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

by Kasey Stockton

  “But surely you cannot know—”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He looked at me and seemed to understand. “I see.”

  A few moments of silence followed us from the park and back toward my home. “Perhaps,” he said cautiously, “it would be beneficial to remember when we hear rumors that we do not always know the whole of it. It is easy to judge another’s actions, but we cannot know their motives.”

  So he hadn’t understood then. I wanted to explain I had not heard a rumor that she had listened to gossip about me, but had watched it unfold first hand in the modiste’s shop. I swallowed my explanation, however, since it was both embarrassing and petty, and I did need to let it go.

  “Thank you for coming out with me,” he said, handing me down the step in front of my house. “Is it presumptuous of me to request your presence at the theater Thursday next? Your parents are invited also, of course.”

  “I am unsure,” I replied. “I must check with my mother.” Surely that was not breaking the bargain?

  “I’ll await a note.” He bowed over my hand and I mounted the steps in a daze. Something had altered between us, and I found it was not altogether unpleasant. Terrifying, sure. But perhaps it was not entirely inappropriate to admit it was also pleasant. I swallowed a lump, handed Billington my bonnet and went upstairs to locate my mother. Nothing made sense, but I was determined to make my own sense of things, one way or another.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Cameron had secured a private box and invited along his family, as well as mine. Rosalynn had denied the treat and his father and brothers had, allegedly, laughed at the idea. Since my father held similar contempt at the prospect of an evening at the theater, there was only Cameron seated to my left and Mother to my right.

  I felt, very acutely, the gazes around the room that were trained on our box.

  I had convinced Mother to let us accept the invitation on the basis that if we were seen to be courting then the other rumors would be proved false. She accepted, though unconvinced, and I looked forward to my first experience watching a play of this magnitude.

  A bustle behind us caught my attention and delight spread through me when Aunt Georgina stepped through the velvet curtain into the box and Cameron stood to assist her into a seat beside Mother, whose face tightened into a semblance of a smile.

  “Good evening, darling,” Aunt Georgina said, using a walking cane she did not need and settling herself comfortably, spreading her vivid purple skirts around her. “I have not been to the theater in an age. You are such a gem, Lord Cameron, to think of an old woman such as myself.”

  “It is my honor to escort the three loveliest women in all of London,” he said gravely.

  Aunt Georgina smiled, amusement in her eyes belying her frivolous air. Mother’s mouth twitched into a smile which she tried to hide but could not. It was apparent that flattery was the way to win her over, and Cameron came to the same conclusion.

  “Mrs. Cox, do tell me you enjoy the theater. I find myself thrilled at the prospect of the comedy this evening. I’ve heard tell it is the most entertaining show to hit the stage this year.”

  “As long as it is not vulgar,” Mother said with an air of authority.

  “Yes, certainly.”

  “I find,” Aunt Georgina said, not minding the volume of her voice, “a little vulgarity often adds enough flavor to keep things interesting. I should think The Taming of the Shrew would be quite boring if they hadn’t Katerina to tame.”

  “Yes, well,” Mother said, flustered. She flipped open her fan and began to rapidly air herself, casting her eyes about for a change of topic. She was immensely relieved, it appeared, when the play began.

  And I was too, for Cameron had settled once more beside me and spent the humorous moments of the play chuckling softly and leaning slightly toward me in shared mirth. His shoulder brushed mine, sending warm flurries through my stomach.

  Intermission was a dazzling affair, glasses of champagne in the lobby and hordes of socialites laughing and speaking to one another, about one other. I overheard my name numerous times in affiliation with Cameron’s and I did not know whether to be pleased or horrified that we were continuing to fuel the gossip.

  Cameron sidled up to me, watching Mother chat with a few acquaintances across the room. “Have you enjoyed yourself thus far?”

  I grinned at him, unable to stop myself. “Yes. It is even better than I anticipated. And I feel I must tell you, I had high expectations to begin with.”

  “I’m pleased.”

  The interesting part was that he truly seemed it. I changed the subject. “Rosalynn was not interested?”

  “No.” He glanced at me and then took a sip from his glass. “She is not quite happy with me at present.”

  “She has been acting strangely for some time.” Instantly I regretted my words. It was exceedingly disloyal of me to speak about her this way, and to her brother of all people. It was a line I should not have crossed.

  Whether he sensed my discomfort or felt a degree of his own, he did not continue down that line of conversation.

  Loud laughter jarred us from our tête-à-tête and we both turned toward the American, Mr. Wendel, his head thrown back as he roared in mirth, his circle of friends smiling politely. For such a short man, he really could bellow. Cameron immediately pivoted away. Holding my elbow, he led me back to the box and we took our seats, my mother and aunt still socializing in the foyer.

  He set his gaze on me, struggling to hide his annoyance. “How have you enjoyed London?”

  “Well enough,” I said cautiously. “Though perhaps I would have been happier if my name had remained my own.”

  His eyebrows pulled together. “In what way?”

  Had we not gone over this before? “Those dratted newspaper articles. It is terribly violating to be so discussed.”

  His silence was not very comforting. “I should think the popularity was helpful.”

  “Then I should think you do not know me at all, sir.” Which, in fact, was partially true. The women returned shortly and the rest of the play was enjoyed. Cameron was subdued. He laughed, but it was not the authentic chuckle of before. I could feel the strain, but could not place the cause.

  It was further discouraging when the evening ended and he delivered us home in a silent coach. Walking us to the door, he bowed handsomely, placing a chaste kiss on the back of my gloved knuckles, and then skipped down the steps and into his carriage without a backward glance.

  I tried to swallow my worry. I couldn’t help but wonder, though, what I had said to put him in such a mood.

  FATHER WAS GONE WHEN we returned home—to his club for an evening of gambling, no doubt. He had not been so addicted to the sport as to cause us any trouble, but he enjoyed his cards as well as any man.

  “That was not so terrible,” I said to Mother when we mounted the stairs toward our bedchambers.

  “Did you hear what was being said about your old school friend? Cecily Hapworth, I believe it was.”

  Calling her a school friend was a bit of a stretch, but I merely shook my head. Cameron and I had gotten out of there before hearing any gossip ourselves.

  “It appears that she has eloped with Lord Fischer.”

  I gasped. “You cannot mean it.”

  Mother smiled like a cat, her head nodding furiously. “Apparently her father forbid their marriage, so they went off to Gretna Green and wed over the anvil. She is now Lady Fischer, and they stopped at her estate on their way home and picked up a child who she calls her ward.”

  I said nothing, but my mind was connecting the implications at a furious rate.

  “It is widely believed she is the lady from The Green Door who had a secret child hidden away in the countryside.”

  “Perhaps they shall do well together, then,” I said, shocked. “If they both were victimized by the book, they might understand one another better. At least I have never been the object of cruel and unjust hearsay.”
r />   “Mmm,” she consented. “I suppose we’ll know more when the papers come out tomorrow.”

  She had a point. I kissed her goodnight and sludged toward my own room.

  I submitted to Molly’s ministrations, wearily swaying while she brushed through my long hair, plaiting it for bed and tying a string at the end.

  “The theater was magnificent,” I said to her. It was clear that she was curious but unable to speak until I did so first. “It was exceedingly humorous. The costumes were striking and the sets so realistic.”

  She sighed. “That sounds grand, miss.”

  “It was,” I agreed, climbing into bed. “And now I shall sleep for a week.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Arriving at Aunt Georgina’s home outside of polite visiting hours, I was utterly shocked to find, once again, Freya’s carriage waiting in front of the door. I approached the drawing room behind Aunt Georgina’s butler with some trepidation, but the fire of intrigue died the moment the door swung open to reveal Freya’s distraught, sobbing form on the sofa.

  Rushing to her side, I ignored Coco yapping by my toes and threw my arms around her, wondering why Aunt Georgina hadn’t left her golden throne to console her distressed guest.

  “Elsie!” Freya shrieked, backing out of my embrace and coming to a stand. “What are you doing here?”

  I sat beneath her on the sofa, stunned. “You mean at my aunt’s house?” I looked to Aunt Georgina for support but her face was as passive as the unlit lamp beside her. “I am visiting, of course.”

  Freya wiped furiously at her eyes, glaring at me with all of the heat of the sun. She turned to my Aunt and said, “I apologize but I find I must leave.” When she reached the door, she turned and spoke softly. “Thank you.” Then she was gone.

  When the front door was heard to shut behind her in the distance, I turned to Aunt Georgina, my eyebrows raised in disbelief. “What in heaven’s name was that about?”

  “Oh, it was nothing,” she said, waving her hand in disregard. “Now tell me, did you enjoy the theater the other evening as much as I?”

  I stared at her. Could she really disregard my concern so easily? I had never before witnessed such a display from Freya, directed at me, no less.

  Her pale eyebrows remained set. Plainly, she was not going to budge. I ran my hands along my skirt, smoothing it out as though it would clear up my confusion as well. Very well, I would play her game. I had little choice in the matter as it was. “I would have enjoyed the theater more if the papers had not exaggerated the events. I did not succumb to Lord Cameron’s flirtations during the show, as you very well know. And I certainly did not allow him to stroke my...” I blushed, lowering my voice, “my leg.”

  “Yes dear, I do know these things. I was right beside you.”

  I threw my hands up in exasperation. “But the rest of London does not! How am I going to show my face at the Nelsons’ ball this evening when the whole of society believes I am a trollop?” A thought came to me. “Is that it? Is that why Freya ran out of here like a madwoman? My reputation is in shreds?”

  “No.” She laughed. “Of course not. That had nothing to do with you. You must know Major Heybourne’s attentions are becoming exceedingly pointed.”

  I did not. I assumed he cared for her, naturally, but I had hardly seen Freya of late. How was I to know she was being courted to the point of distress?

  Aunt Georgina rang the bell beside her chair and asked the answering maid to bring a fresh pot of tea. She then turned to me and said with all of the dignity and gravity she possessed, “You must hold your head high and face the ton. If you run off, then you give credence to the rumors. They will merely talk behind your back if you leave.”

  “As opposed to gossiping right in front of me?”

  She smirked. “I’d rather the enemy display their evils to me openly. That makes it easier to know whom to like.”

  Which, she did. Aunt Georgina did not give a wit for gossip, nor what society thought of her. It gave her a reputation of an eccentric, naturally, but it also gave her freedom and respect.

  “Perhaps I am not as brave as I should be.” I settled back into the sofa, petting Coco’s ears when she jumped up and nestled in beside me. “I’m certainly not as brave as you.”

  Aunt Georgina’s eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. She opened her mouth to speak but the door opened to admit the maid bearing tea and she shut her mouth again. After tea was prepared and administered, I waited patiently for whatever she was going to say, on the edge of my seat mentally and literally, but trying to remain undisturbed.

  I had come to the conclusion that the conversation was over when she finally spoke, her words firm and undeterred. “You are only as brave as you choose to be. Courage comes from within. It cannot be bought or traded, but it can be feigned until it is real. Telling yourself you lack bravery, however, is nothing more than an excuse to not even try.”

  I stared at her, thoroughly put in my place. “That is easy for you to say, Aunt, you care not for anyone’s thoughts.”

  “That is neither true nor helpful.” She busied herself arranging her shawl, avoiding my gaze. “You do not always know what another is thinking. Anyone may put on a brave front, but that does not indicate that their courage comes easily. I have had years of putting up with gossip and hurtful barbs until I made the choice to surround myself with people I like. I do not lack friends now, dear, but that does not mean my life was always this pleasant. Nor my evenings so full and entertaining. I do, perhaps, entertain a tad more than most. But why not? It fills my heart and my days and gives me the companionship I desire. Do not waste your years caring too heavily about Society’s feelings, when Society will turn around and dump on you the moment it suits them. Cultivate the relationships that matter, and pull them close to you in times of need. You will find that the rest of them quit caring so much about your affairs when you stop making them matter so heavily to you.”

  “How should I do that when my closest friends are pulling away from me? I have no one, currently.”

  “You do not have no one, darling,” she said, leaning closer. “For you will always have me. And those worthless parents of yours if they choose to quit looking in a mirror for a moment and consider their daughter.”

  I chuckled slightly, then stood to go. “I’ve taken enough of your time, and you have given me quite a lot to think about. Thank you, Aunt Georgina.”

  She speared me with an intelligent look. “My door is always open, child, should you need it. For any reason at all.”

  Tears sprung to my eyes at the thoughtful gesture. I nodded for fear of releasing a storm of emotion and saw myself out, asking my coachman to drive me straight home.

  I had a plan.

  THE LETTERS DISPATCHED, I asked Molly to pay special attention to my toilette, struggling to sit still while she piled curls over my head and expertly arranged them around pearl combs. I was unsure if it would work, but Aunt Georgina’s words about pulling my friends close around me had hit a chord within my soul and I knew I could not give up on them yet. It was evident that both Freya and Rosalynn were struggling with personal predicaments, and it was equally clear that they did not feel capable of confiding in me. As much as it hurt, I needed to respect their privacy and remind them I was there if they needed me, whether they wanted to talk about it or not.

  I had written to both Rosalynn and Freya, asking them to meet me at the Nelson’s ball to discuss something very important. We were nearing the end of the Season and I feared if we did not come to some sort of understanding now, then we would all drift away until our friendship had dissolved. And I could not let that happen without a fight.

  “You are certainly dressed up tonight,” Mother said when we loaded into the carriage. “I wonder if Lord Cameron is planning to attend.”

  “Is Father not accompanying us?” I asked, deflecting. If she wanted to imply my reason for looking well was Cameron, then I would not be able to honestly deny it. But that was
only part of it. More to the point, I felt the desire to show the whole of society that I was strong and defiant in the face of their judgment. Not that I expected her to understand.

  “He is preparing himself to return home,” she said, much to my surprise. “It appears the clubs have worn their enjoyment, as the balls did months ago. I should think we only have a week or so left before we will leave.”

  A moment of silence passed. When the carriage came to a stop, she said, “Oh do pick up your jaw, Elsie. It does not do to look like a trout.”

  I obeyed.

  The Nelsons had outdone themselves, according to Mother’s reports of previous balls. They liked to be one of the final events of the Season, to finish with a smash, but not so near the end that they did not receive a full room of guests. And a crush, it absolutely was. I could hardly see the other side of the room, for the hordes of people grouped about the edges of the ballroom. How there was enough room left for dancing in the center was beyond me. I could not see the dance floor well enough to determine its size.

  The downside to the overflowing ballroom was that it was nearly impossible to spot the person one was looking for; the advantage was that once I found them, we would be able to slip away unseen.

  Once Mother was deeply involved in a conversation, I slipped away. Weaving through the groups I kept my eye out for red ringlets, and red gowns, hoping that finding either one of my friends would help me to spot both of them.

  A hand came around my wrist, stopping me and I turned, surprised to see Mr. Wendel and his awkward smile at the end of the arm. Pulling myself free, I dipped a quick curtsey and turned away when he blocked me once again.

  “I am sorry, sir, but I cannot stop just now.”

  “Whom do you seek? Perhaps I can assist you,” he said, his sly grin making me uneasy.