Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Henry nearly chastised himself. He hadn’t intended to kiss the chit. At least, not like this. Their earlier peck next to the phaeton could hardly be considered a kiss. But she had looked at him as if she expected him to kiss her, a gaze that clearly invited him to at least press his lips to hers. So he had done it, and, out of a sense of propriety, ended it as quickly as he could. They were in the park, for God’s sake. Anyone might have spotted them.

  But now they were hidden behind a series of hedgerows and trees that already displayed their early spring greenery. He had asked if he could court her, for what? The third time? And she stood there with an expression that gave away noth­ing, and then informed him that she thought he had already begun. The minx, indeed. Of course, he had to kiss her at that point. What else could he do? And should her lips remain parted, as they clearly were as his lips settled onto them, well, it was her own damn fault that his tongue was going to want to participate.

  He hadn’t expected hers to get involved, too!

  For a girl who had only been out for one Season, Henry was astonished at her behavior. How many men had she kissed like this? And did she leave them all feeling as if their kiss was the most important act of courting in the world of courtship?

  Perhaps a kiss was, he considered suddenly. This one cer­tainly ranked at the top of his list as the most satisfying, most all-consuming, intimate, powerful kiss he had ever bestowed on a woman. Which probably wasn’t saying much since he had only ever kissed Sarah. And she didn’t like to be kissed.

  At some point, he would have to end it. At some point, his cock was going to make itself readily apparent behind the fall of his doeskin breeches. And given her close proximity to that particular location—she was practically plastered against the front of his body—she was about to find out just how aroused this kiss was making him. In her defense, though, he had been the one to pull her that close, his one arm lashed about her waist while the other had moved from her jaw to her neck to the back of her head, just under the damned bonnet that he wished he could remove so he could undo the pins in her hair and run his fingers through the silken strands.

  He had to end this. Now.

  Hannah gently pulled her lips away from Henry’s, her eyes still a bit unfocused and her lips feeling every bit as swollen as her breasts and that space between her thighs. Even knowing he would kiss her, properly this time, she was sure, Hannah was still unprepared for the sensations his lips and tongue created as their mouths met. This was the kind of kiss Elizabeth had spoken of, the kind of kiss where lips were parted and tongues tasted and explored and debutantes were ruined. What have I done? she wondered as she tasted him on her tongue, the sensation of his teeth and tongue still lingering there. She had allowed him to pull her against his body, so there was very little, if any, space between them. His lips on hers had been … perfect. A perfect fit. And he was gazing down at her with just a hint of surprise on his face, as if he, too, couldn’t believe what they had done.

  She placed a hand along the side of his jaw and lifted her lips back to his, giving him a quick kiss before removing her hand to rest on his shoulder and settling her feet back onto solid ground. No wonder she had been pressed against the front of his body—she had been standing on tiptoes and would have fallen over otherwise! Well, except that his hand was still firmly at her back.

  Henry blinked. And then, because he didn’t know what else to do, he lowered his lips onto hers in a quick counter-kiss to hers. As he raised his face from hers, he watched as her lips curled up into a mysterious little smile. “You’ve done this before,” he accused, his voice kept light despite the fact that he was suddenly feeling … possessive? Jealous?

  Hannah’s eyes widened. “I assure you, Gisborn, I have never been kissed like that. Nor have I ever …” She allowed the sentence to trail off as she shook her head, as much in denial as in wonderment.

  Henry’s eyebrow arched so that it nearly touched the errant curl that rested on his forehead. “Never?” he countered. There wasn’t any malice in his question, but Hannah clearly heard the disbelief in his voice.

  Hannah dipped her head. “When I was twelve, my brother dared my elder cousin to kiss me, but, I assure you, it was more like the peck you gave me back at the phaeton,” she explained with another shake of her head. She didn’t notice Henry’s sudden look of offense; he had replaced it with an impassive expression before Hannah lifted her head so that she could regard him directly. “And I do not believe Harold’s kisses count, but if you insist on including them, well, I assure you, I have never kissed him back,” she stated rather firmly, suddenly feeling a great deal of shame at her wanton behavior. Her face had to be bright pink. She had never done anything so impul­sive in her life! She had behaved like Elizabeth! But at least Elizabeth had been kissing a man who had already declared his affection for her, if not his intention to marry her.

  Henry had only asked if he could court her.

  The sound of Henry’s chuckle brought her eyes back up to his. He was shaking his own head back and forth as he noticed the soft pink blush that colored her face. She was rather fetch­ing when she was embarrassed. “Well, should you ever wish to bestow such kisses on me again, I think I shall not mind,” he murmured, his face a study in controlled mirth. And then, as quickly as his humor had shown itself, it disappeared. “If your father hasn’t already sent out a rescue squad for you, he will do so momentarily. I should get you back home.”

  Surprised at his remark—did he really mean she was invited to kiss him should she wish to again?—Hannah took a deep breath and nodded. Given how eager her father had been to have her join Gisborn on the ride in the park, she rather doubted he would send a search party so quickly.

  Perhaps only after a fortnight or so.

  After all, wasn’t that how long it took to get to Gretna Green and back if a couple decided to elope?

  “Will you be at the Attenborough’s ball this evening?” Hannah wondered, thinking she would save him two dances if he so wished. She placed her hand in his and climbed up and onto the phaeton, forgetting about keeping her ankles covered as she did so. The earl’s attention had moved from seeing her safely onto the conveyance to the briefly exposed ankle when she pulled her skirts onto the bench seat.

  Henry lifted his head and considered the question. “I do not know if I have been invited,” he replied with a shrug. “There is a stack of correspondence at my house in Bruton Street, but I fear I’ve not yet had a chance to read it.” He undid the horse’s reins from around the tree where he had parked the phaeton and easily climbed up into the seat. He didn’t add that he rather doubted there would be an invitation to a ball given by someone he had never met.

  “Lady Attenborough is quite vexed that there won’t be enough gentlemen at her ball,” Hannah stated, placing her hand on his arm when he had the horse and phaeton back onto the carriage way. “If I could secure an invitation on your behalf, would you consider attending?” Even as the words left her lips, she realized how fast she sounded. She was practically inviting him to be her escort!

  “Will you allow me to escort you?” he wondered, nego­tiating the phaeton past a curricle that had stopped so its occupant could converse with a man on horseback. Hannah recognized the man in the curricle as one of her suitors from last Season, but his attention was squarely on Lady Penelope, a veteran of two Seasons who had yet to make an advantageous match despite her considerable dowry.

  Hannah grinned at his query. “If my father allows it, then, yes,” she hedged, her facing pinking up again.

  Henry grinned, thinking how easy it was to court a lady. “I must warn you. I have not yet taken ownership of my new town coach, and the one I have with me on this trip is posi­tively ancient,” he started to explain.

  Her grin broadening, Hannah leaned in so her shoulder grazed his. “The Attenboroughs live across the street from Devonville House.”

  “I’ll call on you at nine,” he countered as the phaeton passed through the park ga
tes. “You must promise me three dances …”

  Hannah’s gasp could probably have been heard by the coach that followed them. “Gisborn!” she started to admonish him. A debutante never danced more than twice with any gen­tleman. But he was already holding up a finger, as if to make an additional request.

  “Including the supper dance. And I plan to take you for a turn on their terrace, or in their gardens, or wherever it’s dark or dimly lit.”

  Hannah’s mouth was now open in a most unbecoming expression of shock. “Gisborn!” she said again.

  “Well, I shouldn’t want us to be where just anyone could see us should you wish to bestow another kiss on me,” he explained, his barely contained mirth finally turning into a teasing smile.

  “Gisborn!” was all Hannah could say in reply, not yet real­izing his comments were made to shock her for the sole pur­pose of hearing his name said in her lyrical voice.

  And, despite the impropriety of his requests, Hannah was quite sure she would grant him every one.

  Dearest Charlotte,

  I hope this letter finds you happy and in good health. I write quickly and with a happy heart as Henry Forster, the Earl of Gisborn, has brought word of your impending nuptials to your beloved duke. You may even be married as I write! (I am led to believe Wainwright would obtain a special license.) I also write with a happy heart to Thank You for your recommendation of me to Lord Gisborn. He called on Father this morning to ask permission to court me! Which, of course, Father was happy to provide. He seems most impatient to see me settled. Gisborn then took me on a ride in the Park, where conversation came easily between us. He asked if he could court me; I don’t mind telling you I waited until his third query on the matter before giving him my blessing and kissing him (Elizabeth has been most firm with me as to kissing, assuring me it is Necessary to kiss a man to whom you expect to wed). As Gisborn is in a hurry to return to his farms in Oxfordshire, and to his son and the boy’s mother, I am led to believe that, should he ask for my hand, he, too, will obtain a special license and see to it we are wed within a week! Can you imagine? This evening, we are to attend a ball at Lord Attenborough’s house. As Lady A. is always concerned about a lack of gentlemen this early in the Season, I was able to secure an invitation for Gisborn. He will join Father and me for the walk across the street. Although it is only fashionable to arrive at a ton ball by carriage, I can think of nothing more ridiculous when a ball is merely across the street. I shall feel quite special being escorted by not just one, but two gentlemen. I must end this in order that Lily can dress me for tonight. I wish you happy, Charlotte! Or, should I say, Your Grace? Sincerely, Hannah.

  Chapter 6

  A Ball and a Wedding

  Lily completed ironing the last of a series of ringlets into Hannah’s hair and stepped back, admiring the series of tiny braids that wrapped around a tumble of curls atop her mistress’ head. Hannah had been quite clear with her instructions for her hair and seemed more concerned than usual about which ball gown to wear. A white chiffon Grecian column gown with braided chiffon ties crossing beneath her breasts won out over the white satin de Naples gown for the simple reason it made her look like a titled woman. A countess? she hoped as she reviewed her profile in the looking glass. The maid wondered at her sudden interest. “Is there something special about the Attenborough’s ball, milady?” she wondered, placing a series of pearl-tipped pins into the elaborate coiffure.

  Hannah opened a pot of lip color, a cosmetic she rarely used. She had not yet told her maid about the earl who had asked to court her just that morning. Gisborn had returned her to Devonville House, along with the phaeton, and given his thanks to her father for the use of it. With one last kiss on the back of her hand, the earl took his leave, saying that should she be able to secure an invitation to the ball for him, he would return at precisely nine o’clock. Hannah glanced at the mantle clock, a surge of nervousness welling inside her. It was nearly that now.

  “An earl has asked to court me,” she admitted, a lifted shoulder suggesting earls asked for permission to court her every day.

  “Oh!” Lily replied as a smile spread on her face. “The gentleman who called on your father earlier today, perhaps?” she asked, attaching pearl ear bobs to Hannah’s earlobes. She had attempted to catch a glimpse of the man from her vantage point at the top of the stairs, but he had already passed by the time she dared take a peek.

  Even before Hannah could dip her pinky into the color pot, the sound of horses pulling a carriage came from the street below. Of course, there should be the sound of horses and carriages, she scolded herself. A ball was about to start across the street. But just as she finished applying the barest hint of lip color, she heard the front door closing. “I think he’s here,” she whispered, the nervousness in her belly growing. Just the thought of Henry Forster set flutterbies to tumbling in her stomach. She remembered the feel of hardened mus­cles beneath her hands when she’d had to hold onto him as he helped her down from the phaeton—twice! And the feel of his hands as they gripped the sides of her waist—she was sure she could feel their warmth even through his driving gloves and her gown and corset. Hannah pulled on her long white gloves and watched as Lily placed a string of pearls around her neck.

  “There,” Lily said with a great deal of satisfaction. “Now you truly look like a fairy princess.” She continued to admire Hannah’s reflection. “And who will be your prince?” she won­dered, curious as to the identity of the man.

  Hannah grinned, a dimple appearing in one cheek. “The Earl of Gisborn.”

  Lily’s face fell in an instant. “I beg pardon, milady?” she whispered, one hand going to her chest as if she had been physically struck.

  Noting her maid’s look of shock, Hannah turned to face her directly. “What is it, Lily?” Becoming alarmed, she reached for the servant’s hand. “You look as if …” She paused. “Do you … know the earl?” she asked, remembering the girl had come to London from Oxfordshire.

  “Randolph Forster?” Lily whispered, her eyes too wide. “He’s awfully … old,” she managed to get out.

  Relaxing back into her vanity chair, Hannah dipped her head. “So old, in fact, that he has passed on,” she whispered back. “Henry Forster, his nephew, inherited the earldom.”

  The news seemed to take a great deal of time for Lily to process. “Henry? The farmer?” she spoke, her attention no lon­ger on her mistress. Her eyes came back to regard Hannah. “He is …” Her face reddened and she stepped back.

  “In love with another,” Hannah finished for her. “Yes, I know. He told me about the mother of his son,” she explained, wondering how much more Lily knew of the family.

  Taking a deep breath, Lily’s nodded. “Mr. Forster is a very … handsome man,” she offered finally. “I saw him a time or two when my mother and I would go to Bampton to shop.”

  One of Hannah’s eyebrows popped up. “Indeed? Did you actually live near the Gisborn estate?” she wondered, her hands folding in her lap. Should Gisborn offer for her hand, perhaps the maid had information she could use to help her decide if she should accept the man’s suit.

  Lily shook her head. “I am from a farm near Witney. We only heard stories about the old earl. He didn’t pay his tenant farmers very well. And he seemed … angry all the time.”

  Considering her maid’s words for a moment, Hannah felt as if a stone had dropped into her stomach. “And what do you know of his nephew? Besides him being handsome?” she added, giving her maid a teasing grin in an attempt to hide her sudden unease.

  But Lily merely shrugged. “Not much, I am afraid. He was away at school and then he was with his woman and their son …” Her voice trailed off. “Do you expect he will ask for your hand?” she wondered then, her eyes lit with excitement. “If you should accept, I would be very happy to be your maid at Gisborn Hall!”

  Hannah smiled, deciding that she would indeed want Lily to join her. Lily would be closer to her home, closer to relatives. “I am gl
ad to hear it,” she offered. She turned back toward the mirror. “So, what do you suppose the earl will think of me like this?” she asked, angling her head to be sure her hair held its elaborate coiffure.

  “He’ll think you’re a fairy princess,” Lily answered with a firm nod. “He’ll wish to kiss you before the evening has even begun.”

  About to roll her eyes, Hannah caught her reflection in the glass and stared at herself. Pearls instead of her mother’s diamonds had been the better choice, she realized. She looked sophisticated, and yet, she also looked like she had stepped out of the pages of Sleeping Beauty, after the prince had kissed her awake and sworn his undying love.

  Well, Gisborn wouldn’t be doing that. He loved another.

  There was a knock at the door and her father’s voice sounded from the other side. She hurried to open it, allowing Lily to follow with a satin shawl. The maid draped it over her elbows just as she opened the door.

  The marquess stepped back upon seeing Hannah emerge from her room, a look of shock on his face. “Did you see my daughter in there, by chance?” he asked, his Scottish burr more pronounced than usual and a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Good God, Hannah! You look as if …” He clasped his hands in front of his body as if to still them. “Well, you look … lovely,” he stammered, the humor turning to admiration. She looks like her mother did when I married her!

  “Thank you, Father,” Hannah said, dimpling. Her father had never reacted like that before! “Has the earl arrived?” She immediately regretted asking; she knew she shouldn’t seem so eager, so nervous.

  “Just got here. He may not live in town very often, but he’s obviously got a chronometer and a decent valet.” He held out his arm and Hannah took it. “Makes a rather dashing figure, he does. Asked me if he might be allowed to dance with you more than twice this evening.”