Regency Engagements Box Set

by Charlotte Fitzwilliam

  “You may have your wish, my darling. We shall be married in the spring when the moors are green with grass and the sun shines upon them. It is in the North Country that the rarest flowers bloom, that true beauty lays,” the duke answered. “And after we are married, we shall reside in the estate I have chosen for us. One which is close to Feldham Manor. I wish for you to be near your family.”

  “You are my family, my love,” she whispered.

  The duke simply smiled at her, not uttering a word.

  “I have seen the beauty of the moors, and I have found the most beautiful bloom of all. Love has flowered between us, a love that bloomed upon the cold, misty hills. I want to spend every day with you, strolling along the grounds of our new estate, in perfect happiness and far away from the troubles of the world,” she said as she smiled at the duke.

  “That is a promise I can surely keep. I love you, Anna, I will love you always.”

  In the drawing room on that Christmas Eve, she was as happy as she had ever known. Gone were the days of despair and sadness. She was beginning a new life, far away from all that she knew. On the moors, she knew she would find more than beauty, raw and ancient. She would find the peace that came from being with the man she loved.

  THE END

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  About the Author

  Eliza Heaton grew up enjoying the amazing landscapes of her hometown in Perth, near Edinburgh, Scotland. She often visited the Isle of Skye with her parents during her summers as a child and dreamed of becoming a writer. She attended university in Edinburgh where she completed her Masters in English Literature with a focus on the Victorian and Regency periods.

  Eliza currently lives in the Dean Village area of Edinburgh, Scotland, where she can walk along the Water of Leith creating the characters for her books. Cathedrals, statues of viscounts, and castles welcome her as she walks and imagines the perfect love story to write next.

  The Duke’s Baby by Eliza Heaton

  The Duke’s Baby

  Clean Historical Regency Romance

  By

  Eliza Heaton

  Dedication

  For Lexi

  Contents

  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

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  Thank You!

  About the Author

  1

  The girl stood on the wooden bench. Her golden-blond hair had come undone from the beribboned braid that fell down her back. Her bonnet was discarded, the day was far too beautiful to wear a bonnet and gloves. Even her shoes were left abandoned by the bench. She knew she would be lectured for not dressing as a proper young woman, but she was not yet nine years old. Why did it matter how she dressed? She was too young for the drawing room and its boring afternoon teas, and she was too old for the nursery. Her older brother was occupied by his tutors, and she should have been in the company of her governess, but her governess, like her mother, was prone to illness. Unlike her mother, the woman Miss Upton often spoiled her charge and indulged the girl. Beatrice was the only daughter of the Edmundsons, a wealthy merchant family who possessed the fortune and the necessary servants to see that she was raised properly, but she, being obstinate and headstrong, chose to ignore decorum often. Especially on sunny days when her governess was taken ill with one of her headaches, the poor dear.

  Beatrice missed her lessons, she was rather clever and enjoyed reading about history and all matter of stories and literature, but on days as beautiful as this one when the weather was warm, and the open window of the library framed a world of sunshine, bird song, and sweet-smelling flowers from the garden, she longed to be outside. And outside was where she escaped to every chance she was afforded. It was in this manner that she ran wild on occasion—much to her mother’s disapproval. None of that mattered to her, not at that age, not when she longed for someone to share in her adventures as she often did when her family was in Bath.

  Leaning against the low stone wall of her garden, she smiled as she tried to contain her amusement. This was the first year she had come to Bath. Her parents were fond of taking the waters for their health; her mother’s constitution was weak, and so they lodged for a few weeks every year. This year, they had purchased a townhouse, a very expensive one her mother explained to the little girl, even if the little girl had no understanding of what that meant. What she did know was that she missed her house in Kent, the grand residence with its large rooms, vast gardens, and fields and lawns that beckoned her to run free.

  In Bath, she was forced to find her own amusement. She enjoyed the excitement of the town, the thrill of seeing a great number of people strolling along the avenues or speeding by in carriages. The shops were tempting to a child, especially the sweet shops that sold candies and ices! But, she longed for a companion, a friend who may join her in the garden or play a game. To her delight, she had finally found a person, not too much older than her, who appeared to be in as desperate need of a friend as she was. That person was a boy or a young gentleman as her maid would have said, and he was seated in the garden that shared the low wall that ran along the length of the property. She suspected his house and hers shared a wall, which made her and this boy practically friends already, she surmised.

  She stood on her tip toes and leaned over the stone wall, the roughness of the wall digging into her skin under the soft folds of the afternoon dress that was far more suited for practicing piano than for a rambunctious child who wished to play and climb trees. Peering at the person who was, like herself, not an adult. At least not yet, she smiled. A boy, a few years older than her, how many she did not know. She watched as he was reading, his attention held by the book in his hand. He was seated straight in a metal chair, his posture as perfect as a gentleman twice his age. His dark hair matched the lashes that framed his eyes. From her vantage point, she could not see the color of his eyes, but she could see something rather interesting. He looked distinctly unhappy, mused Beatrice as she slid a wisp of her golden-blonde hair back behind her ear. Studying him, she could not help but notice that for such a beautiful day, he looked positively miserable. His face pursed into a stern expression as though the book he was studying was not very enjoyable. Giggling, she thought of what she may do to capture his attention.

  She was bored, and he looked dejected. Surely they could be friends, despite the difference in age. How she longed for a companion, her dearest friends, Jane and Emily, were back in Kent, and Beatrice had no brothers or sisters other than James. She did not see that this boy, or young man, had any friends or sisters or brothers either. Not from her perch and not from what she observed as she peered at him, with little care to the dirt she had managed to get on her pretty blue afternoon dress or the slight tear in the fabric below the knee. But, what could she do? Her first impulse was to throw something across the wall, maybe an acorn? There were always a few scattered about from the old oak tree that shaded both gardens. Yes, she decided that was precisely what she would do.

  Sneaking dow
n from her perch, she gathered a few of the brown, round would-be projectiles. Giggling, she climbed back into place and with a quick glance over her shoulder, to be sure that no adult saw her, she plinked the acorn at the boy, not to hit him but to catch his attention. As the acorn landed near him with a low thudding sound he did not stop reading or appear to notice her, so she threw another one and then another in fast succession. Finally stopping when she realized she was out of acorns. As she turned to retrieve more acorns, he spoke to her, without looking up.

  “I don’t know who you are, and why you see fit to attack me, but I shall be forced to summon aid if you do not cease,” he said in a haughty tone of voice, she had only ever heard adults use.

  Aside from his haughtiness, a tone she was accustomed to hearing as she was often willful, stubborn, and disobedient in that order and scolded quite frequently for her carelessness, Beatrice was ecstatic. He spoke to her! He did notice her after all! Her plan was successful. He wasn’t looking at her, but that didn’t matter. She had someone to talk to, even if he did sound slightly perturbed.

  “Good day,” she waved from her perch on the wall.

  “I am studying, if you would be so kind as to return to your own garden,” he replied without looking at her.

  “Then you will not be, what was it? Summoning aid? What does that mean, that I will be punished?” she asked.

  “You may be if I choose to see to it,” he answered, sounding bored.

  “Why? Why should you want to see me gone and punished? I have done nothing wrong. Why would you or I not wish to become acquainted? We are neighbors, are we not?” Undeterred, she said these words mimicking his stern tone.

  “Are we? I thought you to be a ruffian, or an urchin child, who wandered into the garden,” he answered, as he unenthusiastically turned a page in his book.

  “An urchin? How dare you, I wanted to be friends, and you call me an urchin!" her voice became high out of irritation.

  “If you were a young woman of class and wealth, you would not be greeting me across the wall. Would we not become introduced through more polite means? If you are not an urchin, how else can you account for yourself?” he replied.

  Her temper, a weakness she was loath to admit overwhelmed her as it often did. Without a sparing a moment to heed the consequences or think of what punishment she may face, she scrambled over the top of the wall and jumped down on the other side. In his garden. His comment that she was an urchin stung. How could he say that to her when she longed for a friend? Someone to confide in? A person who wished for adventure? Instead, he insulted her, barely spoke to her except to sound like a gruff adult, which he most certainly was not.

  She felt empowered by the sheer recklessness of what she was doing; climbing into other people’s gardens was not something she had ever done before now. It was rather exciting, even with the prospect of repercussions from her governess and her mother that surely must await her. Not to mention, her mother’s nurse and companion, the formidable Gertrude Chisolm. To her supreme satisfaction, he was no longer absorbed in the pages of his book, but staring at her, his expression quizzical as though he was trying to consider what to say or what was to be done about her sudden presence.

  “Look here, I am not an urchin! You apologize to me at once!” she demanded, as she stood before him, her hands on her hips.

  For the first time, she looked at his face, at his features and his eyes. Under the dark outline of lashes, his eyes were grey like stone. For a moment, she forgot that she was supposed to be furious with him, his eyes were so riveting. But she soon regained her momentum and her anger when he spoke.

  “You think that by interrupting my study, you shall press your suit of friendship? How very rude you are, you act as though you do not know who I am. I assure you that when you know me, then you will bow before me and offer your apology, and with it, your swift egress.”

  “I wouldn’t care if you were the king! You insulted me. All I wanted was to be your friend. I am lonely and bored, and you look miserable. I did not intend to be insulted, not by the likes of a boy who is not much older than myself!” she stood her ground, her chin lifted in an arrogant manner, and her own blue eyes narrowed at him.

  “I am to be addressed Lord Fenwick; I am a marquis. My father is the Duke of Norwich. Perhaps you have heard of him?” he said with a practiced air that she was certain he used to great effect on others.

  “I am to be addressed as Miss Beatrice Edmundson, eldest daughter of Mr. Edmundson. He is a merchant, perhaps you have heard of him?”

  “You are not curtseying or acknowledging my superior rank?” he asked.

  She snorted, “Why should I care what your rank is? You are the rudest, most ill-behaved person I have ever met.”

  “You are the most ill-bred young woman I have ever met. If your father is a merchant, surely he can afford a governess for you, you clearly are in need of someone to see that you behave as you ought.”

  “Ill bred? You dare to call me that when I have offered my friendship to you? No wonder you are here all alone and scowling like a mean old man.”

  “I am scowling because I detest studying. I would rather be riding my horse, but what does that matter to you? You who are far too slovenly and poor to appreciate such pursuits,” he insulted her again.

  “Poor?” she exclaimed.

  “Poor,” he replied, as he affected a yawn.

  “You, sir, you are…” as she scrambled for the words she wanted to say to him, words she had only ever heard the servants utter when they thought no one was listening. She could say such things, but she knew it wasn’t proper that she should use such language. As her temper was getting the better of her, as she was finding the courage to say something so horrid it would have made her mother blush and faint, she heard a sound which caused her to turn her head so quickly she nearly harmed herself.

  “Miss Beatrice!” a woman’s voice called out from across the wall.

  “Oh no, it’s my mother’s nurse, Miss Chisolm!” Beatrice exclaimed as she was suddenly anxious. Her mother's nurse and companion was one of the only people she considered to be in a position of authority, although the woman was a paid servant.

  “Your mother is unwell?” the boy asked, his tone suddenly softer than before.

  “Yes, that is why we are here in Bath,” explained Beatrice, as she became all too aware of her appearance, “When she sees me like this, she will tell Mama! I shall surely be punished just as you wished for!”

  He stood to his full height, he was at least a head taller than her, possibly more. It was then that she—upon observing him when he was not frowning at her—noticed that he was nearly a young man. She estimated his age to be five maybe six years older than her own age, but that didn’t matter. Miss Gertrude Chisolm was searching for her, and she was not in the garden nor was she dressed as she ought to be, her bonnet, gloves, and shoes were in a pile where she left them by the bench. Looking at the tear in her dress and the dirt smudged upon the light blue fabric, she was overcome by terror. She was sure to be scolded but maybe worse?

  “Miss Beatrice, is that correct? Permit me to assist you.”

  Her mouth gaping open, she stared at him in shock before exclaiming, “You want to help me? You called me an urchin! You said I was poor! I do not trust that you will not say terrible things, which will make things worse for me.”

  “Will you be quiet and leave this to me,” he demanded, as he approached the garden wall.

  “Miss Beatrice? Where has that girl gotten off to? If she is lost, I will never hear the end of it, her poor blessed mother, ill as she is, and her governess confined with one of her headaches,” Gertrude Chisolm muttered from across the low wall, the top of her white lace cap barely visible on the other side of the wall.

  With a dexterity, she was not expecting to see displayed, she watched as the boy gracefully and quickly climbed up the wall and situated himself nearly to the top. From the sound of exclamation on the other side, she knew he
had surprised Gertrude Chisolm.

  “Bless my soul!” the woman exclaimed. “Who might you be?”

  As he balanced on top of the wall, as proper as he would a fine chair, the boy answered, “I am Lord Fenwick. It has been my pleasure that Miss Beatrice has assisted me in my studies this afternoon. May I inquire as to whether or not she will be punished for her absence? I should hope not on my account, as my father, the Duke of Norwich, would be most unpleased.”

  She gasped as she realized his chivalrous act and looked around wide-eyed in surprise. Then she covered her mouth to hide her sudden inclination to burst into giggles; Beatrice could scarcely believe her ears. Was he truly using his rank, far elevated to hers or her family’s, to see that she was not punished despite that he had promised her she would be? How confusing he was, but how interesting. He was nearly as interesting as the very idea that he was speaking to an adult person with an air of complete authority. Is that what he was accustomed to as a marquis? Is that what he meant by rank?

  “It is an honor to meet the son of His Grace, I give you my word that the young miss shall not suffer any punishment since she was your guest this afternoon. Pray tell, where is she?” Gertrude Chisolm asked, her voice carrying from across the wall.

  Reaching down to offer her a hand, Lord Fenwick assisted her, as Beatrice clambered up the wall and was soon seated at the top beside of him, “Here I am, see? I did not leave the garden, just as I promised.”