Cavern of Pleasures Boxset: Georgian Regency Romance

by EM BROWN

  “Especially when grounded in purposeful stubbornness. You may show my brother in.”

  The young man who entered the dining room resembled Phineas in eyes only. Robert Barclay had inherited the petite slender frame of their mother as well as her chestnut hair. Though he was still handsome as all the Barclay siblings were, he had developed more hollowness beneath the eyes in the five years that Phineas had been absent.

  “I agree with Gibbons,” Robert declared.

  “You agree that he spent some five and twenty years in the service of our family or that old habits die hard?” Phineas returned.

  His brother pressed his lips together before answering, “I agree that I am Master Robert. You are the Baron Barclay.”

  “Not yet, thank God. Coffee?”

  Robert eyed the eggs and ham upon the dining table. “I had quite a large breakfast this morning. I think I shall not eat till supper.”

  “I do miss the hearty English breakfast,” Phineas said as he cut into his ham. “How is a man to start the day properly on coffee and pastries alone?”

  With a sigh, Robert sank into a chair at the table. “You need not wait to reclaim the barony. The paperwork is merely a formality.”

  “I did not return to England to reclaim the barony. My ‘death’ has worked out quite well in that regard.”

  “But you are the rightful baron and much better suited to the position than I!”

  Phineas shook his head. “You have always been the upstanding Barclay, though our aptly named sister Prudence may best you yet. I am an irascible rake recovering from a scandalous duel, and as you and our dear friend Lord Bertram have reminded me: a second scandal would spell my doom. How am I better suited to the barony than you?”

  Robert let out an exaggerated sigh. “Phineas, I have not the disposition for a Baron.”

  “That matters not. You have the capable Mr. Hancock to manage all affairs concerning the estate and its businesses—”

  “Yes! And he will not stop speaking to me of the copper mine.”

  “How is Bettina? I have been in England over a fortnight and have yet to set eyes on my dear sister-in-law.”

  “She continues to caution me against my association with you.”

  “She is a sensible woman. You were quite right to marry her.”

  Robert watched in disbelief as Phineas buttered his bread nonchalantly. “Of course I told her that as you are my brother, I am bound to you.”

  “You did not have to procure this lovely apartment for me—or do you mean it as an inducement if I take back the barony?” Phineas asked with amusement before biting into his toast.

  “I would do better to heed her advice and leave you to your own devices!” cried Robert.

  “You would. May I recommend that you listen to your wife more often?”

  “Phineas, I would that you would stop your jesting! Hancock is most insistent on this matter regarding the mine.”

  “What of our mine?”

  “Apparently there is evidence of a significant copper load down one of the tunnels, but to access it, we must bore below Lowry land. The steward for Lowry likes us even less than the Earl himself. Hancock will have no success talking to him. I have attempted to bring up the matter with Alexander, but he refuses to engage.”

  “Not surprisingly. I doubt Alexander takes much of an interest in the business of his estate.”

  “Even if he did, I have not the skill in persuasion.”

  “I would be worse. I am convinced the man loathes me.”

  “Well, Hancock did relay a new bit of information. Apparently, the Lowry steward consults not with the Earl but with his wife.”

  Phineas looked up from his plate. “The Countess?”

  “Yes, and I thought...well, since you have a way with the fair sex...”

  “I would not raise my hopes. I think she may loathe me more than her husband at present.”

  “How is that possible? She barely knows you.”

  “I made a rather impertinent remark to her at the Bennington ball.”

  His brother’s face fell. “In God’s name, what could you have possibly said?”

  “You have no wish to know.”

  Robert’s frown deepened. “And what compelled you to say what you did?”

  Phineas contemplated. “I had no intention to vex her, though it was clear to me afterwards that she did not take to my suggestion warmly, but I confess a part of me wished to confront her after she had clearly demonstrated her disdain of me, and I had yet to make her acquaintance.”

  “She is a Farrington or had you forgotten in your absence how much they dislike us?”

  “They are not all as scornful as you think,” Phineas replied, recalling how easily Sarah Farrington had responded to him.

  “And since when do you give a damn if someone should spurn you? You and Abigail have always done as you please without a care for what others have thought of you, and Georgina following in your footsteps. If I had the nonchalance the two of you possess, I should be quite the cheerful man, I assure you!”

  “A dreadful prospect.”

  Robert threw up his hands. He reached for a slice of toast and began to butter it furiously. Phineas watched his brother with sympathy and a twinge of remorse. Robert had inherited the barony at four and twenty, a young age for a man of his tender disposition. Certainly the circumstances could not have been more distressing. Nonetheless, Phineas would not have allowed the barony to remain with Robert if he had not thought his brother capable.

  “Tell me more about the Countess of Lowry.”

  “What of her?” Robert replied with a mouthful of bread.

  “Have we met her before?”

  “I think not. Her family is quite bourgeois.”

  “She is familiar to me somehow.”

  “You have lain with so many women, I wonder that the entire sex is not familiar to you?”

  “You may be a cheerless man, but let it not be said that you have lost your humor.”

  “I have no opinion of the Countess of Lowry.”

  “Why not?”

  “Should I?”

  Phineas recalled what Mrs. Pemberly had offered in the way of opinion.

  “Why an interest in the Lady Lowry?” Robert asked.

  “If I am to broach the matter of the mine with her, I should like to better understand her temperament.”

  Robert perked up. “Well, our paths do not often cross, but she is mostly reserved the occasions I have seen her. She did not seem to be particularly disagreeable. I attended the wedding, and she was cordial enough. Do you truly intend to speak with her?”

  “It is the least I can do to relieve some of the burden you have had to shoulder in my absence.”

  “Yes.”

  The little word was spoken with great relief. Phineas realized he would have to do more to assist his younger brother.

  “But what if she will not see you?” Robert asked, his brow furrowed. “You said that you had vexed her.”

  “That will pose a challenge but not an insurmountable one.”

  Finishing his coffee, Phineas decided that he would send his card to Lowry House that day to request an audience with the Lady Lowry.

  Chapter Four

  “I HAVE NO DESIRE TO grant him an audience today,” Gertie informed the Lowry butler as she donned her bonnet. “Nor do I expect to have a change of heart the morrow.”

  “Lord Barclay will ask, as he has done the past dozen times, if you would—” the man began.

  “He may ask a hundred times, the answer shall be the same,” Gertie declared as she buttoned her riding jacket over her olive green gown.

  The butler hung his head. “Very well, your ladyship.”

  Gertie regretted her curtness with the butler, but she could not help but be cross whenever she had to think of that Phineas Barclay. Perhaps she needed to pay a visit to the Cavern to relieve her nerves. It had been a sennight since last she went, attempting to dispel the anguish over Alex
ander and his mistress. Although the anguish remained, Hephaestus did provide some relief in the form of a distraction. She had been tempted to return earlier, curious to learn whether he had given up on Lady Athena, but she wanted some distance between them, some time to recapture her old form. Perhaps he would have moved on in her absence, and she would be relieved by it—and a little sorrowful. But it would prove much safer if they parted ways. She could not shake the suspicion that he was no genuine submissive.

  “Perhaps my lady would like one of her maids to ride along?” the footman inquired when her horse had been brought around to the front of the house.

  “I would keep them unnecessarily from their tasks,” Gertie answered as she stepped onto the footstool and mounted the steed. “I can manage quite well on my own.”

  Taking the reins, she barely managed to guide the horse beyond the square when a voice stopped her. At first she thought it was Hephaestus, and her heart nearly stopped. She had been discovered! But how?

  She turned around slowly and saw instead Lord Barclay, mounted gloriously on a trotter. With his graceful posture and smart attire—a French striped coat with square tails and black bicorn—he cut a most gallant figure.

  “Good day, Lady Lowry,” he greeted.

  The most simple words throbbed with sensuality when spoken by him. Gertie straightened her back and prepared her armor.

  “I fear I am indisposed at the moment,” she replied. “I have an engagement to keep.”

  He looked around her. “You are riding sans a chaperone?”

  “I am no young maid but a married woman of many years.”

  “You have six and twenty years—hardly an old matron.”

  She ground her teeth. For some reason it irked her that he knew her age, but then there was little that did not irk her with Lord Barclay.

  “I should be delighted to accompany you to your destination.”

  Her eyes widened before she could stop them. The last thing she desired was his company! Glancing towards the sun, she saw that the day was much later than she had hoped, and she did not wish to keep little Peggy waiting.

  “That will not be necessary,” she informed him. Of all people, Lord Barclay would be the least qualified to serve as a woman’s chaperone!

  As if reading her mind, he said, “Any indignity of our riding together would be mitigated as you are a married woman of many years.”

  “I am in some hurry.”

  “Where do you go, m’ lady?”

  Gertie shifted in her seat, causing her horse to scamper in its place. Wanting an end to their conversation, she replied truthfully, “St. Giles.”

  “The parish?”

  “Yes, and if you would be a gentleman, I should like to delay no longer.”

  He frowned. “You cannot venture to St. Giles alone.”

  “I can manage quite well on my own,” she snapped. “I have been there many times before alone.”

  “I would be a poor gentleman if I allowed you there.”

  “Thankfully I do not require your permission.”

  She urged her horse forward.

  “Then you will have to suffer my company,” he said, reigning his horse next to hers.

  Gertie bristled, but there was little she could do if she intended to keep her engagement. They rode in silence for most of the way—which baffled her since he had sought her audience. Now that he had the opportunity to speak with her, he said nothing. How perturbing this man was!

  She allowed herself one glance in his direction when she thought he wasn’t looking. He seemed perfectly at ease, content to be accompanying her as if they were out for a spring ride in the woodlands instead of heading into one of London’s poorest parishes. The only time he appeared bothered was when the stench of human waste and refuse that had been tossed out the windows proved too much. He had pulled out a scented handkerchief to cover his nose. Despite the hour, they passed a tavern where two men lay prone in the streets, sleeping off the effects of rot-gut gin.

  They stopped before a two-storied building in need of a new roof. Most of its windows had lost at least one if not both shutters. A faded wooden sign above the door read Orphan Asylum for Girls. Gertie dismounted before Barclay could offer to assist her and rang the bell. She turned to inform Lord Barclay that she would be a while, but he, too, had dismounted.

  An older woman opened the door and showed them into a small parlor. Gertie sat upon the settee. Barclay, after a skeptical review of the furniture, opted to remain standing. A short, stout gentleman whose grey hairline cut a crescent at the top of his head entered the room, followed by a gaggle of little girls. Gertie smiled upon seeing their delighted faces. Her friend Harrietta, the Marchioness of Dunnesford, had introduced her to the orphanage. They would often come together, but now that the Marchioness had a child of her own and spent more of her time at Dunnesford, Gertie had taken to visiting the orphanage by herself.

  “Lady Lowry,” greeted Mr. Winters, the founder of the orphan asylum. He noticed Barclay. “Ah, this must be your husband, the Earl?”

  Gertie flushed as she watched the man bow obsequiously before Barclay.

  “This is the Baron Barclay,” she supplied. “A close relation.”

  Without looking, she could feel Barclay’s brows rise in amusement for he no doubt remembered that she had described him as a distant cousin at the Bennington ball.

  “Welcome, sir,” Mr. Winters said. “I am Mr. Winters. May I offer you some tea?”

  “Thank you, no,” Gertie answered for the both of them. This would have to be one of her shorter visits.

  “Lady Lowry, Lady Lowry!” a couple of girls chanted. “I have sewn the lace you gave us to my cap!”

  “’ave you brought us a treat?” asked a girl with freckles splashed across her nose.

  “Catherine!” Mr. Winters chided.

  “Of course!” Gertie replied as she pulled a small satchel of confections from her reticule.

  The girls squealed and thrust their eager hands before her. The room fell silent save for the sounds of chomping.

  “Aw come we ain’t seen you afore?” one of the girls asked Barclay.

  “Maggie, that is no way to address a gentleman,” Mr. Winters admonished.

  “I confess I knew not the existence of this place before today,” Barclay replied with ease.

  “What sort of relation are you to Lady Lowry?” Catherine inquired.

  Gertie interjected, “Tell me, girls, what activities you have engaged in this week? Did you like the books Lady Aubrey sent you?”

  “Aw like your garments,” Maggie said to Barclay. “Aw ‘ave a drawing of a prince in one of me books. You look as if you could be a prince.”

  Barclay gave her a warm smile.

  “A prince who dances with the princess,” supplied another girl. “Do you dance, sir?”

  “When the occasion arises,” he answered.

  “It is not often that these girls meet a gentleman,” Mr. Winters apologized. “If you should find them taxing–”

  “You are to be applauded for fostering such inquisitive minds.”

  Gertie stared at Barclay, surprised and reluctantly impressed by his patience.

  “I should dearly like to learn to dance,” sighed Catherine, “and to attend a ball! Like Cendrillon!”

  “A minuet!” added another girl.

  “Is it very hard to dance the minuet, Lady Lowry?”

  “Not particularly difficult,” Gertie said.

  “Can you show us?”

  Gertie hesitated.

  The girls jumped up and down. “Show us! Show us!”

  “Very well,” said Gertie, rising to her feet. She turned to Mr. Winters, who shook his head.

  “I have not danced in too many years,” he explained.

  “With the prince!” Maggie cried.

  “Yes! Yes! With Lord Barclay!” the girls shouted as they clapped.

  Gertie stole a glance at Barclay, who did not appear averse to the idea. He s
tepped towards her and bowed. She looked at the hand he presented to her. Not wanting to disappoint the girls, she placed her own hand in his. He grasped her hand firmly and gently led her to the center of the room.

  “It is rather difficult without the music,” she began.

  “First you perform the honors,” Barclay told them. He bowed to the girls, then to her. “A basic step consists of four steps in six beats of music.”

  They demonstrated starting with a plié on the left foot, rising to the ball of the right foot before straightening the legs and bringing their heels together. The motion was repeated starting with the opposite foot. They stepped forward, then sank into a plié.

  The girls applauded. “Once more! Once more!”

  Gertie felt the pronounced thudding of her heart against her chest. Barclay sought her gaze for permission. She nodded. He turned her around and they repeated the steps in the opposite direction. His hand felt warm and comforting about hers. He would not lead her astray and seemed to imbue her with his own grace and elegance, the hallmark of the minuet. When they finished and performed the honors, her head felt light, giddy with accomplishment.

  “How marvelously lovely!” Catherine exclaimed. “How I wish I could dance the minuet!”

  “Would you do me the honor then, my lady?” Barclay asked with a sweeping bow.

  This threw the girls into another frenzy. The flush upon Catherine’s face was so deep, her freckles disappeared, but she executed a curtsy and eagerly put her little hand in his. Glad for the respite, Gertie sat back to watch Barclay as he instructed Catherine on the steps. After Catherine, many of the others wanted a turn. He humored each and every one of them and proved a skilled dance master. Soon the room was filled with girls dancing the minuet.

  The smiles and giggles made Gertie glow. A part of her frost towards Barclay thawed, though in truth, it had begun to the instant he took her hand for the minuet and stared into her eyes as if he had wanted to dance with her. How that could be when she as good as loathed the man stunned her. That same hand had fondled Sarah Farrington, had drawn cries of ecstasy, and the memory both disconcerted and excited Gertie. She could not keep her mind from wondering how his hand would feel upon her own body.