Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “I suppose not,” George replied with a shrug, his lips curv­ing to indicate he shared Morganfield’s amusement at the dic­tates of women’s fashion. If Elizabeth’s gown had been from the last century, George was quite sure he wouldn’t have noticed. After all, who looked at a woman’s gown when she had the face of an angel and such gorgeous auburn hair? “With your permission, my lord, I will take Lady Elizabeth for a ride in the park this week.”

  Morganfield nodded. “Of course. And, as I’m sure you are already aware, there are … others … who are interested.” He said this last as a warning, his lips pursing when he considered the identity of one earl who was proving to be as irritating as Josephine Wentworth had promised. “I haven’t arranged anything on her behalf. And unlike in years past, I don’t plan to interfere with her choice this year.” Except maybe to have a certain earl embarrassed in chambers, if that can be arranged.

  George considered the comment. If the Earl of Trenton was successful in his pursuit of Lady Elizabeth, then her father would not interfere. Damn! But the marquess had apparently prevented past suitors from asking for Elizabeth’s hand. So … why not now? Why protect her from fortune seekers for two years and then let her loose to make her own match?

  And then a thought came to mind that had him reeling.

  How had Lady Elizabeth managed to stay unattached for so long? Unless the marquess was still pulling the puppet strings, George could not imagine how the beauty could still be biddable.

  Unless she really was a spoiled brat.

  “Thank you, Lord Morganfield. I shall take that into con­sideration,” George answered. With a bow, he took his leave of the marquess and headed for Oxford Street.

  Chapter 21

  The Earl and Lady E Enjoy a Ride in Hyde Park

  “My lady, you look especially fetching today,” Gabriel commented as he completed his bow and reached for Eliza­beth’s hand.

  Elizabeth regarded the earl with a smile. “As do you, Tren­ton,” she replied, wondering if her choice of a dark blue car­riage gown and matching pelisse might have been a bit too conservative for their afternoon ride in Hyde Park. The earl stood before her in a bright blue top coat, gold metallic waist­coat, and breeches so snug they showed … everything … in relief. She struggled to keep her eyes on his face as he lowered it to kiss the back of her hand, hoping he hadn’t noticed that she had noticed the bulge beneath his waistcoat.

  “Will your maid be joining us?” he wondered as he glanced behind her and saw no one else in the vestibule.

  “She will, of course,” Elizabeth responded as she turned her head a fraction. Anna appeared from behind her, obvi­ously having hidden herself behind the vestibule wall until summoned.

  Surprised by the sudden appearance of the maid, Trenton’s expression changed from one of mischief to all business. He held his arm out and turned as Elizabeth rested her hand on it. Alfred opened the door, and they departed Carlington House.

  Elizabeth was a bit disappointed when she realized the earl hadn’t driven himself. The barouche parked in front had both a groom and a tiger, neither moving to give up their seats as drivers. She noted the horses were both black and well matched in size. “Are they new?” she wondered as Trenton handed her into the side of the barouche facing in the direc­tion of travel. He then assisted Anna, who would be forced to ride backwards for their trip.

  “To me, I daresay. Got them at Tattersall’s last week. It seems Lord Brougham lost a rather large sum at the faro tables and had to give them over as collateral,” Trenton explained as he stepped up into the carriage. Given his choice of sitting next to the maid or next to Elizabeth, he chose Elizabeth. He low­ered himself into the squabs, not the least bit concerned that his thigh brushed Elizabeth’s gown as he did so.

  Stunned at the impropriety, Elizabeth thought at first she should feel some excitement at the intimate contact. She was quite sure he intended to touch her. He is testing me, she real­ized, wondering if she should feel flattered that he would show such interest so early in their relationship. This was a court­ship, after all. But as the barouche made its way to Rotten Row for the fashionable hour, she found she was annoyed with the earl. How dare he?

  “I heard you had a bit of difficulty during the second waltz last evening. Had I known, I assure you I would have come to your rescue,” he said as he moved his arm to rest on the top of the squabs behind Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth feigned ignorance. “Trouble? Why, there was no trouble,” she replied lightly. “Well, I suppose there was for the duke, since his shoe had to be repaired before he could con­tinue to enjoy his evening.”

  Trenton’s brows furrowed, “But … weren’t you dancing with him when he … stumbled?” he wondered, sure his sources had described the scene quite thoroughly. At least four people he spoke with claimed to have seen exactly what happened.

  “I was, but George Bennett-Jones took up where the duke left off, and all was well.” She said it as nonchalantly as she could, hoping to deflect the earl’s interest in the matter.

  “I was concerned for your welfare, my lady,” he countered, leaning his head toward hers so that his lips were mere inches from her cheek.

  Elizabeth dared a glance in his direction, careful to hold her head so she wouldn’t be any closer to him as she did so. “That was very kind of you, my lord,” she replied with a grin.

  “And for your … reputation. I was quite upset to discover you supped with that viscount’s nephew. You really should be more careful.”

  Trying very hard not to breathe, Elizabeth stilled herself as she considered the earl’s words. “And why would that be? Mr. Bennett-Jones seemed every bit the gentleman.” Had she done something wrong in agreeing to attend the supper with a man she assumed to be a cit? He was so polite, and her father had said he could be trusted. A viscount’s nephew. She considered his prospects and realized the best he could hope for was a modest inheritance. So he probably was a cit.

  “Well, he’s certainly not good ton,” Trenton commented as he inched closer to her. The barouche was stopped just out­side the gates to Hyde Park, waiting in a rather long queue to enter and join the line of equipage and horses already in the procession. “I would, of course, have come to your aid, but I was forced to spend the time with Lady Winthorpe. She was distraught over the loss of her cat and simply could not be consoled.”

  Elizabeth once again struggled to maintain a calm air. Lady Winthorpe was a widow, notorious for her affaires with younger men of the ton. “How sad for her,” she offered, affect­ing an appropriate expression of grief. “I do hope she is feeling better now.”

  Trenton shrugged. “When I left her, she was … much hap­pier,” he said with a hint of mischief. Stifling a gasp, Elizabeth turned to find Trenton smiling at her. “I am teasing, of course,” he said as his white teeth gleamed in the afternoon sunshine. “But I am sure your thoughts were not very charitable just then,” he accused, his manner becoming a bit more serious. “Really, Elizabeth. Must you think the worst of us young bucks?”

  Elizabeth? She hadn’t given him permission to use her given name! Instead of admonishing him, though, she decided to join in his humor. “Given the behavior of so many young bucks, I could easily say ‘yes’ to your question,” she replied with her own mischievous grin.

  The Earl of Trenton was about to respond when male voices called out to him. And for the rest of their time in the park, various riders and passengers in other coaches stopped to talk or ask as to their health and about Lord Weatherstone’s ball. The earl’s manner was most jovial and cordial, especially to the debutantes who seemed disappointed to see him in the company of a lady. By the time they had made their way back to Carlington House, Elizabeth was sure they had spoken with every gentleman and half the young ladies in London.

  Every gentleman except for George Bennett-Jones, she realized.

  She wondered where he might be at that moment. At a men’s club? Perhaps he was looking at horseflesh at Tattersall’
s. Or was he fencing or shooting or … she remembered he would be at Lady Worthington’s ball the following night. I can ask him then.

  As they left the park, Elizabeth thought about her charity and wondered if the earl would approve of her venture. Trying to drum up the courage to ask, she turned a bit on the seat to regard her host. He seemed in the best of spirits. “May I ask your opinion of something?” she wondered, hoping her ques­tion wouldn’t change his good mood.

  “Of course,” he answered, taking one of her hands in his and kissing the back of it.

  Elizabeth gave him a tentative smile. “If I told you I was starting my own charity, what would be your … opinion of that?”

  Trenton sat up straighter, his body turning so he was nearly facing her. “I … I rather think I would find it a worthy endeavor,” he answered carefully. “Indeed, I’ve often wondered what a proper lady does with her time when she is not calling on others, or seeing to the guests who call on her, or coming up with fanciful menus for dinners,” he commented. “A char­ity would seem a perfectly acceptable use of your spare time.”

  Nodding, Elizabeth gave the earl a tentative nod. “Thank you,” she replied, not about to tell him what she had to do for her charity to succeed. At least he was amenable to the idea of her starting a charity. Perhaps she would admit to having already started it the next time they spoke.

  When Trenton escorted her to the front door of Car­lington House, he did so with a sweeping bow and a kiss on the back of her gloved hand. “I thank you for your company this afternoon, my lady. I do hope you’ll save me two dances tomorrow evening.”

  Elizabeth grinned in reply, wondering what it was about men who wanted two dances when it was appropriate for a debutante to accept only one per gentleman? “I will see what I can do,” she said in an exaggerated sigh.

  Trenton nodded, an eyebrow cocking mischievously. “Until tomorrow night, my lady,” he said as he bowed deeply. And then he was off, bounding down the stairs and nearly hopping into the barouche, looking every bit the rake Lady Elizabeth thought he might be.

  Chapter 22

  A Charity Receives a Donation or Two

  Lady Elizabeth reported to her office the following morn­ing to find two disabled soldiers waiting at her door along with a note from the solicitor, Andrew S. Barton, Esquire, from whom she let the space. I have an envelope for you.

  Telling the men she would be but a moment, Elizabeth hurried to the solicitor’s office next door. She greeted the older gentleman and was given an envelope so thick it could almost be considered a package. Inside, a note, written in a scrawl that suggested it was penned by a man, said, Keep up the good work. Should you need it, there is more where this came from.

  There was no signature.

  A bit stunned, Elizabeth stared at the one-hundred pounds she pulled from the envelope. If ever there was a perfect time for a donation to arrive, this was it.

  But who had left it?

  The money couldn’t have come from Theodore Streater. And she rather doubted Avery Whittaker would have sent it. He seemed too greedy to be charitable. The solicitor disavowed any knowledge of the envelope’s contents, saying it had been delivered by a gentleman the afternoon prior.

  One of those two men had to have told someone of means about her charity. Before she could leave Barton’s office to return to her own, a liveried footman came in carrying a purse. “Lady E?” he wondered, apparently having just come from next door and been told by the men waiting there that she was next door.

  “I am,” she replied, still a bit stunned by the contents of the envelope she held.

  “I am to give this to you. For your charity,” the footman said as he held out the velvet purse.

  Elizabeth paused before reaching out to take the purse, trying to remember if she had ever before seen the livery the footman wore. “Thank you,” she said hesitantly, stunned at the weight of the purse. “And from whom does this come?” she wondered in awe, hoping the servant would mention his employer by name. Through the fabric of the purse, she could feel large coins. Lots of them.

  “I am not at liberty to say, milady,” he replied with a shake of his head. He bowed deeply and took his leave of the office.

  The solicitor eyed Elizabeth, a grin breaking out on his face. “Seems you have a patron or two, Lady Elizabeth.”

  She nodded in wonderment. “Indeed.” A smile broke out when she realized she had absolutely no idea who could have sent the money. I have anonymous benefactors!

  The realization buoyed her for the entire morning as she met with her new clients. For as disheartening as their tales were of being unable to find work, she was quite sure she would be able to secure positions for them both. Bribery was the key to finding work for the wounded, Elizabeth realized, and she was quite good at getting what she wanted.

  Chapter 23

  Contemplating a Kiss

  “I thought about what we talked of during supper at Lord Weatherstone’s ball,” Elizabeth spoke quietly from behind her fan, her eyes scanning the crowded ballroom as if she were looking for someone. Lady Worthington had to be pleased at the huge turnout, her brightly-lit ballroom a crush even before the first waltz.

  George dared a glance in her direction, his posture erect. He moved his hands behind his back and clasped them together in an effort to quell his sudden nervousness. She had thought about what they talked of? A rush of heat suffused his face. He considered the sudden lack of air in the ballroom could be explained by the number of guests in attendance, but he had to admit to himself it was because she stood so near to him. “We spoke of many things,” he replied lightly as he nod­ded to the Earl of Ellsworth and his countess as they passed in front of him.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath, or at least as deep as she could given how tight Anna had tied her corset. The only ben­efit of a corset this snug was that it would keep her upright during the later dances.

  Well, one of the benefits.

  The other was quite evident to any man who dared to gaze at the space above the neckline of her bodice. She had worn the low-cut cream confection of silk and tulle on Lady Han­nah’s recommendation. The patronesses of Almack’s might not approve of such a slim gown that hinted at the shape of her long legs and displayed nearly all of the tops of her breasts, but if ever there was a ball where it was appropriate, Lady Worthington’s was it.

  The admiring looks of her dance partners were more important than the opinions of Almack’s patronesses just then.

  Such as the one who stood next to her.

  “I was thinking about kisses,” she clarified, her fan closing as she turned to look at George directly. It was a bold move on her part, she knew, but she wasn’t about to leave that night’s ball without some of her questions answered.

  George had to force his face to remain impassive, although one eyebrow cocked into an arch. “Ah,” he replied, the tip of his tongue touching his bottom lip. He met Lady Elizabeth’s gaze and nodded. “And?” he prodded, a hint of a smile touch­ing the corners of his mouth.

  Elizabeth could feel the blush coming on even before she knew it colored her face. She resisted the temptation to reopen her fan and hide behind it. “I wondered if, perhaps, you would be so kind as to give me a …” She leaned in and lowered her voice, the line of her body suggesting she was trying to hear something he was saying. “Demonstration.” She straightened and held her breath while she waited for George’s reaction.

  George Bennett-Jones blinked once and forcefully closed his mouth. A demonstration? She could only mean one thing with her request, he realized. She was suggesting he … he kiss her. Which meant she would compare his kiss to the one she had experienced with Gabriel Wellingham behind the hedgerow in Lord Weatherstone’s garden. It was horrible, she had said, the disgust in her voice more telling than the mere statement.

  He could certainly do better than Trenton, perhaps enough for her to realize Trenton was not a good match for her. Swal­lowing hard, George reached down to captu
re the dance card and pencil that dangled from Elizabeth’s wrist. “I see you still have two dances available,” he commented, his manner sug­gesting he hadn’t heard her comment. She left me two dances! He wrote his name onto both lines and raised his eyes to meet hers. “I am at your service, of course, my lady,” he said as he bowed, his eyes twinkling and one edge of his lips curled up.

  At that moment, the Marquess of Devonville approached and bowed to Lady Elizabeth. “My lady, I believe this is my dance,” the debonair gentleman said as he held out his hand to take hers. The man might have been in his fifties and her best friend’s father, but William Slater, Marquess of Devonville, was still an attractive man. His long hair was pulled back into a queue and held with a black ribbon, and his evening clothes looked as if they had been made by Weston himself. “Bost­wick,” he acknowledged when he realized he had interrupted a moment between Lady Elizabeth and the viscount.

  George nodded and gave the marquess a smile. “My lord,” he responded as he gave a slight bow.

  “Of course, Lord Devonville,” Elizabeth said with a bright smile, not hearing the exchange between the two gentlemen. “I would have found you if you hadn’t found me,” she assured him as she gave George a curtsy and followed the marquess onto the dance floor.

  Extremely satisfied with himself, George grinned and went off to find the refreshment table. A kiss was in his future, albeit a small one, he figured.

  Now, where should he take her? The garden off the terrace would be too crowded with other couples expecting to engage in the same dalliance. There were alcoves off the ballroom, but anyone might see their departure from the ballroom floor, and Lady Elizabeth’s reputation would be in ruins. He made his way out of the ballroom and down the hall, remembering the house to have a library somewhere nearby. Lady Worthington had hosted a musicale that spring, during which he and the Earl of Torrington had retired to the library for a drink.