Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Charlotte smiled demurely. “I will be there, of course,” she agreed, and then leaned around Elizabeth to ask George, “And are you planning to attend, George?” She seemed to struggle with using his first name, as if she thought she was committing some kind of faux pax by being so familiar.

  “Indeed. In fact, I asked in the hopes that I might secure an early reservation on your dance cards. I expect you’ll both be rather in demand, and if I should be a bit late in arriv­ing, I would be bereft at finding your cards already full,” he explained, one open hand landing on his chest as he made the claim.

  Elizabeth giggled, a charming sound that forced him to regard her for a moment, his gaze once again mesmerized by her aquamarine eyes. “I shall leave two dances for you, George,” she said then, her smile slowly disappearing until she added, “But that does not mean we have to spend the time dancing.” This last line was delivered in a near whisper, her face turned toward him completely so Charlotte couldn’t overhear nor see her lips move.

  The connotation of her statement was perfectly clear to George. His heart leapt in his chest, and he suddenly had trou­ble breathing.

  “And I shall leave you one,” Charlotte promised, unaware that George was about to expire from the sheer excitement Elizabeth’s hint had caused in him.

  The sounds of instruments being tuned filtered into the supper room, and the murmur of conversation halted as those around them began to take their leave. George nodded to Charlotte, “Thank you, my lady,” he acknowledged as he stood up and offered his hand to Elizabeth. “May I escort you two back to the ballroom?” he asked then, hoping his voice was louder than the pounding of his heart.

  He was sure everyone in the room could hear it.

  “I believe I have that honor,” David Carlington said as he stepped up behind the ladies. The Marquess of Morganfield, his green eyes especially bright from having drunk a few too many glasses of champagne, nodded at George. “Thank you for escorting my daughter,” he added with a nod to George. Although the statement might have seemed perfunctory to anyone listening, George didn’t take offense.

  “It was my pleasure,” George nodded to him. “Ladies, I shall take my leave. I look forward to dancing with you both at Lady Worthington’s ball,” his eyebrow cocked just a fraction in Elizabeth’s direction. “My lord,” he added as he bowed. Once Morganfield acknowledged his bow with a slight nod, George took his leave of the supper room and headed straight for the card room.

  Chapter 16

  An Odd Night Reviewed

  Lady Elizabeth placed her hand on her father’s arm while Lady Charlotte did the same on the other side of the marquess. Elizabeth was tempted to watch George as he took his leave of the supper room, but she forced herself to look instead to her father.

  “Was it acceptable for me to allow him to escort me to supper?” Elizabeth wondered as she followed her father’s lead. “The Duke of Somerset suffered a mishap of some sort,” she added as she realized her father was frowning.

  “The heel of His Grace’s shoe came loose,” the marquess explained as he paused to allow Charlotte to precede him through the ballroom doors. Charlotte stepped aside to allow him and Elizabeth to come alongside once they were through the crowded opening. “It was most fortuitous that you had someone come to your rescue,” he added as he grinned, his smile a bit crooked. “Better George than some rake.”

  Elizabeth stepped back near a palm and turned to regard her father. “You know him then?” she asked, her lips left parted by her question.

  David Carlington paused in midstep, as if pondering the question. “Of course. An honorable man. I would trust him with you,” he commented as his gaze swept the room, his eyes finally finding his prey. “I will leave you ladies to your dancing. My next dance partner has just come out of the retiring room, and she looks quite lovely, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Gasping, Elizabeth turned to look in the direction her father indicated. Seeing her red satin-clad mother making her way in their direction, she smiled broadly. “Oh, Father. You are such a romantic,” she whispered hoarsely, hoping he wouldn’t scold her for the tease.

  She was secretly pleased her father seemed to be so in love with her mother.

  It hadn’t always been that way. When Elizabeth was younger, her parents carried on as if their arranged marriage would never be anything more than a marriage of convenience. Once her younger brother was born, her father renewed his contract with his longtime mistress, and her mother busied herself with affairs of the marquessate and various charities. If the marchioness cuckolded her husband, she did so most discreetly, for there was never any scandal associated with the Carlingtons. But Elizabeth lived with the estrangement long enough to realize something wasn’t quite right in her par­ents’ relationship. They loved one another, she was sure, but didn’t seem to know how to go about being a husband and wife. When scandal erupted, it did so on the political front. Her father was forced to give up his power and influence in Parliament. There had been several weeks when neither of her parents were in residence at Carlington House. And then … things slowly changed.

  Now, Adeline and David Carlington behaved like happily married newlyweds.

  Elizabeth grinned as she watched them meet on the dance floor, finally turning to her friend when she realized Charlotte was trying to get her attention.

  She followed Charlotte as her older friend led her to the retiring room. Once inside, they rushed to take a place on one of the chaise lounges.

  “What was that all about?” Lady Charlotte asked as she watched Elizabeth shake her skirts out before taking a seat next to her. Charlotte’s gloved hand clutched Elizabeth’s wrist and shook it, a testament to her building curiosity.

  Realizing Charlotte referred to the supper they had shared with George Bennett-Jones, Elizabeth finally settled her gaze on her best friend. “I have absolutely no idea!” she replied, her head shaking a bit. A delighted grin graced her face. The events of the last hour had been most odd!

  Just the day before, she had received a short missive from Elizabeth Cunningham Statton, the Duchess of Somerset, imploring her to see to it the duke danced at least once during the Weatherstone ball. I know this will seem awkward, but if Jeremy does not ask upon your meeting him (and he had better, as I have ordered him to do so, and he knows what my retribu­tion will be if he does not), then please offer your arm and insist he join you for a turn about the room. I would hate to think of him keeping company with a potted palm, and he would do that very thing as he is more bored by playing cards than by plant life. The children and I will join him in London in a fortnight, a pros­pect I find more exciting than I can describe here. This will be my first Little Season in London in over five years, and I finally have my figure restored to the way it was when I married my duke. I have every intention of attending every ball! I so look forward to seeing you again, Sincerely yours, Beth.

  To think, her friend from finishing school, now a duchess and mother of four children, expected her to dance with her duke! So when Lady Elizabeth had arranged her introduction to Jeremy Statton, and mentioned that the duchess expected her to dance with him, the duke’s face had brightened, and then he had laughed! The kind of laughter that, despite the crush in the ballroom, was overheard by anyone standing within ten feet of them. Suddenly mortified, Elizabeth gave the man a quick curtsy and was about to step away when he suddenly stilled her by cupping her elbow with his gloved hand. The kid leather was soft and warm against her skin as he slid his arm beneath hers, making it look to anyone who might be watching that Elizabeth had offered her arm to the duke. “Forgive me, Lady Elizabeth, but I was expecting Beth’s friend to be … well,” he paused and lowered his face so that it was closer to the side of hers. “Not a woman of your beauty, certainly,” he quickly explained, the mirth still evident in his dark blue eyes. Momentarily confused, Elizabeth searched the duke’s face for some inkling that he was teasing her. But she found his manner quite sincere. “You see, my wife belie
ves I am too shy to arrange my own dances,” he added when he saw Elizabeth’s expression.

  “And you are not,” Elizabeth stated, her momentary con­fusion dissipating as she regarded the handsome, young duke. No wonder Elizabeth Cunningham, the daughter of a vis­count, found the man irresistible! Of course, when her friend had married him, he was merely the second son of a duke and not ever expected to inherit his father’s title. But when a boating accident took the lives of his father and elder brother, Jeremy Statton was forced to take on the dukedom, and her friend, Elizabeth Cunningham, was suddenly a duchess.

  “I was at one time, I suppose,” he admitted as he led them to the refreshment table. “But after five years in Parliament and five years of dealing with tenants, and five years of mar­riage, and four children, I find I can converse easily with just about anyone. Helps to be a duke, I suppose,” he said as he handed her a glass of champagne. “You are allowed, I hope?” he wondered before he placed the glass into her raised hand.

  “I am,” Lady Elizabeth replied with a nod as she resisted the urge to sound offended. The duke was not at all what she expected. He was far more confident than Beth had led her to believe. “Beth insisted I see to it you danced …” She stopped and inhaled sharply. “Forgive me, Your Grace. Her Grace,” she corrected herself, her face coloring up in embarrassment. How could she forget propriety so quickly? Just because she had known Elizabeth Cunningham as a viscount’s daughter and not a duchess did not give her the right to be so familiar now!

  “It’s quite alright, my lady,” the duke said with a wave of his bejeweled hand. “Beth has frequently spoken of you. She’s very fond of you and wondered at when you might finally marry one of these …” He waved his arm in the direction of several young gentlemen grouped near the doors leading to the ter­raced gardens.

  Elizabeth felt her face redden even more. “I’ve not yet been made an offer,” she answered, keeping a smile pasted on her face.

  There had been talk her first Season. A young earl seemed set to ask for her hand, and then something had happened. He had shown up at the last ball of that season with a rather plump chit on his arm. The gossip had it they had married by special license, and the earl had suddenly come into a good deal of blunt. Not particularly disappointed (the earl didn’t suit her, and even more important to her, he didn’t seem to suit her father—even though her father never said anything to indicate he didn’t want her marrying the earl), Elizabeth fig­ured her second Season would provide more agreeable mar­riage opportunities. Indeed, there were more eligible gentle­men, but there were also more marriageable daughters of the ton. And the young baron who showed the most interest sud­denly … did not. Her father finally admitted his complicity in the baron’s abrupt disinterest, explaining that the young man’s political future was cloudy at best and that his fortune was far too small to support a wife.

  And now, in her third Season, Elizabeth was more mature and considered one of the most beautiful prospects. The Earl of Trenton seemed most interested in courting her. Now that they had danced several times, including a waltz earlier this evening, and he had taken her in his curricle for a ride through the park during the fashionable hour, Elizabeth was quite sure this was the Season she would become engaged. And she was quite sure Gabriel Wellingham, the Earl of Trenton, would be her husband. By Christmastime.

  As if toasting the thought, she took a sip of champagne.

  The Duke of Somerset regarded her with a grin. “I have it on good authority a gentleman who is present this very eve­ning has intentions of asking for your hand,” he stated with a cocked eyebrow, the look making his already debonaire fea­tures seem a bit rakish.

  Elizabeth quickly lifted a gloved hand so her fingers cov­ered her mouth. “Indeed?” she answered, somewhat breath­less at hearing a duke confirm what she had already suspected. Gabriel will ask for my hand! she thought happily. She finished off the champagne and a footman retrieved her glass even before she could look about for a place to set it down.

  Jeremy Statton smiled broadly. “My Beth will be so thrilled. As a young matron who has already given me four children, she’s feeling as if all her friends have forgotten her.”

  Gasping, Elizabeth shook her head. “We have not,” she replied quickly. “I will be sure to call upon her when she arrives in town. When do you expect that will be?”

  The duke shrugged. “Probably a week come Tuesday. She will be very pleased to know you still hold her in high regard.” He glanced about the room, aware of the orchestra beginning the next dance. “And now, my lady, it sounds as if the next dance is about to begin.” He held out his hand, expecting Eliz­abeth to place hers in it. Elizabeth paused, a bit startled that he expected her to dance. It was the supper dance, after all, and he had not claimed it on her card, though no one else had, either. “It would be my honor,” she breathed, suddenly aware that it was not only the supper dance, but a waltz!

  The two stepped to the edge of the crowd surrounding the ballroom floor and were suddenly moving in time with dozens of other couples. A better dancer than the Earl of Trenton and much taller, the Duke of Somerset swept her about the room, his hold on her quite firm and his steps perfectly placed. It was a marvelous dance, and left Elizabeth feeling as if she was being shown off to everyone in the room. The sensation of spinning was dizzying. The lights from the candles above highlighted the red in her auburn hair. And somewhere along the edge of the crowd, her future husband was probably watching her. It could not have been a more perfect night.

  And then she had been sent spinning into the arms of George Bennett-Jones.

  What a very odd night!

  “So, you see,” Elizabeth said as she finished telling Char­lotte about the events of the evening, “I have absolutely no idea.” Realizing she still held George’s handkerchief, she slowly spread open the white linen across her lap. “GBJ,” she mur­mured as she studied the embroidered initials in one corner. “Who are you?”

  Chapter 17

  Unrehearsed Maneuvers in Review

  “I owe you, Your Grace,” George said in a lowered voice as he stood next to the Duke of Somerset. They were near the entrance of the room that had been set up for cards, supposedly considering which game to join. “Your timing was impeccable, as was your placement. It almost looked as if we rehearsed it,” he added, obviously pleased with the evening’s second waltz. They couldn’t have planned the maneuver any better, nor the fact that it gave George the opportunity to escort Lady Eliza­beth to the supper. That she had so readily agreed still had George thanking his lucky star.

  “My pleasure, truly,” Jeremy Statton replied happily, hav­ing a hard time keeping his grin in check. “The look on her face was …” He shook his head, apparently unable to come up with the appropriate words. “I shall have Beth in giggles when I tell her what we did. Hell, I’ll be in good humor every time I think of it.”

  Alarmed by the thought the duke would share the details of their plot with his wife, George regarded his friend for a moment. “Do you think that’s wise?” he wondered aloud, his brows furrowed with worry. “What if Her Grace tells Lady Elizabeth? You said they are friends from finishing school. She’ll think me a rake!”

  The duke stifled a laugh as he used his embroidered hand­kerchief to dab at his eyes. “Trust me, Bostwick. There isn’t a person at this ball who would ever mistake you for a rake,” he said jovially. The laughter the man had been holding in was finally allowed to burble forth, and several card players turned in their direction to determine what the duke found so amusing.

  Although the verbal jab was meant as a compliment, George felt it as if it had been delivered into his belly by a closed fist.

  It was true, though, he knew.

  No one in the ton would ever consider him a danger when it came to their wives or daughters. George Bennett-Jones could be trusted with any of them. He had even overheard the Marquess of Morganfield tell Lady Elizabeth he trusted him with her.

  Sometimes li
ving an honorable life made for a milquetoast existence.

  Or, perhaps not.

  Perhaps it was that very trust that could work in his favor, he realized suddenly. For who would ever expect George Bennett-Jones to waltz off with their daughter in front of the entire ton? Or kiss her until she whimpered? Or do anything else the least bit scandalous with her? And with Lady Elizabeth assured he could be trusted …

  Not trusting himself to behave in an aristocratic manner for the remainder of the evening, George made his excuses with the Duke of Somerset and took his leave. As he sat in his new town coach, he grinned the entire trip to Josephine’s.

  Chapter 18

  Suitability

  Lady Hannah Slater regarded Lady Elizabeth as she sat on the edge of the settee in the Devonville House parlor. She and her best friends had left the Weatherstone ball precisely at one and shared Hannah’s coach for the short trip to the other end of Park Lane. “Are you quite sure you want to marry the earl should he ask for your hand?” she wondered. She did not seem the least bit pleased by Lady Elizabeth’s declaration that she would be married by Christmastime. “You can put off mar­riage another Season or two. It’s not as if you have to marry,” she said in a very persuasive tone.

  Lady Charlotte Bingham held her breath, waiting for Lady Elizabeth Carlington’s eminent response. She expected Eliza­beth to counter Hannah with a rather loud or emphatic argu­ment as to why she would and should marry the Earl of Tren­ton. Elizabeth was, after all, a woman who knew her own mind and was quite good at getting what she wanted.

  Some might consider her demanding, others thought her spoiled, her father once accused her of being manipulative, and her mother thought her too bold. But those closest to her knew she was merely firm about getting what she wanted. She rarely spent her entire allowance on a shopping trip, and now she probably had none of it left given she was funding her own charity. She did not leave her clothes scattered about the room