Duke of Storms: Regency Hearts Book 4 Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Regency Hearts Series

  Defiant Brides Series

  Newsletter Information

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  Recommendations

  Defiant Brides

  Newsletter

  Duke of Storms

  Regency Hearts

  Book 4

  Jennifer Monroe

  Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Monroe

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Regency Hearts Series

  The Duke of Fire

  Return of the Duke

  The Duke of Ravens

  Duke of Storms

  The Defiant Brides Series

  The Duke’s Wager

  The Spinster’s Secret

  The Duchess Remembers

  The Earl’s Mission

  Duke of Thorns

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  Jennifer Monroe Newsletter

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  Chapter One

  At the age of one and twenty, Emma Barrington had learned many lessons in life. However, one lesson that had caught her attention on more than one occasion was that men had a peculiar habit of scratching their heads. Although, she had not had many encounters with men outside of the bookkeeping services of her father, nor had she paid any particular attention to those she met on the street.

  However, Stephen Foreman, the assistant her father had hired on when Emma was quite young, was at this moment scratching at his head in an absent manner, as if it aided in his thinking. He was not a dirty man, for he did take relatively good care of himself by washing every morning, but his habit of scratching seemed to happen without thought more than to ease an actual itch. She had never seen any crawlers on him, and if she had, she would have sent him off to wash himself from head to toe — twice!

  “And what’re you finding so funny?” Stephen asked as he stopped scratching his silver-covered head and scrunched his brows in confusion.

  “Oh, it is nothing,” she said, waving a hand as if to rid herself of her laughter. She doubted he would understand the humor in the situation as she did. Yet, she found she could not stop when he returned hand to his head.

  “You women are a peculiar lot,” he replied, stopping his scratching to stare at her once more, which only made her laugh all the harder until tears ran down her cheeks.

  She took a deep breath in an attempt to regain her composure. It would not be fitting to be found weeping with laughter if a client happened by, which was what they were wont to do whenever she found herself out of sorts, such as now. Her father was a bookkeeper, a man once highly sought after when times were better; however, now, as she sat in her father’s chair at his desk, she wondered if times would continue to decline. She certainly hoped not, for if they worsened any further, they would be without any clients within a month’s time.

  “I can only agree with your observation,” she said when she had herself once more under control. “We most certainly are a peculiar lot.”

  But not as peculiar as you men! she thought as she grasped the ledgers stacked in front of her. “These must be delivered promptly,” she said aloud. “No lollygagging around.”

  Stephen glanced at the covers. “Ah, these’re going to the Duke of Storms, are they?”

  Emma narrowed her eyes at the man. “It is not proper to speak of him in that manner. The proper name is Lucas Redstone, Duke of Rainierd, and we are to address him as ‘His Grace’ when we speak of him.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Emma,” he said, “but the man’s got a fiery temper; I know firsthand. He’s taken it out on me enough times, that’s for sure.” He rubbed the side of his head—although the duke had never struck him as far as Emma knew—and then sighed. “I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”

  Emma stood and walked around the desk to place a hand on the man’s arm. “You have not disappointed me,” she said with a smile. “In fact, you have always done a wonderful job. You are a fine addition to our office, and I am proud to call you my friend.”

  The man’s cheeks reddened considerably at her words, and he gave her a broad grin. “Thanks, Miss Emma. I appreciate you sayin’ so.” He picked up the ledgers. “I’ll leave now.”

  He closed the door behind him, and Emma walked over to stare out the window that looked over the slow-moving traffic that ambled through the tiny village of Rumsbury, Wiltshire. Or what was considered a tiny village, for now. Rumors of plans for new buildings were making their rounds, although nothing had been built as of yet. If every planned building was constructed, the village would become a city as large as Marlborough to the south. Well, perhaps not as large, but the difference would be significant.

  Deciding a breath of spring would be a wonderful change from the dusty office, she took a step outside. A light breeze was cool on her arms, brought about by a storm to the west that echoed the tightness in her neck and back. She took a deep breath, enjoying the sweet smells of the nearby woods, and then let it out slowly.

  “Ah, Miss Barrington,” Mr. Trelling, a tailor by trade who kept his shop three doors down from the Barrington office, called out to her. “How are you this wonderful day?”

  “I am very well, thank you,” Emma replied. “I believe we are in for some rain.” She motioned to the clouds gathering on the horizon.

  Mr. Trelling shook his head. “It always rains,” he said with a sigh. Then he rubbed his hands together. “Yet, that can also mean a need for more new coats.” Then he sighed. “I suppose I should return to my orders.” He reached out to open the door and then stopped. “By the way, I’m curious. When’s your father returning from his trip?”

  Emma gave the man a warm smile. “It should be within a week. Would you like that I send him your way when he returns, or do you have a message you would like me to pass along to him?”

  “If you’d just let him know that the coat he ordered some time ago is ready, and that I need him to come in for a final fitting when he has a moment, I’d greatly appreciate it.” Emma went to speak, but he raised his hand. “No need to hurry; he has already paid.”

  Emma breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said, attempting to keep her voice from shaking. “I will inform him as soon as he returns.”

  Mr. Trelling bid her a farewell once again, entered his shop, and closed the door behind him.

  As Emma returned to the office, she thought of her father, and more particularly, his business. He had begun his bookkeeping venture twenty years earlier, just after Emma was born, and his first clients were cobblers, milliners, and
other shop owners. Word traveled in short time of his abilities, and soon those of the ton were requesting his services. Although custom had been good enough to place him high in the ranking of bookkeepers in the past, in more recent months the number of clients had been dwindling at a steady pace. Many could no longer afford to pay, and even those of the peerage found their fortunes disappearing, leaving them no choice than to maintain their own books, not to mention those who not only had to sell their homes used only for holidays but their main residences, as well.

  As those of title suffered, so did Emma and her father, their earnings so meek, they had been forced to count every farthing.

  From a young age, Emma’s father had taught her to read and write, and by the age of twelve, she was learning the intricacies of bookkeeping, even remaining awake late in the night with him as he explained every fine detail of the craft. In that training, she learned that her father knew every investment made by every member of the ton on his list of clients as well as which investments were lucrative and which were not.

  If she were a man, she would have considered taking over for her father one day, invest some of his savings into some of those lucrative ventures, and join the ranks of the wealthy. However, women bookkeepers were frowned upon, so, over the past five years, she had aided him with his bookkeeping business in secret. If any of their clients, be he upper or lower class, ever learned how much she had aided in maintaining his books, he would pull his account faster than if he had placed his hand in the fire.

  The truth of the matter was she was more than capable in her secret position. She would continue to do what she could in order to keep the business afloat, even if it required her to continue to hide just how much she did contribute.

  Sitting at her father’s desk, she opened a drawer and removed a small purse. The weight of it excited her. She had saved this money for over a year—going without new slippers and mending every piece of clothing she owned in order to do so—and now it was time to spend it.

  ***

  Emma ignored the sounds of the people passing her in the street as she gazed into the dressmaker’s shop. Inside, women of the ton milled about, peering into books, touching bolts of a variety of fabrics and ribbons, and walking in and out of doorways draped with curtains. The dresses these women wore as they made choices for new were far better than anything Emma had ever owned. The fabrics were of the finest quality and the bows were tied to perfection. Even the hats they wore were exquisite, and glancing at her reflection, Emma felt a moment of shame. The dress she wore was well-worn and well out of fashion, if it had been in fashion at any time. The dark blue had long since faded and it lacked any ribbons or bows. Yet it was one of the finest she owned.

  Worrying her lip, she felt the weight of the small purse in her hand, which contained all of her savings for a year meant to purchase a new dress. She had dreamed of such a purchase, having little skill with a needle beyond mending and patching. Most of her dresses had been made in exchange for services when finances were low, and even then, never from a shop as important as the one owned by Mrs. Shilvers.

  She had also saved enough to buy a pair of gloves and a hat. Not just any hat but one that, when worn with the new dress, would draw the attention of an eligible man.

  Of course, it could not be just any man. He would have to be handsome, well-spoken, and enjoy reading poetry as well as show an interest in nature. With this new dress, she would be courted by such a man, and in time fall in love. For the poets spoke of love, something she wished so desperately to experience. To live a life with a man in marriage, a man she could love, to whom she could bear children. Although she had yet to experience love, she was ready for it. When people fell in love, they shared the burdens on their hearts and souls and received comfort and encouragement in return. She would share her dreams—and Emma had many—with the man who won her heart, and Emma had many. Once she found love, those dreams would all come true, and nothing would convince her otherwise.

  “You have earned this,” she whispered in an attempt to stave off the guilt she felt for such frivolity. Money was especially tight as of late, and perhaps it would be better spent in other ways. Yet, this had been the reason she had saved the money. It had been her dream. Her attention was drawn to a finely dressed couple who wore wide smiles with eyes blazing with the love she knew was in their hearts. Seeing this was confirmation; she was meant to get this new dress.

  As she reached out to grasp the door handle, a sob made her turn. Her eyes widened when she saw Mrs. Little, one of the local shopkeepers, standing on the street with her young daughter Sharlene at her side, a man in a tailored coat and lace at the wrists the object of her pleas.

  “We have no money to travel to my sister’s,” the woman was saying. “How’re we supposed to get there?”

  “I’m sorry,” the man replied. “There’s nothing I can do.” Then he turned and went back into the shop.

  Emma watched this in shock. The poor woman’s husband had died not six months earlier, and together they had run the local bakery. Why was this other man inside her shop and Mrs. Shilvers outside?

  “Mrs. Shilvers?” Emma said as she hurried to the distraught woman. “What has happened?”

  The woman worried a kerchief in her fingers and her face lined with tears. “Oh, Emma, since Paul passed, I’ve struggled to pay the rent. I didn’t know he’d taken out loans, and he’d already spent every pence we had in savings.”

  Emma nodded. It was well-known that Mr. Shilvers had a problem with drinking and gambling, a seemingly common issue of many if the people’s books were any indication. Emma had tried to warn Mrs. Shilvers, but what could the woman do? Her husband had complete control over their finances, and the woman could do nothing to keep him from squandering away everything they had.

  Glancing down at Sharlene, a child of no older than seven, Emma could not help but lament for them both. Sharlene wiped her nose on the sleeve of her coat, sniffling as tears ran rivers down her cheeks.

  “I overheard you say you are trying to get to your sister’s,” Emma said.

  “Yes. Mary lives near Cambridge, but we have no money to get there. We’re much too far to walk, but I suppose if we must…” She glanced down at her daughter and wiped away her tears with a kerchief. “But then to have enough for food, as well? We’ll be on the road for weeks, and I’ve only a few shillings left to my name. Mr. Charleton says Paul left so much debt that even taking the shop can’t cover it. He’s agreed to accept just the shop, but now there’s nothing left to take care of us. I’ve no idea what we’re going to do.” She began to sob into her kerchief, and Emma could do nothing but watch as the woman grieved.

  And yet…She squeezed the small purse in her pocket. She had a general idea of the cost of a carriage to Cambridge, for she had seen the costs in a recent ledger entry. The money in her purse would not be enough to not only pay for a ticket there, but it would be enough for food and lodging along the way.

  “Take this,” she said as she placed the entirety of her savings into the hands of Mrs. Shilvers. “May you find a new start that is better than what you leave here.”

  “Oh, Emma,” the woman said as she attempted to return the purse to Emma. “I cannot. I know we’re all suffering in these hard times.”

  “No, you must take it. You are my friend, and I will not see you or little Sharlene here,” she patted the girl on the head, “suffer.”

  Mrs. Shilvers sniffled. “One day, if I’m able, I’ll find a way to repay you.”

  Emma smiled. “You cannot repay a gift.”

  This brought on a new bout of tears, and the woman pulled Emma in for a tight embrace. “I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you, but I pray that good fortune falls upon you.” She turned to her young daughter. “Come, Sharlene, we are going to see your Auntie Arabella.” Then she gave Emma a wide smile, tears still glinting in her eyes. “Thank you again, Emma.”

  “Safe travels,” Emma replied, and she smiled as the pair
walked away. She truly did hope better days would come to Mrs. Silvers and her child, for the woman deserved such happiness. To have gone through the life she had and remain the same kind woman she had always been was an accomplishment, and Emma said a silent prayer of a good life for them both.

  Before Emma made her way back to her father’s office, she stopped once more before the window of the dressmaker’s shop. Her dream of a new dress would have to wait for now. She would begin saving anew, and in time she would have enough once again to make such a purchase, but for now, that money was going to better use. The dresses she owned were still serviceable for the time being, and the purchase of the new dress would have been superfluous, anyway. More important things existed in the world, that much was certain.

  The shop door opened, and two women stepped out, followed by a man in livery carrying wrapped packages. One of the women assessed Emma before crinkling her nose at her, as if encountering an unpleasant odor.

  Emma offered the woman a smile despite the disgusted look she received, but it was met with a derisive glare before the two women walked past her as if she were a stray dog in the street. It was not the first time women of the ton had treated her in such a manner; therefore, Emma ignored their looks and returned her gaze to the window. Seeing her reflection, she sighed at what she saw, for she could never compare to the ladies who frequented such a shop. Yet, this was her life, and only she could do something about it. Therefore, she returned to the office, determined to complete the tasks required of her for what remaining clients her father had. That was all she could do for the moment.

  Chapter Two

  Lucas Redstone, Duke of Rainierd, was not one for patience. He believed that a person, more specifically a servant, should be instructed once and no more, for his time was much more precious than that of those around him. If it were not for him, those in his employ would not have an income and therefore would have no means for which to take care of themselves.