The Returned Lords of Grosvenor Square: A Regency Romance Boxset

by Rose Pearson

  “Very soon,” Arabella repeated, knowing that she felt none of the happiness nor the hope that Lord Winchester felt. Her heart was heavy, her hopes still dashed. Lord Winchester might be a respectable gentleman, but he would never take the place of Jacob within her heart. Jacob would always reside there, holding her grief, her regret, and her love with him. No-one else would ever compare, not even if she were married for fifty years or more. She would never be able to forget him, would never be able to allow her heart the freedom to love another.

  Not even if it were the kind, handsome and rich Earl of Winchester.

  Chapter Three

  Nothing could have prepared Jacob for the sight of England’s shores. It had been a long, terrible journey and he was more than ready to be back on solid ground.

  “What is it you’re going to be doing when you get back there?” he heard someone say, as the group of men stood on the deck, their eyes pinned on their homeland. “Going to see your Mary, are you?”

  A loud guffaw came from the rest of the group.

  “Ain’t no shame in that!” cried another, slapping another man on the back. “She’s been waiting for you a long time, ain’t she?”

  “A year,” the third man said, in a quieter voice. “It’s been a year since I saw my love. She’s been waiting for me to get on home so I can marry her. That’s the first thing I’m planning on doing.”

  Jacob’s heart tore. He could not help but think of Arabella every time someone mentioned their own dear love, his heart aching over the loss of her. He had been unable to prevent himself from declaring his affection for her, but she had simply laughed and told him to stop being foolish. She had not believed him to be genuine in all that he felt, and evidently did not have a resounding love for him within her own heart.

  “What about you? Where are you heading?”

  Jacob closed his eyes, not wanting to tell anyone the particulars of his life and family. “Home,” he said, with a shrug. “I am going home.”

  The man who had asked him the question remained quiet, as though he was expecting Jacob to expand on his explanation of where home was, and what he would do when he got there, but Jacob pressed his lips together and turned his face back towards England, his heart beating a little more quickly as the ship drew ever closer.

  “That one doesn’t have much to say,” he heard a man say, evidently talking about Jacob. “I’d just leave him to his own thoughts.”

  Yes, please do just that, Jacob thought to himself, staggering just a little as the boat shifted in the water. I do not want to talk with anyone.

  The news that his elder brother had been taken suddenly ill – and had succumbed to the illness – had been given to Jacob just as he himself had been trying to recover from wounds he had gained in battle. It had broken his heart, but, at the same time, given him the urge to return to England, knowing that he had duties and responsibilities he had never wanted in the first place. He had been the ‘spare’, born simply to take on the title should the eldest son die, and that, unfortunately, had been precisely what had occurred. His heart still ached over the loss of his elder brother, even though they had never been particularly close, and certainly had never been in agreement over how one another ought to behave. Jacob had been considered much too ‘free’ and lacking in personal responsibility, whereas Jacob had found his brother to be rather stuffy and, all in all, dull and somewhat boring. That had, most likely, been because Jacob had never had the same pressing duties as his brother had been required to deal with. That was not the case now. He would have to ensure that he did all that was required of him, knowing that, in time, he would become the next Duke of Crestwick.

  That still took his breath away, still stabbed at his heart in both pain and fear. He would have to marry, and quickly too. Being the only son left, he would need to produce his own heir before too long, so that the family line could continue to carry the title. His mother and father would demand it. In fact, he would not be surprised if his mother had not already found three or more young ladies to parade in front of him, as though one of them might catch his eye.

  Jacob swallowed hard and shook his head. Would any young lady wish to marry herself to a cripple, whether he was the Duke or not? He was not the same gentleman who had run away to the army, desperate to forget the only lady he had ever truly loved. The army had quite broken him, in more ways than one. He had seen so much, endured a great deal and was now returning to England as a very different man.

  A man that Lady Arabella would still never love, he was quite sure of it. She had rejected him the once, thinking him nothing more than a friend who was making a mockery of her, and his heart had smashed to pieces at her feet.

  The sound of her laughter still echoed in his mind, teasing him, mocking him as it did so. Wincing, Jacob turned his head away, trying to push all thoughts of Lady Arabella out of his mind. He could not think of her now. He had been away for so long and, most likely, a good many things would have changed for them both. Would she be glad to see him? Would he find her still at home or was she already married and settled somewhere else?

  “So, you’re not even going to say where you’re from?”

  Jacob turned his head to see a small, narrow-eyed man glaring at him.

  “Not a word about it?”

  Jacob, who had hidden his title and status from the rest of the men aboard ship, gave a small shrug. “It’s not particularly important.”

  “You’re a spy, then.”

  A harsh laugh ripped from Jacob’s mouth. “Indeed, I am not,” he said, calmly. “Cannot a man keep his own secrets without feeling the need to share them with everyone else?” He saw the man’s eyes narrow further, his heart sinking to his toes. He did not want to tell them the truth about who he was, for fear that they would begin to treat him differently. Thus far, on their journey back to London, they had been as one – eating together, laughing together, and sharing their hopes and joys about what returning to England would be like.

  He had never said more than a few words.

  “Why is it you don’t want to say anything then?” the man said, tilting his head. “Who are you, really?”

  Jacob shrugged again. “Just a man wanting to go home to England,” he said, quietly. “A man who doesn’t have a sweetheart waiting for him, as so many of you do. A man who regrets the fact that he ran away instead of facing the heartache that came with her refusal.”

  To his surprise, the anger left the other man’s face as Jacob spoke.

  “I do not share all of your joy in returning to England,” Jacob finished, as a quiet hush fell over the rest of the men. “But I am no spy. I am broken, in both my body and my heart. Allow me my pain, sir. I would not let it take away your joy.”

  To his surprise, the fellow slapped Jacob on the back, as though he understood what he was saying.

  “I’m sorry that your lady refused you,” he said, his lined face showing a good deal of understanding. “Maybe you’ll find another. A better one.”

  Jacob let out a small sigh. “I do not think there can be another,” he said, heavily, knowing that his heart would forever be full of Arabella, even though she had torn his heart to pieces. “But I thank you for your kind words.”

  The other man nodded, eyeing Jacob carefully, before walking away to the other men, joining in the laughter and the hope that came with sailing ever closer to England.

  Disembarking was harder than Jacob had expected. His leg was stiff and sore and he was forced to grasp onto another man’s shoulder for fear that he would fall into the sea below.

  “There you are,” the other man said, with a broad smile. “You made it just fine.”

  Jacob grimaced, wishing that the ache in his leg would dissipate entirely. “I thank you.” He looked about for his things, seeing them being carried off the ship and placed just to his left. “I shall have to hail a hackney.”

  “St. Leger? Jacob St. Leger?”

  Startled, Jacob hesitated as he heard his name be
ing shouted by someone he couldn’t see. A little confused, he took a step forward as his name was shouted again and again, with an urgency he couldn’t quite place.

  “I reckon this man is St. Leger.”

  Jacob saw the man who had accused him of being a spy, jab his finger in Jacob’s direction. His mouth went dry.

  “There,” the man called, directing whoever it was shouting Jacob’s name over and over. “He’s just there.” Grinning at Jacob, the man came over to him. “You didn’t want to tell us you were one of the gentry, now did you?” he said, with a chuckle. “Didn’t want to get treated different.”

  Jacob managed a weak smile. “Something like that.”

  The man laughed, slapping Jacob’s shoulder. “Just goes to show, then,” he said, as another man approached them both. “Gentry or not, we both got hearts that beat the same. Good luck to you.”

  “Thank you,” Jacob murmured, not quite sure what to make of the fellow. Turning around to the other man – a thin, slight gentleman who seemed to carry an air of anxiety about him, he tried to smile.

  “Are you Jacob St. Leger?”

  Jacob nodded. “I am.”

  The man looked relieved, pulling out a white kerchief and mopping his forehead. “Oh, thank goodness. Please do come with me, my lord. It is the most extraordinary circumstance and I know the Captain wishes to inform you of it immediately.”

  Jacob frowned. “The Captain?”

  “This way, this way,” the man continued, ignoring Jacob’s hesitation. “This way, if you please. It will not take a moment.”

  Jacob followed the thin, wiry man, who assisted with his luggage, through the crowd, and towards the Captain’s office, which was a large, stone-built building that was both impressive and a little ominous. His heart quickened as he was shown inside, his tension slowly rising. Surely this could not be more bad news? Had something happened to his father? To his mother or sister? Steeling himself, Jacob sat down on the proffered chair, relieved that he would not have to stand.

  “My lord,” the Captain began, clearing his throat. “Thank goodness my man found you. I have only just heard the news after disembarking and had to send for you at once.”

  The Captain was an older man, with a thick white moustache which hid his top lip almost entirely from view. There was a seriousness about his grey eyes, as though he were a man who had seen so many terrible things that he found no joy or humour in almost anything.

  “What news, Captain?” Jacob asked, his hands clenched together in his lap. “Is it my father?”

  The Captain cleared his throat. “My lord, it appears that your family has been informed that you have died.”

  Dumbstruck, Jacob’s mouth fell open.

  “I am heartily sorry to have to inform you of such a thing, but it is quite true. I do not understand why such a thing has occurred, but I am relieved that I was informed of it the moment I came ashore,” the Captain continued.

  Jacob cleared his throat, trying to regain some of his composure. “Might I ask how you knew of this?”

  “Merely by chance!” the Captain exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “Knowing of your presence on board and, whilst aware that you wished to remain as anonymous as you could, I informed one of the men to ensure that Jacob St. Leger was taken care of so that he might be able to return home as soon as possible.” He shook his head, sighing heavily. “Imagine my shock to hear that St. Leger was reported dead some months ago!”

  Swallowing the ache in his throat, Jacob lowered his head and fought the stinging tears that came to his eyes. His poor mother! How she must be in anguish over the supposed death of both of her sons!

  As he was trying to regain his composure, a young man hurried into the room, begging the Captain’s leave to speak, and was ushered forward. Whispers were exchanged but Jacob paid them no heed, struggling to clear his thoughts.

  “Very good,” the Captain said, gruffly. “You may go.” There was a tinge of relief in the Captain’s voice, making Jacob look up in surprise. The Captain’s sharp eyes followed the young man from the room, waiting until the door closed behind him before he turned back to Jacob.

  “I sent the fellow to find out whether or not your family are at home or in London,” the Captain said, by way of explanation. “I have just been informed that they are in Grosvenor Square.”

  Jacob let out his breath, his tension slowly beginning to unfurl. “I see.” His father had a large townhouse there.

  “I believe they were informed of your death but ten months ago, around the time you were beginning to think of returning to England,” the Captain continued, gruffly. “I cannot apologise enough.”

  Jacob lifted his chin, feeling a strengthening of his resolve as he did so. “It is not your doing, Captain. Thank you for finding me and pressing the urgency of this news upon me. I must, of course, go to my family at once.”

  The Captain nodded in understanding. “But of course. I have sent that boy to your family home to prepare them for the news so that it will not be so great a shock.” He smiled, bowed, and then held out his hand towards Jacob. “Good day to you, my lord. May I thank you for all you have done for this country. I pray that you will continue to recover and that your return to your family will be a happy one.”

  Jacob managed a small smile as he shook the Captain’s hand firmly. “Thank you, Captain,” he said, quite sure that his mother would either faint or go into some sort of hysterics upon seeing him again. “Good day to you.”

  Chapter Four

  “My lady, the Earl of Winchester has come to call upon you.”

  Arabella drew in a long breath, trying to steady herself. They had been in London for almost two months and during that time, the Earl of Winchester had been nothing but courteous, making sure to be at her side as often as he could. It was, of course, delighting her mother, who had made Arabella her only focus during the Season, even though there had been the joy of Rosalind’s marriage also. It was as though Lady Blackford was determined to have all three of her daughters wed by the time the year was out.

  Their elder brother and newly appointed Lord Blackford had, unfortunately, washed his hands of it all and had remained back at the estate, quite determined to take on his duties and the responsibilities of the estate as best he could. Arabella could not exactly blame him for such a thing, although she was rather frustrated that he had not told their mother to leave Arabella alone.

  Arabella had, therefore, been forced to endure her mother’s continual harping about the Earl, declaring him to be quite wonderful every moment that she could. Nothing was too much when it came to the Earl. He was more handsome than any man in England, more generous than any other of Lady Blackford’s acquaintance. He was wise, lacking in self-importance, genuine in his compliments and clearly quite drawn to Arabella.

  It was a shame, therefore, that Arabella felt nothing of the sort for him. She could not pretend that the compliments her mother showered on the Earl were true, for the Earl did not appear to be as delightful as Lady Blackford said and Arabella had no particular feelings of affection for him.

  Not that such a thing mattered, as her mother continued to remind her. The Earl would provide for her future and that was the only thing of importance.

  Arabella did not want to accept such a thing but, try as she might, she had to begin to consider her mother’s words. Jacob was not to return to her, that much was clear, which meant that he could never be part of her future. As much as she did not want to accept it, as much as the grief still tore at her, she had to come to terms with the realisation that her chance had been taken from her. She felt as though it was her own actions which had taken Jacob from her, that it had been her refusal of him that had sent him to war – and to his death.

  Steeling herself so that she would not let a single tear fall, Arabella lifted her chin, set her shoulders, and began to walk from the room. The Earl was all that her mother said – kind, generous and good-natured, with enough wealth to keep them in good comfor
t for the rest of her days. Yes, he did not bring any sort of joy to her soul, nor did she feel the same excitement, the same happiness that had come with almost every moment of being in Jacob’s company, but that was to be expected, she supposed. The love she had for Jacob, the love she had only truly come to see the moment he had left her side, was the sort of love that did not simply fade away to nothingness. It lingered, even when it was beyond all hope that they might ever find happiness together. It stayed within her, as a part of her very being, her very soul. She could not hope to feel such a way for another.

  “My lady?”

  The maid was at the door, hurrying her on. Most likely having been sent back by her mother, Arabella thought wryly to herself, as she made her way towards the drawing room. The Earl’s visits had become a good deal more frequent of late and Arabella could not help but feel that the Earl was beginning to hope for something that she herself was not quite ready to even consider. Yes, she had agreed he might call upon her and her mother had insisted that she accept his courtship, but any thought or consideration of matrimony was, as yet, much too terrifying.

  “My dear Lady Arabella!”

  The Earl’s smile was broad the moment she stepped into the room, reaching for her hand so that he might bend over it.

  “My lord,” she murmured, a ripple of surprise snaking up her arm as the Earl’s lips brushed her skin. He had not shown her such an intimacy before, making her more than astonished that he would do so now. “How – how good to see you.”

  He cleared his throat and beamed at her, his blue eyes bright with a happiness she did not feel.

  “Indeed, I was just about to say the very same thing myself,” he replied, with a broad smile. “My day is already brighter just because you are here.”