Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  She’d admit that she’d been a little disappointed that he hadn’t come to see her yet, but if she were honest with herself, she doubted he knew she was even in town—Lord Clearcreek surely wouldn’t tell him. And the other reason, the one that nearly paralyzed her, was the possibility that he didn’t want to see her again.

  Tears clogged her throat and she swallowed them down. He was going to see her again whether he wanted to or not, he still owed her answers and she had no desire to let him go without hearing them.

  “Lady Townson is holding a ball tonight,” Mrs. Finch said as she absentmindedly flipped through a stack of invitations. “We were invited a few weeks ago but with the excitement of the sudden house party, I nearly forgot. We could go if you’d like.”

  Yes, she would. “I think that sounds like the perfect form of entertainment.”

  ***

  Sebastian buttoned his blue waistcoat then smoothed his hands over where it lay on top of his white shirt and fell below the waist of his buff trousers. He turned to Fowler, his valet, and took his cravat and tied it around his neck. The man could shave him, for all Sebastian cared, but he didn’t like the man to tie his cravat. He always had a secret fear of being strangled to death that way, and the hulking size of Fowler didn’t help.

  After making the perfect mathematical knot, he pushed his onyx stickpin squarely in the middle. He turned his back to Fowler and allowed his man to help him put on his freshly pressed coat. He declined the polished walking stick Fowler extended his way and looked in the mirror. He didn’t know what most young ladies would consider dashing, but he hoped the adjective fit him. Or at least in Belle’s opinion.

  He clenched his fist and took a deep breath. Likely no other husband in the country was this nervous about seeing his wife. He swallowed. Hard. No, she wasn’t his wife any longer. He’d signed the papers. They might not have been received and recorded yet, but that was as good as promised. He took his felt hat from his valet and put it on his head. Confident he looked his best for the first time since he’d seen Belle in a little over a week, he went into the hall.

  “Out to search for a wife tonight, Belgrave?” his father asked from down the hall.

  “As it would happen, I am.” He flashed his father a genuine smile. Ever since he’d returned from Lady Cosgrove’s party, his father had become a bur in his side. Sebastian had casually mentioned that he was signing the annulment papers and conveniently left off that he planned to one day wed her again. But first, he had to woo her. Which was why he was hoping she would be in attendance at tonight’s ball.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” his father said. “I’m quite pleased this whole annulment situation is now behind us.”

  “As am I,” Mr. Knight added from where he stood beside Father. If Sebastian didn’t know any better, he’d think the man’s tone held a hint of disappointment. Though what he had to be disappointed about, Sebastian didn’t know. He’d had the loudest voice in insisting that Sebastian sign the papers—even attempting to blackmail him about smuggling whisky to get his way.

  “I’m sure you are,” Sebastian said before he could think better of it. “Now that it’s been annulled, you can collect your money.”

  “Money?” Mr. Knight demanded. He narrowed his eyes on Sebastian. “What money?”

  Sebastian pursed his lips. Why did the man try to hide the truth? “Whatever money it was my father promised to pay you to push me to sign the annulment papers after I told him that I wouldn’t, even if he disinherited me of everything but the title that’s mine by birth.”

  “And what a lot of good that did,” Father burst out with a huff. “You still managed to go cavort around the continent.”

  “I’m not sure I’d call it cavorting,” Sebastian countered, recalling the days he’d spent trying to sell one of Giles’ paintings so they’d both be able to eat and sleep for the month. “But yes, despite not having your help, I managed just fine.”

  “And so did I,” Mr. Knight said, obviously still affronted that Sebastian would accuse him of accepting such a bribe from Sebastian’s father.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Sebastian said. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “Yes, you did, which is exactly why I wanted you to annul this marriage in the first place,” Mr. Knight said with a twist of his lips. “I knew you’d be a poor choice of a husband for my daughter even then. That’s why I wanted you to annul it. You have no respect for anyone, young man, and I knew with certainty by the things Isabelle said in her sleep about you, that you had no respect for her when you married her and wouldn’t respect her as a wife.”

  What had Isabelle said about him in her sleep? No matter. He really didn’t want to know. He remembered their wedding day well enough and could well guess what she might have said. He swallowed past the hot shame that consumed him. What a foolish boy he’d been.

  “When you said you were helping Isabelle find a husband, I thought you might have changed,” Mr. Knight continued, cutting into Sebastian’s thoughts. “But I can see that I was wrong and now I agree with your father it’s best you granted her the annulment.”

  “It’ll be better for them both,” Father commented.

  Sebastian had a suspicion Father’s glee over the annulment wasn’t for the same reason as Mr. Knight’s. Father would have never considered Isabelle a suitable bride for him. But Sebastian did.

  “If you two will excuse me, I am off to the Mart to find a marriageable young miss.”

  “Perhaps this marriage will be a touch more successful than your last,” Father added sarcastically.

  “It should,” Sebastian retorted, brushing past the two men and heading for the door. Now, he just had to convince Belle she was destined to be his wife. And not just for six years this time, for eternity.

  ***

  Isabelle contemplated what might happen if her dance card were to somehow go missing. Not that she’d purposely drop it in the side of a potted plant or anything. But under a pillow on the settee in the ladies’ retiring room… No, she couldn’t. She’d hoped to see Sebastian early in the evening and he’d claim at least one of her waltzes, if not two. But she hadn’t seen him at all.

  Well, that wasn’t true. She’d seen him, but he hadn’t seen her. Or if he had, he hadn’t given any indication of it.

  Instead, he’d spun one young lady after the next around the room while she stood off to the side and had all of her dances claimed by fortune hunters or other unsuitable gentleman. She glanced down at her dance card. This particular dance was one of the only two she didn’t have claimed. The next dance was a waltz and her last unclaimed dance.

  She bit her lip and tried to play the rest of the dance out in her head so she’d know where she should be standing when it ended so she could get his attention. She stopped herself. What was the use? If she had to guess by the way the young ladies had been fawning over him since she’d first seen him this evening, she could almost guarantee that he already had a partner for the next dance.

  And as if only to prove her point, she watched as not ten feet away, Sebastian returned his dance partner to her chaperone and turned toward the former Edwina Banks, now Lady Benedict. He said something to her that made her smile then led her to the dance floor.

  Isabelle considered going over to stand by Sir Wallace and expressing her sympathy for her incorrigible husband stealing his wife away, but decided against it.

  Of course if she just went to stand near him Sebastian would be forced to see her. But what was the point? He seemed rather content without having seen her. It was almost as if he was made for this life: flirting and charming. Emotion clogged her throat and she glanced back to where Sir Wallace was now walking through the crowd with his new brother-in-law, Lord Watson.

  That’s what Isabelle needed to do: leave. Not with Lord Watson, mind you. But she needed to leave. It was quite evident that there wouldn’t be a chance to talk to Sebastian here and she had no desire to dance another set.

  ***

&n
bsp; Sebastian felt a small dose of relief that Edwina, Lady Benedict was content to just dance without asking him questions that he was expected to answer. How unfortunate that some of the other ladies hadn’t offered him the same courtesy.

  She was a good partner, he’d grant her and he was able to use that to his advantage as they danced around the room without giving it much thought. He peered over her head to once again look for Belle.

  He knew she was there, he could feel it. The air was charged and his skin tingled in the way it only did when she was near. But he didn’t see her. Not now and not earlier.

  The waltz ended and at her direction, he escorted Lady Benedict to the edge of the ballroom, then went in search of Belle again.

  She was nowhere to be found.

  But Lady Mary was and since he’d claimed one of her dances earlier, he’d better go collect before she made a scene.

  After Lady Mary, he danced a set with Ladies Hellen, Elizabeth and Watson.

  After them, he wasn’t even sure who he’d danced with all he knew was it wasn’t who he’d wanted in his arms, but he couldn’t find Belle anywhere.

  By one o’clock, he was ready to go home.

  If he hadn’t seen her yet, she wasn’t there. He sagged against the wall as he waited in the hall for his coachman to bring around his carriage. Had he truly lost her, then? Was she so hurt and closed off to him because of his lie that she’d rather not even attend one of the biggest balls of the Season just to avoid him?

  His carriage arrived and without giving it much thought, he climbed inside and rode home as not for the first time, memories of his last conversation with Belle played out in his head. By the time he arrived back at his bachelor’s lodgings, he was convinced now more than before that he had made a mistake. He should have stayed at the house party at least another day and tried to talk to Belle. Now a week had passed, which was undoubtedly enough time for her to have hardened her heart toward him. Or grown more angry.

  Fowler met him just inside the door and Sebastian waved him off.

  “My lord—”

  “Go to bed, Fowler. I think I can remove my own clothes,” Sebastian said as he slipped the knot of his cravat.

  Fowler looked like he was about to say something else but before he could, Sebastian gave him his hardest stare and the insolent man closed his mouth with a snap.

  Relieved Fowler had decided not to be a pain in the arse who Sebastian would have to threaten to sack, Sebastian shrugged out of his coat and started unfastening the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt as he walked up the stairs and down the hall to his room.

  By the time he reached his chamber, he was half undressed and ready to climb into bed and berate himself until he fell asleep. Closing the door behind him with his right hand, he used his left to yank the shirttails from his trousers, then pulled off his cravat, followed by his waistcoat and shirt and threw them all into a pile on the green chair by the door.

  He padded across the darkened room to his bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, then with a sigh brought his elbows to his knees and dropped his head into his hands.

  With another sigh he straightened and dropped his hands to his knees, staring aimlessly into the fire blazing in the hearth. He might have been unsuccessful at talking to her at this ball, but there’d be at least one other later in the week. He could woo her then. His heart clenched. What if she didn’t want him to woo her? What if she’d seen him tonight and left because of him? He released a breath. He’d determined he wouldn’t force her to see him by going to her townhouse—either by fair means or foul—he wanted the chance to do things right, which meant he’d just have to wait for the opportunity.

  Just then, a sharp click rent the air from the direction of his bedchamber door.

  Sebastian jumped to his feet. What the devil? A low orange glow filled the space of the partially opened door and grew as the door creaked halfway open. Sebastian blinked. “Belle?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Isabelle swallowed her nerves and nodded. “Yes.”

  A bare-chested Sebastian came toward her and took the single candle she carried from her fingertips. “Is something wrong? Why are you here? Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine,” she said, allowing him to lead her to the edge of his bed. She sat. “I need answers, Sebastian.”

  “Answers,” he repeated.

  She nodded again. She’d gone home and had been unable to sleep as images of Sebastian grinning and dancing with all of those other young ladies kept filling her mind. While all of this must not have mattered one jot to him, it did to her, and seeing him act so joyous only a week after he’d nearly made love to her, only hurt worse. She needed answers and there was no way she’d be able to wait to get them.

  “Apparently you needed them quite desperately or you wouldn’t have come in the dead of night,” he said with a wide grin.

  She’d love nothing more than to slap the arrogance right off his face. “Yes, well, I learned the technique from you—the lord and master of appearing in someone’s bedchamber late at night.”

  He tsk, tsked. “I always used the window, not a door.”

  “I’d have broken my neck trying to scale the side of your house—and while you might have enjoyed such a fate to befall me, I’d rather spare myself another six months abed. If I even survived, that is.”

  He sobered. “Belle, I don’t want anything to happen to you. Why would you think that I do?”

  Isabelle blinked back her tears. This wasn’t going at all how she’d planned. All she wanted was answers, and instead she sat beside him on his bed, barely able to move, much less speak, all because of the horrible crushing sensation in her chest. She jumped to her feet. “I need to go.”

  Sebastian reached for her. “No, not yet.”

  She tried to pull away from his searing grasp, but he wouldn’t let her. “No, I really must go. Your man already knows I was here, but if Mrs. Finch or someone else finds out—” She shook her head. “This was a bad idea. I need to—”

  “Shh,” he crooned, standing. “You’re not going home like this. I’ll take you home.” He pushed a fallen lock of her red hair behind her ear. “But not until you tell me why you came.”

  “Why did you do it?” she burst out.

  “Why did I do what?” His soft voice did nothing to calm the storm of emotions roiling inside of her.

  “Lie to me about our marriage?” she blurted on a sob. Then, before he could have any time to answer her, she continued. “Leave me—both at the house party and when I was injured after the carriage accident? Sign the annulment papers?” Each question was punctuated with another, harder sob until finally she couldn’t speak.

  Sebastian murmured something in her ear that she couldn’t hear over her own heartbeat. A moment later, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his strong arms around her, holding her to him.

  She so very much wanted to give into his embrace and let him hold her for eternity, but she needed answers. No matter how painful they were. She pressed her cold palm to his strong chest. “Sebastian, answer.”

  He exhaled, his breath slightly blowing her hair. “All right, I’ll start at the beginning.”

  She moved to get off his lap, but he didn’t let her.

  “After our accident, I took one of the horses and went for help. It wasn’t far, but they had nothing to offer except a rickety carriage.” He swallowed. “I knew you weren’t doing well when I left you, but I thought it was more important that I go for help. Belle, you have to understand—” his voice cracked— “I was the only one who could. Abrams, the coachman, was in worse condition than you were. Neither of you had a chance if I didn’t leave. Once the Fosters—the family I found—had you loaded into their carriage and I gave them directions, I rode to find a physician who could attend to you at your father’s house. Somehow, I found the physician and made it to your father’s house before you did.

  “That wasn’t very well received and I had
to go track down where you were. When we returned, your father—and mine—were waiting. Your father yanked open the door and turned into a madman. He yelled and ordered everyone about and thundered at me how it was all my fault. I shouldn’t have taken you to Scotland, shouldn’t have married you, and shouldn’t have left you when you were hurt. Everything he could think of.

  “Being only nineteen, I was young and foolish and I let his words bother me and left when he demanded it. I thought I’d come back to check on you after he had time to calm down. But he never did. When I tried to see you again, he refused, saying that if I’d truly been concerned I’d have stayed when we’d first arrived.” He gave her an affectionate squeeze. “I did care, Belle, I cared very much; but I was a coward and let my father convince me it was better to leave and let him calm down.” He paused, swallowing convulsively. “I returned every day for two months and was turned away. The only way I knew anything about your condition was by paying the housekeeper and once your father found out I’d been doing that, he threatened to sack her if she spoke to me again.

  “After another month, your father approached me and told me I wasn’t welcome to darken his door again. He said that you weren’t my concern, even as your husband, since I’d admitted to him initially that I was supposed to take Rachel to Scotland and got confused. He then handed me the annulment papers—he’d had them drawn up on your behalf because you weren’t of age, nor conscious.”

  “Could he do that?” Isabelle asked around the lump of emotion in her throat.

  Sebastian shrugged. “I imagine my father helped him bend a few rules.”

  That made sense. Lord Clearcreek had never seemed too fond of her and had been especially pleased the other day when he’d informed her that Sebastian had finally signed the papers. “So you took the papers and left?”

  “Not exactly. I took the papers and came back the next day.” A small smile took his lips. “Your father was none-too-pleased that I hadn’t brought with me signed papers. When I asked to see you again, he told me in no uncertain terms that if I ever came back and I didn’t have those papers signed, he’d tell the magistrate that I was smuggling whisky.”