Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “Grandby!” Charlotte breathed in delight. “Did you come for the wedding?” she wondered, hoping they hadn’t arrived to bring bad news about her father.

  “Aye,” he responded, as if he was surprised she would ask. “Someone has to give you away,” the earl said with a cocked eyebrow. “And to congratulate London’s newest matchmaker.” He was dressed in his usual impeccable manner, his cravat so perfectly folded and knotted, Charlotte had to wonder if his valet was with him and had just dressed him a few minutes ago. “Your father sends his love and his blessings, for his doc­tor refused to allow him the trip today.”

  Charlotte stilled herself at Grandby’s words, a bit amazed at their meaning and finding herself profoundly … relieved. “I am not doing … wrong by him, then?” she replied quietly, her eyes darting to her mother to see if Grandby was telling the truth.

  “You’re doing the right thing, my darling,” her mother replied, her eyes bright with tears. “And your father is so very sorry for what he did. He assures me he will be begging for your forgiveness for the rest of his life.”

  Inhaling a long, slow breath, Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment. So, all would be well with her father.

  Did that mean he wouldn’t resent her now that the family land in Oxfordshire was the property of the Earl of Gisborn? If so, then relief, indeed! “My wedding is in an hour. Will you ride with me to the chapel?” she asked, at the same time notic­ing a fashionably dressed woman standing several feet away from the earl’s carriage, a footman having handed her down the moment before. “Lady Worthington!” she called out, her face brightening even more. “Will you ride with me, as well?” she wondered as Grandby’s paramour joined them.

  The widow moved to take her place next to Grandby. “I will, Lady Charlotte,” she replied happily as she placed a hand into the earl’s and stepped up and into the barouche. “And I came to tell you I forgive you for missing my musicale last week.” Grandby handed in Charlotte’s mother and then joined the ladies, claiming he might have to hold Lady Worthing­ton on his lap for the trip. The fit was tight, but the earl, sur­rounded by four women, certainly didn’t seem to mind.

  “I must thank you for all the gossip you’ve provided us this past week, Lottie,” Lady Worthington said when she had fin­ished arranging her skirts, her face displaying an impish grin.

  A shadow appeared and disappeared quickly from Char­lotte’s face when she realized the widow might only be teas­ing. “Because I am finally able to marry ‘His Grace with half a face’?” she replied with rolled eyes and a sigh to prove she had heard the phrase far too many times.

  Lady Worthington and her mother both gasped in disbe­lief. “Charlotte!” her mother admonished her. “What a hor­rible thing to say!” she proclaimed as the horses pulled out of the circle drive, heading toward the road that would take them north to Plaistow.

  “But she knows of what she speaks,” Grandby put in quickly, patting Lady Worthington’s hand gently. “The ton have not been kind to our Duke of Chichester in their on dit,” he murmured.

  Noticing his hand closing on the top of hers, Lady Worthington acquiesced. “’Tis true, I suppose. But that was not the gossip to which I was referring. I was speaking of Lady Charlotte’s matchmaking skills.”

  Charlotte giggled. “I wasn’t aware I could be accused of such an occupation,” she replied in surprise. “Of whom are you speaking?” Even before she finished her question, the smile on her face turned to an ‘o’ as she realized what Lady Worthington meant. “Lady Hannah?” she wondered then, her voice almost a whisper.

  Her mother placed a hand on her arm. “Yes. The Earl of Gisborn called on her father first thing Wednesday morning to request that he be allowed to court her. He and Lady Han­nah were seen riding in Hyde Park that very same day!” She paused a moment as if in thought. “Although it wasn’t during the fashionable hour,” she added, her expression indicating she wasn’t particularly happy about that part of the gossip.

  “And then he asked for her hand later that night at the Attenborough’s ball! I do believe they are being married this very instant,” Lady Worthington explained happily. “Grandby and I were invited, of course,” she added wickedly, her bottom wiggling a bit in her seat. “But Grandby thought we should attend this wedding seeing as how he is godfather to both the bride and groom.” She paused a moment as she glanced over at her escort. “And we must be careful not to make any mention of our betrothal. We wouldn’t want to take away any of the fun from Henry and Hannah,” she said sotto voce.

  Lady Charlotte grinned at Lady Worthington’s use of the earl’s and Lady Hannah’s Christian names, completely miss­ing the comment the older woman made to Charlotte’s god­father. With Lady Worthington’s connections and the num­ber of friends she could claim, she was entitled to the right, Charlotte supposed. “I am very happy … for the both of them,” she murmured, a pang of guilt making her wonder if she had done the right thing in recommending Lady Hannah Slater to Henry Forster, Earl of Gisborn. Given the love he felt for the mother of his child, it was doubtful he would ever love Han­nah. At least he might feel affection for her, though. And even if Hannah claimed never to expect the love of a man, Charlotte hoped for her sake that at least Henry would feel affection for her friend.

  “The announcement of your wedding in The Times was perfectly worded,” her mother was saying. “I have it in here somewhere,” she was saying as she dug into her reticule.

  Charlotte gave a start. “There was a printed announce­ment?” she repeated, incredulous. When had there been time for anyone to send word to The Times?

  Grandby, one arm leisurely resting on the top of the squabs behind Lady Worthington’s shoulders, cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “I would admit to having written it myself except I cannot take credit for that one,” he murmured, his free hand reaching over to take one of Lady Worthington’s. He lifted it to his lips and brushed the gloved hand, closing his eyes as he did so.

  Lady Worthington blushed, the soft pink coloring her face instantly. “He means that he wrote the announcement for our wedding, you see,” she explained as she gazed happily at Charlotte.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened and she smiled. “Oh, I am ever so glad to hear you will be marrying my godfather,” she said proudly. “He is Wainwright’s godfather as well. I do wish you happy,” she added with a huge grin.

  “Oh, my. Does that mean I can be a fairy godmother?” Lady Worthington asked with an impish grin, her attention returning to Grandby.

  He gave her a lazy grin in return. “I’ll have Rundell make you a wand and Bridge can pick out a diamond for the tip of it,” he teased gently before he noticed Charlotte’s suddenly serious expression. “What is it, my dear Charlotte?”

  “Oh, darling, don’t do that. You’ll get wrinkles,” Charlotte’s mother admonished her.

  Glancing from Grandby to her mother, Charlotte ignored her mother’s plea and asked, “If you didn’t provide the infor­mation for the wedding announcement, then … then who did?”

  They all shrugged as if it didn’t matter. Charlotte thought for a moment more, realizing that the source of the informa­tion had to be Joshua. Somehow he had managed to get a dis­patch to London in time for a notice to be placed in the society page. And he had secured a marriage license. He had asked for her hand and given her a ring. He really did intend to marry me all along, she realized with a great deal of surprise. She was grinning when the barouche pulled into the chapel yard. “I am getting married,” she murmured as the barouche came to a halt.

  Grandby smiled at her comment. He pulled something out of his waistcoat pocket, and once he had seen to it the ladies were safely on the ground, he excused himself to find the grooms. The two men were at the front of the chapel, con­ferring with the vicar, while a woman he vaguely recognized stood off to one side.

  Garrett was the first to notice him, giving the earl a deep bow before hurrying over to shake his hand and introduce him to Jane.

 
“Ah, my favorite faro dealer,” Grandby replied as he took

  Jane’s hand in his and lifted it to his lips. “You look even more beautiful by the light of day, Miss Wethersby,” he stated with a lifted eyebrow. “Had I known you were still unattached …”

  Garrett cleared his throat and stepped in to retrieve his bride from the earl. “You would still have preferred a widow,” he finished for the earl, his eyebrows cocked to suggest the earl was being naughty.

  Having completed his discussion with the vicar, Joshua turned to find Grandby regarding him with a proud smile. Surprised at the sight of his godfather, Joshua found himself in a bear hug with the older statesman before he realized what was happening. “Grandby!” Joshua shouted as he returned the hug. “How the hell are you?” He caught his mistake immedi­ately; before the vicar could frown or admonish him, Joshua apologized profusely. “Nerves, you see. I’m about to get leg-shackled,” he said by way of an excuse.

  Grandby nodded. “I’m in the same boat as you. About to be leg-shackled and loving every minute of it,” he said with a hint of mischief. He handed Joshua a bank note. “Ellsworth asked me to give this to you,” he murmured as he glanced around, wanting to be sure the two of them weren’t overheard.

  Joshua’s eyes went to the bank draft and he looked up, star­tled. “Where did he get this?” he asked, pointing to the cheque. The dowry amount of ten thousand pounds was written out to his name, and the signature was that of Edward Bingham, Earl of Ellsworth.

  The earl’s brows furrowed as he indicated his surprise at Joshua’s query. “I should think it’s been in an escrow account,” he answered with a shrug, as if he was unaware of any prob­lems with the dowry.

  Joshua glanced at the name of the bank on the note. It was not Barings Bank but rather the Bank of England. So, appar­ently Nicholas Bingham had been draining an entirely different bank account, and yet was under the impression he had been accessing Charlotte’s dowry account the entire time. “Charlotte’s cousin didn’t get to this account then?” he asked, sotto voce.

  Grandby allowed a grin. “Ellsworth is a far smarter man than most give him credit for,” he replied evenly. “And he is a very good judge of character. I think he knew Nicholas would prove a poor choice as an heir. So he gave the cur enough rope to hang himself, and the boy did just that. But he hung him­self on the monies from a household account. Ellsworth never gave him access to his real accounts, to the fortune he has stashed away at the Bank of England.”

  Lowering his head, Joshua considered Grandby’s words. “And Ellsworth Park?”

  The Earl of Torrington shrugged again. “One of many such unentailed properties. Not his favorite, of course. And now it is in the good hands of a steward who will do it some good,” he added, referring to the Earl of Gisborn. “Your children will benefit, of course. I was made aware by my solicitor that Gis­born has already entailed the estate as part of his will. And Ellsworth will no doubt do the same for most of his lands.”

  Sighing, Joshua thought of the unnecessary grief Charlotte had experienced believing her family’s fortune was lost due to her cousin and, because of her willfulness, to Gisborn. And yet, in the end, it seemed the only loss was an old oak tree.

  “I shall do the same with this,” Joshua promised as he regarded his godfather, holding up the bank draft. “Thank you.”

  The earl smiled. “Good choice, Wainwright. Take care of my favorite goddaughter, will you?” he said then, his voice a bit louder as he nodded toward the entrance to the chapel.

  “I will,” Joshua replied, a smile lighting his face as he turned to look where Grandby indicated. There stood his bride gazing at him. She was beautiful. She was blushing. And she was smil­ing like he had never seen her smile before.

  His own smile was brilliant in the morning light that fil­tered into the chapel. And, as he absently felt the new black leather mask he’d had made for the occasion, he realized for the first time in a long time, his face didn’t hurt.

  Epilogue

  Ever After

  August 1816

  The weddings had been a blur. The celebratory feast had gone on and on until nearly dark. The villagers and tenants and those who came from London for the festivities bid the couples their happy and departed. The staff picked up, cleaned up and put away all the evidence of the day. Life at Wisborough Oaks returned to a routine that now included more women, more workmen in the West Wing and dinners for four in the dining room—at least until the Wainwrights left for their wed­ding trip to Oxfordshire.

  Garrett McElliott slowly opened his eyes, quite sure he had been bumped or nudged from his rather satisfying slumber, to find two rather beautiful nipples in front of him. Naked, Jane lay on her side facing him, her swollen belly pressed against his torso. About to kiss one of the nipples, he felt a distinct kick in his ribs and let out a cry of surprise. Jane opened her eyes, a mischievous grin appearing on her face as she caught his look of astonishment. “He’s been at it for a while,” she whis­pered, lifting her arms above her head to stretch. She writhed gently for a moment, inhaling and exhaling slowly as she did so. “He’s getting back at me for last night.”

  Garrett’s eyebrow arched as he considered her words. “He?” he repeated, a look of awe crossing his face as he watched the outline of her body moving seductively under the bed linens.

  “Well, I do hope it’s a boy. I cannot imagine having a girl who kicks the way this baby does,” she murmured. “She would be a hoyden!” A yawn overtook her and she rolled onto her other side before scooting her body back against Garrett’s, her warm bottom nesting against his groin.

  Garrett snaked an arm around her belly, his hand resting on the curve in a protective manner. “I don’t want to get up,” he whispered as he pressed his chest against Jane’s back. He kissed her shoulder and nuzzled her neck, leaving moist spots in the wake of his kisses.

  “Then do not,” Jane replied with a grin. “It’s not as if His Grace will object.” The Duke and Duchess of Chichester were on holiday, having taken the ducal coach up to Oxfordshire to visit the Earl of Gisborn and his new countess, Lady Hannah Slater, at their estate. Charlotte thought a trip with Joshua now would be their last chance to travel before she would go into confinement. She hadn’t yet told the duke she was expecting a baby, but Jane thought the man would probably figure it out during the trip if Charlotte didn’t tell him. “And besides, I am in need of some … loving,” Jane added as she reached down to wrap her hand around his and move it to her breast.

  Garrett’s fingers brushed over the erect bud of her nip­ple, gently pinching it as Jane inhaled sharply. With his cock already hard and trapped behind her thighs, Garrett didn’t need further encouragement. Moving into position, he pushed his throbbing manhood between the warm, wet folds at the top of her thighs and then allowed Jane to adjust her body so he could impale her from behind.

  It didn’t seem to matter what time of the day or night, or what they had been doing or were even about to do, but in her pregnant state, Jane was always ripe and ready for him. Last night, mere minutes before dinner was to be announced, she had lifted her eyes to his as he offered her a cup of cof­fee in the library. He felt his groin tighten instantly when she first accepted and then put down the cup, and then, with just that suggestive look, she insisted he take her right then. She had hitched her skirts up around her thighs, sat on the edge of the library table and then leaned back on her elbows, arching her back so her swollen belly was lifted up. “Hurry, Garrett!” she had begged, her ragged breaths coming in pants. And he had barely undone the placket of his breeches before his cock sprang free and was plunged into her in an attempt to sate her sudden arousal. The frantic sex they shared had been fast and powerful and such a surprise to Garrett, he had climaxed even before he was sure Jane had succumbed to the quick succes­sion of contractions he felt in her body. Her long legs, wrapped around his hips, went limp as her body seemed to melt into the table top and her head slowly settled back. “Oh, thank yo
u,” she had murmured, gasping for air as a giggle burbled up from her throat.

  Thank you? Was she joking? She spent the entire day wear­ing no corset and no drawers and was quite willing to engage in sexual congress at a moment’s notice. No wonder some men wanted their wives pregnant all the time! Garrett thought in amazement. He had managed to say, “You’re quite welcome,” before he had heard Gates’ footsteps in the hallway. He had quickly rebuttoned his breeches and helped Jane up from the table, smoothing her skirts as he did so before the butler entered and announced dinner.

  “Do I look like I’ve just been tumbled?” Jane had asked once the butler left, her expression showing a combination of embarrassment, shock and happiness.

  “God, yes,” Garrett replied as he tried to suppress a smile. He was still trying to catch his breath when he had kissed her, and continued to do so until hunger finally got the better of them both and they headed to the dining room.

  Now, in their new apartments on the second floor of Wis­borough Oaks, he took his time as he pleasured his wife, his movements slow and careful and almost torturous when he felt her inner muscles clenching and releasing him, pulling him into her wet, slick core as deep as he could go. He growled as he felt his oncoming release near, and he took great satis­faction in hearing Jane’s quiet mewling, in watching her long, elegant back arch in response to his movements. But he felt the most satisfaction when he heard his name in the sudden cry of her own release, and his world swirled into a spasm of pleasure so intense, he nearly blacked out.

  “That ought to teach him not to kick me,” Garrett got out in a whisper as he tried to regain his breath, his body suddenly going limp against the back of Jane’s. He wrapped his arm over her again and softly stroked her belly.