Regency Brides Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set

by Laura Locke

By all accounts, it was the opposite of that. Genteel, picturesque, lovely. Not anything like a hell of any description. Why would Valerian hate the place?

  There is some truth in this tale, she decided. But whatever the truth was, it was completely different to the lies Cornelius had told.

  Chapter 25

  When she heard the sound of voices in the hallway, Pauline knew the next of the stream of visitors had descended. She stuck her head out from the solitude of the drawing-room to see her mother coming up the stairs.

  “Oh! Allectia, don't dawdle. Oh! Henry!” she smiled. “Where is my daughter? And my grandchild?”

  Henry looked slightly bemused, Pauline thought. She went through to help him out. Ever since the fierce contention from their mother against Matilda wedding him, he had been nervous of Mama. He seemed to not quite believe she had relented in the end. Pauline went quickly down.

  “Mother!” she called. She breathed in the exotic fragrance with which she scented her gowns and knew that she had missed her. She embraced her firmly.

  “Pauline!” her mother said, looking up at her. “You look lovely. Where's Matilda?”

  “She's in the green bedchamber,” Pauline said, turning to Henry questioningly, who nodded. He looked, if anything, vastly relieved. Pauline grinned encouragingly at him.

  “Well, then!” Lady Braxton said grandly. “Take me to her!”

  Pauline nodded and led her and Allectia up the steps to the green bedroom, then followed them discreetly inside. Mrs Haddon let them in wordlessly.

  “Mama!” Matilda looked up, surprise and delight crossing her face. “There you are! I'm glad.”

  After a firm embrace, Lady Braxton stood back. “You look better, dear,” she allowed.

  “Where's the baby?” Allectia asked. Lady Braxton turned to face her.

  “She's upstairs,” Matilda said quickly. “Mrs Haddon? Fetch my daughter, please?”

  Pauline stayed to watch her mother meet baby Arabella, then slipped quietly away. She needed to speak to Henry and plan her trip.

  And, she reflected, I want to ride.

  She spoke with Henry, roughing out her plans and asking if she could borrow the coach. Henry agreed at once.

  “It's not as if I'll need it,” he agreed. “Not until September at the earliest. We're staying here for the next three months. No moving. Not if my solicitor has apoplexy am I leaving my family.”

  Pauline smiled fondly at him. “You're a good man.”

  “I'm a human being,” he said flatly. She laughed.

  “Quite so.”

  He agreed to let her use the carriage and she headed out, planning her ride.

  Out in the fields the wind was surprisingly cool and she drew her cloak around her, surprised to find herself heading in the direction of the village. She hadn't really planned to; other than some half-formed thoughts of buying some cloth to make things for her newborn-niece.

  She rode into Braxley, her mind absorbed in embroidery and the best ribbons to buy for decorating a little dress for Arabella.

  Pink. With yellow thread so I can make flowers. She left her horse at the inn's stables and walked to the haberdasher, still planning the outfits. There, she stopped dead. Coming out of the grocer, his hat under his arm and a basket in the other hand, was Valerian.

  “Lieutenant!” she said, surprised.

  “My lady.” He bowed. “A wonderful surprise.”

  “I'm also surprised,” she said, throat tight. She curtseyed in return, eyes lowered. She looked up.

  “How fares your sister?” he asked at once. “I should have come to ask you sooner, I apologize. I was kept busy in the village.”

  “She's well. Thank Heaven!” Pauline said, looking up at him. “I can't thank you enough for helping us.”

  He shook his head. “My lady. It was nothing. Thank you for letting me.” He smiled. Hesitant and sincere, it flooded her heart.

  “You are busy, Lieutenant?”

  He grinned self-consciously. “I was buying groceries, my lady.” he indicated the basket, which was full of everyday items: a bunch of carrots, a few apples, a cabbage. “My manservant is ill and he couldn't come in for them. I said I'd go myself.” he flushed.

  Pauline smiled. “Self sufficient Lieutenant Harrington! An impressive quality.”

  He grinned. “I got used to not being waited on in the army.”

  Pauline blinked. He had been waited on before? Who was he? What was his big secret?

  She pretended she hadn't noticed. “I can imagine,” she said lightly. “You are going back home?”

  “Well, my plan just changed drastically,” he laughed. “There's no reason for me not to stay. I'd like to talk to you.”

  Pauline flushed hotly. “I'd like that too, Lieutenant.”

  They linked arms and walked to the tea-shop. Pauline stood back while he went in to inquire about a table, thinking of that time in London, not so long ago, when they had taken tea before.

  “Here we are, my lady,” he said, standing back and showing her to the table. It was warm in the little tea-shop, the huge windows on the leftmost side swathed with afternoon sunlight.

  Pauline sat down carefully, laying her gloves aside. She looked at him, eyes wide.

  “My lady,” he said softly. “I couldn't have asked for a nicer surprise.”

  “Nor I,” she murmured, coughing as feeling closed her throat.

  “Well, how have you been?” he asked, nodding to the waiter who came to take their orders.

  “Tea, please,” Pauline murmured. “And a pastry.” She smiled at him shyly. “I've been well, thank you.”

  “I'm glad to hear it. You must be exhausted.”

  “Not badly,” Pauline nodded. “In fact, I find I have a lot of energy. I needed to ride today. I can't sit still.”

  “Me neither,” he admitted. His blue eyes teased her. “Something is making me restless at the moment.”

  Pauline colored. “It is?”

  “Indeed,” Valerian nodded. “So restless that I cannot sleep at night, for dreams of it.”

  Pauline drew in a breath. She smiled tremulously and his grin expanded, showing her she'd read aright his meaning.

  “Well, I dream similar things,” she said, then immediately lowered her eyes, feeling acutely shy. He smiled. She wasn't looking, but she heard his lips move back from his teeth, the slight, moist sound of it.

  She looked up. He was smiling. His hand rested near enough to hers that, if she leaned a little forward, it would slide into hers. She moved.

  His hand clasped hers and she let out a shaky gasp. It felt good. It felt right. She missed his nearness since that night, she realized slowly; more than she would have thought possible. His presence warmed her soul.

  Their tea arrived. They both thanked the waiter absently. Pauline barely noticed the steaming china cup, the glossed pastry on its plate. Her world had narrowed to the blue eyes in front of her hand the hand that rested against hers.

  “My lady?” Valerian said after a moment, clearing his throat.

  “Mm?” she asked wistfully.

  “Would you attend the summer ball with me?”

  Pauline frowned, perplexed. “When is it?” she asked.

  “Next week, Saturday. Starting after dinner. Why?” he asked.

  “I will be away,” Pauline said shortly. An idea occurred to her. “In Dorset.”

  His face changed. She couldn't have said exactly how, but it tensed. He blanched suddenly. “Why?” he asked.

  Pauline thought quickly. “My aunt is unwell.” She did not have an aunt in Dorset – her mother had once had an aunt there, but she had since passed away.

  “Oh,” he said. He leaned back. Was it her imagination, or did he look profoundly uncomfortable after that news? “Well, then.”

  Pauline felt sad. “I wish I could go, Valerian. “Mayhap I will be returned. If I could leave tomorrow, it would easily be so.”

  “Oh.” His face cleared and Pauline brightened. Mayh
aps it was simply the thought of missing the ball. Mayhap there is no concern for my going to Dorset. I may have imagined that.

  She cleared her throat. “You've been to Dorset?”

  “I do not wish to go again,” he said stiffly.

  There, Pauline thought, blinking in surprise. She was not wrong. “I'm sorry?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

  “I don't like the place,” he said briskly. “Something in the air doesn't agree with me. But let us talk of other things. What brought you to town now?”

  Pauline looked across at the doorway, deeply disturbed. She fought to frame a sensible answer. “Just shopping,” she murmured.

  “You have finished your business?” he asked politely. Pauline stared.

  Why is he being so odd? Brittle, polite, solicitous? This isn't like him!

  “No, I haven't,” she said frankly. “I just got here. I planned to go and buy some stuff to make dresses for my niece.”

  “Oh!” His expression cleared. “Your sister's new baby?”

  “Yes,” Pauline nodded. “A daughter. They called her Arabella.”

  “A nice name,” he said fondly.

  “I agree.”

  They chatted for a while and drank their tea, and by the end of the conversation the frost that had built up in the words between them had melted again. But Pauline could not help wondering, as she curtseyed to him at the door and he bowed low, that it was odd.

  If he has nothing to hide, why does he hate the place? And why would he wish me not to go? What happened?

  She looked up at him as he rode off, a little frown of puzzlement creasing her brow. Why was he so afraid of Dorset? What, from that shadowed past, lurked there? And who was he?

  She recalled his comment about servants as she walked to the shop, her heart thudding in her chest. If he did have a dark secret, and he was a nobleman, trying to hide his past, then...

  Then what Cornelius has said is likely true.

  She didn't want to believe it.

  I don't believe it. The more I think about it, the more I think he did not tell the whole truth. Perhaps he did not know it.

  She went into the haberdashers, shutting the door as if a blizzard blew, though outside it was warm and balmy. She was decided, by the time she left, a handful of purchases rolled carefully under her arm in a measure of newsprint. She was going to find out. Tomorrow.

  Chapter 26

  Pauline sat in the carriage opposite Cornelia. Francis sat beside her, his hand on Cornelia's hand. They were heading fast along the road that led from Braxley. The countryside flashed past, the glass panes rattling as they went over furrows in the road.

  “And you think we should stay the night at the inn?” Cornelia asked, her pretty face worried.

  “The Wayfarer's Inn is a reasonable establishment,” Francis assured her. “We will be well cared-for, my dear.”

  “Oh, good,” she breathed out, relieved. Pauline smiled to herself.

  Yes, they are a good match. I only hope matters go smoother for them than for myself.

  “We will take a full day to reach Dorset?” Pauline asked Francis, who nodded.

  “We will break the journey tonight, my lady. We'll arrive tomorrow, probably in time for lunch. Now, I know an excellent place there. The Rye Sheaf.”

  As he went on to describe the place in some detail, Pauline found her thoughts wandering. She had so many things on her mind she could scarce decide which was more worrying.

  Mother, Henry. Matilda and the babe. Valerian. Who is he?

  She knew she was taking a risk coming here with Francis and Cornelia. It clung to the edges of respectability, a fact her mother had propounded thoroughly.

  “If anyone were to know you were there simply to see the sights, they would think it very odd indeed,” she had said. Pauline winced. The lie was flimsy, she admitted it herself. She had been surprised when she was believed.

  Cornelia's enthusiasm made up for the lack in my acting abilities. She could almost laugh about how Cornelia had effused abut the sights and splendors of rural Dorset. When she had suggested that Lieutenant Francis Westcote accompany them, she had been grateful when her father stepped in to approve the plan. He had agreed that they couldn't be safer than in the company of one of Major Cartwright's troops. And he had stressed that Pauline needed a holiday after all the tension of Matilda's daughter's birth.

  So now here I am, on my way to Dorset. And freedom.

  She knew she was being dramatic, but it was fitting: this question over Valerian had tormented her for weeks, since Cornelius had poured it, like poison, into her thoughts. Cornelius himself had been remarkably distant.

  “Pauline?” Cornelia said, surprising her.

  “Yes, cousin?”

  “I was just saying – we haven't ridden out this far for a long time.”

  “No,” Pauline nodded. They had passed through Braxley and were out on the main road. “Though we went in the coach, on the way to London, though.”

  “Yes. And back. It surprised me that we didn't see much of Cornelius,” she commented, echoing the thought Pauline had earlier.

  “You mentioned he came to Braxton House?”

  “Yes,” Cornelia nodded. “He came to inquire about you, which was when we told him you'd be staying on at Henry's until Matilda recovered fully.”

  “Yes,” Pauline nodded. “But you say he said nothing else?”

  “No. He looked disappointed, but he left after that. Mama said he ought to go and put salt on his manners.” she chuckled.

  Pauline grinned. “I agree with her.”

  Cornelia laughed. “He does seem a difficult sort. Claudia said he got worse when their father passed away. He took his role as earl to mean he had to tell everyone what to do. He started fussing about everyone else's business, making it his own. She said it spoiled his character.”

  “I believe it,” Pauline nodded.

  “Something did,” Cornelia said candidly. They all laughed.

  “Oh, Cornelia,” Pauline sighed fondly. “What would we do without you?”

  Cornelia blushed and Francis squeezed her hand fondly. Pauline felt a tenderness for the pair of them and looked out of the window, giving them privacy.

  After several hours, just as the day was turning dark, they reached the inn. They stopped and had supper, organized rooms and slept. The next day, round lunchtime, as predicted, they arrived in Dorset.

  Pauline looked around at the thatched cottages, the cobbled streets, the impeccable square with its stone edifices all about. She could see nothing remotely odd about the place.

  He has memories here. It must be that.

  “To the inn?” she asked Francis.

  “Yes. We should go there first. Then, perhaps you'd like to start your investigations?”

  “I'm going to bed,” Cornelia declared. “Where I shall sleep until the ceiling falls in. Nothing else will wake me.”

  They all laughed and Pauline noticed Francis color faintly. She smiled.

  “Well, I for one could do with a spot of luncheon before we start.”

  Francis laughed. “Make that two.”

  “And three.”

  They had a quick but welcome luncheon at the inn, and paid for their accommodation. The instant Cornelia was ensconced in the chamber she would share with Pauline, she went down to join their companion in the courtyard by the stable.

  “To the church?”

  “Yes, my lady. The right place to start.”

  As they walked from the inn to the parish church – beside the village green, a leisurely walk away, they looked about. Pauline was amazed by the normalcy of everything. If a secret hid here, it was well hidden. Nothing could have been less shadowy, less eerie, than this sunlit town, so pretty.

  Francis stopped beside her and Pauline drew in a breath.

  “Shall I talk?” she asked.

  “I'll start,” Francis said, giving her an ironic smile. “I need you for when I start going wrong. Remind m
e: we are distant relatives of the Dashwoods – or you are – and you want to trace the family so you can give the information to your solicitor. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” Pauline said, throat tight with nervousness.

  “How many years have we been married?” he asked, grinning.

  “Five.”

  “Right.” Francis nodded. “As long as we tell the same story, it'll work.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Taking another breath, both more nervous than they wanted to show, Pauline walked up first, Francis at her back.

  “Good morning?” the parson's housekeeper said, a smiling woman, when they knocked. “And how can I help you, young miss?”

  “I wished to speak to the parson,” Pauline said, glancing at Francis, who stepped up, nodding.

  “We wanted to ask him about a matter in the records. If you could ask him if he'll see us?”

  The woman agreed to, and returned a moment later.

  “Come in, come in. Have some tea. My master won't be a moment...just finishing his sermon.” she winked and led them to a room that smelled of herbs and, faintly, of mildew. Pauline perched on the seat and thanked the lady for her tea, then waited, tense, for the parson to arrive.

  He walked in briskly a moment later. They glanced at each other and stood quickly.

  “Mister Westcote,” the parson greeted him, shaking his hand. “Mistress Westcote. Parson Rawlin. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Good day,” Francis said politely. “We are here about a matter of my wife's family. She is a Dashwood by birth.”

  “Oh?” The parson's brow went up fractionally and Pauline tensed, then relaxed as he nodded.

  “I see,” he said. “The Dashwood family is quite large. Respectable lot, so they are. Most respectable.” He beamed at Pauline, who smiled nervously.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Not at all,” he said, his eyes sparkling at Pauline, who blushed. “What can I do for you?”

  They managed to persuade him to look in the records, a fact that was largely extraneous, since he was already a font of information.

  “And Dashwood House is one of the finest in the area – the park is quite extensive. I pass by it on my way out of the village. The last house in the village. Very grand.” He nodded, smiling warmly.