Regency Brides Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set

by Laura Locke

  “Oh, good,” Matilda said, smiling.

  “May I have the first...”

  “Lady Matilda,” another voice said. It sounded soft and dangerous, like oiled gunmetal.

  Matilda closed her eyes. “Lord Epworth, this is the honorable Henry Plowden, son of Baron Masefield. Henry, meet Alexander Dartmoor, Lord Epworth.”

  The two men regarded each other. Matilda felt as if she watched two predators, circling each other, both claiming a kill. The air was cold between them. Henry's nostrils thinned, as if scenting something unpleasant. His eyes were flinty.

  “Honored, I'm sure,” Alexander said thinly. “Now, my lady, shall we..?”

  “I have already claimed Lady Matilda for the first dance,” Henry said firmly. “You, sir, must needs wait your turn.”

  “Oh,” Alexander said, his voice dangerously quiet. “I see.”

  Henry nodded. Then he turned to Matilda. “Shall we?”

  Matilda swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She didn't want to speak.

  Oh, Henry. This man is dangerous! It would be best to give him his own way.

  As she thought it, she wondered why. Being willing to kill for it was the last reason anyone should give way for him! But all the same...caution is needed.

  She glanced back to see if he was watching.

  “Henry,” she whispered. “That man is dangerous. You should...”

  “I know he is, dear. Which is why I want to keep you away from him,” he interrupted smoothly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered back.

  “It's nothing,” he said lightly. “Now. Shall we dance?” Matilda looked up at the smile on his face and felt her heart light with it. All her gaiety returned.

  “Yes, my lord. Indeed we shall.”

  The first waltz started, a lively tune, stirring and floating and beautiful. She felt Henry slot his hand into the curve of her waist and her heart floated at the feeling of his warm touch on her body.

  It feels so wonderful. So completely different to Alexander.

  She looked up into his smiling face and felt happy. He was so gentle, so gallant. He treated her like a she was made of delicate china, and yet they were also friends. He was wonderful.

  As they floated across the dance-floor together, Matilda found herself wishing her mother was watching, that she would see how clearly in love they were. With her blue dress on and her hand in Henry's, she felt like the world was a place of enchantment. A place where magic was real and everything was possible.

  She gazed up into his blue eyes and he gazed into hers. The music stopped. He bowed and she curtseyed.

  “That was so...”

  “My lady. Shall we..?”

  They both spoke together, as often happened. They both laughed.

  “Say first?” Matilda encouraged him, as she had since they were children together.

  Hearing the childish refrain, he laughed. He could be no more than sixteen in that moment, all care and worry taken from his face.

  “Very well. I was going to say: shall we take ourselves off somewhere? The terrace, mayhap?”

  Matilda swallowed. Being alone with a man at a ball was far from inexcusable, but even so: being alone with Henry was inexcusable, at least from her mother's viewpoint. Could she risk it, here; now? She looked round.

  Her mother was looking the other way, fan raised and flapping gently. Her sister was with Cornelius. Cousin Cornelia was away in the corner, laughing with a vast group of friends, which included Cornelius' sister. They were unobserved.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good.”

  They slipped away together onto the balcony.

  Outside, Matilda drew in a shuddering breath of air. The night was still warm, just chilling with late spring air, and the scent of the first lilacs was drowsy in the dusk. She looked up at Henry.

  “My dear,” he whispered.

  “Hush,” she said.

  Leaning up, barely believing she did this, she took his collar in her hands and drew his head down to kiss him.

  “Matilda,” Henry gasped.

  “Henry!”

  They kissed again.

  After they broke their second kiss, he looked down into her eyes. His own were a little wild.

  “Matilda,” he whispered, his hands caressing her shoulder, stroking down towards her bodice. “We mustn't...”

  “I know,” she murmured.

  But neither of them moved.

  “We should go,” he murmured into her hair.

  “I know.” She said gently.

  This time, they listened. Arm in arm, quietly, they walked into the ballroom. Matilda reached up and subtly rearranged her hair, sure her fine up-do had shifted. Henry smiled down at her, tenderly.

  At that moment, Matilda felt fingers of ice shiver up her spine. She looked round.

  Alexander was watching them. He had perhaps not seen them leave; but he saw them enter. And from the look on his face he had guessed how deeply they were involved. Matilda shivered.

  She would have understood if he had looked angry, or affronted. The fact was, he didn't. He looked completely blank. His face was white, his mouth a line. The only thing that had changed was his eyes. They smouldered. When they looked at Henry, they were full of hate.

  Matilda shivered.

  “Henry,” she whispered urgently. But he was looking the other way, engaged in a slightly forced but wildly cheerful conversation with a short, flax-haired lady whose name Matilda forgot.

  She tugged on his sleeve. He turned round.

  “Henry,” she whispered. “Did you see...”

  She looked at where Alexander had been. But he had already gone.

  Henry saw the look on her face. “Excuse me, Lady Amelia,” he said kindly. Then he turned to Matilda. “What is it, dear?”

  “Lord Epworth,” she whispered. “He saw us.”

  “Oh,” Henry said. He sounded perfectly placid, but she saw his eyes change. He looked, if anything, thoughtful. “Don't worry about it,” he said softly.

  “Don't worry? But...”

  “It will all be well,” Henry promised her. He took her hand, grasped it in a stiff, reassuring manner. “You'll see.”

  Matilda breathed out, feeling only a little reassured. That man, she was almost entirely sure, had tried to murder her father. Maybe twice. She could not risk that he might do something to Henry.

  He was planning something. I know it.

  But what was he planning?

  The thought would not leave Matilda's mind. She danced with Henry. She danced with Gregory Cowell, a friend of the family. She danced, once, just for laughs, with Lucas. But no matter what she did or what anyone said, she could not shake the feeling of doom that had lodged itself somewhere inside her.

  She could not risk Henry.

  Chapter 19

  Matilda rolled over in bed, yawning. She had slept badly and, on waking, her thoughts were no more clear. Jumbled worries filled her mind: images of Henry, bleeding and wounded. A sword-fight. Alexander's thin-lipped face, a smile of triumph there.

  “I don't know what to do,” she said to herself, sitting up.

  At that moment, she thought reasonably, she had little to do besides get up. She sat up, somewhat reluctant to leave the warm nest of her bed, and slid her feet into slippers.

  Stella appeared, yawning and with dark rings under her eyes, and settled down to do her hair.

  “How is Father?” Matilda asked, as Stella brushed out her long tresses.

  “Better, milady,” Stella informed. “He found his way to the privy yesterday, and seemed lucid. He knew Lucas, when he checked in on him in the afternoon yesterday. And he called me by name once.”

  Matilda let out a long sigh. “He's getting better. Isn't he?”

  “I don't know anything about such matters, milady,” Stella admitted. “But it do seem so.”

  Matilda smiled. “I do so hope he can recover. To see him again, himself...” she sighed. It would
be wonderful. She had almost become used to the frail, confused man, though. A part of her would miss him. But to have her Papa back, if she could...it would be incredible.

  “Miracles happen, Miss,” Stella said firmly. She finished brushing her hair.

  Matilda let Stella dress her, admonishing her to loosen the ties of the corset, then headed downstairs to breakfast. In the breakfast room, she was confronted by her mother.

  “Matilda,” her mother said frostily. “Sit down. We must converse.”

  “Mother? Where is Pauline? And Lucas?”

  “They have already eaten,” she said. “Now, sit.”

  Feeling afraid, Matilda slipped into her seat at the table. She looked up at her mother.

  “What is it, Mama?”

  In her heart she knew. She saw Henry and I. She is angry with me. I should explain.

  “Matilda, I'm sorry.” Mother sighed. “I don't like being harsh, you know that. But Lord Alexander...” she paused.

  “Yes?”

  Mother frowned. “Lord Alexander...he spoke to me yesterday. He seemed distressed. He is concerned for you, and he wants you to stay with him at Warrington House.”

  “Mother!” Matilda said, shocked. “I cannot!”

  “I know,” her mother sighed. “You, Pauline, Lucas...you all feel such duty to Papa. I wonder sometimes if you notice I exist at all.” she chuckled hollowly. “But that's an aside. My dear, I think it is for the best. After all, the man is courting you. And you have done little to encourage him.”

  “Mother, I...”

  “No, Matilda!” she said, the hard look back. “I will not brook protestations from you. I have been tolerant enough. This is a grave matter. Your future – all our future – depends on doing things properly.”

  “But Mother! He...”

  “No buts, Lady Matilda!” her mother snapped. “You are my dear daughter, but I do you no favors, indulging your whims. I know how you feel about Baron Masefield's heir. But you cannot.”

  “Mother, please, listen – that man, Alexander...”

  “Is eligible, suitable, and crazy about you,” her mother said firmly. “Well, I must hand it to you, you did something right.”

  Matilda looked dismayed. “He's bankrupt,” she whisper.

  “What?” her mother laughed. “Nonsense! His grace, the duke of Warrington, is most well-heeled.”

  “No he isn't,” Matilda protested. “I heard...”

  “You heard malicious gossip, my child,” her mother said firmly. “Now, perhaps if you visit Warrington house, you'll see for yourself. They're wealthy.”

  “If you insist,” Matilda said in a small voice.

  Her mother beamed. “That's the spirit, dearest! Now, I'll call Marwood and see about your clothes. I think we have time for Mrs. Pearson to do one more fitting. Yellow, I thought, to bring out the color of your eyes? Or green, perhaps? So fashionable nowadays.”

  “No,” Matilda whispered. “Wait...I...”

  “No?” Her mother's brow shot up. “Well, then, if you must insist, wear blue. I was thinking perhaps a sprig muslin, with little lavender patterns...is that blue enough? Fashionable, too. Though I did think Lady Terence's niece overdid it somewhat...sprig muslin is girlish enough without so much lace! Deplorable!”

  Matilda sighed. Her mother was already off on another track, designing dresses for the next major events. She could not reach her. She had not meant she agreed to go! She had agreed to nothing!

  “Mother, please!”

  Her mother turned round, gave her an odd look. “Matilda,” she said, sighing, “you are my daughter and I do love you. But you are the most stubborn, irrational creature I ever seen. Alexander Dartmoor is infatuated, clearly. Somehow, you managed it. He is the perfect match. You must encourage his interest. This is the best way to ensure he will wed you.”

  “But mother! I...”

  “You will go and stay at Warrington house. The coach is leaving tomorrow: the soonest is best. And you will be on it if I have to bolt the door from without. Is that understood?”

  Matilda looked at her mother. She had not raised her voice, but her cheeks reddened and her chest heaved beneath its cherry-red bodice. She looked almost fit to have a nervous collapse. Matilda couldn't risk that.

  “Yes, Mother,” she said quietly. “I agree.”

  “There, now! I've always said you were a good girl,” her mother said, patting her hand. She beamed. “Now! How exciting! We must plan dresses! With so little time, I should ride to Braxley to see if the seamstress there has aught she could alter! Oh! How lovely!” she enthused.

  Matilda, sitting at the table, kedgeree uneaten, felt her heart sink. Of all the things she might have been excited about, the thought of staying with Alexander was the least of them.

  If only you knew, Mother, what manner of man you support!

  She sighed. Pauline was right...they couldn't prove that.

  But one day we will. Then what will you think?

  She heard her mother's day-shoes click on the parquet and looked up to see her talking with Mrs. Marwell, who had just come in with a fresh teapot.

  “...now, if you could send a note to our good Pearson in the village? We shall need to see her dresses, so she'd best make things ready for us.”

  Matilda closed her eyes. She had rarely seen her mother so happy about anything. Clearly the prospect of her marriage to a duke's son outshone any darkness. Even her father's illness.

  She reached for a cup of tea. Drained it. She should try and eat some breakfast, then go and visit Father. If she had to leave, she should at least make sure he was safe.

  And Henry? I should tell him.

  She ate a helping of kedgeree, washed it down with another cup of tea, then walked briskly up the hallway.

  “Matilda?”

  “Pauline!” she looked up into her sister's surprised gaze. “I'm so glad to see you!”

  “I know,” she said. “Mama told me.”

  “You know I have to stay with that man..?” Matilda felt her heart clench with fear.

  “I know,” Pauline said quickly. “I did say I'd go too.”

  “Thank you, Sister!”

  “I offered,” she continued, a frown lowering one dark brow, “but Mama said it wouldn't be right, since Cornelius might take it badly, were I to stay with Lord Epworth.” She grimaced.

  “That's completely wild!”

  “I know,” Pauline agreed softly. “Though, I suppose I can see her point. I did say you should take Stella, though, which she, of course, approved. You need chaperoning.”

  Matilda let out a long sigh. “True,” she nodded. “I won't be alone with the man, so nothing improper...but, Pauline?”

  “Yes, dearest?”

  “If I take Stella with me, who'll watch Papa?”

  “I will,” Pauline assured her. “And Lucas. And Cousin Cornelia.”

  “Cornelia?” Matilda stared. Laughing, flippant Cornelia? Was she sure of that?

  “I asked her if she would help us, and of course she said yes,” Pauline said mildly. “She is very fond of Father too, you know.”

  “I didn't know,” Matilda admitted. She had to admit she knew their cousin only a little.

  “Well, then,” Pauline said firmly. “That's settled. Promise me you'll be safe?”

  “Yes, dear,” Matilda whispered. Inside, she felt uncertain. She had no idea if she would be safe.

  I saw how he looked at Henry. That man is capable of anything.

  “I asked Lucas to keep an eye out for you too,” Pauline said. “He promised to ride over there at least once every week.”

  “Once every week!” Matilda was outraged. “How long am I expected to stay there?”

  “Only until Father is recovered,” Pauline assured her.

  “But...but..” Matilda stared. But if Lord Epworth is poisoning Father somehow, it could be he goes into decline. If the length of time she was there, was dictated by her father's health, they might as well write out an
offer for Lord Alexander to poison him!

  “I know,” Pauline said, mouth set in a firm line. “Which is why we're going to keep a good eye on him. And no funny pills – not even things from Doctor Jarrow. We're nursing him on food we taste ourselves and nothing else.”

  Matilda smiled, suddenly limp with relief. “Oh, Pauline.”

  “What?” Pauline smiled gently.

  “What would I do without you?”

  “You'd do very well,” her sister said, pressing her hand. Nonetheless, Matilda saw her flush red and knew that the compliment touched her. She smiled.

  “Now,” Pauline continued, “Mama is marshaling us all down to the village for the grand dress-buying escapade, so I suppose I might as well come too. The more the merrier!”

  “Oh, Pauline,” Matilda said, gripping her hand fondly. She frowned. “Who's watching Father?”

  “Well, we did contact Mrs. Marwood's sister. The nurse – remember? She's happy to come in once a week. And...”

  “And who?” Matilda interrupted.

  “Our cousin,” Pauline informed her. When Matilda's brow lifted, she tugged her arm. “Come on! Let's go and see. Then maybe you'll feel better.”

  “Yes,” Matilda agreed, hurrying behind her up the carpeted hallway to the guest-quarters.

  “Girls!” A voice summoned them from further up the hallway. “Hurry, do! We should get ready to go into the village!”

  “Wait a moment, Mother,” Matilda called back. “We just have to see to something.”

  “Well, be quick about it!” she instructed. “The carriage leaves in half an hour!”

  “Yes, Mama,” they chorused. They hurried to the chamber where their father stayed.

  Matilda peered round the door, not wanting to wake the occupant if he still slept. She found herself looking at Cousin Cornelia, who, a tender look on her soft face, was sponging their father's brow with a damp kerchief.

  “There, now, uncle Will,” she said kindly. “A bit of water'll bring down that fevered head...”

  Matilda felt her heart melt. Seeing Cornelia's gentleness moved her. At least, during her time away, she did not need to worry on that front. Between them, her sister and her cousin could take better care of him than anyone. And they did have the nursing sister coming in to help.