Regency Romances Page 16

  Had it been anyone else Maggie would have believed it. But she knew Dirk wasn't like that. He wouldn't treat any woman in that way. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  "Dirk isn't false like that." She said stiffly.

  "With tramps he is." Lady Clarke sneered.

  "I'm not a tramp!"

  "Oh, really? Because I think you are." Lady Clarke shoved Maggie in the chest, knocking Maggie back onto the sofa. "And you're not going to have my man."

  Maggie stared at her. Now the facade was beginning to crack. She could see the wild look in the other woman's eyes, the whitened nostrils flaring and the snarl around her mouth.

  "You're deluded."

  "I'm deluded?" Lady Clarke gave a sharp laugh. "You're crazy to think you're going to get your claws into Dirk. I'm not going to let that happen."

  Maggie stared as she reached into a pocket in the fold of her skirt and withdrew a knife. It looked like a knife that would have been on the dining table. She must have been using it when Dirk and Maggie arrived at the house. Suddenly Maggie felt very cold, the panic rising in her chest.

  "What are you doing?"

  "The last girl who got close enough to have him propose backed off pretty quickly when I threatened her like this." Lady Clarke waved the knife in Maggie's face. Maggie flinched away. "She valued her life more than her love for Dirk. I'm sure I can do the same with you."

  "Lady Clarke!"

  Slater hadn't moved until Lady Clarke brought out the knife. He darted forward, but Lady Clarke was already lunging at Maggie. Maggie screamed and tried to get away. Then Lady Clarke was on top of her, the force of her lunge so strong the sofa tipped backward, sending them sprawling on the ground.

  That was when the screaming started.

  ***

  "Dirk, dear."

  Dirk turned, his arm still around Maggie's shoulders. Duckie Trainor was walking towards them in a splendid red dress, and a white wrap around her shoulders. Dirk grinned. He had seen Duckie in the congregation in the church but hadn't had a chance to talk to her.

  "Duckie." He kissed his old governess' cheek. "Thank you so much for coming."

  "You think I'd miss my favorite pupil's wedding? Not for the world." Duckie winked. She looked over at Maggie, clasping her former companion's hand. "I saw your parents earlier, Maggie. They are really pleased with this marriage."

  "I know," Maggie smiled up at Dirk. He could see the love shining in her eyes. "Dirk even likes gardening so Papa's delighted. I didn't even know he liked gardening."

  Dirk exchanged a quick look with Duckie. Both knew he didn't really like gardening, but Dirk knew what Joseph Reynolds loved and did his best to get involved. He had even taken a few lessons from Duckie to learn about flowers and how to care for them. Maggie didn't know the truth yet, but Dirk knew she would appreciate it once she found out.

  Her parents stood off to one side with their other daughter and her husband, talking to Dirk's uncle and cousin. They were all smiling, Heather Reynolds looking the best she had done in a long time. It seemed that knowing her younger daughter was getting married was the medicine she needed. Even Joseph was looking better.

  Duckie touched his arm. She looked uncomfortable, and Dirk knew what she was going to ask.

  "How's the girl? I hear she's healing up."

  Dirk glanced at Maggie. Emma was a taboo subject as far as Maggie was concerned. But Maggie gave him a gentle smile, saying that she didn't mind.

  That afternoon three months ago had been traumatic for everyone. Dirk and Rebecca had heard the screams. Rebecca hadn't moved, but Dirk had run into his study to find Slater pulling Emma off Maggie. For a moment Dirk's heart had stopped. He had thought Maggie was injured or worse.

  Then he had seen the knife on the floor. In the scuffle she had dropped the knife she had been trying to attack Maggie with. Emma had broken her arm.

  Thankfully, Maggie was unharmed other than a bump on the head from the fall. She still woke up screaming in the nights, according to her maid.

  Maggie squeezed Dirk's hand and faced Duckie.

  "Emma's better physically. But mentally I think she's gone the other way. Her father says they're making progress but..." She bit her lip, not looking happy. "Emma still wants Dirk; she's quite obsessed and delusional."

  Dirk sighed. He hugged Maggie closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead before he addressed Duckie.

  "She keeps asking for me. When am I going to come and visit? Is the wedding still on?" He sighed. "I feel so sorry for her father. He gets the bad end of it all when she loses her temper."

  From what Lord Clarke had told him in his letters, Emma's only visitor was Rebecca. Dirk wasn't surprised at that; his mother had seen Emma as the daughter she had never had. But Rebecca was just as deluded as Emma; she genuinely believed that things would clear up, and Dirk would marry Emma. She had refused to come for the wedding, choosing to stay holed up in Penzance.

  Dirk didn't mind. He hadn't intended on inviting his mother anyway, not after the things she had said about Maggie. And the wedding was better for it.

  "Poor Emma." Duckie looked sad. "I didn't like her, but this shouldn't have happened."

  "I feel sorry for her."

  Dirk blinked and stared at his wife, who shrugged at his stunned expression.

  "What? I'm a bleeding heart."

  Duckie chuckled.

  "That I do know." She patted Dirk's hand. "I'll leave you lovebirds to it. I can see you're eager to get inside and upstairs."

  Maggie gasped, her cheeks going bright red. Dirk bit back the laughter and gave Duckie a scolding look.

  "That's enough, Duckie."

  Duckie grinned and gave them a wave before walking away. Maggie groaned and buried her face in Dirk's shirt.

  "She is awful sometimes."

  "That she is." Dirk chuckled. He turned to her and slid his arms around her. He bent his head as he lowered his voice. "How long shall we delay going upstairs? Two minutes? An hour?"

  Maggie groaned and slapped his chest.

  "I can see life with you is going to be interesting." She said, echoing his words to her three months ago back at her.

  Dirk grinned.

  "It certainly will be." He brushed his fingers across his wife's cheek. "Anything to make life interesting for the woman I love."

  Maggie laughed. And Dirk silenced her laugh with a kiss.

  *** The End ***

  The Duke:

  Enamored

  by Humility

  Regency Romance

  Grace Fletcher

  Chapter 1

  An Invitation

  To Dinner

  The late afternoon cast its mellow light over the charming hexagonal plot that houses Sydney Gardens in Bath. It was a rare day as many of the town’s citizens would agree to. To those accustomed to seeing their beloved town shrouded in its natural environment of smoke and fog, the sun’s light might be deemed far too harsh, exposing every crack in the facades of its glorious buildings.

  At the corner of Sydney Lane, however, the sun only magnified a neat, well-kept house with ivy trimming its edges, and a rosebush draping over a sparkling white gate. Inside, a young girl waited patiently by the window, her needlework quite forgotten as her eyes fixed upon a carriage that bore down towards her home. Jane Skeyton was not the kind of girl others would call beautiful. Some might even say that she was rather plain. Her face had far too many angles, and her cheekbones were too sharp to suit the taste of most gentlemen. Her eyes always had a reserved wit about them that scared away men who felt she might secretly be smarter than they.

  Afflicted with a cold, Jane had chosen to stay home that day. However, hot tea and rest had done her some good, and there was color on her cheeks again. Her eyes sparkled as her parents and sister entered the house. They seemed to be in high spirits, and the sound of their voices carried over to her even in the next room.

  “We must!” Her sister Susan cried as she came twirling into the
room. “Oh, Mama! We must! We must bring him the finest food. A man like Duke Seymour would expect no less! Why to him our finest silver will probably look like a maid servant’s cutlery.”

  “Well, he struck me as a sensible man.” Mama Skeyton, also known as Margaret, said as she walked in, folding her shawl into a neat square. “I’m sure he’s one to see beyond the fineries. After all, there were many girls at the ball dressed in far more expensive clothes.”

  “Well, he still chose our Susan, didn’t he?” Michael Skeyton, the head of the family, banged his cane on the ground to emphasize his point. “Not a man out there would deny that our Susan is the most beautiful young girl in London.”

  “The most gracious too.” Margaret smiled, “I declare, not a gentleman in the room could keep his eye off her when she and George Seymour did their waltz together.”

  With her parents now looking expectantly at her, Jane found herself forced to add her own praise, “Yes, Susan does look particularly beautiful in this dress, Mama.”

  “Thank you, Jane!” Susan smiled and gave her a curtsy. “I really should thank you. I know that Aunt Em meant us both to have a dress with the material she had sent over, but I simply couldn’t resist the lace on yours, and it was just fabulous of you to allow me to have it.”

  “Worth it, wasn’t it?” Michael Skeyton sat down heavily on a sofa and tossed his cane aside. Margaret picked it up from the doorway and placed it neatly against a wall. Michael gave a grunt and placed his foot on the footrest that Jane adjusted for him.

  “Well, would you tell me everything from the start, Papa?” Jane asked.

  “How is your cold now, dearest?” Margaret asked her. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

  “Of course, she is Mother,” Susan said. “Honestly, as if a measly cold matters. The fuss you make over Jane sometimes!”

  “Yes. Jane's fine.” Michael waved his wife’s protests aside. “Now let me tell her all about it.” The family considered no tale as told until Jane’s willing ears had heard every detail, and her sympathetic eyes had made them feel better about their role in the story.

  “Well.” Michael began. “We went to the upper rooms at the Paragon, as you know. John Cheatley and his wife were hosting. It was a terrible dance, really. The food was just short of inedible, and the musicians needed a good grounding in basic chord arrangements.”

  “The only thing Sir Cheatley got right was his choice of people,” Susan said. “There were five Earls present, if could you believe it!”

  “But the most distinguished man, by far, was Duke Seymour,” Michael said, his eyes looking almost misty. “My, what a man! What a man!”

  “He is rather handsome.” Mama Skeyton agreed. “I did think that he seemed a bit melancholy, though, even in the midst of all the celebrations.”

  “Haven’t you heard that he has only recently broken off relations with some Parisian lady?” Susan asked. “He wanted to marry her, I hear, in fact, Lady Graystone told me that he is being pressured rather awfully by his mother to find a good woman and produce an heir soon. After all, what good is a Duke without an heir?”

  “What good is a Duke with no heir!” Her father exclaimed. “Why, he does plenty of good for his constituents, from what I hear. Besides that, he is one of the best fencers in London, Susan. Not to mention he has a certain air about him; that of a man who is bred from the finest stock and knows it.”

  “Sounds like your kind of man, father,” Jane said.

  Her father gave her a sharp look. Sometimes he wondered if Jane was as sympathetic as he thought. There was always a hint of mischief in her eyes, leading him to wonder if she was not quite disrespectful at times.

  However, Jane pressed him to tell her more about the dance, and he was readily mollified. “Well, at first, we found ourselves rather bored. Susan, as you know, had all the attention she could want, but it was from rather crude, boorish men like that insufferable John Fowles.”

  “He’s a Baron.” Susan murmured. “Not so bad.”

  “But he’s wild, and he has an addiction to the card table, from what I hear,” Michael said. “Thoroughly unsuitable. Now, George Seymour, there’s a man who hasn’t done a dishonorable thing in his life.”

  Susan’s mouth turned down a little. In her mind, a man who was a real man would always have a wild streak in him. Despite her father’s enthusiasms, she wondered if George Seymour might not be altogether too dull for her. Then again, any woman married to him would never lack in pretty clothes or fine company.

  “At any event.” Michael continued. “Colonel Riley soon approached us. Now there’s a man after my own heart. From what I hear, he won us the battle at...”

  “Oh, father you do go on!” Susan exclaimed. “Jane doesn’t want to hear about Colonel Riley’s battles!”

  “Harumph.” Michael cleared his throat. “Right. Not the sort of thing to talk about with young ladies. Now if I had a son, oh well, at least I have your cousin James.”

  “Papa!” Susan cried impatiently.

  “Very well, Susan. So, Jane, Colonel Riley was introduced to us, and wouldn’t you know it, he introduced us in turn to his very good friend, George Seymour, 17th Duke of Cliffbrook. We tried to engage the Duke in conversation, but he seemed enamored by Susan. It took him only a few minutes to ask her to dance.”

  Susan giggled and blushed. “He told me, do you know, that he had seen seven jewels in seven countries, but never one as fine in all of England as me!”

  “Oh!” Jane smiled. “Well he seemed to rather like you, then, didn’t he?”

  “Silly. Men like him probably say that to every girl.” Susan batted her eyelashes.

  “Of course not,” Margaret said. “He struck me as a rather serious man, who would not play with a woman’s attention. Your father and I would not have invited him to dinner otherwise!”

  “Invited him to dinner!” Jane exclaimed. “A Duke! And did he accept?”

  “Accept? He seemed delighted.” Margaret smiled broadly. “Imagine that! Tomorrow, we will be receiving a Duke at Sydney Place!”

  “Oh, mother, perhaps we could persuade Aunt Em to let us borrow some of her clothes,” Susan said.

  “Now, dear…” Margaret’s sister Emily and her husband, Barrister Gerald Smith, were a well-to-do but childless couple living for the summer in the upper terraces of the St. James district. While they normally summered at Gerald’s large estate in Hampshire, Emily had insisted on being closer to her sister this year. Margaret still found herself a little uneasy at the many gifts Emily lavished on her older daughter. For one, it made Michael feel conscious about his comparable lack of money; for another, it always struck Margaret as unfair that Jane never received many presents even though Emily was equally fond of her. Jane, however, had never asked for presents, while Susan would, the result being that Emily gave them both exactly what they asked for. “I just don’t think it’s wise to ask Emily for more,” Margaret said.

  “Why not!” Susan exclaimed. “She told me the other day that everything that’s hers is mine anyway, seeing as they have no children! Oh mother, can’t you see it will benefit us all if I wear my finest?”

  To Margaret’s surprise, Michael agreed. “After all, dear, if Susan is to be wooed by the Duke, she should look the part.” He said.

  “Perfect!” Susan exclaimed. “You must make him a roast leg of lamb tomorrow mother, perhaps with some baby potatoes and peas. Oh, and Aunt Emily has some chocolate from her tour to Switzerland. We can persuade her to lend us some and give him a truly fine mousse.” She danced around the room, twirling happily. “As for me, I’ll wear Aunt Emily’s green taffeta.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be very impressed.” Jane murmured. “You look beautiful in it.”

  “Of course, I do.” Susan crowed. “Don’t you worry, Jane, perhaps the Duke has a younger brother we can set you up with! After all, you aren’t bad looking.”

  “Thank you.” Jane said, “But I’d much prefer a man who loved me for
my character.”

  Michael laughed out loud. “Oh, Jane! That imagination of yours! Men don’t love women for their character, no matter what they say. It is their beauty that wins a man over.”

  “Not just beauty,” Susan said. “There were other beautiful women in that room, father. No. It is more than just beauty. A woman must also be enigmatic. She must have about her an air of mystery, and that is sure to drive men wild. Any true man is one who wants to conquer.”

  “I beg to disagree,” Jane said. “Men aren’t all the same, after all. There are men who want the same things I do; a long and steady relationship based on trust and kindness.”

  “Oh, Jane!” Susan exclaimed. “Sometimes I feel as though you were born a dowager. Honestly, I’ve seen 80-year-old women talk with more passion about romance than you.”

  Jane shrugged. “It’s just that to me, respect and love are the most important things in a marriage. Wealth declines and beauty fades, but love grows.”

  Susan shook her head. “What you need is an adventure in your life. You need to meet men and feel the power in your hands as they look at you. Do you know how good it feels when every eye in the room is on you?”

  “I do not think I’d be very pleased if it were, honestly,” Jane said. “I should just feel rather shy.”

  “Rubbish,” Susan said. “No one could feel that way. Being the center of attention is the purpose of life, I’d say, and we can only do it once!”

  “I’d rather be the center of one man’s attention, and be ignored by the world, than for it to be the other way round.” Jane smiled.

  Seeing Susan’s growing irritation, Margaret stepped in. “At any rate, Susan will have all the Duke’s attention tomorrow. We must make sure that he sees her for who she is, no less royal than any of their ilk!”

  Chapter 2

  While Waiting

  The polished elegance of the Skeyton’s house by the next evening would scarcely reveal the flurry of actions that it had seen in its halls earlier that day. Jane and her mother had spent all day directing their maids in cleaning the house. Indeed, every surface had been checked thrice to ensure no dust settled on it. The pillows had been plumped, and Michael had been given strict instructions on not disturbing the parlor. In the kitchen, preparations had been made after much consultation with the cook, and a minor nervous breakdown on Margaret’s part when the eggs had turned out to be rotten, ruining the mousse. Only Jane’s quick thinking and creation of a fruit salad with custard and chocolate shavings had bought back Margaret’s good humor.