Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Alexandra seethed at the sight of so many women whispering behind their fans. “How can they ‘remember’ something that never happened?”

  “Regardless of the events leading up to it—or the lack thereof—the scandal happened, I can assure you.” Tris managed a cool smile, which Alexandra sensed was for the benefit of their other guests. “It was very real.”

  “It was very wrong.” She wasn’t sure which made her more angry: her rude guests or Tris’s blithe acceptance of their attitude. “Come dance with me. I wish to show them we’re not swayed by their misplaced disapproval.”

  The slight shake of Griffin’s head clashed with his plastered-on smile. “I don’t expect that would be wise.”

  Tris nodded in agreement. “I shall take my leave before the two of you—and your dear sisters, by association—are irredeemably tarnished.” He swept them a proper bow. “Good evening.”

  The guests turned, almost as one, to watch him leave. Instead of escaping down the corridor to his room, he walked, head held high, across the great hall and out the grand entrance. Alexandra supposed he wanted everyone to conclude he’d left Cainewood. But what would he do? Hide in the workshop all night?

  The noise level rose as the other guests gossiped in earnest now—behind Tris’s back. Alexandra looked to Griffin, clutching the three reticules so tightly her knuckles turned white. “They’re all going to think we sent him away.”

  “All things considered, that’s not such a bad thing.”

  “He’s the best man here tonight.”

  “You wound me,” Griffin said, grasping his chest as though she’d put a knife through his heart.

  Normally that would make her smile, but she was too upset. “He’s your oldest friend. Where is your sense of loyalty?”

  “Right here,” he said, pointing down at the planked floor. “In this very room, with you and your sisters and your futures. Sometimes,” he added between gritted teeth as he smiled at two guests approaching them, “we are forced to rank our loyalties, whether we like it or not.”

  “Lord Cainewood!” Lady St. Quentin, a rail-thin older woman who was a fixture in this part of the country, hurried closer. She had a pinched face, and her brows were far too arched, giving her a look of perpetual astonishment. Her beady gaze swept curiously over both of them. “Could you believe the nerve of that boy? You did the right thing sending him packing.”

  When Alexandra might have opened her mouth, Griffin shot her a look of warning. “Let us forget this unpleasantness, Lady St. Quentin. I see you’ve brought your son.”

  “I was hoping for the honor of a dance,” her son said in a quiet voice, almost as though he were making up for his mother’s loud one. Pale and long-faced, with a knife-edged nose and small eyes, he didn’t compare to Tris.

  But then, no one in the great hall compared to Tris. The more young men Alexandra danced with, the more she realized that although they were all perfectly acceptable, none of them were ever going to measure up to the only one she wanted.

  Yet she had to keep an open mind, because anything more than friendship with Tris was impossible. If she wanted to be a wife and mother, she was going to have to settle, like Lord Jamestone, for second best. And if the thought of that made the marzipan congeal in her stomach, she was determined to ignore it. This was, after all, her family’s celebration, their long-awaited reentry into society. It should be a happy occasion.

  She put a smile on her face and looked up at Lady St. Quentin’s son. She wouldn’t marry him—the St. Quentin estate was notoriously ailing, and in any case, the thought of Lady St. Quentin as a motherin-law was enough to make her quail. But she didn’t want the old prattlebox questioning her manners, either. The son seemed nice enough, if a bit of a milksop; certainly Alexandra could be polite.

  “I should be delighted to dance with you,” she told him with a wider, more determined smile. “Let me just dispose of these reticules, and I shall return posthaste.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When the elegant supper was all but finished and the majority of the guests had forsaken the dining room to resume dancing, Rachael moved to an empty chair beside Alexandra’s. “Are your feet thanking you for sitting?”

  Alexandra drained the final sip of the half glass of wine she’d allowed herself. “I’ve danced with so many gentlemen, my feet are numb now.”

  “How fortunate.”

  “How about yours?”

  “You had a three-hour head start. Mine still hurt.” Rachael reached to touch Alexandra’s cameo. “This is very pretty.”

  It wasn’t nearly as pretty as the diamond necklace that graced Rachael’s neck, Alexandra thought, or the glittering jewels that adorned the other ladies. But she’d wanted to wear it tonight. “Tris sent it to me from Jamaica.”

  “You used to wear it all the time, didn’t you? I remember it now.” Rachael’s smile was a little too understanding for Alexandra’s comfort. “Have your numb feet led you to a future husband?”

  “Not yet. Have your aching feet led you to anyone special?”

  “Alas, they haven’t.”

  “Alexandra!” Juliana hurried into the room, followed by Corinna. “Griffin is looking for you. Several more gentlemen have requested introductions.” She turned to Rachael. “Have you danced with Griffin yet?”

  “I’m not a whit interested in dancing with Griffin. But I will say he’s managed to bring together an impressive array of eligible gentlemen for your sister’s consideration.” Rachael’s eyes twinkled as they shifted to Alexandra. “You don’t mind sharing with the few other ladies here, I’m hoping?”

  Alexandra laughed. “No, I don’t mind. I need but one for myself.”

  And that one, she feared, was outside tinkering in a lumber room.

  “Griffin hasn’t found time to dance at all,” Corinna said.

  “That’s a pity.” Rachael leaned forward and pulled off her poppy red shoes. “My feet are killing me.”

  Juliana frowned. “You should go into the ladies’ retiring room to do that.”

  “A Lady of Distinction would not approve,” Corinna added with exaggerated primness.

  “A lady of what?” Rachael asked, rubbing one of her stockinged feet.

  Juliana rolled her eyes. ”The author of The Mirror of the Graces, the manual that’s supposed to transform us all into marriageable ladies.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.” Rachael switched to massaging her other foot. “But if a gentleman won’t take me the way I am, I expect I wouldn’t want him anyway.”

  “Rachael would spit on A Lady of Distinction,” Corinna declared with relish.

  Figuring she’d better go find Griffin, Alexandra groaned as she got to her feet.

  “Not numb anymore?” Holding her shoes in one hand, Rachael rose with an overstated wince. “I’d best see what Claire and Elizabeth are up to,” she said as they all moved toward the door. “This is their first ball, and I don’t think they ate three bites between them; they couldn’t wait to get back to the dancing.”

  Griffin spotted the four of them the minute they entered the great hall. “There you are,” he said, leading a handsome, dark young man toward his oldest sister. “Alexandra, this is Lord Shipworth.”

  As Alexandra made the appropriate responses and went off with the prospective suitor, Rachael tried to sidle away. Juliana caught her by the arm. “Rachael thinks it’s a pity you haven’t found any time to dance,” she told Griffin. “She wishes to rectify that situation.”

  “I don’t—” Rachael began before catching herself. Although the last thing she wanted was to dance with her cousin, refusing to his face would be dreadfully rude. “I don’t…want to put on my shoes.”

  “Then don’t,” Juliana said gaily, taking the red slippers from her limp fingers. “Just dance in your stockinged feet. You’ve never feared scandal before. Ah, a waltz.” Grinning, she grabbed Rachael’s hand and put it right into Griffin’s. “Enjoy yourselves, will you?”


  “I’m not very good at this,” Griffin muttered as he guided Rachael onto the dance floor and took a few tentative steps. “I learned to waltz only this week.”

  He was certainly holding her awkwardly. And at arm’s length, as though he could hardly bear to touch her. But at least he wasn’t trodding on her stockinged toes. “You’re doing very well for a beginner,” she assured him. “Especially considering you didn’t wish to dance with me.”

  The pink flush that crept up his neck clashed with his green eyes. “I never said that.”

  “Liar.” She laughed. “I’d wager you told Juliana you’re not a whit interested in dancing with me.”

  A crooked half smile curved his lips. “I said nothing about a whit.”

  “Well, I did. I told her I wasn’t a whit interested in dancing with you, but it seems she ignored us both.”

  “I’m all astonishment.” The smile turned full-blown now, revealing creases in his cheeks that matched the slight dent in his chin. “That was a brave confession. I promise not to hold it against you.”

  “Do you expect I would care if you did?”

  “Not at all. That’s what I love best about you. In a strictly platonic way, of course,” he rushed to add.

  “Of course,” she echoed pleasantly. Now that he’d relaxed, he was proving a much better dancer than he’d given himself credit for. He held her a little closer. He smelled of spicy soap.

  It really was too bad they were cousins.

  “Juliana deserves to be beaten,” he said.

  “You won’t do it,” she returned confidently.

  “You’re right. I’m an excessively ineffective father. And I never dreamed I’d be a matchmaking mama.”

  “A mama?” she echoed with a laugh. She’d never met a more masculine fellow than he. “That sounds more like a nightmare than a dream.” As they twirled around the room, she noted all the ladies were on the dance floor while many extra gentlemen waited around the edges. “Given that you’re a novice at matchmaking, I’d say you’re doing an excellent job.”

  “But I have only”—he glanced at the tall-case clock—“four more hours to match Alexandra.”

  “Four hours? I hesitate to dash your expectations, but it’s likely to take longer than that. I’ve been searching for a husband for four seasons.”

  Four seasons, Griffin thought. Good gracious. If it took each of his sisters that long, he’d be practically middle-aged before he could concentrate on his own life. “Have you had no offers in all that time?”

  “Oh, only about a hundred.” She laughed with him a moment, but then sighed and licked her lips. Griffin suddenly felt too warm. “My parents shared a special love,” she said softly. “I wish for no less. I’ll wait until I find it.”

  “I see.” Griffin danced silently for a few measures, wondering if his sisters were that idealistic. He wanted them to be happy, but four seasons was a long time. Of course, Rachael had been busy overseeing the earldom during that time, too. Perhaps she hadn’t paid enough attention to her suitors. “Have you made progress preparing the master chamber for your brother’s arrival?”

  “Yes, much.” Her good cheer returned. “It hasn’t been as difficult as I expected. I haven’t gone through anything very personal yet, but packing Mama’s and Papa’s clothes away has actually recalled many pleasant memories.”

  “I’m glad,” he told her with a smile. She smiled back—a smile that lit up the entire great hall as they whirled across the crowded dance floor. No one else smiled like Rachael—she put her whole soul into it. He couldn’t imagine why, in four seasons, no gentleman had managed to snatch her up. She was so open and refreshing.

  The music stopped, but he held her a little longer, a little closer, thinking that when he did come on the market for a wife, he hoped he could find a woman like her.

  Had he really thought that? he wondered, pulling back. He must be getting soft in the head. This matchmaking business was entirely too much pressure.

  She looked bemused, her cerulean eyes wide and opaque. “Um, thank you for the dance.”

  “Thank you,” he said, “for being such a sport. I shall have a talk with Juliana. It won’t happen again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “What do you think of my son?”

  “Oh, he seems a fine young man.” Casting about for a way to redirect the conversation, Alexandra lifted a silver tray off a nearby table and held it out to Lady St. Quentin. “Would you care for another marzipan fruit?”

  “Why yes, dear, I would.” She chose a miniature bunch of grapes. “These remind me of your sweet mother.”

  “There you are!” Corinna barged into the refreshment room. “You must see something, Alexandra.”

  “One moment, Corinna.” Alexandra smiled apologetically at Lady St. Quentin. “Indeed, Mama made these most every time she held an entertainment. We could but do the same. It’s one of our traditions.”

  “I admire a traditional lady. Do you expect you and my son might suit?”

  “Alexandra—”

  “I’m pleased the marzipan brought back good memories, Lady St. Quentin. If you’ll excuse me.” Still carrying the tray, Alexandra hurried off with Corinna. “What could be so important?”

  “Did you really want to answer her question about her son? Just come with me.”

  Huffing out a breath, Alexandra lifted her skirts and followed her sister to the far end of the great hall, into the corridor, and up a dark, narrow flight of stairs. “You know what a gossip Lady St. Quentin is. I danced with her milksop son, hoping she’d think well of us. Now she’ll be telling everyone we’re rude.”

  “Oh, do quit being such a fusspot,” Corinna said as they stepped onto the landing.

  Juliana was waiting there by a door. “What are you worried about now?”

  “Nothing,” Alexandra said.

  “Not nothing,” Corinna disagreed. “She fears Lady St. Quentin might think her less than a perfect hostess.”

  “If you’d quit worrying about what everyone thinks, maybe you could find happiness.” With that cheeky proclamation, Juliana slowly opened the door. Music floated up and through it from the great hall. “Look,” she whispered.

  There, in the minstrel’s gallery, stood Tris. His back to the door, he leaned on the balcony’s rail, gazing down on the festivities below.

  Alexandra didn’t know whether she was angry with her sisters or grateful to them. She wasn’t sure whether she should go to Tris or leave. Juliana solved her dilemma with a little push. By the time Alexandra turned around, the door had been quietly shut behind her.

  The torches in the great hall threw light and shadow into the minstrel’s gallery. For a moment, she just drank Tris in. His shoulders looked tense beneath the fine, dark blue tailcoat; his hair grazed the collar in the back. He’d be leaving before nightfall tomorrow. This might be the last time she’d ever be alone with him.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked closer. “Would you care for a sweet?” she asked over the music.

  Tris started, then turned to face her. “No. Thank you.”

  He looked different tonight. Perhaps it was the formal clothing, or perhaps it was because his hair was combed neatly for once. Or perhaps it was because the more time she’d spent with other young men, the more she’d become convinced he was the only one for her.

  As he met her eyes, an odd tingle arose in the pit of her stomach. She held his gaze for a moment, finding nothing encouraging there, nothing to lead her to believe anything had changed for him. But over the course of the evening, everything had changed for her.

  She was just now realizing how much.

  Although he was stone-faced, she gave him a little smile. “How did you get back inside?”

  “One of the servants’ entrances, a few passageways, a set of back stairs. I learned my way around long ago, playing hide-and-seek with Griffin.”

  Of course. Tris had history here. It just wasn’t with her.

  “I thought yo
u were determined to avoid this ball at all costs.” The wooden structure held no furniture, so she balanced the tray carefully on the rail. “Why did you turn up?”

  “To make a point.” His gray gaze remained steady, resolute. “To prove to you, once and for all, that life with me would be unbearable.”

  The music swelled as she gestured over the edge of the balcony. “What I saw wasn’t real life. I don’t need those people.” She swallowed hard, gathering her nerve. “I need you, Tris.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I do. But I cannot ruin my family’s good name.” Her throat was tightening. Here she was, in the most beautiful dress she’d ever owned, and she’d never felt more wretched. ”I don’t know what I can do.”

  “You can go back down there and find another gentleman.”

  “I’ve tried—and I’ve failed!“

  He looked startled at her vehemence. A long silence stretched between them, and the music from below was not enough to fill it. He just looked at her, and she just let him. Squashing every bashful instinct she possessed, she stood tall and brazen and watched him watch her. His gaze lingered on her face, then glided ever so slowly down the length of her body, and ever so slowly back up again. Finally it settled on the cameo, and his eyes softened.

  It was time to go in for the kill.

  Moving closer, she laid a gloved hand against his waistcoat. “I think I’m in love with you,” she confessed quietly.

  His eyes hardened again as he stepped back. “Think is the operative word. You cannot be in love with me.”

  “I know my feelings, Tris.”

  “You don’t.”

  Her hands curled into fists. “Stop telling me what I do and don’t feel.”

  “Stop pretending you can change our circumstances by wishing.”

  “I know I cannot.” She heard tears in her voice and cursed herself for them. “But I cannot change my feelings, either.”

  He sighed, a sigh burdened with old memories. “I’ve thought I was in love before, too—more than once—but it was never more than a fantasy. I won’t make such an error again. Neither will you, once I leave and you come to your senses. Day after tomorrow, Alexandra, you’ll wake up free of me forever.”