Regency Romances

by Grace Fletcher

  It hurt to hear. Letitia braved it with a smile and a nod and turned her back on him lest she begin to cry where she stood. She had to be strong for just a few minutes more. In the safety of her bedroom, she could give in to the tears and would then call upon Anne to begin this new life. She was afforded a few moments of weakness.

  Argyll did not call after her, and she did not give him one last glance. Instead, she ignored the staff around her, some glancing her way with intrigue and suspicion, until she found her rooms. They were even more lavish and well decorated than her room at the castle, but it was still lonely and open.

  She longed for Greta, for her room at the vicarage, for something familiar. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, hands cupped in her lap and gave in to the despair of the last few days.

  Chapter 6

  Family of Concerns

  Argyll was doing his best to be patient.

  He was struggling with everything that happened to him. Despite how adamant he had been that this was the best decision for them both, he could not help but acknowledge what a shift this was for Miss Arnold—though now she was his wife, it would not be improper to think of her as Letitia. She seemed overwhelmed and sad, going through the motions of everyday life without happiness.

  He could not seem to make her smile, or laugh, or enjoy much at all. He kept to the house for the first few days, making sure she settled in and felt secure within her own home. She was aloof but not cold or dismissive. She greeted him warmly and seemed to light up when he was around, but he put that down to familiarity. Anne was a great comfort to her, and Letitia often called upon her for help. The other staff were a little more stiff, a little more difficult.

  Argyll did not know how to broach the subject with them.

  Letitia was different. She was not born into the lifestyle where she now found herself, and her ways were a little different. She was trying to learn, and Mrs Fenway had made great strides with her before they left Scotland. Argyll wished for her counsel now. She had been there for him since his parents had died, and she had been Letitia’s guiding light, or so Letitia had told him quietly in the carriage.

  It was an admission Argyll had not heard the like of again. It was as though Letitia had closed herself off from him, but he could not pinpoint when it happened.

  At dinner a few days into Letitia’s stay, Argyll placed his cutlery back on the table, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. “We have an invitation to a charity ball tomorrow night. I hope you will accompany me there.”

  Letitia looked up from her meal, eyes wide and surprised. “Are you sure?”

  Argyll, despite himself, couldn’t help but smile. “I would not have asked otherwise. I would like my wife to be there.”

  A shadow that Argyll could not explain crossed Letitia’s face. “I would not wish to cause you offence. I will attend with you.”

  That had not been Argyll’s meaning, but Letitia was already back to her meal. There was a tightness in Argyll’s chest that he could not explain. With a small sigh, he picked up his wine glass, wondering at Letitia’s mood. She had seemed fine that morning before he left the house. She had welcomed him back with just as much calm. Now she appeared sad in some way.

  “Are you missing home?”

  “A little,” Letitia admitted, resting her spoon gently on the table. “It has been an adjustment. I am coping.”

  The last seemed intended to reassure him, but Argyll nodded anyway, aiming to make her comfortable. “I am glad. If it gets difficult, I hope that you will tell me?”

  Letitia’s smile this time was a little more genuine. Her eyes were back to sparkling in the way he had become so accustomed to. “I will. Thank you.”

  Argyll turned back to the rest of his meal, content.

  That contentment did not last through the next day. Anne was in with Letitia, preparing her for the ball, but Helena and Frederick had arrived to accompany them. Frederick was nursing a tumbler of whisky, and Helena was perched on the edge of the settee, her eyebrows raised.

  “Are you certain it is wise for her to come?”

  Argyll bit back the urge to snap. It was better to be diplomatic with Helena than antagonistic. “I would not bring her if I did not think so, Sister.”

  “Uncle,” Frederick said, with the air of someone who was determined to be better than everybody else. “I do not see how it would be good for the family name to have her attached to us.”

  It was not the first time Frederick had said something similar, but it was the first that he had been so brazen about it.

  “I was not aware it was up for review,” Argyll snapped, tucking his hands behind his back.

  Frederick, abashed, held up his hands, one still wrapped around the tumbler. “I did not wish to cause offence. I am merely worried about what society will think of her. She was not yet accustomed to our ways during the wedding.”

  “She will learn,” Argyll said with finality. “She has settled in well. I will not hear this from you again, am I understood?”

  There was a distasteful look in Frederick’s expression, but he nodded. “Understood.”

  “Benedict,” Helena said, ignoring custom. She was perhaps the only person in the world who could get away with calling him that, now that their parents were dead. “Frederick meant no harm. He is merely voicing what a lot of people are thinking. This girl is not meant for this life.”

  “That woman,” Argyll said, tone hard, “is my wife. You will afford her the courtesy and respect you would give to any in her position.”

  Helena looked just as unimpressed as Frederick and waved a hand. “Yes, though I am sure you cannot browbeat everyone into that way of thinking.”

  It was nothing Argyll had not already noticed for himself. Even though they had married in Scotland, by inviting people from London, he had inevitably opened their marriage to gossip. News had already spread to London that Argyll was marrying a commoner. He did not know just how much information had made it back to London, but he had heard nothing of the attack on Letitia and hoped that remained the case. He did not wish for that to be brought up in front of her.

  “It will be well,” Argyll said, wondering if that was to be his phrase of choice for the foreseeable future. “I will see that she is happy and comfortable.”

  Helena and Frederick said nothing more though Argyll could feel their disapproval. He tried to ignore it and was given a reprieve with Letitia’s arrival. Her gown was simple but beautiful. Her hair was styled to perfection, and Anne’s voice could be heard outside the room, bidding Letitia goodnight. Letitia nodded and then turned to the room at large, blushing when she caught sight of Helena. “Lady Lambert,” she said, bowing her head. “Lord Lambert.”

  “Duchess,” Helena said, and Argyll could hear the disdain in the title. It was disrespectful, but Argyll was tired of fighting them for the evening. He would have another word with her later.

  “Duchess,” Frederick said, and though he was more respectful in tone, he would not meet Letitia’s eyes.

  Letitia gave Argyll a smile. “Duke, shall we?”

  It was a little soon, and Helena and Frederick both looked surprised, but Argyll smiled at Letitia’s eagerness and nodded. “Let us take our leave.”

  The ride over to Grant Manor, where the charity ball was to be held, was silent but not oppressive. Letitia seemed keen to look out of the window, not yet accustomed completely to the London lifestyle. It had been a long time since Argyll had seen someone so fascinated by the city, and it made him happy that she was eager to see more. Though he noted with sadness, she was in no hurry to step outside and explore for herself. He did not know if that was because she did not wish to know, or that she was still overwhelmed.

  “Who is hosting the party?”

  Argyll had forgotten to tell his lovely wife. “Lord and Lady Grant. They often donate to a children’s charity.”

  “How much do we give?”

  Frederick made a noise, and Helena stared at Argyll with contem
pt. Argyll pointedly ignored them and sighed gently, taking Letitia’s hand. “We do not talk figures tonight.”

  Letitia looked startled, and then contrite. “I am sorry. Am I doing things wrong?”

  “No,” Argyll said more firmly after Frederick's cough. “You are still learning.”

  Letitia seemed appeased by his words. But as they stepped out of the carriage, Helena pulled him aside. “How many blunders are you to allow her? You know that people will talk.”

  “They already do,” Argyll snapped and ignored her. It was exhausting, fighting every angle, but he would not see Letitia unhappy. He was doing this to protect her, and it seemed that he was to be thwarted at every turn. He was trying desperately to keep her happy.

  Letitia was staring up at the manor, eyes wide, and ignorant of the people walking inside the manor casting her looks and whispering under their breath. Though she must have heard everything, not an ounce of fear or sadness showed on her face. She remained stoic, smiling bravely as Argyll offered her his arm.

  “Come,” Argyll said softly. “Let us make our presence known.”

  Chapter 7

  Left Outside

  Letitia did not like London society.

  The first ball had been a disaster. Though she had made the faux pas about the donation, she had kept her cool throughout the ball.

  Dancing with Argyll had been a nice change, and it had been warming for him to pay so much attention to her. He had disappeared quickly, however, with business to attend to, or so he told her.

  Lady Lambert added that there were people she must meet, and she quickly disappeared. Lord Lambert remained behind, but Letitia did her best to ignore him. She did not like him very much.

  There were many people at the ball, but Letitia could not bring herself to say anything to anyone. She was out of her depth, and they all looked down at her—some openly whispering, others hiding behind fans, hands, and just plain turning their backs on her. It was disheartening, but she did not let it bother her too much.

  After an hour or two, Argyll still had not returned, so Letitia sat at a nearby table, fiddling with the tablecloth and trying not to feel so overwhelmed. It had been fine, if lonely, at the house. She had Anne, who was lovely and kind, even with her sighs of despair every time Letitia did something wrong.

  Nobody seemed inclined to talk with her at the ball. Whenever Letitia made up her mind to say something to someone, she would flag under the expression on the person’s face as she took a breath to speak.

  When Lord Lambert sat down beside her, she felt some relief. “Lord Lambert, it appears that none of them like me.”

  “No,” Frederick agreed, with no attempt to console her. “Is it any wonder?”

  Letitia widened her eyes, shocked to be hearing such a thing. “My lord, I—”

  “They know your background,” Frederick said, waving a hand. His eyes were dark, black, and they made Letitia uncomfortable. “They know your secret.”

  Letitia had no secret. Except for their marriage being unconventional, but she could not imagine that would set people gossiping. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The fact that my uncle only married you to protect you.”

  Letitia felt cold, like a trickle of ice was running down her spine. She could not say anything, and Lord Lambert gave her a cruel smile before standing and leaving her alone at the table. Letitia had found herself unable to move until Argyll came to fetch her, startled at the look on her face.

  “Your Grace?”

  “I wish to go home,” Letitia said, unable to look Argyll in the eye. “If you must stay, I will journey alone.”

  Argyll seemed at a loss to understand, but he told her that she would do no such thing; if she was to leave, he would too. Letitia could not bring herself to explain when Argyll asked what had occurred. Lord Lambert was Argyll’s nephew and she would not cause problems between them.

  Though that was the only ball she attended, there were other social gatherings, functions, and dinners. Letitia smiled through them all, everything about her screaming to leave, to save herself. She could not bring herself to do anything but remain, standing by Argyll’s side, and take the protection and safety that he had offered her.

  Now that Lord Lambert had told her what people were thinking, it was as if every whisper, every taunt, and every look were meant to convey people’s distrust and dislike of her. Though the people of Inveraray had been dismissive of her, they had not been outright mean. They could not envision much of a life for her, and none of them had spoken to her, but Letitia would prefer that to London society’s cold words and looks.

  Argyll was not helping; he was out of the house more than he was within it, and he joined her only for dinner. It was enough to alleviate some of the despair, but not all of it. He was still content with their situation, but the longer it went on, the less Letitia wanted this life for herself. She was no duchess, she was simply playing, like Greta dressing up when she had been a child. Was that what the rest of her life was to be? Play acting at being a duchess and living with people’s scorn and irritation?

  That did not seem like much of a life.

  A few weeks into her married life, Letitia made a decision. When Anne came to help her ready for bed, Letitia was afraid to talk, though she could not contain herself.

  “I know people talk about me,” she said carefully, catching Anne’s eye in the mirror. “I know they do not like me.”

  Anne opened her mouth.

  “Do not lie,” Letitia said, quiet and calm. “Please.”

  Sighing, she watched her hands in Letitia’s hair, brushing it gently. “I would not, Your Grace. They are unaccustomed to you. They know you are from a less fortunate background.”

  “My father was a vicar,” Letitia agreed. “I know we did not have much in the way of money and means, but I did not think I was that bad.”

  There was a sad look on Anne’s face. “That was before they learned of your circumstances.”

  Letitia tried not to let the pain and anguish show on her face. It was as Lord Lambert had said. “I had hoped that by the duke marrying me, people would not let that colour their view of me.”

  “If only life were that way,” Anne said, apologetic. “I understand how tough it must be. My sister—” Cutting off, Anne turned back to Letitia’s hair, but she need not say anything more. Letitia could infer the rest.

  “I am sorry. It is not an easy situation.”

  “No,” Anne agreed. “I would never think ill of you, Madam, and these weeks have been wonderful. I don’t like to think you are sad.”

  Letitia smiled and let silence fall for a while, the rhythmic brushing of her hair soothing after the long day. “I wonder if this is the right thing for me.”

  Anne paused, blinking steadily at Letitia through the mirror. “I don’t know your meaning?”

  “Nothing,” Letitia said quickly, her words quiet. “Just musing aloud.”

  Anne held her gaze for a little while longer, but eventually she nodded, returning to the brush.

  It would be wise to keep quiet about her plans, Letitia knew. That way Argyll could not intercept her before her decision could be fully realised.

  Chapter 8

  Absence Makes

  the Heart

  Argyll entered the house, and something immediately felt different. He could not pinpoint exactly what was wrong, but as soon as the door closed behind him, he could see Anne and his butler, Graham, standing just outside the foyer, Graham with his hand upon Anne’s shoulder.

  “Graham,” Argyll said, and both Graham and Anne looked up. Anne had been crying. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m afraid not, Your Grace,” Graham said and whispered something to Anne. She gave Argyll a quick curtsy and disappeared towards the servants’ quarters. “There is a letter for you in the study.”

  Argyll frowned. “What is troubling Anne?”

  “She is distressed.” Graham sighed, approaching slowly, his
hands behind his back. “I am afraid it is not my place to say, Your Grace. I have been sworn by Her Grace to say nothing until you have read the letter.”

  “Graham, I demand that you tell me.”

  Graham’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Your wife has returned to Scotland, Your Grace.”

  Argyll had no idea what to say; his heart seemed to be hammering in his chest. Turning his back on Graham, he made for his study, fumbling for the obvious letter on the desk. Letitia’s cursive handwriting adorned the front.

  To my dearest husband,

  Clutching at the desk, Argyll dropped down into his seat, eyes scanning each line as if he could discern Letitia’s state of mind from the words alone.

  I beg your forgiveness that I must tell you this way; I do not think I could bear to tell you in person. I am so very grateful for everything you have done for me. I will never be able to thank you enough, but I fear that I can stay no longer. The people in London do not take kindly to me. Your sister and Lord Lambert cannot abide me. I cannot continue pretending that I am happy. You make me happy, Your Grace, but your world does not. I hope you can understand my decision. If you cannot, I hope you will accept it. Please allow me the chance to free you from your bonds to me and offer you the chance of real happiness with somebody else.

  I love you, Your Grace.

  Yours forever,

  Letitia

  It was to the point. Poignant. Heartfelt. All the emotions that Letitia had never been able to express to him in person. Had he made it that way? He had hoped he could make her happy, but instead, he was making it more difficult for her. Placing the letter on the desk, he stared out of the window onto the streets of London. Had she ever been happy, even for a moment?

  Argyll wanted to believe that this was for the best, but no matter how many times he tried to imagine his life with someone different, someone else, he could never make the idea stick. He had been trying to save Letitia, give her something that would alleviate the burden of being considered fallen through no fault of her own. He had failed in that. For her to want to leave and escape back to Scotland… something about her former life was more appealing than the one here with him, under scrutiny all the time.