Lavinia trailed off, her face bright red as she studiously looked anywhere other than at her sister, who wore a look of confusion.
“What’s not painful?” Isabella asked, before realisation dawned on her and her mouth opened in an “O” of shock.
“Oh Lavinia no,” Isabella began to giggle uncontrollably; “Please don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me tales of the marriage bed, I can see how uncomfortable it makes you. I am five and twenty, and an Aunt to three - I have some knowledge of what to expect!”
“Yes, well,” Lavinia cleared her throat, looking thoroughly relieved; “I did not want to send you off to Bedfordshire with no forewarnings.”
At the mention of her leaving for Bedfordshire after the ceremony Isabella fell silent. She would leave her sister’s home as a Duchess, a thought which would make most women delirious with happiness, but all Isabella felt was fear. What if Michael felt like he had been trapped into marriage?
There was no time to ask her sister her opinion, for the household Butler discreetly knocked on the door to let them know that their guests, the vicar and the Duke of Blackmore were waiting below.
Isabella was about to get married.
Not since his father’s death had Michael’s stutter been so bad. He had barely managed to force out his vows and “I do” without revealing his impediment to the room full of guests – whose numbers were few and were mostly family – his nerves were that bad.
In the carriage on the way to Bedfordshire his attempts at making conversation with his now wife consisted of him steeling up the nerve to speak, then clearing his throat awkwardly as the words got stuck in his windpipe. He felt as though he were choking on everything he wanted to say to her, the chief of which was “I love you”.
For goodness sake man you’ve been to war, his inner voice roared as he glanced longingly at Isabella seated opposite him. His new Duchess was pale – weather from nerves, the carriage ride or revulsion Michael could not tell. When they reached Blackmore Manor, after nearly four hours of travelling over bumpy country roads, they were both dusty and tired.
“Show my wife to the Duchess’ Suites,” Michael instructed the head housekeeper, whose name Mrs Butterworth, was at that moment too monumental to pronounce. Isabella glanced at him disapprovingly, critical of his apparent shortness with the staff.
“Thank you Mrs Butterworth,” she said as she followed the older woman up the sweeping staircase of the entrance hall. The eyes of the portraits which hung on the stairs all seemed to follow her as she went, approving of Michael’s choice of bride.
“Rowley,” Michael roared and the valet came scuttling across the chequered tiles to him, several hatboxes piled high in his arms.
“Yes, your Grace?”
“I’ll want a bath.”
Michael could hear his valet muttering mutinously about manners, as he climbed the stairs to his own rooms which adjoined Isabella’s. A bath would relax him, and afterward he would be of a sounder mind to talk with his new wife.
After he had bathed, Michael wrapped a large bath sheet around his waist and padded barefoot into his bed-chamber from his dressing room.
“I love you Isabella,” he muttered aloud to himself, practicing for when he would see her at dinner.
“I love you and I want to take you to my bed,” he continued in a loud voice, enjoying hearing his words echo back at him.
“You what?”
The slim figure of his wife stood at the door to his bedchamber, her face a picture of shock.
“I-I-I-…”
Michael swallowed a curse and did the only thing he knew he was capable of at that very moment – he made his way across the room in two long strides and pulled his wife into his embrace.
“I love you,” he whispered as claimed her lips with his own.
Isabella felt as though she were in a dream. She had pushed the door of Michael’s bedchamber ajar in order to confront him about “their situation”, only to find her husband half naked and confessing his love for her in a soliloquy.
“You what?” she asked in confusion, her heart barely daring to hope that what she heard was true.
“I love you,” Michael whispered as he kissed her, his arms wrapping around her in a strong embrace. His kiss deepened, and Isabella felt herself melt against his hard, naked chest.
“I love you,” he whispered again as he led her to the four-poster bed which dominated the room. Tenderly he kissed each piece of her flesh as it was revealed, groaning with longing as her clothes fell to the floor.
“I love you,” he said again, louder this time as he scooped her up and laid her on the bed. Isabella responded by drawing him close to her and melting against his lips.
It didn’t hurt, she reasoned afterward, when they lay together their limbs intertwined in Michael’s large bed. In fact, apart from a slight stab of pain initially it had been extremely pleasant.
“Are you sore?” Michael asked with worry as she moved underneath the bedsheets.
“Not at all,” Isabella said, a smile playing around her lips as she looked up at him; “I feel…wonderful. I’m just a little bit confused.”
“About what?”
“Why did you not tell me that you loved me before?”
“I,” Michael cleared his throat, took a deep breath and stared into the distance; “I have a stutter.”
“You what?” for the second time that day Isabella felt totally flabbergasted at what he had just said.
“I have a stutter,” Michael continued, looking most uncomfortable; “I can usually control it, but when I become emotional at all, it gets worse.”
“And I make you emotional?” Isabella tried to keep the note of delight out of her voice, her insides melting at the thought of this huge, intimidating man becoming so overwhelmed by his love for her that he could not speak.
“You do,” Michael said shortly, sounding annoyed, though Isabella supposed it was just how he controlled his stammer; “As I have told you several times, I love you Isabella.”
“And I love you,” she replied, her eyes twinkling as her husband, apparently so overcome with emotion that he could not speak, showed her physically just how much he loved her.
Thank you for reading
I hope you enjoyed reading Proposing to a Duke as much as I enjoyed writing it! Other characters, such as Lydia, Sebastian and the Marquis of Sutherland will appear in the next books in the Regency Black Hearts Series. Below you will find the first scene from my next book “Loving the Duke’s Brother”, which is due for release in May 2017.
Thank you again for reading,
God Bless,
Claudia Stone
Loving the Duke’s Brother
Aurelia St Claire was hopelessly lost, and worse, she was lost is the last place on earth any respectable young lady would want to be lost in – St. Giles’, London’s most notorious slum. Head bent, the young girl walked quickly through the dark streets, desperately trying to remember which way it was she had come, hoping that if she could just get to the Seven Dials, then she could find her way back to the more affluent areas she was familiar with.
The gin cellars that The Rookery was so notorious for were beginning to fill with people; hard-looking men in their cups spilled out from the establishments – if one could call them that – onto the streets. Many eyed Aurelia with lascivious looks as she passed, and nervously she gathered her shawl closer to her, as though the flimsy piece of cloth could protect her.
She did not belong here, and these men could tell that despite the plain clothes she had disguised herself in when she had fled her Uncle’s home, that Aurelia was of another class to them.
“Well, well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?”
A large, hulk of a man stepped out from a dark alleyway, planting himself firmly in her path so that Aurelia could not pass. His face was pockmarked, and his wide, cunning smile revealed many missing teeth.
“Excuse me sir I wish to pass,” Aurelia said, avoiding the man�
�s eyes, which were traversing her body most impudently.
“Oh, I couldn’t let a pretty fing like you go runnin’ off now, could I?”
Aurelia’s heart began to pound erratically in fear at his words, though she kept her features as calm as she could.
“I asked you politely to move out of my way sir, I will not ask again,” the commanding tone of her voice belied the fear she felt.
“An’ I said you’re too pretty to be going anywhere.”
The man lunged at her, grabbing her around the waist with arms as thick as tree trunks.
“No,’ Aurelia shouted, dropping her worldly belongings to the ground as she struggled to fight the man off. She kicked and screamed as loudly as she could, hoping that the drunks from the gin cellar would come running to her aid, but of course they did not.
The horrid man had thrown her over his shoulder, and was making down the dark alleyway he had appeared from, when a low drawling voice stopped him in his tracks.
“I believe the lady asked you to let her go Smithwick.”
The man turned around slowly, with Aurelia still thrown over his shoulder like a bag of coal.
“Mr Black,” the man gave a nervous chuckle; “What are you doin’ ‘ere?”
“I’m looking for you,” the response was deep and menacing; “Let the lady go Smithwick, and I promise I’ll play nice.”
The man quickly let go of Aurelia, who fell with a thump onto the cold, damp ground. Rubbing her bottom to quell the pain of her landing, she surreptitiously glanced at the man who had saved her. It was hard to make out his features in the darkness, but she could see that he was tall, much taller than Smithwick, and though he was not as broad, he certainly looked strong and dangerous.
“You owe me money,” Aurelia’s rescuer spoke again, his voice soft and chilling; “And what’s more there’s a Bow Street Runner by the name of Fielding who says you owe him a few years in Newgate Smithwick.”
Smithwick gave a grunt of anger in response to this statement. The thug rolled up his sleeves and began to pace threateningly towards the other man.
“Who do you fink you are?” Smithwick roared; “You ain’t nuffin but a bastard son of a Duke Black, you gots no right to swan about the Rookery, act’n like you’re a lord. You aint posh, you’re one of us.”
Aurelia clasped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from shouting in fear; Smithwick had picked up a large brick and was now menacingly approaching the man, who was clearly unarmed.
“Oh if I had a penny for every time someone called me a bastard,” the mysterious man said, standing nonchalant as the ruffian approached him.
“Why you’d be a very rich man,” another, almost jovial, voice called out; “But then you already are Black, so don’t be greedy.”
There was the definite sound of a pistol clicking, and the second man now approached Smithwick, the weapon gleaming in his gloved hand.
“You have two choices old fellow,” the man said, most pleasantly considering the circumstances; “Either I put a bullet in your head now – which I think I would rather enjoy, or you accompany me and Mr Black around the corner to Mr Fielding, who wants to have a little word with you.”
Smithwick, sensing that his options were limited, dropped the brick he was holding.
“Hands up in the air, if you please,” the second man instructed, and the ruffian willingly complied.
Aurelia watched quietly as the two men led Smithwick away, waiting for a few seconds to be sure of her safety, before she stood up and began to search the ground in the alleyway for her belongings which had fallen during her struggle with the awful man.
“Are you alright Miss?”
It was Black, she knew by his voice.
“I’m fine,” Aurelia snapped defensively, snatching up the last of her clothes, and stuffing them into the basket in which she had been carrying them. She needed to get out of here, and away from this man Black – the mention of Bow Street runners had given her a fright, surely her Uncle had alerted them that she was missing. Oh, what if she was found and returned to him?
“You don’t look fine,” Black said, casually stooping to pick up her favourite pearl pin, which must have fallen from her hair during her struggle with Smithwick.
“You also don’t look like you belong here, are you lost?”
The words were spoken with genuine concern, and as she reached out to take the pin he proffered, Aurelia decided that she could trust Black…well, trust him enough to get her away from St Giles’.
“Actually sir,” she said casually, as she tucked the pin back into her hair; “I have managed to get myself a little bit lost. You see I was due to begin work as a…scullery maid in Mayfair, but alas I seem to have lost my way. Perhaps you could furnish me with the directions?”
Black looked at her in amusement, a smile playing on the corner of his lips. He was sinfully handsome, Aurelia thought distractedly. He had a handsome aristocratic face, which was framed by dark black curls – though his eyes, despite his colouring were a violent shade of blue.
Mr Black looked at Aurelia, those blue eyes dancing with amusement as he gave an elaborate bow.
“I can do you one better - if you wish to save your feet the walk, my friend the Marquis of Sutherland has his carriage just across the street. We are returning to St James’ and Mayfair is just a small detour, we can drop you there on our way.”
The choice between trusting this Black fellow – who Aurelia could clearly tell had seen through her ruse, and being left to walk the cold, dark London Streets for the night was an easy one.
“That is most kind Mr Black,” she said with a bob of her head, aware that he seemed to be highly amused by her.
Once her consent had been gained, Black chivalrously took her basket, which was rather heavy, and led her towards the carriage, her arm tucked safely into the crook of his own.
*
“Does the Appleby’s home look familiar?”
Gabriel Featherstone, Maruis of Sutherlaand’s voice was dry with sarcasm as he watched the young lady peer out of the window of the carriage, her brow furrowed with annoyance. Sebastian bit back a bark of laughter as he observed the battle of wills going on between his oldest friend, and the mysterious young woman who was too stubborn to admit she was lying.
“No my Lord it does not,” the young lady in question said tartly, throwing Gabriel a dark look; “As I have told you it will be easier for me to gain my bearings on foot – if you can instruct your driver to stop, I can make my way myself.”
The trio had been circling Mayfair for nearly half an hour, in search of the young lady’s new employers. Her insistence that she knew where she was going, had been replaced by stubborn amnesia when the two men had informed her that they would be escorting her safely to the door.
“I think perhaps Miss Murphy,” Sebastian hid a smile at the girl’s ludicrous Irish pseudonym; “That you ought to take Lord Sutherland up on his offer of a bed for the night.”
Exhaustion had apparently taken a toll on her will, for ‘Mary Murphy’ gave a deep sigh and acquiesced with a nod of her head.
“As long as I am not being a burden on you,” she sniffed.
“Not on me Mary,” Gabriel winked; “But you’ll have to listen to Mrs Wilkes grumbling about what an awful employer I am, once we wake her up.”
Mrs Wilkes did indeed grumble at first, when the footman brought her to the drawing room where the trio were waiting. Courtney gallantly attempted to explain the circumstances at which Mary had come to arrive, well past midnight, at his St James’ home.
“Begging your pardon m’lord,” the kindly faced Mrs Wilkes said as he finished, wrapping an arm around Mary as she led her from the room; “But you’ve been ruining my sleep, every night for thirty odd years, I think it’s about time I retire – perhaps this young lady can replace me.”
Courtney gave Sebastian a dark look.
“If tonight leads to the early departure of Mrs Wilkes from my staff, I shall ne
ver forgive you Black.”
“I rather think she’s dealt with worse than this during her tenure with you as her employer,” Sebastian replied blithely; “Never fear Gabe, your stomach shall not suffer her loss.”
They sat in silence as they listened to the receding chatter of Mrs Wilkes as she led their new acquaintance up the stairs, to a guest bedchamber. Once they heard the definite click of a door closing they both turned and looked at each other with amused smiles; they had been friends for so long that they could almost read each other’s thoughts.
“An Irish scullery maid, with no scullery,” Gabriel laughed incredulously.
Sebastian gave him his usual wolfish smile, though internally he was troubled; why was such an obviously well-born young girl walking around the slums of St Giles’ at night?
“Do you think perhaps she’s a runaway?”
Once he had asked the question Sebastian knew instantly that it was true – though far from being a spoilt young woman trying to worry her parents, ‘Mary Murphy’ seemed genuinely afraid of being caught.
“I’d bet my best stallion on it,” Gabriel replied glumly; “But as you may recall, you already won him from me last week in Brook’s.”
“I shall call for breakfast Gabe,” Sebastian said as he stood to leaves, stretching his tall frame as he yawned; “And tomorrow morning we shall get to the bottom of this mystery.”
“Not too early mind Black,” Gabriel replied, his boyish face grumpy; “You keep forgetting that some of us don’t have to work for a living and aren’t used to rising early as you.”
Sebastian gave a sigh – he couldn’t stand the aristocracy, and if Gabriel wasn’t his oldest friend, he was sure he would despise him.
“I’m sure Mrs Wilkes will have something tasty to tempt you out of bed Gabe,” he said dryly, before mock bowing to the Viscount Courtney, and seeing himself out.
Proposing to a Duke: A Regency Romance Novel (Regency Black Hearts Book 1) Page 12
