Stop #8
Regina Scott
Happy 10th blogoversary to Tell Tale Reviews! Here’s to another 10 years sharing good books with readers!
Never Love a Lord is the finale to my Fortune’s Brides: The Wedding Vow series. When spunky Petunia Bateman is awarded a title, the man she once loved comes calling, to her chagrin. Lord Ashforde’s family history has convinced him that cool heads must prevail when choosing a bride. Surrounded by intrigue, can he convince her, and himself, to give their love another try?
Here’s a little taste:
Here’s a little taste:
“Shall we discuss the Batavarian question?” she asked as the shade from the Hyde Park trees on either side covered them like a parasol.
Time to make a clean breast of it. “Actually, I was hoping to address another matter first. As you know, I’ve been wanting to speak to you for some time.”
She lifted her chin in a show of her usual bravado. “Sorry to have inconvenienced you, I’m sure.”
He sighed inwardly. “That came out wrong. What I meant was, I have been regretting how we parted three years ago, and I’ve wanted to apologize ever since.”
She stopped and stared at him. “Truly?”
“Truly,” he assured her, stopping as well and encouraged by the hope ringing in her voice. “I was unconscionably curt with you when you deserved nothing less than my respect and admiration. At the time, I had concluded that we would not suit, but there were far better ways to explain that.”
She started walking again, this time faster, as if she could distance herself from the memory. “Apology accepted. We needn’t dwell on the matter.”
“Unfortunately, I find myself dwelling entirely too much,” he told her, pacing her as they came abreast of the stone Keeper’s Lodge with its tall pillars. “Against my better judgment, I cannot seem to stop thinking of you as a potential bride.”
Once more she jerked to a stop, this time face flaming. “Oh! Against your better judgment? How very kind you are, my lord. I’m sure every girl longs to hear just such a statement from her potential groom!”
There were a number of statements he regretted over the years, but he had a feeling the one he’d just made would haunt him the rest of his life.
Time to make a clean breast of it. “Actually, I was hoping to address another matter first. As you know, I’ve been wanting to speak to you for some time.”
She lifted her chin in a show of her usual bravado. “Sorry to have inconvenienced you, I’m sure.”
He sighed inwardly. “That came out wrong. What I meant was, I have been regretting how we parted three years ago, and I’ve wanted to apologize ever since.”
She stopped and stared at him. “Truly?”
“Truly,” he assured her, stopping as well and encouraged by the hope ringing in her voice. “I was unconscionably curt with you when you deserved nothing less than my respect and admiration. At the time, I had concluded that we would not suit, but there were far better ways to explain that.”
She started walking again, this time faster, as if she could distance herself from the memory. “Apology accepted. We needn’t dwell on the matter.”
“Unfortunately, I find myself dwelling entirely too much,” he told her, pacing her as they came abreast of the stone Keeper’s Lodge with its tall pillars. “Against my better judgment, I cannot seem to stop thinking of you as a potential bride.”
Once more she jerked to a stop, this time face flaming. “Oh! Against your better judgment? How very kind you are, my lord. I’m sure every girl longs to hear just such a statement from her potential groom!”
There were a number of statements he regretted over the years, but he had a feeling the one he’d just made would haunt him the rest of his life.
^^^
The minister at St. Paul’s Covent Garden had spoken this morning about forgiving wrongs, but Petunia was certain that if the fellow had had the misfortune of meeting Lord Ashforde, he might have made an exception. Against his better judgment? As if she was something tantalizing he knew was terribly, terribly bad, like eating all the Christmas pudding before the family came down for dinner.
“Please, Miss Bateman, Lady Moselle,” he said, hands behind his back as if they had been tied there. “I find it difficult to speak well in front of you.”
“Balderdash,” Tuny said. “You’re a member of Parliament. You must have made speeches any number of times, in front of dozens of powerful lords.”
“You are hardly a powerful lord.”
And didn’t she know it. “No. I suspect that’s part of the problem.”
He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. His valet would likely have fainted in despair if he’d seen the mess his lordship was making of that perfectly tied cravat. “It is entirely the problem,” he protested. “I have no vested interest in a speech before Parliament other than seeing the best outcome for the nation. Now, I’m attempting to speak to the one woman who ever captured my heart. That alone ties my tongue.”
Captured his heart? Oh, could he be any more cruel?
“I doubt I ever captured your heart,” Tuny retorted. “At times, I’ve wondered whether you have one.”
He winced. “Justified. Please, may we start over?”
She could not seem to stop the words from pouring out of her. “How far back would you like to go? The first time we met, when you asked Larissa and Callie to dance before you considered me? The second time we met, when you spoke to Larissa during dinner while completely ignoring me farther down the table? What about when you decided I might be tolerable enough for a dance or two, a walk or two, only to tell me to my face that you were sorry if you raised expectations? Or just now, when you admitted your judgment must be addled for even thinking of me at all?”
“For all those occasions,” he said, “and any other moment when I might have hurt you, I am deeply sorry.”
She looked him straight in the eye. Pain was etched in the lovely blue. It dragged down the corners of his mouth. Even his voice held a throbbing note of sorrow. His shoulders, always carried so high and proud, were slumping, his breath coming slow and heavy.
Nothing about him suggested he was a good actor. In fact, she had never known him to show himself as less than perfect. Could he truly regret his actions?
“Please, Miss Bateman, Lady Moselle,” he said, hands behind his back as if they had been tied there. “I find it difficult to speak well in front of you.”
“Balderdash,” Tuny said. “You’re a member of Parliament. You must have made speeches any number of times, in front of dozens of powerful lords.”
“You are hardly a powerful lord.”
And didn’t she know it. “No. I suspect that’s part of the problem.”
He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. His valet would likely have fainted in despair if he’d seen the mess his lordship was making of that perfectly tied cravat. “It is entirely the problem,” he protested. “I have no vested interest in a speech before Parliament other than seeing the best outcome for the nation. Now, I’m attempting to speak to the one woman who ever captured my heart. That alone ties my tongue.”
Captured his heart? Oh, could he be any more cruel?
“I doubt I ever captured your heart,” Tuny retorted. “At times, I’ve wondered whether you have one.”
He winced. “Justified. Please, may we start over?”
She could not seem to stop the words from pouring out of her. “How far back would you like to go? The first time we met, when you asked Larissa and Callie to dance before you considered me? The second time we met, when you spoke to Larissa during dinner while completely ignoring me farther down the table? What about when you decided I might be tolerable enough for a dance or two, a walk or two, only to tell me to my face that you were sorry if you raised expectations? Or just now, when you admitted your judgment must be addled for even thinking of me at all?”
“For all those occasions,” he said, “and any other moment when I might have hurt you, I am deeply sorry.”
She looked him straight in the eye. Pain was etched in the lovely blue. It dragged down the corners of his mouth. Even his voice held a throbbing note of sorrow. His shoulders, always carried so high and proud, were slumping, his breath coming slow and heavy.
Nothing about him suggested he was a good actor. In fact, she had never known him to show himself as less than perfect. Could he truly regret his actions?
 Regina Scott | Regina Scott started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t actually sell her first novel until she had learned a bit more about writing. Since her first novel was published, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages including Dutch, German, Italian, and Portuguese. She now has now published more than 60 works of warm, witty romance and more than 1 million copies of her books are in reader hands. She and her husband of 30 years reside in Washington State on the way to Mt. Rainier. Regina Scott has learned to fence, dressed as a Regency dandy, driven four in hand, and sailed on a tall ship, all in the name of research, of course. Sign up for her newsletter at https://subscribe.reginascott.com for exclusive stories and sneak peeks. |
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