Regency Brides Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set

by Laura Locke

  “Henry..?” she said softly.

  “Dear, you know you must not tire yourself...” Henry was saying to Matilda, who had taken his arm, turning to the terrace.

  “Nonsense, Lord Masefield,” she said. “A turn about the portico in the fresh air will do me good.”

  Cornelia watched them go.

  She turned back again to look for the woman, but she had gone.

  Mayhap I imagined her.

  The more she thought about it, the more sense that explanation seemed to make. Who would she be, after all? And why would a fashionable and stylish woman be here, in Dorsetshire, at a country ball? More importantly, why would she be watching Cornelia so closely?

  No, it must be my concern about Lady Braxton. I imagined the lady. I must have.

  All the same, she could not suppress a shiver that ran through her at the memory.

  “Cornelia?”

  “Yes, Mama?” she turned at the feeling of a hand on her wrist. Found herself looking into big brown eyes.

  “I think we're going to leave,” she said, indicating Lady Braxton with Pauline and Valerian, gathering their cloaks. “I must go and call Henry and Matilda.”

  “I'll go,” Cornelia nodded, and headed to the terrace.

  At home, the ball over, she collapsed wearily into bed as soon as the maid had helped her change and combed out her thick auburn locks. There, she drifted silently into sleep. Her dreams were mostly unremembered, except for one, in which Lady Braxton scowled at her across an icy wasteland. The face of the lady at the ball blurred with hers, and the image was intimidating. When she woke, though, the memory of it fled, and she smiled, remembering Francis' words, Francis' mouth on hers, their shared pleasure.

  “I think,” she whispered to the filtered light of the bedchamber, “that I am in love with Francis Wescote.”

  It sounded good.

  She sighed. She knew she was letting herself imagine a future she would probably never realize. Her whole life bent away from her being allowed to marry Francis. From her mother's minimal allowance – which meant she would never risk Cornelia needing financial help – to her aunt's influence. It all ruled him out.

  I wish there was a place where love could flower unhindered.

  She chuckled sadly at the thought. Love growing as it should wasn't something that her world allowed easily. Lady Braxton had given her the same accord as her own daughters, but that meant she lived by her rules. And her rules were that no-one less than a baron would wed any one of them. Francis had a noble soul, but he was not a noble by birth.

  “Well,” Cornelia said softly to herself. “I can always dream.”

  Perhaps there would be a way. Perhaps love truly was as powerful as she had always believed, and it would make all things possible.

  She brushed out her hair carefully and made ready for bed. It was a good thought to sleep on.

  Chapter 3

  Cornelia tiptoed lightly down the hallway in a muslin gown. She heard her mother's voice drift up from the breakfast room. Was she late?

  “Oh, what a capital evening it was...”

  “Yes, very diverting.”

  She peered around the door. Her mother was there, and Lady Braxton opposite, both seated at the table. They both looked tired. Her mother had a cup of tea poised between steepled fingers, and Lady Braxton buttered toast with a quick efficiency, her eyes focused on something else. Lord Braxton sat at the head of the table, surreptitiously reading the paper. Matilda was also there. She had dark rings under her eyes but a soft smile on her face. She saw Cornelia and grinned.

  Cornelia drew in a deep breath and tiptoed in. “Good morning,” she murmured nervously.

  Lady Braxton shot her a look under shaped brows. “Good morning, Cornelia. You're early.”

  “Am I?” Cornelia flushed, pleased she hadn't added being late for breakfast to her list of transgressions. All the same, Lady Braxton unsettled her as always. A flash of memory of the dark-haired lady went through her mind, but she dismissed it, sure she'd conjured her out of her own fears.

  “You are early,” her mother nodded from down the table, a delicate china cup poised in one hand. “I only just arrived. You look very lively this morning! That gown becomes you.”

  “Oh!” Cornelia smiled, smoothing a hand down the patterned muslin skirts. “Thank you, Mama.” She nodded and then slipped into a place beside her mother.

  “Daughter, I must speak with you after breakfast,” her mother whispered.

  Cornelia looked up worriedly. “Yes, Mama.”

  She poured herself tea and lifted the delicate Sevres cup nervously to her lips, wondering what it was her mother wished to say.

  Perhaps it's something simple, she told herself firmly. Something about new fashions or her hairstyle or their plan for the holiday. In her heart she knew it was something deeper. Something about her future. Anything else, her mother could have said here and now.

  She reached for a slice of bread and buttered it, stomach tense with nerves.

  “You're all awfully awake this morning,” Lord Braxton commented, looking up from the paper. “I was abed for hours when you all returned, and I assure you I'm still half-asleep.” He reached for the tea, pouring a cup for himself.

  “Oh, William,” Lady Braxton shot him an affectionate glance, if slightly impatient. “You do have the oddest notions.”

  “Mayhap I do,” he said with a grin over his teacup. “Though gadding about until the wee hours is odder still.”

  Lady Braxton slitted her eyes at him, then laughed. “Well, we had a merry evening. Very successful, too: Lady Featherston offered to lend me her cook next time we host a ball. William, recall that leek soup we had there last time we dined? Oh, it was wonderful.”

  “Could I borrow him too, Mama?” Matilda asked. “Grasslands isn't too far from here.” Grasslands – that was the Elizabethan style house she shared with Henry – was twenty minutes' ride away through the fields.

  “Of course, dear.” Lady Braxton nodded. “I'm sure Leonie would be delighted.” Leonie was the first name of the indomitable Lady Featherston.

  Pauline appeared, also looking weary, and slipped into her seat beside Cornelia. “Feeling well?” she whispered.

  Cornelia nodded. “I am, thank you.” She shifted sideways to let Pauline sit down, taking comfort from her caring presence. She was still warm inside, drifting in thoughts of the party, but one or two aspects still unsettled her. Lady Braxton's disapproval, and the dark-haired lady. Of the two problems, Pauline could help with the former, she hoped.

  Cornelia crunched on a slice of toast, letting her thoughts move away from her sharp-eyed aunt to the wonder of Francis embracing her. She smiled dreamily as she recalled the way he had pressed his body so close to hers. Recalling the dance, and how it had felt as he drew her to him, made her whole body tingle. She savored the memory of his lips brushing hers, the scent of him. The way he touched her.

  “Mama,” Matilda said, breaking in on her recollection, “could we mayhap take the coach to Braxley today? Arabella is running out of nightgowns and I want more cotton to sew them.” she shook her head in amazement. “They grow so fast! Though, if you're too tired to go, I understand.” She added this last with a sidelong glance at Lord Braxton, who seemed to be drifting off again.

  “A trip is a capital notion!” Lady Braxton nodded. Far from tiring her, the idea of going on another trip seemed to invigorate her. “We can stop for a cup of chocolate on the way back, if you're agreeable. Pauline? Are you coming?”

  “Yes, Mama” Pauline said.

  “Cornelia?”

  Cornelia hesitated. On the one hand, the thought of twenty minutes in the carriage with Lady Braxton, isolated and able to ask her probing questions about Francis, was scary. On the other hand, it would be a diverting way to spend the morning.

  “Yes, aunt. I'll come.” she said it at last. Better to distract herself from dwelling on the one major obstacle to her happiness.

  “C
apital! That's all of us then,” lady Braxton declared. “Marwell!”

  “Yes, milady?” the housekeeper appeared, a fresh pot of tea on a tray, cloth over one arm.

  “Summon Ratherly and tell him we'll need the carriage at...half an hour to eleven?” she cast an eye round the table, then nodded. “Tell him to use the Clarence. We'll need space for five. You gentlemen will ride, I think.” She cast an eye at Valerian, who had just slipped in to sit with Matilda. He nodded.

  “Very good, milady.” Marwell bobbed her head quickly and withdrew. Pauline turned to Cornelia.

  “Mama suspects something,” she whispered as she sipped tea.

  Cornelia coughed in surprise.

  “Sorry,” Pauline soothed her. “But I thought I'd warn you.”

  Cornelia glanced sideways at her cousin, then at Lady Braxton, who was calmly buttering her toast. In the genteel air of the breakfast-room Cornelia suddenly felt her heart thudding hard. “What does she suspect?” she whispered quickly.

  “She noticed you and Francis disappear. I told her you felt ill. She accepted Francis escorting you to take the outdoor air.”

  “Oh.” Cornelia squeezed Pauline's hand fondly. “That was kind of you dear.”

  “Not at all.” Pauline blinked those beautiful black eyes. “But it won't work all the time. Pardon, Henry?” she looked up tranquilly at her brother-in-law. “I didn't hear.”

  “Oh. I was just saying I'm off for a constitutional. If anyone will join me?”

  While Pauline and Henry talked, Cornelia found herself sunk in worry. The thought of talking with her mother was all the more frightening now. She was fairly sure she was going to confront her about Francis. She finished her tea and stood.

  “I think I'll go and practice the pianoforte,” she said quickly. “That way I can get in an hour or so of work before we go to the village.”

  “Dedicated of you,” Lady Braxton admitted. Cornelia smiled and curtseyed and fled.

  She was sitting in the drawing-room, gathering her thoughts, when her mother appeared.

  “Cornelia?”

  “Yes, Mama?” Cornelia jumped up at once.

  “Do sit. I just wanted to talk to you about a...tricky thing.” Her mother's brow creased with a frown.

  Cornelia swallowed hard. “Yes, Mama?”

  “It's about your future, dearest.” Her mother cleared her throat carefully. “You know we are not well-off.”

  “I know,” Cornelia nodded gloomily. They were by no means poor, but the estate made a modest income, just enough to support her and her mother and a small staff of servants.

  “Well, you also know I would like you to marry well.”

  “I know, Mama.” Cornelia was miserable.

  “And you also know your aunt insists on titled husbands for all of you girls.” she smiled fondly. “I do so appreciate how Lady Braxton has helped us in our travails.”

  “I know, Mother.” Cornelia's voice whispered.

  “Well,” her mother patted her hand. “Just so that you know. I know it can be hard.” She paused. “But you are a sweet, sensible young woman. I know you'll do the best for your family.”

  “I will try,” Cornelia said in a small voice. “Of course I will.” If her mother had shouted and railed at her, demanded obedience, she would have known what to do. She would have felt she could defy that. But this sweet, considerate faith she had in her, this need for her to do the right thing? There was no countering it. She would have to listen.

  “I know you will, my dear. I rely on you so much it sometimes makes me feel so guilty.”

  She smiled tenderly and Cornelia wished the earth would open and give her somewhere to escape to.

  “You don't rely on me, Mama,” she said softly.

  “I do, though,” her mother said fondly. “I shouldn't, I know.”

  “Oh, Mother.”

  They sat there together in the quiet morning sunshine and Cornelia wished she could disappear. Her mother was telling her, more or less, that she could never wed Francis. Asking her to do her duty. What could she say?

  “I will try.”

  “There's my good girl,” her mother smiled at her fondly. “I knew you would. Now. I should go and prepare,” she said, standing. “We're to head to Braxley at half an hour to eleven. I should leave you to practice. You are so good. Dedicated, as Lady Braxton called it. Happy practicing.”

  Cornelia sighed as her mother wandered out. She felt as if her world had collapsed about her ears. She couldn't concentrate on anything. She stood and walked slowly to the window. The garden was warm and sunny, flowers nodding in the slightest breeze.

  I want to go out there.

  She smoothed her hands down her skirt and wandered out.

  In the garden, the fragrance of irises and roses, peonies and late violets and daisies floating from the flowerbeds, she sat on a bench and bit her lip, trying not to cry.

  I love Francis. It isn't fair. Why make me deny my own heart?

  It was, she told herself, the way it had to be. Ladies didn't have the right to do as they wished. She would have to grow up and accept that. She always was a baby. I should do my duty. It is all I should want to do.

  Voices drifted through the still morning air. She listened in, catching the sound of a man's voice, and a woman's. Pauline and Henry and Matilda, taking their morning constitutional walk.

  As they rounded the corner by the coppice of trees, Cornelia stood to join them.

  “Ahoy!” Henry hailed her cheerily. “A fellow-walker! Welcome, cousin.”

  Cornelia smiled and fell in with the three of them, joining Pauline at the back before long.

  “Mama thinks Francis unsuitable,” Pauline murmured when they were out of earshot. “I personally think otherwise, as you know. But you know how these things can be.” She rolled her eyes ruefully.

  “I know.” Cornelia squeezed her hand. “Did she say aught?”

  “She said Francis was tolerable as a dancing-partner, as long as you didn't entertain any other notions of him.”

  “Oh.” Cornelia felt a sudden chill, as Pauline confirmed what her mother already said. The sunny landscape, scented with flowers, seemed suddenly cool. Lady Braxton was against it, just as she thought, and her mother too. There really was no chance of her being able to escape her duty.

  “She approved of Daniel Riddersley, though.” Pauline nodded. “You did well there.”

  “I did it by accident,” Cornelia admitted. Pauline laughed.

  “Well, so far she does not suspect the depth of your attachment.”

  “Thank you.” Cornelia breathed. “Is there...is there aught I could do?”

  “To win her over? No.” Pauline frowned. “Unless..?”

  “Yes?” Cornelia felt her heart thud in her chest. “What, Pauline? Please tell me?”

  Pauline sighed, smiling down at her. “I don't want to say this. But myself, I think it's the only way. You should go to London.”

  “What?” Cornelia gaped. “How...f you mean I should try to meet another man, then...” She felt her heart twist as her hope wavered. Even Pauline was against this! She felt utterly wretched.

  “I mean that certain officers will be going to headquarters soon,” Pauline said smoothly. “A certain lieutenant could find himself with cause to head to London. It's possible, yes?” She was smiling and Cornelia felt as if her heart joined the skylark, soaring over the fields.

  “Pauline! Cousin! You mean...”

  “I mean, now that Valerian is a colonel, he has certain...powers. He could send a representative to London this season.”

  “Oh! Pauline!” Cornelia hugged her firmly. “You're a sweetheart!”

  Pauline's oval face turned a delicate shade of rose. She smiled. “No, dear. Consider it a thank you from Valerian and I. If it wasn't for your help, we'd never have been together.”

  Cornelia smiled fondly at her cousin, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “Thank you, dear.”

&nb
sp; “Not at all. Now we should go back. I can see Henry taking the return path, and I think we might just find, when we return, we have more of an appetite for breakfast?”

  Cornelia beamed. Her heart was racing and her spirits soared. She also, she noticed, felt suddenly ravenous. “I could do with a dish of tea, at least. And another one of those pastries.”

  “A capital idea,” Pauline grinned. “I'd offer to race you back, but I'm sure to lose.”

  She laughed. “I'm not sure. You're taller than me, after all.”

  “Yes, but you're a sprinter.”

  They both laughed.

  “Now,” Pauline murmured as they walked back across the field ahead of Henry. “I think it would be simple enough to organize. You can take the coach, and Lucas can meet you. He's staying in the town house, as you know.”

  “Yes! Of course!” Cornelia beamed. It was more than possible, she realized slowly, it was straightforward. There was no reason anyone could give as to why she could not stay in London with her own cousin, in the town house they all used when there. It was brilliant! Trust Pauline – thoughtful and serene – to have come up with such a well-thought-out scenario. “Oh, cousin!”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Cornelia smiled and impulsively hugged her tall, elegant cousin. She smelled of Eau de Cologne and a delicate powdery scent. She always smelled sweet, Cornelia recalled, ever since she was eight and Pauline thirteen and they met for the first time,the year her father passed away. Cornelia swallowed hard and beamed at her again.

  “You dear,” Pauline murmured, taking her hand. “You've always been so affectionate – I remember you as a small girl, you recall.”

  “It's just...I cannot thank you enough.” she sighed.

  “You can,” Pauline smiled. “Once is more than enough. As I said, consider it a thank you present. Now off you go. Before breakfast's officially over.”

  “Oh no!” Cornelia laughed and, running, the two of them raced across the lawns to the door. They were flushed and a little breathless when they reached the upstairs hallway, and Cornelia rearranged her curls with the help of the windowpane as a reflector before entering.