Weddings and Scandals: Regency Romance Collection

by Alec, Joyce

  Emily’s smile returned, her eyes brightening. “I am more certain than ever, Charlotte.”

  “Good, I—”

  Her stuttered stop caught Emily’s attention but Charlotte did not even hear her friend’s whispered words of concern. She was much too busy staring at the one gentleman she never thought she would lay eyes on again.

  He had walked into the room with a casual air, his eyes roving over the gathered crowd as though he held a smidgen of interest in them, but nothing too particular. Charlotte pressed one hand to her stomach, trying to force herself to breathe evenly as her eyes fixed onto his face, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest.

  Her breathing became ragged as he turned his eyes towards hers. There came a sudden flicker within those hazel orbs and then, without so much as a smile or even a nod in her direction, he turned away.

  Hope dashed to the ground at her feet, shattering horribly. She had thought that he might smile at her, might allow his expression to show even a flicker of recognition, but he had simply passed over her as though she were another stranger in the midst of the crowd.

  He had not been the gentleman that had kissed her, then. If he had been, then surely she would have seen it in his face, surely there would have been something there she recognized.

  Why does this matter so much to me?

  The question lay in her mind, weighing her town. Turning her head back towards the overly confident Miss Davies, Charlotte set her shoulders and lifted her chin, not wanting to display any lack of confidence in front of this mysterious gentleman. She would not let him see that his complete disregard for her had affected her in any way, even though inwardly, her heart was aching with a confusing amount of pain and frustration.

  Why did she yearn for him to look at her again? Why was it that his lack of response brought her such frustration? They had only had a few brief conversations whilst he had recovered, which meant her acquaintance with him had been of very short duration.

  “But I felt he understood me,” she murmured aloud, speaking the truth to herself. That was why she wanted it to be he who had kissed her in the gardens. That was why she now felt so bereft of his attentions towards her. It was simply because she had seen in him that which she had found lacking in every other gentleman of her acquaintance. He had not ridiculed her in her desire to know more and to further herself in her learning, nor had he made light of her frustration with the gentlemen she knew who showed no interest in what she truly cared about.

  That was why she had been so caught up with him. That was why, after such a short acquaintance, she had felt her heart changed. It had never done such a thing before, not with anyone that she had met or that her brother had pushed towards her. And now, it seemed, it was to come to nothing. The gentleman did not want to know her, it seemed. He had never given her his name, which meant that, as far as society was concerned, they had never been formally introduced.

  “Did you say something?”

  Charlotte jerked in surprise, tugged from her thoughts by Emily, who was looking at her with concern lingering in her green eyes.

  “I… I saw someone,” Charlotte replied quietly as, much to their relief, Miss Davies resumed her seat. “You remember that gentleman we saw?”

  Emily nodded, her eyes flaring wide. “You told me that he had left the same night of the ball.”

  “I did,” Charlotte remembered. “Well, I believe that I saw him here this evening.”

  There was a momentary pause. “Did he recognize you?” Emily asked curiously, looking past Charlotte as though she might spot the man. “Did he see you sitting here?”

  Charlotte swallowed the ache in her throat and told herself to be sensible. “Yes, I think he did,” she stated as calmly as she could. “But he did not acknowledge me.”

  “Oh.” The look of dismay on Emily’s face reflected Charlotte’s emotions perfectly. “How very odd.” She looked past Charlotte again and then sat back in her chair with a sigh. “Of course, I would not recognize him at all, for the last I saw of him was a bruised and bloodied face. I expect it has all healed rather nicely now.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Mostly,” she agreed quietly. “I am a little distressed as to why he has not so much as smiled at me, however.” Her eyes were fixed on the next young lady to get to her feet and take her place at the pianoforte, so that she would not have to look at her friend for fear of betraying her true emotions. “It seems very curious.”

  “Why not go in search of him?” Emily suggested. “It cannot be that you still do not know his name.” She laughed softly, only for the sound to die away as Charlotte shot her a quick glance. “Oh, I see. That is rather awkward, then.”

  Charlotte sighed heavily, wishing she did not care so much. “Indeed it is. Although…” A sudden thought hit her and she turned back to Emily with a small smile spreading across her face. “I am sure that when I mentioned my brother, the gentleman seemed to be aware of who he was. Perhaps they are acquainted.”

  “And your brother is here this evening,” Emily continued quickly. “Although did Lord Wickton not look in upon this gentleman when he first arrived at the house?”

  “He did, but I doubt he would have recognized him given the state of the man’s face,” Charlotte said, her expression brightening with hope. “Therefore, there is still a chance that if I can steer my brother in the direction of this man, that he might be able to recognize him.”

  “It is an idea, at least,” Emily agreed as the music began again. “Although we shall have to wait until this is at an end before going in pursuit of him.”

  Charlotte nodded, twisting her fingers in her lap. “I can be patient a little longer,” she murmured as Emily nodded her agreement. “But I am determined to find out his name before this evening’s end.”

  * * *

  “Ah, Wickton.”

  Charlotte attempted her most charming smile as she moved towards her brother, who was standing talking to a gentleman she recognized as Baron Enderby. Thankfully, Lord Enderby was married and had a brood of at least three children, as far as she remembered, which meant that Wickton would make no attempt to engage Lord Enderby in conversation with her.

  Although, she remembered with a smile, he was not meant to do such a thing any longer. She had become so used to fending off her brother’s well-meaning attempts that it would take her some time to become used to the idea that she was free of that now.

  “Good evening, Miss James,” Lord Enderby said, bowing. “May I say that you look lovely this evening. As do you, Miss Smythe.”

  Both ladies acknowledged the compliment with thanks and a curtsy of their own and were then forced to take part in a short conversation about the weather for this time of year and listen to the Baron go on about his own dear children for some minutes. Ever polite, Charlotte listened quietly but all the while, her eyes were roving about the place in an attempt to locate the as yet unnamed gentleman.

  “You must simply tell me more about your little girl, although I confess I am a little parched,” Charlotte heard Emily say, and turned to give her friend a most grateful look.

  “I would be glad to accompany you to fetch a drink, Miss Smythe,” the Baron exclaimed, as Emily began to walk away with Lord Enderby trotting along beside her. “Now, my youngest daughter is not yet three years of age and yet already, she can ride as well as any of my other children.”

  “Baron Enderby cares a great deal for his children, it seems,” Lord Wickton murmured, his eyes following after Emily and the Baron as they went. “There was once a time when I thought such things were a noose around one’s neck and now I think that it is to be something that is sought after with a great deal of intent.”

  Surprised to hear him express such a thing and with such fervor, Charlotte put a gentle hand on her brother’s arm. “You need not wait for me to find a husband before you consider your own future, Wickton,” she said softly, half forgetting why she had come to talk to her brother in the first place. “You know that, do you
not?”

  Lord Wickton drew in a breath as though to gather himself and let his gaze drift away from Emily and Baron Enderby.

  “You are trying to tell me that you have found no gentleman of interest since the ball,” he stated, a look of displeasure on his face. “I am well aware of that, Charlotte.”

  She tried to smile. “I am afraid that it has not gone as you planned, Wickton, but that does not mean that you should not begin to seek a courtship for yourself.” Giving herself a slight shake, she let go of his arm. “But that is not why I came to speak to you.”

  “Oh?” Lord Wickton’s interest became instantly piqued. “Then what is it?”

  Hesitating for a moment and fearing that her brother would think her mad, Charlotte suddenly caught sight of the gentleman in question and, in her urgency, clutched at her brother’s arm again.

  “There!” she hissed, her excitement rising. “There, that gentleman, Wickton. Do you see him?”

  Her brother stared at her for a moment or two, before a look of understanding began to come over his expression. The corners of his mouth lifted, his eyes began to twinkle and he turned his head to look in the direction in which she was staring.

  “Which gentleman are you talking of, Charlotte?” he asked in a much brighter voice than she had expected. “There are a good few of them here.”

  Charlotte did not respond to the mirth in her brother’s voice, her attention fixed on the gentleman who was, by now, moving away from them. “There,” she stated, nodding her head in his direction. “Look, he has turned now. He is not talking to anyone but meandering along towards Lord Newton.” It was frustrating enough trying to indicate this gentleman to her brother when she could not point at the man for fear that would draw far too much attention, but her brother’s obvious delight in this circumstance, for whatever reason, was grating on her terribly.

  “Ah, you must mean Lord Glenister,” her brother said, patting her hand. “You can stop holding onto me so tightly now, Charlotte, I have located the fellow.”

  Charlotte, who had not realized what she was doing, loosened her fingers at once and felt her hand ache as she dropped it to her side.

  “Viscount Glenister,” her brother continued, looking down at her with a curious gleam in his eye. “I have not seen him for a few weeks and did wonder whether or not he had returned to his estate—but it seems he has returned.” Without so much as asking, he looped her arm through his and began to walk in the direction of Lord Glenister, which suddenly filled Charlotte with a deep and urgent sense of panic.

  “What are you doing, Wickton?” she hissed, deliberately slowing her steps in an attempt to hold her brother back. “I did not ask you to pursue him.”

  Lord Wickton laughed. “I am going to introduce you, Charlotte, that is all.” he exclaimed, a gentle fondness in his expression. “Never did I think that I would see a flicker of interest in your eyes over a gentleman and now here you are, seeking to know the name of someone that has caught your interest.” His delight was more than apparent and yet Charlotte felt herself shrinking back.

  “Really, Wickton, there is no need,” she insisted, trying to detach herself as gracefully as she could from her brother. “It was merely that I thought I knew him from somewhere and now it appears that I was mistaken.”

  Lord Wickton chuckled and held her arm fast. “I hardly think so, Charlotte,” he said good-naturedly. “I know you better than you know yourself, I think. Come now, here he is.” And so saying, he hurried her towards Lord Glenister, a broad smile on his face, whilst Charlotte felt nothing but a growing sense of anxiety and dread.

  8

  “Lord Wickton.”

  Michael swallowed hard as he was greeted by Lord Wickton, who was standing with the lovely Miss James.

  Perhaps coming here this evening had been a dreadful mistake.

  “It is very good to see you again,” Lord Wickton beamed, confirming to Michael that the gentleman did not know that it had been he who had been lying ensconced in Lord Wickton’s guest bedchamber. “You have been away from town for a time, I believe?”

  Michael’s gaze slid towards Miss James. She had her head slightly turned to the right, as though she could not bring herself to look at him.

  “For a short time, yes,” he stated, bringing his eyes back to Lord Wickton. “Might I ask you to introduce me to…?” He gestured towards Miss James, being fully aware that she was Lord Wickton’s sister but not wanting to give anything away to the fellow.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Lord Wickton stammered, suddenly looking flustered. “I do apologize. I should have done that at the first.” He cleared his throat and dropped his sister’s hand from his arm. “Lord Wickton, may I present my sister, Miss James. Charlotte, this is Viscount Glenister.”

  Miss James swept into an elegant curtsy, her head low as she raised herself up again. “It is very good to make your acquaintance, Lord Glenister,” she stated, lifting her head and, for the first time, looking directly into Michael’s eyes. There was a sharpness there he had not expected, a coldness that made his skin prickle. Evidently, Miss James was not at all pleased with being ignored in the way he had done.

  “Might I ask if you are enjoying the Season, Miss James?” he asked politely, knowing that he would be required to make pleasant conversation for a few minutes before he could try and make an excuse to leave.

  “It has been… interesting,” she replied, tilting her head just a little and never once lifting her eyes from his. “I have found it to be both confusing and at times, I confess, have found certain members of society to treat me in a most dishonorable fashion.” One eyebrow arched slowly and Michael felt a flush begin to creep up his neck. Did she know that it had been he who had kissed her in the darkness that night? Or was she simply referring to his unwillingness to give her both his name and his title? Or even worse, was she angry with him for ignoring her when he had first set eyes on her?

  “I am sorry to hear that,” he said, feeling rather flustered. “I do hope the rest of the Season improves for you.”

  Lord Wickton laughed and began to tell him all about the ball he had held recently, but Michael only listened with half an ear. Instead, he kept his attention on Miss James, although he did not often look in her direction. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, with her blonde hair cascading beautifully down her back in a river of curls and ringlets. Had it not been for the ice in her gaze, then he would think himself in very pleasant company indeed.

  The first moment he had set eyes on her, Michael had felt as though he had dropped through the floor. His legs had grown weak for a moment, leaving him gasping for air. He had not expected Miss James to be in attendance, knowing just how frustrated she was with society and its expectations of her, but there she had been, staring at him with those blue eyes of hers that revealed the very same shock that ricocheted through him. There had been a sudden flash of hope in her gaze, a hope that he would come to greet her and acknowledge her presence, but it had been a hope that he had been required to dash. It was for her own safety, he had told himself, even though his heart had been urging him towards her. He could not show her any particular interest, for fear that someone aligned with Lord Brentwood might see it and try to consider how they could use that connection to their own advantage.

  He had not been allowed to escape for long, however. Mayhap it was something he ought to have expected, given that he knew just how fiercely determined Miss James was. She had appeared alongside her brother, with whom he was already acquainted, and all hope of remaining distant from her had been lost.

  “It was a truly wonderful evening,” Lord Wickton remarked, coming to the end of his comments about the exceptional evening that he had enjoyed. “Although I fear that my sister would not say the same.”

  A trifle interested, Michael turned back towards Miss James, who was looking at her brother with a small degree of frustration in her eyes.

  “You did not enjoy the evening, Miss James?” he asked, a
little surprised. “Even when it was thrown in your honor?”

  Miss James turned back towards him, a cool smile on her lips. “It lacked a little in decent company,” she said, arching one brow in his direction.

  “Stuff and nonsense,” Lord Wickton said at once, rolling his eyes in evident ridicule. “You danced nearly every dance, did you not, Charlotte? How can you say then that you had no pleasant company?”

  Miss James’ smile remained fixed. “It was most enjoyable, Wickton, yes. You are right.” She kept her gaze on Michael, who felt the room suddenly fill with warmth as a trickle of sweat ran down his spine. “Were you in attendance, Lord Glenister? I am sorry if I did not greet you.”

  Michael coughed violently, knowing the question that was hidden beneath her words. She wanted to know if it had been he who had kissed her that night, if he had been the one to take her in his arms and hold her fast. “I confess, Miss James, that I was not able to enjoy the pleasure of your company,” he lied, inclining his head towards her. “Another time, mayhap.”

  “Mayhap,” she replied, eyeing him carefully for another moment before turning her head and looking up at her brother. “Wickton, I am thirsty and I do believe that the second half of the musical evening is to begin.”

  Michael winced inwardly as he saw Miss James’s sharp eyes turn away from his with a look of displeasure. It was clear that she was very upset over how he had treated her that evening but that whilst she did not understand, she was not willing to question him about it. If she did ask him, Michael had very little idea of what he might say in order to explain himself.

  “I shall fetch you a drink, of course,” Lord Wickton said, inclining his head just a little towards his sister whilst a ragged smile crossed his face. “If you will both excuse me.”