The Fairest Heart (Once Upon A Regency Book 1)

by Heather Chapman

  He sighed, running a thumb along her jaw. “I knew this day would come. Prudence already keeps you under lock and key. A young woman should not be so confined and controlled. I’ve often thought to challenge her, but my feebleness, as much as my own despondence, has kept me from doing so. Her jealousies have taken their toll. Where will you go?”

  Questions swam at her. She had not expected his apology nor his quick understanding. “Then you are not angry with me?”

  He dropped his hands from her face, returning them to the warmth of the glass. His lips pulled into a frown. “I am not angry, but I must know. Where will you go?”

  “My mother’s sister in Andover. I leave tonight, but I beg you will not tell Prudence. She will wish me back, wish to remind me of her power…”

  He faced her directly, and his aimless glance held tears. “I would not breathe a word for all the world.”

  Rose fell into his embrace, where they cried together. “I will come back for you, once my life is sorted.”

  He kissed her cheek. “I will pray you sort things quickly then.”

  * * *

  Colin crinkled the paper, reading the lines once more before balling it into a wad and tossing it across the room.

  Dear Miss Grant,

  I regretted your absence at the musical three days ago. My mother assures me your headache was severe but that I am not to worry. She seems to think I am like the rest of the party—blind and gullible. I have done little else but worry on your account. Are you well and recovered from what truly ailed you?

  Your departure from Milton Manor was followed by another disastrous turn of events. My mother seemed to misplace something of enormous importance, as far as sentimentality goes. Mrs. Ainsworth ordered her staff to search the entirety of the house but with little success. It seems your departure was poor luck. I am inclined to believe the opposite as well.

  May I call on you in two days?

  Lord Stratfordshire

  The ticking of the clock sliced through the silent and stiff study. The shelves upon shelves were each meticulously clean and ordered. The desk was stained and polished regularly, without a single scratch nor divot.

  Colin pressed his fingers to his temples, massaging them. He felt altogether too much like the room. He maintained appearances with precision, and as a result, he was turning out to be a rather stiff character. Yet, both times he had been near Rose, Colin had felt awakened—alive.

  Why did she have to leave? And right before the loss of his mother’s heirloom? The coupling of events left for a difficult evening indeed.

  He took up the second letter, the one that had been sent along with his returned letter.

  Dearest Lord Stratfordshire,

  I regret to inform you of my niece’s departure. Miss Grant has left Grant Estate for an undeterminable amount of time. She left with little notice, and with even less attention to me and her grandfather, Lord Josiah Grant. Consequently, I am returning your letter. I felt it my duty, and I hope you will forgive her impudence and offense.

  Sincerely,

  Mrs. Prudence Grant

  Colin knocked his knuckles against the edge of the paper. His mother had refused to indulge his curiosity and inquiries concerning the musicale and Rose. And now, Rose was gone.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Yes?” Colin asked, sliding the letter inside his top drawer.

  The duchess peeked in the room. She was wearing her new bonnet, and she carried a basket of fresh rolls. “Colin, I hoped you would wish to accompany me. I thought to send along a treat to the Smith family. Their little boy seems well on his way to recovering.”

  Colin stood, and his lips tugged. Seeing his mother made repressing a smile near impossible. She was a lovely woman, with an even greater heart, which was why her refusal to speak of the musicale was all the stranger. “I wish I could, Mother, but I am afraid I have something pressing to attend to.”

  She frowned. “If you must, but please, Colin. You need to stop brooding. You will see her again.”

  He lifted a brow. “Pardon?”

  The duchess set the basket on his desk, and the pleasant aroma of fresh bread filled the room. She tugged on the edge of her lace gloves. “I speak of Miss Grant, of course. You are quite smitten with her, but Colin, I must warn you. There is more to her than…I mean to say, if you were to entangle yourself with her, I am afraid you might put yourself very much in danger.”

  Irritation pricked the back of his neck. “Mother, are you asking me to let her go?”

  She held his glance, and she combed over his expression with marked caution. “No, but I am asking you to take care. Miss Grant comes with other alliances—alliances you would do well to consider.”

  He blinked. “Are you speaking of her aunt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you are of the opinion that Rose may share in some of Mrs. Prudence Grant’s character?” Colin had already read through letter after letter detailing Prudence’s long list of offenses. After his request to invite Rose to the musicale, it seemed multiple attendees thought it their duty to alert the marquess of Prudence’s shortcomings.

  At one time, decades before, Prudence had been the talk of all London. Her father’s title, along with the fortune, made for a respectable match. Even more compelling, according to the sources, was Prudence’s beauty. In her prime, London could not provide an equal. With no rivals in terms of status and allure, many believed her to be in the running as the future duchess—in the very place Colin’s mother now sat. Colin shuddered at the thought.

  “No, I do not worry on that account,” the duchess said, sinking to the Grecian couch. She sighed, leaning against the side rest. “Miss Grant favors her mother.”

  Colin’s throat turned dry. The downward spiral to Prudence’s character had begun with Lillian Parson. When Colin’s father began pursuing Lillian, Prudence transformed into quite the scheming and jealous woman—spreading hateful lies, paying servants to ruin Miss Parson’s gowns, and, on at least one occasion, even attempted to poison the dressmaker’s daughter. Nothing was ever proved, but rumors took flight.

  Prudence’s chances at marriage were ruined altogether—and Miss Parson? She had rejected Colin’s father, falling for the very brother of the woman that had tried to hurt her.

  Colin moved to the front of the desk and leaned against it. “Did you dislike Rose’s mother?”

  The duchess’s eyelids lowered, and a strange expression—part humor, pity, and humiliation—overtook her feminine features. “I should be grateful to Lillian. She broke your father’s heart, and he was in desperate need of mending. I was glad to take up the role, seeing how I loved him already…”

  “You said you should be grateful to her, but you are not?” Colin leaned closer, reaching for her hand.

  She shook her head. “Your father loves me with all the tenderness I could ask for. He is kind and good and unfailingly cheerful. Yet… I have sensed on more than one occasion a melancholy in him—a longing in a moment of silence, a brokenness that I thought had been mended.”

  There was no disagreeing with his mother; Colin had sensed similar qualities in his father. Colin well imagined his mother’s pain. “Then you think he never stopped loving her?”

  “Nothing so tragic, son. Your father is faithful and honest. He loves me with every part of himself. It is only… I often wonder—was it the loss of Miss Parson that caused so much pain, or was it more? I think he lost a large part of himself with her departure, a part he has never been able to regain. I never understood such a thing, until I met Miss Grant.”

  Colin cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”

  “You have come alive since you met her, as if your soul has lay in wait for your entire twenty-five years to find her.”

  His cheeks flushed. How had his mother supposed what he was just coming to suspect?

  She squeezed his hand. “Do not worry. I shall not whisper a word.”

  Colin gasped, laughing in
surprise. “If you have already surmised as much, I imagine others might not be far behind. I shall have to school my manners better.”

  “No, Colin.” The duchess straightened and stood, still holding his hand. Her eyes glistened with seeming emotion. “Do not lose this new part of yourself, or you may never find it again. Take caution, but do not surrender to the likes of Mrs. Prudence Grant or anyone else. You will live to regret such a thing.”

  He handed his mother the basket. “What makes you so sure Miss Grant will have me in return?”

  The duchess rolled her eyes, and her lips flinched. “Colin, when you look at her the way you do, you are quite impossible to resist.”

  “But she is gone from Hampshire, at least by her aunt’s account.”

  The duchess turned, stopping at the door of the study. She glanced over her shoulder, and mischief gleamed in her stare. “Then you will have to find her.”

  Chapter 7

  Andover, England

  July 1814

  The white linen blew across the clothes line, acting as clouds against the blue sky. Rose walked the length of the fluttering fabric, pausing near the end. Rolling fields and winding roads stretched for miles. The wind carried with it a waft of the nearby flower garden. Scented stocks were a favorite of the duke, according to her cousin Oliver.

  Rose had never imagined loving a place as much as her childhood home. However, six weeks under Amelia’s roof had changed her perception drastically. There were things more important than furnishings and drawing rooms, things more imperative than expansive lands and refined taste. A smile touched her lips as softly as the breeze.

  “Come in before you catch a sunburn, my dear,” Amelia called from the front doorway. Her aunt stood a few inches shorter than her, and her black locks were fashioned into one long braid that hung over a shoulder. “I’ve warmed some tea. Come, take some refreshment.”

  Rose laughed, pulling up the bonnet that hung from her neck. Some things did not change, but the reasons did. She did her best to obey Amelia—much like she had Prudence—but now, Rose did so happily. She strode up the rock path, stopping to admire the cottage.

  Her aunt’s home was less than a tenth the size of Grant Estate. Built in the English Tudor style, replete with a thatched roof, the house only reached two stories high. There were three bedrooms total, with only a small kitchen and dining room and one cozy parlor. Yet, the home held more sunshine and laughter than her grandfather’s estate ever had.

  “I had hoped for a walk today. I haven’t been to see Oliver at work for nearly a week. He is so grateful for the picnics I pack,” Rose said, climbing the front step.

  Oliver worked the duke’s gardens, particularly the apple orchard which had quickly become one of Rose’s favorite places. There was something comforting about the rows of trees and the scent of apples. The shade seemed made for walking and contemplation, and Rose had plenty to consider. She had left Prudence without a letter. Self-preservation battled that guilt, and Rose did not know which would win in the end.

  Amelia waved her inside. “I see no harm in your walks, so long as you take your bonnet. A sunburn is not to be endured on such a lovely complexion.”

  Rose smiled and walked into the front room. “I will take care to protect it then, Aunt.”

  “I am glad to hear.” Amelia poured the tea, and her fragile frame shook. “Your mother would have scoffed at such a directive. She was much like you, always wishing to traipse about the country. I suppose that is where you first learned to love the outdoors.”

  Rose took the first cup of tea, holding it between both hands. The tea swirled in a circle. Amelia spoke so often about Rose’s mother. With each warm recollection, Rose somehow felt nearer to her mother. Each detail of Amelia’s memories seemed to restore a portion of Rose’s mother’s character; the puzzle was beginning to take shape after only a month and a half.

  Her aunt cleared her throat and set a tea biscuit on her plate. “You still have not asked about the duke and his family. I would have thought you would be curious, particularly in the case of the marquess. The future duke is a truly handsome man.” Amelia sat on the sofa, the furniture creaking beneath her slight weight. She adjusted the teacups and saucers on the front table. The dishes clinked together, tinkling in a musical way. Her full lips pulled into a smile. “If I were young and beautiful such as you, I might wish to run into the marquess in the gardens.”

  Rose laughed, sitting next to her aunt. She had not found a way to tell her cousins and aunt that she was already acquainted with the duke and family. “The way you said that almost sounded as if you wish me to meet Lord Stratfordshire.”

  “He is highly eligible, and from what the other servants tell Oliver, Lord Stratfordshire is said to be in an especially brooding mood after his recent trip to his tenant lands.”

  “Oh?” Rose took a sweet from the tray.

  Amelia, apparently brimming with eagerness, set her cup to the table. Her dark eyes beamed, and her dimples appeared. “Yes. I have heard he met a young lady there, only briefly, but evidently long enough to make an impression. He has been writing contacts all over the county and even London in hopes of discovering her whereabouts. Seems the lady’s guardians were unwilling to divulge the information. Can you imagine? If I had a daughter and Lord Stratfordshire was to pursue her, I would gladly accept the attentions. No lady could do better.”

  “You say he is actively searching her out?” Rose’s mind spun. She had thought of Colin many times, especially of their last meeting at the musicale. He had shown her the utmost kindness. She often held his handkerchief and contemplated the way he had inquired about her well-being. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  Rose took another sip of her tea. She had wished to see him, but since her arrival at the cottage, Rose had focused on becoming acquainted with her aunt and cousins instead.

  Amelia closed her eyes. “This tea. Since your arrival, we have eaten like the duke himself. However did you think to pack such niceties for us? The flour and spices were particularly needed, but the tea and tins of sweets… Thank you, Rose.”

  “I felt horrible for the way I came—in the thick of night.” A tremor ran down Rose’s back. The clouds had blanketed the moon that night, and Paul had nearly crashed the wagon twice in the darkness.

  “We were happy to receive you, day or night. Besides, after what you’ve been through with Prudence, I suspect there was no other way.” Amelia squinted, staring out the window. Sunlight poured into the room, but Rose could just make out the figure of her two younger cousins. “Seems the boys are back already.”

  “Perhaps they had success at the fishing pond?” Rose asked, standing.

  The twins’ laughter grew louder as they thumped up the steps. They were fifteen, at the cusp of manhood, yet clinging to their carefree and childish ways.

  Amelia opened the door to a soppy sight. Her hands flew to her hips. “What on earth?”

  Simon lifted a line of fish in the air. His black curls clung to his forehead, and a line of pond residue was strewn across his right shoulder. “I’ve bested Eli in a matter of an hour, Mother, and so he sent me into the pond.”

  Eli twisted his mouth into a frown, settling his hands at his side. Rose bit back a smile. At least he attempted at regret, though mischief flitted across his crinkled brows. “I’m prepared for my scolding, but I think it a very poor sport that will not offer advice to a laboring fisherman.”

  “Is that so?” Amelia poked a finger into Simon’s dripping shirt. Her breath turned raspy, and a new set of lines appeared beside her eyes. “Oh, boys. I cannot keep up with the messes you make. Simon, take off your shirt and shoes outside. I’ll have to do another batch of laundry, even though Rose already spent the morning laboring at the task.”

  Rose peeked her head around Amelia. “I do not mind taking the task, Aunt, and afterward, perhaps I will take that walk we spoke of.”

  Eli swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up an
d down. “I didn’t mean to cause you more trouble, Rose. I only wished to teach Simon a thing or two.”

  “Ha,” Amelia said, pulling him by the ear. “I imagine this shall teach you a thing or two. Now, put the fish near the hearth. You will take the axe from the back door. There is wood to be chopped, especially if we are to fry the fish.”

  Simon lifted his chin, and Rose recognized the look of satisfaction. “Just as I told him, Mother.”

  Amelia’s brows rose. “You will join him.”

  Simon protested, throwing his hands in the air. “But Mother—”

  “But nothing.”

  The second boy tore off the sopping wet shirt and dropped it to the ground. His satisfaction melted into visible annoyance.

  Rose felt a familiar stab at the back of her throat. Seeing her cousins interact with their mother always brought a longing. Even their bickering was endearing—nothing like the moments Rose had shared with Prudence. For with every exchange, Amelia’s love was written in her caring eyes, her adoring gaze, her dimples manifested across her pinched cheeks. Certainly Amelia angered at times, even yelled on occasion, but her love was always there, shining beneath each scolding like the sunlight pouring through the window.

  Rose took the sopping clothes from off the step and set at the chore of scrubbing them. The barrel of water was still full near the line, and the task was a small price for the amusement Simon’s tumble had provided.

  Laundry water ran up her arms and over the front of her dress. She hummed amidst her smile. Though her life situation had taken a turn for the more mundane, Rose was quite sure she had never felt as content.

  * * *

  Colin labored to catch his breath and dismounted the horse. Riding had been the only method of curing his restlessness. For weeks, no word of Rose had come. He had inquired after her multiple times, sending letters to Grant Estate over and over, regardless of the curt replies he received by the hand of Prudence. Colin had written to Mrs. Ainsworth, Mrs. Lockhart, and even the local clergyman—all to no avail.