Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  The boy sauntered along side, giving her a suspicious look. “How did you know?” he asked.

  Shrugging, Hannah thought to say something flippant, but thought better of it. “I had tea with your mother earlier this afternoon,” she explained. “I asked to meet you, but she said you were at your tutor’s house. I hope you don’t have to walk too far for your lessons.”

  Nathan continued to glance up at her, his facial expression giving away the turmoil that was going on in his brain. “Not too far,” he replied in an offhand manner. “Are you … married to my father?” he finally managed to ask. His brow furrowed into a familiar shape. Henry’s looked just like it when he puz­zled over some problem.

  “I am,” Hannah replied with a nod, giving the lad a side­ways glance, wondering if he would be pleased or … not. Her comment was met with silence from the boy. He continued to trudge along at her side, his gaze directed straight ahead. Hannah couldn’t help but notice his manner becoming more sullen, more sad, as if her simple acknowledgment had taken away any joy the boy had felt at having met her and Harold. “I do hope we can be friends,” she offered in her lightest tone. “I would hate for you to think of me as a mean ol’ stepmother.”

  The lad seemed to stumble at this last statement. “Step­mother?” he repeated. “You’re my … stepmother?” His voice was barely a whisper, but Hannah could tell from the question in his voice that he wasn’t taking the news well.

  Trying for lightness, she nodded. “Your father is quite proud of you. He told me all about you the very first time he took me for a ride in Hyde Park.” She didn’t add that it was the only time he had taken her for a ride in the park.

  “He did?” Nathan repeated, his face still looking as if he had lost his best friend. “Isn’t Hyde Park in London?” he won­dered. “Are you from London?”

  Nodding, Hannah said, “Yes, it is, and yes, I am. Your father and I met and married when he came to London to acquire Ellsworth Park.” She hoped it didn’t sound as if they had only known each other a few days before they married.

  The boy glanced up at her, still a bit suspicious. “Did he … acquire Ellsworth Park?” he asked, trying to be sure he used the same word as Hannah even though he didn’t seem to know quite what it meant.

  “He did. He’ll be adding it to his farmland just as soon as the irrigation ditches are ready.” She paused in midstep, real­izing they had come up to the walkway leading to the front door of the dower house. “I must be making my way back to Gisborn Hall, Master Forster. It’s been a pleasure,” she said.

  She leaned down and took his hand in hers, giving it a firm shake.

  A bit startled, Nathan nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “I mean, my lady,” he corrected himself. “Bye, Harold.” And then he was suddenly running along the flagstones to his house, not looking back, even as he disappeared through the front door.

  Hannah watched as her husband’s son made his way to the dower house, wondering at the boy’s strange reaction to her. Was he frightened of her? Was he worried for himself? Using the term ‘stepmother’ had certainly been the wrong word to use when describing herself. Perhaps Henry could help smooth things over with the lad. “Come, Harold. We’re going to the kitchen,” Hannah said with a sigh as she walked the lane to the estate grounds.

  Hearing the word ‘kitchen’ had Harold’s ears perking up. Hannah thought he had picked up his laggard pace just a bit. He’s old, she remembered, frowning as she watched him take the lead and head through the gate and up the cobbled path toward the house. Instead of heading to the front doors, Hannah instead walked around Gisborn Hall to the servants’ entrance off the kitchen. Harold was waiting at the door, his tail wagging frantically.

  Knocking a few times before she opened the door to peek in, Hannah allowed Harold to precede her and said, “Stay, Har­old,” before the beast had a chance to enter the main kitchen. After his initial meeting with the cook, Hannah didn’t want Harold impaled by a meat cleaver.

  “Hullo,” she called out, ducking her head around the door­way from the hall into the kitchen.

  “Lady Gisborn?” Mrs. Batey stood from the large trestle in the middle of the room, a quill in one hand as she gave a quick curtsy and regarded the countess with barely hidden surprise.

  “Hello, Mrs. Batey,” she said with a nod. She glanced about until she caught sight of the cook’s large arms lifting a stock pot onto the stove top. “Hello, Mrs. Chambers.”

  The cook actually did a curtsy before saying, “Lady Gis­born.” She went back to her stock pot, dumping a bowl of cut vegetables into what was apparently to be that evening’s soup.

  “I wondered if I might ask you something, Mrs. Batey,” Hannah hedged. She turned to the cook. “Would it be permis­sible for Harold to join us?” she wondered. “Perhaps you have some food scraps you need to get rid of. He’ll eat anything,” she added hopefully.

  The cook exchanged a startled glance with the house­keeper, her reddened cheeks suddenly aflame. Was she embar­rassed by the lady of the house being in her kitchen? “I just have some potato peelings at the moment, my lady,” Mrs. Chambers offered, motioning to a prep table.

  “That will be splendid. Harold,” Hannah turned toward the door she had just come through. Harold, rather careful about entering a room he had been summarily shooed from only the day before, took two steps in and sat down, his atten­tion on his mistress. “Mrs. Chambers says you may have the potato peelings.” Hannah moved to the prep table, and pulling her glove from one hand, shoved the mess into a tin bowl, and took it over to where Harold sat. His tail wagged twice before he went to work devouring the mess. When Hannah turned around, Mrs. Chambers stood before her with a wet flannel.

  “I didn’t mean for her ladyship to do that,” the cook stam­mered, holding the clean flannel in her direction.

  “Oh, I have no problem touching potato peelings, Mrs. Chambers,” Hannah said with a grin. “As the only girl in Devonville House, I spent a good deal of time in the kitch­ens with the servants,” she said with a wave, hoping the older woman wouldn’t find her as much of a bother as did the crotchety old cook her father had employed since before Han­nah was born. She took the flannel from the cook and wiped her hands. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Batey had returned to sitting at the trestle, her quill scratching a list on a long sheet of paper. She looked up when she realized Hannah was regarding her quietly. “You wished to ask me something, my lady?” she wondered, her manner suddenly nervous.

  Hannah nodded, noticing the cook had gone back to the stove. “I do not want to interrupt your work …”

  “Nonsense, my lady,” Mrs. Batey replied. “I was just put­ting together the list for market for Mrs. Chambers. The best vendors will be selling tomorrow morning, you see, so we try to buy everything we need for the week.”

  Taking a seat opposite the housekeeper, Hannah smiled. “I’m sure I am supposed to be doing menus,” she offered with an apologetic shrug. “Perhaps I could do them for next week in time for you to do your list?”

  The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “Of course, my lady.” She could feel the cook’s quick glance of surprise on her back. “His lordship is quite particular about some of his meals,” she said carefully, wondering if she should turn down the countess’s offer.

  “Menu planning has been one of only two responsibilities I’ve held at my father’s house since my mother died,” Hannah countered calmly. “And the other one was acting as hostess to our visitors. I shall be sure to inquire as to the earl’s likes and dislikes before I do any meal planning,” she assured the housekeeper.

  Mrs. Batey seemed so relieved, Hannah thought she might topple from the trestle seat. “Your help will be appreciated,” the housekeeper said in a low tone, as if she were secretly con­fiding that Gisborn Hall lacked enough help. “Now, what was it you wished to ask?”

  Hannah sighed. “It’s about Miss Inglenook.” A pan clat­tered over at the stove, the sound barely covering the gas
p coming from the cook. Mrs. Batey’s face, although trained to a level of impassiveness that suggested nothing could shock her, took on a look of shock. “Is there any reason that you know of,” Hannah continued, wondering at their reactions, “Why it is she and Nathaniel don’t live here in Gisborn Hall?” Even with­out looking toward the stove, Hannah knew Mrs. Chambers was regarding her with a look of surprise.

  Mrs. Batey straightened and took a breath. “She lives in the dower house,” she answered simply, as if Sarah could only live there.

  “Yes. But, it seems to me that she and Nathaniel should live here.” The housekeeper averted her eyes a moment, her face suddenly taking on a flush that Hannah realized was embar­rassment. “Oh, Mrs. Batey, I am quite aware of Lord Gisborn’s relationship with Sarah,” Hannah assured the woman, causing the housekeeper’s mouth to open a bit, as if she had to breathe through it. “He loves her. He has since … I believe he said since they were in leading strings.”

  The cacophony that erupted from the stove forced Han­nah to turn around. She found the cook staring at her in dis­belief and several pot lids rolling about her work area.

  “You must know, men only ever love their mistresses. Their only reason to marry is so that they have someone to give them children,” Hannah stated, intending for both women to hear her comment. Her mantra, one she had repeated to all her friends and to her father on more than a few occasions, seemed to drop into a suddenly very quiet and tense room. Even Harold seemed to have stopped panting, although there was a hint of a whine. Hannah wondered if his eyes were roll­ing. He did that when he thought something was poppycock.

  Mrs. Batey was shaking her head, as if she couldn’t … or wouldn’t … believe what the mistress of the house had just said. “My lady, I …” don’t know what to say, was the house­keeper’s first thought.

  Had things gotten so bad in London that gentlemen no longer married for love? Or at least affection? She had been in England long enough to know about some men and their propensity to employ whores and mistresses, but to have a lady of the ton, the daughter of a marquess, no less, announce that men only loved their mistresses and married merely to have legitimate children, well, this was quite unexpected. “I am quite sure Lord Gisborn did not merely marry you to have his children,” she tried in a reasonable tone. Lady Gisborn was a beautiful girl. The man probably felt some affection for her. How could he not? She was as pleasant as could be, eternally happy and quite agreeable. There hadn’t been a shrill demand, a thrown objet d’art, nor a raised voice since Lady Gisborn’s arrival.

  The same couldn’t be said for Sarah Inglenook, however. It was as if Lord Gisborn’s woman had decided to become as unreasonable as possible, almost as if Sarah no longer wanted Gisborn’s protection nor his attentions.

  And the poor girl wondered why Sarah Inglenook did not reside in Gisborn Hall?

  “Oh, there was a dowry, of course,” Hannah stated with a nod, as if that would be the only other reason Lord Gisborn would marry her. “Quite generous, if I’m to believe my father’s comments on the topic.” This last comment was made with a smirk, forcing the dimple to appear in Hannah’s right cheek.

  The comment did not illicit a response from the direc­tion of the stove, and Mrs. Batey looked as if she could offer nothing more in response. Hannah straightened, realizing her forthright manner was unexpected. “I am a realist, Mrs. Batey. I know I sometimes look like I walked off the pages of a medi­eval fairy tale, but I am no milkmaid. Marrying Lord Gisborn was my best chance at finding happiness as a mother. He needs an heir. And a spare. And my other suitors only seemed to want my dowry to pay off gambling debts.”

  The air seemed to go out of Mrs. Batey as her shoulders slumped. Even the cook had turned her attention to the count­ess, one fisted hand planted firmly on her ample hip.

  “So, I was wondering. Why is it Miss Inglenook and Nathaniel don’t live here at Gisborn Hall?”

  Before Mrs. Batey could even begin to respond, Mrs. Chambers stepped forward. “I’ll tell you why,” she announced, a rather grim look on her face.

  “Mrs. Chambers!” the housekeeper tried to admonish her.

  “She’s too independent,” the cook continued, as if she hadn’t heard the housekeeper. “Always was. Why, she wouldn’t even live in the dower house exceptin’ as the old earl required her to as long as Nathan was living with her. The old earl adored that kid.”

  Hannah regarded the cook in surprise. “But, where would she live if she didn’t have the dower house?”

  The housekeeper leaned forward, keeping her voice very low. “His lordship would see to a house for her in the village, of course,” she remarked. “They used to have one on the outskirts of Bampton after the boy was born.”

  “His lordship had to come back from Oxford every few days back then, to see to the girl,” Mrs. Chambers added, wip­ing her hands on a towel. “But he still saw to his studies, even after the babe was born. Finished near the top of his class, he did.”

  Listening to the two women talk of Henry’s earlier life brought a smile to Hannah’s face. “He did right by her, at least,” she offered, wondering why the cook would seem upset with Sarah’s independent streak.

  “And he would have married her, but the girl wouldn’t have him. Thought he was too …”

  “Mrs. Chambers!” The housekeeper gave the cook a quell­ing look. “I’m sure the countess is well aware of her husband’s traits.”

  “Mark my words. Sarah Inglenook will be gone just as soon as the son is off to school,” the cook added with a firm nod. “As I hear it, she’s being courted by some cit in Bampton.”

  A loud gasp emanated from the housekeeper. “Mrs. Chambers! That will be quite enough from you!” Mrs. Batey announced in a voice that actually sent the cook back to the stove.

  Hannah remembered Sarah’s odd comment implying two weeks would be enough time. Did she mean something other than what Hannah originally thought? That it would take her two weeks or more to get pregnant? Perhaps she meant that two weeks was enough time was something else. Enough time for her to make her own arrangements. Perhaps to become betrothed. So Sarah must expect an offer for her hand from the cit in Bampton! Sarah could be a married woman before Nathan left for Abingdon School.

  That would leave Hannah with the earl to herself.

  There was a moment when the thought brought a sense of calm to her, a feeling of satisfaction, as if having Henry Forster all to herself was what she truly wanted. Perhaps she did. Per­haps Henry would decide he preferred only one woman in his life. And if not, he could always take another as his mistress. Well, Hannah hadn’t expected him to honor his marriage vows when she agreed to marry him. There was no reason to think that he would even if Sarah was married to another.

  One thing was certain. Hannah would have to do every­thing in her power to see to it Henry spent his nights in her bed. It was the least she could do for Sarah until the woman was safely betrothed. Hannah thanked the servants for their insight and excused herself from the kitchen.

  Making her way up the stairs to change for dinner, Harold following on her heels, Hannah thought of Elizabeth’s recom­mendations on how to keep a husband happy. She felt her face flush as she remembered some of Elizabeth’s descriptions of things she had done in her marriage bed—even when round with child! Some of those acts she could not imagine herself doing, but some of them … she might have to employ a few if she wanted to keep Henry coming to her bed for another two or three weeks.

  Once in her room, Hannah rang for Lily and made her way to her vanity. Lily would be able to fix her hair and help her into a suitable dinner gown. When the maid hadn’t appeared after ten minutes, Hannah moved to ring the bell again. Her hand stopped, though, when, breathless, Lily hurried into the room. “I apologize, my lady,” her maid managed to get out as she bobbed a curtsy. “I … got lost,” the girl said as her faced turned a bright red. “I still do not know my way around this house.”

  Hannah grinned a
nd angled her head to one side. “It’s quite all right, Lily. I just need to dress for dinner,” she said as she stepped behind the screen. “I am thinking the gold velvet gown,” she murmured, “And my hair is in dire need of a repair.”

  Lily dipped her head and hurried into the dressing room. I should tell her, she thought as she pulled the gown from a hook. But if I do, I may never be able to leave Gisborn Hall. She was all business when she emerged with the gown and a pair of slippers.

  Holding her breath as if she thought someone might hear it, Lily crept down the hallway outside her room and made her way to the back door by the kitchen. She clutched her valise, the tapestry bag containing every stitch of clothing she owned along with a few mementos. If she could make it out the door and around Gisborn Hall without disturbing an animal, she would be able to reach the lane to the village and the road to Bampton just beyond it.

  Thomas knew she was leaving her mistress to join him tonight. He would be waiting for her somewhere along the road past the village. He would have his gig and a horse. With luck, and the moonlight that shown down on the road, they would be well on their way to Gretna Green before the sky turned pink at dawn.

  She was quite sure she had been silent as she closed the back door, putting down the valise so she could keep the door knob and bolt drawn back. Once she was sure the door was seated in its jamb, she reached down to pick up her valise. A shadow fell over her and she gasped.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Billy whispered, his breaths showing up as white puffs in the air around them.

  “Oh, good God, you scared me near to death!” Lily hissed back. Her heartbeats were already thundering in her ears. The shock of Billy O’Conlin being so close so suddenly … “What are you doing out here?” she whispered, realizing the groom had to have already been outside.

  Billy was about to admonish her for scaring him, but real­ized he would sound like a sissy if he did. “I was headin’ to the kitchen for a bite,” he replied, sounding every bit as indignant as he could. “Are you … leaving?” he asked then, his voice soft­ening. “Leaving the countess?” Leaving Gisborn Hall?