Regency Bride Series: Regency Romance Box Set

by Locke, Laura

  “You're so kind, Valerian,” Pauline murmured. “I'm so glad you also wished her to be here.”

  “Well, she and Stuart Grant seem to have settled down remarkably well together.”

  “They do,” Pauline agreed. Soon after Valerian and she granted the deeds of the small home on the estate to Romilly, she had joined their parties and met a military captain, who fell instantly in love with her. They lived on the estate, a mile's ride from the main manor now.

  “I am glad,” Valerian commented. “I couldn't be more grateful for the way things happened.”

  “Nor I,” Pauline murmured. “At the end of everything, I found you.”

  “No, my dear,” he smiled, “I am the luckiest of us. For I found you.”

  “Oh, Valerian,” she chuckled as he kissed her brow and moved lower, tickling her with the teasing touch of his mouth on skin, “you are incorrigible, I swear it! And irresistible.”

  “And you, my dear. And you.”

  They settled down on the chaise-lounge together, their lips entwined. Outside a thrush sang but they didn't hear it. Their world was narrowed down to kisses, loving glances, and the space of their embracing arms.

  The Perfect Chance at Love

  Prologue

  “I should go,” Cornelia whispered as Francis kissed her hand. She sighed. The touch of his lips sent shivers through her body. They were alone in the parlor together, the fire low in the grate. When he heeded her urgent plea to let go and looked up, she felt as if her heart shrank. He was sad.

  “I suppose you must,” Francis agreed seriously. “I hope one day it will not always be so, my lady.”

  Cornelia smiled at the handsome cavalryman. “You know you can call me Cornelia, Francis.”

  “Cornelia,” he said.

  The way he said her name sent shivers through her, making her toes tingle in the satin slippers she wore. She held out a hand to him and he took it, squeezing her fingers tenderly.

  “It's past four of the clock,” she said, looking at the mantel where a clock stood, ticking out the hours. “Cousin Pauline will expect me back.”

  “Of course,” Francis nodded. He cleared his throat. “May I escort you to the coach?”

  Cornelia laughed. “Oh, Francis, there's no need, you know. This part of London's quite safe.”

  “All the same,” he insisted stubbornly. “Or, if it's not seemly, I shall wait in the drive until I see you alight.”

  “Oh, Francis,” Cornelia said. She reached up and impulsively cupped his cheek in her hand. Then, feeling a tightness in her chest, she turned and walked resolutely away.

  He's leaving tomorrow. This might be the last time I see him in several months. She fought down the sorrow that rose inside her and walked firmly to the coach with its elaborate insignia.

  “My lady?” the driver called down.

  “Tolford House, please.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Cornelia accepted a hand-up into the coach and sat down, settling her white muslin skirts about her with a shaky hand.

  I am in love with Francis, Lieutenant Wescote, she thought sadly. The feeling of melting happiness in her chest was overridden by the sheer improbability of it. Her mother was ever one for the proprieties, and her aunt, Lady Braxton, even more so. The Duchess of Albury, she was ever one to observe the proprieties.

  Cousin Pauline is the only one who understands.

  She leaned back, scraping auburn hair out of her eye where it fell from its elaborate style, and blinked back flowing tears. Even if Cousin Pauline could help her convince everyone in her favor, they were far from their Dorsetshire home. Pauline and she were the guests of Lord Stanmore, Pauline's affianced. It was difficult enough for Cornelia to meet Francis here. How much harder would it be to meet in Dorsetshire, whence he headed with the cavalry?

  Cornelia sniffed, determined not to cry. She was naturally of a cheerful disposition – some said too cheerful, in fact. It was utterly unlike her to cry. She gave herself a stern look in the glass pane – big caramel-brown eyes looked back, set in a heart-shaped face under thick lashes. Cornelia had always been called pretty, and certainly Francis made her feel special.

  I hope everything works as we hope it can.

  She closed her eyes and let herself think of Francis, recalling the way his lips brushed against hers.

  I would never have imagined I could feel this way about someone. She hoped she could find a way to make everyone agree to this. She loved Francis so much she didn't think she would ever be happy without him.

  Chapter 1

  “It's good to be back in the countryside.”

  Cornelia whispered it to herself, a reassuring litany, as she tiptoed down the hallway to the parlor at Braxton House, her aunt and uncle's country home. She smoothed down her white muslin dress, peered around the door and entered bravely.

  The downstairs parlor at Braxton house was full of guests. Cornelia, looking about, went to join her cousin Pauline. In the months since their return from London, so much had happened. Now they were celebrating for her uncle's sixtieth birthday. Cornelia had become unused to crowds in the intervening months – they lived quietly in Ridley – and she was glad to see Pauline there. She stood on the edge of the group and listened with half an ear to the talk surrounding her aunt, Lady Braxton.

  “No daughter of mine will wed an officer.”

  Lady Hester's voice was firm. The words were a challenge to Lady Braxton, who blinked.

  “That officer you mention is the Duke of Anglesy,” she said smoothly. “His identity was confirmed by the Chief Justice himself.” They were referring to Pauline's husband, Valerian, lord Harrington. Cornelia knew her cousin's story inside-out, remarkable as it was. All the same, the next words of Lady Braxton were a slap. “Had he not been,” she declared, “I would never have allowed it.”

  Cornelia glanced at Pauline but, if she was listening, she made no indication, talking gravely with a tall man beside her. Cornelia swallowed. That's not a promising start for me. If she doesn't approve of Valerian, she would hate Francis. He really is an officer.

  “I'm sure not,” Lady Hester soothed. “A lady of your standing would see it the same way as myself.” Her attempt to unsettle Lady Braxton thwarted, she changed the subject tactfully and, after a short talk drifted off to join the other guests.

  Cornelia looked down, trying to calm her racing heart. She didn't want to think Lady Braxton was so firm in her views. But she knew she would be. Heaven alone knew how Pauline had won her around earlier: Valerian had been in disgrace when she met him, and only Pauline's dedicated searching cleared his name.

  Cornelia glanced up at Pauline now, her tall, elegant cousin in a blue gown. She had drifted away a little, coolly instructing the housekeeper, ever the perfect host.

  “Do open the doors to the terrace, now Marwell. The place is getting hot. I don't want Papa out of sorts.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Marwell bobbed her head, hurrying off just as Cornelia coughed nervously.

  “Oh! Cornelia.” Pauline turned round, her big dark eyes shining. In the months since her wedding, Cornelia thought, she had become even more beautiful; serenity softening her features to a glowing loveliness. “I wondered where you were.”

  “I just came down from the drawing-room,” Cornelia said softly. She had been waiting up there to see if she could spot the party riding in from Braxley, though she hadn't said so. In the wake of Lady Braxton's firm views, she didn't want to own to her preoccupation with the Lieutenant Wescote.

  “Oh. In that case, maybe you'd like to keep an eye out for me? See if you can spot the cavalry detachment when they come up the drive?” Pauline smiled sweetly. Cornelia flushed.

  She must have guessed that's what I was watching out for.

  She was saved any awkward questions by a cheerful voice drifting across. “Ah! Cornelia.” Lieutenant Harrington, Pauline's husband, came to join them. He was Francis' colleague in the cavalry. “I trust the summer weather treats
you well? You're glowing!”

  Cornelia smiled at the lean-faced, handsome man. He and Pauline made such a striking couple – both tall, dark and elegant – that she drew in a breath as they stood side by side.

  “Thank you, Valerian.” She dimpled in reply.

  “Have you heard...” he continued.

  “Pauline!”

  A feminine voice, loud and excited, interrupted their conversation. Pauline whipped round to find Matilda, her sister and Cornelia's cousin, standing there. Pauline covered her mouth in surprise.

  “Tildie! There you are! I had thought you would be delayed!”

  “On account of Arabella?” Matilda asked her.

  “Well, I thought you might not want to ride far.” Pauline demurred. Arabella was Matilda's daughter, born two months previous. Matilda had almost died during the birth, a fact which was not too apparent now, since she was flushed and seemed well.

  “Oh! Not at all. Though Henry did insist on taking the coach. Silly man.” She shook her head fondly as Lord Henry, Baron Masefield, came to join them.

  “Who's silly?” he asked. He had a bewildered frown on his handsome face.

  “You,” Matilda said, kissing his shoulder where she stood at his side. He smiled. Cornelia, watching them together, felt her heart warm at their happiness. All the same, despite the love she felt for her cousins, a tiny wistful stab that could almost be envious, twitched there.

  I don't begrudge them their happiness. I don't. I just want my own happy ending too.

  “Pauline?” she asked. “I think I'll see who's coming...” she jerked her head towards the window, reminding Pauline she'd asked her to look out.

  “Oh! Of course. Let me know when you see Cartwright. I need for Cook to restock the trestles before the detachment arrives,” she added, raising a brow at Lieutenant Harrington. “I think your cavalry rides on its stomach, sir.”

  He laughed. “Unfortunate picture, my lady. I hesitate to imagine Major Cartwright slithering on his belly through the jungles of India.”

  They all laughed. Cornelia curtseyed and excused herself to take up her place at the window.

  I hope he arrives soon.

  The local garrison provided officers as fodder for Lady Braxton's many parties, which was why Major Cartwright and the other cavalrymen would be invited. In spite of that, only officers who had also noble rank might be considered as husbands, the lady insisted. Had Valerian Harrington not turned out to be the Duke of Anglesy in disgrace, Pauline would have had a hard time getting permission to wed him.

  As it happened, everything worked out so well for them. Cornelia had been involved in that, and she was glad it had such a happy ending.

  Happy endings can happen.

  “My lady?”

  Cornelia turned to find herself facing Major Cartwright himself. “Oh!” she said. “Your men are here? I was just coming to see if you were on your way yet.”

  “Just arrived about five minutes ago, my lady,” he said, bowing over her hand. “Apologies for our tardiness. Is Lady Braxton about? I should prepare myself for a rebuke.” He grinned.

  Cornelia couldn't help smiling at the latter comment. “She's by the window there,” she said, indicating with a nod toward the far corner of the room.

  “Well, off I go to get my marching orders. Good day, my lady.”

  “Good day.” Cornelia watched him cross the room, feeling herself flush with anticipation. They were here! She had just missed the arrival and now she searched the room, eagerly, for them. At the door, she spotted five men in sparkling red uniforms, each looking a little self-conscious in the gathering of the gentry. Of all of them, Major Cartwright was a lord and so at ease with Lady Braxton and her friends.

  “Lieutenant Harwood, Captain Popperwell and Lieutenant Grave,” the butler announced three of the men as they walked in. Cornelia didn't know any of them. She looked out of the door to where two more red coats stood. Let one of them be him.

  “Captain Mace and Lieutenant Westcote.”

  Her heart soared. There, in the door, with a hesitant smile of welcome, was Francis.

  He came over as soon as he saw her. “My lady,” he said shyly. “It seems ages.”

  She curtseyed as he bowed over her white-gloved hand. “Lieutenant. It does indeed.”

  They looked at each other, both a little breathless. Cornelia found herself marveling anew at his handsomeness. With a square face, heavy-lidded blue eyes and a perfect nose, the man looked as if a painting had come to life, or a prince from a story. At least, that was how she imagined most fairytale princes to look. Only he had a slight crease by his eyes and a merry smile that was even better, she insisted to herself, than her imaginary prince had been.

  “It is hot here, is it not?” Francis said. His face flushed and Cornelia felt warmth rise inside her. Was it simply the July heat, or was it because they were talking? She wondered, knowing she had scarcely noticed how hot it was before he'd appeared.

  “It seems warm,” she agreed. “Would you care to take a turn outdoors? The terrace's open.”

  “Oh. A capital idea.” Francis nodded enthusiastically.

  Cornelia bit her lip as they went through the room together, feeling as if all eyes were on her and her handsome officer. One pair of eyes she hoped was not, was her aunt's. Though the subject had not been raised, she knew she wouldn't approve.

  He stood back and they walked through the door together into the sunlit garden.

  Outside, Cornelia breathed in the dew and the scent of fresh grass. She looked up at Francis, who smiled softly at her.

  “You look lovely,” he said gently. “I like that color,” he added, indicating her cream dress.

  Cornelia felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. “Thank you, Francis,” she said. She smiled shyly.

  “It seems impossible that we were a winter apart,” he said softly. “I remember so much of that time.”

  “I too.”

  They were on the terrace and Cornelia resisted the desire to lean against him where he stood beside her at the rail. Her heart was pounding hectic beats in her chest: did he mean that?

  “I had to return,” he said, looking meaningfully at her.

  Cornelia swallowed hard. “I praise Heaven you did,” she said feelingly. “I missed you horridly.”

  “You do nothing horridly.” He smiled.

  Cornelia blushed again. “Oh, Francis. You're sweet to me.”

  “No,” he said, looking earnestly into her eyes. “No.”

  Cornelia blushed. They had moved from the rail and were at the bottom of the narrow steps in the garden. The party was far behind them and she could hear only distantly the talking and laughter of the group. To all intent and purpose, they were private.

  He leaned forward and she leaned forward.

  His lips slid across hers.

  “I...we...Cornelia, you know what I long to say.”

  She was Cornelia, daughter of a Marquess. He was Lieutenant Wescote.

  Unless something happened to persuade her aunt and mother, there was very little either of them could do. Besides something wild, that was; which wasn't really in their nature. Cornelia did not want to do something that would cause unhappiness to anyone.

  “My dear,” Francis whispered.

  Cornelia felt her heart soar. She had never heard him say those words before.

  “My dear,” she said back, reveling in the feeling of how it felt to call him that. He smiled at her. His blue eyes were tender and wounded at once. She sighed, wishing she could do something about it. But what?

  “We should go in,” Francis murmured. “Before someone comes out.”

  Cornelia giggled. “True.” Trust him to say something amusing even at a serious time! That was one of the things she loved – his gentle humor, his kind heart and the ability to make her, and everyone else, smile even in bad situations.

  “Well, then, my lady,” he said, his own mouth lifting at the corners. “I shall kiss you and then s
ee if my commanding officer has any commands for me.”

  Cornelia giggled and they kissed. Then he went slowly up the stairs with her and together they slipped in through the back door into the parlor.

  When he had moved to join Major Cartwright, Cornelia looked about, checking no-one had seen her come inside.

  Lady Braxton was still by the window, in earnest discussion with Lord Houghton and Lady Needham about something complex. Her mother was with the Duchess of Berwickshire and Pauline and Valerian were still where they were.

  I think we slipped in. No-one seemed to have noticed their absence or their arrival whatsoever.

  As she looked about, Cornelia sighed. How was it going to happen that she and Francis could be together? She had no idea. But then, she thought, seeing Pauline and Valerian. And Matilda and Henry. They were happy. So why not?

  Happy things could always happen.

  All she would have to do, she decided, remembering the conversation she had overheard earlier, was avoid Lady Braxton as much as possible. If she could keep her from suspecting anything, then she could escape any direct order not to associate with Francis.

  She sighed. Lady Braxton was the true voice of power in their family. A strong and forceful temperament, she could persuade Mama to agree with anything. When Cornelia's father had died, it had been Lady Braxton who stepped in to help, bringing Mama, who was her cousin Allectia, and Cornelia to stay at Braxton House, sending her family accountants and attorneys to manage the estate. Allectia was grateful to her and, unfortunately, both trusted her and felt in her debt.

  If Lady Braxton said she disapproved of Francis, Mama would agree with her. And that would be that, if they found out. She knew she only really had one option – conceal the relationship from both of them to avoid any orders to avoid the handsome cavalry lieutenant.

  And if I'm allowed to see him sometimes, who knows? She flushed, realizing she would consider elopement if she had to. I'm Cornelia Rushworth, not someone in a fairytale. She sighed. Only Francis made her think such wild things.