Aint it funny, p.1
A Letter from Her Dear Marquess, page 1
A Letter from Her Dear Marquess
A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL
ALICE KIRKS
Copyright © 2020 by Alice Kirks
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.
Table of Contents
A Letter from Her Dear Marquess
Table of Contents
A Letter from Her Dear Marquess
Introduction
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
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
The Recipe to Win An Earl's Heart
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
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A Letter from Her Dear Marquess
Introduction
Lady Abigail Price is a hopelessly romantic soul and has always been dreaming of marrying her fairytale prince. When her parents announce that her marriage choice has been made already, she finds herself thrown into deep sorrow. However, her luck is about to change the fateful night he will meet her intendant unbeknownst his identity. Abigail is immediately drawn to him and when she discovers his name, a moment of happy bliss overflows her heart. However, her joy is quickly shattered when a great scandal that shames the Price name will cancel the betrothal and tear the couple apart. Will Abigail find the strength to defy everything and choose love over propriety? Or will she be doomed to live a loveless life?
Clark Monroe, Marquess of Penrith, has been doing everything in his power to avoid a future as the Duke of Rochester. The person he doesn’t want to cross paths with the most, is no one else than the woman his father is forcing him to marry. Against all odds, and when the time to meet his future bride comes, Clark is immediately charmed by her beauty. Little does he know, though, that the road to happiness will be full of obstacles, as an unforeseen event will threaten to take the beautiful woman he is falling for away from him. Will Lord Penrith convince Lady Abigail that there is something to the spark they felt that night? Could he make up for a calamitous scandal standing in his way and win the woman who stole his heart?
Abigail and Clark know what their heart is telling, but neither of their families will tolerate this union. However, as each passing day apart from each other feels like eternity, Abigail and Clark decide to fight for their love no matter what it takes. Will they find the way to make their two worlds one before the doors of happiness lock forever? WIll they manage to go against their families’ will and listen to their own hearts?
Chapter 1
Lady Abigail Price let out a long sigh as her embroidery slipped from between her fingers. She hadn’t looked at her project, let alone worked on it for at least the last twenty minutes. Instead, she found her mind wandering while she watched out the window. There was little to be seen from its view of the side garden in the late afternoon light, but that didn’t stop her from finding it more interesting than her needlework.
“What would your nurse say if she could see you now,” Lady Penelope Maidstone mused, not lifting her own eyes from her sample.
Lady Abigail turned to her dearest friend with a deep rouge in her cheeks. Quickly she bent down and retrieved the lost hoop-bound fabric with its minimal stitches. She stared at it a few moments, trying to remember what she had planned for this particular pillow cover. Finally, giving up, she set it back in the basket next to the couch.
“I can’t concentrate on such intricate work today,” Lady Abigail declared.
“Clearly,” Lady Penelope said with a giggle.
Penelope rested her own work in the folds of her lemon cotton walking dress. Soft yellow always looked so good on her.
Penelope’s skin was the perfect shade of warm cream. Others might have looked washed out in such a dress, but Penelope was true to her Mediterranean roots that came from her Sicilian grandmother.
Like her grandmother, Lady Penelope also had hair as black as the night that was often not cooperative in taking curls. Her eyes were such a dark shade of brown they often looked black themselves.
Though Lady Abigail found all these physical traits worthy of admiration and envy, not every member of the ton would agree with that assertion.
“I suppose it’s the news of the ball that has got you so distracted,” Lady Penelope divulged.
“Not just the ball,” Lady Abigail replied, relaxing back into the chaise cushion.
“It is the sudden and unexpected return of the mysterious Marquess of Penrith that seems to keep me from thinking of anything else.” Lady Abigail sighed deeply.
The two ladies had spoken of Lord Penrith as the ‘mysterious marquess’ for the past nine years. Though since she was thirteen, Lady Abigail had been set to marry the lord, she had never once met the man.
It was infuriating to Abigail to know one’s future for almost a decade, yet never really have any particular information on it.
“We don’t know for certain that he has returned,” Penelope suggested. “Perhaps that is just an elabouration on this rumour of a ball.”
“I don’t think it’s an elabouration at all. In fact, my mother has been at her wits’ end, making sure all four of us ladies have new dresses at the ready for when the invitation comes. According to Mother anyway, there is only one reason that the Duke of Rochester would host an extravagant private ball right at the start of the season.”
“And that is?” Penelope asked, setting her embroidery in the basket.
It was clear with possible new information in one of the most favourite subjects to wonder on, neither of them would be getting much more embroidery done today.
“To announce the return of the Duke’s son. The man who is the ruler of all my future happiness yet I still know nothing about it,” Lady Abigail spoke with a slightly dramatic air.
“We do know some things about him,” Penelope said quickly to ease her friend’s dramatic agitation. “We know his name is Clark Monroe. We know that he is the Marquess of Penrith. You also saw that portrait of him once at the duke’s country estate.”
“That was three years ago, and to be honest, the painter wasn’t the best. I mean, aside from a boyish figure with brown hair, not much could be discovered from it.”
“Well, we must also know that he has a passion for agriculture or wild country since he has stayed so long at his uncle’s plantation in the colonies.”
“Or that he has a great passion for avoiding his betrothed,” Lady Abigail mumbled.
“I would have expected you to be more excited about finally meeting him. All these years, we have talked and wondered about the man that would become your husband. But now you look so distressed and sad over the prospect of finally putting a face to the man.”
“Of course, I am distressed. I had no say in choosing him. It was all fine to muse here the two of us, but now he is about to be a real creature. What if he is horrible? What if he is a rake? Or worse, what if he is dull.”
“You suppose dull is worse than a rake?” Penelope asked with a chuckle.
“Of course. If he is void of personality, I will be stuck with him always by my side boring me and annoying me. At least if he is a rake, he will have some charm to him.”
“Sometimes, I think your mind doesn’t work quite right, Abby,” Penelope replied with a roll of her eyes. “You should count yourself lucky. You are to be a duchess! Who cares what his personality is like? If you don’t agree with each other, you certainly have the means never to step foot in the same house at the same time ever again.”
“Well, only after I give him an heir,” Abigail amended.
“Yes, I suppose that would be bad luck if he is dull,” Penelope agreed. “But at least everyone who has ever spoken of Lord Penrith has called him handsome. Sure no one has seen him these years passed, but I dare say a charming, well-liked lad of twenty-two could not change so much physically by twenty-seven.”
“Spoken of is all I know of the man.” Lady Abigail sighed deeply. “Shouldn’t I, at the very least, be allowed to meet him, get to know him for myself before being forced into an engagement with him?”
“I fear t
“But why is it? I am not asking for such outlandish things as love and romance. I am not so simple to think that such a thing could ever be possible for the likes of me.”
“Nor I either,” Lady Penelope countered. “I may not have had my engagement planned out for me, but you can be sure that my father has no desire to marry off his daughter to a man he finds wanting.”
“It’s times like these I really envy those of lower station,” Lady Abigail grumbled. “At least they may marry for love.”
“And struggle to survive their whole lives long. No, thank you. I am not one for manual labour,” Lady Penelope said with a wrinkle of her nose.
“I don’t think I would mind it much,” Abigail responded offhandedly.
“Only because you have never done it!”
“That’s not true. When I was young, I spent time in the kitchen with the cook. I rather liked the baking part. Maybe I would make a good baker. I could open my own shops with bread and little sweets and marry a man I love.”
“I think you have had your nose in far too many romantic novels. You have lost touch with reality. And watching the cook while sneaking strawberries is not at all the same as doing the work,” Penelope finished.
“It wasn’t easy to do it without getting caught, you know,” Abigail mumbled sardonically.
“That’s it; it’s been confirmed,” Lady Margate announced, bursting into the parlour. “Oh, Lady Penelope, you’re here too. Well, just as well, you can spread the news to your mother.”
“What news is that, Mother?” Abigail asked.
Abigail scooted over on her cushion to make room for her mother to sit next to her. It wasn’t a huge parlour but still a respectable size for a London house. There was just enough room for two chez, a couch, a small serving table between them, the grated hearth, and a small card table in the corner with four wooden seats.
The room could scarcely fit Abigail’s whole family, let alone added guests. Luckily Abigail’s eldest brother had taken up his own lodging for the season.
Lady Margate hadn’t been entirely happy to have her son on his own. It didn’t matter that John Price, Viscount Heartcourt, was twenty-three years old and well past the age to make it out on his own.
She would have rather liked to continue to influence his life as he, too, was not yet married.
Abigail had always been close to her eldest sibling, being only ten months apart, and knew that he was desperate to get out independently.
Lord Heartcourt had no intention of marrying anytime soon and rather enjoyed his seasons with the ton as a free gentleman. Abigail would have never called him a decadent, at least not to his face, but she knew well enough he enjoyed giving attention to many of the ladies of the ton.
Now that he was outside his parents’ views, he was much more free and social than ever. It also made Abigail's home life a lot more boring. Lord Heartcourt and Abigail had grown-up partners in crime.
Without him around, she was resolved to spend time with her two youngest sisters Maryann and Ruth, the eldest being nine years younger than her.
It was for this reason that as soon as they had arrived in town, Abigail had called on her friend Penelope and spent almost all her free time in her best friend's company.
“I have it on very good authority that Lord Penrith was spotted last week in Liverpool exiting the Santa Bathsheba.”
“You already announced that,” Lady Abigail informed her mother.
“Yes, I know.” Lady Margate made a shooing motion with her hands at her daughter.
Both girls smiled at her action. Lady Margate was positively spun up today. Her added news must have been very good.
Lady Margate looked very much like all her daughters. They all shared the same dark blonde hair, blue-green eyes, and petite body frame. However, Lady Margate’s age was starting to show greatly. Having her youngest child when she was well in her forties had taken a significant toll on the woman.
Deep lines ran horizontally across her brow and crinkled at her eyes. Though her hair was still mostly it’s blonde colour, she had a distinct strip of grey that ran through. At first, she had considered powdering her hair to hide it, but as it was no longer fashionable, she was settled to having the grey stripe partially covered by ringlets that lay heavy on that side of her face.
Though she always seemed to be frazzled with stress when it came to her children’s future, she was, for the most part, a jolly woman. Abigail was sure that she had more memories of her mother playing alongside her as a child than most other ladies of their distinction.
“I have it on very good authority that not only is Lord Penrith in the country, but he is also right here in London. I have just come from calling on your aunt— that’s Lady Jane Price Jackson—” Lady Margate added for clarification in Penelope’s direction.
“While I was there, Esmerelda— that’s Lady Jackson’s daughter—had just come from Hyde Park. Esmerelda says that she is one hundred per cent sure that a particularly handsome gentleman riding a fine chestnut mare was none other than Lord Penrith himself.”
“Did she really see him, though, Mother? I mean, we both know that Esmerelda can exaggerate from time to time.”
“Well, no, she didn’t see him with her own eyes. Only she was told of his presence by Lady Marigold.”
Both Penelope and Abigail instantly rolled their eyes. If any one lady of the ton could be considered a gossiping lark desperate to improve her position, it was Marigold.
“You should be glad that Esmerelda didn’t meet the marquess herself. If Lord Penrith’s eyes caught a great beauty like your cousin, we could quite possibly lose your arrangement.”
“I’m not sure I would be sad for it,” Abigail retorted.
“Bite your tongue! You should be grateful that your father was able to secure this arrangement for you. It is only because the Duke and Lord Margate happen to both have a love for fine horses that they grew their acquaintance enough to secure you this chance.”
Abigail dramatically bit her tongue. Penelope did her best to stifle a giggle by promptly popping a biscuit in her mouth.
