Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Mrs. Gates’ eyes had widened again. “Well, of course, Your Grace! You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to see you wed to that young lady. She’ll do this duchy proud, she will,” she gushed happily. “The entire staff is prepared to make ye a per­fect wedding day. Just say when.”

  Joshua blinked once, twice, and then finally nodded to his housekeeper. Her husband, Gates, had been rolling his eyes as he held Joshua’s hat and riding crop. “Please forgive my wife’s enthusiasm. Enjoy your ride, Your Grace,” he had said as he held the door open.

  Nodding, Joshua had headed out the front door. And now that he was in town, he found he was looking forward to meet­ing with the archdeacon. He had brought along a good deal of blunt, not sure how much besides the five-pound cost for the license the archdeacon would demand for a wedding to take place Saturday. However much it cost, he decided it would be worth it. Well worth it, if a dowry of ten thousand pounds was in his future.

  And even more worth it if Lady Charlotte ever truly loved him.

  The surprised archdeacon saw to the duke himself, telling him how very pleased the duchy would be to know their duke was about to marry. Although the man seemed suspicious about the quick arrangements, his eyebrow cocking in a man­ner suggesting a potential heir might already be on the way, he was quickly put straight when Joshua said, “Lady Charlotte’s twenty-first birthday is Saturday. This wedding is to be part of her birthday gift.”

  Although the charge for the marriage license was just the five pounds, Joshua gave the man another five and thanked him for his consideration. He was sure if he wasn’t the duke, the archdeacon would have charged him far more than the going rate.

  Leaving the churchyard at a leisurely pace, Joshua con­templated how the next few days might go—his last few days of being a bachelor. It seemed a set of leg shackles was in his immediate future.

  And I’m about to put them on myself, he thought as he mounted his stallion and headed for home.

  The vicar’s sister, Mrs. Thomas, arrived promptly at ten o’clock in the morning. Accustomed to being taken to the shabby parlor where she had met with the Eighth Duke of Chichester twice since his ascension to the title, Mrs. Thomas was surprised when Mr. Gates instead took her to the newly completed west wing and introduced her to Lady Charlotte Bingham.

  “Mrs. Thomas, I am so pleased to meet you,” Charlotte said as she completed her curtsy. She reached out to take the older woman’s gloved hand and draw her further into the room. A few carpenters were nailing moldings in place while others were cutting lengths of the carved wood with hand saws. “I apologize for the mess, but I wanted you to be the first to see what will be the new parlor,” she explained as she took Mrs. Thomas to the worktable where her swatches were scattered about.

  The vicar’s sister put a hand to her ample chest as she surveyed the room and gave Charlotte another once-over. The woman seemed surprised at Charlotte’s presence; appar­ently, Mrs. Gates hadn’t been to church, or, if she had, she had neglected to tell anyone Charlotte was in residence at Wisbor­ough Oaks. “Do you suppose we might talk where there is not quite so much … noise?” Mrs. Thomas asked with a tentative smile.

  Charlotte kept her smile firmly in place as she realized the renovation wasn’t having the desired effect on the vicar’s sis­ter. “Oh, of course, Mrs. Thomas. I just thought you might be interested. His Grace said you have given him valuable input about the parlor at the front of the house.” She led the way out of the new parlor, at first gesturing and then stilling her hands as Mrs. Thomas walked alongside.

  “His Grace thinks my input valuable?” Mrs. Thomas repeated, her eyebrows indicating surprise and a proud smile teasing the corners of her pursed lips.

  Grinning, Charlotte leaned sideways. “He is very embar­rassed at the condition of what is the current parlor,” she explained quickly, “Which is why I am seeing to the comple­tion of this new one. I think it’s important it have a feminine touch, don’t you?”

  The older woman regarded her carefully, her broad face showing a bit of confusion. “I hardly think a household of two gentlemen need have a parlor suited only to women, Lady Charlotte,” Mrs. Thomas replied with a shake of her head.

  Realizing she was getting nowhere with the vicar’s sister, Lady Charlotte led her to Joshua’s study, allowing a surprised footman to open the door as she breezed in and moved to take the seat Joshua had used the day she had arrived. She surveyed the decidedly masculine room, its furnishings upholstered in dark fabrics. Since the woman had made clear her dislike for the current parlor, Charlotte guessed the study would be where Joshua intended to meet with Mrs. Thomas. “Could you have Mrs. Gates bring tea, please?” she asked as she passed the footman, who looked as if he were trying to decide whether or not to tell her she couldn’t be in the study. He nodded and left the room. The odor of cheroots and brandy hung in the air, but Charlotte acted as if she didn’t notice. Mrs. Thomas, on the other hand, took a handkerchief from her reticule and held it to her mouth for a moment.

  “Oh, dear,” the older woman said as she breathed carefully. “The vicar doesn’t smoke, and I’d quite forgotten how vile che­root smoke can smell,” she said, forcing a conciliatory smile.

  “I do apologize, Mrs. Thomas. This is a room lacking a feminine touch, don’t you agree? But, at the moment, it’s the closest thing we have to a parlor,” Charlotte explained with a forced smile. “Now, His Grace had business in Chichester today and asked if I might meet with you. He said something about a village fair?”

  Resigned to the situation, Mrs. Thomas sat up straighter in the settee and regarded Charlotte for a long moment, as if she were trying to decide if Charlotte would indeed pass along her request. “Now, how is it you have come to be at Wisborough Oaks, milady?” she wondered then, her attention darting to the door when Mrs. Gates entered carrying the same tea ser­vice she had brought that first day Charlotte had arrived.

  Saved by the tea, Charlotte thought with relief. She was tempted to answer Mrs. Thomas with a snide remark like, Well, by coach, of course. Instead she continued smiling and turned her attention to the housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Gates,” Charlotte said as the housekeeper set down the tray and nodded first at her and then the vicar’s sister. “Are you acquainted with Mrs. Thomas?” she wondered as she lifted the teapot and began pouring tea.

  “Oh, aye, milady,” Mrs. Gates replied with a bright smile. “It’s vera good to see you getting out again, Meg,” she said with a bob in the direction of the woman. “You had us all worried last winter.” Mrs. Gates turned to Charlotte. “She had an awful ague.”

  A bit embarrassed, Mrs. Thomas smiled tightly at Mrs. Gates. “Thank you, Agnes. We missed you at service,” she added a bit peevishly. “Are you feeling well?”

  Having put down the tea tray, Mrs. Gates seemed about to leave. “Oh, aye.”

  Charlotte figured the two older women would be acquainted with one another, and she realized she needed a mediator when it came to dealing with the formidable vicar’s sister. “Mrs. Gates, would you please join us? Mrs. Thomas is here to propose what I think will be a most excellent idea for the duchy,” she begged, hoping her voice didn’t sound as des­perate as she felt.

  “Oh, aye,” Mrs. Gates replied happily. “Here, let me help you with that, milady,” she said as she reached over and began adding sugar to the teacups Charlotte had already poured. Charlotte smiled and sat back in her chair, trusting Mrs. Gates to the tea service.

  “I’m afraid it is my fault Mrs. Gates was absent from church,” Charlotte said quickly. “I showed up quite unexpect­edly a few days ago, and I believe she felt as if she couldn’t leave the household on my account.”

  Mrs. Gates beamed. “Nonsense, milady,” she whispered to Charlotte. She turned her attention to Mrs. Thomas. “Lady Charlotte arrived just when she was expected,” the house­keeper said proudly. “She’s to marry our duke, you see,” she announced to the obvious surprise of Mrs. Thomas.

  The woman stole a q
uick glance in Charlotte’s direction, realizing what a faux pas she may have committed in nearly giving the future duchess the cut indirect. “I’ve been waiting for her to claim this household for nearly eighteen years. Even told His Grace that this mornin’ before he left, I did,” she added, turning her attention and a brilliant smile onto Charlotte.

  Charlotte’s face colored up as she wondered how Joshua Wainwright had reacted to that bit of news. Needing to get the attention off of her, she asked, “Now, what was it you wanted the duke to consider, Mrs. Thomas?”

  For the next hour, the three women chatted about the duke hosting a village fair. Given how busy duchy tenant farmers were during the summer, they decided it should be held in the autumn to celebrate the harvest and to provide an entertain­ment for those from town to attend before they headed back to London for the winter months. By the time Mrs. Thomas left, Charlotte was on the best of terms with her, and not just because she had agreed to talk the duke into hosting the event.

  “I do hope we haven’t put too much on milady with this fair,” Mrs. Gates said after Mrs. Thomas took her leave of Wis­borough Oaks in her small curricle.

  “Not at all,” Charlotte replied with a shake of her head. “I think His Grace will be pleased with us, especially if we do all the planning and arrange for the village men folk to build the booths and such,” she added with a mischievous grin. “Would you take luncheon with me so we can continue our work?” she asked then, not wanting to go back to the construction zone just yet.

  “Oh, aye,” Mrs. Gates agreed, and they headed to the din­ing room.

  “We’re doing what?” Joshua asked, his brows furrowing as he pulled papers out of a saddlebag and placed them on his desk.

  “A village fair. In the fall, just after the harvest,” Char­lotte explained, hoping she hadn’t overstepped her bounds by assuring Mrs. Thomas she would see to it the duke agreed to the idea.

  Joshua regarded her for a moment, remembering the sight of her in a satin nightgown. She’s not wearing a corset! he thought happily. He moved to stand directly in front of her, finally taking her hand in his and brushing his lips over the back of it. A frisson passed through Charlotte’s hand and up her arm, making her arm jerk just a bit in his grip. “A splendid idea,” he finally answered. “Did you offer to help with the plan­ning?” he wondered as he returned his attention to the papers he had put on the desk.

  “Of course,” Charlotte nodded. “Was … Is that agreeable with you?” she asked, unable to determine his true feelings from the tone of his voice or from his body language.

  “It’s excellent,” Joshua remarked then. “My mother used to put on a village fair. It’s been years since the last one. We’d had a bad harvest, and no one wanted to celebrate. Once you skip a year, it’s easy to just let the next one pass, too,” he explained with a shake of his head. “Pity, too, because that’s where I learned to play cards. And had my first kiss.”

  Charlotte grinned at his recollection. “Who, pray tell, was the lucky girl?” she asked in a teasing voice.

  Joshua leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “The blacksmith’s daughter,” he said wistfully, a wan smile showing on his face.

  “Do you still wish to kiss her these days?” Charlotte won­dered, joining him to lean against the desk.

  Hearty laughter erupted from Joshua, the sound of it full of happiness. “God, no. She’s married to the pub owner, has about three stones on me, and at least six children,” he said, grinning broadly. His smile slowly left his face as he studied Charlotte, looking as if he wanted to ask her something but unable to find the words to do so.

  Charlotte leaned her head against his shoulder, guessing at the unspoken question. “As many as you want, Joshua,” she murmured, her smile turning demure.

  Stunned by her statement, Joshua wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against the front of his body, one hand moving to the back of her head to pull it against his chest. “Thank you,” his whispered, kissing the top of her head.

  Chapter 21

  Mr. McElliott, Investigator

  The solicitor’s office was in Oxford Street, conveniently tucked into a space between a modiste and a shop displaying various stringed instruments. Garrett knew Madame Suzanne, the proprietor of the dress shop, from having visited when he escorted Jane there on one occasion. She wasn’t Madame Faribault, but he had no idea where that modiste’s shop was located, and time was of the essence.

  Madame Suzanne was most obliging of his unusual request for satin bed linens. She had just the fabric in mind, and she had a seamstress she thought could complete the work in a day. “As long as you don’t require His Grace’s initials embroi­dered on the pillow covers, Annette can have these ready by ten tomorrow,” Suzanne promised, palming the crown he gave her as he placed the order. When Garrett inquired about hav­ing a formal gown made for Jane, the French woman’s dark eyebrows arched in a most devilish manner. “Why, Monsieur McElliott, you are not aware a man cannot buy a gown for a woman? Unless she is your mistress, of course,” she whispered with a hint of conspiracy.

  Garrett wasn’t familiar with that rule, and his confused expression conveyed his ignorance. “Can I do so if it’s to be her wedding gown?” he wondered, his voice low and his own eye­brows cocked in mischief. “And it’s my wedding gift to her?”

  The modiste regarded him for a moment and then smiled. “Has she said ‘yes’?”

  Frowning, Garrett replied, “I wouldn’t be here if she’d said otherwise!”

  Madame Suzanne placed a hand on Garrett’s arm. “You are in luck. I have just the gown for your dear Jane,” she oozed, sliding gracefully toward a mannequin wearing a sapphire blue glacé silk gown under a gold net overskirt. “It is mod­est for a morning wedding, and the bodice is easily reworked to make it lower as a fashionable evening gown,” Suzanne explained as she swept her hand across the bodice of what Garrett considered an already low-cut gown. “Best of all, it is already Miss Wethersby’s size. I must have one of my girls add an extra flounce to the bottom, though, since she is so tall,” she said as she stood considering the gown. “And some gold lamé flowers, too, I should think, just along the bottom where we add the ruffle.”

  Garrett stood staring at the woman, not comprehending half of what she was saying but deciding it sounded good. “Can you do all that by tomorrow at ten?” he asked carefully, pulling another crown from the purse Joshua had given him.

  Madame Suzanne’s eyebrow arched up again. “But, of course, Monsieur McElliott. And she will need matching gloves and a suitable headpiece made from the net, of course,” she explained to him, motioning him to the counter where she wrote up his bill. “Tomorrow at ten,” she assured him, handing him his receipt.

  Garrett took his leave of the modiste and walked next door to the solicitor’s office, relieved to find the man behind his desk.

  Harold Fitzpatrick was suspicious when his visitor asked him for a moment of his time, but when Garrett McElliott pulled out his purse and offered to pay for the time, Fitzpatrick was more than happy to oblige him.

  “I represent His Grace, the Duke of Chichester,” Garrett announced immediately. He pulled a neatly folded character from an inner pocket and handed it to the solicitor, hoping the rank of his employer would help loosen the man’s tongue even more.

  Although the balding man in the ill-fitting topcoat and wrinkled cravat seemed unimpressed, he nodded. “And what might His Grace require?” he wondered, leaning his elbows on the edge of a desk piled with parchments and books that looked as if they might spill onto the floor with the slightest nudge.

  “His Grace was under the impression he is betrothed to Lady Charlotte Bingham. Can you confirm the existence of such a betrothal or tell me about any betrothals Edward Bing­ham may have arranged through you for his daughter, Lady Charlotte?”

  The man sat back in his chair and regarded Garrett for a moment before sighing loudly. “I rather thought his maneu­verings
would be troublesome,” Fitzpatrick replied, lacing his fingers together. “I was only somewhat aware of a betrothal from many years ago regarding the Earl of Grinstead—the Duke of Chichester, if the earl had ascended,” he began but then shook his head. “However, the Earl of Ellsworth was here last month claiming the betrothal was superseded by another, and he wanted to arrange for the transfer of property as the dowry for said betrothal,” the solicitor explained in a bored tone.

  “Property?” Garrett repeated, stunned by the informa­tion. “Why not just … money?” he asked, his brows furrowed in surprise.

  “Probably because there isn’t much left,” Fitzpatrick coun­tered with a shake of his head.

  Garrett’s regarded the solicitor with a different expression. “The ten-thousand pounds for Lady Charlotte’s dowry is ..?”

  “Mostly gone,” Fitzpatrick confirmed with a nod. “Spent. Gambled away is probably a better way to describe the situation.”

  Leaning heavily back in his chair, Garrett allowed his breath to escape in a long sigh. “I wasn’t aware Lord Ellsworth was a gambler.”

  Fitzpatrick’s eyebrows popped up. “He’s not,” he countered quickly. “He is one of the better behaved earls of our time, I should think. His nephew is a gambler, however.”

  Stilling his reaction as best he could, Garrett sighed. “Nicholas Bingham?” he guessed, already knowing the name from his earlier discussion with Jane, the document at the bank, and Joshua’s note from earlier that day. He also recalled having seen the man in many a gaming hell during his own gambling days. Just last year.

  The solicitor nodded. “Nicholas is Lord Ellsworth’s heir apparent. The young man managed to get his uncle to front him some of his inheritance early, and before the earl was aware of what had happened, Mr. Bingham drained all but a household account he was unaware existed.”