Regency Engagements Box Set

by Charlotte Fitzwilliam

  Gabby quickly stood from her chair. “I shall see to them.”

  “Would you, dear? That would be lovely. They are Miss Anderzimple’s favorite,” explained Mrs. Parker, as she gushed over her newest future daughter-in-law.

  “Lovely,” Gabby quietly repeated, as she left the drawing room. The room was crowded with women, their voices sounding like a company of squawking birds. She longed for an escape to the small sitting room, the same one she and Barbara used for their personal sanctuary last Season, but those days were gone. Barbara was soon to be a Mrs. Parker, and she would still be unmarried. Glancing in the direction of the footmen in the hallway, she wondered if she should ask one of them to see to the mystery of the missing tea tarts.

  Thinking better of that plan, she decided that she would use this opportunity to be away from the drawing room for as long as she could. She was escaping, she knew that. She was also avoiding the inevitable advice and sympathy that was soon to be directed at her in her unmarried state. Having no desire to be the subject of pity and ridicule, she would rather brave the kitchen and Cook’s ire for intruding into the world of the servants, where she did not belong.

  Slowly making her way down the stairs to the kitchen, she nearly tripped over a gray tabby cat. The cat stood in front of her, meowing. It looked at her as if he—or was the beast a she?— was expecting something. Reaching down, she petted the cat, as her own maid came rushing from the servants’ hall.

  “I see you have met Mrs. Gray,” Becky said to Gabby.

  “Mrs. Gray, is that your name?” Gabby asked the feline, as she scooped the cat into her arms.

  The cat meowed as Becky replied, “She belongs to Cook; that is what she calls her, so it must be her name. Mrs. Gray is the best mouser in the city, aren’t you?” Becky said, as she rubbed the cat’s head, who purred in return.

  “I do not recall Cook owning a cat,” Gabby replied.

  “She didn’t own a cat before this winter. Mrs. Gray was here in town waiting for us when we came. She was as fat as a rat, and not a mouse in sight in the stables. But that is enough about our Mrs. Gray. Miss, what are you doing downstairs? Did you need me? I didn’t hear you ring.”

  “Mrs. Gray is doing a good job; we shall have to promote her to head mouser,” Gabby said and laughed as she handed the cat to Becky. “I did not ring for you. I came downstairs to see about tarts for tea? Mama ordered them, but they have not arrived.”

  “Tea tarts? You should have sent a footman on that errand,” Becky whispered.

  “I should have, but I could not abide another minute in the drawing room. Can you ask Cook about the tarts?”

  “I can ask about the tarts, but you best be going, Miss. If anyone else besides me sees you, they will be in an uproar for an hour trying to figure why you came down here and what must be amiss.”

  “I should go; I have no wish to disrupt the whole staff,” Gabby replied to her maid.

  Becky smiled and said, “I know you don’t; you’re a good mistress. Run along, I’ll see to the tarts. Shall I send anything you would like?”

  “Brandy, perhaps some sherry?” Gabby answered.

  “Spirits for you, Miss? I think not! It would hardly be proper.”

  “Becky, I was teasing.”

  Becky laughed and said, “Yes Miss, you haven’t lost your free-spirited ways about you, have you?”

  Gabby shook her head. “I suppose not.”

  “You spent far too much time moping about in Kent. It makes my heart glad to see you returning to your old ways.”

  “I wonder how brandy tastes?”

  “I pray you never learn. Now, back up the stairs with you. Go, before your mother comes looking for you, or Cook finds you here. She will be in a tizzy for days!”

  Gabby said goodbye to the cat and her maid, as she returned to the world of upstairs. A world she wished she could escape as she reluctantly made her way back to the drawing room. Standing at the door of that rose and gilded room, she wondered briefly if anyone would notice if she did not return. Last year, she might have gotten away with an afternoon away from the tedium of tea, the conversation and the boring old women who were waiting inside. This year, she was twenty years of age. She was no longer a girl, she was a woman. Being a woman, and a proper one, she had obligations. She was also in possession of a single purpose. She, Gabriella Parker, must find a husband.

  Walking back into the room, she adopted her most pleasant and placid expression on her face, sat with perfect posture, and listened attentivity as Mrs. Anderzimple spoke about the balls and dinners to be held in honor of her daughter’s impending nuptials. With a glance to the wintry world outside, Gabby wondered if it was far too late to escape her fate. Could she run away to become a governess? Perhaps she could become a missionary? As she caught her mother’s eye, she knew that escape was not possible for her. She was a Parker, a daughter of a privileged family. It was her duty that she would marry a gentleman who was well connected. That was her future, and no amount of dreaming or wishing would ever change that.

  Yes, if she must marry, and it seemed that she must, she would choose her husband and not let anyone else decide that for her. She would search for a man among her own set, a man who was wealthy and who maybe, just maybe, would permit her to be the woman she truly was, an independent, clever girl who longed for adventure.

  When she thought of adventure, she wanted it to be somewhere far away from the boring life that fate seemed to have in store for her. With her usual determination, she swore that she would begin her quest the very next day. It was the beginning of her second Season; she did not have long to find a husband. She vowed that, in this endeavor, she would not fail.

  6

  “Gabby, I am ecstatic with joy. Simply ecstatic! Imagine me a wife and your sister? Is it not too wonderful to contemplate?” Barbara Anderzimple exclaimed as she squeezed Gabby’s arm in the crowded ballroom of the stately Anderzimple townhouse. The house was nearly as enormous and lavishly furnished as the Parker residence a block away.

  Smiling at her friend, Gabby replied, “It is wonderful, Barbara. I have never been happier to welcome someone into my family. With six brothers, I have grown accustomed to having a new sister every so often, but none more welcome than you, dear girl.”

  “No other sisters were and are still your dearest friend and your closest confidant,” beamed Barbara. “Is this not delightful? This ball is being held in my, I mean your brother’s and my honor? I never thought that I should see the day that I would be celebrated.”

  “The honor could not have happened to a better person,” Gabby answered. “But a costume ball? Who decided that this event should be themed?”

  “That was Mother’s idea. I thought it would be fun, so I encouraged it. How many other nights shall I play a medieval lady and you a queen?”

  Barbara Anderzimple was wearing a long, green velvet gown with wide floor skimming sleeves and a conical hat on her head. A veil hung down from the hat and trailed on the floor, which was nearly stepped on by the throngs of guests that crowded into the ballroom. If she thought that her friend appeared peculiar in her medieval garb, Gabby looked down at the enormous stunning pink dress she was wearing. The gown was extraordinary, the bodice was inlaid with beading and pearls; the material was soft and luxurious to the touch. In the two weeks since the costume ball had been announced, her mother had commissioned this confection of a dress to be made specifically for this night. Lace trimmed the sleeves and the bodice, as the yards of pink material made a swishing sound when she moved.

  The costume had been her mother’s idea, as Gabby explained to Barbara, “I wanted to be Elizabeth. I am unmarried, and so was she. I am independent; I believe you understand the similarities between myself and our greatest queen. My mother insisted that I play the part of our beloved Queen Mary, who was the dutiful wife of William, and not the other Queen Mary who murdered Protestants. She suggested I may receive more compliments from gentlemen who did not consider me to be
too free and independent. She assured me that I should send the proper message with my choice of costume.”

  Barbara was complimentary as always, as she said, “If you ask me my opinion, I shall not hesitate to share it with you. The pink and the lace are quite becoming. I am certain you will not be unmarried for much longer. I have observed several gentlemen sneaking glances in your direction. If I were not engaged, I should be envious of you. You have long been a beauty, and tonight is no exception. In that gown, you are the comeliest woman here tonight.”

  “Barbara, how could you be envious of me when you have succeeded at becoming a bride? You will be soon be connected to a prosperous family, or so I hear,” teased Gabby.

  “So I hear, indeed, Gabby. Before I am forced to converse with every one of my mother’s guests, I shall be delighted if you would allow me the privilege of introducing you to a close acquaintance from Surrey. He is a dear fellow and a gentleman.”

  Gabby could not deny her friend a request as she responded, “I would enjoy nothing so much as an introduction to any gentleman whom you recommend so highly.”

  Barbara beamed and said, “I knew you would think as I do. See him there? He is standing not far from us. He has been patiently waiting for my signal. I shall beckon to him, shall I not?”

  Gabby nodded her approval. What choice did she have but to approve? If she was to be married, she must be properly introduced to as many men as possible and become reacquainted with young eligible men from the previous Season. Men she may have ignored or dismissed as boring and dull. After her heartbreak and the realization that she must be married, she was determined to find a gentleman who was the right amount of dull and indulgent or — and she dared not hope — find a gentleman who embraced his love for adventure and would encourage hers. She was well aware as she stood alone, waiting for the introduction, that the gentleman she was searching for could not embody both traits. The man, whoever he may be, could not simultaneously be dull and adventurous. At this desperate hour, she would be content with either, as long as she became a wife.

  The gentleman from Surrey was a man who was slightly taller than Gabby. He was quite thin and dressed as a cavalier. In his hat was an enormous feather, which was nearly as long and obtrusive as Barbara’s choice of hat and veil. The feather, noted Gabby, was a menace to all who stood behind him, but she refrained from laughing, as it would have been considered rude.

  The name of this man who played the role of a cavalier was Mr. Fenton, a name and a gentleman that Gabby did not recognize. She did not know of him, but that did not keep him from being suitably impressed by her and her family’s reputation as he praised her, in a most nonsensical manner, upon the introduction.

  “Miss Parker, what a moment this is for me to make your acquaintance. I was told of your beauty and your family reputation, but I did not believe either of them to be true. How fortunate I am to be in your presence,” he said with a gallant bow.

  Gabby stared at Barbara. Barbara smiled benevolently in her direction before departing with a charming sentiment, saying, “I will not keep either of you from the joys of dancing. Mr. Fenton, my dear Miss Parker, if you will excuse me, I must receive my other guests.”

  Gabby wanted to plead with Barbara to stay, but she could not insist that her friend avoid her duties as the guest of honor at this gathering which celebrated her engagement. It was unfortunate that she must endure gentlemen of this caliber, if she was to find a suitable man to marry before the end of the Season. Studying the theatrical and surprisingly small and frail Mr. Felton, she wondered if she could endure his flattery and his shortness in stature for a lifetime.

  “Miss Parker, would you grant me the honor of dancing? As you have observed, by my costume and my magnificent hat, I am a cavalier, and you are dressed as a lady. I shall endeavor to rescue you whenever you have need of it.”

  Sighing Gabby answered, “Mr. Fenton, I would be delighted to dance with you.”

  In his overly dramatic fashion, he held out his arm for her, she placed her hand on his arm. She could not help but notice that his arm was as thin and small as the rest of Mr. Fenton. Sighing once again, she walked at his side to join the other couples who were dancing to the next tune. She felt silly, or perhaps ridiculous, to be dancing with a man who on any other occasion would have completely escaped her notice. Why, oh why did she have to accept the attentions of this sort of gentleman?

  Mr. Fenton was not a bad sort, but he was silly, and his theatrical nature was far too comical for her to ever consider anything about him to be serious. Yet, he may be a fine and upstanding gentleman. He would not be a guest at the Anderzimple home if he were not wealthy or well connected. His age, she presumed to be twenty, or perhaps a few years older than her own age. His face was youthful, and his unremarkable features were neither plain nor handsome. Mr. Fenton was wholly forgettable except for the adoring way that he looked at her. Was this man to be her future husband? That was a thought she was not certain she was prepared to accept as she stood across from him and waited for the music to begin.

  The musicians struck a merry tune, as Gabby silently thanked them in her head for playing a song that required many steps and not many opportunities for conversation. In truth, she did not know what she would speak to Mr. Fenton about, his prospects, his family, his choice of costume? None of those subjects appealed to her as she moved, stepped this way and that in unison with the other ladies in a line of dancers. As she was thinking of how to escape the grinning, overly jovial Mr. Fenton’s clutches after the dance, she became aware that she was being observed by a gentleman who was not dancing but was not far away. The man was dressed in the somber and mysterious black costume of a highwayman.

  A highwayman at a costume ball, how intriguing, she mused. Was he was truly looking at her or at the dancers as they moved and stepped in time to the tune? With every cycle of the movements, she returned to the same place in the dance, and she saw him. He was looking in her direction, but he was not leering. She wondered who he may be, this man who was gazing at her. This same man who dared to dress as a common criminal at a costume ball filled with princes, kings, and cavaliers. It was not his daring choice of attire that caught her eye, but his height and his figure. In the black coat and cape of the highwayman character, his masculine figure was unmistakable. He appeared to be powerfully built, but she did not have the chance to further examine him as she danced and turned, wishing the song would quickly come to an end.

  Whether she wished it or not, the song soon came to its conclusion. With a bow, Mr. Fenton asked her for another dance, but she made an excuse of an urgent need to search for her mother. Perhaps another dance later in the evening, she suggested. He was crestfallen but soon recovered as he agreed. Mr. Fenton was soon dispatched in a polite manner. Sadly, Mr. Fenton may be her future husband.

  After her merciful escape from Mr. Fenton, she turned to look for the gentleman who was dressed in the black cape and hat. To her despair, he had disappeared, as she imagined a real highwayman may do in the darkness of the forest. Yet, this man had vanished into the throngs of guests.

  Leaving Mr. Fenton behind, she made her way through the throngs of people as she searched for the mysterious man who was dressed in all black. Why was she looking for him? What could she be thinking to leave behind a man who was so enamored with her that he may propose that very night if she wished? She did not know what mysterious force drove her, but she wanted to know who this man was and who was gazing at her. Or was he gazing at her? Could she be mistaken and he was merely watching the dancers from his vantage point? After the debacle concerning Mr. Grant, she was no longer confident in her ability to gauge whether or not a gentleman was truly interested in her despite being told that she was a beauty and one of the fairest women in all of London.

  Just as she was about to cease her search, she thought she saw a glimpse of her dashing quarry. His black hat loomed above the crowd as she tried to navigate through the men and women dressed in costumes. Wit
h her wide, pink skirt, she was in constant danger of becoming trapped as the other guests crowded into the ballroom. As she was slowed in her progress, she saw the man leave the room, making his way into the hall outside. If she could find a way to walk at a faster pace, she may yet catch him. However, she was impeded not only by the width of her dress, which was considerable, but by the sudden emergence of a gentleman who recalled meeting her the previous Season.

  “Miss Parker, is that you in that costume?” the man asked, as he graciously bowed but not overly dramatically.

  Peering past him, she realized her opportunity for following the mesmerizing man who was dressed as a highwayman had passed. The man who stood in front of her was not as flamboyant or as theatrical as Mr. Fenton. If she recalled him and his personality correctly, this man—who looked at her in a disaffected way—was the antithesis of Mr. Fenton in all things. Studying the person who had greeted her, she saw that he was dressed in the robes of a gentleman that she assumed to be from the Elizabethan period, but she was uncertain. With his somber manner and his lack of exuberance, she recalled that she had been introduced to him at a dinner party at the end of last Season. He was dull if she remembered correctly, terribly so, and tonight he was equally as tedious in his manner and the monotone of his voice.

  “It is I—Miss Parker. You must be Mr. Mabrey.”

  “I am Mr. Mabrey. I must say that I am astonished that you recall meeting me. I was not aware that I had made an impression that you would recall my name or our introduction at Lady Preston’s home in June.”

  “How could I forget?” She smiled at the lack of astonishment he conveyed in his tone despite his words to the contrary.

  “I am compelled to offer you a compliment on your choice of dress. You have chosen to wear the garb of royalty this evening. If I may hazard to presume that you are dressed as a monarch? A queen?”