Read Miss Lacey's Last Fling (A Regency Romance) Online
Authors: Candice Hern
Miss Lacey's Last Fling (A Regency Romance) (26 page)
"How clever you are, my minx." He dabbed at his bleeding chin with one hand and massaged her waist with the other. "How clever to realize I had meant to make it look like the slip of the razor. A simple accident."
"Oh, Max!" she wailed.
He heaved a sigh. "I suppose I'll just have to try something else."
"
No!
Max, no. You cannot do it. Live for me.
Please
, live for me."
"You tempt me, minx. But I don't know. If you are truly asking me to live for you, I need some reassurance. I need something permanent."
"I'll do anything. Just don't die."
"I don't think I could be satisfied with less than marriage. If I am to live for you, it will have to be as your husband. Otherwise, I might be provoked into trying again."
"I will marry you, Max."
"Almost, you persuade me, minx. But I am not quite convinced."
She kissed him. "I
will
marry you. I will."
"And you promise that you really do love me? That it is not some pretense just to keep me from taking my life?"
"I
do
love you, Max. I do."
"Prove it."
She kissed him deeply and he wrapped both arms around her and rolled them both over so that she was pinned beneath him. Max began to pluck at her clothes.
"Prove it."
* * *
Rosie curled up beside him and rested her head on his chest. She expelled a great sigh of pure satisfaction. It had been every bit as good as the first time. Better, even.
Max's fingers began to stroke her hair and she purred like a kitten. "I'm holding you to all those promises, minx. You're going to love me and you're going to marry me."
"Yes, Max."
"Before you can disappear again, I am sending in an announcement to the papers. Tomorrow."
"Max?"
"Hm?"
"What about my reputation? I'm still the Scarlet Woman in those prints. After everything I've done, I suspect I will not be received everywhere."
"Nonsense, my love. We will be the most popular couple in town. Everyone will want to see the infamous rake and his scarlet woman. I daresay the ton will find it all quite romantic."
"And so it is."
"And so it is."
"I'm ever so glad you didn't go through with it, Max. I would have died if you had died."
Max rolled over and kissed her. "Remind me one day to tell you about my friend Freddie Moresby."
"Later."
"Much later."
Epilogue
The quiet village of Upper Wycombe had not seen such excitement since lightning struck the steeple of St. Michael's back in '83. Never, in recent memory, had its ranks been enlarged by as many swells and noblemen as now gathered for the wedding of Miss Lacey of Wycombe Hall.
The bride was herself somewhat abashed at the upheaval caused by the arrival of so many guests. Though for a short time she had been the center of attention in London, she had never been so in her own neighborhood, and it was disconcerting at best.
The stress had not let up since her sister Ursula, Lady Walgrave, had confronted Rosie upon her return from town.
"It is not enough," she had complained, "that you embarrassed the family beyond repair by your unseemly behavior. But now you must marry that ... that libertine. The man is notorious. Lord, Rosie, you are as bad as our aunt. How shall I ever hold my head up in Society again?"
Papa had been delighted with the outcome of his and Fanny's machinations. After so many years of estrangement, Rosie hoped to see a renewed affection between them. She had scolded her aunt for frightening her with feigned illness, and she extracted a promise that Fanny would come to Wycombe Hall for the wedding. Papa had gladly seconded the invitation.
Fanny had arrived two days before the wedding, in the company of Lord Eldridge and the bridegroom. The entire family had been on hand to greet the arrivals, including both Pamela and Ursula and their husbands. Max was on the spot with a very long and very satisfactory greeting, not giving Rosie the chance to object to so public a display. Ursula's gasp only incited him to prolong the kiss. When he finally pulled away, he announced to all assembled that he had happy news to report.
He tugged Fanny forward by the elbow, her bright primrose sarsnet dress and dashing Calendonia cap catching the morning sun. "I am pleased," Max said, "to introduce newlyweds Lord and Lady Eldridge, married just three days."
"Aunt Fanny!" Rosie threw her arms around her aunt and kissed her cheek. "What a wonderful surprise. Why didn't you tell me?"
Fanny looked to her beaming husband and smiled. "All this talk of weddings got me to feeling sentimental, I suppose. Jonathan's been asking for years, and I finally decided to take the plunge. And let me tell you, my girl, it is a most pleasurable state, even at my age. I highly recommend it to you."
After further congratulations, including an unexpected hug from Sir Edmund, and introductions to the gathered guests, Fanny tugged Rosie inside and eventually managed to arrange a moment of privacy with her niece.
"I expect Max will be pleased to see his family," Fanny said as she accepted a cup of tea from Rosie.
"He will, if the twins give him any peace. It is their life's ambition to return to school with the most artistically arranged cravats ever seen at Harrow. They have been waiting rather impatiently for arrival of the Master of Neckcloths. I hope they allow poor Max five minutes alone with his family."
"Have they all arrived?"
"Indeed," Rosie said. "The earl and countess are here, as is Lady Gresham, Max's sister, though her husband, the marquess, is out of the country on business. And Colonel Davenant and his wife are here as well. Ursula has been quite beside herself to be in such elevated company. She has undergone a complete change of heart and decided that my marrying Max is not such a bad thing after all, since it brings an earl and a marchioness into her circle."
"Hmph. As if they would have anything to do with the foolish girl. How are you holding up, my dear?"
"To be perfectly honest," Rosie said, "I just wish it was over and Max and I could get on with our lives. Such a lot of fuss and bother!"
"Why don't you escape?"
"What do you mean?"
"You have the license. You and Max could simply dash off and get yourselves married somewhere else and leave the rest of us to our own devices."
Rosie raised a questioning brow. "But all the planning, the guests, the parties, the—"
"So? What does it matter? It is all nothing more than an excuse for friends and family to gather together. Well, we're all here now and can enjoy ourselves just the same, with or without a wedding."
"It wouldn't be proper," Rosie said, though her mind began to whirl with possibilities.
"Confound it, girl, you sound just like that blasted sister of yours. You never cared for what was proper when you were in London."
"I know, but—"
"And what did it get you? A lifetime of solitary repentance? No, it won you a perfectly marvelous man every woman in town has been angling after for years. If you had not thrown propriety to the winds, he might never have given you a second glance. Now that you've got him, what the devil does it matter if you do the thing by the book? Why not just do as you please?"
Rosie gave a wistful sigh. "Oh, I should dearly love to escape all the hubbub and just be alone with Max."
"What's stopping you?"
Nothing at all, as it turned out. Less than an hour later, she smuggled a small bandbox into the boot of the curricle she'd borrowed from Thomas and coaxed Max into taking a brief drive.
"What's all this, minx?" he said. "Anxious to display your driving skills on an uncrowded country road?"
"I just felt like a bit of kidnapping."
"Egad, are you stealing me away? How delightful." He snaked his arm around her and gave a provocative squeeze. "Someplace very, very private, I hope."
"Not too private. We will need witnesses, I believe."
His head jerked up from nuzzling her neck. "Witnesses? What the devil are you up to, minx?"
"We're eloping, Max."
"What?"
"I have the license in my reticule and a bag packed for the night. We must hurry, though. It is not a special license, so we must be married before noon. I think we can make Plymtree if I really push the team."
Max gaped at her open-mouthed for a long moment before his face transformed itself into a smile. "By Jove, you
are
the bold miss I knew in London after all. I knew it. I told you it could not have all been pretense. You really are a minx." He tilted her face toward him and kissed her.
"Stop it, Max! We'll never make it by noon if you distract me."
"Forgive me, my love. I am your captive. Drive on."
Less than a week later, a new print by Mr. Rowlandson was displayed prominently in every print shop in London. Entitled "The Matrimonial Race, or The Bride Gets her Man," it showed a sleek sporting vehicle with a dashing young woman at the ribbons, dressed all in red, and a terror-struck man at her side, hanging on for his life, his leg shackled to hers. Below it was written:
When Mr. D------ offered for Miss L----
'Twas a thing so great and rare
She drove top speed to the nearest church
To marry him then and there.
Such brash behavior goes to show:
When seeking wedded bliss
The newly married Mrs. D-------
Was no milk and water miss.
###
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Miss Lacey's Last Fling
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MORE REGENCY ROMANCES FROM CANDICE HERN
The following traditional Regency Romances are available for your Kindle. Click on any title to download it.
The Regency Rakes Trilogy:
The Country House Party Duo:
"DESPERATE MEASURES"
(a Regency short story)
Here's an excerpt from
A Garden Folly
:
Oh, but it was grand to be back in the country again! To smell clean air, fragrant of summer blossoms and wood smoke. To enjoy clear, blue skies unblemished with coal soot, and sweeping expanses of brilliant green parklands. To have so much space to oneself.
Catherine had not realized how much she missed the country. She had not been out of Chelsea since going there to live with Aunt Hetty after her father's death. Dorland, the small Forsythe estate in Wiltshire, had been lost along with everything else when their father died. All her young life she had longed for a Season in Town, but Sir Benjamin Forsythe's precarious finances had never allowed it. More than two years of scraping to make ends meet in Chelsea, however, had shattered any romantical notions she might have once held regarding the glories of London. Oh, there were glories to be seen in Town, to be sure; but not for the likes of impoverished single ladies in Flood Street.
Perhaps if—when!—she and Susannah contrived to find rich husbands at Chissingworth, she would not mind so much going back to London. In style, this time.
At the moment, she was simply happy to be back in the country. Chissingworth was famous for its gardens and Catherine was anxious to see as much of them as possible. She loved flowers of all kinds, especially wildflowers. At Dorland, one of her greatest pleasures had been painting detailed watercolors of her favorite blossoms. She still kept a portfolio of her paintings of which she was really quite proud.
It had been a long time since she had been able to afford paints and brushes and decent parchment. But she had brought along to Chissingworth a few rolls of foolscap and two or three pencils, one of which was tucked in her pocket at the moment. She harbored secret hopes of finding new and unusual specimens to sketch while in residence at the famous estate.
With this in mind, she wandered through the surprisingly informal arrangement of gardens. In the dressed grounds nearest the house, high, clipped shrubbery hedges of sweetbrier, box, and hawthorn surrounded each garden. Moving through the enclosed hedges was akin to walking through the various rooms of a house, each room different from the last. One was awash in the bright colors of summer, the gravel paths bordered with stocks, pinks, double rocket, sweet Williams, and asters. The morning sun fell upon spires of delphinium sparkling with dew. Her artist's eye was drawn to the glitter of moisture on the indigo and royal peaks, and she paused to seat herself on a nearby stone bench. She pulled a pencil and a scrap of paper from her pocket and roughly sketched the familiar blossoms.