did kiss as poorly as Lizzie indicated. The thought made him mad all over again and he stomped off toward the wood.

  He couldn’t go to school soon enough to suit him.

  ~~~

  Lizzie chest ached. She couldn’t believe her mother was making her do this. “I refuse.”

  Mother’s gaze was steely-eyed. “You will do it, and the sooner done, the sooner we will leave. If you don’t do it, we will stay here until the end of time.”

  Mother’s
hands were upon her hips, and Lizzie knew what that meant.

  She looked past her mother to where Alexander’s mother was seated on a settee in the parlor, pretending not to hear a word of what was being said, though there was no way she could not. At least she was silent for once. “I hate him.” And she didn’t care if his own mother knew it.

  “You don’t hate him; you’re just young. These things happen when emotions are high, and tiffs are to be expected. There’s a reason we get the two of you together every summer. It’s so you can get to know each other, learn to like each other, and learn how to resolve disputes.”

  Indignation welled within her as Lizzie wondered if she should tell her mother that Alexander had kissed her! She’d be singing a different tune then, wouldn’t she? But the thought of him calling her a tattletale kept her silent.

  Mother started to tap her toe.

  Lizzie threw up her arms. “All right!” She stomped away with ill grace to the writing desk and plopped herself down upon the seat. She took quill in hand, and barely blotted it, not caring that splotches of ink dripped all over the page. The sooner she complied, the sooner they could leave, and that’s what needed to happen. She didn’t want to see his ugly face again, for the rest of her life if she could help it!

  She held the pen over paper, and refrained from writing the words whirling in her mind. She’d write what her mother wished, and get it over with as quickly as possible.

  Dear Alexander.

  You kiss like a toad and I hate you. I’m sorry for the argument we had earlier. I wish you would fall in a bog and get lost forever! I hope you can forgive me for my part in it. If I ever see your ugly face again it will be far too soon. I hope you can visit sometime on a school break and I look forward to seeing you again. I hope you fall into a pond and get eaten by carp.

  Yours truly,

  Lady Elizabeth Huntington

  She signed the letter with a flourish and handed it to her mother.

  Mother quickly read it and smiled. “Well done, dear. Now go pack your things, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Lizzie was simply grateful their two weeks were almost up, for if this had happened at the beginning, they would have had to stay longer.

  Mother blew on the paper, and then put it in an envelope. She wrote Alexander’s name on the front. “Ready?”

  The maid called from the other room.

  Mother left the envelope on the desk, and wandered out with Mrs. MacGregor to talk to the maid about packing.

  Lizzie quickly opened the envelope, withdrew the paper, and lifted the quill from the ink well and added, “P.S. I loathe you, at the bottom.

  She blew on the paper, folded it into the envelope once more, melted a stick of wax in the fireplace, and dripped it on the back before pressing it with his mother’s seal.

  Satisfaction flooded her and finally, she could smile again.

  Chapter One

  Portugal, eight years later

  Alexander MacGregor strode through the muck and the mud, past canvas tents and men who scrambled to get out of his way as he made his way to the officers’ pavilion.

  He threw back the flap and entered the gloom, then straightened. Four officers looked his way, as did his superior, the only man seated. There was something in their expression, pity mayhap? And he took it all in, in an instant, before quickly saluting. “Ye called for me, Colonel Windham?”

  His superior, an English lord a few years older than himself, seemed to hesitate, not something he did often as he ran the place like his very own kingdom. Alexander couldn’t help but wonder what was going on.

  He gestured at the chair across from the travel desk he sat behind. “Captain. Have a seat, won’t you?”

  Another first. Colonel Windham usually gave him his orders, and expected him to leave to carry them out posthaste. He’d never once offered him a seat.

  Alexander gently settled, glanced at his fellow officers once more, noted none of them met his gaze, and straightened his spine. “Sir?”

  Colonel Windham picked up a letter in front of him, and when he bent back the flap, Alexander noted it sported his father’s seal.

  He stifled the compulsion to rip the letter out of the other man’s hands.

  “Captain MacGregor, you’re a decent military strategist. The best I have, actually. Strict but fair with your men. You’re young, but not an idiot, and I appreciate that. It won’t be easy to replace you.”

  A chill ran up his neck. “Replace me, sir?”

  “It is my sad duty to inform you that your father has died.”

  Grief struck him hard, his stomach clenching. He glanced at Colonel Windham, at the other officers in the room, and though he knew the men weren’t playing some sort of cruel practical joke, he took a moment to consider, as he swallowed hard. “But … but how? My father is a relatively young man. What happened?”

  Colonel Windham slid the letter across the desk and Alexander quickly scanned the contents, dated two weeks back. His father had been thrown from a horse and broken his neck. Feeling on the verge of strangling, he read the letter several more times as if with a new reading, the words might change, or at least make some sort of sense to him.

  “You must return home, of course. Your mother and sisters will need you, and you’ve your duties to see to as the new Laird of Inverdeem.”

  He swallowed hard. “Nae. Nae, I’ll not leave.”

  “I’m afraid I will have to insist upon it, Captain. As an only son, your duty is to your family and your lands. As of today, you’ve been retired with full honors. There is a supply ship leaving this afternoon, and you will be on it.”

  “But, my men—” He couldn’t seem to think straight with his eyes burning and him willing the tears not to fall.

  “Lieutenant Ellis will take over for you, and is most anxious to purchase your commission.”

  Ah. So this was somewhat political. The man’s nephew desired a rise in rank and one needed to be made available.

  “It’s time he was given an advancement, anyway,” Colonel Windham continued. “He doesn’t have the sort of experience that you do, yet, but there is no other way he’ll get it, is there? He’ll do a good job. You are excused, Captain MacGregor.”

  Clutching the letter in his hand, he slowly stood and made his way out of the tent, and toward his own, hardly aware of it.

  “Can I help you in anyway?”

  He realized Lieutenant Bartlett had followed and stopped. “Thank ye, but nae. I doonae have many possessions to pack.”

  None of them did, so, of course, the other man knew this, but Alexander wasn’t thinking straight.

  The other man nodded, his blond hair lifting in the March breeze. “All right, then. Just let me know if you need anything, and I’ll be glad to lend a hand.”

  Alexander gave him a short nod, and continued to his tent. Once inside, he looked around at his meager possessions, and then stoically started to pack.

  His father was gone.

  Not something he was prepared to accept, yet he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  His death thrust Alexander into a new phase of his life, one he hadn’t planned to start for a few years yet.

  As always, news spread like wildfire, and several more officers came by to give their condolences.

  He packed his possessions within his kit, moving aside the stack of letters he kept there, most of them from Lizzie.

  In his grief, he found something to smile about. The letters were proof that she was still a handful. Eight years on, and he couldn’t wait to see her again.

  He still remembered the lecture his father had given him that fateful day when he’d wanted naught to do with the scrawny little thing.

  “She’ll be a beauty, mark my words, son. Ye’ve only tae look to her mother to see it.”

  He was anxious to see it.

  He couldn’t remember what she looked like, but he did feel possessive of her. She belonged to him; she had since the day she was born.
/>   Grateful for something else to think about, he mentally focused on her much-read letters.

  He’d go home to mourn with his family. Eventually, he’d travel to London to retrieve Lizzie and post the banns.

  They could be married in Scotland and he’d begin his tenure with his bride at his side.

  Chapter Two

  London, one year later

  April 21st, 1811

  Shopping for a wedding dress was supposed to be fun, was it not?

  Would that she felt that was the case.

  Lady Elizabeth Huntington watched her cousin Tabitha turn this way and that in the mirror, as both their mothers made noises of appreciation.

  “What do you think, Elizabeth?” Mother addressed her again, trying to get the response she wanted.

  She couldn’t ignore a direct question, unfortunately. She looked at the white gown, gathered in the front and back, with its deep, squared-off neckline. The full skirt hung beautifully, and, just under the bustline, the pale satin trim shimmered. Short, puffy sleeves set off Tabitha’s slender arms. “It looks very nice on her.”

  And it did. Tabitha, with her sleek blonde hair, and pink cheeks, looked lovely in white.

  Tabitha preened, looking at herself in the gilt-wood mirror.

  “You’ll be next, I’d wager,” Aunt Lillian smiled her way.

  Not if she could help it, she wouldn’t. Standing over a small desk, she flipped through a fashion-plate book. “Does that dress come in black, then?”

  “Really, Elizabeth! Must you?” Mother voiced her disapproval.

  “What? I was simply referring to the fact that we just barely finished mourning Mr. MacGregor. Last week, I was still wearing gray.” Since the colors had favored her red hair and pale skin it hadn’t been that much of an inconvenience.

  “Alexander will be coming for you soon.”

  “Humph.” She threw herself down on a Greek-style library couch, the style all the rage in London at the moment. “Perhaps I’d be a bit more excited if I hadn’t been informed upon my birth whom I was to marry. Why should Tabatha get to choose her groom when I do not?”