Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  “It should have been you,” his mother said when they brought the news of the carriage accident. Runaway horses. No survivors.

  “It was a horrible accident, Hugh,” said his great aunt, when she arrived two days later. “No one’s fault, unless it was your father’s. Your mother is mad with grief.”

  Perhaps. His mother seemed sane enough, if vicious and unpleasant, but on that one point, Mother remained adamant until her death twenty years later. Her darling daughter had been killed in an accident, and it was all Bear’s fault that Felicia had been there instead of Bear.

  ***

  For the second reading of the banns, Rosa wore one of her new gowns. One of five, and more to come. Bear had found a dressmaker who kept a stock of gowns with the long seams sewn, and had insisted on buying all those that suited Rosa’s size and coloring. Only one had been ready to collect at the end of their long day in Liverpool, and she’d worn it home on the ferry, wrapped against the wind in one of her new shawls, with one of her new hats tied firmly under her chin.

  It had been a busy week.

  The new cook started work the next day, which was Wednesday, and just in time, for Bear’s Liverpool work crew crossed on that morning’s ferry, and Bear brought the foreman to dinner.

  Warned by a message, and armored in her new gown, Rosa was able to meet Mr. Caleb Redding with equanimity. With Maggie to serve and Sukie sitting with Father, she presided over the table, where the two men initially tried to keep the conversation general, but soon succumbed to discussions of the work that needed to be done to set up camp at Thorne Hall, especially since the local weather watchers were predicting a long spell of rain.

  Rosa waved off their apologies, fascinated by this insight into the man she was to marry.

  “That one end of the stable block is mostly sturdy enough,” Mr. Redding said, “and shoring up anything rickety will be easy. But plugging all the leaks? If we put our dormitory in there, we’ll spend all our time fixing holes, and none on the real work.”

  “And if we don’t,” Bear argued, “we’ll get even wetter when the wind gets up and the tents blow away.”

  They argued back and forth, until Rosa ventured, “Could you put the tents up inside the stables?”

  Stunned silence greeted her question. Both men looked into some distance as they thought, then exchanged a glance and nodded.

  “A brilliant suggestion, Miss Neatham,” Mr. Redding said, but it was Bear’s proud smile that warmed her to her toes.

  The other gowns arrived on Thursday, the same day as the enormous bed, which needed to be carried upstairs in pieces and assembled in the best bedchamber.

  On Friday, the village dressmaker arrived to do the final fitting on the gowns sent from Liverpool, but Rosa would be crossing the Mersey again next week for the gown Bear had insisted on having made for her wedding. A gown of real silk, and Bear looked astonished when she suggested she didn’t need it. Also, her second trip to Liverpool in just over a week, when before she had been there thrice in her lifetime. No, four. If the rector’s story was true, Father and Mama had brought her from Liverpool as a tiny baby.

  On Sunday, Rosa looked across the aisle at the squire’s box, to meet the angry eyes of Lady Threxton. She took a deep breath and nodded a greeting. The old woman sniffed and turned her head away.

  The rector read the banns for the second time, and Rosa relaxed, fractionally, when they passed without comment. She was safe for the rest of the service but would then have to face those of the congregation who had an opinion about her coming marriage. She was not as nervous as she had been last week. After all, nothing bad had happened then, when the news was fresh. Besides she had her new gown, and Bear, that mountain of strength and protection, at her side.

  However, Bear was carried off as soon as they left the church porch, surrounded by men who found his betrothal to the notorious Miss Neatham far less important than his call for workers to rebuild Thorne Hall.

  This week, the crowd of well-wishers grew larger, and contained a number of former detractors, all people who stood to benefit if Bear chose to give them or their relatives a job or favor them with his custom.

  Once again, the Pelmans and the squire’s family did not look her way, as if they could imagine her out of existence, and they did not linger.

  Those around her had dispersed before Bear finished with his petitioners. She thought of joining him, but a chorus of raucous laughter hinted that the all-male group might find her presence constraining. Instead, she crossed the road beyond the churchyard gate to the shade of a tree, where Jeffreys waited with the chaise and horses.

  He greeted her with a nod, hurrying to the side of the chaise to let down the steps. “Did you want to take a seat to wait for Mr. Gavenor, Miss Neatham?”

  Not really, when who knew how long he would be? She had sat long enough on the hard seat of the Thorne Hill box pew. “I think I will just take a stroll, Jeffreys,” Rosa said. “I’ll walk in the direction of the bridge, just as far as the edge of the village. If Mr. Gavenor is ready before I return, you can take me up on the way.”

  “Certainly, Miss Neatham.” He retreated to the horses’ heads and leaned back against the bar to which they were tethered.

  Walking in the sun was possibly foolish, but the warmth was so lovely after the storms, the light cotton dress was cool, and the new hat shaded her face. She strolled, keeping to the side of the road, returning smiles as she passed the few people still about. Most of the villagers would be having their main meal before sallying forth on visits or settling to tasks that could be done on a Sunday without offending the neighbors.

  Rosa had continued the habits of Thorne Hall, Lord Hurley having adopted the modern custom of dinner in the evening. The cook would have a light snack ready for her and Bear when they arrived back at Rose Cottage. The novelty of eating food she had not prepared had not worn off, and once they were private after the meal, she was fairly certain that Bear would kiss her again, as he had several times this week. The thought put a slight skip in her step.

  “Pleased with yourself, are you not?” the bitter voice stopped her. Lady Threxton emerged from the shadow of the gateway into the Pelmans’ back garden. “I always knew you would come to no good. An apple does not fall far from the tree.”

  Before she had time to think, Rosa asked the question that had burned in her mind all week, “Why do you hate me? I have never done anything to you. I know my aunt…”

  She took a step back as Lady Threxton advanced on her, her face contorted with rage.

  “You, your mother, your aunt. You all took what was mine. What she did killed my father, did they tell you that?”

  Such virulence over so many years! Rosa made one more effort. “She left in disgrace and died. Is that not enough? They’re all dead now, all the people involved. Except you and my father. Can we not let it rest?”

  “Is that what they told you? That Lillibelle died?” Lady Threxton laughed, a cruel distortion of what should have been a joyful sound. “She lives, and has her hooks deeply into the Marquis of Raithby.” She cackled another mirthless sound. “That is the kind of woman she is. One who tempts a married man from his vows and makes orphans of his children. The whole world knows it. Belle Clifford, she calls herself, but I saw her myself, at the Opera with her paramour. Wherever he goes, he has a place for her nearby, even on his chief estate, with the scandal columns reporting what they get up to and his wife forced to ignore what happens right under her nose.”

  She narrowed her eyes as she came right up to Rosa, waving her finger so close that Rosa had to back away to keep her nose from being struck.

  “You, your aunt, your mother. You are all from the same bad seed. All whores.” She drew back, her eyes suddenly confused. “Lillibelle? You’ve come back?”

  Rosa had seen the same disorientation when her father began slipping away from reality. Her anger and fear receded, replaced by compassion. Her poor cousin had spent so long in the past, she was now
trapped by it. Rosa hoped she had some happy memories to wander among, as Father did.

  Lady Threxton whispered at her, a rage-filled hiss, “I know what you did with Pelman. You were sneaking out to see him behind my back. Just like Aunt Mary, running off with that man and getting herself killed. Two daughters for Papa to raise, and no marriage license. He should have put you both in a workhouse. He already had a daughter!”

  The sound of approaching hooves and harness coincided with the younger Lady Threxton hurrying from the Pelman’s garden and reaching her mother-in-law’s side just as Bear pulled the carriage up beside Rosa.

  “What have you said to her?” the squire’s wife demanded.

  “What has she said to my betrothed?” Bear corrected, dropping to land at her side and catching her elbow just in time to stop her from sagging. She leaned into his strength, and found the fortitude to say, “She has me confused with my aunt. Best take her out of the hot sun, Lady Threxton.”

  “You need to sit down, Miss Neatham.” Bear’s eyes showed worry. “You are as white as a sheet, my dear.”

  She allowed Bear to help her up into the chaise, and to fuss over putting up her new parasol to shade her, while Jeffreys returned to the groom’s perch at the rear.

  ***

  What did the old witch say?

  Bear asked no questions. Rosa needed time to compose herself, and would not, in any case, want to air her family’s long-standing scandals in Jeffrey’s hearing.

  Rosa remained silent during the short drive, but color had returned to her cheeks by the time Bear handed her down at Rose Cottage.

  Rosa went up to check on her father, then joined Bear in the parlor, where the servants had laid out cold meats, pastries, pickled vegetables and fruits. She was calm and contained, as if the incident with Lady Threxton had not happened, but the strain showed around her eyes.

  One of the Hesketh girls bustled in and out of the room with tea makings, and coffee for Bear, so private conversation would have to wait.

  Instead, Bear described the work on Thorne Hall, and the new workers he planned to hire on Monday. “As you know, we’ve started the demolition, but it will go much faster with the extra hands.” His challenge—or Caleb’s rather—would be to forge teams with both skilled men and laborers, when skilled men were on foreign soil and the laborers all from Kettlesworth.

  Rosa was surely just humoring him. Women didn’t care where the money came from, just that it came. Or so he had always believed, but Rose listened carefully, and asked a few pertinent questions.

  “Some sort of competition seems to inspire men,” she said. “Could you have a weekly challenge, with a prize for the team that completes their task first? Something they would have to work together to achieve.”

  That could do the trick. “I like that idea, Rosa.” He’d discuss it with Caleb, and they’d figure something out.

  The meal finished, he invited her to take a walk to the Hall. “You haven’t seen it since we started.” The walk would give them time to chat, and the shrubbery between the Hall and the cottage offered plenty of cover, should he be able to persuade his shy lady that they were unobserved.

  His male parts stirred at the thought, somewhat prematurely. He was determined to show proper respect by waiting for their wedding night, difficult though it was when she looked up at him with a demure smile, her face framed by her hat and its ribbon.

  Arm in arm, they strolled through the gate that gave quick access to the Hall, along one of the bridle paths of the estate. First, the path from the cottage wound through a thicket of hazel, which looked as if it had been coppiced regularly for generations, and untouched for years. Another task for his list of all that was needed to make the property marketable, but currently an ideal spot for dalliance.

  He looked back to check, and sure enough, he could see nothing but hazels. The same ahead and to both sides. Rosa had stopped when he did. She watched him, eyes wide, a light flush coloring her cheeks. She curled her lower lip into her mouth and ran the top teeth over it, and the salacious images that action prompted had him groaning. Did the minx have any idea what she did to him?

  She certainly knew what to expect, for as he took a step toward her, she lifted her arms and cooperated in her own capture.

  Several long kisses later, he lowered her gently to the path again, tortured by and reveling in her slide down his body. “Only one more week,” he reminded himself, and must have spoken aloud because Rosa answered, “Just seven more days.”

  Bear helped Rosa with the buttons he had undone and retied her hat, which he had pushed from her head for better access to her face. Rosa had clearly been better behaved than him, since he had only to tidy his cravat and straighten his cuffs. Perhaps he could tempt her into rumpling him more on the way back.

  Once they began walking again, he asked the question that had eaten at him since he’d come to Rosa’s rescue earlier that day. “What did old Lady Threxton say that so upset you?”

  “Oh Hugh, just the same ancient history. But… Hugh, she did not know who I was, at the end. She thought I was my aunt. She called me Lillibelle, and said I—the two of us, so Lillibelle and my mother—should have been left in the workhouse. She mentioned Pelman as Lillibelle’s deceiver, which confirms the rector’s story.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rosa couldn’t tell Bear the rest of Lady Threxton’s accusations. That she was Lillibelle’s child. That her grandmother had also run away with a man she never married, which made Rosa’s mother and aunt base born. Above all, that Lillibelle still lived, and was mistress to the Marquis of Raithby.

  Such scandalous associations made her unfit to be a wife, and she should tell him the truth and release him from his promise. But, how could she? He was her salvation and her father’s, and besides, Lady Threxton’s mind was fading. Perhaps what she said was not true.

  She let Bear whisk her into a shelter formed by two trees and kiss her thoroughly, consoling herself that the scandal was all in the past and would not touch them.

  Still, the revelations preyed on her mind, particularly that her aunt, if Lillibelle was indeed her aunt, was still alive. Belle Clifford. Would it be such a terrible thing if she wrote a letter? But the post was collected at the inn, and the innkeeper’s wife was a gossip. Besides, she had no address.

  The thought sat at the back of her mind during a busy week. By Monday, she realized she could post the letter from Liverpool, and send it in care of the Marquis of Raithby. By Tuesday, she had already rejected two drafts. She had not yet mentioned the letter to Bear, who didn’t know Lillibelle still lived, but she would have to. He was escorting her to Liverpool.

  She and the two maids were giving the whole house a thorough cleaning, attic to cellar, tackling all the jobs she had been unable to manage on her own. The outdoors handyman had arrived and was making order out of the parts of the garden that had been reverting to wilderness. Bear had a group of workmen remaking the shed and building an extension large enough to stable two horses and a small carriage.

  Bear spent most of each day at Thorne Hall, working alongside the men, but he came to dinner each evening, bringing his foreman. Each evening he found a time and place to catch her alone, for another of those toe-curling kisses.

  Thursday was the day set for Rosa to return to Liverpool for the gown she would wear at her wedding. On Wednesday evening, Bear asked, “Would you mind if I do not escort you to Liverpool tomorrow, Rosa? I want to be here tomorrow when we bring down the rest of the damaged wing.”

  She could post her letter, now in its fifth draft, without having to explain. “Of course, Hugh. You must be at Thorne Hall for that. I can take Sukie with me for propriety.”

  “And Jeffreys,” Bear decreed. “He will drive you to the ferry and cross with you.”

  “We will be some time,” Rosa told Jeffreys the following day, after she had consulted with the dressmaker. “Meet us back here in two and a half hours, Jeffreys.” An hour for the fitting. At least
an hour to wait while they made the final adjustments, and thirty minutes for a final fitting just to be certain that the gown was perfect.

  After Sukie had been dispatched with the dressmaker’s maid to fetch Rosa a cup of tea, Rosa asked the dressmaker for directions to a place she could send a letter. Delighted that the post location was no more than a couple of streets away, she then put the letter out of her mind to focus on the gown.

  It was the most beautiful gown Rosa had ever seen; not the lightweight, shimmering silk that Bear had initially picked, suitable only for evening, but a figured silk in a slightly heavier weave, made up as a day gown, with a modest scooped bodice and long sleeves. The dusky pink ground bore a repeated motif of stripes and flowers, and the effect enhanced by embroidery on the cuffs and hem, using the same shapes and slightly darker colors.

  The dressmaker and her seamstresses fussed over the exact fit of the bodice and the length of the cuffs. There was a pelisse, too, short waisted and in a darker rose.

  She enjoyed the fitting much more than she had expected, which made the hour fly past. “We have little to do, ma’am,” the dressmaker said, at last. “An hour, no more. You are welcome to wait, or if you have errands…?”

  An hour. With the last of the hen money in her reticule, and a wedding present for Bear to purchase, an hour would be barely enough time. But first, the letter. The final version, although brief, addressed the essentials.

  To Mrs. Belle Raithby,

  I am given to believe that we are related, ma’am. If this is so, then you may be the only person in the world who knows the truth of it, for Mrs. Neatham, your sister, has been gone for more than twenty years, and Mr. Albert Neatham is failing in his mind.

  If it does not give you pain to acknowledge this voice from your past, I would be pleased to hear from you, and to have the opportunity to correspond with the last surviving member of my family.