Yuletide Happily Ever After II: An Original Regency Romance Collection

by Anna Bradley

  Unable to stand the suspense any longer, he popped the seal off the letter and unfolded it in one fluid movement. Heart in his throat, he read the few short lines and slumped into his chair. There it was. She’d begged him to end this game unless he could do the impossible and suggest a mutual acquaintance who could perform an introduction. If he did not know the lady, how on earth could he ascertain who she did and did not know? This was madness. He must accede to her request unless he wished to be thought a cad.

  Tossing the paper on the table, Nick slouched and sank down into the chair. He must give her up, whether he wanted to or not. The lady had spoken. Best to focus his attentions on Miss Willingham and forget about the captivating Pence.

  With a sigh, he sat up, rubbing his forefinger along the edge of the letter, the only contact he would ever have with his mysterious lady. Such a shame they would never meet. If only they could stand face to face, he could make her see that he was a gentleman, and one with whom she would wish an acquaintance. But how to convince her of that? How could he make her change her mind about him?

  To think that he could do so was true lunacy, but he couldn’t help himself. Even though he found himself drawn to Miss Willingham, he must be sure of his affection for her. And to do that, he must meet Pence. He had no reason to rush into marriage, but since encountering these young ladies, he’d found himself thinking about it more and more. But how could he decide on such an important matter if he hadn’t met one of the principle parties involved?

  If only he could get Pence to agree to meet him. What reason could he give that would persuade her? In her opinion, he was deplorable, and with good cause. He’d shown her nothing of himself save an opinionated brute badgering her into what amounted to compromising herself. So what if he presented himself in a better light? Offered to…what? Perform a heroic deed? Might that convince her to alter her estimation of him?

  What did he have to lose by trying?

  Rising, he grabbed her letter and headed for the drawing room. Others had deemed the pen a more effective weapon than a sword. In this case, however, he might have to employ both.

  * * * *

  Lying in bed next morning, Portia stretched then pulled the covers up to her chin. A smile crept over her face as she recalled her dance with Lord Benberry. Such fine features he had, especially his eyes—wide and dark, like a deep pool inviting her to dive in. She shivered and sank further beneath the blankets. And now the delicious anticipation of the trip to Sydney Gardens on Thursday.

  Aunt Phoebe had unfortunately insisted on having her at home day today, so they would be receiving callers this afternoon rather than enjoying the outing with Lord Benberry. Then there was some vague errand that could not wait, so the excursion to Sydney Gardens had to be delayed until Thursday.

  Still, she could bask in the memory of her dance and imagine what their conversation might be like, and muse about what Merlin’s Swing might be. Of course, she could’ve asked Aunt Phoebe, but that would take all the fun out of the mystery. And the way Lord Benberry had whispered in her ear made goose flesh erupt every time she thought of it.

  “Time to get up, miss.” Rose entered with a tray laden with hot tea and toast. “Your aunt is asking you to come down immediately.”

  “But it’s so lovely and warm right here.” Why rise this early when the visitors wouldn’t be here for hours yet?

  “Mrs. Peterson is in the breakfast room, miss, and has asked for you.” The maid set the tray down on the night table. “You’ll want to keep in her good graces, I’d think, after she allowed you to attend last evening’s dance.”

  Lord, but Rose was right. If she wished to be allowed to deepen her acquaintance with Lord Benberry and Lord Daventry, she must mollify her aunt whenever she could. Bracing herself against the chill of the room, Portia threw the covers back and scrambled down off the high bed. Her feet hit the cold floor and she squealed.

  “Here are your slippers.” Rose set the small pink mules down beside her and Portia slid her feet in, sighing as the aching cold receded. “Will you wear the yellow and white morning gown with the tiny flowers or the cream with the dark green trim?”

  “The cream, I think. It suits me better than the yellow does in the morning light.” Picking up a piece of toast, Portia contemplated butter alone or with jam.

  “You might want to hurry, miss. Mrs. Peterson said to tell you to come down directly.” Rose grabbed the discarded night rail and folded it carefully.

  “Very well.” With a wistful look, Portia put the toast back on the plate. “Let us get on with it.”

  Rose handed her a clean chemise and Portia pulled it over her head. “Oh, Rose, you sly boots, you never told me last night what you found out. About the address.” Her head emerged and she glared at her maid.

  “I didn’t want to worry you, with your going to the ball and all. And you were positively drooping when you got home.” Rose held out a pair of stays and Portia slid her arms into them.

  “Well, I’m neither going to a ball nor am I tired this morning.” Portia quickly adjusted her breasts into the stays. “Tell me.” She twisted around, trying to see Rose. “Is that Lord Daventry’s address?”

  Sighing heavily, Rose nodded. “I went myself and asked a servant who came out of the back door. I said I needed to bring a note from my master to Lord Daventry, but I couldn’t remember the direction.” With a grin, Rose laced her up the back. “When they asked if they could take the note to his lordship, I said I’d left it at home until I found the right address. I’m sure they thought me the stupidest servant in England.”

  “Well, they don’t know that you’re actually the cleverest, Rose.” Portia clasped her hands in front of her. Lord Daventry was “Devil.” So now, what should she do? Confront him with the news? She didn’t know when she would see him again. Write to him again to say he’d been unmasked? That seemed downright rude. And the correspondence didn’t seem quite so scandalous now she knew he was a gentleman of her acquaintance. Perhaps she should do nothing until she could meet with him again and perhaps drop hints that she knew who he was? Yes, that seemed much the cleverer way to go on.

  But where did this now leave her attraction to Lord Benberry? Which gentleman did she actually have feelings for? True, she did have a strong affinity for Lord Benberry, but also a tremendous attraction to Daventry’s “Devil” personality. Again, the best course seemed to be to wait and see. Especially until after the excursion with Lord Benberry on Thursday. That outing could make all the difference in which gentleman she wished to fix her affections on.

  Twenty minutes later, Portia ran lightly down the staircase and into the breakfast room to find Aunt Phoebe finishing a cup of tea. “Good morning.” She kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Well, no matter. You’re here now. I would perhaps be harsher about you lying abed when there’s so much to be done, but I know you danced a great deal last evening.” Her aunt smiled. “I suppose you may be forgiven this once. However, we must put our heads together and come up with a small Christmas Eve entertainment.”

  “An entertainment?” Portia plopped down in the chair next to Aunt Phoebe. “Here?”

  “I thought you might like to invite several ladies and gentlemen for some refreshments and perhaps cards to celebrate the season.” Her aunt sent her a sly glance. “Including Lords Benberry and Daventry.”

  “I should like that very much, Aunt.” Portia tried to keep her excitement hidden, although she was certain her aunt had an inkling how agreeable this suggestion was to her.

  “Then we must make plans accordingly. A total of five couples will be sufficient, I think.”

  “I don’t believe I know that many young ladies and gentlemen. Not even after last night’s dance.” That was a conundrum. She was acquainted with many young men and women in Bradford Abbas, of course, but not here.

  “After my at-home today, you will. At least, you’ll make the acquaintance of several young ladies
. The young gentlemen quite often take care of themselves.” With a broad smile, Aunt Phoebe rose. “Enjoy your breakfast then come to me in the drawing room and we’ll discuss those who’re likely to call today.” She turned to go. “Oh, and your uncle has written you yet again.”

  Portia went still, staring at Aunt Phoebe, who seemed to be moving backward. Or was Portia moving forward? Might she be about to swoon?

  “Is he quite certain he cannot come to visit you, my dear? He seems terribly devoted to you.”

  Swallowing convulsively, Portia managed to make herself smile. “Oh, he’s quite fixed in Bristol, Aunt. I’m certain he will not come here.” At least she didn’t think so. Had she revealed herself in some way in her latest correspondence?

  Aunt Phoebe shrugged. “Well, his letter arrived this morning. It’s there on the table. I will see you shortly.”

  When her aunt had gone, Portia rose on unsteady legs and retrieved the letter. Drat that man. She’d spelled out her disinclination to continue the correspondence, which was getting seriously out of hand. Lord Daventry was writing to her every single day, a terribly scandalous thing unless they were betrothed, which they certainly were not. And yes, she was writing back, but that was beside the point. She’d specifically told him not to write her again. Could he not read plain English?

  Portia paused her internal rant. Had he actually come up with the name of someone to perform an introduction? If he’d realized who she was then it was certainly a possibility. But if not…

  Holding the letter so the name ‘Pence’ showed, she contemplated simply ripping it to shreds. Then she would be done with the whole correspondence.

  But did she truly want to be?

  The startling notion appeared out of nowhere and took her by surprise. Of course, she should wish to be done with an activity that was utterly forbidden by the rules of etiquette. Unfortunately, somehow, its illicit nature made it all the more appealing. And that was the worst of it. The man seemed to possess the ability to challenge her, to goad her into taking a dubious course of action, when anyone else would insist on proper behavior. The novelty of that alone made him stand out as a desirable gentleman.

  Desirable? A shiver raced down her back.

  Well, yes, Lords Benberry and Daventry were both desirable. Which was another part of the problem. Portia took a deep breath. She must stay with her plan to let the coming outing help her decide which gentleman to choose. She glanced at the letter still in her hands. She should rip it up. Another piece of spirited correspondence from Lord Daventry might give him an unfair advantage over Benberry in winning her affections. She turned the letter over, anxious to know what he had said this time. Picking up the lip of the paper, she tried to see the writing. Nothing. If she would have her curiosity satisfied, she’d have to actually open it.

  Drat!

  After a moment, inquisitiveness won out. She pulled the seal carefully from the letter and unfolded the paper.

  My dear Pence,

  I regret to inform you that I find I cannot relinquish your good company vis a vis this correspondence. I understand that this will, once again, bring into question—in your eyes at least—my claim of being a gentleman—

  At least the man possessed a modicum of intelligence. Still, she couldn’t refrain from smiling and read on.

  —but I will risk that possibility in the hopes of pleading my case to become acquainted with you once more.

  I believe if I can convince you that I do indeed possess gentleman-like behaviors, you may be more inclined to grant me that boon most desirous to my heart—namely, a meeting with you.

  So I propose a bargain with you. I will offer my services to anyone in need within the city of Bath. If I’m able to accomplish this service, make it known to you, and gain your approval of my deed, you will relent from your current decree that I desist from this correspondence and agree instead to reward my most gentleman-like conduct with the golden prize: your favorable regard. That being obtained, I trust I will be allowed to then make your actual acquaintance. If you are agreeable to this, do not respond to this letter, but await my next, which shall inform you of the actions that will hopefully deem me worthy in your eyes.

  With utmost respect and honor,

  D

  Quite breathless, Portia sat back in the chair, glancing around the room as though she didn’t know what to do next. Indeed, she did not. This missive was very different in tenor than those she’d received from D before. More earnest. More heartfelt. More dangerous to her sensibilities?

  When he’d been content to upbraid her or make wild suggestions, it had been quite easy to dismiss his interest as a frivolous lark. Now that he proposed to win her favor by performing a service for someone—and from his words, service of more consequence than, say, helping pick up fallen apples—should she not indulge him? His words implied that he wished to change his behavior because he sought her regard. Did such a degree of commitment not merit a change of heart on her part as well?

  She glanced down at the letter, to find additional writing on the opposite side.

  Post scriptum — Are you by chance acquainted with Lord Marksby? He’s an older gentleman I’m known to who is held in respected esteem by many of Bath’s citizens. If you or your aunt have an acquaintanceship with him, could he perhaps perform our introductions?

  D

  A bolt shot through her, making her body tingle. Did this mean he suspected she, known to him as Miss Willingham, might be Pence? The mention of the gentleman who’d introduced them could not be coincidence.

  Then, abruptly, her spirits sank. Here was the rub, as Shakespeare had so eloquently said. Although she enjoyed the company of both gentlemen, she could not deny her sudden, strong pull toward Lord Benberry when he’d whispered in her ear during the dance. Yet here was Daventry vowing to do some heroic feat for her, which made her sigh all the more. If only her feelings for each of these gentlemen were clearer.

  In light of this remarkable letter, her heart said she should give Daventry the benefit of the doubt and allow him to seek her favor by performing his selfless deed. She need not reply to the letter yet, only wait to see if he accomplished a feat heroic enough to sway her favorable opinion more toward him than Lord Benberry.

  At that point, she would simply have to choose between the two gentlemen. An action much less dangerous to her reputation, although perhaps somewhat more so to her heart.

  CHAPTER 9

  The slow, slightly swaying motion of the chair she was riding in, so different from that of the carriages she was used to, only seemed to increase Portia’s excitement as they wound their way through the streets of Bath toward Sydney Gardens. The time since Monday evening, when she’d last seen Lord Benberry and heard that delicious whisper, had been extraordinarily long. Certainly Tuesday and Wednesday had possessed more than the requisite twenty-four hours each—perhaps even double the usual amount had passed without anyone but her noticing. Her anticipation of the event had mounted with each of those added hours, compounded by the knowledge that Lord Daventry was her mysterious letter writer. The possibility that she would need to choose between two most desirable gentlemen had kept her almost sleepless these past nights trying to rationalize her choice.

  As she approached Sydney Gardens, Portia caught sight of two gentlemen standing in front of the arches of the portico to the Sydney Hotel, the entrance to the gardens, and gasped. Lord Benberry hadn’t said anything about his friend accompanying him on this outing. Had Daventry wrangled an invitation expressly to see her? Nervously, she squeezed her hands together to stop them from shaking. She must learn to control her emotions, for to exhibit too much excitement was unseemly. Had she gone to London for her Season last spring, perhaps she would have learned how such a feat was accomplished.

  Of course, had she gone to London, she might very well have already met Lords Benberry and Daventry. Might have already been married to one of them, or to some other gentleman entirely. Oh, dear, now her head was beginning
to spin with all these intoxicating notions.

  She must concentrate on this outing and on the gentlemen in front of her.

  Her chair slowed to a halt and lowered to the ground. Before she could even stand up, Lord Benberry had opened the door and taken her hand to lead her out onto the graveled walkway. The touch of his gloved fingers on hers sent a spark tingling all the way up her arm and she had to stifle a gasp.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Willingham.” He released her hand and bowed. “How do you do?” His deep voice set her stomach to trembling.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Benberry. I am very well, thank you.” Concentrating so her curtsey wouldn’t wobble, Portia dipped carefully and smiled at the handsome man before her. “Thank you again for suggesting this outing. I’ve been looking forward to it quite keenly.” So gross an understatement it bordered on a lie. Still, she mustn’t seem overeager. “And you have been well since last we met, I trust.”

  “Indeed, I have.” He offered his arm and she took it, happiness coursing through her. “I hope you do not mind that I’ve invited Daventry along. He wished particularly to make this a party.”

  Words failing her, Portia nodded and clutched his arm closer.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Willingham.” Lord Daventry had assisted her aunt from her chair and now escorted her over to Portia. “Have you brought the sun with you?” He peered up at the sky, clear and sunny for the first time since Monday. “We must endeavor to persuade you to remain in Bath for some time to come if you bring about such fair weather in the dead of winter.”

  “Good afternoon, Lord Daventry.” She managed to speak and smiled pleasantly at him, although confusion reigned within. Lord Daventry’s praise warmed her as any such might do, but it did not set her to tingling as Lord Benberry’s remarks had. Nor did Daventry’s manner seem in keeping with the personality of the anonymous author of the letters.