Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset

by Samantha Holt

  Of course, she’d changed too. She’d been a lovely child, but at eighteen, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen—fresh and beautiful as a sunrise. Every head had turned when Marianne Abingdon entered a room; she’d had every man in London panting after her.

  Alex, a lowly lieutenant with no honorifics before his name, had never got close enough to speak a word to the perfect Miss Abingdon, despite their prior acquaintance. Not until the night when he’d stepped out of an overcrowded ballroom, head spinning from heat and one too many glasses of champagne, and walked through a garden in the darkness looking for somewhere to take a rest. On a stone bench beneath a weeping willow, Marianne Abingdon had been seated, her hands braced behind her, leaning back to gaze up at the sky.

  ALEX FROZE, SHOCKED, a few steps away, wondering whether he should back away. Was she waiting for someone?

  “I can’t see the stars,” she said after a few moments, making him jump.

  “It’s the smoke from the manufactories,” Alex replied finally when she said nothing more, and she turned her head to look at him. Realising he stood in shadow beneath the trees, he moved forward, into the bright path of moonlight which stopped just short of her bench. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy.”

  “That’s quite all right. I was about to go back in anyway.” Swinging her feet to the ground, she rose gracefully, the sway of her willowy body making his mouth grow dry. Miss Abingdon never wore fancy frills or lace or even strong patterns; she favoured simple white gowns which contrasted spectacularly with her chestnut-red hair and did little to conceal her lissome figure.

  “Have we met?” she asked him quite directly.

  He bowed, finding it difficult to speak in the face of her incredible beauty. “Not in many years, Miss Abingdon; you were a child when last I saw you and I daresay you do not remember me. Alexander Rotherhithe, at your service.”

  She tilted her head, examining his uniform, one long curl bobbing against her neck as she did so. “Lieutenant Rotherhithe?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “And are you lately returned from the Continent or yet to be deployed?”

  “Yet to be deployed, my lady,” he answered, startled by the question. She seemed intelligent and informed, unlike the other debutantes - and older ladies - he’d met in London. “My regiment does not yet have orders.”

  “And do you look forward to the fighting, Mr. Rotherhithe?” She began to walk back towards the house, and he fell into step beside her without thinking.

  “No.”

  “No?” She shot a sideways glance at him. “No dreams of glory on the battlefield, of winning the war for England?”

  “Several of my friends have already perished on battlefields far from England’s shores,” he answered her frankly. “I’ll consider myself fortunate if I live to see my home again.”

  “Finally,” she sighed, stopping and turning to look him fully in the face. “A young man with something more than sawdust between his ears!”

  Alex couldn’t help himself; he grinned. “My apologies, my lady, but I was just thinking something very similar about you.”

  Her laugh was softly musical. “You are forgiven, Lieutenant... if you will dance with me when we return to the ballroom. I am heartily tired of hearing endless plaudits and paeans to my beauty. Some sensible conversation would be most welcome.”

  He could not wish for anything more. Gallantly, he insisted she re-enter the house first and go to the ladies’ retiring rooms to be seen before returning to the ballroom, while he went back in by a different door. The half-hour until he was face to face with her again, taking her hand to lead her into the dance, seemed the longest of his life. Somehow, he’d convinced himself she was merely amusing herself with him in the garden and had no interest in him at all.

  So, when Marianne smiled up at him and said in a confidential tone, “How this last half-hour has dragged!” he felt an overwhelming relief.

  “It always does, I find, when there is something one is desperately looking forward to. Conversely, I am sure the next ten minutes will pass in the merest winking of an eye.”

  She made a little moue and wrinkled her nose, nodding in agreement. “No doubt there is some department of mathematicians at Cambridge studying exactly that. Or philosophers, perhaps?”

  “Possibly both, being Cambridge,” Alex said dryly. “Though in my experience, there is more drinking and socialising done than actual studying.”

  “What a waste. I wish women were permitted to study at university.” Marianne looked at him almost defiantly; he had the distinct impression she was testing him, watching to see what his reaction to such an inflammatory suggestion might be.

  “I have no doubt that one day they will be able to,” he said. “Though for the sake of my own gender, I hope they either have their own universities or segregated classes. There were distractions enough without the presence of the fairer sex for foolish young men to lose their common sense over.”

  Marianne laughed, and Alex thought he had passed her test. “I agree,” she said. “Though the foolishness would not be entirely on the part of the young men, I think. Young ladies are equally susceptible to being distracted by a handsome face on a tall young man. Especially in a red coat.”

  Her eyes twinkled up at him, and he laughed, utterly enchanted by her. “May I call upon you?” he asked impulsively.

  “Oh, please do,” she answered enthusiastically, and his heart was lost.

  Chapter Nine

  Marianne wished, quite desperately, for the armour of a fine gown in which to clad herself to face Alex, but the servants Thomas had sent to Cumbria had not yet returned with her wardrobe. She had to content herself with the lavender silk gown she had worn every evening since her arrival at Havers Hall. At least Jean was doing a wonderful job in keeping it clean and pressed, ready for her to dress in each evening, but she was definitely coming to despise the colour.

  Apparently divining that her mistress was self-conscious about only having the one evening gown, Jean had been producing different accessories every night to dress it up from some store of things somewhere in the Hall. Tonight she had a wide sash of golden silk, some gold ribbons for Marianne’s hair, and a long string of creamy pearls.

  “They’re fakes, m’lady,” Jean said the moment Marianne opened her mouth to protest she couldn’t borrow valuable pearls from Ellen. “See, they don’t even have a proper catch.”

  “Where did you find them?” Marianne inspected the pearls with interest. She’d never seen fake jewels before.

  “Lady Havers has been cleaning out the attics,” Jean admitted. “There’s all sorts of things up there in old trunks: gowns which must be a hundred years old, bits and pieces of rusty armour, children’s sewing samplers, and broken old toys. I don’t think anything’s been thrown away in the Hall since it was built.”

  “Quite likely,” Marianne conceded, seating herself to let Jean put up her hair. “Is Lady Havers throwing it away, though?”

  “Oh no; she don’t believe in throwing things away much. Finds a use for near everything, she does. I asked if I could take a few bits and pieces to dress up your things a touch and she said I could take whatever I wanted.” Jean beamed proudly. “These gold ribbons will look very well in your hair, m’lady, and the sash brightens the dress up a treat.”

  “They do,” Marianne said warmly. “Thank you, Jean. You’ve been so thoughtful.”

  “Oh, I’m just doing my job, m’lady,” the maid disclaimed, but she beamed brightly, and Marianne determined then and there she would give Jean at least one or two gowns once her wardrobe arrived. She did not have much in the way of money or trinkets, but the maid would be able to sell the gowns or pick them apart as she pleased. It was small enough repayment for the confidence the maid’s ministrations gave her, enough to get her all the way to the foot of the grand stairs, where Allsopp bowed correctly to her before opening the door to the Oriental Parlour.

  Whil
e Marianne had seen the room, they had not used it before. She assumed Ellen and Thomas had made the decision to remove here due to the increase in numbers. More guests had arrived, she saw as she entered, and this time she was familiar with the new arrivals.

  “Lady Creighton!” Mrs. Pembroke almost fell over herself scurrying to Marianne’s side, smiling widely. “It is so very good to see you again!”

  “Amelia!” Marianne was genuinely delighted in her turn. Amelia Temple had made her debut at the same time as Marianne, and, as a notable heiress, had been a target for fortune hunters. Since Marianne had been targeted by rakes, the pair of them had discovered themselves hiding out in more than one retiring room together.

  Amelia had been lucky enough to marry for love, however. While her parents had wanted her to catch a title, she had instead married a mere Mister: a country squire with a small but charming estate in Hampshire and a passion for horses. A passion Amelia shared.

  Mr. Pembroke stood behind Amelia now, smiling broadly. Marianne felt unexpected tears prick at the back of her eyes. Creighton had not approved of her friendship with the Pembrokes and had forbidden her any contact beyond the briefest of polite interactions at social events they were all attending. Being able to express her delight at seeing Amelia again without fear of reprimand was a true pleasure.

  “It is wonderful to see you.” Impulsively, Marianne embraced her friend. “It has been an age since last I saw you. How do you know the Havers?”

  “The earl purchased some horses from us. The sweetest mare for Lady Havers, and a top-grade stallion to improve the bloodlines of his tenants’ plough horses. When he told Mr. Pembroke he did not plan to charge his tenants stud fees for the stallion’s services, we knew he was someone we should very much like to know better.” Amelia beamed. “And Lady Havers is just delightful.”

  “She most certainly is,” Thomas agreed, joining them and making Amelia laugh. “I am glad you are already acquainted; it saves me the probable embarrassment of making a mess of the introductions.”

  Pembroke and Marianne joined in the laughter, and an atmosphere of general gaiety ensued as they began a lovely conversation. The Alleynes entered the room a few minutes later and were persuaded to join them, and then Ellen herself came in accompanied by a young man and woman Marianne did not know. She introduced them as Viscount Thorpington and his sister, Lady Serena Thorpe.

  The viscount was a plain-faced man of around thirty, with a stutter he concealed by speaking as little as possible. Lady Serena was around two and twenty by Marianne’s estimation and handsome rather than conventionally pretty, tall and sturdy with a thick mane of black hair barely constrained by her pins. With an unfashionable tan, she looked to be the outdoorsy sort who would have no patience with the languid pace of high society life.

  Marianne liked Lady Serena immediately, but she could see why she hadn’t been a success in London. The Ton matrons wouldn’t have approved of her at all, and her brother’s speech issues would have made it difficult for him to make many friends too.

  “The Marquis of Glenkellie,” Allsopp announced from the door, and a hush fell over the room. Miss Leonora Alleyne squealed a little, hand over her mouth and her eyes wide.

  Until her brother nudged her with a frown. “Hush, you goose.”

  “But a marquis!” Leonora whispered back.

  Marianne gave her an indulgent smile. “I’ll tell you a secret about marquises and dukes,” she whispered to the younger girl. “They have to use the chamber pot just like the rest of us!”

  Leonora promptly developed the giggles, and Lady Serena Thorpe, who was also close enough to overhear, gave a rather horselike snort before muffling her face in a handkerchief. Blue eyes sparkled as she glanced sideways at Marianne, and Marianne gave her a conspiratorial grin, inwardly thankful for the distraction which meant she didn’t have to look at Alexander.

  Of course, her reprieve was short-lived, as Ellen escorted Alexander around the room to make introductions. Leonora had edged closer to Marianne, obviously reassured by her apparent nonchalance, and she could hardly flee and leave the debutante alone.

  “You are, of course, acquainted with Lady Creighton,” Ellen said. Alexander nodded, his eyes cold as they met Marianne’s. Instinctively, she looked down at the floor, even as she silently chastised herself for cowardice.

  MARIANNE COULDN’T EVEN meet his eyes, intently examining the pattern woven into the Turkish rug beneath their feet. Gritting his teeth and ordering himself to be patient, Alex forced a smile as Lady Havers presented a blushing debutante.

  “Miss Alleyne.” Bowing correctly over the girl’s hand, Alex resigned himself to social niceties for the time being. He was acquainted with only one other of the guests—Viscount Thorpington—and for Thomas and Ellen’s sake he must at least try to be agreeable. He would not for the world spoil their first house party, no matter how much he wanted to shake the truth out of Marianne.

  He watched her from the corner of his eye all evening. As the highest-ranking lady present, she went into dinner on Thomas’ arm and was seated at his right hand, at the other end of the table from where Alex, as the highest-ranking gentleman present, was seated at Ellen’s right.

  Young Mr. Alleyne was seated on Marianne’s other side and watched her in wide-eyed awe, the kind which could well turn into infatuated puppy love, Alex thought grimly, determined to nip that in the bud if Marianne should take it into her head to break another young man’s heart for her amusement. At least Thomas Havers was infatuated with his own wife and not likely to be susceptible to Marianne’s charms, laugh and smile though she might.

  Reluctantly, Alex had to admit Marianne was even lovelier now than she had been at eighteen; maturity had only refined her beauty. If he didn’t already know how heartless she could be, he’d likely be crawling after her himself. As it was, he found it difficult to look away. Dressed in a muted lavender gown trimmed with gold ribbon, her auburn hair shone like fire, the perfection of her features outlined by the candlelight. Again and again her softly musical laugh came to his ear, and he only realised he was staring at her in utter absorption when Ellen Havers touched his hand lightly, making him start.

  “My apologies, Lord Glenkellie. I was wondering if the soup is not to your liking?” Her brow was creased.

  Looking down, Alexander saw he’d taken up his soup spoon in his hand and then failed to even taste from the dish in front of him. “I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said contritely. “I was distracted.”

  “So I see,” Ellen murmured, and her eyes flickered as she glanced to the other end of the table. “I do hope you will try it, but if there is anything you particularly wish to have prepared, I pray you will let us know.”

  Ashamed of his poor manners, Alexander tasted the soup and pronounced it excellent and resolved to pay closer attention to both his dinner and his dinner companions. Ellen had been carrying the entire conversation, with quiet Thorpington on her other side, and he should speak as well with Mrs. Pembroke on his other side. Turning to that lady now, he offered a smile, only to be met with an uncomfortably appraising stare.

  “I daresay you do not remember me, my lord,” Mrs. Pembroke said almost immediately, “but we have met before, though it was many years ago. Just before you went to the Continent with the army, I believe.”

  “Indeed?” Alex said, guarded. Mrs. Pembroke looked to be almost exactly Marianne’s age, but had none of her mesmerising beauty. Instead, she was positively ordinary, with mid-brown hair, brown eyes, a slightly snub nose, and a round face. A quirky smile lent her expression character, however.

  “Why, yes, though I was Miss Temple then, and you merely Lieutenant Rotherhithe. I think we were introduced at Lady Smithfield’s garden party.”

  He still didn’t recall the introduction, though he did remember with awful clarity sneaking off from that garden party for a clandestine meeting in a glade of trees with Marianne. A meeting where he’d kissed her for the first time and sworn his undying d
evotion.

  “Ah,” Alex said, feeling sweat break out under his collar.

  “Yes, I think Lady Creighton, Miss Abingdon as she was then of course, introduced us.” Mrs. Pembroke was watching him like a hawk.

  She knows, Alex thought, his anger resurfacing. She and Marianne had been friends back then, had probably laughed over his infatuation. Had she egged Marianne on, urged her to agree to a secret engagement only to marry the wealthy Earl of Creighton a few weeks later?

  “And have you and Lady Creighton remained close since?” he clipped out, reaching for his wine and draining it.

  “Sadly, no. Her husband did not permit her to have friends.”

  Alex paused in the act of setting his glass down. “I beg your pardon?” he said, confused. “I never met the late Earl, but I heard stories of how he spoiled his wife, buying her more fashionable gowns and costly trinkets than any woman could want.”

  “If all a woman wanted were expensive baubles, indeed, Marianne was the luckiest woman in England,” Mrs. Pembroke replied, and he heard the sarcasm in her voice. “Should she desire affection, respect, and the comfort of friendships, however, she was the veriest pauper.”

  That’s what you get when you marry for mercenary motives, Alex wanted to snap back but forced himself to bite his tongue. Mrs. Pembroke was Marianne’s partisan, which was useful information. He would ensure neither she nor her husband were available to intervene when he sought his private audience.

  “I daresay being a rich widow will suit her a great deal better, in that case,” he said caustically and nodded for the footman to top up his wine.