Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  She studied her sister. Now robed in her long, white gown, Grace was clambering awkwardly into the high bed. Every piece of furniture in the room was littered with bits of her evening wear, and Dorothy heaved an even deeper sigh. One by one, she picked up the various items, folded them, and tucked them away in the wardrobe.

  The last thing she wanted was to wake up to a room drowning in a sea of petticoats, chemises, shawls, fans, and gloves.

  When she turned to the small mirror again, she noticed Grace reflected in the silvery surface. Her younger sister watched her with eyelids drooping over sleepy eyes, looking younger than ever.

  Should Dorothy tell her that they might have a small inheritance, after all? She opened her mouth and then shut it again as Grace’s eyes drifted shut. No point in upsetting her when she was so tired, and what if she were wrong? There was still a question in Dorothy’s mind about the veracity of Aunt Mary’s assertion. And it was entirely possible that Dorothy had misunderstood what she’d overheard. In fact, she wondered now if both Aunt Mary and she had misunderstood the marital plans of Lord Arundell.

  Despite Aunt Mary’s notions, Uncle Cyril seemed to be making arrangements with the earl not for Dorothy’s future, but for Cecilia’s.

  Which was quite sensible, after all. The primary concern of any father would be for his daughter’s happiness. It would be a feather in Uncle Cyril’s cap if he could arrange for his eldest daughter to marry an earl. Why should he want to marry off his niece, first, even if she were older? Simply to be rid of the responsibility seemed like a poor excuse compared to obtaining an earl as a son-in-law.

  Her shoulders drooped as she combed her hair and braided it. His eyes had twinkled so merrily and his smile… A tingle ran through her at the memory of his mouth curving with amusement, and the strength and warmth of his arm when she sat next to him on the sofa. The breath caught in her throat.

  She shook herself and walked over to the bed. There was no point in dwelling on such matters, they would play out as they would. She couldn’t help feeling tired and a trifle disappointed, though, as she slipped into bed beside her sister and blew out their candle.

  After breakfast the next morning, Dorothy was once again privy to a conversation she really did not want to hear. She was passing through the main hallway on the ground floor on her way to visit the tiny kitchen garden—hardly more than a small rectangle of a few vegetables and pots of herbs—when she heard Cecilia’s voice, shrill with emotion.

  “But, Papa!” she wailed. “Please! I don’t want to marry him! I don’t care if he is an earl—I do not like him in the least! Mama said he was to marry Cousin Dorothy—not me!”

  “Cecilia, get control of yourself this instant! You may not like him now, but I promise you, you shall grow to do so. Even if you do not, you will be Lady Arundell, and that should satisfy any girl,” Uncle Cyril said. His low voice sounded stern and harsh, holding the sense that he had made a decision and there would be no changing it.

  “Please, Papa!” A sob broke Cecilia’s voice. “He frightens me! Mama said he killed his older brother just to gain the title. He even killed his brother’s wife and then threw his little niece into the Thames to drown! He will probably do the same to me if I marry him. Please—I don’t want to!”

  Silence greeted this shocking statement. Without thinking, Dorothy stepped closer to the library door, her arms crossed and her cold fingers gripping her elbows. It was grossly impolite to listen to a conversation that did not include her, but she could not force her feet to move away.

  “That is nonsense!” Uncle Cyril said at last. “You must not listen to gossip. Few of us have the luxury of marrying the one we wish to marry, should such a thing even be possible. No, we must accept our duty and be obedient to our family and Society.”

  Ignoring her father’s admonishment to do her duty, Cecilia returned relentlessly to the rumors she’d heard. “It isn’t gossip! You can tell simply by looking at his sardonic face that he has done dreadful things. He is hard! And cruel! Anyone with any sensibility would tell you the same.”

  A loud snort of disdain greeted this outburst. “You are too young to understand properly, Cecilia. An earl cannot be one of those weak, frippery fellows you seem to prefer. A connection with the Earl of Arundell will improve the chances for your sisters to make good matches and provide innumerable opportunities for your brother.”

  “My brother? Stephen!?” In a completely unladylike reaction, Cecilia snorted. “He is not interested in a good match. He is completely enamored with Cousin Grace, and no one can claim that is an excellent match.”

  “Never you mind about your brother. He shall forget her soon enough when he returns to Cambridge.”

  “If he returns.”

  “He will return, and I suggest you cease concerning yourself in matters that have naught to do with you. You will behave in a proper, ladylike fashion and do as you are instructed.”

  “I won’t! I tell you, I will not marry him!” The sound of wooden chair legs scraping over the floor followed this outburst. “I won’t!”

  From the sounds, Dorothy had the sense that Cecilia had leapt to her feet in an outburst of frustration. She could just imagine her, face suffused with angry red, brows as thick as her father’s bunched, and sharp features pinched with rage.

  “Cecilia! Sit down!” Her father stormed in an icy voice.

  “I won’t! If you must be connected to an earl, then let him marry Dorothy—she is a member of our family, or so you and Mama kept saying when you gave Jane’s room to her and her loathsome sister. She even got a new dress for that ridiculous supper last night. None of the rest of us got anything—not even a new ribbon! If you and Mama favor her so much, then let her sacrifice herself for the good of the family. I don’t see why I must be the one—I’m not even out yet, and Dorothy is positively ancient. She is two-and-twenty, and this may very well be her last chance. Would you deny her that? Unless you propose to support her for the rest of her life.”

  “Cecilia, that is quite enough! We have obviously spoiled you beyond all reason—”

  Cecilia broke into loud, wracking sobs, and her father came to an abrupt halt. After a moment, Cecilia sniffed and cleared her throat. “I am not spoiled—I am frightened! Do you not understand? Please do not make me marry him. Dorothy would do just as well if you wish for a family connection with Lord Arundell, and she seems willing enough.”

  Willing enough? Dorothy stiffened. Through the ages, untold numbers of women had sacrificed themselves for duty, but she had never viewed herself as one of them, except perhaps when it came to Grace. Dorothy would do anything to grant her younger sister the opportunity to marry for love, even if her choice were Mr. Blyth. Then at least two of them, Martha and Grace, would have happy unions. Two out of three was good—excellent, really—and more than any of the girls could have hoped for after their father had fallen ill and they’d realized the abysmal state of their finances.

  As for Dorothy, well, despite her initial and mostly favorable impression of Lord Arundell, Cecilia’s words had given her pause. No wonder she had whispered the words evil earl into Dorothy’s ear. While she could hardly credit him with throwing a little girl into the Thames—that truly did seem like a gross exaggeration—the rest of the rumor seemed entirely too possible. Many men had been known to quietly do away with others who stood in the way of their ambition. If the earl had done so, he wouldn’t be the first.

  But he would never do such a thing, her heart complained. While she had to agree with Cecilia that he seemed to have a core of steel, he also seemed like a principled man. He emphatically did not seem like a man who would do anything as dishonorable as murdering his own brother.

  But he did plot with Aunt Mary to marry Dorothy—or one of the girls, at any rate—to get his hands on the five thousand pounds that Aunt Mary owed to him. If he would marry for such a ridiculous reason, what might he do for an earldom?

  No matter. Cecilia obviously needed rescue. Straig
htening her shoulders, Dorothy stepped forward and knocked on the partially open library door before walking into the room. Uncle Cyril and Cecilia stood near the fireplace, and as Dorothy entered, they both turned to look at her. Their brows—so much alike—rose in unison. Cecilia abruptly turned away and sniffed into a damp handkerchief while a frown tightened her father’s thin mouth.

  “Yes, Dorothy?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, I, um, wanted a book…” She studied her cousin’s splotched face and red nose with sympathy. “Are you feeling ill, Cecilia?”

  “I am quite well,” her cousin replied sharply. She sniffed again and then delicately blew her nose.

  “What was your impression of Lord Arundell, Dorothy?” Uncle Cyril asked with a glance at his daughter.

  Both Dorothy and Cecilia stared at him in surprise. Holding her handkerchief halfway to her nose, Cecilia took a deep breath. A watery smile trembled on her mouth.

  “He seemed very nice,” Dorothy answered cautiously, her gaze traveling from Uncle Cyril to Cecilia and then back.

  “Yes.” Uncle Cyril cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. A gleam of triumph showed in his eyes. “He appears interested in an alliance with our family.”

  Shoulders taut, Dorothy held her breath as her gaze sought Cecilia’s. The other girl’s face had gone pale, emphasizing her crimson-tipped nose and red-rimmed eyes.

  “Is he?” Dorothy asked, crossing her arms once again and gripping her elbows to keep from grabbing Cecilia’s hand and running out of the room with her.

  “I believe my wife may have mentioned it to you?” Uncle Cyril asked.

  She shook her head. “No.” Not directly, at any rate.

  “She must have!” Cecilia blurted out. “You got that beautiful new dress and everything. Mama must have explained why.”

  “No, she never gave me a reason, though I was very grateful for the gown, of course.”

  “She had a notion—plans…” Uncle Cyril’s words drifted off as he contemplated the spot just above Dorothy’s right shoulder. His bushy brows drew down, shadowing his deep-set eyes.

  “Plans?” Dorothy prompted. Her heart beat wildly against her ribs.

  Once he made his decision public, there would be no going back. She just knew it. She locked gazes with her cousin. Cecilia’s eyes were glazed with anxiety. Both of her hands clutched her handkerchief and pulled on the fragile cloth, and her breath was ragged in her throat.

  Uncle Cyril studied first Dorothy and then his daughter. “Our plans are still under discussion,” he said repressively. “However, I am confident that the final agreement will be acceptable to all parties.”

  Mouth open, Cecilia glanced from her father to Dorothy, let out a sob, and ran from the room.

  “Cecilia!” Dorothy called, belatedly stretching out a hand to her fleeing cousin.

  “Let her go, my dear. She is overwrought.” Uncle Cyril sighed and shook his head. “That is what comes from allowing young women to stay up too late—their subsequent exhaustion makes them over-emotional. I hope it has not affected you, Dorothy.” He studied her from under his heavy brows and frowned.

  “No,” Dorothy answered dryly. “I am quite well and not at all tired.”

  “Excellent. Very commendable, in fact. I cannot tolerate scenes first thing in the morning.”

  “What disturbed Cecilia? Perhaps I can talk to her.”

  “It was nothing. She was simply hysterical and ill-inclined to do her duty.”

  “Her duty, Uncle Cyril? What duty is that? If I can assist her in any way, I shall be pleased to do so.”

  “It is nothing—none of your concern. Now, what book did you wish to find?”

  “Ah…” Dorothy glanced at the tall bookshelves on either side of the fireplace. “I did not have a particular one in mind.”

  He nodded. “Then an improving one, perhaps? I have a book of sermons that our vicar compiled last year. It is just the thing for a young lady.” He strode over to the bookcase and pulled out a slender volume bound in plain brown leather. He held it out to her, his brows raised in a look of benign expectancy.

  The last thing she wanted to read was a book of sermons, but she took the volume and smiled. “Thank you. I am grateful for your suggestion, Uncle Cyril.” If nothing else, it would certainly serve to put her to sleep tonight.

  “Now, I am sorry to cut short our discussion, my dear, but I do have work to do.” He strode to the desk and pulled out the chair. “Is there anything else?”

  Her heart pounded, and she clutched the slim volume to her chest. She ought to tell him that he should not force his daughter into a marriage she clearly did not want—she ought to defend poor Cecilia. But instead, she heard herself say, “No, there is nothing else, Uncle Cyril.”

  “Good day, then.” He nodded to her and sat down, his gaze already focused on the pile of letters arranged on the leather blotter in front of him.

  “Good day.” Dorothy escaped from the library and came to an abrupt halt in the hallway.

  Part of her wanted to search for Cecilia and offer her what comfort she could. She could imagine her cousin sitting in a dark corner somewhere, sobbing in terror at the thought of being forced to wed the evil earl.

  Silly sobriquet, she thought. Evil earl, indeed. It sounded like the title from one of the absurd gothic novels from the turn of the century. And yet it clearly meant something to Cecilia and frightened her deeply.

  In truth, it bothered Dorothy, as well. The rumor might explain why the earl was so clearly willing to marry a nobody he had barely met. If the rest of polite Society shunned him—which frankly seemed unlikely, no matter what he had done, since earls were rare and marriageable ones rarer still—perhaps other ladies were unwilling to marry him. Or he might simply want to fulfill his duty and be done with it.

  That notion would accord well with the air of impatience she’d sensed hovering around him when they met. He was not a man who would dilly-dally and ponder a decision for days. He’d do his duty as he saw fit and move on to other more pressing matters. Her own father had had something of that quality, often much to her irritation, so she recognized it easily when she encountered it.

  The leather binding of the book of sermons felt damp in her hands. She relaxed her tense grip and picked up her skirts to climb the stairs to her bedchamber. After depositing the book on the nightstand next to her bed, she’d find Cecilia and suggest they visit a few of the shops on Bond Street.

  It would take both of their minds off the so-called evil earl, at least for now.

  Chapter Seven

  In less than two weeks, the marriage contract shifted from a simple matter to an absurdly complex negotiation. After another three days going back and forth between lawyers, Marcus wryly noted that his most serious temptation had shifted away from the endearingly lovely Miss Stainton and her five thousand pounds to an overwhelming desire to walk away from the entire thing. However, there was the principle of the thing, after all. He’d agreed for some reason he could not understand to forgive the debt and take Miss Stainton to wife. Perhaps it was the sense of emptiness he’d felt since the loss of his brother. Or a simple desire to feel less alone in the depths of the night when the emptiness of the house reminded him that only a few months ago, he had a brother, niece, and sister-in-law.

  Whatever the reason for his impulse, Miss Stainton’s uncle now seemed determined to ruin his wife’s plans and foist his eldest daughter on him, instead.

  Polkinghorne’s efforts on behalf of his daughter only had the unexpected result of making Marcus realize how attractive Miss Stainton truly was. And then there was the fact that Miss Polkinghorne drew back in terror of him every time they met. That did not bode well for a pleasant or even tolerable marriage. The poor girl had nearly fainted in the middle of Hyde Park when he’d encountered the two young women three days after the supper party.

  It would be too strong to assert that the memory haunted him, but it certainly irritate
d him.

  “Oh, do help me get her to a bench!” One arm around Miss Polkinghorne, Miss Stainton had glanced around desperately as her cousin leaned against her, dragging her halfway to the ground.

  On the other side of the fainting girl, Marcus slipped his arm around Miss Polkinghorne, brushing Miss Stainton’s warm side. After a nod at Miss Stainton, he half-supported, half-dragged Miss Polkinghorne to the nearest bench a hundred yards away.

  “Thank goodness I brought the smelling salts.” Miss Stainton fumbled in her reticule and pulled out a small silver bottle, opened it, and waved it under her cousin’s nose.

  Miss Polkinghorne’s sharp little nose twitched. She coughed into her gloved hand and turned her pale face away, but she leaned against Miss Stainton’s shoulder as if the contact reassured her.

  “Cecilia!” Miss Stainton put the salts away and gave Miss Polkinghorne a shake. “Cousin Cecilia, what is wrong? Are you ill?” Frowning with suspicion, she studied her cousin’s face. “Have you eaten anything today?”

  Miss Polkinghorne pushed Miss Stainton away, her heavy brows—so like her father’s—bunched into a frown. “I am quite well—I simply will not do it! I will not!”

  “Do what?” Miss Stainton asked. She glanced over Miss Polkinghorne’s head to catch his gaze. Her eyebrows rose as if she thought he might provide an answer.

  Marcus shook his head and shrugged. How should he know what ailed the girl?

  “I won’t marry him—I won’t! I don’t care if he is an earl—he is a murderer!” Miss Polkinghorne blurted out before hiding her face behind her hands and weeping. Her thin shoulders curved inward as she hunched over, a pitiful picture of terrified obstinance.