The King's League Box Set: Regency Romance

by Lucy Adams

  “Viscount Chesterfield,” Lady Madeline continued, with a wave of her hand. “And, Lord Chesterfield, might I present Lady Callander, Countess to the late Earl of Callander.”

  The gentleman’s eyes flared with recognition for a moment, before he swept into another bow which, of course, Bridgette had no other choice but to return.

  “How very good to meet you,” she said, as warmly as she could and praying that he would not ask her any questions about her late husband. “Are you enjoying the ball this evening?”

  Lord Chesterfield cleared his throat and finally bestowed a small smile upon her. “I am, of course,” he said, still looking at her with those firm, grey eyes of his. “And you?”

  Bridgette smiled and thanked him, saying that she had not been here long but that she was sure it would be an excellent evening. Lady Madeline began to speak at length about all that had occurred thus far, including her sighing over a dance that was soon to come upon her, where she would have to step out with a gentleman named Lord Lowenstein, who had dogged her heels at almost every social occasion she had attended thus far. Whilst she was speaking, Bridgette took the opportunity to take in this new acquaintance, seeing how he practically hung onto every word that came from Lady Madeline’s mouth. He was not unhandsome, with brown hair that was neatly swept to one side of his forehead, a square jaw but kindness in his grey eyes. She did not know anything about him, of course, and certainly could not say whether or not he was of decent character, but it appeared that he was eager to spend a little more time in Lady Madeline’s company.

  “And will you furnish me with your dance card, Lady Callander?”

  Bridgette looked down and pulled off her dance card from her wrist at once, handing it to Lord Chesterfield and praying that he had not noticed her slight absence of attention. Lady Madeline laughed as he pored over Bridgette’s dance card.

  “I fear that you may have to take the less favorable dances, Lord Chesterfield,” Lady Madeline said sharply. “Lady Callander is often in demand and has already been sought out by a good many gentlemen.”

  Blushing at this remark, Bridgette wisely chose to remain silent, wishing that Lady Madeline had not said anything. She did not want to appear to be something she was not. She was not a diamond of the first water, nor was she someone that ought to be recognized and pursued simply because of her character. The truth was, people were only interested in her because of what she might be willing to do for them, not because she was of any particular interest.

  “You must not listen to Lady Madeline,” she said, a little flustered. “Have you written down your name on her dance card also, Lord Chesterfield? I am sure she would be more than glad to dance with you.” She smiled up at him as he handed her back her dance card, seeing the flicker of hope in his eyes as he turned towards Lady Madeline, who now had something of an arrested look on her face.

  “I would like to have at least one dance, if I may,” he said to Lady Madeline who, after a moment, pulled off the dance card from her wrist and dangled it out towards Lord Chesterfield, like a child teasing a cat with a piece of string.

  Lord Chesterfield took it without hesitation and then eagerly wrote his name down in two separate places. Lady Madeline did not look particularly pleased at this, her brow wrinkling as she accepted her card back from him.

  “I should go in search of Miss Taylor,” Lord Chesterfield said, bowing low, “for I am to do the country dance with her and it is to begin very shortly.” He smiled at Bridgette and then turned his gaze towards Lady Madeline. “I look forward to our dances together, Lady Callander, Lady Madeline.”

  Bridgette smiled. “I thank you,” she said quietly, thinking to herself that this gentleman appeared to be quite unobtrusive, unwilling to push himself forward and demand her attentions. He was clearly quite interested in Lady Madeline, however, even though the lady herself did not appear to notice it.

  “Goodness,” Lady Madeline huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest again. “I thought I might be able to escape his company but it seems I cannot.”

  Surprised, Bridgette turned to her. “But why would you do so, Lady Madeline?” she asked, a little confused. “Is there something about Lord Chesterfield that you do not like? Has he done something to upset you in some way? Or is there gossip that I am entirely unaware of?” She grimaced. “I am afraid I know very little in that regard.”

  Lady Madeline sighed and turned her head to look after him for a moment. “No, there is nothing about him that is particularly odious, I will admit to that,” she said, still looking rather irritated. “He is something of a flirt, which I know a good many gentlemen are, but there is something about his manner, his confidence in himself that infuriates me.”

  “I can see that,” Bridgette remarked, quietly. “But it is clear that he wishes to be in your company this evening.” A knowing smile caught her lips. “It was not I he wished to speak to, but rather, to you.”

  For a moment, Lady Madeline said nothing, her expression one of consideration. And then, she threw up her hands and blew out a breath, propping her hands on her hips.

  “Regardless, I must prepare myself for the next dance,” she said, looking towards Bridgette. “Do you have a gentleman attending you?”

  Glancing down at her dance card, Bridgette noted the name there.

  “Yes,” she said, with a small sigh of her own. “Lord Cambleton, the baron from Scotland.” Wincing, her shoulders slumped. “He is new to London, apparently, and I spoke to Miss Winchester recently, who told me that her feet were still bruised from where he trod all over them!”

  “Then mayhap I can cut in.”

  Bridgette turned around sharply, looking into the face of Lord Millerton. His hazel eyes swirled with questions, as though he feared she would refuse him. His dark hair was brushed to one side, although a little flopped forward over his forehead as he inclined his head, before smiling in Lady Madeline’s direction. “Do excuse me for interrupting you.”

  Bridgette quickly made the introductions, aware of the slow flush of heat that began to climb up her spine as she looked back at him, wondering at what he had been doing in standing so close to her as to overhear her conversation.

  “Lord Cambleton is, I fear, a little overcome already,” Lord Millerton continued, with a small smile. “I am sure he will not mind if I take his place, although…” Trailing off, his eyes drifted to her dance card. “Might I enquire as to whether or not you have any further dances which require a partner?”

  She did not answer him but rather slipped off her dance card and handed it to him, aware of just how warm her cheeks were. Lady Madeline was looking at her with an arched eyebrow, her lip curling just a little. Bridgette did not say a word, waiting until Lord Millerton had written his name where he wished it and then returning it to her.

  “I thank you,” she murmured, as another gentleman — whom Bridgette assumed was to take Lady Madeline to the floor — approached them.

  “And,” Lord Millerton continued, his voice a little lower as he looked into her eyes, as Lady Madeline greeted her companion. “I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you that I am truly sorry for how poorly I spoke this afternoon when we met.” He frowned, looking away and rubbed his forehead, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. “I found myself overcome with surprise and the truth is, Lady Callander, I found the events of last Season to be very difficult indeed.”

  She reached out and put one hand on his arm. “You were gravely injured,” she said, softly. “You lost a dear friend. I cannot imagine how difficult that must have been for you to endure.” Attempting to smile, she let go of his arm, aware of how he struggled to look into her eyes. “Mayhap I should not have stopped you with such haste this afternoon. Perhaps then we might have been able to converse without so much difficulty.”

  Lord Millerton laughed and then offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation. They walked together out to the dance floor, setting themselves in their positions and ready to begi
n their dance.

  “I think I would have always found our first meeting a little difficult,” he said, bowing as the music began. “But all the same, I am sorry for the awkwardness that was in my manner. Truly, I am….” He trailed off, took a deep breath and then smiled rather tightly. “I am glad to see you.”

  “As I am you,” she said, with a quick smile, lifting from her curtsy and accepting his hand as they stepped together into the dance. Nothing was said for some time, as they both enjoyed each other’s company, moving through the dance with graceful steps. There was no anxiety in her steps, she did not fear that he would stand on her toes or trip and knock into her, as she would have done with Lord Cambleton! As the music came to a close, she curtsied deeply, feeling as though there was something of a healing taking place between them, even though she had not felt the wound occur in the first place.

  “There was something that you were going to say earlier this afternoon, Lady Callander,” Lord Millerton said, as he offered his arm for the second time, in order to lead her from the floor. “I hope it was not my manner that prevented you from speaking of it?”

  Bridgette looked up at him, surprised that he had taken such notice of her. The truth was, when she had seen and spoken to Lord Hazelton earlier that afternoon, as much as she had tried to put the questions about what he had meant from her mind, she had found herself unable to do so. When she had seen Lord Millerton again, the urge to ask him what he thought of it had come to her, but there had been that strange distance between them, rather than the beginnings of a close acquaintance that she had once enjoyed and so, she had decided not to so after all.

  “It was my manner,” he said, heavily, shaking his head. “Lady Callander, I am very sorry indeed for that. I beg you, if there is something that you wish to say, then —"

  “You are still in the League?” she asked, interrupting him. “I know that I am not meant to know of it but I must confess an interest still.”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “I am,” he said, speaking of what was known as The King’s League — a group of gentlemen who sought out enemies to the Crown and put a swift end to their ways. “I was given some time away in order to recover from last Season’s events but have returned with the full expectation of being just as involved as before.”

  “I see,” Bridgette murmured, her mind returning to all that had occurred last Season. “I confess that I find myself a little jealous, Lord Millerton.”

  “Oh?” The music began to slow and Bridgette found herself regretful that the dance was coming to an end.

  “Indeed,” she said, curtsying towards him. “I do not know what I shall do to occupy my mind, for last Season I had so much to consider, so much to think over, that it became almost a part of my character.” She blushed a little as he looked at her curiously, seeing the questions in his eyes. “That is not to say that I should like there to be any more danger or threat of death, of course, but rather that I should like the puzzle and the mystery again.”

  “I quite understand,” Lord Millerton said, with a small smile as he offered her his arm in order to lead her from the floor. “Then, might I assure you, Lady Callander, that should anything such as you have described come to me, then I shall inform you of it at once.”

  This gratified her more than she could express, her heart lifting as she looked up at him and saw the warmth in his eyes. Whatever had been between them before, the awkward tension and confusion, it was now quite gone. All it had taken was one dance.

  “That is most considerate of you, Lord Millerton,” she told him as he smiled at her. “I thank you.”

  “Not at all,” he replied, with a wry look in his eyes. “It would be to our benefit to have your thoughts and considerations, Lady Callander.”

  It was yet another compliment and one that made her flush with pleasure. When they arrived back to find Lady Madeline talking animatedly with another young lady and a gentleman beside her, Bridgette found herself wishing that she could spend a little more time in the sole company of Lord Millerton.

  “Whatever it was that you wished to say to me this afternoon, Lady Callander,” Lord Millerton said, a trifle abruptly, “I should like very much to know of it, when you feel able to speak of it.”

  She held his gaze and nodded, her expression softening. “It may very well be nothing at all,” she told him, a small shrug lifting one shoulder. “But should it continue to wreak havoc with my thoughts, then I shall, of course, speak to you of it at once.”

  He bowed low, his hand holding hers, his breath brushing over the back of her hand as his lips remained an inch above her skin. Bridgette caught her breath, her skin prickling as she looked into his face and wondering if he could tell just how much his nearness affected her. He was a handsome gentleman but it was the understanding and awareness between them that she now appreciated. The way he had come back to her, the way he had closed the gap between them, meant more to her than she could express.

  “Until our next dance, Lady Callander,” he said, pressing her hand for another moment before releasing it. “I do hope you enjoy your next dance also.” His eyes flicked towards something — or someone — over her shoulder and she turned to see another gentleman approaching her, his eyes set and his stride purposeful. When she looked back, Lord Millerton had already gone and Bridgette was surprised at just how much her heart sank at his absence. It was nothing short of foolish, given that he would be returning to her later in the evening, but her strange sense of regret could not be quelled.

  Fixing a smile to her face, she greeted Lord Thornberry graciously and tried to throw aside all thoughts of Lord Millerton. There was a good deal of time left at the ball and Bridgette wanted to ensure she enjoyed as much of it as she could — with or without Lord Millerton by her side.

  Chapter Four

  Sebastian could not help but smile to himself when he read the note that had been brought to him only moments ago. It was, of course, from none other than Lady Callander, expressing to him just how glad she was that last evening had been a chance to reacquaint themselves and seeking to call on him at his earliest convenience.

  He was glad that last evening had gone so well. It had taken a good deal of inner torment for him to go to her, to speak to her and to force himself to dance with her, but as the moments had gone by, as he had spent more and more time in her company, he had found himself no longer filled with awkwardness. Rather than being continually reminded of all that had taken place before, he had found himself enjoying Lady Callander’s company without any particular difficulty, finding any sort of regret he might have over picking up the acquaintance again disappearing almost at once.

  Being in her company did not throw memory after memory at him. Rather, he had found himself simply enjoying being with her, dancing with her and conversing with her as though they were old friends — which, he supposed, he might now consider himself to be. They had been thrown together last Season, unable to do anything but be in each other’s company, whereas this Season, he had a choice as to whether or not he should continue the acquaintance. There was no doubt in his mind now, however. He wanted very much to continue in her company.

  “My lord?” His butler, Merriweather, stood in the doorway, evidently having knocked but heard no response from Sebastian.

  “Yes?”

  The butler inclined his head. “The carriage is ready, my lord.”

  “Ah.” Sebastian rose from his chair, glancing at his reflection in the mirror on the wall, then to the note he set down at his writing desk. He would reply to Lady Callander the moment he returned from his meeting with the other gentlemen in the League. Making his way to the front door, he put on his hat and gloves and hurried to the carriage, feeling himself almost a little nervous as he sat down. There was nothing to be anxious about, of course, for the gentlemen of the League were, for the most part, equal in status and certainly those he would consider to be friends. It was the very same feeling that had come upon him when he had first seen Lady Callan
der; that tightening of his stomach, the tugging of his heart, the sweat that had formed on his brow. Would he be reminded of all that had gone before? Or would he finally be able to set his mind to what was before him now rather than what was past?

  “Good afternoon, Lord Millerton!”

  Sebastian let out a long, slow breath as he shook hands firmly with Lord Rushton, seeing the man grin as he did so.

  “You look to be well recovered,” Lord Rushton continued, as though he had previously thought Sebastian to look pale and wane. “How long have you been back in London?”

  A few trivialities were exchanged, including Sebastian expressing his congratulations at Lord Rushton’s recent nuptials and, as he did so, Sebastian slowly felt himself relax. Looking at each and every gentleman in turn, he allowed himself a moment or two to simply breathe and observe. He was back where he belonged, he told himself. Back where he knew all that was occurring, understood his role in things and accepted such things willingly.

  “Ah, Lord Millerton!”

  The familiar voice of Lord Franks caught Sebastian’s ears and he turned his head slowly, as if he wanted to give himself a moment or two longer before greeting the gentleman that had been with him last Season, when all had been so difficult and so painful.

  “How are you, old boy?” Lord Franks slapped him hard on the arm as he shook his head, his eyes grave as he looked steadily into Sebastian’s eyes. “You are recovered, I hope?”

  Sebastian waited for the memories to come back to him, to hit him hard, to pound back into his mind with force, but none came. Instead, all he saw was Lord Franks, hale and hearty, and with that came a sense of relief.

  “I am well,” he answered, as Lord Franks nodded in understanding. “Although it has taken some time.”

  “As has my recovery,” Lord Franks admitted. “Although marrying Miss Hemmingway helped a great deal.”