Dare it all for Love (Daring Daughters Book 5)

  Dare It All for Love.

  The Daring Daughters Book 5

  By Emma V. Leech

  Published by Emma V. Leech.

  Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2021

  Editing Services Magpie Literary Services

  Cover Art: Victoria Cooper

  ASIN No: B094WC9MDK

  ISBN No: 978-2-492133-30-5

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The ebook version and print version are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook version may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products are inferred.

  Other Works by Emma V. Leech

  Daring Daughters

  Daring Daughters Series

  Girls Who Dare

  Girls Who Dare Series

  Rogues & Gentlemen

  Rogues & Gentlemen Series

  The Regency Romance Mysteries

  The Regency Romance Mysteries Series

  The French Vampire Legend

  The French Vampire Legend Series

  The French Fae Legend

  The French Fae Legend Series

  standalone

  The Book Lover (a paranormal novella)

  The Girl is Not for Christmas (Regency Romance)

  Audio Books

  Don’t have time to read but still need your romance fix? The wait is over…

  By popular demand, get many of your favourite Emma V Leech Regency Romance books on audio as performed by the incomparable Philip Battley and Gerard Marzilli. Several titles available and more added each month!

  Find them at your favourite audiobook retailer!

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks, of course, to my wonderful editor Kezia Cole with Magpie Literary Services

  To Victoria Cooper for all your hard work, amazing artwork and above all your unending patience!!! Thank you so much. You are amazing!

  To my BFF, PA, personal cheerleader and bringer of chocolate, Varsi Appel, for moral support, confidence boosting and for reading my work more times than I have. I love you loads!

  A huge thank you to all of Emma’s Book Club members! You guys are the best!

  I’m always so happy to hear from you so do email or message me :)

  emmavleech@orange.fr

  To my husband Pat and my family ... For always being proud of me.

  Table of Contents

  Family Trees

  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

  Epilogue

  The Trouble with a Dare

  To Dare a Duke

  The Rogue

  A Dog in a Doublet

  The Key to Erebus

  The Dark Prince

  Want more Emma?

  Family Trees

  Prologue

  Dearest Harriet,

  I am certainly up to the challenge of getting your brother married. The dear man is far too handsome and kind to spend a moment longer alone. Truly, it would be a crying shame if he does not find a wife. I agree that wretched girl did him so much damage when she jilted him. I suppose we must take what comfort there is in knowing her marriage is such a disaster. Throwing Henry over for a titled bully of a man was the most idiotic thing she could ever have done. Ambition is a strange thing that blinds some people to the reality of what their lives could be. I wonder if all her jewels and her title are a comfort to her now?

  We must show Henry everything he could have, if only he gave up his bachelor's existence.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Matilda Barrington, The Most Hon’ble, The Marchioness of Montagu to Harriet Cadogan, Countess St Clair.

  9th August 1839, Saxenhurst Hall, Sussex.

  Henry stared at the hawthorn bush and frowned. That was… odd.

  “Good afternoon.”

  Startled out of his contemplation of the peculiar scene, Henry turned as a voice hailed him from the neighbouring field. He was on the farthest border of his estate here, a narrow strip of land that jutted out at an angle like a feather on a bonnet. It was the first time he’d walked the considerable border in a decade, not that he’d accomplished it all in one day. On two sides it was surrounded by the grand estate of Holbrook House, which belonged to his sister’s husband, the Earl of St Clair. On the third, the land was owned by a gentleman farmer, whom Henry had not seen since the fellow was a boy.

  “Good God. Sterling?”

  A boy no longer, he gave Henry the benefit of a crooked grin and raised his hand in greeting. “Don’t tell me, I’ve grown.”

  Henry laughed as the fellow climbed the stile and walked over to shake his hand. “Well, it’s true! What the hell happened?”

  “Ten years?” Sterling suggested wryly.

  Henry looked him over, shaking his head. Sterling Oak had been a quiet, lanky boy on the cusp of adulthood the last time Henry had seen him. He had grown into the promise of the coltish figure that had been all skinny arms and legs, and now was an enormous fellow, the image of his sire.

  “I was sorry to hear about your father,” Henry said. Mr Oak Senior had been a good man. Taciturn and sparing with his words, but the kind to help a neighbour in need and expect nothing in return.

  “Me too,” Sterling said with a shrug. “Odd not having him around, telling me I’m doing it wrong.”

  Henry huffed out a laugh. “Oh, I know that feeling.”

  Except, for all his criticism, Sterling’s father had been proud of his son. Henry’s father had just been critical, if he’d been there at all.

  “Staying?” Sterling asked.

  Henry smiled, reminded of old Mr Oak, who would never use five words if one would do.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, staring out at the view of softly rolling hills, a patchwork of green and gold, gilded in the sunlight of the late summer’s afternoon. He loved it here. It was home, and yet… “I had thought perhaps I might, but my sister has got it in her head I must marry. She’s plotting and scheming with her friends. I may need to run away again simply to thwart their plans.”

  “Not disastrous,” Sterling replied, frowning. “To marry.”

  “Yes, it is,” Henry replied, quite certain on that point. “Some men are not cut out for it and I’m one of them. But never mind that, it’s too dull to contemplate. Look at this.” Henry stepped aside to gesture to the hedge and was taken aback to see the fellow shudder. Admittedly it wa
s a little disturbing, but likely just some local superstition. There were seven little corn dolls suspended in the hawthorn bush, and each of them held a small section of hawthorn twig, spiked with thorns.

  “Witchcraft,” Sterling said, taking a step away. “Don’t touch it.”

  Henry frowned at the fellow in consternation. “Surely you don’t believe in such nonsense?”

  Sterling shifted uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aye, my old gran was a cunning woman. Learnt a bit from her. Knew stuff. Someone else believes it too. Seven is a fairy number and cutting the Ogham tree like that—” He sucked air in through his teeth. “—someone is asking for help with a difficult situation. Take my advice, Mr Stanhope. Leave it be. Asking for trouble, else.”

  Henry looked at Sterling in exasperation but held out his hands. “Very well. I’ll leave it, but it’s still a lot of nonsense.”

  Whatever his opinion, the relief in Sterling’s expression was clear. He was truly rattled.

  “And what’s with this Mr Stanhope business? It’s always been Henry to you. Here, do you fancy a drink at The Lamb, now you’re old enough?” he added with a smirk. “You can tell me everything you’ve been up to in my absence.”

  Sterling quirked an eyebrow.

  “Everything?” he repeated, dry as dust.

  “Well, only the interesting bits,” Henry said, clapping him on the back as they walked back to the lane that led to the nearest pub.

  The two men enjoyed a pint, reminiscing about years gone by, though it was Henry who did most of the talking, with Sterling adding an occasional remark or grunt of amusement. He was still a serious, introverted fellow, much like his father.

  “Suppose I’d better go,” Henry said, giving his empty glass a regretful glance. “Harry will have my hide if I’m late for dinner.”

  “Ah, eating at the big house, then, with all the man traps?” Sterling said with a devilish glint in his dark eyes.

  “Thankfully, most of the women Harry was trying to pair me off with are gone now, but there’s still some of her friends and their daughters. God help me, I think one of them has determined to set her cap at me.”

  Sterling smirked at Henry’s morose tone. “Ah, yes. Awful testing, having a pretty young woman chasing after you.”

  Henry scowled at him. “She’s just a silly child.”

  “How old?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Henry shrugged. “Twenty-two, twenty-three, maybe.”

  Sterling’s eyebrows went up. “Hardly a child. I’m only twenty-six.”

  “Really?” Henry frowned at the man, startled. Of course, if he’d thought about it, he’d known that. He hadn’t been away that long, after all. Sterling seemed older than his years, though, but perhaps it was just his serious manner. “Well, either way, she’s too young for me.”

  “Not by most people’s reckoning. You’re the biggest catch around these parts now Viscount Oakley’s gone.”

  Henry grimaced, knowing that was likely true. “Perhaps you ought to look closer to home for a fine catch,” he replied with annoyance.

  “Me?” Sterling made a disparaging sound. “Not with those high-bred ladies. Too low down the pecking order to catch one of them. Don’t have your pretty manners.”

  There was a faintly mocking tone to his words, and possibly a thread of anger which made Henry wonder. “Nonsense. You’re a gentleman, educated and with a fine house, land, you’re prospering nicely from what I’ve seen. More so than even your father managed. Perhaps you’ve no title, but neither have I, and you’re a deal younger than me, which ought to give you an edge.”

  Sterling gave him a narrow-eyed look of suspicion.

  “What edge? What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Henry said decisively, “that you are coming to Holbrook for dinner. A handsome fellow like you is just the thing to keep the young ladies out of my hair.”

  “Oh, no.” Sterling shook his head. “Absolutely—”

  “Shan’t take no for an answer,” Henry replied, getting to his feet. “Harry won’t mind a bit. I’ll meet you at Lower Sheep House Field in an hour. Don’t be late.”

  He flashed an outraged Sterling a quick grin and hurried away before the fellow could wriggle out of it.

  Florence stared at herself in the looking glass and frowned as she submitted to her own stern, internal monologue.

  You will not behave like a ninny, Florence Knight. Staring at Henry Stanhope like a besotted mooncalf and sighing will only give him a disgust of you, so this lunatic behaviour will cease and desist at once.

  She sighed anyway. Well, Henry wasn’t in sight, so that was surely allowed. He was just so… compelling, and handsome, and sophisticated and witty, and… wouldn’t be the least bit interested in someone as young and silly as he thought she was. She wished Arabella were here. She had confided her ridiculous infatuation to her friend, who had completely understood her feelings. Arabella was happily married now, though, and had returned to Royle House to be blissful with Lord Bainbridge. Florence squashed an unwelcome and uncharacteristic surge of jealousy. Just because the fellow she had fallen ridiculously and hopelessly in love with refused to so much as look at her was no reason to be so utterly tedious as to resent everyone else’s happiness. With the scolding over, she got to her feet and made her way downstairs.

  Florence could not help but feel relieved when she entered the parlour. Most of the guests, including the sophisticated widows Lady St Clair had invited, had left that morning, which meant she might have half a chance of conversing with her elusive heart’s desire, Mr Henry Stanhope. Assuming he ever so much as glanced in her direction. Though she had only seen him for the first time here at Holbrook just days ago, she had the strangest feeling that there was no other man who would ever capture her attention as thoroughly as he had. She did not know exactly what it was about him, only that he drew her to him whenever he was in the room, and she could concentrate on nothing else. She made her way over to Evie, who was laughing at something Louis César had said.

  “Good evening, Monsieur le Comte,” she said as he bowed politely. “I hope my sister isn’t teasing you?”

  “Yes, she is,” he replied with a sad shake of his head. “She is a dreadful girl and I wish you would take her away.”

  Florence grinned, knowing he didn’t mean it. She had been worried by the rather odd friendship between the comte and her little sister, even speaking to her mother about it. She knew Mama was keeping a close eye on them too, but now she saw what Mama had told her, that Louis César regarded Evie much as she did, as a sister. For Evie’s part, she truly did not seem to see the man’s stunning good looks. This bewildered Florence, who found them somewhat intimidating. She could not imagine being married to a man who was so much more beautiful than you were. It would be a constant source of stress and anxiety, as other women would always want him and try to take him from you.

  “You are only sulking because I won our bet,” Evie said, her plump cheeks dimpling as she gave a smug smile. “I told you Ash’s waistcoat would outshine yours, and it does.”

  Louis César made a sound of disgust. “Being garish enough to induce a megrim does not mean it has superior attributes.”

  “I heard that,” Ash remarked, turning around. “And of course my waistcoat is superior, it has canaries on it.”

  An expression of pain crossed Louis César’s exquisite features as he cast Ash’s waistcoat a dubious glance. “Is that what they are? I thought they were goldfish.”

  “With wings?” Ash retorted.

  Ash’s twin sister Vivien joined the conversation and squinted at the canaries. “Well, they could be fins, not wings.”

  “Traitor,” Ash said hotly.

  Vivien patted his arm. “Well, darling, really. Lime green with yellow birds is a little de trop, even for you.”

  “Philistines, every one of you,” he muttered, before stalking away.

  Florence chuckled, and then her breath caught as Henry Stanhope walke
d into the room. Oh, good heavens. Her heart skittered in her chest, her skin flushing hot and her stomach fluttering in the most peculiar way. She’d never reacted like this to a man before. What was it about him? He had been all she could think about from the first moment she’d seen him, grinning boyishly at his sister as Lady St Clair greeted him with happy tears and laughter after almost a decade apart. He just seemed to use up all the air in the room when he walked into it.

  She tried to consider him objectively, to pinpoint what it was that attracted her so strongly. He was handsome, but not so outrageously that he made women swoon on the spot like Louis César. He was fit and strong and virile, his skin darkly tanned from his adventures abroad, and he carried an air of confidence that was deliciously appealing. But it was more than that. There was a sense of energy, of vitality, as if a flame blazed inside him that made even younger men seem somehow less in his presence. It burned from within and pulled Florence to him like he’d cast a spell over her, making her helpless to do anything but respond to him. She felt so restless she wanted to throw herself into his arms, which was dangerous and foolish, and yet she had the absolute certainty that it would be a safe place to be. If a man like Henry loved you, he would be honourable, dependable. It was also frustrating and not a little irritating when the devil refused to pay her the least bit of attention.

  Henry had another fellow with him tonight, whom he’d introduced as Mr Sterling Oak, his neighbour. Florence had ridden past Thistley House Farm, which was rather grander than its name implied. It was a large half-timbered house of red brick and lime render, and very ancient. Mr Oak was a fierce-looking fellow with strong features, thick black hair, very dark eyes, and a cleft in his chin. He tugged at his cravat and gave off the impression he would rather be anywhere else than here.