A Lady's Perfect Match: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  He waved his hand with amused dismissal. "Since when do you curtsy for me, Miss Hannah? Take your posh and correct ways inside."

  As Hannah turned to go, Emelia saw a hint of something hidden in her eyes. She made a mental note to ask her sister about it later and then stood, holding out her hand to Brody.

  "Let me walk you to your horse," she said teasingly.

  He stood and she slipped her arm into his elbow, as was their habit after years of friendship. They walked together towards the stables.

  "You know, it stirs up rumors for me to linger at your home like this," Brody said, arching an eyebrow and looking down at her. There was a comfortable camaraderie between them, and Emelia knew at once what he was speaking of. She rolled her eyes.

  "Oh, please. You hear one matron at a tea talking about how you and I are going to have some forever life together and you won't leave off teasing me about it."

  Brody shrugged. "When life hands you material…"

  "And why? Because we're close friends?"

  "People have gotten married for less." Brody laughed.

  Emelia bit her lip and thought. There had been a time a few years ago, when she was a younger girl and fresh into thoughts of romance and love, that she had settled upon Brody with a small, harmless crush. It had not been long-lasting—he was always more annoying with her than he was charming—but it had sparked a feeling of reservation about the topic. She liked her friendship with Brody and she didn't want it to change again.

  "We have much in common," Brody was continuing on as though she'd already responded. "We both love parties, hunting, fashion, and art. If we were married, we'd have a grand time of it travelling the world and traipsing around on each other's arms."

  "Brody, if it were any other girl you were saying all this to there would be some confusion about your motives," Emelia scolded him. "You really ought to be more careful about your teasing."

  "I'm just saying," he went on with the same casual air about himself, "that it's a viable option?"

  "Is it?" Emelia frowned. "Because I'm not so sure. I think love is another necessary ingredient to marriage, Brody, and while I care for you as a friend and I know you return the sentiment, I don't think either of us could claim romantic love anymore."

  "Fiddlesticks!" Brody exclaimed, falling back on one of the childish phrases they had most enjoyed. "Romantic love is the least necessary component of all. Do you know why?"

  Emelia rolled her eyes at this familiar line of argument. "Ah, yes. That's right. You don't believe in love, real love. You think the whole world is faking it, putting on some sort of act so us single people will be taken in by the whole charade."

  "Well, I don’t think the entire world is in on the act. In fact, I'd dare you to point out any couple in your acquaintance that you think really love one another. They all act so distantly and cold. I don't see a single one of them who has affection after they’re married. Yes, there are some who put up a show of love in the throes of youth, but I think that is more biological than anything. After marriage and the sealing of the pact, all those vestiges are sure to drain away."

  "My parents," Emelia said quietly. "They still cared about each other."

  "Now, wait." Brody sobered ever so slightly. "You can't use your dearly departed mother as an example, Emelia." Again, if Emelia hadn't watched how much Brody cared for and respected her mother, she would have taken offense. She also knew that Brody himself wasn't a stranger to the pain associated with the loss of a parent. "And anyway," he went on. "This would be an instance of the exception proving the rule."

  "Well, then," Emelia said. "Be off with you. Live a life in search of sparkling people and beware lest you pick one too delightful, else you might be in danger of the thing you don't think exists." She shoved off from his arm playfully. "I, in the meantime, am going to keep my heart open to romance. I hope to fall in love, and while I think good friends could make a go of it, I am going to hold out for the time being in the hopes that something real will come my way."

  Brody grinned, his eyes dancing. "Alright then, little hold out. But if I'm right and there's no love to be had for you, we should marry in ten years if you've escaped the grip of matrimony. Friends will trump romantic love any day."

  Emelia frowned.

  Brody pushed her lightly on the shoulder. "Now you've lost your shine. What did I do to bring that about?"

  "I wish you wouldn't joke about that," she said. "There are gossips in these parts, and you already talked about how you overheard whispers about us among the people. Possibly there were such whispers today at the event. I did play badminton on your team."

  "And you know," Brody said with mock sobriety, "that badminton is the most seductive of games."

  "Hush." Emelia pursed her lips together. "I'm serious, Brody. You should have said something to those women weeks ago when you heard them talking about how much time we spend together. You should have stopped the gossip then and there."

  "Haven't you heard the Shakespearean confession that 'the lady doth protest too much?' It would only fuel the fires of speculation if I came to your defense." Brody shrugged. "And besides, what does it matter? Emelia, I know it might be that they're all mistaken about us, and perhaps there is some natural embarrassment, but in the end it will do no harm."

  "It will do no harm to you, Brody," Emelia scolded. "Really, you can be such a boy sometimes. You and the other men in the county can go to as many social outings as you want and flirt with as many ladies as you desire and then fade back into the background without any strings attached, but if I were to behave that way my reputation would be tarnished. Not only would this come back on the Wells' name, hurting my father's business and my sister's prospects, but it would come back on me as well. Do you think true love would even think of stopping at my door when it thought I was already occupied with some other dashing fellow?"

  "Dashing?" Brody raised an eyebrow.

  "You're infuriating," Emelia snapped.

  "Come on," Brody pressed. "You think that if anyone mistakenly thinks we've been romantic, it would compromise your reputation? I think it might improve it. I think it's naïve to think people haven't already married us off. The expectation that we'd end up mixing the Wells and Shaw names sometimes in the future has always been there, and it doesn't matter how adamant you are—it will continue to hang over us."

  "Well, the expectation is not held by me," she said, relenting at last into his teasing with a little smile.

  He sighed with an overdramatic gesture of relief. "Thank heavens. The lady at last gets off her high horse."

  She stole another glance at him as they neared the stables and wondered for a brief moment if it was a practical plan. Brody was right—they had a good, solid friendship, and would enjoy spending time together forever—but something held her back. He'd grown into more of a friend over the last few years; he'd grown into a brother. And that made the idea of marriage seem more ridiculous than if they'd been only light acquaintances.

  "How about this," she said, putting her nose into the air in an imitation of posh sophistication. "I shall no longer give you long lectures on the meaning and worth of true romantic love, and you shall no longer feed the rumors of our nonexistent but apparently impending marriage."

  Brody put his hand to his chin as though weighing both options. He looked from one direction to the other, mimicking the motions of a judge uncertain what to choose. Emelia punched him, good-naturedly but hard, in the arm, and he jumped away from her in mock annoyance.

  "Alright," he said at last. "I suppose I will relent for now."

  Emelia changed tacks. "I'm surprised you brought Montgomery today."

  "Montgomery is not the sort of man that can be brought anywhere he does not want to go," Brody said with amusement. "But I was surprised he wanted to attend as well. I suppose even the most frozen of marble statues require a brief outing into society every now and again."

  "He's not that bad," Emelia said, her face relaxing in
to a smile. "I think he brings a lot to an excursion, actually." She bit her lip. "I don't think I've seen him since your father's funeral."

  Brody's face sobered. Their father, Alistair Shaw, had been a well-respected member of the community, a chemist who had paid Montgomery's way through the physician's school in London and, in so doing, raised him to the status of gentleman.

  Six months ago, Alistair Shaw had been taken suddenly and inexplicably ill, and had passed away in the space of a few hours. Brody had been there, but he said Montgomery had arrived only a few minutes before his father died, and the blow had been hard on them both.

  "I'm sorry," Emelia added softly. "I didn't mean to touch on a difficult subject."

  "The difficult subject is always there," Brody said kindly, "even if you don't touch on it. You have nothing for which to apologise." He looked down at his hands. "I'm doing well enough—you probably saw as much from my behavior today. Some days are harder than others, but I don't bear the same guilt that Montgomery does."

  "Guilt?"

  "He was a physician who arrived at his own father's deathbed too late to offer life-giving assistance." Brody put a hand through his dark hair. "I keep trying to tell him that father wouldn't want him to torture himself, but they were always so close—inseparable in many ways—and I can feel the sting of guilt on Montgomery, so inescapable."

  "What could he have done?" Emelia asked.

  "Probably nothing." Brody gave a sigh and forced a smile. "Look, I don't want to bring down the tone of your magical day with talk of all this. The proper time of mourning has ended, and though I know you have grace for the conversation, I don't want to burden you unduly."

  "My mother's been dead for years," Emelia said softly, "and I still miss her every day. There's no prescribed time for recovering from this, Brody."

  "I know that, but I worry about Montgomery. He's taking the death very hard, Emelia. He's buried in his work, and he rarely talks to me anymore. I thought he came today in an effort to embrace life again, but he left so quickly." Brody looked towards the gamekeeper's hut down the hill. "I should go rouse him from whatever solitude he's sought."

  "I'm sorry, Brody." Emelia could see that for all of Brody's talk about the grace and understanding, he felt some measure of responsibility for his brother's state. "Please," she added. "You're not alone. If there's anything—anything at all—I can do, don't hesitate to ask. I want to help."

  Chapter 4

  Whatever disappointment he showed on his face, Montgomery Shaw had been relieved when the small servant boy had tapped on his arm during the picnic and asked, "Please, sir—are you a physician?"

  It was a question he'd answered many times, and always there came with the answer a sense of expectancy and interest; two things this party with all its mundane talk and mincing propriety could not give him. He'd dismissed himself at once, telling a servant to inform his brother at some point where he was heading, and followed the boy to the gamekeeper's house.

  It was a fine little cottage a good walk from the main estate. There were two stories of stone and brick combined, a well-proportioned roof, and little green door. The door was open, and the servant boy didn't even stop as he pushed inside.

  "I brought him!" the boy called. "I brought the doctor."

  Montgomery stepped inside, his eyes adjusting too slowly to the dim light. Dust particles danced in the still golden glow from a single window. He heard sniffling in the corner and saw at last a small form curled up beside a grown man. The man cleared his throat.

  "I would stand," he said uncomfortably, "but I don't want to hurt him any more than is necessary."

  "Of course you shouldn't move." Montgomery came quickly into the room, thankful that he'd picked up his medical bag on the way to the cottage. "The boy said you had an emergency?"

  "Yes, unfortunately I didn’t have time to tell him what. Thank you, Daniel. You can hurry on back to your duties."

  The boy gave a little bob of his head and was off without a backwards glance. Montgomery was fully adjusted to the dim light now and could see that the man was middle-aged with thick mutton chops and fine green and brown outdoor wear on what looked to be long limbs, even folded up as they were at present. There was a boy on his lap, no more than five or six years of age, who had the same red hair and who was cradling his left arm and whimpering. The arm was crooked; off, somehow.

  "Hello, lad." Montgomery walked forward and knelt down, adopting the easy way that he always used when talking with children. It was no use frightening the boy, not when he was already in so much pain. "It looks like you've taken a bit of a tumble there. How did this happen?" he turned the question to the man he'd already guessed was the father.

  "He fell from a tree." The man bit his lip. "I'm the groundskeeper here, Williams, if you must know my name, and this is little Bobby. I should have watched him more closely, but you know how boys would be. I was prepping the dogs for a running and then I heard the screams. He's a brave little chap but he's in an awful way. Do you think it's broken?"

  It most definitely looked broken, but Montgomery wasn't ready to frighten the boy. He reached into his bag and pulled out some gauze, a small, thin stick, and a few gentle pads. All the while, he kept up a running conversation with the boy. "I think it's a rite of passage," he said kindly, "to fall out of a tree now and then. My brother Brody was much smaller than me and he always managed to land on his feet, but not I. I broke my arm twice—twice!—when I was a little boy. And do you see how much I use it now? There's nothing to be afraid of. We're going to give your arm a little something to hold it nice and straight, and then you're going to be as patient as you can until it heals. Once it's healed, and only then, you can get back to climbing all the trees your father allows."

  All the while he'd reached gentle fingers to roll the boy's sleeve up and washed the arm to make certain it was as clean as possible before being set. The bone was broken, but it hadn't protruded in any way through the skin, which was a good sign indeed. Then there would have been the need for surgery, which Montgomery was equipped to do, but really didn't want to put these good country people through.

  He reached up then and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "This part's the hard part," he said seriously. "I have to make your arm go the right way. There will be a bit of pressure and pain, but then I'll wrap these bandages and it will be all over."

  The boy looked at him with wide eyes, a single tear leaking free and tracing a path through the smudged dirt on his cheeks. He nodded.

  "Brave little lad."

  Montgomery counted down, and then one moment before the final count, set the arm in place. The boy howled with pain, but his father helped hold him still until the splint had been tied along the length of the arm. Montgomery finished the work and then pulled out a small brown bottle.

  "I don't like laudanum," he said seriously, "but I think a few drops here will take the edge off for the boy, at least enough to let him sleep off this initial pain."

  The father nodded.

  "But I'd like to stay with him," Montgomery went on, "and make sure he doesn't react poorly."

  Again, Williams nodded. Montgomery took out a small spoon and filled it with a bit of the dark brown liquid. The boy sipped it, screwed up his face at the taste, and then gulped down the milk Montgomery handed him immediately afterwards.

  "That will be better soon," Montgomery said as the boy leaned a head against his father's shoulder. The man patted his son's head tenderly and began singing in a deep, throaty voice. The lullaby was unfamiliar to Montgomery, but was of those haunting Irish tunes that sounds like you've heard it before even if you haven’t