Regency Romance: Fallen Duchess (A Historical Victorian Murder Mystery Love Regency Romance)

by Tracey D Morgan

  She looked up at him and smiled, reaching out and touching his cheek gently. “I heard you pray,” Krista whispered.

  It was a hard thing for Krista to not go to church on Sundays, though she made her own little services and spent Sunday mornings praying and reading the Bible. Bill always seemed to turn his nose up at her little makeshift church but never said anything to discourage her. She wanted her husband to be close to God, but he seemed to want nothing to do with it. Krista was surprised to hear him pray.

  “I lost my faith when Rose died. I didn’t understand how God could take everything that I loved away. I didn’t understand what I did to deserve that kind of suffering and that kind of pain, so I gave up on him like I thought he’d given up on me.”

  “But he answered your prayers last night.”

  “He did. And I couldn’t be more thankful.”

  She nodded and scooted closer to the edge of the bed so that she could be closer to him. “I think that maybe we suffered so that we could be brought together,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand, running her thumb over his knuckles gently. “He always has a plan for us. Maybe we were meant to find each other. This is an end to our suffering. He knew that we were hurting and if we found each other we wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

  Bill looked up, wide-eyed as he listened to what she said. The idea they neither of them would have to suffer anymore seemed almost too good to be true. They’d been wandering in the vast wasteland of pain and suffering for so long that it seemed too good to be true that they might be free from those shackles.

  “I think we could be happy, Bill, but you have to let him answer your prayers. If you ask for help, you can’t turn your back on the gifts he gives you.”

  Bill nodded slowly and moved to wrap his arms around Krista, holding her close and petting her still damp locks.

  “I won’t. I won’t turn my back on him, and I won’t turn my back on you anymore. Things are going to be different, Krista.”

  Chapter Eight

  Krista was hopeful that the tender moment they shared together was more than just words. She wanted it to be true. More than anything she wanted their lives to change. Those hopes and dreams would come to fruition in the most beautiful ways. It truly felt like God was smiling down on them after that storm.

  Bill was much easier to talk to in the days that followed, and when Krista explained that she much preferred working with the land, he was happy to have her by his side on the ranch. He taught her how to herd the cattle. She picked up on it quicker than he expected. She was an asset to the ranch, but she was also the best friend and wife he could have asked for. She didn’t hesitate to put him in his place when he needed it, but she was also the first person to pick him up when he fell.

  The more time the spent together, the more Bill knew he needed Krista. She kept him sane and kept him level. When his temper got out of control, she would calm him down. When he was being too hard on himself, she’d kiss his cheek and hold his hand. It was all she needed to do to bring him back down to earth. She did so much for him that he thought he might return the favor.

  Bill knew that their marriage was quick and unimpressive. There was no ceremony and no white dress. He knew she wanted something more, and he figured it was about time he gave it to her. Krista deserved the world, so he could at least give her a wedding.

  He was returning from town with a large box sitting atop the feed bags. He hopped off his horse and tied it to post, turning just in time to see Krista running toward him from the fields. Her cheeks were red from the sun. Her hair flew behind her in a messy braid. It was in these moments that he thought she looked the most beautiful.

  She all but tackled him, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek excitedly. “Welcome home!”

  Their dynamic over the past few months changed dramatically. They were much more comfortable with each other. The best thing, in Krista’s opinion, was that Bill actually started smiling more. He chuckled and hugged her close for a moment, motioning at the cart.

  “Help me unload?”

  “Sure!”

  She ran to the side of the cart and jumped onto the wheel easily, glancing at the pristine white box on top. It was too small to have anything for the ranch in it. There was a big pink bow that was tied on top to make it look nice and elegant.

  “What is this?”

  “Open it.”

  She hesitated but slowly pulled the bow off the top of the box and then the lid. Her eyes widened, and she gasped, hands flying to her mouth as she pulled out a pure white dress. The gown had hand beading and beautiful lace details. Her eyes widened, and she struggled to speak.

  “This is, this is beautiful, Bill. What is it?”

  “It’s your wedding dress.”

  Her eyes shot open, and she jolted upright, gasping as she started to fall back off the wheel. Bill moved fast and managed to catch her before she—or the dress—hit the ground. He held the small woman, bridal style, and smiled at her as she clutched the dress to her chest, grinning.

  “I know I didn’t give you much of a wedding. I wanted to make that up to you,” he said, setting her down on her feet with ease.

  Krista opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She closed it and tried again, but there was nothing but silence. Finally, she gave up on words all together and threw her arms around Bill’s neck, holding him closer and kissing him eagerly. He was caught off guard but managed to wrap his arms around her anyway, lifting her off the ground and returning the kiss happily.

  Warmth spread through Krista that left her speechless. All she could do was let out a soft laugh as lights exploded behind her eyes. The kiss was nothing short of pure magic. She was thankful he was holding her up because her knees became weak, and her legs nearly gave out.

  When they finally broke the kiss, she was grinning wildly, hair blowing in the wind. He tucked a few strands behind her ear and leaned down to kiss her nose.

  “This has been a long time coming, Krista. I love you,” he whispered.

  She cupped his cheeks and peppered kisses across his face. “I love you too, you big idiot,” she whispered. “And nothing would make me happier than to marry you again.”

  They laughed together, holding each other as the sun set behind them. In that moment, they both knew that they were meant for each other. This was God’s plan, and they intended to follow it through. They were finally being delivered from all their pain and suffering and were being granted the happily ever after they deserved.

  The End

  Return to the TOC for Bonus Content

  Dear Mr. Carmichael

  Chapter One:

  Constance Patience Morgan had a difficult time living up to her virtuous name. She could never focus long enough on any task to ever be deemed constant — whether it be arithmetic, cooking, or remembering which sister was seeing which beau. Likewise, she lacked the patience to ever put in the effort to improve her focus on things like arithmetic, cooking, and keeping track of her sisters' beaus. It was unfortunate that she had been given such a name, for Constance was convinced it was a sign that the stars were aligned against her at birth.

  Which is why she chose to go by Cora.

  Yet, despite her attempts to ignore her inability to live up to such virtues, she still found herself forced into situations that required constant patience.

  Such as the curse of being the youngest of three older, demanding sisters.

  "Cora!" shrieked Mia, the eldest of the Morgan sisters. "Where is my parasol?"

  The sound of items being tossed about echoed throughout the small, rickety house. The Morgans needed a new home, but ever since their father passed away, they had been scrapping pennies just to get by.

  "Your parasol?" sputtered Eva, the second Morgan sister. "It's my parasol every second Sunday of the month and it's —" a long pause as Eva, not one for numbers, attempted to calculate the date "— June 16!" she announced triumphantly.

  "It's the 17th you ninny," Olivia, th
e third Morgan sister, chastised Eva. "That makes it the third Sunday of the month, which means it's MY parasol," she enunciated vehemently.

  "No," interrupted Mia. "You borrowed it when it was my turn because you wanted to impress Billy Carlton, so that makes it my turn this week."

  "But you took it last week to impress Geoffrey Avery," wailed Eva.

  As their bickering burst into a cacophony of raised voices and poorly constructed arguments, Cora tried her best to drown out her elder sisters. Being the youngest, she had learned to accept getting last pick. Besides, she had no need for the coveted parasol; the man she longed for would never see her carrying it anyways.

  Cora let out a frustrated sigh. The last she had heard of Matthew Carmichael, he had left Boston to go west; Texas to be exact. Although she hadn't seen him in years, the thought of the added distance between them caused her young heart pain.

  Cora knew better than to pine after a man she would never have. She also knew better than to have fallen in love with a Carmichael; especially one that had only ever said two words to her in her whole life. Cora looked out the window longingly, while a dreamy smile spread across her face. She could remember those words as if they were spoken yesterday.

  "Son!" bellowed Mrs. Carmichael. "Get back here," she commanded with the intensity of a General.

  Twelve-year-old Matthew cast Cora and her sisters an apologetic half-smile, "Sorry girls." He sent them a mischievous wink before trudging towards his mother.

  Matthew had come up to their yard — back when they lived in the same plush neighborhood as the well-to-do Carmichaels — to ask if the Morgan sisters would like to join his siblings in a game of tag. However, they were interrupted when Mrs. Carmichael herself came strolling by.

  "You do not fraternize with the Morgans," she spoke loud enough for her words to reach the ears of the four young girls. "Never speak to them again!" She grabbed him roughly by the collar and proceeded to drag him back the Carmichaels' property.

  Cora shook her head in an attempt to clear her memories and negative emotions. So he hadn't exactly spoken to her, but she had always believed his words had been directed toward her.

  Cora remembered they all had been surprised by the severity of Mrs. Carmichael's words and had proceeded to run inside to ask their parents as to why she disproved of them.

  Their parents refused to elaborate. Instead, all they told them was that the Carmichaels were no longer friends of the family and, while they should always make sure to extend them polite kindness, it was probably best not to associate with them anymore.

  The girls hadn't understood it at the time, but they knew something bad must have happened, as things had not always been that way. Mia vaguely remembered that their parents used to be invited to dinner parties at the Carmichael estate. Despite the odd turn of events, the Morgan girls chose not to let the disapproval of the Carmichaels get to them.

  At least the others didn't; Cora was a whole different story.

  From that day on, Cora was fascinated by the handsome, forbidden boy that lived one yard over. Sometimes she would sit at her window and watch him as he practiced targets, or fencing, or painting in the back yard. She longed to be right next to him, to share in his passions.

  When their father died and they had to leave their childhood home, Cora not only felt heartbroken over the sudden dismantling of their family, but she also felt like she had lost the opportunity to finally get to know Matthew and hopefully mend fences between the Morgans and the Carmichaels. She had also hoped that, once she'd blossomed into a woman, Matthew would finally notice her. But that hope was dashed the day they left the upper class neighborhood for a more modest home.

  As for the awaited womanhood, which she thought would bring the womanly figure needed to gain the attention of the handsome Carmichael, it never came. Although she had developed a small bosom —which was better than none — she still felt awkward and gangly, despite now being nineteen.

  She wondered how young adulthood had treated Matthew Carmichael. She imagined he was having an incredible time in Texas. He probably owned a ranch or two, fought cattle thieves daily, and possessed the strength and agility to wrestle a bull to the ground with his bare hands.

  She gave a little forlorn sigh. She figured wherever Michael was, the stars were most certainly shining down on him favorably.

  Chapter Two:

  Matthew Carmichael lazily polished another glass. He enjoyed bartending at the local saloon, but it wasn't quite the Wild West experience he was hoping for when he quit his job as a lawyer in Boston and bought a one-way ticket to Texas.

  Matthew had coasted on his good looks and prosperous family name for most of his life in Boston, but here he was just a regular nobody, and he liked it that way.

  His move here had been exhilarating; the moment he stepped off the stagecoach, it had awakened a wilder side of him. He had always had a desire to take life by the bullhorns, both literally and figuratively, and wrestle it to the ground in a cloud of dust and sweat.

  Texas made him feel more alive than the stuffy world of Boston ever had. Here, it felt just dangerous enough to keep him on his toes.

  "Joe?" Matthew called to his boss who was currently in the middle of a poker game with one of the local patrons. "Do you mind if I head out for a bit?" Matthew needed to make a trip to the post office.

  "Alright," Joe muttered without looking up. He played a card and then whooped with victory as his opponent's face dropped. "Got'cha there," he cried out in a voice that started a few of the clientele.

  Matthew chuckled, "I'll take that as a yes." He put down the glass he had spent the past half hour polishing and made a beeline for the door.

  As he stepped outside, the hot summer sun beat down on his face. Texas summers were brutal, but Matthew didn't mind. He put on his hat and strolled down the street toward the post office.

  He had a few letters to send to some friends and siblings — he liked to keep them informed of his adventures.

  Matthew ducked into the small building that served a multitude of purposes: post office, law office, newspaper office, etc. The owner, Ivan Johnson, was a man of many trades. He was actually the first one to welcome Matthew into town and offer him a job as the local lawyer. Although Matthew liked working for Ivan, he hadn't traveled to Texas to do the same stuffy job he did back in Boston. When a job opened up at Jack's Saloon — the previous bartender had decided California and the promise of gold was more for him — Matthew snatched up the opportunity. Bartending came naturally to him, while the excitement of saloon brawls kept things interesting.

  "Howdy Ivan." Matthew had already begun to adopt the slang of the West. "I've got some mail for you." He pulled out a wad of letters from his satchel.

  Ivan was a stocky man with wire-rimmed glasses. He didn't look very intimidating, but Matthew had seen him lay down the law with enough tough-as-nails cowboys to know that he had a bit of a bite. Ivan looked up from tallying inventory. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," he drawled. "How is the saloon these days?"

  "It is alright," Matthew tried to mimic Joe's drawl. "It was a bit slow today, so I thought I might come by." He held up the stack of letters, indicating his purpose.

  "Well you're in luck!" Ivan rose from his chair and headed to the back. He returned momentarily and brought with him a large, crisp envelope. "Looks like you have some mail here." He traded the letter for Matthew's stack.

  Matthew let out a tortured groan as he saw the name emblazoned on the front — Lucille Carmichael.

  Matthew tore open the envelope and quickly scanned the contents.

  Ivan cast him a worried look. "You alright?" he asked hesitantly.

  "Not for long," Matthew shook his head. He waved the letter in front of him, "my mother is coming to visit."

  "I take it from your ghostly appearance, that this is not a good thing?" Ivan questioned.

  "It would be perfectly fine if I was handling just her," he emitted a second, more tortured groan. "But
you see here," he leveled his gaze with his former employer, "I told a few white lies to keep her off my back, and now I can't deliver."

  "Well, who hasn't?" Ivan chuckled. "We all say what we must to keep the family back East from worrying." He paused as he surveyed his friend again, "It can't be that bad, can it?"

  "Well—" Matthew struggled to reveal the art of his deception. "I told her I was married and the owner of a large Texas ranch."

  Ivan burst out laughing. "You? A rancher?" he chortled. "Or even a husband? You're a committed bachelor for sure."

  "I'm not really sure how I am going to explain that I'm a bartender at a local bit house, and that I'm unmarried." He shook his head in defeat. To say that his mother had the habit of being a bit over-bearing was an understatement.

  He needed a plan, fast.

  "Well, it's a good thing you walked through my doors!" Ivan exclaimed enthusiastically.

  Matthew shot him a bewildered look. "I was thinking just the opposite. I would rather not have found out that my mother was due to pay me a visit," he spoke grimly.

  Ivan chuckled. "Not that son. I can help you acquire the ranch and the bride."

  Matthew's jaw dropped. "Really?" he asked with wary eagerness. It sounded too good to be true.

  "Well," Ivan motioned for Matthew to move in closer, as if revealing a secret. "I know that George Gavin is looking for someone to manage his ranch while he is away. Although he is looking for someone with a bit more experience, I'm sure we could play up your skills as an educated man and we could persuade him to take you on." He gave him an assessing look, "Now you might not be able to get away with claiming the ranch for your own, but you can show your mother around the place, have her stay in town during her visit, and then send her back on the first coach out of here." He clapped his hands together like it was a done deal," she'll never know the difference."

  Matthew was a bit skeptical, but he didn't have much choice. It was either Ivan's plan, or the wrath of his mother.