Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Because I’m your husband! The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t say them. They quarreled enough as it was, if he mentioned that, she just might kill him. “I’m helping you find a husband, am I not?” He didn’t pause long enough to allow for her to respond. “If I’m to do that then you need to listen to me. I don’t—”

  “Need to bother with my finding a husband any longer,” she cut in smoothly. “Simon Appleton came to see me this morning and has offered his suit.”

  Every muscle in Sebastian’s body went rigid. Simon Appleton? The man wasn’t good enough for her by half. “No. I forbid it.”

  She sputtered with laughter. “You forbid it?”

  “Yes.” He ground his teeth. “That boy is…is…well, he’s just that, he’s a boy.”

  “He’s twenty.”

  Sebastian frowned. “That does not raise him any in my opinion. He’s still a boy.”

  “Are you saying he’s too young to make such a commitment to a young lady?”

  “Yes, he is,” he burst out. “He’s too young to be able to make any kind of promise regarding providing for her and offering her fidelity.”

  “I see.” She drew her words out in a way that made his skin crawl with uneasy anticipation. “I suppose that’s why you’re still not married, then.”

  He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes on her. “This isn’t about me.”

  “No? You were only a year younger than him when you were prepared to marry Rachel.”

  Gritting his teeth, he said, “You already know I didn’t wish to marry her that night.”

  “Ah, yes, you’ve mentioned that, but you still arrived and even went through the ceremony.”

  “I made her a promise and felt I needed to keep it. No matter how much I didn’t wish to,” he said around the unease nearly choking the life right out of him.

  The tip of her pink tongue poked out and moistened her lips. “Are you saying that had you married her, that you’d have been a doting and faithful husband?”

  “Yes,” he bit out, praying she wouldn’t press him any further on the matter. Though she was still his wife, he’d only held up one of her two criteria for a husband. Not that he hadn’t at least tried to be doting. He’d come to see her—only to be turned out and later blackmailed to never return.

  Belle heaved an exaggerated sigh, pulling him from his drifting thoughts. “I do thank you for mentioning this, I’ll be sure to ask Mr. Appleton how true his intentions are regarding a wife and his ability to keep his breeches fastened.” She shrugged as if she hadn’t a care in the world and said, “Perhaps he’ll be at the house party and I can ask him then.”

  “The devil you will,” he practically growled. “You won’t be going to that confounded house party.”

  “Yes, I will.” Challenge danced in her eyes. “And if you don’t like it then you can stop calling upon me.”

  “Belle, I don’t—”

  “No.” She lifted her hand to halt his words. “I’m not going to argue with you about this anymore, and on the street no less.”

  He reached for her wrist and she pulled away. “Belle, let me—”

  “Let you what?” she snapped. “Let you explain to me why your way is always superior to mine? Let you get involved where you are not needed?” She shook her head. “No. No more. Nothing has changed about you. You’re upset with everything I do. The only difference now is that I don’t care what your opinion of me is. I’m going to that house party and I’m going to let Simon court me whether you want him to or not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to pack.” Just as she finished those words, she spun on her heel and walked to where her chaperone was sitting on a bench. Belle said something to her and the older woman stood, then together they made for the direction of their townhouse.

  Sebastian knew Isabelle wouldn’t like it, but he didn’t care and followed her to her home anyway. When she immediately—and firmly—slammed the door in his face, he set out to go do another thing Belle wasn’t going to like: secure himself an invitation to that blasted house party.

  ***

  Giles lived a good two miles from where Belle was staying, but Sebastian didn’t mind the walk. It gave him time to sort things out and get some fresh air.

  Actually, it didn’t.

  By the time he arrived at his friend’s bachelor lodgings, he was no closer to understanding his dislike for Belle agreeing to entertain Simon Appleton’s suit nor had he yet shaken the suffocating sensation that had taken hold of him since receiving that news. Furthermore, he had no wish to discover the connection between the two.

  The one thing he didn’t like, but could actually do something about was Belle’s invitation to the house party. He’d never actually attended one, but he’d heard enough rumors about them and had read of at least one unexpected engagement that had been announced at the end of almost every single one. That was the last thing Belle needed. And with her penchant to find herself in the middle of a scandal, he could almost be certain it would be her engagement announced at the end of the party.

  His gut tightened in time with his fingers gripping the brass knocker of Giles’ door.

  Two swift bangs and then he let himself in. Certainly not the most proper or acceptable thing among those of his class, but he and Giles had been friends long enough that pleasantries and formalities were wasted on either of them.

  “Sebastian,” Giles clipped by way of greeting when he glimpsed Sebastian coming down the hall. He opened the closest door. “Come.”

  Sebastian followed Giles inside the room he’d indicated and took a seat in one of his black leather chairs. He looked around the room, noting the open windows, uncovered wooden floor, the clear desk, and precise location of the furniture. Either the room was never used or Giles’ had too many servants with not enough to do.

  “I didn’t like it,” Giles said, lowering himself into the chair behind the desk. He swiped his hand across the clear top of his desk. “It was cluttered and dark in here before.”

  “It certainly isn’t now.” Sebastian ran his hands over the soft arms of the chair. “I need another favor.”

  Giles’ expression stayed the same. “The house party?”

  Sebastian nodded, then frowned. Giles had never been overly perceptive. How did he already know what Sebastian wanted? “I take it you’ve been invited?”

  “Yes.” He pursed his lips. “It’s the reason I have been searching for the blasted woman. She wants to introduce me to Society there.”

  “Introduce you to Society?” Sebastian repeated, perplexed. “Isn’t that for debutantes?”

  Giles shrugged. “She thinks it’s time I respect my title.”

  “I see.” And he did. Until just a few days ago he didn’t even know that Giles had a title. It wasn’t his place to say anything, but as a baron, he did have a responsibility to his title and those he represented to take his place and mind his affairs. “Is that why you wanted to come to London to find her?”

  “Yes. She needs to know that I have everything well-in-hand.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.” He crossed his arms defensively. “It’s what I pay an overseer for.”

  “Indeed,” Sebastian murmured. “But there are other responsibilities owed to your title.”

  Giles blinked.

  Sebastian scowled. How could he word this without this leading into an extremely uncomfortable conversation for them both? “All right, you’re keeping a man of affairs to keep things straight with your estate manager and anyone from the barony that might require your attention.” At Giles’ nod, Sebastian swallowed his nerves and went further. “I don’t think Lady Cosgrove is concerned so much about that, but about your securing the family line.”

  Giles’ face didn’t change and Sebastian thought he might have to further explain himself when suddenly Giles spoke. “I know. That’s the point of the house party,” he said as if Sebastian was the one confused in all of this.

  “You
plan to attend, then?”

  “No. I tried to tell her not to host one and now I cannot find her to tell her to call it off.” He shrugged. “You’re welcome to use my invitation. I won’t need it.”

  Sebastian almost smiled. “I don’t think that will work.”

  “I don’t think she’ll turn you out once you get all the way there.” He turned his attention down to his fingernails. “Since I’ve never met Lady Cosgrove, I doubt she’d know the difference anyway.”

  “You’ve never met her?”

  Giles shook his head. “The night we met was the first time I remember being in England. I’d always stayed in Ireland until then.”

  Hundreds of questions swirled through Sebastian’s mind. Questions he knew would never be answered for him. Something was certainly amiss as far as Giles’ parentage and family connections were concerned. There was no other reason for so many things to not add up. But it wasn’t his place to ask. “If you’ve never met her, then why is she so adamant to see you reclaim the responsibilities that go with your title?”

  “Connections?” he said with a shrug.

  He was right though. Giles might merely be a baron and Lady Cosgrove a countess, but it always helped one’s social standings to be able to tout connections to other peers, even if they were of a lower rank. “You despise your title, don’t you?”

  Giles lowered his lashes and continued to study the grain of wood on the flat of his desk. “Don’t you?”

  “That’s a fair question,” Sebastian allowed. “I wasn’t running to the continent because of my title. I—my father is still living. My title is just honorary. My responsibility to it isn’t the same as yours.”

  Giles scoffed. “You still need an heir.”

  “Indeed.” That was the only responsibility he had to his title as of yet. The only one his father would allow him to fulfill. Allow? No. Urged him to fulfill. He had a suspicion the reason Father had been so adamant about not expressing interest in Sebastian learning the other responsibilities that would one day come when his father died and left him the earldom was because of the tension his presence would create. Father might have been an earl, but with Rachel married to Lord Yourke who, though only a baron, was a second cousin to some old duke, there could be tension. Not to mention the blackmail that Mr. Knight had threatened Sebastian with if he ever appeared on the Knights’ doorstep again without the annulment papers signed. Had Mr. Knight truly informed the authorities of Sebastian’s assumed activities, it wouldn’t just be a scandal that would once again befall them, but legal entanglements, too. He shook off the thought. “My father is still young enough that he could remarry if he wanted to secure another possible heir badly enough.”

  “My cousin can inherit,” Giles said easily enough. He leaned back in his chair and ran the pad of his thumb along the edge of his desk, appearing not to have a worry or care one way or the other. He snorted. “Simon could inherit for all I care.”

  Sebastian bristled at the mere mention of the man’s name. “I don’t think you’d really want that.”

  Giles’ left shoulder tipped up. “It might make him more amiable toward me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Nodding, Giles pursed his lips. “Don’t need him anyway.”

  “No,” Sebastian allowed. “But I don’t think he hates you as much as you think. I think he was merely shocked.”

  Giles’ impassive expression didn’t change, making Sebastian wonder why he’d even bothered to defend the man. “I’ll go to Telford tomorrow to see my cousin about the invitation.”

  Sebastian nodded. It was all he could ask for.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In the week that passed leading up to the house party, Isabelle could hardly sit still. Not for her own titter and excitement, mind you. It was Mrs. Finch who was all aflutter making plans and running errands in preparation for Lady Cosgrove’s house party.

  If anyone, whether ladies or gentlemen, had come by to call upon them they truly had not been at home.

  Finally, they were on their way to Telford and Isabelle could breathe.

  The only thing that would make it slightly better was if it was fresh air she was inhaling, but the air of the stuffy carriage would have to do. It was far better than being turned into a pincushion for the modiste.

  “I think you’ll find your husband this week,” Mrs. Finch said.

  Isabelle offered the older woman her best attempt at a smile. Because of the tardiness of the invitation, she hadn’t had a chance to speak to Simon Appleton again before leaving this morning, but if he were there as she expected, then yes, Mrs. Finch was right. She turned her attention out the window at the passing trees and fields. Was the prospect of marriage to Simon so bad? With his light brown hair and sparkling green eyes, he was undeniably handsome, if not a bit taller than most. If he aged like his father had, he’d still be devilishly handsome even when they were half a century old.

  But what of his personality? He was nice enough. All right, perhaps a bit too nice. Not that that was a bad thing necessarily. It was just odd. Yes. Odd. He was odd. Almost like Giles Goddard, Lord Norcourt. She almost choked on a giggle. Now that man was odd. But once again, not in a bad way. Just in a way that made her feel uncertain. There was no denying their family connection.

  The carriage jerked, jarring Isabelle from her thoughts. When she’d regained her composure, she stared across the carriage at Mrs. Finch and a small wave of sadness came over her. They’d kept each other company for five years now. If she married, Mrs. Finch wouldn’t have anyone. Her heart clenched and instinctively she reached across the carriage for Mrs. Finch’s wrinkled hand. “Would you like me to read to you?”

  Mrs. Finch put her free hand over top of Isabelle’s, a twinkle in her eyes. “Depends on the author.”

  Isabelle bit the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling. In recent years there was a particular author who’d become all the rage. All the rage to everyone except Mrs. Finch who’d once claimed novels written from the pen of (name withheld due to threat of being murdered by an old woman yielding a cane) were the most droll claptrap ever scribbled. “How about Where Art My Love by Michael Foxtrot?”

  Mrs. Finch nodded her approval. “That’s acceptable.” She narrowed her eyes. “But if you try to sneak in a passage by that Dreadfully Droll Busybody, I’ll take it from your pay.”

  “Ah, but I am an heiress now,” Isabelle teased.

  “Then I shall allow you to only go on walks with the oldest gentlemen in attendance at this party.”

  Isabelle grinned. She’d never been able to have such lighthearted exchange with anyone. A bubble of emotion suddenly formed in her throat. “Mrs. Finch, just because I have a fortune doesn’t mean I have to marry.”

  “Yes, you do,” Mrs. Finch said matter-of-factly. Her tone and face softened. “I won’t live much longer and from what I hear it’s not considered polite by the ton’s standards for a young girl to be a companion to a gravesite.”

  Despite herself, Isabelle smiled. “I know. But it just all seems so…sudden and definite. You offered me a post when I had nowhere else to go and I feel as if I’m abandoning you.”

  “Abandon me, dear,” Mrs. Finch said with a wide smile. “While I enjoy your company well enough, I believe you’ll enjoy the company of a husband more than that of an old prune of a woman.”

  Isabelle tried not to giggle. “But, how do I know which one is the right one to choose?”

  “That, I cannot tell you, but you’ll know.”

  Isabelle wasn’t so certain. The two who’d shown any interest in her beyond her money were not quite right. Edmund was old and his interest was friendly at best. Simon was just the opposite. Very enthusiastic about his interest. She exhaled and reclined against the squabs. Was that such a bad thing? It was certainly better than the cool interest of Edmund or the utter disinterest from Sebastian. She scowled. Why had he even entered her thoughts? Their last disagreement had firmly put an end to any sort of re
lationship, friendship or otherwise, they might have ever had. Which was absolutely for the best. A cynical tyrant like him was the last person she wanted to be around while looking for a husband.

  “He’s the one,” Mrs. Finch said, ripping Isabelle from her thoughts.

  “No, he’s not,” Isabelle said quickly. “Wait. H-how did you know who I was thinking about?”

  “Well, I don’t know specifically,” Mrs. Finch allowed. “But whoever it is who can put that sparkle in your eyes—even as defiant as it might be—is the right one.”

  “No, he’s not,” Isabelle said flatly. “He just—” she gripped her hands into two tight fists and gritted her teeth, searching for the right words— “Sebastian, he just—”

  “Brings out your passion?” Mrs. Finch suggested at the same time that Isabelle said, “Infuriates me.”

  Isabelle frowned. “If he strikes any passion, it’s not the good kind.”

  Mrs. Finch harrumphed. “Passion is passion, my dear. It’s all in what you do with it.”

  “I see. I suppose then you’d like for me to read—” Isabelle shuffled through her reticule for a novel by the author who shall remain nameless and flashed the cover in Mrs. Finch’s direction then shrugged. “It does illicit a certain passion in you.”

  “Passion that makes me want to rip someone apart,” Mrs. Finch retorted.

  “Ah, and my passion for Sebastian is about the same.”

  “No, my passion makes me want to rip the author apart, your passion makes you want to rip his clothes off. There’s a difference, dear.”

  Isabelle’s jaw dropped.

  “Now, are you going to read to me or do you need to be further scandalized into submission?” Mrs. Finch asked with a wink, looking rather pleased with herself.

  “I suppose you and Mr. Finch were a love match,” Isabelle mumbled as she numbly thumbed through the book to find where she’d left off yesterday.

  “Actually, no, but I had more than enough lovers in my time—”

  “‘Sophie crept down the stairs…’” Isabelle read almost loud enough to drown out Mrs. Finch’s half-chuckle, half-cackle.