by Rose Gordon
“Then write such a book, if you wish.”
Edward turned in his chair and placed his right hand on her cheek. “Regina, what are you really nervous about today?”
“If the guests will have a good time—one in particular.”
His lips formed a thin line. “I see. And what of you?”
“What about me?”
“What about your enjoyment?”
A shaky laugh passed her lips. “That matters naught. I agreed to host this breakfast for my father, and I intend to prove to him that I'm not the incompetent fool he thinks me to be.”
“No. What you're doing is—” He broke off and ran a hand through his hair. “Regina, I want you to know that no matter what, I'll respect your choices—even if they're ones I don't like.”
“Do you not like my father?”
“It's not about liking him. It's about not liking the way he manipulates you.” He sighed. “But it's not my place to become involved.”
He was speaking cryptically, she realized, just like he had last week. He wanted her to do something, but what? “Do you want me to tell my father I'll not be hosting the ball I promised?”
“Do you want to host the ball?”
She could have brained the infuriating man! “What do you think?”
“I think you concern yourself far too much with what other people think about you. But this isn't why I came in here. Do you have a minute to come join me in another room? I have something for you.”
She blushed. Ever since they'd returned from Watson Estate, Edward had been finding all sorts of reasons to get her alone. Not that she minded. She loved going off with him and letting him shower her with kisses and caresses. She, too, was becoming bolder in her responses to him. Unfortunately, her guests were set to arrive soon. “I don't have time for that right now, perhaps after the guests leave,” she whispered.
A roguish grin split his lips as if to say he understood her meaning exactly. “I'll be sure to collect on that offer as soon as I can—even if it means I have to begin bodily removing guests. But that's not what I meant. Come, you'll see.”
Her hand in his, Regina let Edward lead her from the room and down the hall to the drawing room. As soon as they crossed the threshold to the drawing room, he came to an abrupt halt.
“What the devil is that?”
His words mirrored her thoughts exactly.
“A wedding present from Lord Sinclair, it would seem,” John announced proudly. A little too proudly, one might think. He stepped aside to allow Edward and Regina an unobstructed view of the three portraits that had been framed with gold frames and hung on the far wall of the drawing room.
All three were both similar and different. They were of nothing in particular, just huge swirls of brown and dark green paint. There was no set pattern to the portraits. In fact, it looked like a child squeezed blobs of paint onto the canvas, then ran his hand through it; a perfectly good waste of canvas if you asked Regina.
“This is from Lord Sinclair?” Edward asked.
“I'd assume so.” John gestured to the bottom right corner of the portrait on the far right. “Those are his initials, are they not?”
Edward leaned close to the portrait, bringing his eye within inches of the gold frame. “JRS,” he murmured. “Those are his initials.”
“Why would he send these?” Regina could no longer hold her question.
“Yes, John, why would he send us such an unusual gift, I wonder?”
John held his hands out in front of himself as if he were innocent in the matter. “I don't know. Perhaps you should ask him.”
“You can bet that I will,” Edward said, the corner of his mouth tipping up into that crooked smile she'd come to love.
John cleared his throat. Then again. “Well, I must be off. I'd hate to be made to participate in your breakfast because I didn't vanish from sight fast enough.”
Regina shook her head. He sure was a curious fellow. “Edward?”
Edward stopped examining the awful portrait in the middle and turned toward her. “Yes?”
“You don't think Lady Sinclair sent these to mock me, do you?” It didn't take a scholar to know it was not Lord Sinclair who'd painted those.
“No.” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. “This is John's handiwork. After he was sent down from Eton, I ordered the toe cut in all of his stockings. Not off completely. I didn't want him to catch on; just a slit large enough that when he put his foot in, his big toe would poke through the silk.”
“Why ever would you do that?”
“Because he ordered us gruel for breakfast,” he said as if that explained everything. He gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “We're brothers; this is how we act toward each other. Aren't you glad we married so you could be a part of it?”
Her heart warmed at his words. “Actually, I am.”
“Good. If you'd like, I can have these removed. I'd hate for them to clash with your decorating scheme.”
Regina looked at the paintings again. Compared to the disaster the rest of the room already was, what was an additional three hideous pictures? “No. I think they should stay. They compliment the carpet, don't you think?”
He looked to the floor then to the pictures. “Perfectly.”
“Then for now, they shall stay,” she declared.
“My lord, the first guest carriage has just arrived,” Calvert said from behind them.
The blood drained from Regina's face. This was it. She was about to host her first breakfast.
She did her best to fight her nerves as Edward escorted her to the front door where they'd stand to greet their guests.
The first couple to enter was Lord and Lady Sinclair.
They exchanged their greetings and then were directed to the back patio where outdoor tables and chairs had been set up and decorations hung.
A horse's whinny alerted her to their next set of guests. Her blood chilled; it was her father and Aunt Florence.
“Lady Watson,” Father greeted, leaning in for a kiss.
Regina bridled but allowed him to press his cold lips to her cheek.
“Still lack control of your impulses, I see,” he said, frowning.
“Do you see a problem with my wife's behavior, Mr. Harris?” Edward asked, his tone just as hard as the expression on his face.
“No, my lord.”
“Very well, then. The party is gathering on the back terrace,” he clipped.
Without casting her another glance, Father and Aunt Florence followed Calvert to the back terrace.
“Thank you,” she whispered to Edward.
“No need to thank me,” he grumbled. “But I can't fight all of your battles for you.”
There he went again, speaking in riddles. Before Regina had time to ask him to clarify, a bespectacled man named Mr. Louis Thurwood and his wife, Charlotte, came to greet them.
Behind them were Lord and Lady Bogsmeir.
Regina frowned. Mr. Thurwood and Lord Bogsmeir were here just last week to attend Edward's meeting about the formation of a biological society.
Her frown deepened. So were Mr. Cleyborne and Mr. Ragsdale. The only difference today was they had their wives with them.
“Edward, why are these all the same gentlemen who came to your meeting last week?”
“They're not,” he said, pointing to the carriage that had just come to a stop.
She recognized the coat of arms emblazoned on the outside immediately: Lord Edgewood.
She sucked in a sharp breath. Father would not be pleased when he realized all the guests, save him, Aunt Florence, and Lord and Lady Sinclair were here to discuss plants.
“Did you plan this?” she asked, striving to remain calm.
“No, you planned the breakfast; I just made the guest list.”
>
She forced a smile to greet Lord and Lady Edgewood.
“That isn't funny, Edward. How could you do this to me?” she choked through the tears clogging her throat.
“I didn't do anything to you. I did this for you.”
~Chapter Thirty-One~
Edward almost wished he'd never gotten involved with this breakfast. Almost. He hated the way her voice had wavered as if she—the strongest female he'd ever met—was on the verge of tears. And even more, he hated that it was all his fault. He'd issued those invitations with the hope that it would finally give Regina the last bit of courage she needed to stand up to her father. His trampling her as if she didn't exist for any other purpose than to gain him social invitations would never stop unless she stood up to him.
Of course, were Edward the hero in a fable, he'd fight her battles for her. He'd slay the fire-breathing dragon; then using his bare hands, he'd scale the jagged brick wall that lead to the highest window in the highest tower and rescue her. But he couldn't do that. It wasn't that simple. This wasn't his battle to fight, and if he fought it for her, she'd still never have the one thing she craved so dearly: respect from her father.
She'd never have that as long as she kept cowing to his demands and reminders of her family duty. Mr. Harris was the type who'd never be satisfied or impressed. And if he was, he'd find a reason not to be just to force Regina to do something else.
Edward's interference might get him to leave off for a short while, but it wouldn't truly free Regina. She had to do that for herself, and all he could do was stand back and hope he'd shown her just how important she was to him.
The last of their guests arrived, and it was now time to join them on the terrace.
He glanced over at his wife's pale face. Briefly, he considered reminding Regina that she had told him she'd be amiable to hosting a breakfast for the fellows he'd be creating the society with. He dismissed this idea very quickly. Now wasn't the time to trifle with her, especially, if he wanted her to realize she'd been given all the proverbial tools she needed to fight the metaphorical dragon who'd come to visit.
Regina removed her hand from his arm and took her place in front of the guests. “I'd like to thank you all for joining us today...”
Edward nearly burst with pride as Regina welcomed everyone to their home and played her role of hostess with flawless confidence. As she should. Every ounce of work she'd poured into this event was obvious. The tables were covered in elegant pale yellow table linens with a vase overflowing with violets positioned in the center of each. White napkins, folded to look like swans, sat on the top of each dark blue plate. The buffet table was filled with a variety of meats, cheeses, fruits, and pastries all arranged to perfection. She'd ordered ivy vines hung along the top of the trellis, covering and spiraling down the posts to where sprays of vibrant pink, orange and blue flowers were planted.
Guilt knotted in his gut. She'd arranged a breakfast that would please a duchess, and he'd made a mockery of her by inviting only two men of any rank at all, one of which didn't want to be there and the other only attended so he could wax about his fascinating discoveries for two hours.
Edward's eyes never left Regina as she flittered here and there to ensure her guests were having a good time, never once stopping long enough for him to talk to her.
“Perhaps now that we've dined, the gentlemen can go to the drawing room to discuss business and the ladies can play their games,” Lord Edgewood, who'd never been known for his subtlety, suggested loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Excellent idea,” Edward agreed, leading the gentlemen to the drawing room. He'd been the one to create this mess; he needed to see it through, no matter how unpleasant it had the possibility to become.
“Gads, Watson. What happened in here?” Lord Edgewood said as he entered the drawing room.
Edward made a show of looking around at the uniquely decorated room. Lord Edgewood and Mr. Harris were the only ones in attendance who hadn't seen the room before now. “I see nothing out of place.”
Lord Edgewood snorted and Mr. Harris' face grew bright red.
Edward ignored them both and waited for all the men to sit down.
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming today. Lady Watson has already welcomed you all to her breakfast, but I'd like to extend another welcome and thank you all for coming to the first official meeting for the Society of Biological Matters. As the founder and official president of the Society of Biological Matters, I'd like to thank you all for your continued support and introduce you to our guest speaker today, Lord Edgewood. Without any further ado, I'll turn the time over to Lord Edgewood who has graciously agreed to speak to us today about the importance and properties of thorns and thistles.”
If Mr. Harris' face had been bright red at the sight of this room, it'd likely be termed purple by the time Lord Edgewood's speech was concluded.
Edward regained his feet and thanked Lord Edgewood for sharing his findings and extended him a formal invitation to join the Society.
“I suppose we shall rejoin the ladies now,” Mr. Harris said in a tone that was as cool as the impassive look on his face.
“Of course,” Edward agreed. If nothing else, at least he'd managed to disrupt Mr. Harris' manipulations for the day; which, though not entirely his intention, was at least one boon of this disaster.
The gentlemen joined the ladies just long enough to gather their things and say their farewells to one another.
Edward leaned against the side of the house while Regina thanked them all for coming and saw them out. She didn't deserve what he'd done, no matter how good his intentions. He should have let her have her breakfast with invitations sent to everyone of his acquaintance who had a rank and let her handle things with her father in her own way and in her own time.
He just hated the way Mr. Harris treated her. He fisted his hands in his pockets. Every time Regina spoke of the man, Edward just wanted to box his ear. The other day, when she'd told him of the loan she'd requested and his suggestion for payment, he almost rode his horse to Mr. Harris’ house for that purpose alone. It was only his hope that he'd be able to one day prove to Regina that she was good enough as just Regina Banks to command the honor and respect she deserved, that had kept him from throttling the man.
He blew out a pent up breath. That was no excuse for what he'd done today. He'd acted without thinking of Regina, and that made him no better than Mr. Harris.
The thought made him utterly sick. He pushed off the wall, intent to find her this very minute and beg her to forgive him.
Edward walked past the servants cleaning and entered the house. The only sound in the air was the echoing thuds of the heels of his shoes against the wooden floor as he walked down the hall.
Just as his foot landed on the bottom step of the grand staircase, he heard the words that stilled his blood and captured his full attention: “This was an unacceptable breakfast. I demand you host another.”
***
Regina stared at her father. It didn't surprise her at all that he'd demand she host another breakfast. From the moment she realized all the guests were Edward's fellow Society members, she'd foreseen this conversation coming. She just didn't expect it to happen so soon.
“Why was it unacceptable?” Despite the majority of the gentlemen present having a fascination for plants and trees, it wasn't so bad. Even Lady Sinclair seemed to enjoy herself, which was shocking in itself.
“The company was lacking, and the entertainment was worse.”
Regina sucked in a sharp breath at his criticism. She'd tried so hard to plan everything, and he still found something to complain about. “I'm sorry you find my company not to be to your liking.”
Father picked a small white string from the cuff of his green jacket and dropped it to the floor. “Yes, well, there's not much that can be done about that fact, I'm afraid.”
&n
bsp; Regina blanched at the cruel intent of his words. She'd deserved it though; she'd set herself up for that insult with her quick tongue. “I'm sorry you didn't enjoy the breakfast more, Father.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “You did it intentionally, didn't you?”
“Did what intentionally?”
“Don't play stupid with me,” he snapped. “You invited me over here to attend a society meeting with a pack of dullards to defy me for marrying you off to the worst dullard in all of England.”
Regina gasped. “How can you say such a thing?” She didn't find Edward to be a dullard; unusual, perhaps, but certainly not a dullard.
“Don't play innocent, Regina. I know it was you who decorated this ghastly room with mismatched furniture, appalling artwork, and, heaven help us all, a stuffed rodent; then invited all of his friends here to see the monstrosity as an act of defiance.”
Regina's eyes flew to where her father had gestured to the oak end table. Sure enough, there on the end table was a furry brown rabbit and instantly she was reminded of the one Edward had trapped on their night in the woods. How did that get in here? John, perhaps? She looked over to the awful paintings on the wall. No. It wasn't John. John had left those paintings; he wouldn't have put a stuffed rabbit in here, too. It was too soon. First, Edward would have to do a dastardly deed in retaliation. A slow smile took her lips. What an unusual family she'd married into. But she loved them—all of them—nonetheless.
But it still begged the question of who left a stuffed rabbit in here?
“Regina,” Father snapped, the look in his eyes just as fierce as his voice.
“You're right,” she said. “I did decorate this drawing room to spite him.” No use lying about that.
“You impertinent fool,” Father seethed. “Do you not understand that you've destroyed everything I've worked so hard to build for you?”
Anger and hurt stirred inside of her. She was nothing more than a means of social standing to him. That's all she'd ever been. He'd sent her away to learn to be a lady and mix with those of a higher standing. Then, he'd “given” her a Season while Edward was in mourning only to make new acquaintances. There was no other reason for it. He'd already betrothed her to Edward. Why did she need a Season? She didn't need one. Likely, Aunt Florence had only agreed to be her chaperone so she, too, could participate. Perhaps that was why she’d acted more like a debutante than Regina had.
