Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “I shall endeavor to do so, Your Grace,” the doctor nod­ded, his attention never leaving Charlotte’s wound.

  “Very good,” Joshua replied, taking a breath and then wondering what he should do. He should have left the room as soon as he realized Charlotte was bathing, he considered. But the sight of her bare backside as she stood in the water— like Venus rising from the depths—had him mesmerized. Until he had noticed the gash across her back, it had taken all of his self-control not to consider having his way with her, or at least joining her in the tub. The thought of his own garish scars invaded his thoughts and he shook himself. The maids would be doubly horrified, he considered.

  “Wainwright? Are you … unwell?” Charlotte whispered, her eyes wide and still bright with unshed tears.

  Thinning his lips as he considered her question, Joshua shrugged his good shoulder. “I am as good as can be expected,” he whispered back, considering I have discovered a tree was blown up by a would-be arsonist and my perfect duchess to be wounded quite badly at the hand of her own father.

  I could kill him for that!

  And despite the pile of work left on the library desk, he wasn’t about to leave her alone with the doctor. He lowered himself to sit on the floor in front of Charlotte, one arm rest­ing on a raised knee while he leaned on the other. His eyes met hers just as Dr. Regan dabbed a wet linen along the open wound. Despite having been warned, Charlotte winced a bit, caught her lower lip with a tooth and gripped the edge of the linen she had around her hips. Her hold was so tight, her knuckles turned white.

  Joshua reached up and captured the hand in his, bring­ing it to his lips. “I take it you have been to Wisborough Oaks before?” he asked, his question delivered as if they were sitting in the parlor having tea.

  Managing a wan smile, Charlotte nodded as she realized he was attempting to distract her from the work the doctor was performing. She had already felt the prick of the first stitch. “Many years ago. I had to be present for the betrothal, of course, but your father insisted on meeting me before agree­ing to anything,” she answered, her mind suddenly taken back to when the estate home steps and columns were newly white washed and the trees around the grounds were smaller. “I remember I was in a pink gown and bonnet, and as I recall, I spent most of the afternoon playing with a small black dog.”

  His eyes widening, Joshua stared at Charlotte. “That was you?” he replied, an incredulous look on his face. “My brother thought you were our father’s by-blow come to live with us,” he said in hushed tones, his eye’s sparkling with mischief.

  Charlotte’s mouth opened in shock before she was able to force it closed. “He wasn’t told?” she wondered, her brows knitting at the comment. His brother had been at least ten at the time. Your future husband, she remembered her mother telling her on the way home that day. She had no idea what her mother meant by the words, nor did she care as she recalled wanting to take the dog home with her.

  “Heavens, no,” Joshua said in reply, his face still showing his amusement. “Father didn’t tell us much about anything until after we were of age.” He paused a moment. “You were an adorable child,” he remarked. Who has become a beautiful woman.

  The maid appeared with a tea tray and surveyed the room, wondering where to set it. Joshua motioned for her to put it on the floor next to him. “I’ll serve our guests from here,” he said when the maid hesitated.

  “Very good, Your Grace,” she replied, her eyes darting about as she knelt and placed the tray on the Aubusson carpet. She curtsied before silently leaving the room.

  “None for me, thank you,” the doctor said, his attention clearly on his patient’s back. “My wife just served a very satis­fying luncheon only an hour ago.”

  Joshua poured tea and looked up at Charlotte. “Cream and sugar?” he asked, a spoon full of sugar held over one of the steaming cups.

  “Yes, to both,” she said, watching him stir the hot liquid as if he had done it a hundred times. “Thank you, Wainwright,” she said as she took the cup and saucer from him, inhaling the scent while waiting for him to pour a cup for himself. “Did your mother train you in how to serve tea?” she wondered, noting how he followed all the correct steps.

  Joshua nearly snorted. “No. I suppose I learned by observ­ing,” he answered as he returned his gaze up to meet hers. “And you?”

  Charlotte wanted to shrug, but the doctor was stabbing her with the needle again. She had counted eleven such pricks in the short time they’d been conversing. “My mother, of course, and then some finer details at finishing school.”

  Nodding, Joshua was trying to think of another topic of conversation when the doctor said, “My lady, I must insist you do no rigorous exercise or riding for at least a few days. I’ll put a bandage over the wound, but you cannot wear corsets or other clothing that could stress the stitches. And you’ll need to sleep on your … front,” he added, struggling to find a suitable word to use.

  Joshua schooled his features so as to hide his first thought following the doctor’s orders. Charlotte, uncorseted? Be still my heart! He took a drink of tea as if he hadn’t heard anything the doctor said.

  Gasping, Charlotte straightened a bit. “No riding?” she repeated, obviously disappointed at the edict. No corsets? “May I walk, at least?” she asked then, noting Joshua’s attention on her as he drank his tea.

  “Carefully,” Doctor Regan replied, stabbing her again. “I’ll be back at the end of the week to take the stitches out and we’ll see how you’re doing then,” he said as he took yet another stitch. That’s fifteen, Charlotte thought, realizing he was only at the middle of her back. She glanced in the vanity mirror, attempting to see the doctor’s work and the scar, but her back was angled so she couldn’t make out any details.

  “I’ll go mad with boredom,” Charlotte said to Joshua as she returned her attention to him. When he didn’t say any­thing but seemed to be thinking of a response, she recalled how he came quite suddenly and uninvited into her rooms. Much like I did into his room last night, she realized. “May I ask the reason for your visit, Wainwright?”

  Joshua’s eyes widened then. “Oh, my. I assure you, I did have a reason for barging in on you,” he said in an apologetic tone. “Although I did knock before doing so,” he added in his own defense. “Perhaps I can save you from boredom and you can save me from … a fate far worse than almost anything I can imagine.”

  Charlotte’s green eyes widened. “Whatever can I do?” she asked immediately, wondering how anything could be worse than what he had already endured.

  Sighing, Joshua leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Give me your answer about the color for the parlor,” he stated emphatically. “Better yet, give the answer to the con­struction foreman. And, while you’re at it, pick out all the col­ors for the new rooms. And the furnishings and drapes and the frippery and whatnot needed to complete the house … the entire house. And … run the household. Just as you would if you were the duchess.”

  Charlotte stared at Joshua for several seconds, feeling sev­eral more stabs in her back. Twenty-two. “You wish me to be your … decorator?” she clarified, her mouth parted in such a way that all Joshua wanted to do was reach up and kiss her. And your duchess? she wondered then.

  “There’s a name for it?” he countered, schooling his fea­tures into a charming question mark. She won’t be wearing a corset for a week, he reminded himself, his loins tightening at the thought.

  Grinning, Charlotte considered his request. “I would be honored,” she stated, her grin growing into a smile. “When may I … start?” she asked, amused at the sudden look of relief on the part of the duke’s face that wasn’t covered by the mask.

  Joshua leaned to one side to see the doctor, still hovering over Charlotte’s back. “When could she start such a task, Doc­tor?” he asked, glancing quickly at Charlotte’s face when he realized the doctor was still making stitches. “Have you been counting?” he whispered to Charlotte, an accusato
ry tone to his question.

  “Six and twenty … seven,” she answered with a slight nod. Her amusement quickly left her when she saw the look of shock on Joshua’s face. He knows my back will be scarred for life, she realized, wondering if it would make a difference to him. A modiste, preferably one who practiced a good deal of discretion, could probably design very fashionable gowns that would hide the scar, but she frowned as she thought of all the dinner gowns she already owned that would have to be remade. Her favorite ball gowns were all cut low in the back. They would all have to be replaced.

  The doctor looked up from his work and turned his atten­tion to Joshua. “Today, if she’s of a mind,” he said lightly. “It will help to take her mind off these stitches.” He picked up a small scissors from his bag and pronounced his job complete.

  “Oh,” Joshua replied, surprised she wouldn’t be bed bound for days. “Capital!” He uncurled himself from the floor and, with a bit of difficulty and a helping hand from the doctor, stood up. “I will let the foreman know straight away. When you’re up to it … there’s no hurry,” he said as he bowed to Char­lotte and the doctor. “Come to the study when you can, and I’ll introduce you to the foreman,” he added, his mood consider­ably lighter than it had been since his entry into the room. She won’t be wearing a corset.

  “I will do a double curtsy later,” Charlotte replied, her mood also lighter. Something to do, she thought happily, since I apparently won’t be getting married anytime soon.

  Chapter 9

  His Grace Sends Mr. McElliott on an Errand

  Joshua left the guest bedchamber, his mind still on miss­ing corsets and the sight of Lady Charlotte’s backside and the lower limbs he had glimpsed before he had given her another linen. His quick steps got him to the staircase and the floor below in only moments. He burst into the study to find Gar­rett McElliott studying a floor plan, presumedly for the west wing. Had he looked a bit closer, he might have recognized the layout for the nearby dower house.

  “Did I see Dr. Regan come to the house?” Garrett asked before Joshua could say anything. The duke was a bit breath­less from his quick descent from the east wing staircase, and he nodded before coming to a stop next to the library table. “Are you … well?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he regarded Joshua.

  Joshua nodded again, wondering if Garrett referred to the slowly subsiding bulge at the front of his breeches. “You must do a bit of research for me,” Joshua announced as he leaned over the edge of the library table, hoping he could hide his state of arousal.

  His best friend eyed him suspiciously. “What have you done now?” he wondered, his attention no longer on the large sheet of parchment in front of him.

  “I found someone to run the household and oversee the decorating of the new rooms,” Joshua replied proudly.

  Garrett’s eyes widened. “Really. Who would that be?” he asked, suspicion evident in his voice.

  The duke rounded the library table and took his seat in front of a stack of ledgers. “Lady Charlotte,” he stated trium­phantly. “Although some … information has come to light that makes me wonder … you must go to London on my behalf,” he struggled to get out.

  Garrett nodded, not particularly surprised by the request. A tree had been blown apart right next to the house, after all, and some research would need to be done to determine just who was responsible. He had already ridden over to Kird­ford to ask about any strangers who might have been spot­ted there the evening before. The barkeep manning the tap at the Forester Arms remembered a few travelers, although none seemed out of the ordinary. He did mention that one had said something about riding a horse all the way from London, but that happened frequently enough he didn’t think it unusual. With no local constable and the nearest law in Petworth, Gar­rett thought it better to head back to Wisborough Oaks.

  “I went out to look at the oak tree,” Garrett said in a quiet voice, hoping no servants would be listening at the door. Joshua raised an eyebrow, surprised by the change in subject, but Garret continued before Joshua could interrupt. “Acted like I was sizing it up for a trip to the sawmill.” This comment was meant to suggest no one would find his perusal of the broken tree to be anything to wonder about. “The evidence is quite … evident,” he stated evenly, pulling several crisped papers from his pocket and placing them on the desk. “Someone did, indeed, blow up the tree,” he said with a nod. The nod changed to a shake of his head. “Josh, if the rain hadn’t started when it did, that tree would have become a huge fire bomb. I’m fairly sure there is a broken window in one of the bedchambers. I’m rather surprised the east wing of this place didn’t catch fire and … well, you know the rest from experience,” he finished with another shake of his head. “Was it a window in your room?”

  Joshua’s eyebrow cocked up. “It was not.” In his haste to leave Lady Charlotte, he had neglected to inspect the window she spoke about during their ride.

  “It wasn’t one of mine. I just checked,” Garrett countered. “Which means it’s one of the windows in the guest bedcham­ber in which Lady Charlotte is staying.”

  “It is, actually,” Joshua replied, nodding. He wondered if the window had broken before she came running to his room or if it happened while she was in his room. “Lady Charlotte told me about it this morning when we went on our ride. She didn’t want to disturb the rest of the household and thought it better the broken glass be cleaned up by the light of day. The housekeeper saw to it this morning before Lady Charlotte could risk stepping on any shards.”

  “How very … polite of her,” Garrett offered, scrubbing his face with one hand. “I’ll see to its replacement immediately. There should still be a glazier around here somewhere.” He sighed and was about to say something else when Joshua beat him to it.

  “Question is, who wants me dead?” Joshua asked. “Who did I offend so that my death would be their revenge?”

  Furrowing his brows, Garret regarded the duke for a moment. “I think the real question is, who wanted your entire family dead?” he asked then. “Because they’ve just about man­aged to wipe out the Wainwright line.”

  Joshua leaned against the table, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “You think this is … related to the fire?” he won­dered, his manner cautious. He had come to that conclusion, of course, but hearing someone else confirm his suspicions would ensure he was being objective.

  All along, he had thought it was merely a tipped over can­dle that caused the deadly fire six months ago. He had been so sure his brother John had started the fire. The flames seemed to erupt from the rake’s room. John hadn’t called out a warn­ing or cried out he was trapped, no doubt because he was in his usual drunken stupor at that time of night. His death was probably the only painless one of those who died, Joshua thought in disgust.

  “Of course, it’s related,” Garret insisted, pushing his chair away from the table. He scrubbed his face with his hand again, sighing loudly. “Do you … trust Lady Charlotte?” he asked in a lowered voice, repeating the question more to see the duke’s reaction than from any real suspicion he might have of the woman. At Joshua’s expression of surprise, he added, “Is there any chance she … wants you dead? Does she gain anything from your death? Does her father benefit, somehow? Besides from not having to pay out a dowry, I mean.”

  His anger at his friend’s assertion had Joshua standing up straight with his fists in front of him. “She had nothing to do with this!” he replied a bit too quickly. He tried to calm him­self, knowing his reaction made him look like a young pup in love.

  A rather defensive young pup.

  Could Charlotte have arranged for his family’s demise? But, to what end? She stood to gain nothing if she wasn’t mar­ried to one of the Wainwright brothers. She seemed quite com­mitted to the idea of her betrothal. Had she wanted him dead, she could have killed him while he lay unconscious in the hospital. And there was the horrified look on her face when she found the gunpowder earlier—she could barely touch the
stuff. And the fright in her entire body when she had visited his room the night before. “You forget, she was in the house last night. It was her window that broke. She would have been in just as much danger as any of us.” Joshua countered, trying to keep his voice even.

  “Was she?” Garret questioned, his eyebrow suggesting otherwise.

  Joshua sighed. “Yes, she was.” At Garret’s continued gaze, he added, “I know because … she was with me … in my bedchamber.”

  Garret leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Was she, now?” he murmured, his mouth curled up on one side. Well, at least the betrothal is going well, he decided with a hint of amusement. Now if the two would just get mar­ried and have an heir and a spare in the course of the next week …

  “She’s rather frightened of lightning,” Joshua responded in the lady’s defense, willing himself to appear impassive.

  “There’s no need to make excuses, old man,” Garret replied lightly, silently glad Joshua didn’t suspect Charlotte of any sabotage. The woman would be a perfect duchess for him. And she truly cared for him, Garrettt knew. “I’m just trying to consider all the possibilities.” He was silent a moment. “Do any of the servants seem … dissatisfied?” he wondered then, his mind’s eye picturing each one of them one by one. Devoted, he would say about each and every one of them. It helped that the seventh Duke of Chichester was beloved by the staff and the nearby villagers, his duchess even more so. The tenants were happy for the most part. He could attest to that, having made visits to all of them on a regular basis over the past six months. No, it didn’t seem possible anyone local would want to see the duke dead.

  “No,” Joshua said as he raked his fingers through his hair. “This has to go … higher. Someone has to benefit from my death. Who would that be?” he asked, turning his attention back to Garrett.