The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  "I'm actually afraid of his lungs," Charlotte declared, sounding as though she were about to swoon.

  "And truly so am I; for he sometimes whoops like a speaking trumpet."

  Jonathan came bounding in behind Charlotte at this point, making her laugh with his hallooing.

  Thomas managed to recite his next line with a straight face despite his friend's antics. "Oh, there he goes. A very consumptive figure, truly."

  But Jonathan could not contain his own laughter, and the rehearsal stopped there.

  "You know, old chap," he remarked, chuckling, "the more I think about it, the more I realize that you are a lot like Mr. Hardcastle after all."

  Thomas gave a broad grin, not looking at all put out by the comparison. "I do respect some traditions, and I love the Castle."

  "And you do not let your wife run off to Town upon the slightest pretext," Jonathan noted quietly.

  He fixed Charlotte with his emerald gaze. "She is perfectly content here, are you not, my dear?"

  She quailed. "Yes, of course, Thomas," she replied meekly. Once again she heard the clanging of prison bars as she gazed at his handsome but inscrutable face.

  She knew she had to give her marriage time. Would need to find a niche for herself in his well-ordered household. It could certainly be a lot worse, she knew that now, reflecting that the Good Lord only knew what would have become of her if she had eloped with Herbert Paxton.

  As hard as she tried, she could find no flaw in her husband. Thomas was unfailingly polite to her-perhaps too much so. All of the warm regard he had had for her prior to the ceremony seemed to have evaporated, leaving a distant and mysterious stranger in his stead.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ironically, the distance Charlotte sensed between herself and her new husband appeared to grow the more time they spent with each other, she decided at the end of their second week of marriage.

  They had been in each other's company more than ever, but they were rarely ever alone, and she was always still shy and tongue-tied around him. Every moment of the day was filled with visits, entertainments, and projects, every night with company.

  She thought that things would settle down once the last of their houseguests departed, but if anything Thomas seemed more aloof than ever. She got occasional kisses on the hand, but most of the time when they were in the same chamber, the Duke was going over a list of things to do that day or week, and making suggestions as to how she could spend her time whilst he attended to business.

  Thomas insisted that she redecorate her rooms if she so chose. She protested they were fine.

  "They're lovely. What more could I want?"

  "Different fabrics, paper?" he suggested.

  "I like it exactly as it is. I don't have to have something new just for the sake of novelty."

  Thomas took her to the shops with her friends, but she could think of nothing she needed to buy. He would insist, and she would purchase fabric for the poor just to make the trip worthwhile.

  Finally she said to her husband, "Please, we don't have to go to the milliner's nearly every day. If I have any more clothes, I shall be an absurdity in the district. The gowns I have are all fine."

  "I just thought you might like something new. Now that you are a married woman, you can get away with other fabrics and cuts of gown."

  "What, shall I wear bombazine and satin? I shall come sailing into view like a ship of the line! And as for a better cut of gown, mine are just the right thing, I think. In fact," she said, blushing, "they are probably too decollete. I don't know what I was thinking. The last thing I want is all the men of the County to be ogling my chest as if I were something from the dessert table."

  He smiled, showing a clear degree of relief. "So long as you're satisfied."

  "I am, Thomas," she sought to reassure him. "I shall spend my time adding some lace to the gowns so as not to waste them. I have no idea what the modiste could have been thinking."

  "That they were for your coming out, for the Marriage Mart, and that they would help you make the best bargain," he said with a slight grin.

  "Well, I certainly made a prodigious one," she said, smiling at him. "Please don't create a problem or see discontent where there is none."

  Thomas had her frequently call around all of his special friends in the Rakehell set, but often what she really wanted to do was stay at home and spend time with him. The card parties, assemblies, balls, riding parties, every day there was a new novelty.

  Yet every day she grew more confused. She also began to feel as though she never wanted to eat again as long as she lived. Dining out so often, she was sure, was making her resemble a Christmas goose.

  After nearly a month of frenetic activity, she finally worked up the courage to ask her husband if she could remain at home for a change.

  "Are you ill?" he asked solicitously, testing her forehead with his hand as though she were a small girl.

  "No, just very tired. I do appreciate you taking all of this trouble to show me about, but honestly, I need a rest from all of the frantic social rounds. Can we not just find some time to sit and talk quietly, alone? Without a dozen people dancing attendance upon us?"

  "The life of a Duchess is a very public one," he said quietly. "You knew that when you married me."

  "But I enjoyed it when, well, when we also got to spend some time alone together." She blushed.

  He reached out a hand to touch her face, and she practically melted in his arms. He allowed himself a light kiss, but even that sorely tested his self-restraint. He knew his celibacy was self-imposed, and there were good reasons for it. But it did not make it any easier. Not when he longed to bury himself in her softness, lose himself in the delights of her lithe body.

  He wondered if his longing would diminish once he had finally made her his. He was terrified that it might not. He had never met any woman with whom he wanted to spend every minute of the day with. Day, and night.

  Especially the nights.

  He grimaced in disgust at his rakish thoughts. A wife was to be treated with respect, and here he was burning with lust for her. But the marriage ceremony talked about fulfilling that burning need. Surely if God had created the pleasure between man and woman, it had to be a good thing?

  All of his social rounds had been for the sole purpose of ensuring that they were never alone together. But for once he decided to let his self-restraint be damned. He needed her like a plant needed the sunlight. Charlotte brightened his day so considerably every time she came into the room that he could barely stay away from her. Why keep denying himself what he longed for more than anything? An increased intimacy which would finally lead to the ultimate bliss.

  He realised he was staring at his wife, and tried to recall what they had been discussing.

  Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. She could understand him being angry with her, but did he have to look at her with such distaste?

  "Very well, we shall stay at home today. I shall have the parlor fire made up, and we shall spend the day together."

  He was most assiduous in his attentions, tucking her up on the sofa in front of the fire with a selection of books and some tea and cakes.

  "There you are, my dear," he said, making sure her feet were well wrapped. "Better?"

  "Mmm, much better," she said with a contented sigh.

  "Charlotte, you would tell me if you were ill, or well, out of sorts. Indisposed?" he asked hesitantly.

  "I would. And will be in a few more days," she admitted with a blush. "But truly, I'm not sick. Please do stop worrying. All I need right now is a quiet coze with my husband."

  "What would you like to chat about?"

  "Why don't you read me one of the essays that you recommended recently?"

  He looked slightly doubtful. "Very well, if that would please you."

  "It would," she insisted.

  He searched the pile of books sitting on the small table near the sofa, and drew up a small wine colored footstool.


  "I think we may share the settee, do you not?"

  His eyes darkened slightly. "Yes, I'd like that."

  He took the far end, and placed her feet in his lap. They were thoroughly wrapped in the warm woolen blanket he had draped over his wife, but somehow the intimacy of the gesture made her feel almost naked.

  Once he was seated comfortably, he searched through the leather-bound volume.

  "Yes, here we are," he said a short time later. "Bacon's essay on Love."

  "It sounds, er, interesting," she said with a winsome smile.

  "It is a strange thing to note the excess of this passion, and how it braves the nature and value of things, by this; that the speaking in a perpetual hyperbole is comely in nothing but in love. Neither is it merely in the phrase; for whereas it hath been well said that the arch-flatterer, with whom all the petty flatterers have intelligence, is a man's self; certainly the lover is more.

  "For there was never proud man thought so absurdly well of himself as the lover doth of the person loved; and therefore it was well said, That it is impossible to love and to be wise. Neither doth this weakness appear to others only, and not to the party loved; but to the loved most of all, except the love be reciprocal. For it is a true rule, that love is ever rewarded either with the reciprocal or with an inward and secret contempt. By how much the more men ought to beware of this passion, which loseth not only other things, but itself!

  "There is in man's nature a secret inclination and motion towards love of others, which if it be not spent upon some one or a few, doth naturally spread itself towards many, and maketh men become humane and charitable; as it is seen sometime in friars. Nuptial love maketh mankind; friendly love perfecteth it; but wanton love corrupteth and embaseth it."

  "Hmm, I never thought of it that way before," she commented once he had finished.

  "What way, Charlotte?" he asked quietly.

  "That love loses many things, including itself. One can be prepared to throw all away for love, yet fall out of love again in the blink of an eye."

  "Ah, but that would be only the wanton type of love Bacon is describing. True love is eternal. And does not rely upon material circumstance or even the presence of the beloved in order to endure." He leaned forward to press a kiss upon her hand.

  "Do you really believe that?" she asked, her tone wistful.

  "Of course. Otherwise as soon as you went out of the room I should cease to love you."

  She colored up and bit her lip. "Thomas, I know you're a busy man, but--"

  "Yes, but what, my sweet?"

  "Do you think, well, you could read to me again soon?"

  He nodded and smile. "Gladly. Every night after supper if you wish."

  "Thank you. You're the very best of men."

  "You needn't sound so surprised," he said, looking a trifle piqued.

  She squeezed his fingers when he tried to withdraw his hand from hers. "Oh, I didn't mean it in a disparaging way. Not about you at any rate. It was rather an observation upon how kind you're being to me."

  He sighed and shook his head. "If not to my wife, then who? I can hardly preach to you about nuptial and friendly love and not practice it myself."

  "True."

  He smiled down at her. "Well, I'm glad you found this reading so thought-provoking. I shall mark out other passages for you to study each day, and we can discuss them whenever you like. Or any others I select if you think it would be of interest."

  "Yes, indeed." She almost blurted out that everything about him interested her, but instead asked if he wished for tea.

  Charlotte followed her husband's guidance and soon had the distinct impression that he was trying to tell her something.

  On their second night together in the snug parlor, he read the essay 'Of Nobility.'

  "As for nobility in particular persons; it is a reverend thing to see an ancient castle or building not in decay; or to see a fair timber tree sound and perfect. How much more to behold an ancient noble family, which hath stood against the waves and weathers of time! For new nobility is but the act of power, but ancient nobility is the act of time. Those that are first raised to nobility are commonly more virtuous, but less innocent, than their descendants; for there is rarely any rising but by a commixture of good and evil arts. But it is reason the memory of their virtues remain to their posterity, and their faults die with themselves. Nobility of birth commonly abateth industry; and he that is not industrious, envieth him that is. Besides, noble persons cannot go much higher; and he that standeth at a stay when others rise, can hardly avoid motions of envy. On the other side, nobility extinguisheth the passive envy from others towards them; because they are in possession of honor. Certainly, kings that have able men of their nobility shall find ease in employing them, and a better slide into their business; for people naturally bend to them, as born in some sort to command."

  Thomas caressed the tops of her feet as he read aloud, leaving her so distracted with the thrilling contact that she was unsure as to whether she had taken it all in.

  "So you're saying that even though I'm a duchess now, I don't have any reason to puff myself up with pride?" she asked hesitantly.

  He gave her an indulgent smile. "Just a little. And to make you re-think your definition of a gentleman.

  "Indeed. Ever since I came into your orbit I've done nothing but," she admitted with complete candor.

  His jet brows lofted skyward. "Indeed? I hope I have compared favorably with your other male acquaintances in some small points," he said stiffly, convinced she was referring to Paxton.

  "Oh, very much so," she said swiftly, though she missed the sharp look of unease in his eyes. "My father, for example, is a most admirable man, but also quite set in his ways. I believe that on the whole I am inclined to find your toleration and forbearance far more attractive and correct that his rigidity and narrow-mindedness."

  He looked surprised and rather pleased. "Thank you, my dear." His hand began to creep up to her ankle now, startling her with a whole new sensation throughout her entire body like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. Her whole leg jerked away before she could stop herself.

  "I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I should not have presumed--"

  "No, wait, Thomas, I--"

  "Let's have some music, shall we?" he suggested in a falsely hearty tone, rising quickly and already half way out the door on the way to his elegant Wedgwood sitting room.

  Charlotte sighed and cursed herself for her own skittishness. Just when he had started being more demonstrative, she had bolted like a hare.

  Others of the seeming messages to her were not quite so clear. The essay on promises, for example, eluded her.

  "Many ill matters and projects are undertaken; and private suits do putrefy the public good. Many good matters are undertaken with bad minds; I mean not only corrupt minds, but crafty minds, that intend not performance. Some embrace suits, which never mean to deal effectually in them; but if they see there may be life in the matter by some other mean, they will be content to win a thank, or take a second reward, or at least to make use in the meantime of the suitor's hopes. Some take hold of suits only for an occasion to cross some other; or to make an information whereof they could not otherwise have apt pretext; without care what become of the suit when that turn is served; or, generally, to make other men's business a kind of entertainment to bring in their own.

  "Nay, some undertake suits, with a full purpose to let them fall; to the end to gratify the adverse party or competitor. Surely there is in some sort a right in every suit; either a right in equity, if it be a suit of controversy; or a right of desert, if it be a suit of petition.

  "If affection lead a man to favor the wrong side in justice, let him rather use his countenance to compound the matter than to carry it. If affection lead a man to favor the less worthy in desert, let him do it without depraving or disabling the better deserver. In suits which a man doth not well understand, it is good to refer them to some friend of trust and judgment, th
at may report whether he may deal in them with honor: but let him choose well his referendaries, for else he may be led by the nose."

  She could only think it was a general warning to keep her word generally, with everything that she undertook. Still, she wondered a bit at why Thomas had recited that one to her. Was he implying that she wasn't keeping her wedding vows?

  As he sat cradling her shoulders in his lap that particular evening a week later, she found herself eagerly longing to keep all her vows. Yearning to pierce his calm exterior and see if any real emotion for her lay beneath.

  Likewise, the essay on suspicion he recited to her a week after that was equally vague.

  "Suspicions amongst thoughts are like bats amongst birds, they ever fly by twilight. Certainly they are to be repressed, or at least well guarded: for they cloud the mind; they lose friends; and they check with business, whereby business cannot go on currently and constantly. They dispose kings to tyranny, husbands to jealousy, wise men to irresolution and melancholy. They are defects, not in the heart, but in the brain; for they take place in the stoutest natures; as in the example of Henry the Seventh of England. There was not a more suspicious man, nor a more stout. And in such a composition they do small hurt. For commonly they are not admitted, but with examination, whether they be likely or no."