Romance: Regency Romance: In Bed With The Duke (A Regency Romance) by Emily Teska, Historical Deluxe
Authors: Emily Teska, Historical Deluxe
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Chapter 1
I wiped away a fresh bout of tears as I stared out the garden window. George was marching with the garrison today, and I don’t know how I can stand to watch him go. I’m not ready to lose my husband. We had met at a Regimental Ball only two years ago, he had been so handsome with his brass buttons, gold braid and the deep wine red of his dress jacket. The candlelight that had filled the hall had made my pale pink dress glow, and George had come up to me after the first dance and shyly filled in a space on my dance card while my face had burned and my sisters and their friends had twittered behind their fans. Who would have guessed that a visit to my cousin’s country house would have resulted in a marriage proposal? Certainly not me.
Another tear dripped over my cheek and fell onto the bodice of my dress. I couldn’t let George see me crying. I’m a soldier’s wife, and because of that my life is uncertain. I know that now. I had been following news of the war as best I was able – Napoleon seemed like the worst kind of scoundrel and I dreaded the thought of George going across the Channel to meet this French demon and his armies on foreign shores. From what I could gather from the newspapers I had been able to catch sight of, it was in the National Interest to be hopeful, but deep down, I was sure that I would never see my darling George again. I wiped away my tears with a square of muslin I had embroidered. I ran my finger lightly over the intricate pattern, George had one embroidered with the same whitework pattern; I had made them as a gift for him last Christmas, at least he would be able to take a remembrance of me with him when he left. No more tears. George would be expecting me to be strong, like all the other women in town.
I smoothed my dress and checked my face for redness or other signs of my distress in a small mirror that I carried in my dress pocket. My eyes were a little puffy, but hopefully George wouldn’t notice. I could hear him in the hallway talking to the housekeeper, who was no doubt fussing over his uniform. George and I had been married for two years, but his mother insisted on hiring all of our servants, and the housekeeper had been a loyal member of the Rutledge household since George had been a child. I tried not to let the calculated slight bother me, but it was a daily struggle. Mrs. Baker fought all of my decisions tooth and nail, and I knew that she reported everything back to George’s mother, who wrote me often to chastise me for one slight or another.
“Oh, Master George, you do look so proud in your uniform. I will never stop being proud of how you’ve grown up so handsome and tall, and now look at you, off to war in France!” I rolled my eyes, Mrs. Baker never tired of fawning over George. I wish I could say that he hated it, but I knew that wouldn’t be true. George was the baby of the family, and he was used to being taken care of. His older sisters were no better, and I dreaded their visits.
“Mrs. Rutledge, there you are. Mr. Rutledge was just about to leave us, and I was worried that you wouldn’t be here to see him off.” My smile was tight, but Mrs. Baker wasn’t looking at me when she spoke. I disliked being spoken to like a child, but I had learned to let most of what she said roll over me like water over rocks in the riverbed. George shooed the older woman away as I approached so that he could fold me into his arms and pull me to his chest. His uniform was crisp and new, and the smell of the polish he used on his buttons was sharp in my nose. I wanted to remember him this way forever. Handsome and brave in defense of King and Country. I tried to hold back my tears, I couldn’t let Mrs. Baker see me crying.
“You must write to me, and promise me that you will stay safe?” My voice was muffled in his jacket but he squeezed me tighter and kissed the top of my head tenderly.
“You mustn’t fuss, Charlotte. I’m going
I wiped away a fresh bout of tears as I stared out the garden window. George was marching with the garrison today, and I don’t know how I can stand to watch him go. I’m not ready to lose my husband. We had met at a Regimental Ball only two years ago, he had been so handsome with his brass buttons, gold braid and the deep wine red of his dress jacket. The candlelight that had filled the hall had made my pale pink dress glow, and George had come up to me after the first dance and shyly filled in a space on my dance card while my face had burned and my sisters and their friends had twittered behind their fans. Who would have guessed that a visit to my cousin’s country house would have resulted in a marriage proposal? Certainly not me.
Another tear dripped over my cheek and fell onto the bodice of my dress. I couldn’t let George see me crying. I’m a soldier’s wife, and because of that my life is uncertain. I know that now. I had been following news of the war as best I was able – Napoleon seemed like the worst kind of scoundrel and I dreaded the thought of George going across the Channel to meet this French demon and his armies on foreign shores. From what I could gather from the newspapers I had been able to catch sight of, it was in the National Interest to be hopeful, but deep down, I was sure that I would never see my darling George again. I wiped away my tears with a square of muslin I had embroidered. I ran my finger lightly over the intricate pattern, George had one embroidered with the same whitework pattern; I had made them as a gift for him last Christmas, at least he would be able to take a remembrance of me with him when he left. No more tears. George would be expecting me to be strong, like all the other women in town.
I smoothed my dress and checked my face for redness or other signs of my distress in a small mirror that I carried in my dress pocket. My eyes were a little puffy, but hopefully George wouldn’t notice. I could hear him in the hallway talking to the housekeeper, who was no doubt fussing over his uniform. George and I had been married for two years, but his mother insisted on hiring all of our servants, and the housekeeper had been a loyal member of the Rutledge household since George had been a child. I tried not to let the calculated slight bother me, but it was a daily struggle. Mrs. Baker fought all of my decisions tooth and nail, and I knew that she reported everything back to George’s mother, who wrote me often to chastise me for one slight or another.
“Oh, Master George, you do look so proud in your uniform. I will never stop being proud of how you’ve grown up so handsome and tall, and now look at you, off to war in France!” I rolled my eyes, Mrs. Baker never tired of fawning over George. I wish I could say that he hated it, but I knew that wouldn’t be true. George was the baby of the family, and he was used to being taken care of. His older sisters were no better, and I dreaded their visits.
“Mrs. Rutledge, there you are. Mr. Rutledge was just about to leave us, and I was worried that you wouldn’t be here to see him off.” My smile was tight, but Mrs. Baker wasn’t looking at me when she spoke. I disliked being spoken to like a child, but I had learned to let most of what she said roll over me like water over rocks in the riverbed. George shooed the older woman away as I approached so that he could fold me into his arms and pull me to his chest. His uniform was crisp and new, and the smell of the polish he used on his buttons was sharp in my nose. I wanted to remember him this way forever. Handsome and brave in defense of King and Country. I tried to hold back my tears, I couldn’t let Mrs. Baker see me crying.
“You must write to me, and promise me that you will stay safe?” My voice was muffled in his jacket but he squeezed me tighter and kissed the top of my head tenderly.
“You mustn’t fuss, Charlotte. I’m going
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