A Lady Learns to Love

By Blair Bancroft

Author's Note: This novella was first published in a Christmas anthology as THE LAST SURPRISE, but I always felt more scope was needed to tell the tale of three girls who are orphaned while the eldest is in the midst of a glorious London Season. Therefore, the title has been changed and more than ten thousand words added to this poignant tale of those faced with tragedy, amplified by unforeseen circumstances, who still manage to survive, aided by the spirit of Christmas.

The story:
Lady Christine Ashworth is enjoying her second London Season and about to receive an offer of marriage, when the sudden death of her father, the Earl of Bainbridge, results in Christine and her two younger sisters being exiled to relatives in Yorkshire, while awaiting the return of their father's successor from the wilds of western Canada. Christine is promptly deserted by the man who thought to become her fiancé and constantly importuned by her Yorkshire cousin who is eager to add her inheritance to his family's coffers. Her sisters are also miserably unhappy.

No wonder then, when Christine finally meets the new earl, she begs him to allow them to come home. But he is not married, and the solution to the problem is painful—for Christine, who has become disillusioned with men, and for Harlan Ashworth, who never expected to inherit an earldom, the responsibility for three females, nor find himself married to a woman he just met. Not surprisingly, the marriage does not get off to a good start, and goes downhill from there. Only with the help of the youngest Ashworth and a hefty does of the Christmas spirit is Christine able to lose her prickly edges and learn the true meaning of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blair Bancroft
• Release date: Nov 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9780999851913

Blair Bancroft

Blair Bancroft recalls receiving odd looks from adults as she walked home from school at age seven, her lips moving as she told herself stories. And there was never a night she didn't entertain herself with her own bedtime stories. But it was only after a variety of other careers that she turned to serious writing. Blair has been a music teacher, professional singer, non-fiction editor, costume designer, and real estate agent. She has traveled from Bratsk, Siberia, to Machu Picchu, Peru, and made numerous visits to Europe, Britain, and Ireland. She is now attempting to incorporate all these varied experiences into her writing. Blair's first book, TARLETON'S WIFE, won RWA's Golden Heart and the Best Romance award from the Florida Writers' Association. Her romantic suspense novel, SHADOWED PARADISE, and her Young Adult Medieval, ROSES IN THE MIST, were finalists for an EPPIE, the "Oscar" of the e-book industry. Blair's Regency, THE INDIFFERENT EARL, was chosen as Best Regency by Romantic Times magazine and was a finalist for RWA's RITA award. Blair believes variety is the spice of life. Her recent books include Historical Romance, Romantic Suspense, Mystery, Thrillers, and Steampunk, all available at Smashwords. A long-time resident of Florida, Blair fondly recalls growing up in Connecticut, which still has a piece of her heart.

Book preview

A Lady Learns to Love

by Blair Bancroft

Published by Kone Enterprises

at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 by Grace Ann Kone

For other books by Blair Bancroft,

please see http://www.blairbancroft.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter One

London, Spring 1817

Beneath the sparkling glow of a thousand candles, Lady Christine Ashworth waltzed with Jeremy, Marquess of Farnborough, spinning so fast in a turn at the far end of Lady Jersey’s glittering ballroom that the gowns around them coalesced into a kaleidoscope of misty colors. Eyes shining, Christine absorbed the wonder of it all. Could this night possibly be more perfect?

The gown swirling about her ankles was her favorite, the peach satin skirt overlaid with a layer of fine netting adorned with myriad tiny pearls. Fixed on the left shoulder of her minuscule bodice was a single white silk rose, its petals shimmering with tiny pearl dew drops, its leaves beaded in green. A necklace of perfectly matched snow-white pearls, a gift from her papa on her eighteenth birthday, warmed her neck. But not as much as Farnborough’s gloved hands—one pressed firmly against her back, the other tightly clasping her gloved fingers—warmed her heart.

Christine flushed, mortified that the hot pink in her cheeks must be warring with the color of her gown. Not good ton. But just before the waltz began, Jeremy had leaned close to her ear and whispered, I’ll be speaking with your father in the morning.

During Christine’s two seasons in London, her dear Papa had rejected six offers, two without consulting her and four suitors she had told him would not suit. Thank the good Lord she was blessed with a kindly father who had no desire to thrust her into the arms of the first man who came along. But Miss Emma Applegate, long-time governess to the three motherless Ashworth sisters, had informed her only days past that rejecting six offers placed her in jeopardy of being called a jilt. It was high time to consider her future with greater care.

The Marquess of Farnborough, Christine had to admit, was a definite possibility. He was handsome, charming, good-natured . . . though not as clever as she might have wished. Yet he dressed well, rode well; everyone liked him. And he would one day be Duke of Monkton. Christine did not care to admit that made a difference, but how could one discount the lure of being a duchess?

What to tell Papa? Miss Applegate was right. It was time for her to marry, and marriages were made daily between couples with far less attraction than she felt for Farnborough. Particularly in the ton, where breeding, land, and wealth were all-important.

Lady Farnborough—Christine tested the sound of it. The Duchess of Monkton. Even better.

Years of Miss Applegate’s strict training washed over her. No! She was not a shallow little twit, indeed she was not. Anyone would be bowled over by thought of becoming a duchess.

Jeremy, dear Jeremy, was giving her a most peculiar look, and Christine realized she was scowling. Scowling at this elegant sprig at the very pinnacle of the ton, the young gentleman who was about to offer for her.

I beg your pardon, she gasped as the final strains of the waltz slowed to a resounding finale. I believe I may have torn my hem. Please excuse me.

He squeezed her hand before letting her go. Do not forget I have the supper dance. His pale blue eyes alight with the secret they shared, he leaned closer, adding, And remember what I said about meeting with Bainbridge in the morning.

Christine summoned her most winsome smile, proffered her best curtsey, and fled to the ladies’ retiring room. She must think. Her whole future lay before her, with only a scant few hours to make a decision.

Or was the fact that she had to think about it a decision in itself? The Marquess of Farnborough was a highly eligible parti. His attentions were immensely flattering, but did she love him à corps perdu—to the heights of distraction experienced by the heroines in the novels she’d read?

The harsh truth? She was not so afflicted.

Christine’s scowl was back. Perched on the edge of a chaise longue in the upstairs room set aside for ladies to refresh themselves, she winced as another niggling doubt hit her. Jeremy had not spoken with her first. He had informed her he was about to speak with her father. Almost as if she had no say in the matter at all.

Chrissie, are you not feeling well? Lady Margaret de L’isle, Christine’s closest friend, burst into the room, her dark eyes anxious, her chestnut curls bobbing as she rushed toward the chaise. It is not at all like you to hide yourself away.

Serious as her thoughts were, Christine smiled fondly at her friend. No, truly I am quite all right. It is just that . . . well, Farnborough intends to speak to father in the morning, and I have taken a moment to be certain of my mind in the matter.

Farnborough! Clasping her hands in front of her, eyes aglow, Lady Margaret cried, "Just think, Chrissie, you will be a duchess some day. A duchess. Mama will be aux anges.

Which was true, Christine had to admit. Lady Lovel, Margaret’s mother, had been a surrogate mother in recent years, even sponsoring Christine into the ton. Her joy would know no bounds if her protégée accepted Farnborough’s offer.

Lady Margaret’s joy evaporated as she took a second look at her friend’s face. "Chrissie? Chrissie, you cannot mean to reject him?"

Christine blew out a breath, her face crinkling into a caricature of its lovely self. I suppose it is foolish to wish I truly loved him—we are not, after all, brought up to indulge in such fantasies—but . . . Her voice trailed away as she reminded herself that few ton marriages were love matches. And in two full seasons she had met no one else who came even close to Jeremy’s appeal or to the qualifications her papa would consider necessary for the husband of the eldest daughter of an earl.

Marriage is for life, her inner voice cautioned.

With great deliberation, Christine straightened her frowning face into its socially acceptable façade. She could not hide in the retiring room for the rest of the night. And she had always been of a practical mind. With her mother lost four years earlier in yet another attempt to produce an heir, Christine had assumed the running of three households at age fifteen. And in spite of her papa’s good nature, she knew what was expected of her. The earl wanted her to marry well and sponsor her sisters into good marriages. Something easier said than done, even for a young lady who was aware of where her duty lay. For there was always that niggling dream of true love, a romantical notion she had never been able to quash, no matter how frequently Miss Applegate cautioned her against such fanciful notions.

Love is elusive, the governess had intoned. Even if caught, love is fleeting. Never forget it, my dear. It is frequently necessary to choose a love that is sensible rather than the love that blinds one to all reason.

Very well. Jeremy, Lord Farnborough, was more than a sensible choice. She liked him, she truly did. And it was high time she married. No sense worrying the question any longer. She would marry Jeremy. All would be well.

Christine came out of her reverie to discover Margaret still hovering, eyes wide with incredulity at her friend’s inability to wholeheartedly embrace