Regency Brides Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set

by Laura Locke

  “Well, then, that's settled,” Cornelius said, looking smugly around the table. “Pauline will go to the theater with me, and you will do whatever you wish to here,” he said, addressing Claudia and Cornelia. Cornelia blushed.

  “I mean...it's nice of you to invite us and everything, but...”

  “Stay, enjoy your sewing,” he said firmly. “Pauline and I will go to the theater.”

  Pauline nodded. The thought of an afternoon alone with Cornelius made her feel sick with apprehension. But it was one way to meet people. One way to find out more about the mysterious lieutenant and his missing past.

  The conversation was brief after that, Pauline sipping her tea and eating a pastry and trying to ignore the self-satisfied voice of Cornelius as he discussed, in a loud voice, his exploits on the ride the previous day.

  It suits him that we are going to the theater alone.

  One of the main motivations in Cornelius seemed to be isolating her from everyone who cared about her. She suspected this was for no more sinister intention than to monopolize her attentions, but it still made her feel uneasy.

  “Well,” Cornelius announced, pushing in his chair. “As we go to the theater, I should conclude my business with the steward now. Pray excuse me,” he said, smiling ingratiatingly at Pauline.

  “Of course,” she said softly.

  When he had gone, the three ladies looked at each other. Claudia raised a brow. “Well, that's that, then,” she said lightly.

  Cornelia looked at her and then at Pauline and giggled.

  Pauline looked from one to the other, face neutral.

  “We wanted to go to the park,” Claudia admitted. Cornelia raised a brow.

  “Claudia! Oh...never mind, Pauline won't mind. Will you?” she asked, big brown eyes round.

  “Of course not,” Pauline said kindly. “As long as you tell Goodwin when to fetch you.” He was the coachman for the Stanmore coach. Claudia inclined her head.

  “We shall.”

  “Good. Well, then. Since I am for the theater later,” she grimaced humorously, “I should finish my embroidery now. I really do want to fix new ribbons on my hat.”

  They all laughed. They were still laughing when the footman came to take the breakfast plates away.

  Pauline went up to the drawing-room and looked out over the street. As she sewed, she found her thoughts were far from here, in the country, to be precise. With Valerian.

  She recalled the way his mouth felt, tender on hers. The last conversation they had and how his blue eyes had looked into hers, expression so caring.

  The image she had of him was impossible to reconcile with the image Cornelius had painted. She had to believe it was not true. It was not just the fact that her own judgment disagreed – she had spoken to two men who knew of him, and both had high opinions. If such scandal were based in reality, it was incredibly well-hidden.

  If it is not true, then, what is the secret that he hides?

  At half-past three, Pauline met Cornelius at the carriage. She had dressed in her only dress that cut a nice balance between day-wear and evening-dress, and her hair was carefully dressed, decorated with little pearls and caught back from her neck.

  “My lady! I like that dress,” he nodded.

  “I'm pleased it finds approval,” Pauline said, with just the thinnest edge to her voice. Her only appropriate dress, it was slate blue and had a lower neckline than she usually wore. A pity, she mused, seeing the direction of his stare.

  I wouldn't usually mind, but there is something very vulgar about Cornelius.

  She shuddered, seeing the way his eyes kindled as they drifted to her breasts. She was used to admiration, and even some lewd stares, but Cornelius made her feel like a piece of meat at market.

  “Are we ready?” she asked, deliberately turning to the carriage.

  “Well, then! Off we go,” he said. They climbed up into the coach and it sped off.

  “I'm so glad it's just the two of us in here,” he whispered, leaning close to Pauline.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. It gives me an opportunity to perform that delicious act from earlier,” he said, leaning forward. His hand descended onto her almost-bare shoulder and his lips planted on hers.

  Pauline closed her eyes, letting him kiss her. She imagined herself elsewhere. Even so, when he withdrew, she couldn't help the feeling of shame and revulsion that choked her throat.

  I almost cannot endure this.

  She looked out of the window as he sat back looking uncommonly-pleased. She counted the signs hanging over doors of the shops as they rolled by: one, two, three...the rhythm stilled her thoughts. She wished she could do something, but she was tied to this man until they left London.

  Only four more days.

  When they returned home, she decided, she would have to say something to Mother. It would be better to live at home forever, helping Lucas and his wife, when he married, than marry this.

  “Oh! Here we are! Capital.”

  Pauline looked out of the window to see the King's theater, in all its elegance. She nodded.

  “Indeed.”

  “Well, out we go! Here. Let me hand you down, my lady...” he heaved himself out of the chair and helped her down.

  “Thank you.”

  Pauline let him lead her to the door, and she had the impression he was looking about, proud as if he had a trophy from the hunt.

  I suppose I am such.

  She shuddered. He did think of her as a possession. Perhaps she wouldn't have noticed, had she not known Valerian and the connection between them, the way he could speak to her as if directly to her heart. It seemed so foreign here and now, with this man's proprietary hand on her shoulder and his condescending ways. He treated her somewhere between a child and a new carriage – an object to be bought with pretty baubles, and to decorate his arm in public spaces.

  Valerian knows who I am. I don't think anyone else truly does. She bit her lip, remembering his words, and tried to look cheerful. Or at least not too shattered.

  They followed the usher to their seats – they took a box that, with the right lighting and an unclouded view could have looked into the Prince's own box. They sat down.

  “I do enjoy a good play,” Cornelius said. “All depends on the company, mind.” He squeezed her leg. Pauline tensed.

  “I hope this play will be good, my lord. Who's acting it?”

  “Oh, some fellow,” Cornelius said dismissively. “I don't check these things.”

  “It can make a difference,” Pauline said lightly. Inside, she was gaping at him, jaw down. He hadn't thought to check who was acting? No wonder he didn't like plays! He didn't understand the genre, clearly.

  “Well, we'll see,” he said dismissively. “Ah! Here we go. Looks like it's about to start.” He raised his gloved hands, clapping with the rest of them.

  Pauline sat as stiffly as she could, trying not to be aware of his eyes on her. Once, his hand slipped onto her lap, squeezing her knee. She closed her eyes.

  Don't react. Just ignore him.

  She sat stiffly. At length, he moved his hand away. He must have noticed something in her eyes, because he leaned back and tried to focus on the stage. Pauline let herself breathe.

  At interval, he stood quickly. “Come. Let's go down.”

  “Very well,” Pauline nodded. She stood too. In the dark interior of the box, he drew her toward him.

  “Pauline,” he murmured. His hands moved to her neck and he drew her mouth to his. She made herself stand still.

  Only four days.

  She breathed slowly and quietly, focusing on her breath. Letting its rhythm calm her. She wished she could escape. She wished she could run out of the theater. She wanted to slap him.

  Just breathe.

  She stood and froze. Her eyes shut. When they went downstairs, she excused herself for a moment.

  “I need to take the air,” she said, softly, indicating the door. A few of the other patrons were already the
re, either smoking or breathing the cool evening air.

  “Of course, dear. Of course.” He waved a hand. “Don't be too long, mind. I want you to meet Findlay and the lads.”

  Pauline nodded and walked briskly to the doors. Outside, she stood on the steps, breathing in the cool air as if she was half drowned. She looked at the sky, just turning to a faded pink above the buildings.

  I am half drowned. I am drowning in this hatefulness. Without love, I cannot truly breathe.

  She breathed heavily, sighing in the cool, soft air.

  Around her, she could hear ladies laughing, a man talking in a low burr. Somewhere, a coach rattled over the cobbles and a dog barked. A bird flew overhead, song pouring from her throat like liquid diamonds. Pauline felt her heart break a little.

  I belong out here, in the beauty of an unfettered world. In freedom. Not in there, with all that stiffness, the politeness, the pretense.

  She shuddered. It was cold, she thought. She should have brought a shawl. She sighed, knowing that, before long, she would have to go inside again. Mingle with Cornelius' colleagues. Pretend.

  The sky was a faint pearly blue above the houses, laced with the blush tones of evening. Pauline, looking into the blue expanse, found herself thinking, wistfully, of Valerian's eyes.

  Only four more days before she saw him again. She closed her eyes and, shivering, went up the steps and back into the theater and the brittle shell of manners and dissembling.

  Chapter 14

  The drawing-room was quiet. Outside the windows, the streets were swallowed in the ink blue curtain of dusk, lamps swimming out of the darkness along with the rattle and scrape of coach-wheels as people hied home for the night.

  Pauline tucked her feet up under her where she lay on the chaise-lounge. She had a kerchief soaked in mint tea on her head, an antidote to headaches. She was exhausted.

  “At least the drawing-room is quiet,” she murmured to herself. She closed her eyes, letting her mind lose focus, trying to ease the tension that gripped her.

  Spending time with Cornelius is becoming ever harder.

  The more insistent and monopolizing he became, the more wearing his company was. The touch of his lips repelled her, as did the way his hand gripped hers, confident and dominating. He was almost convinced of their marriage. Pauline wondered how encouraging her mother had been when she received the invitation. Something must have happened to make Cornelius believe marriage was certain.

  It isn't as if I convince him.

  She chuckled. A subtler man would have been put off by her thinly-veiled sarcastic remarks. But Cornelius was oblivious to it. It would take a cannon-ball to break the wall of his stubbornness.

  Somewhere, someone ran their fingers over the keys, playing the introduction to a Mozart sonata. Pauline opened one eye.

  “Cousin?” Cornelia said.

  Pauline closed her eyes. She was fatigued. The thought of Cornelia, exuberant and lively, was more than her consciousness could take.

  “Yes?” she said ambivalently.

  “Are you going to wear your yellow dress to the recital?”

  “What recital..? Oh!” Pauline sat up. The sudden movement hurt her head and she winced, closing her eyes. “That recital.”

  “Yes! The one at Lady Priscilla's this evening.”

  The invitation had arrived two days before. Had she remembered it, the trip to the theater would have been rescheduled. Now, Pauline opened her eyes to look at her cousin's pretty, earnest expression.

  “I think I'll wear white,” she said. “At least, I don't think I'll wear yellow. If you need to take the short gloves, you must please take them.”

  “Oh!” Cornelia smiled. “I hadn't thought of that. Thanks, cos. I only asked because...oh, Pauline? You won't be vexed?”

  I'm not likely to be,” Pauline said hesitantly. “Try me.”

  Cornelia looked scared, her mouth a round “o” of hesitance. She sat beside her. “Pauline...do you recall Captain Westcote?”

  “I might...his name was Francis; yes?” Pauline supplied the name, as she tried to remember. A face – young, friendly and open – swam before her.

  “Yes!” Cornelia nodded vigorously. Seeing the way her eyes kindled when she mentioned the name, Pauline immediately guessed the rest. Cornelia is in love with Francis Westcote.

  “Well, what of him?” she asked. Partly it was teasing – she knew very well what would come next. Francis is in town. She wondered, then, how long Cornelia had known that. If that was not, after all, the main motivation in her coming here.

  “Well,” Cornelia looked away. “He's coming to the recital. And I do want to look pretty. And...and I know he's not suitable, Pauline, but please? Let me talk to him?”

  Pauline smiled. She patted her cousin's fingers fondly. “Cousin, your secret is safe with me. I think him imminently suitable. Young, kind, handsome...in love with you – and no, don't tell me he's not, I saw his face that night – so fitting.” As she said it, she realized that she wished someone would say the same to her of Valerian Harrington.

  “Oh, Cousin!” Cornelia beamed. She squeezed her hand in return, smiling up at her. “Thank you! You're so kind. Oh!” She embraced her and Pauline surprised herself by having to blink back sudden tears.

  If only I was young and trusting, like Cornelia. If I had someone here to hold me, to help me understand.

  But there was no such for her. Matilda was miles and miles away and so she would do the best she could – she would be the support for she wished to experience.

  “Claudia knows?” she guessed.

  Cornelia colored. “Did she tell?”

  “No, sweet cousin. Claudia doesn't tell secrets.” Claudia was like a web of silence – one never knew what was going on behind her eyes; except to be sure that something was.

  “Well, then,” Cornelia said happily. “Let's go and get ready!”

  Pauline, headache momentarily receding, nodded. “Let's go. I'll wear the white lace, I think. That way I'll use my long gloves.”

  “Oh! Lovely. I wanted to wear peach again, or maybe cream?”

  “With your hair, either would be lovely,” Pauline nodded. “Let's go and get ready.”

  They dressed and climbed into the carriage. Cornelia wore cream, Pauline a silvered white. Claudia was a column of elegance in buttery yellow. Cornelius was again in his black velvet. Together in a closed coach they headed out into the summer evening.

  “Oh!” Cornelia said, looking up at the building from the steps, when they arrived. “It is grand.” She walked instinctively closer to Pauline as they mounted the marble staircase together.

  It was grand. Pauline looked around at the knots of chattering nobles and notables, the ladies with plumes nodding in their hair, or stylish turbans for those already married; the gentlemen in somber shades and the ladies in pale dresses or rich velvety creations.

  “The recital should start in about half an hour,” Pauline noted, looking at the clock.

  “We have time to find a party to sit with,” Cornelia added. She was looking around expectantly, Pauline noticed. It was not long before they were joined by a man in military dress.

  “Lady Cornelia, Lady Claudia,” he said, bowing to Pauline's younger companions. “And my lady, whose name I have not the pleasure to know,” he added, grinning at Pauline. “Good evening.”

  “Oh, Theodore! This is my cousin!” Cornelia smiled at the tall, fair-haired man. “Lady Pauline.”

  “Honored.” He bowed to Pauline politely. Pauline noticed a flush in Claudia's high cheeks. Well, if the military doesn't have a hold on all three of us! She wanted to smile. The attraction between this man and Claudia was obvious, though hidden.

  “My friend and colleague will be pleased to see you, my lady,” he said to Cornelia, who had blushed red. “We plan to sit by the window – you can see the piano well from there, but it's far away enough to talk quietly.” He smiled.

  “We'd be delighted to join you,” Cornelia sai
d shyly.

  “We should probably go in soon,” Claudia added, looking at the clock. “That way, we'll be assured to get a good view.”

  “Wise words,” Theodore said, eyes sparkling when he looked at her. Claudia colored and dipped her head.

  “Thank you.”

  Pauline smiled. That seemed to be that. She glanced about the room to where Cornelius was talking with a group of gentlemen in black. He seemed to be engaged, as he barely noticed her watching him. Good.

  She glanced at her companions. Claudia was talking quietly but earnestly to Theodore, and Cornelia had moved a little away. A petite girl, she and Francis Westcote were well-matched in height, for he was compact and broad-shouldered, his fair hair shining in the light of many candles.

  Pauline smiled, to see Cornelia's coy posture, and his tenderness. They were a good match.

  She saw Cornelius looking around and went over to him. “We have chosen seats on the right, Cornelius,” she said. “Cornelia wanted to be able to see the pianist – she has an interest in technique,” she added.

  “Oh. Capital,” Cornelius said with a shrug. “Anywhere you choose. I'm not fussy with these things,” he added dismissively.

  “Well, then,” Pauline nodded, smiling brightly. “Shall we go in?”

  “Very well.” He nodded.

  Pauline smiled at the younger women, signaling with an inclined head that they should go into the hall together. As they went in, Cornelia chatting and laughing, Claudia silent but intense, Pauline was pleased she had bought them time.

  Cornelius is not going to make those two miserable. If I do nothing else, I will assure that.

  They took their seats, an expectant hush falling over the group as the musicians came in to tune up. Pauline took a fan out of her drawstring handbag and fanned herself, feeling the uncomfortable heat of many people packed close together. She could smell musk and ambergris and rose-water. The smell was a heady cocktail mixed with the coffee from the hallway.

  As the group started playing, Pauline found her thoughts divided between fond memories of Valerian, for the piece was romantic, and watching Francis. He and Cornelia were sitting close and their heads often inclined towards each other. At one point, Pauline noticed their hands together. She smiled.