Regency Romance Omnibus 2018: Dominate Dukes & Tenacious Women

After the first missive to his sister, a steady stream had ensured where she had regaled him with tales of her life without whitewashing the facts. She had culminated in an invitation to her husband’s estate. He had visited and was relieved to find she did not live in abject squalor, but her station was much modest compared to what she had been born into. When he had offered to include her husband in his investment schemes, she had been speechless at the unexpected kindness.

S’Truth! He had not dared admitted to himself how much he missed her. And in a week her little children, who had been initially shy, warmed to him enough to include him in their jaunts. In the middle of so good a time the guilt had returned full tilt. He had settled in the edicts of Society and hitherto missed such warmth. Never again.

When another week passed, the pressing matter of his promise to the Earl of Rochester returned to his mind with a vengeance. He had put it away in the days he frolicked with the children, but it would not be so easily dismissed when he was alone on his own estates with his own thoughts. He was honor-bound to fulfil the obligation, not to marry the chit. But he had to make an appearance at Mossford. How would he face the gel, knowing she had been right in her rash words? Even he no longer agreed with the way things were.

But the Duke of Windon was no coward and sent off a letter to announce his arrival in a few days. He made preparations and girded himself. For what? He wasn't sure. He made the trip with trepidation swelling with each mile gained. At the last town he sent an outrider to inform the estate of his imminent arrival.

When he had arrived they waited on the front step to receive him. Lord Rochester was ruddy and his daughter stiff. Windon sighed in annoyance and tugged at his cravat with irritation. The countryside was unseasonably warm. He would have liked to be in less stiff clothing and riding at a fast pace. A sentiment obviously shared by Lady Amelia. She was a sight, regally poised beside her father with her cheeks flushed in the obvious exertions of the morning. She looked absolutely fetching in her riding habit and was still ill-disposed to his person. He bowed over her fingertips but refrained from kissing them, such a gesture would even annoy her even more. He received a more jocular welcome from Lord Rochester. The trio entered the hall with the men in lead and her trailing behind, surprisingly docile. They were seemingly engrossed in their conversation concerning the architecture of the hall, sparked by an innocent remark by Lord Windon on the handsome masonry. Her father was doubly proud of Mossford, a favorite estate of his late wife. He obliged any who noted its beauty by delving into history of the building and local quartz mine used to build it.

Lady Amelia had thought them engrossed until she tried to escape, but before she could seek permission to retire her father was pressing Lord Windon ride with her. He claimed it was quite the thing, a brisk ride in the country air to alleviate the aches of the long bumpy ride in the carriage. Before she could bring a word in protest he had gotten Lord Windon to agree and embroiled her in his plans. She could not very well bow out without being impolite. His work done, Lord Rochester left them in the hallway. Perhaps for the first time since he had arrived, Lady Amelia raised her head to look boldly at Lord Windon. His gaze was just as earnest.

“If I may beg you...” he started.

“I would like very much to...” she spoke out, the words starting and stopped abruptly. After an awkward pause, he gestured for her to continue. “I must ask for your forgiveness, Your Grace, for my reprehensible manners in calling you out on your own matters.” He was her father’s guest and she had to assuage her guilt.

“Think nothing if it,” he said easily. “Shall we move to the stables then?”

It was an end of it then. After having deprived her of her sleep, the light way he treated her heartfelt apology did not earn him her favor, but she held her tongue. “And what you wished to speak of?” she prompted as she led the way.

There was enough time to raise the matter later in his stay. “It will keep, I am sure. I am most eager to gauge the manner of horseflesh in your stables.”

“I am sure you would find them worthy.” The stables were a pastime of hers and she was most eager to know his thoughts on it.

“Indeed, they will be. Lord Rochester is doesn

’t seem the man to have inferior stock in his stables.” It was an easy assumption to make and she forgave him for it.

“If I may be so bold, I would like to say the stables are my domain. My father has little appreciation for horses.” He did not betray his surprise but smiled genially at her and inclined his head to look at her.

“Then I must say they shall be doubly worthy.” She flushed at the praise and they walked on with an easy air between them. The stables did not stink as many was wont to. Lord Windon approved of wide, comfortable stall boxes in which the horses were housed. When the horses were led out for his inspection he was impressed by the efficient manner of her grooms and the expert handling of the horses.

A particular stallion of Arabian origins caught his eye. He commented on its fine lines. It stood at eighteen hands with a glossy coat, strong withers, and sporting only a tuft of white in its tail. It was a magnificent creature.

She was very pleased at his reaction. “Would you like to ride him?”

When he asked for a stretch of land for a gallop to try out the new mount she quickly gave orders for the grooms to saddle two horses. Soon they were away with her in the lead.

Lord Windon was a masterful rider, with an excellent seat and a masterful handling of the spirited horse she could not help but admire. When they reached a level stretch of land he gave the horse his head. Both man and beast performed admirably. A seamless merging of motion that warmed her no end, it showed Lord Windon’s prowess to advantage. “You ride as well as Sebastian.” She beamed at him delightedly.

“I thank you for the compliment, but who is Sebastian?”

The light in her eyes dimmed. “He was my brother.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...”

“He loved to ride. It was his dream to raise a winning race horse. After the smallpox epidemic we had so few staff that Papa started talking about selling the stable, but I couldn’t let him do that.” She pushed a strand of hair out of eyes that glistened suspiciously.

“Of course, you couldn’t. You jumped in with both feet to save your brother’s dreams.”

“It wasn’t that altruistic. It was a piece of him, a little piece I could hold on to. I couldn’t help him. I got sick first, and yet I lived.”

“You are still a far better sibling than I.”

She was puzzled at that. Amelia reigned in her horse to look at him in confusion.

“I find you have spoken harsh words, but they could not be truer.” He continued without quite meeting her eyes. “I wrote to my sister, begging correspondence of her life and conditions. She eagerly shared with me. When I accepted her invitation, I found her words to be true to a certain degree, but it was obvious she lives at a station beneath her. I have made certain arrangements to fatten their coffers. I find that I must also beg your forgiveness. I have been remiss in thinking that family was about duty, when it can be much more than that.”

Amelia gaped in stunned silence. He had not stopped but continued at a slow pace and she had no choice to follow "Your Grace, it is I who must beg your forgiveness.”