Frederic held the other. He was looking down at his hands, avoiding The Duke’s gaze.
“I doubt even that will be enough to save Pemberton from a good thrashing,” said Frederic finally.
His words were met with silence. He lifted his gaze from his hands, hesitantly meeting The Duke’s eyes. The playful ribbing was the first words he had spoken to The Duke since the argument the day Lord Ashwood had proposed.
“I will have you know, I have been practicing.” The Duke set down his chocolate and took the cue from Adele, sidling up to the billiards table with a new confidence.
Evelyn, laughing, said, “You bought a table just to practice? Oh, you did! That is precious. Well, let us see if your hard work has paid off. Did you pay for lessons as well?”
The Duke’s blush answered the question for him. “I found myself with an abundance of time. It seemed an ideal way to fill the hours.”
“Now if you lose it will be all the more embarrassing,” Evelyn teased.
She sat down beside Adele to watch. The fire in the hearth warmed her back, as snow piled up outside the window. Flakes fell in gusts as the storm rose in intensity, but despite its best efforts it could not penetrate Evermont and the warmth inside the manor. The Duke did lose, but he made a far better showing of it than he had in the past. Best of all, the game had been filled with the good-natured teasing she had come to expect from the two men; cautious at first, but in full swing by the last ball.
Evelyn did not realize she was staring at The Duke until he looked up at her, in the same sort of way she had been looking at him. They shared a smile. He stayed the evening in one of the guest rooms, his usual room by now, and when they woke the house had been buried in snow. Laughing, they opened the front door and piled out into the downy snowbanks. Covered in furs, they hardly felt the cold. Piling the snow into a compact ball with her gloved hands, Evelyn began to build a horse. She had just finished the body when something collided with her back, then two more hits. Indignant, she spun around. Adele, Frederic, and The Duke were shaking with laughter, and Adele hid her hands behind her back.
“You had best not throw that!” Evelyn said.
She hardly got the words out of her mouth before her supposed friend threw the ball of slush at her. It splattered on her chest.
“Oops,” said Adele.
Evelyn had a snowball in hand before the other woman could run, and she caught the French woman in the shoulder with a good hit. It devolved into chaos after that. Tentative teams were formed, with Evelyn and Pemberton against Frederic and Adele. A moment of temptation was too great to ignore, however, and while The Duke was focused on taking Frederic down, Evelyn got him in the back of the head.
They did not retreat inside until they were all sodden and shivering. Evelyn warmed herself with a long soak in A warm bath, and Adele came in as she was dressing.
“I would wear something nicer than that,” Adele said, dismissing Evelyn’s dress with a wave of her hand.
“Why?” Evelyn asked, suspicious.
Adele huffed. “Just do it, Evie! You will thank me later.”
The Duke was waiting at the base of the stairs. Adele’s words and The Duke’s unrumpled appearance took on sudden meaning, and her stomach filled with butterflies. He wrapped her shoulders in a fox fur shawl of mottled grey and led her outside. A sleigh, pulled by two black horses in patent tack, waited just in front of the steps, so she could climb in without stepping into the deep snow. The Duke helped her up, then hopped in beside her and laid a fur blanket across their laps. As the coachman urged the horses forward and The Duke gave her a muff for her hands.
“Thought of everything, have you?”
The sleigh ride took them over the fields they had ridden together, and out into the woods along the cleared path between the trees. Snow billowed up on either side of the sleigh as it cut through the banks, and light flakes fell on Evelyn’s upturned face. Trees looked like glass, encased in ice and snow.
“It has taken me far too long to do this,” said The Duke, as the sleigh slowed and he could be heard over the sound of rushing wind. “But I hope to have eternity to make up for it.”
Time stilled.
Perfect silence encased them in a snow filled wonderland, and the coachman in his dark clothes faded in the background; all she could see was The Duke, turning to her with a red nose. She could not speak to reply, did not want to ruin the moment with a careless word.
“Lady Evelyn Evering, I have struggled against my affection for you. I have pushed you away. It was a fool’s errand. I, George Pender, can no more deny my love for you than I might deny my own name. Marry me, and give me the joy of spending a lifetime righting all of the wrongs I have done to you.”
His raw, open look was all the confirmation Evelyn had ever needed. Through tears, she nodded.
“Yes?” he asked, and she could see the brightness in his own eyes.
“Yes, you dolt, yes.”
~.~
Chapter Five
The day of the wedding dawned with biting cold and grey skies. Evelyn had woken early and gone to the stables with a pocket of apples. She had fed each horse a piece of the fruits. It had been a suitable distraction, but she had run out of horses and time. There was the threat of snow in the air, crisp and wet, on her walk back to the house but with all luck, it would hold off until the wedding was over.
She dressed in a silver gown, trimmed with white fur and silk while Adele, her only bridesmaid, wore pink. Frederic looked as nervous as she felt. Evelyn was thankful she had not eaten because her stomach was twisting into knots as they climbed into the sleigh to ride to the parish. Inside, Adele fussed over Evelyn’s hair, straightening the silk flowers on her bonnet that had gotten knocked astray during the sleigh ride. Snow began to fall, a gentle drifting of flakes.
When the parish doors opened, her heart leapt at the sight. The Duke stood before the altar, dressed in a crisp suit; the only nod to his usual look was the gently rumpled hair that framed his angular face. Had there ever been a man more handsome? Frederic’s arm was a steadying presence as they walked down the aisle, though it shook beneath hers until he handed her off at the end of the rows, to stand at The Duke’s side before the vicar.
Through the lengthy reading from the Book of Prayers, Evelyn could hardly keep from reaching out to George, touching him to stay grounded in the whirlwind of emotions. The vicar passed her hand to her intended, and with clasped hands they said their vows.
“I do,” said The Duke, with tears in his eyes.
“Lady Evelyn Emma Evering, wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?” The vicar’s voice was strong despite his age, and she felt each word as he said it.
“I do,” said Evelyn, meaning it to the depths of her bones.
Adele and Frederic were crying, tears blotting the register as they gathered around to sign. Evelyn, having managed not to sob thus far, was undone when Pemberton embraced her the moment his signature was down, to whisper “my wife” into her ear. It gave her chills, to have him call her so.
All four of them squeezed together in the sleigh to ride back to the Pemberton estates.
“Do move over, Evelyn,” said Frederic. “Just because you are a married woman now, does not make you any less my sister and so I may boss you around as I please.”
Adele elbowed him in the ribs, judging from his grunt of pain. The Duke, with one arm draped in casual affection across Evelyn’s shoulders, tugged her closer to him.
“Ah but she is my wife now, Evermont, so I may fight you over your rudeness,” he said, laughing and planting a kiss on Evelyn’s bonnet.
Adele protested, “She is mine, ma chére, and there is naught either of you may do to change that!”
“I love you all, but you
must know, Diadem comes first in my heart,” Evelyn teased.
They all laughed as the carriage crossed a stone bridge with wrought-iron rails to enter the Pemberton demesne. From the drive, the massive home, set behind an iced lake, stretched on farther than she could see. “Ride us past the stables,” The Duke said, and although Frederic complained, the coachman complied.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Evelyn stared wide eyed at the expanse. Her own stable was indeed, a handful of horses.
“How will I ever learn all their names?” she asked, and The Duke burst into that deep laughter that rumbled into her bones.
“We will have to ride a different mount each day, My Duchess,” he said with a smile. “Until every one of them pesters you for apples.”
The Duke helped her from the sleigh, and the group went, with laughter and jabs, into the breakfast-scented house where the servants waited in a line to greet their new mistress. Though it was her first time at the grand estate, with George’s hand wrapped around hers, it already felt like coming home.
~.~
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Continue reading for a SNEAK PEEK of the next
Regency Romance Novel by Isabella Thorne
The Duke’s Daughter ~ Lady Amelia Atherton
The Duke’s Daughter
~Part 1 ~
Fate’s Design
Chapter One
With a few lines of black ink scrawled on cream parchment, her life had changed forever. Lady Amelia had to say goodbye, but she could not bear to. She sat alone in the music room contemplating her future. Outside the others gathered, but here it was quiet. The room was empty apart from the piano, a lacquered ash cabinet she had received as a gift from her father on her twelfth birthday. She touched a key and the middle C echoed like the voice of a dear friend. The bench beneath her was the same one she had used when she begun learning, some ten years ago, and was as familiar to her as her father’s armchair was to him.
Lighter patches on the wood floor marked where the room’s other furniture had sat for years, perhaps for as long as she had been alive. New furnishings would arrive, sit in different places, make new marks, but she would not be here to see it. Amelia ran her fingers across the keys, not firmly enough to make a sound, but she heard the notes in her head regardless. When all her world was turmoil, music had been a constant comforting presence. Turmoil. Upheaval. Chaos. What was the proper word for her life now?
She breathed in a calming breath, and smoothed her dark skirt, settling it into order. She would survive; she would smile again, but first, she thought, she would play. She would lose herself in the music, this one last time.
~.~
2 Weeks Earlier
Lady Amelia looked the gentleman over. Wealthy, yes, but not enough to make up for his horrid appearance. That would take considerably more than mere wealth. He leered at her as though she were a pudding he would like to sample. Though it was obvious he was approaching to ask her to dance, she turned on her heel in an unmistakable gesture and pretended to be in deep conversation with her friends. Refusing the man a dance outright would be gauche, but if her aversion was apparent enough before the man ever asked, it would save them both an embarrassment. She smoothed her rich crimson gown attempting to project disinterest. It was a truly beautiful garment; silk brocade with a lush velvet bodice ornamented with gold and pearl accents.
Lady Charity, one of Amelia’s friends in London, smiled, revealing overly large teeth. The expression exaggerated the flaw, but Charity had other attributes.
“That is an earl you just snubbed,” said Charity, wide-eyed. It both galled and delighted Lady Charity the way Amelia dismissed gentlemen. Lady Amelia did not approve of the latter, she did not take joy in causing others discomfort. It was a necessity, not a sport.
“Is he still standing there looking surprised?” Amelia asked, twirling one of her golden ringlets back into place with the tip of a slender gloved finger. Looking over her shoulder to see for herself would only confuse the man into thinking she was playing coy. “I am the daughter of a duke, Charity. I need not throw myself at every earl that comes along.”
“Thank goodness, or you would have no time for anything else.” Charity’s comment bore more than a tinge of jealousy.
Lady Amelia’s debut earlier this Season had drawn the attention of numerous suitors, and the cards still arrived at her London townhouse in droves. Each time she went out, whether to a ball or to the Park, she was inundated with tireless gentlemen. If she were a less patient woman, it would have become tedious. Gracious as she was, Amelia managed to turn them all down with poise. Lady Amelia’s father, The Duke of Ely, was a kind man who doted on his only daughter but paid as little mind to her suitors as Amelia herself; always saying there was plenty of time for such things. Her debut like most aspects of her upbringing was left to the professionals. What do I pay tutors for? He had said, when a younger Amelia had asked him a question on the French verbs. There had been many tutors. Amelia had learned the languages, the arts, the histories, music and needlepoint until she was, by Society’s standards, everything a young woman should be. She glanced across the hall to that same father, and found him deep in conversation with several white haired men, no doubt some of the older lords talking politics as they were wont to do. She flashed him a quick smile and he toasted her with his glass.
Father had even indulged her by hiring a composer to teach her the piano, after she proven herself adept and eager to learn. If any of these flapping popinjays were half the man her father was…she thought with irritation.
Lady Patience, the less forward of Lady Amelia’s friends, piped in, “Men are drawn to your beauty like moths to a flame.” Her voice had a sad quality to it.
“I’m sure you will find the perfect beau, Patience.” Amelia replied.
“Yes, well, you might at least toss them our way, when you have decided against them.” Charity said. She peeked wide eyed over her slivered fan which covered her bosom with tantalizing art. Amelia’s eyes were brought back to her friends and she smiled.
While Charity was blonde and buxom, Patience was diminutive, yet cursed with garish red hair. The wiry, unruly locks had the habit of escaping whatever style her maid attempted, leaving the girl looking a bit like a waif, frazzled and misplaced at an elegant ball like the one they were attending. Though her dress was a lovely celestial blue frock trimmed round the bottom with lace and a white gossamer Polonese long robe joined at the front with rows of satin beading.
Charity’s flaws were more obvious, apart from her wide mouth. She had a jarring laugh, and wore necklines so low they barely contained her ample bosom. The gown she was wearing extenuated this feature with many row of white scalloped lace and a rosy pink bodice clasped just underneath. It bordered on vulgar. Amelia intended to make the polite suggestion on their next shopping trip that Lady Charity perhaps should purchase an extra yard of fabric so she might have enough for an entire dress.
“Do not be foolish, Patience. You deserve someone wonderful. If we must be married, it should be to someone that… excites us,” Amelia said, rising up onto her toes and clasping her hands in front of her breast.
Her comment caused Patience to flush with embarrassment. It was easy to forget Patience was two years older than Amelia and a year older than Charity, for her naivety gave her a childlike demeanor.
“Not all of us are beautiful enough to hold out for someone handsome,” said Patience. When she blushed, her freckles blended with the rosiness of he
r cheeks. Her eyes alighted with hope, and she was pretty in a shy sort of way.
Charity nodded her agreement, but Amelia frowned and clasped Patience’s hands. “You are sweet and bright and caring. Any man would be lucky to have you for his wife. Do not settle because you feel you have no choice. The right man will come along. Just you wait and see.”
Tears swelled in Patience’s bright blue eyes. Amelia hoped she would not begin to cry; the girl was prone to hysterics and leaps of emotion. Charity was only a notch better, and if one girl began the other was certain to follow. Two crying girls was not the spectacle Amelia hoped to make at a ball. She clapped her hands together and twirled around, so her skirts fanned out around her feet.
“Come now; let us find some of those handsome men to dance with. It should not be hard for three young ladies like us.” Amelia glanced back. Patience was wiping at her eyes and fidgeting with her dress— no matter how many times Amelia scolded her for it, the girl could not quit the nervous and irritating gesture—which generally wrinkled her dress with two fist sized wads on either side of her waist. Meanwhile Charity was puffing out her chest like a seabird. One more deep breath and she was sure to burst her seams.
It would be up to Amelia, then. In a matter of minutes she had snagged two gentlemen and placed one with Charity and one with Patience on the promise that she herself would dance with them afterward. Though men waited around her, looking hopefully in her direction, none dared approach until she gave them a sign of interest. She had already earned a reputation of being discerning with whom she favored, and no man wanted the stigma of having been turned away. Amelia perused the ballroom at her leisure, silently wishing for something more than doters and flatterers after her father’s influence.
The Duke’s Wicked Wager - Lady Evelyn Evering: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 2) Page 14
