Regency Engagements Box Set

by Charlotte Fitzwilliam

  “Right you are, Mr. Mabrey. I dare say you are observant. Who might you be?”

  “Mr. John Dee, at your service. I am an alchemist, astrologer, and adviser to Her Majesty, the Queen of England,” he said without smiling.

  “Yes, of course. How appropriate that you should want to be an educated man.”

  She recalled that Mr. Mabrey was intelligent, well read, and preferred books to any other pursuit. He was wealthy and the eldest son of a baronet. He was also incredibly uninteresting despite his cleverness. His attention to literature and reading did match her own, but it was his choice of subject matter that contrasted to her interests. He was disposed to reading the works of philosophers and political treaties with an occasional sermon thrown in for good measure. His lack of charm and his cool, distant nature ruined any chance that he may be considered handsome by her standards. His build and his features were not unfortunate in any way and may improve if he occasionally laughed or smiled—which he rarely did, as she recalled.

  He asked how she remembered him. She could not answer that question with her usual amount of candor. How could she forget a man who was so decidedly tedious that he was easily one of the least interesting men she had ever met.

  “Thank you, Miss Parker, that is a compliment that I shall not soon forget. Were you dancing just now? You seem to be flushed with the exertion of exercise. Shall we enjoy a cup of punch?” he said in his characteristic flat tone of voice, indicating neither interest nor disdain for the activity that he proposed.

  Gabby longed to decline his offer, but she could not permit herself to do so. Mr. Mabrey was terribly dull, but he was wealthy and not entirely without merit. She presumed that he spent all of his time devoted to his studies and his reading, which would leave her free to do as she wished if she were to become his wife. Marrying a man of his sort would not be out of the question, but it would be unbearably monotonous. Still, she may not have a choice in the matter as she smiled at him and remembered that she was a beauty. Perhaps she could convince him to smile in return since her plans to pursue the more interesting man dressed as a highwayman were thwarted.

  “I would enjoy a cup of punch in your company. Tell me, Mr. Mabrey, have you read any books of merit lately? I seem to remember that you enjoyed reading a great deal.”

  Her words were as effective she hoped, as he managed a weak smile. His small dark eyes glistened with what she perceived to be an expression of joy, as he said, “I am flattered that you recall so precise a detail. I have recently read Doctor Huffman’s sermons on the state of sin in the colonial church. Shall I share with you my thoughts on the work?”

  “Nothing would delight more,” she replied, as he led her towards the refreshments. Inwardly, she was silently yawning already, but she must remain steadfast in her quest to find a husband. Even if that meant enduring a thoroughly dull commentary regarding a book she would never have the slightest interest in reading.

  The studious Mr. Mabrey, like the foolish Mr. Fenton, was not her ideal husband, but she was in no position to waste any of her time in search of an ideal gentleman she may never find. She recalled the charm and handsome countenance of Mr. Grant and how silly she had been to believe that either one of those traits mattered. A woman in her second Season could not afford to seek a husband for anything so elusive as love. A match made with a man of similar wealth and higher status was ideal. Matches of that sort were not disposed to falter or be ruined by passion or the flaring of emotions. If she could find a man who was amiable, she may be able to tolerate his less desirable traits, permitting that she was free to do as she wished.

  As Mr. Mabrey began his monologue regarding the book about sermons, she found herself imagining what a life with him would be like if they were to be married. He would be in his study, and she would be in the drawing room of their grand, luxurious house. She may not have to endure him except at dinner, if she was fortunate. With his studies and his reading, she wondered if she would be free to travel as she wished. Could she convince him to take a tour of the cathedrals or visit the Lake District?

  These were her thoughts as she had the distinct feeling she was being watched. Mr. Mabrey droned on about his book and the venerable Doctor Huffman, as Gabby smiled and nodded to encourage him to continue as she searched the room for who might be staring at her. She caught the eye of the highwayman, as she blushed. Did he know that she was searching for him moments ago? He tipped his hat ever so slightly and smiled at her. It was at that moment, that she realized he was wearing a mask across the upper part of his face. His eyes peered out of it, as his high cheekbones and robust jaw were visible from under the dark material. He was smiling at her or smirking—she could not tell—but one thing was certain, he was looking at her. Shockingly, she was staring back at him as Mr. Mabrey, oblivious to the exchange, was content to speak about a subject that could not hold her interest.

  Watching the man dressed as a highwayman, she noticed that he gestured subtly with a nod of his head towards the door of the ballroom. The door that led to the hall. Then he suddenly turned and walked away. Was he signaling to her, did he insinuate that he wished for her to follow him? The idea that she should follow a strange man was appalling, but so had her behavior been that evening. What had she been thinking, pursuing a man she did not know, a man dressed as a criminal. Was it possible that he truly was a thief and he was here to rob the wealthy lords and ladies of London society?

  Thrilled at that thought, she shivered in dangerous delight at her flirtation with the handsome stranger while Mr. Mabrey continued to speak at length about a subject she had introduced. It would be rude of her to hasten the conversation when moments before she had appeared to be attentive to what he had to say. Feeling slightly guilty, she knew that she was not truly interested, and that thought caused her to feel slightly sorry for the man, who was still droning about his opinions of a book that she would never read. Why did she have to be duplicitous to capture the hand and heart of a gentleman? Not wishing to be callous to a man who had done nothing to earn her displeasure, she listened patiently hoping that the stranger was equally as patient.

  “Which is why I am delighted that Doctor Huffman will be speaking at the London Philosophy Society next week. If you are interested to hear his lecture, I will send you an invitation,” Mr. Mabrey said, as he finished his discourse.

  Was he asking her to accompany him to hear the man who had written that dreadful book? Yes, it appeared he was. Perhaps that was her way to escape this conversation. “Mr. Mabrey, that does sound like a lecture that would be hard to forget. I will look for your invitation. If you will excuse me, I must find my mother. I promised her I would see her after the dance.”

  Mr. Mabrey smiled as he bowed once again, a smile that she felt slightly bad about encouraging, as she was nearly positive she had accepted his invitation without saying so. With a quick curtsey, an endeavor that was fraught with danger for anyone around her since the size of her dress was terrific, she dashed away before he asked her to dance or if she wished for a second cup of punch.

  With her gaze focused straight ahead, she did not make eye contact with anyone else as she bustled her way out of the room. She had been delayed long enough. Amusingly, she feared who the next gentleman may be who may be waiting for her after the theatrical Mr. Fenton and the droll Mr. Mabrey.

  In the hall, an immense open space that was not quite as crowded as the ballroom, she searched for him. Looking for a strange man made her breathless and rebellious at the realization of how utterly improper her actions were. No daughter of a wealthy gentleman would be doing what she was this very moment. Not one. She was risking her good name and respect if any of the members of society, of her own set, ever discovered that she had spent her time at Barbara Anderzimple’s engagement ball chasing after a man she did not know. It was scandalous! Which was why she was consumed with the thrill of it.

  Across the hall, she saw him. He was unmistakable in his black cape, hat, and mask. Their eyes met
as she stopped breathing. Heedless of the consequences, the rebellious spirit which lurked inside her fluttered to life as it had been suppressed since she arrived in London this Season. At a ball, no one would notice if she behaved shamelessly, if she had been formally introduced or not, she told herself as she walked towards him and he strode towards her. She was aware that he was tall, his figure was as powerful and masculine as any hero or villain in a novel.

  What was she doing? She soon dismissed that last inkling of caution. Soon, if she married a man like Mr. Mabrey or the overly dramatic Mr. Fenton, she would have to abide by the rules of society, to be demure and polite for the remainder of her life, but tonight, she was unmarried, unengaged, and she was desperate for one last taste of her independence. Even if she was being shocking for a few minutes, she did not care about society’s opinion of her or her actions. Besides, she was at a ball; she was perfectly safe. Nothing could happen to her in a room filled with people, she told herself as she moved closer to the man in the highwayman costume.

  His eyes were the very first thing she noticed about him. They were a shade of deep brown that was so dark that they were nearly black. Was that the shade of them, or was the hue deepened by the black swath of material that covered half of his face? She did not know, but from what she could see of his face, he was handsome in a way that suggested an avid outdoorsman. His skin was tanned, his jaw strong and determined. There was something about his build, his features, and his bearing which suggested a supremely confident man, an arrogant one. She was riveted by him, without ever hearing him speak nor did she know anything about him.

  He bowed to her, gallantly but without a dramatic flair, just a graceful masculine bow. She lowered her head and curtsied as she waited for him to speak to her. He seemed to be taking his time as he looked at her. His gaze was not uncomfortable, but she was filled with nervous apprehension. Had she been a fool for thinking that he wished to talk to her? Did she misread his signals? Was he indicating that he wanted to speak to her, or was she imagining that?

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You are the beautiful Miss Parker, are you not?” he asked, his voice a deep baritone that sounded like a big cat’s purr.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You seem to know who I am, but I do not know your identity. Should we not be formally introduced?”

  “Why should we concern ourselves with propriety? That would spoil the intrigue.”

  “It is proper that I should know who I am addressing.”

  “Proper? Miss Parker, if that is who you are, you permitted me to lead you from the ballroom, and you do not know my name. I do not think you care for what is proper.”

  She blushed at his directness. “I should be outraged by the boldness of your statement.”

  His full lips curled into a villainous smile, as he replied, “If you were outraged, you would have left me or struck me.”

  “This was a mistake,” she replied, even though she did not believe her own words. A mistake suggested regret, and she was far too intrigued by this mysterious man to feel regret. Yet.

  He leaned close to her, as he whispered, “A mistake worth remembering.”

  She turned to look at him. She was unsure what to think of this man, whose name she did not know, whose directness was scarily accurate. “I do not normally speak to strange men. Tell me what I may call you.”

  “You may call me Foxworth if it pleases you.”

  “It does please me, Mr. Foxworth. Are you truly a criminal, or is that your costume?” she asked, relishing in the delight of being equally as direct.

  Why did she not leave this man and this conversation? The discourse was inappropriate. His arrogance and his boldness were undeniable, but she was fascinated by him and the insatiable curiosity of what would happen next. If she left, if she did what every other proper young woman would do, she would never know what may have been her fate. Intoxicated with the danger of the unknown, she enjoyed the precariousness of her circumstances as she savored the nearness of the man who was so virile and masculine.

  “What should I answer that would please you? Are you a bored young woman who is desirous of something tempting to occupy your time? Do you like to flaunt the rules? I can see that you have no regard for propriety, or else I could not have lured you away from your gentleman companion so easily.”

  “Mr. Foxworth, you speak so directly. I do not know what opinion to have of what you have said to me.”

  “What has led you to come to me? Was it my attire that drew you to me? Do you applaud the villains?”

  “Why do you address me in that manner, as if you know what I am thinking?”

  “Beautiful women enjoy intrigue and surreptitious romance.”

  “You believe me to be like others of my rank and sex?”

  “I know it to be true, but I do commend you. Not many women in your position would have dared to follow me. You are different; you are not insulted by my directness or shocked as you would have me believe. You are enjoying this meeting.”

  “I am satisfying my curiosity and nothing more. I noticed you when I was dancing; you were staring at me in a most alarming fashion. I should have asked that you be removed, but I decided to investigate the matter myself. I have no wish to concern my mother or my father, Mr. Cecil Parker.”

  “The landowner from Kent, yes, I know of your father. What a quick tale you have spun. If you must cling to such a story, then I will share a secret with you before I depart. I was looking at you as you were dancing. It was not my intention to leer at you but to study you. I have heard much said of your beauty and your opinionated nature. I wanted to judge for myself if that was true.”

  “Which one, the rumors of my beauty or my nature, neither of which I believe to be true. I am neither a celebrated beauty nor are my opinions widely known.”

  “If I may offer my judgment of you, you are, indeed, a pleasure to the eyes, but you know that to be true. Do you not?”

  “I am not a creature of conceit. If I am considered handsome, then I will accept that compliment. You spoke of my nature? What is your opinion of that?”

  “You have not left, nor have you been shocked by a single daring statement that I have made. I do not think I have to tell you what my opinion of you is; it is apparent that you possess an independence not commonly found in other women of your position.” He stepped closer and whispered this.

  “Thank you, Mr. Foxworth,” she stood there tall and demurely with an expression of inner strength on her face. She did not show her true excitement at all but spoke as if she were a worthy opponent in a game of chess.

  As Gabby searched for something more to say, she heard her name being called from across the hall. Barbara Anderzimple was motioning to her. Turning away, she looked at her friend. With a hint of frustration, she wondered what Barbara could want. She and Mr. Foxworth were just beginning to know one another, a thrilling exploit, and one she wished to continue. Gesturing to Barbara, she turned back around and was astonished that the man Foxworth was gone. In a flash of black, she saw him exiting the hall towards a dark, gloomy corridor. Sighing, she felt her head spinning. Who was he, and what had just happened? She had no words to describe it.

  Joining Barbara, she was introduced to yet another gentleman, who was as dull and predictable as every other man she had ever met — except for the bold Mr. Foxworth.

  7

  Mr. Foxworth was debonair, dangerous, and far too direct and arrogant for her taste. How unfortunate that Gabby could not stop herself from thinking about him. For two days, she tried unsuccessfully to think about her plans to find a husband. There was no doubt that she had been successful at the ball held in honor of her brother and her dearest friend. Mr. Fenton sent flowers, bold and theatrical. Mr. Mabrey sent an invitation to hear the wretchedly boring Doctor Huffman speak, and Mr. Gladstone, a respectable gentleman who Barbara introduced to her late in the evening of the ball, had inquired about her plans for the following afternoon.

&nb
sp; As she sat in the drawing-room, waiting for her mother to return from the shops and the relentless parade of matrons to come to visit for tea, Gabby was far too preoccupied to think of anything else other than Mr. Foxworth. What a rogue he had been with his arrogance and his directness. If Becky knew of the encounter, she would have suggested he be whipped for his insolence. But, Gabby smiled to herself, even Becky did not know about this secret. Mr. Foxworth was not Mr. Grant. Oh no, she mused, this man was dangerous, handsome, and possessed something in his nature which exuded danger. Gabby was entranced by his swagger as much as she was infuriated by how well he knew her. Yet, she did not know anything at all about him.

  She dared to ask about him when she spoke to Barbara the afternoon following the ball, but Barbara professed not to know the gentleman very well. He had been a guest at her ball, but Barbara offered that not all the guests were dear to her or close connections. Perhaps her family knew him better? Or one of Barbara’s older brothers? For two days, Gabby had listened to every conversation in drawing rooms much like her own, as she and her mother paid the expected social calls and received visitors at their home. She was attentive for even the slightest mention of his name, but she had not heard it said by anyone in their immediate social set — much to her consternation.

  To her chagrin, it was becoming more and more probable that either no one she knew acknowledged an acquaintance with the arrogant Mr. Foxworth or she had imagined the incident and the man. She would have suspected that her mind was playing lucid and incredible tricks upon her had Barbara not recalled seeing the enigmatic man. He was a striking figure, singularly dressed in black among a sea of brightly costumed guests. If Barbara Anderzimple recalled seeing him, and she had spoken to him, was there no one who knew the gentleman? Pondering that very question, she was surprised to see her maid beckoning to her from the doorway of the drawing room.