Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Jane colored up a bit before she stepped back and left the room with Charlotte.

  The future duchess linked arms with Jane. “Come. I’ll show you the parlor. It looks so much different by the light of day than it looked last night,” she promised. The tour with Jane the night before made her realize that, even though the older woman might have at one time been used to life in an estate house, due to her mother being a baron’s daughter, Jane was not accustomed to a house with a lot of luxuries. But it seemed to Charlotte that Jane wanted to be mistress of her own home, to make the decisions of how the household was to be run, to choose her own furnishings and decor. If that were truly the case, then Charlotte was prepared to allow Jane to do just that when it came time to complete the west wing rooms.

  Charlotte watched as Jane entered the parlor, saw her expression turn to appreciation and watched as a smile appeared. “This is so lovely,” Jane said as a hand went to her middle and rested there as she took a turn about the room, making sure she stayed out of the way of the carpenters who still worked on the moldings. The room had been painted, and the floors would be ready for polishing in a day or so. Then a large Aubusson carpet and the furnishings could be brought in and placed.

  She’s glowing—like Lady Bostwick, Charlotte thought sud­denly, recognizing the look of a woman with child. A stab of … something shot through Charlotte then, a deep sense of want­ing, of a need she couldn’t describe. “Thank you,” Charlotte replied, allowing a wan smile. Do I dare ask? she wondered, wanting desperately to know if Jane was indeed carrying a child. Is that why Garrett is marrying her?

  Charlotte pulled herself from her reverie to find Jane star­ing at her. The taller woman took a breath and let it out before hurrying out to the hall. “What is it?” Charlotte asked as she followed Jane down the hall.

  “Is it … I mean … Is it that obvious?” Jane whispered as she paused and allowed Charlotte to catch up.

  Placing a hand on Jane’s arm, Charlotte cocked an eye­brow. “Is what so obvious?”

  Jane caught her lower lip with a tooth and took another breath. “I have told no one,” she whispered hoarsely, looking as if she were about to cry.

  Charlotte took her arm and led her to end the of hall and into one of the rooms with no workmen. “Jane, you look as if …”

  “I am with child,” she stated suddenly, letting her breath out and then shaking herself a bit. “I didn’t know for sure, but, it’s been two months since …” She allowed the sentence to trail off before a tear escaped the corner of her eye.

  “Congratulations!” Charlotte exclaimed, taking Jane’s hands in hers. When she didn’t see joy in Jane’s face, though, she lowered her own eyes. “Or not?” she ventured carefully. “Garrett is not ..?” She moved to a long crate and indicated they should sit down. Jane did so, shaking her head.

  “He does not know. I’ve only ever been with him, you must know. It is his child,” she said vehemently, wondering if Char­lotte had thought she had bedded someone else and then used the pregnancy to trap Garrett into marriage. She worked in a gaming hell, after all, with two prostitutes occupying the top floor and plying their trade whilst she dealt faro on the first floor. “But I have no idea how he will react when I tell him.”

  Charlotte regarded Jane for a moment, remembering the day before, during tea, when Garrett couldn’t seem to keep his hands from touching Jane. The way he looked at her, as if he worshiped her. The way his finger would caress her sleeve or the skirt of her gown as she sat near him. The way his hand rested on hers. He loves her, she remembered thinking.

  “He knows,” Charlotte stated suddenly. “Forgive me, but I am so … envious of you. You have a man who loves you so dearly, and he has already made love to you and given you a child!”

  Jane’s eyes widened in surprise, her face coloring up so quickly at Charlotte’s comments, she had to put her free hand up to her cheek. “I wouldn’t have expected such a sentiment from a woman who is about to become a duchess,” Jane whis­pered, wiping the back of her hand over her tear-filled cheek.

  Sighing, Charlotte smiled. “I sound positively wanton, I suppose,” she claimed then, her face turning bright pink. “I cannot help it. I hear it is how it’s done in the northern coun­tries. The men will not marry their betrothed until they have borne them a child, or until they are at least increasing. And despite being betrothed since I was three, I have always har­bored a hope I would marry someone I loved. Someone who loved me in return.”

  Jane shook her head. “Aren’t you?” she asked in a quiet voice, her brow furrowing. “I was under the impression from Garrett that you …”

  “Oh, I do love the duke,” Charlotte admitted with a nod. “I do not know yet if His Grace will ever love me, though.”

  A sob shook Jane just then, and she nodded to Charlotte. “If he does not, then he is a fool,” she said, changing her hand so it held Charlotte’s.

  “Aren’t they all?” Charlotte asked rhetorically, a wan smile appearing. They sat in silence for several moments. “Now, we should figure out the best way for you to break the news to Mr. McElliott.”

  Jane nodded, her smile fading.

  “Or, you could simply tell me now,” a male voice said from the doorway.

  Charlotte and Jane gasped in unison, turning to find Gar­rett leaning against the unfinished door jamb, a large bou­quet of red roses held in one hand. So startled was she by his appearance and the red roses, Charlotte had to remind herself to close her mouth. She nudged Jane with her elbow. Jane gave her a quick glance and then took a deep breath.

  Garrett’s expression changed, his good humor suddenly becoming serious as he entered the room and stared first at Jane, then at Charlotte and then back at Jane. “Is everything all right?” he asked, a bit of panic in his voice. “Have you … changed your mind?” he wondered in a voice that nearly cracked while the hand with the red roses dropped to his side.

  Jane stood quickly, too quickly, for her vision grayed a bit and she had to sit back down or risk fainting. Garrett was at her side in a moment, though, using his free arm to pull Jane against his body while he gave Charlotte a questioning look. Charlotte stood up, thinking she could help with Jane should the woman faint after all.

  “No, of course I haven’t changed my mind,” Jane said, a bubble of nervous laughter erupting against his chest.

  “And the baby?”

  Both women stared up at Garrett in surprise.

  “You … you know?” Jane whispered, her mouth forming an ‘o’ that Garrett wanted to capture in a kiss that very moment.

  “I … Well, yes,” he finally said with a nod, wondering why Jane looked so stricken while Charlotte displayed a brilliant smile. “It was hard not to notice. You … glow, like a tall candle with a flame in the middle. And you look as if you may have eaten one too many cakes at tea,” he teased before he pressed his lips against her forehead in a quick kiss. He kissed her hair before resting the side of his face on the top of her head. “I am so lucky,” he whispered so only Jane could hear.

  Charlotte continued to grin as she sat back down on the crate. “I knew you knew,” she said proudly, eyeing the bouquet of roses with another stab of jealousy. She stayed seated for a moment and then sighed. “I will take my leave of you and see you two at dinner,” she added as she left the room.

  A sense of melancholy settled over her as she made her way back to the new parlor, thinking she would check on the carpenters’ progress. Gates was making his way from the stairs, though, and waved at her.

  “Lady Charlotte, Dr. Regan has called on you,” he said as he held out the doctor’s calling card. Charlotte took the pasteboard from the butler, wondering why the physician had come. “I put him in the parlor downstairs.”

  “Thank you, Gates,” Charlotte said as she made her way down the steps. She found the doctor settled into a wingback chair, his black leather case on the carpet next to his feet. “Dr. Regan. What a pleasant surprise,” she said as she hurried into
the shabby room.

  The doctor stood quickly upon her arrival and gave a slight bow. “Lady Charlotte. I came to see to your stitches and to wish you happy,” Dr. Regan said with a smile.

  Charlotte smiled, wondering how the doctor already knew of the wedding plans. “Thank you, Dr. Regan,” Charlotte said as she curtsied. “Is it already time to have them removed?” she asked in surprise.

  “Let us have a look. Is there somewhere we can go where a maid might attend to your buttons?”

  Charlotte grinned as she recalled the afternoon he had put in the stitches. “I will ring for Parma,” she said as she led the doctor to her bedchamber.

  Once inside, Parma recognized the doctor and smiled before nodding in his direction. He returned the nod and moved into the bathing room, setting his bag on the vanity. “Since I have not heard from you this week, I take it you’re healing satisfactorily?” he wondered as Charlotte moved to take a seat at the vanity. Parma followed, and at Charlotte’s wave of a hand, she began undoing the row of jet buttons down the back of Charlotte’s gown.

  “I do hope so. It itches something fierce, but there’s been no blood on the bandages when Parma changes them in the mornings,” she replied, pulling her shoulders a bit forward once Parma had the sleeves down her arm and the back of the gown open. “Thank you, Parma,” she said as she regarded the maid in the mirror. Since the doctor had seen her in far less than she was wearing now, she wasn’t nearly as nervous as she had been when he first put in the stitches, but Parma obviously was. She apparently intended to chaperone the doctor’s visit.

  Charlotte watched in the mirror as Dr. Regan leaned over her back and gently pulled down the bandage to peer beneath it. “My lady, I believe this is healing quite well. In fact,” he started to say before reaching into his bag for a pair of scis­sors, “I might be able to remove most of them, if not all,” he murmured. Charlotte held her breath as she felt the cool steel blade of his scissors against her skin. In a moment, she felt the wrapping loosen from around her torso and cool air caress the wound.

  From the reflection she saw in the mirror, Charlotte thought Parma might faint as she watched the doctor carefully cut the sutures and use a pair of tweezers to pluck them from her skin. The sensation, a sort of tickle, made Charlotte shiver a bit as the bits of thread were pulled out.

  “Almost done, milady,” Dr. Regan said softly, concentrat­ing on each stitch as he cut and removed it. “I cannot say for sure, but you may be able to wear a corset under your wedding gown,” he murmured with a hint of amusement.

  Charlotte regarded the doctor’s reflection. “So soon?” she responded, a wan smile coming to her face. She found she hadn’t missed wearing a corset, the bandage being far more comfortable in securing her breasts in place.

  Dr. Regan straightened and then studied the still-red wound between her shoulder blades. “Pull your arms forward just a bit,” he instructed, watching the skin stretch as she did so. “Does that cause you pain?” he asked, one of his fingers poking at an area near one of the white stitch marks.

  “It pulls, I suppose you could say, but it doesn’t hurt exactly,” Charlotte answered carefully, testing the area by lift­ing and lowering her shoulders.

  “The skin has knitted together quite nicely,” Dr. Regan commented with satisfaction. “If you promise to stay off of it for another week, I believe you can forgo even having to wear a bandage on it.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened, as did her smile. “Oh, thank you, Dr. Regan,” she replied happily. Parma started to button the dress, but Charlotte waved her off when she noticed the doc­tor didn’t move to pack up his bag. She looked up to find him staring at her in the mirror. “What is it?” She could swear the doctor was blushing, and she turned to look at him directly.

  “I must speak with His Grace about … about … about your wedding night,” he said very quietly, his halting voice betray­ing his discomfort. At Charlotte’s look of alarm, he placed his scissors in his bag and closed it.

  “What about my wedding night?” she whispered, not wanting Parma to overhear their discussion.

  “He cannot be allowed to have sexual congress with you … in the usual manner,” the doctor stammered then, keeping his voice low.

  Charlotte was surprised by the doctor’s words. She hadn’t considered her wound an impediment to sex with the duke; she had been more concerned about Joshua’s wounds, espe­cially the one on his hip, than her own. “His Grace is out riding today. I will … I will tell him. We will … make do,” she replied quietly, a red flush creeping up her throat and onto her cheeks.

  Dr. Regan nodded, deciding his patient knew enough to protect herself from further injury. “I will take my leave of you then. I wish you happy,” he said before he bowed and made his way out of the room.

  Charlotte sighed and then glanced back at Parma. The maid gave her a looking glass and she held it so she could see the reflection of her back in the large vanity mirror. The quick inhalation of breath through her teeth made a whistling sound as she studied the ugly scar. It looked better without the black tracks marking its path, but the red gash coupled with the white dots from where the stitches had been was still quite frightening. Perhaps she would wear a bandage under her wedding gown, she thought.

  There was no need for Joshua to see her scar on their wed­ding night.

  Chapter 29

  His Grace Takes a Ride

  Joshua Wainwright, the Eighth Duke of Chichester, mounted his horse and headed south. My last day of bachelor­hood, he thought, not without a bit of anxiousness. Not intend­ing to even visit Kirdford, he was surprised when his horse slowed on the wide road that led through the middle of the small village. The stallion, sensing his lack of focus, had simply taken him where he last rode as part of his circle around the southern part of his ducal lands.

  How can Garrett be so … calm … about marriage? he won­dered, remembering how his friend spoke of Jane and their new life together as if he were looking forward to it. As if it was a life he wanted.

  He pulled up outside the village tavern, deciding an ale and a bit of conversation with whomever might be inside would do him some good. A young boy ran up to him and bowed deeply, reaching for the reins. Smiling, he tossed the boy a coin and headed into the small building. The taproom was quiet, although the barkeep, Seamus, was quick with his bow. “What can I get for you, Your Grace?” he asked with a crooked grin, one tooth missing in the front. He wiped his hands on the fairly clean apron he wore. The bar top was clean and polished so it gleamed in the morning sunlight.

  Joshua thought for a moment, still surprised to find he was in a pub in Kirdford. “Just an ale.” He glanced around, surprised at how empty the place was, even for the middle of the morning. “Where is everyone?” he wondered, turning his attention back to the barkeep.

  “Working. And, well, putting together the frippery for your wedding tomorrow,” he answered, as if he was surprised by the question.

  “Frippery?” Joshua repeated, a bit of panic setting in.

  Seamus’ smile broadened. “Your housekeeper is earning her keep this week,” he replied happily, helping himself to an ale and leaning on the bar. “She’s got all the lady folk making ribbons and bows, or cutting flowers.”

  “Really?” Joshua spoke in disbelief, finding he wasn’t nec­essarily surprised at the news, but hearing it made him even more anxious. “Good God.”

  “And she’s got the men folk building trestle tables and benches for the big breakfast out of that oak tree that came down in the storm,” Seamus offered before he took another drink. “Says we can have them after the celebration to use for firewood this winter, if need be. Seems kind of a shame. If I might, Your Grace, I’d maybe put in to buy some for in here. Could use some new tables for when we serve luncheon,” he explained when Joshua didn’t appear to follow his reasoning.

  “That sounds … very reasonable,” Joshua agreed, nodding. “But I can’t see why you’d have to pay for them if they’re be
ing given away for firewood.” That poor oak, Joshua thought, sud­denly realizing just then that if Lady Charlotte hadn’t come to Wisborough Oaks, the tree would still be standing.

  At least it’s being put to good use, he considered.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, Your Grace,” Seamus was saying, “Is she pretty?”

  The question took Joshua by surprise. “Pretty?” he repeated. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Oh, Lady Char­lotte?” he asked then, suddenly not sure to whom the barkeep referred.

  “Your bride, aye,” Seamus confirmed with a nod. “Is she pretty? I hear she’s from London and right pretty.”

  The duke regarded the barkeep for a moment. “She is actu­ally rather beautiful,” he said with a nod. “We’ll have to come for luncheon someday so you can meet her,” he offered before taking another swallow of the ale, noticing the sour aftertaste for the first time. He was aware several women had come into the tavern, taking seats on the side where food was served. Their conversation was animated, their high-pitched voices carrying easily to where he sat in the taproom.

  “The lawn will look lovely,” one was saying happily.

  “And we’ve got just enough white linen to cover the tables,” another put in.

  “The gown is simply divine. I don’t know how Mrs. Gates arranged to get it done so quickly, but she did,” a third said as if she were in awe.

  “Have you seen the bride yet?”

  “No, but I hear she’s a beauty.”

  “Too bad she’s marrying a man with such an ugly puss.”

  “What a terrible thing to say!”

  “But it’s true. You watch. She’ll be taking a lover before the first heir is born.”

  “I think the duke is a rather handsome man myself, even with his mask.”

  “You’re old enough to be his mother!” A round of titters followed this statement before the serving girl interrupted to take their order.

  Joshua Wainwright didn’t hear the last few comments, the ones before it burning his ears until they felt like they were on fire. Again.