Heart of a Marquess: Regency Romance (Gentlemen and Brides)

by Joyce Alec

  He moved forward, kneeling by her. “By whom? Your father? Your mother? All of whom are so focused on keeping me out of your life?”

  “There is not one in my family who despises you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. My father was quite impressed with your concern for me. It is complicated and I cannot tell you more than that.”

  “Do you make light of my feelings?” Matthew said bitterly, taking a step back.

  Lizzie looked horrified. “Of course not! You have been nothing less than wonderful,” she gasped as the tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She refused to speak because any move would guarantee she would not be able to hold back her emotions.

  He gently raised her hands to his lips. She was so frail and he knew she had been through something terrible. He didn’t care. He would accept any past indiscretions and welcome her into his home and his heart.

  He pleaded, “I want to provide you with the happiest life within my power. I want to shower you with love so that there is never a day that you question your worth.”

  For the first time Matthew got his wish. He saw Lady Elizabeth lose control. The tears fell as her eyes shimmered like emeralds. Her composed demeanor dissipated as she lashed out with anger. “I am damaged and the source of gossip. I was married. Your cousin’s actions, along with his twisted tale of our marriage, have taken away every chance of happiness I had hoped for. Although it has been kept a secret, your cousin will continue to spread his web of lies and I cannot defend myself from the gossip. I will not bring that shame upon you or your family.”

  Lizzie was trembling with such force that Matthew was sure she would shatter. “My dear, Elizabeth, tell me what happened. I will defend you. Together, we can find the happiness that we both crave.”

  Lizzie stood. “Matthew, I saw the look in your mother’s eyes when I tried to defend myself. Your mother didn’t know I was the woman who married your cousin, but her complete disgust was quite apparent,” cried Lizzie.

  Up until that moment, she had only shared her experience with her parents and God. She couldn’t stop talking. “At a ball, Lord Livingston invited me on a walk. I knew that I shouldn’t, but we managed to sneak away without anybody noticing.” Lizzie choked, “Henry forced me into the stables. I begged and begged and he didn’t stop. He threatened my reputation and the reputation of my family unless I agreed to marry him.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth,” cooed Matthew as helped her back to the chair as her legs were not supporting her. “That is too much for anyone to bear. You did nothing wrong.”

  “It took me a long time to realize that,” said Lizzie, started to gain back her composure. “When I married him, I insisted that it be a small, private ceremony. I wouldn’t even let my parents announce the wedding. It was too devastating. My mother sensed something was wrong and I told her the whole story before Lord Livingston and I left for our honeymoon. When my father was informed of Henry’s actions, he wanted to kill him, but refrained.” Lizzie continued, “Because of my wishes, my father had the marriage records destroyed, but did not pursue legal action against Lord Livingston. I didn’t want to risk people hearing about this. I was embarrassed and broken.”

  Matthew spoke, “Well, then it’s as if the marriage never happened. Why did you feel love was so out of reach?”

  Lizzie looked up with love in her eyes. “I knew that I would never be able to keep such a horrible secret from my husband. I just couldn’t live with the guilt, so I decided that love was never a realistic option.”

  Matthew stayed silent as he allowed Lizzie all the space she needed to tell her story. “Healing was a process, and to be honest, I am not sure I feel completely healed. My faith in God and my parents’ support are what keep me going.” As a final thought, she added, “I did not take a penny from that horrible man. Also, he has accused me of being a social climber, even though my father is a duke. His biggest concern was my large dowry, because it would help with his failing estate.”

  Matthew felt it was time to speak. “Do you think so little of me? That because you have been married, that will impact my feelings for you?! I love you. I don’t care what gossip comes about because of this. We will stand up to all accusations together. And as for Henry, we will make him pay.”

  Once again, Lizzie began to cry. How could this perfectly wonderful man be saying all the right things?

  “Darling Elizabeth, if you could only see yourself from my eyes. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Your strength, courage, and faith are to be admired, not to be looked down upon. Please, do not go to America. Marry me and start a beautiful, new life.”

  Lizzie began to protest, “I don’t – I want to – but—”

  “Just say, yes, Elizabeth.”

  Those green eyes looked up at him and he saw the tiny flare of hope in them.

  “I hold grudges,” warned Elizabeth with a smile.

  “I will tease you so much that you will be forced to let go of your anger.”

  “I don’t like attending balls,” said Elizabeth.

  “Excellent. I despise them.” Matthew laughed.

  “I dislike tomatoes.”

  “Even better. More for me.”

  Matthew pulled her up and kissed her till she was gasping for breath. “When can we get married?”

  Lizzie smiled in acceptance, and for the first time, saw a new, bright future ahead.

  THE END

  Part IV

  Rescuing a Lady

  By Caroline Johnson

  1

  England, 1839

  “It’s gone? What do you mean, it’s gone?”

  Martha stared in confusion at her stepbrother, whose sickly smile made her stomach churn.

  “Simply that, dear sister. It’s gone. Your dowry is gone. I have taken it and used it to further my business. You really aren’t the brightest young lady, are you?”

  His mocking smile told her that he was enjoying her distress.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Martha cried, struggling to keep her composure. “Gerald, you promised father –”

  Gerald snapped, “He was your father—not mine. I may have promised that I would look after you, but how I choose to do so is entirely my prerogative.”

  His sneer was back. This did not bode well.

  Martha was completely at his mercy. She was a single woman who depended entirely on her stepbrother. She lived in his home, ate his food, and used his money. It was difficult to get anything from him, even something as simple as a pair of new gloves to replace her worn ones. Even then, she’d had to prove that her current pair were beyond repair. It was humiliating, but she’d become used to his tight-fisted ways.

  Knowing that her father left her a substantial dowry had been her saving grace, safe in the knowledge that she could one day be free of Gerald in a home of her own. She was not the most beautiful, nor the most eligible lady, but a substantial dowry had made her believe that she would, one day, find the gentleman for her. It had been her father’s dearest wish.

  Martha’s heart clenched as she thought of her beloved Papa, so recently departed. If only he were still alive, then she wouldn’t be in this terrible situation. How had Gerald managed to get his greedy hands on her money? It had been her only way out, and now, it seemed, it was gone in a flash.

  “I don’t understand…”

  Gerald moved forward, his steely gray eyes calculating and shrewd, and his slow steps putting Martha immediately on her guard.

  “There is an easy way to solve this, Martha. You know what I want.”

  Martha tried to calm her trembling, knowing what was coming. This had gone on for too long.

  “No, Gerald. I’ve told you time and time again, I will not sign over that parcel of land to you. It’s the only thing left I have from my father. I know it isn’t worth much, so I don’t understand why it’s so important to you.”

  A flash of anger crossed Gerald’s face, his hands clenching into fists.

  “Yo
u will have to do what I say soon enough, Martha, dear,” he spat. “You should know by now that I always get what I want. A few days without food might have you willing and to do as I say. What do you say to that?”

  “You can’t starve me,” Martha cried, the very thought filling her with terror. “I am meant to be like a sister to you, Gerald. Why are you so cruel? You’ve inherited your father’s title and money. My father left you most of his fortune to make it easy to care for me. Why must you take the one thing left in my name?”

  “That small parcel of land connects my other properties, and I want it.” Gerald screamed. “Just sign it over, and I will see if I can scrounge together a suitable dowry for you.”

  Martha replied, her voice cold, “Your actions thus far have proven that I cannot trust you.”

  “So you keep saying…” Gerald replied insolently.

  He paused for a moment, staring at her. Martha’s breath came quick and fast as she longed for this conversation to be over.

  “You do know that when you turn twenty-five years old, that land becomes mine,” said Gerald.

  “Gerald, I still have six months until I am twenty-five years old. I do believe that I am still young enough to find a suitable match. You cannot write me off as a spinster quite yet.”

  “Very well,” Gerald said, seemingly unperturbed by her refusal. “I will continue to make it very difficult for you to marry, Martha. And don’t think for one moment that I will approve the marriage to a poor farmer. After all, I did promise your father that I would only approve of a good match.”

  “And just what do you plan on doing with me after I turn twenty-five?”

  “I will throw you out of my house, and you will have to fend for yourself,” said her stepbrother. “If you sign over the land now, maybe I can take pity on you.”

  “My father left you everything,” screamed Martha. Martha lifted her chin, regaining control of her emotions. “You promised to take care of me, and you have done nothing but make my life miserable. You raise your hand to me and treat me like rubbish. I don’t deserve this.”

  “I don’t see why you are putting up such a fuss. The land earns no income. I don’t see what it is so important to you.”

  Martha stared at him, not knowing what to do. Should she sign over the land to improve her current life? Or, should she hold onto the land? It was the last gift she ever received from her father. Martha knew that it would be difficult to find a man who wanted to marry her, but she must try to fling herself into society once more and attempt to find an eligible gentleman. But, who would want to marry a young woman only recently out of mourning and with no dowry? Would she really be able to find an eligible gentleman, with wealth and family connections? How could she make such a man fall in love with her?

  “Well?”

  Martha uttered the words, “No. I will not let you have my land and lose the only thing my father left me.”

  "I see," Gerald said, the smirk back on his face. "I should so hate for any rumors to circulate about you, Martha. That would put off many a gentleman, I am sure.” His parting words hit home as he left the room, leaving Martha trembling from head to toe.

  She was doomed.

  2

  “I can do this,” Charles said to himself, gritting his teeth. “I can do this.”

  Stepping as confidently as he could onto the dance floor, he bowed to his partner and began to follow the steps, trying to remember each one correctly. A couple of small mistakes, of course, but that was bound to happen.

  “Ouch!” his partner, the lovely Lady Augusta, cried, hopping up and down on one foot.

  “Oh, I am so dreadfully sorry!” Charles exclaimed, unsure what it was he should do. “I do have such big feet!”

  He bent down as if to examine the lady’s ankle, but was stopped by her shocked gasp.

  “Of course, of course,” he mumbled, remembering how inappropriate it would be for any man to see a genteel lady's legs. "I do apologize."

  He bowed low, only to be knocked completely off balance by a dancing couple and ended up firmly on his behind, right in the middle of the dance floor.

  Lady Augusta went crimson from sheer embarrassment and, with as much dignity as she could muster, left the dance floor unattended, hobbling to a nearby chair. She was immediately surrounded by many ladies, who threw a great number of dark glances his way. However, Charles was not immune to the laughter he heard ricocheting around the room, directed solely at him and his ridiculous attempt at a dance. Hearing the first strains of a waltz begin, Charles hastily got to his feet, quickly dusted himself off, and attempted to make his way off the dance floor through all the waltzing couples. The laughter had now turned to jeers as he struggled to find a way through. Eventually, he reached the safety of the French doors and exited the ballroom immediately, his cheeks hot with shame.

  “Lady Augusta is quite all right, old boy, no need to worry about that.”

  Charles sighed, looking over his shoulders to see his best friend, Matthew, stride towards him.

  “Here,” said Matthew, as he handed Charles a drink.

  Grateful to his friend for his consideration, Charles grasped the glass of whiskey and threw it back in one large gulp. Shaking his head, he groaned, putting his head in his hands as he sat on the cold bench in the dark.

  “At least out here, no one can see me,” Charles mumbled, pushing his hands even further into his hair. “That was truly awful.”

  “It really was,” Matthew chuckled, slapping his friend on the back. “What on earth got into you, man? It was only a quadrille; you’ve been practicing that dance since you were in short coats!”

  "I know, I know," Charles replied, finally raising his head. "It's just that I was dancing with Lady Augusta. She is quite pretty, and I became quite anxious in her presence," he trailed off as he realized how ridiculous he sounded.

  “Ah, the curse of being in a beautiful woman’s company,” Matthew mocked, throwing back his own glass of whiskey. “You are lucky that you’re an earl with considerable wealth, or nobody would dance with you. What you need to do, my friend, is practice.”

  “Practice?” Charles echoed. “Practice what?”

  “You know,” Matthew began, getting to his feet. “Talking to a lady, walking with her, simply handing her a glass of refreshment—all of the things you seem entirely incapable of doing. Surely you do not want to remain persona non grata to all the ladies of the ton?”

  Charles opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again firmly. Matthew was right. Whenever he tried to talk to a beautiful young lady, his tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth, his voice becoming a rasping cough whenever he tried to speak. He had lost count of the number of ladies who had walked away from him mid-conversation. Thinking of walking, whenever Charles tried to tuck a lady’s hand under his arm, her closeness gave him such anxiety that he often tripped over his own feet. Charles closed his eyes tightly, trying to push away the memories. He was a lost cause.

  “Remember the time you poured a glass of ratafia down Lady Weston’s bodice?” Matthew cried, chuckling as he recalled the scene. “She screamed so loudly that her father rushed in, ready to knock out whoever it was that was ravishing his daughter.”

  “I did get a black eye,” Charles said ruefully. “Her father was quite a strong man, as I recall.”

  Matthew let out a roar of laughter as tears now began to roll down his cheeks.

  "Then you stood on her precious little pug as you took your leave," he cried, filled with hilarity.

  "It was a small thing, and I could hardly see it," Charles cried, coming to his own defense. "I should not think that could be considered my fault."

  Despite himself, Charles felt a smile come over his face. He truly was too clumsy for his own good.

  After some time, Matthew grew quiet, still letting out the occasional little hiccup of laughter.

  “So,” Charles began, thinking seriously once more. “How do I practice all those things?”
>
  Matthew thought for a moment before saying, “Well, I suggest we find a lady of society who is not overly beautiful and who is not likely to ever marry—whether it be through circumstances or age, or lack of desirability.”

  Charles wrinkled his nose at the description, but Matthew hadn’t finished.

  “You can treat her as an acquaintance, get to know her, practice your conversation, practice your dancing, and take her for walks in the park.”

  “Fetch her a glass of ratafia,” Charles interjected, a grin on his face.

  “Exactly,” Matthew replied, holding back a laugh. “Then, considering you know you won’t ever marry the chit, you will be sufficiently improved to begin courting whichever eligible lady you choose.”

  “Wonderful!” Charles exclaimed, getting to his feet. “I really believe you have come up with a good plan, Matthew.”

  “Thank you,” Matthew replied, sweeping an overly exaggerated bow.

  “There is only one problem,” Charles continued, raising an eyebrow.

  “Oh?”

  “We need to find such a lady.”

  3

  Martha stepped into the ballroom, trying to hide her rising nerves. Of course there were a few subtle glances thrown her way, but she did her best to ignore them. At first, she'd been filled with hope as she began her quest for a proper gentleman, but she'd soon learned that her stepbrother would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Various rumors were now the topics of gossip, ranging from her being compromised, all the way up to her bearing an illegitimate child and causing the death of her father, due to his grief over her wayward ways. Everyone in the ton now knew that she now had no dowry, but again, there were numerous stories as to how that came to be.

  Martha forced her hands together, intertwining her fingers to stop them from trembling. She would hold her head high and show society a brave face, one that did not intend to be pushed into a corner by Gerald. She had no other choice but to find a suitable gentleman, refusing to think of the consequences should she fail in her quest.