“I’m ready to put the past behind me.” the earl said. “As for happiness, only you can give it to me, Emily.”
“My Lord, you are turning to me out of misplaced gratitude,” Emily said sadly. “I know that this is a night of great triumph for you. But please do not let a momentary feeling of goodwill toward me make you say something you might later regret.”
“I believe that my only regret will be if I do not say it, and let you slip away from me.” The earl said. “Emily, I am in love with you.”
Outside, a single firework burst into the sky, followed by several others. But it was drowned out by the chorus of lights that seemed to form in Emily’s heart. “It cannot be.” She felt her knees shake. Sensing it, he moved closer and clasped her in his arms.
“I have loved you since the day I first met you.” He said. “You fell into my arms like an angel out of heaven. The more I saw you, the more I realized that I had to spend the remainder of my life with you. Yet, I dared not speak my mind, because I was afraid that you would reject me, or worse, laugh at my scars.”
“I would never do that.” Emily protested.
“I know that, now.” The earl said. “But back then, I saw you with Cecil and felt so jealous. I thought that you would surely choose him over me. What woman wouldn’t? Then, in the garden, I heard you defending me from his insults. I knew that I loved you even more.”
“Oh, Damien…”
“When you said my name for the first time.” The earl said. “That was when I knew I needed to hear you say it every day for the rest of my life.”
“I..” Emily was breathless. “Do you really love me?”
“Emily, you lifted the curse of sadness that plagued my heart.” The earl said. “It was a miracle that you found the page when I needed it. It was a miracle that you opened my home to sunlight and let laughter echo in its walls. But most of all, it was a miracle that you loved me for who I am and as I am. All of me.”
“I do love you,” Emily said. “More than I ever believed possible.”
“Then will you do me the honor of marrying me?” The earl asked.
“Yes!” Emily exclaimed as he drew her into his embrace.
***
They were married a few months hence, in a grand celebration that made the masquerade look inconsequential in comparison. Thomas walked Emily down the aisle, wiping a tear from his cheek, while the bystanders whispered about her beauty. The earl, whose renewed confidence made him look more handsome than ever, seemed positively regal as he stood at the altar.
As they said their vows, Emily felt like she was floating. She could imagine a future ahead of them, a future spent in Highmere Castle, with Thomas pottering about in the library, and children running wild in the halls with Murgatroyd, chasing them. Already, the castle was transformed. The earl had bought several new tapestries, and chosen fine silk brocades to please his new bride.
But what pleased Emily most was the sight of the single rose that bloomed in the garden. Lush and red, it symbolized her love for him, and even the touch of winter’s frost had not affected it.
*** The End ***
The Duke's Return
Regency Romance
Grace Fletcher
Chapter 1
Making Ends Meet
M aggie Reynolds slipped into her parents' bedroom and tiptoed to the curtains, which were still closed. She opened them quietly, streams of sunlight coming through and spreading across the bed. On one side, nearest the window, a woman slept, bundled up in a nightcap and nightgown, the sheets and blankets pulled up to her chin as she curled underneath. The other side was empty, the bed still unmade.
Maggie approached the bed and laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. She gave her a gentle shake.
"Mama? Mama, wake up."
The woman moaned and shifted. It was a moment before she opened her eyes. Her pale gray eyes settling on Maggie with a glassy expression. She blinked, and it slowly cleared as recognition dawned.
"Maggie, darling. Good morning."
"Morning," Maggie smiled, seeing that there was finally some color back in the other woman's cheeks. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Better." Heather Reynolds yawned. "I feel exhausted but much better. Hopefully, this cold will shift soon, and I'll be able to get up."
Maggie hoped so as well. It had been nearly three months since both her parents had been hit with influenza that had spread throughout the village. Somehow Maggie had not caught it, but both Heather and Joseph Reynolds fell afoul of it. Heather had been a strong woman before. It was shocking to see the change in her as the weight fell off and she stayed in bed nearly all day. Joseph, on the other hand, had never been as strong and seemed to be struggling now. He had his good days, but the bad ones were when Maggie was scared she would lose him.
She had no idea what had happened to her loving parents.
"I'm just off now, Mama. I've left your food prepared for you and Dawn will be coming in later to help you."
"Thank you." Heather laid a hand over her daughter's, giving her a weak but grateful smile. "Both of you are so good."
Maggie swallowed back the lump in her throat. Her sister came in when Maggie was out working so her parents weren't completely alone. But Dawn was married with a child on the way; she couldn't do it forever.
"We need to be." She teased. "Who's going to look after us when we're old and gray?"
"Don't be silly." Heather rolled onto her back and looked at the empty space beside her. "Where's your father?"
"I saw him in the garden." Maggie straightened up. Leaning over was causing her back to ache. "I think he's feeling a bit better today."
"I'll see if I can join him later." Heather yawned and stretched. "Once I've had a quick nap."
Maggie felt the lump come back again as she watched her mother settle back into slumber. This last week seemed to have brought the influenza back with a vengeance and completely taken Heather's energy. She may look better, but her usual hustle and bustle were long gone.
Maggie missed it. She missed her mother.
Maggie left the house and saw her father at the far end of the garden. He was inspecting the big rose bush, the one that was his pride and joy. Maggie had no time for roses; they were sharp and always sliced her fingers. She preferred flowers without thorns.
As she approached, she saw that Joseph Reynolds had a knife in one hand and was trying to cut off one of the rose stems, sawing away at it vigorously. Maggie hurried across the grass.
"Papa, don't do that!" She reached out and took the knife away, biting back a gasp as the back of her hand snagged on a thorn. She led Joseph away from the bush. "You mustn't overexert yourself. You've only just got out of bed."
"But I think the roses needed dead-heading." Joseph protested.
Maggie knew the garden was Joseph's dream. Even when he went to work in a wool mill up the road, Joseph always made time for the garden. Heather didn't really have the knack for looking after flowers and other plants so Joseph was the one who had organized the garden, did the weeding, watering, and the general up-keep. Maggie had inherited his love of gardening, although she hated tackling the dead-heading of the dreadful rose bush. But the roses were Joseph's pride and joy so she refrained from saying what she wanted to say about it.
"Ask Dawn and John to do it when they come in." She led Joseph to a deckchair and urged him to sit. "I'm sure John will be more than happy to look after the garden."
Joseph grunted grumpily.
"That boy doesn't know a rose from a weed."
Maggie laughed. Her brother-in-law had no idea about gardening, but he was keen. He just needed to stop pulling up the wrong thing and giving his father-in-law a burst blood vessel.
"Give him a chance." She dropped a kiss on his head. "I need to head off, or I'm going to be late. See you tonight, Papa."
"Bye, darling."
But Maggie left with a sinking heart, closing the gate and walking down the lane, adjusting her hat a
gainst the slight wind. She didn't like leaving her parents like this. When they had been well, her father would be walking to the mill and working away as a weaver and her mother would be at home looking after the house and baking. Maggie had joined in, enjoying the baking as much now as she did when she was a child.
Then the influenza epidemic had struck. Heather and Joseph caught it, and it was bad. The doctor had worried they wouldn't last the winter, but they did. The problem was that the infection didn't go away; it simply lingered, making them both waste away.
Joseph had lost his job, and Heather couldn't look after the home. Money was very tight, and Maggie had been forced to go out and look for work. What she earned made ends meet but only just. And with that came the huge worry that Maggie would come home one day and find one or both of her parents had passed on, and she hadn't been there.
The doctor came round regularly and assured her that things will get better, but Maggie saw no signs. One of these days she was going to crack under the strain.
Chances were she would end up in the grave before them.
***
The lady Maggie helped look after lived in a grand cottage on the other side of the village. It was thatched, white plastered walls with black-painted wooden frames. It was a pretty sight and Maggie never got bored of looking at it. The garden was just a lovely, although she had to admit it didn't have the same sparkle that her own garden had. But Mrs. Dulcie "Duckie" Trainer employed a man to do the gardening while Joseph took the time to craft his garden with his own hands.
Love and attention always worked.
Knocking three times on the front door, Maggie opened it and stepped into the spacious foyer.
"Hello?" Closing the door behind her, Maggie took off her bonnet. "Mrs. Trainor?"
"In the drawing room, dear."
Maggie followed the voice and entered the drawing-room at the back of the house. The big windows at the far end had the sun streaming in, casting a golden glow across the room. It was also very warm, and Maggie was glad she was wearing a muslin dress; anything thicker and she would be roasting.
An elderly woman in her sixties sat in the chaise, a blanket over her lap with a book in her hands. Her snow-white hair was left loose over her shoulders and down her back. She looked up, and her dark eyes snagged Maggie over her glasses.
"Oh, Maggie, dear, there you are. I was wondering where you'd got to."
"Sorry, Mrs. Trainor." Maggie dropped quickly into a curtsy. "I had to rescue a rose bush from a man."
Mrs. Trainor's eyebrows rose, an amused smile coasting her thin lips.
"Your father again?"
"Yes. Now he's going to be moaning that my brother-in-law is bringing up the wrong plant all afternoon."
Mrs. Trainor laughed.
"That sounds like dear Joe. Are he and Heather feeling any better?"
"A little bit but I couldn't really say until the doctor comes." Maggie fidgeted. Talking about her parent's illnesses made her feel uncomfortable. "Papa's moving around, but I think he'll be in bed by lunchtime again."
"Poor man." Mrs. Trainor looked sympathetic. "Give them my best wishes and please let them know I'm praying for them. I hope they get better soon."
"Thank you," Maggie mumbled.
Not wanting to discuss her family any longer, Maggie curtsied again and hurried out. Right now she had breakfast to prepare and then whatever Mrs. Trainor wished of her, whether it be the washing, dusting or making of beds. Maggie had to do everything. It was a hard job, but Maggie was thinking of the money. She needed the money.
If Mrs.Trainor hadn't been an old friend of her parents, she probably wouldn't have this job right now. There were worst jobs than caring for an elderly woman, and Mrs. Trainor wasn't really a bad old lady. She was nice enough but very nosy; she had to know everything about the young girls who came to look after her. Maggie didn't like talking about herself so she had to try and dodge the questions.
But today might be a good day. If Mrs. Trainor had her hair down, chances were she would go back to bed sometime during the day, and Maggie would be able to get on with her chores without anyone looking over her shoulder and chattering away. It was easier that way.
As long as she brought home some money at the end of the day, Maggie didn't really care.
Chapter 2
Responsibility Reminder
D irk Stowers was frustrated. He was bordering on angry, but he knew better than to lose his temper at his mother; that was simply asking for trouble. He may be the duke now, but his mother was a dowager duchess. She could cut him to pieces with just one look.
Although he didn't really care about that right now. Not after what she had done.
"Come on, Mother," He paced up and down what had once been his father's study and was now his, "Can't you let me have just a little bit of freedom? I am the duke now."
Rebecca Stowers sat on a chair by the desk. She sat in the way her governess had taught her at a young age; back straight, shoulders back, knees together with her hands in her lap. She looked serene enough, but Dirk could feel the tension radiating off her. It wasn't often that he disagreed with her but this time, he was firmly opposing her actions.
"Well," Rebecca said calmly, "Someone has to take you in hand."
"I'm five-and-twenty years old! I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."
"That's as maybe. But you're taking on a big responsibility now your father has passed away." Rebecca's jaw tightened. "And those responsibilities have to be addressed."
"But to arrange for me to marry someone I haven't a clue about?" Dirk sagged into his chair behind the desk. He was starting to feel a headache coming on and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "I thought we agreed that I would choose myself, not let you pick for me."
When Chris Stowers had passed away unexpectedly the summer before, it had fallen on Dirk to take over the duties as duke. But it wasn't a role Dirk had been prepared for. His brother, Frank, had been the heir to the title but had died in a hunting accident two months before his father died. The reins had been suddenly passed to Dirk, and he hadn't a clue what to do. With guidance and advice from his father and, to some degree, his mother, he had slowly understood what was needed of him.
Now he just needed to stop his mother from interfering so much in his life. Dirk knew how to take care of things now. There was no need for her to keep poking her nose in. And his love life, or lack of, was none of her business.
"You were never going to choose," Rebecca said stiffly. She sniffed. "You flirt and break countless women's hearts because you refuse to be tied down, and you run away when they try to take it a stage further."
"I think countless women is a slight exaggeration, Mother."
Rebecca didn't look happy about being interrupted.
"Either we went at your pace or at my pace. At least with me, I won't be on my deathbed with no grandchildren."
Dirk groaned. Rebecca was desperate to have grandchildren. She also wanted Dirk to have as many heirs as he could so his family could hold onto the title. If he died without any heirs, the title would go to his uncle. Dirk had nothing against his uncle, but Rebecca did. Dirk had never figured out why.
He sighed, his patience wearing thin.
"I flirt harmlessly, Mother, that's all. The girls know up front that I'm not in for anything serious. And I don't break hearts. You've been listening to gossip again. The only ones who are unhappy with me not choosing them are the ones who think they can tame me."
And try and control his money. That was not happening. Dirk was taking control of everything no matter what anyone said. He was damned if he was going to be tricked and cuckolded.
"You do need taming."
"Mother, you make me sound like a rake."
"Well, you are, aren't you?"
Rebecca's expression didn't change, but Dirk could see the disapproval in her eyes. She didn't approve of his debauchery ways. Those had stopped when he became a duke, but it was clear she
hadn't forgotten. Dirk hadn't minded being judged before. But he did now. He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling like he was going round and round in circles.
"I'm not marrying anyone I don't know, Mother, especially not with you behind the match. Your tastes are vastly different to mine; I know I'll end up with someone who will make me completely miserable."
Rebecca snorted.
"Your wife will be a girl with wealth and a title. What more do you want?"
"Someone who's pretty, for a start." Dirk shot back. "A girl who isn't a lazy, spoilt brat. Someone who can talk to me like a person instead of a cash cow. Those girls at the London season were so spoiled I felt nauseous." He shook his head. "I don't want that of a wife."
Rebecca's nostrils flared. Dirk wasn't sure whether to be amused or scared. Going against his mother had been a regular occurrence when he had been a child. Doing it as an adult seemed more hazardous. Rebecca was a formidable woman, and Dirk did his best to keep out of her way.
Now he had no choice.
"You'll get what you're given, son," Rebecca said stonily.
"This is a wife, Mother, not a meal I don't want to eat."
Rebecca snorted.
"I can see things are going to go swimmingly on your first meeting."
"There won't be the first meeting, Mother." Feeling that he wasn't getting anywhere, Dirk stood and walked around the desk. "I'm going out riding."
"But what about your duties?"
"They can wait." Dirk cast his mother a look before he walked towards the door. "I need to get away from someone right now before I say something I'll regret."
***
Rebecca could hear the galloping horse's hooves as she climbed the stairs to her room. She was still seething. Her son thought he could walk away from her and ignore the conversation. He was adamant that he wasn't going to marry at all to anyone she picked for him.
She had tried during the London season, that time openly, but it had never worked. Dirk was sly and managed to keep his distance or turn it around and then the women didn't want to marry him. He was charismatic, sweet and respectful towards women but they didn't seem to see him as marriage material. They all ended up getting married, and Dirk was still alone.
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