Regency Bride Series: Regency Romance Box Set
Regency Bride Series
Regency Romance Box Set
Laura Locke
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Contents
The Desperate 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
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Lady in Love
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
The Perfect Chance at Love
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
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The Desperate Duke
Prologue
“Henry! Wait!”
Matilda shouted at Henry's retreating back as she ran through the fields, laughing, behind him. Henry turned and waited by the green oak tree.
He's so handsome.
Matilda's heart raced as he looked at her from under that fall of pale hair, a naughty glow in his blue eyes as they smiled at her. He was eighteen, she sixteen; like a handsome fairytale prince to her storybook princess.
“Whew!” Matilda gasped. She dropped forward, hands on her knees, striving for breath.
Henry smiled. “I am sorry, dear. I was just so excited to show you the new knot-garden.”
Matilda scraped honey-gold hair out of her eyes and looked up at him. Dear. Her heart leaped. He has never called me that.
“I...there's no harm done,” she said a little breathlessly. “I enjoy running, sometimes.”
“Good.”
Their eyes met and then he dropped his gaze, embarrassed. They both seemed suddenly shy. They had just crossed into new territory. They were alone in the fields, and he had called her dear.
“I...Oh, Henry.”
Matilda sighed, feeling her heart blossoming with love. It was a peculiar sensation, as if half of her had melted, warmed in the light of his presence. She felt a big grin cross her face and her whole being seemed to brighten.
“Matilda,” he said. Suddenly, impulsively, he reached for her hands and held them in his own. “I...you look so beautiful, I have to tell you.”
Matilda stared at him. Beautiful? Her?
With a snub-nose and big blue eyes, Matilda had never really considered herself beautiful. Her sister Pauline was the beautiful one, with her black hair, heavy-lidded brown eyes and straight aquiline nose. He – Henry Plowden, son of Baron Masefield – thought she was beautiful? She'd been secretly in love with him for years!
“Oh, Henry! I...” She blushed furiously. He smiled and squeezed her hands.
They kissed.
Matilda tensed in surprise. She had never done this before. Henry's mouth on hers was so soft and tender.
“Matilda,” he gasped. They drew apart, his eyes half-blind with the same longing in her. “We...”
Matilda put her head at an angle, rueful smile on her moist pink lips. “I know,” she said, a little sadly. She knew it was unseemly to touch a man like that.
Henry sighed.
“It would be so different if we could marry. But...”
Matilda bit her lip.
“I know.”
She and Henry could not expect their families to agree to a match. She knew that. Henry was the son of a mere baron, she the daughter of an earl. Her family would not approve of Henry.
“Well,” Henry sighed. “Mayhap in the future...” he trailed off. “I am investing in jute, so you never know? I might be very rich soon. It could help.”
“Maybe.”
Matilda smiled, following him along the path that led to his father's modest country estate. The sun shone down on her hair, and on the fields of corn that now were turning gold. She wished they could always be happy like this. Happy, and hopeful and together.
Anything was possible, she reminded herself. She just had to hope.
Chapter 1
Returning to Braxton after another London Season was always tiring for Matilda. She had found it so at sixteen, with all her heart in the country. At two and twenty, she found it no less taxing. She would much rather have been here. Henry's family never went to town, and the dandies and socialites there wore on her.
The family had been back a week, but it seemed they were all still tired. Matilda looked up from over her teacup and studied the faces before her in the small parlor. Pauline looked slightly gray and weary, though she said nothing about it. Father was pale. Lucas was almost asleep.
“Whew!” Lady Braxton, her mother, sighed contentedly. “It is good to be home. Though I miss Town. We should entertain more.”
Matilda smiled at her. Still young and terrifyingly vital, her mother was the only one of them who did not suffer from the journey and loved the diversions of Town.
“It is,” she agreed.
“Maybe we could have a tea-party this evening?” she suggested to Lord Braxton, Matilda's father.
“Capital notion, Adeline,” he nodded. His voice was thin and Matilda, looking at him, felt concern. He had been finding it hard to sleep, her mother had said; though apparently Doctor Jarrow had given him a sleeping draft, which seemed to help. He still looked ill, though: parchment-pale skin and dark rings around his eyes.
This trip to London must have worn him out. We should pay more attention to his health.
“Wonderful. I'll head to the kitchens. Where is Mrs. Marwell? Oh!”
Matilda shook her head, grinning to herself as her mother pulled the bell, already making plans for tea. Her two parents could not have been less alike – her mother determined and ambitious, her father quite peaceful and easygoing, especially in comparison.
>
“Tildie?”
“Yes?” Matilda smiled at Pauline, who looked tired.
“I'm going upstairs to change and rest. I still feel a little off-color.”
“Good idea,” Matilda nodded fervently. She looked down at her own dress – a white cotton day-gown: fashionable but a little too tight for comfort. Pauline, in a cream dress with little flowers on it, looked weary; her lovely oval face pale. She had been ill on the last day of their journey and it seemed to be taking her time to recover.
“I'll just talk to Shipsley, ” her father said from across the room, getting wearily to his feet.
“Are you sure, Father?” Matilda asked, looking at him. He looked drained. His face was white and gaunt, and there were rings around his eyes.
“Yes, Matilda dear. I'm fine.”
Matilda smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way, then bit her lip. She stood too. Since her mother had departed to plan afternoon tea, their small morning gathering in the parlor seemed to officially be departing. Lucas was already buried in the paper, Pauline upstairs.
Matilda waited for her father to leave, then followed him up the stairs, heading for the sleeping quarters; all on the second floor.
“Father? No!”
Matilda shouted it as her father tottered on the step above her. He fell back and she caught him. He gripped it and blinked at her, confusedly.
“Matilda? I...Oh. Apologies.”
Her father widened caramel-colored eyes and tried to focus suddenly, memory returning to him. She saw the moment that he realized he was on the staircase at his home, his daughter before him. She looked at his claw-like hand., gripping her arm.
“Father. It is well. You almost fell, though.” she explained gently.
“I...yes. Quite,” he said, clearing his throat. “Well.” He seemed embarrassed and unsure what to say next. He turned away, heading upstairs at a brisk pace.
Matilda, deeply shaken, headed downwards, towards the landing near her chamber.
What is the matter with Father?
The earl of Albury, William Denthorpe was a fine, healthy man, if a little thin, in his sixtieth year. There was nothing amiss with his health – at least not as far as his family was aware. But lately...Matilda sighed.
She should talk to someone. Pauline would know what was going on. Pauline was very wise. She would go and find her.
“Mattie?” Lucas, her brother, frowned at her. He was just coming up the stairs, and she was standing right in front of him. She hadn't heard or seen him standing there.
“Oh!” Matilda said, coming back to the present. “Sorry. Sorry, Lucas, I was miles away.”
Lucas' handsome face was twisted in concern, but then it cleared and he brightened. “Well, could be worse. You could be the one Mama was just heckling about new suits for the ball. Enough to make anyone that distracted.”
Matilda laughed. “Indeed. Poor Lucas!”
He pulled a face. “I shall survive. Now; have you seen Shipsley? I need to talk to him about the accounts. I know Father was just going there, but I'd like to be with him. There were some things Merridew mentioned in London, and...” he trailed off, his handsome face showing some concern.
“He should be upstairs in the study,” Matilda said, indicating the stairs her father had just ascended. Shipsley was their steward, in charge of recording and managing the budget. Merridew managed their London account. Matilda understood that Lucas wanted to support their father and was glad that he, like she and Pauline, had noticed how frail he was.
“Good. I'll find him now. ”
Matilda nodded. “Thank you, Lucas.”
“Not at all,” Lucas called back over his shoulder, chestnut hair flopping over one eye as he headed quickly up the stairs. At twenty-three, Lucas was a handsome young man, probably the source of a few infatuations in his current residence in Town.
Mama must be so pleased to have him home. I wonder if I ought to mention Father's illness. I don't want her to worry.
Matilda sighed. Their mother, Adeline, Lady Braxton, was a woman with an iron core. She was beautiful, in a strong, bold way, and she was not to be trifled with. Her one weakness was her care for Lord Braxton, almost a decade her senior and the dearest person to her.
Sighing, Matilda shook her head and bounded down the last flight of stairs toward the parlor to find their mother. She had to tell someone what had happened. And Mama was bound to notice soon anyhow.
Perhaps it is nothing. Henry might know more about it...I wish I could tell him.
She had seen Henry only once, briefly, since she returned. She should try and visit again or at least go for a ride, as they often rode together.
Her thought was interrupted as by Pauline's voice, grave and low, coming from the parlor. She sidled to the door and peered around it cautiously, surprised to find Pauline there with Mother ahead of her.
“...we cannot make any decisions as things are.”
Matilda felt her heart beat faster. Anything that made her big sister Pauline sound so grave must be something quite dire. Matilda had always deferred to Pauline, and still did, even now that she was two-and-twenty and Pauline twenty-four.
Mother was there, curled up on the chaise, her knees bent and covered by her long olive gown. Pauline stood opposite her, her sage-green gown soft and soothing to the eye.
“I don't agree!” Mother said firmly.
“Mother, come now,” Pauline said, equally-firm. “You know what I have said is reasonable.”
“I think that...Oh! Matilda!” her mother said, as Matilda coughed in the doorway.
“Mother!” she said, feeling her face flush. “Lucas said you might be here and...”
“Oh! Lucas! That dear, tiresome, stubborn...” her mother trailed off. “Oh, well. What was the matter, dear? Was there something you wanted?” She spoke more softly.
“No,” Matilda said, shaking her head. “Not at all, Mother. I was just...”
“We were talking about Father,” Pauline said softly.
Matilda felt her heart go through the floor. She turned and looked into her sister's big brown eyes, feeling at once worried and relieved that Pauline had thought to broach the subject now as well. She was always better at confronting their mother than she herself was.
“I know,” Matilda said quietly. She felt like she wanted to cry. Knowing Pauline was worried made the situation seem so much more dire. She loved her gentle, peaceful father. She could not lose him now.
“We were saying that perhaps it would be good for Father to go to the seaside. Maybe Brighton,” Pauline said quietly.
“Brighton!” her mother exclaimed. “But it's so far! No, Pauline. That's too wild.”
Pauline sighed. She looked into Matilda's gaze as if beseeching her to say something supportive. Matilda nodded. “It is a good plan, Mama,” she said carefully. “I hear the waters are good, and...”
“No!” Lady Braxton said, turning away from both of them, looking out of the door. She looked distressed. “I will not risk him on those roads. Only the other day, Lady Elphenston's carriage broke down; wheel caught in an awful rut. I will not have it. He has a delicate constitution.”
“I know,” Pauline said gravely.
Matilda met her sister's level gaze. She blinked, trying to advise caution without actually saying anything. They both knew Mother was hard to persuade.
Pauline bit her lip. With her smooth oval face and pouting, brown-red lips, she looked like an exquisite China statue. At this moment, she was a worried, angry China statue, though perhaps only Matilda recognized the signs of it. Pauline walked serenely to the window to look out over the garden, her back stiff.
“I saw Lucas earlier,” Matilda said, changing the subject. “He was looking for the steward.”
“Don't even start,” her mother warned her. “I don't want to talk about stewards or accounts today. I've said enough.”
Matilda felt her heart sink into her boots. She looked at Pauline, who came back to th
e group to explain.
“Mother was just saying that...”
“Shipsley has said the accounts are in an appalling state,” her mother began relentlessly. “He says the expenditure is barely met by the profits, and that, if we don't do something about it soon we'll reach a penurious state.”
Matilda gaped. That was shocking news! How could she deliver it so blandly?
Pauline wet her lips. “That isn't quite what he said,” she began cautiously. “He simply said that it seems we are overspending, and that the money coming in from London is not as high as it was earlier on in this year.”
“Oh?” Matilida lifted a brow. Lucas had been saying earlier in the year that their investments were growing, more profit running into the accounts than previous years. This was odd-sounding news.
“Don't listen to Lucas,” her mother said, twisting round. “He's too concerned with making sure we're not concerned. I do love Lucas, but he does not have your father's practicalities.”