Lords to Be Enamored With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  She said this sentence more to herself, but it intrigued Elizabeth. While she had always known that her mother had been a gifted pianist, she had never revealed the dreams of her youth.

  “Mama, did you wish to be a composer?”

  Her mother smiled sadly. “Yes. It was a dream that shone brightly within me, pushing me to new heights of excellence. Of my generation, I was likely the most skilled pianoforte player in the land, and I relished that fact. I surpassed the women of my class and, if I were to be honest, the men as well.”

  Elizabeth gave a little laugh and returned to her seat, caressing the keys once more. Why had her mother never informed her of this before? She had a close relationship with her mother, a relationship founded on their mutual love of music. She laid a hand on her mother's hand, stilling her. “You have never spoken of this before, Mama.”

  Her mother covered Elizabeth's hand with her other hand, looking at her with eyes that seemed to be filled with old disappointment. “There was no use in speaking of it as it did not come to pass.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “But why? You were gifted, Mama. I have heard many other people remark on your abilities, those who once had the opportunity to hear you play. Surely it would have been natural for you to fulfil your dreams?”

  Her father did not seem like a man who would stifle his wife's aspirations. She felt her mother's hands slip from her, watching them come to rest by her sides.

  "When I turned nineteen, I found that dreams were not attainable, at least not my own. I had a duty to marry the man of my father's choosing and thus forsake my love for music. It is an unfortunate thing for a woman's life to be led by those who do not possess a musical skill, or at least the love of music.”

  Elizabeth felt foolish for asking such a question. Was it not obvious? Even I know that marriage kills any dream quicker than the guillotine.

  “Mama, I am dreadfully sorry for bringing this to your remembrance. It was not my intention to evoke such sadness within you.”

  She wrapped her arms around her mother and laid her head on her shoulder, hoping to bring comfort.

  Her mother's head came to lie upon hers, her hand patting the arms wrapped around her. "Do not fret, dear. It is all in the past. My dreams may have died, but there is still a chance for you, if you are willing to forsake matrimony for your dream."

  "I do not wish to marry, Mama. I wish to be an independent woman. I have heard of it before, women taking up a house for themselves. Papa will surely give me an inheritance to do so?"

  Her mother's head lifted, and she turned to face her, taking Elizabeth's hands in hers. “Even if he does not, I shall help you. I shall sell my jewels if I must, but I shall help you to achieve your dreams.” She pulled Elizabeth to her and hugged her, kissing her head. “You do not know how happy I am to have you as my daughter. My own daughter, blood of my blood, will become one of the greatest composers of her time!”

  Her mother released her, eyes shining with joyful determination. Could it be done? Doubt had crept into Elizabeth’s mind as her mother had spoken of her failed dreams. If a woman as gifted as her mother had been kept from her dream, where was the guarantee that she would achieve her own? However, she did not wish to darken the light she saw in her mother, so she merely smiled.

  “I would like nothing better than to have you by my side.”

  “Lovely. Come, let us sit elsewhere – these chairs are not comfortable for long conversations.”

  They moved to the chairs that her mother had recently purchased. They were mahogany with legs of brass that resembled a lion's feet, finished with cushioned seats that were maroon in colour. Elizabeth liked them well enough, but she preferred her furniture without any animal features. Perhaps an ornament, but certainly not her furniture.

  If I could independently establish my own home, I would keep it simple and elegant. A touch of the east here and there would be welcome.

  It was not the first time she had thought of having her own house, preferably in London where most social events took place, but that remained to be seen.

  Perhaps I shall be invited to play in the most prestigious homes of the country, even the Prince Regent himself. She thought twice about that, shaking her head slightly. No, I would not wish to play for him for I do not particularly like him. He seems far more concerned with filling his belly with delicacies and spending the nation's wealth on frivolous parties than taking care of those who are in poverty. At least, that is what she had once overheard about him from a dinner party guest some weeks ago. The man had been talking to her father, who did not seem to hold the same opinion. But then, her father was most loyal to the crown. Her thoughts turned to her sister.

  “Has Cecilia returned from her outing yet? It seems she has been gone for quite some time.”

  “Young love knows no time,” her mother said simply.

  She frowned. “Did Cecilia not say she was going to Mary Abbott's home?”

  "Yes, but she will not be the only guest there. Mrs Abbott has organised a picnic with some of the most eligible men of our area – she said so herself when I met her in town yesterday. Of course, there will be other young women there, but I guarantee that Percival Hawkins will be there as well."

  Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her sister was far too preoccupied with her young love for Percival. She only hoped that he felt the same way as well. Elizabeth had met him on a few occasions, but not for any extended period. She had nothing to talk about to him as he was concerned with matters that she found rather dull. Cecilia believed that the sun rose and set upon his head, nothing that he did could be seen as wrong. A most peculiar thing, thought Elizabeth. We are indeed as different as chalk and cheese. I would rather we had been cheese and wine, then our different personalities would at least complement each other.

  “I expect that we will see her after dinner,” Elizabeth finally said.

  “I believe so. At least he is also of landed gentry. Anything less than that would gain an immediate objection from your father.”

  Elizabeth was aware of that. Her father was a man with set views that adhered to the division of England's social classes. There were no grey areas in his manner of thinking, which made him a simple man. She certainly loved her father, but his lack of creativity made for stilted conversations.

  “The Hawkins family will be leaving for London soon, I am sure. The season will be due to start in just a few weeks.”

  "Yes," her mother agreed. "Julia has come of age to enter into her first season. She is a lovely girl although rather dim-witted. However, that may just be the very thing that secures her a marriage."

  This information startled Elizabeth. She had not attended a season in the past three years, more so as there were ample suitors who lived close to their estate. Her mother hosted a dinner party at least once a month, which is where Cecilia had met Percival and instantly fell head over heels for him. He had not been the first young man, but he certainly seemed to be the one who could control Cecilia's flighty ways. The only highlight of those dinner parties for Elizabeth was the opportunity to showcase her skills at the pianoforte in front of an audience. She always received an encore, for which she would play something that the young people and married couples could dance to. This ensured that she would not be asked to dance. Why would being dim-witted secure a marriage for Julia?

  “Surely she would repel suitors?”

  Her mother laughed. “Oh, dear! Do you not know your own countrymen? They are afraid of intelligent women. Men are looking for women who will be obedient, demure, submissive and pretty. Heaven forbid they should marry an intelligent woman.”

  “But you are intelligent, Mama, and yet Papa married you.”

  Her mother's laughter died. "Well, I did not know your father, and neither did he know me well enough. Our parents arranged our marriage for us. Of course, he had seen me once before, but I had been too preoccupied with my music to notice. Being married had been the last thing on my mind."

&nb
sp; How horrid! An arranged marriage? Elizabeth could not imagine a worse fate. It was no wonder that her parents did not show any affection towards each other. Ghastly, really. I pray that I do not fall victim to such a fate.

  “Was there a courtship at least?”

  “If a week could be called a courtship.” Her mother shrugged her shoulders. “I quickly understood that I had a duty to my parents and to the husband that I would marry. The day before I married, I was given advice by my soon to be mother-in-law.”

  “Grandmother Ramsbury?”

  She nodded. “I was advised to put away childish fantasies and embrace my new life as a respectful wife. It was not easy, but I was never one to back away from responsibility. I have two beautiful daughters and a wonderful home as a reward for my sacrifice.”

  Elizabeth had never heard her mother speak so openly about this topic. It was almost as though she was offloading what had been on her chest for years.

  “I am sorry, Mama. No one should have to give up on their dreams. If men are allowed to pursue careers, then so should women.”

  Her mother shook her head. “You have your head in the clouds, dear. That may be my mistake, as I have not truly taught you the way of the world. Your whole life has been your music, as it was mine. But one decision can take that all away. That is why I wish to help you before an inescapable decision is made.”

  Elizabeth could have sworn that she heard rattling chains about the room. Inescapable decision? Did her mother know something that she was not telling her? Perhaps it is best to change the subject before I hear something that will provide me with sleepless nights.

  “Cecilia, I expect, will embrace marriage with open arms.”

  “She is quite different from us, is she not?” asked her mother. “I saw from early on in her life that she held specific interests. I did try to introduce her to the pianoforte, harpsichord, and the harp, but she did not take to any of them. She preferred my beauty creams and evening dresses to music.”

  Elizabeth laughed, remembering how her sister, at the age of five, had taken their mother's simple wedding dress from the armoire and worn it about the estate. No one had taken any notice until her mother spied her through the parlour window. Amazingly enough, her mother had not been overly concerned about the sullied dress, even giving her daughter the dress and having it tailored to fit her. Much of the dress material had been cut out, with the scraps turned into doll's clothes by their housekeeper, who was an accomplished seamstress. Most women cherished the dress that they wore on their wedding day, but her mother apparently had not. Elizabeth now knew the reason why.

  “She certainly did take to fashion at an early age. She is a wonderful dancer, far better than I am. To compare us would be to compare a lamp to the sun, or perhaps a great African hippopotamus to a gazelle.”

  Elizabeth had once seen pictures in a book of a hippopotamus lurking beneath the waters of an African river. It had looked decidedly tame in comparison to crocodiles and lions. But the text below the picture had stated that they were known to overturn boats and chomp on people who they believed were threatening.

  "Well, she did take lessons, which you refused. Your father was none too pleased, but I reminded him of your stellar abilities on the pianoforte, which seemed to appease him. You sing beautifully as well," she added as an afterthought.

  “My skill keeps me firmly off the dance floor, which suits me just fine. Cecilia's skill keeps her on the dance floor, which suits her just fine. I believe that we are both doing what we were meant to do.”

  “I suppose that is one way of looking at it. Or we could say that Cecilia is looking for marriage while you are not. If I were any other type of mother, I would be crying from the shame of it.” She took on a mock look of horror. “My eldest daughter does not wish to marry? Oh, I shall not live another day!”

  She closed her act with a hand to her brow and a theatrical fainting spell. Elizabeth laughed, clapping her hands. Her mother truly was a different sort of woman, certainly not as strict or stubborn as most mothers.

  “You do a wonderful impression of Mrs Walters, Mama. She does love to faint.”

  Her mother rolled her eyes and sat up straight. “That woman simply needs to grow a backbone and stop being so melodramatic. The next time she faints I shall not use smelling salts, but a jug of water.”

  Elizabeth clapped her hands over her mouth, her giggles escaping nevertheless.

  "Mama!" she playfully scolded. "That would be rather cruel of you!"

  “Ha! As cruel as having to catch a large woman several times a day? She does smell rather ripe – a regular wash would do her well.”

  “She does have a sweating problem, poor woman.”

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Poor woman? If she would refrain from wearing dresses that push her ample bosom to the air all the while constricting her air passages, perhaps then I might feel some sympathy for her.”

  Mrs Walters’ heaving bosom was legendary. Modesty did not seem to apply to her.

  “Each to their own,” she commented.

  "Perhaps a husband would convince her to cover up," her mother suggested.

  “Another husband? But she has had four already!”

  “Yes, and they are all dead. A fifth one should hardly matter much. Perhaps he will stir a feeling in her heart that would change her for the better.” She looked at Elizabeth, a teasing gleam to her eyes. “I am sure that a man could never stir in our hearts the depth of feeling that music can.”

  “I second that notion. If – heaven forbid – I should ever marry, he will need to have a love of music that matches my own as well as allow me to pursue my dreams.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, that sort of man simply does not exist.”

  “It is just as well that I do not plan on marrying.”

  Both their attention turned to the door as her father stepped inside. He did not come in any further but stood just before the door. Her mother immediately got up and went to him.

  “Miles, is there something that I can get you?”

  “Yes, Edith. I should like a moment with you.”

  “Of course. Shall we go to your study?”

  Her father nodded, looking at Elizabeth. “Are you still at the pianoforte, Elizabeth?”

  She smiled. “As always, Papa. Perfection does not happen on its own.”

  “Mmm,” he replied and left the room.

  Elizabeth watched with sadness as her mother followed quickly behind him, ever the docile and respectful wife. Elizabeth noticed how her parents never smiled when they were together. To other people yes, but never to each other.

  “This is why I should never be married. Who would wish to live their life with another person whom they do not love? It seems like a fate worse than death.”

  She returned to the pianoforte with a sad melody in her heart.

  *

  Edith followed her husband to his study, wondering at his brisk walk. He only walks like this when he has much on his mind, she thought. What has happened now? He entered the study, holding the door open for her. He may not have any true affection for her, but he was polite to a fault. Not once had he ever raised his voice to her, nor his hand for that matter.

  Miles was a mild-tempered man, one who always did what was right. It was something that she respected, although she did wish to shake him until his teeth rattled at times. A shout here and there would have been welcome in an otherwise dead marriage. Edith had thought of leaving him on several occasions but had chickened out. No one would accept a divorced woman, and while Miles would be looked upon with sympathy, she would be ostracised by society and her own family.