Regency Wolfe: A de Wolfe Pack Connected World collection of Victorian and Regency Tales

by Mary Lancaster

“I’m sorry, Miss Renleigh. It took me some time to deliver your message and then I had to visit the cloakroom.”

  “Do so on your own time in the future. Fetch a glass of lemonade for Lady Castlereagh, and wine for the General and me.”

  “Of course,” Elise murmured. There was a tray set out on a table close by and it didn’t take her long to comply. She found herself wishing for other tasks just so that her eyes didn’t stray to the dance floor.

  It was the last dance before the unmasking and supper. The night stretched out interminably.

  Chapter Four

  In all his thirty-eight years, Lord Warenton could not remember ever being quite so obsessed with a woman as he was with this French girl. He’d had many love affairs in the past, some of several years standing. But, in truth, no woman had ever played a large part in his life. The army had been the mainstay of his existence, women mere recreation, however exquisite. But somehow, Elise de Sancerre had burrowed under his skin and he was at a loss to account for it.

  She was pretty, certainly, he allowed as he danced dutifully with Sylvia Renleigh. Not the cold loveliness of many established beauties, including the one currently in his arms, but one less perfect and yet much deeper. He liked, he needed, to look at Elise, at the quick laughter which lit up her whole face and the many, changing expressions in her fascinating, dark eyes. How could he never have seen her before? How could he have committed that crassest of sins and regarded a human being as just part of the furniture? And not just any human being, the one he was now so desperate to make love him.

  In the regiment he now commanded, he’d never looked upon any of his men as unimportant. The lowliest soldier always had his part to play and he’d always recognized and acknowledged that. Perhaps unconsciously, he still regarded civilians as of lesser importance, less worthy of the same consideration. Or perhaps, he’d just been too focused on Sylvia and whether or not he could bring himself to take Caroline’s advice and marry the girl. Even now, as he made trivial conversation with her—Sylvia had no sense of humor—he could imagine her as mistress of his London house, and Warenton Park and even Questing. He could see her hosting political dinners and lavish parties and performing excellently all her duties as countess.

  Where he could never imagine her was in his bed. It would be like making love to a block of ice or some inert statue…or Elise’s bolster.

  His breath caught in sudden laughter and Sylvia’s gaze fixed on him in expectation…of what? An offer of marriage, no doubt. Thank God it had gone no further than the vague hopes of their respective families, because Warenton had no intention of marrying Sylvia now. He wanted the girl who daydreamed herself into accidents and longed to run away from the drudgery of her position to be a free pirate on the high seas.

  The girl who felt so right and so damnably sweet in his arms, yielding and passionate and joyful. And whatever her circumstances, she was a lady in any way that mattered. Whatever her birth—and he doubted it was lowly, although he didn’t greatly care if he was wrong—she would not disgrace his family. She might baffle them or cause minor outrages by her lovable eccentricities, but that only made her all the more interesting to him.

  However, he wasn’t stupid. She had told him she was six and twenty years old, still young compared to him, and sheltered. He’d given her a little fun tonight and assaulted her senses because he couldn’t help himself. But neither could he pretend to be a young girl’s romantic dream. He might have been an earl thanks to George’s carelessness, but he was no Prince Charming. He wasn’t far off forty years old and his personal life had been ramshackle to say the least. He’d fought too long and too hard in the thick of a seemingly endless war to be anything other than a selfish, crusty, old soldier unused to the refinements of life. That Elise’s life contained few refinements at the moment he was well aware, and she deserved better.

  At least he could give her wealth and position. But he had the feeling she wouldn’t accept them if she didn’t love him. And it was her love he wanted, that he yearned for. He couldn’t buy that with his earldom. No one knew better than he that a few kisses didn’t equate with love. He needed to court her, win her if he could…

  And yet, how the devil could he do that while she was in genteel slavery to the Renleighs?

  The music came to a close and he bowed to Sylvia, offering his arm so that he could return her to her aunt. As they approached, he caught sight of Elise delivering glasses to Miss Renleigh and her current companions. His heart turned over just at the sight of her, the thought of being near her.

  Why, after all these years of much more simple pleasures, should this happen to him now? Love, he realized with mingled horror and awe. I love this girl.

  Who still had to survive until tomorrow. And so, he delivered a disappointed Sylvia to her aunt, presented her with a glass of lemonade and left them with a bow. Elise again sat behind them, against the wall, looking at her hands. He couldn’t guess her thoughts and wouldn’t embarrass her by staring. He let his gaze glance off her and strolled away.

  He left shortly afterwards, abandoning Caroline and Vernon and deciding to walk home. However, as he left the house, he saw the distinctive figure of the Prince de Talleyrand ahead of him, about to ascend to his carriage. To his surprise, de Talleyrand paused and stepped back when he noticed him.

  “My lord,” the French delegate greeted him. “Perhaps I may take you somewhere?”

  Warenton considered. “I’d be grateful to go as far as the Kauntiz Palace, if that’s your destination.”

  “Please.” De Talleyrand bowed him inside.

  Hardly blind to the rare honor, Warenton sat back as the carriage lumbered into motion and regarded his enigmatic host.

  De Talleyrand smiled gently. “Doesn’t one hate the gossip of a small, overcrowded city?”

  “Or any other gossip,” Warenton said with distaste.

  “So misleading,” de Talleyrand agreed. “You’ll appreciate I learn a lot from gossip—among all the trivial dross. Gossip, for example, assures me you are about to contract a marriage with the beautiful Miss Renleigh.”

  “Gossip, we’ve agreed, is, indeed, largely dross.”

  “I thought it must be when I saw you…distinguishing Elise de Sancerre with your attentions.”

  Warenton sat forward, frowning. “Was I so obvious?”

  De Talleyrand shrugged. “One dance with a masked stranger in a darned gown. Who cares? Unless one takes an interest in Mademoiselle de Sancerre.”

  Warenton narrowed his eyes. “And you do?”

  De Talleyrand seemed more amused than offended. “Her father was something of a friend of mine. He’s dead now, and there’s little enough I can do for his only child…except look out for her.”

  “Which you do.” Warenton sat back again, smiling faintly. “Are you warning me off, Monsieur?”

  “If necessary. She is, at least, safe with the Renleighs.”

  “I have no intention of making her unsafe. Since I’m glad to find someone watching over her, however distantly, I’ll tell you that my intentions are, in fact, strictly honorable.”

  De Talleyrand blinked. “Well, damn me. I never expected that much safety. You English still amaze me.”

  Warenton began to laugh.

  It seemed to Elise that she’d only just lain down in her bed and closed her eyes when she was being shaken awake again by Marta, the Austrian chambermaid.

  “Mademoiselle, you must come at once. Miss Renleigh is calling for you.”

  Bemused, Elise wearily threw off the bedclothes. “I’ll get dressed…”

  “No, she means now,” Marta said firmly.

  Elise struggled into the robe she’d had since she was fourteen years old. “What is it? Is she ill? What time is it?”

  “It’s nearly nine,” Marta replied, without answering the other questions.

  Shaking herself fully awake, Elise hurried down the two flights of stairs to Miss Renleigh’s bedchamber. There, she halted in surprise, for
the old lady was not the only person present. Besides her dresser, Sylvia and her maid were also there.

  Miss Renleigh, fully dressed, looked grim, her eyes sparkling with fury and outrage as she rounded on Elise.

  She knows, Elise thought. Someone had told her they’d seen her dancing with Lord Warenton. Worse, maybe the servant who’d seen them kissing on the stairs had recognized her after all and carried the tale to the lady of the house.

  Elise braced herself for the storm, even lifted her chin to withstand it with some dignity. Her position, undoubtedly, was lost.

  “Where is it?” Miss Renleigh demanded.

  Elise blinked, frowning. “Where is what, Miss Renleigh?”

  “The tiara!” Miss Renleigh snapped. “What did you do with it?”

  Elise’s knees sagged with relief. “The tiara? I brought it back from Miss Sylvia as you asked and gave it to you. You didn’t like it with your costume, so you took it off and threw it on the bed.”

  Everyone continued to stare at her.

  “And then?” Miss Renleigh said frostily.

  “I went to change as you bade me. I haven’t seen it since.” She glanced at Beetson, Miss Renleigh’s maid. “Did you not put it away?”

  Beetson sniffed superciliously, though her eyes fell. “Yes, Mamzelle, of course, but it isn’t there now.”

  “And Miss Sylvia did not borrow it for any reason?”

  “In the middle of the night?” Miss Renleigh said scathingly. “Stop blaming other people. Return it to me now and I will not involve the authorities. But either way, you will pack your bags and be gone.”

  Elise’s jaw dropped as understanding finally struck. Her knees gave way and she sank down on the bed, only to leap up again in mingled anger and shame and pride.

  “I? You think I stole your tiara? On what grounds could you possibly imagine that?”

  “You are French,” Sylvia said with contempt. “You are poor. And you had the opportunity.”

  Elise could hardly deny the first two—though how they equated with “thief” was another argument. “Opportunity?” she repeated. “When, in God’s name? I am never alone!”

  “You will calm your temper,” Miss Renleigh said icily. “Go and dress and think about what you have done. Then come to the morning room in one hour. Bring the tiara—and your bags—with you.”

  Miss Renleigh turned her back deliberately and Sylvia followed suit. So did the maids with silent triumph. They must have imagined she usurped their positions somehow… Were they responsible for blaming Elise? Or for taking the tiara in the first place? Certainly, Beetson had lied about putting it away…

  With deliberation, Beetson scooped up Miss Renleigh’s laundry from the foot of the bed, stuffing it into an already bulging linen bag. No one said a word.

  Never in her life had Elise felt quite so lonely and rejected. She’d worked herself ragged for these people for three years, doing everything and more ever asked of her, however unnecessary or trivial or just plain spiteful, and never once complaining. And yet they could accuse her of this, believe this of her.

  Blindly, she turned on her heel and left.

  Caroline stared at him over her morning hot chocolate which she was drinking in bed over a newspaper. “You want me to what?”

  “Invite Mademoiselle de Sancerre here to stay with you,” Warenton repeated patiently.

  “Why the devil would I do that?” Caroline demanded. “I’ve barely spoken to the woman! Frankly, I didn’t even register her name until you told me!”

  “It’s an old and noble name, according to de Talleyrand. She fled the revolution as a child with her family.”

  “That may be,” Caroline said impatiently. “But she’s hardly in need of a home now. She’s companion to Miss Renleigh.”

  “Drudge to Miss Renleigh,” Warenton corrected.

  “That may be, too,” Caroline allowed. “Unfortunately, it tends to come with the position. But it is a respectable and genteel post. I don’t understand why you want me to step in. I don’t need a companion. I don’t want one!”

  “It isn’t for you,” Warenton admitted. “It’s for me. I feel responsible for her.”

  Caroline’s frown of incomprehension began to smooth, her eyes to widen with furious understanding. She lifted her cup as though she would fling it at him.

  “How dare you, Francis? I will not give house room to your mistresses!”

  “Why not?” he asked sardonically, closing his fingers around the threatening cup and removing it from his sister’s grip. “Because Vernon wouldn’t like it?”

  “Yes,” she said with her usual honesty.

  “Well, she isn’t my mistress, so Vernon needn’t worry.”

  “No, but I will! I’ll not have you seducing noble maidens beneath my roof either!”

  “Well, at least she is a noble maiden, now.”

  Caroline narrowed her eyes.

  Warenton flung up his hands. “Very well, very well, I’ve finished teasing you. I will move to other lodgings when she comes here, so it is all straight and above board. The truth is, I wish to court her and marry her, if she’ll have me.”

  Caroline blinked. “Have you? She’ll bite your hand off to be Countess of Warenton!”

  “You must see,” Warenton pursued, “that I cannot court her under the same roof as Sylvia Renleigh.”

  “You mean after you raised expectations in that quarter!” Caroline snapped.

  Warenton lifted his eyebrows. “I did no such thing. You and Miss Renleigh between you may have exaggerated my interest. Judging by her expression last night, I imagine you did. But I won’t be pushed into it by any of you. I told you to leave it be while I considered. Well I have considered. She and I would not suit.”

  Caroline swallowed. “I hate it when you talk like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Papa. As if you know you’re right.”

  “Caro, you know I’m right. Sylvia may yet catch her duke or prince. I want Elise de Sancerre.”

  “But why?” Caroline demanded.

  Warenton stood up. “I’m sure you’ll understand when you meet her. Come with me in an hour or write the note as I asked you.”

  Caroline pushed back her tray. “Oh, I’m coming,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  Chapter Five

  Elise entered the morning room with her bag in one hand and her old cloak over her arm. Miss Renleigh wasn’t present. Only Sylvia sat in the armchair by the fire, her back perfectly straight. Sylvia watched as she slowly approached and laid the bag at her feet. It contained all her worldly possessions, save what she wore on her back.

  “Miss Sylvia,” she said as calmly as she could. “You cannot truly believe I would steal from this family or from anyone else. You cannot think I took the tiara.”

  Sylvia didn’t blink. “I don’t care whether you did or not,” she said frankly. “I want you gone.”

  Elise frowned helplessly. “But why? I run scores of errands for you every day. I have never done you one iota of harm.”

  “Liar,” Sylvia uttered with sudden, quite unexpected viciousness. “Did you think I would not see you dancing with Lord Warenton? I did. I saw you coming out of the antechamber with him, too. And then you both disappeared for quite some time.”

  Elise could not deny it, although she felt mortified to be found out. Not because she regretted or was ashamed of what she’d done; because she didn’t want it sullied by other people’s interpretations.

  “I talked to him. I danced with him. Once. Even if I’d danced with him all night, you know it would make no difference to you. I am no one.”

  “And yet,” Sylvia said flatly, “he did not propose.”

  Some wicked, selfish part of her couldn’t help being glad. If he had kissed Elise and offered marriage to Sylvia on the same night…

  “Perhaps he will today or tomorrow. Please, Sylvia, if you know what happened to the tiara, tell me.”

  S
ylvia’s eyes flashed with disdain. The door opened and Miss Renleigh came in with her nephew, Lord Renleigh, who looked both harassed and uncomfortable.

  “I will tell you,” Sylvia said. “You took it. Everything points to you.”

  “Nothing points to me!” Elise exclaimed. “Nothing whatsoever. You just said as much when you told me you didn’t care about the truth of the matter!”

  “I said no such thing,” Sylvia lied without so much as a flicker.

  Elise took an impulsive step forward and Sylvia threw both hands up as if to ward her off. “Don’t let her near me!” she cried with a shudder.

  Renleigh immediately jumped between them. “Here, now, let’s sort this out in a civilized manner,” he pleaded. “Why don’t we all sit down?”

  “I’d rather stand,” Elise insisted.

  “You will stand,” Miss Renleigh said grimly. “Have you brought the tiara back to me?”

  “Of course I haven’t. I didn’t take it in the first place, as you should know perfectly well. Nothing has ever been stolen from you as long as I’ve been in your employ.”

  “Well, there were a few bottles of wine in London,” Renleigh said reluctantly.

  Elise stared at him. “Do you imagine I was drinking myself to sleep every night? If so, I wonder how I managed to rouse myself twice a night for Miss Renleigh and still get up at seven every morning.”

  “Don’t take that tone with your betters,” Miss Renleigh snapped. “Especially when I smelled wine on your breath last night.”

  She couldn’t help flushing. She had, indeed, drunk a glass of sherry with Lord Warenton. “Pray take the cost of one glass of sherry from my wages, if there’s anything left of them. If not, be assured I will pay you back from my next post.”

  “Do you plan to pay for the tiara that way, too?” Miss Renleigh sneered.

  “No, for I did not take the tiara.”

  “So you say,” Sylvia interjected. “Perhaps you could explain to us where you were between dancing with Lord Warenton and fetching drinks for my aunt and General Lisle?”