Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

George’s eyes widened. The woman was … well, right, actu­ally. Although he had no intention of using gossip to influ­ence who Lady Elizabeth chose for a husband, his aunt had managed to put into words what he had only briefly—very briefly—thought about in how he could win Lady Elizabeth’s hand in marriage. “What have you heard about Wellingham?” he asked, more because he wanted to know what the wags were saying rather than to deflect her attention from the possibility he had kissed Lady Elizabeth.

  Lady Fletcher straightened to her nearly six-foot height. “Well, that Lord Trenton plans to ask for Lady Elizabeth’s hand, of course,” she answered in a matter-of-fact tone, as if everyone knew the engagement was imminent.

  Damnation, George thought in dismay. If his aunt had heard the gossip regarding the Earl of Trenton, then there was no doubt Gabriel Wellingham had voiced his intention to ask for Lady Elizabeth’s hand in front of witnesses, probably at White’s. “I have heard as much,” he admitted, sighing. He raked his fingers through his short hair and quickly used them to smooth it back into place.

  His aunt sighed as well. “She seems like a good match for you, George.”

  The words were all the encouragement he needed right then. With the embarrassment of being discovered in the library, he had considered giving up his pursuit of Lady Eliza­beth Carlington. But now that his aunt had given her opin­ion, he was suddenly as determined as he had been during the Weatherstone ball. “Thank you for saying so,” he murmured. “She has agreed to join me for a tour of the British Museum tomorrow morning.” He considered telling his aunt more, but thought better of it. “I … We should be getting back to the ball­room,” he said by way of an excuse to end their discussion, “If we’re to dance any of this dance.”

  As he held open the library door for Lady Fletcher, he realized he had not only managed to avoid a confession, but he had also pleased his aunt. He thought their discussion could not have gone better.

  Chapter 26

  The Aftermath of a Kiss

  “There you are!” Lady Charlotte exclaimed as she watched Lady Elizabeth make her way toward her and Lady Hannah. “Did George ever claim his dance with you?” she wondered then, remembering how he had requested they save dances for him. “He is very proficient at the country dances. And elegant. He holds himself as if he were to the manor born,” Charlotte added, her eyebrow cocking as if she was daring Elizabeth to counter the assessment.

  Elizabeth smiled as she reached up to touch the back of her coiffure. The maid on duty in the retiring room had done a quick but adequate job of getting her hair back into place. She had missed a cotillion in the meantime, though, and hoped that whomever had requested the dance on her card would have forgotten. “He is, indeed,” Elizabeth agreed with a nod. “I just came from having my hair repaired. What have I missed?” she wondered, surprised to find Hannah and Charlotte stand­ing almost exactly where she had left them. Had they noticed she and George weren’t in the ballroom for the dance before the quadrille that had just ended? Given the crush, though, she realized they wouldn’t have been able to see any of the dancing.

  Hannah cocked an eyebrow in her direction. “Ten min­utes of tedious cotillion?” she replied with a wan smile. Her short gasps for air suggested the cotillion was a bit more taxing than tedious, though.

  “Oh, dear. Someone needs a really good kisser.” She inhaled sharply. “Dancer, I meant to say,” Elizabeth corrected herself, stunned that she said aloud what she was merely thinking.

  Charlotte giggled. Hannah’s eyes widened in delight. “Eliz­abeth!” they both chorused and then burst into more giggles.

  Elizabeth couldn’t help but join in the merriment. She felt positively giddy. Everyone should have to experience the kind of kisses George had bestowed on her in the library. George’s kiss, or kisses—she wasn’t quite sure where one ended and the next had begun or if it had all been just one long, luxurious trip to heaven—had been everything she had hoped for and more. She was sure there was even a moment when he tried to end it and she shamelessly refused to allow it by recapturing his lips with her own.

  And they might still be kissing if it hadn’t been for Lady Fletcher’s arrival.

  Thank goodness George could think fast! She had been a bit confused by his proclamation that he was glad to see the matron, but his plea for help had apparently convinced Lady Fletcher they were in the library simply to remove his cuff link from her hair. The woman had given no sign she thought any­thing untoward. And she knew George—she had called him by his given name when she walked into the library! Elizabeth was getting the impression that many in the ton not only knew George but found him to be trustworthy, too.

  If they only knew what he was capable of, they might change their good opinion of him! So it was a surprise, when later that night, she returned from having danced a cotillion with the Earl of Trenton to find her friends waiting for her with bated breath.

  “He asked about you,” Charlotte whispered, her com­ment a bit breathless. She had just completed the cotillion with George as her partner before rejoining Hannah on the sidelines.

  “Who asked about me?” Hannah asked, still catching her breath after having to endure the same dance with Charlotte’s father. Although the man tried hard, he couldn’t seem to keep the appropriate rhythm for any dance. At least he had only stepped on her foot once, and realized it quickly enough so as not to scuff her satin slippers too much.

  “Not you,” Charlotte said with a shake of her head. “Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth, who had been watching Gabriel escort Lady Wadsworth to her husband, still had her attention on his departing figure. She finally turned to regard her friends. “He who?” she asked, her gaze returning to watch the earl make his way across the ballroom floor. He was confident, she noticed, and perhaps a bit vain. She thought his earlier comment— about not wishing to dance with girls who were prettier than he—was made in jest.

  Now she wondered if he was serious.

  “You are the exception, of course,” he had added quickly, as if he had noticed her sudden look of offense. And then he had smiled that perfect smile, his perfect white teeth gleaming under the hundreds of candles that lit the ballroom. His apple green satin topcoat and breeches were daring, but the color was no doubt chosen so he would stand out from the scores of gentlemen dressed in black evening clothes. From the back, though, with his blond curls and green satin, he could easily be mistaken for a woman if one didn’t see any of him below his waist.

  “George! A rather good dancer, I must say,” Charlotte whispered hoarsely, glancing about to be sure no one was eavesdropping.

  Elizabeth’s head snapped around. “What did he ask about me?” She had finally recovered from the man’s kisses, although it had taken the time in the retiring room to have her hair repaired and another glass of champagne before her lips stopped quivering and her knees were able to support her again.

  A rather wicked grin spreading over Charlotte’s face, the blonde looked to her right. The man in question was lead­ing Lady Morganfield onto the dance floor for the evening’s second waltz. Elizabeth followed her friend’s line of sight and spotted the pair as they faced each other to bow and curtsy. Hannah giggled. “And now he’ll ask your mother about you,” she said in delight.

  “What did he ask?” Elizabeth repeated, trying hard not to watch as George led her mother in the waltz, a dance at which he seemed to excel. Her mother was positively beaming.

  She wondered if her father was watching.

  Charlotte leaned in and repeated what George had asked. “What led Lady Elizabeth to found her own charity?” She arched an eyebrow as she repeated George’s question.

  Frowning, Elizabeth seemed startled by the question. He knows about my charity? “Does he find my charity … offen­sive?” she wondered, immediately deciding she did not like George Bennett-Jones. The memory of his kiss in the library nearly changed her mind just as quickly, though.

  But Charlotte’s eyes had widened and she was
shaking her head. “Oh, quite the contrary. He thought you very brave to take on a subject he said others in the ton shunned,” she explained quickly. She wasn’t about to add that she found George Bennett-Jones rather intriguing, as if she should know him from somewhere. He seemed to know all about the Wain­wrights and the part of Sussex near Kirdford where their duchy was based. He was attentive, polite, not the least bit vain, and he spoke with an ease suggesting he rubbed elbows with the ton on a daily basis.

  At this bit of news, Elizabeth considered her friend’s words. Her opinion of George Bennett-Jones flipped again. “Indeed?” she replied, her ire gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Then, I wonder if he might be inclined to donate funds,” she added with a cocked eyebrow. And why might he consider her brave to have started her charity? she wondered.

  Charlotte considered how to reply. “It seems he has a dear friend who has benefitted. Someone who lost an arm in France during the war,” she recited, just then remembering Elizabeth’s mention of her charity’s first beneficiary when they were shop­ping. “He could read and write, but no employer would grant him a position because his right arm was missing. Then you stepped in and found him a position as a clerk at the Bank of England,” she hurried on, retelling the story George had told her during their dance, remembering the details matched exactly what Elizabeth had described.

  Elizabeth stood still for a very long time as she realized two things at the same time. One hundred pounds and a purse full of guineas had been given to her charity—anonymously. Theodore Streater’s friend had paid for her bonnet as a ‘thank you’ gift. Could George be that friend? And one of those anon­ymous donors?

  Charlotte leaned in, remembering the best part. “Then he implied you would have had to bribe a man at the bank in order to secure the position. Just like you said you had to! I told George if that were necessary, then you would have done so out of your own pin money …”

  “You told him that?” Elizabeth whispered in surprise, her hand going to her mouth.

  Lady Hannah gasped. “I do not know how you can give up nearly every penny of your allowance to fund such an endeavor,” she put in, glancing about when she heard the orchestra tuning for the next dance.

  Shrugging, Elizabeth gave her friend a wan smile. “Father helps, of course, but it’s not really his passion,” she lied. She hadn’t yet told her father about the charity. “He must appear to fund the charities that my mother favors,” she added as an excuse, apparently glancing around the ballroom in order to get a glimpse of her next dance partner. She rather hoped she could get a glimpse of George while she was at it, but Lord Henley had moved to her elbow to claim the dance, and the opportunity was lost. So, George knows of my charity. He approves. And he may be one of my anonymous donors.

  She had yet to explain her new charity to Lord Trenton. Should they ever marry, she wondered if Gabriel Wellingham would encourage her to continue her with work with crippled soldiers. Perhaps he would even agree to fund it.

  Or, would he forbid her to do so? Withhold his support both monetarily as well as personally?

  The thought was a bit disconcerting as she left the dance that night.

  Chapter 27

  A Proposal of Sorts

  Excited and a bit nervous, George steered his curricle around the corner to Carlington House. Elizabeth had agreed to accompany him on a tour of the British Museum, the venue to which he had promised Josephine he would escort a young lady. His attendance at the two balls earlier in the week had proved far more entertaining and satisfying than he could have imagined. To meet and dance with Elizabeth Carlington, to have the honor of escorting her to supper and then to be invited to kiss her nearly senseless … how could a morning trip to tour the museum prove to be anything but a tedious endeavor?

  What was Josephine thinking?

  But the morning would be spent in the company of Lady Elizabeth. He would have her all to himself. Never mind the hordes of people who would be in the museum with them. The latest exhibition was proving popular with the masses.

  The front door opened even before he reached the top of the steps. A butler, sporting an expression of suspicion, regarded him for a moment.

  “George Bennett-Jones to see Lady Elizabeth,” he said as he clasped his hands behind his back.

  Opening the door a fraction more, Alfred stepped aside and allowed him into the vestibule. “Wait here,” he intoned, his manner suggesting he rather doubted Lady Elizabeth would ask that he be escorted to the parlor. George merely nodded and waited, his gaze taking in the recently remodeled vesti­bule. Tasteful, he thought, and rather conservative. As in his recently renovated vestibule, one large piece of artwork graced a wall, but the space lacked a potted palm and fresh flowers. The wall covering was a rich, dark green moiré patterned silk that tricked the eye, changing its shape as his gaze traveled over the fabric. His eye was still being tricked when Elizabeth appeared from the hallway.

  “George,” she said as she moved to stand before him, a vision in a sapphire pelisse over a lighter blue gown. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  His heart racing, George bowed over her hand and kissed the back of it. “My lady,” he replied as he lifted his head and took in the sight of her. Her deep blue bonnet, more a wide-brimmed hat than bonnet, displayed more of her auburn hair than a bonnet might. “I’ve only just arrived.” He had to sup­press a grin when he realized the butler hadn’t found her to let her know of his arrival; she must have come from another part of the house. “Shall we?” he asked as he indicated the front door.

  “Of course,” she replied, pulling on a pair of gloves as she moved to leave the house. “My maid, Anna, will have to join us, of course.”

  “Of course,” George replied as he held the door for her and the petite girl that followed. He hurried to walk beside Eliza­beth, offering his arm as he did so.

  “’Tis a beautiful day,” Elizabeth murmured as they reached the curricle.

  George tossed a coin to a small boy who held the reins. “Because you are in it, my lady,” George replied in a voice that couldn’t be overheard by her maid, handing her up into the open carriage.

  Elizabeth mouth formed that perfect ‘o’ as she watched him help Anna into the back seat. She wondered for a moment if she should be concerned that he would be so overt in his compliment and then decided she rather liked it. He had said it so quickly and with such ease, it couldn’t have been rehearsed. She found she couldn’t look away as George then walked around to the front of the horses, stopping in front of them so that he could give them each half an apple. He stepped up into the curricle and took up the reins with practiced ease. As they were about to enter traffic, he paused. “Did you wish to bring a sunshade, my lady?”

  Startled at her oversight, Elizabeth turned to find George gazing at her. There was concern in his expression, she real­ized, making her suddenly aware of him in a way she hadn’t thought of George before. He is a very polite man. A frisson shot through her belly. A gentleman who cares for my welfare, she thought. Catching her lower lip with a tooth, she consid­ered how to respond and then raised her eyes and noticed the brim of her hat. “No, but thank you for asking, George,” she replied, her face coloring up.

  George nodded. “Very well.” And then they were off, the curricle speeding through the light morning cart traffic and passing the occasional town coach on its way to Montague Place. Although not sitting as high as she did in Gabriel’s pha­eton, George’s well-sprung curricle proved just as exhilarating. She dared a glance at the way he held the ribbons, his con­trol confident but firm. The matched Cleveland Bays seemed pleased to be able to move quickly, their canter sometimes becoming a gallop when they had the streets to themselves. And before she could ask how much farther, they were pulling up in front of the huge museum, it’s gray stone exterior set off by dark red roofs.

  George nodded to a curbside tiger who immediately took his reins and the coin George offered him. Hurrying to the other side of
the curricle, George at first offered one hand, and then, when he realized how far his passenger would have to step in order to get down, he lifted his other arm.

  Elizabeth stepped down carefully, finally allowing George to grasp her waist and lower her until her feet touched the walk. That moment, when she was suspended in mid-air, her only support his hands on either side of her waist and one of her hands on his shoulder, Elizabeth felt as if she were weight­less. She tried to imagine Gabriel lifting her down from his phaeton, wondering how it would be to have the earl’s hands on her waist as she floated down.

  In her reverie, she hadn’t noticed George moving to assist Anna, who shyly thanked him and moved to stand behind her mistress. George offered Elizabeth his arm, smiling as he did so. “We may have to wait a few minutes in a queue before being allowed to go in,” he apologized. “The Bassae Frieze is proving to be a popular exhibit.”

  Elizabeth nodded her understanding. “My father men­tioned it is quite spectacular.”

  Not surprised to learn Lord Morganfield had already vis­ited the recently acquired frieze, George dared another glance in Elizabeth’s direction. “So, his lordship saw it but did not take you along?”

  Elizabeth smiled at the comment. “He took my mother, of course. I was …” She paused, wondering if she should admit she was at her charity’s office. He knew of the charity; Char­lotte had made that quite clear during Lady Worthington’s ball.

  Noticing her hesitation, George leaned his head down a bit and whispered, “Working, perhaps?”

  A shiver passed through Elizabeth at the sound of his whisper. The words could have been a taunt, a tease of sorts, given those in the ton weren’t supposed to perform work of any kind. But the manner in which he had made the com­ment was more of a compliment—an acknowledgement that what she did was important. “Yes, I suppose it could be called that,” she agreed. They entered the building and moved toward the long room where a series of marbles were on display. “It doesn’t seem like … work, though. The time flies by whilst I’m there. And there are so many that need help. I want to help them all, but …”