Regency Romances

by Grace Fletcher

  Chapter 5

  Companionship

  Cleveland was tired of his mother’s meddling.

  As she had predicted, he had wanted to cut the party short, his leg irritating him, and his chest tightening with anxiety about the amount of people. She had smoothly gathered the staff and started ushering people out of the estate. When she put her mind to it, she could get things done as quickly as she deemed necessary.

  It was not until Cleveland had retired to the library, waiting for his mother to join him, that he discovered how her meddling had come to fruition. She appeared an hour or so after he had fled but was not alone when she came.

  “And this is the library,” she said, obviously continuing her tour. Behind her was a young woman that Cleveland recognized immediately and managed to keep from uttering the admonition that he had on his tongue. “Oh, my apologies. I did not mean to disturb you, my son.”

  There were no apologies necessary, and they both knew it; his mother had deliberately led Miss Bell into this room. Cleveland gave his mother an unimpressed look and then gave Miss Bell what he hoped was a kind enough smile. “Miss Bell.”

  “Your Grace,” Miss Bell said, giving him a strained, if polite smile. “I hope this is not an imposition.”

  “If my mother has asked you here,” Cleveland said carefully, “then I have no doubt this is not an imposition.”

  Miss Bell nodded, her smile more genuine. “Then it is good to see you again.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Isabella said, clasping her hands together. Perhaps taking heed of her son’s displeasure or having concluded all on her own, she gestured to the door. “Let me show you to your room. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Miss Bell started, before the door closed on whatever else she said.

  Cleveland massaged his temples. He did not know why his mother had decided to invite Miss Bell to stay, but he could guess her motives after their conversation. Marriage was clearly on her mind, but Miss Bell was not someone Cleveland would have chosen pre-draft. Since he had been infirmed at home, he did not think he had the right to be so picky, but someone of Miss Bell’s standing deserved better than to be tied to him.

  “I know what you are going to say,” his mother said as she swept into the room. “And I do not wish to hear why it should not be done. I wish to hear your true thoughts.”

  “I have expressed them already,” Cleveland said. “It is not on me that you refused to listen to me.”

  Lady Isabella pursed her lips. “I listened to you. I am aware of how you believe you are seen by those around you. That woman currently staying in our home sees you for who you really are. I believe that was a requirement of your wife.”

  Cleveland sighed, pressing his fingers together and pressing them to his chin. “I believe you know well enough, Mother, that I would take any wife who would serve me well and make a good mother.”

  They lapsed into silence for a moment. Cleveland thought through the circumstances. Miss Bell was not beautiful in the conventional sense, perhaps, but she had an allure that he could not put his finger on. She had the temperament and intelligence to be a wife he could be proud of, but also someone caring and nurturing enough that she would bear him strong and intelligent children.

  “Fine,” Cleveland said. “She would make a suitable wife. Why do you care to make this match for me?”

  Isabella sighed. “I have my own reasons for wishing well for that child. She deserves better than she has received. On your part,” she continued, her eyes softening a fraction. “I would see you happy.”

  “And you think I would be happy with Miss Bell?”

  “I do not think you would allow yourself to be.” Lady Isabella looked apologetic, but Cleveland understood where her thoughts were coming from and he agreed with them at least on some level. He found it difficult to imagine himself happy, even with someone as appealing as Miss Bell. “But yes, I do think if you considered it an option, she would make you happy.”

  Cleveland nodded quickly. “Then I will think about it. That is all I can promise for now.”

  His mother looked satisfied with that, but Cleveland wasn’t sure he himself was. He could already feel himself giving in to the idea of being with Miss Bell, but he did not wish to give in quite so quickly. Perhaps spending time with together at the dinner the next night would be revealing. He would make his decision then.

  Chapter 6

  A State of Beauty

  The Cleveland Estate was beautiful inside and out.

  Though she had woken early, Frances could not spend any more time in her room and asked the staff it would be okay for her to walk the house and grounds. There was a little confusion but then word came from Duchess Isabella’s maid that she was being afforded all consideration and courtesy and her request was granted.

  Duchess Isabella had given her a cursory tour the evening before, but on her own, she was given the time to appreciate everything that she had left to see. There were too many rooms for her to see all of them, but she had time enough to see those downstairs. Aside from the ballroom and the library, there were plenty of other sitting rooms and studies, and even a room that she had no idea the purpose of. It was empty, and she supposed it was waiting to be filled with something, but she could not say what.

  The estate had a stable and a small paddock for the horses to run about in and sprawling gardens and land that would be perfect to explore either by walking or while riding. By the time she was done with her exploration, one of the footmen came to find her, informing her that breakfast was being served.

  Though she suspected she should have been tired, Frances only felt invigorated as she went in to breakfast, cheeks red from the chill in the air, peeling off her cloak and gloves.

  “I trust you had a good walk?” The estate manager, Luther, took her garments and smiled genuinely. Frances immediately liked his demeanor, and she supposed that anyone who worked for a woman as formidable as the Dowager Duchess had to be formidable themselves.

  “This is such a beautiful place,” Frances said, rubbing her hands together and giving Luther an appreciative smile. “Thank you for giving me directions.”

  “Whatever you need,” Luther offered. “I would be pleased to help.”

  Frances was directed into the dining room by a maid, and she could see Duchess Isabella already seated at the head of the table.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” Frances said, ducking her head. “Thank you so much for allowing me to walk around the grounds this morning. It was wonderful.”

  Lady Isabella smiled, genuine and wide. “I am pleased to offer it to you. I know living close to town cannot grant you many opportunities to explore the countryside.”

  “Hardly ever,” Frances said. She took a seat at the table, not used to eating with the aristocracy. Her parents entertained sometimes, but never at a duke’s estate. She could not deny that she was nervous, but Duchess Isabella was putting her at ease. “I am grateful to you for inviting me.”

  “You are welcome. It has been a long time since I have had another woman about the house,” the Duchess leaned in close, as if imparting some great secret. There was something about her tone that made Frances hesitate, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was.

  Before she could formulate a response, the door opened, and Cleveland walked in. He was dressed impeccably, limp prominent in his step and Frances could tell it was from the vigorous dancing he had done the night before.

  “Your Grace,” she said, and he inclined his head.

  “Miss Bell. I trust you slept well.” He took a seat on the other side of his mother, opposite Frances, and met her eyes unashamedly. He tilted his head to the left, and she nodded.

  “Yes, thank you. I had the opportunity to explore the grounds this morning. They really are beautiful.” Frances startled when the servants entrance opened with dishes of breakfast being brought into the room. She didn’t quite know what to do with herself, ducking out o
f the way and trying not to interfere with the serving.

  “Relax,” Duchess Isabella said, smiling warmly. “They will work around you, my dear.”

  Frances flushed but did as she requested and sat still in her seat. Once breakfast was served, she hesitated, waiting to see how both Cleveland and Duchess Isabella approached eating their breakfast. She was glad she wasn’t going to have to suffer through too much of this; it was painfully obvious she did not belong in this world if she couldn’t even get through a meal without hesitating over every action.

  “Miss Bell,” Cleveland started, glancing surreptitiously at his mother and then back to Frances. “I was wondering if I might have the pleasure of your company this afternoon?”

  It took every ounce of Frances’s self-control to not let her surprise show on her face. She swallowed her food and then nodded gently. “Yes, Your Grace, I would like that.”

  The idea of spending time alone with Cleveland was simultaneously terrifying and heart-warming. He was an intelligent man, and there was nothing she wanted more than to see just what he would talk about when they were alone.

  Duchess Isabella looked just as pleased though Frances didn’t know why. She suspected of course; she herself wasn’t stupid, and she understood that Catrina had been pleased to attend the party the night before because of marriage concerns, but part of her did not believe that Cleveland would ever choose someone like her when he could have his pick of society.

  “Begging your leave,” Frances said, when she had finished her breakfast. “There is still much of the house I would like to see, with your permission.”

  “You already have it,” Duchess Isabella said, waving her hand. “You need not ask again.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind company,” Cleveland interjected. “I was thinking of spending mid-morning in the library.”

  Frances smiled warmly. She loved books in ways that helped her further her education. She was not a huge fan of fiction, but she had a feeling that the Cleveland estate library would contain many a historical fact and research-heavy books. “I would be glad to.”

  The pleasantries imparted, Frances fled the dining room, afraid that she would allow herself the ridiculous notion that Cleveland wished to spend so much time with her because he was working up to marrying her. People in the gentry did not select someone like her for her looks or for her intelligence; they had a reason to marry, but it was difficult for her to come up with a decent reason.

  She discovered why his attention was so keen on her when they spoke in the library later that morning. Cleveland was attentive and kind, but he brought up children and mothering so often that Frances felt a little uncomfortable with his attentions. She was not reluctant. She had imagined herself as a mother on more than one occasion and it was something that she wanted, but to hear Cleveland’s interest made her certain she was here for that reason.

  “May I be presumptuous?” Frances asked, aware that she and Cleveland would be spending the afternoon together and she did not want their walk to be filled with talk of children.

  “Please,” Cleveland said, his gaze shrewd, hands clasped at the base of his spine. His leg was clearly hurting him, but he insisted on standing instead of sitting no matter how many times Frances told him to take the weight off. She would never stop being a nurse at heart, and she realized with a start that perhaps with all her discomfort at talk of children, perhaps Cleveland was tired of hearing about his injuries.

  “Is there a reason you have asked about my opinion on children?”

  “You are indeed very sharp.” Cleveland sighed, sitting in one of the chairs, and Frances blew out a breath that she had not realized she had been holding. “My mother is of the opinion that you would make a good wife for me.”

  Frances was mostly flattered though she also felt a rush of irritation that Duchess Isabella was involved. “And you?”

  “I believe the same,” Cleveland admitted, finally meeting her eyes. “I did not wish to. I have no interest in marrying. I am aware that I leave a lot to be desired as a husband, but I wish to have children.”

  There was a silence as Frances tried to collect her thoughts. It was a surprise that Cleveland was not deciding this out of propriety, but out of a sense of want for himself. She tried to imagine what wounds like Cleveland’s would do to her own mental health and found she could not.

  “I would not be opposed to marriage,” Frances said at last, surprising both herself and Cleveland. “I am not even opposed to becoming a mother. I am, however, opposed to only being that.”

  It was Cleveland who looked thoughtful, rubbing at his jaw, but holding Frances’ gaze. “I would never think of treating you with such disrespect. It is thanks in part to you that I am even here at all.”

  “That is a gross oversimplification,” Frances protested, though she could feel her face flushing at the praise. “Though I thank you for the compliment.”

  “It would be my honor,” Cleveland continued, reaching out and holding Frances’s hand tightly when she offered it. “To have you as my wife and adhere to your wishes.”

  Frances smiled and squeezed his hand in return. “Then I accept your proposal.”

  Chapter 7

  A Joining

  Duchess Isabella was in the sitting room when Frances and Cleveland returned from their walk. Though they had already discussed the wedding going forward, there had been a lot to talk to about; Frances wanted to know Cleveland better before she committed, and Cleveland wished to know more about Frances. It had been a mutual conversation and Frances had enjoyed herself immensely.

  Now, faced with Duchess Isabella, Frances was nervous once again.

  “Mother,” Cleveland said, leaning forward to kiss his mother on the cheek. “I trust you had a wonderful afternoon.”

  “I have been reading,” Isabella said, shifting her gaze from Cleveland to Frances. “And I hope your walk was fortuitous.”

  “As you no doubt know,” Cleveland said with a knowing smile.

  Frances inclined her head. “Your Grace, it seems I have accepted a proposal from your son.”

  Duchess Isabella clasped her hands together, a smile breaking out on her face that was stunning. She really was a beautiful woman. “This pleases me greatly.”

  Climbing to her feet with a smoothness and effortlessness that was surprising for a woman of her age, the Dowager Duchess drew Frances into a cheek kiss, and then held her at arm’s length.

  “Your Grace,” Frances said cautiously. “I hope that my parents are as kind in their correspondence.”

  “If they are not,” Duchess Isabella said with a warning, “you shall not know about it.”

  There was a surge of affection in Frances’s chest at the protectiveness in Duchess Isabella’s tone. It was a foreign feeling, but she was pleased enough to hold her tongue on how she felt about her parents.

  “I will begin the talks with your parents,” Duchess Isabella said. “Now the dinner this evening will be a cause for celebration indeed.”

  When Frances and Cleveland had departed the sitting room, Isabella sat back onto the sofa, pressing a hand to her mouth. She had little doubt that Harold Bell would make this difficult for his daughter, and she could almost imagine the letter that would arrive.

  She was proved correct in her assumption when the letter arrived a few days later. It bore Harold’s seal, and she sighed. A man who had little money to his name, but a lot of self-importance, was just the kind of person who would have a seal with no meaning.

  The letter itself was short but not slight on content. Harold was demanding an impressive dowry. Isabella was furious with the assumption. It was tradition that the bride should bring the dowry, but Harold had clearly forgotten that. The fact that he wished to have a portion of the fortune his daughter would inherit by marriage was abhorrent and Isabella would have to be diplomatic in how she handled it.

  Though she had yet to inform Frances, Isabella was well acquainted with Harold and Marla Bell and how they
treated their daughters. Their youngest was indeed the parents’ child, but Frances had, somehow, managed to escape that fate. She was well-mannered and kind and had helped to treat men during the fighting. If there was ever to be a perfect match for her son, Frances Bell was it.

  However, Isabella was not unaware of the friction between Frances and Cleveland. There was a barrier there they would have to cross. Her son was very independent and irritated with the need to marry at all, and she could sense Frances’ reluctance to be a wife only because she would also be a mother.

  Isabella would have to find a way to reconcile the two of them and also keep Harold and Marla in line. Someday, she thought, relaxing back into the chair and studying Harold’s letter intently, her duty would be done, and she could live the last of her days in comfort.

  Though she wished to take time, she could not keep the letter’s contents from her son. Isaac was in the study, working, but Isabella was always privy to come in while he was doing so, and knocked on the door.

  “Mother,” Isaac said, putting down his pen. “Is everything well?”

  “Unfortunately, not,” Isabella said, handing over the letter.

  Isaac read the letter carefully, his expression changing only minutely as he read, brow furrowing. “Why is he hoping for a dowry from us?”

  “He treats his daughters like commodities,” Isabella explained. “It is how he has always been, and I fear he will not change at this late stage. Frances is a means to an end for him.”

  “I assume you have an opinion on how to approach this?” Isaac asked. His gaze was hard and though he appeared nonplussed, Isabella knew that he was angry. She could see it in the firm line of his mouth, the furrow in his brow that was still prominent.

  Isabella perched on the edge of one of the chairs in the study, resting her hands in her lap. “I know that Miss Bell will have her own opinions on how to address her father, I do not wish for him to have access to any of the fortune. The marriage contract will be clear; the Bells will not inherit anything from their daughter.”