A Duke’s Relentless Courting: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance Novel Read online

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2020 by Leah Conolly

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About Leah Conolly

  Leah, or Leou as her friends call her is a South Dakota native. She describes herself as an affordable psychiatrist since she started reading books out of curiosity for the deeper exploration of the subconscious.

  She later studied psychology and criminology in NY, but she returned to her hometown when the family business was at risk of closing.

  Ten years later, she writes books to capture the feelings of every major life event she encountered so far. Thankfully, her romantic nature considers everything to be important resulting in immense writing activity! In her spare time, she provides online counseling for free to women in need. She considers her marriage to be a great adventure and as her husband recalls “every time we argue she comes back later with a new book based on our disagreements set in a different century!”

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  About Leah Conolly

  Table of Contents

  A Duke’s Relentless Courting

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  The Extended Epilogue

  Pretty Little Lies for the Duke's Heart-Preview

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  A Message from Leah Conolly

  About Starfall Publications

  Be a Part of Leah Conolly’s Family

  Also by Leah Conolly

  A Duke’s Relentless Courting

  Prologue

  Her mother was dying. Lydia could smell the fear like a tangible fog hanging in the air. She crouched in the corner near the hearth listening to her mother’s labored breathing coming from the bed.

  She held her younger sister, Eleanor, close to her chest. At ten years old, Lydia was the brave one. Or, at least, she had to pretend to be brave for Eleanor’s sake.

  Quiet sobs came from her father’s hunched form as he leaned over the bed. He held onto his wife’s hand with a vice-like grip, as though this action alone could keep her from leaving them.

  “Don’t leave us, my love,” he pleaded, his tears soaking the bedsheets. “We need you. Please don’t leave us.”

  His pleas frightened Lydia. The girls had been alone for most of this terrible year. When the doctor had diagnosed their mother with a fatal disease, their father had crumpled to the floor. It was a death sentence. Watching the months of agony that their mother had to endure was even harder.

  Doctor Sanders arrived, summoned by their father. He gave the girls a quick glance and then went to their mother’s bedside. Lydia watched their father stand, looking as if he might tumble to the floor any second. It scared her to see him so vulnerable. She stood and joined her father at the bedside, watching the doctor examine her mother. The doctor turned with sadness etched in his old, lined face.

  “I’m so sorry. She’s gone, my lord.”

  Lydia’s world started spinning. She heard her father crumple to the floor, his sobs muted in her ringing ears. It couldn’t be. Her mother had been so beautiful and so full of life just a short year ago. A mother was supposed to be there to help and guide her children. Now, more than ever, Lydia felt alone, but she squared her shoulders when she saw her sister crying uncontrollably by the hearth. Lydia went to her and held her close. Eleanor was only six years old; she would never really know or remember their mother. Lydia would have to protect and guide her now.

  The doctor came over to the two of them and knelt, so that he could meet them eye to eye. “I am so sorry for your loss, my dear girls. Your mother was such a gentle and caring woman. Would you like to say your last goodbyes? I’ll go to the bed with you if you like.”

  The door creaked open, and Lydia saw the governess peek her head inside. She turned back to the doctor.

  “No, thank you, sir. We will be all right. Thank you for all that you have done for our mother,” she replied. He nodded sadly and stood, leaving the room. The governess came over to the girls and took their hands, leading them to the bed.

  Lydia looked at her mother’s peaceful face. At last, her struggles were over. She touched the hand that was quickly growing cold with the absence of life. Lydia pulled her hand away.

  “Goodbye, Mother,” she whispered and turned away. She knelt next to her father and placed a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off.

  “Leave me,” he said. “Leave us!” He stood and shouted at the three of them. Lydia jumped. Her father had never shouted at them before.

  “Yes, Father,” she said, her voice shaking. She placed a protective arm around Eleanor’s shoulders and left the room, the governess following closely behind them.

  ***

  Lydia awoke with a start, the sound of a door closing awakening her from the dream. Tears wet her cheeks at the painful memories. It had been ten years since her mother’s untimely death. Lydia lay back on her pillows, her blonde curls framing her face. The dreams of her mother’s death had plagued her ever since that fateful night. But life had returned to a semblance of normalcy, even if it had taken years. Slowly but surely, her father had found his way back to the land of the living.

  Eleanor was now sixteen and full of life. She looked very much like their mother. Lydia felt a responsibility for her sister, trying to raise her as she thought her mother would have wanted. For many years after their mother’s death, her father had barely been able to function. Lydia had had to grow up very quickly as a result.

  She folded the coverlet back and swung her legs out of bed, allowing her bare feet to brush the cool, wooden floor. She padded over to the window and moved the sheer white curtains aside. The sun was just beginning to rise.

  “A perfect day for a ride, I think,” she said to herself. She went to the door connecting her room to her sister’s and quietly turned the knob. Eleanor was still fast asleep. She ran over to the bed and jumped onto the plush coverlet.

  “What?!” Eleanor shot up, confused by the rude awakening. When she saw her sister’s face beside her, she fell back on the pillows laughing. “My goodness, Lydia. Will you ever grow up?”

  “I suppose I will have to someday, but you will always be my sister. I do so enjoy surprising you in the morning,” Lydia teased. She lay down next to her sister and looked up at the ceiling.

  “I have nev
er understood why you need to wake at the break of dawn every morning,” Eleanor replied, her voice muffled under the covers. Lydia tore them off, laughing at Eleanor’s groans. She curled up into a ball and turned away from Lydia.

  “Waking early is good for you. You’d sleep the whole day away if I let you. It’s a beautiful day for a ride, let’s plan one for this afternoon,” Lydia suggested.

  Eleanor turned over and stretched, her arms raised above her head, “Fine. But I get to choose where we ride.”

  “Very well. We that’s agreed, then,” Lydia said. She jumped out of bed and went back to her own room to begin getting ready for the day.

  Eleanor met her downstairs for breakfast, and, as usual, their father ignored the girls’ laughter as he read his newspaper. “Lord Beckett is coming in a few minutes, my dears. It might be nice if you could stay to say hello to him,” their father instructed, as they made their way out of the breakfast room.

  “Yes, Father,” they replied, almost in unison. They looked at each other, knowing what a visit from Lord Beckett meant.

  “I do wish Father would come out riding with us sometimes. He seems so lonely and, well, old,” Eleanor said, chuckling, even though the observation would have hurt her father’s feelings if he had heard.

  “He’s endured a lot in the last ten years. He loved Mother very much,” Lydia said, trying to defend him. She did not want Eleanor to have a bad opinion of their father, even though sometimes she wished her father would show more interest in their lives. He worried over them, she knew, but that was not the same as being present.

  Lydia linked her arm through Eleanor’s and steered them towards the stairs leading to the second floor of their country mansion. She loved this home in the country, just west of London. Their fortune had declined after her mother’s death, but her father had managed to hold on to the house, selling off small portions of land from the estate. She could only hope that her father would now be able to restore their fortune. If he could not, then they would soon have to part with the country house as well and move into town permanently.

  They passed their mother’s old room on the way down the hall. It had been locked since the day of the funeral. The memories floated around it in an air of mystery, like ghosts from a time that they all wished could be forgotten. They hurried past the room quietly, as was their habit.

  Someday, perhaps, if their fortunes were restored, Lydia would renovate the room as a sort of memorial to her mother. It had never sat well with her that it remained closed, as if the angel of death had been allowed to stay all these years. She knew her father had never really faced his grief, only pushed it down deep inside to escape it.

  She shook her head at the thought, returning to the present. She pasted a smile on her face and returned her attention to her sister, who was chattering away about some fairytale queen they had read about. Lydia left Eleanor outside her room and continued to her own door.

  A half-hour later, they were back downstairs, having changed into their riding habits. They waited for Lord Beckett to arrive, while their father remained absorbed in his newspaper. Lydia suspected he was trying to marry her off to Lord Beckett’s son, but she would not be forced into a loveless marriage. Lord Beckett’s son was a vain, preening peacock.

  “Hello, my friend. How good of you to come,” her father stood as Lord Beckett was announced and shown into the sun-filled room.

  “Good to see you again, my old friend,” Lord Beckett replied jovially. Lydia thought he was a kind man, the exact opposite of his son. She would not have minded being his daughter-in-law if his son had proved more worthy. “How long will you grace us with your presence this time?”

  “We are only here for a fortnight,” her father replied, shaking his old friend’s hand.

  “Very good. And my, what beautiful young ladies your daughters have grown into!” Lord Beckett exclaimed, bowing slightly to them. They curtsied and smiled.

  “Thank you, sir,” Lydia replied. “It is always a joy to receive you. We will leave you and Father to converse.”

  Eleanor smiled but said nothing, as she was somewhat shy around strangers. They left the room just as their father ordered brandy poured for him and Lord Beckett. Lydia rolled her eyes. Everyone knew that Lord Beckett was a great lover of brandy and racehorses. She only hoped he would not drink their father under the table.

  “Come on,” Lydia said as they walked outside, her arms spread out towards the sun. “I’m ready to feel the wind in my hair.”

  “You’re such a romantic, you know that, don’t you?” Eleanor teased.

  “As are you,” Lydia shot back.

  They mounted their steeds, while two stable boys held the reins for them.

  “Tell Father we shall be back before teatime,” Lydia instructed the butler.

  “Yes, my lady,” he replied, bowing as they spurred their steeds to a gallop and raced down the drive.

  “You said you wanted to choose where we rode today. Which way?” Lydia asked.

  “This way.” Eleanor pointed towards the river and took the lead, spurring her horse into a canter. Lydia followed suit, relishing being outdoors. She had always hated being cooped up inside.

  They rode along at a great clip for about half a mile, until they came to the river. When they reached its banks, they slowed to enjoy the birds singing in the tree branches. Spring was in full bloom, and Lydia was gazing at all the colors around her when Eleanor’s horse suddenly startled.

  “Whoa, girl! Whoa!” Eleanor yelled. Her voice was anything but soothing, further scaring her mount. Lydia tried to grab the reins as the horse reared, but her sister was too far away.

  The horse raced down the riverbank at a terrifying speed. It was all Eleanor could do to hang on. Lydia spurred her horse into a gallop, trying to catch up with the spooked animal.

  “Whoa, girl!” Lydia called after the them, but to no avail. Without warning, the ground beneath Eleanor’s horse gave way. The horse squealed as it lost its footing, taking Eleanor with it. Lydia screamed as she watched her sister plunge towards the rushing river. Spring had brought heavy rains, and the river was swollen with them. If Eleanor fell in with her feet still stuck in the stirrup, she would be lost.

  Lydia urged her horse to go even faster, trying to reach her sister before it was too late. Eleanor’s foot came loose from the stirrup, and she fell backward. Her horse rolled into the river and started swimming as best it could towards the opposite bank. But Eleanor lay still, her back bent over a boulder near the river's edge. Lydia dismounted and hurried down to her sister, her feet slipping in the mud.

  “Eleanor! Eleanor!” she cried. Eleanor wasn’t moving, and for a moment, Lydia feared the worst. But when she reached her sister, Lydia could see that she was still breathing. She grasped her hand, afraid to move her.

  “Lydia?” Eleanor whispered, her breath coming in labored gasps.

  “Yes, I’m here. You’re going to be fine,” Lydia said.

  Eleanor looked up at the sky, “I can’t feel my legs.”

  Lydia brushed the hair away from her face. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be well. Can you sit up?”

  Tears were streaming down the sides of Eleanor’s cheeks. She shook her head slightly, “No. I can’t move. Oh, Lydia! Help me!”

  Lydia gasped, “It’s all right. I’m going to get help.”

  Eleanor grasped her hand even tighter, “Don’t leave me!” she screamed in terror.

  Lydia bent back down and cupped Eleanor’s face between her hands, “Look at me. I’m going to ride back to the house and get help and send for a doctor. I’ll come back immediately, I promise you. Have I ever let you down?”

  Eleanor calmed a little. “No. You’ve never let me down.”

  Lydia nodded, “Very well then. Don’t try to move. We don’t want you to injure yourself further.” She gave Eleanor’s hand a small squeeze, which Eleanor returned weakly.

  Lydia clawed her way up the riverbank, an even more difficul
t task than coming down. By the time she reached the top, she was covered in mud from head to toe. She caught hold of the reins and, with one fluid motion, mounted the powerful steed. She gave her sister one last glance, making sure she was still breathing. Eleanor nodded her head slightly.

  “I’ll be back very soon! Hold on, Eleanor!” she called, then turned the horse and raced back to the mansion, tears streaming down her face all the way. Lydia had asked Eleanor if she had ever let her down. Well, today had been the first time she had done just that.

  Chapter 1

  ONE YEAR LATER

  Christopher Beaumont, Duke of Hamilton, stared out of the window in boredom. He massaged his fingers over his temples, disturbing his dark brown hair. He tried to remain calm, an ever-increasing hardship when it came to his mother’s meddling.

  “Oh, Mother, do you never tire of pestering me?”

  Christopher’s mother Priscilla found it necessary to remind him, for the hundredth time, about his stepfather’s birthday party. After his father’s death many years ago, his mother had married Lord Victor Clarkson. He was a good sort of fellow, and they had found a way to get along over the years, having the annoyance of dealing with Christopher’s mother as common ground. Victor sat quietly with his newspaper in hand, trying to gain a few moments peace, while his mother continued her lecture.