Regency Romances for the Ages

by Grace Fletcher

  “You,” Marianne started, mouth dry as the highwayman lifted his head. The cloudy eye, the scarring curling out from underneath his mask. “Fife.”

  It was as if she was suddenly weightless; Fife moved around the dance floor with fluid motions, drawing her close and spinning her away, slipping between other dancers with an ease that Marianne marveled at. She wasn’t certain she understood the emotions currently pressing against her chest, and she sank into Fife’s embrace as if she belonged there.

  As they spun about, and Marianne caught Helena’s eye, she could see her best friend, hand pressed to her mouth. Beside her, Lady Christina was watching them, a wide smile on her face. Lord Fife and even the Duchess of Hertford were in attendance. Marianne could not understand what was happening. It was not until the song dipped, the last note echoing throughout the room, that she felt she could breathe.

  She wanted to run, that much she knew, but Fife had a tight hold on her hand. “Would you permit me one conversation?”

  Marianne nodded, knowing that at the very least, he was owed that much from her.

  They stepped out onto one of the balconies, and Marianne curled her hands around the rail, staring out over the grounds in apprehension.

  “I wish to apologize.”

  At Fife’s words, Marianne twirled, startled. “You have nothing to apologize to me for.”

  Fife did not look convinced.

  “Please,” Marianne said and clutched her hands to her chest. She gestured slowly towards Fife’s face. “I know that I have no right to ask, but may I–”

  There was a pause, and Marianne hardly dared hope that he would nod. Eventually, slowly, Fife took a step toward her. Marianne’s hands shook as she reached for the mask on his face, and gently she peeled away the fabric, letting it rest around his neck.

  Fife’s eyes dropped to the ground, but for the first time since she had seen him that night in the billiard room, Marianne looked at him—really looked. She touched her hand to his scarred cheek, thumb rubbing gently against the skin.

  “Is it painful?”

  Eyes raising slowly, a startled look on his face, Fife seemed struck silent for a moment. He recovered quickly; Marianne could see him swallow, and he blinked a couple of times. “Nobody has ever asked me that before.”

  “I am asking now,” Marianne said, keeping her tone gentle. “Though you do not have to answer if you are not comfortable.”

  Fife reached up to clasp her hands, but he did not remove them. He seemed to press a little into the touch. “They ache on occasion, but no, they have not hurt in a long time.”

  “But you still hurt,” Marianne murmured, almost to herself. She pressed her free hand to Fife’s chest, curling her fingers in his shirt. “I have done you a great disservice. I know what you must think of me.”

  “Try as I might,” Fife said slowly, brushing his hand beneath Marianne’s chin, eyes meeting hers unflinchingly. “I could do nothing but love you.”

  Marianne felt as if she could cry with relief and her own love, blossoming in her chest like a flower unfurling after the winter. “I am the one who should be apologizing. You must have thought me repulsed by you.”

  Fife said nothing, but she could see the hurt in his eyes.

  “I wrote to you. I thought of mailing the letter so many times, yet I never did.” Marianne sighed, hoping that her sincerity showed in her expression, her words. She needed him to understand that this was not out of anything he had done.

  “Your friend came to Hertford,” Fife admitted.

  Marianne’s shock was followed with relief; Helena had done this for her? “I will have to thank her.”

  “Later, I hope,” Fife said, taking Marianne’s hand.

  Marianne swallowed, finding the words she had been fighting for. “I am so glad that she did, for it was not until I had run that I realized what I was running from.”

  “I hope not from me,” Fife said, his voice strong, yet there was a touch of apprehension to his words.

  Marianne shook her head. “I did not understand what I was feeling. I hated myself for not being able to look at you, for not being able to afford you the respect and courtesy you were due. My heart broke to look upon you.”

  It was not the most articulate way of speaking, but Fife did not look offended, nor did he look uncomfortable. He was waiting, she realized, affording her the explanation she had hoped to give.

  “Whenever I looked at you, I ached to think of what people would see, how they would react to you. It was not,” she added, shamed, “the appropriate way to respond to those feelings, but I did not know then that the shame I felt was not toward you, but for you.”

  “Compassion,” Fife said, thumb brushing Marianne’s cheek. “A quality one should always look for in a person.”

  “I am just sorry that I hurt you and made you think it was you that I reviled.” Marianne closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. She did not know how to apologize for the miscommunication, nor for her inability to talk about her feelings in the way that would have cleared up the misunderstanding. “I hope you can forgive me.”

  Fife laughed, a gentle, clear sound. When Marianne opened her eyes, he was smiling at her, warm and open. He brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Miss Drake, I do more than forgive you.”

  Marianne’s smile grew in return, melting into his touch as he shifted her into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

  “I wondered if you would do me the honor,” Fife said, hand smoothing down her hair gently. It was awkward, given the mask and the intricate bun her hair was wrapped in, but he brushed a lock from her face, lifting the mask from her eyes. “Of becoming my wife.”

  Marianne’s breath caught in her chest and she realized that she was trembling. “Your Grace, I–”

  “My love,” Fife said, cutting effortlessly across her. “We can talk to your heart's content about what has occurred between us, though I would like to do it in the comfort of my own home, an estate in Fife surrounded by the countryside you love so much.”

  The idea of it stole Marianne’s breath. “Oh–”

  “I wish to know if you can look upon me as your husband,” Fife said, something vulnerable in his expression.

  Marianne had no hesitation. “I look upon you. I see you,” she said, once more brushing a hand to his cheek, running her fingertips over his scarring. His eyelids fluttered, and she wondered if, though it did not hurt, it was sensitive. “I love you, and it would be my honor to become your wife.”

  The expression Fife turned upon her at that moment made everything between them worth it. Happiness, she thought, as he drew her into another embrace and pressed a kiss to her mouth, was a good look for him, for them both.

  *** The End ***

  A Sister’s Love

  & Loyalty

  Regency Romance

  Grace Fletcher

  Chapter 1

  Seeing the Girl

  W alter Ridley, Duke of St Albans, hovered at the edge of the ballroom scowling at the crowd in front of him. It was not the place he wanted to be tonight. Albie would have much preferred to be at home nursing several glasses and getting drunk into the early hours.

  The Season was awful for him. Albie had never liked it before, and he certainly didn’t like it now. He didn’t know if it was because his father had died of internal bleeding after a riding accident at the start of his first Season. He had no idea if it was that this was the first Season after his mother’s passing. His strong mother had caught scarlet fever and was gone within a week. Albie had adored both his parents and was still struggling with the fact he, an only child, was alone.

  Or maybe he hated the Season because, right at the end of the last session in London, his fiancée had told him that she wasn’t in love with him and she was due to marry another man the next day. Albie had had no idea that he had been deceived. Now his former fiancée was parading around the ballroom, sporting a huge, glittering wedding ring as she hung off her husband’s
arm.

  But it was an order from a close friend to go out and show his face. Albie had been told that it was in his best interests to socialize. Albie didn’t believe it himself but he couldn’t really argue. He didn’t have the motivation to do anything. The death of both his parents and the betrayal of his former fiancée had sucked him almost dry.

  Albie was simply counting down the minutes until he could leave. Just another hour. That’s all he needed to do. Just another hour.

  “Why the long face?”

  Albie jumped, his heart leaping in his chest, and barely managed to hold back a gasp. He spun around and saw the grinning face of a tall, raven-haired man who looked like the cat that got the cream. Pressing a hand to his chest, Albie scowled and turned away.

  “For God’s sake, Portsmouth, don’t creep up on me like that.”

  Edward Chasen, Earl of Portsmouth, laughed and slapped his friend on the back. “It was only a joke. I thought you needed lightening up.”

  “I don’t want to be ‘lightened up.’” Albie glowered at the crowd who hadn’t paid any attention to them. They were far too busy wrapping themselves up in their own egos. “What do you want?”

  “Can’t I talk to my friend or am I supposed to skulk at the far end of the hall making eyes at you like several of the women here?”

  Albie then realized what he had just said. He was being unfair to Portsmouth. The man had stuck with him throughout childhood and both his parents’ deaths and Clarissa’s betrayal. Their friendship was solid but there were times when Albie wondered why his friend was still around. Evidently, Portsmouth had a thicker skin than he realized.

  He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, leaning against the wall. This resulted in a disapproving frown from a middle-aged woman in a nearby group who made the rest of her crowd look over with similar scowls. Albie raised his eyebrows at them, which resulted in the first lady sniffing and turning away with her nose in the air.

  “Forgive me, Portsmouth.” Albie folded his arms, still scowling. “I’m not myself this evening.”

  “I can see that.” Portsmouth leant beside him, snagging two champagne glasses from a passing waiter and handing one to Albie. “You don’t want to be here, do you?”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  Portsmouth chuckled. “Yes.” He sipped his glass. “What I don’t understand is why you’re here. You don’t have to be.”

  “I have to be.”

  “Why? You’re a duke. The only person you answer to is the Prince Regent. Why don’t you just go home?” Portsmouth gestured at the room with his glass. “It’s not as if you’re forced to be here.”

  Albie sighed, staring at his drink, which he hadn’t touched. “The Prince Regent was the one who wants me to be here.”

  “What?” Portsmouth blinked. “Really?”

  “Really.” Albie shook his head and glanced up. He could see Clarissa and her husband across the room, laughing with another similarly beautiful couple. “He thinks that since Clarissa and I are no longer engaged to be married that I should come back out into Society and search for another prospect, seeing as Clarissa already has a husband.”

  “Another prospect.” Portsmouth grunted. “So eloquently put. But why is he so invested in you, anyway?”

  “I think it’s his way of telling Clarissa she let a good one get away.” Albie shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  That was when he caught Clarissa’s eye. Clarissa’s smile momentarily faded, her eyes widening. Then the startled look was gone, she gave Albie a sneering look and turned her nose up at him with a flick of her hair. Albie didn’t feel as upset as he thought he would be, and that was a surprise. He had given his heart and soul to Clarissa, and she had crushed both and thrown them back.

  Maybe the woman didn’t have a hold over him as he thought.

  “Well,” Portsmouth finished off his glass and put it on a waiter’s tray as he went past. “You know the Prince Regent’s logic isn’t great at the best of times.”

  Albie winced and hissed at his friend. “Lower your voice, will you? People can hear us.”

  “So what? They’re only thinking what we’re saying out loud.”

  “I don’t want to test that right now.” Albie glanced at the crowd who had sneered at him earlier. “Not with those old biddies over there watching us out the corner of their eyes.”

  “They’re not.”

  “Sadly, they are.”

  Portsmouth grinned and smoothed his hands down his jacket. “Well, let them look. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  Albie laughed. His friend was a good-looking man and everyone was watching him. He could flirt successfully with a piece of furniture if given half the chance. He watched as Portsmouth winked at the biddy who had looked over first. The woman flushed and looked away, snapping her fan open.

  Albie glanced at the clock and groaned. “Great. I can’t believe I’ve only been here twenty minutes.”

  “Whoa. We must be boring.”

  They stood in silence for a while. Neither could think of anything to say and Albie had no desire to go and talk to anyone. Not after Clarissa had spoken to them. She was the one who had been courted by two men and hadn’t bothered to tell them of each other. From what Albie was aware of, her husband had no idea of what she had done. But he was aware. Very aware. And it was being flaunted in front of his face.

  He felt like a complete fool. What was he thinking letting the Prince Regent make him come here? The man himself wasn’t even here. Albie didn’t see why he should be there if the man who told him to come wasn’t present.

  “Fancy coming back to my place and we can have a bottle of whisky between us?”

  Portsmouth gave it some thought. But not for long. “Why not?” He shrugged. “There are plenty of other functions. Although I doubt you’ll get some nice window dressings again.”

  Albie frowned. Portsmouth was looking across the room with a sly grin. That told him that his friend had seen someone to his liking.

  “What are you talking…?” Albie’s voice faded when he turned and his eyes landed on the woman in question. His mouth went dry. Whoa. Tall, slim, and graceful in a simple white dress, red hair piled up on her head as she stood near the terrace windows talking to a plump, middle-aged woman. They were laughing.

  Albie was shocked to realize everyone else in the room seemed to have faded away. That had never happened before. Not even with Clarissa. Albie swallowed and his voice came out as a croak.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Christabel Townshend.” Portsmouth was looking at him with a grin. “She’s Baron Laurie’s ward. They took her in three years ago when her parents died. I think this is her first Season.”

  It had to be. Albie had never seen her before. He knew he would have noticed a redheaded beauty. There was something fresh and young about her that drew his eye. From the approving look in Portsmouth’s eye, he thought the same thing.

  He hoped he wasn’t about to fight his friend for a woman’s attention. Portsmouth always won.

  Portsmouth nudged him. “Leaving doesn’t sound so appealing now, does it?”

  “Not really.”

  Albie watched as the plump woman walked away and Christabel’s smile faded a little. Then she turned and started towards the windows, glancing over her shoulder as if she was worried someone was going to follow her. Albie jumped when Portsmouth nudged him.

  “What?”

  “Go and talk to her.”

  “Why me? Don’t you want to?”

  “I was planning to, but I think I’ll let you get a head start.” Portsmouth winked. “If you’re not in the lobby in ten minutes, I’ll assume the whisky-drinking is off.”

  Albie wasn’t about to argue. There was no chance of him passing off the opportunity to talk to a beautiful woman. That would make this evening less of a waste of time.

  He hurried towards the terrace. By the time he got to the garden, he could see Christabel disappearing behind a hedge in a mo
re secluded part of the gardens. Albie jumped down onto the grass and slowly approached the hedge.

  But when he got there, Christabel had vanished.

  Chapter 2

  Christabel’s Dilemma

  C hristabel was nervous. This was far too risky. But James had told her it was the only way to meet. If they did it at her house or in the street, people would begin to ask questions. James wanted to protect Christabel as much as he could, and Christabel knew she wouldn’t be able to lie if she was asked who he was.

  If he hadn’t argued with their parents when he reached adulthood, then they wouldn’t need the secrecy. Then again, if they hadn’t disowned James, and he was still in the Society world, she would be the first person they went to.

  James was a fool. Christabel knew that. He was a fool for having got himself into trouble in France. But Christabel couldn’t deny her brother anything. He was family after all. Her only close family. If he needed help, she couldn’t walk away.

  Besides, James wasn’t a bad person. Just unfortunate. Surely the constabulary would be able to see that.

  Tonight would be the first time in nearly three weeks that she had seen her brother. He had been keeping himself quiet and out of sight. But he needed more money, so he had to reach out again. Christabel wished she knew what he spent it on. The last batch she gave him was supposed to last him a couple of months.

  His spending habits were still awful.

  Christabel was deep in her own thoughts as she paced around by the maze. No one had seen her go and there was no one else in her part of the garden. Hopefully, they could do this exchange and hurry back inside before Baron Laurie noticed her missing.

  She didn’t notice someone come up behind her and touch her shoulder. Christabel let out a scream which was abruptly cut off when a hand clamped over her mouth, a voice she recognized near her ear.