Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “Don’t bother concealing your astonishment,” Tristan said dryly. He finished his drink and placed the glass on the table. “But do enlighten me on one point. With an estate the size of yours, you cannot survive the loss of the vineyard? This is your emergency?”

  Griffin colored. “I apologize if my letter made it sound dire. But…this was Charles’s principal project. He invested quite a measure of our fortune in the vineyard, and I’d hate to see it fail.” He hesitated. “I’d hate to think I failed where my brother would have succeeded.” Finally, he met Tristan’s eyes. “To be perfectly candid, I’m not at all confident that I’m ready for this role. I’ve never sought it, never wanted it. But I mean to make the best of it.”

  Griffin leaned back against the chair and downed the rest of his drink. Military men didn’t make a habit of baring their souls, Tristan supposed. He appreciated his friend’s honesty.

  “I understand,” he said aloud. “I wasn’t raised to be a marquess, either.” Quite the contrary, he’d been born the son of a second son, a mere mister who’d attended the right schools only on the largesse of his uncle. “You’ve only been doing the job a couple of months. You’ll settle into it. I did, eventually.”

  Griffin nodded, looking uneasy.

  “Shall I have a look at your vineyard?” Tristan began to rise.

  “It will have to wait until tomorrow.” Waving him back down, Griffin refilled their glasses. “It’s a good hour each way by horseback, and I’m expecting another caller soon. A very acceptable suitor for Alexandra’s hand.”

  Alexandra. Tristan had always had a soft spot for the eldest Chase sister. He pictured long dark curls and round, thoughtful eyes. She would be seventeen now, no longer a schoolgirl. He wondered how she’d look all grown up.

  “We’ll ride over in the morning,” Griffin added. “You’ll stay, won’t you? At least long enough to evaluate the situation?”

  “I’ll stay as long as I’m needed.” Though Griffin’s crisis wasn’t as pressing as Tristan had imagined, he wouldn’t turn his back on a friend.

  Especially as he didn’t have many to spare.

  Chapter Three

  You look lovely, Alexandra.” Standing in the high gallery, Juliana tweaked her sister’s low, ruffle-edged neckline. “Lord Shelton won’t be able to resist you. ”

  “Especially after he tries your magical ratafia puffs.” Corinna grabbed one of the small sweets from the tray on a marble side table and popped it into her mouth. She sighed as it dissolved on her tongue. “François said they turned out perfect.”

  “Lord Shelton won’t be able to try one if you eat them all first.” Alexandra lifted the silver tray, smiling at the little golden puffs, which had been beautifully arranged by François, their French cook. “Come along, now. Lord Shelton is surely waiting.” She hurried through the gallery, lifting her blue sprigged muslin skirt with one hand while carrying the fancy tray with the other.

  Her sisters flanked her going down the wide stone staircase. “Gentlemen expect to wait for ladies,” Juliana said. “It’s not the thing to appear too eager.”

  “I don’t care to play those sorts of games,” Alexandra said, gazing down at her sister.

  Juliana was exceedingly short—so short she made Alexandra feel tall, although she and Corinna were rather average in height. Juliana, Alexandra had noticed in the brief time Griffin had been inviting his friends to pay calls, attracted young men like bees to honey—most especially the shorter ones.

  Thankfully, Lord Shelton was tall.

  On the first floor, Alexandra paused in the picture gallery outside the drawing room’s door. Masculine voices drifted out. Griffin must have been entertaining her guest—or, more likely, pestering him into a proposal.

  With any luck, his efforts would pay off.

  She schooled her expression into a welcoming one and rounded the corner into the room. “Lord Shelton,” she said graciously, “please excuse my tardiness. I hope these sweet confections will redeem me.”

  Lord Shelton turned and smiled, walking toward her. But her gaze shifted past him, to where another young man stood with her brother. As he turned slightly and she met his eyes—silver-gray eyes—her heart gave a little skip.

  Tris.

  He still had the same strong jaw, the same long nose, the same heavy, straight brows. His skin was unfashionably bronzed, as though he’d spent too much time outdoors, and his streaky brown-blond hair still looked tousled, as it used to—and still made her want to run her fingers through it.

  The sight of him robbed her of breath.

  “Good afternoon, darling,” Lord Shelton said. “I was more than pleased to receive your invitation to take tea.”

  She tore her gaze from Tris. Lord Shelton looked wan by comparison, his skin pasty, his hair the lightest blond, his eyes an innocuous blue. Odd that his paleness had never made an impression on her before. It seemed as though he’d faded.

  And he wasn’t as tall as she’d thought.

  And come to think of it, she didn’t much like being called “darling.”

  “Thank you for accepting the invitation,” she murmured, struggling to remember her manners.

  “Girls, I’m certain you recall Tristan,” Griffin called out.

  Juliana and Corinna curtsied. “Mr. Nesbitt,” they said in unison.

  Dazed, Alexandra followed suit. “Mr. Nesbitt.”

  “The Marquess of Hawkridge now,” her brother informed them.

  Tris was titled? How had that happened? And where had he been all this time? She had a million more questions. She hadn’t seen him in…good heavens, was it three years? While she hadn’t precisely forgotten him in all that time, she had forgotten how looking at him made her insides melt like butter.

  “Lord Hawkridge,” she corrected herself.

  “Lady Alexandra,” he returned with a vague if polite nod. “And Ladies Juliana and Corinna. You’ve certainly all grown up since I saw you last.” He turned back to Griffin. “Do you know what time of year Charles planted the vines?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Griffin replied.

  Alexandra stood blinking. Next to the familiarity of their old relationship, Tris’s dismissal felt rather frosty. Paradoxically, its effect was to heat her insides even further, past melting and on to simmering.

  Lord Shelton stepped closer. “Lady Alexandra.” His tone was syrupy sweet. Alexandra supposed he was trying to sound intimate and romantic. She probably would have reacted positively to that yesterday, but today she found it aggravating. She feared steam might begin pouring from her ears.

  He lifted her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the back. “Darling, you look exquisite.”

  She didn’t feel exquisite. Right now she felt about as appealing as a puddle of steaming, boiling human-entrail soup.

  Juliana elbowed her discreetly. “Perhaps Lord Shelton would like to taste one of your ratafia puffs.”

  Alexandra looked down to the silver tray, forgotten in her other hand. “Oh, not quite yet.” Her laughter sounded forced to her own ears. “Don’t you think we should pour the tea first?”

  Ignoring her sisters’ puzzled frowns, she walked clear across the room and put the tray on a gilt-legged table that sat against the wall.

  Juliana began pouring. “The puffs can hardly work their magic from over there.”

  “Magic?” Lord Shelton inquired.

  “Please do sit,” Alexandra told him, leaving the tray safely distant while she made her way back across the room. She seated herself on one of the light blue velvet sofas instead of a chair; a tactical error, since Lord Shelton immediately took the place beside her.

  That definitely wouldn’t have bothered her yesterday. But his scent—a flowery Oriental mix—seemed suddenly cloying.

  When Juliana handed her a teacup, she rose and went to Lord Hawkridge where he was talking with her brother. He smelled of clean soap and starch and that something else that was just him. “Tea, my lord?”


  “Thank you.” He took it while barely sparing her a glance. “Not every variety is suited to our climate,” he said to Griffin.

  “You’re welcome,” Alexandra murmured.

  “Alexandra,” Corinna called conspicuously, “since you’re up, why don’t you get the ratafia puffs and bring them over here?”

  “Not just yet.” Alexandra marched to the sofa and plopped back down, giving her sister a pointed look. “I’ve decided I’m not certain I wish to serve the ratafia puffs at all.”

  Lord Shelton glanced between them, clearly confused. “And why not?”

  “Yes, why not?” Corinna pressed. “They’re supposed to be magical.”

  “Precisely.” Alexandra accepted another teacup from Juliana and sipped. “I’ve no wish to employ magic.”

  “Magic?” Lord Shelton repeated.

  Juliana stood. “May I speak with you in private?” Before Alexandra could disagree, she pulled her up by the arm and drew her out into the picture gallery, Corinna in their wake.

  Juliana’s hazel eyes radiated concern. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Alexandra glanced away, her gaze landing on a solemn ancestor who glared from a canvas on the stone wall, looking exceedingly disapproving.

  “Nothing?” Corinna, if possible, appeared even more disapproving. “Why won’t you give Lord Shelton one of the magical ratafia puffs?”

  “Magical?” Putting scorn into her voice, Alexandra focused on each of her sisters in turn. “Do you truly believe that eggs and sugar can be magical?”

  “Of course not,” Corinna said. “But don’t you think it’s worth a try?”

  Juliana laid a gloved hand on Alexandra’s arm. “If they did work,” she said gently, “you could add a notation to Eleanor Cainewood’s entry in the recipe book, verifying her allegation. It’s a tradition.”

  “I don’t care,” Alexandra said blithely.

  At least, she hoped she sounded blithe.

  Her sisters stared at her with wide eyes.

  “You don’t care?” Juliana breathed. “About tradition?” She pulled off a glove and reached to touch Alexandra’s forehead. “Are you ill?”

  “No.” Alexandra drew away. “I just don’t care about this silly tradition.”

  “But, Alexandra…” Juliana hugged herself. “You’re the most traditional girl I’ve ever met.”

  It was true. Juliana was known for her wild ideas—always meant to help, of course—and Corinna was a bit of a rebel. But Alexandra always did exactly as she ought. She ran her brother’s enormous household like clockwork; she kept up with her correspondence; she visited the villagers and tenants, both healthy and ailing, always with some famous Chase sweets in hand. She could sing, play the pianoforte, make lovely profile portraits, and embroider—and if she wasn’t exactly renowned for any of those talents, at least she was competent.

  Alexandra was a perfect lady. The best single word to describe her was traditional. But right at the moment, tradition could hang for all she cared.

  She set her jaw. “I don’t want Lord Shelton to eat any ratafia puffs.”

  Her sisters exchanged matching looks of astonishment. “Why?” Juliana asked carefully.

  Corinna cocked her head. “Are you that certain he’ll propose without them?”

  “I’m not certain I wish him to propose at all.”

  Juliana dropped her glove. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Alexandra drew a deep breath, relieved the truth was out. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Juliana blinked. “But Griffin expects you to marry Lord Shelton.”

  When Alexandra only shrugged, Corinna frowned. “You always do what’s expected.”

  “How very tedious. It’s about time I broadened my horizons, don’t you think?”

  “Girls?” Alexandra’s flabbergasted sisters were saved from answering when Griffin stepped into the gallery. “What are you all doing out here?”

  “Talking.” Juliana bent to retrieve her glove.

  Griffin looked toward the stone-vaulted ceiling as though praying for heavensent strength. “Lord Shelton is inquiring after your presence.” He lowered his gaze to Alexandra and smiled. “He likes your sweets very much.”

  “Oh!” she said, when she wanted to say “Drat!” Not that she believed in magic, but…what if the ratafia puffs worked? She didn’t want to actually turn down Lord Shelton’s proposal. Griffin would never forgive her.

  “I’m not feeling well,” she told him—and suddenly, it wasn’t a fib. The thought of marrying Lord Shelton made nausea rise in her throat. “Please give Lord Shelton my apologies,” she said. “I must go lie down.”

  Chapter Four

  Alexandra sat at her gold-and-white Chippendale dressing table, gazing at the oval cameo she’d dug out of the bottom of her jewelry box. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  “Beautiful, my lady.” Mary, the Chase sisters’ maid, deftly pinned one of Alexandra’s curls. “I’ve never seen you wear it before.”

  “It’s been put away.”

  Alexandra hadn’t been able to find the note that had come with the cameo that exciting day it arrived, about six months after Tris left for the West Indies. But she’d read it so many times, she knew it by heart. My dear Lady Alexandra, it said in a bold scrawl so distinct she could picture it even now,

  Here is the gift I promised you from Jamaica. I expect it will arrive a year or two before myself, but I saw it in a shop and knew it for the perfect choice. The cameo reminded me of your profile portraits, and its subject reminded me of you. It is my wish that you’ll wear it in the best of health and happiness.

  Yours,

  Tristan Nesbitt

  The cameo, set in a beautiful white gold bezel with three tiny diamonds, featured a girl carved of mother-of-pearl in profile on an oval of black jet. She’d cherished it and been thrilled to think the pretty, curly-haired young miss on it reminded Tris of her. She must have read the words My dear and Yours a million times. But after a year of wearing the cameo, she’d given up those childish dreams and put both it and the note away.

  That same year, the year of her first and only season, she’d taken Tris’s profile portrait from her wall and put that away, too.

  And now, he wasn’t even Tris anymore. He was Lord Hawkridge, a strange and distant figure—and a rude one! But after fuming in her bed all afternoon, vexation had subsided, letting hope rise to the surface. She couldn’t help thinking that, now that he was a marquess, he was no longer unsuitable. Perhaps—

  “Are you ready yet?” Corinna called from the doorway.

  “Almost. Come in for a moment.” As her sisters entered, she threaded a delicate chain through the cameo’s bale and quickly fastened it around her neck. Then she lifted a little pot of clear gloss. Watching in the mirror, she slicked it on her mouth.

  “A Lady of Distinction doesn’t approve of lip salve,” Corinna informed her. “In The Mirror of the Graces, she says—”

  “A Lady of Distinction can go hang,” Alexandra interrupted. “Do you expect Lord Hawkridge might have stayed for dinner?”

  “Oh, yes.” Juliana straightened Corinna’s pink satin sash. “Griffin has asked him to stay the night, so he can assist him with some sort of problem at the vineyard tomorrow morning.”

  So that was what the gentlemen had been so busy discussing while Alexandra was trying to keep the ratafia puffs from Lord Shelton. If Lord Hawkridge would be here through tomorrow, she thought with a little frisson of excitement, perhaps she might have time to make him notice her.

  “And has Lord Shelton departed?” she asked with not a little trepidation.

  His presence could ruin everything.

  “Of course. He was invited only to take tea, after all.” Corinna sat carefully on Alexandra’s blue damask bedcovering. “He said he hopes you’ll feel better soon.”

  “I’m absolutely recovered,” Alexandra assured her. Even more so now that she knew she’d escaped the dreaded proposal. She
handed her maid a blue ribbon. “Lord Hawkridge didn’t seem to mind staying?”

  “Not at all.” Juliana smiled at her in the mirror. “I don’t mind him staying, either. He’s quite handsome, isn’t he? In a rugged way, I mean.”

  “He’s gorgeous.” Corinna flung herself back on the bed. “I want to paint him.”

  “He’s mine,” Alexandra said quietly.

  The room fell silent. Alexandra’s reflection had flaming cheeks, but she didn’t take back her declaration.

  “You cannot be serious,” Juliana finally said. “You’re marrying Lord Shelton.”

  “I am not. I thought I made that clear this afternoon.” Alexandra nodded up at the maid. “Thank you, Mary. That will be all.”

  As the woman slipped from the room, Alexandra took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I mean to marry Lord Hawkridge if he will have me.” Juliana gasped, but Alexandra rushed on. “I hope you two will support me in this. I’m aware it seems rash, but the truth is, I’ve loved him since practically the day I met him.” Too mortified to hold her sisters’ gazes, she trained her own on the floor.

  Corinna recovered first this time. “Does he know?”

  “Of course not,” Alexandra said to her lap. “Last I saw him, he was a full-grown man of twenty and I was still in the schoolroom. He didn’t even notice me.”

  “He noticed us,” Corinna disagreed. The bed creaked, and Alexandra pictured her rising on her elbows indignantly. “He played with us quite often, and he used to tease us mercilessly.”

  Alexandra sighed. “That wasn’t the sort of noticing I was hoping for.”

  “In any case, he was just a mister then,” Juliana pointed out, “with no prospects.”

  “I never cared.”

  Juliana’s skirts rustled. “Father would have cared.”

  Alexandra finally looked up. “I know. And I accepted that. But now everything’s changed—”

  “Father would have cared about what?” Griffin said as he appeared in the doorway.

  Juliana gave her brother an innocent smile. “Father would have cared to see one of us wed to Lord Hawkridge.”