The Bluestocking and the Rake (The Regency Gentlemen Series) (36 page)

Kitty, who was seated next to Miss Blakelow, reached across and squeezed her hand. “Yes, indeed Georgie, we all did.”

Miss Blakelow was hugely touched. “And I missed you too.”

“Not that it is of any use now we are to be turned out of our home,” added Aunt Blakelow, sipping her tea.

“Turned out of our home?” repeated Miss Blakelow.

Her aunt picked up a letter and waved it in the air. “We have had a letter from that dreadful Thorpe woman. She says her daughter
Charlotte wishes to take up residence here and advises all to vacate Thorncote by the end of the month.”

“She can’t do that, can she George?” said Lizzy, turning her big blue eyes on her elder sister.

“I’m afraid she can. She is William’s wife now and as such is mistress of this house,” replied Miss Blakelow.

“She has never even set foot across the front door and already she has instructions on how the servants are to run the place,” put in her aunt.

“Well, there is nothing we can do about it so we need to think about where we are going to live,” said Ned, sitting back down in his chair.

“We want to stay together, don’t we?” said Kitty.

“Oh, yes,” cried Marianne, “I couldn’t bear it if were to be split up with relatives all over the country.”

“We may have no choice,” said Aunt Blakelow, gloomily. “We cannot expect Uncle Charles to take us all.”

“No indeed,” said Ned.

“What are we to do?” asked Lizzy.

“You are to come and live with us…if you want to, that is,” said a deep voice from the doorway.

“Lord Marcham!” cried Marianne as she stood up to greet him. “Do come in, sir. Indeed you are very welcome. Have you breakfasted?”

“Never mind that,” snapped Ned. “What do you mean, my lord? Come and live with you?”

The earl moved into the room and his eyes sought those of his betrothed. Miss Blakelow’s heart was beating hard and fast. She had not thought to see him again for a few days while he made his trip to
London. He had bathed and changed and he looked immaculate as a new pin. Their eyes met and in that instant all that they had shared and promised as they lay in each other’s arms was there to read in their expressions, every touch, every kiss was relived, and Miss Blakelow glowed with happiness.

“Good morning, Miss Blakelow,” his lordship murmured.

“Good morning, my lord.”

“And how is the patient?”

“Much better.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he replied. “And I trust that you slept well?”

She struggled to hide a smile as the colour flooded her cheeks. “Very well, my lord. Indeed, I am much refreshed.”

His lips twitched, observing her blush and wanting to find and kiss the extent of it from the roots of her hair to the swell of her bosom. “Indeed? I am most happy to hear it. Sometimes, I find, all that one needs is one’s bed when one is feeling thoroughly spent.”

Miss Blakelow choked on her tea, remembering how spent they both were when they kissed goodbye earlier that morning. “Certainly,” she murmured, clearing her throat.

Aunt Blakelow stared with narrowed eyes from the earl to her niece and back again. “What has happened?”

“Shall we tell them, my love?” asked the earl of his fiancée with a soft smile.

“Tell us what?” demanded Ned.

“As William is away and I think little enough of his opinion as anyone may know, I ask you Ned, as head of the family, if I might pay my addresses to your sister,” said Lord Marcham, coming further into the room. “I wish to marry Georgiana as soon as I can manage it. I extend an invitation to you all to come and live with us at Holme Park; indeed you will be very welcome. It is a very large house and it needs the life and laughter of young people. I hope that you will come to consider it as your own home in time. You do not have to decide now, but think on it and let me know when you have made your decision.”

“Oh, Georgie!” cried Marianne clapping her hands.

Miss Blakelow blushed as she was hugged and embraced from all sides.

“We hope you will be
very
happy,” said Kitty.

“Indeed,
very
happy,” echoed Lizzy.

Ned stared at the earl, a frown marring his young forehead. He had not moved. He stood rooted to the spot as all the Blakelow women hugged and cooed. Now he spoke. “Your intentions, sir?”

“My intentions are entirely honourable, young man, so you needn’t glare at me with those beetle brows. I love your sister and I intend to keep her safe and happy for the rest of her life.”

“And your other women, my lord? If you think I or Jack will stand by and let you hurt Georgie―”

Lord Marcham held up his hand, slightly amused at the thought of being beaten to a pulp by two teenage boys but touched all the same by their concern for their sister. “I have no other women and I want no other women. I retired from that way of life many years ago now.”

There was a silence and everyone looked at Ned who was frowning into the fireplace.

“Father wouldn’t have liked you,” he said, rubbing his chin.

“No,” agreed the earl meekly.

“He said you were a bounder.”

Miss Blakelow had to put her napkin to her mouth to keep a straight face.

“My…er…bounding days are over, I assure you.”

“Uncle Charles doesn’t like you either.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What have I done to upset that gentleman?”

“You beat him in a curricle race to
Brighton. He said you almost pushed him into a ditch.”

Lord Marcham’s lips twitched. “Your uncle is Charles Gray? Good Lord, I had no idea. Charles and I have been friends for years. He always complained about his ne’er-do-well nephews and now I begin to comprehend his pain!”

Ned grinned. “But I do like you―despite my better judgement, I might add. I give my blessing.”

“You relieve me.”

“And sir, if we came to live with you, would I be able to drive your curricle?” Ned asked, suddenly slipping back into boyish enthusiasm.

“If you speak to
my groom and he deems you handy enough with the ribbons, then you may indeed, drive my curricle,” replied his lordship.

“
Thank
you, sir!”  cried that young man.

Lord Marcham’s eyes met those of his betrothed and he managed to keep his face grave as he stepped forward to shake Ned’s hand.

“Let us go and tell Jack!” said Marianne, pushing back her chair.

A shout of agreement and a stampede for the door ensued and Aunt Blakelow came towards her niece. She took Miss Blakelow’s face into her hands and stared into her eyes.

“Are you sure, my love?” she asked.

Miss Blakelow nodded. “Yes, Aunt, I’m sure.”

She kissed her. “Then I wish you very happy.”

She turned and held her hand to Lord Marcham who kissed it and then she followed her young brood of nephews and nieces out of the door.

Miss Blakelow stood and put down her napkin, preparing to follow the others out of the room, but the door closed before she could reach it. An arm snaked around her waist and she was snapped to the breast of the Earl of Marcham.

“And where do you think you’re off to?” he demanded.

She looked up into his face. “To see Jack.”

“Jack can wait,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers.

But she evaded him. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone to London?”

“I missed you,” he breathed, kissing her ear which was all that was available to him.

“Missed me?” she repeated, laughing. “You only saw me a couple of hours ago.”

“I don’t want to let you out of my sight,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

“My lord,” she said, as his hand slid to the hem of her gown and pulled it upwards. “Stop it.”

“I want you.”

“Again?” she complained, giggling.

“Again and again and again,” he said against her lips.

“But the servants will be in to clear the table.”

“Then we’ll lock the door.”

“But we can’t…”

“We damn well can. I can’t get enough of you.”

“I thought you were thoroughly retired, my lord?” she teased as he lifted her off her feet against the door. “You told my brother you had rid yourself of your rakish ways.”

Lord Marcham grinned as he slid his hand under her skirts. “This rake is well and truly out of retirement, but only for you, my darling.”

THE HONOURABLE GENTLEMAN

A
sparkling regency historical romance

After ten years abroad escaping the ignominy of public humiliation at the hands of a former lover, the very wealthy Mr Marcus Ashworth returns home to Devonshire to find his estate in dire need of attention and his head increasingly distracted by thoughts of his friend’s pretty niece.

In no hurry to love again, Mr Ashworth is prepared to fight his feelings every inch of the way―ruthlessly ignoring the fact that his heart and head had been bewitched by Lady Emma Munsford almost from the first moment he laid eyes on her. Throwing himself into the modernisation of his neglected estate does nothing to distract him from the alarming and desperate desire to claim Lady Emma for his wife.

Lady Emma, her reputation in tatters after an engagement turns sour, is in no hurry to give herself in marriage to any man, least of all her uncle’s ill mannered neighbour―a fact which Mr Ashworth knows all too well.

Thus when a snow blizzard comes to Devon, and Mr Ashworth finds a way to be entirely alone with the lady―long enough to ruin her―he thinks his prayers have been answered…

* * *

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