The Deceptive Earl: Lady Charity Abernathy: A Regency Romance Novel

by Isabella Thorne

  “I was wrong to say it. And when I am wrong, I admit my misdoings.”

  “I too have been wrong about you, Lord Wentwell, You are not a rake. Not truly.”

  “Hush, woman,” he said. “You will ruin my reputation. Shall I prove what a rake I am?” He leaned in to kiss her, making her heart sing and her blood rush to her head. She felt dizzy with the passion of it. When she could breathe again, she said, “But you are not so callous as you would let on. You do have feelings.”

  “Feelings,” he said and he kissed her again.

  “You deny them, but you are not so cold as you would have others believe.”

  He held her a bit apart then and looked at her. His so green eyes bored into hers, and Charity thought to look down, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze, but Lord Wentwell took her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his, rubbing his thumb along her lower lip.

  “I did not tell you of my feelings, indeed, I have denied them even to myself. It is not easy for a man to admit to such things.”

  Her lips quirked in a smile. “Oh, so Lord Wentwell has found a game he will not play?”

  “Not so,” he said. “I have only found that the stakes are much higher than I ever thought. It is true that I have often worked to keep the upper hand in a relationship. That is because, my dear Lady Charity, the truth of the matter is, I am afraid. I am afraid to lose this wager.”

  For an instant Charity almost spoke, to tease him, to say, the daring and dashing Lord Wentwell, afraid, but then she realized he was speaking the absolute truth, and she reached up to touch his face. How was it that he was so strong and so vulnerable all at the same time?

  “You shall not ever lose me,” she whispered.

  “I have been afraid of showing my true self for a long time now. I did not believe that a woman could be trusted with such knowledge and so my initial intent was far from honest,” he said. “I knew you were the most beautiful, the most engaging, the most interesting of my acquaintances, and I thought only to turn your head, but then, you met me quip for quip and challenged me to be a better man, and I realized my own life would be less without you in it, because of the person you are, Lady Charity Abernathy.”

  He moved his hand from her chin to her cheek stroking it gently. “You are not like any other woman I have met. You are Lady Charity Abernathy, buxom and beautiful, but more. You have a kind and generous soul, and you have healed mine, Charity. I want to spend all my days with you, grow together and grow old with you and fill our house with children so that you will never have a moment to be lonely. Say yes.” But he did not allow her to speak. He kissed her sweetly, gently, and she smiled up at him. He did not even realize he had forgotten the most important part.

  “You will have to do better than that,” she quipped.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I think that you are really not at all good at this,” she said screwing up her face in a quizzical expression.

  “Please do not tease me,” he said. “I want to do better. To see a woman as more than a plaything. To see her…to see you. As a person. A person I love. Just as you are. The only transformation I should want to make, is to change your name from Abernathy to Collington. Will you be my countess, Lady Charity, and let me play this game of life with you and only you at my side?”

  “Finally,” she breathed. “Yes! There is no where I would rather be than at your side, Lord Wentwell, as your wife!” She wanted to tell him that she looked forward to joining his family to hers, to having his children, growing old with him, no matter what that entailed, and indeed being his countess too. She wanted to tell him she could never be lonely with him at her side. He was the other half of herself for which she had been searching, but she never got the chance.

  Before she could speak again, he swept her into his embrace with all the exuberance that she loved about him, and he was suddenly kissing her, kissing her with all the passion that she knew was inside of Neville Collington, rake extraordinaire, but he was her rake now, she thought as she felt his lips hot and insistent upon hers.

  The scent of him filled her senses and made her both weaker in the knees and stronger at heart. She felt her soul fill with love as he kissed her long and deep. She tasted him, as he wrapped his arms around her making her feel sheltered, and protected and loved, and he deepened the kiss. As her body turned to liquid heat, she found herself with the railing at her waist. His hands had moved from her waist, to cup her and pull her close. She could feel every inch of him, and she wanted him with all her heart, but she managed to pull herself from the passion. Her body was trembling; her head swimming.

  “No,” she whispered against his lips. “Someone will see.” She would not be embroiled in rumor. She would not prove his mother right. She would not be her own mother. She was herself, and she wanted something more.

  He broke the kiss and looked at her with dark passion in his eyes. “I love you,” he said. “What does it matter what someone else sees? What does it matter how the Ton twitters?”

  “And I love you,” she said, “but if I am to be your wife, I will not be the center of rumor. I have seen what this did to my mother. I will not be her.”

  “You are right, of course,” he said, putting an agonizing space between them. He brought his hands from places unmentionable, and smoothed her dress with a loving touch. “You are right. I forgot myself, Lady Charity.”

  “So did I,” she admitted with a glint in her own eye.

  He stepped away from her then as he spoke, almost to himself. “I should get a special dispensation so we do not have to wait weeks until the banns are read. We have waited too long already.”

  “No,” she said again. She felt bereft with the loss of his touch. “It will be hard, but we can wait knowing that we shall one day be in each other’s arms forever.”

  He blew out his breath and straightened his oh so tight trousers and then his jacket, pulling the cuffs at the sleeve. “Forever,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “Yes, it shall feel like forever.”

  She smiled up at him, as he took her hands in his. “Forever,” he said again. “There is no one else for me, Charity and I can wait for you.”

  “There is no one else for me, Neville,” she added as he leaned in and kissed her softly, sweetly, chastely, with oh so much tenderness, her heart was like to explode with love. His lips held all the passion inside of him. When he broke the kiss, and she could think again, she thought, I am not marrying a rake. Like Julia, I am marrying a good and kind man. Like Lavinia, I am marrying a man who loves me, and I love him. Nothing was more important than that. Then the thought appeared that she would have to wait nearly a month, while banns were read until she could truly have him fully in her arms. Dear God, she thought how had Amelia and Samuel survived her year in mourning?

  “A month. It is not so long,” she repeated, perhaps to convince herself.

  “Forever,” he said. He clasped her hands as if he did not trust himself to hold her in his arms.

  “Forever,” she whispered thinking a month was an eternity.

  He rallied, and pulled her back towards the ballroom. “Come. We will be missed,” he said, and although they were not quite ready to announce their engagement, Charity shared the news with her special friends, Lavinia squealed and hugged her, Julia promised that she would dance at her wedding, but Amelia and Patience just nodded sagely and said they knew all along that she and Lord Wentwell were made for one another.

  ~.~

  Epilogue

  Neville smiled as he entered the dining hall where his wife to be, his mother and her mother sat over tea and papers. Having The Dowager Wentwell and Lady Shalace sitting down in a civil manner was an amazing chain of events.

  “We were speaking of the wedding plans,” The Dowager Wentwell said to her son.

  It seemed to him that lately, no one spoke of anything but the wedding. His mother was in a state, and he wondered what the problem might be.

  “The Beresford wedd
ing was lovely.” Lady Shalace said. “I do not see a problem having the wedding here in Bath. I know you would prefer London, Lady Wentwell, but I am sure it would be so much nicer at Bath Abbey.”

  So that was it.

  “It is so old,” his mother said. “I really would prefer London.”

  They differed on the venue for the wedding. He knew he should just let the ladies be, but he also knew Charity wanted the wedding to be in Bath. “I do not think having the wedding in Bath will be a problem, Neville said, grinning at his bride-to-be.

  “But you are an earl, and she an earl’s daughter,” his mother intoned. “I just thought London…”

  “After all, Mother, you do know Charity is hoping to have her father walk her down the aisle. I think we should not wait too long,” Neville said. “And he does well here in Bath. He can take the waters the day before and then rest rather than taking a long carriage ride. Bath it is.”

  Charity’s mother chimed in. “I am sure it will be so much nicer to have the service at the parish here, in Bath anyway. All of Charity’s friends are in Bath, and I am not sure a large London wedding is a good idea. We should keep this a family affair if we hope to keep my husband and your son calm.

  Neville’s mother harrumphed.

  “Even the Bath Abbey is large,” Neville said. “It is quite an aisle to walk.” He sent Charity a questioning look.

  “But the Abbey is the Bath parish,” Charity said.

  “Then I will make no objections, Neville replied with a smile at Charity, if my bride truly wishes it. I am sure that the quieter church in Bath will be better for Edmund as well.

  “As you wish,” his mother said in a tight voice. She exchanged a look with her son, and Charity smiled down into her teacup thinking that Lord Wentwell had given his mother an ultimatum, be civil. Unfortunately Charity could give her own mother no such instruction, but she seemed to be on her best behavior anyway.

  “I do hope your brother will be settled enough to come,” Charity did not want to exclude Edmund, but it was taking fate in one’s hands to expect both her father and his brother to get through the service without incident. She was glad that Neville agreed it should be a small family affair.

  “Well if it must be in Bath, then we must make haste with the invitations, said Lady Wentwell. A number of the Peerage will still be heading back to London or still in Brighton and that is quite a ways to travel on short notice. It will be a hardship. I expect many regrets.”

  I am afraid you are right, Mother. The inns will all be full to bursting, Neville said. There always seems to be a crush at the end of the summer season. Perhaps we should try to move the date forward. I am sure I can get a special license. He gave Charity a wink.

  “Absolutely not,” Lady Shalace intoned. With your reputation, Lord Wentwell, can you just see the tongues wagging if Charity is married under a special license?

  “I can recommend an inn in Upper Nettlesford, Charity said. It is only a day’s ride from Bath.

  “I think that will quite do,” her mother said with a smile.

  “I see I am out maneuvered,” The Dowager Wentwell said, pouting.

  “And The Keegain Manor is not far from Bath either. I am sure The Earl of Keegain’s sisters will want to stay there,” Lady Shalace added.

  “You do plan to invite them, do you not?” Neville asked.

  “Of course,” Lady Charity said, thinking of all of her friends and how she wanted them to share her special day, even though quite often weddings were only family affairs. “And Julia is my dear friend. I was going to ask her to stand up with me.”

  “Of course you will have all the Ladies of Bath surrounding you,” Charity’s mother intoned. “I am sure it will be a beautiful day.”

  ~.~

  As it turned out, the day was not beautiful. It was windy and threatened rain, but nothing could dampen the joy in Charity’s heart. She was marrying her true love. Her friends were all here, and her mother stood teary-eyed and told her how beautiful she was, before she hurried to her seat in the parish church. Charity felt beautiful in a gown of blue silk, with a blue silk hat, trimmed with flowers. The neckline was decorated with Brussels lace, so that it was not too revealing, and a fine silk Spenser jacket was used for church, along with wristlet gloves. Afterwards at the wedding breakfast, she could shed the jacket if she became too warm.

  Her father stood beside her at the back of the church, while she peeked at her handsome husband who awaited her at the front.

  Lord Wentwell was splendid in his shirt of white linen and white silk cravat. His black cutaway jacket was open to show his white silk waistcoat embroidered with blue and green leaves. He wore black trousers, in his customary skin tight mode which was all the fashion, black stockings and black pumps. Charity thought he looked marvelous. She could still not quite believe that this man would be entirely hers by the end of the day. The thought brought a blush to her cheeks.

  “You look so like your mother,” Lord Shalace said. “Beautiful and glowing with love.” He patted her hand on his. “Are you nervous, Charity,” he asked.

  She smiled at him, exceedingly grateful that he was lucid today of all days.

  “Not at all, Father,” She cleared her throat. “Well, perhaps a little,” she admitted. There is so much that could go wrong, she thought. It could pour down rain any minute. Thunder could crash, and Neville’s brother could go into a frenzy. Her father could forget who she was and leave her alone in the back of the church. She had much to be nervous about, but not about the man she was going to marry. About Neville Collington, she had no doubts. He may be a rogue, but he was her rogue.

  Her father, misunderstanding her nerves, said, “Do not be so, Charity. Wentwell is a fine man, like his father before him, honest and generous to fault. Stern, when needed, but at his core, kind. I venture he will make a good husband, and a good father for your children.”

  “Father!” Charity said aghast, but the thought warmed her heart. She thought of her children with those startling green eyes. She would have beautiful children if they all looked like her husband, and she admitted to herself, she too would offer them something in beauty and in wit.

  “I hope you give him an heir,” Father said, “and many daughters, as beautiful as their mother.”

  “Are you sorry Mother never gave you a son?” Charity asked suddenly.

  “Only because you cannot inherit and I wished to give you the world,” her father said. “But no, Charity. Not really. No one could have been more of a joy to me, no matter your sex.” He patted her hand and asked, “Now, are you ready to meet your bridegroom?”

  “I am,” she said, as the thunder rumbled outside, and her Father took a step forward. She held her breath as the storm crashed, but Edmund stood tall and straight by his brother, and did not seem to be bothered by the loud noises. Perhaps, she thought, there may, one day be a cure for him. On this of all days, she wanted to believe in miracles, for the fact that she was marrying her true love was the greatest miracle of all.

  ~.~

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  Continue reading for a SNEAK PEEK of:

  The Duke’s Daughter ~ Lady Amelia Atherton

  by Isabella Thorne

  The Duke’s Daughter

  Chapter One

  With a few lines of black ink scrawled on cream parchment, her life had changed forever. Lady Amelia had to say goodbye, but she could not bear to. She sat alone in the music room contemplating her future. Outside the others gathered, but here it was quiet. The room was empty apart from the piano, a lacquered ash cabinet she had received as a gift from her father on her twelfth birthday. She touched a key and the middle C echoed like the voice of a dear friend. The bench beneath her was the same one she had used when she begun learning, some
ten years ago, and was as familiar to her as her father’s armchair was to him.

  Lighter patches on the wood floor marked where the room’s other furniture had sat for years, perhaps for as long as she had been alive. New furnishings would arrive, sit in different places, make new marks, but she would not be here to see it. Amelia ran her fingers across the keys, not firmly enough to make a sound, but she heard the notes in her head regardless. When all her world was turmoil, music had been a constant comforting presence. Turmoil. Upheaval. Chaos. What was the proper word for her life now?

  She breathed in a calming breath, and smoothed her dark skirt, settling it into order. She would survive; she would smile again, but first, she thought, she would play. She would lose herself in the music, this one last time.

  ~.~

  2 Weeks Earlier

  Lady Amelia looked the gentleman over. Wealthy, yes, but not enough to make up for his horrid appearance. That would take considerably more than mere wealth. He leered at her as though she were a pudding he would like to sample. Though it was obvious he was approaching to ask her to dance, she turned on her heel in an unmistakable gesture and pretended to be in deep conversation with her friends. Refusing the man a dance outright would be gauche, but if her aversion was apparent enough before the man ever asked, it would save them both an embarrassment. She smoothed her rich crimson gown attempting to project disinterest. It was a truly beautiful garment; silk brocade with a lush velvet bodice ornamented with gold and pearl accents.

  Lady Charity, one of Amelia’s friends in London, smiled, revealing overly large teeth. The expression exaggerated the flaw, but Charity had other attributes.

  “That is an earl you just snubbed,” said Charity, wide-eyed. It both galled and delighted Lady Charity the way Amelia dismissed gentlemen. Lady Amelia did not approve of the latter, she did not take joy in causing others discomfort. It was a necessity, not a sport.