by Rose Pearson
The Returned Lords of Grosvenor Square
A Regency Romance Boxset
Rose Pearson
Landon Hill Media
Contents
The Waiting Bride
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
The Long Return
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
The Duke’s Saving Grace
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
A New Home for the Duke
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
My Dear Reader
A Sneak Peak of A New Beginning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
A Sneak Peek of A Rogue’s Flower
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Join my Mailing List!
© Copyright 2019 by Rose Pearson - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective author owns all copyrights not held by the publisher.
The Waiting Bride
“Earnestly awaiting your return,
Marianne Weston”
Every letter to Lord Philip Galsworthy from his waiting bride closed with the same words.
And they always made his heart sink.
He knew the words were not for him, but for their families who took great delight in reading the correspondence between them. In truth, Marianne had told him in secret, with great relief to himself, that she too was not excited by the long-held expectation of their marriage.
And so, by excusing himself through duty to King and Country, Lord Philip Galsworthy managed to hold off the wedding for a year with hopes that the two families’ interest in seeing them married would wane.
With more effort he also managed to extend his station in India for another year, and then another, but now there was nothing more he could do.
He had to return home, and the wedding plans would be already in motion by the time his ship saw the shores of England again.
Their ages would not permit any more postponements, and so it was time for him to return and fulfill his duty to house and family.
Only, his time away exposed a loneliness that he never knew was quite there. A loneliness that was only remedied by the regular letters from Marianne, which slowly turned his memory of her from the duty he was trying to avoid to the love he could not live without.
Cringing again at the closing to the last letter he received, Philip wonders if it’s possible for her feelings to have changed as well, or is his return still secretly dreaded by his now beloved Marianne.
Chapter One
“It be cold today, my lord.”
Philip Belmont, Viscount Galsworthy, shivered slightly as though the Captain’s words had only just brought to mind how truly cold the air was.
“Indeed,” he murmured, glancing at the Captain and taking in the way that the man was staring out at the ocean with a knowing look in his eyes. He did not know much about the ocean but was glad to be sailing with a knowledgeable Captain. “The air has a breath of frost in it.”
The Captain chuckled. “It will be autumn by the time we dock on England’s fair shores, my lord.”
“I find that I am already looking forward to it,” Philip replied with feeling. “The heat of India was never something I truly enjoyed, to be frank.”
The Captain looked surprised. “I have never heard a man say before, in all of my life, that he prefers a cold wind to a warm breeze, my lord. Unless there is something else that will be warming your bones once you return?” He threw a knowing look in Philip’s direction, but Philip shook his head sharply.
“No, indeed not,” he muttered, refusing to let his thoughts turn in that direction for fear of what would occur within him if he did so. “The freshness of the air and the coolness of the breeze brings me a good deal of joy, for it reminds me of home.”
After a moment, the Captain nodded slowly, his gaze returning to the expanse of the sea. “You have been away from home for some time?”
“Nearly two years,” Philip replied, recalling how glad he had been to leave England’s shores at the time. “I have been inspecting the holdings in India, but I have no other recourse than to return at this time.”
“You are a little reluctant, I think,” the Captain murmured, not so much as glancing at him.
Philip exhaled slowly. “Indeed,” he muttered, not wanting to give very much away. “But return I shall, regardless of consequence.”
At this, the Captain left him to stand on deck alone, battling with his thoughts. It had been more than a year since he had last seen Miss Weston, since he had last pressed her hand and promised that he would return so that they might plan their wedding. He had not felt any desire other than to leave her side, quite sure that their betrothal was not something either of them particularly wanted – even though they had been engaged for some years. Of course, it had been simply a matter of family obligation. His father and hers had wanted to join their family lines together and, as such, he had not been allowed any input on the matter. Neither had she, for that matter, not that she had ever complained to him about it, of course. Not a single word of complaint had ever left her lips, although there had always been an uncertainty in her eyes whenever she had looked at him. The way she so often toyed with a tress of her fair curls had only added to the picture of hesitation that she portrayed. He could see it now, reflected in his mind, that doubt which continued to bite at him, continued to trouble his mind, no matter how often he tried to battle it.
Why had he never spoken to her of it? Was he so afraid of his own late father’s
dictates, of his own responsibilities, that he had never had the courage to ask her how she truly felt? Perhaps then he might not have felt compelled to run away to India in an attempt to remove himself from the situation.
Of course, the idea had been foolishness itself. To remove to India meant that their wedding plans were only postponed, not forgotten altogether. Besides which, having now come into the title of Viscount Galsworthy meant that he had specific responsibilities at home, which he had entirely neglected whilst in India. Perhaps the idea of leaving England for a time had been to give him time to reflect, time to make himself quite certain of all that he wanted, all he desired. Instead, he was returning to England with as much uncertainty as he had left with, almost dreading seeing his bride-to-be for fear of what he would see in her face.
“Maybe she has found another and will have eloped by the time I return,” he muttered to himself, his mind crowding with dark thoughts. It was not as though Miss Marianne Weston, daughter of Viscount Bridgestone, was not every inch a lady. She was refined, elegant and polite in every way. On top of which, with her bright blue eyes, flawless complexion, and fair hair, she was a remarkably pretty thing, who he would be proud to have on his arm, had he any feeling for her whatsoever.
Groaning, Philip dropped his head. Therein lay the problem. He was quite lost as to what to do, for he did not feel anything at all for the lady. It was not as though he had ever entertained dreams of love, fondness, and overwhelming affection for his wife, having been quite certain that his marriage would never hold such a thing, but he had hoped to feel some kind of connection with the lady. Indeed, whilst he found Miss Weston to be charming and beautiful, the fear of being pressed into a marriage he neither wanted, nor had hoped for, had chased him from her side. There was nothing but fear and doubt between the two of them. Even in the letters which she had written to him, he found nothing and felt nothing. There was no spark to bring a flood of excitement to his heart, no delight to cast him into thoughts of what would be waiting for him when he should return.
Sighing aloud, Philip leaned heavily on the deck, looking down at the waves and feeling the icy wind on his cheeks. Surely there had to be some kind of excitement, simply at the thought of becoming wed to Miss Weston? He closed his eyes and tried his best to feel something good, something wonderful, even just the smallest flicker of delight… but all he felt was dread.
Eventually, having given into the doldrums, Philip made his way down to his cabin, seeing his coat lying across his trunk. Setting it aside, he lifted the trunk lid and saw the stack of letters Miss Weston had written to him over the course of his time in India. He had read every one, of course, and had responded with news of what he was involved in and the like, but had never once mentioned any sort of longing for her company or how much he missed hearing her voice. Nor had she, for that matter, although each letter had ended with the same words: ‘Earnestly awaiting your return’.
He unfolded the last one and read it again, wanting desperately to roll his eyes but choosing not to. He did not believe that she was truly missing him, nor that she was, in truth, waiting for his return with eager expectation. But he knew full well that those words were almost expected from a betrothed lady of society. Her father, the rather brusque Lord Bridgestone, would most likely read the correspondence before it was sent, simply to ensure that all was just as it ought to be. He would expect his daughter to make quite clear that she was looking forward to her betrothed’s return.
“What am I to do?” he muttered aloud, raking one hand through his hair as he stared down unseeingly at the letter in his hand. The desire for adventure, the desire to escape, had long since passed, but yet his lack of feeling remained the same. What of her? What if her heart had changed in the time that they had been apart?
“That would be a torture indeed,” he said loudly, feeling his heart twist in frustration. Placing the letter back with the others, he carefully retied the ribbon around them all, still a little unsure as to why he had not only saved the letters, but had chosen to return to England with them. There was no need for him to do so, not if he was to be in Miss Weston’s presence again. His finger traced the ribbon gently, a frown creasing his brow.
A flurry of nerves ran through him as he considered the moment when he would see Miss Weston again. What would he say to her? What was he expected to do? As yet, there had only been the very briefest of touches between them. Surely, she would only expect him to take her hand and bow over it, although he might have to brush a kiss against her knuckles should she appear disappointed at the former. There was no desire on his part to crush her into his arms at the earliest opportunity, desperate to find a quiet moment with her so that he might press upon her just how much he had missed her. One thing Philip was determined not to be was untruthful, neither in word nor action. He would not profess love for her when he felt none in his heart, although he was quite determined to be as loyal and as devoted as a husband ought to be, should the time come. There would be no mistresses for him. He quite reviled the idea, even if his bride-to-be was not a lady he held in his heart.
There came a short rap on his door and, quickly closing the trunk, Philip rose to his feet. Opening the door, he saw one of the cabin boys standing there, looking a little awkward as he held out a tray of food to Philip.
“Thank you,” Philip murmured, thinking to himself that the one thing he would be looking forward to, at least, was having a decent meal back in England.
“Oh, and the Captain says to tell you we’re in sight of England,” the boy said, looking up at him with unconcealed curiosity. “He thought you might want to know.”
Philip felt his stomach twist. “Thank you,” he said again, feeling the color drain from his face. “How long will it be until we dock?” Setting the tray down carefully, he turned back to the boy who was still looking up at him inquisitively.
The boy shrugged his skinny shoulder. “I’d say a couple of days, my lord.” He wiped his nose with a ragged sleeve and then grinned up at Philip, evidently hoping to get more than just a ‘thank you’ from him. “I can find out from the Captain for you if you’d like?”
Philip nodded his head jerkily and pulled out a coin from his pocket, which he tossed to the cabin boy. He caught it deftly and pocketed it at once, his grin spreading all the more. “I’ll go and find out for you right this minute, my lord.”
“There is no particular rush,” Philip replied quickly. “I’ll need time to eat.” Glancing back at his tray, he found the food less than appetizing, although he might be able to stomach the coffee at least. “You can find me back up on deck later.”
“Of course, my lord,” the boy said, making a terrible attempt at a bow that made Philip wince. “Thank you.”
Watching the boy run off, Philip closed the door and felt the ship lurch a little, making him press one hand to his stomach. He had not become particularly used to the rolling of the ship even though he had been on it for some time, but apparently, the Captain said that standing on solid ground again would feel all the more strange once they arrived.
Philip would have to simply wait for that moment, his stomach rolling over at the thought of setting foot on England’s shores once more. There would be no running this time. In a few short weeks, he would find himself a married man, and from that, he could never escape.
Chapter Two
“Do keep up, Hetty!”
Miss Marianne Weston twisted her head to see her maid bustling to catch up with her. She was aware that she was walking rather quickly, but felt no concern over it, telling herself that her maid, who had been with her for some years, ought to be doing all she could to stay in step with her.
“Is something the matter, my lady?”
Marianne rolled her eyes to herself. There was a good deal going on in her heart but that was not something she could easily share with her maid. “Hetty, you need not worry about me. I am quite all right.”
“Are you quite sure, my lady?” Hetty asked, still sounding
rather anxious. “You have been walking ever so fast and that is usually a sign that you have something pressing on your mind.” There was a moment of silence. “Is it that your betrothed is to return to England very soon?” Marianne closed her eyes momentarily. “I can understand that it will be a very exciting time for you once Lord Galsworthy returns,” Hetty continued, her voice drifting across Marianne’s shoulder as they walked. “The preparations that will need to be made! Oh, I never felt such excitement!”
