Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Determined to get Joshua into a more modern facility than the country doctor’s village clinic or the meager hospital in Petworth, she had been headstrong that first day she had arrived to arrange Joshua’s transportation to London. How was she to know William Regan was experienced with burn patients, him having served first as an army doctor and then as a physician for the nearby miners who suffered all sorts of maladies as a result of their labors? “I wish to apologize for my behavior. It was rude of me to treat you as I did.”

  Dr. Regan regarded his patient with a wistful smile. “My lady, you have no need to apologize for loving a man so much you would do anything to see him survive,” he countered, his bony shoulder shrugging as he made the comment. He pulled a roll of white linen from his bag along with a length of lint.

  Charlotte stared at the doctor, shocked to hear his frank comments spoken aloud. “How … how did you know?” she asked in a whisper, hoping there weren’t any maids within earshot.

  One of the doctor’s bushy eyebrows cocked up nearly into his thinning hairline. “I have never known a lady of the aris­tocracy to exhibit so much concern for a horribly disfigured man as you did,” he stated quietly as he covered her stitches with the lint. “Wainwright’s mother might have, perhaps. She was a good woman. A good duchess. But there were those who thought I should allow Wainwright to die … so he might be released from the pain he had to endure.” He said the last words in a quiet whisper, as if he were sharing a secret he hadn’t shared with anyone else.

  “No!” Charlotte replied, horrified, a tooth catching her lower lip.

  “I took an oath,” Dr. Regan said then. “And I kept it. But had you not been there, I might have allowed His Grace to pass on out a sense of … pity. He was in a good deal of pain. I hate to admit it, but I truly thought he would die. And, since there were no survivors, not even any Wainwright nephews to inherit, our duchy would have become extinct and the lands returned to the Crown.” He started to wrap the linen bandage under her arm and around to her front and then stopped when he realized it would need to go under and over her breasts. Charlotte took the roll from him and sighed, doing the honors herself. Since she wouldn’t be wearing a corset anytime soon, the bandage could at least act in part of the capacity. Between the two of them, they continued wrapping the linen bandage around her torso several times to cover the lint until he tied the ends together.

  Charlotte considered the doctor’s words as they worked in silence. So, the Wainwright line did end with Joshua Wain­wright. How many were aware of the tenuous hold he now had on Chichester? Joshua would have to sire heirs to ensure the duchy would continue. He had to know that. Had to know he should accept Charlotte as his betrothed and marry her—the sooner, the better.

  She stared at herself in the mirror and considered her options should he decide not to accept her. She had none, really. If Joshua Wainwright didn’t take her as his wife, she really had no place to go. Unless …

  “Can he father a child?” Charlotte asked in a voice so small the doctor had to lean in to hear her.

  Both his eyebrows cocked up, and Charlotte was sure the man blushed. “Pardon my surprise, but I assumed you two had already … consummated your … betrothal,” he stam­mered. Seeing Charlotte’s shocked expression and remem­bering the condition of her back, he added, “I beg your par­don, Lady Charlotte. When I arrived, you two seemed …” He straightened, trying to regain a bit of control over his features. “I believe he can,” he struggled to get out, embarrassed at his assumption. “He was not injured … there,” he added with a quick shake of his head.

  One of Charlotte’s eyebrows arched elegantly as a grin lit up her face. “If His Grace decides we should be married, then you shall be the first person I invite to the wedding ceremony,” she said with a nod. “And I expect you to be my doctor when it’s time to deliver his heirs,” she added, her grin changing into a smile of embarrassment.

  Dr. Regan’s look of shock changed to relief. After another moment, he smiled. “I shall be honored to attend you, my lady.” With that, he took up his black bag, gave her a quick bow, and exited the bedchamber.

  Once he was gone, Parma hurried to join her. “My lady, are you … well?” she asked in almost a whisper, her face going from the linen bandage to Charlotte’s reflection in the mirror.

  “I am,” she replied quietly. I have to be. “I have respon­sibilities to see to for the rest of my stay here at Wisborough Oaks,” she announced then, her face brightening. “I’m think­ing the sprigged muslin day gown. And let’s do something dif­ferent with my hair. Nothing elaborate, though. I don’t wish to keep the duke waiting,” she added as she saw Parma’s surprised expression in the mirror. Something to do.

  She truly was looking forward to it.

  Chapter 12

  A Conversation at White’s

  At precisely seven o’clock, the Duke of Chichester’s coach pulled up to White’s in St. James Street. Garrett McElliott, nat­tily dressed in a manner to which he had become accustomed, although not necessarily comfortable, stepped down and glanced to his left and right. A footman had promptly opened the door and put down the step, another opened the door to the men’s club and yet another saw to his top hat and great coat.

  Dressed more formally than usual, Garrett felt it best to look as if he planned to attend the theatre or a soirée when he asked the questions he was about to of the patrons he found inside. Several bade him greetings, a few merely nodded and some ignored him completely. He wasn’t a titled gentleman, after all.

  “McElliott, where the hell have you been?” an older gen­tleman called out, hurrying to shake hands with him.

  “Lord Torrington?” Garrett said in shock, noting the elder’s surprising youthful exuberance and rather fashion­able clothing. Looks like he’s hired Weston to do his tailoring! “My God, what have you done? You look as if you have grown younger by ten years!” And Wainwright wasn’t kidding when he said Grandby was here every night.

  The Earl of Torrington slapped Garrett on the back. “It’s ‘Grandby’, and so good of you to say so,” he replied. Despite holding a title since his early twenties, Milton Grandby found he detested ‘Torrington’ as a moniker and insisted his friends call him ‘Grandby’. He motioned to a butler. “Whiskey, please,” he called out. Returning his attention to Garrett, Grandby smiled. “And how is Wainwright? Truly?” he whispered, mov­ing them to a table far away from the card players and the patrons studying the betting book.

  Garrett wondered at the earl’s interest but decided he could trust the man. Milton Grandby had been supportive of the duke’s retention of Chichester when some thought the duchy should be transferred to the Crown after the fire left everyone dead but Joshua. “He’s quite well, working far too hard on the books and …” He paused, not quite sure if he should mention the betrothal just yet.

  Grandby raised an eyebrow. “Considering matrimony?” he suggested, a hint of mischief in his eyes. The butler deliv­ered their drinks to the small table separating their chairs, and Grandby reached over for his.

  Garrett stared at the earl. “What do you know?” he asked, a look of concern replacing the one of humor on his face.

  The earl regarded him for a moment and finally leaned forward. “Well, after that damned Bingham went into a coma last week, it’s been suggested Lady Charlotte has gone off to marry her duke before she’ll have to go into mourning. She didn’t attend Lady Worthington’s musicale last night, and everyone knows Charlotte Bingham attends all the best soi­rées,” he said before taking a sip of his drink.

  Schooling his features so as not to show his shock at the news of Bingham being in a coma, Garrett cocked his head to one side. “So, you know this because ..?” he let the ques­tion hang, wondering how the earl could find out so quickly Charlotte Bingham wasn’t in attendance at her favorite host­ess’ musicale.

  “I was the host,” Grandby replied proudly, sitting up straighter. His chest was practically puffed out as he made
the announcement. He didn’t bother to add it was his equipage that transported Charlotte Bingham and her maid to Wisbor­ough Oaks.

  Garrett allowed a huge grin. “You and Lady Worthing­ton?” he whispered, a bit shocked at the implication. “Is there matrimony in your future, perhaps?” he asked then, realizing impending nuptials might be the reason the earl seemed so much younger than usual.

  The man excelled at choosing a different widow each Sea­son with whom to attend all the best society events, but he never seemed to feel enough affection for any one of them to make her his wife. Lady Worthington certainly had wealth, her husband having built a fortune from building the early steam ships, and, in her late thirties, she was younger and certainly more beautiful than most widows of the ton.

  The earl grinned. “I do believe I shall be visiting Ludgate Hill this very week,” he admitted sheepishly. “And you’re not to tell a single soul. Except maybe that damned Wainwright. Might get him to the altar a bit quicker. Where is he, by the way?” he asked, glancing around the room before draining his glass.

  Garrett took a drink, relishing the warm smoky flavor before allowing the amber liquid fire to slide down his throat. “He’s back at Wisborough Oaks. The reconstruction on the exterior is complete, and he’s overseeing the interior work now,” he explained, hoping he wouldn’t be caught in the white lie. “The place should be back to normal before the year is out.”

  Grandby seemed impressed as he nodded. “Is he really … recovered?” he asked quietly. “I ask only because … well, Bingham was in here a month ago hinting he might be open to other suitors for his daughter. Claimed Wainwright would never recover from his burns, and he didn’t want his only daughter forced to marry an abomination.”

  Wincing at the comment, Garrett swallowed. “Did anyone take him up on his … offer? I can’t imagine someone agree­ing to marry Lady Charlotte when her betrothal to a duke has been public knowledge her whole life,” he reasoned, hop­ing others would see it that way. “Although I suppose there’s a substantial dowry associated with the chit.” Of all the men he could possibly ask about Bingham, Grandby was turning out to be a wealth of information. Garrett still had to find out more about her father’s situation, though.

  His eyes widening, Grandby nodded his head. “Ten thou­sand pounds is a bit of an inducement for any man, to be sure, but I heard Bingham was negotiating with a viscount or an earl or some such. I don’t know who, though. Someone who needed an heir, as I recall.”

  “I suppose the negotiations ended when Bingham went into hospital?” Garrett hinted, hoping to draw out more infor­mation from the earl.

  “I’ve no idea,” Grandby replied, shaking his head and dash­ing Garrett’s hopes of learning more on that subject. Grandby held out his empty glass for the butler. “Another please, for me and another for Mr. McElliott,” he instructed as the manser­vant took the glass and bowed.

  “Bingham took a header in his study. It was ruled an acci­dent by Bow Street,” Grandby stated quietly. “Apparently he was quite foxed, tripped and hit his head on the edge of his desk. Lady Bingham and Lady Charlotte had just returned from a musicale when it happened.”

  Garrett considered the explanation. It certainly sounded plausible. “Did a servant find him? Or did one of the women?” he wondered. A cold feeling suddenly grew in the pit of his stomach as his mind raced to fill in the gaps.

  “Oh, there were no servants in the house at the time. They claimed Bingham told them all to take the evening off, what with the ladies gone and all, so his poor wife found him.”

  Garrett tried covering his reaction with the back of his hand over his lower face, but he knew his own aversion to finding someone apparently dead was clearly etched on it.

  The butler returned with their drinks and set them on the table. Garrett finished his first one in a single gulp and gave the empty glass to the man. “Thank you,” he said as he nodded to the butler. “The Countess Ellsworth had to be quite … upset,” he commented, returning his attention to Grandby. “And now she’ll be at his bedside, no doubt,” he added wistfully, hoping the earl would confirm his supposition.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Grandby accused sud­denly, one bushy eyebrow arcing in an annoyance.

  Garrett’s own brows furrowed. “I beg pardon,” he replied before suddenly remembering Grandby’s earlier question about Wainwright. “You asked about Joshua, of course,” he said as he held up a finger. “As I said, he is quite fine and prob­ably doing too much, what with all the reconstruction and dealing with the village and tenants and whatnot, but he’s learned a good deal about running a duchy, is quite adept at the accounting, and will probably have the books caught up by the end of the month. I expect he’ll attend the next session of Parliament, in fact. He’ll make a fine duke. Truly.”

  Grandby took a drink and regarded the younger man. “And what about an heir? Succession requires there be an heir. I spoke on his behalf with assurances the line wouldn’t die with him. But, I must admit, I had my doubts a woman would be willing to marry a man so disfigured as he must be. Unless she is blind …”

  “Or in love.”

  “Or Lady Charlotte.” Grandby stated, daring Garrett to counter the claim.

  “Wainwright is betrothed and will marry the woman promised to the dukedom,” Garrett returned quickly, nearly interrupting the earl and then rolling his eyes as he realized his gaffe.

  Grandby’s expression spoke volumes. He leaned forward again. “So, Lady Charlotte will marry her duke after all?” he asked rhetorically, obviously relishing the idea. His face split into a huge grin, but it wasn’t obvious just why the man seemed so happy. Did he want Lady Charlotte to end up with the new duke? Or did he think it some colossal joke the duke would end up with the chit?

  Garrett thinned his lips and then leaned in so his mouth was very close to Grandby’s ear. “She was quite instrumental in seeing to his care, and she is even more determined to fulfill her obligation to the duchy.” He straightened and regarded the earl, an eyebrow lifting as if he had just imparted the most crucial of state secrets.

  “She’s quite precious to me, McElliott,” Grandby replied in a low voice. “Despite her legendary willfulness, she under­stands the importance of duty and obligation. If that damned John the Second was still alive, I’d probably kill the prick myself so she wouldn’t have to marry him,” he vowed, his voice still low and taking on undertones that warned Garrett of dan­ger ahead. “He had no honor and every intention of draining the duchy of all its assets so he might dip his prick into every Cyprian in the theatre district and drink himself to excess while he was at it.”

  Garrett inhaled very slowly and then nodded, knowing full well John Wainwright II was not the best role model for a duke.

  But then, he wouldn’t have thought of Joshua as one, either. Not until recently.

  “I do hope your opinion of Joshua is more generous. His character is a good deal better than his brother’s, I assure you,” Garrett said in his friend’s defense. “And his work ethic is quite … exhausting.”

  Grandby licked his lower lip as he considered Garrett’s words. “Having unsightly scars over a good deal of one’s body tends to help one to realize what’s important in life, don’t you suppose?” he asked rhetorically. “Well, I don’t give a damn how horrific he looks, or if he never loves Lady Charlotte, but he had better never hurt her or bankrupt his dukedom, or I shall see to it he loses everything,” the man said with so much vehemence, Garrett thought for a moment Grandby might have arranged the fire that killed John Wainwright II.

  Or perhaps the fall that injured Edward Bingham, Earl of Ellsworth.

  Garrett regarded the earl for several seconds, knowing he had to tread carefully or invoke a good deal of rancor. “May I ask why you care so much about Lady Charlotte and the duchy?”

  The Earl of Torrington leaned back in his wing chair and took a deep breath, his anger dissipating just as quickly as it had appeared. “She’s my favor
ite goddaughter,” he said softly. “And it’s all my fault she was betrothed to the heir of the Duke of Chichester in the first place. I was the bastard who sug­gested the pairing!”

  Garrett had to school his features so as not to show too much shock at the earl’s confession. “I assure you, my lord, if it can be shown there is an unfettered betrothal in place, Joshua Wainwright will marry Lady Charlotte and make a duchess of her. And, if I may say so, I believe Lady Charlotte to be a most willing bride,” he added before finishing off his whiskey. “I do believe she’s in love with him. And likewise,” he added, figur­ing it couldn’t hurt to let the old man think Joshua was in love with Charlotte.

  The earl nodded, a mischievous smile forming on his features. “If I remember who it was Bingham was negotiat­ing with, I shall send a courier ’round at once,” he vowed. He seemed to be ready to leave, but he noted Garrett’s look of uncertainty and settled back into his chair. “What else?” he asked with a sigh, his eyes nearly rolling in their sockets.

  Taking a deep breath, Garrett leaned forward. “We have reason to believe the original fire at Wisborough Oaks was due to arson. There was an attempt made again last night. With explosives.”

  The Earl of Torrington paled instantly, his bushy eyebrows drawn together so they became one long brow. He stared at Garrett until the younger man was forced to look away. “Good God! And you think I might know something about it?” Grandby asked rhetorically, a hint of anger in his voice. But the anger was quickly replaced with genuine concern. “The devil! Is everyone alive? Is Lady Charlotte ..?”

  “No one was hurt. Wisborough Oaks didn’t suffer. Well, except for the old oak tree on the east side of the house and one of the windows in Lady Charlotte’s suite. The explosion happened just as it started to storm, and most of the house­hold attributed the sound of the explosion to thunder,” Gar­rett explained quickly. “Most of the gunpowder was rotten, but it was a deliberate attempt to burn the house, there’s no doubt about it.” He glanced up to see Grandby staring at him. “Do you have any idea who would want the entire Wainwright family dead?” he whispered, his eyes darting about to be sure no one was eavesdropping.