Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “They’re under the platform!”

  She could hear her cousins scrambling above her and knew that with one well-placed bullet she and Mathew could be shot. Dragging in a deep breath as quietly as she could, she looked at Mathew, who was holding a finger to his lips.

  “Don’t shoot until we have a clear shot!”

  He pulled her into his arms, and she clung to his waist as he pushed them backward into the side of the bank. His fingers worked on the buttons of her dress, forcing them through the holes until the back sagged and he was able to push the dress down her body. Oh, the bliss of being freed of that weight.

  “Come out now and I will not shoot.”

  Mathew rolled his eyes at Patience. She managed a tight smile in reply to Brantley’s words.

  “Then I shall just storm your house and retrieve Charles.”

  Patience knew they would not get far, as the Toots brothers were always be close to Charles, but she also knew they could hurt someone in the process of trying to reach her brother.

  “Can you swim, Mathew?” Patience whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “You swim around the bank and then out to the middle where they can’t get you and draw them away from here. While they are focused on you, I will run to the house and alert the others.”

  “No.” His wet hair brushed her cheek. “I won’t risk them seeing you.”

  “Yet I am willing to risk them shooting at you?” she hissed back. “There is no other option. They will go to the house and hurt someone if we do not take action now.”

  She could see in his eyes his reluctance to let her go, his fear that she would be hurt.

  “I will be careful, I promise. I plan to spend the rest of my life tormenting you.”

  His kiss, even with cold, wet lips, seared into her soul.

  “I love you,” they whispered together.

  “I am out of patience, Cousin. I will start shooting if you do not show yourself at once!”

  Ignoring Brantley, and aware that he could get off only one shot before he had to reload, she moved with Mathew to the edge of the platform. He touched her cheek before he inhaled and sank below the surface; seconds later he was gone.

  Patience dug into the bank behind her and found a lump of rock. She then threw it as hard as she could in the direction opposite the one Mathew had taken. Seconds later she was rewarded with the scuffle of feet. She listened and waited until suddenly a small rowboat appeared.

  “There! They are in the boat! Quickly—we will run this way as it heads across the lake, and intercept them on the other side!”

  As the shouts diminished, Patience eased out of the water and moved along the edge of the bank until she reached the small steps someone had carved into the soil. She remembered seeing them as a child and was pleased to see they were still here. She pulled herself out onto the bank, then started running, ignoring the squelch her boots made as she headed for the trees.

  “It seems sharing blood makes me think like you, Cousin.”

  Brantley’s words came from behind her, so Patience screamed out the word, “Help!” then ducked off the path into the trees.

  “Bitch!” Brantley snarled. “You’ve always given me trouble, and I have had quite enough. It seems your life will end alongside your betrothed this day!”

  He was crashing through the undergrowth behind her. Patience tracked left and right, but he was close. Looking around for an escape, she saw a long, sturdy branch and armed herself with it. Then she stepped quietly behind a tree and waited for her cousin to arrive.

  “I’m going to take great delight in shooting you!”

  His anger was making him rash. As he ran past where she was hiding, she swung the branch hard into his back, but as if he’d sensed her there he turned and the wood glanced off his shoulder. However, the blow did dislodge his gun and Patience watched it sail through the air as Brantley stumbled forward, only just managing to keep his feet. When he turned toward her his face was mottled with rage as he pulled a sword from his belt.

  “I’m going to slice you apart!”

  “I should have swung harder.” Patience gripped the branch and moved out from behind the tree to face him. “But it will be far more enjoyable knocking your ugly, empty head from your shoulders.”

  Her body shook, but she wouldn’t let him see her fear. She needed to stay alive until help came.

  Hurry up, Mathew.

  “My brother is, as we speak, putting a bullet into your fiancé, dear cousin.”

  Brantley swished his blade from side to side as he attempted to control his rage by taunting her. But Patience knew Mathew was alive; he would never let that fool Dundrill harm him.

  “Come now, Brantley. We both know that idiot could never outwit my fiancé. The man wears puce, for pity’s sake.”

  He lunged at her but Patience batted his advance aside with her stick.

  “You’ll have to be quicker than that,” she taunted, eyes on the razor-sharp blade that could easily end her life with a single stroke. Could she keep him away from her long enough for help to arrive?

  Stumbling backwards as he charged, she blocked his thrust again.

  Mathew crept up behind Dundrill and pushed a stick into his spine. “Drop the gun,” he growled.

  Of course Dundrill did, with so much speed that the gun flipped into the water. Mathew then swung his foot into the man’s ass and made him follow. He ran for the trees to the sound of Dundrill screaming that he could not swim.

  Had she reached the house, or had Winston intercepted her? He’d watched the man head for the trees just behind Patience.

  Running along the path, he heard her voice. Following the sound he slowed, keeping his steps light until he saw her. He watched as she swung the branch at her cousin’s head, but he pushed it aside and lunged at her. It made Mathew’s blood run cold, but she was quick, and leapt nimbly to one side.

  He wanted to call out to her that he was here, but to distract her was dangerous. Dressed in a damp chemise, her hair wet and loose, she looked like a woodland nymph. An angry woodland nymph, he corrected as she swung at her cousin’s head with her stick once more.

  Mathew circled around and came out behind Winston with a stick of his own in one hand.

  “Game over, Winston,” he said, which made the man spin on his heel to face him. As he did, Patience brought the branch down on his head. Her cousin’s knees buckled, and an instant later he was face down at her feet.

  Dropping the stick, she ran to Mathew, and leaped the last foot into his arms. He caught her and held her close.

  “I’m so proud of you,” he said into her damp hair. “Such a brave, strong girl,” he whispered as she clung to him, the last of her energy spent.

  “Lord Belmont!”

  Three of his men arrived, along with one of the Toots brothers. Mathew directed two of them to the lake to fish out Dundrill and the others to tie up Brantley, who was just regaining consciousness, and take him to the stables.

  “It’s really over this time,” he said, smoothing back her hair.

  “I’m sorry my love has caused you so much trouble.” She lifted her head to look up at him. Her blue eyes were big in her pale face and he decided he would make it his life’s work to ensure they never had that look in them again.

  “Your love has healed me, Patience. Never believe otherwise,” he vowed.

  They walked back to the house then, and found their families waiting for them. Tears of relief were shed, and hot baths ordered, and when later that night the house was once again quiet as he slipped out of his room and walked the halls only to find Patience coming the other way. He did not speak, simply swung her into his arms and carried her back to his room.

  They made love slowly, exploring each other, tormenting and teasing until they could take no more. Only then did she take him inside her and the world exploded around them.

  “I love you, Lord Belmont,” she whispered, on the edge of sleep. “For my life and beyond.”<
br />
  “And I you, Miss Allender, forever and always.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The small church, which lay in the village on the edge of the Belmont lands, was festooned with ribbons and flowers. Guests were crammed into every available pew, all having left London to attend the wedding.

  The Duke of Stratton, who had arrived the previous day, chatted quietly with Simon beside Mathew at the altar as they awaited the arrival of Patience.

  “You should be smiling, not scowling, Mathew. There can surely be no doubt about Patience’s feeling towards you at this stage?” Simon hissed in his ear.

  “I do not doubt her,” Mathew whispered back.

  “Then pray inform us why you look like a thunder cloud on what should be the happiest day of your life.”

  “I love her,” Mathew replied, his eyes darting to the still empty doorway.

  “Excellent. Well, perhaps you could show that love on your face, for if your beloved sees that scowl, it’s likely she will turn and flee.”

  Mathew hadn’t realized he was scowling, but knew that until she was inside the church and at his side he could not relax. Yes, her cousins were secure and in the hands of the magistrate, but he still had an unreasonable fear that something would happen to her.

  “Does the worry stop?”

  His friends did not pretend to misunderstand.

  “Not completely, but it eases,” Daniel said slowly. “You become accustomed to it over time, and once she is a part of your everyday life you will cope better.”

  Silence suddenly swept the church and Mathew felt some of the tension ease from his body as Patience entered. She was finally here. He watched as she clutched her brother’s arm. In the other hand she held a small bouquet of flowers, which seemed in grave danger as a flurry of petals fell to the floor. It seemed his beautiful soon-to-be wife was as nervous as he. A veil covered her face so he was unable to read her expression. Ivory satin was draped around her lush body and fell in soft folds to the floor. Behind her, Lucy was holding the hand of the Duke and Duchess of Stratton’s little girl, Georgia, both of them looking pretty in pale pink. Patience reached his side seconds later and he heard the deep breath she drew.

  “It’s all right now, my love.” He took her hand in his as the Reverend began the service.

  “Henry,” Mathew whispered into her ear when she missed one of his names.

  “Henry,” she parroted.

  “Uncle and Daddy!” The entire church laughed as Georgia escaped Lucy and ran for her Daniel and Simon. Her father picked her up, but it was Simon’s necktie she rearranged during the remainder of the service.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride,” Reverend Withers announced, a benevolent smile on his round face.

  Lifting her veil, Mathew smiled into his wife’s face. “Hello, Lady Belmont.” He kissed her then, sinking into her soft, sweet lips.

  “Ewww!” Georgia cried, causing more laughter.

  They left the church arm in arm, walking out into the sunshine where their family and friends waited to congratulate them, and Mathew looked skyward, certain in the knowledge that he and his brother could both now be at peace.

  THE END

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  Penelope

  The Fairweather Sisters Series: Book 1

  Anya Wylde

  Acknowledgement

  Thank you, John, for everything

  And

  Thank you, PG Wodehouse, for coining the word ‘canoozers’. It’s bloody brilliant!

  Prologue

  It was April in England. Therefore, it stood to reason that it was raining.

  The English, it also stood to reason, were delighted because the weather was horrible and they had a reason to complain. But today the Londoners, specifically, were even more ecstatic because it was not only raining but also storming. Thunder, lightning and raging wind swept through the streets of London carrying with it pounds of garbage, scrawny cats, chimney sweeps, and the unfortunate young lady in ballooning pink skirts who had decided to sneak out of her respectable home to canoodle with a not so respectable man.

  In the better parts of the town the plump aristocrats sat on plump cushions deploring the state of the economy, politics and literature. The exception to this was the Blackthorne Mansion, a veritable fortress where the current Duke of Blackthorne, Charles Cornelius Radclyff, resided. It was said that the history of the Radclyff family could be traced back hundreds of thousands of years. That is if one kept an open mind, a trusting mind, or better yet no mind at all.

  Sir Henry Woodville, the oldest living creature in the Blackthorne Mansion, could not be sure how far back the history could be traced, but if one tried, he was positive that the ancestors of the Radclyff family were the original creators of Plato’s Atlantis, and after a bit of drink, he confessed they could possibly have been Adam and Eve. (It is whispered in expensive drawing rooms that Sir Henry Woodville could be a teensy weensy bit senile).

  So the Blackthorne Mansion stood bold and proud fighting the onslaught of stinging rain while within its grey walls the dowager and her daughter, Lady Anne Radclyff, sat huddled by the fire, wincing ever so delicately every time the thunder roared. They did not discourse on appropriate topics but awaited the arrival of our heroine, Miss Penelope Winifred Rose Spebbington Fairweather, and this is where we begin our tale.

  Chapter 1

  The dowager cast a worried glance at the door while Lady Anne stared at the grandfather clock willing its giant needles to move.

  “She is late, Mamma.”

  “She will be here soon enough.”

  “Do you think she is dead?”

  “Annie, she is not that late!”

  “Yes, but she is coming all the way from that … that Finny village. It has been raining all day and she refused our offer of a carriage. The post-chaise could have lodged itself in a pothole and overturned. I suppose she is lying in some gully, blood pooling underneath her awkwardly twisted body and not a soul in sight.”

  “It’s Finnshire not Finny, and she has her maid with her.”

  “Well, then the maid is dead too. The weight of the carriage finished her off well before her mistress. Poor Miss Fairweather twitched and trembled for eons fighting for that last breath.”

  “I will seriously contemplate your very vivid scenario if Miss Fairweather does not arrive in the next five hours. Until then can we converse like gently bred women? If your brother heard you speaking like this, he would have you sent to the country for the next three seasons.”

  “I am bored. I can’t go to the shops, go riding or feel excited about the season. Do you know that I attended a hundred and five balls last year alone, and that does not count the dinners and tea parties?”

  “Miss Fairweather would have loved to attend a hundred and five balls last year. You have had the pleasure of three seasons, while the poor dear has never been to anything but the village dance.”

  “What do you think she is like? Have you ever met her?”

  “I have not met her, but her mother and I attended the same ladies academy. Her mother Grace was bright, full of life and laughter, and if her daughter is anything like her… ”

  “Was?”

  “She died giving birth to Miss Penelope Fairweather. Mr Thomas Fairweather, Penelope’s father, married the vicar’s daughter, Gertrude, within a year of Grace’s funeral. Gertrude went on to have five more children. I initiated a correspondence with Gertrude to ensure that Grace’s daughter was being well looked after—”

  “You couldn’t have the stepmother drowning the child,” Lady Anne interrupted.

  “Anne, Miss Fairweather is not an unwanted kitten. Where was I? Oh yes, Gertrude writes to me often. Her letters are full of her children’s antics. I feel as if I know them,” the dowager said dreamily. “I have imagined th
em growing up. They used to wail all night and then they were falling off apple trees ….”

  “You are rambling again, Mamma. I don’t care about Miss Fairweather’s siblings. I want to know about her.”

  “Why? You have never shown this much interest in any of my other guests before.”

  Lady Anne sucked on a lemon drop, her mouth pursing in thought.

  “The other guests were all the same. They say the same things, they are brought up the same way, and they all wear the same clothes. It is as if a single London lady and a London gentleman have been put into different moulds by God and recreated again and again. I can predict what the replies to my questions will be. No one is original. While Miss Fairweather sounds original.”

  “Original?”

  “I have never met a country bumpkin before.”

  “Annie!”

  “Well, it is true isn’t it? How in the world are you going to introduce her to polite society?”

  “Grace, her mother, was very well mannered. A little enthusiastic but still a lady. And I expect Gertrude has brought up her stepdaughter correctly.”

  “How many siblings does she have?”

  “Five younger sisters.”

  “Six girls and not enough money to pay for a season for even one child. I think your friend would have had more to worry about than teaching the girls how to curtsy and hold a fan.”

  The dowager sipped her tea and didn’t reply.

  “So I am right.”

  “No, I am sure Miss Fairweather knows the basics.”

  “I can hear a but …?”

  “Gertrude sounds as if she dotes on Miss Fairweather, yet when I asked if I could sponsor Penelope’s season in London, her reply was a little damp. She cautioned me against the idea …”

  “Is the girl dim?”

  “No, Annie, the girl is not dim.” The dowager paused and then added, “At least I hope not.”

  Lady Anne smiled in triumph. “I cannot wait to meet her.”

  “You will be disappointed. The girl will be frightened and will probably utter not a word on her first day here. Besides, I am not sure if Gertrude is not biased. She is the stepmother, and I think she was reluctant to send Grace’s child to me. I had the feeling she would rather I took responsibility for one of her own. I can’t fault her for it, but I am worried that Penelope has been denied her place.”