Where There is Love: Regency Romance (The Colchester Sisters Book 2) Read online

  Where there is Love

  The Colchester Sisters

  Charlotte Darcy

  Copyright © 2019 by Charlotte Darcy

  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.

  Contents

  Introduction

  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

  Epilogue

  The Beast and the Baron’s Daughter Preview

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Where There is Love

  Sweet Regency Romance

  This is a complete story and can be read alone but it is the second of three books about the three Colchester sisters. If you missed the first book you can grab it here

  Charlotte Darcy writes sweet Regency romance that will take you back to a time when life was a little more magical.

  Fall in love again,

  Chapter One

  “I miss her terribly,” Jane Colchester said sadly as she and her sister took tea alone in the drawing room.

  “I miss her too,” Verity said, although she seemed a little put out. “But I take solace in still having a sister here with me.”

  “Oh, Verity! Of course, you are dear to me. I love you and Esme equally,” Jane objected wildly.

  “I know,” Verity smiled, “I suppose I was feeling a little sorry for myself. No doubt you will be married soon, and I shall be here without a sister at all.”

  “And you will soon be married,” Jane said and laughed when Verity pulled a face. “And probably before I am. Really, I despair of ever finding a great love such as our dear Esme has found.”

  “She did make a good match in the end, it is true,” Verity agreed.

  “Just imagine finding a handsome man who loves you as much as you love him. Oh, and then to be expecting a child. What a wonderful thing,” Jane said wistfully.

  “I suppose it depends on what you want.” Verity shrugged. “But it will be exciting when Esme’s baby arrives, will it not? And George says we might visit any time we choose. I can hardly wait.”

  “I am so happy for Esme. I suppose, like you, I am a little sorry for myself, just for different reasons.”

  “And what are those reasons, Jane?” Verity, small and pretty, poured them both another cup of tea from the pot. “It is a little stewed. Do you mind very much?”

  “No, not at all,” Jane laughed. “But it is a good thing, Mama is out of the house and busy with her charity work. I can imagine her wincing to taste this,” Jane said and laughed before taking a sip of the strong, lukewarm tea.

  “Anyway, your reasons for feeling sorry for yourself?” Verity returned to the topic.

  “I suppose I want romance. I always do, Verity, it should come as no surprise.” Jane laughed a little sadly.

  “And what is there to say, you will not have this wonderful romance you have been longing for? You are beautiful. Papa is a wealthy man and we are a well-respected family.”

  “Goodness, you speak as Esme used to.”

  “Only in terms of common sense. What I mean is that there are no barriers to you finding any man you could wish for. You do not have to battle against the odds, as it were.”

  “Perhaps I do.”

  “How so?”

  Jane leaned back into the couch and wished, not for the first time, that it was a little less pretty and a lot more comfortable. But it did go so beautifully with the new rich plum colored velvet curtains that she could quite understand why her mother would not hear of it being replaced.

  “Men are easy to come by, I think. But truly romantic men are not. What if I cannot find one?”

  “Well, I suppose the question rests largely on what your idea of a romantic man is. I daresay it varies from person to person.” Verity was so earnest, and Jane loved her for her very plain way of looking at the world around her.

  “I would love to meet a man just like one of the men Beatrice has met. Now they are truly romantic.”

  “Beatrice?”

  “Yes, Beatrice.”

  “But who is Beatrice? I do not think I even know a Beatrice.” Verity screwed her face up in thought. “No, I am certain I do not. But you clearly know a Beatrice.”

  “Yes, of course!” Jane cried out incredulously. “Beatrice Lovelorn.”

  “Who?” Verity put her cup and saucer down on the table with a thud. “Beatrice Lovelorn? Goodness me, what a dreadful name. It does not even sound real.”

  “Of course, it is not real, Verity. She is a character in a book. Clearly a book you have never heard of,” Jane laughed; she should have realized Verity would be none the wiser. “Which I suppose makes sense since you seem only ever to read factual accounts.”

  “I am not a great novel reader, it is true,” Verity smiled and retrieved her cup. “So, this book?”

  “The Romancing of Beatrice,” Jane said with a flourish as her younger sister groaned in a loud and unladylike manner. “It is a sensation! Everybody is reading it!”

  “Not everybody, my dear.” Verity looked pleased never to have set eyes on it. “I presume it is a rather silly romantic volume.”

  “It might be a little silly in parts, but the nation is captivated by it.” Jane said in defense of it. “I suppose the language is a little florid and the situations a trifle unbelievable at times, but it is truly very romantic. The men in the book are so wonderful, all of them vying for Beatrice’s attention.”

  “That sounds exhausting. Will not just one man do?”

  “Oh, Verity, your feet are too firmly planted, I am sure such an attitude is detrimental to your health.”

  “And I am sure it is not,” Verity laughed loudly. “For I am not the one who is by turns miserable and over-excited.”

  “Very well, have it your own way,” Jane laughed. They were so different and yet she loved her sister dearly. “But it has made me wonder if I will ever find a man who would be prepared to make such extraordinary efforts for me. The sort of efforts that Beatrice’s potential suitors make for her.”

  “Jane, neither Beatrice nor her suitors are real,” Verity said cautiously, the corners of her mouth threatening to turn up in amusement.

  “I know that, Verity!” Jane sounded scandalized but laughed all the same. “But something comparable would be nice. I know you are not a romantic young woman but I am. Oh, how I would love a handsome young man to arrange some wonderful gesture.”

  “As long as the gesture was supported by genuine feelings then I hope you get your wish.”

  “I appreciate your common sense.” Now Jane was in danger of looking amused.

  “No, you do not. But I shall not let that stop me.”

  “I believe that even some young men have become engrossed in this little book.” Jane reached into her sewing bag and took out the neatly bound little tome.

  “Really?” Verity said and peered doubtfully at the book.

  “Shall I re
ad it out to you?”

  “Good Lord, no!” Verity’s eyes flew wide.

  “You react as if I am about to read a satanic ritual,” Jane laughed heartily. “Oh, Verity, you are funny.”

  “I think I would prefer the satanic ritual, if it is all the same to you,” Verity said in a mischievous whisper, looking over her shoulder even though she knew there was nobody to overhear her naughty words.

  “Trust you to say such a thing.” Jane tried to scold her sister but was too amused for it to be effective. “Beatrice even looks like me.” Jane went on as she ignored her sister’s incredulous expression. “She has dark brown hair and green eyes. It is a lovely coincidence, is it not?”

  “Fascinating.” Verity raised her eyebrows. “But again, she does not exist. You do.”

  “Oh, Verity! Every day is the same. Do you not feel it? The monotony of it all?”

  “I find a certain amount of comfort in predictability, I always have. But I understand, Jane.”

  “We wake, we take breakfast, we walk or attend to our correspondence, we rest, we take afternoon tea, usually with dear Richard or one of Mama’s charitable ladies, we rest, we dress for dinner, we eat, we go to bed,” Jane said in a flurry of words which rendered her a little breathless.

  “On ordinary days, yes. But you fail to mention afternoons of bridge, endless evening buffets, dinner guests, theatricals, balls, and garden parties.” Verity began to sound breathless herself. “In truth, I prefer what you have described, and I believe you prefer what I have described.” She sounded thoughtful. “Although, I do always enjoy a good garden party. Not for the guests, you understand, but for the plants and flowers.”

  “We are so different,” Jane laughed. “But we are good sisters.”

  “Yes, we are good sisters.” Verity looked out towards the drawing-room window. “I thought we might receive Richard today. How many days since we saw him last?”

  “Only two, my dear. I daresay he will be here tomorrow afternoon to raise our spirits with his wit and silliness,” Jane smiled; it would have been nice to see her old friend today whilst her mood was a little low.

  Richard Wade, the son of Lord Wade, a Baron, and their nearest neighbor, had been a regular feature in their home for longer than Jane could remember. He was a bright and likable boy who had grown into a bright and likeable young man, and Jane often privately thought that he was the one friend in the world she could truly confide in.

  She had a number of friends and acquaintances, but Richard was always the one she felt most comfortable with. Perhaps it was simply because she had known him longer than anyone else and had grown up with him.

  “I am sure, for he cannot stay away for long.” Verity gave Jane a knowing smile, the reason for which she could not fathom.

  Chapter Two

  It was not quite yet spring and the chill in the air, despite the weak sunshine, was still determinedly wintry. It was so cold, in fact, that Richard Wade was regretting his decision to ride down into the town of Colington to speak with his father’s attorney instead of simply taking the carriage.

  Richard did love to be outside and as pervasive as the chill was, it made him feel alive. Which was more than could be said for his father’s attorney, who as was his custom, spent an hour and a half delivering information which could have been parted with in less than a third of the time.

  But the man had been Lord Wade’s attorney since they had both been much younger men, and with his father away, it was up to Richard to see that his father’s estate and business affairs were all in order.

  The truth was that there was hardly much to it at all. The estate ran like a well-oiled machine since his father employed an overseer to take care of the day-to-day running of things. But in the little matter of business interests which his father had always taken such great care of, liaison with the family attorney had always been undertaken by Lord Wade, or in his absence, by Richard.

  Still, the day was not yet over, and it could be much improved by a visit to Edward Colchester’s estate. It was not as if Richard had anything else to do that day, his one and only point of work now being completed, and he was certain that he would make it in plenty of time for afternoon tea.

  The Colchesters always had a very nice sort of afternoon tea, rather plain, which suited Richard perfectly, but always plenty of it. Lots of freshly cut bread-and-butter which Richard absolutely adored. Not to mention, the fact that nobody in the Colchester household ever scowled at him for taking too many slices.

  But he supposed that came from them knowing him so well and for so long. Jane liked to tease, but then Richard liked to tease her also. It was an occupation which had amused them both greatly over the years, a mutually satisfying pastime.

  Just thinking of Jane, with her dark hair and her bright green eyes, brought a smile to his frozen face as he headed out of Colington towards the Colchester’s estate. He could not really remember when he had begun to fall in love with her, the whole thing had come upon him so gradually.

  When he looked back on it, he could only remember one moment thinking of her as his friend and neighbor, a child he had grown up with, and the next, wondering how he had failed to notice her beauty.

  But quite when that shift had taken place, Richard could not say. But everything had shifted, and he knew in his heart that it would never shift back. He did not simply love her because she was beautiful, he loved her because he knew her so thoroughly and knew that he had never met anybody like her, nor would he ever in the future. There was nobody in the world for Richard Wade but Miss Jane Colchester and that would never, ever change.

  When he jumped off his horse outside the large manor house and handed the reins to the Colchesters’ stable lad, Edward was already standing in the open doorway.

  “I heard you approaching, Richard,” Edward said laughing. “You are the only man alive who can make a single horse sound like a herd of cattle rushing the perimeter.”

  “We all have our talents, sir,” Richard said and laughed, bounding up the stone steps to the front door to be warmly greeted by his host.

  “The girls are about to take tea, so I will leave you in their company if it pleases. I am afraid I have one or two things to attend to in my study and since my dear wife has begun to overrun my study with her own charitable works, I rarely get an opportunity to have the room to myself and get a few things done.”

  “Mrs. Colchester is not at home?”

  “No, she is out and about somewhere with Lady Longton attempting to prize money out of the great and the good of Hertfordshire,” Edward chuckled, put an arm around Richard’s shoulders, and led him into the wonderfully warm house. “You know the way, Richard,” he said, nodding in the direction of the drawing room door. “I will call down to the maid and let her know to prepare an extra setting for tea.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Colchester,” Richard smiled brightly, before Edward took his leave.

  He tapped only lightly on the drawing room door before pushing it open and popping his head around its edge.

  “Room for a little one?” he called in, and was pleased to hear both Colchester girls laugh.

  “At over six feet, you can hardly be described as a little one,” Verity said, and Richard laughed. Verity could not help but be so literal in everything.

  “Come in, Richard,” Jane said, already on her feet and ushering him into the room. “I will just go down to the maid and…”

  “No need, your father is already on his way to ask the maid to prepare extra for afternoon tea.”

  “I just hope we have enough bread,” Jane said and smiled at him mischievously.

  “I have never known this household to run out of bread, Jane,” Richard chuckled. “Although, I suppose there is a first time for everything.”

  “You look frozen,” Jane said, and reached out a hand to touch his cheek. “Even your beard feels cold.” She wrinkled her pretty nose and lifted the other hand so that she could gently rub his face back into the warmth.


  It was a simple act, a tactile ease which had existed between them since they were children. If only Jane knew what it meant to him to have her touch him now. But perhaps if she did know, she would never touch him again.

  “I am frozen,” he said and smiled amiably as she continued to rub his face. “I made the mistake of riding down into town to speak to Father’s attorney when I ought to have taken the carriage. Still, it is wonderfully warm in here.”

  “It is,” Jane said, “come and have a seat by the fire.” She took his arm and did not let it go until he settled himself down into the armchair by the fire where her father ordinarily sat.

  Jane sat down in her mother’s chair opposite, whilst Verity returned to silent reading on the couch.

  “What are you reading, Verity?” Richard called over conversationally.

  “It is rather an interesting book about the mechanization of textile mills,” Verity said, as if that were the most normal thing in the world.

  “Of course, you are, my dear. I should expect nothing less from you,” Richard chuckled.

  “At least I do not idle away my time like you do.” Verity bit back good-naturedly.

  As Richard leaned back into the comfortable armchair and looked about the drawing room that was as familiar to him as the one in his own house, he felt the warmth of belonging settle about him like a thick blanket.

  “Verity is right, you do idle away your time,” Jane said with a mischievous little smile on her beautiful face. “Although obviously not today, since you have been extraordinarily busy.”