Regency Romances

by Grace Fletcher

  And she had never seen the determined look on Lincoln’s face before. He looked like he wasn’t going to take any refusal for an answer. He grabbed her arm.

  “Get in.”

  “What?” Elizabeth tried to pull away. “I cannot, my lord. It’s not…”

  “I don’t care if it looks improper. Get in!”

  Elizabeth couldn’t stop him from pushing her into the carriage, placing her on a seat. Lincoln jumped in behind her and slammed the door, banging on the roof. Elizabeth caught herself from falling off the seat as the carriage set off again. Lincoln sat opposite her, fixing her with a hard stare.

  “And I think it’s about time you stopped calling me ‘my lord’,” he growled. “Lincoln would be fine. I might even let you call me Stephen.”

  What was going on? Elizabeth sat up.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’m leaving.” Elizabeth laid her hands in her lap. She needed to keep her composure. “I’m going to stay with my family for a while, and then I’m going to leave London.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “You think I want to do it?”

  Lincoln snorted.

  “I know my mother came to see you. She had no right to do that. This is nothing to do with her. She shouldn’t have forced you out.”

  Elizabeth gave him a sad smile.

  “But she’s right, my…Lincoln. We could never work. Then when she said you were in love with me…” She swallowed. She still wasn’t used to it. “I knew I had to go.”

  Lincoln looked incredulous.

  “You knew you had to go because I love you? What’s the crime in that?” He held up a hand. “And don’t tell me that it’s because I’m an earl and you don’t even have a title. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “But it is. It’s something that would never work between us. I thought if I left, I would be able to start afresh and take temptation away.”

  “Take temptation away? From you or me?”

  This was it. Elizabeth had hoped she would never have to confess it. It would just make it harder to leave. She looked down at her hands.

  “Both, I suppose. You see, I fell in love with you as well. And I know it’ll never work. I had to…”

  She barely finished before Lincoln was across the carriage, coming to sit beside her and pulling her into his arms. His kiss started off clumsy, but not for long. Elizabeth had never been kissed in such a firm way. She melted into his arms, sinking against Lincoln’s chest. His arms tightened around her, crushing Elizabeth to him.

  Then, reluctantly, Lincoln lifted his head. His eyes had darkened, and he was breathing heavily. He cupped her jaw in his hand.

  “You don’t have to do anything except kiss me again,” he whispered.

  Elizabeth wanted to. Her mouth was still tingling from Lincoln’s kiss. But she still remembered her role in Society. She started to draw back.

  “What if someone sees us?”

  Lincoln chuckled and pulled her back.

  “That’s a good thing. It means that I would have to marry you, then.”

  “Don’t jest, please.”

  “I’m not jesting.” Lincoln kissed her soundly. “I meant it before, Elizabeth. I do want to marry you. Nothing would please me more than to have you as my wife. That’s all I want as my Christmas gift.”

  He really wanted her to be his wife. Elizabeth felt like she was living in a dream. Any moment now, she was going to wake up and find that she had been unkindly teased. She clutched onto the lapels of his jacket.

  “What about Society?” she asked. “Your mother?”

  Lincoln smirked.

  “Remember what you told me before? I don’t answer to her. And Society…you know I’m not exactly a conventional man. I’d rather be back on my estate away from the bustle of the town than here.” He kissed her forehead. “As soon as Christmas is over, I’m going back to Lincoln. And I want you to spend Christmas with me, and I want you to come with me.”

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “Of course.” Lincoln hugged her close. “I’m not leaving London unless you’re by my side.”

  He really was making it sound tempting. And Elizabeth couldn’t resist. If Lincoln was determined to make it work, how could she refuse? She loved him, and he was giving her a chance. She would be a fool to turn it down. She smiled and cupped his face in her hands.

  “I’ve never stepped foot outside of London.” She kissed him softly. “And I’ve heard that Lincoln is a beautiful place.”

  “It is.” Lincoln drew her to his side as he settled back against the carriage. “And you’ll fit right in.”

  *** The End ***

  The earl &

  miss abigail’s

  christmas delight

  Regency Romance

  Grace Fletcher

  Chapter 1

  The Storm

  The snow was coming down hard when Abigail Stewart left the winter ball at a small estate in Angus. Old friends of the family, Lord and Lady Angus were gracious and attentive hosts, and though they usually had room for her, the number of guests had vastly outnumbered what they had expected.

  “It is no trouble,” Abigail said, leaning in to accept a kiss on the cheek from Lady Angus. “I will be home before you know it.”

  Lord Angus cast a glance behind her, brow furrowed as he took in the weather. “Hopefully you will make it before the storm sets in.”

  Abigail assured them that she would, but as the driver helped her into the carriage, shutting the door as soon as she was settled, she was concerned with how fast the snow was coming down. There had been a light flurry for days. Though her father had asked her to reconsider the ball, Abigail could not pass up an opportunity to attend a social event.

  She did not have the luxury of being debuted into society. She could not remember the last time somebody had paid her attention, and she liked it that way. Her parents were elderly and required all the help she could give them, but sometimes she wished for someone to sweep her off her feet. It was a foolish hope, perhaps, but she held onto it, anyway.

  The roads were already thick with snow as the carriage trundled through the hills. Abigail had to grip the edge of her seat a couple of times as the carriage bumped along, and she was unsurprised when they came to a stop, the driver leaning through the door.

  “I apologise, miss,” he said, snow coating his cloak and the brim of his hat. “There’s a home about the way that I’m going to head for. The horse can’t go for much longer.”

  Abigail nodded her assent, clutching a hand to her chest. She had a neighbour looking in on her parents, so she wasn’t concerned that they would be alone, but she did not deal well with strangers. Her anxiety grew as she saw the house that the driver had indicated. “Home” was too small a word for the stately mansion that rose above the jut of the hill, even with snow obscuring her vision.

  She knew, of course, about the dukes and earls of their county, and though she did not often travel enough to know where they were all located, this home obviously belonged to one of them. Her hand curled around the window, snow settling atop her glove as she took in the wonderful grounds that bordered both sides of the road.

  The horse cut a path through the snow drifts, and as Abigail tucked herself back into the carriage, she wondered if whoever lived within the home was receptive to strangers. Her father often took in people on the road who wandered into town and had nowhere to stay, but not everyone was receptive to someone turning up unannounced.

  The driver halted the carriage and jumped down, his boots crunching in the snow as he approached the steps to the house. It was beautiful, and Abigail craned her neck to see. It seemed to stretch such a long way. There were three floors that she could make out. She had always wondered what living in such a house was like, a life so far removed from the one that she lived. She had always had a wistful appreciation for the wealthy and how th
ey lived.

  The door to the house cranked open slightly, and Abigail couldn’t see who had answered, but the driver nodded quickly and hurried down towards her.

  “The master of the house has graciously accepted us into his house.” The driver opened the door, holding out a hand.

  The snow was obscuring her view, but Abigail stepped down from the carriage and huddled deeper into her cloak, tucking it around her. The driver grabbed her bag from the back and accompanied her up to the house.

  The butler at the door gestured for her to come in, and Abigail paused only long enough for a footman to jog back out with the driver, presumably to take the horse and carriage around to the stables. A maid took her coat and gloves from her – so many staff when Lord Angus only had a footman and a cook.

  “Please follow me, Miss…?” the butler asked.

  “Miss Abigail Stewart,” Abigail said, rubbing her hands together to warm them up quickly.

  Despite the late hour, a few lights were still lit in the house, and as they approached a large wooden door – ornate and beautifully carved – Abigail could see flickering beneath it that indicated a fire. She was already warming up, but as the butler opened the door, Abigail felt the rush of warmth from the fire. She was so preoccupied with the tingling through her body that it took her a while to notice the man seated in an armchair until he peered back to look at her.

  Abigail was struck by the man’s handsome face and the lock of hair falling into it.

  “Master,” the butler said, inclining his head. “May I present Miss Abigail Stewart. Miss Stewart, the Earl of Hamilton.”

  The man – Hamilton – moved swiftly to his feet, placing the book he had been reading on the small coffee table. He was dressed impeccably, looking every inch an aristocrat, and Abigail remembered the manners pressed into her by her parents. She kept her eyes down and nodded her head.

  “I apologise, my lord,” she said. “I understand the hour is late.”

  “It is no matter,” Hamilton said smoothly, and though he seemed welcoming, there was a sadness in his eyes. “The storm was as unexpected as it is harsh. I will have Layton take you to a room where you can dry off and sleep.” Approaching the window, Hamilton pulled back the curtain to see outside, brow furrowing as he did so. “Hopefully the storm will clear tomorrow.”

  “I hope so, my lord,” Abigail said quietly. She did not want to be away from her parents for too long, especially in a stranger’s home, but the offer was generous.

  “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Hamilton said, and though he didn’t smile, there was a warmth about his face and bearing that put Abigail at ease. With his hands clasped at his back, he stood tall and proud, handsome.

  “And yours,” Abigail said, hands clutched to her stomach. She could feel her cheeks heating up with shame, aware that she was thinking thoughts that she should not be. Attraction to somebody was not a crime, but Hamilton was an earl, and she did not know him. “I apologise for the intrusion.”

  The butler – Layton, Abigail presumed – led her from the room. “You will be on the third floor. The master has three children on the third floor, but the second is reserved for The Honourable Douglas and his daughter, Arabella.”

  Abigail took in the information as they walked, the grand staircase stealing her breath away. Everything about the house was old and grand, so much more so than Abigail had ever seen. Lord Angus was perhaps the highest status person she knew, and his house was nowhere near as grand as this.

  They bypassed the second floor. A few lights flickered down the hall, but most were already burned or snuffed out. Abigail tried to keep her staring to a minimum though she couldn’t help but steal glances. It was a fascinating house, even more so as they approached the third floor. There were paintings on the wall of Hamilton, a few of men who had the same facial features – she assumed they were his forefathers – and a couple of some children, two girls and a boy, all of whom resembled their father.

  On the third-floor landing there were a few of a woman with striking blue eyes, beautiful blond hair, and a kind smile. Abigail assumed it was the children’s mother.

  “Thank you so much,” Abigail said, as Layton paused outside of one of the rooms, opening the door.

  “It was recently aired,” Layton explained. “If you need anything, please ring the bell.” Layton gave her a quick nod and left her to her own devices.

  It was strange for Abigail to have access to servants when she felt she was no more important than they were. Her home was in a small town and everyone knew a person by sight. Abigail was friends with a couple of girls who worked at Lord Galloway’s home.

  The room itself was understated but beautiful, a grand bed set against the middle of the left wall, dressers either side, and a huge set of windows overlooking the back garden. The curtains were still open, spilling in the only light, and as Abigail crossed to close them, she could see the snow flurries obscuring the garden. She had never seen a snowstorm quite as bad and hoped fervently that it was calmer in the morning.

  It didn’t take long for Abigail to change. She was glad that she had thought to bring clothes with her to the ball, hopeful she would spend the night with Lord and Lady Angus. Grateful for something, she slipped into the covers of the large bed, larger than the one she had at home and softer and more welcoming.

  As she turned on her side, towards the windows, Abigail thought of Hamilton and the sadness on his face. She wondered why a man with such beautiful children and a wife with a kind face looked so sad.

  Chapter 2

  Father Will Not

  be Pleased

  The snow was still coming down hard.

  Philip Douglas, Earl of Hamilton, sighed slowly, resigning himself to another day inside the house. The day before the snow had not been so bad, but his children were overcoming chest infections, and he had not wanted them to be outside.

  The house was already awake, the sounds of staff moving about the landing, opening doors and windows, and making the house presentable for the day. No doubt the children were up and giving their nanny a run for her money. He realised absently that he wished to see them.

  It was only as he was making his way towards the library that he remembered their guest – Miss Abigail Stewart, he thought – and how cold she had looked the night before. It wasn’t often that carriages took the path that runs up to the house to get back into the towns. Usually travellers preferred to avoid the hills and mountains.

  Lord and Lady Angus had been having a ball, and so had another estate on the other side of the heath. Though Hamilton did not know which Miss Stewart had been attending, he would not have expected her to be out so late.

  “Is our guest joining us for breakfast?” Hamilton asked Layton, a man who had been in the household since Hamilton’s family had owned it.

  Layton nodded. “Mary is attending to her, my lord, and she will have a place at the table.”

  “Thank you, Layton,” Hamilton said, making his way through to the dining room. His children were, as expected, already up. As he entered, they let out exclamations of, “Papa!” before remembering their manners and quieting down. Waving off their nanny, who looked ready to chastise them, Hamilton gave each of his children a hug in turn. “It is no matter. How are you all?”

  Daisy was his eldest, and she was already growing into a face so much like her mother’s, hair always twisted into the latest fashions, though Hamilton didn’t think it was done quite as well as his wife could have done it.

  Louis, Hamilton’s only son, was as precocious as Hamilton had been as a child and could often be found in the grounds or amongst the horses, a trait that had his nanny exasperated. It was not proper, she would often tell Hamilton, when she was bringing up Louis’s behaviour.

  Charlotte, Lottie, was the youngest, and Hamilton often found himself lamenting that she was barely out of the cradle, though admittedly she was already approaching four.

  “We are fine, Papa,” Daisy said,
with perfect enunciation.

  Hamilton’s heart ached, and he rested a hand on her cheek, taking a moment to look at each of them in turn. “We are to have a guest for breakfast this morning.”

  “Who is it, Father?” Louis asked, taking his seat at the table. It was not often that children would take meals with their family, but Hamilton had never stood on propriety where his children were concerned. It was a trait his wife had always insisted upon, and Hamilton found that he could not change their routine.

  “Her name is Miss Abigail Stewart.”

  Hamilton looked up as Arabella swept into the room, looking as stylish as always, dressing in a manner that always had her father’s lips tightening into a thin line. Hamilton tilted his cheek as Arabella kissed it. “You already know of our guest. I am unsurprised.”

  Arabella greeted the children and slipped into her seat. “Layton did not tell me, cousin, do not worry. Mary attended me this morning and informed me of our late-night visitor.”

  “Who is she, Papa?” Daisy said, leaning down to help Lottie with her napkin.

  “Her carriage was caught in the storm,” Hamilton explained, before the door to the dining room opened once more.

  Miss Stewart was just as beautiful as he remembered, looking understated in a simple frock. She seemed tentative in the doorway, nervous, with a pink tinge to her cheeks. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Hamilton said, gesturing to the table. “Please, take a seat.”

  Hesitating, eyes sweeping over everyone around the table, Miss Stewart approached the table, choosing a seat a respectful distance away but not close enough that she was amongst the family. “I want to thank you again for allowing me to spend the night.”

  “More than that, I should imagine,” Arabella said, waving a hand at the windows. Hamilton winced. Arabella rarely adhered to station protocol, insisting that she could behave any way she wished. It was something that often upset her father, but Hamilton had found it refreshing, especially when she and his wife could often be found having fun rather than looking stifled and distressed. “The snow has yet to let up.”