“I think that we shall be very happy,” said Lord Eynsford before Letitia could respond.
“Then I shall be leaving as well,” said Bainstall sternly. He bowed rigidly and departed, leaving Isobel to break into peals of laughter.
“Goodness, did you ever see two such ridiculous people?” she asked. “Bainstall is furious, of course, but your Bishop seemed strangely relieved, Letitia. Perhaps he was simply trying to preserve his dignity.”
“I must say I am absurdly angry,” said Letitia. “The man did nothing but pursue me for weeks while I told him repeatedly we should not suit. And now he announces that he does not feel we are compatible!”
“I shall be quite jealous, my dear, if you continue to speak so,” said the Marquess. “My betrothed should not be thinking of any man but me.”
“How vain you are,” said Letitia, but she turned to him with a smiling countenance and he took her in his arms.
“I believe I might be able to shed some light on Dr. Wolfe's behavior,” offered Lord Exencour apologetically. “While my wife and Lady Morgan were absent I fear I may have let slip some of Lady Morgan’s...er, eccentricities.”
“My eccentricities?” asked Letitia.
“Yes. I think I may have mentioned your fondness for champagne and your use of laudanum to sleep...oh, and your great extravagance when it came to matters of dress. I regret that I let my tongue run away so; I can only excuse myself by pleading my immense boredom.”
“So that is why he looked so frightened when we entered the room,” said Letitia. “I must say, Exencour, that although I might in the ordinary way object to your misrepresentation of my character, on this occasion I can only express my gratitude.”
“I am delighted to have been of service,” murmured Lord Exencour. “I fancy that I was quite inspired. My tales terrified even myself. I do not blame Dr. Wolfe for wishing to be rid of such an irresponsible woman. But now I must congratulate you, Phillip. You will be a very happy man, I believe.”
Lord Eynsford gazed fondly at his intended. “I do not think I can wait until Letitia is out of mourning. If Letitia agrees, we can go abroad and be married without comment. When we return next spring as the Marquess and Marchioness of Eynsford society will long since have forgotten our scandalous behavior.”
“A very good decision,” said Isobel. “I see no reason why you two should be separated any longer. I quite congratulate myself on my perspicacity. Did I not tell you, Letitia, that Lord Eynsford would make a good match for you? And now, do you have anything about with which we might toast your union?”
“Some champagne, perhaps?” asked Lord Exencour with a smile.
“Of course I do not,” said Letitia. “I am but a poor widow, with no money for such extravagances.”
“Then I must take us all to the George, where we can celebrate in style,” said Eynsford. “And never again, my dear, will you say you have no money for extravagances.”
They prepared to depart in a babble of talk and merriment, but in the door Letitia stopped abruptly.
“Oh, Isobel,” she said. “Now I shall never be a fatal widow and wear a red silk dress with an invisible petticoat!”
Eynsford stopped as well, and stared rather avidly at Letitia, somewhat resembling a pointer that had flushed a grouse. “You may have as many red silk dresses and invisible petticoats as you please,” he said to her. “As long as you wear them only for me.”
Epilogue
A few weeks later, a chaise rolled through the sunny Tuscan hills, dotted with olive groves and serried rows of tall cypress trees standing sentry. Although its shining black lacquer and the crest painted on the door were somewhat obscured by road dust, it was clearly an elegant equipage, so it was unsurprising when the coachman slowed and stopped before a set of elaborately wrought gates and opened them wide. As he turned the coach into a graveled drive Phillip looked up and said, “We must have reached the Villa Printani at last. How much I am looking forward to a week alone with you, my dear wife.”
Letitia Masham, the newlywed Marchioness of Eynsford gave him a promise-laden smile, and then peered out the window and exclaimed, “Oh, how beautiful it is,” as she gazed at the grape vines, heavy with ripe fruit, bordering the drive and looked down towards the valley where a large villa occupied abundant gardens. She turned back to Phillip, and impulsively kissed him.
“I own that I miss my children dreadfully, but it is delightful to think that we can be all alone together for a time.”
“James and Emily will arrive with Boothby and Violet more than soon enough,” Phillip murmured, taking advantage of the kiss to pull her closer to him. “This is our first chance to do exactly as we please. Just enjoy it.”
They were approaching the house, and Letty looked out once again saying “The villa is perfectly delightful.” There was no arguing with this; the limestone of the Palladian facade glowed in the afternoon sun, a fountain played before the front door, and to one side a loggia created a shady place to sit, overlooking a little ornamental pool. The scent of rosemary and bay trees planted in the gardens drifted on the breeze as the carriage pulled up.
The front door opened, and a manservant, followed by several additional servants, emerged. While the others waited to greet them, the footman let down the steps and opened the door of the carriage. Phillip emerged and handed Letty out, and they followed the majordomo inside. The newlyweds followed him into villa, where Letitia was enthralled by the glorious frescoes decorating the entry. She received a jumbled impression of ornate salons, luxurious furnishings and magnificent works of art as the majordomo led them through the house. They mounted a sinuous curved marble stair case with ornately wrought metal balusters, and gleaming mahogany banisters leading to the upper floor.
Across from the landing the majordomo flung open the doors to a suite of rooms and bowed them in. Letty gasped as she entered, for the elaborate frescoes and moldings that ornamented the walls and ceilings were remarkable for their beauty, detail and color. On the walls, scenes of Tuscany could be found, while a riot of classical gods and goddesses occupied the ornate vaulting above. A young maid curtseyed to her, and led her to a bedroom off the main salon, with a spacious dressing room attached.
Anxious to be rid of the dusty garments she had travelled in, Letty allowed the maid to undress her and hand her a dressing gown. Warm water was waiting for her in a basin and she washed carefully before looking around for the valise full of clothing suited to the warmer temperatures of Italy that Isobel had pressed on her before their departure from England.
Letty found it in the dressing room and tired of the gowns she had brought for their travels, opened it for the first time, looking for a light and simple gown to wear in the garden behind the sunny villa gardens. She reached into the bag and removed her fingers encountered the sumptuous texture of silk. Surprised, she pulled a daring red dress that was utterly unfamiliar to her from the bag. A slow smile broke across her face, and she held it up against herself admiring the simple lines and elegant construction of the garment in the dressing room mirror. She laid it aside on the bed, and reached into the valise once again. The second garment she found was also a red silk dress, cut even more daringly than the first. She giggled a bit, and when she pulled out a third red silk dress, she put her hand to her mouth, before bursting into gales of laughter.
Holding one of the gowns in her hand, she opened the door of her dressing room, to see Phillip lying on her bed, arms behind his head. Letty walked over to the bed, and looked down at him severely, attempting to maintain a stern expression, but she could not stifle her laughter for long.
“You wretch!” she exclaimed. “Did you know that Isobel put absolutely nothing inside my valise except red silk dresses? Oh, and of course, the ‘invisible petticoats,’ which in this case are invisible due to their absence!”
Eynsford smirked at her. “She reminded me of your wish to wear nothing but red silk dresses and invisible petticoats, so I very thoughtfully asked her t
o oblige you. I had several cases of champagne brought with us from France as well,” he added helpfully.
“Am I to go about the villa dressed in nearly nothing for an entire week?” Letty inquired.
Eynsford reached up and took her hand. “Well, I expect to spend a great deal of that time in this bed with you wearing nothing at all, but I see no reason why red silk won’t do for the rest of the time,” he replied. He then pulled her down onto the bed with him, and kissed her deeply, which seemed to banish all concerns about her wardrobe from Letitia’s mind.
A Word from the Author:
I hope you enjoyed reading An Indecent Charade. I truly enjoyed seeing Letty get the happily ever after she deserved.
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Other Titles by this Author:
A Most Unusual Situation: A Traditional Version Georgian Romance
(Sweet, no sex; based on a true story; Allegra and Adam's tale)
A Duchess Enraged: An After Dark Version Georgian Romance
(The explicitly sexy version of Allegra and Adam's tale)
The Secret Bluestocking: Isobel's Traditional Regency Romance
(Sweet, no sex; Isobel and Francis' unconventional adventures)
A Lady of Passion: Isobel’s After Dark Regency Romance
(The explicitly sexy telling of Isobel and Francis' story)
That Infamous Pearl: Rowena’s Traditional Regency Romance
(The sweet, no sex tale of Rowena & Alaric’s romantic mystery)
A Collector’s Item: Rowena’s After Dark Regency Romance
(The very sexy version of Rowena & Alaric’s adventures)
Sense & Sensuality: Caroline’s After Dark Georgian Romance
(The incredibly sexy tale of how staid Caroline & roguish Tristan find each other)
The Yuletide Countess: Harriet’s Traditional Regency Romance
(It’s never too late for love, as Isobel’s charming cousin Harriet - from The Secret Bluestocking/A Lady of Passion discovers on holiday in Scotland)
An Honest Deception: Letitia’s Traditional Regency Romance
(The very sweet, no sex version of Letty’s journey after her wastrel husband finally dies)
COMING THIS SUMMER
Malcolm, Rowena’s headstrong brother from A Collector’s Item, settles into his new life. Will he enjoy the responsibilities of being an Earl? Will his pleasure-seeking ways be his undoing in the eyes of the haut ton? Or, will a chance encounter with his new neighbor bring him all the things he never knew he wanted?
Read on for a short excerpt!
Malcolm Arlingby, Earl of Wroxton, awoke as the first rays of sun peeked around the edges of the burgundy velvet curtains that hung over the windows of his bedroom. He laid comfortably for a moment, appreciating the fineness of the linens that covered the bed, the luxury of the over-stuffed goose feather pillows, and the enormous size of the carved mahogany bed in which he rested. It was a far cry, he thought, from his life not six months before.
So much had changed, and yet so much had not. He still awoke early, no matter how late he stayed out, and he slept lightly, always with a sense of his surroundings. But this morning was much as the past mornings had been; he was safely ensconced in a luxurious bedroom, servants at his beck and call, the Wroxton fortune at his disposal, no longer having to live by his wits or earn his keep at the gambling table.
He rolled over and lazily eyed the woman who lay next to him. She slept soundly, her dusky hair strewn across the white pillows, one arm thrown over her head, the lace-edged sheet pushed down so one rounded breast peeped above it, its nipple a dusky pink. Malcolm reached out, touching it gently with one finger. Instantly it puckered and elongated, and, with a knowing smile, he lowered his lips, eagerly suckling the pointed tip.
“Mmmm.” The woman stirred, and, without opening her eyes, raised one hand to cradle his head. “What time is it?”
“Early, I think,” responded Malcolm. “Do you wish to go back to sleep?”
“I’m here for you any time, Malcolm,” she answered. Slowly she raised her eyelids to reveal a pair of liquid brown eyes flecked with gold. “Day or night.”
“Well, it’s barely day, but if you have time for me now...” Malcolm pushed the sheet down to cup her other breast in his hand as he moved to straddle her.
“Always,” she answered, her hands moving caressingly over his muscular chest, to follow the arrow of blond hair downward under the soft linen sheets. Malcolm groaned as her clever fingers found their target, and speared his fingers through her hair, as he pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply. When he raised his head, she smiled and repeated, “Any time.” Then with a salacious smile she added “Any way
Much later Malcolm turned away from Estella and rolled onto his back, reaching out for a cigarette. “I can’t imagine what ails your husband, to neglect you so, Estella. You’re beautiful, more than willing, but not demanding, and amusing to converse with. Yet he is almost never at your side.”
“Richard is always pleasant company, when he is about,” she replied. “But he married only to provide an heir for the estates. It’s his duty, and he did it, but not with enthusiasm.”
“So, not much in the petticoat line, it seems,” Malcolm remarked. “Do you suppose he is a man milliner?”
“Oh, I have no notion,” Estella answered. “I am very fond of him you know, and he’s very helpful when it comes to all manner of things; he knows where the best tea is to be had, and the latest modiste, and is always completely correct when it comes to advising one on looking one’s best. But he has his own friends and amusements and really, I am not inclined to trouble him, if he does not trouble me. As long as I bring no cuckoos into the nest, he will not be unhappy.”
She rolled over onto him, propping herself on his chest with her forearms. “But why are we wasting our time discussing my husband? I promise you, he is not spending a moment worrying about me.”
Some hours later Malcolm strode down St. James Street, impeccably clad in dark blue coat of fine wool broadcloth. His cravat was tied in the mathematical knot, and his biscuit hued pantaloons were tucked into betasseled Hessian boots with a mirror-like polish. He had left Estella sipping chocolate in his bed, well sated. He knew she was clever enough to be gone by the time he returned; she knew better than to be demanding, and, in return, he indulged all her whims. Never, he thought, had he been more contented.
He strode up the stairs to White’s with a jaunty step. As he entered, a few heads turned, and he greeted their looks with a grin. Taking up a paper, he seated himself in a high-backed leather chair.
“Who’s the dashing fellow who just walked in?” asked one elderly gentleman of the man next to him.
Horace Worth gave him a surprised look. “Haven’t you heard? Oh, I’d forgot you’d been on the Continent these past months. Holmwood. That is the Earl of Wroxton.”
The gentleman turned in surprise. “Wroxton? I thought Felix Arlingby was the current earl.”
Mr. Worth shook his head. “No, that fellow is Malcolm Arlingby, the old earl’s son, returned to take up his birthright. “
The other man gaped. “Not the murderer?”
“No, not the murderer, or so it seems,” said Mr. Worth. “It appears that we were all mistaken. Malcolm Arlingby’s name has been cleared, and he has succeeded to his father’s estate.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. He was gone for twelve years or more, was he not?”
“At least. And now he’s back and has been cutting quite a swathe through Society,” said Mr. Worth with a shrug. “The ladies, of course, cannot resist his looks or his reputation as a bit of a rake, and as for the men—outside of some jealousy among them, there’s nothing not to like. He’s a fine horseman, a pleasant companion, pays his debts of honor, and is generous with his funds.”
As they gazed at Malcolm, an elegant dark haired gentleman entered the room and paused for a moment, obviously searching for someone. His sharp green eyes eventually lit on Malcolm, and he strolled across the room, dropping into the chair across from him. The elderly gentleman drew in his breath.
“Isn’t that Brayleigh?” he asked. “Malcolm Arlingby and the Earl of Brayleigh always loathed each other. I wonder they are sitting across from each other.”
Mr. Worth laughed. You have been gone far too long,” he said. “Brayleigh is married to Wroxton’s sister. They are—well, I will not say they are the best of friends, but they tolerate each other. I understand Lady Brayleigh will brook nothing else.”
“Well, I’ll be,” said his friend, staring openly at the two men. “Brayleigh and Wroxton are being civil to one another? I would never have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes!”
Brayleigh looked around and sighed. “You might as well put down your newspaper, Arlingby, I know you’re aware I’m here,” he said.
Malcolm lowered the offending broadsheet a few inches and peered at Brayleigh over the top of it. “Am I to have no peace?” he asked peevishly.
“None at all,” said Brayleigh with equanimity. “I wonder you can tolerate the attention. Horace has obviously just told the entire story to Rupert Holmwood. He is gaping at us as though we are here solely for his entertainment.”
An Indecent Charade: Letitia's After Dark Regency Romance Page 27
