Regency Bride Series: Regency Romance Box Set

by Locke, Laura

  “Alexander. Lord Epworth.”

  “Oh! Yes. That's it. Charming sort. So helpful! Why, only last night he was telling me about the new carriage, and how we might borrow it, if we wished to travel further afield. So thoughtful of him, was it not? Especially now that ours is so rickety.”

  “Yes. It is thoughtful,” Matilda nodded, stirring her tea. How does he know our carriage is in poor condition?

  “Perhaps we could go walking today. Speaking of carriages,” Pauline said, diplomatically changing the subject.

  “A walk! Oh, yes. Looks like rain, though,” their mother dismissed the idea lightly.

  “True,” Pauline said quietly.

  “You're quiet this morning, Pauline,” their mother observed. “Tired yourself out, with all the dancing?”

  She chuckled. Matilda realized that their mother was, in fact, proud of the dances they had the previous night. She had probably been grinning at the other older women, who must have quietly resented her saying things like: “Oh, there's the duke's son, dancing with my daughter. Again.”

  “I don't think I'm tired, Mother,” Pauline said softly, stirring her own tea. “Just thinking.”

  “Oh!” Their mother said, about, clearly, to launch into some comment about thinking as she reached for a slice of bread, when someone walked up the hallway.

  “Lucas!”

  Matilda and Pauline both grinned at their brother, who took a seat opposite.

  “Good morning, son,” their mother observed, breaking a bit off her bread and buttering it, then popping it into her mouth.

  “Good morning.”

  Lucas seemed subdued, reaching for some Kedgeree, not looking up. Matilda frowned, guessing at the problem at once.

  “How is Father?”

  “Bad,” Lucas observed, looking up at her from under dark, frowning eyebrows.

  “He is awake?” Pauline asked.

  “You could say so,” Lucas said, stirring sugar into his tea. He looked suddenly old.

  “You mean..?” Pauline raised a brow inquiringly.

  “He is awake, but he did not know me.”

  “Oh!” Their mother said, reaching for more tea. “Well. I think, then, that we will have to do as Pauline and Matilda suggested.”

  “Oh?” Lucas looked confused.

  “We wanted him to go to Brighton,” Pauline said. Matilda swallowed the bread she was chewing hastily to join in.

  “We thought Uncle Bert could take him.”

  “Oh.” Lucas frowned at them, clearly thinking about it. “Well, it could work,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “I could accompany him, too. If I could be spared here, that is?”

  “Nonsense, Lucas! Of course we cannot spare you!” their mother said, sounding indignant. “I barely feel ready to let you escape from the tea party this afternoon.”

  Lucas laughed. “Well, it is nice to be wanted here, but...”

  “No buts, Lucas. You're staying here for a while if I have to ask Mr. Hudson to refuse to saddle your horse. We need you here. All of us.”

  Matilda nodded, feeling subdued. Of all the members of the family most likely to support her with Alexander, her sister and brother were at the top of her particular list. Not that they are joined by many on my list.

  Henry would help her. But somehow Matilda did not want to tell Henry. Thinking about mentioning Alexander to him made her feel a sense of sudden shame. She had told him nothing of it.

  I should tell him. What if he is here this afternoon, and he overhears something..?

  Matilda felt herself panic. She reached for her tea, draining it quickly. She should go and find Henry before he came to tea. She needed to warn him about Alexander. She pushed back her chair, causing her mother to glance at her quickly.

  “Well,” Lucas said quickly, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, “I should go and find Shipley. We need to make plans about this trip to Brighton. I am sure it will be the right thing to help Father.”

  “You are very good, Lucas,” Pauline said softly, touching his hand.

  Matilda smiled at the tender look that passed between Pauline and Lucas. She swallowed hard, thinking of how sad it was to consider how soon they would all be separated. Pauline seemed set to marry Cornelius, her to Alexander. And Lucas?

  “I saw you talking to Camilla Whitelaw yesterday,” their mother commented to Lucas. Lucas seemed to shrink.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “She's a good match. Wise, sensible, accomplished. Her father's well-off...good dowry. Think about it.” Their mother dabbed her lips with a napkin, leveling the linen square at him like a teacher's pointer.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Matilda wanted to laugh, had it not all seemed miserable. Not even Lucas was going to escape her sudden frenzy of marriage-planning.

  If Father was to become well, would she stop doing this?

  It was worth a try. Lucas evidently thought the same thing, for he stood, pushing back his own chair loudly in the genteel silence.

  “I'm going to organize this trip to Brighton.”

  “Don't forget to ask about a carriage,” their mother called after him. “Though Lord Epworth very kindly mentioned they have an extra one, should ours not withstand a long journey.”

  “Milady?”

  “What...oh!” Matilda looked up to see Stella returning, a cup of tea in one hand, a vial of pills in the other. “Is it four of the clock already?”

  “No, milady,” Stella said quickly. “At least, yes it is in a moment. I just had to tell you something.”

  “What is it?” Matilda felt instantly worried. It was not like reliable, careful Stella to look so flustered.

  “I was downstairs in the kitchen, and Cook...she told me she'd seen a man in the kitchens. Someone who's not supposed to be there.”

  “Oh?” Matilda rose, heart thudding hard. “She kept him waiting?”

  “She did, milady. He's down there yet. Mr. Harlaw, the gardener – he's keepin' him there. I said I'd fetch you.”

  “Thank you,” Matilda said, nodding. She stood and together they headed down to the kitchen. Matilda followed her down the servant's corridor to the upper entrance, amazed by the fact that her house seemed parallel to another world. One she had never actually entered before. Here, it was cold and whitewashed – clean, but not beautiful; purely workable. She followed Stella into the gloom of the kitchen.

  “Cook,” Stella said to a short, ruddy-cheeked woman Matilda barely recognized, having met her only once or twice before. “This is Lady Matilda.”

  The cook stared at her as if she was seeing things. “Oh,” she murmured, and dropped a deep curtsey. “Welcome, milady.”

  Matilda felt shy, especially when the woman flushed and started moving things, clearly fearing her censure.

  “Cook, Stella said there was someone here I should see?”

  “Oh! Yes, milady. I caught him round the back where the miller usually leaves grain. Now, come with me. He's here.”

  Matilda kept close to Stella and the two of them headed through to the storehouse. There, just in the door, Matilda saw the strong, sinewy form of the head groundsman and, with him, a slightly shorter man in a black coat.

  “Milady,” the groundsman said, bowing low. The intruder did the same, though stiffly. He removed his top hat.

  “My lady,” he said stiffly. “You will understand, I am no thief. I am a traveling scholar. Doctor Hudson. I was here to inquire if anyone was interested in rejuvenating creams?”

  “Oh,” Matilda said, mildly. The man was tall, though shorter than the gardener, with black hair and bushy black eyebrows. He had a squarish, solemn face and dark eyes, one slightly offset in focus so that he squinted slightly. He seemed personable, his speech clear and clipped.

  “Doctor Hudson,” she said quietly, trying to think if she knew the name. “Well, I apologize that you were detained,” she smiled at Harlaw and her maid. “Our servants are loyal and zealous, for which I thank them. But evidently you meant no harm. I
think we have no great need for your potions. But if you would like refreshment before you are on your way, please; stay for some tea.”

  She nodded to Stella, who stepped forward reluctantly and took the man to the kitchens.

  “Thank you, Harlow,” she said to the gardener.

  “Nothin', milady. Just me duty.”

  “Thank you nonetheless.”

  Matilda went quickly back upstairs.

  “What did you think, Mistress?” Stella asked, anxiously.

  “Nothing but a harmless pedlar, I'd say. A mountebank, certainly. But no thief. Feed him and send him on.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Matilda went back upstairs. She practiced at the pianoforte until luncheon, wishing she could put all thoughts of Alexander Dartmoor and her father's illness from her mind.

  “Milady?”

  “Yes?” she asked, looking up at Shipsley in the doorway.

  “Your mama asked me to tell you luncheon is served and getting cold.”

  “Thank you, Shipsley,” Matilda nodded. Matilda pushed in her chair, feeling her heart sink. She headed down to lunch.

  As she had expected, most of the lunchtime conversation was about the tea-party. She could understand her mother's need to throw herself into this new round of activity, but all the same it did not help her own anxiety. She ate quickly, then excused herself.

  “Where are you going, young lady?” their mother asked.

  “I'm going for a walk.”

  Matilda walked briskly from the dining room, heading upstairs. She would change her boots and set off for Henry's father's manor. She had to see him soon, before tea. To tell him about Alexander. And ask him what she should do.

  Matilda rode to the estate. Henry was out, according to their butler, Mr. Prestwick. She asked where he had gone, but the man seemed evasive. She rode home.

  By five o' clock that afternoon, Matilda was in a state of anxiety. She dressed for tea, choosing a white muslin gown decorated with a pattern of small blue flowers. She paced from one side of her bedchamber to the other, feeling anxious. She could not handle another encounter with Lord Epworth like the one at the ball: if he kissed her again, forced his body against hers, she was not at all sure what her actions would be.

  “Matilda?”

  “Pauline! Oh!”

  Seeing Pauline was a relief. Matilda flopped down onto the bed, facing her sister. Her lovely oval face was serene, her dark eyes in sharp contrast to her lilac dress.

  “Tildie. You look distressed.”

  “I am! Oh, Pauline. I should have told him!”

  “Henry?” Pauline guessed.

  “Yes! I should have told him about Alexander, and how Mama is pushing me to wed him. Whatever will happen at tea this afternoon?” Matilda wrung her hands, feeling wretched.

  “Leave it to me.”

  Chapter 12

  Matilda fidgeted where she stood by the window in the downstairs parlor, smoothing down the stiff skirts of her party dress of white taffeta. She could see Pauline across the room, talking animatedly with Cornelius' sister, her own white dress slightly less exuberant and more formal.

  “My lady.”

  Matilda's heart sank. She had been hoping to avoid Lord Epworth, but there he was, beside her.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Epworth.”

  “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.”

  As she looked up at him from under her lowered lids, she had to admit he looked quite handsome, with his black velvet jacket and well-tied white cravat. He really was very handsome, she had to admit: just the proper side of dandyish, and absolutely charming.

  If it wasn't for Henry, then...

  She sighed. The memory of Henry's kiss was still on her lips; and the contrast, when Lord Epworth raised her hand to his lips was so strong it made her shudder.

  “I assure you, I am not too kind. Merely selfish, to spend time with such a lovely young lady.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Matilda carefully removed her hand. She looked over to Pauline, feeling desperate. She heard Lucas exclaim at the door.

  “Oh! Henry! Good to see you here.”

  Matilda's heart sank. She saw her mother coming over and tried to keep her face as neutral as possible. If she had hoped to escape to see Henry, her path was just well and truly blocked.

  “Lord Epworth!” her mother said happily. “Oh, how lovely to see you here.”

  “My lady,” he said, bowing deeply to Matilda's mother. “I trust you and your husband are well?”

  “I am in good health. Alas, you know of the condition facing my dear husband...” her mother began, her hands clasped.

  “I do,” Lord Epworth said softly. “And I trust I will know from you, could I be of any assistance?”

  “So kind!” her mother exclaimed. “Well, we were discussing Brighton, and the possibility of borrowing a carriage...”

  “Indeed. Leave it to me.”

  Mother! Matilda wanted to shout it. She felt horrified. How could her mother think of including this man, about whom they knew absolutely nothing, in their private concern?

  “Ahem,” she said, clearing her throat.

  “What, dear?” her mother asked inquiringly. “You look like you saw a ghost!”

  Matilda, brain working furiously to think of what she could say decorously, was saved the trouble of replying as a bright voice suddenly spoke up behind Lord Epworth's shoulder.

  “Mother! Sister! There you are. And lord Epworth! How nice...”

  Pauline appeared, a jolly smile plastered on her usually tranquil features. Matilda felt her heart sing with relief. She sighed audibly. Pauline grinned at her.

  “Now, Lord Epworth,” Pauline said firmly, turning to face him, “I was wanting to ask you about...Oh!” A slight tip forward of the teacup, and Pauline's tea sheeted down the front of Lord Epworth's fine velvet suit.

  “Oh! My lord! I am so, so sorry!” Pauline exclaimed, batting her eyelashes fervently. “Here, let me help you...”

  She produced a handkerchief and dabbed delicately at his front; her long, tapered fingers making the simple action something of beauty. Lord Epworth looked at first astonished, then horrified, then quite pleased with himself. Evidently having a beautiful woman fussing about him was rather a good thing.

  “Oh, Pauline. Leave it...we cannot do much good with a kerchief. Let's find Mrs. Marwell...” Mother began, shooing Pauline and Lord Epworth before her to the door. “She should see to that jacket before it stains. Lord Epworth, if you just step upstairs a moment? We will be able to find you a spare coat while this is mended.”

  Matilda smiled weakly at Pauline as between she and her mother, they led Lord Epworth out of the parlor and upstairs. She could not have thanked Pauline enough. She was free, if only for a moment.

  Now I can speak to Henry. Pauline is such a dear!

  She went quickly to join Henry. Lucas was talking with him in a bright, slightly forced way about the weather and the state of the farms.

  “Lucas. Henry,” Matilda said, smiling up at the pair of them.

  “Sister! There you are.” Lucas grinned, seeming rather relieved.

  “Matilda. A pleasure.” Henry bowed, eyes sparkling.

  Matilda felt herself flush with pleasure at his smile. “Henry. I am so pleased to see you here. I wanted to ask you about the cure you mentioned to me for Midnight's tendons...recall, when we went riding and the rain began falling..?”

  As Matilda and Henry fell into conversation, Lucas quietly edged away. Matilda noticed him talking with a dark-haired lady on the edge of the room and privately wondered who it was.

  “Matilda,” Henry said, noticing that Lucas had gone. “I am so glad to see you. I have been so worried.”

  “Worried?” Matilda frowned. “Why, dear?”

  Henry looked about, then drew her towards the window, where they could speak with less chance of being overheard. “I have heard that there have be
en strange goings-on at the manor.”

  “Strange?” Matilda felt suddenly nervous. “What sort of strange, Henry?”

  “Well, my man, Bramford, said he saw a horseman riding here three or four times last week. You have had some visitors?”

  “Why, no!” Matilda said, surprised. “At least, not a man on his own.”

  “Well, perhaps Bramford is having flights of fancy. But he said he saw a man in a dark suit on a dark chestnut horse riding here, perhaps a day ago, and then two days before that..? Matilda? What is it?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

  Matilda swallowed hard. “N...nothing, Henry. But we have had no visitors. Is he sure of this?”

  “He says he saw this. I cannot know if he is right.”

  “Oh...” Matilda felt as if she would fall, and leaned back against the wall, head spinning in confusion.

  Alexander.

  It must be him! She had seen him herself that afternoon on the road from here. He had been at the manor. She had thought so. But why would he visit without calling on the family? What was he doing there? This was all so odd.

  “Matilda?”

  “Oh, Henry. I'm sorry. Just...lost in thought. I cannot imagine what is happening.”

  “Me neither,” Henry agreed firmly. “But...if aught happens, please call on me?”

  Matilda smiled, seeing the concern in those soft eyes. “Oh, Henry. I will. I promise I will.”

  “Good.”

  Henry pressed her hand. Matilda felt safer than she had, feeling that warm, safe contact. Now Henry knew. She was not alone in thinking that there was something very odd about Lord Epworth and his persistence. His interest in the family bothered her. And how could her mother be so candid with him? Ask for his help? They barely knew him!

  She stood with Henry, savoring his presence, and together they watched the tea-party. The room was full of perhaps twenty guests, all standing about in fine clothing, carrying delicate Sevres teacups in their hands, the air full of light chatter or the delicate clink of cutlery on china.

  Matilda leaned back, her hand still just touching Henry's, watching the room. She heard Aunt Tertia's rich voice from the corner near the fire.

  “Oh – and Honorius! Don't forget we have an engagement on Friday...the ride with Lord Featherston...”