Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “I did no such thing!” he responded, annoyance evident in his voice. He released her hand rather harshly before scanning the area around them.

  “’Tis better for you if you do not wear it all the time,” she countered defensively, her voice back to a normal level. When she realized his panic was real, though, she swallowed. “I am sure if we double-back, we can find it,” she offered, turning to see their path through the tall meadow grass was still apparent.

  She set off to walk through the parted grass, scanning the ground for the missing mask. After about ten steps, Joshua, already on his horse, rode past her in his haste to find the leather covering. Sighing, Charlotte continued her search on foot, her horse joining her, unbidden, as she walked. Taking the reins, she walked along side the bay, murmuring to it even as she was aware of hoofbeats ahead of them. She looked up to see that Joshua had already ridden to the edge of the meadow and had turned around to head back in their direction.

  The camel colored mask was suddenly apparent against the green of the tall grasses, and Charlotte hurried to lift it from its resting place. As Joshua slowed his horse to stand next to hers, she held the leather piece up to him, its ties streaming in the breeze. “Do you require assistance in tying it in place?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral while noting his look of relief at her discovery. He has no reason to feel self-conscious around me, she thought. He must realize I have seen all of his wounds.

  Angry at himself for his outburst, and embarrassed at hav­ing allowed himself the kiss, Joshua stared down at Charlotte, keeping his right side toward her. “I can manage,” he replied in a quiet voice as he took the mask. “Thank you, though.” For a moment, he thought he should dismount and help Charlotte back onto her side saddle, but he was aware of the sun on his face and thought it better to get his scars covered before the tender flesh suffered even more damage.

  He lifted the mask and began tying it around his head, wondering how to go about apologizing. Chiding himself for his overreaction, he considered what to say. He couldn’t admit he felt affection for her, that he might even be in love with her—not when she didn’t seem to feel affection for him. She would only marry him because she had been betrothed to the Earl of Grinstead—the heir of the Duke of Chiches­ter—and because she felt a sense of responsibility in fulfilling the obligation made on her behalf. Perhaps she could grow to love him someday, and they could have a marriage much like his parents, but that meant a marriage of convenience in the meantime. He wasn’t about to wed a woman because she felt a responsibility to do so. And he certainly didn’t think it fair she be betrothed to him when he looked like a monster. No, it would be better if he ended their betrothal and sent her back to London.

  Not sure of Joshua’s mood, Charlotte stayed mute as she pulled her bonnet back atop her mounded curls. Then she turned to her horse, speaking softly in its ear as she retied the ribbons of her bonnet. The horse lowered his back end to the ground and Charlotte mounted the side saddle, feeling a great deal of pain across her back as she did so. The horse lurched a bit as his back legs returned to a standing position.

  Stunned by the sight, Joshua stared at her. “How did you do that?” he wondered as he completed his task, his opinion of her equine skills growing as the day went along.

  “I believe your sister trained him well,” Charlotte replied coldly, holding herself very erect in the saddle as a means to lessen the pain from her wound.

  Joshua had noticed her wince as she seated herself on the saddle. He wondered what had caused her pain or if she winced because she was annoyed with him. He also didn’t miss the tone of her voice. “I wish to apologize for my … outburst,” he said, his head lowered in supplication. “Please forgive me.” He might apologize for thinking she had removed his mask, but he had no intention of apologizing for kissing her.

  Charlotte regarded her host, her heart heavy as she had come to realize that, despite the kiss, he didn’t seem to have feelings of affection for her. “Of course, Your Grace,” she replied with a nod. She caught her swollen lower lip with a tooth, wondering how it had all gone so wrong. The kiss had been magical. As she thought about it more, she was sure Joshua was the one who initiated it. It was his lips on hers that had coaxed her to respond in kind, matching his moves, his touch, his breaths, all while he held her so close. Feeling her cheeks suddenly flush, she took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. “Perhaps we can resume our tour?” she sug­gested, trying to school her voice in a lighter tone.

  Furrowing his brows, Joshua studied her for a few seconds before nodding. “If you’re up to it, there are still the lands on the western perimeter to review,” he replied, still wondering what had caused her to wince when she remounted.

  “Lead the way, Your Grace,” Charlotte responded, giving him a wan smile. She was a bit relieved he didn’t insist they return to the house. The day was too beautiful to spend it any­where but out of doors.

  Joshua nodded and dug his heals into the stallion. Char­lotte’s bay followed and soon they were galloping neck and neck as they headed west toward Wisborough Green and then north. Only two trees were down on the border, although the trails they followed were sometimes impassable due to downed limbs. “I’ll have Mr. McElliott send some men to cut these up for firewood and clear the road,” Joshua commented, checking for landmarks so he might provide exact location information to his estate manager.

  “Do you often have this kind of damage during a rain­storm?” Charlotte wondered as her horse picked its way through the littered trail. She was sure she heard Joshua snort in reply and turned to look at him.

  “I have absolutely no idea,” he said as he returned her gaze. “This is the first time I’ve been out this way since …” He sud­denly stopped his comment, realizing he had probably never traveled the perimeter of the duchy in his entire life. The enor­mity of the area struck him. I own all of this, he thought, a bit overwhelmed. No wonder Garrett is having trouble managing everything. Joshua realized he would have to take on more of the day-to-day operations, especially of the household, if he was to properly restore and then keep the dukedom intact. There is no way I can do this alone, he reasoned, glancing at Charlotte as she guided her horse around a log that blocked the path. If she had truly been raised to be a duchess, and if she really was betrothed to the Duke of Chichester, then she could be his.

  But not until he could win her heart.

  Eventually, the two made their way south back to Wis­borough Oaks, allowing their horses to set the speed as they approached the house. The split oak tree, once a majestic fix­ture, was still quite awesome in appearance. With its main trunk divided nearly down the middle and its lower branches now cut and stacked nearby, it would still be an attractive tree when fully blossomed. Charlotte led her horse in the direc­tion of the tree, allowing it to pick its way among the splinters and branches that littered the lawn. When the horse suddenly stopped and snorted, Charlotte looked down to see a piece of curled paper, its edges singed, resting in the grass. She dis­mounted on her own and reached down to pick it up, ignoring the pain that shot from her back.

  “What is it?” Joshua asked as he rode up alongside her mount.

  But Charlotte’s attention had moved from the paper she held to another piece of debris closer to the tree trunk. She hurried forward, lowering herself to the ground to pick up the cylindrical object. Holding it arm’s length, she regarded it at first with curiosity and then with horror. Her gasp was quite loud as she dropped it and stepped back suddenly, pulling her arm to her waist as if she had been burned.

  Although she had not seen such an object up close, she had grown up knowing how mining was done in this part of England, heard stories of how the ground was opened up to allow entrance into the coal-rich earth. But there were no mines near the house, no obvious reasons as to why there would be a cylinder of gunpowder lying on the lawn. So how did gunpowder get near the tree? she wondered. Her eyes sud­denly widened in horror. This is why the window bro
ke!

  Joshua was off his horse and by her side in a moment. “What is it?” he repeated, his eyes following hers to the object. He reached down to pick up the cylinder as Charlotte’s atten­tion was drawn to the space in the tree where the trunk had split in two. Although there was a burn mark at what had been the top of the trunk, there was no continuation of the blacken­ing as there would be in a lightning strike. In fact, there were few burn marks to indicate lightning. There was instead a hole where the trunk would have been, its splintered wood now scattered about the lawn. A part of another cylinder lay in the large roots that spread out in a huge circumference at the base of the tree. Charlotte turned to find Joshua staring at her, his face showing at least as much confusion as she was feeling horror.

  “This tree was not struck by lightning,” she murmured, her breath held in fright. “It was deliberately… blown apart.”

  Joshua nodded, still holding the stick of gunpowder in his gloved hand as his face paled and his breathing stopped. His mind raced. He was sure the loud crack of the tree splitting had awakened him early that morning, but perhaps it was the sound of the exploding gunpowder. And he remembered he was about to investigate when Charlotte appeared in his room, frightened out of her wits. She had to have heard the explo­sion, had to have thought it was lightning and come running for comfort. The rain had started shortly after the explosion; if the tree had begun to burn, as it appeared to have done near the space where two large branches met the trunk. The rain would have doused the flames or at least prevented the tree from burning. And the stick of gunpowder he held was whole, which meant it hadn’t detonated along with the other sticks that had.

  How many were in the tree? he wondered, glancing about to find curled papers and several sticks that were in pieces. Perhaps only one had actually blown up. The rest … too wet to explode? Or too poorly packed? Or too old, perhaps?

  Had the gunpowder been placed in order to cause the tree to catch fire and burn? Or to blow up as much of the house as possible? The tree was very near a bedchamber window—the bedchamber Charlotte was using, in fact. Had all of the gun­powder exploded, as it was no doubt expected to, she could have been killed. He and Garrett might have been, as well. The entire east wing might have been blown apart or caught fire and burned.

  Before he could say anything, Charlotte reached out with a hand to touch his sleeve and then quickly pulled it back to her body. “One of the windows in my room is shattered. I thought it was due to the storm, but this has to have been the reason it broke. Someone tried to destroy your home,” she whispered, her face pale and her arms wrapped about the front of her body.

  Having come to the same conclusion, Joshua suddenly wondered about the fire that had burned the entire west wing.

  He had always thought it was a candle that had started the fire that night. But perhaps … He leaned closer to Charlotte. “An arsonist, yes,” he whispered hoarsely. But he found himself in a quandary. Who could he trust? Who could he ask about such a possibility? Who would want his family, and him, for that matter, dead?

  Who benefited from the death of the Wainwright family?

  Even as he considered possibilities, he was aware of Char­lotte thinking the very same thoughts as he was. “What will we do?” she wondered, a bit of shock still showing on her pale face.

  What will we do? Joshua repeated to himself. Not, What will you do?

  He shook his head. “Nothing, for now,” he answered urgently. He took one of her hands in his. “You mustn’t say anything to anyone of what we’ve found here,” he ordered, his voice kept low. “I … I will speak with Garrett, and we will get to the bottom of this,” he vowed.

  Charlotte watched him for a moment, aware of the ques­tions he was no doubt asking himself and knowing, too, that there were no answers. At least, not yet. “Of course,” she nod­ded in agreement. It would do no good to alarm the servants. If Joshua had enemies in the ton, she wasn’t aware of them; she had heard nothing in the gossip circulating in London that would indicate anyone had a problem with Joshua Wainwright inheriting the dukedom. “We should probably get the horses to the stables before anyone notices we’ve been here too long,” she suggested, moving to take her horse’s reins.

  “Agreed,” Joshua replied, hiding the gunpowder in his coat pocket. At Charlotte’s raised eyebrows, he added, “It’s quite damp. I doubt it would work as intended.” He didn’t add that it should have exploded when the other one—or others—detonated.

  With the sun already well past the zenith, they left their horses with a stableboy and walked to the house, both deep in thought.

  “Thank you for the tour, Your Grace,” Charlotte said as she gathered her riding habit skirt with one hand and climbed the stairs to the front door.

  “Wainwright,” Joshua said suddenly. At Charlotte’s raised eyebrow, he explained, “I think you should call me ‘Wain­wright’ when we are in public.”

  At the top of the stairs, Charlotte let go of her skirt and regarded the duke. “Wainwright,” she repeated, searching his eyes for some kind of sign. Only those very close to a duke would be allowed to call him by his given name, she thought happily. “Then you should call me ‘Charlotte’,” she offered lightly as they entered the house.

  Joshua nodded, wondering how long it should be before he could have her calling him by his Christian name. She had already shared his bed, although not quite in the way he would have preferred.

  Once in the vestibule, Charlotte’s nose wrinkled. “I smell like horse,” she murmured with a shake of her head and then realized Joshua had easily overheard her comment. “A bath will take care of it,” she said, her face blushing with the first color Joshua had seen on it since her discovery of the gunpow­der under the tree.

  Joshua escorted her to the dining room, telling a maid on the way that Lady Charlotte wished to bathe. Then they partook of a light luncheon with Garrett. The estate manager had finished his exploratory ride only moments before them, claiming all was well in the north. Although Joshua said noth­ing of the explosives, presumedly because there were several servants about, Charlotte sensed he would do so just as soon as the two of them were sequestered in the study. She excused herself, leaving the gentlemen to their business discussion, and went up to her rooms for the bath she was anticipating.

  Joshua bid Garrett to join him in the study. Noting Joshua’s serious demeanor, Garrett followed him. In a lowered voice, Joshua told Garrett what he and Charlotte had found on their ride. Garrett’s eyebrows stitched together as he considered the ramifications of their discovery. “Good God, man! But who would do such a thing?” he whispered in reply.

  “I have no idea,” Joshua replied quietly. “But we need to find out. We need to … be aware of anyone who seems suspi­cious. Or figure out who would benefit from my demise.”

  Garrett eyed him, still frowning. “Have you considered ..?” He stopped, sighing as he wondered if he should even give voice to his suspicion.

  “What?” Joshua coaxed, his eyes widening.

  “Could Lady Charlotte have done this?” he asked in a hushed whisper. From Joshua’s immediate look of anger, Gar­rett regretted having said anything. He was surprised then when Joshua schooled his features into concern and then finally shook his head.

  “I don’t see how. She was just as surprised—horrified, actually—as I was at finding the evidence,” he answered finally. “And I know where she was when it happened.”

  Garrett’s eyebrows nearly joined his hairline. “Indeed?” he replied, his deep concern suddenly replaced with a hint of curiosity. Or was that amusement?

  Joshua rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t like that,” he defended himself quickly. “She was quite frightened by the lightning and thunder and sought comfort with me …” He stopped in mid-sentence as he watched Garrett’s face redden in either embar­rassment or suppressed humor—he couldn’t tell which. And then he suddenly remembered something else.

  Damnation!

  Joshua realized he
hadn’t finished his discussion about the parlor decor with Charlotte. And he hadn’t asked her about taking over running the household. It hadn’t been that long since she took her leave of him after luncheon. She would still be in her bedchamber, he thought. “I need to ask our guest a couple of questions,” he said suddenly. At Garrett’s raised eye­brows and amused expression, Joshua added, “Decorating questions.”

  Garrett nodded, suppressing his grin and hoping the duke would see to making Charlotte his wife as soon as possible. “And I’m going to take a look at that blasted oak tree,” he replied. “No pun intended.”

  Chapter 8

  His Grace in the Lady’s Bath

  Joshua took his leave from Garrett and made his way toward the guest suite. Located next to his bedchamber, he absently thought of designating the guest suite as the new duchess suite. The original duchess suite had been ruined in the fire. My mother’s old room, he considered as he made his way up the steps. All those years he spent away from home and yet he never missed Grace Wainwright more than he did now. A painful pang gripped his heart as he thought of her, a gentle woman who always had a smile for him. She wore her silver blonde hair piled high atop her head in a mass of curls and braids, and her gowns were always of the latest cut and of good quality fabrics.

  An elegant lady and the daughter of an earl, Grace had married his father in a union of more convenience than love. His father had grown to love her, though, evident in how the elder John Wainwright could be seen holding her hand whilst enjoying his port after dinner or be caught by his valet coming out of her rooms in the early morning hours having spent the entire night in her bed. He called her ‘Sweeting’, even when among friends. And she called him ‘Jack’, not by his family name as any other wife of a duke would have done.

  Joshua took a deep breath and shook himself out of his reverie. Was there any hope he could have a union much like his parents? He replayed the events of the morning in his head. The easy conversation he shared with Charlotte, the awkward moment when he realized his mask was missing, the realiza­tion she could be of help to the dukedom even if he didn’t marry her. She was a beauty, an excellent rider, well-versed in matters of the ton, and educated as if she had been prepar­ing to be a duchess her entire life. Which was true, he real­ized, remembering she had mentioned being three years of age when their fathers had arranged their marriage. Had he actu­ally been looking for a wife, he could do far worse in the Mar­riage Mart, he thought. But given the circumstances, he still wasn’t convinced he should even be considering matrimony.