Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Josephine was finally revived with the help of a vinaigrette used so liberally the bedchamber smelled of the vile odor for the remainder of the night, forcing them to retire to another bedchamber. She explained what had happened, praising his lovemaking skills as she did so. Not quite sure he wanted his mistress to faint on him again, though, he had avoided bed­ding her in favor of conversation.

  Having spent the entire summer at his estate in West Sus­sex learning about women—their desires, their needs, their fears, and their beliefs about men—he decided it was time to put his new knowledge to the test. Armed with what he thought was enough information to get him through a ton ball or any society event, George agreed to Josephine’s suggestion that he attend three events scheduled during the next week— Lord Weatherstone’s ball, Lady Worthington’s ball, and a tour of the latest acquisitions at the British Museum. He promised Josephine he would use those occasions to seek out and speak only with members of the fairer sex. He had also promised Josephine he would ask at least one lady to accompany him in his curricle for a drive in Hyde Park.

  Chapter 15

  Lessons of a Mistress Put into Play

  Josephine’s advice proved invaluable during the ball’s supper. For after Lady Charlotte had finished her comment to Lady Elizabeth about the health of Joshua Wainwright, the new Duke of Chichester, Lady Elizabeth introduced George to Lady Charlotte.

  “Mr. Bennett-Jones,” she started to say, as she indicated him with a wave of her hand.

  No one need know you have a title until it becomes neces­sary for them to know. Use it as a last resort, Josephine had instructed. “Please, call me George,” he insisted as he nodded to both ladies.

  The eyes of both widened, indicating he had shocked them just a bit with his plea. “George,” Lady Elizabeth said, as if she were saying it for the very first time in her life, drawing out the name so that it was two syllables rather than just the one boring syllable he’d heard hundreds of times in his life. “I would like you to meet Lady Charlotte Bingham, daughter of Lord Ellsworth.”

  George, who was hearing her say his name in his mind for at least the third time, as if he stood on the edge of a canyon, and it was echoing to him in that marvelous voice of hers, nearly missed the introduction. He knew who Lady Charlotte was, though, since he had been in Sussex when the Wainwright fire occurred. News had reached him that the daughter of Edward Bingham had made a hasty trip to Kirdford to retrieve Joshua Wainwright and arrange his transport to a hospital in London.

  George bowed and then took Lady Charlotte’s gloved hand to kiss the back of it. “My lady, it is so good to make your acquaintance. I must inform you everyone in Sussex looks for­ward to your becoming the Duchess of Chichester,” he said with a solemn nod. “And to the day Wainwright can assume his duties as duke.” He pulled out the chair next to Elizabeth’s. “I do hope his recovery is going as well as I have heard. Will you join us?” he added as he held out an arm to indicate the chair next to Elizabeth’s.

  Lady Charlotte cocked her head to one side, the look on her face indicating she was very surprised by his comments. Pleasantly surprised, if one read her reaction correctly.

  Charlotte wasn’t aware anyone in Sussex even knew she was betrothed to the new duke.

  At least, she hoped she was betrothed to the duke.

  And everyone in London seemed to think her betrothed was on his deathbed. Badly burned, yes. Disfigured on one side of his face and along one side of his body, yes. About to die? No.

  Not if she could help it.

  “Why, thank you … George,” she replied, her eyes quickly glancing in Elizabeth’s direction before she took the proffered chair and gave George a tentative smile.

  Make them feel as if they are the only women in the room, he remembered Josephine’s words. “May I fill a plate for you?” George asked then, noticing Lady Charlotte had neither food nor drink. He motioned for a footman and a glass of cham­pagne was placed in front of Charlotte.

  Charlotte exchanged a quick look with Elizabeth, noticing the filled plate George had deposited in front of her. “That’s very kind of you, George, but a footman can see to my meal.” She nodded to the servant nearest their table and pointed at the plate that rested in front of Elizabeth. The servant took note, nodded, and was off to the buffet table. “I feel as if I have interrupted,” she spoke quietly, as George took the chair on the other side of Elizabeth.

  Lady Elizabeth shook her head. “Not at all. George escorted me to supper since he so elegantly rescued me from a fate worse than death.” She reached out with a gloved hand to pat his sleeve. Warmth crept through his arm at her light touch.

  Lady Charlotte’s eyes widened at the implication of Eliza­beth’s statement.

  Keep your compliments light, and be self-deprecating when it makes sense to do so.

  George leaned forward a bit to catch Lady Charlotte’s eye. “She means the Duke of Somerset, of course,” he said in a teas­ing voice. “I just happened to be in the right spot when he grew another left foot. Although if I had not been, Lady Elizabeth would have managed to finish the supper dance even more beautifully without me.” He finished his comment by wink­ing at Elizabeth, the wink witnessed by her and her friend but by no one else in the room. Elizabeth’s sudden inhalation of breath was quickly covered by her hand while it was Char­lotte’s turn to giggle. “George,” she whispered in astonishment. “Everyone knows the Duke of Somerset already has two left feet!” The three of them broke out into laughter that drew the attention of several nearby diners, who, when they realized the joke was private, merely smiled and returned to their suppers.

  Ask questions that show you are truly interested. And then listen to their replies.

  “So, tell me Lady Elizabeth. What is your favorite enter­tainment?” he wondered, noting the footman was setting down a plate full of a little bit of everything in front of Lady Charlotte. Her eyes were once again wide as she took in the sight. George took the opportunity to eat a sweetmeat from the plate he and Elizabeth were sharing, although Elizabeth had so far only helped herself to a strawberry. He’d watched in agony—as her lips surrounded the red fruit, as her finger­tips pulled out the stem and leaves, as she swallowed the ripe berry—before she turned to answer his question.

  He found himself wondering if she would ever allow him to feed her.

  “I rather enjoy the theatre, but I find that those in the audience seem far more interested in the rest of the audience rather than in what is happening on the stage,” she commented before helping herself to something else on the plate.

  “And isn’t that because you are more interesting?” he coun­tered playfully. Dare I say what I really want to say? The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them. “You’re certainly more lovely than any of the actresses in Drury Lane. But I digress. Opera or plays?”

  The two ladies exchanged quick glances, as if they couldn’t believe their supper companion’s banter. “You are too kind, George,” Elizabeth said in response to the compliment, her face taking on a pretty pink hue. “I prefer plays,” she added, attempting to keep her lips in a tight line but failing. A brilliant smile appeared, and Elizabeth put a hand up to her mouth to cover it.

  “Forgive us, George,” Charlotte said as she leaned forward to better see him. “Lady Elizabeth and I just saw ‘A Midsum­mer’s Night Dream’ last night, and we were most amused by the story.”

  “And by a certain actor,” Elizabeth interrupted before roll­ing her eyes. “He made a spectacle of himself, and he had the entire audience laughing so hard, the other actors could not speak their lines.”

  George grinned. Although he hadn’t been to the theatre in months, he was at least familiar with some of Shakespeare’s works. “A fan of the Bard, are you?” he asked then, hoping he wasn’t getting into the wrong territory. He realized immedi­ately after he asked the question that he was, but it was too late to steer the conversation to a different topic.

  Elizabeth sob
ered quickly, considering his question. “The comedies, yes. The tragedies, not so much.”

  Charlotte placed a hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “We’ve had a bit too much tragedy in real life,” she said and dropped her eyes to their dinner plates. Between the two women, they had managed to eat most of the finger foods from both plates.

  George thought at first the tragedy to which they referred was the quick consumption of their food, but he gave up on that idea when Elizabeth reached out and helped herself to the last of the rolls of roast beef and cheese.

  Offer condolences when appropriate, help when needed, and be a knight in shining armor whenever given the opportunity.

  Taking on a look of concern, George said, “I am, of course, familiar with your tragedy, Lady Charlotte, but Lady Elizabeth, whatever has happened?”

  The woman dared a glance in his direction, her solemn face suddenly turning a bright pink. Her eyes glanced at the chandeliers above before she returned her attention to George. Lady Charlotte’s face took on a look of curiosity, as if she wasn’t already privy to the tragedy that had beset Lady Elizabeth.

  “Oh, my God, Lady Elizabeth, whatever has happened?” George asked, his voice full of concern as he reached over to take her hand in his. He placed his other hand atop hers, stroking it gently.

  Suddenly embarrassed and a bit surprised he would take her hand in his, Elizabeth took a deep breath, her glance drop­ping to his hands. I have to tell someone! “This is not nearly so tragic as what Lady Charlotte has had to endure, I assure you. In fact, you both will likely find it … humorous. Even so, you must promise you won’t … please say you won’t laugh at me.” This edict was directed at both George and Charlotte. “And you cannot think ill of me, for I was not a willing participant,” she added with a quick shake of her head.

  “Of course, I will not,” George promised, his hands tight­ening over one of hers. He felt her pulse quicken. Was he hold­ing her hand too tightly and cutting off her circulation? He didn’t sense she wanted him to let go, so he simply held on.

  “I certainly will not,” Charlotte agreed, now hanging onto Elizabeth’s other hand.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes, causing the tears that had welled up to spill out the corners. “I experienced my first kiss earlier this evening,” she announced quietly, her eyes opening and still bright with tears. “I did not initiate it, of course. It hap­pened quite by surprise,” she said in her own defense. There were those who thought a kiss before marriage scandalous, after all. “And it was horrible!” She could hardly believe she was telling a stranger she’d been kissed! And badly. What must this man think of me?

  Glancing at Elizabeth’s empty champagne glass, Charlotte realized why her friend’s tongue was so loose.

  George’s first thought had him believing he had somehow become the brunt of a joke the two girls were playing. Per­haps Elizabeth had seen him behind the hedgerow and knew he had paid witness to at least the sound of her kiss with But­ter Blond. But Charlotte’s mouth had dropped open before she had a chance to cover it with her free hand. She looked suitably stunned by Elizabeth’s announcement. George wondered if her shock was because Elizabeth had admitted to being kissed or if she was shocked because the kiss had been horrible.

  He fished his handkerchief out of his waistcoat pocket, silently praising Elkins for having insisted he take one with his initials embroidered in one corner. Handing it to Lady Eliza­beth, he said quietly. “I wish to offer my sincerest condolences, Lady Elizabeth, and assure you that whoever kissed you prob­ably lacked any … proper instruction … in the art of kissing,” he managed to get out, his voice sounding appropriately solemn.

  Glancing about the chambers to see who was still awake, George remembered that particular line about the ‘art of kiss­ing’ and felt especially proud he’d been able to pull it off with such aplomb. The reactions from Lady Elizabeth and Lady Charlotte were priceless.

  “Proper instruction?” Charlotte repeated, her eyes once again wide with surprise.

  “The art of kissing?” Elizabeth repeated, her attention entirely on George. “It’s an art?”

  George’s eyes flicked between the two ladies. “Well, of course,” he replied hesitantly, rather enjoying the attention the women showered on him at that moment. A brilliant idea formed in his head, almost too fast for him to fully consider before he blurted, “Should you wish me to, I would be happy to help erase the memory of that horrible kiss with one far more suited to you, Lady Elizabeth.”

  Besides her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ to match the one that already adorned Lady Charlotte’s face, Lady Elizabeth bat­ted her eyelashes at least three times, apparently in surprise.

  If she created any kind of breeze in doing so, George wasn’t aware of it.

  His own eyes were so captivated by the aquamarine of hers, he couldn’t look away. Indeed, he decided he could drown in them quite happily. (He’d be dead, of course, but then he wouldn’t have to sit in chambers and be bored by the proceedings—so bored that he wished he were dead.)

  The impertinence of his offer suddenly struck him, though, and he finally closed his own eyes, breaking the spell she had cast over him. “Forgive me,” he begged then, swallow­ing in disgust at himself. What have I done? He was convinced he had ruined his chances with the beautiful woman.

  Apologize! He could hear Josephine’s voice in his head even as he realized he must make amends.

  “Lady Elizabeth, it was most … inappropriate of me to make you such an offer. Can you ever forgive me?” He dared to look into her eyes again and was surprised by what he found there. For he found her gaze was not one of disgust or offense, but rather one of … interest … intrigue, perhaps, as if his sug­gestion held some merit for her.

  “Are you claiming, George Bennett-Jones, that you are a better kisser than Lord Trenton?” Elizabeth wondered, her voice so low he barely heard it above the din of nearby diners. Her lips were entirely too close to his jaw, so close he could feel her warm breath wash over his skin. If he turned his face just so, he could capture those lips with his own and prove his point that very instant. But the words she had just spoken were finally percolating into his addled brain.

  Are you a better kisser than Lord Trenton?

  So it was Gabriel Wellingham, he of the butter blond curls and cool blue eyes and blue satin breeches and matching top­coat, who was the horrible kisser!

  George had to use every bit of control he possessed to keep his face impassive and to prevent his impulse to shout out in pure, unadulterated joy. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he agreed with a careful nod, allowing his face to take on the expression that Josephine assured him made him look most handsome.

  He dared a glance at Charlotte, wondering if she was privy to Elizabeth’s words. Would he need to prove himself to her, too? Because, as he gave that thought some consideration, he realized he had no intention of kissing the woman Joshua Wainwright was destined to marry.

  But he suddenly had every intention of kissing Lady Eliza­beth Carlington.

  “I must think on this,” Elizabeth replied quietly, swallow­ing nervously and taking a deep breath as she continued to regard him with those gorgeous aquamarine eyes.

  “Of course,” George stated, nodding with what he hoped looked like reassurance. Thinking fast, he realized his moment of opportunity was about to pass. The musicians would begin to play shortly, and those in the supper room would soon be making their way back to the ballroom. “May I inquire, Lady Elizabeth, do you plan to attend Lady Worthington’s ball?” The widow always hosted an early autumn ball, an event con­sidered a requirement for unmarried ladies to attend as Lady Worthington saw to it that every eligible bachelor worth any kind of fortune was invited.

  At one point, George thought Adele Slater Worthington hosted the event so she might find a suitable groom for herself.

  Lady Worthington had been married to Samuel Worthing­ton, a self-made man who had earned his fortune building the early steamships. When he die
d quite suddenly, the glamorous woman was left with a vast fortune—a fortune entirely avail­able for her to spend as she saw fit. Her charities included help for war orphans and war widows, but many suitors hoped she could be persuaded to marry so that she might use it to pay off their gambling debts.

  William Weston (a distant cousin to John Weston, the tailor) had almost managed to get Lady Worthington to the altar. Her discovery of his excessive debts prompted the widow to call off the wedding, however. She’d later explained to a friend that the damning information had been delivered in the form of a letter from Lady Ellsworth, who claimed to have learned of Weston’s debts when she overheard her hus­band talking with Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington. George thought it rather fortuitous timing for the earl, for no sooner had the wedding been called off than Grandby began calling on the widow. The two had spent the entire Season attending every event as a couple and most of the summer together at his estate. Now Grandby would be standing alongside Lady Worthington, playing host for the ball that would take place two night’s hence.

  “Oh, yes. I am very much looking forward to Lady Wor­thinton’s ball,” Elizabeth stated as she included Charlotte in her answer by turning her attention to her friend. “You are coming, too, Lottie?” she asked rhetorically. “Lady Worthing­ton’s balls are always the very best.”