Longing for a Liberating Love: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “I’m not the nanny, am I, my lady?” she retorted with a frown.

  Alina bit her tongue to avoid a sharp reproof. “I know you aren’t, but if you could head over to that side of the house and ascertain that everything is in order, I would be much obliged.”

  Willa sighed as though the world had drawn itself up against her and she left the room with stiff little steps. Alina thought for a moment that perhaps she should leave Willa at home—they were only going to Brighton for a change of scenery—but she knew it would be frowned upon, and for society’s sake, she decided to let the impudent maid along for the ride. Willa, for all her attitude, seemed genuinely excited about a visit to the seaside town, and perhaps the fresh air would do wonders for her disposition. One never knew.

  The trip had been Theodore’s idea. He came over less often than he had before the official news of Jonas’ passing, and Alina could only attribute his increased absence to the way she had left things when he’d made his subtle overture and was turned down by her cautious reply. She regretted that now, for she missed his warm, silent presence around the house, and the way he played with Jinx.

  On his last visit, he’d talked almost entirely to the little boy and hardly spoke three sentences to her. One of those had been in response to her complaint about loneliness.

  “You should get out of the city,” he’d suggested, his face drawn and his emotions hidden. “There are too many memories at Marshall Gardens and in the surrounding society for a widow recovering from the death of her husband. And Mr. Matthew Hartley is a troublemaker—you could do with some distance from him. Do you have any friends by the seaside?”

  “I have one, Mrs. Imogene Fairfax. She lives alone, but has been a friend of mine and a mentor since before I married Jonas. She would take me in for a few months, I am sure.”

  “You should make the arrangements.”

  He hadn’t made eye contact with her for the entirety of the conversation, busying himself instead with the wooden toy Jinx had begged him to fix. She couldn’t read him, but had gathered from the conversation that he wanted her gone from his life. It hurt her, but she understood.

  “I will.” She’d swallowed hard. “Make the arrangements, I mean.”

  Now, as she loaded into the carriage and calmed Jinx’s excited questions, she found herself wishing she had spoken openly to the family barrister and long-time friend, confessing her desire to see him more, to know how she could mend the crumbling foundation she’d somehow compromised.

  The road to Brighton was long, but could easily be made in a day’s time. The carriage stopped only once along the way to tend to one of the horse’s thrown shoes, and by evening they were pulling up before Imogene’s simple brownstone home in the centre of the bustling city.

  Alina helped herself out of the carriage and watched with a small smile as Jinx tumbled after, overflowing with excitement about the days to come and, as usual, full of questions. Imogene met them on the front step, her auburn hair now decorated with a streak of brilliant white and her figure still holding a few girlish curves beneath her sedate gown.

  “Alina, dear. I’m so glad you’ve finally come.” She wrapped Alina in a warm embrace, and for a moment, Alina leaned against her as a young girl leans into her mother for comfort. Imogene was the closest thing to a mother Alina had ever had—her own had been distant and cold, and had died when Alina was a young girl. Imogene had always been the opposite: warm, interested, and inviting. “I’ve prepared the rooms for you, and your maid has her own room in the servants’ quarters. Is that alright, Willa?”

  Willa nodded, a rare smile brightening her young features. “All to myself, mum? You’re too kind.”

  “Not at all. Alina tells me you are very deserving.” That was Imogene for you, making even the sour-faced maid feel like she belonged and even brought a particular beauty to the party. Imogene smoothed the front of her dress and knelt down until she was on level with Jinx, who peered at her with serious eyes. “And who is this young man? I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

  “Mama said you met me years ago when I was a baby,” Jinx explained, frowning and refusing to extend his hand.

  “Well, do you remember that meeting?” Imogene asked him with an impish grin.

  “No.”

  “Then it doesn’t count. If you ever forget someone’s name or forget even meeting them, it is the proper thing to introduce yourself over again so you are on equal footing. Again, I ask you, young man, to make yourself known to me.” She extended her hand with all the brusque manner of a man, a habit she must have picked up when she was a young girl helping with her father’s shipping business.

  Jinx looked back at her, clearly enchanted, and extended his own hand with great sobriety. “I’m Jinx Hartley, ma’am. People say I’m named after my father, Jonas, but you know I’m actually Jinx to all who know me.”

  “Then you shall be Jinx to me.” Imogene looked the boy in the eyes with respectful quiet. “And allow me to extend my formal sympathies on the passing of your father.”

  Alina thought with a faint smile that in all the months since Jonas’ death, she’d never seen anyone other than Theodore show Jinx such kind attention. People always spoke to him about his father’s passing as though he was too young to know what it meant, sprinkling in a “your father’s in a better place” after an awkward laugh and a “how have you been without your papa?” But not Imogene. She treated him nobly, and Jinx rose up under the respect with a brave little stance.

  “I accept your sympathies,” he announced. “You are most kind to give them.”

  Imogene stood back up and turned to Alina with a sparkle in her eye. “It took this tragedy to bring you to me?” she asked with a laugh. “I’ve been trying to get you here for years. You know, Elizabeth Beverly posted a poem in our Herald that said, ‘hail, favour’d spot, divine retreat!/Sweet refuge from Sol’s scorching heat…/Who from the village, rose thy state/To be a town superb and great.’” She paused, as though letting that sink in, and Alina couldn’t help extending a small worried frown in her direction.

  “Is that supposed to be an impetus for me to visit?”

  “Why, of course! They were beautiful words, and true.”

  “They sound like words that were meant for a church service.” Alina laughed, following her friend inside while the servants took the luggage. “Perhaps poor Elizabeth Beverly meant to be writing about the Vatican, or the New Jerusalem.”

  “Single-minded girl,” Imogene admonished teasingly, tossing her head so that her earrings caught the light. “I’ll have you know that this little fishing village is quite the resort now. You will see that we have people from far and wide come to drink of its elegant pleasures. Why, John Constable has been painting on the beaches for weeks now, and we’re sure a masterpiece is to come of it.”

  “Painting on the beaches? Why would he ruin the poor sand?”

  Imogene rolled her eyes. “Please tell me that wasn’t the first joke you’ve made since Jonas’ death.”

  Alina realized with a start that it was. She felt lighter here, like a different woman. All the world seemed spread out before her like the hopeful sea so near at hand. Imogene walked her up to her room, leaving Jinx in the upstairs bedroom happily unpacking his toys, and Alina looked around the little clean, white space with a smile. Everything was very simple, though elegantly hung, and too-large casements let in great swaths of sea air. The curtains moved in the breeze, and the last strains of evening light lit upon the bed like magic.

  “Will this do, friend?” Imogene put her arm around Alina, and Alina leaned against her with a small sigh.

  “It’s beautiful, Imogene. You don’t know how much I’ve needed this.”

  “You must dress for dinner—yes, we still do that, even in Brighton—and then, when the boy has eaten, you can tell me all about what has happened in the last few months. I know you must still be reeling after Jonas’ passing.”

  “Please, don’t
.” Alina put her hand up, a sharp feeling of guilt and frustration cutting into the magical little room.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t pretend that you are sad about everything that has transpired. You never liked Jonas, and you told me so. That’s why we haven’t seen you since Jinx’s birth—he wouldn’t allow it.”

  Alina watched her friend with a steady eye. She knew her analysis of the situation was correct, but she wanted to see if Imogene’s honesty was still as frank and near the surface as it had been when Alina was a young girl. Imogene sighed.

  “I can’t say I’m sad to have you near me again,” she said at last. “And no, I didn’t like him. It’s not good to speak ill of the dead, but I thought he was a plague on your happiness, and I saw you wither under his touch. Would I have wished him at the bottom of the Atlantic? No. But I do think your best days may be now ahead of you.” She reached out and ran a tender hand over Alina’s black-clad shoulder. “Look at these weeds. You could make a gown of sackcloth look elegant, but still…you are in Brighton, now. You will stick out like a sore thumb if you walk the beaches in black crepe.”

  “There are times when it is alright to stick out like a sore thumb,” Alina replied softly. “It would be considered too soon in London if I were to forget Jonas only two months after his funeral.”

  “But eight months after you learned that he was dead.”

  Alina shrugged. “I do not mind the black.”

  Imogene shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Well, I shall make it my mission to see you in a bit of lavender or pale silk by the end of your visit.”

  Alina rolled her eyes. “You always were one for lost causes, my friend.”

  “But seriously. You will tell me all—what you have been through, and what drove you here into my arms after all this time—after dinner, when the little one is abed?”

  “Of course I will. I have been waiting for a talk from you for some time. There are many reasons to come and visit, but I think it was Mr. Pendleton’s advice that pushed me over the edge and convinced me at last.”

  “Then I owe this Mr. Pendleton quite a lot.” Imogene peered more closely at Alina, and the young widow felt suddenly self-conscious. She blushed, and Imogene took note. “Is this Mr. Pendleton of note somehow? Young, perhaps? Handsome?”

  “He is a barrister,” Alina answered quickly, feigning innocence. “Jonas’ barrister, and now he continues to serve the family. He has been very kind to us in Jonas’ absence, if that is what you mean, but I assure you there is nothing untoward.”

  “How kind of him to continue serving the family,” Imogene said knowingly, turning to go back downstairs. Alina wanted to think that would be the end of it, but she could hear the hint of teasing in Imogene’s voice and she knew the subject would not rest.

  Chapter 10

  The first few days in Brighton were a blur of adjustment. For most visitors, the seaside town was a resort where they could escape the wear and tear of stressful London life, but for Alina, it presented a whirlwind of activities and appointments that she’d been wholly removed from even before Jonas’ death. She had few friends in London, and there were few outings that her husband wanted her to attend.

  Here in Brighton, it was a different story. Imogene was known and loved across the bustling village, and even seasonal neighbours showed up in her drawing room at all hours of the day to chatter and swap stories. She insisted on introducing Alina to everyone who came through the door, and during the 10 a.m. visiting hour, she drug Alina and Jinx along with her to a slew of houses.

  During their second night, one of Imogene’s many friends invited them to an assembly room dance, promising that the officers from Preston Barracks would be in attendance, and Alina was included in the invitation.

  “I’m fearful of leaving Jinx,” she confessed as Imogene put the finishing touches on her hair. “He might be lonely in a strange place, without his mother.”

  “I think you are the one who is lonely and fearful,” Imogene replied with typical candor and wisdom. She hadn’t been able to convince Alina to lay aside her black attire, but the girl was still dressed in an appealing cut with delicate black lace on her capped sleeves and around the bodice of the dress. She wore her hair simply, with soft honey curls pinned up off the nape of her neck and a simple set of drop earrings as her only adornment. “You have to be brave during your stay in Brighton,” Imogene went on, twirling in the mirror to show off her own peacock-green gown with the feathered headdress. “Get out. See people.”

  “So soon?” Alina swallowed hard and placed a slender hand to her throat. “I need rest, Imogene, and recuperation. I would much rather lay all this finery aside and just walk with you by the beach this evening.”

  Imogene laughed as though the suggestion itself was unbearably preposterous. “You’ve had enough rest and reclusion to last a lifetime. That husband of yours kept you locked away like a bad secret, and you’ve somehow convinced yourself that he was right to do so. If you come with me tonight, I can promise you a quiet evening walk tomorrow.”

  “You promise?”

  “On my word.”

  In the end, her goodbye to Jinx was just as Imogene had suspected: the little boy was happy to see his mother leaving for a fun evening, and too distracted by the servants’ games to think much about missing her. He threw his plump little arms around her neck when she bent down to embrace him and kissed her wetly on the cheek before hurrying back to his toy soldiers by the fireside.

  Imogene and Alina rode together in the carriage, though it was so short a ride Alina scoffed at the distance. “We could have walked,” she noted.

  “We must save our energy for the dance floor,” protested Imogene.

  “I haven’t danced in a long time,” Alina said softly.

  “There are many things you haven’t done that you ought to do again,” Imogene answered her gently. “Consider tonight an invitation back into real life, my dear heart.”

  The assembly rooms in question were built into the Old Ship Hotel, and Imogene claimed it had been in response to a like addition at the nearby Castle Inn—the two businesses had a healthy competition, she explained, and their striving had ended in the Old Ship’s favour. The assembly room on the first floor was decorated in the Adam style, with a flat-arched entrance to the ballroom and double-paneled doors across from a gorgeous Palladian window with fluted pillars on either side. The ballroom itself had arches and architraves to spare with decorative moulding of musical instruments and a coved ceiling with three artistic roses following a mould of foliage to the center of the room.

  All around, there were lights and music, and people in brightly-coloured silks spinning and talking as though life was nothing but light and magic. Alina looked around in amazement. The balls she had attended in London had been serious, elegant affairs with long lines of powerful people choosing dance partners as a business transaction rather than a love connection. She’d almost forgotten the dances of her girlhood, where rooms like this were rented out in comfortable inns and the light and laughter spilled out into the darkened streets all around, beckoning passers-by to join in the hilarity.

  “It’s enchanting,” she murmured softly, turning around once in the flat-arched entrance to take in the fresh flowers mingled so naturally with the painted walls.

  She caught Imogene looking at her with a queer expression on her face, and blushed. “What is it?” she asked.

  Imogene shook her head in amazement. “It’s like you’re a different woman now,” she said. “Without him.”

  Alina felt a stab of guilt, and welcomed it. She needed to be reminded of her recent loss, and of the tragedy surrounding Jonas’ passing. She hated that she wasn’t sad without him, that she felt the freedom of Brighton like an elixir in her veins. She felt she deserved the guilt, that a good wife would have mourned her husband more completely.

  “I think I’ll go sit over there.” She pointed to a seat near one of the far windows, half-hidden by a g
auze of light curtains blowing in the breeze.