Regency Brides Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set

by Laura Locke

  It is not like me to miss details like that.

  Pauline felt the wind chill her tears as she rode. She felt stupid and humiliated. The fact that Cornelius might be right stung her. But she was not going to simply accept his words. How well did he know Valerian? Why would he have heard of this scandal and no-one else?

  But how could she ask Valerian something like that. And, if it were true, had she not already set her reputation at stake simply by being seen at the ball with him? She shivered.

  The forest track wore out, leading through the fields. Braxley village was to her right; to her left was the endless vista of farms and woods and heathland that stretched as far as the eye could see. Pauline paused on the hillside, letting her eye stretch to the horizon, the beauty of the scene making her feel more calm. Her memory filled with the ball – the dancing, the way she and Valerian were so suited to one another. She felt warm as she remembered the way his hand felt, touching hers. The smile in his eyes. She did not – would not – believe that was imagination. That she and Valerian were not as suited as she knew they were.

  As she turned right, she saw what might be a rider coming along the track. He or she was far enough along to seem only a dark spot moving forward, but as they neared the spot resolved into the shape of a rider.

  Not a bad style, Pauline thought, noting the graceful way the rider lifted in the saddle. They were going at a trot, but their grace made it seem as if they were walking, the steady rise and fall even and well-paced.

  As the rider neared, Pauline discerned that it was a man. He wore a top-hat and a coat with tails and he was tall. Then, while she still watched, the face beneath the dark-hair resolved into a thin, gaunt one with a fine-carved nose and a molded mouth. She gasped.

  “Lieutenant Harrington,” she exclaimed, nervous. “I didn't expect...” she looked around, not knowing what to say; what to think. This man was quite possibly a seducer of the worst order, an unscrupulous and cruel man with no morals whatsoever. But, this close, it was difficult to believe.

  “My lady! Well-met. Greetings.”

  He took off his hat and held it, one-armed, to his side. His other hand held the reins loosely. Whatever Pauline thought of him, he was a fine horseman. That, in itself, meant a great deal to her. She nodded.

  “Greetings, Lieutenant Harrington.” She looked down and then raised her eyes, studying him hesitantly from below her eyelids.

  “My lady. I am glad to see you honor the fine weather with a good ride as well.”

  “I do,” Pauline nodded briskly. “I love riding.”

  His smile softened. “As do I. How old were you, when you first learned?”

  “Six.” Pauline said it without pausing to think. “Our groom gave me my first lesson, holding me on as we trotted round the field. By the second circuit I was clinging on by myself, and by the third I was begging to be let out to explore the orchard.” She chuckled at the memory.

  The officer laughed. He had, Pauline noted for the second time, a light laugh, engaging and infectious. She smiled.

  “I learned when I was four,” he said. “I just about beat you, my lady. Though by so narrow a margin as makes no difference. And, inferior to you, I remember almost nothing of the time.”

  Pauline chuckled. “Well, you were four, lieutenant Harrington. I don't wonder you barely recall it.”

  “I recall other things from when I was four. All I remember of that day was the size of the horse, and the look of terror on the riding-master's face as he led me out. I think he was frightened I would fall off. What would my father have done?”

  Pauline laughed. The story struck her as a little odd. She couldn't quite pinpoint the anomaly, but it felt wrong to her. She tucked it away in her mind for future investigation.

  “I can imagine,” she said kindly. “Well, are you on your way to the fields?” she indicated the fields in the valley across from them, a favored site for afternoon-rides.

  “No, I was on my way from the village,” he explained absently. “Might I ride partway with you?”

  Pauline swallowed, feeling nervous to be in his company, then nodded. “Of course, Lieutenant.”

  He grinned. It was a sudden thing of striking beauty. Pauline shivered at the sharp-edged smile. So wicked but at once so innocent, it stirred her heart as little else could do.

  I wish I knew more about him.

  They rode silently a while. As they did, Pauline watched the landscape absently, her mind elsewhere. She watched him ride, admiring his competence once again. His back was straight, wrists level, and he had a muscled grace to him that made her pulse twitch as she watched.

  “You ride here often?” she asked conversationally. She cleared her throat, her voice catching, and blushed.

  “I do,” Valerian admitted. “I love riding. Small wonder, then, that I fell in with the cavalry.” He smiled at her, that boyish grin.

  “You chose the military from a young age?” Pauline asked. She was probing, trying to find a way into his past, to find out more about this handsome and enigmatic person.

  “I was...an undecided youth,” he said, eyes unfocused as he thought on the past. “Too many things to divert my attentions. I did not think about the career, no.”

  “When did you decide to go for a soldier?” Pauline asked, intrigued despite herself. She imagined him as a youth, perhaps the son of a scholar or a magistrate, wandering the roads alone, without aim.

  “It chose me, I'd say,” he chuckled lightly. “It was one of those things that just...happened. I'm sure you made such choices?” he turned to her.

  “I suppose,” Pauline mused. Then she shrugged, a sad smile twisting her mouth. “Well, I suppose I haven't had many choices to make. I can choose whatever gown I like; which pieces to play – Mozart or Beethoven – and any subject I wish to draw. But as for everything else...I suppose my fate is set,” she chuckled, weakly. Said like that, it was a painful truth.

  His eyes met hers. Pauline blinked, surprised by the expression in his blue eyes. He looked distressed.

  “I think that is a terrible thing,” he said quietly. “You are an eagle, my lady. An eagle kept in a canary's gilded cage. You should fly, not be made to sing.”

  Pauline stared at him. Her heart ached. In that moment, he saw her – her keen wit and the way it irked her, sometimes, to hide it; her longing to decide her own fate – more clearly than anyone.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered.

  “Do not thank me,” he said quietly. “You owe no-one thanks. Least of all me,” he murmured. He looked away, then, his eyes focused on the valley far away.

  Pauline felt her face warm and, surprisingly, the wetness of tears tracked their way along it. “My lord,” she said, voice cracked. “You are kind.”

  “No, I'm honest,” he laughed. “Now I suppose we ought to go,” he said, voice straining for normality. “Else risk soaking.”

  The sky had clouded over, Pauline noticed with some surprise. “You're right,” she nodded. It looked rainy.

  “Well, then,” he said.

  They looked at each other, both unmoving.

  “We should go,” Pauline nodded firmly. She looked away.

  “Yes,” he said.

  They both sat, looking out over the valley. Then, at length, he nudged his horse a pace forward and she walked away ahead. He caught up with her and, wordlessly, they parted at the entrance to Braxton House.

  “Fare well, my lady,” he said with a voice hoarse with emotion. “Take care.”

  “Fare well, Lieutenant,” Pauline said gently. “Go safely.”

  He turned and rode away and Pauline was surprised when she felt fresh tears trace her cheeks. She looked away. Biting her lip with stubborn will not to cry, she rode up the path to home.

  “Welcome, milady,” the groom called cheerfully. “Well timed! Looks like rain.”

  “It does, Ben. It does.”

  “Well, then. You've always been a keen rider. Not surprised you got back safe
, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Ben. Yes.”

  She slid from the saddle, jumping lightly down to the ground. Patted her horse and let Ben take her into the stables. Gave him instructions to rub her down and feed her bran.

  “And check her legs, Ben! I don't want them seizing. Rub them with warm cloths if there's a need to do it.”

  “Yes, milady! Right you are.”

  As she walked up the from the stables, thinking about the ride and the mysterious lieutenant and the talk, she realized something.

  She realized what had felt wrong about his words.

  “I remember the look of terror on the face of my riding master,” she said aloud. Why would a magistrate or scholar employ a riding master? Why would he teach his son riding? And so young?

  “Surely only a rich man's son would have such lessons?” Pauline mused.

  A man from similar circumstances as herself.

  That seems strange, though, Pauline mused: if he was the son of a noble house, why was he here, alone, with no connections; no wealth? And why was he a lieutenant? As the son of an earl, his family could have bought a far higher commission, and surely would have done. Had Lucas joined the militia, he would have been a captain. Why would his family not support him more?

  Perhaps his family were wealthy, but fell from grace. Perhaps industrialists, who wished him to make his way? Or perhaps he were publicly disgraced and cast out of his family?

  All of the three were possible, she mused, and doubtless many other explanations as well. All that Pauline knew in her troubled, confused heart was that he was the only person – man or woman – who had looked at her and seen the truth of who she was. An eagle in a birdcage. As she recalled the words a tear slid down her cheek. The words were the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. They would live, she thought, forever, in her heart.

  Chapter 8

  Pauline decided to visit Matilda the next day. It wasn't a difficult decision to make. Of all the people she knew, only her sister would be trustworthy on this matter. Her mother would immediately seize on the rumor to discredit Lieutenant Harrington – she would have thought him unsuitable anyway and this would just be an excuse.

  “Mother,” she said over breakfast.

  “Yes, Pauline?” Lady Braxton set down her teacup.

  “I...I think I shall ride over to Matilda's today.”

  “It's so far, Pauline! Are you sure? You're leaving me with Allectia and Cornelia on my hands, you know. Don't stay long.”

  Pauline sighed. “I don't intend to stay long, Mother. Just a night. I'll ride back tomorrow afternoon. You'll scarce miss me.”

  “Take the coach, Pauline, dear,” Lord Braxton said, looking up from his plate of breakfast. “It could rain and you never know. Better safe than sorry.”

  “Oh. Thank you, Papa,” Pauline said fondly. “That would help.” The home of Matilda and her husband Henry was close, but it did look like rain.

  Pauline finished breakfast in silence, and hurried upstairs to dress. She chose a cream day-gown with cap sleeves and tied a cream bonnet over her black hair. Then, a cloak covering the ensemble, white gloves on her hands, she hurried into the cloud-wracked morning. The coach was ready by the time she got down, and they hurried along the road to Matilda's home.

  “My lady?” the butler greeted her. The wind buffeted the front terrace and Pauline shivered, stepping in as he held the door back.

  “I'm visiting my sister. Is she in?”

  “I'll call her.”

  Pauline waited in the hallway – a marble floor beneath her feet, the ceiling soaring above her head. The house had been built during the reign of Queen Elizabeth and the high roof, supported by vaulting, still showed its age and the glory of that reign.

  “Sister!”

  Pauline looked up to see her little sister running down the stairs and opened her arms as she cannoned into her, the two of them giving each other a firm hug.

  “Matilda,” Pauline said, grinning. “You shouldn't be running. You look wonderful,” she added. She stepped back to survey her sister at arm's length. With her soft hair loose on her shoulders, a muslin gown flowing about her ankles, she looked radiant in ways Pauline had never seen before.

  “I know,” Matilda said, biting her lip wryly. But I don't need to be so careful. Not for months yet. And when Henry's not about I like to overdo it.” she grinned.

  “He is being protective?” Pauline smiled, as they went to the lower parlor together.

  “He's being insufferable,” Matilda said, rolling her eyes. “I never knew him be so cautious...you'd think I was a cannon, primed to fire at the slightest jolt.”

  They both laughed. The butler headed off to fetch tea and refreshment. When he returned, Matilda was settled on the chaise with Pauline opposite, taking off her gloves in the comfortable warmth of the parlor.

  “You had a good ride?” Matilda asked, pouring tea for them both. The house tended to be informal, which Pauline liked.

  “I took the coach. I was considering to stay.” Pauline said, hoping her sister would not mind.

  “Oh! Wonderful!” Matilda laughed. “I would love to have you. Stay two nights, do?”

  “I can only stay one,” Pauline said, reaching for her tea with a soft grimace. “Mama said she cannot spare me. Cornelia is there at the moment.”

  “Oh,” Matilda nodded. “Mama doesn't have the energy to keep up with her.”

  “No.”

  They laughed. They chatted a while, then Matilda asked Pauline a question.

  “You look tense, sister. Is aught concerning you?”

  “I...you recall I mentioned an officer? I met him recently.”

  “Yes,” Matilda said, swallowing pastry. “A lieutenant with the cavalry, yes?”

  “He is.” Pauline nodded. “Well, might you...have you heard anything of him? Any ill words?”

  “Not at all,” Matilda nodded. “And we would have heard something – Henry keeps his acquaintance with the military – his friend Durrell from his days at the university is there.”

  “Oh.” Pauline felt relieved. “You think this Durrell would have heard of Lieutenant Harrington?”

  “We could ask him,” Matilda said. “He's sure to come to the house inside a week. Sister?”

  “Mm?” Pauline set her cup down carefully, feeling nervous.

  “You have heard something concerning this man?”

  “I heard a rumor,” she said carefully. “About his past. I have my own thoughts as to the truth of it.”

  “You don't believe it?” Matilda asked.

  “No.”

  “I think you should trust yourself, Pauline.”

  “You do, sister?” Pauline laid aside her teacup, finding herself looking into pale blue eyes. Matilda reached across and put her hands over her sister's. The palms were warm and vital, the touch firm.

  “Pauline. You know people. I've never known someone who notices things the way you do. Little things. You were the one who encouraged me and Henry...” she shook her head. “Trust yourself. You know.”

  “I'll try,” Pauline said hesitantly. She bit her lip. She was the big sister, the one who was always calm and capable. Always reassuring. Now here she was, relying on the strength of her sister. There's nothing wrong with that. Matilda is strong, and reliable. Trust her and trust yourself.

  “Do that.”

  Pauline let out a sighing breath. “I will, Matilda.”

  “Good.”

  They sat together for a while, in comfortable silence, the only sound the crunch of Matilda chewing a warm pastry. She always had a big appetite, Pauline recalled fondly, and now with the baby to contend with it seemed to have flourished.

  “You know,” Matilda said cheerfully. “You should come and visit when Durrell's here. He'd know what you wanted to know. And you always get along well with the military sorts. I think it's your powers of observation.”

  Pauline smiled into the cup of tea she held to her lips. “Thank you, s
ister. I should meet Durrell. But I'm not sure if I could ask him this thing directly. It is...not a rumor I wish to perpetuate,” she said carefully.

  Even asking about it might give it credit. And the last thing she wanted was for the foul slander to spread. Always assuming it is slander.

  “Well, then,” Matilda set aside her teacup, leaning forward on the chaise emphatically. “I think one could do best to just ask about him. Inquire about his background...if there is anything to be heard, it will be certain to come out. You can be sure of it.”

  “Good idea,” Pauline acknowledged. “We could do that.”

  “We could!” Matilda nodded. “That will sort this nonsense out for good. And I'm sure it is nonsense – if there was any truth in it you would know, Pauline: Trust yourself.”

  Pauline nodded slowly. She felt a little better. Matilda was probably right – and her faith in her was touching, in any case.

  The talk turned to other things.

  “You know,” Matilda said, “Henry had the strangest news from Town. It's setting things in a bit of a bother there.”

  “What news, sister?” Pauline asked, frowning.

  “Well, apparently, we're one duke short. It happened some years ago...the old duke of Albury died, and there was, it seemed, no successor mentioned. In any case, I don't know how it happened, but the title is vacant, as it were.”

  “Oh?” Pauline frowned. It was not often that it happened, but sometimes titles did fall vacant. If a family died with only one heir, and he had no issue, then it could occur. “There are no sons?”

  “No nothing, it seems,” Matilda nodded. “Though Henry intimated there was a bit of a mystery there.”

  “Oh?” Pauline asked, intrigued. She couldn't help it, but she was interested. Her mind enjoyed solving mysteries and the mystery of the missing duke was one such.

  Matilda smiled. “I know you,” she teased gently. “You'll be solving this mystery. I know you. I recall when we were children together. When Mama's earrings steadily went missing, you figured out what had happened.”