REGENCY: Loved by the Duke (Historical Billionaire Military Romance) (19th Century Victorian Short Stories) (36 page)

Chapter 1

Christmas Day, 1843

 
The stage coach hit another rut in the road, sending Eleanor bouncing off of the seat only to land again with a painful thud. Surreptitiously, she rubbed her aching backside. Even with all the layers of petticoats and the fabric of the green dress itself, every jolt rattled through her, and the further west they travelled the worse it seemed to get.

 
 
 
She hoped desperately that her own life would not follow a similar pattern.
Not that I have a choice,
she reminded herself sternly. It was a lesson she had learned long ago. Life is never fair, it’s best to just accept what’s in front of you and make the most of what you can’t change. Much less heartache that way.

 
 
 
A sigh flew out of her lips before she could stop it. Although sometimes, it did seem to her that life had just heaped an extra helping of unfair onto her. She pushed her pixie like chin high up into the air, throwing back her shoulders. She had survived worse, Eleanor reminded herself. She would no doubt have no trouble at all with her new husband.

 
 
 
With every ounce of will she had, which was considerable, she shoved down the trembling sense of fear and uncertainty that kept trying to invade, reminding herself over and over that she was strong, that she would survive. She really had lived through just about the worse that a person could.

 
 
 
Despite herself, the memories swirled. Jack Fontaine. Dear Jack, sweet Jack. Hah! Drunk, mean Jack was more like it. Sure, he had been nice to her at first, wooing her with sweet words. Until they got married, that is. And then, it was if he had become a different man. A monster. A monster that couldn’t stay away from the booze or the women.

 
 
 
One night, she had overheard him laughing to his good for nothing friends that he had only married her because he thought she’d had money. Well, the joke was on him. She’d been almost as poor then as she was now, whatever meager scraps she’d been able to save had gone straight down Jack's throat.

 
 
 
Which was why she hadn’t been surprised when she had received the message telling her that Jack had broken into some fancy new factory and got himself killed. Eleanor remembered that night so vividly, it was like it had happened just yesterday instead of almost two months ago.

 
 
 
She had received the message to go to the Wilder factory immediately, that it was urgent. The messenger, one of Wilder’s employees had driven her there on an old wagon that smelled of animal, but she had barely noticed. Her heart had pounded slow and painful in her chest, warning her that something bad was coming.

 
 
 
She had looked at the letter, trying to feel some remorse for the loss of her husband, but underneath the fear, all she could feel was relief, and she had hated herself for that. But the honest truth was that the last three years of her life had been a nightmare, day after day of terror and pain, solely because of her husband, and it was if a giant weight had been lifted off. Silently, she had said a prayer for him, trying desperately to mean it.

 
 
 
They trundled up to the largest building that Eleanor had ever seen. It had three stories! She marveled at the sight for only a moment before the messenger directed her inside, through a short hallway, to a large, richly appointed office. Everyone knew that Augustus Wilder was loaded, but with the evidence in front of her, it was impossible to deny. It was also impossible not to compare it to her own desperate situation.

 
 
 
She realized then that she was a woman, alone and penniless.

 
 
 
“Ah, Mrs. Fontaine,” The raspy voice interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up at him, meeting his serious dark gaze with her own green head on, chin up,
 
trying not to let any of her emotions show. He held her stare for a long moment before a hint of a smile cracked his stoic expression and he took a seat behind a massive wooden desk. He gestured for her to do the same.

 
 
 
“So, Mrs. Fontaine, I suppose you know why you’re here?”

 
 
 
She nodded briefly, still not saying anything. She had learned it was best to keep her mouth shut until she knew what to say.

 
 
 
“Right, well, I guess condolences are in order,” He paused, one eyebrow raised as she just nodded one more time. All business, he continued on, “let me be frank, my dear. If I understand correctly, and I usually do, you are in dire straights. Your husband spent all of your already meager funds at the saloon or a brothel, leaving you with nothing but a mountain of debts and no financial support in the world.”

 
 
 
Eleanor flinched at every cold fact. This time he waited for her reply. Finally, she did, meeting him eye to eye, acting twice as brave as she felt. “That is correct, sir. But I’ve made it through rough patches before, and I certainly will again. Thank you so much for your concern.” The last was said with a bit more sarcasm than she would have liked, but he was laying out her life like he was reading the weather in the Sunday paper. Casually, coldly, as if it was of no consequence except whether he would need an umbrella or not.

 
 
 
His gaze warmed slightly as he took in her thrown back shoulders and straight spine. He gave one decisive nod before saying to himself, “yes, she’ll do nicely.”

 
 
 
“Excuse me, sir?”

 
 
 
“Listen, Eleanor, if I may call you that,” he waited for her nod, “this is a bit more than a rough patch and we both know it.
 
I have a proposition for you…”

 
 
 
With a gasp of outrage, she jumped to her feet. “I don’t have to sit here and take this form the likes of you. A proposition! As if I’m some sort of–.”

 
“Please, Mrs. Fontaine. That’s not what I mean. Think of it more as a business deal.”

She slowed on her furious stomp to the door. She turned with one brow raised. “Well? Go on.”

 
 
 
“Right, well.” He cleared his throat roughly, “You need a home, and security, and enough money to pay off your debts and live a comfortable life. My son needs someone with your particular qualities. Strength, morals, and spirit.”

“I’m not a nanny, sir.”

 
 
 
“No, no, although that’s not a bad idea,” he grinned for the first time, and it transformed his severe face into something softer, kinder. She found herself taking a step back toward him, shaking her head in confusion.

 
 
 
“Then, what?”

 
 
 
“He needs a wife.”

 
 
 
“A wife?” Eleanor spluttered. “I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t had much luck with that in the past, and I’m not keen to give my life over to another man anytime soon, let alone one I’ve never even met before!”
 
She turned again, ready to leave, but his next words stopped her.

 
 
 
“You’ll go to prison. You’ll be cast out, ruined. Homeless and begging on the street corner. Or worse.”

 
 
 
“Is that a threat, Mr. Wilder?”

 
 
 
“No, my dear, those are the facts.”

 
 
 
“But…” She trailed off, knowing he was right. Frustration and sadness and a sense of inevitability filled her. Without another word, he slid a large piece of paper toward her and she scanned it quickly. It was a marriage by proxy agreement.

 
 
 
“All you have to do is sign, and I will make sure you are safe, secure, and taken care of for the rest of your life. Everything you’ll need…”

 
 
 
Eleanor stopped listening as her thoughts whirled. Again, she read the amount of money stated as her entitlement if she signed, and her breath shook as she exhaled. Hers. Hers alone to spend how she liked, how she needed. She could live more than comfortably. She’d be rich. But that wasn’t what had made her pick up the pen and neatly sign her name in looping cursive. It was the words repeating over and over. Safe. Secure. Safe. Secure. Something she had never let herself dream of.

 
 
 
Another jolt sent her flying, and pulled her out of her reverie with painful force as she landed with a solid thud before realizing that the coach had pulled to a stop. All the way from Fairbanks to somewhere in the west of Texas. It had been a grueling month-long journey, and as the door was opened, she squinted and her eyes adjusted to the bright afternoon light.

 
 
 
With the help of the driver, she stepped out of the coach and onto a dusty, rickety platform that served as the way station for the small town. Eleanor looked around, frowning in dismay at the ramshackle buildings and dust filled streets. It wasn’t Fairbanks, that was for sure. She had expected it to be a bustling city being the home of Augustus Wilder’s main ranch and business, but it was far from that. Maybe she was in the wrong town.

 
 
 
Hurriedly, she turned to the driver. “Excuse me, sir. Are your sure this is the town of Sun Hill?” But she was asking the question to the air as the coach was already pulling away, rattling down the street. Eleanor looked down at the single piece of luggage she had, a small bag that had all her important memories.

 
 
 
Augustus had written her a letter with tickets for her voyage, and he had said his son, Luke, would be there waiting to meet her and take her to her new home. She glanced up and down the empty street, and with a sigh, sat down to wait.

Chapter 2

 
 
An hour had passed and still no sign of anyone, especially not her brand new husband. Not the best first impression, she thought to herself as she stood, grabbed her bag by its wooden handle and strode off towards the nearest establishment. Surely it would be easy to find someone who knows where the Wilder residence was. Maybe she could even get a ride there.

 
 
 
The bell above the door jangled loudly as she entered the small shop, greeted immediately by a smiling older gentlemen in a white robe. Eleanor smile back.

 
 
 
“Good afternoon, sir. I was wondering if you could direct me toward Luke Wilder’s home?”

 
 
 
He tilted his head giving her an odd look. “Well, his place is quite a ways out of town. But if you’re looking for the man himself, I’d reckon he’s no further than Calder’s.”

 
 
 
‘“I’m sorry, Calder’s?”

 
 
 
“Yep, just walk back outside and take a left. You won’t miss it.”

 
 
 
Eleanor nodded her thanks. As she neared the place, she realized why the shopkeeper had said she wouldn’t miss it. It was impossible. There was so much noise, rough laughter and shouting and the clinking of glasses, that she was surprised she hadn’t heard it from down the street. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Eleanor stuck her chin into the air and strode in.

 
 
 
Her heart sank at the sight that greeted her. A saloon, and one of the more disreputable ones, going by the dirty surroundings and even dirtier customers.

 
 
 
“Um, is there a Luke Wilder here?” She said loudly, trying to catch anyone’s attention. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind she wanted.

 
 
 
“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing.” A man slurred at her through yellowed teeth. His hair was long and greasy and his breath had her taking a hasty step back. Right into the back of another man. She turned immediately to apologize but the words caught in her through at the salacious look on his face.

 
 
 
“You must be one of Miss Burton’s new girls.” He grinned, and her stomach tightened painfully at the light in his eyes.

 
 
 
“No, you are mistaken, sir. I don’t know what you think I am, but I assure you, I am not!”

 
 
 
“It’s true. You look fancier than most o’ her girls, but yer pretty enough for me.” Grimy hands reached out to grab her and she jumped back with a shriek.

 
 
 
“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” Eleanor tried to dodge again, but another set of hands were suddenly on her shoulders. Terror shot through her, leaving an acidic taste in her mouth that made it impossible to scream, to speak or plead.

 
 
 
Suddenly, Eleanor saw her chance when a man at the bar turned at the commotion and she glimpsed the flash of metal in the holster at his hip. She dove for it, and a second later a shot rang through the saloon, cutting off all noise.

 
 
 
They stared at her, wide eyed. A pretty young woman with strawberry blonde hair, clover green eyes, curves for miles, and a gun, still smoking, pointed at the ceiling.

 
 
 
“Now, is there, or is there not, a Luke wilder here?” she demanded, cursing the slight trembling that she couldn’t keep out of her words.

 
 
 
“Who’s asking’?” A voice like warm honey poured over her from the far left corner of the room and she turned to face him. Eleanor looked him up and down, from his wavy bronze colored hair and warm deep brown eyes, across his broad shoulders, and muscular body. She almost groaned in despair. He just had to be handsome as sin. With the gun still raised toward the ceiling, she answered.

 
 
 
“Your wife.”