Regency Christmas Box Set: Risking it all

by Regina Darcy

  London had its attractions, certainly. But it was nothing compared to the country. Or, she wondered, had she soured on London because the Duke had given her a front seat to the worst of its pettiness and greed and arrogance? Would London seem different had she been introduced to it through the perspective of someone different, someone who was not a slave to his own acquisitiveness?

  Absentmindedly, she touched her lips. The lingering memory of James Dalton’s kiss brought heat to her cheeks.

  What would it mean to be the centre of this man’s attentions and affections? She shook her head.

  No, she did not have time for such daydreams.

  ELEVEN

  James tilted his head and studied the veiled young woman before him. Her hair was entirely concealed beneath her bonnet, and her features were hidden behind her veil. Her outerwear was sober and unremarkable, attire which any ordinary woman in London would be wearing on a cold December day, the colours plain, the style nondescript. It was the perfect garment for a woman who wished to go unnoticed.

  For his part, James wore a heavy greatcoat with an abundance of capes, a top hat pulled low over his forehead, a scarf around his neck to shield him from the cold air, gloves, boots, and a hat.

  “I think we shall be safely anonymous,” he said. “Your hair is hidden, and that’s the main concern, for no one who saw your hair could ever believe you anyone but the woman that you are.”

  She tried to conceal her pleasure at his compliment. Why did his praise mean so much more to her than the Duke’s ever had? But had the Duke really complimented her?

  She thought back to his comments and realised that her looks had only served as the setting for his presents; it was the fur coat and the diamonds that he regarded as items of beauty. Perhaps it was insulting to her, but she found that she really did not care in the least. Jeffrey had not sought a wife who was human, for he had no interest in her as a person. He wanted a woman whose hair was of a colour that would elicit comment from others; she must have eyes which would shine brighter when wearing jewels that he had given her. Everything that a woman could claim as an attribute was only a foundation upon which Jeffrey could place his wealth.

  “You are very pensive,” James said, breaking her out of her reverie.

  Their gazes locked, and heat infused her cheeks. She did not understand why in heaven’s name she was blushing.

  “Oh… no, I am only wondering whether I will be anonymous enough. But then, I realise that I am little known in London, so there is no need to worry.”

  He studied her with an intensity that was leaving her breathless. “I would not say that you are the sort of woman who would not be noticed,” he corrected her. “Which is why I sent garments which will not allow you to stand out. And it would not be accurate to say that you are not known in London. You have been seen at balls and gatherings, and no one who saw you at any of those events could possibly forget you.”

  Unsure of how to respond, she said nothing, but looked away, overwhelmed by the candour of his assessment. She was unsophisticated, but she knew that James Dalton was a man of the world. As was Jeffrey Ogden, but how different the two men were in their outlook.

  “Now, then,” James said briskly as he offered her his arm. “I have a carriage waiting to take us shopping. I suppose the shops will be very busy, and there will be quite a few people out, but you’re well hidden, and no one should be able to tell that the Duke of Cantenberg’s runaway bride is in their midst.”

  His words struck a chord.

  “Runaway bride! Mrs Anthrop spoke of the same, yesterday. She said that there had been others.”

  “Yes, and I can’t say that I blame them. Why a man should want a wife who doesn’t want him is entirely bewildering to me. But there have been several, and you are among them.”

  “But our engagement was never officially announced,” she said anxiously. “The Duke cannot possibly be angry.”

  “Don’t bother yourself about it,” James advised as they emerged from the inn and he helped her into the carriage. “Ogden will find some other woman, one who covets his wealth as much as he covets her looks, and they shall be well suited to one another, the pair of greedy, grasping fools. There are too many in the ton who think only of what they look like, and nothing of—” He stopped and gave her a smile. “I must apologise. You seem to unleash the preacher in me. I am in my pulpit when I speak of the faults of those who feel that their titles are sufficient. The women, I must say, are just as bad as the men, although it is unchivalrous of me to make that assertion. There are just as many fine ladies who want to marry a man for the gifts that he will buy them as there are gentlemen who want a wife who is more of a jewel who can walk than she is a genuine partner.”

  “Is that what you are seeking in marriage?” she asked, astonished at her boldness in asking such a forward question. “A partner?”

  He did not seem to think the question forward.

  He paused to consider it.

  “I had not thought of it in those terms, but yes, I suppose I am. Although I cannot conceive of how a wife would partner me in the Imperial; it is not the sort of establishment where a man would want his wife to be circulating among the rogues and dandies.”

  “Perhaps she would not be that sort of partner,” Cassandra suggested.

  He looked at her. She did not look away.

  “I wonder,” James said thoughtfully, “if, perhaps, we might be thinking of the same topic.”

  Cassandra did not know what to tell him. She knew that a lady never revealed her deepest feelings; at least, that was what she had been taught at the finishing school in France where she had gone, sponsored by the Countess, who had taken Cassandra under her wing. There, the objective had been to turn out accomplished young ladies who would marry well. But Cassandra had not been willing to be schooled in the flirtatious tactics which were the defences of her sex, and she had not mastered the many ways in which a young lady might employ her fan to convey her feelings or other artful ways in which a gentleman might be snared. Artifice was not something with which Cassandra was acquainted.

  “I think we might,” she answered, daring to be honest.

  He smiled. “You are a most unique young woman, Miss Bennet.”

  “There are four others besides me,” she disagreed. “My sisters and I are all very much alike.”

  “Four,” he repeated. “And all like you?”

  “Very much so,” she answered.

  “What are their names?”

  “Bethany, Amelia, Delilah, and Emily.”

  “And you are the eldest. But they are all of marriageable age?”

  “Emily is too young for marriage but not too young to have ideas about what sort of man she should like for a husband. As girls all do.”

  “Do they?’

  “Don’t boys?”

  “Not while they are still boys,” he replied. “No. That comes later. And I am sorry to admit, young men do not have very wholesome ideas about the sort of woman they wish to marry. They practice upon those impressions, you know.”

  “And then?”

  “Oh, well, some marry as they practice, and I believe they rue their impulses.”

  “Others?”

  “Others marry the sort of woman they think they ought to marry.”

  “And?”

  “And they too are disappointed in the results.”

  “Are there no men who marry and find happiness?”

  “I believe there are a few,” he said. “But very few. You see, women are…” he surveyed her in her concealed attire, “women are hidden from us. We think we know them, but we do not.”

  “Perhaps men do not take the time.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “I wonder… would you think me bold if I asked permission to kiss you?”

  Cassandra lost her breath. The memory of the kiss they had already shared washed over her. So, this is how virtue is lost—between a single breath and a kiss. She looked at him with big eyes and spoke
her mind.

  “Would you think me bold if I granted you permission?”

  James locked his gaze on her, his eyes feasting on her visage in a manner no man had before him.

  Cassandra gulped.

  “I would think you delightful,” he answered.

  It was not a long carriage ride to the shop that was their destination, but James and Cassandra made excellent use of the fact that the roads were crammed with carriages and movement was slow. Without disturbing the pins in her bonnet, James raised the veil from her face and found himself gazing into a pair of green eyes alight with impish mischief.

  “This will take some delicate negotiating,” he murmured as he held the veil up. His lips began their exploration of her face with a lingering kiss upon her cheek, then gradually made a slow, sensual journey over her cheek, across her nose, until, finally, their lips met together. She found herself responding to his kiss, untutored though she was, moving beneath the blissful pressure of his lips and answering him with wordless sighs of astounding eloquence.

  James knew women. And James knew London. He sighed, lowered her veil again so that her features were concealed behind it, and moved back to the other seat in the carriage just as it stopped. They were both breathless—but neither dared mention what had just happened again.

  “Wait here for us,” James instructed the driver, once they had gathered their wits. He took Cassandra’s arm to assist her as she got out of the carriage.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “The most famous toy shop in London, of course,” he answered. “I am determined that Neddie shall like my gift the best.”

  “Would he not rather see his uncle as well?”

  “Better to woo the boy with gifts this year,” James said sunnily as they approached the toy shop.

  “So that next year, he will anticipate your arrival?”

  James had no intention of visiting Dennington for Christmas either this year or the next, but to say so at this point would seem churlish.

  “We shall let next Christmas wait upon the year to come,” he replied cryptically.

  “I should think he would enjoy meeting you,” she suggested. “I am sure that you will select the sort of gifts that a child will like, and that will pique his curiosity about his uncle James.”

  “I think it best if Neddie does not have reason to be curious about his uncle James. Let us go inside and discover what sort of attractions we will find.”

  What they found, as they strolled through the shop with the clever, endearing, and magical toys arranged on shelves out of reach of children who would not have been able to resist the charms of the items, was that a toy shop was almost as magical for adults as it was for children.

  Cassandra exclaimed over a doll that she saw and recalled the Christmas that she had received a doll for her present.

  James discovered a set of toy wooden soldiers, intricately carved and painted, and remembered setting up his armies in play battle, passing hours in that fashion. The toymaker, noticing their enthusiasm for his creations, went over to them so that he could crank and wind up every toy that caught their eye. In the end, James could not help himself, and he purchased toys for his nephew that the boy would still be too young for by this Christmas.

  “But they will be there for him next Christmas,” Cassandra said cheerfully. “He will look forward to them. Will you send them now or will you wait?”

  “Oh, now, of course,” James said. They were back in the carriage and returning to the inn and the club. “Let Michael and Honora have to do with that business; they’re parents.”

  “Oh, but it’s great fun to watch children with a toy,” Cassandra said, lifting her veil so that she could express herself more comfortably.

  James, riveted by the beauty of her features, did not respond.

  “Well?” she asked. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Hm? Oh, what? Oh, yes, watching children with a toy,” he said, retrieving the sentence from his memory while forcing himself not to stare at the lovely, full lips uttering the words. “I must confess that I haven’t watched children play with toys, so I have no experience upon which to base such a statement.”

  “You’ve never watched a child with a toy?”

  “No,” he said. “I daresay there are many other gentlemen who have not done so, either.”

  “How dreadfully sad,” she burst out.

  “Sad? Why do you say so?”

  “Children are the treasures of our hearts,” she said. “They are worth much more than jewels or fine houses or fashionable garments. Children… why, there is nothing to compare them to.”

  “But you have no children,” he pointed out, puzzled by the passion with which she spoke of them. “And your sisters are younger than you; they have no children either.”

  “No, but we all want to have children someday. The people in the parish have children, and we pay great notice to them. We cannot help ourselves.”

  “Yes, but it’s different for you,” he argued. “You are the daughters of a vicar.”

  Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “Do daughters of a vicar invariably feel more affection for children than aristocrats?”

  He thought back to his childhood. He remembered the nursery, and Nanny, then tutors. He could not recall anyone outside of that small world who seemed to regard his existence with any great interest, and he suspected that this was true for most children of the upper class.

  Children were desired, of course, so that titles could be passed on, wealth inherited, traditions maintained. But he had never noticed anyone speaking so joyfully of children in the manner of this unmarried young vicar’s daughter who disliked the city and longed to return to the country vicarage.

  He was saved from having to answer as the carriage came to a halt in front of the inn. James got out and helped Cassandra to descend. He walked her to the door of the inn.

  “Mind your veil,” he said softly, putting it back down so that her face was concealed from view and allowed him to return to Earth once more.

  She went inside.

  For several moments, James stood at the entrance, thinking about Miss Bennet and her remarkable views on matters which he had given no previous thought. Then, through the wall of hedges, he could see the candles flickering from the club on the other side, and he recalled that he had a business to run. And an assortment of presents to bring inside. But the thought of children of his own, with Miss Bennet no less, lingered at the back of his mind. What a formidable mother she would make.

  TWELVE

  For Cassandra, the afternoon had been enchanted. She supposed it must have seemed pedestrian to James, who admitted to having no real familiarity with, and perhaps no interest either, in children. She knew that the aristocracy regarded its offspring as miniature adults who were sequestered in the nursery until they were old enough to send away to school. It seemed heartless and selfish to Cassandra.

  Her parents were ordinary folk who loved their children and had always enjoyed playing with them. She recalled on Fridays after her father had finished writing his sermon, he would, in pleasant weather, take the girls to the pond to fish, or, in snowy weather, go outside with them for a snowball battle. Mother’s pastimes with her daughters were less physical but no less meaningful, reading aloud to them on a rainy day or making puppets with them and watching them put on a play. Never had she or her sisters had any indication that children were a bother.

  Her sisters.

  How strange it was to be away from them.

  The sisters were so close in age that they were friends as well as relatives, and they enjoyed one another’s company. Silly, giggly Bethany who could always find something comic to say in almost any situation; Cassandra recalled how she had, after Jeffrey’s servant had brought the fur coat, put it on and then crawled on the floor as if she were alive underneath it. It had been very funny, although she had taken care to do it when they were upstairs, not in front of their parents, who would have scolded her for
failing to appreciate the Duke’s generosity. The Bennet girls had been brought up to be mannerly at all times, even when there was no one there to notice.

  And sweet-tempered Emily, who had such fanciful notions. It was Emily who had been most resistant to the thought of Cassandra marrying the Duke and leaving them. She had no particular thoughts regarding Jeffrey, and he had paid her no notice at all, but she had been candid in her wish that he would go away and leave them as they were so that they could all stay together.

  Mother had gently explained to Emily that they would always be sisters, but that it was part of God’s will for daughters to marry and go with their husbands and raise their own families. They would all visit, Mother had reassured the girls; then, she had turned Emily’s tears to laughter by declaring that she hoped that none of them would fall in love with the chieftain of one of the faraway places that sea captains were forever discovering, for the chieftain might be a cannibal who would cook all of the sisters in a pot and eat them.

  Amelia thought of marriage often, Cassandra knew, and confided her hopes to Cassandra when the two of them, closest in age, were walking together. Amelia was a romantic and she longed to marry a dashing young captain in the King’s Army who would leave the battlefield and settle down near the vicarage, where he would find employment in some suitable manner.

  He would be brave and handsome, Amelia predicted; doubtless, he would lead the local militia and be counted upon to maintain the safety of the village. Perhaps he would be a magistrate. They would have a large family—boys and girls, Amelia stipulated—and they would grow old together with their children and grandchildren all around them.

  Delilah also wanted marriage, but she aimed higher and Cassandra knew that her sister had hoped that her opportunities might burn brighter if she were the sister to a duchess.