An Earl’s Agreement Page 14

  “You are despicable,” Amos thundered, never taking his eyes from the Lord Bertram. “A man who would sell his daughter for his own selfish reasons. You disgust me.”

  He turned away, gently pulling Esther with him. He had nothing more to say, and Lord Bertram could do nothing to stop them.

  “Can you ride?” he whispered, feeling Esther tremble. She nodded, allowing him to lift her into the saddle before he pulled himself up in front of her. “Let's go home,” he said, turning his horse in the direction of his townhouse, feeling her wrap her arms around him as she leaned her throbbing head against his strong back.

  ***

  “Esther, my dear!” Agnes rushed towards her, her face pale and drawn with anxiety.

  Agnes grasped Esther’s hands as Amos helped her into a chair, his own face lined with concern.

  “Good heavens,” Agnes gasped, seeing Esther’s bloodied head and Amos’s nose. “Whatever’s happened?”

  “All in good time, Mother,” Bernard said, putting a gentle arm around her shoulders. “Let’s make sure they’re all cleaned up first; there will be time for questions later.”

  Agnes nodded, pulling out a tissue as she dabbed her goddaughter’s cheek. “Of course. Bernard, fetch some hot water.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Amos said, standing up.

  “No,” Esther cried, reaching for him. “Please, Your Grace, stay with me.”

  Amos sat next to her and held her hand. “Of course, I will stay with you. I just need to wipe the blood from my face. I must look quite a sight, and I’m afraid I will scare the servants!” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I promise I will be right back.”

  Esther nodded, her wide eyes showing the extent of her fear. “What if my father returns?”

  “He won’t,” Agnes replied, shooing Amos away. “Amos has all the doors locked, and I am quite sure he will not try anything, given the circumstances. For heaven’s sake, the man assaulted his own daughter!” She tried to smile, managing only to cry a little. “I should have kept a better watch over you.”

  Esther held her godmother’s hands tightly. “He came out of nowhere,” she whispered. “There was nothing anyone could have done.”

  “You are safe now,” Agnes replied, finally managing a tremulous smile. “I am sure Amos will never let you go again.”

  ***

  An hour had passed, and both Esther and Amos looked much more like their usual selves. Although, Esther was going to have a sizeable lump on her head for a few days. Esther felt herself growing tired and couldn’t hold back a yawn.

  Agnes rose to her feet, also showing signs of weariness. “You are quite sure you are well?”

  Esther smiled. “I am, Godmother. I will see you tomorrow.”

  Bernard took his mother’s hand. “Come, Mother, it is late. A lot has happened today, and you need to rest. The Duke has had a room prepared for you.” He lifted his hand in farewell as he led his mother from the room.

  There was a long silence, but this time, there was peace in Esther's soul. Amos sat next to her, and she had her hand in his, feeling the strength of his grip as he squeezed her hand.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said eventually, turning her body so she could look into his face. “I cannot imagine what would have happened if you had not rescued me.”

  He smiled, moving closer and putting a gentle kiss on her forehead, his eyes taking in the beautiful expanse of her long blonde hair, now let down in its entirety, so as not to pain her head further. “Do not think of it, my love. Nothing can come between us now. And if you are to be my wife, we can do away with formalities. Please, call me Amos.”

  Esther let out a long, luxurious sigh, reveling in the tranquility she felt as he held her close.

  “You will marry me, won’t you, Esther?”

  She pulled back a little out of his embrace to look up at him as she gave her response, “Amos, I think my answer is quite obvious.”

  A smile spread across his lips. He lowered his head and kissed her softly, running his fingers through her loose curls at her temples. Esther's heart swelled at his tenderness, feeling him hold his passion firmly in check.

  “Tomorrow?” he whispered against her mouth.

  “Tomorrow,” she replied, taking possession of his lips once more.

  Epilogue

  Amos held his breath as he saw Esther walk down the aisle towards him, stunned at her beauty. She looked like a floating angel, practically glowing as she walked towards him, a gentle smile on her lips. Letting it out in a rush, he gazed into her eyes as she took his hand, marveling at how his wife-to-be had managed to fill the empty place in his heart.

  For so long, he had searched for love, refusing to take a mistress even though his search had lasted for years and his patience had often worn thin. It had been worth it, he thought to himself, turning towards the vicar. She had been worth it.

  The bishop had, of course, granted him a Special License as soon as he heard the details both from Amos and Bernard. Amos was now ready to make his vows before God and his witnesses—Bernard and Agnes.

  Esther felt a lightness of heart as she held onto Amos's warm hand. It was a joyful ending to what had been a terrible time in her life. The man she had admired from afar had now become her protector, savior, and husband, and she thanked God for His blessing.

  Amos smiled into her eyes as he made his vows. “I, Amos Graybury, Duke of Hawdon, take thee, Lady Esther Mary Bertram, to be my lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto, I pledge thee my troth.”

  In a soft voice, Esther repeated the same words to Amos, her breath hitching as he placed a ring on the third finger of her left hand. She could hardly believe it, seeing it catch the light as it sparkled on her finger. She was now the Duchess of Hawdon.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the vicar intoned. “You may kiss the bride.”

  Instead of the customary kiss on the cheek, Amos wrapped his arms around his new wife and kissed her thoroughly, speaking to her of passion, of desire, and of love. A little abashed, she smiled at him as both Bernard and Agnes clapped and cheered, giving their congratulations to them both.

  “I love you, Esther,” Amos whispered in her ear.

  She turned to him, lifting her hand to his cheek. “I love you, Amos,” she replied, a beautiful sheen of tears in her eyes. “And I promise to love you forever.”

  “I will love you forever and a day,” he replied, holding her close and kissing her once more.

  ***

  THE END

  Delayed Duchess

  Text Copyright © 2016 by Caroline Johnson

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First printing, 2016

  Publisher

  Love Light Faith, LLC

  400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825

  Fort Lauderdale, FL 33302

  www.LoveLightFaith.com

  Delayed Duchess

  By: Caroline Johnson

  Delayed Duchess

  Chapter One

  Chloé’s entire world shattered in one fell swoop. She received word that her dearest father, Sir Henry Dalton, had just fallen at Quatre Bras.

  Sir Henry joined Wellington’s Army with the sole purpose of defeating Napoleon and reclaiming the France he had grown to love. The gentleman left his native England years before to marry the love of his life, Vivienne. When he lost Vivienne to consumption, his daughter, Chloé,
was all he had left. He would not let the rogue general destroy her home. France was destined to be at war with Britain and the rest of the world as long as Napoleon was in power. Sir Henry had amassed quite a fortune for a man of gentle birth, and he wanted it secured for his daughter. Even in France, a daughter’s inheritance was little protected.

  Sir Henry knew that there was but one way to ensure Chloé would not lose her home. She must marry. He never feared she would have any trouble finding a suitor because of her radiant beauty. Although, she did give her opinion quite forcefully for a woman on most occasions, a trait he hoped to hide from eligible prospects.

  Chloé’s beauty was well-known throughout the South of France, and Sir Henry hoped to parley her popularity to Paris at her debut, which would occur within the year. He believed he would be returned from the duke’s army well before. He would not chance Chloé’s future, however, and orchestrated a deal with his distant English cousin, the Duke of Dorchester, when it appeared as though Napoleon’s army would be tougher than imagined.

  Chloé was devastated the dark, rainy day she got the letter. Her bright blue eyes flooded with hot tears as she sank to the cold, wood floor. Her brilliant pink skin faded to a malevolent paleness. She pleaded with God to not let it be true. She could not imagine a world without her father. She had lost her mother at such a young age, her father had become everything to her. Her mother’s family disowned them shortly after Sir Henry joined Wellington’s army. Vivienne’s cousin, Michel Ney, was a top Marshal of Napoleon. Her father was all the family she had. She was now alone. Her morning gown grew wet with her unrelenting pain.

  She held the letter tightly to her bosom late into the night, trying to dry her tears in front of the warm fire. “Oh, Papa, que dois-je faire,” she whispered. The reality of her situation was setting in on her. She was but seventeen. And she was a woman. There was little chance she would be allowed to keep her family home outright. She would need to speak with her father’s attorney immediately.

  Chloé Dalton was no impotent woman. She was brilliant and possessed a will equal to any man. She would find out what needed to be done, and she would make it happen at all costs. Her home was now all she had. It echoed with the laughter of her father and mother. It reeked with the smells of her father’s snuff, an odor she had always detested, but now was a corporeal connection with him. She felt the love of her family still there. She must not lose that.

  She ordered her footman to send a letter to Marseille, directly requesting the presence of Monsieur Le Clerc in the morn. She would find out what to do tomorrow. For now, her dizzied mind must rest. She retired to her room, hopeful her weary body would somehow find sleep.

  ***

  The Duke of Dorchester received the same letter of Sir Henry’s demise, prompting him to call upon his London-based son. The duke thought his cousin’s proposition to be the perfect answer to all their problems. His only son, Edward, the future Duke of Dorchester, seemed more interested in squandering their dwindling family fortune on London society than doing anything productive with his life. The duke, fearing for the future of the dukedom, hastily answered his cousin’s request. He thought if he could acquire his cousin’s fortune and get his dandy son married, his family may survive. The duke’s health had been rapidly failing, and he feared his time was short. Making his son comply was of most importance.

  “What are you doing here?” Edward’s severe tone irritated the duke.

  “Your father is calling on you. Is that acceptable?” the duke answered, equally severe.

  His son stepped back, allowing the plump older man into the grand foyer of his London townhouse. The three-story house was modern, stocked with the best furnishings, and smelled of a warm chestnut fire. Edward ushered his father into the large, book-filled study.

  “What do I owe the honor, Your Grace?” Edward chided. Their relationship was obviously strained. It was clear neither one ever gave in, hence their obstinate lack of proper communication.

  The duke sat down on the tufted leather sofa and asked for a drink. Edward suspiciously complied and asked again, “What do you need, Your Grace?”

  “Edward, do you really need to be so stalwart in your affectations toward your father?”

  Edward sat across from the duke and relaxed. “Duly noted,” was his only reply.

  The duke rolled his eyes and took a long swig from his brandy sifter. Edward watched him closely. He was looking exceptionally old lately. Edward was suddenly apprehensive about his father’s health considering this strange behavior. He despised the man, but felt a twinge of sorrow at the thought of losing him, and it would distress his beloved mother to lose the old coot. She adored the man. Edward had no idea why. He was abrasive, judgmental, and snooty, and Edward would never be good enough for him.

  “I need you to do something, Edward,” the duke began, “for the family.”

  Edward couldn’t believe the old man was asking him a favor. “Yes, what is it?”

  The duke cleared his throat. “You are most likely unaware that our family fortune has almost disappeared. Your… our debts have taken a gross toll. We have little resources for recovery, and unfortunately must use our only asset, the dukedom.”

  Edward could not believe what he was hearing. Of course, his lifestyle came at no small cost, but it was necessary to maintain his standing with the ton. It was his job, as he saw it. If his father was proposing he remove himself from society, he was wholly incorrect. Edward would never forsake his standing. There must be another way. “Father, I will not…” he began.

  “Edward, you will do this for me. For your mother,” the duke interrupted.

  Edward was taken aback at the mention of his mother. He would do anything for her. His ire softened. “What exactly is it that I should do, Your Grace?”

  “You will marry your French cousin, Chloé Dalton.”

  The young duke-to-be sat silent, his eyes hardening and his square jaw clenching. “I will not,” he objected, rising to his feet.

  “You will, son,” the duke commanded gently. “You must. It is the only way.” He dropped his eyes, coughing harshly into his shoulder.

  Edward could see the pain and resignation on his father’s face. He was suddenly overwhelmed with duty. “Yes, father. I will.”

  Edward could have sworn he caught a glimmer of pride in his father’s eyes. His happiness was short-lived however, as his father rose. “If you are to be the next duke, Edward, you must not be selfish. The duties of title range far and wide. Remember that.” He marched past Edward without another word and out the door.

  “And so it is,” Edward sighed, falling back onto the plush sofa.

  Chapter Two

  Chloé rose to a warm orange sun. She always loved the morning after rain. Her feeling of joy melted with the return of the words that ripped her perfect life apart. “Nous regrettons…” It was the perfect way to begin such a letter. We regret. Death is all about regret. Chloé’s heart began to ache again.

  Her handmaiden helped her dress, and she descended the steep, curved staircase just in time to see Monsieur Le Clerc entering the foyer. “Monsieur,” she said, easing toward the stocky little man. “Welcome. Thank you for coming.”

  “I am so sorry to hear about your brave Papa, dear Chloé,” he said with a bow.

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied, a tear forming in her eye. She blinked it back, knowing that she was in charge now. She must be strong. “I need to speak with you regarding the estate,” she continued, guiding him to the nearby parlor.

  “I have your father’s papers. There is something most important I must tell you.”

  “Plenty of time for that,” she cut him off. “I have some very specific plans.” They each sat in large wooden chairs on either side of a tiny tea table. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “I have a letter from your father.”

  Chloé’s hand started to shake. She almost spilled tea all over the poor gentleman. “From
my father?” The innocence in her question saddened the attorney. She would surely be upset about her father’s wishes. He had conveyed them to Le Clerc in a letter only months ago. Le Clerc was to set everything up for the legal transfer to Chloé’s new husband immediately upon their marriage.

  Le Clerc handed Chloé the letter. She sat back silently reading her father’s last wishes, and what was left of her soul began to crack. Pained tears streaked down her pale cheeks. She could not believe what her father was asking her to do. She looked up from the letter. “There must be another way,” she said resolutely to Le Clerc.

  “I believe there is not, Chloé. This is the only way to save the estate, your inheritance.”

  “But I thought…” she trailed off. She actually wasn’t sure what she thought. She thought the rules of the land might not apply to her. She thought she had options. “What is his name?” Her eyes stared down at the words, which were starting to blur from her tears.

  “Edward Cayley.” He had some information on Chloé’s new betrothed that he had gathered after Sir Henry contacted him. He handed the papers to Chloé.

  “He is to be a duke?” she asked, surprised. “And he is coming here to take over the estate?”

  “That is what was expressed to the duke in your father’s correspondence to him. I have not spoken, myself, with the duke as of yet.” He watched her studying the paperwork. She may have been but seventeen, but her intelligence did not betray it. “I will leave tomorrow to call upon the duke in London.”

  She stared down at the papers, not really reading any of the words. She nodded, acknowledging the man’s remark. “You will write to me once you speak to him?”

  “Yes, mon cherie, of course,” he replied, rising. He left her still staring at the papers.