Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Simon leaned back to allow a servant to fill his wine glass, his eyes never leaving Isabelle’s. “I should think a round of pall mall would be in order if the weather is to be so nice.”

  “Of course,” Isabelle agreed, feeling a bit of sympathy for both Simon, who was clearly trying to stake his claim, and Giles who was undoubtedly just trying to survive the week the same as she was.

  Charades followed dinner. Usually it was her least favorite game; but tonight she adored it for the only talking was in the form of guessing what was being acted out. No idle chitchat to be made. The only false pretense to be upheld was a smile that Isabelle had a strong suspicion rivaled a grimace.

  When charades were done, so was Isabelle. Thankful for the reprieve and praying that tomorrow tensions would fade away with today’s storm, she and Mrs. Finch made a hasty exit.

  “Thank you for leaving with me.”

  “Oh, I only left so we could have time for you to give me all the details of your day with Mr. Appleton.”

  Isabelle sighed and sank down onto the feather mattress. “I don’t know what to say. He’s so… He’s just…” She opened and closed her fists. “I don’t know how to describe it.”

  “He doesn’t evoke your passion,” Mrs. Finch said, sitting beside her. Her warm brown eyes were full of compassion.

  “Well, no, but I don’t need that. I just need him to—” She shrugged. “I don’t know how to describe it.” And that was the truth. She didn’t need any sort of great declaration of love from him. She only wanted him to be his real self. Neither tripping over himself trying to please her, nor so distant and distracted that he acted like she wasn’t there. There had to be a middle ground somewhere. She blew out a deep breath. “Perhaps I should just take Edmund up on his offer.”

  “You don’t sound very excited about that.”

  Isabelle started. Licking her lips, she reached for Mrs. Finch’s hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your—”

  “Nonsense. I wouldn’t wish to marry him if I were your age, either.”

  “So you won’t be angry if I don’t accept his suit?”

  “Angry?” Mrs. Finch shook her head vigorously. “Heavens no, I’d be more angry if you did.”

  “But he’s your nephew,” Isabelle pointed out.

  “And he’s still old enough to be your grandfather.” Her lips formed a tight line. “Besides, I don’t think he’s worthy.”

  Isabelle half-scoffed, half-choked on a giggle. “Not worthy? I think if anyone isn’t worthy it’d be me. He’s titled after all and I come with more scandals attached to my name than there are dukes in England.”

  “Even so, he’s not worthy.”

  Isabelle wondered what she’d meant, but didn’t think it was her place to ask Mrs. Finch to reveal something about her nephew that she’d rather not. “Do you think Simon is?”

  Mrs. Finch patted her hand, then stood. “That’s for you to decide.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Isabelle wanted to leave for London tonight. Never in her life had she ever believed she’d have such a thought, but as she shed her dressing robe and sat in her nightrail on the edge of her bed, she had to admit that it was true.

  Between Simon’s terse actions and Edmund’s keen gaze, she was going mad. Today hadn’t been a single bit better than the day before. In fact, it had been worse. Everywhere she and Simon went he was constantly looking over his shoulder. He wasn’t too obvious, mind you, but she’d noticed. He was likely looking for Giles, but who Isabelle had seen every time she’d chanced a glance was Edmund.

  She’d wondered what he was about, but decided she probably didn’t want to know. If she had to guess he was just trying to see if there was any real possibility that Isabelle would want to pursue a relationship with Simon as opposed to accepting his offer.

  Which, despite her earlier talk with Mrs. Finch, she still wasn’t sure who the better choice was after all.

  Isabelle exhaled in frustration and fell backward across the counterpane.

  “Is it so taxing to decide which suitor to encourage?”

  Isabelle shot up as straight as an arrow and crossed her arms over her chest to shield herself as best she could. Sebastian stood just outside her open window, grinning at her. “What are you doing here? And why do you always come visit me through the window?”

  Sebastian climbed inside her room and made himself comfortable sitting on the windowsill with his back pressed against the frame. “I didn’t think you’d let me in if I were to just knock—and if you did, I’d hate for someone to see us and be forced to marry. Again.”

  “Yes, that would be tragic,” Isabelle agreed. She’d reached for a pillow and held it over her front. “You never answered my question. Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “And that couldn’t have waited for tomorrow?”

  Sebastian crossed his ankles and knocked the sides of his boots together. “Since I’m not an invited guest, I don’t think that would be wise.”

  Isabelle didn’t know whether to laugh at the addled man for being such a coxcomb that he’d resorted to coming to a house party where he wasn’t invited and sneak around to avoid being seen or feel pity for him that he had nothing better to do with his time than to come spy on her. “Now that you’ve seen me and know that I’m neither betrothed nor courting an eminent scandal you may go home.”

  “Belle?”

  Isabelle started at the softness in his tone as he said her name. “Yes?”

  “Is anyone courting you?”

  She fought to keep the scowl off her face. “Yes. Simon Appleton. We’re…er…” She sighed. How did she explain this? “We have an understanding.”

  “An understanding?”

  “We’re courting with the idea that we’ll become betrothed.” Hadn’t she already explained this to him in London? So much was said that day, she honestly couldn’t remember.

  Sebastian let out a soft chuckle. “Isn’t that the goal of all courtships?”

  Isabelle would throw that blue pillow at his head if she didn’t need it to keep herself covered. “You know what I mean.”

  “I suppose.” He uncrossed his ankles and brought his right foot to the floor. “Are you happy with the idea?”

  “Of marrying Simon?”

  He nodded.

  “I suppose so. There aren’t many other options.”

  “No, there isn’t,” he agreed slowly. “You could always wait a year? Your fortune didn’t come with any demands of how soon you had to marry, did it?”

  “No.” She idly ran her fingers over the gold fringe that edged the pillow. “But I don’t see the point in waiting. I don’t think there will be very many more gentleman wishing to get married next year.”

  “Likely not. But neither do you need to rush.”

  She almost laughed. Almost. “You do realize that I’m two-and-twenty and I have one of the worst sorts of scandals attached to my name? I might be fortunate enough to make it through this Season on the favor that my newfound fortune has granted me, but I doubt I’ll get another such reprieve.”

  “And of all the gentlemen you met in London, Simon Appleton was the best?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re not just the slightest bit more excited that he’s taken such an active interest in you?”

  Isabelle sighed. “I don’t know. At first, his interest was annoying and now…” She shrugged.

  “Now?”

  “Now, it’s almost like his interest in me is feigned. No, not feigned. I think he’s still genuine. He’s just…distracted.”

  “Distracted with other young ladies?”

  Was it just her or had his voice just held a slight edge. Isabelle shook off the thought. “Actually, no.”

  “No?” Sebastian choked.

  “No,” Isabelle confirmed. “He’s been preoccupied with your friend Lord Norcourt.”

  “Ah.” Sebastian crossed his arms. “I should have
guessed that would be the problem.”

  “And just what did you guess was the problem.”

  He waved her off. “Never mind that. What we need is a plan.”

  “A plan?”

  Sebastian’s answer was to tap his foot and drum his fingers on his jaw.

  A sense of dread built inside Isabelle. This couldn’t be good. “I don’t need any help. I’m sure once we all go back to London he’ll be as attentive as he was before.”

  “I think what you need to do is make sure he knows you exist,” Sebastian announced as if he hadn’t heard her protests.

  “I believe he’s well aware of my existence already. He’s just not as attentive as he once was.” She twirled the gold fringe some more. “That could be my own doing. I told him not to ask me to marry him again until he had absolutely no doubt I’d say yes.”

  “Perhaps then he’s changed his tack and is just trying to be elusive in hopes of attracting you more.”

  “That would be a preferable method, but I don’t think that’s his goal. He’s constantly staring at Giles or looking over his shoulder for him.”

  “Have you asked him why he’s so interested in Giles’ activities?”

  “No, but I suggested they should talk.”

  Sebastian groaned. “Men do not ‘talk’, Belle.”

  “Well, these two need to. Simon is either jealous or confused at Giles’ sudden appearance and it’s coming in the way of our courtship.”

  “A bit of both, I think,” Sebastian said. “Giles mentioned to me that while he’s known all along that Simon existed. It would seem that Simon didn’t know.” Frowning, he continued. “I’m not sure exactly how that would work. You’d have thought at some moment over the past twenty years Lord Norcourt would have been mentioned, so perhaps he’d heard of him, but it wasn’t real until the other night. I don’t know nor do I wish to ask either of them about it. That’s not my concern. You are.”

  A chill ran up Isabelle’s spine at the way he’d said those last two words. “I know you mean well, Sebastian, but no, I’m not your concern any longer.”

  He twisted his lips into a partial smile. “Regardless of what you might think, I still have an obligation to you.”

  Another chill ran up her spine. One far less appealing than the last. An obligation? Just who did he think he was? Moreover, just who did he think she was? “There is no such thing. You aren’t obligated to do anything for me any more than I am obligated to scrub the floor of this room before I leave for home.”

  “You know what I meant. I agreed to help you find a husband—”

  “I’ve already told you, I don’t need your help any longer.”

  “Oh, so it doesn’t bother you that your only suitor is distracted by another man?”

  “Get out,” she snapped.

  “Not until you let me give you some advice.”

  “I don’t need your advice. It’s time for you to leave.”

  “Make me.”

  Isabelle got off the bed and walked over to him. “So help me, Sebastian, I’d push you out this window if I didn’t think hitting your head on the floor of the balcony would kill what few cells you still possess in that brain box of yours.”

  He grinned at her. “Try it. My head is thick enough to protect me. Should you actually make me fall, that is.”

  She ground her teeth, desperately tempted to take him up on his challenge.

  “Come on, Belle,” he goaded.

  Gripping her pillow in front of her, she debated her options. If she were to earnestly give him her best shove, she’d have to drop the pillow. Was that his goal? Surely not. He’d seen her in far less than a thin nightrail and had openly told her his response would have been the same no matter who it was showing herself to him that way. He didn’t wish to see her that way again. He was just trying to provoke her, and it was working. “Remind me to lock the window of every room I stay in, in the future,” she murmured, taking a step back.

  “But then I couldn’t give you any more advice. You think about it tomorrow while you’re being ignored.” He flashed her a smile and easily swung his body out of her window and onto the balcony, leaving her both relieved and unsettled at the same time.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sebastian said a brief prayer of thanksgiving as he jumped from the balcony of Isabelle’s room. Had she been any higher than the second floor, he’d have had to find a different way into her room. A second floor room was easy enough, especially since she had a balcony. Now he just had to walk to the front of the estate and count the number of windows to find which room belonged to Giles.

  Rounding the front of the three-story, brown brick, E-shaped estate, Sebastian stopped. Philip, the footman he’d bribed earlier, said Giles was staying in the room connected to the third balcony from the northwest corner of the house. Sebastian counted the balconies and made his way to the room with the wide open curtains. That should have given Giles away without Sebastian having to pay a coin. Unlike most who liked their bedchamber nice and dark at night, Giles preferred to keep his curtains open as wide as they’d go to allow moonlight to flood the room.

  Sebastian spotted a brick about three feet from the ground that poked out of the wall a little further than the rest. He put his booted foot on it and gripped another brick above his head with his left hand to stabilize himself enough to reach the bottom lip of the balcony with his right hand. Latching on, he pulled himself up and with a maneuver he’d rather never give the details of where he learned it, he swung himself up onto the balcony, his back slamming the wooden planks with a hard thwack.

  “Impressive,” Giles greeted.

  “Thanks,” Sebastian panted. He took another two breaths then stood. “I need to talk to you.”

  “It must be urgent.”

  “No.”

  Giles lifted his eyebrows then turned to open the door that led to his room.

  Sebastian followed him inside, feeling suddenly like a fool. “I hope you don’t mind I came by. I needed to talk to you.”

  Giles flopped down on a chair, leaving Sebastian the choice to either stand or sit on Giles’ bed. Sebastian stood.

  “Are you aware of what’s going on at this party?”

  Giles blinked. “I think so.”

  “Lady Cosgrove is trying to find you a wife.” Sebastian almost groaned. Of course she was. That’s what every lady, no matter what her age or rank, took it upon themselves to do for any unattached man of their acquaintance. “What I mean is that I think she’s gravely serious in her pursuit for you to get married.” There, that was a tactful way to say it without saying too much.

  “I know.”

  “Do you want to marry?” Sebastian had always just assumed that Giles’ lack of interest in ladies in general was just part of who he was: not interested. Perhaps Sebastian had been wrong. That, or Lady Cosgrove had said something to Giles when he’d come to Telford to seek Sebastian an invitation that made Giles suddenly decide he wanted to get married.

  “Never thought about it before.”

  “All right,” Sebastian said slowly, trying to make sense of everything. “So you’re thinking about it now. At this party?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And?”

  “Have you found a lady who strikes your fancy?”

  “She’s taken.”

  Sebastian bit back a grin. Perhaps Lady Cosgrove was onto something by hosting this party for Giles after all. “All right, so you have a lady in mind. Can I ask who she is?”

  Giles started. “No.”

  Sebastian held his hands up in front of himself. “All right, all right, keep your secrets.” He crossed his arms. “Would you like some advice?”

  “No.”

  “You said she’s taken. Is she the only one you have an interest in?” He had a hard time believing any of the ladies who’d come to this party were otherwise taken with any of the unsuitable pack of gentlemen who’d been invited so she must have a suitor wai
ting for her in London.

  “It’s not really an interest. She’s just the only one I’d consider.”

  “I see and does she know this?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps if she did—”

  “No!”

  Sebastian stilled at the sharpness in Giles’ voice. He’d never heard the man use such a tone before. Ever. “So what of the others? Do you plan to get to know them or wait until you get back to London?”

  Giles shrugged. “Don’t have a choice.”

  “What do you mean you don’t have a choice?”

  “I must marry.”

  “Must?” Sebastian scoffed. “Nobody must marry.”

  “I must. Lord Cosgrove has demanded it.”

  “Lord Cosgrove?”

  Giles tapped his fingertips together. “He was one of my father’s closest friends and has control of my money. He says I won’t get any more unless I marry.”

  “He controls your money?”

  Giles nodded. “My father thought.” Giles swallowed. “He thought I wouldn’t be capable of running the barony so he set everything into a trust that Lord Cosgrove controls.”

  That certainly explained why Giles had grown up in Ireland and had no real interest in coming to London until very recently. “If your father didn’t think you were capable, then why is Lord Cosgrove so adamant that you marry.”

  “An heir.”

  Sebastian pondered how to ask what might be better left unspoken: if Giles wasn’t good enough for the old baron to raise as his son and not capable to run the barony then why did his male issue matter?

  As if reading his mind, Giles said, “The delivering physician said my condition wouldn’t pass down to my children.”

  “Did he say what makes him so certain of that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are there any conditions surrounding the wife you choose or just that you pick one?”

  Giles’ blank expression was his only response, sparking a glimmer of hope in Sebastian. Perhaps his earlier suggestion wouldn’t be met with as much opposition this time.

  “What of Belle?”

  “Belle?”

  “Isabelle Knight,” Sebastian clarified.