Lords to Be Enamored With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  George shook his head slowly. “I am afraid not, my lord. She did not feel much like dancing tonight.”

  Diana joined them, smiling widely as she curtseyed. “My lord. It is always a pleasure.”

  Sebastian bowed. “As it is to see you, Lady Diana. I trust you are enjoying the dance?”

  Diana fanned herself vigorously. “To be sure, although it is hot work.” She turned to her brother. “I think that I should like a lemonade, George, before I die of thirst.”

  “Coming straight up,” said George, pouring her a tall glass and handing it to her.

  There was an awkward pause while Diana sipped her drink. Sebastian coughed, then turned once more to George.

  “Your sister is well?” he said slowly. “I have not seen her about in a week or more, or any of you, for that matter.” He raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

  “Charlotte is well enough, my lord,” replied George, not meeting his eye. “I think that she is not used to so many social outings and requires a little respite.”

  “Indeed,” said Diana, still sipping her drink. “Our sister has devoted herself to interior pursuits, my lord. She is greatly enjoying practising the pianoforte and catching up on her reading.”

  Sebastian nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Well, give her my regards, will you? I hope to see her out and about again before the season is quite over and we all return to our country estates.”

  Diana curtseyed. “Of course, my lord. It would be my pleasure to pass on your best wishes.”

  “We should go, Di,” said George, staring pointedly at his sister. “Mama is expecting us home before midnight.”

  They said their farewells and the siblings drifted away, collecting their cloaks and hats before they departed.

  Sebastian stared after them. They had answered him politely and calmly. Everything that they had said could be perfectly true. Charlotte didn’t much like crowds and wasn’t used to socialising so much. She simply wanted to take a break and stay at home for a while. He could understand it perfectly.

  But something rang false about the way they had spoken. As if it had been rehearsed. They had also been very keen to get away so that they didn’t have to talk about their sister any longer with him. He kept staring, even after they had drifted through the doorway and were long gone.

  George, the Viscount Castlereagh, and Lady Diana Lumley had been lying. He could always tell. The way that George’s eyes wouldn’t quite meet his own. Lady Diana had been more accomplished, smoothly telling him the story of how Charlotte was merely enjoying quiet leisure activities at home. But still, something in the way that she had spoken made him suspicious.

  “Wharton.” A familiar voice, just behind him. “You look like you have seen a ghost.”

  Sebastian swivelled around. Freddie was standing there accompanied by a lady he was unfamiliar with. She was tall and imposing, with dark chestnut-coloured hair styled elaborately. Two long green feathers bobbed in the midst of it, attached with a sparkling diamond hairpiece. She smiled imperiously, blue eyes sweeping over him.

  “Burrows.” He bowed to them both. “I wasn’t aware you had secured an invitation to Almack’s tonight.”

  Freddie grinned. “I didn’t have one, old chap. But I was lucky enough to be seated beside this charming lady at a St. James Square soiree, and she offered one to me if I would accompany her.”

  Sebastian coughed, gazing at the lady expectantly.

  Freddie hit his head softly with his hand. “There I go again, prattling on. I should have introduced you both to start with, shouldn’t I?” He turned to the lady. “Do excuse me. Lady Elizabeth Wren, this is the Marquis of Wharton.”

  Lady Elizabeth Wren stilled, blue eyes sharp, before sinking into a low curtsey. “My lord. It is a pleasure. May I be so bold as to enquire if you are the eldest son of the Duke of Richley?”

  Sebastian bowed slightly in acknowledgement. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Elizabeth. You may be so bold. The answer is yes, I am the eldest child of the Duke of Richley.”

  A faint hiss escaped the lady’s lips. “My lord, I have heard much about your esteemed family,” she said quickly. “It is such an honour. Tell me, do you enjoy the assembly? Are you fond of dancing? Because I am itching to take to the floor.” She turned to Freddie. “You wouldn’t mind if Lord Sebastian and I danced, would you?”

  Freddie looked stunned but shook his head. Sebastian sighed inwardly. This Lady Elizabeth Wren was very forward, and he really didn’t want to dance. He had been planning to leave the place entirely after the sour disappointment of running into the Lumleys and finding that Charlotte wasn’t with them.

  Lady Elizabeth was gazing at him expectantly. Freddie looked miserable but wasn’t about to make a scene. Sebastian hardly blamed his friend. He had come to the assembly on the expectation that he was accompanying the lady, and almost as soon as they had walked through the door she was ditching him.

  Poor Freddie. It often happened this way when they were socialising together. As soon as the young ladies realised who held the greater rank, they deserted Freddie and attached themselves to him. The dazzle of the dukedom, he thought sourly. Young ladies who simply couldn’t resist making a play to become a duchess. Lady Elizabeth Wren was just the latest in a long line of them.

  “Of course.” He forced a smile onto his face, holding out his arm. “Shall we, my lady?”

  Lady Elizabeth looked jubilant. He walked with her to the dancefloor, not even noticing what the dance was. All he could focus on was the last time he had stepped onto this very floor, with a different lady entirely on his arm. A lady who was not bold, or brazen. A lady who did not seek him out because of his rank. A lady who seemed to genuinely enjoy his company … for who he truly was.

  Sebastian drew a sharp breath. He could not let such a lady go.

  Chapter 12

  Charlotte sat in an old, dusty armchair in the corner of her aunt’s study, gazing around at the room. The tremors besieged her as she took in the high bookcases, stuffed with old tomes, and the antique furniture that crowded the room. An armoire, in the old French style. A wide desk. A candelabra stood in the opposite corner, old white wax hardened on the black frame. She could picture her aunt sitting in this room, avidly reading or writing, by the light of the candles that had burnt there.

  She sighed, picking at the rug that had been placed over her lap. Her fingers could barely grasp it. She gazed at the door. Where was Diana, or her mother? She had requested they leave her in here after Aunt Eliza’s funeral at the local church, but they were a very long time. Had they forgotten her entirely?

  Charlotte sighed. What did it matter? She might as well get used to it. She was an appendage, a worrisome add on. She knew that her mother hadn’t wanted her to accompany them to the funeral at all, but she had put her foot down and insisted. She needed to bid farewell to her beloved aunt, even if she still wasn’t really well enough. Diana and George had fussed over her like two mother hens in the carriage on the way here, and had flanked her in the little village church, barely leaving her side.

  But when they had returned to Harris Lodge, her aunt’s home in Kent, she had balked. The house was filled with mourners after the service, paying their final respects. Light refreshments and tea were being served in the drawing room for the guests. Charlotte’s head had started to throb at the very thought of mingling among them. Diana had suggested she retire to a bedroom to sleep for the duration, but she had asked to sit in here and read until the guests departed instead. It seemed fitting, to say goodbye to her aunt in her favourite room.

  Charlotte sighed again. That had been over an hour ago and she was getting restless. It was an uncommonly chilly day, and the fire hadn’t been lit in here. She placed her aunt’s copy of Dante’s Inferno on the small table beside the armchair and contemplated what to do.

  She rose, making her way to the door with difficulty. Harris Lodge wasn’t a large house. She could hear the chatter of the guests in the drawing room. She frow
ned. Obviously, the afternoon tea was still in full flight. She turned back into the room, hesitating. Perhaps she would sit at her aunt’s desk for a while to pass the time.

  As she lowered herself into the chair, trying to control the tremors, she couldn’t help smiling. Her aunt’s personal signature was everywhere here. There was a vase filled with an assortment of roses from the garden that were wilting now, their petals dropped onto the desk and floor. It had obviously not been replenished since … her departure. She must remember to tell the maid about it.

  Her eyes swept over the rest. A journal in the middle of the desk. Charlotte flicked through it absently. Aunt Eliza had pressed some flowers in here and added notes about them. Charlotte’s smile widened at the familiar sight of her aunt’s rounded handwriting. She had obviously enjoyed collecting unknown flowers from the hillside around her home and finding out what they were.

  She put the book down. And then, as if drawn by a magnet, she opened the top drawer of the desk, staring in. A pile of old letters sat in there, tied with brown string. Curious, she took them out, laying them on the desk in front of her.

  She untied the string with a shaking hand and sorted through them. There were seven, all addressed to her aunt, and all written in the same hand. She picked up one, turning it over. The writer’s name and address was written on the back of the envelope. A Reverend Squires, from Essex.

  Her hand hovered over the envelope. She shouldn’t open it and read it, should she? But once again she felt a strange compulsion. Who was this Reverend Squires, and why had he felt compelled to write seven letters to her aunt? More to the point, why had her aunt kept them, tied neatly in string, in the top drawer?

  Before she could think about it any further, she opened the envelope, taking out the letter. She smoothed the parchment out as best she could with her shaking hand and started reading.

  My dear Lady Eliza,

  I know that you have asked me to stop writing to you, but I feel compelled to make one last effort to convince you of my sincerest regard and affection. If after this letter you still feel that we must cease our correspondence and relationship once and for all, I shall respect your wishes. But I must try again, one last time, in honour of all that has been between us.

  I did not intend to fall so violently in love with you when I was assigned to your parish, all those years ago. I know that you did not intend it either. It happened suddenly, when we both were least expecting it. We were both alone, and of mature years, expecting that we should go through life exactly as we had always done. I know that you were resigned to your fate as companion and nursemaid to your aged mother and did not want anything more from life.

  But it did happen, my sweetest Eliza. We fell in love. You resisted me, and I tried to stay away. At first, I thought it was because of your mother, but in time we knew that it was more than that. You suffered terribly with your affliction and did not want to burden me with it. You told me that you could never be a ‘proper’ wife to me. I told you that I did not care – that I wanted you however you came to me. But you would not believe me. When the call came from the bishop to leave the parish and move to Essex, I saw it as a chance to start over, without you. Because I thought that it was hopeless and being so close to you – without ever being able to convince you to become my wife – was too hard.

  My feelings have not changed, Eliza. I have written so many letters to you, and you have only written one back. Can you not change your mind, dearest one? Your mother is long gone. I do not care about what afflicts you. I would gladly spend one year with you by my side than ten without you. Please finally say that you will become my wife and make me the happiest man in the world.

  Your humble servant,

  Charles Squires

  Charlotte dropped the letter and it fluttered onto the desk. She could not believe it. Her Aunt Eliza had shared a secret love with the local vicar? A love so strong that it had lasted years, and he had written her seven letters, beseeching her to become his wife?

  She stared down at the letter. Her aunt had never said anything about it, to any of them. They had all thought her happy, or at least resigned, to her role as Grandmama’s carer. Charlotte had never thought to ask her if she was content remaining unmarried, at being the spinster aunt who advised her sister’s children but never had any of her own.

  She frowned, picking up the letter again. The reverend referred twice to her aunt’s ‘affliction’ and that it was the reason she rejected his proposal of marriage after Grandmama’s death. It was as they had all suspected. Something had been wrong with Aunt Eliza, possibly for years. Something so profound that she rejected this man’s offers of marriage because she did not want to burden him with it.

  Aunt Eliza had sacrificed love because of it. She had made her choice … and lived with the consequences.

  A tear fell down Charlotte’s cheek. Her poor aunt, and poor Reverend Squires. Their love story did not have a happy ending. She had never married him, and now she was gone. Did he even know that she had passed? Or was he sitting in his parsonage in Essex still thinking that one day she might change her mind and make him the happiest man in the world?

  With a shaking hand, Charlotte folded up the letter, placing it back in the envelope. She placed it on top of the others and tied them together, putting them back in the drawer. She shouldn’t have invaded her aunt’s privacy, but it was too late now. She could not unknow what she had found out.

  She closed the drawer decisively. Her aunt had made her choice, for better or worse. If she had suffered through the years from an affliction, she had obviously decided that Reverend Squires was better off without her.

  Charlotte could understand that. In fact, reading the heartfelt letter only cemented her own thoughts on how she had been feeling towards Lord Sebastian, and his marked preference for her.

  She had made the right choice. Just like her dear Aunt Eliza. It wasn’t without sacrifice … but it was for the best.

  ***

  She was sitting in the armchair, the book in her hands again, when the door opened and Diana came in.

  “Dearest,” she said, sweeping over to her. “I am so sorry I have left you for so long. I tried to get away, but Mama insisted I stay by her side, saying that she couldn’t be expected to handle all these villagers by herself.”

  Charlotte smiled, putting down the book. “It is quite all right, Di. I have been fine here, reading.”

  Diana’s eyes swept over her. “How are you feeling? You look pale.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Just the same, I suppose. The tremors are still with me, and my vision fades in and out.”

  Diana bit her lip. “You shouldn’t have come today. You aren’t up to travelling and being up for so long.”

  “Diana.” Charlotte leaned over and took her sister’s hand. “I needed to do this. I needed to be here, for Aunt Eliza. If I had missed her funeral, I would never have forgiven myself.”

  Diana smiled. “Of course, I understand. We shall be returning to London within the hour anyway and then you can rest properly.” She gazed down at Charlotte’s hand resting on her own. “Dearest … there is something that I must tell you. I should have told you before now, but I didn’t want to upset you.”

  Charlotte stared at her sister. “What is it?”

  Diana sighed. “When George and I went to the assembly room the other night, we ran into Lord Sebastian.”

  Charlotte stilled. “Did you? Why on earth did you think you could not mention it to me?”

  Diana shrugged helplessly. “I just didn’t know if it would upset you, Lottie. But now I think that you should know.” She took a deep breath. “He asked about you. More than once. He is so eager to see you again, and said he hopes that the season isn’t over before he has the pleasure once more.”