by Diane Darcy
She lifted her gaze and searched his. “Maybe it’s you who wants the choice?”
He laughed, without humor. “What choice has there ever been for me? I close my eyes and I see no one but ye. I hear your laughter, smell your sweetness. I see the fire that is your hair, and also the one in your soul. I’m in love with ye, so there’s never been a choice for me. I’ve never wanted one.”
Russell groaned, and moved slightly, and Alexander lifted Lizzie and set her on his horse before climbing on behind her.
“Are we just going to leave him here?”
“Unless ye wish me to beat an injured man, then I’d suggest ’tis for the best.”
They started back in the darkness, and Alexander wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. “Ye never gave me a response?”
“I thought I did.”
“Not the one I wanted.”
She arched her neck so she could press her cheek to his. “All right, I admit it. I love you. I love you so much.” Her voice broke as she gripped his arms as if to hold them tighter against her. “I realized that I always have and I always will. I’ll marry you because it’s what I want, too. I can’t live without you, Alexander.”
Relief surged through him as he held her tight in the darkness and breathed in her scent. He blew out a breath and sucked in another. “Aye, then.” He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “’Tis just as I suspected. But still, ’tis nice to hear it.”
He smiled as she giggled in the darkness.
Epilogue
One year later
Alexander wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this.
When he’d married Lizzie as quickly as possible last year, he’d had no idea what was in store for him.
She’d fit in with his home, his clan, and his family as if she’d been born to it.
Which, of course, she had.
Because, after all, she’d belonged to him since the moment she was born.
But if he’d realized what he’d been in for … well, he wouldn’t change a thing, would he?
The two squalling brats were peacefully asleep in their crib at the moment, their mother sitting beside them, looking as innocent as an angel.
She’d done this to him.
Turned him into a madman, slowly, one day at a time.
Well, mayhap besotted would be the better word.
He hadn’t known he could feel this much love for a person, let alone three.
His mother thought the sun rose and set with Lizzie after she’d gifted him two identical sons.
Well, she’d never done anything by halves, had she?
“I’m headed out.”
“I’ll be here.”
Satisfaction over that fact filled him and with a kiss to the top of his wife’s head, and another to her cheek, he was out the door.
He surveyed his property, making a mental list of all that needed doing, and was tempted to shelve it for the day.
Madness; she’d made him mad. He couldn’t walk out the front door without missing his wife.
They hadn’t been back to London in the last year, mostly because Lizzie had been so ill at the beginning of her pregnancy.
That didn’t mean they weren’t regularly fed information from family and friends.
Apparently, Mr. Russell had returned from America and eloped with Lizzie’s friend Juliana!
They didn’t have all the details yet, but Lizzie was determined to know everything.
Regardless of the fact that he’d kidnapped her, Lizzie didn’t hold it against him, and said she understood why he’d done what he had.
Well, his wife might be complacent, but he was not. He’d hold that kidnapping against the mongrel until the day he died.
He found himself standing in the barn, looking for sheep-shearing clippers, his mind miles away.
He thought of how close he’d come to losing Lizzie. What if he’d been asleep that night? What if he’d not been able to find where they’d gone, until it was far too late?
His instincts served him well, then and now.
“Alexander?”
He turned to see Lizzie standing in the doorway. “Aye, my dearest?”
She moved out to join him, her arm slipping through his. With her other hand, she handed him a letter.
He couldn’t help but grin.
The woman was turning him to mush.
He didn’t know what she would say in her letter this time, but he did know how she’d sign it. She’d sign it the way she always did now. With P.S. I love you.
Written or spoken, they were exactly the words he wanted to hear from her.
She snuggled into his shoulder as he held her against him. “What are your plans for today?”
“Checking the fields, overseeing the shearing, and testing out my new still. Afterward I’ll mayhap take a nap with my lovely wife?”
She smiled up at him. “That can definitely be arranged.”
###
Take a peek the next Regency Rendezvous Novel
Romancing the Rogue
Lana Williams
One enchanted evening.
One irrevocable moment.
Two lives changed forever.
Caroline Gold is desperate to save her family from financial ruin with a proposal from a wealthy duke. But a misstep has her engaged to the wrong man--Richard Walker, the Earl of Aberland, a handsome but cynical rogue with barely a farthing to his name.
Richard spies for the Crown under the guise of a wastrel rogue and seeks revenge for a fallen comrade killed by a notorious villain. Offering for the beautiful Caroline creates an unwelcome distraction. Yet the desire he finds with her makes him wonder if a life--and love--is possible...but only after he claims justice.
Caroline quickly sees there is more to Richard than expected, and his kindness toward her ailing father melts her heart. Yet marrying Richard won’t save her family despite the consuming passion she discovers in his arms.
A French spy posing as an English lord is on the loose. Can Richard unveil the man’s identity and stop him before he destroys all Richard holds dear, including Caroline?
Chapter One
London, May 1814
Caroline Gold was the captain of a sinking ship with little hope of finding safe harbor in a desperate storm. The message that had arrived from her father’s doctor amounted to one more hole in the hull when the winds of despair were already pummeling from all sides.
With a heavy sigh, she selected a sausage, scrambled eggs, and a half piece of toast from the sideboard then took her chair at the dining room table, doing her best to hide her worry.
Doctor Smithson had apologized but advised he “couldn’t possibly pay a call until payment was made on their account.”
Her father’s failing physical and mental health over the past eighteen months had created difficulties in every area of her family’s life, most of which she felt ill-equipped to manage. Between significant losses on investments and poor business decisions, their wealth had quickly dwindled until they were reduced to worrying about having enough money to purchase food each week.
As the eldest of three daughters, Caroline still berated herself for not watching him more closely, when she’d first noted his confusion. She hadn’t realized he was making so many unwise decisions with the money he’d worked so hard to earn.
She focused on what could be changed and pasted on an encouraging smile as her sisters and mother settled into their chairs at the table for their weekly Monday meeting. “Good morning.”
With her mother busy caring for her father, Caroline had stepped forward to rally her sisters in whatever manner they could think of to support their parents, save money where they could, and earn some if possible.
“How is Father this morning?” she asked her mother. His nagging cough the past few days had prompted their request for the doctor to pay a call.
If Caroline hadn’t been watching, she might not have noticed the slight tightening o
f her mother’s mouth. Her worry deepened as her mother smiled—no doubt as false as the one that graced her own lips moments ago. “He slept fairly well.”
Caroline waited until her mother’s gaze met hers. She recognized the concern in the depths of her brown eyes. It had been there so often of late.
“Barclay is with him now.” Their loyal butler had been more help with her father’s condition than any of them had expected.
Sir Reginald Gold was slowly losing his grip on reality. Caroline and her mother had noticed inconsequential things at first. The once vigorous, impressive man clever at investments and so helpful to England’s war efforts with his shipping business that he’d been awarded a knighthood nearly two decades ago, had memory lapses. Not terribly surprising given how busy he was.
They’d disregarded it as nothing more than temporary slips. When it became more obvious, occurring so often that even he realized something was amiss, they’d sent for the doctor.
Doctor Smithson was an old family friend and delivered the news as gently as possible, but the diagnosis was devastating. He warned them to expect Sir Gold’s mental capacity to continue to decline. The worst part of his message was that little could be done to halt it.
Her father was now a shadow of his former self. He couldn’t go to his office at the shipyard without one of them in attendance, nor could he make the decisions required to manage his many investments. His second-in-command at the shipyard attempted to help but didn’t have the business savvy or instincts of Sir Gold. Nor did Caroline.
She and her mother had made the decision to keep the shipping business open but at this point, it barely paid for itself. Caroline made weekly visits with her father, hoping the occasional sight of him in the shipyard would help keep it afloat. Attempting to insert herself into the business when she was a woman and knew so little about what items were profitable to ship, especially in a time of war, continued to be a struggle.
They all missed their father dearly. His physical self remained with them, but the man he’d been had departed. On bad days, when he forgot how to put on his pants or where his library was, she wondered if this terrible form of purgatory was worse than death. During his coherent moments, when he realized how much mental fortitude he’d lost, his despair was heart-wrenching.
“A good night is the basis for a good day,” she told her mother.
Her mother reached to squeeze her hand across the table. “You are quite right, my dear. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Caroline dearly wished she could do more.
“Has the doctor responded to our message?” her mother asked with a hopeful tone.
“Unfortunately, he won’t be able to call for a time.” Caroline said nothing further on the topic, certain her mother understood the reason. The lack of money was a constant battle they all fought.
The cost of feeding their household had nearly tripled due to the wars with France and America. Caroline had cut costs where she could, changing their diet significantly. Breakfast was one of the least expensive meals with the price of eggs high but more reasonable than other foods.
“Annabelle, how is the story coming along?” Caroline asked.
“Quite well.” Her sister, two years younger than Caroline’s twenty-three years, dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “A new villain has emerged. He is far worse than the previous one.” The gleam in her eye made Caroline smile.
Annabelle loved to write and her vivid imagination never failed to amaze the family. When Caroline had suggested she attempt to sell a story to the local news sheet, their mother had been appalled, but Annabelle was thrilled. After reassuring their mother that Annabelle could write under a pen name and her identity would be kept a secret, she relented.
Each week, Annabelle wrote a chapter in her ongoing mystery under the name A. Golden. The series had become quite popular. She earned enough that they’d re-hired one of the maids who’d been previously let go.
“I’m looking forward to reading the next installment,” Caroline said. “And you, Margaret?” she asked her youngest sister. “How is your latest creation coming along?”
At age eighteen, Margaret’s cleverness was with needle and thread. Even before the need had arisen, she’d designed several gowns for their mother, creating drawings for the seamstress to follow. Now that their financial circumstances had changed significantly, she did the sewing as well and was brilliant at it.
“I’ve found a way to reuse the seed pearls from Mother’s old pink gown to decorate the bodice of her blue gown. It’s coming along very well.” She poured their mother more tea before adding some to her own cup.
Caroline beamed at her. “Your skills never fail to astonish me, Margaret.”
Caroline pushed aside the wish that she had the ability to earn funds. Her sisters had inherited their mother’s creativity while Caroline had her father’s organizational skills but none of his business knowledge. Planning a party wasn’t the same as running a business. She briefly closed her eyes, wishing she could return those skills to him. They were of far better use to him.
“And how is the duke coming along?” Her mother’s gentle question had Caroline shifting in her chair.
A proposal from the wealthy Duke of Wayfair, whose eye she’d caught at the end of last Season when she’d unknowingly befriended his shy sister, would certainly save her family, but nothing could be done to force it from him.
If they weren’t so desperate for funds, his pursuit of her would be flattering. But when everything they did revolved around putting food on the table and paying their account with the doctor, her feelings on the situation had changed.
The pressure to think of a way to make certain she appeared charming and friendly with the hope he’d propose was wearing on her. She had no idea what more she could do to convince him to ask for her hand.
The strain made her feel as if she were being squeezed in a vise. Impossible and uncomfortable, regardless of which way she moved.
With a mental shake of her head, she reminded herself that none of that mattered. Only the well-being of her family was important. The duke would never be the love of her life, but she no longer believed such a thing was in her future. If she could say she liked the duke and enjoyed his company, that would be more than most members of the ton could claim. Surely, that would be enough.
Her previous engagement to David Stouffer, the son of a local country squire near the Gold’s country home, had ended at his behest, when Caroline had advised him of the drastic change in their financial situation. David had no funds of his own, and he’d told her that while he cared for her, it was impractical for them to marry now that her dowry was gone.
She’d been shocked at his coldness and disappointed that he could so easily turn away. She thought he’d cared for her in the same manner she’d cared for him. The realization she wasn’t worth fighting for hurt more than she cared to admit.
Caroline lifted her chin, reminding herself that as the eldest, the welfare of her family rested on her shoulders, and she gladly accepted the responsibility. Everyone was doing their part, but their best hope was for her to make a good match. God had blessed her with her mother’s fine bone structure, blonde hair, and alabaster skin along with her father’s jade green eyes.
Using those gifts to attract a wealthy husband was something done by ladies every day. Never mind that doing so made her feel like a pretty shell waiting to be found on the beach, easily tossed aside if the beauty faded.
“I am hopeful the Southbys’ ball tomorrow evening might be when he’ll propose. I have it on good authority he’ll be in attendance.”
“How exciting.” Her mother’s dark eyes lit with relief, making Caroline aware of how much her mother was counting on Caroline making a good match—or rather, this match.
“Isn’t it?” She smiled broadly at her mother and sisters, ignoring the doubt in her heart. Her happiness was of little concern. The duke was truly quite nice from what she knew of him.
“Thank you, Margaret.”
Margaret had reworked last Season’s dresses, giving each an updated look with no one the wiser. The less others knew of their reduced circumstances, the better. Caroline had no desire for any of them to gain the reputation as fortune hunters.
They’d gone to great lengths to conceal her father’s poor health. Revealing his failing mental competence could hurt his business—something they couldn’t risk.
As the conversation drifted to less serious matters, Caroline pondered what more she could do to encourage a proposal from the duke.
“Do not worry so, Caroline,” her mother said quietly with a pat on her hand. “You only need be yourself. You are perfect as you are.”
She turned her hand to squeeze her mother’s. “Thank you.”
Why didn’t it feel like enough?
~*~
Richard Walker, the Earl of Aberland, entered the Southbys’ ball through the garden entrance, emerging from the shadows but remaining out of the light. He preferred to avoid drawing attention at social functions.
Besides, his arrival was hardly noteworthy. Not when the ton believed him a rogue with barely a farthing to his name.
He nearly smiled at the memory of the investment summary he’d received from his man of business that morning. His wealth had grown steadily due to some excellent decisions he’d made, including investments in raw silk imports and because of his rather frugal lifestyle. He couldn’t spend money when Society believed him poor.
Secrets were difficult to keep amidst the ton, but that was something he counted on in his line of work. As a spy for the Crown, he preferred to keep his own secrets while unveiling others’.
He paused, greeting several acquaintances, listening here and there for bits of gossip that might aid his diplomatic service for Whitehall.
