Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Harold immediately complied, tucking his bottom under him and acting as if he were guarding his own recently acquired pirate booty.

  “Hello, Nathan,” Hannah said in greeting as she stepped up to the boy. He quickly got up from the ground and bowed quite formally. Although he was dusty and quite disheveled from Harold’s attentions, Nathan was obviously a happy child.

  “Hello, Lady Gisborn,” he said in reply. Despite their hav­ing frogs in common, the boy still seemed ill at ease with his stepmother.

  “Harold was out playing pirates in the eastern fields yes­terday,” she said by way of introducing the topic of her visit. “And he made quite a discovery.” At Nathan’s quizzical expres­sion, one that reminded Hannah so much of her husband when he was working to solve some problem, she pressed her lips together.

  “Oh?” Nathan prompted. He seemed to swallow, as if he thought he might be in some kind of trouble.

  Hannah nodded. “He uncovered pirate treasure!” She pulled the pasteboard box from under her arm and held it out to Nathan. “I believe you may have been the pirate that buried it?”

  Nathan’s eyes widened in disbelief. He took a step back and glanced up at Hannah and then back down at the box she held out to him. “My sovereigns?” he whispered.

  Hannah shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ll have to open it, I suppose,” she said, still holding the box out to him.

  Wagging his tail, Harold stood up and walked around in a tight circle before sniffing the box and sitting back down again. Nathan finally took the box from Hannah and removed the lid. His eyes boggled at the sight of the dirt-encrusted coins. A finger dipped into the box and moved the coins around. He looked back up at her. “There was a ring,” he said, his eyes sud­denly filled with disappointment.

  “Oh, Harold found that, too. He already gave it to your father,” Hannah hurried to assure him.

  A grin finally appeared. He turned to the dog and scratched Harold behind an ear with his free hand. “Good dog,” he said. Looking up again, his brow furrowed much the way Henry’s did when he was worried about something. “Did he really find the treasure?” he whispered.

  Hannah nodded. “He really did. Took a while for him to convince your father he had found the treasure, though,” she added with a roll of her eyes.

  Nathan stood up, holding the box in both his hands. “Thank you, my lady,” he said with a nod.

  Smiling, Hannah nodded. “You can call me ‘mum’ if you wish. Especially since your little brother or sister will be call­ing me that,” she said with careful encouragement.

  Nathan’s eyes widened again. “I’m going to be a big brother?” he wondered, his face taking on an expression somewhere between delight and fright.

  Laughing, Hannah nodded. “Perhaps when you’re home from school at Christmastime,” she acknowledged. “Oh!” she managed to get out as Nathan dropped the box of coins, and his arms wrapped around her waist, and his head pressed against her midriff.

  Not sure what to do, Hannah wrapped her arms around Nathan’s shoulders and held him close for a moment. Harold jumped up, apparently deciding that he, too, needed some attention. And in a moment, Nathan was laughing and picking up his treasure and waving farewell and heading for the dower house as if nothing unusual had occurred.

  After he disappeared behind the door, Hannah glanced down at Harold. “Come on you little beastie, it’s time for your dinner,” she said, tears collecting in her eyes. She turned, Har­old at her heels, and saw Henry watching her from where he leaned against the gate to Gisborn Hall. With his arms crossed and one booted foot crossed over the other, he looked every bit the nobleman.

  Keeping her steps measured, she moved to meet him. She raised her eyes and gave him a smile. “Hello, my lord,” she said, a tear streaking down her cheek. Henry had her in his arms before she knew what was happening. Like father, like son, she thought just then, reveling in the feel of the father’s hold on her as he buried his head in the space between her neck and shoulder. Wrapping her arms around his neck, splaying her fingers into his hair, she rested the side of her face against his chest. “I hope all our other children are just like him,” she murmured into his shirt.

  Henry kissed her head. “Just the boys, I should think,” he murmured, removing one arm and turning so he had one arm around her shoulders. She slid one of hers around the back of his waist. “I rather hope the girls are more like you, or we’re doomed,” he said as they made their way up the cobbles to Gis­born Hall, Harold hurrying on ahead and around the house to where his dinner would be outside the back door.

  Hannah’s melodic laughter filled the air around them. “They’ll be farmer’s daughters,” she said in voice that sug­gested she was warning him they might be hoydens.

  Snorting at the comment, Henry kissed her temple. “Do you mind so much being married to a farmer?” he wondered then, leading her up the front steps.

  “Not at all,” she replied happily. “If you were a man of lei­sure, I’d be inclined to believe you would drink and gamble and spend your nights whor … not in my bed,” she countered with a raised eyebrow. “I would mind that.”

  A slow smile spread over Henry’s face. “Does that mean I can spend every night in your bed for the rest of our lives?” he teased, a grin slowly spreading across his face. The front door opened, Parkerhouse stepping aside as they made their way over the threshold.

  “Every night,” Hannah replied with a heavy sigh.

  “Oh, good,” Henry said with feigned relief. “So, what’s for dinner?”

  Hannah gave him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “I have absolutely no idea,” she replied in a teasing voice.

  “My favorite!”

  Epilogue

  The Wainwrights Pay a Visit

  The first greenhouse, with its panes of glass installed on the south facing roof and oilcloth around the remaining sur­faces, was a beehive of activity the days following its comple­tion. Rows of corn seed were planted to take up half of the building while a variety of other vegetables were planted in the remaining space. Small orange and lemon trees were planted along the southern side in the hopes the warmer, sunnier location would help them thrive. The planting in that build­ing hadn’t even been completed when the second greenhouse was ready for its rows of cucumbers, melons, strawberries and other assorted vegetables. Meanwhile, the seeds for wheat, beans and barley were planted with seed drills in the furrowed fields.

  Over the course of the next few weeks, reinforcements were installed along the walls of the trenches to prevent ero­sion, a concern Murphy voiced with his master a few days before the irrigation gates were installed. He gave credit to Hannah for having mentioned it during one of her biscuit deliveries, and Henry made sure to thank her for her experi­ence of having played in the water as a child. He was still a bit concerned about the fact that she had done so, especially with frogs.

  The first gate to be installed, on the central irrigation ditch, proved difficult to maneuver into place and to anchor into the ground. Once it was, though, the remaining earthen dam was dug out and the gate was left to settle into place for another day before the door was raised. The crew of laborers broke into hearty cheers as Henry tugged the rope that was threaded over a pulley and watched as the gate raised. Water gushed into the trench and slowly began filling the furrows in the fields.

  Longer support legs were welded onto the other two gate frames as anchors in the hope they would prove sturdier with their installation. With the help of a team of draft horses and a framework and pulley, the gates for the east and west ditches were installed the following week. Although everything worked as Henry had hoped, rain fell every day during the last week of May. The gates were closed and the caps to the large clay pipes at the ends of the trenches were opened up to allow the excess water to drain from the fields and irrigation ditches.

  As Aldenwood had predicted, the rest of the summer proved to be cooler and rainier than usual. The ditches on the Gisborn farm ende
d up being used for drainage rather than for irrigation. From May to September, the gray skies and prolonged rain made for slower growing crops. Despite a late snowfall in June, none of the Gisborn crops failed completely. The earl and the tenants that farmed his fields struggled to keep the fields drained, directing some of the water into the greenhouses and the rest into the ditches. Meanwhile, despite the lack of regular sunlight, the plants in the greenhouses seemed to thrive.

  With the harvest still seven weeks away, the rain stopped for several days and the land began to dry out. It was during this respite from the colder weather when the Wainwrights came calling on the Forsters.

  “Carrying a child becomes you,” the Countess of Gisborn said in a hushed voice, linking her arm into the Duchess of Chichester’s as the two made their way along the riverbank. The River Isis, or Upper Thames as some referred to it, gently flowed under the late summer sky. The afternoon, not nearly as warm as usual, was the perfect time to walk the grounds of Ellsworth Park and Gisborn Hall while their husbands hunted pheasants in a field nearby.

  “And you, too,” Charlotte replied with a mischievous smile, not absolutely sure Hannah carried a child, but certain enough to make the comment.

  Hannah paused in midstep. “How … how did you know?” she asked in surprise, her own smile lighting an already glow­ing face.

  Charlotte squeezed Hannah’s arm, moving to face her friend. “You glow like you have a dozen candles inside you. I have never seen you look more … stunning,” she said as she cocked her head.

  From the moment she and Joshua Wainwright, the Duke of Chichester, had arrived at Gisborn Hall, Charlotte was sure her best friend was with child. “Even at your coming-out ball, you did not look this glorious.” Charlotte regarded her friend for a moment more, happy for her in that Hannah had mar­ried a man who needed an heir while she needed nothing more than a child to love.

  “Early January, I think,” Hannah stated before Charlotte could ask when she might deliver.

  “So soon?” Charlotte retorted, an eyebrow arched in a teasing manner. “Oh, Henry must be thrilled.” Despite his hav­ing inherited an earldom from his uncle, the Earl of Gisborn would always be simply Henry Forster to her. Just a week after he had left her in the garden at Wisborough Oaks, she had received his letter thanking her for the suggestion that he con­sider Lady Hannah Slater as a wife and hoping that, despite what had happened that day in the duke’s garden, they could remain friends. The following day, she received Hannah’s short note saying she had accepted the earl’s proposal of marriage.

  “Henry is beside himself, although, after reading George’s letter last week, he may be feeling a bit … frightened,” Hannah said with a shake of her head.

  George Bennett-Jones, Viscount Bostwick, had sent the note to Henry following his ‘recovery’ from having person­ally delivered his baby boy. His wife was quite shocked when her water broke shortly after they had been intimate. The poor man had been caught unawares—Elizabeth’s labor had been so quick, there had been no time to summon the midwife, and the only servant in the household at the time had been the cook, who at least knew enough to boil water and supply a suitable knife for cutting the umbilical cord.

  In the end, David Morgan Bennett-Jones was born into his father’s nervous but capable hands. George’s one additional comment in his letter had been that, although he continued to share the marriage bed with Elizabeth and their newborn, he was quite relieved to have a few weeks off from sexual inter­course since, he wrote, I am exhausted. Who knew a woman with child could be so ripe and ready for intimacy any time of the day or night?

  Hannah could only wonder how Elizabeth had fared dur­ing the childbirth.

  Charlotte giggled. “Wait until you hear from Elizabeth,” she countered, her hand coming up to her mouth. Her face was flushed. “I don’t know how they’ll tell David when he’s old enough to hear the tale, but I’m sure George will think of something.”

  Inhaling sharply, Hannah turned to regard her friend. “And what did she write about it?” Hannah demanded to know. She could only imagine how Elizabeth would behave during childbirth. Probably with a good deal of complaining, screaming, making threats …

  “She was … humbled, I think,” Charlotte replied, her head dipping slightly. “George had just given her some diamond and emerald baubles and she insisted they …” She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if someone might overhear them. “Have intercourse, which apparently, they’d already done a couple of times earlier that day because her back was hurting, and George didn’t know what else to do for her to help alleviate the pain. The next thing they knew, he was stuffing pillows behind her and telling her she had to hold onto something other than his hand because he needed it to deliver their son!” Charlotte ignored Hannah’s wide-open eyes and added, “She said George was so calm and firm with her—told her what to do—then their son was suddenly in his arms and he was weeping uncontrollably. Elizabeth said she cried worse than the baby.” This last was delivered with an elegantly arched eye­brow. “She’s nursing the babe herself, since they’ll be in the country until after Christmastime.”

  Hannah held both hands to her mouth, wondering how she could convince Henry to bed her only hours before their baby was born. And how would she even know when that was? “Do you suppose intercourse was the key to having an easier delivery?” she wondered, her dimple appearing.

  Shrugging, Charlotte allowed a grin. “I have reason to believe Joshua will think so,” she hinted, her face turning a bright pink despite her bonnet. They walked along for awhile, sharing a companionable silence as Harold ran up to join them, tagging alongside Hannah. Aware that Charlotte wanted to say something, Hannah regarded her with a sideways glance.

  “What is it?” she asked, looping her right arm into Char­lotte’s left.

  “I was wondering how Henry reacted when you told him you were with child,” Charlotte murmured, her eyes bright. “I would have loved to have seen his reaction.”

  Hannah grinned, dipping her head. “Oh, Lottie, you should have seen his face. I told him at one point I thought I might be, but I didn’t tell him I was absolutely sure until the day after I got your news that you and His Grace were com­ing to visit,” she explained, a hand moving to rest against her abdomen. When she heard Charlotte’s sudden inhalation of breath, she turned to regard her friend.

  “Did you think he would object to our visit?” Charlotte asked, her brows furrowing in concern, thinking the countess had used the good news of her pregnancy to counter the bad news of the Wainwrights’ impending arrival.

  “Oh, heavens, no!” Hannah managed to say, knowing it wasn’t quite the truth. She had been worried that day before their afternoon tryst in the study, but Henry had made it very clear he hoped the Wainwrights would accept his offer of hos­pitality. “He feels quite beholden to you, Lottie, and not just for the gift of Ellsworth Park. As do I, actually,” Hannah said hap­pily, her brilliant smile displaying white teeth between berry-colored lips.

  Charlotte grinned as she watched her friend, remember­ing the welcome Henry had given her when she and Joshua arrived the day before. He had kissed the back of her hand and then apologized to Joshua before leaning over to kiss the corner of her mouth and to whisper, “My sweet Charlotte,” in her ear. The exchange was not the least bit awkward, nor did Joshua seem to mind the liberty their host had taken.

  “So, you two … suit one another then?”

  The former Lady Hannah Slater blushed and continued to stroll along the river bank. “We do, indeed. I am finding mar­ried life quite … pleasant, actually. Not at all how I expected. But I know it’s all because of Henry. He is nothing like the insipid gentlemen I met at balls during last Season,” she explained as they continued their walk. “From the time he came to Devon­ville House to meet with my father about courting me, he has been everything I could want in a husband.” At Charlotte’s quick inhalation of breath, Hannah glanced at her friend. “Do not fret, for I truly do
not expect him to ever say he loves me,” she added quickly, thinking Charlotte might be concerned for her heart. “But he dotes on me as if he does, Lottie. He brings me bouquets of flowers. Gives me the most exquisite jewelry. He’s quite … careful about our time together. He actually asks me during dinner if it might be acceptable for him to visit me later.” She said this last part in a hushed voice, as if she thought someone might overhear. “As if I must grant him permission to bed me!” She didn’t add that Henry spent every night sleep­ing next to her.

  “As he should!” Charlotte countered, secretly pleased to hear the man she might have married was treating her best friend with such courtesy.

  Hannah grinned at that, and then blushed bright red before saying, “I have never denied him, of course. And one time, I went to his bedchamber, very late at night!” That had been the time when Henry had come home from Sarah’s, just having learned she had accepted Tad McDonald’s marriage proposal.

  “Hannah!” Charlotte exclaimed, covering her mouth in mock horror at her friend’s admission. She wasn’t about to admit that she woke up next to Joshua every morning, some­times so aroused she simply used her newfound skills to seduce him from his slumber. He never seemed to mind wak­ing to her kisses and gentle touches, although he accused her of being wanton on several occasions.

  She was never left with the impression that he found that trait objectionable, however.

  “Henry is an amazing man,” Hannah continued proudly. “He spends at least an hour each day at the dower house with Sarah and their son. I tried to insist that those two move into the main house, but Sarah refused. She was quite determined to keep to her station in life, and she wanted her son to grow up understanding that, although he will be an educated gen­tleman, he will never be a member of the ton.”

  Charlotte considered the news about Sarah and the bas­tard son Henry could never declare an heir. “It is most unfor­tunate our odd laws do not allow for his first son to inherit,” she murmured, hoping Hannah wouldn’t take offense. Han­nah’s firstborn son would inherit the Gisborn earldom upon his death, after all.