The Fairest Heart (Once Upon A Regency Book 1)

by Heather Chapman

  “Miss Grant?”

  She peered around the kitchen garden archway and saw the outline of the Marquess of Stratfordshire. Her mouth went dry. She had not expected to see him again, at least not until her season next fall. Their meeting yesterday had left her with a restless sleep.

  Nervousness spun her mind, and her hands trembled. “Lord Stratfordshire,” she managed, stepping forward to meet him.

  Colin’s expression held a question. “My father sent me to inquire after his horse. I asked after you, but your aunt insisted you were not at home. I see she was misinformed…”

  “Yes, misinformed.” Rose smiled and curtsied.

  “My father also told me about the charming gardens on your estate and suggested I ask you for a ride. I am currently directing some improvements in our gardens in Andover, and my father seems to think your land worthy inspiration.” His cheeks held the slightest blush, and his posture faltered. “But I would not wish to impose upon your solitude.”

  She shook her head, and she swallowed. Their meeting the previous day, though brief, had summoned new sensations—ones Rose had not known existed. She felt entirely ridiculous for her attraction to Colin. He was a marquess, set to inherit a dukedom.

  “Shall I return another day then?” he asked, looking past her into the kitchen garden.

  Her senses returned, and she shook her head once more. “A walk would be most enjoyable this time of day, My Lord. Shall I fetch my groom and a pair of horses?”

  His cheeks darkened another shade. “I must admit I have already taken upon myself the liberty of doing so. When I was about to depart, I saw you sitting through the archway.”

  Unexpected delight caught her breath. Rose took fifteen minutes to change into her riding habits and boots. She returned and took Colin down the same path she had taken with the duke, stopping every so often to point out an arrangement of plants.

  When they reached the pond, they dismounted, and Rose stopped to pick a few flowers.

  Colin took a few rocks from the ground, skipping them across the water with unanticipated adeptness.

  She tucked the stems of her recently picked flowers into her pocket and allowed herself to study the man beside her. The marquess was more than handsome; he was captivating. His manners were polished beyond measure. Even his posture commanded attention. Colin seemed like a portrait hanging in a hall—splendid and regal, attractive, and the very definition of an upstanding gentleman. But his eyes—she dared to glance at them once more. His eyes hinted at something more, something buried deep beneath the manners and expectations.

  “Do you enjoy riding for sport, My Lord?” she asked. The desire to see the truth behind the man at her side struck her with startling force.

  “Yes, more than anything.” He faced her, and the effect sent a wave of warmth to her chest.

  She flicked her chin toward the field opposite the pond. “There is a particularly pleasant piece of land just past the trees. You must ride the path on your next trip to your tenant lands.”

  The marquess’s lips parted in seeming surprise. A fire ignited between the green and blue of his eyes. “I would be glad to today, if you are willing.”

  Rose blushed. She had not intended the idea as an invitation. Rather, she had asked about riding in an attempt at understanding his character. “If that would please you.”

  They took to the beaten-down path, and Rose led him through the canopy of trees until they reached the clearing. Sunlight illuminated the scene of wildflowers, broken up only by a few trees and the occasional rocks. The path, from years of use by Rose and Paul, had turned to dirt.

  Rose pulled back her reins and turned to Colin. “If you are up for sport—”

  “Far more than I appear,” he said, interrupting. He grinned for the first time that day, and a charming line near the left edge of his lips deepened, revealing a complimenting dimple. The effect was an entirely unfair advantage. “Please, lead the way, Miss Grant.”

  Something told her Colin was a more formidable opponent than Paul Garvey. She took in a slow breath, fixating on the marquess’s dimple. “Very well.”

  Rose kicked her horse to an impressive sprint. The warm air beat against her, tugging loose her chignon.

  Colin kept his stallion even with Rose’s horse.

  Rose pushed Honey harder. She stifled her laughter. Racing the duke’s son was perhaps the most absurd thing she had ever done. Her entire upbringing told her to allow Colin to win. Injuring his pride would not serve either of them. Yet, Rose’s hands tightened on the reins, and she crouched forward, flying across the path at top speed.

  A smile crept over her lips when she spied the fallen logs ahead. She jumped with precision, landing briefly before jumping another set of obstacles.

  When they finally stopped for breath, they joined together in laughter.

  “My father told me you were a unique lady, Miss Grant, but I am ashamed I did not understand his meaning. I think I have repented on that account,” Colin said, stroking his stallion’s back. “I have hardly met your equal in the saddle.”

  Rose dismounted, leading her horse back the way they had come. She sent a mock-warning glance at the marquess. “I will forgive you, Lord Stratfordshire, if you will not breathe a word of this to anyone. My aunt detests when I ride so wildly.”

  “My father warned me you were a woman of secrets.”

  Rose’s jaw dropped. “Your father—he promised not to speak of my climbing that fence.”

  Colin bit his bottom lip, and his dimple manifested itself once more. “Yes, so he said, but then again—you cannot fault him. I was already privy to his being thrown from the horse and his embarrassing plight of enlisting a young woman for directions. Besides, I believe I have seen much more incriminating evidence of your shocking behavior.”

  Her cheeks ached from smiling. “Shocking? I doubt anything is as shocking as seeing the Marquess of Stratfordshire racing an innocent young lady.”

  Colin’s deep laughter returned. “I suppose that was rather bad form, wasn’t it? My father assures me you are rather good at keeping secrets though.”

  Rose nodded. “I imagine we are both bound to secrecy. The poor groom was left, quite abruptly. Benson must be shaking his head as we speak, berating our behavior.”

  “Then Benson is like my nurse. She was always scolding me for childish fancies—climbing trees, running, riding the most spirited horses.”

  “You mean she disliked you to act as a child?” Rose asked, remembering her own childhood adventures. Rose would have lived outdoors had it been acceptable.

  Colin’s expression flattened. “I suppose childhood is not reserved for those of nobility. A future duke is not allowed to indulge such whims.”

  Rose halted. “I think our lives a foil, Lord Stratfordshire. My childhood was the only freedom I have known, while your freedom seems to have only recently arrived.”

  “You think I am free now?” Colin shook his head, and his dark brows drew down. “Hardly. My duties dictate so much of my life—”

  “But you are happy, and that is more freedom than most. Your father admires you, or so it seemed from our discussion yesterday. That must bring internal freedom of sorts. I cannot imagine not competing for my aunt’s approval. The effort is futile, and I do not understand why I continue to labor for it.”

  Colin chewed on the inside of his cheek, seeming to contemplate for a long moment. “My father is under the impression that your aunt is punishing you for things out of your control.”

  Rose closed her eyes. Prudence had grievance enough with Rose, not to mention jealousies concerning the baron’s affections, but what had the duke told Colin? Rose tugged on a loose curl. “I cannot believe my aunt would be so cruel.”

  “Forgive me. My father warned me that you were uncommonly charming, and that familiarity would come as a result of your very presence. I should not speak of such things.”

  Rose released a slow breath. She could not fault Colin. He seemed mu
ch like his father, willing to come to her defense after momentary acquaintance. “Your father has shown me greater kindness than most. He seems to have exaggerated my good character.”

  Colin’s lip twitched. “He admired your mother very much, and he claims you are much like her.”

  Emotion jolted her. “He said that?”

  “Yes.”

  Rose’s breath turned shallow. She had longed to hear that, to feel as if a piece of her mother remained in her character, in her words and laughter. “I believe the horses are sufficiently rested, Lord Stratfordshire. Shall we ride again?”

  He mounted without another word, and the pair of them rode in relative silence. But conversation, once they reached the stables and walked to the front of the house, quickly found its way between them once more.

  Rose curtsied, offering a smile. “I hope you are not too worn-out for your return ride.”

  A flicker of sunlight lit his eyes. Since their return to the groom, the marquess had resumed his mannered and guarded expressions. Even his posture had turned practiced, but Rose was happy to see his gaze still held a semblance of unrestraint. “If anything, my time on your land was invigorating. Thank you for the tour, Miss Grant. I am attending a musicale at the Ainsworth’s estate in two days, just north of here. I shall write to them and request your presence, if you would be so inclined?”

  Her voice grew airy. “I will try, My Lord.”

  “Until then.” He bowed and took to his horse.

  Rose watched him ride into the distance, until his figure was nothing more than a speck along the distant hills. Colin had awoken something within her. She felt more alive in his presence, and conversation came much like it did with the duke—easily and comfortably. Only, Rose was certain she felt something quite different for the marquess than that of the duke. The duke evoked endearment, while Colin brought about something deeper—and slightly more alarming; Rose had never felt anything more than platonic kindness toward those in her circle.

  Lord Stratfordshire inspired admiration.

  “Getting on with the marquess, I see.”

  Rose whipped around.

  Aunt Prudence stood on the steps, tapping her fan against a hand. “That will never do, Rose. You have nothing to offer a man of his station. Take it from me; dukes want nothing to do with Grant women. Now, wash up before dinner and change from that abominable habit.”

  Rose’s shoulders caved forward. Her aunt was spiteful; yet, her words cut through Rose’s euphoria, slicing deeper into her insecurities. Did Rose have anything to offer a man of rank—or any man at all? Besides horse rides and walks around the garden, Rose imagined her company dull and insufficient; at least it had proven so to her aunt.

  Rose took the steps, two at a time, and passed by her aunt. She refused to meet Prudence’s eyes. Why could Rose never seem to do anything right? Sadness sunk into Rose’s throat, rising to her downturned lips and suddenly glistening eyes. She could not decide which was worse, Prudence’s perpetual disappointment in Rose or her aunt’s cruelty.

  “Do not be late for dinner, child,” Aunt Prudence mumbled. “I suspect we shall need to discuss the musicale.”

  “The—” Rose halted at the house threshold. Emotion crept into her voice, and she grasped the side of the open door for support. “You have never allowed me to attend mus—”

  “We shall discuss it. I do not think it wise to reject the invitation of the marquess, no matter my opinion on the spectacles. I suggest you change and hurry. Dinner will begin as usual.”

  Guilt knocked against Rose’s chest. She reeled backward, and the shame of her momentary judgement sent tears down her cheeks. How could she have been so quick to assign Prudence malicious intent? “Oh, Aunt. Thank you.”

  Prudence cleared her throat. “Dinner.”

  Rose nodded and hurried to her bedchamber.

  * * *

  Colin’s horse sped across the fields to Andover. Trees blended together in passing; rocks and ridges rose and fell at a surprising rate, but he doubted there was a more attractive stretch of land in all of Hampshire.

  Thank goodness for that ground below; it was quite possibly the only thing keeping him anchored to the present. The duke had been conservative in his assessment of Rose’s character; she far surpassed Colin’s idea of pleasant company. Their conversation, slow at first, had increased considerably after the ride.

  That ride.

  A grin stretched across his cheeks. Colin was delighted to find a kinship with Rose; her practiced smiles and conversation carried secrets as well, not the least of which included an adventurous spirit.

  Rose was more than courageous; she allowed herself to become one with the horse, an act that required confidence and trust. Her laughter still rang in his ears, and Colin hoped to keep hold of the sound until their next meeting. One pleasant afternoon did not guarantee compatibility, but the meeting was a promising start.

  The late afternoon sun lit the estate in the distance. Colin exhaled and admired the shape of the rooflines, the trees along the drive, the ever-comforting smell of lilacs, and the chirping of birds. He could never tire of such sights, sounds, and smells, for they ran through his memories like a well-worn book—continuously comforting, infinitely satisfying, and heartwarmingly familiar.

  For nearly four generations, the Dukes of Andover had resided at Stratfordshire. Colin stood to inherit the title and the lands after his father passed on. But no matter how he endeavored to prepare himself for such a charge, the idea left a hole in his chest. Duty or not—Colin did not wish to consider his future without his father at his side.

  Colin slowed his stallion, steadying his breath. A figure came in to view, and as Colin approached, the figure of the duchess took shape.

  “Mother,” he said, tipping his hat.

  She carried a basket in her arms, most likely from some charitable errand. Her gaze brightened at the sight of her son, and she smiled. “Colin, you’ve come back. Your father said you meant to call upon some acquaintances.”

  “And you? Have you gone to the Smith family again?” Colin asked.

  She tucked a strand of silver-blonde hair into her bonnet. Such serviceable outings were hardly expected of a duchess. From the gossip that reached Colin, some even believed the duchess improper in taking up such menial tasks. “Yes. I believe their little boy is improving, but I cannot be sure. I will send Doctor Clark to the house later.”

  He dipped his chin. His mother was thoughtful, almost to a fault. Colin could not recall the last time she had taken care of her own nerves or health. The duchess’s constant cough worried Colin. Doctor Clark seemed incapable of providing a cure; though to be fair, Colin blamed fate more than the physician.

  Colin dismounted, walking beside his mother. He towered over her petite frame. “And your walk? Did you take care?”

  Upon closer inspection, her cheeks held the slightest pink. She brushed a hand against his arm. “I am well enough, son. Now, tell me about your outing. Did you see anyone I might know?”

  “No, I am afraid I did not visit anyone that you know”—Colin took a breath to add emphasis—“yet.”

  The duchess’s brow lifted. “Oh?”

  He grasped her hand, wrapping it around his arm. “Miss Rose Grant, Lord Josiah Grant’s granddaughter. They live only—”

  “I know of Josiah.”

  Colin shuffled against the gravel. As a rule, his mother did not interrupt. Frankly, the duchess did not do anything that was deemed unmannerly or unkind. He swallowed. “And… I assume by your clipped tone—you do not approve of the man.”

  She sighed, waiting for a minute to speak. “It is not that I dislike Lord Grant. He was always kind enough, and I feel the utmost compassion for his accident those years ago. It is only…”

  “Yes?” Collin stopped, stepping in front of her. He took her hands in his. “What is it, Mother?”

  “His son married a Miss Lillian… Parson, I believe. I understand many men were quite taken with h
er. Is the daughter, Miss Grant, similar?” Her lips fell to a frown.

  Colin shrugged. “I never met the lady in question, but Father says as much.” He bit down on his bottom lip, realizing his mistake. For all the duke’s mention of Rose’s mother throughout the years, Colin doubted his mother had not recognized the admiration in his voice. “At least he suspects. He does not know Miss Grant well. They only met yesterday after he was thrown from his horse.”

  Any trace of sadness seemed to vanish from her expression, and she nodded. “Then you must tell me; what is Miss Grant like?”

  “She is a quiet girl, at least at first. She seems to be genuinely good natured, despite her aunt’s ridiculous demands.” Colin lifted a finger to silence his mother’s questions. The subject of Prudence would have to wait. “But, after a short moment, I found her conversation quite pleasant. She seems to enjoy riding and touring gardens almost as much as I do. Her eyes—I would be hard-pressed to name a lady with finer ones, and her laugh…”

  A blush crept over him, and Colin snickered. He sounded just as jumbled and confused as he felt. Nothing made sense about his feelings, not yet at least. Miss Grant’s acquaintance was new. “Forgive me. I am far too excited from my ride.”

  The duchess’s eyes widened. “Smitten already, Colin? Do take care, son.”

  “You are right, of course, Mother.” Colin dropped his chin to his chest. “But in any case, I hope you will not mind if I invite Miss Grant and her aunt to the musicale at the Ainsworth’s estate?”

  She shook her head, coughing into her hand. “I would be happy to meet her, especially if she is as enchanting as you describe. I have often wondered what type of woman is capable of catching your eye.”

  He winced.

  “It is only that, in the past years, you seemed immune to the charms of every girl who batted her eyes at you, only to be smitten in an instant with Miss Grant. I am curious, and, as always, hopeful for your happiness.”

  There was no denying the worry lacing his mother’s words. Fortune and status hunters were common enough, and pretty girls without a thought of their own were an even sadder fate. But more alarming, was the possibility of heartbreak. For with the surge of eagerness and curiosity, came a startling reality; Rose had the power to crush Colin’s pride—if not his growing affection.