by Jenn LeBlanc
He shook his head.
“I didn’t believe anything I said could help you.”
“And now?”
“And now, you are the man everyone wishes you to be. The man you were born to be, the man Francine deserves, looking forward to the life you deserve. Much like your father—however, that is due in large part to your duchess.”
“Future duchess,” he corrected.
She smiled. “Of course. I see the two of you together and know that it was meant to be. You must always trust in her, always.” She pulled something out of the small reticule on her arm. “Melisande gave this to me as a gift for my wedding.” She looked at him. “I would like for Francine to have it.”
He nodded, running his fingers over the sapphires. “I would like that as well, my lady.” He handed it back to her. He glanced up, hearing a giggle from behind one of the hedgerows, and the distraction brought about a sudden change in both their attitudes.
“I believe our little plan has come to a crossroads,” he said with a smile.
She looked at him questioningly.
“I must go find Francine. You will need to find your way out of my hedgerow. However, I have some rules to guide you. Should you wish to leave directly, follow the small white flowers to the entrance at the back terrace. If you would like, however, to take a… detour,” he said hastily when they heard the giggling again, “you might run into someone you know. Should you wish to find them—together—you should follow the blue flowers. A word of caution, however. Once you find them, there will be no turning back.”
Gelema lifted a brow. “I see. I believe I shall have to consider a moment, Your Grace.”
“Roxleigh,” he said with a warning edge. He smiled, bowing and kissing her hand, then took off through the hedgerow at a dead run toward the manor and Francine.
The guests on the terrace gawked as he ran, taking the steps to the private balcony two and three at a time. When he reached the top, he swung the French doors open wide and, seeing her on the settee with her legs curled up beneath her, he walked over, pulled her up into his arms, and kissed her senseless, his mouth bruising her soft lips with his fervency.
She dropped her book to the floor and lifted her hand to his face, gently holding him. She tried to pull away, but he chased her with his mouth, delving deeper, tasting her, memorizing her.
The sisters were on the settee across from where Francine had sat, their expressions shocked, staring. Miss Faversham roused herself from the trance he’d cast and went to the couple, shooing them out of the room.
Francine eventually broke away from him in a spill of giggles.
“Francine Larrabee, I love you. With all my heart and all my soul. I cannot survive a minute without you.”
Francine’s head fell back, her hands still holding his face. She ran her forefingers across his eyelids, traced the edges of his ears with her ring fingers, and stroked his powerful jaw with her thumbs. “Ah, Gideon, and I you.”
He carried her to her chamber and placed her in one of the chairs by the window. Sitting across from her, he told her about his mother. He also told her of the journal, and what he now believed to be true. He promised to share it with her.
Francine cried. She cried for his mother and for hers, she cried for their fathers, and his brother, and she cried for the small, broken children that they had been and, when her tears stopped, it was finished. They stood together in her room, looking out over the meadow, holding each other silently, strong and safe in the knowledge that no matter what happened, they would be together.
The dowager countess waited in the clearing, pondering. Taking her glove off, she wetted her hand in the fountain and walked around, inspecting the hedgerows and contemplating her next move. “I have always liked blue,” she said to herself. “Of course, white—purity, chastity—always a good color choice.”
She stopped in front of one opening, then turned and walked directly to the other. She heard giggling and whispering from within the tall boundaries of the rows, but she didn’t follow it. Instead she followed the tiny blooms as she’d been instructed by Gideon. As she rounded a corner she came face-to-face with her granddaughter. She looked at Lady Alice questioningly, and then looked back at the row where she’d come from, confused. She heard her squeal and glanced back to her. “Alice? What’s the meaning of this?”
Alice stood perfectly still.
“Alice?” She approached her slowly. Her granddaughter’s skirts rustled. The dowager countess lifted the corner of Alice’s skirt to find Amberly Shaw crouching on the ground underneath.
Alice blushed violently, as did Shaw.
“My lady,” he squeaked, looking up. “It is not what you think.”
“Are you certain?”
He stood and brushed his trousers off. “I believe I have been set up.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, I— I was trying to fix the band on Lady Alice’s slipper,” he said, handing it to the countess. “There was no action on my part that was dishonorable. It is just that Lady Alice’s foot, well, it is quite sensitive, I find, and she kept wiggling away and I—”
“I say, Mr. Shaw, I do not need a graphic description of your plundering of my granddaughter.”
“My what? No, my lady, you misunderstand! It was entirely innocent!” he protested.
“Was it, Mr. Shaw? From my perspective you have compromised my granddaughter, and there is only one thing to be done.”
He looked down at the slipper in her hands then up at her penitently. “There is?” he croaked.
“There is,” she said sternly. “You must make an honest woman of her,” the countess said resolutely, handing back the slipper.
The shock in his eyes was evident to the dowager and she shook her head.
“I will not have my granddaughter’s good name dragged through the gutter of Society. You will marry her.”
Shaw was dazed. “I will?”
“Yes, you will. Post haste, I must say. I’ll not wait for the rumors. No doubt they are already spreading!”
“Yes…my lady,” he said, more as a question than response.
“Come.” She led the couple from the maze, a grand smile breaking.
Alice squealed and wrapped her arms around Shaw, kissing him all over his face.
He held onto her as he followed the dowager countess and, by the time they reached the manor, he was smiling as well.
Francine’s wedding day arrived after a week of fanfare. She wasn’t to see Gideon today; the plans had already been set in motion. He left early for another hunt, and the hunters would have luncheon in the dining room while the women had their meal on the terrace. Every guest at Eildon was prepared to keep the duke and his bride separated for the entire day.
The only thing Francine knew about the ceremony was that instead of a Saturday morning wedding, as was customary, they would have a Friday evening wedding, followed by a full night of dancing and dining. Twenty cases of sweet, thick, Lindisfarne honey mead awaited the traditional toast that sent the newlyweds off to honeymoon. She’d no idea what Gideon had planned, but as with every dinner he’d orchestrated with Chef—on the balcony, in the maze, on the roof—she couldn’t wait to find out.
The entire household rested that afternoon, so as to be ready for the night’s festivities, and after that Francine was not allowed out of her room.
Mrs. Weston fussed over her while Gelema, Alice, Maryse, and Amélie helped. The gown was a beautiful, creamy white silk, the skirts long and full, creating a train that flowed out behind Francine like moth’s wings. The bodice was cut low and close, with a silk georgette scarf across the neckline. It was trimmed in blue, as Roxleigh had asked that she wear her sapphire necklace for him. He had also sent her a matched set of sapphire earrings that had belonged to his mother. The gesture touched her deeply, and she felt like a princess as the ladies fussed, meticulously pinning her hair up and securing a long, flowing net at her crown.
“Ah, milady, you’r
e a vision,” Mrs. Weston said, clasping her hands together as tears welled in her eyes. She smiled and turned to help the sisters who crouched behind Francine, giggling, as they straightened the folds of her skirts. They flounced the fabric so it would breathe and move with her.
Francine hugged Mrs. Weston. “I love you as I would love a mother. You are so dear and precious to me.”
Mrs. Weston’s tears fell.
Gelema took Francine’s wrist and clasped a sapphire and diamond bracelet around her long glove.
Francine looked down. “Oh my, Gelema, I simply cannot—”
“This too was Melisande’s. She gave it to me as a wedding gift. I already spoke with Roxleigh, and I am giving it to you with his blessing. The set will once again be complete.”
Francine’s eyes stung and she stared into the gaslights on the wall, trying to stave off the threatening tears. I need to at least make it to the altar before becoming a sobbing mess.
Gelema took her arms and kissed her cheeks as a loud knock came at the door.
“Is everybody decent?” came Perry’s booming baritone.
“Perry,” Francine screamed as she ran across the room toward him, snapping her train from the hands of her sisters.
He stepped around the last panel between them, and his breath caught in his chest.
She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “Oh Perry, I am so glad to see you! Are you well? Does Gideon know?”
He laughed and lowered her to the ground. “There is rarely anything that happens at Eildon without his knowledge, though I may just have one surprise that has slipped his notice,” he said with a smile, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles.
She watched him carefully, his hand on hers, then gasped. “Perry!” she yelled, drawing the attention of the room, “is that a wedding band?”
He grinned devilishly, then bowed. “My lady, there will be much time to chat. For now, as your guardian, it would be my honor to escort you to pledge your troth.” He put his gloves on and held out his arm.
Francine smiled and took it.
“Ladies, you have just enough time to find your seats,” he said with a wink.
The countess gathered her skirts, rushing past Francine with a kiss as she headed out of the passage with Lady Alice and Mrs. Weston. Maryse and Amélie were left behind to tend the train.
Francine assumed that the ceremony would be in the ballroom, so when they turned down the passageway in the opposite direction she was confused. She saw the beginning of the sunset breaking through the transom window, the brightest streaks of light across the horizon just threatening to unleash their vibrant glory.
Perry led her down the hall and through another passage, then down a set of stairs that she thought led to the passages behind the dining room.
She shook her head. They were on the wrong side of the manor, but Perry simply smiled down at her. When he opened the passage, they were standing at the front of the manor just beyond the great entrance. The grand table had been moved out and hundreds of chairs were filled with guests who began to stand, turning to look at her as the door opened.
She smiled at her sisters as they billowed her skirts behind her, then she took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.
There were chains of lavender hanging from the doorways, lining the aisle of chairs, and wrapping around the balustrade that led up to the first floor and—and her duke. She exhaled when she saw him at the top of the grand staircase, waiting for her, inconceivably handsome, gazing down upon her.
He wore a perfectly pressed black suit, a crisp white shirt and neck cloth, and a sapphire blue waistcoat that matched the trim on her gown. He also wore his royal blue garter sash adorned with medals, garter stars, and badges denoting and honoring his heritage and position as a peer of the realm.
It struck her then, looking upon his decorated chest, how very important this man was to the kingdom. Without being led or looking for permission, like the first time they’d met, she was drawn forward.
Perry steadied her as they climbed to the landing. He stood momentarily between Gideon and his bride. Bowing and kissing her hand, he turned to his brother and embraced him, then moved to stand next to him. Her sisters followed quietly, standing next to her.
As the ceremony began, the golden streaks of sunset blazed through the high windows above the family parlor into the great entrance, catching the crystal of the giant chandelier and emblazoning the walls in rainbows of color. The beams of light caught on her jewels and his, forcing her eyelids to flutter.
Francine was overcome. Her hands trembled and Gideon turned to her, holding them tightly before pledging his troth. She looked into his deep green eyes which were swimming with emotion, and repeated everything said. She slowly removed his gloves, then he hers, and their bare skin sparked at their first touch as husband and wife.
Gideon grasped Francine’s left hand in his and slid a perfect, deep blue sapphire onto her finger—the fourth piece of the matched set she wore—and her eyes grew wide and filled with tears.
She looked up at him in time to hear the priest say “Husband and wife.” It was then her tears fell.
The ripple of words rushed through the crowd at the impropriety of the proclamation, and Gideon stepped closer to her, his bejeweled sash pressing against her as he bent, running his hand up her nape into her hair, gently pulling her head back to meet him. He smiled, his lips descending to hers. He kissed her, pulling her closer still, for a scandalously long time.
Even for a married couple.
Over the past year I have received an incredible amount of support. This book would not be what it is today without the help of every single one of you.
Elise Rome, an amazing author who provided mentoring as well as stellar copy and content editing for this new edition.
Kati “McSquee” and Jamie Lynn of Romancing Rakes for The Love of Romance for their undying devotion to my story and my images and her never ending promotion.
Rita Jett of Not Another Romance Blog for a good bit of fun anytime, as well as the coolest book trailer ever made.
Danielle of Ramblings From This Chick round out the crew, and make for insane late nights on twitter.
A special thank you to Mr. LeBlanc, for continuing to support me.
Cora, Auberry and Fallon, thank you for all of your help in studio.
Sarah Clark for her incredible hair and makeup.
Mary Cates for her dedication to my little project.
Derek, my hero, there wouldn’t be this book without you.
So many people helped to make the original edition of this book a success. So many that there is no possible way for me to thank everyone here. But I invite you to visit my website and check out the links for all the places I’ve been, these bloggers have made this year the most exciting one yet.
The Right Honourable, Peregrine Afton Trumbull, Viscount Roxleigh : Derek Hutchins
Lilly Steele : Mary Cates
His Grace, Gideon Alrick Trumbull, 10th Duke of Roxleigh : Derek Hutchins
Francine Adelais Larrabee : Cora Kemp
For Momma, who always believed in me.
I wrote this fairy tale for you.
And for Crank, Sugar, Sass and Danger. Life would not be nearly as interesting without you.
Perry left his brother’s house under a moonless sky without a backward glance— like a coward. The past month had sent his life into a spiral and he was unable to right himself. In the space of a Season his brother, Gideon, the Duke of Roxleigh, had gone from recluse to fiancé, and Perry had gone from rake to guardian for three young French ladies.
He sat in the dark carriage, tossed to and fro in the seat as it traversed the country ruts, and pondered. Guardian. Respectable.
He shook his head and leaned back into the squabs of his landau as it rolled away from the seat of the dukedom. He stretched his long legs across to the opposite seat, folded his arms, lowered his chin, and let his li
ds close. The carriage lulled him and he slumbered heavily.
Half asleep, Perry felt a tingling sensation and his foot twitched. He snorted, pressing his head further into the plush paneling. When the sensation skimmed his knee he kicked and moved his boot to the floor, pulling at his trousers to stop the nerves that spread through his leg. When it returned, farther up his thigh, he stomped his foot to rouse the sleeping limb and arrest the incessant tingling. Then he felt what was quite clearly a feather-light touch against his shoulder, so he relaxed his eyelids, allowing a narrow view from beneath his thick eyelashes. He searched the shadowy depths without moving. When he saw a hand move toward him he snatched it, wrapping his fingers tightly around the wrist and pulling it across his body.
It was then he knew two things without a doubt: first, that there was a woman in his carriage—for the slide of a woman’s bosom across his chest was all too familiar—and second, that she trembled. Whether from fear, anger, or passion—of that much he was unsure. But his gut told him fear.
She slipped to the floor with a squeak and a thud as he sat up and lowered his other foot. He felt her hand press weakly against his knee as his eyes attempted to adjust and he stared intently, willing his vision to clear the thick darkness between them. Without taking his eyes from where the intruder’s face should be, he banged a closed fist against the roof, then yelled, “Gardner!”
They ground to a halt and he heard the coachman jump down. The door opened swiftly and Perry backed out—without releasing the delicate wrist.
“Light.”
Gardner took the lantern from the forward bracket and handed it to him. Perry reached through the open door, casting the flickering glow throughout the carriage, bathing a small bundle huddled on the floor.
“Please, milord, I beg ye.” Her voice was tiny, her arm stretched out above her head as he held firm. He lowered the lantern to see who was piled on the floor of his carriage but she ducked, turning her head away.
“Please, milord.”
