Lords, Ladies and Babies: A Regency Romance Set with Little Consequences

by Meara Platt

  “If that is what you wish,” he said, walking to stand in the doorway of the bedchamber with her.

  The small room held only one bed. As far as Suzanne could see, it was the only bedchamber in the cottage. The way Benedict stood at her back, so close she could have leaned back into him if she had wanted to, sent chills through her. Things couldn’t possibly have been on the verge of ending between the two of them.

  “I am willing to sleep on the sofa out here, if that is what you wish,” Benedict said softly in her ear.

  Too softly. She wanted him so desperately she could feel it with every beat of her heart. But he was destined for someone else.

  “Nonsense,” she said, pretending ease and turning away from the bedroom. “There doesn’t seem to be much point in that. We can share a bed without being tempted.”

  He didn’t answer. The look in his eyes said that was far less likely than she made it out to be.

  Any further moment of magic between them was curtailed as the driver of their hired carriage banged his way into the front room with one of Benedict’s traveling trunks.

  “Where do you want this, my lord?” he asked, nearly knocking over a small table by the door.

  “You can put it wherever there’s room,” Benedict said in a casual voice, smiling as he stepped away from Suzanne to give the man instructions. “Pile it all in here and we’ll deal with it as soon as we can.”

  That was the end of that. Suzanne spent the next hour or so helping Benedict unpack their trunks and put away the things they’d chosen to travel with. A great many more trunks and crates of belongings from the Antigua plantation that Benedict chose to keep had been shipped to a different location and would be taken on to his family’s state in Kent at some point in the future. The unpacking only served to highlight to Suzanne just how little she had without Benedict, though.

  “Is it a long walk into the nearest town?” she asked as they finished their task and her thoughts began to turn to preparing the food that had so kindly been left for them in the kitchen.

  “I do not consider it a long walk,” Benedict said. “In your condition, it might be less enjoyable.”

  She smiled. “Any walk in this countryside would be enjoyable,” she said. “Perhaps after a day or so of rest, I will walk into town to mail a letter to my sister.”

  His face pinched. “I wish you wouldn’t, but I’ll leave you money for a stamp.”

  “Leave it?” Panic wormed its way into Suzanne’s heart.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” he rushed to appease her. “Just that I truly do have a mountain of business to take care of in the wake of my father’s death. Business that I wasn’t able to see to in Antigua. It will require me to make a short visit to a town larger than the hamlet down the lane. But if I leave in the morning, I should be able to take care of business and return by nightfall.”

  Suzanne pressed a hand to her heart in relief. “Then feel free to do what you must. I look forward to exploring all Shropshire has to offer.”

  Chapter Seven

  A few days passed before Suzanne and Benedict were settled in the cottage enough to set out in pursuit of their own endeavors. Suzanne was charmed to meet Lady Caroline Herrington the day after their arrival, when Lady Caro, as she asked to be called, paid them a visit. She was even more delighted by Lady Caro’s offer of the use of a simple buggy to take her into the nearby village of Shawbury.

  The buggy was light and comfortable, and the horse Lady Caro loaned to draw it was so docile that Suzanne was attempted to laugh as she steered her way into town. It was quaint to think that the elegant Lady Caro considered her condition so delicate that she didn’t bother to ask whether Suzanne knew what she was doing, which she did. She’d driven a far livelier team of horses on grander vehicles back home in Charleston. But the slow and easy ride gave her ample opportunity to take in the breathtaking sights of Shropshire. She’d never been in a place that felt so much like a storybook before, and she loved every new vista that appeared around each turn.

  The village of Shawbury itself was perfectly adorable. Suzanne was able to find a spot to leave the horse and buggy, and set about exploring the picturesque village with a smile on her face. She truly had only one errand to run—mailing her letter to Grace to let her sister know what had become of her—which she managed to accomplish in short order. From there, she wandered along the village’s single street, peering in at the few shop windows.

  Benedict had given her a small amount of pin money, and when the offerings of one of the shops that seemed to sell everything from ribbon to vegetables to small wooden toys proved too much for Suzanne to resist, she went inside. And while it wasn’t all that different from some of her favorite establishments in Charleston, every product was just different enough to fill her with unaccountable amounts of wonder.

  She had just bent to examine a display of scented soaps when a fashionably dressed woman carrying a huge basket turned the corner and bumped right into her.

  “Oh, dear me, I am so terribly sorry,” the woman exclaimed in an airy, flighty voice. “I have become ever so clumsy as of late. Do forgive me.”

  “It is quite all right,” Suzanne said, straightening and facing the woman.

  She was surprised to find herself face to face with a woman of around her age with blonde hair piled in curls above her head, a round, rosy face, and bright, blue eyes. She was also equally as pregnant as Suzanne.

  As soon as the woman noticed the fact, she burst into an excited squeal and clapped her hands to her mouth. “Gracious, and here I was beginning to think I was the only woman in all of England in such a delicate condition. You, my dear, are such a refreshing discovery.”

  Suzanne worked to hide the grin that wanted to pull at her lips. Her assessment of the woman was lightning fast and droll. The woman might have been wealthy—as attested by the quality of her gown—but she didn’t have two bits of sense to rub together. “It is a joyous condition, is it not?” she said, no idea how or if she should be making conversation with the woman.

  “It certainly is.” The woman smiled brilliantly at her, though without much thought in her eyes, then shook herself. “What am I thinking. I am Lady Crawford. And you’re American. How exciting.”

  Of all the things Suzanne was or that she had done within the last year, being American was not one she would have ranked high on her list of exciting things. “I am,” she said. “I believe you are the first lady I have ever met.”

  Again, she was uncertain if her response was appropriate, but Lady Crawford beamed all the same. “It must be quite a treat,” she said. “And you are my first American.” She practically leapt forward to grasp Suzanne’s hands. “And seeing as we are in the same blessed condition, we must be friends. I insist upon it. I have been in desperate need of a protégé to take under my wing, and now I have found you.”

  Suzanne’s mouth fell open, but she was at a loss for words. She sent a sideways look to the woman at work behind the shop’s main counter. The shopkeeper merely rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly, as though she was used to that sort of behavior from Lady Crawford.

  “Come,” Lady Crawford said, drawing Suzanne down the aisle to a display of bread and rolls that Suzanne would have expected to find in a bakery, if the village had been larger. “You must assist me in my current endeavor. I am in the process of putting together charity baskets for some of the less fortunate inhabitants of this town.”

  “How generous of you,” Suzanne said with a smile, though that smile was partly for the amusement Lady Crawford represented.

  “Yes, well, I have only recently arrived in Shropshire with my husband. We’ve been married just a year, you see, and he felt as though I should complete my confinement at his family’s estate instead of London. So here I am, though I am bored silly.”

  Suzanne attempted to hide her grin. She had a feeling boredom wasn’t what had made Lady Crawford silly.

  “It is the duty of the aristocracy to see to
the needs of those who look up to them,” Lady Crawford went on, handing her basket to Suzanne and proceeding to load it with bread and rolls. “And it is true that Lady Herrington occupies a higher rank than me, and therefore that it is her responsibility, not mine, to see to the people of Shawbury. But between you and me—” she leaned in closer to Suzanne, “Lady Herrington has quite a scandalous reputation. And I believe she is more interested in being the patroness of some sort of school for wicked young ladies, or something along those lines, than providing bread and milk for the day laborers of this country and their families.”

  “I have not noticed a great many families on hard times in this area,” Suzanne said, following Lady Crawford on as she added several hunks of cheese to the basket Suzanne carried. It grew heavier by the moment. “But I confess, I have only been in this country for a matter of days.”

  “Then you must let me educate you,” Lady Crawford insisted with a wide smile. “For there is so much to learn about the plight of the poor.”

  Suzanne didn’t doubt her for a moment, but she did wonder what Lady Crawford’s experience of poverty was as she purchased the load Suzanne carried and whisked her out to the street. Suzanne had grown up surrounded by plantations and enslaved people and had spent months in the docks of Antigua. She’d seen what hunger and cruelty could do to a person. And while she didn’t doubt there were families in England who experienced lives that were desperate, none of the houses Lady Crawford led her to in her attempts at charity were what Suzanne would have considered destitute.

  “Mrs. Fielding, what have I told you about working so hard?” Lady Crawford chided the unfortunate housewife whose cottage they practically burst into unannounced. “Surely you can hire a girl from a farming family to take care of your wash for you,” she said as she handed a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese to the middle-aged woman.

  “Why hire a girl I cannot afford to do work that I am capable of doing on my own?” Mrs. Fielding answered, sending Lady Crawford as incredulous a look as she could.

  “You are a pillar of this community, Mrs. Fielding.” Lady Crawford shook her head. “You should be setting an example of refinement and industry to the other ladies of the village.”

  “But, my lady, that is what I am doing.” Mrs. Fielding frowned as Lady Crawford flittered about her cottage, inspecting the sewing that rested on the arm of a chair, moving to a simple drawing pinned to one wall made with charcoal on a rough piece of paper that must have been a creation of one of her children, and finally skipping over to one of the front windows to swipe a finger across the window pane. “I’m a housewife, not a lady of leisure,” she told Suzanne in a much quieter voice.

  “I understand completely,” Suzanne said, sharing a sympathetic look with the woman.

  “You’re American?” Mrs. Fielding asked.

  Suzanne didn’t have a chance to answer before Lady Crawford flitted on to the fireplace, taking a small trinket box from the mantel to inspect. Her fingers slipped, and the trinket box crashed to the stones of the hearth, splintering. Lady Crawford and Mrs. Fielding both gasped in different kinds of horror.

  “Oh, dear,” Lady Crawford said, bending as best she could in her condition to pick up the pieces. In the process, she bumped into the fire irons, sending them clattering across the hearth. “Blast. How clumsy of me,” she said, abandoning her efforts to pick up the pieces of the box in favor of collecting the fire irons.

  She managed to get hold of the poker, but as she straightened, she caught the edge of the poker on the chain holding a steaming kettle over the fire. Suzanne had no idea how she managed it, but she unhooked the kettle and sent it clattering to the stones. The copper kettle dented, and steaming water spilled across Mrs. Fielding’s floor just as the woman dashed up to the fireplace.

  “Ow, ow, ow!” Mrs. Fielding danced backwards as boiling water reached her feet.

  “Here, let me help you.” Lady Crawford advanced on Mrs. Fielding, forgetting that she still brandished the poker.

  The pointed iron swung close to Mrs. Fielding, catching on her sleeve. A horrendous ripping sound followed. In her efforts to escape Lady Crawford, Mrs. Fielding tumbled backwards. Suzanne managed to catch her, but the woman’s momentum was such that both of them plopped sideways onto the chair that held Mrs. Fielding’s sewing.

  “Good heavens,” Mrs. Fielding cried. It was a curse far more than an exclamation of shock.

  “I believe it is time for the two of us to move on to our next house,” Suzanne said in a high-pitched voice, struggling to right herself. “After you, Lady Crawford.” She gestured toward the door.

  “Oh, but I really should stay and help clean up,” Lady Crawford said.

  “That won’t be necessary, my lady,” Mrs. Fielding said in a tight voice, her jaw clenched.

  “We have so many other people to see,” Suzanne seconded her.

  “Well, if you insist. It was lovely visiting you this morning, Mrs. Fielding. I shall return to continue our lessons in deportment soon.”

  “I sincerely hope not,” Mrs. Fielding muttered as Suzanne pushed Lady Crawford out the door.

  Their next two stops were not as eventful, but only by the narrowest of margins. Now that Suzanne knew what Lady Crawford was capable of, she kept a close eye on her, steering her away from disasters, and even catching a thimble that Lady Crawford carelessly knocked off of someone’s counter before it could hit the ground and roll away. The entire escapade was the very last thing Suzanne expected to do with her day, but it made the whole outing far more entertaining than she could have imagined.

  “You simply must come to tea at Thornton Hill,” Lady Crawford said as the two walked back into town, where Suzanne’s buggy waited. “I don’t care whether you’re an American or not or whether it is beneath me to have you call, I like you.”

  “Thank you very much, my lady,” Suzanne said, trying not to laugh.

  “We shall meet here, in town, tomorrow to continue our efforts to assist the poor,” Lady Crawford went on as Suzanne moved to unhitch her horse and prepared to climb up into the buggy. “I insist upon it.”

  “How could I refuse an offer such as that?” Suzanne asked with a smile.

  “You cannot,” Lady Crawford beamed. She rushed in on Suzanne with a surprise hug. “Oh, you will become my very best friend, I can feel it.”

  Suzanne wasn’t so certain of that. Lady Crawford seemed like the sort who grew tired of her toys fairly quickly. But at least friendship with the woman would give her stories to tell. Benedict would likely roar with laughter as she related the day’s events. She could hardly wait to see him.

  * * *

  Frustration seemed to have hung on Benedict’s shoulders for weeks, months, even. Ever since leaving St. John’s. Try as he did to focus on the business of sorting out his father’s estates and assuming the duties of his new title, something felt wrong. He told himself it was the inefficiencies of attempting to handle his business from the remote town of Shrewsbury instead of traveling all the way into London and dealing with his father’s solicitor, or even returning to Kent to have a long overdue meeting with the land agent on his family’s estate. But he wasn’t yet ready to reveal his presence at home yet. Suzanne had another month or so before she would deliver, and if he surprised his friends and family with his return too soon, his story about a wife from the colonies who died in childbirth simply wouldn’t hold water.

  He told himself that that was his reason for posting his business through Shrewsbury. He convinced himself his plan was solid and Lucy would fly to his side as soon as she learned she needn’t consider her barrenness an impediment to their future happiness. But every time he thought about Lucy, her face was blurry and vague. He could barely remember the sound of her voice or her laughter. And while he tried his best to cling to the love that burned deep within him for her, that love had taken on an entirely different quality.

  The love he felt was steamy and hot, like the tropics. It was wild and free, like swim
ming in the ocean. It was intense and passionate, like tumbling through the night with a willing partner who sighed and cried out when she came. His love seemed to have taken on an American accent and batted green eyes at him from a sun-kissed face surrounded by auburn hair.

  He shook his head at the thought and marched on, returning to the mews where he’d left his carriage. He was confusing lust with love and letting his heart run away with the satisfaction his body had felt in Suzanne’s arms. He’d deliberately kept himself at arm’s length from her since learning their endeavor had worked, but it had been the biggest challenge of his life.

  His thoughts enveloped him as he walked across a busy street. They absorbed him so much that he almost didn’t notice the familiar face glaring at him from the far side of the road. At first, he thought what he was seeing had to be a figment of his imagination. But no, he would never forget the pinched, mean look that Hugh Stanley habitually wore in his life.

  Benedict’s first instinct was to dash into the nearest shop or around the closest corner to avoid the man, but it was already too late. Stanley had seen him before Benedict had noticed the bastard. There was no possible way to avoid a confrontation. And there were a sharply limited number of reasons Stanley would be loitering in the streets of Shrewsbury.

  “Mr. Stanley, what a surprise to see you here,” Benedict said, opting to approach the man with as friendly a smile as he could muster.

  “Lord Killian,” Stanley greeted him with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw, though he took Benedict’s hand when it was offered. His grip was like iron.

  “I must confess, you are the very last person I would have expected to see in a quiet town in the middle of Shropshire,” Benedict went on, making light conversation but frantically calculating a way out. He needed to get home to Suzanne and perhaps take her away, somewhere Stanley wouldn’t track her down.

  Stanley stood straighter, glancing around the busy street as if searching for something. “I have reason to believe I do have business here,” he said. His restless gaze landed on Benedict once more. “I believe you have just confirmed that.”