Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  Mr. Bartlew bowed low over Lydia’s offered hand and smiled charmingly up at her from under a fine shock of red hair and a daring pair of blue eyes. “My pleasure. May I venture to request the lady’s hand for the dance after the reel?”

  “It will be a quadrille, doubtless,” Lydia said with a blush, “but if you are up to the task I am as well.”

  “I think you will find me more than capable.”

  As Lydia and Will took their places on the floor, Will rolled his eyes subtly in the direction of his friend.

  “He seems quite taken with you.”

  “I think all young men are given a handbook of proper phrases to make a lady blush,” Lydia said with a laugh and a toss of her head.

  They began the joyful movements of the dance, coming together with a few light steps and then apart again, looping around their neighbours and meeting in the centre of the room for a light spin and skip before re-joining the progressive line. Lydia felt the heat come to her face from exertion, and by the time they’d finished the round she came off the dancefloor in a fair glow of energy and happiness. Mr. Bartlew seemed to notice, for he took her hand with added warmth and surveyed her flushed complexion with appreciation.

  “My dear Miss Gibbs, you have greatly improved from the exercise, and a moment ago I would not have thought such a thing possible.”

  Lydia raised a hand to her flushed cheek and lowered her eyes. “You are too kind. I confess I am happy to know it is a slow quadrille on the horizon. I can catch my breath.”

  Mr. Bartlew took her hand in his, pressing it into the crook of his elbow and leading her back to the floor just as the first strains of the quadrille began in careful fashion. They joined with three other couples and began the friendly progression of steps with ease. Mr. Bartlew was an easy dancer, and after a time Lydia found herself falling into comfortable conversation with him.

  “How have you found the county thus far? Are we quite as exciting as London?”

  “Perhaps not as exciting,” her companion countered playfully, spinning Lydia once in the proper circle and then passing her off to the neighbour. They made the rounds separated, and when they were back together again, he pulled her close and said in a slightly lower tone, “but every bit as enchanting.”

  “Ah.” Lydia searched for another question and settled upon a safer topic. “I suppose you don’t have as much opportunity for society in the country.”

  “I have opportunity enough,” her companion answered suavely. “But I understand your meaning and yes, London does have a certain sparkle that’s difficult to replicate at a country dance.”

  They took hands again and began to promenade in a circle.

  “I have only been to London a few times,” Lydia admitted. “Often the best dances of the season start there, but we rarely travel down. Father does go on occasion to Tattersall’s.”

  “Yes, nothing rivals Tattersall’s for manly endeavours and horseflesh.” Mr. Bartlew peered down at Lydia. “I understand you grew up at Parkfield. It must have been a charmed childhood.”

  “It was indeed,” Lydia responded, her heart sinking. It was a common enough tale for a wealthy girl such as herself. Her suiter had hardly gone two rounds of the quadrille and was already asking about her father’s estate. She couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. “Would you like to hear the length and breadth of the estate? I should warn you that I have an older brother.”

  Mr. Bartlew frowned deeply. “You wound me, Miss Gibbs, with such assumptions. I was merely making conversation. And here you are accusing me of ungentlemanly intentions.”

  Lydia wanted to say what she was thinking, that society’s sworn gentlemen were often the worst of the lot when it came to arranged marriages and mercenary wooing, but she chose the quieter escape instead.

  “No one could accuse you of being ungentlemanly, Mr. Bartlew.”

  “And a truer lady I have never seen,” Mr. Bartlew fawned, spinning her around and carrying her through the final steps of the dance. They ended on a great crescendo from the cello and violin in the corner of the room and Lydia sank into a grateful curtsey. Mr. Bartlew led her from the floor. “Perhaps I may engage you for another dance?”

  Lydia looked up and caught Marilyn’s eye across the ballroom. Her friend nodded toward the cool evening outside and the message was clear enough. “Certainly,” Lydia answered Mr. Bartlew. “But not at the moment. I must go engage the lady of the evening for the next few moments. Perhaps after?”

  “I will be waiting,” Mr. Bartlew bowed deeply.

  Lydia fairly skipped across the room in her friend’s direction, drawn, as she always was, to her more girlish ways in Marilyn’s presence. Marilyn took her arm and the two walked dreamily out onto the balcony and then down into the sparkling garden. They strolled alongside one another, as they had since they were young girls sharing secrets in the orchard.

  “Are you quite happy, Marilyn?” Lydia asked wistfully. “You must be waiting with excitement for your father’s official announcement.”

  “I feel peaceful, actually. It will make no difference, in truth, whether our understanding is official. It matters to Mama and Papa, certainly, but my heart is steady in Mr. Elwood regardless.” Marilyn paused under the arbour and caught up her friend’s small hands. “Isn’t it a wonderful thing, Lydia? We always hoped such a love would find us.”

  “Yes,” Lydia answered with mock sobriety. “Remember when Gregory once hinted that you ought to marry Linus Carson because of his wealth and position? What a close call that was.”

  “We were only ten years old,” Marilyn said, rolling her eyes and giggling. “I hardly think Linus Carson was in danger of my affections.”

  “But perhaps you were in danger of his,” Lydia teased. “You lived in fear for months that he would come knocking at your door and take you away from your mother and father.”

  “We made a pact, then, you and I –” Marilyn’s words sobered in the sparkling evening air, “– to marry for love.”

  Lydia felt a pang of misgiving, even jealousy. “My dear Marilyn, you have not had to sacrifice our pact, nor your better judgment. Mr. Elwood is a good match, even as he has won your heart. I fear I may not be as fortunate.”

  “Come now, Lydia. There’s no need to be downcast. I’ve seen you just this evening dancing with an eligible and handsome gentleman that would surely be worthy of your attentions.”

  “He would be worthy of my father’s estate, perhaps, but I am unconvinced that he is deserving of my love and devotion.” Lydia sighed and sat on a marble bench beneath a rose trellis. “Marilyn, I would throw caution to the wind and vow to stay in my father’s house forever if it weren’t for my parents. They so ache to see me wed. I feel I have not the confidence to refuse them. In truth, our silly pact worked well enough for you. But I fear it will not hold true for me. There is a time to leave the childish things behind.”

  “I am sad to hear you speak so,” Marilyn said softly, sinking down beside her friend on the bench.

  Lydia forced a smile and a cheery word. “Oh hush. Here I am bringing a dismal hue to your lovely day. This is not a night to talk about old pacts and forgotten loves. This is a night to celebrate the one good man you managed to find in all the world.”

  Marilyn smiled back. “And I shall keep my eyes peeled that you might find just such a man.”

  Lydia was touched by her friend’s kind words, but her heart ran a different tune even as she smiled and giggled with Marilyn about wedding plans and new estates.

  Lydia had always been the practical one, above such things as winsome longing and pure jealousy but she could not help wondering, as they sat in the garden with strains of violin whispering into their secret thoughts, whether such an evening under such circumstances would ever come for her.

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