Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  A brilliant scheme, now that she thought about it.

  But her father hadn’t explained himself that day.

  Or that night.

  Gisborn leaned his elbows on his knees. “As you probably remember, my lands and your father’s are adjacent in Oxford­shire. I thought to unite them, make them of a size large enough to warrant the work that needs to be done.” At Char­lotte’s questioning look, he added, “For irrigation, improved farming techniques, better forestry. I knew your father owned Ellsworth Park, so, when he summoned me to London last month, I thought it was his intent to sell me the property.”

  An alarm was going off in Charlotte’s head, so loud she almost didn’t hear his next words.

  “Imagine my surprise when he offered the lands as a dowry,” he said offhandedly.

  “Imagine,” Charlotte repeated quietly. A thought struck her and she glanced up at Gisborn. “And, was that in addition to the … ten thousand pounds?” she asked quietly, suddenly having a difficult time breathing given the sob stuck deep in her throat. She knew the answer even before Gisborn gave her a look of even greater surprise than her own.

  “There was no offer of money, Lady Charlotte. Just the land. I hardly think I could take the land and any money,” he reasoned, a hint of a grin making him look ever so handsome.

  And you couldn’t take money that was no longer there, she didn’t say aloud, a sense of dread settling over her. Oh, Father, what have you done? “If I were to accept your proposal, when … if there is one, Gisborn, could you .. do you suppose ..?” Charlotte sighed and looked away, her face flaming in embar­rassment. Was it too much to ask that a man love her? she won­dered, suddenly feeling ever the fool.

  Gisborn’s hand had once again captured hers. “Although I love another, and I think I always will, I assure you I will treat you with the kindness and respect you deserve. And I promise I will provide you with almost anything you want,” he said quietly, squeezing her hand as he made the vow. “I only ask that you allow me to bed you exclusively until you provide me with two sons. And then I shall not mind if you decide to take a lover.”

  Charlotte took a deep breath and regarded the earl, stunned by his terms. His offer was generous, she knew. He would allow me to cuckold him! I could never! And he already had the lands. He could walk away right now and still own Ellsworth Park. “Might I give this some thought?” she asked then, not beginning to know what her answer would be.

  “Of course. I must head back to Bampton soon, though,” he stated as he nodded his head, “But I feel it only fair to give you as much time as you need. I am … sorry you didn’t know of your father’s intent. I wouldn’t have been so … rude in there,” he whispered, his manner suggesting he was embarrassed over his earlier behavior.

  “I accept your apology, of course. And I give you one in return. My manner with you earlier was not very … ladylike,” she murmured, her eyes downcast.

  Gisborn lifted a finger to her chin. “You are willful. Your father warned me. But it is part of your charm, I think.” He stared into her eyes for several moments, and then, quite unexpectedly, he leaned in and kissed her. The kiss lasted only a moment, but Charlotte found herself returning it in kind, a kiss to seal a contract, she thought as she felt his warm lips lock onto hers and press gently. And then it was over as quickly as it had begun when he pulled away. One of his arms had wrapped around her shoulder and was settling against her back when she realized what was happening and winced. She felt her stitches pull tight and inhaled breath through her teeth as she quickly leaned forward and away from his heavy arm.

  “Have I hurt you?” Gisborn asked as he removed his arm and reached out to take one of her hands in his. Long fingers wrapped about her small hand, surrounding it with a warmth Charlotte found comforting. When she looked into his eyes, she found genuine concern there.

  “I … I have a wound that is still healing. I just have to be … careful, is all,” she answered, tempted to blame him for the gash between her shoulder blades.

  Alarmed, Gisborn tensed and his hand squeezed hers almost too hard. “Did … Did Wainwright do something to hurt you?” he fumed, his anger so sudden, Charlotte had to lean away from him.

  Charlotte shook her head. “No!” she insisted quickly. “My father … he was angry when I refused to consider our betrothal,” she tried to explain. “He had been drinking, and he didn’t explain himself well that night and …”

  “What did he do to you?” Gisborn’s voice was suddenly harsh, his lust for vengeance so close to the surface, Charlotte was reminded of Joshua’s reaction. So very much the same, these men.

  “He … he whipped me,” she whispered, her eyes avoiding Gisborn’s intense stare. The words were out before she real­ized she had said them, and it was too late to stem the tide of anger that washed over the earl. His hands reached around to her shoulders and pulled her so she faced him as he angled his own body.

  “I’ll kill him!” Gisborn vowed, his hands grasping her shoulders so tightly she was sure she would be left with bruises.

  “No,” she murmured, her head shaking from side to side. “You mustn’t. Besides, he may be dead already,” she whim­pered. At that moment, all of her pent up anger at her father let loose, and unable to shout or scream or use her fists to beat on the man who sat next to her, tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Her sobs finally overcoming her, Charlotte allowed her head to fall against Gisborn’s shoulder. She cried, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she wept.

  Gisborn let go her arms and made quick work of the but­tons down her back. Once the bodice of her gown was undone, he spread the fabric apart and gently slipped his fingers under the layer of bandages across her back. Charlotte heard and felt his sudden intake of air as he looked at her wound from over her shoulder, felt through his body the sense of repulsion and horror as he took in the sight of the series of black stitches marching across her back. She felt the very lightest pressure of a fingertip as it trailed alongside the wound, the sensation sending a tickling shiver through her back.

  Gisborn carefully replaced the bandage over the wound and wrapped his arm about her waist, hugging her to him as tightly as he could. “If he is not yet dead, I shall kill him,” he whispered hoarsely, his own voice sounding foreign to his ears. “I am so sorry, Lady Charlotte. It was not supposed to be like this,” he whispered, his lips taking purchase on her temple and forehead to leave hard, urgent kisses.

  “Please, do not,” she managed between sobs. “I will heal,” she spoke softly, hiccuping as she said the words.

  Gisborn held her for a very long time, until he no longer felt her labored breathing and was sure she had stopped cry­ing. He carefully rebuttoned the back of her gown, his breath washing warmth over her shoulder as he did so. When she looked up to meet his gaze, he swallowed and looked away.

  The earl didn’t expect Charlotte would ever love him, nor did he want her to, given his feelings for Sarah. But he felt affec­tion for her now, and he had hoped they could at least share that someday. But every day she had that scar would be a day she remembered how it got there—and why. “I fear that if you are my wife, you shall hate me each and every day you see me, for the rest of my life, because of what your father has done to you,” he said quietly. “Because of me,” he added fiercely, his face a portrait of pain and his eyes bright with unshed tears.

  Charlotte considered his words and knew that, to some degree, he was right. But she shook her head. “I do not think I could ever hate you, Henry,” she murmured, taking a breath and returning her eyes to meet his. She wasn’t even aware she had used his given name. “But ’tis true that I do not think I will ever forget.”

  Gisborn let go his hold on her, once he was sure she could sit up on her own. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. “I will see to it Ellsworth Park is returned to your family,” he said, his eyes closed as if he were in pain.

  “No!” Charlotte nearly shouted, shaking her head as she t
ook the handkerchief and dabbed at her damp cheeks and lower lashes. “You must keep it out of my cousin’s hands. It will be lost, otherwise,” she stated, seeing the surprise in his furrowed brows and blue eyes. “Truly. He gambles, and not well.” She continued to dab her eyes. “And when you’re next in London, you must call on my friend, Lady Hannah Slater. Her father is the Marquess of Devonville.” At Gisborn’s look of confusion, she added, “She has finally come out this past Season and will be one-and-twenty this year. She is a beauty, Gisborn, blonde, like me, but taller. She looks like a princess from a fairy tale. And she wants very much to bear children, and cares not a whit about whom she has them with,” she said quickly, wincing when she realized how her words must sound to Gisborn. His eyebrow cocked and a grin threatened to replace his look of grief. “I mean to say, she will bear you as many children as you wish, and she will be a good mother to them all. And she will love them.” Charlotte wiped her eyes and nose and gave the earl a wan smile, wondering if the man would consider her recommendation.

  Gisborn nodded. “I know of her father, of course,” he whispered as he regarded her for a few moments. “And you think the two of us would suit?”

  Charlotte nodded. “I do. I think you … and Sarah … will find her charming.”

  Gisborn studied Charlotte’s face for a very long time. “I shall do as you say. I promise.”

  Nodding, Charlotte took a deep breath. “Perhaps I shouldn’t mention it, but Lady Hannah does have a dog. A rather loyal dog,” she offered, hoping the news wouldn’t cause the earl to change his mind about meeting the daughter of the Marquess of Devonville. “She loves him very much.”

  Gisborn’s eyebrows shot up, but the barest grin touched his lips. “An ankle nipper, I suppose?” he ventured. Thoughts of other aristocratic women with dogs came to him. He had seen some who carried their small dogs in their reticules or held them in their arms as if they were babes. Most of those women had been older, though. Far older.

  “Oh, no, Harold doesn’t nip ankles,” Charlotte countered rather quickly as she considered how to describe the Alpen­mastiff that shared Hannah’s bed. Certainly the dog would behave with the earl, although if Harold sensed the least bit of danger from a man to his mistress, Harold would simply jump

  on the threat and knock him to the ground.

  And then sit on him until a lawman could be summoned.

  “Harold? She named her dog ‘Harold’?” Gisborn asked, the grin spreading a bit. He gazed at Charlotte as he watched her struggle with how to tell him about the oversized pet. Impressed by her attempt to provide full disclosure of Lady Hannah, he reached out to capture her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of it as Charlotte watched, her eyes widening as he did so.

  “Harold MacDuff is a rather large dog, you see,” Charlotte offered then, suddenly nervous by the earl’s odd reaction. “An Alpenmastiff.”

  Gisborn nodded his understanding of a rather large beast bred for rescuing those lost in mountain passes and snow­storms. A farmer very near Gisborn Hall had such a dog, a bitch who had given birth to puppies a few weeks before he left for London. Although he had never seen the dog or her litter, his household staff had been quite verbal in their fondness for the pups.

  He lowered Charlotte’s hand before releasing it. “Thank you, Lady Charlotte. I shall use this information to good effect, I think,” he said, his mind already working on how he might woo Lady Hannah by way of her dog. “And I shall send word if I am in need of further help with regard to Lady Hannah. I do hope you will not mind.” This last was delivered in a manner suggesting the earl might actually pursue the younger woman.

  With those words, Gisborn stood from the bench, took both of Charlotte’s hands in his, and kissed the backs of her fin­gers. “You will be welcome at Gisborn Hall anytime,” he said, his eyes bright. After a long moment, he took a deep breath. “Until we meet again, Lady Charlotte,” he said formally.

  Charlotte watched with mixed emotions as he bowed and took his leave, winding his way along the garden path until he disappeared into the house.

  Chapter 25

  His Grace Makes a Proposal

  Charlotte watched the earl as he walked away, part of her distraught over his sudden departure and another part relieved he had taken his leave. A bit panicked that she had allowed him to go with the deed to Ellsworth Park, she calmed herself with the knowledge her cousin wouldn’t be able to sell it to the highest bidder to fund yet more gambling debts. And she had to calm herself again when she thought of her dowry, wonder­ing if there was any of it left to help her secure her future with a man who was willing to marry her because he loved her, not because she was to be his brood mare or because it was her duty to do so.

  She stayed in the garden for another half-hour, allowing the sun to warm her face and dry her tears, her eyes closed so she might concentrate on the sounds of the birds and the insects and the wind caressing the leaves and the feel of warm, moist lips kissing hers …

  Her eyes flew open to find Joshua standing over her, his lips breaking into a grin at the sight of her surprised expres­sion. “You look like a beautiful flower just bloomed in the sun,” he murmured quietly.

  “Oh?” she replied with a sigh, still trying to get her bear­ings. He looked like a rogue god standing over her, his dark hair glinting with golden highlights and his mask adding mys­tery and intrigue to the look of amusement on the part of his face that was visible. His Grace with half a face, indeed, she thought with another sigh.

  “Gisborn told me he is off to London to call on Devon­ville’s daughter,” he said quietly. He didn’t add that Gisborn thought Joshua should pursue Lady Charlotte for himself. She does not love you out of a sense of duty, he had said with a shake of his head and a manner that demanded he listen closely. She simply does. He thought the comment odd but hadn’t spent much time considering it. “Are you ..?”

  “I am fine,” Charlotte replied with a watery smile. “Thank you for … for making me consider his offer. It was quite gener­ous,” she murmured, her head nodding. I have nothing to offer a husband now, she thought, realizing her original dowry was probably long gone, and now the Ellsworth lands in Oxford­shire were as well. Should her father die, her mother would need to keep the townhouse in London just to have a place to live.

  Joshua nodded, and indicated a folded paper he held in one hand. “I received this from Garrett a few moments ago,” he spoke softly, holding it out to her. “May I join you?”

  Charlotte inhaled sharply, realizing she hadn’t stood upon his arrival to afford him a proper curtsy. “I apologize,” she said as she got to her feet and then did so, surprising him.

  “You needn’t ..,” he started to say, and then sighed. He bowed over her hand and sat down to her right, where Gis­born had been earlier. She glanced over to see a side of him he usually kept turned away from her. Although he wore his mask, the edges of his scars were evident as was the area where the hair was still thin behind his ear.

  Charlotte took the paper from Joshua and opened it. She read the lengthy description of everything the estate manager had discovered that morning and early afternoon, not sur­prised about any of Garrett’s findings. It was almost a relief to know what she had guessed was really true.

  There was no dowry.

  Her cousin had seen to that. But her father’s shrewdness had at least saved Ellsworth Park from Nicholas. She puzzled over the last line of writing, though, and looked up to find Joshua watching her.

  “He will see to Nicholas’ arrest?” she questioned, not understanding. “Did he obtain the funds from my father’s accounts … illegally?”

  Joshua wet his lips and reached over to take one of Char­lotte’s hands in his. “Probably not, but he did hire a man to set fire to Wisborough Oaks.”

  Charlotte was up and holding a hand over her mouth before Joshua could react. He stood as well, watching as Char­lotte figured it out for herself, her changing expressions sug­gesting she wa
s about to be sick or to faint.

  “He knew you were here, of course. You said so yourself. Do you think he intended for you ..?”

  “Yes, I am sure he did,” Charlotte interrupted, her voice quite harsh. Her head was bobbing up and down, her anger barely in check. “He gambled away my dowry and knew I would … I would harangue him for the rest of his days for it,” she explained in her barely controlled anger, tears threatening again.

  Joshua reached out and placed a hand on one of her arms, pulling her gently toward him. “May I commit an act of impropriety?” he wondered, seeing her distress and wanting to ease it as much as he could. At her confused expression, he wrapped his other arm around the back of her waist and pulled her against his body, allowing her face to rest in the small of his left shoulder. She felt a mix of horror—at learning her cousin would sooner see her dead by a fire than deal with her wrath—and amusement at Joshua. The man had come to her bedchamber for two nights now to sleep with her, cradling her against the warmth and hardness of his naked body, pre­sumedly to see to it she didn’t further hurt herself during her sleep.

  A simple hug in the garden seemed rather innocent in comparison.

  He held her like that for several minutes, gently rubbing the small of her back and kissing her hair. After a time, he low­ered his arms and then his entire body to the ground, kneel­ing before her. He took her left hand in his. “Lady Charlotte Bingham,” he said, a very serious expression appearing on his face. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife?” he asked gently.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened in surprise. How dare he do this now? she thought in dismay. “I have no dowry!” she countered defensively, nearly stamping a foot to make her point.

  Joshua hadn’t expected her reaction and suddenly wasn’t sure what to do. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a ring, a gold band with a single sapphire mounted on it. Sliding it on the fourth finger of her left hand, he regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “And I don’t care,” he answered truthfully.