Bewitching the Viscount (Regency Romance) (Regency Lords Book 3)

by Regina Darcy

  He would not waste another five-year mooning. He would face the harsh reality that was Abigail Baxter and be better the for it.

  As soon as he arrived, Jarvis, the Dudley Steward, greeted him. The man looked horrified.

  “M’lord! Thank the heavens you are here!” the man cried out.

  “What is the matter?”

  “The Marquess has beaten M’Lady and locked her up with the young Miss Baxter. I am afraid for their lives!”

  “Where is His Lordship?”

  “In the library, drinking port wine.”

  “Take me to the women immediately.”

  Jarvis, led the way. He walked as fast as his short legs would allow, almost running, he was so in fear for his mistress’s life.

  When Jarvis opened the bedroom, all Nathaniel saw was Abigail. She was curled up next to the Marchioness.

  “Abigail,” he whispered.

  She looked up at him and threw herself in his arms, sobbing.

  “You came for me,” she snivelled.

  “Of course my dear, you have my heart.” How could he have ever thought she would wrong him? He was truly a fool.

  The sight that met Nathaniel when he looked at Lady Dudley, was one to make even the harshest of hearts bleed.

  She confessed everything. How she had made him believe an untruth because she needed his help. She had needed to run as far away from her sadistic husband as possible.

  Nathaniel listened, overcome by shame that he hadn’t seen the signs, the desperation. This was then followed by rage. What gentleman did this, how dare he, lay his hand on a woman. Only cowards and criminal had such a behaviour. He wanted to hunt the man down and beat him to a pulp, but he knew this would have to wait.

  With Jarvis assisting, they took the women to the carriage. As the women climbed on board Lord Dudley, who had heard the ruckus came storming down the stairs of the driveway.

  “Where do you think you are going with my property!” he shouted off the top of his head. Nathaniel did not let him finish his rant, instead when he got close enough; he socked him in the face with such force he went flying backward.

  “I will await you with pistols at dawn in Hyde Park,” he said coldly. Then he turned to Jarvis and added, “Climb on board.” The Steward did not hesitate to follow his directive.

  EPILOGUE

  The very next day, the duel between Lord Wiltshire and Lord Dudley was the talk of the London ton. What their disagreement had been, was only whispered about, however the outcome was clear. Lord Wiltshire had shot and wounded Lord Dudley in his crown jewels. A most devastating outcome for any duel. A fate worse than death according to many gentlemen.

  Lord Dudley was now unlikely to beget an heir and because of a ricochet shrapnel, he would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. His wife, traumatised by the events, had moved to the continent to regain her spirits. It was rumoured she was unlikely to return to care for her invalid husband.

  A couple of days later, Abigail and Nathaniel’s engagement became public. The news spread around London and the surrounding shires like wildfire. It was the talk of the beau monde. The Viscount of Wiltshire had finally decided to give up his life as a bachelor. Snared by an incomparable beauty surely. But the difference in their social standing was scandalous. Her dowry was not significant enough to make this an advantageous match.

  Rumour had it that Lord Nathaniel Hughes doted on his fiancée though. Without the necessity of having her family attend the wedding, he would have whisked her away to Gretna Green. Many started calling her the girl who bewitched the Viscount.

  “Does that bother you my dear?” Nathaniel asked Abigail as the two of them walked through Kensington Gardens.

  The rest of the Baxter family walked a suitable distance away, acting as chaperones but providing the young couple some sorely needed privacy.

  “Bothered by the rumours? Not at all. Why? Do you think I have put you under a spell, my dear husband-to-be?” she answered, winking.

  “I am as enchanted as any fairy-tale prince,” he replied with a smile.

  “Bewitched then?” Abigail feigned offense. “And here I mistakenly assumed you considered me a unique flower to be picked and preserved forever.”

  “Ah, yes, that was it.” Nathaniel laughed as Abigail playfully tapped him with her fan. “I had almost forgotten.”

  “Very funny.”

  “My dear,” his tone suddenly became serious, “You do know that I love you more than anything?”

  “And I you,” she whispered, looking deep in his eyes. Abigail Baxter had never though she could be this happy. Now she knew she had found all that she needed. She had no intention of ever letting go of her viscount. She laced her hand through his arm and they continued their walk, eagerly planning their future.

  The End

  BONUS CHAPTER 1:

  –

  WINNING THE VISCOUNT’S HEART

  CHAPTER 1

  As make-believe as fairy tales are, they give pretty young women a sense of vanity while in good fortune, and hope while suffering. Raised on the dreams of poetry and make-believe, Emmeline Knight had received a fair share of both. Despite being a gentleman’s daughter, she held herself loftily above the flirtations of those who shared her rank—and of those flirtations there were many. She instead dreamt of a prince charming, or at least a wealthy peer, who would sweep her off her feet into a world of more lavish living.

  She had spent the entire evening in the centre of revelry, passed from one gentleman to another, until she had torn herself away for a moment to breathe. Bodies were packed close together and potential lovers stole furtive glances at one another as the music continued to swell. Her dearest friend, Miss Lucy Grove, pulled her behind the crowd.

  “Well now, Emmeline, are your feet sore yet?” she teased. “You have hardly found a moment’s rest since the night began. Quite popular among the local prospects, are we?”

  “Even so, I can hardly remember the name of a single gentleman from this evening,” Emmeline admitted.

  “Ah, they would weep to hear such news. Half of them looked ready to propose.”

  Emmeline merely scoffed. “Forgive me if I feel relieved that none acted on such urges. A rejection would absolutely ruin the mood of the ball.”

  “Now, now, Miss Knight. That is not an attitude befitting a lady such as yourself,” Lucy said with a wry smile. “They all seemed perfectly nice. You have plenty of time to find a husband who fits your tastes, but if you reject every kind soul who comes your way...”

  “Oh, Lucy. I hardly think it any fault of mine that the local boys are all just that—boys.” She sighed. “Is it wrong to wish for a few better options?”

  The surrounding people parted like the red sea, eagerly making room with eyes politely downcast and hungry. Lord William Blackwood, viscount and heir to the Earl of Dingby, wore a light expression of haughtiness, that was so common of the aristocracy, as he sailed through the crowd.

  Lord Blackwood had come by his title suddenly, when his older brother had died during his commission in the French revolutionary war of the Second Coalition. As the sole heir of the Earl of Dingby, it was anticipated that he should marry soon. He was one of the most eligible bachelors in the Berkshire society. Unfortunately, he was also not the most eloquent gentleman around, frequently comporting himself much older than his mere 28 years.

  “What of Lord Blackwood? He has always been most cordial to you,” Lucy murmured, “and you cannot do much better than a viscount.”

  “Archibald told me that there’s only one thing he would want from someone of my status, and it is not marriage,” Emmeline whispered back.

  “How oddly realistic. I would never have expected such beliefs from you.”

  “I trust my brother’s judgement. Besides, he is too much of a cold fish. Now, come along before he sees me; I should not wish to dance again yet.”

  Her mother stood at the side of the dance floor next to her younger brother, Archi
bald, who was only half listening to her, as the couples in the centre of the room giggled and pranced around each other. Emmeline made her way towards them.

  “Yes, mother. Of course,” Emmeline heard him say as they approached.

  “Archibald, you always say that. When will you accomplish the task of providing an heir?” her mother chided in response. “The matter is of outmost importance. You’re getting to the age that—oh! Emmeline! Have you been enjoying the dance?” Mrs. Knight smiled in an eager manner that indicated she was asking something else entirely.

  “The dancing, yes. The gentlemen, however, I found far less interesting,” she responded. Mrs. Knight’s face fell.

  “Oh, Emmeline. Must you be so choosy?”

  “Mother, these boys are hardly worth your fretting. Besides, it is not as if there’s a threat of me becoming an old maid. At nineteen, I can afford to wait for someone truly wonderful for a little while longer, can I not?”

  “I fear your judgement may be tainted by all those fairy tales you love so dearly,” Archibald muttered.

  “Oh, you are hardly in a place to lecture me on judgement,” Emmeline shot back at her brother.

  Archibald tutted. “So bold. You are fortunate that none of your followers heard that.” Miss Lucy Grove watched the playful sibling rivalry with an amused smile, but Mrs. Knight seemed eager to change the subject.

  “Now, you two, please. Emmeline, I would like you to be married in a timely manner,” Mrs. Knight said. “Though a love-match would be perfect, my dear, most maidens marry out of practicality and convenience. You are unlikely to find a prince in these parts.”

  “That’s not quite so,” Lucy interjected, lips touched with a sly smile. Emmeline’s curiosity was piqued.

  “What do you mean, Lucy?” she asked.

  “Well, I heard whispers while you were on the dance floor. Apparently, someone just rented Archester Manor.”

  “Archester? Really?” Emmeline said, breathless. Archester Manor was no humble abode. The estate covered nearly 4,000 acres and looked fit for a royal’s summer retreat. For the money it would take to rent it, the guest may as well be royal. Lucy watched her friend’s shock with excitement.

  “You have yet to hear the best of it,” she said.

  “Please stop holding me in suspense and just say it, Lucy!” Emmeline cried. By this point, all three Knights were leaning in, eyes wide.

  Lucy enjoyed her last few moments of superior knowledge, then spoke. “The guest is a Peer from France.” Her small crowd let out a single synonymous gasp. She continued, “His name is Le Comte de Coligny, and rumour is he plans to stay all season.”

  “Did you say his name was de Coligny?” Mrs. Knight echoed. “Hmm…a Count…I believe my grandfather knew him. Archibald, perhaps you should call on him?”

  Emmeline seemed not to have heard her mother.

  “Did you say that he came alone?” Lucy nodded.

  “I hope I do not presume too much to say that may be the reason he came for the season,” she said.

  “Why Berkshire?” Archibald mused quietly. “If he is truly of the peerage as the rumours say, why not look for a companion in a city like London?”

  “I do hope you do not mean to insult Berkshire ladies, Mr. Knight, or some of us may take offense,” Lucy said, still wearing her sly and amused smile.

  “I can hardly believe—here. A French Count!” Emmeline said. Her thoughts enveloped her. She imagined a reason as to exactly why he had come to their humble village instead of some city; he wanted to meet women of a more non-material nature, who had lived in luxury less than those he was used to. This golden-hearted Lord wanted the company of humble ladies, polite and plain in attitude despite soft and lovely appearances. In her mind, they were already a perfect fit.

  “Well, we already have the heir to an earldom. Not that I’ve seen you pay any attention to Lord Blackwood,” Mrs. Knight said, sounding sour. Emmeline paid her no head.

  “Oh dear,” Emmeline sighed, fanning herself, “a Peer.” Distantly, the music swelled and descended into silence as the band prepared itself for the next song.

  A hand fell softly on her shoulder and rested there for a moment before jerking off as if it had been burnt. It tore Emmeline from her thoughts, and she stared into the stern face of Lord Blackwood. “My apologies, Miss Knight. I simply wanted your attention.”

  “Apologies for what?” She looked at his hand, held carefully at his side, then back at her shoulder. He looked about as surprised as she did—perhaps at his own boldness.

  “Oh. There is no need for apologies, Lord Blackwood. How may I assist you?”

  “I would like to ask your company for this final dance of the evening, if it would please you.”

  “Hmm? Oh, of course,” she replied with a dreamy lopsided grin. Lord Blackwood’s eyebrows furrowed at her distance.

  “Thank you, Miss Knight.” He held out his hand and she placed hers in it. He looked down at their joined hands and breathed in deeply before leading her to the dance floor.

  The band began to play. This song was one that they had clearly been saving, for it was the lightest tune of the evening. It seemed to lift Emmeline’s spirits even higher, even as she was not fully present for it. In mind if not in body, she was with her imagined Count de Coligny, living her dearest fantasy. If Lord Blackwood held her hand a little tighter than was considered polite, or caressed the underside of her gloved wrist with his thumb for a brief, blissful moment, she did not notice. Nothing could distract her from her daydreams. Her very own fairy tale had just begun.

  Read More

  BONUS CHAPTER 2:

  –

  MESMERISING THE DUKE

  CHAPTER 1

  The candles in the drawing-room of Sheperton Manor glittered as brightly as the jewellery worn by the ladies dancing beneath it.

  Despite the almost illicit nature of the activity being undertaken in the house’s gaming rooms, the ballroom was filled with a fair number of the ton, searching for some entertainment in the Buckinghamshire countryside. Those not indulging in a spot of dancing with one fair lady or another, were busy gambling in the nearby rooms.

  Their hostess, Lady Archer, had once been a well-to-do dowager, but had fallen on hard times after several gambling misfortunes. But, being ever the entrepreneurial woman, she had taken her penchant for card games and made it into a minor business. An activity that would have warranted her exclusion from polite society.

  But the ton were addicted to a good game of cards.

  When Lady Archer had first thrown such a vulgar event, it had been quite the scandal in their local community. However now it was seen as the height of decadency to have attended such a gathering. Known through the county for her gambling soirees, she had turned misfortune to fortune, which had to be admired.

  Her gaming gatherings differed in that both women and men could attend, and dancing and socialising was a must. Of course she did charge an entry fee, which was collected ever so discreetly on arrival.

  How popular these soirees were could be witnessed by the merriment of the attendees as they swirled across the ballroom to the strains of the Viennese Waltz. It was well known that most of the women attending were some man’s wife and probably another man’s mistress. Or aspiring to be one or the other. This was especially true during her masquerade balls, during the month of love. It was this very event that would draw the most reluctant rake to the countryside. At these times, every sensible matron would remain at home, keeping a close eye on their charge.

  Yes, Lady Archer’s was a place for decadent amusement but one gentleman looked conspicuously bored and unmoved by the merriment. His very presence was such that the eyes of almost every woman kept returning to his imposing figure. This scrutiny could have been due to his stature, but more likely than not it was due to the man himself. Douglas Montgomery, the Duke of Staffordshire, commonly referred to as Monty by his friends.

  He was not only tall, but also extremely handsome. H
e had a reputation of leaving a sea of broken hearts wherever he went. Despite this, matrons with aspirations to move up in the world, would not hesitate to throw their daughters at him. Unfortunately for him, this was a frequent occurrence. His reputation did nothing to dissuade them from coveting the title of Duchess for their daughter.

  Douglas knew that if he ever found himself in a compromising situation with any of those insipid girls he was done for it. His own sense of honour would demand that he did the right thing. That is why he avoided debutants like the plague. No, he preferred a mature woman. Preferably one that was already married and bored with her husband. The thought brought a cynical smile to the corner of his lips.

  He had learnt the hard way that women were not to be trusted. At least his paramours were honest about their desires and what they expected of him. At the thought of his mistress he frowned.

  Unfortunately, today he had to undertake the unpleasant task of informing her that their time together was at an end.

  He had noticed the first signs of what he could only describe as affection in the lady’s rapport with him. He did not do affection. Douglas would stake his rogue reputation on his skills to satisfy any woman, however emotional satisfaction they had to look for elsewhere. His current liaison was set to get messy as the lady’s husband, the Earl of Chelsford, had recently been named Lord Steward.

  His influence over the Sovereign was not to be underestimated. Although Countess Desdemona was an incomparable beauty, she wasn’t worth the hassle of having to tackle with her husband’s displeasure. Besides, as far as the Countess was concerned, he had grown restless, bordering on bored. Matters had not been helped by the fact that she had sent him three messages last week urging him to come urgently to Buckinghamshire. For what purpose, he did not know, but he would take this opportunity to end their assignations.