Love in the Bargain: A Sweet Regency Romance (Women of Worth Book 1)

by Kasey Stockton

  “I find that London is quite a bit stuffier than I had imagined it would be.”

  I stared at my plate, contemplating the foolishness of my comment, but I could plainly hear the amusement in his tone. “You have not been to Town before?”

  “No, I have.” Why had I said that? London’s ballrooms were stuffier than I had anticipated, but the weather had been chilly and even rainy off and on. I must have searched too long for an explanation.

  “I find that the concentration of coal fires does have an adverse effect on the air,” Lord Cameron put in diplomatically.

  For some odd, unexplainable reason, his response had me swallowing a giggle. My fork remained mid-air as I tried to push down the mirth, but it would not do. Making the mistake of glancing at Lord Cameron, I read the amusement in his eyes and let out a very unladylike laugh—exactly the sort of thing Miss Smythe taught me never to do in polite company.

  My one consolation for the indelicate sound and the subsequent silence in the dining room was that for one minuscule moment, Lord Cameron had let out a laugh that mimicked my own. He was able to cover his more readily than I was, however, and multiple looks of astonishment were directed solely at me.

  Lord McGregor, saint that he apparently was, began speaking to his neighbor again as if nothing untoward had occurred, and the rest of the table followed suit.

  Lord Cameron wiped his mouth and said with an entirely straight face, “And how do you feel about the crowds, Miss Cox?”

  “I choose not to comment, sir.”

  “Oh come, you cannot back down now.”

  “Watch me,” I said, glaring at him from the corner of my eye.

  I was going to do my utmost to act with decorum for the rest of the evening, to the extent that Mother would not have it in her power to berate me further. Now, if only Lord Cameron would quit giving me amusing glances.

  Chapter Seven

  No. No, no, no!

  I threw the newspaper onto the floor and stood, pacing to the sitting room window and back. Then I paced again.

  Oh dear, what was I going to do?

  The door opened and Mother walked in, regally seating herself on a chair and calling to the maid to bring some tea. She appeared calm and collected. Had she possibly missed the article? I glanced to where I threw the newspaper on the floor. Perhaps I could kick it beneath the sofa without her noticing.

  “Come sit. You’re bound to wear holes in my carpet,” she demanded. “We need to discuss how we are going to handle this situation.”

  I pulled my foot back. Evidently, she already knew.

  “Your father doesn’t know, and he doesn’t need to. We have vouchers for Almack’s tonight and will know better how the article has affected us then. I want you to direct your maid to pay special attention to your toilette. Not one single hair can be out of place. I expect you to ooze ladylike decorum.” She speared me with a look. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes.” Though how I was meant to ooze decorum was outside my realm of comprehension.

  She nodded once, the matter settled. The maid brought in the tea service and we drank in silence, waiting for callers—if any—to show up. The clock on the mantle ticked a steady beat, punctuated periodically by passing carriages outside.

  Mother broke the silence. “I have changed my mind about the waltzing.”

  I suppose it was nice while it lasted. “You’d like me to waltz?” I clarified.

  “You shall not reject anyone who may ask. Though I doubt anyone will,” she added quietly.

  The article wasn’t that bad. Did she think I was going to go from many suitors to none because one gossip article announced that I had ‘guffawed at Lord M___’s table like a caged bird in need of some exercise?’

  I cringed. Yes, it truly was that bad.

  What made it infinitely worse was having zero callers arrive, for Mother was sure to think I had scared them all away deliberately.

  “Well,” she said, as she stood. “Get your shawl. We are going to the park.”

  “But it is positively freezing out today!”

  “And we need to be seen. I will not sit here and idly wait while your chances slip away because of one poorly written article. We need to do some socializing.”

  I groaned. “Can’t that be accomplished at Almack’s?”

  She glared again and I stood without complaint. “Give me a moment to find my bonnet.”

  WE HAD THE LUCKY COINCIDENCE of arriving at the park in time with Mrs. Hapworth, and Mother walked a distance with her while I trailed behind with Cecily Hapworth.

  “Are you enjoying your Season?” I asked her. We had roomed together at Miss Smythe’s School for Girls, but we had never been friends.

  “Exceedingly, yes,” she answered. Her fair hair was pulled back and hidden beneath her bonnet, but her simple beauty was hard to mask. “It all feels overwhelming at times, though. I can never remember the right names and who belongs to whom.”

  “If you discover a trick for that, please share it with me. I suffer from the same difficulties.”

  Miss Hapworth shot me a pitying look and my spine straightened instinctively. “It must be terrible to be discussed in the papers.”

  At least I was being discussed. I swallowed a retort and smiled at her instead. “I’m managing. And I believe the gossips will grow bored with me and move onto someone else shortly. That is the nature of these things.”

  “I envy your positive outlook,” she said. “I would positively die if those things had been said about me.”

  Sudden memories assaulted me from our days together in school. Cecily was never easy to be close to, regardless of my efforts. Though, her pride was likely to blame. She had had her own set of rumors to deal with at the time.

  It was fortuitous that Mother called me along and we bid farewell to the Hapworths. I had been biting my tongue too hard to sustain a prolonged conversation.

  “Obnoxious woman,” Mother muttered.

  That time my smile was genuine.

  Her sudden gasp pulled my attention, and I glanced up sharply to find a deep green barouche pull up beside our walking path, an older woman with a familiar grim smile eyeing us closely.

  “There’s nothing for it,” Mother said under her breath. “We’ll have to greet her.”

  The carriage came to a stop when Mother walked toward it. Recognition dawned and I smiled at the older woman.

  “My, you have grown considerably,” she said, eyeing me through her quizzing glass. “Pretty little thing, to be sure. But that determined upper lip will cause you some trouble, my dear.”

  “Good day, Aunt Georgina,” I said pleasantly. “You look well.”

  “Of course I do,” she replied comfortably. “The sun does wonders for my complexion.”

  I hadn’t noticed before, but her white hair was unadorned. No bonnet or cap sat on her head, though her neck was lavishly wrapped in a long fur mantle.

  “You have not come to visit.” The accusation was firmly directed at my mother. I was impressed that she did not shrink under Aunt Georgina’s blazing glare.

  “We have been busy with Elspeth’s come out.”

  “Yes, I’ve read all about that,” she replied coolly.

  The women glared at one another. Drawn to step in and bridge the gap, I said, “Might we call on you, Aunt Georgina?”

  She pulled her eyes away from my mother and settled them on me. Silence descended on us while she appeared to make up her mind. “Very well. I have a thing or two to share with you. Good day.”

  And with that, she was off.

  Mother turned for home immediately, huffing out muttered irritations. I scurried to keep up, contemplating the sort of interesting things Aunt Georgina had to share.

  Chapter Eight

  Almack’s was every bit as stiff and formal as I had been prepared to believe. The punch was sickly sweet and I didn’t bother with cake.

  Freya, on the other hand, was enjoying every moment of it. “Is this no
t just delightful?” she asked.

  “I think I could find more enjoyment in a multitude of things,” Rosalynn said drily.

  I had to agree with Rosalynn.

  My last partner was Mr. Howe, a portly gentleman I had partnered with previously at the Gibsons’ ball. He had come down so hard on my foot in the middle of the country dance that I could not continue on and had to be escorted away to a nearby bench. My toes continued to throb and I tried not to worry about them while my friends kept me company. Mr. Howe had been kind enough to fetch me some punch and then ran from the room like a puppy with its tail between its legs.

  I was quite certain he wasn’t returning this evening.

  “How is your foot?” Rosalynn asked.

  “Is it possible to dance with broken toes?” I countered.

  “Only if one wants to injure their toes further,” a deep voice said behind me.

  Lord McGregor stepped around our bench and smiled down at me, pity drawing his eyebrows together. “I was seeking you out for a dance, Miss Cox, but I see it is not an opportune time.”

  “Perhaps if I am to sit out this dance then I will feel more the thing.”

  He smiled. “May I take the next, then?”

  Mother’s face popped up in my mind and I shoved it away. This was not a dance I would be sad to endure. I liked Lord McGregor’s easy geniality. Well, unless my foot was still in pain.

  “That would be lovely.”

  “In that case—” Lord McGregor turned to Rosalynn. “May I have the honor of this dance?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Very well.”

  Lord McGregor took Rosalynn’s hand and placed it on his arm as he led her to the dance floor. He said something to her and she laughed, her entire face lighting up.

  “Who is that?” Freya asked.

  “That is Jack,” I explained. “Or, I suppose he is Lord McGregor now.”

  Comprehension dawned on her face and Freya opened her mouth to speak when another man came and claimed her for the dance. She shot me a look that asked if I was going to be all right alone and I nodded. The pain in my toes was slowly ebbing and while they still throbbed, I began to feel like perhaps they were not completely broken.

  “I would ask you to dance,” Lord Cameron said, coming to sit beside me, “but since they’ve struck up a waltz, I know you would have to decline.”

  I measured his sincerity but found it impossible to decipher. Let him think what he would, for if I stated that I was now allowed to waltz then I would be asking for a dance, essentially. Which, after my first ball, was something I swore I would never do.

  “It is just as well,” I said instead. “I have injured my foot.”

  “I noticed.”

  My eyebrows raised of their own accord.

  “It was hard not to,” he defended. “You chased poor Mr. Howe out of here.”

  “There was no chasing, only the breaking of bones and the subsequent request for rest.”

  “And are you resting sufficiently?” he questioned.

  I shot him a look. “Well, I was.”

  Lord Cameron chuckled. “Touché.”

  “Where are your brothers this evening?” I asked.

  “Somewhere else. They will never step foot in here again if they can help it.”

  “And you?”

  “I cannot help it.” He smiled. “I came with a friend.”

  I nodded sagely, as though I knew who the friend was. He wasn’t forthcoming with the information and I wondered if this friend was of the female persuasion.

  “Any luck with your dilemma?” he asked.

  “Which one?” I countered.

  “Any of them, I suppose.”

  “I have not been shunned this evening, despite my guffawing like a caged bird.”

  Lord Cameron winced.

  “Yes, it truly was that bad.” I shook my head slowly. “Can you believe someone would write that about a complete stranger? And who, I dare ask, is the informant? Rosalynn guessed a servant. I suppose that makes the most sense.”

  “They do hear everything,” he agreed.

  “I am ready for the topic to shift to another undeserving soul.”

  He eyed me carefully. “Why do you say undeserving?”

  “Does anyone deserve to be discussed without the proper opportunity to defend themselves?”

  He looked unconvinced. “But the newspaper is only relaying facts.”

  “Facts? That is your justification? Lord Cameron, you surprise me.”

  Rosalynn approached on Lord McGregor’s arm and I stood. My toes were sore. They likely would be the rest of the evening. But I could walk—particularly when it led away from this conversation.

  “My dance?” Lord McGregor asked. I gave him my best smile, hoping the informants were somewhere watching now while I stepped out on the arm of the host from that awful dinner.

  “My pleasure,” I responded.

  He led me to the line up for a minuet and deposited me in the line of women before finding his place across from me. Tall and broad-shouldered, Lord McGregor had an easy way about him that naturally inspired trust. His wide smile was authentic, and his pale blue eyes glittered. And like a traitor, I found I enjoyed the way he smiled at me.

  “Lord McGregor, I must admit you are nothing like I imagined you.”

  The dance began and he moved away from me. It was some time before he graced me with a response. “I am not sure what to make of that, Miss Cox.”

  “Only that I have known Rosalynn for quite some time. And girls that are confined...”

  The dance moved us apart once again. His interested gaze followed me closely as I moved through the steps of the dance and to my discomfort, I enjoyed the feeling.

  “Girls that are confined?” he prompted.

  “We share with one another.”

  “What do you share?”

  I twirled away in a bubble of satisfaction. The warm glow in my chest growing, I caught his gaze and held it.

  “Just stories,” I replied, slightly out of breath. “Of red paint, and pretend drowning kittens, and bullfrogs in pinafores.”

  He let out a monstrous laugh that drew heads from every corner of the room. A small alarm went off in my mind warning me to scale back my grin, but I found I could not.

  When the dance was complete, he led me away and my mother pounced. She fawned over Lord McGregor’s arm, nearly pulling him toward my father. My cheeks bloomed and I let go of his arm immediately. But when they stepped away from me, I followed. I couldn’t leave him to the wolves.

  “Such grace, my lord. Absolutely floated across the dance floor,” Mother was saying. “I vow, I’ve never seen a more beautiful dance in all my life.”

  This she said about a basic minuet.

  “And I’ve scarce enjoyed myself more,” Lord McGregor’s low reply came, coupled with a conspiratorial glance my way.

  “Close your jaw, Elspeth,” Mother snapped.

  I slammed my mouth shut obediently and smiled at the poor earl. He had no doubt been saying those things to appease my parents. Father was now asking him about the horses he kept in London. I wanted to run away and hide my face under a pillow. Instead, I settled for smiling politely and nodding my head along to whatever they were speaking about.

  “She would love to,” Mother said, nodding vigorously.

  Drat, I hadn’t been paying attention. Lord McGregor watched me intently, while my parents were locked on him.

  “Would you?” he asked.

  What choice did I have? The original question was irrelevant. I was not allowed to say no. “Of course, my lord.”

  His answering smile made it worth it, whatever it was I had agreed to.

  “Tomorrow?” he asked, this time directed at my parents.

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Splendid.” He picked up my hand and bestowed a kiss on the back of it. My breath caught in my throat. “Until then.”

  As he walked away, my gaze passed over the room and foun
d the majority of eyes on me. A blush heated my cheeks. I had been named ‘the one to watch’ in the article, and evidently, society was taking the advice seriously.

  Chapter Nine

  “What do you enjoy doing in your spare time?”

  Lord McGregor led the curricle deftly through traffic and into Hyde Park at the peak of the fashionable hour. Our carriage crawled at a snail's pace, affording us ample opportunity for conversation. I came to learn that I had agreed to a ride with him in the park today, which I was both relieved and excited to learn.

  I considered what my mother would want me to answer, and what she would certainly wish for me to keep to myself. I settled on a healthy mixture of the two. “I enjoy playing the pianoforte, drawing, and archery,” I said. “And when I have enough time, I thoroughly enjoy creating stories.”

  “Stories?” he asked, his auburn eyebrows pulling together. “Do you write books?”

  “Yes and no. I write the stories sometimes, but with no intention of publishing them. I only enjoy the developing of the story, not the technical aspect of creating a book.”

  He seemed no more enlightened.

  “For example, if given a free afternoon to fill how I wish, I would deposit myself on a park bench in a highly populated area and watch people. My mind begins spinning tales of their lives and before you know it, I have entire sagas playing out in my head about the family picnicking on the green.”

  “I see. Shall we give it a go? What do you know about that couple there?” he asked, pointing to a sour looking man in a barouche beside a frilly, excitable lady.

  I turned to him abruptly. “Certainly not! I do not gossip sir, it is all a creation of my own mind. For my own pleasure.”

  His arm gestured in a large flourish. “Then create.”

  I eyed him from the side, gauging his sincerity. I did not feel as though he was mocking me, but I took my own little game and laid it bare for him to judge. Delicately clearing my throat, I began. “He is a small country squire.”