Lord to Love Again: A Sweet and Clean Regency Romance

by Grace Sellers

  It was as if he were being waylaid by an avalanche of dirty clouds, for heaven’s sake.

  But, then, he was in no hurry to arrive at his destination. The sheep farmer scuttled the last of the herd’s stragglers across the road and Alexander’s horse could continue down the village road. As a matter of fact, he really longed to turn his horse around and return home.

  But he did not.

  Because he was a gentleman. And gentlemen attended holidays to which they had accepted invitations. He knew the rules. He had a title, but he had to put in the social time, everyone told him.

  After riding on another quarter-hour, Howsham House, Lord Stanwyck’s ancestral seat, came into view over a hill after the two day's journey. He had taken his horse ahead of his carriage to in an attempt to cure his restlessness, but it hadn’t worked.

  The afternoon sun was warm on his dark coat, and he yearned for shade. Anywhere else was preferable than attending a month-long summer party full of strangers, but a dark, quiet pub was his first choice. Still, he was making an attempt, was he not? Perhaps now the gossipy members of society would be satisfied. Although that was doubtful.

  Even as his horse moved forward under him, Wolfolk felt his stomach sink. He had not been a formal guest in society in more than two years since the death of his wife, Eugenia, and he certainly did not wish to be one now. Despite his desire to escape, he urged his mount forward. The voice of his oldest friend, Percy Stanwyck’s voice sounded in his head, “You must come and stay with us at Howsham this summer. You must come out and meet new people, Alex.”

  Stanwyck had meant young ladies, of course. When one is a widower, it seems, everyone wants nothing more than for one to remarry. He cringed. He understood his friends wanted him to meet another woman so they wouldn’t have to feel guilty when they saw him. As a young, childless widower, he was a tragic figure. People did not want to be reminded of how quickly and sharply the wheel of fortune could turn.

  Alexander rode to Howsham’s neat, well-tended stables and dismounted as a groom stepped up to take his horse. He pushed his black hair from his face and steeled himself for what lay ahead.

  The real reason he was here, as Stanwyck informed him, was that one particular guest was the loveliest girl to be presented to Society this season—an Incomparable, in both beauty and wealth. So he had ridden out in the boiling summer sun. He wished he had the foresight to lie and say he could not attend. At nearly three and thirty, he felt too old for any of this. When he had been young, he would have relished it, but now—after Eugenia—the thought of the charade of courting made him ill.

  Alexander had successfully resisted matchmaking invitations until Stanwyck and friends had cornered him at a gambling table months ago. Alexander had not been playing well and was nearly out of money. A wager was made on his attendance for a month at the lord’s country home in the coming summer.

  In a last attempt to turn his luck around, Alexander took the bet.

  He lost.

  Caroline followed a young maid who led Nelly and her through Howsham to a high-ceilinged sitting room with a bedchamber on each side. It was large and airy, with gleaming doorknobs, sparkling crystal chandeliers and freshly cut flowers arranged in towering vases.

  The view from the bedroom window out over the colorful gardens was excellent. Truly, Howsham in summer was superb. Caroline had to suppress the urge to gasp at the view, which was silly because she been in grand rooms much of her younger life.

  Now, however, it made her heart hurt to look down at the grounds below the window, which stretched into fields of long grass, banked by lavender and white flowers waving in the breeze. Its trimmed hedgerows and ivy-covered walls reminded her of Barnsley, her family’s home in Gloucestershire. But Barnsley had been sold. In her previous life, she had always belonged in the grand rooms she had been in. Now it was one more reminder of what she no longer possessed.

  She chided herself for being silly. Of course, the view was excellent, she was being shown the best room in the most lavish manor homes in Yorkshire. Not that it was meant for her. It was all for Nelly. Caroline was simply along for the ride.

  “You may sleep here, mum.” The small maid curtsied at the doorway of the more modest bed chamber. It had no view of the garden, but thankfully, Caroline had her own bed as well as her own room, which had not always been the case since she had become a companion to Nelly.

  Two footmen struggled to carry one of Nelly’s trunks past, and she stepped out of their way. Nelly showed no similar consideration and nearly walked into the shorter of the two as she was idly pulling off her gloves.

  “Nelly, it’s a beautiful view of the gardens.”

  Nelly’s gaze rose past her straight nose and out toward the window for a moment before settling back to her gloves.

  “Yes,” she answered blandly. She turned to the lady’s maid and wordlessly held up her wrists so the girl could unlace them. “Have the other guests arrived yet?” Her blue eyes looked from the maid to Caroline. “Do you think he’s here yet?”

  The maid looked confused. “Who are you seeking, miss?”

  Nelly sighed impatiently. “The Earl of Wolfolk, of course.” She finally peeled one glove off and added, “Is there anyone else here to be concerned with?”

  The maid looked worried. “I have not been attending to the male guests.”

  “Of course you haven’t,” Caroline said to the maid. “Nelly, we will meet all the other guests shortly.” She watched the maid leave before she continued.

  “You know it is unbecoming to show interest in only the loftiest guests. We should treat all guests equally.”

  Nelly sniffed. “But I am here to meet him, am I not? That is why I’ve been invited.”

  Caroline cringed. Nelly would be labeled a “lily” by the ton—beautiful, fragrant, and determined to persistently climb upward—if she wasn’t careful. And then all would be for naught.

  Caroline brushed aside any uncertainty she had felt in her role of helping Nelly land one of the most eligible men in Yorkshire. It was what she was hired for, and it was certainly what her cousin wanted.

  Nelly had had some refreshment, a short rest, and now sat in front of a vanity being primped and laced by a small troop of ladies maids and a French modiste for dinner. Caroline realized she ought to change as well.

  “What fan will you use this evening?” a modiste with a thick French accent asked Nelly.

  Nelly was toying with a powdered puff on the vanity in front of her.

  “Nelly, please do not wear rouge,” Caroline said. “Your mama will run all the way up here herself if she hears you appeared painted in public.”

  Nelly looked away guiltily, her nose in the other direction.

  “I should do whatever I like. And I should like my jeweled fan tonight.”

  The modiste beamed at Nelly. “Magnifique! Rouge will only make you more beautiful. Ah, I have a new rose lip salve.”

  Caroline opened her mouth to protest.

  “La Belle Assemblee magazine says rouge is perfectly acceptable for young ladies,” Nelly said.

  Caroline bit the inside of her lip before speaking.

  “You know your mother expects me to guide you as you present yourself to society.” She ignored Nelly’s pout. “Where is the jeweled fan?”

  “Bah.” Nelly frowned. “No one will notice. Mathilde uses such a light hand. I will look au natural. It was packed in the teak trunk.”

  “Better than au natural,” Mathilde agreed.

  Why were the French so obsessed with looking like dolls?

  Caroline glanced around the room. The teak trunk was not here. She guessed it was set with the other unopened luggage and hadn’t yet been brought up. She thought of sending one of the maids to find it, but she knew she could locate it with less trouble herself.

  Caroline walked down the main stairs and reminded herself to inspect Nelly’s face when she came back before dinner. Being a seventeen-year-old girl’s companion was more compl
icated than she thought. She almost did not blame Nelly’s mama for not attending this trip, although the woman certainly would have enjoyed Howsham’s grandness. But Nelly’s father was ill and she insisted she could not take care of him and give her daughter’s entrance to society its proper attention.

  That bore fruit for Caroline, although she had barely known her younger cousin before being contacted by her mama three months ago. Over the past few years, as Caroline’s fortunes fell, Nelly’s family had risen. Caroline’s own excellent education—before her mother died and her father gambled away their fortune—had taught her superb manners, and luckily for Nelly and her mama, she desperately needed the compensation. Not just for herself, but for her brother as well.

  Wolfolk slipped into an empty sitting room. He wanted a moment alone to pull together his thoughts before meeting the other guests. Fortunately, the room was dark and blessedly empty.

  How good the silence felt. He paused before a large gilded looking glass and reviewed his image. He was freshly bathed and dressed in a spotless dinner jacket. He smoothed his dark hair where it was curling up. Did he look like a man a young lady would want to marry? He used to, after all, Eugenia had wanted to marry him. But that seemed so long ago. He had no idea how he appeared to others now.

  He tried to smile, to look how he knew he was expected to appear: gallant and pleasant. But even to him, his smile looked unconvincing. He looked a bit like a wolf. He tried again and bowed as though he was being presented to someone.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” he said quietly, testing out his reflection.

  Still not quite there. Needs more charm.

  He bowed more deeply in the mirror.

  “It is my pleasure to meet you,” he said slightly louder.

  Somewhat better.

  “It is my honor to…” He stopped speaking and froze. A face appeared in the mirror from behind him.

  A woman.

  In the room.

  She held a fan in her hands as she watched him. She must have been in the room the whole time.

  And he had been talking to himself in the mirror…

  He blushed vivid red, which he could see in his reflection.

  Bloody hell.

  She stepped forward.

  “I am terribly sorry. I was retrieving a fan from a trunk and I didn’t see you come in. I apologize, my lord.” She curtsied and backed toward the door.

  She seemed calm and self-collected. Even amused. Few people treated him as an equal, especially women. How silly he must look. How dare she intrude upon him? He was an earl, and she was… well, just who was she?

  He turned to face her.

  It was one thing to be caught unawares by a stranger, another thing altogether when it was a pretty one. Her eyes were a ridiculously lovely shade of gray. His pulse raced.

  “It is I who am sorry. I was looking for a quiet place to collect my thoughts.”

  “And I was intruding on that space. Forgive me.”

  He met her eyes. Her pink mouth was straight and plump. And smiling slightly.

  Who was she?

  “It is not your fault. I intruded upon you. My apologies,” he repeated.

  Good lord, it sounded as though they were arguing over who’s fault it was.

  She nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

  She backed herself to the door and was already turning the handle to get out.

  She dropped another curtsey again. “My lord,” she said, slipping through the door and out of the room.

  “Wait…” he said, but she was gone.

  The room’s silence hummed in his ears.

  Alexander turned and adjusted his cravat in the glass, decided he was a fool and left the room. There was no sign of the woman he had just seen. She had not been a maid, but he didn’t think she was a guest either. Whoever she was, she was unmitigatedly pretty. And composed.

  And irritating...

  Dear God, let her not be Miss Featherton. But she did not look that young, and her dress was rather drab. The woman—whomever she was—had not been dressed in fashionable clothes.

  Hopefully, she was a nobody he could ignore for the rest of the trip.

  He needed to find Stanwyck to straighten this out.

  Caroline rushed back up the steps to Nelly’s and her bedchamber. She imagined the man’s dark eyes, his eyebrows rising in surprise at seeing her, the mortification on his face. He was very tall and had thick, dark waves of hair almost to his shoulders.

  He did not seem like other peers, barging his way through rooms and expecting people to mold to him. Noblemen usually did not have to apologize for anything in life, ever. The world bent to their wills.

  But he had looked uncertain, which was not at all a usual look for an entitled member of the ton. In fact, he had looked lost.

  She handed the fan to Nelly and wondered quite what to make of him. She hoped she would not see him again.

  3

  Wolfolk stood in the back of the large drawing room behind the other guests and said nothing. Perhaps he was no longer suited to being a civilized houseguest after all. He toyed with his gloves and tugged at his waistcoat, knowing all the while he looked like a distracted fool. He was so preoccupied he barely noticed Stanwyck enter and approach him.

  “Good afternoon, old boy,” Stanwyck said, shaking his hand heartily. “It seems you’ve disappointed bet makers all over London by actually turning up here.”

  Wolfolk smiled at the comment. Stanwyck had been a boyhood friend of Wolfolk’s at Eaton, and he had been instrumental in his recovery after his wife died. Wolfolk has spent countless weeks stalking Stanwyck’s fields, drinking Stanwyck’s brandy and staring into his roaring fireplaces after Eugenia’s death. He may not want to be social now, but he knew he owed it to Stanwyck.

  “Yes, well, you may not want to cash in just yet. The evening is still early. There is a window nearby, and I may still disappear.”

  Stanwyck grinned widely. “I think not when you see our latest guest. Do not look so dour. You’ll frighten away all the ladies before our month has even begun.”

  Wolfolk knew his usual expression was too serious for social events like this, so he tried to appear less severe. Apparently, it was not working.

  “Only if you have not done it first,” Wolfolk said. It was generally accepted that Stanwyck, with his golden hair and pale eyes, was a favorite of the ladies.

  Stanwyck smiled again. “That’s the old Wolfolk I know and occasionally like.”

  “Cheer up. You’ll leave here with a bride. It’s the Curse of Howsham. People who meet here fall in love. Look at Lady Stanwyck and I. We met here some seven years ago.”

  “That sounds like some sort of threat.”

  Stanwyck looked to the door.

  “I believe they are arriving now.” Stanwyck stepped toward two women entering the room.

  Wolfolk wished he could shrink back from the new guests, and wondered for a moment if he could hide behind a couch. That would not be very dignified of him. He had gotten past all this with Eugenia. And for what? Now he was back where he’d started as a bachelor. Now older and feeling more foolish.

  He saw the two women and stopped cold. The youngest, a pretty girl with yellow curls was almost certainly Miss Featherton, while the other, slightly older one was the woman who had stumbled upon him in the empty sitting room earlier. He guessed she was either a spinster cousin or poor friend based upon her plain dress. Perhaps she was a bluestocking.

  Sweat broke out on his brow. Perhaps she was a governess. Nowadays, they brought countless lady’s maids, seamstresses and even maids for maids. He knew better than to underestimate the help a young lady could bring.

  He saw her look at him and then quickly glance away.

  Blast. She recognizes me too. Heat rose up his back under his shirt.

  He steeled himself as they were greeted by Lady Stanwyck. When had he become afraid of meeting strangers, for God’s sake? He had been a soldier, fought valiantly against t
he French, been decorated, and he was afraid of a small group of English women? He tried to lift the corners of his mouth into something resembling a smile as Stanwyck made the introductions. He hoped he wasn’t making the wolf-face again.

  “Miss Featherton, in the back, we have a rare sighting of the Earl Wolfolk.”

  Nelly curtsied and smiled prettily at him.

  Stanwyck was right. She was very lovely. Small and petite, her hair was tied back with blue ribbons, clearly chosen to match her eyes. When she smiled, her cheeks dimpled. Her beauty, her youth, even the fragrant air around her made him feel tall and awkward.

  Wolfolk bowed.

  “How do you do?”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  Wolfolk noticed her pink lovely mouth. “Lord Wolfolk, you are a military hero, are you not? London was filled with tales of your heroics at the Battle of Hartmeade.”

  He swallowed. His throat was already drying out. If only the damned woman wasn’t with her.

  “I was at Hartmeade, Miss, but I’m afraid tales of my courage have been wildly exaggerated.”

  Stanwyck scoffed at this. “Do not listen to his false modesty. I was there too, and Wolfolk nearly single-handedly saved our men.”

  Wolfolk shook his head.

  “Stanwyck is once again stretching the truth.”

  Miss Featherton laughed, which was a pleasant tra-la-la. “How exciting to meet a real war hero.” Her eyes sparkled the way Wolfolk’s hawk did when it spied a rodent.

  “Allow me to introduce Miss Featherton’s companion, Miss Caroline Holland.”

  Companion.

  The woman behind Nelly curtsied and held out a gloved hand for him to clasp, as all polite society did when meeting. She was pretty, but it was to her disadvantage that she was introduced alongside Nelly, which was like a match next to a large, roaring fire. Although, she was still lovely in her own right. Her eyes had the same poised calm he noticed in the sitting room. She looked at him plainly.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Holland.”

  Miss Holland smiled politely.