by Joyce Alec
His heart ached a little less than it had before. As he drew in a deep breath, the day itself seemed a little brighter. Miss Richards would have no need to continue along her chosen path, for the matter of financial hardship was settled. He would make it clear to them both that he expected no recompense, that it was simply to be taken as both a gift and an apology—an apology that Miss Richards would understand.
For a moment, he toyed with walking to their house and explaining it all in person, wondering what Miss Richards’ reaction to him would be. Then, after a moment’s thought, he turned towards home instead, knowing that he had no right to simply call upon them after what he had done. Miss Richards might not wish to see him, and he would not impose himself on her. A letter would suffice. Then, after that had been seen too, he would instruct his butler to begin packing his things. It was time to return home for good.
A short time later, his letter sent and packing already underway, Jonathan was at in his study, penning a short letter to Michael. It informed Michael that he was returning back to his country seat and that he hoped Lord Michael and his new bride—provided all had gone well—would come for an extended visit soon. Sealing the letter, he made to press his seal into the hot wax, only for the door to swing open, a young lady hurrying into the room, the butler behind her.
“Miss Richards!” Jonathan exclaimed, his seal still in the wax. “Whatever are you doing here?”
She twisted her head and glared at the butler, who—much to Jonathan’s surprise—left at once, closing the door behind him.
“I know I keep bursting into your house without any notice,” she began, breathlessly, as though she had been running, “but my brother and I received your letter only half an hour ago.”
Jonathan sank back into his chair, feeling a little apprehensive. “I hope I did not offend you by doing so.”
“Offend me?” Miss Richards asked, staring at him as though he had gone quite mad. “You have not offended either of us, not in the least, but I am here to tell you that I simply will not accept it.”
Blinking, Jonathan stared up at the beautiful woman in front of him and immediately noticed that there was no anger in her gaze. Instead, there was a curious kind of sadness, as though he had done something to upset her without truly knowing what it was.
“I must ask you to accept it,” he said slowly, getting to his feet so that he might stand in front of her. “Miss Richards, I did a terrible wrong to you, treating you in a way you ought never to have been treated. I showed you no kind of respect—only to discover that I was quite wrong in my assumptions. I am heartily ashamed of myself.” Seeing her about to speak, he held up one hand and continued on, desperate to speak all the words he had in his heart. “My shame knows no bounds, and after hearing what it is you are doing in order to save your brother and his title, I am compelled to act. Your kindness and compassionate heart are things I admire, and that I can only hope to have one day in my own nature. You should be able to marry whomever you choose, and it is my hope that in accepting this, you will do just that.”
His speech completed, Jonathan held his breath and looked down at her, trying his best to ignore the growing ache in his heart. He wanted this woman for his own, yet he knew he had no right to claim her. He could not even dare form the words to ask her to be his bride.
After what he had said and done, he did not even deserve to speak to her as he was this very moment. It was gracious of her to allow him such a small thing. At least he could return to his country estate knowing that he had managed to put his mistake to rights.
“You look rather troubled, Lord Rivenhall,” Miss Richards said softly, taking a step closer to him. “Pray, tell me your thoughts.”
Recalling how she was rather bold with her statements, Jonathan sighed and shook his head. “I confess that I am still ashamed of my actions. If you will accept what I have given you, it will be a balm to my soul, even though I am fully aware it is more than I deserve.”
She laughed softly, astonishing him entirely.
“My dear Lord Rivenhall,” she smiled, putting her hand on his. “I am afraid that, whilst it is in my heart to forgive you, I still cannot accept your money—not unless you accept my hand in marriage.”
Jonathan blinked, his heart stopping completely in his chest for a moment. He stared down at her, not quite sure he had heard her correctly.
“I have always gone against society’s rules, and so you must forgive me another misstep,” she continued, her hand tightening on his. “It is I that am proposing to you, Lord Rivenhall. It has been a rather difficult path for us both, but I confess that my heart is filled with none other than you.”
Jonathan felt himself sag with a sudden relief, pulling her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his waist as he let out a bark of laughter, overcome with the love he felt.
“I did not know until this very moment just how much I cared for you, Miss Richards,” he began. “I—”
“Mary,” she interrupted, looking up at him. “If I am to be your wife, then you must call me Mary. Although you have not yet agreed to marry me.”
Jonathan shook his head at her, a broad smile crossing his face. “I will forever be unworthy of you, Mary,” he replied, tenderness in his features. “You have forgiven me in spite of all my failures, in spite of all my harsh words to you.”
“Even more than that,” she replied, reaching up to twine her hands around his neck. “I believe that I love you. I think I have grown in my love for you with every moment we have spent together, I simply did not allow myself to feel it before.”
A vision of his bright, happy future came into his mind, as Jonathan leaned down to kiss her, his arms tight around her waist. After all the muddles, all the difficulties, and all the pain, they had somehow managed to find their way back to one another.
“I will never let you go again,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers. “Never again, I swear it.”
“Then, you will marry me?” she replied, her eyes twinkling up at him.
He smiled at her before kissing her again with all the love he had in his heart. “Yes, my dear Mary. I will marry you.”
THE END
The Earl’s Regret
The Earl’s Regret
Text Copyright © 2018 by Joyce Alec
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2018
Publisher
Love Light Faith, LLC
400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311
Prologue
England
1823
“Elizabeth? Come here, please.”
Seven-year-old Elizabeth Bolton, only daughter to the Earl of Lewisham, looked up from her frustrating attempts to play a tune on the pianoforte and saw her mother standing in the doorway, a small smile on her face.
“Of course, Mama,” she replied, slipping from the piano stool and hurrying towards her mother. “Is something the matter?”
“No, not at all,” her mother replied at once, with an affectionate smile. “We are to have a visitor, and he is bringing his son with him. I thought you might like to spend some time in his company and make sure he is welcome.”
Elizabeth, who had a mother inclined to show familial affection, smiled up at her in delight. “A visitor, Mama?”
It was drawing close to spring, and the last few months had been rather dreary for a young girl whose only wish was to run around outdoors. She had been forced to remain within, confined to the house and at the mercy of her governess. It was not as though her governess was
in any way cruel, but rather that she found Elizabeth rather poor at all the particular skills required of a young lady. It was a welcome relief to be taken away from the pianoforte, even if she was meant to be practicing.
“Now, my dear,” her mother continued, as they made their way towards the drawing room. “You must be on your very best behavior.”
“I will, Mama,” Elizabeth replied at once, seeing her brother Frederick already standing by her father as she entered the drawing room. “What did you say his name was?”
Her father cleared his throat, his eyes filled with warmth upon seeing his daughter. “You look very lovely today, Elizabeth.”
She smiled, knowing the blessing of having two loving parents at her side. “Thank you, Papa.”
“The Marquess of Stowell,” her mother answered, coming to sit down beside the fire. “He is a widower.”
“And a very fine man by all accounts,” her father interrupted, with a slight gleam in his eye. “His son is a little older than you—more Frederick’s age—but it is important that you greet him properly. He is Luke, Earl of Mallon, for he has a title in his own right.”
Elizabeth, entirely unaware of why such a thing was important, nodded eagerly. “Of course, I will, Papa.”
Frederick sniggered, his eyes dancing. “She does not understand, Papa.”
Frowning, Elizabeth’s smile faded from her young face. “Understand what?” Looking over at her mother, Elizabeth saw her look towards her father, who cleared his throat rather gruffly.
“Well, Elizabeth, we wish to tie the two families together.”
“Why?”
His gaze turned back to her after a moment of hesitation. “Because you will need to find a good husband for yourself and to marry above your title is an honor that I know you will come to appreciate. His father and I are to enter into business together, and this is the final part of our agreement.”
Sinking down into a chair, Elizabeth tried to understand what her father was talking about. She had never really thought about marriage or the like, given that she was only a child, but now her father seemed to be talking about such things as though she ought to be giving her future a great deal of consideration.
“It is all arranged,” her mother said, smiling. “You need not worry, Elizabeth. I am sure the boy will grow up to be as good a man as his father. It is a wonderful match.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard, struggling to take in the news. She had never really thought about her future, and certainly not about matrimony, but it now appeared that her parents had thought of everything. There would be no question about her future, no wondering about who she might meet and where she might go. It was all settled.
“So, I will never have a Season?” she asked her mother, her eyes rounding just a little. “I will not be presented?”
“Oh, you can have all of that,” the earl replied with a broad smile, “for I would not deprive my only daughter of her chance to experience all that London society has to offer!”
“It is just that you need not worry about courtship or the like,” her mother explained with a warm smile. “That is a blessing in itself, my dear. Trust me on that.”
Her father said something that made her mother laugh, but Elizabeth did not hear it. All she could think about was what her future was to look like, feeling rather nauseous over the fact that she was about to meet her future husband without any kind of warning.
The butler entered and introduced their visitors, and Elizabeth, as was expected, rose at once and gave the best curtsy she could, feeling her mother’s gentle hand on her shoulder as she rose. It gave her comfort and reassurance, her young mind struggling to comprehend all that she had been told.
“And this is my son, Luke,” the marquess said after introductions had been made. “He is delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Luke, who appeared to be around ten years of age, bowed deeply, his eyes rather serious for one so young. Elizabeth curtsied again, wondering if he knew of what their parents had arranged. When their eyes met, she felt herself grow queasy and dropped her gaze, unable to look at him any longer.
“Very glad you are both here,” she heard her father say, as the marquess and his son sat down. “I am sure this shall be the start of a very long and happy acquaintance between us.”
Elizabeth’s eyes shot to her father, who—much to her surprise—was looking at her with a great deal of fondness.
“I think so,” the marquess replied with a broad smile. “Luke is more than delighted with the arrangement, I can assure you.”
“As is Elizabeth,” her father replied, before pausing in their conversation as various trays were set out before them.
Elizabeth felt her mouth go dry as she felt Luke’s eyes on her, not able to look back at him nor even smile. It was all too much to take in, all too much to comprehend for a mind so young.
“Smile, Elizabeth,” she heard her mother whisper, trying her best to do so at once. “All will be quite well, I assure you. In time, you will come to appreciate this.”
Elizabeth nodded mutely, hoping in her heart that it would all be as her mother said. Her future was determined, her path already cut. All she had to do was follow it.
1
Twelve Years Later
Luke, Earl of Mallon, sat quietly as he listened to his father go on and on about the various aspects of London, as though they had not been amongst society before. His father, the Marquess of Stowell, greatly enjoyed spending time in London, and having been here for three Seasons previously, Luke was getting rather frustrated with just how his father seemed disinclined to acknowledge the fact that Luke was well aware of all of London’s foibles.
“Father,” he said firmly, as his father drew breath. “You need not worry. I am not about to throw myself headlong into a gambling club or drink excessively until I can barely stand up.”
His father frowned, and Luke was well aware that he was recalling the first year Luke had come to London for the Season. He had done everything he ought not to have done and had brought a great deal of shame to the family name.
Of course, he had learned from that experience and had vowed not to do anything like that again. The last two years he had proven as much, and he intended to do much the same this year. It was not as though he did not enjoy cards or dancing with as many eligible young ladies as he could, but he simply did not need to do so to excess.
“It is just as well you are going to keep a level head,” his father muttered, passing one hand over his eyes as he sat down. “I have it on good authority that your betrothed will be present at this evening’s ball.”
Luke blinked, a heavy weight immediately settling in his stomach. “Elizabeth?” he said rather hoarsely. “I have not seen her in many years.”
“Not from lack of trying on my part,” his father replied gruffly. “But her father was forced to go overseas to check on our holdings there, and I certainly did not expect him to be gone for three years!”
Luke frowned, trying to recall what had happened. “Was it not that he was rather unwell?” he asked, glancing up at his father. “Did not his wife and son go out to tend to him?”
His father nodded slowly. “Indeed, they did. Left your dear Elizabeth alone in that house with an old aunt for companion. I suppose they had to ensure that the place was run well and that everything was in order, but that must have been a somewhat lonely existence.”
As well as a good reason not to entertain my company, Luke thought to himself, recalling how his request to call upon the family at the house had been rejected, albeit with a very nicely written note.
“Good that he is recovered though, and he’s now back where he belongs,” his father continued cheerfully. “I should go out to our holdings soon, I suppose.”
Luke shook his head. “I doubt you have need to, Father,” he replied firmly. “The Earl of Lewisham has only just returned, and after three years there, I am quite sure that all is in order.”
His father chuck
led. “Be that as it may, I would quite like to go and visit,” he replied, his eyes bright. “Age is soon to catch up with me, and I would do these things before I am unable to so much as climb into a carriage unaided.”
Chuckling, Luke rolled his eyes. His father was one of the most youthful men he knew, despite his age. Tall and rather lean, he had never given in to the excesses of wealth that so many other gentlemen did. Over time, his once brown hair had become liberally streaked with white, although the sharpness of his blue eyes had never left him. He and Luke were very similar in coloring and features, giving Luke a glimpse into what he might one day look like. He hoped that he carried the same sense of authority and gravitas that his father so easily displayed. There was honor in everything the man did, making Luke quite proud of his lineage.
“Now, about Elizabeth,” his father calmly continued. “Her father has promised her a Season of course, for what young lady’s life would be complete without enjoying such a thing?” He chuckled, as Luke rolled his eyes, waving one finger at him. “And you need not protest, for I well remember how you behaved when you first came here.”
The words of protest died on Luke’s lips, heat creeping into his face.
“She will be much more well-mannered than you were, of course,” his father continued, still smiling. “But, then again, that may well be because young ladies are held to a much higher standard than the rest of us for whatever reason.” He paused for a moment, holding Luke’s gaze. “Give her the Season, Luke, and then announce your betrothal. You will have to court her, of course, but her father has already assured me that she is quite willing for such a thing to occur. She does want to know you better.”
