Refining Lord Preston: A Regency Romance (Proper Regency Matchmakers Book 6) Read online

  Refining Lord Preston

  Laura Beers

  Text copyright © 2022 by Laura Beers

  Cover art copyright © 2022 by Laura Beers

  Cover art by Blue Water Books

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, copied, or transmitted without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Also by Laura Beers

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  England, 1814

  Lady Emma Brooksbank was not like most women. She had learned over the years how to watch, to listen, and, most importantly, how to avoid the ploys and snares of the parson’s mousetrap. At one point, she was like the other ladies of the ton. She’d wanted to get married and have children, thus securing her place in Society. But she had come to a startling realization—not everyone was destined for a happily ever after.

  Her mother did not feel the same way. She was constantly parading suitors in front of Emma, in hopes that she might fall desperately in love with one of them. Sadly, she had given her heart once, and it had been misused. Now she kept her heart guarded, knowing the pain associated with picking up the broken pieces and moving on.

  Despite all of this, she couldn’t very well just disappear from Society. Her older brother was a marquess, and a powerful one at that. She was expected to attend social gatherings and pretend that all was well. Her gentle breeding had prepared her for this life, but she found her heart wasn’t in it.

  Emma glanced at the open French doors in the rear of the ballroom and sighed. She would much rather be practicing her archery than mingling with vain and pretentious lords. They were all the same. They would engage her in small talk about polite topics, and she would respond accordingly. The entire interaction seemed synchronized, and it was a game everyone played. But she’d tired of the game long ago.

  Her mother’s laugh drew her attention. “You are most witty, Lord Adam,” she said, though the enthusiasm sounded forced.

  Lord Adam puffed out his chest. “I am glad you appreciate hunting jokes, my lady.”

  “What is not to love?” her mother asked. “My husband used to share some funny anecdotes about hunting, and I suppose I became rather fond of them.”

  “I plan to retire after this Season to my country estate in Kent,” Lord Adam remarked. “Perhaps I can convince my mother to throw a house party and invite you,” he shifted his gaze towards Emma and added, “and your lovely daughter, as well.”

  “What fun!” her mother said, nudging Emma with her shoulder. “Isn’t it, dear?”

  Knowing what was expected of her, Emma responded, “I do enjoy house parties.” She hoped her words sounded genuine enough.

  Lord Adam looked pleased by her response. “It would be an honor to host you at my country estate, Lady Emma,” he said. “Although, your beauty may prove to be a distraction.”

  Botheration. How she hated flowery words.

  Emma forced a smile, hoping her thoughts weren’t showing on her face. “That is most kind of you to say, my lord.”

  “Do you ride?”

  “I do,” she replied, not liking the direction of this conversation.

  “Perhaps I could call on you, and we could go riding in Hyde Park.” A line of sweat appeared on Lord Adam’s brow. It was evident that he felt nervous about extending the invitation.

  Taking pity on him, she replied, “I would greatly enjoy that.”

  He pushed out a breath of air. “Excellent.”

  The music started up again, and Lord Adam turned his head towards the orchestra with an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I have already promised another this dance, but would you care to dance the supper dance?”

  Emma stifled the groan on her lips. She would rather dine with anyone other than Lord Adam. He was boring. He spoke only of himself and his ridiculous hunting expeditions. But she didn’t dare refuse him; if she did, she would receive a stern lecture from her mother, which was something she wished to avoid.

  “I would be honored to dance the supper dance with you.”

  Lord Adam smiled. “I shall be looking forward to it.” He remained standing there, his eyes not straying from hers. Finally, after a long moment, he cleared his throat and said, “I should be going.”

  “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your next dance partner,” she encouraged.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Lord Adam replied, taking a step back. “That would be quite inconsiderate of me.”

  “Yes, it would,” Emma agreed.

  Lord Adam opened his mouth as if he intended to say something, but promptly closed it. “I will be back, Lady Emma,” he said before he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  “That was painful,” Emma muttered under her breath.

  Her mother turned to face her with a frown on her lips. “If you want to catch a suitor, then you must try a little harder to engage with them.”

  “I’m not trying to catch a suitor.”

  “Of course you are,” her mother replied. “Lord Adam is a perfectly respectable choice for you. He is the second son of a duke, and his mother and I are dear friends.”

  “I am well aware.”

  “He also appears to fancy you,” her mother pointed out.

  Emma adjusted the sleeves on her pale blue ballgown with its square neckline. “He is an excellent judge of character, then,” she joked.

  Her mother’s frown deepened. “Do be serious.”

  “For what purpose?” she questioned.

  “You are twenty-two years old and in your fourth Season,” her mother said, keeping her voice low. “It is time for you to become earnest about finding a husband.”

  “I am well aware of my circumstance, Mother, but that doesn’t mean I am going to race to the altar with the first fellow I find.”

  “I am not asking that, but rather that you make an effort to become acquainted with one of these gentlemen who have shown interest in you.”

  “I have yet to find a gentleman who has truly interested me.”

  “That can’t possibly be true,” her mother stated. “You do not lack for dance partners, and gentlemen frequently come to call.”

  Emma’s eyes roamed over the crowded ballroom as she attempted to find the right words to describe what she was feeling. “There must be more to life than finding a suitable husband.”

  “What more do you want?” her mother asked.

  “I don’t rightly know,” she muttered.

  Her mother sighed. “You are going to be the death of me, child,” she said. “I cannot enjoy my golden years if you are still unwed. It is my duty to help you secure a husband.”

  Emma opened her mouth to
respond when Lord Albert approached her with a smile. “I have come to collect my dance, Lady Emma.”

  “Wonderful,” she replied.

  Lord Albert offered his arm. “I must admit I have been looking forward to this dance all evening.”

  “May I ask why that is?” she asked.

  Lord Albert’s smile turned flirtatious. “Because you are the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  “I daresay that you need spectacles.”

  He stared at her for a moment, confused, before a chuckle escaped his lips. “You were joking, Lady Emma,” he said. “How delightful. A young woman with a quick wit.”

  Emma kept her face expressionless as he lined her up for the quadrille. As they danced, she kept her gaze down as she counted her steps. She’d never been one for dancing, and she had to concentrate on where her feet should be.

  After the music ended, Lord Albert said, “You dance superbly, my dear.”

  “That is kind of you to say.” Emma knew his words were disingenuous, but she bit her tongue.

  Lord Albert extended his arm towards her. “Would you care to step out on the veranda with me?”

  She didn’t particularly want to spend additional time with him, but the thought of being outside greatly appealed to her.

  “I suppose for just a moment,” she finally said.

  They walked out on the veranda, and she dropped her hand from his sleeve. Lord Albert turned to face her, his expression unreadable. “I am glad to get you alone. There is something I would like to discuss with you.”

  “Oh?” she asked, dreading his next words.

  Lord Albert hesitated for a moment. “You may have noticed that I have been paying you extra attention these past few weeks, and I wanted to ask you something.” He took a deep breath, and panic began to well up inside of her. She had a pretty good idea what he was going to ask her, and she had to stop him before he offered for her. “Lady Emma Brooksbank—”

  “Is that a bee?”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “A bee?” he asked.

  “Yes, I thought I saw a bee land on the back of your jacket.”

  “That is impossible,” he said. “There are no bees out at night.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Bees go to sleep at night?”

  “I believe so.”

  “That doesn’t sound right,” she said. “Where do bees sleep?”

  “I assume a beehive.”

  Emma knew this conversation was utterly ridiculous, but she was hoping it would distract Lord Albert from his original intention. “If bees sleep at night, do they take naps during the day?”

  “Possibly, but that is not what I wish to speak to you about,” Lord Albert said, taking a step closer to her.

  Emma took a step back. “I would prefer to talk about bees.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know what you are going to say, and I don’t wish to refuse you.”

  He stared at her in disbelief, and she had to assume he had anticipated a far different response from her. “You would refuse me?”

  “I would.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we would never suit,” she replied. “You must know that.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Why do you wish to marry me?” Emma asked with an expectant look.

  “Because you are beautiful.”

  “And if I were unfortunate-looking?” she asked. “Would you wish to marry me then?”

  “I… uh… don’t think I would,” Lord Albert stammered.

  Emma walked over to the iron railing. “I want someone who appreciates me for more than my beauty,” she said. “I want someone who values my mind.”

  “I hadn’t taken you for a bluestocking,” Lord Albert huffed.

  “I am many things, Lord Albert, and I refuse to marry someone who doesn’t appreciate all of me,” Emma said.

  Lord Albert looked displeased by her response. “Your brother indicated you would welcome my affections.”

  Her lips parted in surprise at that unexpected news. “Which brother?”

  “Lord Bideford,” Lord Albert replied. “I spoke to him before I offered for you.”

  “But you didn’t offer for me,” she corrected, “and now we can return to the ballroom as if nothing has transpired between us.”

  “Is that what you wish?”

  “It is.”

  Lord Albert looked unsure of how to respond, but finally did just that, but curtly. “As you wish.” He stepped closer and offered his arm. “May I escort you back inside, my lady?”

  “You may,” she said, taking his arm.

  As they walked back inside, Emma felt increasingly agitated by Roswell. She couldn’t believe her brother had spoken to Lord Albert and encouraged him. If he had bothered to ask her, she would have informed him that she had no intention of accepting an offer of marriage from Lord Albert.

  She would deal with her brother tomorrow.

  Emma’s anger had not dissipated in the slightest as she approached Roswell’s study. She stepped into the room and saw her brother hunched over his ledgers.

  “I am furious with you, brother,” she declared as she stepped up to his desk.

  Roswell looked up at her, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Good morning, Emma,” he replied. “What is it that I did wrong today?”

  “Did Lord Albert come to see you recently?”

  “He did.”

  “And did Lord Albert inform you that he was going to offer for me?”

  Roswell nodded. “I believe we did discuss that.”

  Clasping her hands in front of her, she asked, “Did you not think I should be informed of your conversation?”

  “He asked for it to remain in confidence.”

  “But I am your sister.”

  “You are, but Albert has been a friend of mine since Eton.”

  “You could have at least warned me,” Emma said, sitting in an upholstered armchair. “It was terribly unfair of you not to.”

  “I take it your conversation with Albert did not go well.”

  “It did not.”

  Roswell leaned back in his chair. “Why was that?”

  “He started to offer for me after we’d danced, and I pretended I saw a bee land on his jacket.”

  “A bee?” Roswell asked, amused. “At night?”

  “I panicked, and it was the first thing that came to mind.”

  “Why a bee?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” she said. “Perhaps it’s because of how horrible it was the one time I was stung.”

  “I do recall that. Your lips swelled and you looked utterly ridiculous.”

  “Thank you for that,” Emma remarked dryly. “Regardless, I could have come up with a better excuse than I saw a bee, had I been previously warned.”

  “How was I to know that you weren’t interested in Lord Albert as a suitor?”

  “You could have asked.”

  Roswell gave her a pointed look. “And when would I have asked?” he questioned. “You spend all your time practicing archery on the lawn.”

  Emma swept her hand over her riding habit. “That’s not true. I intend to go riding with Charles after breakfast.”

  “My apologies,” Roswell teased, “but I daresay that you have become rather obsessed with archery as of late.”

  “That is because Lord Preston is insufferable.”

  Roswell gave her a baffled look. “I am not quite sure what one thing has to do with another.”

  “Whenever Lord Preston beats me in an archery competition, he gloats incessantly,” Emma explained. “It is quite maddening.”

  “Perhaps you should spend your time on more worthwhile pursuits,” Roswell suggested.

  “Such as?”

  “Finding a husband?”

  Emma frowned. “Not you, too, brother?” she asked. “Mother speaks of little else besides matrimony to me.”

  “For good reason.”

  Charles spoke up from the doorway. “Leav
e her alone, Roswell,” he said. “Our sister will marry when she is good and ready.”

  “And when will that be?” Roswell asked.

  Charles sat down next to Emma’s. “It’s not up to us.”

  “Thank you,” Emma said, pleased by his support.

  Roswell picked up a piece of paper from the desk. “I am tired of paying for dresses every Season,” he said. “The cost of her gowns and accessories alone is enough to feed a small village for a month.”

  “That cannot possibly be true,” Emma responded.

  “I exaggerate, but you are making no effort to secure a husband,” Roswell said. “Why is that?”

  Emma abruptly rose from her chair. “Why is my entire self-worth dependent upon finding a husband?”

  “It’s not,” Charles insisted. “Just ignore Roswell.”

  “Did you know Lord Albert was going to offer for me?” Emma asked Charles.

  Her brother winced. “We may have discussed it at the club.”

  “I expected this type of behavior from him,” Emma said, pointing at Roswell, “but not from you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Charles attempted, rising.

  Emma put her hand on her hip. “From now on, I do not want to hear a word about matrimony from either one of you,” she asserted. “I will decide when I marry—if I marry.”

  Roswell put his hand up. “Before I agree to that, can I ask why you didn’t entertain Albert as a serious suitor?”

  “He was nice enough, but I don’t love him.”

  “Could you have grown to love him?” Roswell pressed.

  Emma shook her head. “I truly doubt it.”

  “Then you made the right decision in turning down his offer,” Charles declared.

  Emma smiled. “You should know that he never actually proposed.”

  “Why was that?” Charles asked.