“Noel, come see,” Claire said.
He tiptoed in, afraid to make the slightest sound, and he peered within the blanket. The baby’s face was red and wrinkled and covered with a chalky substance, its head thickly covered with dark hair and…
“She’s a girl,” his wife interrupted his perusal.
“She’s beautiful,” he said as he sank down onto the bed beside Claire.
“Here, don’t you want to hold her?" Claire asked as she shifted the tiny bundle into his arms.
“I can’t,” Noel said. “I’ll break her.”
Claire laughed. “No you won’t, silly. She’s not at all breakable.”
“But she’s so tiny.”
“For now. It shan’t be long until she’s running circles around you.” Claire leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said in a soft voice.
There was a knock at the partially open door. They both looked up. “Come in, Mama,” they said in unison.
“I tried to be patient,” the duchess said, “but I just couldn’t wait. The doctor told me I have a granddaughter.”
“You have,” Noel said proudly. “But look, Mama, she has my hair. I remember you wanted a blonde granddaughter.”
“I am too old to be choosey,” she said.
Noel handed the babe to his mother and watched with pride as she tucked the little bundle into the crook of her arm as though she had not gone years without an infant in the house. Then he tucked his arm around his wife, pulling her close and dropping a kiss on her nose.
“By the way,” he said, “what are you sorry about this time?”
Claire sighed and laid her hand on his chest. “I’m sorry, Noel, that I did not provide you with an heir.
Noel smiled, passion filling his soul. “It’s all right, Sweetheart, we’ll just have to try harder.”
The End
About The Author
Ilene Withers grew up in Nebraska cowboy country. She fell in love with romance novels at the age of 18 while recovering from a motorcycle accident. Upon learning of ancestors from the British Isles, it didn’t take more than a few more years to lose herself in the Regency world. She has lived throughout the Great Plains region and has settled in Loveland, Colorado, where she lives with her musician husband and her Maine Coon cat. Ilene rediscovered her childhood love of writing when she earned a college degree in English writing as a non-traditional student. She shares a fascination of the paranormal with an adult daughter, who is seeking her doctorate in History. Ilene has many more historical stories to tell.
More From Astraea Press
Chapter One
Late May, Bombay, India 1816
Captain Alan Tame looked at the cup of weak, watered-down punch in his hand and stifled a wince. Instead, he discreetly dumped the contents into a nearby potted fern then gave the porcelain cup to a passing servant. The turban-clad man nodded and slipped away with a vague smile. There were things Alan would miss about the country when he left: the hospitality—even if some was given begrudgingly—the politeness of India’s people, their gentle ways of looking at life, and their acceptance even though his people—the British—had practically made them slaves in their own country.
However, he wouldn’t miss the oppressive humidity and heat, the crowded streets filled with masses of people and intrusive smells, or the food that kept his stomach in a perpetual case of upset.
Three more weeks until my commission expires.
The thought caused a smile to tug at Alan’s mouth. Though he’d enjoyed his stint in the military and had his commission paid for by his godfather—the Duke of Stanwycke—he didn’t want to risk giving a go to a renewal. It was time to return home to England’s damp, green shores, its chilly weather and emotionally aloof people. A chuckle escaped him before he could recall it.
“Is there a woman that provokes such a grin, Tame?”
Alan turned at the sound of his best friend’s voice. Major Robert Pullman approached. His barrel chest, broad shoulders and over six-foot height made him an imposing figure, but impressive in his regimental uniform, even with the makeshift sling on his left arm. Candlelight winked off the brass buttons. “Robert. How good to see you again.”
“And you.” He extended a hand to Alan and grinned when they shook. “Rest and relaxation is hardly my idea of a job well done.”
“Perhaps if you’d been a bit quicker of your feet, that bullet wouldn’t have found its mark in you.” Alan flicked his gaze to the sling then fixed it back on his friend’s ruddy face. “At least the conflict is over and the treaty is signed.” The Treaty of Sugauli had been put into effect to end the Gurkha War between the kingdom of Nepal and the British East India Company.
“This is true. I hope all parties honor it though.”
“It would be in England’s best interests to do so. They have much at stake here.” Alan glanced around his immediate area. A good portion of the male members of the party were from the British military in some form or another. Like seemingly everywhere else around the world, India had been slowly occupied by the British war machine in an effort to further its ever-increasing holdings and power. “No matter how our being here displaces the native residents.”
“Watch yourself, friend,” Robert warned in a low voice. “Such unflattering talk might make you ungrateful, even traitorous.”
“That’s hardly the case. My life has been for king and country only these last years.” Alan heard the bitterness in his voice and hated himself for it. “I’ve spend too long in India already. I cannot wait to return to England and attempt to pick up the pieces of my life.”
Robert clapped him on the shoulder. “Are you remembering Anne? Forget her. It is time to move forward.”
“It is.” Still, Alan couldn’t help his frown. He’d served in India for four years, took the commission directly after the woman he thought to marry never showed up at the church on the day of their wedding. “However, the heart is slower to forget than the mind.”
“Then what you need is a new diversion, a woman so different she’ll not remind you of Anne.” Robert gestured at the ballroom. “There are many such candidates here tonight. Perhaps you’ll be seated with a delectable morsel at dinner.”
“Thank you, but no. I don’t know that I’m eager to offer up my heart again.” Alan shrugged. “I shall return to Brighton and spend a couple of months settling into life. Then I shall decide what to do next.”
Robert’s booming laugh caused a few heads to turn in their direction. “Unless your older brothers get wind of your blue devils. They’ll put an end to them in a trice.”
“Don’t remind me.” Alan rolled his eyes. His eldest brother, Miles, as well as his middle brother, Avery, were of the opinion a man needed to keep busy lest his thoughts bury him. At thirty-two, there was every possibility his thoughts would send him into a brown study, and often. “I’ve no wish to join them in their schemes of the moments. Besides,” he drew his friend toward the door of the ballroom, thinking to move to a quieter corner, “it’s unlikely my brothers are residing in Brighton at the moment. The last I heard, one was in Spain and the other was attempting to make his fortunes in America.” His bachelor brothers had much time for trouble.
Robert chuckled. “And your sister? What of her?”
“I’m sure Jocelyn is safely ensconced at home, doing all the things an unattached lady should be doing.” At the last second, he bit back a groan. At least, that’s what he hoped she was doing. His only sister had the tendency to let wanderlust capture her, the same as he and his brothers. “And no, she is not for you.”
His friend drew to a halt when Alan paused just outside the ballroom door. “She’s firmly on the shelf. I’d be happy to give her the security she’ll need as well as a family. I’ve always fancied her.”
Alan sighed. Though Robert was nothing but sincere, he knew enough of his friend’s roving eye to realize he wouldn’t want that sort of life for his sister. “I know. We shall see how things progress.
” It was the only platitude he could offer, and he also knew he’d do everything in his limited power to keep Robert from Jocelyn. Her welfare should fall as Miles’ responsibility, but he couldn’t help looking out for her as well. She was just such a delicate creature.
“I won’t give up hope then.”
“I never thought you would.” Alan rubbed his forehead where a headache tried to form. Devil take it, he wished the tedious evening would end. Desperate for a diversion, he craned his neck with the attempt to see past Robert’s bulk and his heart stuttered. He forgot how to breathe in that one moment, forgot his reason for being at the party, forgot everything except drinking in the vision of beauty intruding into his sight.
At the end of a hallway that fed from the ballroom, a dark-haired woman stood, staring back at him. The sheen of her green silk gown glimmered in the soft candlelight, but it was her creamy, mulatto skin and glittering dark eyes that arrested his attention and sent his heart thumping back into painful life.
“Robert, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve just seen someone I must speak with.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but dashed around his big friend and tore down the hall as if he’d lost his mind.
Her eyes widened as he approached, but she turned and scurried off, deeper into the bowels of the house, away from the noise and congestion of the main party. The whisper of her skirts echoed in the passage.
“Miss, wait! I would like to talk with you,” Alan implored as he followed her. When she paused at the entrance of a study, he took advantage of the delay, caught up to her and grasped her elbow. “Please, tell me you name.” Though, what exactly he’d do with that information once he gained it, he didn’t know.
“I beg you, my lord.” Her voice was low and as lyrical as any of her countrymen’s. “Let me go and return to the party. I’m of no interest to you.” She attempted to pry his hand from her arm, but he refused to relinquish his grip. “Please.”
The soft-spoken plea, combined with the fear in her brown eyes, worked as a dash of cold water to his face. Alan let her go, but didn’t step away. “I apologize for the rough handling.” He trained his gaze onto her bare arm beneath the fluttering capped sleeve, hoping his over-eager grip didn’t leave marks on her smooth skin. “And by no means am I a lord.”
She blinked and the thick black fringe of her lashes brought his attention back to her glorious eyes. Those were eyes a man could easily fall into and drown. “Forgive my trespass. Nearly everyone I’ve met this evening is a titled Peer.” A tiny smile tugged at her full lips, lips that were stained dusky rose and invited either a bigger smile or a kiss.
The latter he couldn’t, in all good conscience, give—at least until they’d been introduced and alone—and even then it would push the bounds of propriety.
“Have a care, mysterious miss. Not all men are who they say they are, and many will invent a title to further a connection with an unsuspecting lady.” Though Alan wished to linger ever closer to her and breathe in the exotic floral scent she wore, he stepped back and put enough space between them to remain proper. Not that anyone had followed them to the study, but if he didn’t, he might give into the urge to sweep her into his embrace.
“Ah.” She crossed her arms loosely over her chest, and the silver and emerald beads along the bodice and sleeves twinkled in the low light. “Who do you tell people you are?” Her question, born on the wings of slightly accented English, wrapped around him as gently as being caressed with satin.
Warmth spread into his veins. She wished to linger in the hall with him instead of flee. Perhaps he wasn’t willing to quit the party so soon. “My name is Alan Tame—Captain Tame that is. I hail from Brighton, England.”
She swept her gaze over his uniform before holding his once more. “In the service of His Majesty?”
“For a few weeks more, yes. Then I plan to return to England and…” And what? He shook his head. “Well, it would seem my plans are not quite firm at the moment.”
“Perhaps that is a good thing, Captain Tame.” Her giggle sent waves of heat into every extremity. “A man who plans every second of his life cheats himself of the adventure he might find otherwise.”
An answering grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “Very true, and how astute of you to realize it.” He stared at her as if he was the village idiot, but he couldn’t look away. She was everything fresh and wholesome and beautiful—what a woman should be.
She took a step toward him and leaned closer. Hair from her topknot swung over her shoulder and brushed his arm. “In the event you’re wondering, I am Miss Devi Derbyshire, or if you’d rather have my Indian surname, Kadam. My mother was quite adamant I have a first name that reflected her culture even if my surname reflects my father’s.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having balance in a relationship.”
“I don’t think so either. Devi means goddess, which I suppose is something to strive for.”
A fitting name for a creature such as her. Alan nodded. “Nice.”
She arched a full, dark eyebrow. “I’m the daughter of an English military officer and his Indian housekeeper.” She resumed her place some steps away. “Of course, I don’t need to mention this lineage, but I’ve found it’s easier to get this bit out of the way early on—since people speculate then judge accordingly.”
“How refreshingly honest.” She was so different from Anne. Where Anne minded Society’s rules within an inch of her life, it would seem Miss Derbyshire enjoyed skirting at least a few. Fearing he’d gape before too long, he held out a hand. “And utterly charming.” When she placed an ungloved hand into his, he brought it to his lips and kissed her middle knuckle. “I’m very pleased to meet you Miss Derbyshire.”
Questions swirled through his head about why she was here, and where she stood in Bombay Society, or where her parents were now, but none of them left the tip of his tongue. There was only her hand in his, the fleeting glance of her warm skin beneath his lips and the scent of flowers in the air.
He hadn’t released her hand, and she hadn’t pulled it from his grasp. The bitter taste of betrayal Anne had left in his throat for the last four years finally faded. In its place came sweet victory, as clean and clear as a summer rain. The first strains of a waltz sounded from the direction of the ballroom. “Miss Derbyshire, would you care to dance?”
“Oh, I mustn’t.” She tugged her hand away then retreated a few steps. “Lady Montcallum wouldn’t be pleased to see me occupying the attention of gentleman who should be fixing his attention on ladies who are more worthy.” Her voice grew softer throughout the much-rehearsed speech so that it mostly died on the last word, yet there was no mistaking the interest and longing in her eyes.
“You mean, women of pure, English bloodlines?” A sweep of hot anger rose in his chest at the injustice of Society and the constant slight Miss Derbyshire had to endure. She had no choosing in who her parents were.
“I’m sure the aristocracy has their reasons.” She took another step backward.
“Oh yes, to keep themselves separate from those they don’t deem worthy, from those who challenge them or make them afraid when faced with differences.” He followed her down the hall until he trapped her in a corner. “However, I am not one of them.” Alan extended his hand once more. “Now, about that dance?”
Table of Contents
The Blackmailed Beauty
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
About The Author
More From Astraea Press
The Blackmailed Beauty Page 21
