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

by Audrey Ashwood

  “Of course she can write to me. I shall share every detail with her, if it helps her to be less anxious.” Annabelle kissed Rose once more on both cheeks and then hugged her tightly. “I hope I can persuade Marcus to visit you up there in Scotland when our little girl comes into the world and has settled in, but he hardly lets me out of his sight. I am just glad that I was allowed to come here at all.”

  “I did not mind her coming down to the church,” spoke the cool voice of Marcus St. John, Annabellee’s husband, “but I know how fussy your priests are.” St. John came from an old Catholic family, but neither him nor Annabelle seemed to be burdened by the different religions. He bent over to Rose and kissed her on both cheeks. “If the health of Bell and our son so allow, we will come and visit you. Take care, little one.”

  Upon walking away, Rose heard her big sister point out to her husband that she was surely going to have a girl and that he would have to wait a little while until his heir was born. Rose wiped away a tear and was glad that her sister Felicity was hugging her so tightly to allow her to say that she was shedding tears for that reason, not out of emotion. Her sister was also beginning to show that she was in good hopes, Rose thought. Felicity and Luke, the Duke of Somerset, promised Rose that they would travel to Scotland as soon as Luke’s business permitted – as well as Felicity’s condition. “I am glad that you gave that dandy his marching orders,” announced Rose’s sister, clearly audible to all bystanders.

  “Do you always have to blare everything out like that?” Rose moaned, while still smiling.

  Her sister shrugged while Luke rolled his eyes. “I have been trying to teach her ladylike manners for two years, but without success.” He winked at a blushing Rose and led his wife aside.

  Saying goodbye to her mother and her father took longer, especially since the duchess cried, which was unusual for her. “Felicity is right, even though it was not necessary to shout it out to the world.”

  “Felicity is, stupidl… unfortunately, almost always right,” Rose replied, smiling at her sister, who had turned to her upon hearing these words, pressing her hand melodramatically to her heart. “Mother, there is no need to cry,” Rose said to the duchess. “I am the happiest woman on earth, and I have found the best man in the world for me.”

  “Yes, I know, I know. Come here, my child, let me hug you again. Scotland is so terribly far away from London, and the food is inedible.” A shiver ran through her. “Only a barbarian can fill a sheep’s stomach and then cook and eat it.”

  “Get a grip,” her father said, admonishing his wife. “You see, you are terrifying Rose with your talk of Scottish barbarians. Things could have been far worse. After all, Rose was sensible enough not to marry a … let us say, a man we disapprove of.”

  “I promise I will write to you as often as possible,” she assured her mother. “You are always welcome, is that not right, Gabriel?” Gabriel’s presence would be enough to distract her father from the vexing subject of Marcus St. John and Catholicism, and her mother from Scottish food, she hoped. “Where is he? Gabriel?” She turned to search for him and saw him turn the corner.

  “Oberon,” Rose exclaimed in delight. “There you are.” She left her parents and ran to Gabriel, who was leading the dog on a leash. Rose leaned down and inspected the laurel wreath before taking it off and placing it over her arm. Oberon seemed relieved to see her with his loyal brown eyes and licked her once over her glove. “Does that mean he will accompany us on our journey?”

  Gabriel nodded. “I think he would resent me if I left without him.” He gave her the leash. “But I am sure he would not even notice my absence as long as you are with him, feeding him with rose petals.”

  He wrapped an arm around her waist. “We should climb in. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can sleep in a decent bed.” Rose felt herself flush at the mention of a bed. “Where are Dr Hollingsworth and Catherine?” she asked, searching for them.

  “I think they are making an appointment with the pastor.”

  “Does that mean …?”

  Gabriel nodded. “Yes, the two of them will marry, as well. The good doctor asked me for Catherine’s hand yesterday.” He smiled broadly and helped her inside the carriage, then climbed in behind her. “It was the most pleasurable of all duties that I have ever had to fulfil as head of the family.” He looked around the small space of the cab, Oberon lying on the seat opposite them. “Have you noticed something?”

  “No,” Rose replied. “What is it?”

  “We are alone.”

  “How about a kiss?” Rose returned his smile. “I want one last proof that I really and truly married the right man.” She closed her eyes and lifted her face towards him.

  She felt his mouth upon her smile. “You cannot think any different. You are now the Marchioness of Cavanaugh, before God and the world. You are mine, and I will gladly prove to you every day that I am the right one.”

  He kissed her.

  Oberon barked.

  THE END

  Closing Words

  Dear Readers,

  How nice that you are still here!

  Did you enjoy the love stories about the three Evesham daughters and the gentlemen of their hearts?

  I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing them. One of the nicest things for me in writing down the stories is weaving in things that I have observed in everyday life. Even the books that I read while writing often slip unconsciously into the novels. While I make sure not to read the same genre out of fear that my subconscious might pick up and incorporate the things I admire so much about other writers – but still each book that I read (and sometimes a series) flows into it.

  In the case of “The Cold Earl’s Bride,” it was Sherlock, both the series and the original stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. My Lady Annabelle has the ability to interpret the body language of people, and is in the beginning, quite cool and distant herself. It was only later that I noticed that she, in a watered-down way, resembles the greatest detective of all time, well, at least in this one respect.

  “No Lord Desired,” tells the story of Lady Felicity and Luke, who is the arrogant Lord Layton. In this novel hides one of my everlasting movie heroes. It is Zorro, the masked avenger who takes from the rich and gives to the poor. Did you recognize Zorro in the boxing “priest” of Whitechapel? No matter what your answer is, Luke is one of my favourite male heroes. I like his willingness to help so much, and also that hint of rogue, who is concealed within the form-perfect gentleman.

  When it was Lady Rose’s turn in “An Unkissed Lady,” something completely unbelievable happened to me. I found out that this romance novel really didn’t require a detective story, and that the tender love between Rose and Gabriel provided enough material. It’s the first book in the series that can do without a dead body – hold on, no, that’s not entirely true. There are dead on stage when Lady Rose and the Marquess attend a theatrical performance – but that doesn’t count, does it?

  There are more releases planned for the next coming months, and I can’t wait to get them into your hands. Would you like to be informed as soon as the next volume in the series is published? If so, then sign up here to my mailing list. I will send you a short message via email as soon as the next books are ready to go. Subscribers will receive a chance to read them for free.

  In the meanwhile, I’d love to invite you to read “An Orphan for the Duke,” my newest regency romance in The Wharton Series. Check out the sneak peek on the next pages.

  With romantic greetings,

  Audrey Ashwood

  Sneak Peek: An Orphan for the Duke

  A Sweet Historical Romance

  A broken duke.

  An unexpected arrival.

  Can her presence heal the man who swore never to love again?

  Seven years ago, the Duke of Devonshire’s heart was shattered. After his late-wife’s death, the duke immersed himself in work and duty so he could numb the pain. Despite his possession of immense wealth, a
historic title, strikingly handsome looks, and not few possible prospects, he wants for nothing in this world – except to be left alone.

  That solitude ends suddenly with the arrival of a desperate letter from an old friend, containing his dying wish that the duke care for his daughter. The duke, unable to ignore his dying friend’s appeal, orders the house to be prepared for the child’s arrival – much-loved toys and dolls, a room with the best views in the front of the house, and a swing in the garden. Only a few days later, Isabella arrives at the luxurious Hardwick Manor.

  She is a shock to the duke – in both age and appearance. He was expecting a child, and not a stunningly beautiful woman!

  Reading Sample:

  His mother and sister had decided to travel to London earlier in the week to meet with their milliner and dressmaker and were expected to return the following day. This was not before Diana had stretched Matthew’s patience to the limit, having the servants search through the rarely opened attics for the much-loved toys and dolls of her youth. She had also toured the grounds with the gardener, discussing which tree would best serve for a swing, one that could be seen from the drawing room for supervision. Matthew had finally begged Diana to stop, after she began to wonder about having the village cabinet maker engaged to create some child-sized furniture and a doll’s house. She had reluctantly agreed to await the child’s arrival before ordering any further changes. For her own part, the duchess had asked the housekeeper, Mrs Claxton, to air out Diana’s old room, which gave on to the front of the house with the best views.

  The duke was not overly concerned about the child’s late arrival, at least not yet. Perhaps an aunt had been found, or the heir to the title and the property was more generous than Matthew had assumed. The older half-brother of the child may be a charitable man, he decided as he let his gaze fall upon the page once more.

  He settled back into the book, sipping his brandy. After the delectable dinner of roast venison, he was content to enjoy reading before retiring to bed. It was a rare pleasure these days, as it seemed to him that his mother insisted that he join her and his sister in the drawing room at every occasion. He turned the heavy page of the book, feeling the weight of the thick paper in his hand.

  A footman appeared at his side, quietly as he had been trained to do. The servant, a young man, was dressed in the livery of the house Danvers. He took care not to raise his voice above a low volume, audible only to the duke, and informed the duke that a visitor had arrived at Hardwick Manor.

  The duke shut the book, leaving it on the table beside his brandy as he pondered about the rather unusual time for a social call, so late in the evening and after dinner. Wait. Could it be … her? Without uttering a word, he stared at the footman.

  The man, being a properly trained servant, had seemingly anticipated his lord’s question as he added, “The Lady Isabella Thornton and company have arrived, Your Grace.”

  “At such a late hour?” the duke wondered. “I shall greet them in the parlour.”

  The footman bowed his head and left.

  After several weeks of anticipating this event, Isabella had arrived at Hardwick Manor, at last. How unfortunate that his mother and sister were not in residence to greet the child, he thought. The two were not due to return from London until the following day, leaving him burdened with the responsibility of seeing to the child. Nevertheless, he would take it upon himself to greet the guests and determine if the girl was well. If she was fit, then his housekeeper, Mrs Claxton, could manage without him. His book and his brandy would not have to wait long, he presumed. He did not plan to tarry in the new guests’ company for too long.

  Dispatching the butler with a few orders, the duke told the man what must be done. “See to their bags and trunks. Send for Mrs Claxton. If she is not awake, see that she is awakened at once, I have need of her.”

  With his footman and butler sent about their tasks, the duke prepared himself to greet his guests. That the child was John’s daughter should have been a reason for him to pause, but he was incapable of feeling any emotion other than worry. Why had the child arrived in such an untimely manner? Why could she not have arrived when his mother was in residence to attend to her?

  He left the library and walked along the corridor leading to the hall.

  He entered the parlour.

  The silence that greeted him was not what he was expecting. He did not see anyone or hear any sound that may indicate he had a youthful visitor. He did observe that the drawing room door was ajar, however. Would his footman have left a small child and company in the drawing room, a room filled with priceless objects such as the figurines and gilded statues that his mother adored, he thought, worried about the child breaking something. As he approached the door, he hesitated. This was John’s daughter; he did not wish to appear an old, ill-tempered man to a young girl – that would never do. Even he could see that. Willing himself to appear less imposing, he was buoyed by the fact that Mrs Claxton would arrive soon to trundle the little girl off to the nursery. The housekeeper might give her a bowl of stew or some other suitable evening meal. He smiled and willed himself to appear as benevolent and kind as he could manage before, finally, entering the room.

  He was astonished by the sight before him.

  Inside the drawing room, a woman stood at the opposite end by the wall of windows.

  Moonlight flooded through the panes of glass, bathing her features in a soft glow. Her pale skin was illuminated by the soft light, and her brown hair glistened, as all around the moonlight danced and played, making her appear like an angel, despite her being dressed in the dark garb of mourning. She must not have heard him approach because she did not turn to face him. She remained with her face lifted towards the light.

  He stood, motionless, appreciating the statuesque figure of the beauty who slowly opened her eyes, as if she were enraptured by the view of the full moon on the lawn that lay just beyond the window. As he observed her, watching for any indication that she was a ghostly form or the result of his imagination, he dared not speak. He was awestruck by her, as he would be of a magnificent view of a painting.

  Matthew was accustomed to being in complete control of all that he felt and all that he surveyed. Yet, at this moment, as he stared at the beautiful woman, who stood unaware of his observation, he was lost for words. However, it was but only for a moment. He quickly quelled the emotion he felt welling within. He dismissed his own reaction to her as astonishment, at having a visitor so late in the evening and nothing more. He was a duke, for heaven’s sake, he was not a boy besot by beauty. He was not in the habit of feeling awed for any reason. He was not one to stand in stupefaction gazing at the beauty in front of him. It was time to address her.

  “My footman informed me that I have a visitor. Whom am I addressing?” he asked formally. “Have you arrived with the child?”

  She turned to face him – her deep-blue eyes were as pleasant as the graceful features of her oval face. Who was this young woman – the child’s nurse or her governess, perhaps? He wondered, even though her wardrobe did not announce her to be either of those.

  She lowered her head and curtsied. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. I am Isabella Thornton, the daughter of the Earl of Chatham.”

  He stood silent, trying to make sense of her words.

  “I have travelled with my maid. I believe she is seeing to the matter of my trunks,” she continued, her voice as delightful as music played gently on a harp.

  “You are Isabella Thornton?” he asked as he tried to reconcile the woman who was standing in front of him with the image of a young child.

  “I am known as Lady Isabella, Sir.” She smiled. “I was told that you were expecting me.”

  …

  End of the Reading Sample.

  What fate awaits the woman who has lost everything? What of the duke who has sworn never to love again? Find out now!

  Grab An Orphan for the Duke on Amazon.

  Also by
Audrey Ashwood

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed my series. Do you want to read another romance series? I have two more regency romance series that are ready for you.

  The Wharton Series Books 1-3, a traditional Regency Romance Collection, is filled with plenty of twists and turns of the heart. This series features several different plotlines, including the tale of a poor girl whisked into a world of wealth and privilege by her grandmother, a women on the brink of ruin who must marry a dark duke with an even darker secret, and a duke who agrees to raise the orphaned daughter of his dying best friend, only to find she’s not a child but a beautiful woman. More books are in the works.

  The Wharton Series:

  Book 1: A Bride for the Viscount’s Cold Son

  After the premature death of her mother, young Lavinia is left destitute, with no money and no family. Until… in a twist of fate, she discovers her wealthy grandmother. Her new world of privilege doesn’t just bring expensive gowns and jewels, but also a chance for love. Afraid to go through with the potentially joyless marriage, can the young woman find a lifetime worth of love?

  Book 2: The Duke of the Moors