Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  He left the room. He was tempted to go to the club, but he knew if he did, he’d spend too much and drink too much. It was eleven in the morning. He’d had his customary ale at breakfast, a habit he’d picked up from spending as much time in the country as possible since he was a boy. It was getting near to dinner.

  He walked down to the ground floor. Mrs Crabtree was having a cup of tea in the servants’ hall.

  “Excuse me, Mrs Crabtree.”

  Startled the woman looked up quickly, and then nearly fell over backwards in her effort to stand so she could curtsy to him.

  “Your Grace. How may I be of assistance?”

  “Thank you, Mrs Crabtree. Will you find Duke Carlisle’s man? His Grace is in the drawing room and appears to be in need of a bath, perhaps.” He smiled as Mrs Crabtree nodded in conspiratorial agreement. “I will wait in the sitting room if that’s acceptable.”

  “Oh, quite acceptable, Your Grace. Quite acceptable, indeed. I will have tea sent up.”

  “I thank you.” Atwater gave Mrs Crabtree a slight bow that nearly caused her to swoon.

  *******

  Two hours later, Atwater, partially reclined on the settee in the sitting room, had fallen asleep. He was rudely awakened by a loud voice and the pounding of polished boots on the wooden stairs.

  “What do you mean, Your Grace, coming here, to my home, unannounced? Unannounced!”

  Atwater opened one eye, and deeming it safe to converse with Carlisle, opened the other one. Without bothering to remove or rise up his person from the settee, he said, “Your Grace.”

  “Stand up you lout. And where is my woman?”

  “Your. Woman?”

  “Lady Phoebe. Where have you taken her? I can have the law on you in a matter of minutes.”

  “The law? Surely you jest, Your Grace.”

  “Kidnapping is a crime, Your Grace.”

  “Then you should fear the law, Your Grace.” Robert spat the words. “You intended to kidnap my betrothed and take her to the Highlands. I’ll not have it.” Robert was somewhat amused at Carlisle’s condescending attitude, especially considering the state Carlisle had been in only two hours earlier.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “What do I mean about you fearing the law?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Your Grace. I speak of Phoebe. Your betrothed? Surely, it’s you who jest. Why you are not received in many of the fashionable homes of London. Edinburgh is not so far away that we do not get our share of society gossip, Your Grace.”

  Atwater pointedly rolled his eyes. “Lady Phoebe is to be my wife. There is no discussion to be had about it except for this. My terms for the loss you incur at losing your, how did you put it? Your woman? I have buyers for both of your inherited properties ... this townhouse, and Pinebrook Manor.”

  “You mean to buy Lady Phoebe from me?”

  “Lady Phoebe is not yours to sell, Your Grace. Now, by tomorrow I expect you to be gone from London. And if ever you are here, or we are at the same social engagement, you are not to contact Lady Phoebe. You are not to speak to Lady Phoebe. Nor myself? Do I make myself clear?”

  Carlisle’s mouth opened to speak but no sound came out His eyes held a shocked look like a spoiled child’s the first time he’s told no. “I’ll not have it. You cannot take my future wife from me.”

  “She is not, nor has she ever been your future wife, Carlisle.”

  “I said I will get the law on you, and I will. Harris,” he yelled.

  Harris came to the doorway of the sitting room. Atwater caught his eye, nodding almost imperceptibly. Harris slid back out the door and waited in the hall in case Atwater had need of him.

  Atwater responded, “I know the law, Your Grace. I am a lawyer ... you must know I never expected to be Duke of Atwater. And something I can tell you, in all surety is you have no case against me. None whatsoever. Additionally, you have no claim on Lady Phoebe. She is not part of your inheritance, Your Grace. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see myself out.” And here Atwater held his face very close to Carlisle’s ear. “Mind my words, Carlisle. Leave London. Leave no later than tomorrow.”

  “Hrrmph.” Carlisle shrugged. “No later than tomorrow, eh? And what, pray tell is to happen if I choose not to leave by tomorrow, Your Grace?

  “I’ll see to it that you wish you had.” Atwater walked out of the sitting room leaving Carlisle slack jawed and seething with rage. He exited the house and walked back to the mews where Dan was waiting with the cabriolet. The groom handed Atwater the reins and mounted the board in the back.

  Once back on Regent Street, Atwater went up to the library and poured himself a sherry. He sat and smoothed his hair back, gathering his wits. He hoped that Carlisle would take his warning to heart. There would really be no reason for him not to.

  Despite being rude and crass, he was very rich and had jumped from Earl to Duke. Despite his brown teeth and corpulent belly, he would be considered a good catch by many ladies interested only in bettering their placement in society.

  There was a soft knock at the library door. Atwater suddenly wondered where Tom was, and called, “Yes?”

  The door opened, and Phoebe entered. Atwater’s breath stopped for a moment when he saw her. She was dressed in a simple white muslin frock. Her blonde curls were caught up in a becoming chignon. The shadow had gone from under her eyes, and she smiled as she came in.

  She curtsied low. “Your Grace.”

  He was up in a minute and in front of her. “Phoebe,” he whispered.

  “Will Duke Carlisle go back to Scotland?”

  “Yes, he will.” Atwater couldn’t keep his eyes from her. Here in the waning sun of the evening, she appeared as an angel. He remembered he’d thought that the first night he’d laid eyes on her.

  She smiled at him. “I thank you, Your Grace. From the bottom of my heart. You’ve rescued me more than once from certain calamity, Your Grace. I feel I owe you a debt.”

  “And how would you repay the debt, if indeed you were indebted to me?”

  “I suppose I should do something that would please Your Grace.”

  “Like becoming my wife?”

  “Excuse me, Your Grace.”

  He took both her hands in his. “Would you be my wife? Marry me, Phoebe.”

  “But, I don’t understand. What about Lady Judith?”

  “Surely you don’t believe everything you hear, do you Lady Phoebe? Lady Judith is dead to me. She is nothing like the woman I once loved. In fact, I don’t believe her to be the woman I once loved.”

  “What do you mean? Have you been to St James? Have you spoken to her?”

  “Not yet. But I intend to get to the bottom of whatever happened to my cousin. I haven’t spoken to Judith, or whoever she is, but the idea of an imposter solves a few riddles I’ve been wrestling with. It’s an idea that has also confirmed to me that I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.”

  “Go on.” Phoebe was having trouble following what Atwater was saying. What was he saying about an imposter?

  “I was about to propose marriage to Lady Judith out of fear and pity. I didn’t want to, but I was so tired of the gossip. I hadn’t heard from her in two years. Not one letter. I’d made up my mind to move on, and then the rumour started. I was told Judith had come back to London. The rumour of me reneging on my marriage proposal took over the minds of so many. But the real truth is Judith denied me before she left. If she had come back, she would have refused me again. I know that now.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I hadn’t heard from her for over two years. She stopped writing to me long before the interloper came around.”

  “Oh.”

  “And because, I’ve suspected something was not quite right when it came to Judith. All of the dramatic gestures. I daresay she’s not being invited to any social gatherings that are intimate. I don’t generally see her out and about ... anywhere. Until I saw you with her in Cavendish. It rem
inded me of the first time I saw you on the bridge.”

  “That was the first day I arrived back from Paris. I remember seeing you.”

  “Phoebe, I was enchanted by you.”

  “But then you asked Judith to marry you.”

  “I did not.”

  “Do you know what we were doing the other day? When you saw us? We were shopping for Judith’s trousseau. Why would she do that if you hadn’t asked for her hand? Are you to renege on your promise again, Your Grace?”

  “My only guess is Judith felt so sure of herself that she went ahead with her own plans before I’d said anything. And I will be honest. I was set to do it. Everyone, even Tom, wanted me to marry and get it over with. The important thing, they all said, is an heir. An heir. All the ton care about are money and possessions. Fine homes, the very best clothing and shoes. Gardens they hardly enjoy. Gossip is the prized possession. Whoever owns the juiciest story gains the ever coveted popularity within their private club. They make me sick. All of them. They spend their lives gathering as many material items as possible. Then they spend the rest of their lives looking for one family member to leave it to. One male family member, as My Lady knows all too well.”

  “But what if Judith is honest? What if the story is false?”

  “Do you think, at this point, Phoebe, that I care? I only know that I want you in my life. As more than a friend to flirt with at the random ball or tea. I want to marry you, Phoebe. Will you? Will you be my wife?”

  She looked down, and then lifted her eyes to him. “You may not care if the story given by Mary’s friend is false. But I, Your Grace, do. Why do you ask for my hand now? Now that you believe Judith is not who you believed her to be.”

  “Because I’ve come to my senses, Phoebe. I know now that my Judith would have denied me when she came back. She spent two years denying me when she didn’t write to me. That is why I believe Olivia’s story.”

  “Do you really believe it? Your Grace, do not play with my emotions.”

  “It’s what I said. I do not tell falsehoods. With all you’ve heard about my poor character, you must know that I do not fabricate stories. Gossip has never been an interest of mine.”

  “Nor mine. The ton tries, and often succeeds, in pulling one in, though. And even when one doesn’t indulge, one still hears things.”

  Atwater dropped to his knee and took Phoebe’s tiny white hand in his own two. “I’m asking you, Phoebe. Will you be my wife?”

  She was biting her lip, scrutinizing him. He knew she was trying to make sense of everything. He was too. His wish was that they do it together.

  “I … I want to hear Olivia’s story, Your Grace.”

  It was a cut; however, he understood. And he was glad she didn’t accept him purely to get away from Carlisle. But as he thought more, he realized that Carlisle was not a major player. The Duke had been happy to secure the sale of the London townhouse and the country estate. His idea to kidnap Phoebe and take her away to Scotland, as his wife, was ludicrous at best.

  He raised himself up to his feet. He supposed he should have thought about this type of instance. Of course the lady would want to be sure of his affections. His truthfulness. And he knew he didn’t want to lose her so was prepared to do whatever it took, now that he’d made his decision. He realized he’d fallen for Phoebe the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

  “Let us speak with Olivia then, My Lady.”

  Chapter 9

  In her bedchamber on St James, Lady Judith heard the commotion of a carriage arriving. After a moment, her maid brought her a note. Judith opened it. As she read, her face paled, as one who is ill.

  “My Lady, are you well. Is something wrong?”

  “No. Duke Atwater and a small party have arrived. Have they been shown in?”

  “Yes, My Lady. They are in the drawing room.”

  “Very well. Please tell them I will require an hour. Take refreshment to them. I must do my toilette in private. I will meet with them afterwards. Please let them know.”

  “Yes, My Lady.” The girl bounced out of the room and down the back stairs.

  Judith, in the meantime, opened the clothes press. She was in her chemise and stays. She needed something simple for this circumstance. Something that wouldn’t draw unwanted attention. Reluctantly, she chose the black bombazine mourning dress she’d only recently stopped wearing.

  She’d been desperate to get back to wearing her beautiful frocks. But the next part of her plan required leaving them behind. Dressed in mourning was the best way to camouflage herself. With all the typhus in London, many women were attired in the deep colour that announced death. Black was the only way for Judith to blend in on the street.

  She bundled her lavender speckled white muslin into a valise along with a couple of chemises, some stockings, a light shawl, a pair of gloves and a fan. It was a haphazard array of articles, and Judith was angry with herself for not having considered the need to flee swiftly. But then again, why should she have? No one knew of her secret. Not even her clandestine lover, Jacob. He was a banker and, at best, only a pawn to further her plans.

  Still, the presence of the four individuals in the drawing room alerted Judith to the fact that each of them knew something. Something that required them to arrive together to see her.

  She picked through her jewel boxes deciding what to take and what to leave. She packed all the jewellery she could fit into her reticule. When that was filled, she stuffed the gems into the bodice of her chemise. Some gold coins were deposited into her shoes.

  She needed to get word to the bank that her escape was to be put into action immediately. She called to her maid.

  “Emma, take this note and give it to the little stable boy.”

  “You mean Paddy, My Lady?”

  “Y-yes. Fine. Paddy.” She smiled a smile that resembled more a sneer.

  “My Lady, are you well? Do you need anything?”

  “I need you to give this note to Paddy. Tell him to take it to Fleet Street and find Mr Carter in the bank. Mr Jacob Carter. Tell him to hand it directly to Mr Carter. Do you understand? He’s not to give the note to anyone else.”

  The girl nodded, her eyes not moving from her mistress.

  “That’s a good girl. You may have a treat for your trouble. You may have the rest of the day off.”

  “Oh, My Lady! That’s too generous.” The girl now smiled from ear to ear.

  “Thank you, My Lady.”

  “Yes, yes. Now run along.”

  “Yes, My Lady. Thank you.”

  The girl left the room. Judith sat at her vanity. She placed her fingers on her temples while perusing her reflection. She made gentle circles on her skin, willing her head to cease its throbbing. She breathed in deeply and slowly, and then let the air escape her lungs just as slowly.

  She rose and pulled the black frock over her head. She reached over to the left, fumbling with the buttons and cursing the fact she’d already let the maid leave the house. But, it was just as well. Judith needed to get rid of the girl, so she herself, could escape. She feared the reason the group in the drawing room wanted to see her. The only reason she could come up with. They knew. Something.