Love in the Bargain: A Sweet Regency Romance (Women of Worth Book 1)

by Kasey Stockton

  “Come visit us the moment you return, darling. Coco and I shall miss you immensely.”

  I took my leave. I felt a lesser degree of hurt when I discovered Aunt Georgina knew who was behind everything than I had when learning of Cameron’s role. It was evident that my feelings for him were not fleeting, for the pain only grew in time. The more I considered how I had hurt him with the things I said, the worse I felt. I would never be able to leave town without first apologizing.

  As my coachman handed me up into my carriage, I said, “To Rosalynn’s house, please.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  What had gotten into me? Was I sick in the head?

  I waited in the Nichols’ drawing room, pacing from the fireplace to the window and back fourteen times before the door opened and Cameron stepped inside.

  He faced me, his brows drawn together and his hands clasped behind his back. He was distant, but I did not blame him. I would be cold, too, if the situation were reversed.

  “I came to apologize,” I said, my voice cracking. My cheeks bloomed and I glanced down, clearing my throat.

  I looked to him again and he was still watching me from the doorway. I don’t know what I expected, but I had hoped he would say something.

  I took a deep breath and let it all out. “I have a right to be upset, but it was wrong to say those horrible things. I do not...well, I do not despise you.” I glanced away, his piercing gaze causing me to rethink my being there. I had thought I would be bridging the gap and allowing us to part peacefully. This uncomfortable exchange felt anything but peaceful.

  I clasped my hands in front of me and then unclasped them again. “Cameron, I grieve for your loss, and I know it was forward of me to come here, but I needed to apologize. I do not wish to add to your distress at this time.”

  He seemed to be weighing something, his eyes flicking between me and the wall a few times before he said, “Wait here a moment?”

  I nodded, and he left. Minutes passed and I found myself pacing again. I ran over the words I had said, trying to find what I was missing. But I could not place exactly what was bothering me. I was unsettled, and things between us were unfinished. By the time he returned carrying what looked like a stack of papers I had fully become a jittery mess.

  He approached me directly, handing me the papers and stepping back.

  I read the words written on the front page in his neat scrawl. “The Liable Lady?”

  “My manuscript,” he explained. “The sequel. Though it is unfinished.”

  I looked up to his clear brown eyes. “What am I meant to do with it?”

  He shrugged. “Burn it? Read it? Toss it out the window for all I care.”

  I fanned the pages. “But you’ve worked so hard on this.”

  “I told you, I am done with that publisher. I refused to turn in this book and they are unwilling to work with me unless I write about society members.”

  “But what will you do?”

  “I will figure something out.”

  He seemed so at ease with his decision. In fact, he seemed lighter in general. His dark hair was disheveled and bags under his eyes revealed undoubtedly sleepless nights, but he looked less bothered.

  “You did not mention that The Green Door was my aunt’s idea.”

  “Does it matter where the idea originated if I was the one who put ink to paper?”

  I considered his words. It mattered a little, to me. It helped me believe that Cameron was not the orchestrator of so much painful gossip. He had written it, yes, and by such was not innocent. But, he was merely the wordsmith to Aunt Georgina’s cunning.

  “Aunt Georgina does not have a green door,” I said, an afterthought.

  “Have you never noticed the daisies painted on her drawing room door?”

  “Oh,” I said, understanding. He had taken liberties with his use of the word “green.”

  I stepped toward the low burning fire. “You keep the fire lit on warm days?”

  “Just today,” he said, a delicious grin tilting his lips. Had he already been planning on burning the manuscript?

  I dropped the papers into the flames and watched them ignite, burning quickly in a large, warm flame and then dying out rapidly. Mesmerized by the flames, I failed to notice Cameron come to stand behind me.

  “I know I do not have the right to ask for your forgiveness,” he said softly into my ear. “But I will work diligently for the rest of my life to prove to you I am sincere in my affection. I will devote myself to you if you let me.”

  I turned to him, the fire reflecting in his eyes and igniting my soul. I loved him, irrevocably, there was no denying it. I could not help but appreciate the hope displayed on his face, and stepped forward, unsure of what to say. Words failing me, I nodded slowly.

  His grin widened before his arms came around me, crushing me to him, his lips finding mine swiftly. Reason fled, and I lost myself in the warmth that engulfed me. His kiss was earnest at first, as though he was starving and I was the manna, but slowly morphed into something achingly tender. When he pulled away, I felt the lack immediately, tempered slightly by his forehead resting upon mine.

  “May I call on your father?”

  “You are in mourning, sir,” I reminded him.

  “Drat,” he muttered before leaning down to kiss me slowly, the sorrow in his eyes evidence of his grief. “I suppose we must wait an appropriate amount of time. Must you go to Kent?”

  “Yes,” I answered, the pain in his eyes striking my heart. “I leave in the morning. But we can write.” I smiled, stepping out of his arms. “And if my plan works, I shall be back in town shortly.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Six Months Later

  THE CARRIAGE PULLED to a swift stop and I did not wait for the coachman to hop down and assist me before flinging the door open and letting myself onto the street. The door of the house in front of me swung open and I smiled at the butler before making my way to the drawing room I knew well, the smell of ginger biscuits wafting from the tea tray and filling my senses. Freya noticed me first and jumped up, clutching me in an embrace that knocked the air clean out of me.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said, stepping back and looking into my face. She looked happier, her hair piled loosely on her head and her gown a sage green, no longer wearing the light colors that washed out her pale skin.

  I stepped around her to kiss Aunt Georgina on the cheek, Coco yapping at my heels.

  “All right, you mongrel.” Chuckling, I leaned down to pick up Coco, carrying her to the sofa and taking a seat. Freya came to sit beside me, reaching over to pet Coco behind the ears. “You seem content.”

  Freya grinned, glancing to Aunt Georgina. “We are. It has been gratifying to be free of the constraints Mama placed on me. I hadn’t realized how much she leaned on me to make up for my father’s absence until we were separated. But she is doing well with her sister in Yorkshire and I have planned to go out and visit them next month.”

  “That is good to hear. And she isn’t causing you too much trouble?” I asked Aunt Georgina.

  “She barks in the night at times, but we manage.”

  Laughing, I exchanged a look with Freya. “I wasn’t talking about Coco.”

  “Oh, well. Yes, Freya has been a superb house guest. I had not thought before that I would enjoy a companion, but it turns out it has been quite fun having Miss Hurst around.” She rearranged her shawl, looking down at the rings on her fingers. “I imagine this is what having a daughter would feel like.”

  Freya grinned. “Only better, because you did not have to bother with me when I was an obnoxious little munchkin.” She turned to me. “Aunt Georgina’s words, not mine.”

  I laughed and accepted a cup of tea. “Do you mind having me for a while?”

  Aunt Georgina sipped her tea. “We have looked forward to it immensely.”

  I gave her a knowing look, “And can I be sure my secrets are safe while I am under this roof?”

  It was
a condition of my coming to visit. I had written it playfully, but I meant every word. I would not be fodder for gossip any longer, and she had agreed.

  I came to the personal conclusion that it was not necessary for me to be unwed to stand up for myself and what I felt was right.

  “Have you heard from Rosie?” I asked.

  Freya nodded, chewing a bite of ginger biscuit. “She announced her engagement to Jack, and they will wed following Michaelmas. She and Lord McGregor both felt it was proper to wait the full three months out of respect for Geoffrey’s death.”

  I eyed her but she did not seem uncomfortable. I imagined us, young girls in the attic at school planning our Sisterhood of Deserving Females, and considered how much had changed.

  “Lord Cameron stopped by yesterday,” Freya said.

  “Oh, did he?” I tried to sound unaffected and I was sure I had failed. I had not seen him since the day I had apologized in his home, but we spent the last six months corresponding via the post—made respectable through our engagement, of course—and I had gotten to know him on a level that went beyond childhood stories and favorite Christmas carols. He shared his dreams with me, and I shared my storytelling with him. It was with mutual respect that we discussed the dilemma of my father losing the bulk of our money and his loss of an easy publishing relationship. If we were going to wed when he was ready to come out of mourning, then we would need to know each other well. I was not going to agree to a marriage with a man I fancied, only to realize later that it was not love.

  Though, I had my suspicions this was the real thing. I was choosing to make it the real thing.

  “I am exhausted,” I said, rising from my seat. “By now Molly will surely be finished unpacking. Am I so very boring if I call it an early night?”

  “Yes,” Aunt Georgina said crisply. “But never mind us. I suppose we will have months to catch up with you.”

  I grinned. “Yes, you shall, you lucky old biddy.”

  THE LONDON SUMMER WAS notorious for its stuffy heat, made worse by the condensed population and close buildings. That summer, however, failed to see the sun unaccompanied by clouds. Rooms were darkened due to the overcast sky and fires built up to warm against the unrelenting chill. I dressed in my warmest gown, arming myself with a shawl and thick gloves. Making my way to the breakfast room, I stopped mid-step in the doorway when my gaze landed on Cameron, seated beside Freya and cheerfully stuffing his mouth with seared tomatoes.

  He caught my eye and dropped his fork, the sound of it clattering against his plate sure to warn the room of my arrival. Freya rose at once, squeezing my hand and leaving the room, the footman close behind her. I stood rooted to the spot, the knowledge that I was going to see Cameron at some point during the day insufficient to prepare me for the handsome, dark-haired man standing before me. I could not help the grin that plastered itself to my face and refused to subside.

  “You are here,” he said softly.

  I chuckled, dipping into a playful curtsey.

  He came around the table then, sweeping me into an embrace, his face buried in my freshly arranged hair. “I have missed you,” he whispered into my ear.

  “Six months is entirely too long,” I agreed. “Though your letters were marvelous, I find I would prefer those conversations in person.”

  He pulled back, grinning. “I couldn’t agree more. In fact,” he slid his arm around my back and led me to a chair, picking up the plate and piling it with entirely too much food from the sideboard. “I have informed my family of our engagement, and my mother insists you come and spend the holidays with us.”

  I scrunched up my nose. “I discussed traveling with Freya to see her mother in Yorkshire then.”

  “Then come after. We can have you visit for the holidays—or after—and then bring you to London for the Season.”

  I leaned back slightly in my chair. “You have thought this through, sir.”

  “I have thought of little else.” His smile was boyish and I could not restrain an answering grin.

  “I had a thought,” he said, turning back to his plate of food and taking a bite before continuing. I could sense his nerves were heightened. “And I took the liberty of going to a publisher with the idea.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, I seem to have a knack for writing. And you have a talent for storytelling.”

  I felt the heat of a blush warm my cheeks and I bit a sausage to give me something else to focus on. I had taken to writing Cameron little stories and adding them to the ends of my letters. When he professed his love for them, I had told him to not get used to it, since it was the creation of the story that I had found so entertaining and not the bother of writing them down.

  “I shared a basic outline of your ongoing storytelling ability and sold him on the idea. If we choose to move forward, then we can send him our manuscript upon completion. He has promised to give it serious consideration.”

  “You sold my Jane and Billy story to a publisher?”

  “Pending your approval, yes.”

  I was speechless. I had not ever considered the concept that I could create something other people would be willing to read. Well, people aside from Cameron, at least.

  “Have I overstepped?” he asked suddenly, taking my hand in both of his. “I was very clear that we would be a partnership and I would need your express endorsement before moving forward.”

  “Do you think that will grow tiresome, Cameron?” I asked softly, tilting my head in sympathy. “I do not want to spend a lifetime with you worrying that I am feeling properly respected. I should not be happy if you came to resent me.”

  “Can you not see that by caring about you it is natural for me to place your needs above my own? I am not concerned about proving to you that I will not control you, Elsie. I am simply concerned about your happiness.”

  He leaned over and placed a light kiss on my lips, grinning while he pulled away. “I love you. Every part of you. From now until forever.”

  “Oh, very well,” I sighed, contented. “I suppose I shall help you write a book.”

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  Up Next in the Women of Worth series

  Freya Hurst’s world fell apart when her parents’ marriage was deemed false and she was discovered to be illegitimate. Four years later, her father shows up in London with his other wife and daughter in tow. Freya escapes to the country, but can she so easily escape her past?

  About the Author

  Kasey Stockton was drawn to the Regency period at a young age when gifted a copy of Sense and Sensibility by her grandmother. A staunch lover of all things romantic, Kasey doesn’t discriminate between genres and enjoys a wide variety of happily ever afters. A native of northern California, she now resides in Utah with her own prince charming and their three children. When not reading, writing, or binge-watching sappy chick flicks, she enjoys running, cutting hair, and anything chocolate.

  Read more at Kasey Stockton’s site.