Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  “I have,” Val admitted. “But not even the best gossips in London move that quickly. It was only announced at dinner last night.”

  Highcliff nodded sagely. “That does seem fast, but rumors have spread faster. Don’t be so focused on Elsworth that you miss other very real threats.”

  “I won’t. If something happens to her because of me—” Val broke off abruptly, unable to complete the thought.

  “May God or the devil himself preserve me from the fate you and Deveril have succumbed to,” Highcliff replied with a dramatic roll of his bloodshot eyes.

  “And what fate is that?” Val demanded.

  Highcliff laughed. “If you don’t know yet, I’m not going to bloody tell you. When is this wedding to take place? For your sake, I hope it’s soon.”

  “As soon as the license can be obtained. It might take some doing. The archbishop holds a grudge.”

  Highcliff scrubbed his hands over his face. “Let me guess… you were the one who divested Selby of his ill-gotten gains?”

  “I was,” Val admitted, recalling the game with the archbishop’s nephew. “I offered to let him out of the debt, but he insisted on paying. He should never have been at that table. Or should have folded several hands earlier and walked away—as I advised him to do, I might add. Can you sway the archbishop to grant me this favor?”

  “It can be done, but you’ll owe me a considerable amount of brandy when it’s all said and done,” Highcliff replied. “You’ll need witnesses.”

  Val sighed. The last thing he needed was to invite his grandmother and have her show up with Elsworth in tow. The less his cousin knew of his plans the safer Lilly would be. “You can do it. Can’t you?”

  “I suppose. And the bride, whoever she may be, is there someone she would wish to be in attendance?”

  Val scrubbed a hand over his face. “Her name is Lillian Burkhart.”

  Highcliff laughed again. “You do realize that you and Deveril will now be related by marriage? You’re marrying the half-sister of his new bride.”

  “I’m aware,” Val answered. “They are in the country, are they not?”

  “Yes, and too far away to return in a timely enough fashion for your hasty nuptials, no doubt… but I imagine that your lovely bride-to-be would be pleased to have Miss Euphemia Darrow present as her witness, would she not? In lieu of the Honorable Mrs. Wilhelmina Ashton nee Marks, Lady Deveril, I doubt there is anyone else she would wish to invite.”

  There was something in the way Highcliff said the name of Lillian’s former headmistress and friend, a reverence that made him think they were more than simply acquaintances. “You know her then? Miss Darrow?”

  Highcliff shrugged, but there was something in his expression that hinted it was a sore subject. “I know everyone. It’s why I’m an excellent spy… that and the entire world thinks my only interest is waistcoats that could blind a man at twenty paces and any woman with a reasonably pert bosom. I’ll get the license and I’ll be certain that Miss Darrow is present at the church. St. Paul’s at nine o’clock day after tomorrow. I’ll call in a favor. Now, for God’s sake, go get the girl a ring and order her a posy. That’s what women want, isn’t it?”

  Val noted the tension in his friend as he spoke of Miss Darrow. “Not all women. Don’t fall into the trap of thinking you can predict one by the actions of another. Lilly is rather unlike any woman I’ve ever known. And I daresay that your Miss Darrow is, as well.”

  “She’s not my Miss Darrow. She’s not my anything. I’m not for the likes of her,” Highcliff replied. “And she certainly is not for the likes of me. Go. You’ve interrupted my day long enough and added more tasks to an already exhaustive list.”

  “Thank you for your help,” Val said. “You’re a good friend, Highcliff. And a better ally than I have deserved.” He didn’t wait for a response, just showed himself out. As he left, he couldn’t help but wonder what darkness it was that haunted the man he called his friend, because he’d seen a glimpse of it in there and it seemed to be eating the other man alive.

  *

  Lilly had been moved from her small chamber to one much more in line with her current standing as the betrothed of the heir apparent. As she lay there, bored out of her mind, her hands stroked the silk and velvet counterpane absently. Above her head, cherubs danced on fat, fluffy clouds in the painted tester of the luxurious bed that was roughly the same size as the room she’d previously inhabited.

  Neither her face nor her ankle was especially painful, and all she wanted was something to do, but everyone kept insisting that she had to rest. She’d been through so much, they all said. She would throw her very boring book at the next person who uttered those words. They expected, because she was suddenly thrust into the role of being a lady, that she would become some delicate and fragile thing that needed to be coddled and cared for. Well, that wasn’t her, it had never been her and it would never be her! The sooner they all realized it the better off the lot of them would be.

  Struggling to get out of the bed, she realized that the walking stick had been moved all the way across the room by the less than helpful doctor. When she’d tumbled to the ground that morning, or rather been tumbled to it by the quick thinking and quicker actions of her betrothed, her ankle had begun to ache again. Still, better a sore ankle than dead.

  Half-limping, half-hobbling toward the walking stick, Lilly had almost reached it when the door opened. She glanced up and found the same maid who’d tended her previously.

  “You’re not supposed to be up, Miss!” Mary cried. “What on earth are you about?”

  “I’m bored out of my mind. I thought I’d go downstairs and spend some time with her grace,” Lilly replied.

  “What? By choice?” the maid asked in horror. Realizing what she’d said, the girl clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. Please don’t tell no one I said it. I’ll be sacked for sure!”

  “Mary, I’m not going to let you be sacked,” Lilly said. “But in very short order, I am likely to require a lady’s maid. Have you ever considered moving up into such a position?”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “I’d love to, Miss, but I’ve no talent for dressing hair. You’d be terribly disappointed with me, I’m sure.”

  “I can dress my own hair. I can dress myself, too. But they’ll draw the line at letting me see to my own clothes,” Lilly said. “I’m being perfectly honest when I say this, Mary. I think there are more things I’ll not be permitted to do as a lady than when I was simply a governess or companion. I detest rules.”

  “And is that why you’re out of bed, Miss? Cause someone said you couldn’t be?” the maid asked knowingly.

  Well, she’d been effectively called out on that score. No point in denying it. “More or less. It’s rather that they’ve insisted I must be so overset by what happened that I need to be cosseted like a fretful infant,” Lilly seethed. “That’s not who I am. And I won’t let them make me into that sort either.”

  “Beg pardon, Miss, but what did happen? You came back from the park with blood on your face and no one knows—I’d never speak ill of his lordship, but he is known to have a fierce temper! The way he and that cousin of his go on… they’ve come to blows more than once.”

  Realization dawned on Lillian then. She hadn’t been asked to stay in her room because she needed rest but because Lord Seaburn didn’t wish to tip his hand to everyone in the house that they understood the nature of her injuries. The downside to that was that no one else knew the nature of them either and now suspected that he’d assaulted her in some way. Perhaps he even intended for them to think it. She had no notion of what he was up to other than that he’d promised to get to the bottom of what had occurred one way or another. And she was about to spoil what could possibly be intentional subterfuge on his part out of nothing more than petulance. But she wouldn’t let the servants or anyone else think him the villain of the piece.

  “We had left the phaeton to take a walk
and a tree branch fell. It was likely a dead limb or perhaps some sort of blight,” Lilly lied. “It only scratched me up a bit because Lord Seaburn was there and quickly shielded me from it.”

  Mary appeared to be absolutely awestruck at the tall tale. “Oh, Miss! That sounds like it’s straight out of one of those novels Sarah reads us at night. Some of them are terrifying and… well, a bit wicked She read us one last week by that Mrs. Radcliff and I’ve never heard such things.”

  Thinking of her own very boring book about the flora and fauna of Derbyshire, a wicked and lurid novel sounded like heaven. “I do love a good gothic novel! Do you think Sarah would mind very much if you brought me one of her books for a while? Only to borrow, of course!”

  “If she hasn’t taken it back to the book lender, I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  Realizing that the servants were likely pooling their money to borrow such books, Lilly felt guilty. Even as a companion, she’d been paid far, far better. “Bring me my reticule, Mary. It’s there on the chair.”

  The maid fetched it and Lilly dug several coins out of it. “That should get you all several books from the lender. Shouldn’t it?”

  Mary shook her head. “Oh, Miss, I couldn’t!”

  “I insist, Mary. After all, you’ll have to pay for extra days while I read this delightful book, won’t you? And if anyone questions you about where the coins came from you simply tell them I gave them to you to provide reading material to the staff. In fact, I’ll speak to Lord Seaburn about stocking books in the library for all of you.”

  “Only Sarah can read, but it’d be nice if she could get us more books.”

  “And if you want to learn to read, I’ll teach you. I was a governess, after all!”

  “I’ll go fetch the book, Miss,” Mary said, an excited grin spreading across her face.

  “Mary, what did you come up here for?”

  “Oh!” the maid said. “I got so flustered, Miss, I nearly forgot. There’s a lady downstairs with all these boxes. Dress boxes. She says his lordship sent her and you’re to pick whatever you want. Shall I send her up?”

  “Yes, Mary… and you should come up with her. We’ll get the book later. If you’re going to be my lady’s maid, you should certainly be involved in the process of selecting gowns.”

  The prospect of shopping for something that didn’t fit like a sack and make her look like she was at death’s door had effectively eliminated her boredom. And Lilly wasn’t so blind to her own faults that she couldn’t recognize her vanity in wishing to turn the head of her all-too-handsome betrothed. It was a terrible thing to her mind to wonder which one of them was the more attractive person in their match.

  Chapter Eight

  Approaching the elegant facade of the Georgian manor just off Jermyn Street, Val didn’t hesitate as he climbed the steps and knocked on the door. It was his second such stop of the day, asking favors from those to whom it was unwise to be beholden. But the kind of favor he needed now was not one Highcliff could help him with. The majordomo who answered looked more bruiser than butler, but then this was no typical Mayfair townhouse. “Is he in?”

  “Is who in, my lord?” the servant demanded.

  “You know bloody well who I mean, Stavers. It’s urgent that I see him.”

  “Then you should find him at his club during business hours, my lord,” the man replied with just a hint of the streets bubbling up through his cultured tones.

  “If I had any other choice, I would. But this is urgent… and it cannot wait.”

  From deep within the elaborately bedecked bowels of the house, a rich baritone voice with a decided cockney flavor sounded. “Let ’im in, Stavers. I’d rather talk to ’im and be done wiv’ it.”

  The servant stepped aside, his lips pulled into a tight, thin line. It was the most butlerly the man had ever appeared. “Silk purses and sow’s ears, Stavers… you may prove us all wrong yet,” Val said to the man as he walked past him.

  Val followed the sound of the voice to a room laden with books. It wasn’t novels or even boring nonfiction. It was ledgers. Rows and rows of them. What they contained was anyone’s guess, but there’d likely be enough dirt in any of them to bury half the ton.

  “Don’t be getting any ideas,” the dark-haired and rough-looking man behind the desk said. His hair was disheveled. He was bare-chested, wearing a silk banyan open over trousers rumpled from the night before. A heavy growth of whiskers covered a granite jaw and he was already sipping brandy and smoking a cheroot. “Nothing in this room is for the likes o’ you. What you want, Seaburn?”

  Val didn’t mince words, but spoke as bluntly as he knew the man in front of him would. “I need to know if someone has been hired to kill a woman.”

  The man leaned back in his chair, displaying an impressive physique that could only be honed from hard, physical labor. Val knew that most of it took place on the docks and the warehouses that people of his class would turn their noses up at.

  “I don’t do that sort o’ work,” the man said. “You know that.”

  “It’s not an accusation,” Val replied. “It’s a request for assistance.”

  The man smirked. “Favors ain’t free, m’lord. I do one for you, and you’ll owe one back. You sure you’re ready for that?”

  And that was the crux of it. Being beholden in any way to the Hound of Whitehall wasn’t a good place to be, but under the circumstances, he had little choice. It was unlikely that even if Elsworth were the guilty party, that he’d dirtied his hands himself. “I’m prepared for that. The woman’s name is Miss Lillian Burkhart.”

  “Soiled dove, lady o’ the night? No, it’s actresses you like, ain’t it? Where does this dirty little minx tread the boards at?” the man asked with an insolent grin.

  “She is none of those things, but is a companion to my grandmother and now my betrothed,” Val replied. “Respectable enough that neither of us ought to be speaking of her at all. Alas, someone nearly put a pistol ball in her brain this morning and I need to determine who ordered such an attempt on her life.”

  “Pretty thing, I’d guess,” the man said. “Be a shame to see ’er all scarred up.”

  “Or dead. It would be very much a shame to see her dead,” Val replied. “And I very much fear that was their mission.”

  The man laughed again. “You’ve gone soft. The biggest shark at my tables, the very one eating up all the lil’ fish. And ’ere you are… sunk by a ’oity toity companion.”

  “She’s not hoity toity. In fact, you’d be impressed to know that she is a graduate of the Darrow School. You’re familiar with it, aren’t you? If I’m not mistaken, you’ve sent a few girls there yourself.” Val knew he wasn’t mistaken. It was that reason alone which had prompted him to come to the Hound in the first place. The Hound would feel beholden to Miss Darrow and would not allow one of her pupils, former or current, to come to harm. Crook or no, he was reported to always pay his debts.

  “Not my bastards,” he said evenly. “Try not to ’ave any of those. But, aye, a few little beggars ’ose fathers couldn’t be bothered to act like the ’onorable men they claim to be… they needed a bit o’ ’elp and I offered it.”

  “And are they obligated to you as I will be?” Val asked.

  “Don’t work like that for them… those too young to bargain wiv’ the devil are free from consequence,” the man answered. “I’ll find out if anyone ’as been paid to take out your pretty miss. And I’ll ’andle it. Putting a price on the ’ead o’ a pretty girl, specially one of Miss Darrow’s, goes against the rules.”

  “What rules are those exactly?” Val asked.

  “My rules,” the Hound answered. “Only ones what matter. Now, get out. I’ll send word when there’s word to be ’ad.”

  “Thank you.”

  The Hound laughed then. “You’ll not be thanking me when that favor is called in, my lord. You’ll be wondering if she were worth it!”

  “She is,” Val replied. “Whatever the cost.” Wi
th that, he turned on his heel and left the deceptively posh and respectable home of a man who was literally the self-crowned king of London’s underworld. He very much felt as if he’d just sold his soul to the devil. And perhaps he had.

  *

  The Hound sat up then, his indolent posture giving way to a bearing that was almost aristocratic. “You can come out now,” he said, all traces of cockney gone from his voice.

  A woman emerged from behind the ornate chinoiserie screen in the corner. Her brilliant auburn hair was flowing freely down her back and she wore only the thinnest of chemises. As the light from the window touched her, the fabric was rendered completely transparent. To say that the sight was erotic would have been to do her a great injustice. Annabel was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women in the world, even if she was also one of the most maddening.

  “Why do you do that?” she asked, her full lips pursed in a ridiculously appealing pout.

  “What did I do?” he asked, forcing himself to look away from the light-gilded beauty displayed before him. There were accounts to balance and debts to be collected, after all. He didn’t get to where he was by shirking his duties, even with so tempting a distraction all but laid bare before him.

  “Speak in that horrible cockney accent when you and I both know that your natural way of speaking is as perfectly enunciated and articulate as anyone in society. In fact, I’d daresay it’s better than most!” she teased with a slight smile that gave her a very feline appearance.

  Cockney was his native tongue, but he’d fought long and hard to shed himself of it. He used it when it served his purposes and set it aside when it did not. Like everything else in his life, it was expendable. “Because it does not suit my needs for Lord Valentine Somers, Viscount Seaburn, to know that I am anything more than a grubby, cockney street rat who made good.”