A Marquess and a Secret: Regency Romance (Gentlemen and Brides)

by Joyce Alec

  Sarah stared at me, mouth agape.

  “I cannot even explain it,” I went on. “I have never felt anything like it before. It was as if I have known him all my life.”

  “But you do not even know his name…” Sarah repeated, more sadly this time. “Is that not infuriating? Do you not want to know who he is?”

  “It is quite strange, but that has not bothered me quite as much as I thought it would. Something is awfully romantic about the mystery, is it not?” I grinned, resting my chin on my hands. “If we truly are meant to be together, and I believe we are, then we will find each other again.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes, but she smiled at me. “It is terribly romantic, I must admit,” she said. “And I am quite impressed at your boldness, sister.”

  “Boldness?”

  “Kissing a man all like that,” she replied. “Now I understand why you wished to keep this a secret from Mother and Father.”

  “They might think that something more has happened, or fear that someone might consider me tainted.”

  Sarah nodded. “It was only a kiss, though…”

  “Exactly,” I replied. “Even still, Mother and Father would certainly never understand. It would be considered a scandal, and Mother would cry, and Father would scold me…”

  “It does seem to be wise to keep that from them.”

  “It is not that I want to lie to them,” I insisted. “I just do not believe they would understand the connection that he and I have.”

  “No,” Sarah agreed. “They probably would not.”

  I continued. “When I finally do meet him properly, and we become engaged, then we can all laugh about it together.”

  “True,” Sarah said. “It is not as if you are going to keep it from them forever.”

  “I am just not going to cause them any undue stress.”

  “Good,” Sarah said. “Yes. This is a good plan.”

  We both sat back in our chairs and stared into the fire.

  “I do not think that I had ever heard of a more romantic encounter,” said my sister, her voice wistful. “Not even in a storybook.”

  I beamed at her. “It was more perfect than I could have imagined.”

  “And during the Christmas season,” she added. “It is the most magical time of the year.”

  “It is like the most wonderful dream,” I said joyfully, sighing. “I do not think that I have ever been quite so happy.”

  And then the two of us dissolved into a fit of giggles, laughing so hard that tears filled our eyes and our breathing came in gasps.

  We both jumped when the door to the library was opened.

  Father stepped into the room, buttoning one of the buttons on his jacket.

  “There you are, girls,” he said, smiling at us both. “Grace, my dear, could you please come with me to my study before you go with your Mother into town? There is something very important that I need to discuss with you.”

  I exchanged a nervous glance with Sarah.

  “Of course,” I said, rising from the chair. My voice was stronger than I felt.

  He turned and walked out of the library, and I followed closely behind him, fearfully wondering if he had somehow overheard everything I had just told Sarah, and what consequences would be awaiting me if he had.

  3

  My father’s study was a finely furnished room. Dark mahogany bookshelves lined the back wall, and his desk was adorned with carved ivy and leaves. Overstuffed red velvet armchairs faced the desk, and a large window overlooked the back garden. It smelled of warm leather and ink.

  I had spent many hours as a young girl tucked into those chairs, watching him answer letters and read. He always allowed Sarah and I to sit there as long as we were quiet and read our own books.

  But as I now sat down in one of the armchairs facing his desk, it was with apprehension instead of curiosity.

  Father seemed unaware of my discomfort as he took the seat behind his desk, clearing a few books from his view and then looking across at me.

  “Well,” he said, “you are probably wondering why I requested this time with you.”

  The tips of my fingers were frozen with nervousness, and I forced my hands to stay still in my lap.

  He smiled at me, and then he brandished the letter in his hand. “I received this letter this morning, and I think its contents will interest you greatly.”

  I relaxed. He did not know about the masked man. I could not have been happier.

  “Why do you say that, Father?” I asked, sitting up more comfortably in the chair.

  He unfolded the letter, and after putting on his spectacles, he began to read.

  “Lord Graystone

  I was pleased to receive your letter. All is well here, and we hope that your family is in good health. After our discussion, I do believe we should move forward with the union. We know that our son will see the match as an amiable one. We also would love to accept the invitation to further discuss this with your family for Christmas dinner…”

  He looked up at me expectantly. “The rest of the letter is business, nothing you would find enthralling.”

  “Who sent the letter, Father?” I questioned.

  “Lord Walford.”

  My eyes widened, my heartbeat quickened.

  “Is that…” I took a deep breath. “The Marquess of Walford?”

  “It is indeed,” Father said pleasantly, refolding the letter and laying it down on the desk.

  My mouth had gone dry. Match? Son? It could not mean what I thought it might, not after everything that had happened…

  “Is the letter talking about Sarah?” I asked hesitantly, despite already knowing the answer.

  He laughed softly. “No, my dear. It is about you.”

  “I…” I began, shifting uncomfortably. “I do not understand.”

  “Lord Walford and I have been in discussions about a possible union for months,” he said, as he patted the letter affectionately.

  I stared at him.

  “How is it that I have heard nothing of this before now?” I asked, a touch of anger in my words.

  “I did not wish to get your hopes up of a match before it was certain, my dear,” Father replied, misreading my reaction entirely.

  I shook my head. “I still would have preferred if you had involved me in this decision,” I continued. “I do not even know this man. Or his name!”

  That is quite ironic, I realized with a stab of regret.

  “I can see how this would be disconcerting, Grace, but I assure you, Lord Walford’s son is a very upstanding gentleman.”

  I crossed my arms and fell back against the seat, feeling my cheeks start to burn.

  “Well, allow me to tell you a little bit about your betrothed,” Father said, opening the letter once more.

  I sat straight up. “Father, do I not have a say in this?”

  “In what?” he asked, replacing his spectacles.

  “In whether or not I am to be married!”

  He blinked at me, confusion creasing his forehead. “My dear, I thought that this was what you wanted? To be married to a well-connected, respectable man?”

  “It is,” I began, and then hesitated. “I do…”

  I felt as frozen as a lake in the heart of winter. Everything before me shifted like sand beneath my feet. How was it that moments before I was happier than I had ever been in my life? Living in a dream, reminiscing the magical evening at the ball as if it were happening right in front of me, giving me hope and encouragement.

  The man in the mask… In such a short time, he had become the very ideal man for me. Never did it cross my mind that another could take his place, that another would be forced to take his place. Instead of looking for the man of my dreams, I was going to have to marry a man that I had never met, a man I knew nothing about.

  It was not as if I had known the stranger in the mask better than I knew the stranger. But there had been such a depth between us, so much unspoken affection, that it was hard to
ignore. Incredibly so. How could I go through the rest of my life without knowing who that man was, and what it could have been like to be with him?

  Regret as I had never known washed over me, making me keenly aware of the fact that it had been my fault that I did not know the man’s name. I had every opportunity to ask him, to discover the truth, but allowed myself to be whisked away in the romance of it all, the magic of the night.

  How foolish I was.

  “His name, and official title, is The Lord Henry Fortescue,” my father went on. “He is the second son of the marquess, and quite wealthy, the heir of a great inheritance from his family. Lord Henry comes from a long line of intelligent men, and I have heard that he is quite an avid reader and enjoys hunting on occasion.”

  Father knit his fingers together and leaned across the desk toward me.

  “Darling, are you well?”

  I looked up at him, my eyes wide and my cheeks hot. “Of course,” I responded.

  I smiled, though I knew that it must look forced.

  “He really is a good man,” Father continued. “I know how strange all of this must be, how sudden. But I promise you, and I hope that you know, that your mother and I would never allow you to be matched with someone who was less than perfect for you,” he said. His blue eyes twinkled merrily. “You deserve nothing less, of course.”

  I did smile in earnest this time, at least a little.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  “I understand that the idea of marriage is quite startling, and even exciting,” my father added. “I think that you will find that…”

  But the rest of his words were lost to me.

  It was as if I had just been woken from the most wonderful dream I had ever had in my life. The sort of dream that you never want to wake up from, but as soon as you do, it starts to fade into nothing more than a memory.

  Was that all that night of the ball was going to amount to? A memory? Was I just supposed to bury those feelings, so recently realized, so that I could wed a man just to appease my parents?

  Nothing I could say to Mother and Father would make them understand. If I were to mention the man at the ball, they would ask why I was so attached to him. I would have to confess the kiss, and that would evolve into a very uncomfortable argument. And if I were to simply tell them that I found him quite enticing, they would ask who he was, and when I could not answer, they would move on just as swiftly.

  It did not matter. I was trapped with no escape.

  The realization of that truth settled heavily on my heart. I was foolish. And what did it lead me to? This room with a broken dream and a broken heart.

  All the possibilities and all the excitement were gone from my body.

  And they left a great hole inside of me.

  “Grace, dear, you look rather sad.”

  I looked up again.

  “Is it perhaps a bit of nerves?” my father asked.

  I tried to look happier for my father’s sake, but it was quite a struggle.

  “Perhaps,” I responded. “All of this is just very sudden. I think that I might need some time to get used to the idea of being engaged.”

  It was hard to say that word: engaged.

  Father seemed pleased, and he rose to his feet. “Take all the time you need. At least, until our Yuletide dinner, when you will be meeting the gentleman.”

  I attempted to smother the fear rising in me.

  “I should go find Mother and see when she wants to leave for town,” I said, also getting to my feet.

  Father inclined his head. “Quite a good idea, my dear.”

  And I excused myself from the study.

  Out in the hall, I attempted to hold myself together as I rounded the corner leading to the conservatory. Once I knew I was alone, and that Father would not be walking by, I leaned against the wall and rested my head against its surface.

  Taking deep, steadying breaths was not helping nearly as much as I hoped it would.

  What had I been thinking? Did I truly believe that I could somehow end up with this mystery man? I had been ridiculous and childish. Had I not realized that eventually a proper suitor would appear in my life? With my father’s connections and standing in society, it was only a matter of time before I was matched up with a suitable gentleman.

  As a viscount’s daughter, it was very fortunate that I was marrying the son of a marquess. My betrothed was the second son, meaning he would not inherit his father’s title or vast fortune, but as my father said, Lord Henry was wealthy and came from a prominent English family. I had always believed my parents would allow me to choose my future husband, but my father did have my best interest in mind.

  The match was truly a splendid one. Even in my miserable state, I could understand that this union was desirable, and that any woman would feel blessed to be marrying the son of a marquess. I would be happy and comfortable for the rest of my days. I could acquire the latest fashions from London, perhaps travel across Europe. My children would be privileged by their father and mother’s connections, and they would be well educated and want for nothing.

  And yet, I was forlorn. Why did it still feel as if I had to sacrifice one life for another one? Why did it feel as if the life that was only a possibility was more desirable?

  This engagement allowed me to know that my future was secure. With the masked gentleman, none of that was certain. There was no guarantee that I would ever see him again, let alone be able to have a life with him.

  Was it possible that the only reason he was so charming, so romantic, was because I could not see his face? Did he have no fear of consequence when we danced, and when we kissed? Did he cast aside propriety for a night in hopes of being able to live as an anonymous person?

  Something in my heart told me that was not true. I could not believe that the fire I had felt between us was not real, that he had not felt it as well.

  I sighed heavily and pulled myself away from the wall. That was enough feeling sorry for myself.

  That night at the ball had been wonderful. It had been magical, and I would cherish that memory for the rest of my days.

  Life did not always turn out like a story. Romance and love did exist, but it was very likely that what had happened at the ball was just infatuation—not likely to ever manifest into a happy marriage.

  I had to grow up. I had to be realistic. Life was not some romantic fairy tale. It was about duty, honor, and learning to love someone. Choosing to love them.

  I could do that. Perhaps this Lord Henry would be handsome. I hoped that he was kind and caring. It would be wonderful if he had a good sense of humor.

  The possibilities were endless.

  I realized that I should tell Sarah what Father had told me. She would wish to know. And maybe she could help me to see that this was a good match for me, that I should not worry nor grieve about what could have been.

  On the other hand, she was just as excited as I had been about my masked stranger from the ball.

  When I was a young girl, no one had told me that love was this difficult. Part of me wished that I had never met the mysterious gentleman, that I had never danced with him. It would make this news of betrothal much easier to handle, and it would be a much more joyous occasion in my life.

  I had two weeks to forget about the man at the ball. Two weeks to make my peace with what had happened and attempt to convince myself that he was not all that I had made him out to be in my mind. Two weeks to come to terms with the idea that I was going to be a bride to someone I did not even know yet.

  I started back down the hall toward the library, hoping that Sarah was still there. What an emotional day it had been. When I had risen that morning, I was the happiest woman in the world. When I went to sleep that night, I would be more confused than I had ever been in my life.

  I had to give Lord Henry a fair chance. That was the mature choice. I did not want to meet him embittered and angry. That would not be a very kind introduction. I had to be my prettiest,
happiest self.

  The sadness and woe would hopefully disappear by the time I met him, and hopefully, the perfect man in the mask from the ball would be nothing more than a pleasant, distant, mostly forgotten memory.

  4

  Christmas Eve, and our Yuletide dinner where I was to meet my betrothed, came ever closer. It was only days away. I often found myself thinking of the impending introduction, wondering whether Lord Henry was going to meet the expectations I had for him. Father sent letters to several of his friends to confirm that what Lord Walford had said about his son was true. He believed he could alleviate my nervousness with reassurances of his character.

  He was not entirely wrong. It did give me great comfort to know that the man I was to marry was well-mannered, accomplished, and the generous sort. No one seemed to have a bad word to say about him.

  When the letter from Lord Walford arrived a week before Christmas confirming the dinner, I found myself very nearly excited for the first time since before the masquerade ball.

  A great flurry of activity was present in the house as we prepared for the Yuletide dinner. Mother wanted everything to be absolutely perfect for our guests.

  “It has been some time since the estate has had the honor and pleasure of hosting a marquess,” she continued to remind everyone, especially the staff, all of whom were excited and working diligently.

  “But what of our cousin, Lord Doringham?” Sarah had asked one afternoon. “He is a marquess. Is he not?”

  “Well, yes, but this is quite different. Grace is marrying into our guests’ family.”

  Sarah had rolled her eyes in response.

  Christmas was the happiest time of the year at our home, but this year, with all the preparations for the feast, it was filled with anxious anticipation and overwhelming joy. I caught several servants singing under their breath as they worked merrily, cleaning and decorating every corner of the manor. Fresh candles were made, and the whole house smelled of nutmeg and bread.