It was brazen talk, but Argyll had killed a man to protect Letitia this night, and he was in no mood to chastise.
As Argyll entered the sitting room, laying Letitia gently on the sofa, he tucked her hair back from her face. Her eyes were open, staring off somewhere he could not describe, and her hands were clenched against her chest. She looked terrified but did not rouse as he spoke her name.
Mrs Fenway knelt beside him, her old bones cracking a little, but she made no complaint. Touching Letitia’s cheek, she brushed a thumb against the skin just underneath her eyelid. “Your Grace,” she said gently. “Come now, child, and look at me.”
There was a moment where Argyll despaired enough that he contemplated calling for her family, but Letitia blinked once, twice, and then focused her eyes on Mrs Fenway.
“Mrs Fenway?”
“Aye, lass,” Mrs Fenway said, her lips curving into a rare, honest smile. “Would you sit up for me, Your Grace?”
The title seemed to jolt something in Letitia and her eyes shifted to Argyll. She sucked in a breath, sitting up quickly enough that she pressed a hand to her eyes, groaning.
“Take it slow,” Mrs Fenway said, rising to sit next to Letitia on the sofa. “You are safe.”
Letitia’s hand dropped away, and slowly she looked Argyll in the eyes. “That man—”
Argyll swallowed thickly, shame heating up his face, and he tucked his hands behind his back, attempting to gain control of himself. “I saw what he was doing,” Argyll said, gesturing at her scrunched and dirty dress, “saw what he might do, and saw red. I could not help my reaction, Letitia. I apologise if I scared you.”
His wife was strong, Argyll thought, as Letitia straightened a little in her seat, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Did you kill him?”
There was a pause, wherein Letitia could have determined the answer for herself, but she seemed to want him to say it to her. With a sigh, Argyll turned away from her looking out of the window. He had been so preoccupied with getting Letitia back to the castle that he had not taken the time to examine how he felt about his actions back in the alley.
He understood that he was justified in everything he had done—he had been concerned for Letitia, and he would not see her hurt at the beggar’s hand. Still, he had never been given cause to harm someone, let alone kill anyone. “I did.”
Argyll did not know what to do. The act of taking someone’s life had seemed the right thing to do, but he had been so angry—he tried not to think about the look in the man’s eyes or the way he had sounded as he crumpled to the ground.
“Your Grace.” Letitia’s voice sounded closer than it had, and as he turned his head, he could see her at his elbow.
“I am sorry,” Argyll said, looking her in the eye. He owed her that much at least. “I would not have been so angry if he had not been touching you.”
Letitia’s expression did not change for a moment. She held his gaze, stronger than he would have given her credit for, but she rested a hand on his arm, squeezing. “Thank you. For saving me again.”
Argyll nodded, swallowing thickly, taking her hands in his own. “I am glad I found you before he could do anything.”
A cloud passed over Letitia’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She sighed. “I had hoped that you would contact me about the annulment—”
“I don’t want an annulment,” Argyll said quickly, turning to face her. Her eyes were wide, and she looked sad.
“Your Grace,” she started.
“Please hear me out.” Argyll waited for her nod and then touched her cheek with his hand, gently and with as much love as he could muster. “When you left, I was devastated. I had let things get out of control, and I will never forgive myself for leaving you unhappy for so long.”
Letitia’s warm eyes and the soft ‘o’ of her mouth showed her surprise. “You did not owe me anything.”
“As your husband,” Argyll told her seriously, squeezing her hand with his, “I owed you happiness at the very least. I did not see how distressed you were becoming at the way you were being treated. I turned my back for too long.”
“You are not mad that I left?” Letitia asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
“No. I am mad at myself for not fighting for you. I did not know how I felt about you, Your Grace. I wanted to help you, to make sure that you were happy and safe. Now I understand that I had not been kind to you in accepting my own feelings.”
Letitia looked a little confused. “I do not know what you are saying to me.”
“I love you,” Argyll said bluntly. Letitia’s eyes widened in surprise again, and she took a step back, covering her mouth. Argyll refused to let her actions be a sign that she was trying to get away from him or hide from him. “I fear it may be too late, that your mind is made up, but I would very much wish for you to remain my wife. I wish to start again with you, as Duke and Duchess of Argyll, proper.”
Letitia did not say anything for a long time. Argyll gave her the time and space she needed, having bared as much as he was able. His chest was tight with apprehension, and it was not often that he found himself afraid, but this was one of those moments.
“I love you,” Letitia said slowly, curling her hands back into Argyll’s. Her smile reminded him of her acceptance of his proposal, what should have been the start of their life together. Instead, this moment would suffice as their promise to each other, of his to protect her from everyone who would see her ousted. “Of course I will remain your wife.”
There was a shadow in her eyes that did not dissipate, however, and Argyll could easily place why it was there. He brushed the hair from her face, smiled as she leaned into the touch. It was obvious, now that he was staring at her, that she had been so very unhappy in London. There was a brightness here, in the castle, about her face and her bearing.
“London,” Argyll started and affirmed his assumptions as the light dimmed a little. “I fear, it is too much for me.”
Letitia took a moment, startled, but there was a hope to her expression that had Argyll smiling. “Your home is there.”
Argyll shook his head, gesturing with his free hand around them, and dropping his to take her hand. Letitia clasped it tightly as though grounding herself to this moment. Argyll could empathise; his heart had quickened, and his lips and throat were dry from his nerves. Who would have assumed that it would be so difficult talking to the person you love? “My home is here, in Scotland. With you.”
If he had thought her smile bright before, it was nothing to the expression on her face now, as grateful and happy as he could ever remember seeing anyone. He leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. Letitia’s grip tightened on his hand and she breathed out slowly. “I love you, Your Grace.”
Epilogue
Letitia’s heart was fit to burst.
Upon her decision to remain married to Argyll, Mrs Fenway had returned to the room, neither of them sure when she had taken her leave. She announced that Henry, the young man who had heralded her arrival at the castle, was back to inform them that there was to be an inquiry into the beggar’s death, but there had been enough witnesses to Argyll’s actions and the state of Letitia after the event, that they doubted any charges would be brought.
For the first time that night, Letitia and Argyll shared a room. It had been innocent and chaste, Argyll curled around her protectively, and she had slept soundly in his embrace. It was everything she had imagined and more, and she was grateful for having left Argyll—if this is what she gained in return.
The next morning over breakfast, Mrs Fenway informed them that Letitia’s father wished to see her.
“We shall invite him here,” Argyll said, giving Letitia a small smile. “If he has the time, of course.”
Mrs Fenway nodded decisively. “I will inform him immediately.”
“My sister,” Letitia started.
“Of course she shall come,” Argyll said, reaching a hand across the table to squeeze her hand. “Your stepmothe
r too. Though,” he added gently, “I can see that it causes you distress to be around her.”
Letitia had never felt able to talk candidly about her family life, but it was safe within these castle walls. Her home, Letitia realised slowly, and a permanent one at that. “After my mother died, I think she found it difficult raising a child who was not her own. It does not matter now,” she said, raising her head to give him a bright smile that she felt right down to her toes. “I have you now.”
“Indeed,” Argyll said, a smile teasing at his lips.
They turned back to their breakfast, and Letitia was looking forward to seeing Greta and her father and letting them know the good news. She was sure her stepmother would be pleased, but she refused to dwell on the reasons why.
As lunch pressed closer, and Letitia once again accustomed herself to the castle, she was called down to the sitting room where her family were waiting. Greta’s smile was huge, and catching sight of Letitia in the doorway, she bounded over, grace and decorum seemingly forgotten in the moment.
“Greta,” Rebecca snapped.
“It is all right,” Letitia said, as Greta paused mid-step and looked down at the floor, shamed. “Just this once.”
Greta grinned, leaping at Letitia and wrapping her arms around her middle. “You’re duchess for real again?”
Letitia met Argyll’s eyes over the top of her sister’s head. “Indeed I am.”
“Does that mean I have to call you Your Grace?”
“It could,” Letitia agreed, though she pressed a finger to Greta’s nose carefully. She leaned down to whisper in her ear. “When we are alone, perhaps we shall call each other Letitia and Greta, as we are used to.”
Greta giggled and pulled away. As she turned on her heel, she bowed low at the waist. “Your Grace.”
Argyll looked at Letitia quickly before returning the bow. “My Lady.”
It was unnecessary and improper, given their status, but Letitia’s heart was full of love for her husband.
Greta stared, eyes wide, and clapped her hands together. “I am not a lady!”
“Who says?” Argyll said, affecting a look of mock outrage. “To me, you are a lady.”
Greta giggled again and bounded over to her mother, who drew her to the sofa, whispering furiously about rules.
Letitia tried to ignore it, instead turning to look at her father, who had been watching the exchange quietly. “Father.”
“Are you well?” he asked, clasping her arms gently, eyes running over her form. “When Mr Ford told me what had happened to you—”
“I am well,” Letitia assured him, allowing the kiss to her cheek. “Your Grace saved me.”
Her father gave Argyll a nod, appreciative and welcome, and sighed. “It is well, then. It is one thing to hear that you are safe, another to see it with my own eyes.”
Letitia allowed her father’s hug and then stepped away. Argyll held out his hand and Letitia’s father took it, and their grips looked strong.
“I am grateful to you,” Letitia’s father said, resting his free hand atop their joined ones. “For both saving her, and for being her husband.”
Argyll nodded but said nothing more.
Letitia slipped closer to her husband and leaned in close as he wrapped an arm around her, confident and careful in front of her family.
“Will you be leaving for London?” Letitia’s stepmother’s expression was difficult to read, and Letitia couldn’t tell which outcome would suit her better.
“No,” Argyll said, giving Letitia a gentle squeeze. “It is much more beneficial for the both of us to remain here, in Inveraray.”
Greta’s happy exclamation, and her father’s relieved expression was everything Letitia needed at that moment. This, she realised, staring up at her husband’s face, was what true happiness felt like.
*** The End ***
a christmas
concert
for the duke
Regency Romance
Grace Fletcher
Chapter 1
One Tired Singer
The theater had been packed. Catherine Patrick was used to performing to a full auditorium, but tonight there seemed to be standing room only. The first opera performance of the month and everyone had come to see the beautiful soprano who had captured everyone’s hearts over the last three years.
Catherine was used to the scrutiny – she had been brought up with it all her life – and she threw herself into her roles. Society adored her, just as much as they had her mother, who had also been a singer before she died at the age of forty. A lot of pressure had been put on Catherine to fill her shoes – Charlotte Patrick’s older daughter – but Catherine had thrown herself into it.
If only she didn’t need the ridiculous gowns to go with it. They seemed to be getting even bigger than the previous season. Catherine was surprised she had managed to stand up in the one she was currently wearing, let alone walk in it. As it was, she was stumbling to get back to the dressing room, her arms full of flowers and her cheek muscles hurting. Smiling came naturally to her, but extended encores had her feeling like her face was going to split open.
It was a relief to get into the dressing room that had been set aside solely for Catherine. Louisa was already there, sorting out the rest of the flowers that had been sent to her room. She smiled at Catherine as the soprano almost fell flat on her face entering the room.
“More flowers? You were popular tonight.”
“I swear all the flowers in London are in here.” Catherine passed the flowers across to her sister before sagging onto her chair by the dresser. “Would you mind helping me with this wig? Some pins are sticking into my scalp.”
“One moment.” Louisa put the flowers aside and hurried to Catherine’s aid, carefully removing the pins before easing the wig off of Catherine’s head.
Catherine felt the pressure go, and she slumped in relief. “Thank you. That feels so much better.”
“I can tell.” Louisa laughed. “Your hair is all sweaty and covered in powder.”
Catherine made a face in the mirror. She knew it was going to take a lot of hot water to get rid of that. “I’m sure these wigs are going to be the death of me.”
“You look beautiful in them, Catherine. They become you.”
“Have you worn one of these lately? The wigmakers must be making them bigger and bigger.”
Catherine didn’t like to make a fuss, but she was sore and exhausted. She just wanted to go home and slip into bed. Even the thought of reading her favourite book wasn’t tempting, just the thought of climbing into her bed and sleeping until the sun was high in the sky.
At least she had Louisa. Her sister was a saint, and she carried out her tasks without fuss. Coming from a family of musicians and singers, they had grown up doing things without complaint. Louisa wasn’t a singer, but she was a beautiful musician. She had a talent that Catherine couldn’t even begin to imagine possessing. Even with all the music engagements Louisa had in her diary, she still came to the theater to help her older sister out whenever she was performing.
Which was every night right now.
Catherine rubbed at the tight muscles in the back of her neck as Louisa put the wig on its stand and began to sort the flowers into vases that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
“Where did you get those from?”
“I anticipated there were going to be lots of flowers, seeing as it’s the opening night, so I asked cousin Mary if I could use some vases in her shop.” Louisa shrugged. “I’ll get them back to her in the morning. She can sell the flowers again.”
Catherine laughed. “I’m glad you can find something to do with them. This room is starting to smell like a flower shop.” She wrinkled her nose. “I used to love flowers, but the scents are getting on my nerves now.”
“Well, you are the star of the show.” Louisa sorted the roses into a green vase. “You are the famous Catherine Patrick. Everyone loves you and wants to show their appreciation for
your talent.”
“Everyone?”
Catherine hadn’t realised she had said anything until she saw the knowing expression Louisa shot in her direction. She sighed and turned away, wishing she hadn’t said anything now. Louisa understood; the two sisters shared everything, and Louisa knew how much Catherine wanted a life that wasn’t so much under scrutiny. She just wanted to be a normal person.
Being talented had its drawbacks.
Louisa squeezed her shoulder, kissing her sister’s head.
“Careful, you’ll get covered in powder.”
“It’ll come off.” Louisa giggled as she wiped her mouth. “It tastes awful.”
“Serves you right.”
“You’ll find the man of your dreams one day, Catherine. You’re a beautiful woman. I know you will.”
“Thank you for your biased opinion.” Catherine frowned up at her. “And what makes you think I’m concerned about finding the man I want to marry?”
“Because I’m your sister. I know you. You want to marry and have a life that isn’t completely involved in music.”
She really did know her. Catherine was glad that she didn’t have to explain it. Louisa understood all too well. They loved their music and their singing, but it did consume their lives. Catherine was getting tired of it. She wanted something else to occupy her time, like another pastime or a family. With her life solely focused on music, it was starting to lose its magic.
How her mother had managed it for years, Catherine had no idea.
“Maybe you could take a break.” Louisa suggested. “Go for a holiday on the coast.”
“I wish I could.” Catherine sighed. “But I can’t right now. It’s December. The Christmas season is always the busiest. I’ll be working right until after the new year.” Then she snapped her fingers as she remembered. “Which reminds me: I’ve got an invitation to sing at the Duke of Newcastle’s residence tomorrow night.”
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