The Captain of Her Fate: A Regency Romance (The Other Bennet Sisters Book 1)

by Nina Mason

  The maid brought the tea and, after Louisa had her fill, she asked to be shown to her quarters. Her aunt assigned the task to Miss Nicholson, who escorted both sisters upstairs.

  “Since the house has only five bedrooms, I am afraid you must share,” Miss Nicholson told them as she led the way down the sconce-lighted upstairs hallway. “I hope you do not find the arrangement too disagreeable.”

  The chamber she took them into was far from displeasing. Louisa’s eyes went directly to the delicate writing desk at the foot of the opulent canopy. Certain all her letters would be scrutinized, she tried to think how she could smuggle one out unread.

  Beside her, Georgie was admiring the other furnishings, which included a tufted chaise, a mirrored dressing table, and a towering cherry armoire. “How could anybody find this beautiful room disagreeable?”

  After Miss Nicholson left them, Louisa went straight to the desk and removed from the center drawer a quill pen and sheet of paper. The inkwell, with its exquisite porcelain flowers, was from the Coalport factory in Shropshire, as was the coordinating candlestick. She smiled at the small reminder of home as she lit the candle for the sealing wax.

  As she began to scratch out the salutation, Georgie came up behind her. “To whom are you writing?”

  “Mama.”

  Continuing her composition, Louisa chose her words carefully, lest they aroused suspicion on either end.

  Dear Mama,

  Less than an hour ago, Georgie and I arrived safely in Bath. The coach ride was tolerable, if a bit crowded at times (and insufferably long!), but we are well and now comfortably installed at our aunt’s on a fashionable street called The Paragon. The house itself is very elegant, though a little too pretentious for my taste. Georgie, however, seems well satisfied. Aunt Hildegarde has been as gracious as one could expect under the circumstances, though she wasted no time in taking me to task over my alliance with Capt. Raynalds. Everyone assures me my feelings will lessen in time, but I believe they are all quite wrong.

  Please write back soon to the address provided and tell me all the news of our family and friends in Much Wenlock.

  Your affectionate daughter,

  Louisa

  After adding the return address, Louisa blotted the ink, folded the paper, and sealed the letter.

  Georgie observed this ritual from the bed, where she now reclined, damp hem, dirty shoes, and all. “How do you plan to post your letter?”

  Louisa met her sister’s gaze over the footboard. “I will give it to Miss Nicholson to mail when we go down for luncheon. For she is a private secretary, is she not?—and I daresay, mailing a letter for a guest of her mistress’s should not fall outside her duties.”

  A quizzical look overtook her sister’s comely features. “Speaking of Miss Nicholson, what do you make of her?”

  “I must confess my first impression is not a favorable one,” Louisa replied. “My instincts tell me she is not what she appears, though I can point to nothing in particular upon which to base my feelings.”

  “I just hope she will take us to the Assembly Rooms soon. For I so long to be in company with the distinguished young gentlemen of Bath, who must be more agreeable to me than the uncouth country squires who attend the balls at home.”

  Surprised by her sister’s sentiments, Louisa raised an eyebrow. “Do you consider Captain Raynalds uncouth?—or Lieutenant Churchill?”

  “Of course not, though neither do I consider them gentlemen. And, if I must choose a husband here in Bath, I should like him to be exceptional in every way.”

  Louisa was astonished. Never had she thought Georgie to be as snobbish as their father. “Does love not matter to you?”

  “Of course it does.” Georgie wrinkled her nose. “But it is just as easy to fall in love with the right man as the wrong one, is it not?”

  “Unless you have already formed an attachment to wrong one, I daresay.”

  “Do you refer to yourself or me?”

  Louisa smiled at her sister. “Do you truly feel only friendship for Lieutenant Churchill?”

  “I will admit to finding him handsome and charming, but what is to be gained by encouraging a suitor Papa will only tear me from the way he tore you from the Captain? I am, therefore, resolved to forget him. And what better way than to replace him in my heart with a gentleman of whom Papa will approve?”

  Louisa wondered at her sister’s attitude, for she could never get over someone she cared for so easily. At the same time, she envied her sister’s sensible approach to love—and no less her chance to shop for a proper match here in Bath. Had Papa not have been so fixed on the idea of marrying his eldest to his heir, she, too, might have found a man who pleased them both. Not that she would trade her precious Captain for a thousand earls, baronets, or marquesses, but still.

  Nineteen

  Over the fortnight Theo had been in London, he daily canvassed the favorite haunts of the Haute Ton in the hopes of finding someone acquainted with Lady Hildegarde Hillsworth, if not Louisa herself. In the mornings, he strolled the most fashionable streets and squares; in the afternoons, he rode the bridle paths of Hyde Park and Vauxhall Gardens; and, in the evenings, thanks to Lt. Churchill’s family connections, he attended the private balls hosted by the mavens of high society.

  Sadly, the only good to come of this industry and exertion was greater mastery over the steps of the less boisterous dances. He was now able to waltz nearly as well as many of the two-legged gentlemen at these soirees. He did not, however, enjoy himself the way he might have if he’d attended these functions for purely social reasons. Because his sole purpose in being there was to find Louisa before it was too late.

  This morning—just now, in fact—he got his first lead. While strolling in Grosvenor Square, he chanced to meet a stylish couple out with their dogs. After striking up a conversation, he discreetly asked if they were acquainted with Lady Hillsworth. Not only did they know her, they informed him, they had dined several times at her townhouse in Mayfair. Telling them he wished to call upon her, he acquired the address.

  After bidding them a good day, he hobbled back to his landau and gave the directions to his driver. Within a few minutes, the carriage stopped outside a limestone townhome with a white marble stoop.

  Theo climbed out and went to the door. Through the sidelights, he could see down a narrow entry hall to a cantilevered staircase of the same white marble under his feet. He knocked, trusting the right thing to say would come to him if somebody answered.

  Somebody did: A plump, rosy-faced woman in a white cap and tucker, who proved to be considerably more friendly and helpful than had been her counterpart at Midsomer Park.

  “Madam is not in town at present,” she informed him with a sympathetic smile, “though I will gladly give her your calling card, if you wish to leave it, when next she returns.”

  Crushed, Theo hobbled back to the landau and returned to his room. “Pack your things,” he told Churchill, who was reading with his boots on the table. “For we shall be leaving London within the hour.”

  The Lieutenant looked up from his book. “Before I pack, may I know where we are going?”

  “Back to Much Wenlock, for Louisa and her aunt are not here. My last hope is that she has written to me of her whereabouts while we have been away.”

  Within an hour, they were on the road back to Shropshire—though at the laboriously slow pace required to spare the horses undue strain. Frustrated and discouraged, Theo gazed out the window at the passing landscape, praying for a miracle.

  Fifteen fatiguing hours and several stops later, the landau drew up outside Greystone Hall. No sooner had Theo’s feet touched the ground than Winnie came flying out the front door.

  “Did you find her?”

  “No,” he said. “Did she write?”

  “I wish I could tell you she had.”

  His last hope shattered, Theo shook his head in anguish. There was nothing more he could do. Without some hint of Louisa’s whereabouts,
he would never find her in time. He’d already wasted a fortnight on a wild goose chase in London, leaving him only another week before the final reading of the banns. And then, she would be lost to him forever.

  Grief overwhelmed him the way the sea overwhelms a drowning man. Its weight was suffocating, its hold inescapable. As it dragged him down into the gloomy depths of heartache and despair, he knew a man did not recover from such a devotion to such a woman. Until now, he’d believed it impossible to hurt more than he had after Edwina jilted him, but this pain was much more severe. It was as if his heart had been cored and left to rot.

  Winnie must have read his thoughts in his expression because she said, “Do not give up hope, brother.”

  He licked his lips and looked at the ground. “How can I do otherwise under the circumstances?”

  And that was when he realized his misery was of his own making. Had he not been so reluctant to trust her, they might have gotten away before her father found them out.

  All these years, he had blamed Edwina for his doubts and insecurities. But the truth was, he’d invested his heart too quickly in the wrong woman—and dragged his feet when he finally met the right one. And now, damned fool that he was, he had lost her forever.

  * * * *

  Tonight, Aunt Hildegarde was taking her nieces to their first public ball in the Upper Assembly Rooms—and Louisa was excited. If Theo had by some miracle traced her as far as Bath (and she prayed to God he had), he might be at the ball tonight looking for her.

  Behind where Louisa sat at her dressing table, Aunt Hildegarde was fussing at her and Georgie to be on their best behavior. It would be their first time in the Upper Assembly Rooms and she wanted her nieces to make the best possible impression.

  Louisa welcomed the chance to dance. Since she was forbidden novels, letter-writing, solitary walks, and horseback riding, she had passed the last two weeks drinking tea, doing needlework, playing whist, and accompanying her aunt to the pump rooms. The nights, she spent dreaming of Theo and every glorious moment they’d shared before her father tore them apart.

  At least that, they could not take away from her.

  Meeting Louisa’s gaze in the looking glass, Aunt Hildegarde wagged a finger at her niece. “You especially must look and behave impeccably tonight. For you have done enough to embarrass Charles without making a spectacle of yourself in front of the cream of society.”

  Trepidation tied a knot in Louisa’s stomach. The one good thing about being in Bath was that she’d not seen her cousin since arriving. “Do you mean to tell me Charles will be at the ball tonight?”

  “Of course he will,” her aunt returned. “I expect him at any moment and, after the ball, he will remain here with us until the two of you depart on your honeymoon. After the wedding, he is taking you to Weymouth. Is that not generous of him?”

  Louisa, too distressed to speak, forced a smile. If Theo did appear, would Charles make trouble? The thought was too upsetting to entertain, so she flung it away.

  After the maid applied the crowning touch—a tiara adorned with cameos and pearls—Louisa rose from the chair and, in a swish of silk, turned about. “How do I look?”

  The sound of a carriage stopping in the street out front drew all eyes to the window. Georgie hurried over, drew back the drapery, and looked out. “It is Cousin Charles in a barouche.”

  “Come, ladies,” Aunt Hildegarde said as she herded her nieces toward the door. “We must not keep him waiting.”

  Louisa was the last to descend the staircase. When Charles came into view, she stared at him in surprise. The last time she saw her cousin, he was gangly and pimple-faced. Now he was tall, well-knit, and clear-skinned. Moreover, with his wavy dark hair, striking hazel eyes, and square jaw, he had turned out much better than anticipated.

  That he was vain about his good looks was evident in his evening attire. His collar was especially high, his neckcloth elaborately knotted, his cravat ruffled, his breeches almost indecently tight, and his waistcoat far too flashy for her taste.

  He was, in short, the Pink of the Pink—and proud of it.

  “Cousin Charles.” She dipped slightly. “How well you look. I daresay I would not have known you had we met again in a crowded ballroom.”

  He offered her a dazzling smile along with his arm. “I, on the other hand, would have known you anywhere, my dearest cousin, for you were always the fairest of creatures…and have only become more so with the passage of years.”

  The graciousness of his compliment lit a tiny flame of hope in her bosom. Had he changed as much on the inside as he had on the outside? What a blessing it would be if that were so, for she might well be stuck with him if Theo failed to appear.

  No! She mustn’t think such thoughts. She mustn’t lose faith. Theo would come because she would die if he did not.

  Reluctantly, she took Charles’s arm, whereupon he escorted her to the carriage ahead of the rest of their party. When they were out of earshot, he leaned in and whispered, “Are you looking forward to our honeymoon as much as I am?”

  “I am indeed,” she lied, “for I have always wanted to see Weymouth.”

  He laughed rather scathingly. “That is not what I meant, as you well know, you filthy little slut.”

  “I know nothing of the sort,” she said, reviled by his vulgarity. “I will do what I must to give you an heir, but I shall neither look forward to my marital duties nor derive the least enjoyment from them.”

  He laughed again, even more nastily. “If you think your repugnance will discourage me, you are grossly mistaken. For I intend to prevail upon you to satisfy my needs as often as I am able—and whether or not you enjoy my use of you will make no difference whatsoever.”

  Biting back her retort, she climbed into the carriage, surprised to find Miss Nicholson inside. Georgie followed, claiming the seat beside her sister. Charles helped his mother up the steps before entering himself. Rather than take the empty seat, he turned a hard glare on Georgie.

  “I’ll thank you to take the seat beside your aunt.”

  With a begrudging harrumph, Georgie moved.

  When Charles came down beside Louisa, he seized her gloved hand and squeezed until she cried out in pain. Then, he brought his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “That was but a taste of what is to come, my darling, if you dare to defy me once we are wed.”

  Louisa was mortified. She had been right to fear being his wife. Clearly, he meant to be as cruel to her as Papa was to Mama, if not more so.

  When their party entered the ballroom, the orchestra was playing Lady Nelson’s Waltz Cotillion, a cruel reminder that only exacerbated Louisa’s despair. After Charles headed off to the card room (to Louisa’s enormous relief), Aunt Hildegarde and Miss Nicholson led the way to the dance floor through the crush. She could see no faces; only fancy cravats and bulging cleavage and garish necklaces of all sorts.

  After Charles headed off to the card room (good riddance), the four ladies squeezed into the teeming mass of well-dressed bodies as well as they could. With more care for her gown than the welfare of her companions, Aunt Hildegarde led the way with Miss Nicholson close at her side. Louisa and Georgie, linking arms to prevent being separated, did their best to keep up.

  The room, to Louisa’s dismay, only grew more packed and stuffy as they pushed their way toward the center, making it impossible to see anyone’s face. Worry beset her. How would she ever find Theo in this crush—or he, her?

  She had imagined things much differently, thinking they would find seats from where she could watch the dancers and search for Theo. This, however, was far from the case, and though by dogged persistence they reached the dance floor, their view remained unchanged. Waistcoats, bodices, necklaces, hairstyles, fans, and the faces of those of her height were all she could make out.

  Moving on with continued exertion and industry, they eventually found themselves on a landing overlooking the ballroom. From here, Louisa could see all the company beneath her. She searched
for her Captain among the horde, but still had not found him by the time the bell rang for tea. Instantly, they were swept up in the current as the company surged toward the dining room.

  Louisa was discouraged, but not yet defeated. For she knew the tea service would expose her to many people she had not yet seen.

  Just inside the dining room, Aunt Hildegarde stopped to scan the crowded tables for those of her acquaintance. Spotting someone worthy of her notice, she led the way to a large group of what looked to be mothers and daughters…or perhaps aunts and nieces, as in their case.

  As introductions were made all around, Louisa realized that Miss Nicholson was no longer with them. Had she been caught up in the crowd? Since there was no dancing at present, it seemed the probable reason for her absence.

  After joining the party of ladies, Louisa had a good look around. She did not see Theo—or Miss Nicholson, for that matter—anywhere in the room. Neither did she spy Charles—not that she mourned his absence in the least.

  Miss Nicholson’s, however, concerned her. Might some mishap have befallen her? She might not like the woman, but that did not mean she would rejoice if she’d been trampled in the crush. Louisa rose from her chair and said to her aunt, “Miss Nicholson has not joined us, which concerns me, so I thought to go and look for her.”

  The dowager shifted her gaze to Georgie. “You go, Georgianna…but do be quick about it or you will find your refreshments cold upon your return.”

  Georgie went and Louisa swept into her chair in a swish of silk. After a few silent minutes of watching the door, she turned to the homely young woman beside her. “What brings you to Bath, Miss Walpole?—or do you reside here year-round?”

  “I live in London,” the young lady replied. “Near Grosvenor Square. And I am here for the same reason as you and your sister…or so I presume.”