Regency Brides Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set

by Laura Locke

  “Come on,” she said. “Let's knock.”

  She took the brass knocker impulsively and tapped three times. She could hear someone unlocking the vast locks from the inside and quickly rehearsed a speech for the butler. Good afternoon, it's Lady Cornelia and her maid arrived from Braxley. Is Lord Lucas in?

  “Good afternoon,” a voice said.

  “Good afternoon,” she began quickly. “It's...” Her voice trailed off as she found herself looking into the handsome face of Lord Lucas, heir to the earl of Albury. “Lucas!” she cried. She laughed and took his hand, then, forgetting custom, embraced him tightly.

  “Cornelia. Welcome, cousin. Welcome,” he added to Linton, who had stepped nervously away. “Come in! Come in, both of you! Preston?”

  “Yes, my lord?” his retainer asked quietly.

  “Have the trunks brought up and if you would send word to the kitchens? We'll have tea and get water drawn for a bath. If you wish?” he raised a brow at Cornelia, who nodded fervently.

  “Oh, yes! Thank you, Lucas. You're so kind.”

  “Nonsense, dear,” he smiled, standing aside to let her and Linton come inside. “It's not every day I host my fair cousin from Dorsetshire, is it?”

  “Oh, Lucas,” she flapped a hand at him, flushed.

  “You can give me all the news during tea,” Lucas said, heading up the stairs ahead of them. “I want to hear all about Pauline and Matilda – oh, yes, and my niece Arabella. I'm still amazed at the prospect of being an uncle, you know. I'm only four and twenty.” He pulled a face and Cornelia laughed.

  “I'll tell you so much news you'll wish for less.”

  “Oh, good.”

  The bath was indescribably good. Cornelia would have floated in it all day, the fragrance of roses in her nose and warmth relieving the thousand small aches of travel, had it not soon been teatime. Dressed in a fresh gown, her hair redone, she headed to the parlor.

  “I hope tea revives you,” Lucas said after a good half hour of chatting.

  “Why?” Cornelia asked.

  “Well, it's rash of me, I know. But I accepted an invitation to a ball this evening. A special one,” he said, raising a hand as Cornelia voiced a concern.

  “Special?”

  “Well, the lady hosting it said a lady on the list inquired for you.”

  “Oh?” Cornelia frowned. She had few acquaintances in London. Who might it be? As she thought frantically through the short list of people she knew here, the answer appeared clearly. “Claudia!”

  “Yes, that's right,” Lucas said absently. “Lady Claudia.”

  “Oh! I'm so glad she's here. I thought she might be wed by now and gone somewhere else...” Cornelia smiled, recalling her friend Claudia, younger sister of the earl of Tolford. She was a delicate lady with an iron core and, despite her young age had managed to assert herself despite her dominating elder brother. Cornelia was looking forward to seeing her again.

  “Well, that's settled then. We're both off to the ball, then. Which reminds me,” Lucas added, glancing elegantly at his fob-watch. “I suppose we ought to think about getting ready about now?”

  “Yes,” Cornelia nodded, noticing it was almost six o' clock. “I should say we should!”

  “Ball starts at seven,” Cornelius said absently. “We have time.”

  “I need to unpack!” Cornelia said, already springing into action. Lucas nodded.

  “Off you go, then, cousin. See you downstairs in half an hour or so.”

  “Yes. I'll be there directly.”

  Cornelia went through her gowns distractedly, thoughts on her old friend. What would be appropriate for her first night out in the London Season – especially give Claudia would be there, with her stylish fashions? She frowned. A consultation with Pauline had informed her that puffed sleeves were fashionable still, and white was all the rage – though it was customary at many balls in any case. And plumes of ostrich feathers in the hair.

  “You have five gowns,” Linton reminded her as Cornelia hunted through the chest. “I've hung them up in the wardrobe.”

  “Thank you, Linton. The white, please. And if you could pile my hair? I want to try for something like Pauline had the other day at the ball...high, but with some curls at the edges, yes?”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  They settled down to getting ready. Half an hour later, her corset laced tight over a beating heart, Cornelia headed down the stairs. She found Lucas waiting, looking surprisingly dashing in his black velvet suit. He smiled at her.

  “My, cousin! You look delightful. I might have to fight my way through crowds of admirers to get you away from the dancing.”

  Cornelia flapped a glove at him playfully. “Lucas Braxton. You are silly sometimes. But you're the dearest cousin. And may I say quite handsome too.”

  Lucas blushed, a delightful sight with his pale skin and chestnut hair. Then they were heading to the coach and the ball.

  The ballroom was hot. The air here in London held the heat, it seemed, so that Cornelia was already fanning herself as she walked up the flight of steps into the hall.

  “Lady Cornelia and Lord Lucas,” the attendant at the door announced them. The noise in the hall was so great that they may as well have been unannounced. Except for one small red-haired figure in the front row of the hall.

  “Cornelia? Oh, my goodness!”

  “Claudia!”

  Cornelia embraced the petite woman impulsively. She breathed in a dark perfume – iris, perhaps, or tuberose – as they hugged. Then she stood back and held her friend at arms' length, shaking her head with disbelief.

  “Claudia! You're...it's remarkable to see you!”

  “And for me to see you,” she said shyly, extricating herself to come and stand with her.

  It had only been a year since Cornelia was last in London, but Claudia seemed very changed from the quiet, pensive girl she had met years ago. She was dressed in a bolder color – white patterned with tiny orange flowers that matched her pale auburn hair. But it was not that alone – she seemed confident and contained rather than simply quiet. There was a poise about her, an elegance that she always had, only matured now into a cool assurance.

  “I was hoping I might see you,” Cornelia confessed. “It has been far too long since we talked.”

  Claudia smiled. “Indeed. A lot has happened since then. Are you thirsty?”

  “Terribly,” Cornelia responded. They laughed.

  “Come on. Let's go and find refreshments.”

  As they wove their way through the close-packed crowds – that was, every fashionable person in London, trying to outdo every other person – they talked.

  “My brother has left London,” Claudia confessed. “I preferred to stay.”

  “Good!” Cornelia nodded fervently. She imagined this calm, cool Claudia standing up to her bully of an elder brother and silently applauded her. “It must be much better here than away from it all.”

  “It suits me,” Claudia said, with an elegant shrug. She looked every inch the fashionable lady, with her white elbow-length gloves and her strawberry red hair piled into a sleek up-style on her head, pearls at her throat.

  “It does.”

  They both giggled. They had taken glasses of sherbet and stood drinking it on the edge of the group. The sound of talk had risen and the orchestra played sweet refrains that barely rose above the noise of the throng.

  “It is hot in here, isn't it?” Cornelia said.

  “Awfully,” Claudia nodded. “We should go to the terrace. It's less warm. Not to say quieter,” she added with a frown. Cornelia laughed.

  “It wouldn't be hard – there are probably market places quieter than this.”

  They both chuckled and headed out onto the terrace.

  “While you're here,” Claudia said, sweeping a hand to indicate London generally, “you must let me introduce you to some people. You should visit more often, Cornelia. I would like it if you did.”

  Cornelia smiled. �
��Thank you.”

  They were both silent for a while. Out here, the night had grown truly dark and the air was still warm. They could hear the sound of carriage wheels in the street and somewhere someone shouted. But otherwise, all was still. The sound of the orchestra drifted out from the ballroom – out here, it was much louder than the murmuring talk.

  “Oh, peace and quiet!” Claudia said, throwing out her arms. Cornelia grinned.

  “Indeed. Whew!” she flapped a hand at the hall. “It's stifling in there.”

  “The summer is unusually warm this year,” Claudia replied. “It can be good, in that one genuinely appreciates these gauze sleeves.” she indicated the transparent puff-sleeves of her new gown. “And the penchant for feather fans.”

  “True,” Cornelia nodded. “You must tell me how you have been this last year! So much must have occurred – a whole year!”

  Claudia bit her lip. “Nothing much. I moved to London, Cornelius went home to Tolford Manor. I rejected a suitor or two – with Cornelius safely away, I feel less pressure to accept them for the sake of getting away,” she added with a smile at Cornelia’s shocked face.

  “Claudia!” she giggled.

  “What?” She raised a brow.

  “Nothing. I'm impressed.”

  Claudia smiled. “Thank you. Not that it's really impressive. How are you?”

  Cornelia blew her cheeks out, a slow exhalation as she considered what to tell her. “Well, thank you. Not a lot to tell, actually. Pauline married, as you know, and Matilda had her baby, though she was very sick a long while and we were all worried. Arabella – her daughter – is adorable, and...”

  “And what about you?” Claudia was watching her shrewdly.

  “Me? Oh, nothing much,” Cornelia sighed. “I...” she paused. She considered whether or not to tell Claudia about Francis. She was her friend, but besides Pauline no-one knew anything of the attachment. “I have an...acquaintance...” she trailed off. Claudia must have guessed what she meant, because she smiled.

  “I see! I think I know what sort. Congratulations!”

  Cornelia blushed. “Oh, it's nothing really...” she twisted her gloved hands and Claudia smiled at her.

  “You don't have to tell me. I can see in your eyes what you mean.”

  “Thank you,” Cornelia said, swallowing hard. Telling someone else about how she felt about Francis was harder than she would have expected.

  “Now,” Claudia said, looking over the town. “You must promise to come to lots of parties while you're here. I shall attend all of them. My aunt is my chaperone and she's a delight – she hosts most of the parties, attends the others and very rarely notices where I am during one. The best chaperone in existence.”

  Cornelia giggled. Lucas was hers, and it seemed he was doing a very efficient job of not noticing where she was, too. He had disappeared shortly after they arrived and she hadn't really been watching out for him either.

  “Well, I promise to try. Though I assure you I haven't the stamina for such things as you have.”

  Claudia chuckled. “You'll see. Now, we should go inside. I can hear the music changing and we should be within if we want to dance the first measure with someone.”

  “We should,” Cornelia nodded. Maybe Francis is here and I can dance with him.

  She bit her lip. It was a ball with the high society, but it was also a very big one, very well-attended. It was quite possible that there would be plenty of men from the military headquarters here. And who was to say Francis wouldn't be one of them? Her pulse raced in her neck and she felt sweat on her forehead.

  The hall had settled down somewhat – the dance-floor was clear of everyone except the couples who were going to dance, the rest of the throng moving back either to watch the dances or talking among themselves, only more hushed this time.

  Cornelia looked about. Claudia was still talking in a low voice, though she herself scanned the room, searching for red-coated people.

  “And there is Lord Huston, and his wife,” Cornelia was saying. And over there is Lady Roxburgh – you'll want to know her, she is one of those in charge of invitations at Almack's – and there is...ah! There's someone you should meet! I hoped she would be here...”

  Cornelia broke off her search as Claudia touched her elbow. “Sorry?”

  “I said, you must come and meet someone. A friend with some influence. You'll like her. She's been very good to me.”

  “Oh?” Cornelia nodded. “I'd be happy to meet her.”

  “She was very kind when I moved here first – I met her through Aunt, but she's much younger, closer to our own age.” Claudia told her as they wove their way across to the other side of the dance-floor.

  “Oh,” Cornelia murmured. She was looking forward to meeting this woman. A friend of Claudia's was bound to be a friend of her's.

  “Ah! Here we are!” Claudia smiled pleasantly. “Cornelia, I'd like you to meet Lady Alexandra. Alexandra, this is my dear friend Cornelia I told you about.”

  Cornelia turned to the person, a smile on her face. The smile froze. She stared. It was her.

  The dark-haired woman. The woman from the Dorsetshire ball. She was here.

  She shivered. Looked sideways at Claudia, as if she must be mistaken. Surely this wasn't the good friend she wanted her to meet? There must be a mistake! She felt her heart beat faster in her chest, fear gripping her as if ice ran under her skin.

  But there wasn't any mistake. The woman, clad this time in a rich burgundy color so dark it might have been woven of midnight, turned to them and smiled.

  “Lady Cornelia. I'm charmed to meet you at last.”

  Cornelia was rooted to the spot. There was a quality to her – a magnetic quality that drew her in despite her better judgment. She found herself smiling back, even though it was the last thing on her mind. In truth, all she wanted to do was run.

  “Delighted, my lady,” she whispered. “I...” She dried up and Claudia interrupted.

  “I'm sure you two will have a great deal to talk about,” Claudia said. “If you'll excuse me for a moment? I spotted someone who needs a message from Cornelius. Heaven knows why I do these things for him.” She pulled a face, then grinned.

  “Of course,” Cornelia said shakily. “I'll see you soon.” She watched her friend go with a sort of numb detachment, then turned towards the tall, dark presence.

  “Cornelia.” The woman rolled the name around in her mouth as if sampling a vintage. “I believe I recognize you?” She narrowed those dark eyes speculatively.

  “Um...” Cornelia swallowed hard. Should she say something about Dorsetshire, the ball? “We may have seen each other before?” she suggested.

  “That must be it,” Alexandra said coolly. “One sees so many people at these soirees and parties.”

  “Quite.” Where is Claudia? Why did she have to disappear now?

  “You dance, Lady Cornelia?”

  “I do,” Cornelia said quickly. “At least, when there are people I like dancing with.”

  The woman tipped back her head, laughing. It was a rich, warm laugh. Darkly intoxicating. Cornelia shook her head to clear it.

  “Well,” Alexandra continued. “I have to introduce you to someone, then.”

  “”Oh?”

  “My brother, Richmond. I think you two will get along famously.”

  “Oh.” Cornelia felt her palms begin to sweat. Of all the people she would like to meet, anyone intimately connected to this dark, fascinating stranger was the last of them.

  “Let me fetch him. Richmond?”

  “Um...” Cornelia looked around, trying to get away. In the crowd she spotted Claudia's pale hair and made to join her.

  “Ah! There you are,” she said to someone in that velvety voice. “Do come here.”

  “Um...” Cornelia protested, then stopped. Stared.

  The man beside Lady Alexandra could have been her in male form. He was tall, with black hair and a narrow, pale face. Black eyes. A slit of a mouth. H
e did not smile but bowed stiffly, pressing her hand to his lips. His lips on her glove pressed firmly into the back of her hand. His fingers were warm and strong. Cornelia shivered. The touch felt possessive, proprietary.

  “My lady.” He stood, letting her hand go. She breathed more easily. His voice was a baritone, rolling and, though everything about it – modulation and tone – should have compelled, it was not an inviting sound. Cornelia curtseyed, looking at his toes.

  “My lord.” Her voice came out small.

  “Richmond, this is Lady Cornelia, with whom I'm sure to be great friends. And Cornelia, meet Lord Richmond, heir to the earl of Swansea.”

  “Pleased to meet you, my lord.”

  “Delighted.”

  She and Richmond looked at each other silently. Cornelia met his stony, dark gaze. She felt as if she was being probed by those eyes, as if he could see right into her and through her and out the other side. She shivered.

  “Um...do you dance, my lord?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Oh.”

  This was the sum total of their conversation until Lady Alexandra chuckled. “Oh, for goodness sakes, Richmond! You're a fine conversationalist. Tell Lady Cornelia about your riding, do.”

  He looked at her coldly. “I don't care for riding.”

  Alexandra's brow went up, and Cornelia tensed, feeling the ice form on the air around her.

  “As you wish,” she said, shrugging her shoulders in the porphyry silk gown. “I think I see Lady Lettice there. Excuse me, do.”

  Richmond shrugged and she glided away. That left Cornelia and he looking at each other mutely.

  “Ahem,” Cornelia began. “You have been in London long?”

  “A month.”

  “Oh.”

  Well, Cornelia thought a little desperately, If we are going to talk in monosyllables all evening, this is going to be charming.

  He cleared his throat, surprising her. “Would you dance, my lady?”

  “I...” Cornelia paused. She heard someone draw in a breath behind her and turned.

  “Francis!”

  “Lady Cornelia.”

  It was him. It really was! Cornelia felt herself fill with joy.