Regency Bride Series: Regency Romance Box Set

by Locke, Laura

  “That was a quick constitutional,” Lady Braxton murmured, looking up from the catalog she perused. “There's still time for a cup of tea before we go.”

  Pauline and Cornelia looked at each other, cheeks lifting with mirth. The thought of “thank goodness for that” moved between them in their shared sidelong glance.

  “Hurray!” Cornelia blurted. Lady Braxton gave her a bemused look and Pauline laughed.

  “I suppose there's time for a spot more breakfast too,” she said, slipping into her seat. “Which is why we're so excited,” she added, voice shimmering with a laugh.

  “Oh. Yes, certainly,” Lady Braxton nodded. “Marwell brought some more up seconds ago. Unless Lord Braxton's more adept at sleight of hand than I ever imagined, I think it's all where she left it.” she cast a long look at the earl.

  “I heard that,” Lord Braxton said, still reading the paper. “And I assure you I didn't plunder the pastry-basket while you were gone.” He beamed at the girls as they sat down.

  “Thank you, Father.” Pauline smiled at him.

  “Not at all.”

  Cornelia leaned back in her chair, suddenly blissfully at peace, and helped herself to some more tea. It was strange, she mused, as she settled down to breakfast, that everything could change so fast. From her horror at the thought of being forbidden to see Francis, to the heady excitement she felt now; it all altered in seconds.

  It just serves to show as Nurse Eddersly always said. You should never give up hope.

  She crunched into a pastry and found her thoughts drifting in bliss. Soon she and Francis would be in London.

  Chapter 4

  Cornelia held down her bonnet as she walked briskly into the wind. Braxley village was surprisingly busy for a blustery morning, and she had to weave between the shopkeepers and milliners, traders and townsfolk as she headed up the street to Peterhams.

  Pauline and Lady Braxton were in Ainsleys, drinking chocolate with Matilda and Valerian, who had returned after a brief excursion, to join them. Cornelia had pleaded a moment alone: she needed to go to Peterhams, the haberdashery, to buy things needed for her new bonnet. And she planned to embroider a dress for Arabella, as a surprise. That was why she had slipped out while the group was seated.

  I'd best be quick. Now, I'll need blue satin ribands, and some new white silks and...Her mind ran through the list as she sped along. Distracted, she walked into something hard, and stopped.

  “Oh!” she gasped.

  “Oh. I'm so sorry. I...” The man she'd bumped was clad in a dark cloak and Cornelia blinked, amazed.

  “Francis!” she beamed at him, feeling her heart warm. “Of all the people!”

  “I'm afraid so.” He smiled, blue eyes rueful. She laughed.

  “Oh, Francis! I'm so pleased to see you! I..” she trailed off, lost for words.

  “I was just thinking of you, my lady,” he said. He looked worried and Cornelia felt worried.

  “What? Has something happened? Oh, Francis...”

  “I have news,” he said, drawing her along behind him so they could stand beside the seamstress' shop undisturbed. “I may have to leave town soon.”

  “Leave town? Oh...” Cornelia's heart twisted with sorrow. “Why? How..?” She shook her head. Now how could they orchestrate their scheme?

  “I was in the grocer's, purchasing my supplies as I do every week,” he began, “when Major Harrington arrived. He said he had a proposition.”

  “Oh?” Cornelia stared. Was it possible..?

  “He said he needed to elect a representative from the division to go to headquarters.” He paused, looking at the shop across the street. He looked uncomfortable. “He chose me.”

  “Oh!” Cornelia felt her heart soar. “Oh! Francis! How wonderful.”

  “Well, not really,” he said with a laugh. “It's dull as ditch-digging duty, and I'd leave town almost at once.” His blue eyes looked sad and Cornelia glowed as she realized he would miss her.

  “Well, I have a confession to make,” Cornelia said, eyes dancing. “I'm going to London.”

  “You what?” Francis breathed, awed. “Cornelia! You're decided already?”

  “Well, I have to arrange it,” Cornelia admitted shyly. “But I think so. I need to ask permission from my aunt, of course...” she paused. “But if I can get it, I shall stay in the London house. Cousin Lucas is there.” she stopped, surprised at how quickly she was planning. Cornelia would never have considered herself an underhand person, and so her readiness to be so surprised her.

  “Well then,” Francis was grinning. “That makes things completely different.”

  Cornelia smiled warmly. Her heart thumped. “It does.” she glanced around the street, remembering she had to be quick. “I should go to the shop,” she demurred. “Peterhams: I need some ribbons and things...” she trailed off, realizing she was talking fast, excitement frothing over.

  “I can accompany you,” Francis said, bending his arm so she could slide her hand into the crook of his elbow. “We go together.”

  “Oh. That is kind.” Cornelia beamed.

  Together, they perused Peterhams. He surprised her by approving a sky-blue ribbon for her bonnet, and listening as she described what she wanted to stitch on Arabella's new gown. She caught a tender smile turning his mouth.

  “What?” she asked, eyes dancing. She was half-expecting some teasing disparagement.

  “I like seeing you talk about something that interests you,” he said gently. “Your eyes sparkle.”

  Cornelia felt as if a candle flared in her chest, spreading slow, rich warmth through her body. She coughed to clear her throat. “You are so dear.”

  “You are dear to me.” Francis murmured. He stood beside her on the step outside Peterhams, her purchases in a bundle in his arm. He bent down toward her, his blue eyes locked on hers.

  “Oh, Francis.” She smiled up at him. She could feel he meant to kiss her, and she wanted the same. They couldn't though – kissing in the public square in Braxley was a step too far for propriety, even for a girl contemplating something as risque as a trip to London to see her beau in secret.

  “I should go,” he murmured. She swallowed hard.

  “I know. As should I.”

  They stood looking at each other a while. Cornelia cleared her throat.

  “Good day, lieutenant Wescote.”

  “Good day, my lady.”

  Francis bowed and Cornelia sighed. He was so handsome. With the morning sunshine glinting off his fine gold hair and his crisp uniform, he was a sight to stir anyone's imagination.

  And soon, she thought, walking quickly down the cobbled streets, tracking herself back to the cafe, she would be in London. Alone – but for Cousin Lucas – with him.

  Her pulse was beating from the excitement and the exertion as she briskly strode back to Ainsley's. There, she found her group still seated by the long windows, chatting among themselves. Lady Braxton had a white china cup in her hands and was in intense conversation with Pauline, while Matilda and Mama were chuckling about some anecdote or other.

  “Oh! Cousin.” Valerian saw her first, his watchful eye on the door. He seemed always on the alert and Cornelia smiled at him warmly. He had evidently kept up some habits from the military and being perpetually on the alert was one of those.

  “I had a quick trip,” Cornelia said breathlessly, collapsing gratefully into the seat an attendant drew out.

  “You found your things?” Matilda asked.

  “I did!” Cornelia enthused. “The very ribbon I wanted – it will match perfectly with my new gown.”

  “Capital,” her mother nodded approvingly. “And have you ordered something?” she inclined her head at the attendant, who was hovering near the counter discreetly.

  “Oh! I hadn't. I'll take a chocolate, thank you.” She smiled at the man, who noted her order and retired. The thought of a cup of steaming chocolate after the chilling wind outside was pleasant.

  “Daughter, while you w
ere in Peterhams, did you note if they had new lace?”

  “Um...they did, mama,” Cornelia nodded, thoughtfully. “A new shipment from Bruges.” She recalled the shopkeeper mentioning it, distantly. Francis' tall presence distracted her.

  “Oh!” her mother's eyes lit. “In that case, we should visit again soon.”

  “Indeed. Oh. Thank you.” She nodded to the attendant, who set her order down and blushed, then left.

  Her hands cradling the warm china, she drank and felt herself relax as the rich, sweet liquid scalded her throat. She listened to the murmur of conversation distractedly. Her thoughts were with Francis and how quickly everything was happening now.

  I shall need to plan what to take with me. And ask Mama. I'm certain she'll agree.

  Her heart thumped with anticipation and she wondered how best to phrase the request. It was something her mother could approve of: heading to London to socialize would be no bad idea.

  They stayed in the cafe until Lady Braxton looked at the time. “It's almost one of the clock,” she declared. “We should return home for luncheon. I asked Marwell to hold it 'til our arrival.”

  “Good thinking, cousin,” Allectia agreed. “We could all do with a spot of luncheon.” She was already standing, her hand on her chair.

  “Quite so,” Valerian nodded mildly. They all laughed.

  “Are you hungry, dear?” Pauline asked as they stood and she slipped her arm into his.

  “A milder word could not have been invented, my lady.” He smiled at her, those sapphire eyes dancing. “I assure you it does my famished state no justice.”

  Pauline laughed, and patted his hand fondly. Cornelia stood aside for Pauline to head to the door, then followed them out. As always, seeing them together touched her deeply.

  They are so much in love. It's a beautiful thing to see.

  Seeing the love people had for each other made her realize how such magic could be something accessible. It wasn't just for novels and poets. It was something that could – and had – happened to everyday people; people she knew.

  Sighing, her thoughts with Francis, she stepped out and let the coachman, Ridley, give her a hand-up into the vast carriage.

  “All in again,” Lady Braxton murmured, squashing up closer to her cousin, Cornelia's mother. “Heavens, but this thing's a tight fit.”

  Cornelia laughed warmly as they set off, everyone trying to maintain a careful distance from everyone else, and then giving up, giggling, as the coach slewed round a corner and they all slid into each other breathlessly.

  “Someone ought to have a word with Ridley,” Lady Braxton said imperiously, stroking her spicy curls into place. “This is not the Ascot racecourse.”

  They all laughed and it was a high-spirited party who arrived at Braxton manor.

  Cornelia walked up the steps behind the two older ladies, feeling suddenly frightened. What would she say to her mother? How would she put it to her so that she understood? She swallowed hard and bit her lip. Courage.

  She saw Pauline and Valerian drifting ahead – he and Henry had come back on horseback and were now dismounting at the stables to join them. She felt reassured by the sight of her, and fought to find the right words.

  Her chance to ask came later. After luncheon, her mother retired to the drawing-room to read and sew, while the rest either played croquet on the lawn or strolled about the garden. She walked up the hallway behind her mother, hands knotted together, stomach tense and fluttery.

  “Mama?”

  “Yes, dear?” her mother looked up from her book, large brown eyes inquiring. “What is it?”

  “Mama, I was thinking,” she paused, swallowing hard. “I...Pauline was saying that Lucas is at the London house, and...” she trailed off. “Could I go? For the season?”

  “To London? By yourself? I...” her mother frowned. “You know I cannot come with you,” she said firmly. “My health won't take a season in the close air of the town.”

  “I know, Mama.” Cornelia nodded. She did know, and, in some way, it added to the plan.

  “You trust Cousin Lucas to care for you?”

  “Oh, Mama!” Cornelia smiled at her worried mother. “You know he would!”

  “I know,” her mother frowned. “But you know how it is, my dear. You're my darling daughter! It's bad enough for me to manage without you, and London is so strife-ridden...” she trailed off, her voice strained.

  “Mama,” Cornelia said gently. She came to sit beside her, taking her pale hand in her own. “It's London: I'll travel up with the coach. I can take Linton. I won't be alone. I'll stay in the townhouse. Lucas will be there – it's not as if I'm really going by myself. I'll be with Lucas and the household staff. And Linton,” she added helpfully. Linton was the maid she sometimes “borrowed” here at her aunt's home, a junior on the household staff, but an able lady's maid if occasion arose.

  “Well, in that case...” her mother's voice trailed off. “Only do not stay for long. A month is the longest I agree to spare you.”

  “Oh, mother.” Cornelia felt her heart sparkle. “I do love you. A month is all I ask. Thank you. Oh, thank you!” she impulsively drew her into her arms, kissing her soft cheek. Her mother squeezed her tight against her, then sat back, seeming shy of having exposed so much emotion. She blinked and her lip shook, showing she wanted to cry. Cornelia patted her hands.

  “I'm not happy about it,” her mother said in a small voice. “But I accept it. You're growing up. You need to see a wide range of people.” Her voice was wavering but she seemed resigned. Cornelia hugged her tight.

  “I shall miss you, Mama,” she whispered honestly. It was comforting to have her familiar, loving presence with her, for all her gloomy outlook sometimes.

  “I shall miss you too, darling.” She squeezed her hand. “Now. I suppose we must plan. Do you have enough new gowns? I hardly know the fashions nowadays...”

  “Well, Pauline and Matilda can help on that side of things,” Cornelia insisted. “But thank you, Mama. Truly. It is kind of you to spare me. I confess I'm very excited.”

  Her mother smiled fondly at her. “Good, dear. Good. Now, you plan your wardrobe and I shall tell Lady Braxton of our decision. She'll be sorry to see you go, I'm sure, but I'm sure she'll see sense. You need to go to London, dear. I'll tell her.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” Cornelia patted her hand again and then she left, heading outside while Cornelia went up to consult Judy about her gowns. As she walked through the cool hallways, the sound of laughter from the croquet-lawn drifting on the breeze, she felt her heart glow with warmth.

  Soon she would be in London.

  Chapter 5

  London. It rolled past the carriage windows, splendid and old and seamy and exciting. Cornelia sat at the edge of her seat, watching with wonder as the coach rattled over the cobbles and tall stone buildings rattled past with it.

  “My lady! It's remarkable.” Linton said, big eyes stretched enormous with wonder. “I never saw the like!”

  Cornelia smiled, feeling proud of the place. She also felt vastly worldly compared to Linton, a sensation, she thought wryly, she didn't feel often. I'm usually the most unworldly person in any group. She smiled at the young girl.

  “It is breath-taking. It's a remarkable place.”

  “All those fine houses. And so tall! I never saw the like.”

  They both sat quietly, taking it all in, as the coach rattled past the river. Linton drew in a breath of wonder as they rolled past, the sun glinting on the gray water like a thousand mirrors shattering with dusk.

  “Oh!”

  Cornelia also drew in a breath. She had been here every year since she was fifteen, but she never tired of it herself. There was something magical about this place.

  Magical, and eerie, and vibrant.

  There was, she reflected with a shiver as they passed under the shadow of a tall brick building, something dangerous about the place; a sense that there was menace in the dark alleys. It was dangerous,
she knew. But it wasn't as though she, or Linton, would be on the streets alone at night.

  There were the festering quarters where people lived in poverty, and it was only natural, she reflected sadly, that such desperation bred desperate acts. Cornelia noted some hard looks, saw a few faces pinched with hunger, made old with cunning. She shuddered. I'm glad we have a place to stay.

  Linton seemed to be thinking similar things, for she cleared her throat, asking a question. “When do we reach our lodging, mistress?”

  “Not long now,” Cornelia assured her. They were heading up to Kensington, where the most old and respectable houses stood. The townhouse was in that quarter, owned by her uncle's family for centuries. The road widened soon after, the pavements more elegant, the green magnificence of the park opening out on their right.

  “I'll be glad to be stopped somewhere for longer than a night. I don't know how you do it, my lady. I don't think traveling suits me.”

  Cornelia smiled warmly. “It's not bad. But it will be good to stop soon, I agree. I'll be grateful for a warm bed.”

  “Oh yes, my lady.” Linton nodded fervently.

  They had taken three days about the journey – longer than perhaps strictly necessary, but it was nice to travel at a more relaxed pace, Cornelia reflected. They had stopped at good inns and she had no complaints about the lodgings, but it wasn't the same as your own home. Not that the townhouse was home, exactly, but she knew it well.

  The houses grew more discreetly elegant as they went along, and Cornelia felt her spirits saw as she recognized the familiar places. Soon they would be there.

  They drew up outside the tall stone building, high and shuttered. Like all the other buildings around it, the place opened directly onto the street, the coach-house – for those which had one – accessible by an arched gate to the right of the imposing door.

  “It is a grim-seeming place,” Cornelia explained as Ridley opened the coach and let them off. “But I assure you its looks are deceiving.”

  “I hope so,” Linton said quietly. She was looking at the imposing stone building nervously. Cornelia grinned.