Denise's Historical Den

He doesn't need a wife. She doesn't want a husband. Destiny's not listening.

As children, Brand Waring, heir to the Duke of Warringham, and his brother were kidnapped and sold to a plantation in the West Indies. Now Brand is back to wreak vengeance on those responsible for his brother's subsequent death. The last thing he wants, or needs, is to be distracted by an instant attraction to a flighty Society belle.

Felicia Collings has found it easy to refuse every marriage proposal, thanks to a ring left to her by her gypsy great-grandmother. Reportedly it will lead her to the man whom she is destined to marry. To her relief, the ring has been blessedly silent on this issue. Until Brand recognizes it, and sparks fly.

In spite of himself, Brand finds himself drawn to the beauty, and to the wounded soul reflected in her eyes. At his gentle hands, Felicia begins to learn what it means to be cherished and loved.

Then the past rears its head to threaten their fragile happiness. As Brand begins to doubt whether vengeance is as sweet as a lifetime with Felicia, he finds himself racing to save them both from not one cold-blooded killer-but two.

Leaving the dining room, Brand sensed the amiable mood from dinner fade and he could think of no way to retrieve it without further postponing the inevitable. Felicia's fingers trembled on his arm as they walked toward the stairs, but she did not pull them away when he covered them with his own. Reaching the foot of the staircase, he stopped and turned toward her. The eyes she raised to his were luminous in the dim light of the entry hall, yet he could read the trepidation she tried to hide.
"I suggest it is time to retire. Would you like me to escort you up, or would you like some time to prepare?"
She nibbled her bottom lip. "I would...I would...like some time, if you...don't mind."
He stepped back. "Very well. I will join you shortly."
Felicia inclined her head in acknowledgment, then turned to ascend the stairs. Brand watched her until she disappeared, then turned and went back into the parlor. Pouring himself a drink from the sideboard, he settled into a chair to contain his impatience.

Felicia managed to maintain her calm exterior while Lily helped her out of her gown and into a thin silk nightgown laced up the front and tied with a bow. Taking down her hair, she waved Lily away when she approached with a brush. She knew Lily mistook her nervousness for impatience when Felicia ushered her from the room as soon as the dress had been safely hung in the dressing room. She might have thought it amusing if she hadn't been on the verge of panic. Brushing her own hip-length tresses often helped to calm her when she was out of sorts, but tonight the exercise did nothing for her and she dropped the brush on her dressing table in frustration.
She should have told him. She shouldn't have let it get this far. But now she had, what should she do?
Instinct told her to hide, but common sense asked her where. She didn't know the house. She didn't even know where they were. Besides, she had never been a coward. Hiding was not an option.
She wished she could fall into bed and go to sleep, but she knew that was impossible the moment she thought of it. Brand would just awaken her anyway. It was their wedding night. She knew what he expected; the role she was expected to play.
So, what now? Could she do it? Could she lie impassively and allow Brand to exercise his husbandly rights? Mira had told her there was pain and blood the first time, but the pain was negligible and the blood minimal.
Felicia paced to the window and stood at the casement, staring at her reflection, trying not to see the scenes flashing before her eyes. She had saved Davey, but at what price? Goose bumps rose on her arms and crossing her arms beneath her breasts, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms to dispel the chill.
Turning, she crossed to the fireplace and held icy hands out to the blaze. She didn't know when she began to shiver. Eventually she collapsed into a chair in front of the fire, arms wrapped around knees drawn up tight against her chest, staring with unseeing eyes into the depths of the flames.

One promise, two pendants. . .Love that was destined to be.

Lady Christina Kenton's life is turned upside down when her gypsy great-grandmother gives her a pendant, along with a deathbed request-Tina must promise to marry only the man wearing its mate. But Tina cannot bring herself to make the promise, for her late stepfather has already pledged her hand to his long-absent heir.

Jay Collings, now the Marquis of Thanet, returns to England after an 18-year absence to honor a promise to a gypsy who once aided him, only to discover he must break his vow in order to secure his inheritance. The last thing he wants is a wife chosen by the father he despised.

Tina's gentle strength touches Jay in ways no other woman has. And, unknown to them both, she holds the key to Jay's promise and his inheritance. But just as their fragile relationship begins to take root, the legacy of her gypsy blood brings danger to their doorstep.

Jay and Tina's destinies may be entwined-but will they live long enough to fulfill them?

Nona smiled briefly at her. "I am as well as a dying person can be. No," she interrupted when Tina would have said something, "do not deny it. I have lived long enough-more than eighty years upon this land-and I have seen many things. Fate has smiled upon me many times. Not many live long enough to see their great-grandchildren wed and while I will not be able to witness your marriage, I will not breathe my last until after 'tis done. It is enough."
Tina's eyes widened at Nona words. "But, how...?"
"How do I know this?"
Tina nodded, unable to speak.
"I have seen it in the cards and the cards do not lie."
Tina was silent at this pronouncement. She would not gainsay Nona, but she wondered if Nona knew of the betrothal agreement. Perhaps her mother had said something. "I will miss you," was all she finally said.
"Yes, but you will be happy." Nona smiled at that. "That is what is important. Now, help me to sit up, so that we can talk. I have much to tell you."
Tina did as she was bid, using the cushions from the bench to help prop up her great-grandmother. When Nona was settled, she asked Tina to open the chest beside the bed and retrieve a small casket. Moving a small cup of water, Tina opened the chest and found the casket, setting it in Nona's lap. Nona opened it and searched the contents. Eventually, she removed a gold chain, on which hung a gold and diamond starburst pendant approximately the size of a pocket watch, with a star-shaped opening in the center. She held it out to Tina.
"I have waited to give this to you because you have not needed it until now, and I worried you might lose it. But now it is time. Wear it with pride and do not remove it until you have found its mate."
"Its mate?" Tina asked. "But how...?"
"You will know and recognize it when the time is right. The wearer of the mate is your destiny. You must not accept any other."
Tina stared in amazement. Unable to find words for a moment, she slipped the pendant on to cover her confusion.
"But how am I to find him?"
"He will find you."
Tina sighed. It just didn't seem right to base her future on finding a matching pendant. There was still the betrothal agreement to be dealt with. What was she supposed to do about that?
"You need not worry so, little one." Nona said, as if reading her thoughts. "All will be well. You will see. My Shana did not think so, but all was well. Her Felicia worried, but all was well, and you, too, will see." She closed her eyes, but continued to speak. "I will tell you a story."
Nona settled back against the pillows and Tina picked up her hand again. It was little more than skin and bone. The skin was soft, the pads of the fingers calloused, but Tina held it lovingly.
"I was sixteen when I met Richard. He was strong and handsome, with a laugh that caused my heart to stop. He was also already married. I was infatuated as only a sixteen-year-old could be. I disregarded the cards and pursued him all the same. It was the only time I have ever ignored the cards." She was silent for a few moments, then continued. "I soon realized the error of my ways, but not before I was with child. But Fate was kind to me and I bore a girl. I had twelve years with her before Richard learned of my Shana's existence."
Nona shifted against the pillows. "Shana was a kind and trusting soul, but longed for something different. Despite having been born into our way of life, she did not fit in. When Richard offered her the chance to live with him, she took it. By then the cards had warned me her destiny no longer lay with our people so I did not protest. I did not see her again until after her marriage to a baronet. And it was many years after that before I learned she had married the baronet because her half-brother cast her out after their father's death. Although he was much older than she, the baronet doted on her and when your mother was born, his delight knew no bounds."
Tina helped her to sip from the small cup of water before Nona continued. "Your grandfather was very tolerant of us. He allowed us to camp on his land-and allowed your mother to spend months at a time with us. It was good for her and she learned much. At one time, I thought she would marry one of us but, once again, the cards said it was not to be. Before she went off to London for her debut, I knew she would not return for many years. Not long after your parents sailed for India, my Shana and her husband perished in a fire. We have not journeyed to that area since."
Nona closed the casket and set it aside as Tina spoke. "I do not know what we would have done without you, Nona. Perhaps Felicia is destined to join Mira and Carlo, and the others."
"Certainly she is spirited enough, but it is not to be. You, JoJo, and little Caro will fare well, the cards have said so. That is enough. But there will be no more contact between you and our people. It is as it should be. You are members of the nobility and none will cast slurs upon you."
"But Nona, our own grandmother despises us-Jon and I-for our blood. It does not matter to her we are two generations removed."
"She does not matter." Nona waived away her objections. "The cards have not said whether she will ever come around, but it is clear she will not matter."
Tina considered her words. She knew better than to question Nona's belief in her cards. They had directed her great-grandmother's entire life, but Tina found her unquestionable reliance on them unnerving. She, frankly, did not believe consulting the cards or a crystal ball, or anything else could take the place of reasoned logic. The cards might be helpful when wrestling with a matter requiring some thought, but they should not be relied upon to the exclusion of all else, and when it came to action, reason and practicality often won out.
Practicality was the reason the old marquis taught her to shoot and Jon, in turn, taught Felicia. It was the reason she and Felicia could not live under the same roof as Mr. Milton. And, she was forced to admit, it was probably the reason she would marry the current marquis if he asked-regardless of Nona's edict.

Banished and disowned for saving a stranger's life...

In Regency England, lineage and vouchers to Almack's are everything, but Pamela Clarkdale has neither. Disowned and banished from her home for saving a stranger's life, she considers herself fortunate to have obtained a position as a companion to an elderly widow.

Kitt Covington has sworn off Almack's and marriage. Why attend one when he has no interest in the other? Guilt, however, is a powerful motivator. Knowing he caused Pamela to be thrown out of her home, he proposes a sham betrothal between them to ease his conscience.

Kitt's offer is tempting so Pamela agrees, with the caveat that the betrothal will disappear at the end of the season. But not only is Pamela refused vouchers to Almack's, her family is scheming to destroy her to protect a secret she doesn't realize she knows. When the twenty-year-old web of lies and deceit begins to unravel, will Pamela and Kitt discover that Almack's isn't really that important after all?

Pamela stood just inside the door to the stables, her back against the rough wood. The familiar smells of hay, horses, and men surrounded her, the darkness a welcome blanket. Tonight, however, they failed to provide the comfort she was accustomed to.
Tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks, seeping out from beneath closed lids as she fought the urge to burst into noisy sobs. Sheila's squeal of delight rang in her ears as she heard, again, her father grant Sheila a wish he'd long denied her.
A Season. Their grandparents were to sponsor Sheila for a Season in London.
Five years ago, when she should have come out, they were in mourning for an aunt she'd never met. Even though he'd had no contact with his sister, her father insisted on a full six months of mourning when word came of her death in Scotland.
The next year her mother had fallen ill-the first of many illnesses which gradually reduced her to a frail shadow of her former self. Pamela was needed then to keep the household running smoothly. And she had been doing so ever since.
Her mother wanted her to have a Season, but her father stood firm. Pamela was needed at home. For the last few years, the excuse was Sheila was still in the schoolroom. But when Sheila turned eighteen shortly before Christmas and the last governess was dismissed, she erroneously assumed both of them would come out this year.
Now she faced the unmistakable fact-Sheila would be allowed to go to London while she, Pamela, was expected to remain at home and continue to run the household.
"It's not fair!" She sniffed and dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. "Why does she get everything?"
She did not begrudge her sister anything. The clothes, the trinkets, the gifts, even the Season. She only wanted to share it. But Sheila never had to share. What Sheila wanted, Sheila got. And it was hers alone. As children, Pamela and Stephen often shared their toys and games, but not Sheila.
Pushing herself away from the door, Pamela took a shaky breath, wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, and made her way down the row of stalls. Moonlight streamed in through high windows, but she needed no light. The stables were as familiar to her as her own room. She could traverse them blindfolded.