She laughed. “I only mean to try it, Beck. Life is so boring without an adventure here or there.”

Beck leaned forward. “Are you happy, Caro?”

She shrugged. “I’m not unhappy. I suppose I’m as happy as I can be for the time being.” She drew from the cheroot and coughed violently. “You mustn’t worry about me, Beck. I always find my way.”

“I have no doubt of it, darling.”

The days grew short and now there was a bitter nip in the air each day. Caroline wrapped a shawl around her neck and wore Beck’s hunting coat when she walked. She had two dogs as companions now, having stumbled on them in a village market. They’d seemed happy to come along on her adventure, trotting along after her as if they belonged to her.

Today, Caroline hadn’t walked a mile when she realized that the dampness on her cheek was snow. She and the dogs turned back.

She cut through on a forest path and came down a hill to where the Hawke estate was spread below them. Caroline happened to notice three riders approaching the house. So did the dogs. They raced ahead, barking at the intruders. Lord, she hoped whoever it was would carry on. She did not like the idea of playing hostess to strangers on a snowy evening. She and Martha liked to play gin rummy on nights like this.

But as she walked down that hill, a strange little current slipped down her spine. The first rider suddenly spurred his horse forward, galloping ahead of the other two. Heat began to fill her chest and rise in her cheeks. She stared at the rider, certain it had to be an apparition. She had to be imagining it. Wouldn’t someone have told her?

But there was no mistaking the Arse of Alucia, her beloved. She threw off her hat and began to run, slipping and sliding down the hill to the road.

He leaped from his horse and raced toward her, pushing his way through the dogs and up the hill. They met midway, where Caroline vaulted into his arms. He caught her, spread his hand against her face and kissed her. He kissed her so hard that they tumbled to the ground and rolled a bit until he managed to stop them. When at last he lifted his head, he grinned at her.

“How?” she asked.

“Oh, that is a long and boring story, but suffice it to say I have returned against my father’s wishes and I’m fairly certain I’m not welcome in Constantine Palace at present. Or in Mayfair.”

Caroline sat up. She put her hands on his face, on his chest, feeling him to see if he was real.

“I went to Beck first,” he said as she continued to assure herself he was real. “He told me where you were. He warned me that you’d changed, and that you might not want to see me.”

“He doesn’t want you to see me,” she said breathlessly.

“He does,” Leopold said, and caught her hands. “Caroline, listen to me. I have spent the last many months wishing for you every day. Every bloody day. I’ve not been able to get you out of my head. Not for a moment.”

She laughed because this was so fantastic, so extraordinary. She had literally dreamed of a moment like this.

He cupped her face in his hands. “Do you understand why I’m here?”

“Eliza said you’d vowed to find all the women they abused.”

He laughed. He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “I have. I will. But I’m here for you, Caroline. Only you. I don’t know where we will go, precisely, but I’ve bought an old castle ruin, and I’ve a lad, Bobbin, who has come along to serve me—seems he was rather taken with me on the voyage to Alucia—but never mind that. I don’t know what else I can offer you but my heart, my love, my undying devotion.”

Caroline blinked. “Beck won’t—”

“He will. It was the only way he’d let me see you.”

Her heart was suddenly hammering in her chest. “This is a dream,” she murmured.

“It is no dream, mang leift. I am here, before you now.”

“But Leopold... I’m not her anymore,” she said. “Look at me! I’m not her, I’m someone else now. Everything changed. I changed.”

He ran his hand over her head. “So have I. I know what I want now. I know what matters.”

She was momentarily confused because he’d just voiced thoughts she herself had had. “And you have never looked more beautiful to me than you do now, Caroline. If it weren’t for Kadro and Artur just behind us, I’d show you just how much I love you here and now.” He abruptly sank down onto one knee.

Caroline gasped.

“Lady Caroline Hawke.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I am a prince without a home. A man without a calling. I can offer you very little but a castle ruin, but I will live my life devoted to you. You are the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. You are the woman I want to raise my children with. You are the woman who has made me wake up to life and understand it’s worth living and is to be cherished. If you will have me, I should very much like to be your husband.”

If this was a dream, Caroline never wanted to wake from it. She had a sudden image of the dress she would make for her wedding. She smiled and turned her face to the sky to savor this moment. Snowflakes were falling all around them. The dogs had come back to investigate and were sniffing around her prince. One guard stood on the road with the horses, the other one had lain on his back, pillowing his head.

“This is an agonizingly long wait for an answer,” Leopold said.

Caroline looked down at him. She leaned over, wrapping her arms around him. “Yes, Leopold. Yes. Forever. In a ruin, in a palace. In a beautiful dress or a feed sack. In this life and the next. All of it. Yes.” And then she sank to her knees and kissed him.

They fell onto their sides in that kiss and continued on until the dogs began to lick their faces and make them laugh.

EPILOGUE


One month later

The wedding of His Royal Highness Prince Leopold of Alucia and Lady Caroline Hawke of London was conducted in the Church of Saint Mary in the village of Bibury. Given the time of the year and roads made impassable by heavy snows, the guests were limited to immediate family.

The bride wore a gown of her own creation, made from a combination of her late mother’s recently discovered wedding gown and a pale cream silk imported from France. The gown was embroidered with tiny rosebuds that cascaded down the bodice and the train.

His Royal Highness wore the Alucian style of formal dress, embellished with the medals and pins of his country. Lord Beckett Hawke served as best man and Mrs. Hollis Honeycutt stood with the bride. The happy couple will make their home at the Hawke house in Bibury until such time Herstmonceux Castle can be renovated for use as a private home. We all join the couple in our fervent wish that the castle can indeed be renovated before Jesus calls them home.

The happy couple have donated their time and funds to a new school to be built adjacent to the church. They have been seen working side by side with villagers to complete the building before the new term.

In other news, the Foreign Office announced this week that Her Royal Majesty the Queen will host a peace summit between the kingdoms of Alucia and Wesloria at the end of this year. The Alucians will be represented by His Royal Highness the Duke of Tannymeade. Accompanying him will be the Duchess of Tannymeade and, with God’s blessing, the royal baby, who is due to make his or her appearance in the spring.

The Weslorians have not as yet named their representative.

Thanks to the efforts of this gazette, the Metropolitan Police announced that a Mr. Hemphill of Marylebone has been charged with theft in the case of the missing parish funds, collected by the parishioners of Saint Mark’s Church of England in Mayfair, and dedicated to the orphanage. Mr. Hemphill has admitted to wrongdoing.

Ladies, doctors caution that if one indulges in the habit of a heavy evening meal during the winter, one must have care to allow sufficient time to pass before entering the marital bed. The consequence of poor timing could result in a stroke.

—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and


Domesticity for Ladies


Keep reading for an excerpt from The Earl's Marriage Bargain by Louise Allen.

The Earl's Marriage Bargain

by Louise Allen


Chapter One

1st September, 1814

If she was in a novel written by her friend Melissa, then this post chaise would be rattling across the cobbles on its way to the Borders for a Scottish wedding and the seat next to her would be occupied by a dashing, dark and decidedly dangerous gentleman.

As this was real life, Jane was on the way to Batheaston to spend at least six months in disgrace with Cousin Violet. Beside her was Constance Billing, her mother’s maid. It had become clear ten minutes after their journey had begun that the only thing constant about Constance was her ability to sulk relentlessly and to disapprove of everything.

On the other hand, at least she was not being sent home to Dorset. Cousin Violet was entertainingly eccentric and—so she fervently hoped—Billing would be returning the morning after their arrival.

Jane consulted the road book. ‘We do not change horses at Kensington as it is not even two miles from London. Hounslow is the first halt, I believe.’

‘In that case, Miss Jane, why have we stopped?’

‘Because, as you can observe through the front glass, the traffic has become entangled for some reason.’ Jane half rose from her seat to look over the back of the pair of horses. ‘Ah, I see there has been an accident.’

The church was just ahead of them on the bustling main road through the village of Kensington and two large wagons were in front of it, apparently with their wheels locked. The drivers were both standing up, waving their whips and shouting at each other, which was not helping in the slightest. Fortunately, they were out of earshot. Passers-by and other drivers had stopped to offer advice, gawk or generally get in the way.

Jane dropped the window beside her and leaned out. Distantly behind them there was the sound of a horn. ‘That is either a stagecoach or the Mail is coming through.’

She settled back against the squabs and prepared to be entertained. Travellers complained about post chaises and their swaying motion, but they did have the benefit of a wide front window through which to survey the world. Naturally, Billing did not approve of all that glazing and kept her eyes averted from it. It was neither discreet nor private, in her opinion, and young ladies should not be looking around, risking attracting the roving eye of some rake or sauntering gentleman.

‘Do put up the glass, Miss Jane,’ Billing scolded. ‘There is a common alehouse just the other side of the pavement from us.’

She did have a point, Jane conceded. The Civet Cat opposite looked decidedly seedy and not at all like the well-kept, welcoming inns of the villages around her home.

As she mentally swept the frontage, cleaned the windows and added a pot or two of geraniums, the door of the alehouse burst open and three men rolled out, scattering pedestrians. They were followed by two others carrying clubs.

Billing gave a screech. ‘We’ll be murdered!’

‘No, we will not, but that man will be if someone doesn’t help him.’

The fight had resolved into one against four as the largest of the club-bearers dragged a tall, dark-haired man to his feet and held on to him as the others closed in and began to rain blows against head and body.

‘Why doesn’t somebody stop it? That is not a fight, that is a deliberate assault. They should call a constable.’

The tall man wrenched free, unleashed a punch and knocked down one of his attackers, sending him crashing into two of the others.

‘Oh, well done, sir! Hit him again, the bully!’

Jane ignored Billing tugging at her arm and shushing her. She opened the window in the door of the carriage, gripped the edge and held her breath because, despite that gallant punch, the man was held fast now by the two he had fallen against. He was shaking his head as though to clear it after a vicious blow and was clearly now no match for the fourth assailant who was advancing, grinning in obvious anticipation.

To Jane’s surprise the attacker dug in the pocket of the frieze coat he was wearing, produced a folded paper and stuffed it into the coat front of the man before him. ‘With compliments,’ he said, then took a firm grip on his cudgel again.

The first swing of the club jolted the tall man out of his captors’ grip, across the pavement and into the side of the chaise. Billing gave another shriek as it rocked on its springs.