Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “In just helping one, you have made a tremendous dif­ference, Lady Elizabeth,” George interrupted. Had she been allowed to say what he thought she might, he was sure she would feel impotent—that despite her best efforts and all the money she could ever receive from patrons, there would always be more crippled soldiers than jobs that could accom­modate them. George knew she could never be allowed to think that what she did was hopeless.

  “Have I?” she wondered, pausing to look up at him.

  “Indeed,” George replied. “Teddy Streater is right as rain. I never thought he would be the same as he was before … before the war,” he got out, the comment catching in his throat just a bit. “And his new arm is quite impressive,” he added, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “One must watch him very care­fully to see that it isn’t real.”

  Elizabeth gasped, not having seen Theodore Streater since the day she had secured his position at the Bank of England. “I should like to see him, George,” she replied. “Do you suppose you might be able to arrange it?”

  Smiling, George nodded. “Of course, milady,” he answered, thinking if she agreed to be his wife, then Teddy would stand with him at the wedding. She could see him then.

  George guided Elizabeth and her maid to the entrance of a hall that contained the twenty-three panels that made up the Bassae Frieze. Apparently taken from the Temple of Apollo in the Arcadian hills in Greece, the series of marbles depicted the Amazonomachy and Centauromachy battles. They had been imported and set up around the perimeter of their own room at the museum, although it was difficult to tell if the panels were in any kind of order.

  As George wound them through the crowds of morning patrons, he wondered if the sight of nude statues would offend Elizabeth. They turned to look upon the first set of statues in the collection. George held his breath for a moment, not sure if he should have warned her about the state of undress of the figures represented in the friezes.

  “Oh,” Elizabeth breathed as a hand went to her mouth. Anna was a bit more vocal in her surprise, though, quickly clasping a hand over her mouth to stifle a shriek. A naked war­rior looked as if he was being attacked by a Centaur, one of his arms missing. What could have been a headless woman in a robe was next to the Centaur, and beyond that was a robed man, his head also missing.

  George could feel Elizabeth’s eyes on him as she first stud­ied the statuary and then him. Is she comparing my body to what she sees? he wondered. He was tempted to call her out, but he didn’t want to embarrass her. The statues were larger than life-size, so he hoped she would take that into account as she compared all the body parts. At least the warriors that still had complete sets of genitalia weren’t too well endowed.

  “It’s too bad so much is missing,” she spoke in a hoarse whisper. Blinking, George wondered if she was referring to those specific body parts or the statuary in general. “And it appears as if the marble was colored at one time.”

  He led them through the hall, where friezes were displayed end to end around the entire room. They occasionally stopped to view a particular frieze, especially if it was more complete. Anna seemed most disturbed by one of the Amazons, who had apparently been killed and was being taken from the bat­tle, her torn gown leaving a naked breast on display. George kept part of his attention on Elizabeth, wondering what she was thinking as she took in the same scene. “Are you all right?” he asked her sotto voce.

  Elizabeth glanced up at him, her face flushed. “I am,” she replied with a nod. “It’s all so very … powerful. The carving has captured so much movement and emotion.”

  A bit relieved at hearing her description, George relaxedand moved them to the next section. And so it went for another hour as they walked around the room, weaving their way through the crush of people, before exiting the hall and moving on to the Towneley collection. There they walked around the Discobolos, a marble of a discus thrower.

  “His head looks as if it had to be reattached,” Elizabeth murmured, trying to keep her gaze from settling on the naked man’s genitalia.

  George angled his own head and nodded. The seam where the repair had been made was quite evident. “And he’s looking in the wrong direction,” he whispered, moving so his lips had to be close to Elizabeth’s ear as he made the comment. “His head should be pointed back, so he’s looking at the discus.”

  “Oh,” she replied, giving the statue another look, her own head angling to mimic the discus thrower. “I see what you mean,” she murmured. They passed by a few more Grecian statues, of gods and goddesses in various poses, a Roman cary­atid, a cupid, a satyr and a nymph, a bust of Homer, the head of Clytie, a large vase, a Venus, a sphinx and a marble of two boys quarreling over a game of knuckle bones. George allowed his gaze to settle on Elizabeth as she moved from each display, wondering what she thought of the statuary.

  When they finally took their leave of the museum, George escorted her on his arm. “I do hope you enjoyed the morning,” he spoke as he assisted Elizabeth into the curricle. “I found the exhibit quite interesting.”

  Elizabeth afforded him a smile. “It was indeed.”

  Once Anna was seated in the back, he hopped up and took the reins from the boy who held them. “Any trouble?” he asked the youth as he fished another coin from his pocket.

  “No, sir,” the boy answered, shaking his head. “But a gen­tleman asked me to give this to Lady E,” he said as he produced a wrinkled pasteboard from his pocket.

  George heard Elizabeth’s inhalation of breath. He realized too late why she should be surprised. Other than the few who she had helped or done business with while setting up her office, who knew of her real identity?

  She reached over and took the card from the boy, nodding as she did so. “Thank you,” she said before she read the bold text.

  Waiting patiently—George figured Elizabeth would offer the name on the card if she wanted to—he touched the crop to the back of the horses and merged the curricle into traffic.

  “Do you know Mr. Avery Whittaker at the Bank of Eng­land?” Elizabeth suddenly asked, her attention on something far ahead of them. Her brows were furrowed, as if she were deep in thought and not quite sure of something.

  Turning his head to regard his passenger for a moment, George shrugged. “I know of him, but haven’t had the plea­sure of an introduction.” When she didn’t reply right away, he asked, “Is something amiss?”

  Elizabeth half turned toward him, the card still gripped in her gloved hands. “He was the man I paid so Mr. Streater could gain back his old position at the bank.”

  Remembering Teddy’s description of what Elizabeth had done that day, George realized she was referring to the bribe she had paid on his friend’s behalf. “Go on,” George replied carefully.

  “And he has written here that he has another position available.”

  George considered the way in which she made the state­ment, as if it bothered her somehow when she should have been happy to know she could help another unemployed man. “That’s good, right? You can place another wounded man into employment.”

  Despite knowing that George knew of her charity, Eliza­beth was still surprised at his comment. “Yes. Yes, it is,” she replied softly. She was sure the position would require another bribe, though. How many other positions would Mr. Whit­taker have in exchange for a bribe?

  “Or, perhaps it is not,” George said suddenly. He recon­sidered the situation. Was Avery Whittaker looking to make a windfall on the bribes Lady E would be willing to pay to place her clients? “Do you consider Mr. Whittaker an honorable man?” he asked then, keeping his eye on traffic and glancing in her direction when he could afford to do so.

  Elizabeth sat very still for a long time, not immediately responding to George’s question. “My impression of him was not … favorable,” she admitted, turning her attention to George. She watched his profile as he expertly drove the equi­page through the busy traffic. When he glanced again in her direction, she almost looked away, n
ot wanting to be caught staring at him. But she was caught. She held his gaze for a moment before George had to look away so he could steer them around a costermonger selling oranges at the edge of the street.

  “Then do not do business with the man,” he said with a shake of his head. “There are plenty of other employers who may not require payment for their positions. Or, at least not twenty guineas.” He continued driving the curricle around various slower vehicles until they were on a wider street that afforded them more room.

  “Could we … could we go for a walk, George?” she won­dered then, her manner still suggesting she was pensive.

  “Oh, course, my lady,” George said, a grin lifting his eyes. They were off at a fast clip, passing carts and horses and car­riages on their way to Rotten Row.

  Once in Hyde Park, George maneuvered the curricle onto a side lane, parking it under a large oak that provided a patch of shade for the horses and for Anna, who dozed in the back seat. He jumped down to the ground and quickly hobbled the horses before moving to the other side of the curricle.

  Elizabeth’s hand trembled as she placed it into George’s hand. A look of concern passed over his face as she stepped down from the curricle. “Is there something wrong, my lady,” he wondered, his brows furrowing in concern. Aware that her half boot didn’t yet have a solid purchase on the cur­ricle’s upper step, he reached over with his other hand to place it at her waist. Just as she slipped, he let go of her hand and caught her waist in both hands as she fell. He slowly lowered her to the ground, surprised she didn’t seem to notice her pre­carious situation. He held her until he was sure her feet were on the ground.

  She suddenly let out a startled gasp.

  “Lady Elizabeth?” he added quickly, seeing her lower lip quiver as he let her down. He was about to offer his arm but instead stood facing her. He gave a quick glance in the direc­tion of Anna, noting her closed eyes. She was resting against the squabs, oblivious to her mistress’ distress. He quirked a brow at Elizabeth, wanting her to at least say something before he moved to escort her along the tree-lined path.

  “Forgive me, George. I just … I am …” She paused for a moment and then looked up at him, her eyes bright. “I am nervous,” she blurted, her face pinking up with her admission.

  Taken aback, George stared at her for a long moment. “I assure you, Lady Elizabeth, you have no reason to be nervous. We are just going for a stroll.” He stopped when he noticed her attention was not on him, but her face had turned that beauti­ful shade of pink she seemed to display when embarrassed. Leaning so his forehead nearly touched hers, he added, “And, I promise, I will not attempt to steal a kiss.”

  That comment got her attention.

  Elizabeth’s face turned up suddenly, so her parted lips were mere inches from his. “You won’t?” she questioned, the tone of her voice indicating disappointment. Her eyes were wide, their aquamarine coloring clear in the autumnal midday light.

  Now truly confused, George pondered how to respond. If she wasn’t nervous about the prospect of him kissing her, what had her so addled? “Well, that is, unless … unless you want me to. And then I shall happily oblige you, of course.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Though I would recommend we wait until we are out of your maid’s line of sight before doing so.”

  Her face brightening, Elizabeth nodded and moved to put her hand on his arm. “I apologize, George. I am not nervous about kissing, truly.” They began walking, George’s eyebrow cocking up at the comment. “It’s just that, I wish to speak with you about a topic of some … delicacy.” There was something about having seen so many naked bodies that seemed to have emboldened her—even if they were carved in marble and missing several parts.

  Now George was suddenly nervous. He waited a moment before saying, “Go on.”

  There was a moment of silence as they walked the crushed granite path, the only sounds coming from bird song and the crunching under their feet. And then the sound of Elizabeth’s deep inhalation of breath came followed by an apology. “For­give my impropriety at asking this, but … do you … frequent brothels?” The last part of the question came out quickly, as though if she thought too much about what she was going to ask, she would think better of it and not ask at all, and then later regret not asking.

  Amused and a bit relieved, George forced his lips into a thin line. “I do not,” he stated evenly, his head shaking just a bit. He wondered if it was a sigh of relief he heard coming from Elizabeth or merely her labored breathing.

  “Do you employ a mistress?”

  His amusement leaving him as suddenly as he felt it, he again replied, “I do not.” When Elizabeth looked up, her face showing her surprise, he added, “I did until very recently.”

  Elizabeth continued to look up at him. “Did you … tire of her?” There was a hint of concern in her question, as if she was worried about the fate of the mistress.

  Taking a deep breath, George was tempted to rebuke her for the improper questions, but something about her nervous behavior had him curious about her motivation for asking the questions in the first place. “Not at all. Our relationship simply … changed, I suppose,” he said, a bit of sadness sounding in his response. Figuring she would ask how, he continued, “We are the best of friends now. I take tea with her a couple of times a week, and we discuss all sorts of topics. She is a very intelligent woman,” he explained quickly, not wanting Elizabeth to get the wrong idea. “And she is older and far wiser than me,” he added with a quirk at the corner of his mouth.

  He watched as Elizabeth regarded him from the corner of her eye. “Oh,” she finally replied. George thought she might change the subject, but then she asked, “Then, are you looking for a new … lover?”

  George suddenly stopped walking, forcing Elizabeth, whose arm was hooked into his, to spin around and end up face to face with him. Is that what she thought? That he was seeking a mistress and had her in his sights?

  And then another possibility formed in his mind.

  Was she offering to be his mistress? Was there something about seeing statues of naked men that caused this proper young lady to suddenly become wanton? Even statues that were missing vital parts?

  If so, he might have to consider taking her to the museum every time they went for a ride.

  He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “I suppose you could put it in those terms,” he answered carefully, “Although I believe in my case, the proper term is ‘wife’.”

  From the look of astonishment on her face, he realized he couldn’t have surprised her more.

  “Now, you must answer a question for me,” he ventured carefully. “You have been extremely nervous and very quiet since we left the museum. And now, as well. Why?”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and looked around him, not­ing that her maid couldn’t clearly see them from where she rested in the curricle. “I have been led to believe by some of my older friends’ comments that … sexual congress is most unpleasant,” she whispered conspiratorially.

  George’s eyebrow cocked up nearly into his hairline. “Indeed? How unfortunate for them,” the comment out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about how it would sound.

  Her eyes widened. “Is it … supposed to be?” Her voice was breathy, and her hand shook in his, her nervousness now more apparent than ever.

  George took a deep breath and pondered how to respond, not realizing that she hadn’t yet answered his question. “From what I understand, and I can only provide hearsay because I am a man, after all …”

  “Of course,” she was nodding, her expression indicating she was hanging on his every word.

  “ … I have heard a woman’s first time experiencing sexual intercourse can be … unpleasant.” He closed his eyes tightly, aware that his face had taken on a shade very close to the color of her hair. “But then, thereafter, it should be a very … pleasant, indeed, a very pleasurable experience,” he clarified, his voice dropping to barely a w
hisper. “If it is not, then their husbands are not doing right by them in the bedchamber. Or whatever room they frequent when engaging in intercourse,” he added, noting her widened eyes at his clarification.

  The slight breeze brought the scent of jasmine to his nos­trils, and he was aware that it had to have come from her. There was no jasmine anywhere near where they stood. The heady fragrance must have addled his brain even more than their topic of conversation, for the next words out of his mouth were, “Of course, it is possible for a woman to be thoroughly pleasured without involving intercourse.” He immediately wondered why he would even put voice to that option.

  And then he heard her response and realized why.

  “Oh,” she breathed, her head nodding, the swath of auburn hair visible at the base of her hat showing golden and red. “I see. Will you … I mean, if you are so inclined, do you suppose you could do that? With me? To me?” Her lower lip quivered as if she might cry. “I am desperate to know …”

  There was a moment when George Bennett-Jones thought he had died and gone to heaven, his first and only wish for the past few days to be given the opportunity to bed the beautiful Elizabeth Carlington. To think a simple trip to the museum and the sight of naked men carved in marble could cause such curiosity in a lady that she would ask to be given a demonstra­tion of pleasure!

  What she was suggesting was wholly inappropriate. Wasn’t it? He was suddenly uncertain, not having covered this kind of situation with Josephine. Certainly, if a lady was asking—beg­ging almost—to be pleasured, wasn’t it acceptable for him to oblige her? For him to accommodate her request?

  At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to accom­modate her right then and there. He could easily unfasten part of her bodice until he could slide his hand beneath the fabric and fill it with one of her breasts, tease the nipple until it was ripe and ready for his tongue and teeth, pleasure her until she either begged for more or felt sated enough to tell him to stop.