Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  “Oh, yes, indeed!” Jane agreed exuberantly before breaking down into giggles.

  In her excess of amusement, she leaned toward Grace who had also broken out into laughter she tried to hide behind her hand. Dorothy scowled at her sister to no avail, feeling well and truly snared. She could just imagine how ridiculous she would look, reciting Byron’s poetry while Cecilia plodded along on the pianoforte in accompaniment. It would be almost—but not quite—as bad as those ridiculous parlor tableaux which so many ladies adored as it allowed them to dress up and pose as a favored painting or scene from Shakespeare. Draping yards of linen over her gown and assuming an awkward pose as a character such as Helen of Troy, shrinking in horror at her part in the fall of Troy, would only make the evening utterly unendurable as far as Dorothy was concerned.

  At least they were not expected to do that.

  Aunt Mary chewed on her index finger and eyed Dorothy. “That is all very well, of course, but we must have other entertainments, as well. Perhaps you girls could perform a morally uplifting tableaux? I have always found the story of Helen of Troy so romantic.”

  A groan escaped from Dorothy. She caught her sister’s gaze and raised her brows. Revenge, at last. Dorothy wouldn’t be the only one embarrassed by this notion. Grace shook her head and leaned toward Jane, holding her hand up to hide her lips as she whispered into her cousin’s ear.

  “Is that not a trifle old-fashioned, Aunt Mary?” Dorothy asked, scowling at her sister. “There are so few uplifting tales, and I hardly think that anyone portraying Helen of Troy after her elopement with Paris would give Lord Arundell the right notion of us.”

  Aunt Mary blushed. Her gaze bounced around the room before she finally said, “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

  “If Cecilia will agree to play for us, perhaps we may have a few dances, and a game or two of chess. Uncle Cyril likes chess, does he not?”

  “Yes,” Aunt Mary admitted slowly. She blinked several times, clearly trying to think of some other less intellectual pastimes.

  “Then after the dancing, we shall engage in a few harmless games such as chess. Would that not be best, Aunt Mary?” Dorothy asked.

  “I suppose so,” Aunt Mary admitted with a frown, clearly wishing she could think of some other innocent pastime to which her strict husband could not object. “Don’t forget that you must also recite a poem, Dorothy. I am sure it will impress our guest, Lord Arundell.”

  Dorothy nodded, not trusting herself to make a polite response.

  The matter was left there as Uncle Cyril soon joined them, and it was not long before they all went to their rooms for the night.

  As always when one wished for time to slow down, it sped up. The night of the supper arrived before Dorothy was ready for it. At least she’d had time to memorize The Adieu by Lord Byron, in hopes that Lord Arundell would get the hint and bid adieu to his notion of marrying Dorothy, sight unseen. As for Cecilia, after several fits and starts, she decided that one of Bach’s lesser known works would suit The Adieu and had practiced vigorously all week.

  When Wednesday came, Dorothy found herself being dressed in a cerulean silk dress with gauze over-sleeves and yards of lace and silk flowers strewn all over the wide skirt. She felt ridiculously overdressed, but Aunt Mary had been so pleased to present her with the extravagant dress that she could hardly refuse to wear it, although she suspected the gown was one of her aunt’s cast-offs. She did make one attempt, however, to remind her aunt that she was still in mourning.

  Her aunt grandly ignored her protest. “Blue is not at all objectionable, my dear child, even so soon after such a grievous loss. And it shall be a very small supper. The only guest is Lord Arundell, and no one could make any censorious comments about that. After all, he is…well, never mind. It is not as if we were hosting a ball, or even a dance, after all.”

  “We did say we would dance, though, did we not?” Dorothy glanced at her sister, but Grace was busy gossiping with Jane and didn’t notice. “It is all rather frivolous, so soon after our father’s death.”

  Aunt Mary frowned at her and fidgeted in her chair. “It is a simple supper. We must eat after all, must we not? And you know perfectly well that your uncle would never approve of any activities which were not entirely appropriate, so I suggest you leave matters in my hands and be governed by my decisions. It may be difficult, but you must accept that I know what is best for both you and your sister.”

  “I am sure you do,” Dorothy agreed slowly. Or think you do.

  With that, Aunt Mary began preparations in earnest, though she did have the kindness to ask both Grace and Dorothy what foods they might like best as a way to include them in the activities. Unfortunately, she followed up with the remark that she didn’t really think such plain dishes were suitable when one had an earl as a dinner guest.

  Then, an hour before the earl was due to arrive, Aunt Mary’s personal maid dashed into the room and swept Dorothy’s hair up, making an intricate confection with the assistance of a great deal of hair that was not Dorothy’s and appeared to have once belonged to a horse. Just like Aunt Mary, the maid ignored Dorothy’s protests and sculpted long dangling ringlets on either side of Dorothy’s face.

  Feeling like a fool, Dorothy’s only recourse was to avoid all mirrors as she delicately made her way down the stairs to the drawing room. Her head felt top-heavy and exceedingly uncomfortable.

  Mrs. Jolly, acting as butler, threw open the drawing room doors and announced Dorothy.

  Dorothy cast a quick glance at the stairs behind her. Was it too late to run back to her room and bolt the doors? With unexpected perceptiveness, Mrs. Jolly stepped behind her, blocking the only avenue of retreat.

  So despite her inclinations, Dorothy lifted her voluminous skirts and entered the room.

  The men stood as she entered. Her gaze bounced from her uncle’s face to Cousin Stephen and then to a stranger’s visage—a black-browed face that made her stumble and come to a halt, sucking in a startled breath.

  She didn’t know what she expected, but certainly, it was not this youthful yet intimidating face. Lord Arundell studied her just as she was examining him, and she had the distinct impression that if he had an eyepiece, he would have raised it to one dark eye.

  Lord Arundell was far younger than she anticipated, and though she knew it was silly, the first thing she noticed was his head of thick, lush, dark hair. His penetrating gaze then caught her attention, and although she tried to control it, she felt a hot flush rise to her cheeks. His saturnine face with its firm, square chin and high cheekbones was handsome, but there was something about it—a strength and subtle frown crinkling his dark brows—that spoke of an impatient nature. Here was a man who would not tolerate fools easily.

  And yet there was a hint of amusement in the wry twist of his mobile mouth, and a definite twinkle in his dark eyes when he caught her gaze.

  Her stomach rolled over like a dolphin playing in the ocean waves. She pressed a hand against her waist and forced a tremulous smile, her heart thundering in her chest.

  I can’t marry him! He’s too… Too what? He was not at all the stout, balding old man with damp hands and an unpleasant leer that she’d expected. No, indeed. He was tall and loose-limbed, with dark hair and eyes, and an exceedingly determined chin. Stubborn, she thought.

  Moving with graceful, muscular economy of motion, he strode over to stand near her, the faint aroma of bay clinging to his deep blue evening jacket.

  A rush of feelings enveloped her. Her clasped hands felt as cold as ice as she swallowed, trying to think of something appropriate to say.

  Instead, all she could do was wonder why such a handsome man would agree to marry a nobody, a woman he’d never met? Her thoughts tumbled incoherently before her cousin’s malicious comment from the other evening about the evil earl leapt to the forefront.

  What had Cecilia meant? He didn’t look evil. A trifle hard, perhaps, with that square chin and the impatient air. She took a deep breath. Nonsen
se. He had sought this marriage, not she. Clearly, he had his reasons. She refused to believe that either his motives or he, himself, were evil. Cecilia was simply trying to make her nervous.

  Nonetheless, she couldn’t help her uneasiness, nor could she slow the rapid beating of her heart. The entire situation seemed so unaccountable. Lord Arundell was the last man she’d have expected to have difficulties in finding a mate. Women were probably swooning all over him every time he went to a ball.

  No time, perhaps? Didn’t want to be bothered? Viewed marriage solely as a business arrangement? None of those notions were romantic, but at least they were all mundane and understandable, even if her stomach did contract a bit more at the thought. She pressed her hand harder against her middle, wishing her chest wasn’t so tight and that she could breathe more freely.

  “Lord Arundell, may I present my niece, Miss Dorothy Stainton?” Face beaming with a wide smile, Aunt Mary dragged her forward to greet him.

  Amusement glinted in his dark eyes as he caught Dorothy’s gaze before bowing over her hand. A bemused feeling stole over her, but she managed to babble something appropriate before the rest of the introductions were performed.

  With a barely suppressed giggle, Grace elbowed Dorothy as she made his acquaintance.

  “We are so pleased you were able to grace us with your presence this evening,” Aunt Mary gushed as she led him to a silk-cushioned sofa in a sitting area near the fire. “It is just the family, of course. Miss Stainton and her sister are too newly bereaved to indulge in anything else, so we are doubly honored to have you as our guest.”

  Before Dorothy could take a seat in the delicate chair across from him, Aunt Mary grabbed her arm and placed her next to the earl on the sofa. His lips twitched as he observed the maneuver, but he had the good manners to make no comment, other than to smile at Dorothy and give her sufficient room to spread her wide skirts.

  No fire was burning as the evening had proved warm for June, but Aunt Mary seemed determined to manage their seating arrangements around the large marble fireplace. She clearly had no intention of allowing even the smallest detail to slip from her grasp.

  “I understand you have recently come to London, Miss Stainton,” he said while Aunt Mary dragged her children to this seat or that.

  “Yes.” The single word hung in the air, sounding insufferably rude. She glanced down at her clasped hands. They seemed to be frozen, locked together into a knot on her lap. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  “Under difficult circumstances, as well,” he added, his gaze fixed on her face. His features betrayed no emotion—not even the lifted brows of polite inquiry. “May I offer my condolences for your loss?”

  “Yes. Of course. Thank you.” Dorothy glanced at her sister, who had taken the seat across from them.

  Shaking her head, Grace only pressed her fingers against her mouth to suppress her nervous giggles, which was no help whatsoever.

  What exactly did one say to one’s betrothed when one had never met him before? Or when she didn’t even know if they were betrothed?

  “It is such a pleasure to meet you. I’m charmed to discover that you, too, eschew the inanities of most polite conversations,” he murmured. “Assuming you are not simply struck dumb with grief.”

  What did he mean by that comment? The sardonic note in his voice made Dorothy flush and glance at her sister again.

  “Of course not,” she replied sharply, before taking a deep breath and smiling at him.

  “I am relieved,” he said.

  She studied his hard jawline and wondered if that warm glint of amusement she’d seen in his brown eyes when they’d met had only been in her imagination, after all. Maybe he was another Spartan-minded individual like Uncle Cyril, who seemed to believe card games and just about every other form of entertainment were frivolous and therefore forbidden. He probably thought the Stainton girls should be shrouded in black and locked away in their bedchamber for the next ten months.

  They were certainly off to an awkward start. Dorothy straightened and took a deep breath, changing the subject to the first thing that occurred to her. “The Season will soon come to an end, my lord. Do you intend to leave London soon for your country estate?” Assuming he had a country estate, of course.

  His dark brows pinched together in a brief frown. Then he smiled politely, his expression masklike. “No. I will remain in London.”

  “You have business interests here, then? I had thought that most preferred to abandon the heat of the city during the warmer months.”

  “Perhaps they do. I am not one of them.”

  “Oh, do you enjoy the heat?” Some devilish imp made her smile at him and add, “I understand many older persons appreciate hot days. They say it eases the aches in their bones.”

  Leaning back, he draped one long arm over the back of the sofa, crossed his legs and eyed her. The golden glint was back in his brown eyes. “I have heard that, as well. I shall have to make plans to remain in London to test the theory one summer in forty or fifty years if I am visited by those ills.”

  “Lord Arundell, I hope our dear Miss Stainton is keeping you amused,” Aunt Mary chirped as she pulled one more chair into the gap between the sofa and the fireplace. “Has she told you that she is an aficionado of poetry? Particularly Lord Byron’s brilliant works, and she intends to grace us tonight with a reading set to music. Which poem was it, dear? Childe Harold?”

  “Oh, no, Aunt Mary!” Grace piped up. “Dorothy memorized The Adieu—all twelve stanzas of it! We are so looking forward to hearing her recite while Cousin Cecilia plays the pianoforte. It should be most memorable.”

  Heat burned its way up Dorothy’s cheeks. She couldn’t look at the earl, or anyone else, for that matter. She stared down at her hands, twisting them together until the knuckles grew white. If there was any mercy left in the world, she’d be struck dumb during dinner and never have to speak again. Or perhaps choke on something and die tragically at the table.

  She was so young and beautiful to have died so tragically…

  “It was simply a notion—I don’t have to do so,” she suggested in a small voice. “If you would rather not, my lord, please say so. I’m sure it would be more enjoyable to simply listen to Cousin Cecilia play.”

  “Enjoyable for whom?” The hint of laughter in his voice made Dorothy glance at him sharply. He wore an expression of polite interest, but his eyes were dancing with amusement. “I am sure we are all looking forward to your recitation.”

  “Oh, yes, my lord,” Grace agreed. “I know I can hardly wait for dinner to be over so dear Dorothy can give us what I’m sure will be a heart-wrenching performance.”

  I’d like to wrench your heart out, you little beast! Dorothy glared at her sister.

  Grace smiled sweetly, revealing a cruel side Dorothy never realized her sister owned. The influence of the Polkinghorne girls was no doubt to blame, and although she was happy to see Grace getting along so well with the others, Dorothy couldn’t help feeling a bit betrayed. Or excluded. She wasn’t sure which, and in either case, it was unworthy of her, and she worked to push the emotion aside.

  Clearing her mind made her decide that Grace might simply be nervous, just like Dorothy. She might have blurted out the first thing that came to mind and might be regretting it, even now. All the Staintons—male and female alike—suffered from that awkward trait and subsequent feeling of horror when they realized what they had said.

  “Truly,” Dorothy said, leaping to her feet when she noticed Mrs. Jolly in the doorway, waiting to announce dinner. “I can think of a hundred better ways to spend the evening, my lord.”

  “So can I,” Lord Arundell agreed, standing up as well. “But it appears fate has already decreed our future—at least for the next few hours.”

  “You mean Mrs. Polkinghorne has decreed our future.” Dorothy stepped aside so that her aunt could lead the way.

  “For now, they are one and the same,” he said softly to her b
efore offering his arm to Aunt Mary and proceeding to the dining room.

  Chapter Five

  Marcus studied Miss Stainton, seated across the table from him, as the housekeeper took the place of a butler in this strange household and served the dinner. His initial impression of his intended bride was positive, even though, as rumored, her younger sister was the beauty in the family. Nonetheless, Miss Stainton’s hair was a rich amber reminiscent of honey, her features were regular, despite the minor and undeniably adorable flaw of a crooked front tooth, and her blue eyes sparkled with intelligence.

  Or he thought he saw intelligence until he tried to converse with her. She did seem to recover some of her spirit, however, after her first uninspired utterances. In the back of his mind, he could hear his father’s pompous words that a woman—and most especially a wife—needn’t have anything between her ears but enough soft fluff to keep her head nicely rounded.

  While Marcus’s kind-hearted, but a trifle feather-brained mother seemed to fulfill those requirements perfectly, he wanted something more in a wife. At a minimum, someone who could hold a reasonable conversation over the breakfast table. In fact, he’d secretly hoped that Miss Stainton might be a closet blue-stocking, perhaps even with intellectual pursuits generally considered inappropriate in a woman. He’d far rather die of a stroke during a spirited debate than linger in a coma induced by sheer boredom.

  He just wished Miss Stainton had chosen to memorize something other than the twelve stanzas of the maudlin inanity she’d selected. Of course, Adieu might have been Mrs. Polkinghorne’s choice, it seemed like something she would think was appropriate.

  As he cut a piece of excellent mutton roast, his mouth twitched. On the other hand, Miss Stainton might have selected that particular poem as a way of giving him the hint that she had no wish to accept his offer. Oddly enough, that thought made her all the more interesting and therefore desirable.