Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “If it would be more comfortable for you, please feel free to remove your mask,” Charlotte suggested, her hands folded loosely in her lap. The deep blue of her gown set off the creamy skin of her face and neck, and it’s snug fitting bodice showed off just a hint of décolletage. “Your scars do not offend me.”

  Surprised by her suggestion and even more so by her state­ment, Joshua shook his head. “I could not,” he replied sternly. “Certainly not in the company of a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

  Stunned by the comment, both by the compliment and by the realization he seemed to have forgotten she had already seen him in a much worse state, Charlotte stilled herself. Per­haps he doesn’t remember, she thought suddenly. “As I recall, you were in hospital for nearly a month,” she said quietly, not wanting the footman near the door to overhear her comment.

  Joshua turned his head slightly, eyeing her with a bit of suspicion and wondering when a footman had come into the study. Or is he always there? he thought absently. Like he’s turned to stone and become part of the furniture. “Twenty-nine days,” he affirmed with a nod, his lips forming a straight line suggesting he was not the least bit pleased she knew anything about his time in hospital. To remember those days was to relive a kind of torture he couldn’t wish on his worst enemies. To remember those days meant he had to admit that, when­ever he had been conscious, he had wished he could sim­ply die. The pain had been excruciating. Death would have been a welcome respite. “And from whom did you learn this information?”

  Charlotte lowered her gaze, wondering if she should admit her part in those first few hellish days of his hospitalization and the even worse days that followed. “I was … I visited, of course,” she said in a whisper, forcing Joshua to lean in closer.

  He caught the familiar scent of jasmine, and as much as he wanted to inhale deeply, he forced himself to remain still.

  “I was already volunteering in the children’s ward several days a week. Once you were brought in, I made it clear to your physician you were to receive the very best care.”

  Joshua’s brows knitted together, the implication of her statement slowly sinking into his brain. Christ, did she see me without the bandages? Had she seen every last gruesome burn and the raw wounds he sported for so many weeks after the fire? He thought not, for here she sat, as if he had only been in hospital recovering from a fever. “But, why?” he wondered aloud.

  Lady Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up. “We were … we are betrothed now.”

  Although he heard the words, Joshua didn’t immediately comprehend them.

  “You had to survive. You are the sole heir to the duchy. I had to be sure you were treated well. Sometimes those with burns are …” Charlotte paused, not wanting to say, “Treated horribly,” but knowing that’s what she had witnessed whilst volunteering at hospital. “… Poorly,” she finally finished, trying to hide the awkwardness of her statement with a shrug.

  Suddenly rather self-conscious, Joshua shifted in his chair. “So, you are aware of the … extent of my injuries,” he countered in almost a question, his eyes not making contact with hers. Betrothed? Matrimony? Given the events of six months ago and the subsequent work he’d had to do to recover and then see to the recovery of the Chichester duchy, the very last thing he would consider was matrimony.

  I cannot allow this woman to think she must marry me!

  It was Charlotte’s turn to furrow her brows, thinking at the time Joshua had been spared from the truly gruesome burns that resulted in the deaths of three others and the debilitating injury and burns suffered by a groom who had lost an arm to amputation. “I am, but ..,” she started to reply uncertainly, wondering why he made his wounds sound worse than they were. He had lost no limbs, the burns were on the side of his chest and shoulder and the top of his hip and … his face. Can he be that vain?

  “Then you know why I cannot take you as my wife,” he interrupted, the tone of his voice making it sound as if there were no need for her to make an apology and that she was spared of having to ask to be relieved of her duty to marry him.

  Shaking her head, Charlotte regarded him for a moment. “I fail to see how your wounds would prevent you from mar­rying me,” she replied, trying hard to keep the growing panic she felt from coloring her voice.

  If Joshua Wainwright refused her as his wife, Charlotte would have no where to go. She had spent the last six months claiming, quite publicly, she would be married to him after her twenty-first birthday. The fact that she had been betrothed for nearly eighteen years meant there were no suitors for her hand, certainly none she knew about. To be rejected by the duke would mean a stain on her character. The members of the ton would shun her.

  Joshua reached out to grip her arm, a move he had forgot­ten was forbidden with an unmarried woman. But Charlotte allowed him the impropriety and merely glanced at his hand as he gently held onto her. He leaned in and said, in a very quiet voice, “I have no intention of subjecting you, or any woman, for that matter, to a life with an abomination,” he countered, his impatience growing.

  Despite her very best attempt at decorum, Charlotte gasped, her mouth open in an expression of shock. How can he think such a thing? Despite the mask he wore, he was still a handsome man. His dark, wavy hair had grown a bit too long. His brown eyes, which at the moment looked nearly black, were framed with dark lashes and set upon broad cheekbones split by a wide nose. And that mouth. She had often thought of that mouth and how it would feel to have it pressed against her lips. She practically shivered at the thought of it. “And I have no intention of not fulfilling my obligation to this dukedom,” she retorted in a hoarse whisper, suddenly angered at his stub­born attitude. It was Joshua’s turn to be shocked. “I am giving you the opportunity to gracefully bow out of this arrangement!” he stated, his voice growing in volume.

  “And I am refusing to take it!” Charlotte countered, her voice still a loud whisper.

  At some point during their verbal volley, the footman had opened the door for the housekeeper. Mrs. Gates, carrying an ancient silver tray with a tea service, hurried to where Char­lotte and Joshua sat. “Your Grace,” she said as she curtsied in his direction, well aware she had interrupted a discussion that was becoming somewhat heated.

  “Mrs. Gates,” Joshua acknowledged with a nod, his lips set in a thin line. How can Lady Charlotte continue to look so damned composed after that bit of disagreement? he wondered, unable to tear his gaze away from her perfect oval face, her lips—the bottom one plump and quite kissable,—her straight nose that ended quite prettily (not nearly as long and hooked as some of those other women of the ton, he thought), and her clear green eyes, in which he was getting quite lost at the moment.

  The round, older woman, all dimples and grins, set the tray down on the tea table and began pouring for the suddenly quiet couple. She wore her gray hair in braids that had been wrapped around her head several times to form a silver coro­net. A white apron, newly ironed, covered her long-sleeved black gown. Her happy grin was accompanied by a wink—a wink!—upon giving a cup of sugared tea to Charlotte. “Lady Charlotte! ’Tis so good to see you again!” she said in an excited voice.

  The earl’s daughter felt a flush of color creep up her face at the gesture and the comment. Again? She had only been to the estate one other time in her entire life. When I was three! And how much of their discussion had the woman overheard?

  When Mrs. Gates turned to give a cup to Joshua, after she had added a lump of sugar and a bit of cream, she frowned at him as if he were some recalcitrant schoolboy. Aware he was being watched, Joshua tore his gaze from Charlotte to stare back at the housekeeper. He attempted to make his indigna­tion apparent to her in the hopes she would leave. Instead, the older woman put a hand to her rather imposing hip and waved a finger toward his face. “What would your mother say?” she whispered in disgust before stepping away, bobbing a curtsy and then taking her leave, her skirts swishing about the legs of the furniture in her haste to leave. />
  Joshua turned to watch the housekeeper hurry away. When his attention returned to Charlotte, he found her with a hand in front of her mouth, attempting to hide an embar­rassed grin. “She winked at me!” Charlotte said suddenly, her eyes bright.

  The tense atmosphere that had grown between the two of them suddenly shattered as Joshua rolled his eyes and allowed his own grin. “She is a … formidable woman,” he explained finally, finding it easy to keep from laughing when reminded of his mother. Indeed, what would Grace Wainwright say if she discovered her son denying his betrothal? “I think Mrs. Gates has been here since the house was built,” he added before he sighed loudly. “I apologize for my … and her … behavior,” he said, barely able to get the words out before Charlotte smiled that brilliant smile that took his breath away.

  “As do I,” Charlotte said, trying hard to school her features back to some semblance of seriousness. The housekeeper was obviously a longtime fixture of the estate; there could be no other reason her familiar behavior would be tolerated other­wise. With there being no mother to chastise Joshua for his obviously angry outburst, Mrs. Gates had taken it upon herself to do so. And with her wink, she had obviously sided with Charlotte in the disagreement.

  The light in Charlotte’s eyes seemed to dim, though, as she realized the other reason for her visit. “I am very sorry for your loss,” she finally spoke, chastising herself when she realized she hadn’t mentioned it earlier. “Please accept my condolences.”

  Joshua took a deep breath, the humor gone as quickly as it had come. “Thank you,” he replied with a nod. He wanted to scrub his face with his hand but forced himself to keep it on the arm of the chair. He might have mourned his family’s loss for six months, but the pain of their deaths was still fresh. “I think I miss my sister the most,” he said quietly. “I teased her mercilessly, but she would have had her coming out in a couple of years, and I was quite prepared to play the role of older, protective brother.”

  Charlotte took a sip from her tea cup. “That, I can imagine you doing,” she said quietly. “But I understand she was already betrothed. To an earl, wasn’t it?”

  Shifting in his chair, Joshua shook his head. “Henry For­ster, Earl of Gisborn,” he announced, apparently none too pleased with the choice.

  Paling suddenly, Charlotte swallowed. She knew a Henry Forster from her youth, but he certainly wasn’t an earl. Nor was his father. A pleasant man, well dressed and obviously now educated, Mr. Forster had conversed with her at only a couple of society events in London. From the snippets she recalled, Charlotte thought his interests centered on farming and inventions. He was a gentleman, to be sure, but if he was a member of the aristocracy, he didn’t let on as he used no title when introducing himself. He had, in fact, insisted she call him ‘Henry’, perhaps in the hopes she would allow him to call her ‘Charlotte’. She had never given him permission to do so, but in her defense, she hadn’t had the chance since they were interrupted several times by others during the evening he made his request. As she thought about Mr. Forster, she real­ized she had never seen him at a society event during the past Season and wondered why.

  As for the Earl of Gisborn, her father had mentioned that name—threatened her with it, actually. “Isn’t he quite … old?” she queried, thinking perhaps Jennifer was better off having

  died in the fire. And then she chastised herself for thinking such a morbid thought.

  “His uncle was nearly seventy when he died a month or so ago, so Forster has just come into his inheritance. Late twen­ties, maybe thirty, I think, but, yes, he would have been far too old for my sister by the time she was of an age to marry,” he agreed with a sigh.

  Charlotte considered the information, marveling at the thought of Henry Forster as an earl. Her father … well, she would have to think about him later. Joshua was regarding her with a look suggesting he might be changing his mind with respect to her future. She did her best to appear as if she were already his duchess even though she still feared he would dis­miss her.

  Joshua took a drink of tea and considered their discus­sion from earlier. They had come to a bit of an impasse. Char­lotte was quite willful, he decided, and was obviously stubborn about fulfilling her obligation. And he was just as certain he didn’t wish to take a wife and subject her to … him, in his cur­rent state at least, even if he did require an heir. The dukedom would survive as long as he did, and then it could pass to the nearest relative, whoever that was, and if there wasn’t one, it would go back to the Crown.

  Certainly nothing would be decided this afternoon.

  He could offer Charlotte hospitality indefinitely, of course, although if word got out he was harboring an unmarried woman, there would probably be scandal. Unless … “Have you any … plans, other than matrimonial, in the foreseeable future?” he wondered aloud, setting his tea cup on the silver tray.

  Charlotte followed suit with her tea cup as she considered the implication of his question. “I do not,” she finally answered, trying to hide her sudden nervousness. She was sure he was about to dismiss her. Where will I go? she wondered, know­ing she couldn’t return to London. One of her family’s country estates was in Oxfordshire, but she had no desire to go there, especially before summer.

  “Then I would ask that you stay on here at Wisborough Oaks,” the duke offered, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “I believe you have a maid who could act as your … chaperone?” he suggested, deciding if she were seen as his hostess or châtelaine, available to receive callers and to act as if she might one day be his duchess, perhaps his own stand­ing as a duke would be improved. He knew there were those who didn’t consider him suitable for the role of a duke. He had spent his life being the second son and a gambler and some­times a rake, after all.

  But in the course of six months, Joshua had given up the life of a gambler, and his wounds prevented him from seeking female companionship. He felt his groin tighten now, though, as he realized Charlotte might actually agree to stay and over­see the household. Whatever am I thinking in asking her to stay? he wondered suddenly.

  Straightening on the settee, Charlotte regarded Joshua and allowed a brilliant smile. “I would like that very much, Your Grace,” she replied with a nod. “Thank you.”

  Joshua nodded, a bit uncertain as to what to do next. “You must be … exhausted from your travels,” he remembered then, aware he had spent far too long with her given the amount of work he still needed to complete that afternoon. “I will have Gates show you and your maid to your rooms.” He held out a hand in an effort to assist her up from the settee. She took it, unaware of the shiver her touch sent up Joshua’s arm. “And then I will see you in the library for walnuts and coffee at seven,” he added, remembering the menu she had recited to Gates. He was suddenly nervous at the thought. At least Gar­rett would be there, too. Perhaps Charlotte wouldn’t be quite so stubborn in the presence of his estate manager.

  “Thank you,” she said again as she curtsied and left the study. She followed Gates to her bedchamber on the second floor. How could the man be so insufferably stubborn? she won­dered as she made her way up the staircase. He should be … thankful … there is someone who wants to marry him.

  But a rather humbling thought occurred to her as she reached the landing.

  He no doubt thinks the same about me.

  Chapter 4

  His Grace, Mr. McElliott and Lady Charlotte in the Library

  Garrett eased himself into the chair closest to the fireplace and let out a low moan. “I am so … saddle sore,” he complained, stretching his legs out in front of the chair and crossing them at the ankles. Gates had just given him a glass of whiskey, and he was tempted to down the contents in a single swallow. The medicinal effect might take a few minutes, and his throat would burn like the dickens, but it was tempting.

  “I almost wish I were,” Joshua lamented, tossing the remains of his glass into his mouth. He held it for a moment before allowing the amber liquid
to burn down his throat. “I have been sitting on my damned arse most of the day, but I finally have February complete. I can finally start on the num­bers for this month tomorrow.” He had worked on the estate’s books most of the day and felt a good deal of satisfaction on having completed the accounting of all the bills and rents.

  Garrett lifted his head from the back of the chair. “And?” he wondered, anxious to learn if his management had resulted in a bit of black ink for the dukedom.

  Joshua furrowed his brow, misunderstanding his friend’s query. “Well, I only took a few moments with her,” he said defensively. “I knew I couldn’t afford to spend more than that, especially today.”

  His eyes widening, Garrett wondered if there was, perhaps, someone else in the library with them. “Whatever are you talking about? Did Mrs. Thomas show up a few days early?” he asked in surprise, knowing the vicar’s sister had requested an audience with His Grace, apparently in an attempt to gain his approval for a village festival. But the woman was punctual and precise and would never get wrong the day of a visit to Wisborough Oaks.

  “No …,” Joshua answered carefully. “Wait. What were you thinking I was talking about?” he asked then, enjoying the numbness that was settling into his joints. For the first time that day, his face didn’t hurt.

  “The books,” Garrett replied, a bit too harshly. “Are we … solvent?”

  Joshua grinned and sat up straighter in his own chair. “Very. In six months, this estate has managed to clear over three-thousand pounds,” he said with some satisfaction. “Thanks to you, of course,” he added with an approving nod. He certainly hadn’t contributed to the good fortune; he had been laid up in hospital for a month of that time and recu­perating in their Grosvenor Square terrace for another three months before returning to Wisborough Oaks.