Lords to Be Enamored With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  She took another deep breath, turning back to Charlotte. “Yes, an exquisite costume, Lady Charlotte. Although I rather do wonder why you insist on wearing gloves to accompany it.” She arched her brows. “I do not think that Cleopatra was wont to wear them. It rather spoils the effect, don’t you think?”

  Charlotte paled. “I prefer them, that is all.”

  Alicia laughed again. It came out shrill and brittle. “Is that really the reason, Lady Charlotte? Or is there another reason why you insist on wearing your gloves, perhaps?”

  Charlotte stared at her. “I am sure I don’t know to what you are referring, Miss Drake.”

  “I think that you do.” She took another breath. “I think that the reason that you insist on wearing your gloves, even though it mars the costume, is that they serve you. Do they help in not spreading the disease that ails you?”

  Charlotte gasped. Lord Sebastian looked shocked, staring at Alicia as if she were mad. “What are you talking about, Miss Drake?”

  Alicia ignored him, turning back to Charlotte. A stab of pity entered her heart, watching the woman’s devastated face. She had paled further, if that was possible, so that her complexion resembled marble, and her dark eyes flashed with emotion. She stared at Alicia as if she were beholding something dangerous, like a snake, that might turn and bite at any second.

  “It is not contagious,” she hissed, her dark eyes glittering. “It is far from contagious. You really shouldn’t be so concerned about my health, Miss Drake.”

  Alicia stepped back a little, feigning surprise. “Oh, I do apologise then, Lady Charlotte. I have heard that the sickness that avails you might indeed be contagious and thought perhaps you wore the gloves to make sure that it does not spread to other people.”

  Sebastian swivelled from one to the other. “What on earth are you talking about? Lady Charlotte, what sickness is Miss Drake referring to?”

  Charlotte turned to him. She rather looked as though she were about to faint, thought Alicia, another stab of misgiving entering her heart. What foul genie had she unleashed from its bottle in uttering these words?

  “It is just an allergy, my lord,” said Charlotte faintly. “Nothing more. I suffer from it, from time to time, but it is nothing to be concerned about.”

  Alicia squared her shoulders, her heart thumping uncomfortably in her chest. “An allergy? Indeed? If what you say is true, Lady Charlotte, then perhaps you could take off your gloves. If your condition is not contagious, then you should have no compunction about doing such a thing. And you shall prove that the rumours about you are indeed erroneous.”

  Charlotte’s dark eyes glittered. “I have no such compunction, Miss Drake.”

  Suddenly, she reefed the gloves off her arms, throwing them to the ground, where they lay between them. Charlotte raised her arms slowly. Alicia could see a slight tremor, shuddering through her hands and forearms, causing them to jerk slightly.

  “Are you satisfied, now?” asked Charlotte, in a small voice. “Are you satisfied, now that you have revealed my secret?” Her chest rose and fell dramatically. “It was always your intention, wasn’t it, Miss Drake?”

  Alicia stared at her, her heart sinking. She felt about as low as she had ever felt in her life.

  “Are you happy?” Charlotte’s voice was threaded with anger. “I rather think that you are not, Miss Drake. Because in doing this, you condemn yourself to marry a man who does not love you. A man you do not love either. All for status, and title, and riches. That is the type of person that you are.”

  Alicia opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her eyes swivelled to Lord Sebastian. He looked utterly bewildered, trying desperately to understand this sudden and strange turn of events. He looked as though he were incapable of speech in that moment.

  Charlotte took a deep breath. “I do not envy you, you know,” she said slowly. “You think that all must, because you are beautiful and charming, but it is a lie. You are a mercenary, Miss Drake. Willing to sell yourself to the highest bidder.”

  Alicia gasped, feeling as if a knife had entered her heart.

  “Yes, Miss Drake. I rather think that it is you that is to be pitied,” she continued. “You think by exposing me that you win. But rather, you lose.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “My fragile health has shown me that we only have one life to live, and I want to live my own life the way that I want. I do not care a fig for needless riches or useless glory. I do not care what other people will say about me.”

  Alicia stepped back feeling as if she was burnt. Her head was swimming and she felt slightly sick. All the champagne she had consumed that evening, quaffing like water, reared up in her throat, tasting like acid.

  She had only done this because her mother had forced her to. But she couldn’t tell the angry and hurt woman standing before her any of that. She couldn’t redeem herself, in Lady Charlotte’s eyes or the eyes of Lord Sebastian, who was staring at her as if she were a foul creature that had slithered from a pit.

  She took a deep breath, desperately trying to fight down the waves of nausea that were washing over her. It was true – everything that Lady Charlotte said was true. She was a mercenary, a shallow and deceitful woman, who would stoop to whatever means necessary to secure the life that her mother desired for her. She deserved her contempt. And her pity.

  No, she couldn’t say anything about that either. She had started this and she was forced to continue the charade, as if she were an actor in a play. She had been assigned this role and she had to play it out, to the bitter end.

  She had never had a choice in it.

  “Oh, fie, Lady Charlotte!” Her voice came out as a squeak. “I rather think that your sickness is affecting your mind as well. Are you unstable, on top of the physical sickness that ails you?”

  Charlotte stared at her, dark eyes wide and full of pain. She turned to his lordship, almost beseechingly, and then without another word she fled through the crowd.

  Lord Sebastian gasped, but Alicia laid a hand on his arm. “I rather think that Lady Charlotte needs some time alone. You should give it to her, my lord. You don’t want to unhinge her any further, do you?”

  Alicia stared up at him, forcing a smile onto her face. Yes, she was despicable. A vile creature who used a woman’s pain for her own gain. But the damage was done now, and all she needed was to press home the point.

  She would triumph. The seeds of doubt had been sown in the marquis’s mind about Lady Charlotte Lumley now, and he was as much a puppet of his own parents as she was of hers. Their desire that he marry a suitable woman was strong. A woman of sound health, and character, and mind. She had exposed Lady Charlotte as none of those things. She could never be the future Duchess of Richley, and he must see that as clearly as she did.

  ***

  Charlotte pressed through the crowd, feeling dizzy, almost as though her legs might buckle beneath her.

  The crowd pressed in on her, looming in a nightmarish way. Her eyes widened as she took in the white masks hiding their faces. They were laughing and drinking champagne, their chatter loud and grating. She stumbled against a man dressed as a gypsy with a long flowing cape, and he stared down at her with cold eyes.

  “Are you quite well, madam?” he asked, staring at her. “Perhaps you have had too many champagnes.”

  His friends tittered, throwing their heads back. Cold eyes upon her, from every direction. Despite her strong words to Alicia, she didn’t want them talking about her. She didn’t want them looking at her in this insolent, contemptuous fashion, as if she were a loathsome bug that had scurried out from beneath a floorboard. Ever since the accident she had avoided company for this very reason. Because she didn’t want to be gossiped about. Because she wanted to hide her malady, like a wounded animal hid away.

  She reeled away from them, pressing on through the crowd. They would all know. All of this fine society would be aware by the end of this evening what had happened, and that she was indeed a sick woman. Miss Drake had achiev
ed her goal with just a few carefully placed words.

  She had risen to the bait, she thought desperately. She had admitted it, in front of Lord Sebastian. She had been waiting for his eyes to turn cold as he finally realised what she had been keeping from him all this time. The deception. She had scolded Miss Drake for lying, but she was just as bad as the other woman. She had kept it from him, even when he had begged her to tell him.

  He would never forgive her for it. Never.

  She pressed on through the crowd, her eyes frantically searching. Where were George and Diana? But she couldn’t see them anywhere. The masks. Everyone was wearing masks, and she couldn’t make out who was who. She had to find them. They had to leave this horrible place now. She should never have come. She had invaded enemy territory and she was paying the price.

  There. Her eyes lit up as she spied a Roman costume through the crowd. Desperately she pushed through, laying her hand on the man’s arm. He swivelled around, staring down at her questioningly, a white mask over his eyes.

  Her hand jerked back as if it had been burnt. It wasn’t George. The man was of a similar height and had a similar costume on, but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t her brother.

  “Can I help you, madam?” the man asked, eyeing her warily.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I thought you were someone else.”

  She stumbled onwards. She needed to sit down, but she couldn’t see any chairs. They had to have chairs in this place, didn’t they? Somewhere she could wait and compose herself as she waited to spot George and Diana. Desperately, her eyes scanned the room, but she couldn’t see them. Everyone was standing, mingling, or dancing.

  She was almost to the foyer now. It was less crowded there. Footmen stood on either side, solemn and stiff. There were a few gentlemen and ladies who had just arrived, waiting to be announced to the company. They reminded her of a flock of birds, bright in their plumage, and chattering wildly, ready to join the company and dance, and drink champagne without a care in the world.

  She stared at them. She could never be like them. She wasn’t one of them. The London beau monde, who conducted their lives with the utmost propriety, and where scandal was to be avoided at all cost. The beau monde, who preened like peacocks, judging all who were not like them. She should have been a part of this world, but she wasn’t. She realised that she never could be.

  She was different. A wounded bird, who had never repaired her wings. She didn’t belong here. Lord Sebastian did and so did Miss Drake. She suddenly realised that they were probably perfect for one another. He was to become a duke one day, after all, and all he needed was a decorous and shallow wife who knew how to live in this world. A wife who had no hint of scandal attached to her, who would own the title of duchess, fitting into it like a glove.

  It wasn’t her. There was no room for real emotion in this world. As long as things appeared well, they were. All else could be fabricated. Gentlemen and ladies could marry without love and do it without blinking an eye. Lord Sebastian was going to do it, and so was Miss Drake. It was normal in this society.

  She had to get out of here. Now.

  She pushed past the new arrivals in the foyer, heading towards the entrance. Walking through the door, she was dismayed to find a fine drizzling rain falling from the sky. Desperately, she looked up and down the street, searching for their carriage. She could wait in it, couldn’t she, for George and Diana?

  But there were so many lined up against the pavement, either disgorging their occupants or waiting for them, that she couldn’t see it. They all looked the same, like dark pods. Coachmen were standing in the street, talking to each other in groups, waiting for their gentlemen and ladies. She scanned their faces to find Barnes, their coachman. But she couldn’t see him.

  She looked back at the house, hesitating. She didn’t want to go back in there. It was almost a physical aversion, as though her body were refusing to obey her mind.

  The rain started to fall harder. She was going to be drenched soon, but she didn’t care. It was not that far to Piccadilly and Acton House, was it? She remembered the route the coachman had taken. Her parents would be stunned if she arrived on the doorstep, soaking and without her brother and sister. But she could explain.

  She didn’t think any more about it. She took a deep breath, and ran down the street, fleeing into the night, only briefly registering the curious looks of the coachmen as she passed by.

  Chapter 25

  Sebastian stared down at Miss Drake’s hand on his arm with distaste. She looked a little shaken, but she was recovering quickly, filled with the almost brittle bravado that was her signature. He could see the fierce light of determination in her eyes.

  “What was that about?” he hissed. “What have you done?”

  She reeled back, a little, looking shocked, staring at him with dismay.

  Suddenly, Lord Castlereagh and Lady Diana pushed through the crowd towards them. Sebastian could see that George was furious and Diana grim-faced. Everyone stared at them as they passed, muttering under their breaths. But the Lumleys didn’t care a jot, by the look of it. They looked fierce, like mother hens who had discovered a hawk in the coop, threatening their chick.

  Alicia stiffened as they approached, taking her hand away from his arm.

  “Where is Charlotte?” demanded George, looking from one to the other. “We heard that there was an altercation of some kind.” He stared at Alicia contemptuously. “And I can guess what it was about, Miss Drake.”

  Alicia smiled vaguely, then bent down, picking up Charlotte’s gloves. “You might like to return these to Lady Charlotte, Lord Castlereagh. She became most distressed and threw them onto the floor.” She rolled her eyes. “She is emotional, isn’t she? One would almost say unhinged.”

  Diana quickly took the gloves, staring at Alicia fiercely. “Charlotte would not have discarded her gloves without provocation, Miss Drake. What did you say to her to make her do it?”

  Alicia gazed at her steadily. “I merely asked if the rumours about her sickness are true, that is all. Do you have something to hide about it?”

  George cursed under his breath, staring at her. “There are names for ladies such as yourself, Miss Drake, and I am afraid that none of them are complementary.”

  Alicia reddened. “You are insulting, sir. You should not speak to a lady in such a manner.”

  “No?” George was livid. “A lady should not behave the way that you have, Miss Drake. Are you proud of yourself, for forcing our sister to become so overwrought? For attacking her in such a manner?”

  Alicia opened her mouth but didn’t say anything. Her eyes darted from left to right, as if she were desperately seeking an escape route but couldn’t find one.

  “Our sister is the bravest woman you will ever meet,” said Diana icily. “We alone have been witnesses to all the pain she has suffered and what she has endured, through no fault of her own.” She took a deep breath. “Why would you seek to cause her more pain, when she has done nothing to you to deserve such brutality?”

  Sebastian stared at George and Diana shocked. They were confirming that his dear Charlotte had suffered and was still suffering. From an ailment that was still a mystery to him, but he now knew was serious. Was that the reason she had refused to see him that day when he had arrived at Acton House? Had she been suffering under its grip, whatever it was?

  He thought of the way she had ripped the gloves from her hands, almost challengingly, under the attack from Miss Drake. Alicia had dared her to do it and in that moment she was feeling the pressure. He knew how much it would have cost her to do such a thing. Charlotte was a deeply private person. She had hidden this ailment from the world for that reason, and he realised that this was why she had stayed in the country, a virtual recluse, all these years. She did not wish to expose herself, to such censure, from people like Miss Drake.