Regency Romance: An Intriguing Invitation (Historical Billionaire Military Romance) (19th Century Victorian Romance)

by Sarah Thorn

   Copyright 2015 by Sarah Thorn - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  An Intriguing Invitation

  A Regency Romance

  By: Sarah Thorn

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  Table of Contents

  REGENCY Romance - An Intriguing Invitation

  MAIL ORDER BRIDE - A Bride’s Heart

  SPORTS Romance – Rough Play

  BILLIONAIRE BOSS Romance – Bought by the Boss

  BWWM Romance - The Russian’s Secret Love Child: Octavia’s Story

  CLEAN REGENCY Romance Collection – Dashing Dukes

  MAIL ORDER BRIDE Collection – Western Brides

  REGENCY Romance - A Duchess in Distress

  REGENCY Romance - A Duchess in Distress

  REGENCY ROMANCE - A Rake’s Revenge

  REGENCY Romance - A Duchess in Disguise

  REGENCY Romance - An Intriguing Invitation

  ''Jane, Jane, there's a ghost in the corner. Help me, help me,'' Jane's mother screamed. Jane ran into the room and saw her mother sitting up in bed, clutching a blanket to her face. She took her mother's hand and lowered the blanket.

  ''Sssh,'' she said taking her mother into her arms and cradling her. The doctor had told Jane that there was no hope for her mother. The first time Jane had noticed it was when her mother had gone out and forgotten to put the fire guard in front of the fire. Her mother never did that. All her life Jane had listened to her mother telling her never to leave the room without putting the fireguard in place. Jane had come home early to find the hearthrug smoldering after a piece of hot coal had been spat onto it.

  Then there had been the time when Aunt Emily had visited, and her mother had thought she was the milk seller. It had been two years since the fireplace incident, and Jane knew that she would soon have to give her mother up to the local sanitarium. She'd told the doctor that she would look after her mother herself, at home, until the end of her life. But the doctor had explained that there comes a certain point when the law takes over. He told Jane that her mother would become a danger to herself and to Jane and that she would eventually be sectioned to a secure mental hospital.

  ''It's okay, mum. I'm not afraid, and if there were a ghost here, I jolly well would be afraid.'' Her mother muttered and lay her head back down onto the pillow.

  Jane and her mother lived in a small cottage in a village called Wendlebury. It was a quaint cottage with a front garden and a large vegetable garden at the rear. Her mother now slept in the lounge as she was incapable of climbing the stairs. Jane worked on a farm to earn enough to keep herself and her mother. The village was tied to the Duke's estate. Everyone living in the village, except Dr. Brown, was a tenant of the Duke of Longford.

  Jane answered a knock at the front door and was pleased to see her best friend.

  ''Oh, Charlotte, it's so nice to see you,'' she said hugging the tall women.

  ''How is your mother?'' she asked.

  ''She's bad today, quite tiring me out,'' Jane said with a sight.

  ''Never mind, a cup of tea and a biscuit will help,'' Charlotte said as she hung her bonnet and coat on the hook next to the round mirror in the corridor. She looked in the mirror and shook her head. ''I can't seem to keep a hair in place,'' she moaned, sweeping a few strands of her black hair behind her ears.

  They walked down the short corridor, past the staircase and into the kitchen. There was a roaring fire which Charlotte was grateful to see. Despite being April, it was still bitterly cold outside. ''Sit down and warm yourself,'' Jane said. Charlotte sat on one of the two Windsor Chairs that faced the hearth.

  ''So what she been doing?'' Charlotte asked of Jane's mother.

  ''I suppose you would call it hallucinating. Saying all kind of silly things. First there was a giant spider in her bed, then a troll under the bed, and just before you arrived, a ghost in the room.'' Jane hung the black kettle on the hook over the fire.

  Jane looked tired, Charlotte thought. Her friend was a beautiful woman and at times, Charlotte recognized that she was jealous of Jane's looks. Jane had a very pretty face, almost aristocratic. Her features were fine like a Meissen figure. She had a long slender body but an ample bust and curvaceous hips. Usually, her green eyes shone with enthusiasm for life, but today they seemed dull.

  ''What has Dr. Brown told you about her?'' Charlotte asked as she held her hands to the fire.

  ''All I know is, I will have to look after her until she is so bad she is sectioned and taken away.'' Jane stared into the fire for a moment. ''It's terrible, really terrible of me, but I wish she would die.''

  ''I can understand that,'' Charlotte said. Her father was a tenant farmer, and he'd brought her up to respect life, but also to realize that everyone is mortal and that there comes a time when it is better to pass away than to suffer. ''It's very hard for you isn't it?''

  ''Yes. Listen to me, getting all melancholy,'' Jane said. ''Let's talk about something else.''

  ''There's going to be a Spring Ball,'' Charlotte said.

  ''Oh, where?''

  ''In the village hall. Everyone has been invited to it. Haven't you got an invitation?''

  Jane put two cups and saucers on the pine table and reached for the milk jug. ''No I haven't seen anything. No invitation, it's the first I've heard about it.''

  ''You know it really is quite extraordinary how you are always left out of things in the village.''

  It was a familiar story to Jane. ''Yes, sometimes it does seem that way,'' Jane said.

  The kitchen was the largest room in the house. In addition to two Windsor Chairs, it had a long pine table and a set of matching chairs around it. There was a stone sink with a draining board below the window, and a pine dresser and rack on the long wall opposite the hearth. The back door was in the corner next to the sink.

  The kettle started to boil, and Jane took it from its hook and poured the steaming water into an earthenware teapot. ''I'll get you an invitation to the ball,'' Charlotte said.

  ''Oh, there's no need. I'll have to look after mother anyway.''

  ''Nonsense, you never go out. Get Mrs. Johnson to come and sit with her. Jane your twenty-seven, practically an old maid. It's time we found you a husband.''

  Jane didn't like the sound of 'old maid.' She was all too aware of her age.

  ''You know I really can't understand it. Your beauty knows no bounds, yet you have no suitors. Most extraordinary.'' Charlotte held out her cup, and Jane poured the tea.

  *****

  ''Mrs. Johnson, you know where everything is. Help yourself to anything from the kitchen.''

  ''Very kind of you,'' the plump lady said. She was the same age as Jane's mother, forty-five. She was the local district nurse, and when she'd found out about Jane's mother, she'd taken pity on Jane, and offered to come and sit with her when Jane wanted to go out.

  At half past seven, Charlotte knocked on the door. ''Are you ready?''

&nb
sp; ''Yes, I think so,'' Jane looked at her face in the mirror. She was as pleased with her preparations as she could be.

  ''Here's your invitation,'' Charlotte thrust it into Jane's hand.

  ''How did you get it?''

  ''I just asked Mr. Jakes, the organizer, why he hadn't sent you an invitation.''

  ''And? What was the reason?''

  ''He just dithered. He couldn't tell me why. So I told him to jolly well make you one. As my father is the largest man around here, he obliged.''

  ''You threatened him?''

  Charlotte smiled. ''What's the point of having a father who is six feet seven and a former champion bare-knuckle-fighter if you don't use it to your advantage now and again.''

  ''Charlotte Jones, you are quite impossible.'' Jane took hold of Charlotte's arm, and they set off towards the village hall.

  The Spring Ball was an annual affair. It was the way the villagers celebrated the end of winter and looked forward to a good summer harvest. It wasn't a nobility ball, and it certainly wasn't part of the season of balls high society attended. It was a village event. For the working class and the odd member of the middle class. Jane didn't know which she was. Her father had died when she was just a baby, and she knew that her mother had had to move from a much larger house. She'd never talked to Jane about it. All Jane knew was that her mother and father used to be well off and respected. Now Jane was a simple agricultural worker and the daughter of one of the Duke's tenants. She'd never allowed herself to think what she could have been.

  The two ladies walked in front of a row of cottages, across the road and over the village green. It was twilight, and the grazing sheep looked strangely luminous in the fading sunlight. At the other side of the green, they saw a few men standing outside the Wheatsheaf Inn. Each had a pint of beer in his hand; they were obviously drinking in some cheer before the ball. ''Good evening ladies,'' one of them shouted.

  ''Don't talk to her,'' another said, pointing at Jane. ''She's not worth it.''

  Jane heard him, but she was used to that kind of treatment. She'd put up with since she was at school. She'd been bullied many times by the children of the village, and now they were grown up not much had changed.

  ''Why do they treat you like that?'' Charlotte asked. Charlotte had gone to a different school; they'd become friendly when Jane went to work on the farm.

  ''I have no idea. Really none. I'm used to it.''

  They walked another hundred yards and arrived at the village hall. It was a simple building, consisting of an entrance hall, a small kitchen, and a large dance hall. Jane looked around her and saw a small orchestra sitting on a raised stage to the right of the hall. In front of the orchestra was a dance floor, it was already well occupied. The ladies of the village all seemed to be wearing their Sunday best dresses. High waist lines and puff sleeves in a mixture of pastel colors with various shades of trim and bows. The men wore half-length coats, some in trousers, some in breeches and the odd fellow in knickerbockers, which Jane loathed.

  A young man walked up to Charlotte. ''Would you do me the honor of putting me on your dance card?'' Charlotte looked at him and declined. That's the kind of woman Charlotte was. Only twenty-one, yet self-confident. They went to sit in the ladies tea room. It was awash with the smell of perfume and powder, and the noise was quite deafening. Jane was aware that one or two people lowered their voices and nodded in her direction. They didn't know anybody, so they left and stood at the back of the dance floor. Jane looked around to see if a gentleman took her fancy, but she didn't like any of them. Most of them seemed to be quite rough, and a bit the worse for wear.

  As the evening wore on, Charlotte's dance card filled up and Jane found herself standing alone, watching her friend dance. Nobody spoke to her, and not a man came up to her and asked her to dance. Not one.

  ''One more dance and that'll be it,'' Charlotte said. ''Mr. Charles Worthington.''

  Jane burst into tears and ran out of the hall onto the village green in front of it. She leaned against a tree and cried. Charlotte followed her. ''What's the matter?'' she asked.

  ''See, that's why I don't go out. I hate it. Nobody bothers with me. I'm twenty-seven, and I might as well stay at home and call myself spinster. Not one man asked me to dance.''

  ''Extraordinary, because you were the most beautiful woman at the ball. Quite incomprehensible.''

  ''I'm going home. Go and have your dance with Mr. Worthington, I'll see you on Monday at the farm.''

  Jane didn't see the tall man, standing in the shadows outside the village hall, but he'd seen her and heard what she'd said to Charlotte.

  *****

  In early April, farmers sow their summer wheat, and the farm where Jane worked was no exception. She had thirteen colleagues, and they all had their own specialty. Jane's was horses. It was her job to make sure they were well fed, properly shod and fit for work. They used Shire Horses at Grange Farm. She looked after eight of them, all enormous, but gentle. Grange Farm belonged to the Duke of Longford as did most of the other farms in the area. It was a five hundred acre farm comprising both arable and livestock.

  ''What was Mr. Worthington like?'' Jane asked when she saw Charlotte heading across the yard at the back of the farmhouse. Jane was standing next to Seamus, the largest of the horses. Charlotte didn't need to say anything; Jane could see by her expression that Mr. Worthington had been a disappointment.

  ''Are you feeling better?'' Charlotte asked as Jane bent down and lifted the enormous hoof for inspection.

  ''Fine. I'm sorry, I suppose the situation with my mother got me down.'' Charlotte nodded. Why nobody wanted Jane, she would never be able to understand.

  Jane spent the morning cleaning hooves and mucking stables out. At twelve, it was time for lunch. When it was cold the employees sat in a corner of the barn, but it was the first soft spring day of the year, and they all decided to sit on bales of straw in the yard. People looked up when an old man on a horse rode into the yard. He stopped, dismounted and tied his steed next to Seamus, who immediately lashed out at the threat.

  ''Which of you is Jane Glossop?'' he asked. Everyone pointed. ''I have been asked to deliver this to you.'' He handed Jane an envelope.

  ''Thank you. Would you like some tea, after your journey?'' Jane asked.

  ''Oh, that would be nice.'' He sat down next to her.

  ''What have you brought me?''

  ''I don't know what it is. I'm a gardener at the Duke's residence. His secretary asked me to deliver the envelope to you. She told me you worked here.''

  ''Open it,'' a few of them said, seemingly more curious that Jane.

  She put her index finger into the small gap at the back and slid it along the length of the envelope, tearing it as she went. Inside there was a card.

  The Duke of Longford requests the pleasure of the company of

  Miss Jane Glossop,

  on the 20th May 1828 at Fairfax Hall from seven pm.

  at a ball to celebrate the opening of the 1828 Societal Season.

  R.S.V.P

  When her mouth fell open, everyone asked what it was. When she told them, they were aghast.

  ''That's the poshest ball in the whole country,'' one of her colleagues said.

  ''Yes, I believe so, but why invite me?'' Jane asked.

  The old man looked at her and knew perfectly well why the Duke had invited her. If he'd been forty years younger, he would liked to have asked Jane to a ball.

  ''Does anybody know what kind of man the Duke is?'' Jane threw the question to the group.

  ''People don't like him,'' George said. George was the oldest of Jane's colleagues and an excellent stock-man.

  ''Why?'' she asked. The others looked at their portly colleague as curious as Jane to know the answer.

  ''My wife works at Fairfax Hall. She tells me he is unpopular in society, and he is totally without emotion. Cold as a fish. He's thirty, yet unmarried. All in all, he's a most mysterious character.''

  After they had had
lunch and the old man had left, Jane went about her work. She couldn't stop wondering why she, of all people, had been invited to the ball.

  That evening she sat with her mother. ''A Duke has invited me to a ball mother. A Duke has invited me. Can you believe it?'' Her mother looked at her and scowled. ''Should I go? And if I go what am I going to wear?'' Her mother suddenly sat up and put her hand around Jane's throat. Jane looked away from her evil eyes. Doctor Brown had told her to look away when her mother became aggressive. Her mother squeezed harder. ''That hurts,'' Jane said calmly. She let go and screamed an obscenity.

  When Jane went to bed, she lay awake much longer than normal. She wasn't thinking about the Duke, but about her mother. She couldn't go on much longer like this, especially if her mother were going to be violent towards her. She would talk to Dr. Brown as soon as she could.

  *****

  ''What do you mean, you aren't going to go? You simply must go to the ball,'' Charlotte said brushing the loose straw across the yard with increased vigor. ''It's the chance of a lifetime. It isn't some tame village party, it's a high society ball.'' Charlotte's voice was full of despair at her friends indifference. ''You are a beautiful woman, but you're almost on the shelf, you should go. Find yourself a rich husband.''

  ''I don't have any clothes suitable for such a high ranking event. I can't go in my best dress, it is far below the standard, and I have no suitable shoes.''

  Charlotte thought for a moment. ''Borrow a dress and a pair of shoes,'' she said. Jane was grooming one of her horses. She was dressed in a pair of dirty overalls, and her fingers were filthy. She knew her hair was a mess, and she felt far beneath the standard of a society lady. ''I know,'' Charlotte shouted, the volume of her voice making Jane's horse lay its ears back. ''George's wife.''

  ''What about her?''

  ''She works at the Hall.''

  ''And?''

  ''The Duke's elderly mother must have some very fine gowns. You could borrow one.''