Improper Miss Darling

by Gail Whitiker

  He paused, trying to gauge her mood. ‘Is there…anything else that’s making you unhappy?’

  Her sudden flush gave him his answer, but all she said was, ‘No. Why should there be?’

  He took a step closer. He couldn’t go on pretending that he didn’t care. ‘Perhaps because you are not the only one forced to keep painful secrets.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t you? You must know I’m drawn to you, Emma. That I think about you…far too much.’

  He watched her eyes darken in pain. ‘Lord Stewart, this is not a good idea.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ he said quietly. ‘My father asked me to counsel my brother as to the unsuitability of his relationship with your sister. I shudder to think what he would say if he knew I was also having to counsel myself against my feelings…for you.’

  It had to happen. Perhaps it had been building to this right from the start. But the inevitability of the kiss still left Emma breathless. She watched Alex slowly take a step towards her, felt the warmth of his hands as they closed around her upper arms, and watched his head bend towards her with unmistakable intent.

  AUTHOR NOTE

  Longing. What a powerful emotion it is. The desire for something—or someone—you cannot have.

  Today, there is very little stopping two people from being together, but in the Regency there were an endless number of obstacles standing in their way. Class distinction and the obligations owed to one’s family. A gentleman’s code of honour—for his promise, once given, was not lightly withdrawn. Not without incurring the wrath of his family and the condemnation of Society.

  Such is the dilemma facing Alexander, Viscount Stewart, and Emma Darling, the woman with whom he falls in love. A woman he cannot have without losing the respect of his father, the affection of the woman he is promised to, and the good opinion of the Society in which he moves.

  IMPROPER MISS DARLING is not a contemporary love story. It is a story about falling in love with the wrong person at the wrong time. It is a Regency love story. And it is about what two people desperately in love will risk to be together.

  Enjoy!

  About the Author

  GAIL WHITIKER was born on the west coast of Wales and moved to Canada at an early age. Though she grew up reading everything from John Wyndham to Victoria Holt, frequent trips back to Wales inspired a fascination with castles and history, so it wasn’t surprising that her first published book would be set in Regency England. Now an award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels, Gail lives on Vancouver Island, where she continues to indulge her fascination with the past as well as enjoying travel, music, and spectacular scenery. Visit Gail at www.gailwhitiker.com

  Previous novels by this author:

  A MOST IMPROPER PROPOSAL*

  THE GUARDIAN’S DILEMMA*

  A SCANDALOUS COURTSHIP

  A MOST UNSUITABLE BRIDE

  A PROMISE TO RETURN

  COURTING MISS VALLOIS

  BRUSHED BY SCANDAL

  *part of The Steepwood Scandal mini-series

  Improper

  Miss Darling

  Gail Whitiker

  To Donna Baspaly.

  A gifted artist, a wonderful friend,

  and a truly remarkable woman.

  Chapter One

  The three letters arrived on Lord Stewart’s desk within a few days of one another. Each had been written in the author’s own distinct style and each was intended to sway the reader to the writer’s assessment of a situation never before encountered: the unexpected engagement of Alex’s younger brother, Peter, to a young lady unknown to his family or to society at large.

  The letter from his father, the earl, had been typically bombastic—a strongly worded missive condemning his youngest son’s behaviour, throwing out words like duty and obligation and saying that such conduct was not at all in keeping with what he expected from a member of his own family.

  The letter from his mother had been more gently phrased, blaming the error of Peter’s ways on the impulsiveness of his nature and pleading with Alex to intervene before it caused irreparable rifts within the family.

  But the third and most heartwrenching letter had been written by Peter himself; a desperate outpouring of emotion inspired by his love for the lady to whom he had blithely pledged his troth, along with a request for Alex’s support in light of his father’s blatant disapproval and his mother’s resultant unhappiness.

  All Alex could think of as he reread the three letters was how remarkable it was that a single engagement could have spawned such a wide and diverse range of reactions.

  Still, he supposed it was only to be expected. Peter might not be first in line for the title, but he was still the Earl of Widdicombe’s son, and their father always had been a stickler for propriety. No episodes of drunkenness, excessive gambling, or contracting of unsuitable marriages had ever been permitted to tarnish the family name. Alex’s ancestors prided themselves on their ability to rise above such weaknesses, eschewing the vices that had crippled so many other noble families. They had been responsible family men and landowners for centuries, and, in time, Alex would follow in their footsteps and take up the role he had been groomed for from birth. Peter would likely settle into religion or law, either being an acceptable occupation for the younger son of a peer, and both would marry ladies of high birth and exceptional breeding suitable to producing children worthy of carrying on the line.

  At least, that had been the expectation until Peter had done the unthinkable by betrothing himself to an unknown girl from the country, who, in his father’s words,…while no doubt possessed of a pretty face, has absolutely nothing else to recommend her…

  Now it seemed the entire family was looking to Alex for a resolution, and time was of the essence since Peter was planning a family dinner for the coming week, followed by a grand ball and gathering two weeks after that at Ellingsworth Hall, his recently acquired country estate. And while Alex wasn’t sure anyone was up to the task of smoothing an entire family’s ruffled feathers in so short a time, he realised he was probably in the best position to try. If there was one thing at which he did excel, it was cutting through the layers of emotional chaos to get to the heart of the problem and resolve it before any lasting or serious damage could be done.

  ‘Godfrey, have I anything of importance scheduled for the next few weeks?’ he enquired of his steward.

  That impeccably groomed gentleman turned the pages of a large leather-bound diary and scanned the entries. ‘Nothing a few well-worded letters of regret won’t take care of, my lord. Why?’

  ‘It seems I am required in the country for a time.’

  ‘In the country?’ The steward looked at him askance. ‘Now?’

  ‘Unfortunately, my brother does not concern himself with the goings on in society. No doubt it slipped his mind that the Season would soon be underway.’

  ‘No doubt,’ Godfrey said, though his tone clearly indicated incredulity that anyone in the Earl of Widdicombe’s family should be so negligent in their planning. ‘I take it there is no chance he will change his mind?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘Very well. I shall prepare the letters and have them ready for your signature by this evening.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Alex paused, frowning. ‘When is Lady Glynnis due back?’

  ‘The twenty-fourth, my lord. A week Friday.’

  Friday. The day after his brother’s dinner to introduce the members of his family to those of the young lady he intended to marry. Pity. Glynnis’s presence would have gone a long way towards calming the troubled waters this first meeting was sure to stir up. His father liked Lady Glynnis Pettle. He h
eartily approved of Alex’s plans to marry her. And he was far less likely to fly off the handle or to embarrass Peter in front of a houseful of guests if she was there lending her graceful manners and soothing influence to the proceedings.

  Of course, there was always that other kind of soothing influence, Alex reflected. One his father was known to be particularly fond of…

  ‘Godfrey, have we any of the earl’s favourite whisky tucked away in the cellar?’

  ‘I believe so, my lord.’

  ‘Good. Have a case of that put in the carriage as well.’

  ‘I shall see to it at once.’

  Might as well go in prepared for all eventualities, Alex thought as he slid the letters into his desk and locked the drawer. If it didn’t help sweeten his father’s mood, it would certainly improve his. He could sit back and watch as the rest of his family battled around him, all the while thanking the gods of fortune and fate that love had not chosen him to be the unfortunate recipient of Cupid’s annoying little arrows.

  * * *

  If there was one thing Emma Darling longed for, it was harmony—the blissful absence of the emotional strife that turned one’s life upside down and made rational people do completely irrational things. Witness her Aunt Augusta. For the last three weeks, Emma had been staying with her aunt in Bath, listening to her go on about her daughter’s unhappy marriage and her son’s unsuitable bride, about the loneliness of her life and the scandalous affair her husband was supposedly having with the widow next door. When she became too emotionally overwrought to function, Emma had made the tea and run errands, baked Chelsea buns and read poetry, all in an attempt to console her aunt in what was obviously a very trying time.

  Then, without a word of explanation or thanks, Aunt Augusta had simply packed her bags and walked out, saying she was going to stay with a friend in Newport and that she wasn’t coming back!

  Not sure what else to do, Emma had hastily written letters to her cousins, explaining that their mother had gone to Newport and that it would be a good idea if one of them contacted her as soon as possible. Then she had written a note for her uncle with much the same message, adding that she would be leaving Bath the following day and returning home to Hampshire.

  Emma doubted he would care. She had scarcely seen the man since her arrival in the spa town three weeks ago. And had she known the state of affairs in her aunt’s house before boarding the coach, she would never have come in the first place. The only reason she had come to Bath was as a result of her father’s other sister, Dorothy, suggesting upon her arrival at Dove’s Hollow for her twice-annual visit, that Augusta ‘wasn’t well’ and perhaps seeing Emma’s smiling face would help lift her spirits.

  Aware now that it would have taken a Belzonian pulley to lift her aunt’s spirits from the abyss into which they had fallen, Emma closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief that she was almost home—back at Dove’s Hollow, where life was, for the most part, tranquil and uncomplicated. When she went downstairs in the morning, it would not be to find a middle-aged woman weeping into her tea, but her father, quietly perusing yesterday’s copy of The Times as though there were nothing of greater importance that needed to be done. Rory and Ranger, their two ageing spaniels, would be lying at his feet and there would be pleasant conversation, perhaps something of interest to be shared, until her younger sister, Linette, came downstairs to fill the room with chatter about hairstyles and dress patterns and whatever gossip happened to be circulating in the local shops the previous day.

  At that point, Mr Darling would pick up his paper and escape to his study for the rest of the morning, leaving his daughters to discuss the latest goings on in London and to speculate upon who was marrying for love and who was marrying to better their position in life.

  Emma, who tended to believe that everyone wed for material gain, would eventually finish her tea, bid her sister good morning and then go about her day. If the summer months were upon them, she would head into the garden to cut fresh flowers for the various table arrangements, or take a book into the shady recesses of the garden to read. In autumn, she would don her riding habit and enjoy a brisk canter along the leaf-covered roads, or collect apples from the trees in the nearby orchard. Once winter fell and the air grew chill, she might harness Bess and take the trap down to the village to shop for fabric, or, if too cold to go out, gather up her embroidery and settle in front of the fireplace to sew.

  But now in the spring, her days were devoted to painting, to capturing the myriad shades of the new season on canvas, from the pastel greens of the freshly burst buds to the delicate pink-and-white blossoms of apple and cherry trees. With brush in hand, she would venture into the garden and try to replicate the glorious panoply of colour all around her.

  Having to spend three weeks with Aunt Augusta at such a time had been agony!

  However, that was all behind her now, and with her brother away at Oxford and Linette in a lull between passionate storms, Emma had every expectation of life being uneventful. As the carriage finally rumbled to a halt in front of the old stone house, she found herself counting the minutes until she could escape into the peace and quiet of the garden with her easel and brushes—

  ‘Emma, dear, welcome home,’ Aunt Dorothy cried, appearing in the courtyard as the carriage door swung open. ‘Did you enjoy your stay in Bath?’

  Emma frowned. Aunt Dorothy was still here? ‘Not exactly, but I dare say you’ll be hearing why from one of your nieces in the not-too-distant future. But what are you still doing here, Aunt?’ she asked, climbing down from the carriage. ‘I thought you were to have gone back to London weeks ago.’

  ‘That was my intention, but there have been some interesting developments while you’ve been away and your father asked me if I would stay on a little longer.’

  Developments? Emma wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. ‘What kind of developments?’

  ‘You’ll see. Your father is waiting for you in his study.’

  Emma paused, arrested by the expression on the older woman’s face. ‘Aunt Dorothy, you look like the cat that swallowed the canary. What has been going on?’

  ‘I would love to tell you, my dear, but your father insists on giving you the news himself. But once he has, come to us in the drawing room and we will tell you all the things he has most likely forgotten.’

  Emma didn’t miss her aunt’s use of the words us and we. ‘Has this something to do with Linette?’

  ‘It has, but more than that I dare not say.’ She kissed Emma fondly on the cheek, smelling vaguely of sherry and peppermint, and then turned to lead the way into the house. Emma followed, wondering what could have happened to warrant such an inexplicable turn of events. Aunt Dorothy was not fond of country living. She only came to stay with them twice a year, saying it was the least she could do for her poor widowed brother and his three motherless children, but Emma knew she counted the days until she could return to London again.

  What kind of ‘development’ could have prompted her to stay on, and to look as though there was nowhere else she would rather be?

  * * *

  ‘Linette is engaged?’ Emma repeated after her father gave her the news. ‘To whom?’

  ‘Can you not guess?’

  ‘In truth I cannot. The only gentleman of whom she has spoken with any affection is Mr Taylor, but I cannot imagine that he…’ Emma stopped. ‘Never tell me he has proposed.’

  ‘Yes, and very sweetly, according to your sister.’

  ‘But…the youngest son of the Earl of Widdicombe? Why on earth would he propose to Linette?’

  ‘For all the usual reasons, I suppose. Apparently he is head over heels in love with the girl and cannot imagine life without her.’

  ‘Good Lord.’ Emma sat down in the nearest chair. ‘Did he really say that?’

  ‘He did, and naturally your sister is over the moon. There is to be a ball held in a few weeks’ time to celebrate their betrothal.’

  Emma’s eyes widened. �
�Not here!’

  ‘Good Lord, no, we are not nearly grand enough. The festivities are to take place at Ellingsworth Hall. I believe Lady Widdicombe is coming down to oversee the arrangements. That’s why I asked Dorothy to stay on. I thought it might be helpful for Linette to have an older woman to talk to. One who has…experience of marriage and would be able to offer advice in that regard. You understand.’

  Oh, yes, Emma understood. Educating a young girl as to the ‘expectations’ of marriage was a job that usually fell to the mother or married older sister; but in the absence of both, her father had obviously decided that his widowed sister was the best person for the job.

  Pity, Emma reflected drily. If her father had wanted his youngest daughter to learn about the expectations of marriage, he should have sent her to Bath. Linette would have learned a great deal more there than she had by staying here.

  ‘When did all this happen?’ Emma asked. ‘I’ve only been gone three weeks.’

  ‘The proposal was offered a few days after you left.’

  ‘And no one wrote to tell me about it?’

  Her father had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘We thought it best not to. We knew you would wish to come home at once and Dorothy felt it better that you stayed with Gussie.’ He tugged at his ear, a sure sign of his discomfort. ‘I understand she is having some…family issues.’

  ‘You could say that,’ Emma muttered, not about to go into the details. ‘Have you heard anything from Lord and Lady Widdicombe?’

  ‘Not yet. They are in London and no doubt very busy with the Season. But I expect I will be hearing from his lordship quite soon.’

  ‘I wonder what they think of this engagement,’ Emma mused. ‘Linette is the sweetest girl in the world, but the disparity between her social standing and Mr Taylor’s cannot be denied. I would have thought it an insurmountable barrier to marriage.’

  ‘As would I,’ her father agreed. ‘But young Mr Taylor doesn’t seem to mind and there is nothing one can object to in Linette. She is as lovely as a spring day and as sweet as custard pie, although perhaps a trifle naïve.’