Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  He glanced at her, his eyes full of compassion. “You are upset. It is understandable when one hears that matters are not to their liking, but be assured that I did indeed make thorough inquiries on your behalf.”

  “My understanding is not so limited that I don’t see that.” And she did. She touched his hand and he grasped hers in return. Her voice shook when she said, “I cannot thank you enough for giving me refuge the way you have. You have done more for me in this short time than all my other relatives during the last eight years. But don’t you see how important this is? It is not some passing fancy. If you assure me that Mr. Mainwaring is not to be trusted, then I will set about on another search and discover some other expedition to join. There will be many such forays planned over the next several years. One of them will most assuredly have room for one poor female.”

  “Don’t give up your dreams, Miss Haywood, but don’t throw away your heart away, either. Matters are not so hopeless yet, and I will apply my mind to drawing a winning hand. I will think of some scheme, you will see. Now come, we must get ready for this infernal opera my wife has set her heart on.”

  Charlotte laughed though inside she felt shaky and nervous. If Nathaniel were there, how would she face him?

  If only Mr. Mainwaring had been honorable, then she could have convinced Mr. Archer to let her go to Egypt immediately. Surely once she left England, the hot, dry wind and sand would burn away her feelings for Nathaniel and leave her in peace. Despite Archer’s assurances, she could not see how marriage to Nathaniel was possible without giving up what she held most dear.

  And worse, how would he react when he found out her fortune was mostly gone?

  When she at last changed and joined the Archers in the hallway, she found Lady Victoria wearing a beautiful ice blue gown trimmed with several black-corded bands of lace around the hem. A black rose made out of velvet and lace was pinned to the center of her bodice and long jet earrings dangled from her ears. The gift from Charlotte. The sight made her give Lady Victoria a brief hug.

  Charlotte surreptitiously brushed away a few tears, shocked at her emotional reaction.

  “Are you ready, Miss Haywood?” Lady Victoria said, gently disengaging herself. After a brief examination, she loosened one of Charlotte’s long, red curls to twine down the back of her neck. “You look very fetching.”

  Charlotte glanced down at her heavy white silk gown. The hem was trimmed in black like Lady Victoria’s skirts, but the decoration consisted of jet beads sewn amongst black silk flowers embroidered around the hem and up the front of the dress.

  Lady Victoria’s pearl necklace hung around her throat and a pair of earrings given to her by her aunt before she died dangled from her ears. Charlotte touched them, saddened by the memory.

  So much gone and lost forever.

  She pulled on a pair of white silk gloves festooned with lace around the cuffs and smoothed them over the translucent silk sleeves.

  “I suppose I am ready,” she said.

  The ladies joined Mr. Archer at the front door just as Nathaniel’s carriage came to a halt outside. As Charlotte feared, Nathaniel was gracious and polite, not the least bit remote, which would have made her situation vastly easier. His smile and the warmth in his eyes made her wonder again if she could give up her dreams of Egypt and settle for marriage.

  Would love be enough? And was Mr. Archer right? Was there a possibility that Nathaniel did love her?

  What if he did? It didn’t matter. She could have love or her dreams of Cairo and the warmth of the desert sand shifting beneath her feet: one or the other, but not both.

  No one in the carriage seemed inclined to talk. They all stared moodily down at their hands, palely clasped in their laps amidst the evening shadows. The short trip seemed interminable. When they finally arrived, Nathaniel and the Archers were greeted by several couples, including Lady Beatrice and her parents.

  “Your Grace,” Lady Beatrice exclaimed as her mother gave her a little push in the duke’s direction. “It is so good to see you. I hope you find the time to visit our box this evening. We have an excellent view of the orchestra.”

  Charlotte waited, sure he would accept.

  He smiled and took her arm. “I am sure the view from my box is also acceptable.”

  Charlotte bit her lip to stop from giggling at the expression of consternation on Lady Beatrice’s face. Then he touched Charlotte’s elbow, and she allowed him to propel her toward the stairs leading up to his box.

  “Do you enjoy the opera?” he asked Charlotte, holding the dark burgundy velvet curtains aside for her.

  She ducked around his arm into the box and waited, her nerves tight as violin strings. She felt almost giddy. Where were the Archers? They were right behind them when they started up the stairs and yet they seemed to have disappeared.

  “Yes, although I freely admit I prefer operettas. I suppose I am not serious-minded enough to enjoy the exuberant tragedy in Italian opera.” She glanced over his shoulder to see Mr. Archer and Lady Victoria talking and laughing with another couple halfway up the stairs.

  “It is all hysteria set to music, if you ask me. I agree with your assessment entirely.” Nathaniel guided her to one of the chairs and then stepped back as Lady Victoria glided in to sit next to Charlotte, who was still grinning up at Nathaniel after his unexpected agreement.

  “I am so pleased. I adore this opera,” Lady Victoria said.

  Charlotte almost snorted as laughter gripped her. When she gazed at Nathaniel, his blue eyes danced with merriment.

  “Charlotte?” prompted Lady Victoria

  “Oh, yes. And it is very kind of His Grace to allow us the use of his box.”

  The two men took the outer seats to sit like a pair of bookends with the ladies in the middle.

  Nathaniel handed Charlotte a program and glanced around. “Would you like refreshments?”

  “That would be lovely,” Charlotte answered quickly. Perhaps a glass of champagne would ease her nerves and make her feel less like she was about to explode into a gale of hysterical giggling.

  What was wrong with her? One minute she felt as if she wanted to cry and the next, she felt wild with euphoria. Perhaps her confinement had affected her mentality. Perhaps she was no longer even rational.

  She glanced over to Nathaniel’s empty chair feeling a sudden pang of loss. She still wanted to go to Egypt, didn’t she? Leave the damp, dismal weather and cold inhabitants of England behind for the warmth and sunshine. Although it had certainly been warm enough for anyone in that attic over the last few days. She sat back, her mind drifting to Nathaniel. His eyes were precisely the color she imagined the sky over the desert would have, clear, crystalline blue.

  “Ladies?” Nathaniel said, returning with a small tray. He handed out the glasses of champagne, his fingers lingering on Charlotte’s glass while he gazed down at her. “Have you recovered?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Thank you.” Her eyes searched his face, but his expression remained pleasant as if he had not a care in the world. “Have they found the madman who killed those girls?”

  “No.” He shook his head, his eyes darkening. “Not yet.”

  “They will,” she assured him, hoping it was true. The misogynist killer was not Nathaniel. She smiled at him, feeling her heart pound. She knew he was innocent. He was a kind man although at the moment he seemed more dangerous than safe.

  They settled into their seats again and amused themselves studying the occupants of the other boxes.

  Lady Beatrice’s balcony was directly across from their own. Charlotte had to clasp both her hands around her glass of champagne to keep from waving gaily. Then she realized Lady Beatrice would very likely be the next Duchess of Peckham after Charlotte left for Egypt. Her sense of superiority faded.

  “Your Grace,” a man’s voice said behind Charlotte, barely audible over the chorus singing at the end of Act One. “And Miss Haywood. Are you enjoying the opera?”

  “Cheery?
” Nathaniel asked, turning in his chair. “Where have you been?”

  “Looking for you, Dodger,” Mr. Gaunt responded.

  Charlotte grinned at the sarcasm in his voice. Even Nathaniel smiled and motioned to a chair behind his. She wasn’t sure if he intended to be amusing, but Mr. Gaunt’s tone made her laugh. The two men whispered together for a few minutes until Lady Victoria told them in no uncertain tones to be quiet or leave the confines of the balcony.

  When the break between acts one and two arrived, Charlotte excused herself. Slipping out, she noticed Nathaniel and Mr. Gaunt were also missing. Perhaps they had decided to take their gossiping outside in respect for Lady Victoria’s wish for silence.

  “Ah, there you are! Are you enjoying the opera?”

  Charlotte spun around. A plump, middle-aged man stood at the entrance to one of the small retiring rooms. She recognized his voice, though not his face: the gentleman who had kidnapped her.

  “You!” she said, before she realized her mistake.

  His lips twisted into a smile. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, have we? But we do seem to know one another.”

  “Hardly,” Charlotte said stiffly, glancing down the hall. They were a short distance from the stairs and just outside Nathaniel’s box.

  She opened her mouth to scream. He rushed forward and grabbed her around the waist, clamping a hand over her mouth. Before she could free herself, he dragged her across the hall into one of the retiring rooms.

  In response, she kicked him and bit his hand.

  “Damn!” he said, shaking his hand.

  Before she could scream, he slammed his fist into her jaw. Pain shot through her neck and face as her head snapped back. When she reeled backward, he grabbed the front of her dress, holding her upright. She felt dizzy with pain. Her legs wobbled and she breathed deeply in an attempt to control the nausea.

  “That’s better, is it not?” he asked before transferring his grip to the neck of her dress. With a jerk he ripped it.

  “Now scream if you want.” He ripped it further. “Bring your guardian here. He will agree soon enough that you will marry me.”

  “He may agree,” she said, lisping. Her lips and tongue felt swollen and tasted of blood. She dabbed it with her gloved hand, watching crimson stain the smooth silk.

  She glared at him defiantly. “But you will not get what you want. My fortune is gone! I have nothing left.”

  He raised his hand as if to slap her again, but instead he grabbed her chin. He wiped a fresh trickle of blood from her lip with mock concern. “You would like me to believe that tale, would you not? Well, you have enough to pay my debts for now. There will be other heiresses when I need them.”

  When she pulled away, he reached out again to stop her. His hand clutched her dress and yanked it down, almost to her hip. She yelped, clutching the torn fabric. Charlotte backed away and stared at the door, praying for Nathaniel to come. Her head ached, and her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with moldy cotton drenched in blood.

  The sounds of an aria thundered around them, only slightly muted by the thin walls of the room. No one would hear her, even if she shouted for help, not with all the tumultuous screaming taking place on stage.

  Then, to her horror, the door behind him opened.

  “Ah, here we are at last,” her attacker said with satisfaction. “I was wondering when our audience would arrive. You can scream now—it will not make a bit of difference, I assure you.”

  Then, to her utter astonishment Nathaniel entered, a frown hardening his normally cheerful face. Her eyes were drawn to his as relief shook her.

  He had come for her, at last!

  ****

  Nathaniel noted Charlotte’s desperate look, but his gaze was drawn to the man standing next to her, Sir Henry. Tensing, Nathaniel focused on Bolton and prepared for a confrontation that had been brewing for days.

  “So this is where you are hiding,” Nathaniel said, anger hardening as he took in Bolton’s smug face. Risking a glance toward Charlotte, he stiffened at the sight of her torn bodice.

  Thank God, he had found her in time.

  All evening he had been edgy, ever since he had discussed his idea with Cheery. His friend had visited him late in the afternoon and Nathaniel had proposed the notion that had been brewing in the back of his mind for hours.

  He thought his uncle might be right: the murderer might be killing women with the express purpose of making Nathaniel suffer.

  Which put Charlotte in peril. It was almost too bad they had rescued her from her kidnappers when they did. She had been safer in Dacy’s attic than attending Society functions.

  Oddly, Cheery agreed. In fact, he had come to warn Nathaniel to watch Charlotte closely when they went in public, hoping they might flush the madman out of hiding.

  “Your Grace.” Sir Henry bowed. “You are interrupting a private affair.”

  Nathaniel’s eyes raked over him before he pointedly ignored him and transferred his attention to Charlotte. “Are you hurt, Miss Haywood?”

  She shook her head while he studied her. There was a large, red swelling along her jaw and her blue eyes were suspiciously bright.

  The bastard had hit her!

  Her hands trembled as she tried to hold her bodice together.

  His temper smoked like a white-hot sword plunged into a barrel of water. Then a curious calm filled him. “Get out, Charlotte,” Nathaniel said through stiff lips.

  “Charlotte?” Bolton mimicked him. “I am afraid you assume too much, Your Grace. My betrothed will remain, this is none of your affair.”

  “I am not your betrothed!” Charlotte exclaimed, although she kept her fingers to her mouth. It obviously hurt her to speak.

  “You are mistaken, Bolton. She has done me the honor of accepting my proposal. In fact, we intend to make the official announcement tomorrow.” He didn’t shift his gaze to Charlotte. He was sure she would protest, but she remained silent. “And I believe I have a previous argument with you.”

  “And I with you, Your Grace. I must insist the heiress goes with me.” He fumbled with his walking stick before extracting a thin sword with a flourish.

  Eyes on the sword, Nathaniel grabbed Charlotte’s wrist and thrust her toward the door. “Get out! Now!”

  To his dismay, she wrenched away. “I am not leaving you!”

  “I am not asking you to leave me, I am telling you to go for help. Cheery is here somewhere. Find him.”

  Bolton danced closer and made a quick feint aimed at Nathaniel’s face.

  Nathaniel raised an arm and jumped back, struggling to remove his jacket. “I am unarmed!”

  His forearm burned. A trickle of blood ran down his wrist. He wrenched his coat off, thankful to see Charlotte edging toward the door.

  “It does not matter to me!” Sir Henry replied. When he saw Charlotte’s movement, he dashed forward to thrust his sword in front of her, blocking her from the door. “I don’t believe you should leave, my dear,” he said, standing in front of the entrance.

  While Bolton’s attention was on Charlotte, Nathaniel grabbed a chair. Bolton turned and slashed at him, but the slender sword cut uselessly at the chair legs. When Bolton pulled back to search for an opening, Nathaniel smashed the chair against the floor, shattering it. He picked up one of the legs and faced his adversary.

  Bolton smirked and lunged, sure of his quarry.

  Nathaniel parried and abruptly followed up by swinging the chair leg around and grazing Bolton’s forehead. The stocky man tripped backward, but nimbly recovered. He daubed his handkerchief at his forehead and studied Nathaniel.

  “That will not help you. You will be dead, and her fortune will be mine. Why not simply walk away? What does it matter to you?”

  “It matters to me in that I imagine Charlotte might have an opinion, and I dislike seeing force used against a woman.”

  “Yes,” she lisped through her swollen lips. “I despise you!”

  Nathaniel g
lanced at her in surprise, afraid she was speaking to him.

  She caught his gaze and gestured impatiently toward Bolton. “Him! I loathe him, you idiot! Watch what you are about!”

  He turned his head to find Bolton aiming another thrust at his face. He blocked with his makeshift club at the last minute. In the opening created by his parry, he sent a sharp left to Bolton’s chin. Bolton staggered backward while Nathaniel shook his left hand, numbed by the blow.

  It felt like he had broken his knuckles against Bolton’s sharp chin.

  The blow only angered Bolton. With a roar he ran forward, his sword singing through the air. Nathaniel tensed and waited, raising the chair leg.

  Bolton threw everything he had into his charge. His weight and speed pushed Nathaniel back.

  Then Nathaniel’s shoes slipped on the uncarpeted floor. He staggered but managed to keep to his feet, his eyes fixed on the blade just inches from his nose. The wood in his hand quivered from the blow, the shattering force of it running up his arm.

  If only he had a decent weapon!

  Nathaniel drew back the chair leg and smashed it into the sword. It rattled against the wood, shaving off splinters, however Bolton was so infuriated that he continued flailing the air, the blade whipping past Nathaniel’s face.

  Nathaniel hit him again with a vicious uppercut and brought the chair leg around, aiming at Bolton’s chin.

  His foot slipped during the swing and his blow went wild. Instead of hitting Bolton’s chin, the club smashed into his neck.

  Stunned, Bolton dropped his sword and stumbled backward with his hands gripping his throat. He gagged and fell to his knees, the air whistling strangely as he wheezed and gasped.

  Nathaniel moved forward a step and kicked the sword away. He tensed when Charlotte grasped his sleeve. They watched as Bolton slowly toppled forward.

  “Is he….” Charlotte whispered.

  Nathaniel bent down on one knee, rolling Bolton over.

  His throat was crushed.

  “Yes,” Nathaniel said. “He’s dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Murder is where a person of sound memory and discretion unlawfully kills any human being with malice aforethought. — Constable’s Pocket Guide