Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset

by Samantha Holt

  For the umpteenth time, he thought ‘I must ask the Marchioness about that – she appeared to know more than I do, and more than I can find in these books, about that family.’

  He made another note on a separate list, adding to the tally of questions. He looked at it, and shook his head. He might never see the woman again – and here he was making a list of questions to ask her! Yet he kept making the list. For the thought that he would never see her again was uncomfortable, not something he wished to contemplate. Surely, he could find a way. Bellham would help him.

  It was all for the good of his research, just that, he had no interest in seeing her again for any other reason, he assured himself, even as the image of her vivacious face, surrounded by rich dark auburn hair, only lightly touched with grey, filled his mind. He went back to the books, trying, but failing, to forget how she looked.

  He worked through the day, unaware of anything outside the room, and his thoughts – thoughts that, rebelliously, kept coming back to the Marchioness, as well as to the very interesting questions that she had raised about the lineages that he was studying.

  By the time night fell, and Jamison came to inform him that dinner was served, Edward had created a huge chart of the lineage of two key families. For this, he used a long, wide scroll – these were made expressly for him, his one true extravagance.

  Making one last annotation on its length, he placed it carefully to allow the ink to dry, and followed Jamison from the room. It was imperative that he meet the Marchioness again – he needed her knowledge to resolve some key questions.

  And he had so much to show her – he knew that she would be enraptured by what he had discovered – he could imagine her face, when he showed her!

  Chapter Three

  Olivia woke refreshed, but became immediately cross with herself when she remembered the previous evening, and her complete failure to progress her campaign to find Sterling a wife. It appeared to be a pleasant enough day, yet her disasters of the evening before rankled, and took away any pleasure she might have felt. She resolved to spend the day planning – she would review all of the invitations they had received, ensure that all of the most suitable ones had been accepted, and update her list of potential brides, with notes about who Sterling had not met yet. By the end of the day, she would have a social program in place that would guarantee a bride for Sterling.

  Decision made, she allowed Eliza to dress her in a suitable gown to receive any visitors who might choose to call, and went to break her fast.

  Waters informed her that Sterling had already gone out, so she found herself undisturbed as she contemplated her social campaign. A little food, and a cup of the new tea blend put her in a more positive mood, and she retired to her private parlour to go through the pile of newly received invitations and make decisions about the value of attendance at each event.

  Such decisions were not to be made lightly – the social importance of the hosts was most significant, as was the consideration of which unmarried ladies were most likely to attend. There were personal alliances to cement, and, whilst not a key part of the task of finding Sterling a wife, she had to admit that the possibilities which might be provided, for uncovering more detail about the history of the families of the ton, and the scandals that they wished to keep hidden, were something she also took into account.

  She justified this indulgence in gossip, and in her personal obsession, with the fact that it was clearly important that no stain attach to the family of the girl that Sterling married, if he was to uphold the honour of the Hemsbridge title. But this particular morning, Olivia found her mind wandering, much more so than usual.

  And not just wandering down the paths of possibility found in the gossip and history (which was a normal thing for her), but, most unusually, she found herself losing focus on the all-important invitations, and the weighing of their social value, completely. Instead her mind persisted in replaying parts of the previous evening’s conversation with Professor Greenidge. Never before had she met anyone who so obviously shared her passion. His approach might be somewhat more formal than hers, but was no less intense.

  And the things that he knew, about two of the key families that her research had focussed on, where quite unique – quite beyond what she had been able to discover. She found herself daydreaming about that, hungering for access to his research, but also, she found herself imagining his expression as she had shared what she knew – he had become completely animated, the brightness of his enthusiasm transforming his face.

  He was, at that moment, unequivocally handsome. It was a rather long time since she had looked at any man and thought about his physical appeal, and she was a little disturbed that she did so now. It was not seemly for a widow of her age to be contemplating the physical appeal of gentlemen! Yet he was indeed, handsome - and so refreshing to talk to. She had not needed to hold back her discussion, had not needed to make polite small talk, and had not needed to smile and nod at deeply boring conversation. She had, she realised, simply been herself, with no consideration of anything else, for the first time that she could remember since her childhood.

  The implications of that thought were entirely too uncomfortable to contemplate. She forced herself back to social planning, but Edward Greenidge’s animated face kept inserting itself into her thoughts, and she wondered, as she considered invitations, if he would also be in attendance at any of these events. Chiding herself for becoming distracted again, Olivia turned to her list of eligible young ladies – there were alarmingly few whom Sterling had yet to meet, and she set herself to double checking her inclusions, to make certain that none had been missed.

  But every new name she considered also made her think of their families, and the history associated.

  And that made her remember Professor Greenidge’s intriguing information. And that made her want to simply stop her planning and go to her library, to dig into her research. The results of which she would dearly love to discuss with him again....

  Which was silly of her. She might never meet the man again. He did not, exactly, belong in her social circles, nor had he seemed at ease amongst them. ‘But...’ said the insidious little voice in her thoughts ‘he did seem at ease with you – enough so that his speech hesitation had all but disappeared during the hours of conversation.’

  Scolding herself, yet again, for her lack of focus, Olivia lifted the bundle of invitations, set them into two piles – those they would attend, and those they would not – and began to write acceptance notes. When they were finally done (which had felt like a rather Herculean task), she rang for Waters and asked that he have them delivered. The list of young ladies still lay on her desk, incomplete, reproaching her by its very existence. How on earth had it become this difficult to find Sterling a wife? Neither of her other children had been so difficult to marry off!

  She found that she simply could not face it any longer. Deciding that she had done quite enough planning for the day, Olivia finally gave in to the desire that had nagged her all morning, and took herself off to the library, and the research that demanded to be done, based on Professor Greenidge’s revelations during their conversation. The quiet of her library wrapped around her, soothing. For a moment she simply stood, letting the assurance soak into her – here was knowledge, here was something that she could do, here were things that she could control – unlike so much else of her life. The books were as she had left them, open at all the necessary places, her notes were stacked to the side, her journal on her desk. After a frustrating morning, it was a deeply relaxing sensation.

  THREE HOURS LATER, as the light began to fade from the day, Sterling returned to the house. He had distracted himself by riding with friends, some time spent in conversation at the club, and a visit to his man of business, but now the evening was finally approaching. Today being a rare day on which the evening did not bring a social engagement, he had arranged a visit of a rather different kind. He was nervous in a way that was totally unlike him, and which
he was finding somewhat hard to deal with.

  He enquired of Waters as to his mother’s whereabouts, and understood immediately, from Waters’ expression as he indicated the Library, that his mother was likely utterly absorbed in her research. That was a relief, for it dealt with one thing that had worried him a little. It made it most unlikely that she would enquire too closely about where he was going this evening, or that she might see him leave.

  He tapped on the library door, and entered, knowing that the chances of his mother actually noticing the knock, when involved in her research, were slim. Her desk was piled high with books, and she frowned as she studied one.

  Pausing, she made a note in her journal. Before she could turn back to the book, he spoke.

  “Good afternoon Mother. I trust you have had a pleasant day?”

  Olivia startled, obviously still deep in thought and unaware of his presence until that moment.

  “Why Sterling, I didn’t hear you come in! Yes, yes, I have had an excellent day – a little social planning, and now some very interesting research. I really must obtain certain books – my library is not complete enough for this research!”

  Sterling repressed a flinch at the words ‘social planning’, and smiled – he was genuinely fond of his mother, and found her obsession with genealogy somewhat amusing at times – except where it intersected with her interest in finding him a wife.

  “Well, certainly, seek out the books that you need – I am sure that Mr Whitebridge will be delighted to see your requests at his bookshop. I will leave you to your enjoyment – I just wanted to let you know that I will be going out this evening. The opportunity to simply relax at my club, rather than deal with the crush of yet another Ball, is too good to miss. Oh, and do remember to eat, Mother, I would not want you fainting over your books!”

  “Of course, of course.”

  Olivia waved away his concern, already turning back to frown at her book, as if it was intentionally not giving up the information that she sought. Sterling left the room, comfortable in the knowledge that she would not even think of him again this evening.

  In the hall, Waters raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  “Lady Hemsbridge is deep in ‘research mode’ Waters. Please do ensure that she is provided with a tray, for I am quite certain that she will not consider leaving her books until she begins to fall asleep at her desk. I will be going out, so don’t expect me to return until late – no-one need wait up for me.”

  Waters nodded, completely understanding what was required, and turned to go and arrange it, as Sterling took himself upstairs to prepare for what he hoped would prove a most intensely satisfying evening.

  A FEW HOURS LATER, Sterling Asterwood, Marquess Hemsbridge, attired in a brown coat which was so plain as to be almost disreputable, somewhat to the dismay of Holbrook, his most efficient valet, let himself quietly out of the house, via the servants’ door.

  Admittedly, under that brown coat he was as immaculately turned out as usual, but still, this was somewhat odd behaviour.

  He hailed a passing cab, provided the driver with his required direction, and settled back into the seat, glad that it was the brown coat that was suffering contact with the less than clean surface, rather than his usual clothes.

  His nerves were at high pitch, for this evening had the potential to be intensely pleasurable, and to fulfil a desire that he had held for some weeks now. Equally, it could all go wrong, and, if that were the case, he was not at all sure how he would cope with the blow to his ego.

  The cab deposited him before a townhouse of unremarkable, but respectable style, and he pushed his nerves aside as he ascended the steps, and raised the door knocker.

  Chapter Four

  “Well!”

  The word huffed from Olivia’s lips, the strongest expression of her displeasure that she was willing to make, standing here in the Earl of Teverson’s ballroom. She had just watched, in horror, as Sterling had first settled into conversation with Aldercott, his most disreputable friend, and then, even worse, they had both gone trailing off after that hussy, Lady Duckington, like nothing better than dogs after a bitch in heat! And this when he was supposed to be spending time talking to eligible young women who might make him a suitable bride. Instead, there he was, chasing a married woman who was known for having affairs! What was she to do! At this rate, he might never marry.

  Just at that moment though, a worthy distraction came along to take Lady Olivia’s mind quite away from her son’s errors.

  There came the noise of some tentative and well-mannered throat clearing, just behind her.

  “Ahem, I hope you er, er, don’t mind me interjecting in this manner...” Heavens above! It was Professor Edward Greenidge, the genealogical scholar whom she had met, only a few nights ago. Lady Hemsbridge’s mood immediately lightened on seeing the learned fellow.

  “My dear Professor Greenidge!” she declared warmly. “Why, it is a most pleasant surprise to see you! Has your research brought you out here to Berkshire...” and then, with a little resurgence of a much younger self, she thought to add “...or are you here for the sheer pleasure of it?”

  For just a second, Lady Hemsbridge thought she saw a flicker of more than academic interest cross the reserved scholar’s face.

  “Alas my Lady, it is not my work that has er, er, compelled me to make an appearance at this rather charming occasion” he said, meeting her gaze anxiously, and gesturing around the room. A few couples were just starting a waltz in the centre of it, to the accompaniment of the string quartet in the corner. Normally this would have prompted a speech from Lady Hemsbridge on the risks of impropriety embodied in this new continental dance fashion, but, this time, she was too engaged with her conversation to bother. “Rather, it is a family affair. My brother, Reginald, married the Earl of Teverson’s daughter, which, rather interestingly, connected up two disparate branches of the ancient House of Poitou. Not that er, er, too many guests at the wedding were aware of the momentous historical significance behind the match, er, er...”

  He faltered, used to people’s eyes glazing over and them then looking for an excuse to leave his conversations about his academic interests. However, to his pleasant surprise (and eternal gratitude), Lady Hemsbridge seemed quite taken by his insights.

  “Is that so, my good sir?” she said, with genuine enthusiasm. “How fascinating. I was unaware of such a connection, far-flung as it obviously is?”

  “There is a link, via a certain Sir Hugh de Lacey, who was killed in the Third Crusade, but not before he had the foresight to produce an heir. In any case, I now, er, find myself er, er, a member by marriage of a very old and distinguished Anglo-Norman lineage.”

  “How very fascinating Professor” said Lady Hemsbridge, eyeing him with decided interest. He was getting more attractive by the day, this slightly strange man of letters.

  “I suppose it is, if one has er, er, an interest in such things. Tell me my Lady...” said Greenidge, suddenly rediscovering some youthful sparkle. “- would it be improper of me to request a perambulation with you, er, around the grounds? I do find the press of people in a ballroom to be er, er, not very conducive to conversation....”

  “Why my good sir! Not improper at all! You can tell me all about the House of Poitou while we’re at it...” and with that, the two older people set off, arm in arm, for a spirited conversation about family affairs. Olivia had, at that point, completely forgotten about Sterling, Lady Duckington, and the need to find him a suitable bride.

  So much so, that she did not even notice when Aldercott, looking rather annoyed, almost collided with her as she went out through the terrace doors on Professor Greenidge’s arm.

  EDWARD WAS PLEASED – pleased that he had actually managed to ask the Marchioness to walk with him, pleased that she had accepted, and pleased that he had managed to prevent himself from shaking with nervousness, as she laid her hand on his arm. She was a remarkable woman, the first woman, if he was honest, that he had ever been
able to converse comfortably with in his life.

  And, seeing her again, she seemed more beautiful than when he had first seen her – he was not sure if that was a true perception, or if he was simply becoming infatuated with her – not simply with her person, although he found her pleasing to the eye, but with her mind, her interests, and the way that she did not seem to notice his speech hesitation. Having never, truly, been infatuated with a woman before, he did not have the slightest idea how to go on. Which was a lowering thing to realise, for a man who had, however briefly, been married. He pushed that thought aside. He did not want the bitter sadness that went with that memory to cloud his pleasure in this moment.

  They went down the steps, and began to wander the garden paths, under the coloured lanterns which had been hung through the area, talking as they went. He considered leading her towards one shaded grotto, but as they neared it, there came a sound from within – one which suggested that the persons inside might not wish to be disturbed.

  He led her further, searching for another place to settle, and found one. A lantern hung above a bench in a corner of the garden, where a delightful artificial waterfall ran into a pond. Their discussion had not stopped as they walked, and did not stop as they sat on the bench. But it did shift focus a little. Greatly daring, Edward allowed himself to ask Lady Hemsbridge a more personal question.

  “My Lady, I find myself curious. If I may be er, er, so impertinent as to ask, how did you come to be so interested in the er, genealogy of the great families?”

  She seemed to hesitate, then smiled at him, almost tentatively, before answering.

  “It began, in a way, with my husband’s death. Whilst he was somewhat older than me, he was not a very old man. Yet illness took him, so very fast. It made me horribly aware of mortality. I had always been somewhat interested in the history of families, but had never studied it. Then, when I looked at Sterling, unmarried at 25, then, and bearing the title, I felt compelled to convince him to marry, to beget an heir – for if my husband could be taken so suddenly, so could any man, and what would come of the family line, of the title, if there was no heir? I began to study the families of eligible girls that he might marry. It became somewhat of an obsession for me.”