Loved by the Viscount_A Historical Regency Romance Page 19

  “Which one were you going to choose?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “That one,” he said, pointing to the lone puppy, and she was surprised to see his face turn slightly pink over his collar. “I know it seems silly, but there is something about her that reminds me of you. Not that you’re alone, per se, but she’s quiet and a bit timid, and yet, she loves her mother and when she feels like it, she plays just fine. Does that seem foolish?”

  “Not at all,” she said, scooping up the puppy and rising to her feet. “You were exactly right.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him, and he smiled at her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Rosalind,” he said with a bit of a sigh. “I am not really sure what to do now, in the immediate future. I realize you’re not an innocent debutante but to stay here alone, unwed, it is rather scandalous. Does that … bother you?”

  “Not really,” she said with a shrug. “I have learned that what others may think of me does not determine whether or not I shall be happy. Does it matter to you?”

  “No,” he said. “But I do want to do right by you. I have an idea. It’s a bit of an impetuous one, I must admit.”

  “Yes?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

  “Have you heard of a place called Gretna Green?”

  She laughed at that. “William! You want to run away to marry in Scotland like scandalous young lovers?”

  “Why not?” he asked with a laugh. “We’re somewhat scandalous, we are somewhat young, and we are somewhat lovers. It would be an adventure, would it not?”

  “You are right,” she said, feeling the grin stretch across her face. “It would be an adventure.”

  They smiled at one another, and Rosalind thought her heart might burst out of her chest for the amount of love it now held.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  The sun peeked over the horizon as the old rocker creaked back and forth where William had placed it behind the house overlooking the garden and the meadow beyond. Rosalind hummed a low tune as she ran her hand over the baby’s back, her dog, Flora, sleeping at her feet.

  As the baby nuzzled into her chest, Rosalind sighed. She had never, ever thought it would be possible to feel such contentment. After Harold had died, she would have been happy with a small cottage and a dog to share her life with. Now, she had the dog, true, but so much more than she had never dreamed to be possible — a beautiful home in the English countryside, a child snuggled in her arms, and a husband to spend the rest of her life with, who would love and cherish her with all he was.

  She heard his footsteps approaching from behind her, and felt William lean down and kiss the top of her head as he lay a thin quilt over the two of them. She didn’t really need it, not with the warm sun upon them, but all the same it was a lovely gesture that she certainly wouldn’t turn away.

  He pulled up a chair beside her, and Rosalind tried not to laugh at how hard he was trying to be silent, though he was failing miserably. Fortunately, the baby was sleeping soundly and didn’t even twitch at his efforts.

  Rosalind smiled when she recalled their wedding. It was just the two of them at the Scottish border, and the old priest had smiled at the love evident on their faces. As a compromise to their friends who had pestered them so about running off to be married alone, they had held a ball celebrating their union. It was still a small affair, with just their closest acquaintances, and Rosalind had found it incredibly lovely. William had danced with her the entire night, not caring about propriety, and there was nothing but love in the room.

  Despite how much she knew her husband felt for her, she had some slight trepidations about his reaction upon seeing Olivia. Would he still feel something for her? Was a flicker of his former infatuation still there? Yet there had been nothing but the pleasure of seeing an old friend.

  Rosalind had been both elated and relieved when she found out she was with child. It was a dream she had given up on, and yet had been made a reality after she had found love with William.

  Of course she loved William with all of her heart, but she had never known what love could truly feel like until she had held her babe in her arms. She knew her mother would be horrified if she knew how Rosalind was raising the child. For she hadn’t hired a nursemaid, as was the practice of most women of the ton. She had no desire to go to London and attend the social functions of the season, and therefore decided to raise the child, to nurse him herself. And what her mother thought, well, Rosalind didn’t really care. She had written her mother to tell her of her marriage, as well as the baby, and she received a congratulatory note. Rosalind wasn’t quite ready to invite her parents to visit, but in time she would. She wasn’t one to live with that type of animosity in her life, and she needed to mend the rift between her and her parents, despite all they had done or tried to do.

  “I have a surprise for you,” William whispered in her ear. “A package arrived.”

  He slipped the leather-bound volume into her hands, and she tried not to start with the joy that overcame her. It was a book — her book. A publisher had accepted her manuscript, and here it was, in printed copy. A tear fell from her eye as she sat back, overcome.

  She didn’t know what else the future held for her, for William, for their child or children to come, but, with William’s help, she was beginning to learn that there was no point in worrying.

  No, the most important thing was to find happiness, and be grateful for every moment of it. She appreciated the sunsets. She treasured the animals that filled their life with excitement. And most of all, she cherished her family, and the man who had made it happen.

  “I love you, William,” she whispered, leaning her head back to look at him.

  He wrapped an arm around her. “And I love you.”

  THE DUKE SHE WISHED FOR

  HAPPILY EVER AFTER BOOK 1

  PREVIEW

  Read the story of Tabitha and Nicholas…

  Chapter 1

  The creak of the shop’s front door opening floated through the heavy curtains that separated Tabitha’s workshop from the sales floor. She tensed over the silk ribbon she was attempting to fashion into a flower shape and waited for the sound of her stepsister Frances to greet whoever had just walked into the Blackmore Milliner shop.

  She paused, waiting a little bit longer before pushing out a frustrated breath and standing. These velvet ribbon flowers she had learned to fashion were part of the reason Blackmore hats sat atop some of the finest female heads in polite society — she had a knack for creating new ways to adorn the same old bonnet or beaver hat styles so that a woman of a certain class stood out among her peers.

  This ability was both a blessing and a curse, it turned out. Her creativity meant Tabitha brought customers through the front door, to the shop she and her father had built after her mother died when she was seven years old. It had brought Tabitha and her father, the baronet Elias Blackmore, closer together in their time of immeasurable grief, and the shop had flourished.

  The relationship between father and daughter remained strong, and when she was twelve years of age, he approached her and told her he wanted to marry a baroness from the North Country. The baroness had a daughter about her own age, he’d added. Tabitha had been happy for her father and excited at the prospect of having a sister. She had welcomed her new family with an open heart and open arms.

  What a silly little fool she’d been, Tabitha thought with derisive snort as she pushed herself to her feet and through the brocade curtains to greet the newcomer. Lord only knew where Frances had gone off to. Likely shopping with her mother, Ellora.

  Upon the untimely death of Sir Elias Blackmore three years after the marriage, Tabitha had been utterly devastated. Lady Blackmore, however, hadn’t wasted much time in putting Tabitha in her place. No longer the family’s most cherished daughter, Tabitha had been shoved into the workroom and largely ignored, but for her skills as a milliner — they kept just enough of her stepmother’s attention on
her.

  The more she stood up to Ellora, the more her stepmother threatened to throw her out on the street. Knowing it was within Ellora’s nature to follow through on her threat, Tabitha did her best to ignore and avoid her stepmother, focusing instead on her work and her ambitions.

  It was better, Tabitha supposed, than staying in their townhome all day long worrying about social calls that never came or invitations that would never arrive. The family name had suffered greatly under Lady Blackmore and Miss Frances Denner, her daughter from a previous marriage.

  In truth, Tabitha was little more than a servant with no money to speak of, no family to lean on, and no real prospects other than her creations on which to pin her hopes of ever escaping the lot she’d been given after her father died.

  In the showroom, Tabitha scanned the floor in search of the new arrival. It took a moment, but her eyes finally landed on a small, older man in a fine suit. He had a slip of paper in his hand, and he approached Tabitha with the air of someone who didn’t waste time.

  “Good afternoon, Miss,” the man began with perfect, practiced speech. “My name is Mr. McEwan. I serve as the steward in the house of Her Grace the Duchess of Stowe. I have a receipt for a series of hats I believe she had ordered, and she is requesting that they be delivered tomorrow afternoon.”

  Tabitha felt her stomach sink. If this was the order she was thinking of, the one currently on her worktable, there was no way under the stars that the three hats would be ready by tomorrow. She was only one flower (out of seven) into the first bonnet, and it was a slow process to convince the requested velvet ribbon to behave.

  “I am sorry, sir,” she began, trying to get his eyes off the wilder ostrich-plumed hats next to her and back on her. “That is almost four days before we agreed upon. I’m certain there is no feasible way the work can be done, and done well, by tomorrow.”

  That got the older man’s attention. He huffed, turned a bit pink around the cheeks, and sputtered.

  “There is simply no choice, my dear,” he said abruptly but not unkindly. “His Grace is arriving home from his trip to France early and therefore the parties his mother has planned for him will be adjusted accordingly. And so, her wardrobe must be ready — she said so herself. She is willing to pay handsomely for your ability to expedite the process.”

  Tabitha drew in a breath at that and considered. She was having such a difficult time scrimping a small savings together to buy herself a seat at the Paris School of Millinery that this “bonus” money might perhaps get her there that much quicker. Assuming, of course, that Ellora didn’t catch wind of the extra earnings. She was quick to snatch up all but the barest pennies.

  Tabitha closed her eyes for a moment and drew a steadying breath. If she worked through the night and her needle and thread held true, there was a slight chance that she could finish in time. She said so to Mr. McEwan, who beamed brightly at her.

  “I knew it,” he said with a laugh. “I have faith you Miss — er, I apologize, I did not hear your name?”

  Tabitha sighed.

  “Tabitha Blackmore,” she said, noticing how quickly he’d changed the subject on her. “I did not exactly say that I would be able to—”

  She was cut off again by Mr. McEwan, who gave her a slight bow and provided directions to the home of the Dowager Duchess of Stowe on the other side of the city.

  “I shall see you tomorrow, then, my dear,” he said with a quick grin. “Be sure to pack a bag to stay at least one evening, maybe two. I am certain Her Grace’s attendants will need proper coaching on how best to pair the hats. You will be paid, of course!”

  With that the short man with wisps of white hair on his head that stood up like smoke was gone, disappearing into the streets of Cheapside.

  Tabitha leaned back against the counter behind her and blew out a breath, a little overwhelmed at the entire encounter.

  On the one hand, she had found a way to increase her savings and take a step closer to the education her father had wanted for her. On the other, getting through the night in one piece was not guaranteed. She would have to return to the shop after dinner and do so without rousing Lady Blackmore’s suspicions, which would not be easy.

  Tabitha kicked at a crushed crepe ribbon flower that hadn’t been tossed out properly. Another evening down the back drainpipe it was, then.

  “Time away from the witch, I suppose,” she muttered as she returned to her worktable, a new fire of inspiration lit beneath her.

  Dinner was more complicated than usual, thanks to the fact that Ellora, Tabitha’s stepmother, was having one of her moods. They could be brought on by anything — the weather (too foul or too pleasant), the noisy street they lived on, memories of her life when she was the daughter of an earl and had endless opportunities for money and titles, or even an egg that had too much salt.

  Today’s mood, however, had more to do with the fact that her daughter Frances had been recently snubbed. Officially, Ellora was considered a member of the ton and her daughter’s first season the previous year had nearly cost them the roof over their heads. However, Frances was an ill-tempered, sharp-tongued girl who did little to ensure repeat invitations to dances and parties.

  “A true-and-true witch,” their housekeeper, Alice, called her. Alice was the only servant left on staff besides Katie, the lady’s maid Ellora and Frances shared, so it was up to both Alice and Tabitha to make sure that meals were made and rooms were kept clean. Being an indentured servant in her own home was trying enough, but much worse was having to tidy the room that once held every memento of her father’s. It was now completely devoid of every memory of him.

  It was as though Baronet Elias Blackmore had never existed. No portraits. No personal belongings. Nothing but the small locket he’d given Tabitha when she was nine years old, which she still wore around her neck.

  This evening’s dinner was a morose affair, and Tabitha sat silently while Ellora ranted and raved about the social snub of her angel, Frances.

  Tabitha looked across the table at her stepsister. Frances was very pretty, she’d give her that much. But her mouth was drawn thin and her blue eyes were more steely than pleasant. Frances had brown hair that one could call more dishwater in color than brunette. However, Ellora spent high sums of money on beauty products and bits and bobs for Katie to fashion Frances’ hair into something resembling high fashion each day.

  Frances was pouting into her soup while her mother railed beside her. When she glanced up and caught Tabitha looking at her, she scowled.

  Tabitha quickly looked away, but Frances jumped on the opportunity to take the attention off her.

  “I saw a servant go into the shop this afternoon when I was returning from tea with Adela,” Frances said to her mother, her flinty eyes on Tabitha, who inwardly groaned.

  So much for secrecy.

  Ellora paused in her ranting and raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Who was it?”

  The words were clipped, and her nose was high in the air while she peered along it at Tabitha.

  “A servant for the Dowager Duchess of Stowe,” Tabitha replied. “He came to inquire about an order the Duchess sent over a week ago.”

  It wasn’t exactly a lie and it helped her corroborate her story because Ellora had already received the money sent over for the original order.

  “And was the order ready?”

  Tabitha swallowed hard. She wasn’t in the clear yet.

  “Almost,” she said and lowered her eyes to take a sip of the soup as she inwardly seethed.

  “Unacceptable,” her stepmother ground out between her teeth. “You lazy, no-good hanger-on. It is no wonder your father’s ridiculous hat shop is dying off. He had the laziest cow this side of the river working behind the curtains.”

  She banged a fist on the table, making Frances jump.

  “You get up from this table and you finish that order right this instant.” Ellora pointed a long bony finger in the direction of the door, ending Tabitha’s d
inner before she had progressed past the soup. Tabitha’s stomach rumbled in protest, and her fists clenched beneath the table as she longed to tell Ellora what she really thought, but Tabitha knew this was a gift. She would nab a roll from Alice later.

  “I am going to stop by in the morning to check your ledger and work progress to make certain you are being completely honest with me,” Ellora announced. “And woe be to you if I find that you have been neglecting your work and you have a backlog of orders.”

  In reality, Tabitha was of legal age and the threats should be harmless. But she was also lacking any real money, any job prospects, and had no titles her father could have passed down to her. Running her father’s milliner shop was the closest thing she would have to freedom for the near future, and it would be much better for her if she allowed Ellora the illusion of control for the time being, since the dreadful woman had inherited the shop upon her father’s death.

  Ellora’s threat put Tabitha in a bind. She was due at the Duchess’ estate first thing in the morning. As it stood, she’d have to have those pieces done, as well as the other orders on her workbench before then. She closed her eyes and blew out a heavy breath.

  It was going to be a very long night.

  The Duke She Wished For is now available for purchase on Amazon, and is free to read through Kindle Unlimited.

  QUEST OF HONOR

  SEARCHING HEARTS BOOK 1

  PREVIEW

  Begin the stories of the Harrington family with Thomas and Eleanor…

  Prologue

  Marie looked around the table at her five children, her gaze coming to rest on Thomas. Normally she was most concerned about Daniel, her eldest and the next in line to become Duke, but there was something about Thomas tonight that seemed off to her.