Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Sarah made a comment about good help being hard to find. “But, surely, there is someone at Gisborn Hall who can become your abigail,” she said, her arms folded across her chest, as if the shawl wasn’t quite enough to ward off the spring chill.

  Shaking her head, Hannah replied, “I am not so sure. I rarely see servants about. I am beginning to think there are only a few on staff. Either that, or they are all hiding from me!” The two shared a giggle before Hannah remembered the frog and told Sarah about what had happened in her bedchamber. The more she related of the story, her face quite alight with humor, the more distressed and horrified Sarah’s expression became.

  “You should have had the earl beat him senseless,” Sarah claimed, outrage clear on her features.

  “It was just a frog,” Hannah replied with a shrug, surprised at Sarah’s sudden anger. “I have an older brother who used to pull such pranks on me. Your son doesn’t have a sister he can torment …”

  “Thank goodness,” Sarah breathed, yanking the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I am so … sorry. I cannot believe …”

  “I think he feels a bit … threatened by my presence,” Han­nah interrupted, hoping she could make Sarah understand Nathan’s behavior and go a bit easy on the boy. “I have tried to be sure Lord Gisborn spends as much time with the two of you as he did before my arrival, but I cannot help but think he is … at Gisborn Hall more than usual. Is that … is that the case?”

  Her hands tying the ends of the shawl into a knot, Sarah gave Hannah a sideways glance. “Nothing has changed in that regard,” Sarah said, almost as if she wanted it to. She sighed and paused in midstep. “May I … I wish to speak freely, milady, but I would like some assurance my words will not reach his lordship’s ears,” she said, as if she was about to impart news the earl would find offensive.

  Hannah frowned as she regarded Nathan’s mother. “Oh. Of … of course. Rest assured I shall not share your comments with anyone.” After all, who would she share them with? It wasn’t as if any of her friends were available for afternoon tea and the latest gossip. A pang of guilt interrupted her thought. Just because Lady Bostwick wasn’t available to spend every morning with her in the parlor, why couldn’t she invite Sarah to do so? Or other ladies of the village? There were apparently several members of the landed gentry somewhere near Bamp­ton. She could invite them to Gisborn Hall for tea.

  “You seemed rather … surprised … that I was not especially upset at Gisborn having taken a wife,” Sarah stammered.

  Hannah cocked her head to one side. “I was,” Hannah acknowledged. She thought a moment, deciding she could be frank with Sarah. “I knew he left for London expecting to buy land, and instead, he came back with another woman’s dowry and me as his wife. I would expect you to be … angry. Hurt. To feel betrayed.”

  There.

  She had spoken the words out loud—for herself and for Sarah to hear. It was a rather harsh way of looking at the sit­uation, but when it came down to it, that’s exactly what she thought would happen.

  Her brows furrowing as she considered Hannah’s odd comment, Sarah shook her head. “I felt none of those things. In fact, relief would be a better word to describe my reaction at hearing Gisborn had finally taken a wife,” she stated quite firmly. “It meant I was free to make my own life.” After a pause, her brow furrowed. “Another woman’s dowry?”

  Nodding, Hannah shrugged. “I suppose I feel as if I am his third …” She paused, thinking of something from long ago. “No, his fourth choice,” she murmured, a heaviness settling over her.

  Sarah brows furrowed as she considered the comment. “How could you have been his fourth choice?” she asked, sud­denly befuddled. “Who else would Gisborn have married?”

  Hannah turned to face Sarah directly. “You, first. He loves you. He has since you were children. You bore him a son …”

  “I was never an available choice for him, and he has known it for all of our adult lives,” Sarah said with such conviction it caused Hannah to step back. “Gisborn might be an earl, but he is a farmer first and foremost. I have lived in this area for my entire life, my lady. I promised myself I would never become a farmer’s wife,” she stated firmly. “I do not want that life for myself nor for my children,” she added her head shaking from side to side.

  Astonished at Sarah’s confession, Hannah had to blink several times. That is what I am. A farmer’s wife. Henry had made that clear in the library her first day at Gisborn Hall. I am a countess, too. She hadn’t been at Gisborn Hall very long, but she couldn’t find fault with the life there. Yes, her husband spent long hours out of doors, seeing to the irriga­tion trenches, and to a greenhouse that was suddenly being built, and to the laborers in the fields. But she hardly thought of him as a farmer. But Sarah obviously knew of the hard work required to keep a farm, the work required during every hour of daylight to make sure crops were planted, watered, har­vested and sold. She knew of the disasters that could render a farm a failure—drought, insects, disease. “You were a farmer’s daughter,” Hannah spoke softly when she realized why Sarah would not want the life for herself.

  Sarah’s head jerked as if she had been slapped across the face. “I was,” she acknowledged. “I promised myself I would marry a man who owned a business. I want my children to live in a town, with other children to play with. I don’t want their entire existence to be doing chores and seeing animals slaugh­tered and praying for better weather because one bad season can send a farmer to debtors’ prison.”

  It was Hannah’s turn to look as if she had been slapped. “You are about to marry someone, aren’t you?” she whispered, her breaths coming a bit faster. Mrs. Chambers had been cor­rect with her bit of gossip in the kitchen.

  Sarah inhaled and held her breath for several steps, as if she was trying to decide if she could admit her secret to the countess. “You can say nothing to Gisborn, but yes, I am being courted. Mr. McDonald—the man who owns the posting inn in Bampton where Mr. Babcock works—he … he is a good man. A widower. I have known him almost as long as I’ve known Gisborn, and he feels affection for me. And I for him, truth be told,” she murmured, a wan smile appearing. “With luck, we shall marry about the time Nathan goes off to school. At some point, once Mr. McDonald is ready, I shall tell Gisborn of my plans. ” She took a deep breath, as if putting a voice to her thoughts had emboldened her. She returned to Hannah’s ear­lier worry. “Now, since I could never be a choice for Gisborn’s wife, that leaves you as … third. Which is ludicrous. Whoever would have preceded you?” she asked, her manner quite stern.

  Hannah considered Sarah’s comment. Wouldn’t she know about Lady Jennifer? Gisborn’s betrothal to the late Wain­wright girl was known in London parlors, mostly because he was nearly fifteen years her senior. Some claimed he had only met the girl once, when she was quite young and he wasn’t yet aware he would be an earl someday. His uncle had to have been behind the arrangement. “He was betrothed to Lady Jen­nifer Wainwright,” Hannah offered finally. “Although he has said nothing about her death in the fire last year.”

  Sarah nodded at the mention of the Duke of Chichester’s daughter. “Although he was fond of her, I do not believe Gis­born ever intended to marry her. He had nothing to do with the arrangement, although he was present when the late earl and Wainwright signed the papers,” Sarah said with a hint of sadness in her voice. “She would have been like a younger sis­ter to him. Nothing more.” She regarded Hannah again, as if she had put that choice out of the running. “Who else?”

  Taking a deep breath, Hannah let it out slowly. “Lady Charlotte Bingham. The Earl of Ellsworth’s daughter.” Hannah could tell from Sarah’s reaction that she was unaware of the betrothal Ellsworth had arranged on behalf of his daughter, Hannah’s other best friend. “Part of her dowry was Ellsworth Park …”

  “He didn’t buy it?” Sarah interrupted, her face taking on a look of astonishment as she paused in midstep, remembering Hannah’s earlier comment about G
isborn coming home with another woman’s dowry.

  “No,” she answered as she shook her head. “Ellsworth had already signed over the land to Gisborn before he even reached London. Gisborn agreed to the arrangement—he knows Lady Charlotte …”

  “We used to play with her, when the Binghams came from London for the summers,” Sarah said, her eyes glazing over. “She was a very beautiful girl,” she whispered quietly. “I was always a bit jealous of her,” she added, her face reddening with the admission. “She held a good deal of sway over Gisborn. He would do whatever she told him to do. I spent an entire week thinking Gisborn had kissed her and …” She broke off, her eyes darting about as she realized her mistake in admitting she had, at one time, had feelings for the man.

  “You do love him, don’t you?” Hannah spoke quietly, try­ing hard to ignore the other comment about Gisborn doing whatever Charlotte told him to do. “It’s perfectly understand­able. I expected you …”

  “I did. Back then. I was very young. Very naïve. He was already quite handsome. But … I’ve grown up. I’ve grown old,” Sarah stated firmly. She sniffled, as if she was fighting back tears. Quiet for a few moments, her thoughts obviously on the past, Sarah suddenly straightened. “What happened with the betrothal to Lady Charlotte?” she wondered, her brows fur­rowing. The news of Gisborn having taken property as Lady Charlotte’s dowry was still a surprise to her. She wondered if she would have felt a bit more jealous had Gisborn married Charlotte instead of the woman who walked by her side.

  Hannah shrugged. “Charlotte loves Joshua Wainwright, the new Duke of Chichester. She had been betrothed to his late brother since she was a child. But, according to Gisborn, Chichester intended to marry her. And he did. They were mar­ried shortly after Gisborn left Sussex.” She didn’t add that their wedding date was the same as her own.

  Sarah shook her head, surprised at learning there were others who were supposed to be Henry Forster’s wife. “So, how was it he came to marry you?”

  Smiling finally, Hannah sighed. “Lady Charlotte told him to ask me for my hand,” she said, tears suddenly welling up. “And, as you said, he does whatever Charlotte tells him to.” She pulled a handkerchief from a pocket in her gown, sud­denly embarrassed. Waving a hand in front of her face, as if she could fan away the tears, Hannah felt so conflicted, she knew not what to think or do. Charlotte was responsible for Henry coming to her. Charlotte was the reason he had asked for her hand. Charlotte was the reason they were married.

  For a moment, she didn’t know whether to thank her best friend, or to despise her for her involvement. Certainly her friend had meant well. Certainly she had told Gisborn why he should consider Hannah. “A man only ever loves his mistress and marries another so that there is a mother for his children.” Damnation! How could she have ever believed that mantra? How could she believe she would never love a man? Never want him to love her? I’ve been a fool!

  Sarah watched Hannah’s conflicted emotions cross her face, saw the tears. “Although he holds Lady Charlotte in high regard, I doubt he married you because she told him to,” Sarah countered, her head shaking. A movement in the dis­tance caught her attention, but for only a moment. Nathan was heading in their direction, his afternoon with the earl obvi­ously at an end. She needed to get back to the dower house and see to dinner. Taking Hannah’s arm, she turned them around and headed south toward the dower house and Gisborn Hall.

  Harold, having decided the women would be standing in the middle of the road for the rest of the afternoon, had settled onto a nearby patch of grass and was napping rather loudly. At the sudden movement of his mistress, he lifted himself up and sauntered after her. When he noticed Nathan, his pace picked up and he rushed to meet the boy.

  “Why, then? Why did he choose me?” Hannah asked, her tears under control. Good grief! She had made a fool of herself just then. But Sarah’s words had been so true. He had even admitted Charlotte had told him to seek out Hannah. How could she have been so blind when he came courting?

  Blind.

  Love is blind, she thought absently. And deaf and dumb.

  I love him.

  “I think he loves you,” Sarah said with a shrug before she lifted a hand to wave at Nathan.

  Dumbstruck, Hannah stared back at Sarah. She blinked, hoping the tears had subsided as quickly as they had appeared. She heard Sarah’s words again in her mind, stunned the woman would think such a thing. How could she know how Gisborn felt?

  Hannah finally let her gaze drift to the boy whose frog had startled her earlier that afternoon. The boy who had his father’s eyes. The boy who could look as stern and as serious as his father. The boy who had his father’s wicked sense of humor. He would be upon them at any moment, Harold barking and jumping around him as he skipped his way along the road. “Is it wrong for me to want him to? I want him to love me,” she finally admitted. “Very much so.”

  Sarah gave her arm a reassuring tug. “He needs you, milady. He may not know it yet, because he can be stubborn and highhanded and proud, but he needs you. So, just … love him, and eventually he’ll figure it out. It always takes the men a bit longer to realize these things,” she added with a wink as she pulled her arm from Hannah’s so that she could wrap it around her son’s shoulders and greet him.

  And Hannah watched as mother and son embraced, her heart clenching as she considered Sarah’s words.

  “You were brilliant this afternoon,” Henry said in a whis­per, his arm pulling Hannah’s body atop his as he rolled off of her and into the mattress. He had entered her suite from the dressing room door, his robe not even tied at the waist, to find her in front of the fireplace reading a book. He had taken great pleasure in undoing the laces of her gown, although he wondered why she would still be dressed when it was after ten o’clock. He half-expected to find her asleep.

  There was a feminine giggle from somewhere near his armpit. He felt her lips on one of his nipples, and he inhaled sharply. She was getting quite good at pleasuring him, even when he claimed he could take no more in that regard.

  “I just adored the look on his face when I convinced him I had frogs of my own,” Hannah whispered, her lips returning to his nipple and then the soft skin along the side of his chest. She thought briefly of her talk with Sarah that afternoon. At this very moment, she could believe what the older woman had claimed. He loves you.

  “Which, of course, you did not,” he countered, his smile more because of her lip’s ministrations than his comment. When there was no reply, he lifted his head. “Now would be the time to agree with my brilliant deduction,” he ventured, his post-coital brain suddenly clearing to allow reasonable thought.

  Hannah paused in her exploration of Henry’s ribs. “Remember, I had an older brother,” she countered before her lips took purchase on another rib and suckled playfully.

  “Oh, God,” Henry exhaled, his chest heaving with the words.

  “He was worse than his frogs,” she added before taking the opportunity to grasp his semi-hard cock in one hand and stroke it from base to tip and back down the other side.

  “You minx!” he admonished her before her giggle erupted from beneath his arm.

  When they awoke the next morning, the room bathed in a golden-pink light, Hannah found herself encased by Henry’s body, her back tucked against his front, his knees behind hers and his arms wrapped around her in a protective cocoon.

  “How long before your maid arrives?” he wondered, his lips kissing her hair.

  Hannah sighed. “I’m not sure she’s ever coming,” she whis­pered back.

  There was silence for a moment as Henry seemed to digest the information. “What are you saying?” he wondered, his body suddenly tense.

  Hannah turned in his arms, her shoulder against his chest. “She attended me the night before last, but I did not see her at all yesterday, nor did Mrs. Batey. I believe she has left the household, perhaps to marry.”

  Henry lifted himself onto an elbow, his brow furrowing.
No servants just left his employ! They usually said something, resigned, or at least left a note. “Marry whom?” he asked, his manner still quite stern.

  Hannah recalled the name on the note Lily had left to be mailed and from her discussion with Sarah. Thomas Babcock. According to Sarah, she thought Babcock and Lily had planned to marry for some time. “Do you know a Thomas Babcock?”

  Staring down at her, Henry’s face hardened. “Oh, Christ,” he swore. He was suddenly up and out of the bed, grabbing his dressing gown. “Did she talk to anyone?” he asked, his ire apparent.

  Startled by his sudden anger, Hannah pushed herself up until she was seated on the edge of the bed. “Not that I know of. I only asked Mrs. Batey. And then Sarah told me …”

  But her last words were spoken to thin air as Henry was out of her bedchamber, through the dressing room and into his.

  “What is it?” Hannah wondered, coming to her feet and hurrying to her husband’s room. Unlike him, she didn’t reach for a gown and entered his room entirely naked.

  “Thomas Babcock is a bounder,” Henry said in an angry tone. He was standing before his tallboy, pulling out a pair of drawers. He turned to find Hannah staring at him, her unclothed body a distraction he couldn’t deal with at that moment. With her long hair only partially covering her breasts, their tips puckered in the cool air in the room, she looked like a woodland nymph. He picked up his dressing gown and moved to wrap her in it. “As much as I adore seeing you this way, and believe me, my lady, you, naked, is probably my favorite thing to see, especially first thing in the morning, you really must cover yourself, or you will become Murphy’s favorite thing to see. He’s on his way up as we speak,” Henry explained as he ushered his wife through the dressing room and into her bedchamber.

  Ignoring his comment, Hannah turned and reached for his arm. “Is she in danger with this Babcock boy?” she asked, her face showing her concern.

  Henry dared not share his initial impression. Her maid would certainly be ruined; beyond that, he wasn’t sure what Babcock would do. “I don’t know. I’m going to find out, though,” he vowed. And then he left her when he heard Mur­phy enter his bedchamber.