The Three Evesham Daughters: Books 1-3: A Regency Romance Trilogy

by Audrey Ashwood

  My Lord,

  The author of these lines is a young lady whose lips are unkissed and whose heart is still dormant. Would you do her the honour of making her first kiss an unforgettable experience and grace her with your presence in a secluded corner of the garden? If you do not know who has written these lines, come and look for me!

  To prevent any misunderstanding, speak the following words:

  My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

  To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss1.

  An unkissed lady

  To quote the Bard, one either had to be very wise, very much in love, or young enough to still take pleasure in a melodramatic love-death.

  For a moment, he wanted to slap the arrogant grin off his friend’s face, but then he retreated, nodded to Richard, and handed the letter back to him. But de Coucy refused to take the piece of paper back and instead, slapped Gabriel on the shoulder in a chummy way.

  “My old friend, why don’t you take care of the lady?”

  “Because I am not you,” Gabriel replied coldly, clenching his fists. “She wishes your presence.” He turned but felt de Coucy’s hand on his shoulder. He turned back around, slowly, so as not to lose his composure in public.

  Richard took his hand off his shoulder and took half a step towards him. “I have better things to do than looking after this child. Why don’t you go to her and slip her the kiss she asks me for?”

  Gabriel shook his head, so angry that he could not utter a single syllable.

  “If you do it skilfully, she will not even notice,” whispered de Coucy, confidentially. “And if anyone catches you … well, I will leave you her careless lines. There is no mention of my name, so in an emergency, you can say that the letter is addressed to you. Then, the blame is hers alone, not yours.”

  “I do not see it that way,” Gabriel replied. He put the letter in his pocket and sized de Coucy up and down with a look of contempt. “I will go to Lady Rose and tell her that you are unavailable.”

  He turned around but could not prevent De Coucy’s parting words from reaching his ears. “You will never get any closer to her unless you use this chance, you fool.”

  For a moment, Gabriel considered challenging Richard de Coucy here and now for his outrageous words. Men had lost their lives at the hands of a de Vere for lesser insults. But then, he saw Lady Rose’s face in his mind’s eye as she sat out there in the little nook, trembling with cold and anxious expectation. He made his way through the crowd, their grimacing expressions repelling him like never before. He was almost looking forward to crossing the channel tomorrow and teaching the French that Great Britain was not being challenged without paying the price.

  De Coucy would pay, but not today.

  1 Shakespeare, William, 1891, Romeo and Juliet

  Chapter 3

  As soon as Lord de Vere’s broad back disappeared into the darkness, Rose began to regret her courageousness. With the moon alone for company – and the numerous little animals lurking in the garden, rustling the grasses and shrubs – she admitted to herself that courage was not the right word at the moment. In the seclusion of her room, alone by the roaring fire and with numerous heroines from books for company, her plan had sounded immensely brave and downright progressive. But now, Rose felt like she may have done something very, very stupid.

  What if someone other than Richard came by and saw her here, helpless and alone?

  What if Lord de Vere read the letter and went straight to her mother? His old-fashioned code of honour might even have forced him to read her letter, assuming he suspected that she had asked Richard for a rendezvous. She could well imagine that he thought he would prevent a mischief by revealing Rose to her mother. Although her mother was quite forward-thinking, Rose could not imagine she would be approving of such a brash behaviour in her daughter.

  She would give Richard another five minutes. If he did not come to gift her a first kiss, she would go, and not just restlessly back and forth, but straight home. Why, oh, why had she planted the seed of getting married so firmly in her mind? There were plenty of women who married late or not at all. Yes, she loved Richard, but perhaps two weeks were not long enough to lose patience at the mere lack of a marriage proposal and upset the natural order of things by asking her chosen one for a kiss.

  What if Richard was so repelled by her unladylike behaviour that he turned to another? Her mother and father had told her often enough that she lacked humility. Maybe Richard wanted a humble woman. No, she could not imagine that. He was so brash and daring himself, why would he want a wife who sat obediently in the corner with her embroidery?

  Another terrible thought raced through her head. What would she do if she were wrong, and Richard de Coucy felt nothing for her? Perhaps he found her letter silly and decided to mock her by bringing his friends out here and presenting Lady Rose to them, who so yearned for a kiss from him.

  She brushed away a strand of hair from her face that had broken loose during their agitated pacing amongst the bushes and thought hard. After all, she had been smart enough not to sign the letter, and the seal she had used could not be traced back to the Eveshams. It was a simple rose stamp that her sisters had given her on her fourteenth birthday. This meant that even if the worst of all imaginable scenarios occurred and she had made a fool of herself, no one but Lord de Vere would know the truth.

  There had been a moment when she was sure he had wanted to kiss her. Absurd as it was, for a fraction of a second she had longed for him to do so, with a wild, completely crazy desire in her heart, wishing that his dark eyes looked at her differently than cold and dismissive. However, that moment had passed, just like the tickle in her nostrils when she picked up one of the stable cats and buried her nose in its soft fur.

  Rose sighed and decided to make her way back. She got up and smoothed her dress, then turned back to see if she had forgotten anything. In many novels, innocent heroines had let slip that they were in a forbidden place by losing jewellery or a handkerchief. She leant over the marble bench, then straightened again, certain nothing remained to give away her presence. Maybe Richard de Coucy had been detained, and she would meet him en route? Rose was about to turn around when two hands lay on her shoulders from behind.

  Her stomach leapt and the biting taste of fear settled on her tongue. Warm breath brushed against her bare neck.

  “My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand1.”

  The voice was little more than a whisper, but Rose’s knees went weak with relief. He had come! She had been right, Richard de Coucy did have feelings for her! Once again, she wanted to turn around, but the hands held her gently but insistently in place.

  “Stay, my beauty,” he whispered, stroking her shoulders. His body gave off a soothing warmth, which she felt from the tip of her toes to the top of her brow, although he only touched her shoulders which were covered with her mother’s stole.

  “I am glad you came after all,” she said, startled when she heard her own voice. Rose sounded as if she had run all the way up the stairs to the top floor in her parents’ house, and down again. Breathing was difficult for her, and the warmth she had just felt grew into a devouring heat. How did he manage to stay so calm?

  “I want to kiss you,” Rose gasped out, determined to finally finish what she had started. The idea of being even closer to him sent a strange shiver through her body. All at once, she felt and heard his warm laugh.

  “Stay calm, Lady Rose,” he whispered. “A kiss is not something to rush. Especially not if it is the first one.” It sounded like half a question, tentative, hesitant, every word like a feathery touch on the back of her neck.

  “Of course it is my first kiss. Who do you take me for?”

  Again, that laugh went through her, only this time, it had a mocking undertone. “For a very … curious young lady.” His hands wandered towards the top of her arms without her really noticing. Surely, she could allow this, having asked him for something much more daring? Especia
lly if it felt like he was holding her without holding her tight. Rose took a deep breath to clear her incessant and confusing thoughts. How long did he want to wait? The mounting tension in the centre of her body seemed to increase with each breath. Her legs began to tremble, which was odd, because whenever she had read about a kiss, the heroine did not feel any physical weakness until the man’s lips touched the woman’s. She already felt as if she would faint at any moment!

  His hands went to work on the silk cloth that de Vere had laid upon her earlier. He surely did not want to … no. His hands skilfully untied the knot without touching her gown. Then, faster than she thought possible, the cloth was in his hands. “The first kiss should be special,” he whispered. “I want you to simply feel it, my Lady. Nothing but our lips meeting under the protection of the night. If you prefer to pretend afterwards that this never happened … well, you can say, without having to lie, that you never saw me. What you do not see has never happened, right?”

  “That sounds reasonable,” she gasped. Somewhere in her head, Rose was sure that his logic was flawed, but she could not think how, because now he was wrapping the cloth around her eyes and tying it in a knot behind her head. Two male hands enveloped her waist and turned her around. Thankfully, he supported her, because without his strength, her legs would have finally given way. At that moment, it seemed as if all of her senses had doubled as her eyes were no longer aware of her surroundings.

  The wind had risen from a mild breeze to a steady gust that made the leaves and branches tremble as if caressed by hands. The smell of the grass reached her and mingled with a tangy Eau de Toilette, which she inhaled in deep breaths. Coupled with the slight scent of oriental cigars and soap, the mixture gave a tantalising, unfamiliar aroma that Rose vowed never to forget. The scent was better than paper and printed ink, better than the cook’s lavender scones and the morning’s Earl Grey tea all put together.

  “Now, to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” His voice was so close that she almost flinched, but the gentleness in his words made her gather her courage and stay in place. He pulled her closer to him. Rose felt the fabric of his spencer where the shawl no longer covered her cleavage and, below it his chest, astoundingly hard and firm, so unlike her own. In fact, everything about Richard was different to the soft embrace of a woman such as her mother or her sisters. It had to be due to the blindfold or her nervousness, because he seemed to be even taller than she remembered him.

  The only warning sign that it was about to happen was his warm breath on her face. Then, his lips were on hers. Warm and firm, they touched her mouth so tenderly that it was barely noticeable. Almost disappointingly gentle, thought Rose, and relaxed. He must have been a mind reader because he used the moment to increase the pressure. Now, his lips felt more distinct, as well as the size of his mouth on hers, as unaccustomed and exquisite as a forbidden fruit. His mouth was soft and hard, all at once. The shock of feeling this masculine and unfamiliar mouth on hers echoed through her body, enhanced by the delightful rubbing of his beard stubble. How could masculine facial hair that she found completely ordinary on her father cause such a fierce sensation within her when it belonged to someone else?

  His lips moved to the left, kissing the corner of her mouth. She felt him smile before he broke away from her, only to kiss her again, but in a different way.

  One she would never forget.

  1 Shakespeare, William, 1891, Romeo and Juliet, Folger Shakespeare Library. Romeo and Juliet from Folger Digital Texts. Ed. Barbara Mowat, Paul Werstine, Michael Poston, and Rebecca Niles. Folk Shakespeare Library, 16 April 2019. www.folgerdigitaltexts.org

  Chapter 4

  He had narrowly escaped disaster.

  With every single step he had taken away from the crowd, and above all from de Coucy, his resolve had grown stronger: he would not kiss Lady Rose. He would return the letter to her and tell her that de Coucy was indisposed. He would resist the temptation to taste her lips just once. He would stay strong and act like an honourable man.

  But when he saw her standing in front of the stone bench, bending her neck, all of his decisions had vanished with one breath, and nothing remained but the burning desire to hold her in his arms. In that one second, he wanted to open his mouth and speak to Lady Rose, then, the next second, he was standing behind her, breathing in her scent, unable to think of anything but touching her. Almost automatically, his hands did the right thing to maintain the masquerade. When he wrapped them around her supple waist, he was lost, and when his lips touched hers, he was damned.

  If this was hell, he would gladly spend the rest of his days in it.

  Staring at her and imagining how she gave him the look normally reserved for de Coucy was one thing. Feeling her sweet breath on his lips and noticing how her body pressed against his in that beguiling mix of innocence and desire, was another. He almost wished that in her innocence, he could sense the tiniest hint of calculation, giving her the confidence to let him kiss her, but there was nothing of the sort in Rose. If someone had told him exactly that, he would have guessed, at best, that the lady in question was fishing for a husband, but Rose… nothing within her was tainted or calculating. She was completely confident that he would not go any further than she allowed. She nestled in his arms as if she belonged there and, for a mad, insane moment, he wished and longed for nothing more than for her to recognise him under the cloth that covered her eyes. His fingers twitched to loosen the silk blindfold so he could look her in the eye as his kiss expressed the words that were never allowed to pass his lips. It seemed that she hesitated before she stood on her tiptoes to be even closer to him – Richard was half a head shorter than he was, she must have noticed – but then the moment was over, and the madness had ended.

  He was not the man she had asked for a rendezvous. He was Gabriel de Vere who would be gone in a few hours. Even if Rose knew that he was the one kissing her, it would not change anything about the fact that the kiss was not allowed. God only knew what awaited him on the battlefield. Even if he escaped with his life, who could say that he would remain physically unscathed? Lady Rose deserved a man who was healthy in body and soul, one who could hold and protect her in his arms.

  He must not reveal himself to her. He searched for her mouth one last time and gave her an inaudible promise. When he returned from France, kept well in body and soul, he would ask for her hand.

  If she was still unmarried at that time.

  Two years later

  “I am not at home, Edward. Not for anyone.”

  The Marquess of Cavanaugh glanced at his butler with a warning expression. He had been home for three days now – if this was how to refer to the de Vere’s townhouse in London, which Gabriel thought was completely replaceable – and watched Edward’s disturbing tendency to make arbitrary decisions. Gabriel could not even blame him for that, because, contrary to all manners and customs, it had been Edward who had held the de Vere household together in recent months. With the death of his father a year ago, his deceased elder brother, Elijah, and not a single reliable male relative, it had been left to the butler to manage the de Vere’s domestic affairs. Edward had done an excellent job and had even kept an eye on the statements from the asset manager in charge of the family estates and properties, however, Edward had failed in one point.

  Had had to fail, Gabriel (who had still not completely gotten used to the title of marquess) corrected himself. He looked at the man whom he had burdened with too much, leaving the room to retire and giving a disapproving glare at the half-empty bottle of Port. When he had left for France two years ago as Lord de Vere and as a younger, insignificant son, his father was still alive. The old man had thought himself immortal and had taken no precautions in the event of his death. His careless nature that revolved purely and exclusively around his own needs had led to everything getting out of hand after his apoplectic seizure – or at least it would have gotten out of hand, if Edward had not intervened cautiously. Of course, there was no doub
t about his succession, although turned out problematic. Elijah, the legitimate heir to the title and the lands, had disappeared in France three years ago. After his release from French captivity, when the dwarfish tyrant with haughty ambitions had to admit his final defeat, Gabriel had set out in search of Elijah. Just when he thought he had finally found a trace of his older brother, he was called back to England.

  Although it hurt him, Gabriel had his brother declared dead. He had no choice but to accept the title and all the duties involved, if he did not want to hand over the administration of the Cavanaugh estate and everything related to it into the hands of strangers.

  He eyed at the port but ended up pushing the bottle aside. He needed a clear head to deal with Henrietta. His sister had grown into a dark-haired beauty during his absence, who could not complain of a lack of opportunities to marry, but she knew nothing of words like “discipline” or “performing one’s duties.” She had used her obvious intelligence, along with a deceptively innocent smile to wrap her chaperone, Cousin Catherine, around her little finger, leaving her to do whatever she wanted according to her whims. Her friends were organising a perilous and illegal coach race in Hyde park? Henrietta would not miss it for the world. Perhaps one of her friends wanted to go to a cockfight in Whitechapel? Henrietta was the first to borrow a maid’s clothes and plunge “incognito” into the foulest of foul neighbourhoods. The list could go on indefinitely. The lack of restraint was inherited from her father, but while tolerated by men, it wiped out Henrietta’s chances of a decent marriage, and much thoroughly so. No man wanted a wife who exploited life, and everything it had to offer to the fullest.

  Including himself.

  Gabriel rang for his valet and wandered over to the window. He had refused to move into his father’s room, still hoping that one day Elijah would walk in and take over the title of Marquess of Cavanaugh and all the duties involved. Sliding the curtain to one side, he gazed at the familiar sight of the garden and the stables. As the second son, he had a rear-facing, fairly modest room, but he had never asked for more. He liked to watch the grooms and coachman taking care of his father’s magnificent animals and looking after and repairing the carriages when the bad road conditions once again took their toll.