Regency Romances for the Ages

by Grace Fletcher

  The people here despised them, rolled their eyes at them and whispered to each other about them. Even though her family had been too caught up with their new lives to see it, she had observed it very closely. It made her extremely uncomfortable to live in London. She sighed as her eyes fell on Lady Spencer as she walked arm in arm with Duke Beaufort.

  Even though Beaufort had portrayed himself to be rather refined and mannerly, Eleanor knew that he was inherently the same as his companion. They were both raised in the same circumstances and would have most definitely adapted the same outlook on the world. She knew that even though he had acted interested and genuinely pleased with their company; he was thinking along the same lines as Louisa.

  Despite her firm belief that he was the same as the rest, she felt a strange affinity towards the man. Perhaps it was his good looks and his charm or perhaps it was nothing but her own light-headedness at the prospect of going to a ball and meeting someone she could kiss in the moonlight. But as she looked around the room, she realized one hard truth: to fall in love with someone as highborn as a Romeo, she would have to be a Capulet. No highborn gentleman would look at her and wish to dance with her. She clutched her program in her hand, fighting a strong urge to chuck it away instead of facing the disappointment and embarrassment of having no one to dance with throughout the evening. Just as she went back to the bar to hand in her empty glass, she found herself face to face with Beaufort.

  “Eleanor Bryant,” he said with a smile as he took her glass from her and returned it to the bartender, “Not socializing?”

  “I don’t know anyone here, your grace,” she replied.

  “That’s why I said ‘socializing’,” he replied, sounding rather amused, “Can I see your program?”

  “Sure,” she muttered, surprised as he reached over and plucked the small paper from her hands.

  “Well, it is considered wrong to make a program before the commencement of the ball but alas, I do wish to be your first dance of the night,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. He quickly scribbled down something on the top of her program before smiling at her once again as he said, “There; before anyone else steals you away.”

  “Of course, your grace,” she replied, surprised at the development as the duke tipped his head at her and walked away, leaving her standing there with her mouth hanging open.

  She could think of no word but peculiar to describe what had just happened. Duke Beaufort had made sure that her first dance would be with him. She looked down at her program and realized that he had written his name down twice in slanting and elegant handwriting, for the first and last dance. She sighed and looked up to see him chatting nonchalantly with Lady Louisa. Unsure of what to do, she asked for another glass of water and walked up to where the two of them stood, but stopped short and waited for her sisters’ performance to start.

  A few minutes later, the three of them walked onto the center of the stage with guests all around them. As they did a quick round of tuning their instruments, the men and women around them turned to whispering amongst each other. Eleanor caught whispers of “unrefined”, “Northern oafs” and words and phrases like “new money”. The thought of being referred to as any one of those words made her feel very uncomfortable as she put her glass down on the nearest table and clutched her own shoulders tightly. Tentatively, she took a few steps closer to Duke Beaufort and Lady Spencer as her sisters finally started playing.

  The crowd hushed up as Henrietta ran her fingers against the strings of her harp. A second later, Laura picked up the same note on her flute while Anne brought up the back with her fiddle. Together, the three girls made magic. Despite everything, even Louisa seemed to be impressed beyond measure with their talent. Feeling extremely proud, Eleanor took another step forward towards the stage. The action brought her right behind Duke Beaufort who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the soft music.

  As the song drifted slowly towards the end, Beaufort was the first one of the crowd to start clapping. Soon, everyone followed his example, and the hall became deafeningly loud with the sound of people clapping as they appreciated her sisters and their music. Smiling to herself, she joined in the applause as her sisters took a bow on the stage. Even now, Eleanor could see that most people clapped grudgingly. They were truly impressed with the music but refused to acknowledge the sisters as one of them or worthy of their applause. Eleanor scowled at them, rolling her eyes as the applause slowly died off.

  “That should keep their ego up for another year or so,” muttered Louisa, each word laced with contempt, “They’ve probably never been appreciated by anyone but drunkards at taverns.”

  “They were spectacular, Louisa,” replied Beaufort, making Eleanor beam with pleasure. She thought of how he might be different from the rest after all.

  “Perhaps not spectacular,” replied the woman, “But yes, they were good. As much as I hate to admit it.”

  “Surely you hate to admit it,” chuckled Beaufort, “You do hate these new money types with their unrefined mannerisms and accents.”

  “Aye,” she replied sarcastically, mocking their accent as she said, ”I sure do!”

  “A part of me despises the fact that there seem to be so many of them flooding London,” muttered Beaufort distastefully, “I’m afraid we’ll have chickens all about, laying eggs around Mayfair.”

  “Or swine swimming in mud,” she replied with a chuckle, “You’re right about that. But what can we do about them?”

  “Nothing at all, really,” he replied, “They chance upon some money and they jump to London in the hopes of making it big and pretend to be royalty. Very few of them manage to do something with their lives before going bankrupt and returning to the country.”

  Hearing him talk as he did almost brought Eleanor to tears. Feeling heartbroken and hurt for some reason, she walked up to him and tapped him on his shoulder. He turned around with a surprised look on her face. Before he could say a single word, she forced her wrinkled up program into his right hand before rushing out towards the hall doors. She had no idea why she felt so strongly about what had happened but she somehow felt betrayed by him. Enraged and hurt, she ran out into the cold night, unsure of what to do. She wanted to go home; not to their house in Mayfair but to her home in North Yorkshire. The one she had been forced to abandon.

  “My Lady,” came a voice from her left, startling her. She turned around to see a young herald in uniform. He looked at her with a worried expression on her face, “Shall I call you a carriage?”

  “Aye, I mean yes,” she stammered in a small voice but the man understood. He nodded once and immediately went off to look for a cab as she stood there, shivering slightly against the chill of the cold, London night.

  “Miss Eleanor!” called a man as he walked out the hall doors as well, looking around for her. As he walked into the light of the closest lamp, she recognized Beaufort who had evidently followed her out.

  “Yes, your grace?” she asked in her best impression of a posh London accent, “Does something seem to be the matter?”

  “Why did you rush off like that?” he asked her in a stern voice, “Quit this folly and come back in at once.”

  “Are you sure, your grace?” she asked snidely, unsure of where she was getting the resilience or the confidence to say what she was saying, “Are you not afraid that there may be too many of us flooding your precious London and its balls?”

  “You heard?” he asked softly, pausing in his tracks.

  “Yes, I heard,” she replied, “And more.”

  “My apologies, Miss Eleanor,” he said, taking another step towards her, “I wasn’t aware that you were listening.”

  “Doesn’t matter if I was listening or not, your grace,” she replied, “If that is what you think of me and my family, then why would you ask me to dance?”

  “Because I wish to get to know you better,” he whispered, taking another step towards her, “I like you, Eleanor. Please come back inside and I’ll explain every
thing to you.”

  “My father did not chance on some wealth, your grace,” she said shaking her head at him, “He has worked hard his whole life and saved up to establish mills and start a business. With all due respect, much unlike you or Lady Spencer who were born into wealth and riches.”

  “Miss Eleanor, never did I suggest that your father“… he began before she cut him off, refusing to hear any of his defenses.

  “And neither did he jump to London in the hopes of making it big or to pretend to be royalty,” she replied, “He did it because the Northern air wasn’t suiting mum with her breathing troubles. If royalty is being like the people inside, we have no wish to ever be like them!”

  “Eleanor,” he whispered before hesitating once himself. After a pause, he continued, “You have every right to be angry but please, allow me to explain myself.”

  “No need, Lord Beaufort,” she said as she saw the same herald from before leading a cab towards her, “Here comes my carriage. I shall be off now.”

  And without another word, she walked up to the carriage and with help from the herald, climbed up into it. The driver immediately spurred the horses into a walk and the carriage creaked away from where he stood. As the horses pulled the carriage further and further away from the hall, she peered out to see Beaufort standing in the same place, albeit looking the other way.

  “And though she be but little, she is fierce,” she whispered to herself as she sat up back in the carriage.

  “Did you say something, my Lady?” asked the cab driver from the front.

  “No, kind sir,” she replied, “Towards Mayfair, please.”

  “Surely,” he replied as the carriage trudged on.

  Chapter 7

  Of Chickens

  & Geese

  E leanor sat atop an empty barrel next to her family’s orchard as she fed the chickens clucking at her feet. She dug into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a handful of seed before chucking it into the crowd of poultry. The sun was dipping towards the horizon in the distance and the pollen grains were thick enough to see. Most would find it hard to breathe in the orchard at the time due to the pollen and the seeds in the air but she had grown up in this atmosphere. For her, it was nothing short of homely and warm.

  She loved the Northern countryside of England with its farmlands and mills and coalmines. Even though the air was almost always thick with pollen, chaff or even coal dust in some areas, she loved the area and all it had to offer; the smell, the wildlife and most importantly, the simplicity. The people of North Yorkshire never gossiped or commented on someone else’s life; they liked to mind their own business. Mostly because they were too busy, engrossed in their own lives and their livelihood that they had no time to comment on someone else and their problems.

  That didn’t mean that the people weren’t bothered about each other in the least. Quite the contrary, they were like a family. Always ready to help another out in the direst of situations. Ever since she had come back from London, she had felt happy and free. She still remembered how her parents and Anne had tried to stop her but she had been adamant after the ball to leave London and come back to North Yorkshire with her maternal aunt and uncle. It had been a week now since she had arrived and she hadn’t missed the city ever since.

  “Eleanor!” came the voice of her uncle from a distant cottage, “Ye done feeding the chickens?”

  “Aye!” she called back, “I be done!”

  “Then be a darl’ and rally them back in their coop, will ya?” he called back, “My back ain’t about to allow me to do it myself.”

  “No worries, uncle!” she said, smiling to herself as she breathed in the pollen rich air, which tickled her nose, “I’ll get right to it!”

  Still smiling, she jumped off the barrel and started rallying the chickens back into the coop that stood at a distance. Ever since she had come back, she had used her own Northern accent and way of speaking freely and without fear of being judged by a woman in a gown or a gentleman in a top hat. She felt free to wear what she pleased, go where she pleased and speak as she pleased without a fear of any sort of repercussions. It was her own territory and comfort zone and she could do anything she wanted to in it.

  Smiling at the thought, she hurriedly ushered the chickens into the coop and looked towards the dying sun in the distance. It truly presented a magnificent site. The golden glow of the sun lit up the towering wheat and grain mills in the distance that her father had constructed from nothing and had run for around a year and a half now. However, it had only been around ten months since they had brought the family some profit when her father had received a heavy investment from a wealthy merchant in Spain.

  She looked up at the mills, feeling exceptionally proud of her heritage as her father’s daughter. Her father had started from nothing; a mere worker in one of the mills off in the distance that were owned by some duke in Wellington. He had built himself up from there to where he was now, a proud owner of his own mills. He was famous around the village as a success story and an example to follow. In fact, on her return, she had heard that mothers told their young children her father’s story to teach them of the importance of hard and honest work.

  She felt extremely proud of her father and all that he had accomplished when she had heard of the stories from her aunt. The stories had made her miss him and her family tremendously; even Henrietta and Laura since it had been the longest that she had been away from them. She wanted her family to join her in North Yorkshire; to abandon the posh and fancy streets of Mayfair, London and live like they had their whole lives in their home town. But she did understand how hard it would be for her mother to survive in an area with air so thick, given her condition; she would be crippled by her illness. Thus, Eleanor had refrained from mentioning her desires in the letter, lest her parents feel obligated to fulfill her wishes like they always aimed to do.

  Having locked up the coop to ensure that no fox could threaten the flock snuggled inside, she turned around and marched towards home, which was her aunt’s house that they were so graciously sharing with her. The cottage was small but cozy, and her uncle was an exceptionally nice man who always made her laugh during supper with the stories of his childhood, which usually included her mother. Eager to get home, she started skipping down the small slope, making her go faster until she reached the small cottage. She froze when she saw a man dressed elegantly in a waistcoat and tailored pants standing right outside it as if he was waiting for someone. With a jolt, she recognized the man from a brief encounter she had had with him in London; it was none other than Duke Richard Wellesley of Beaufort.

  “Your grace,” she muttered as she curtseyed curtly, refusing to abandon her manners despite everything, “What’re you doing here?”

  “Nothing much,” he replied with a smile, “Fancy running into you like this. Your sisters told me you were here, but I had no idea you would be so easy to find. You’re exceptionally well known around here, are you not?”

  “Just as you are in Mayfair,” she replied as the duke chuckled, “Why are you here, your grace, if I may ask?”

  “I’m here for the lack of a better idea,” he replied, “I’m looking for a new venture to invest in and nothing south of London caught my eye so I decided to travel north.”

  “And what’re you doing in front of my cottage?”

  “Seeking out a familiar face,” he replied, “And supper. Will you not invite me in?”

  “Are you sure that our supper would be up to your standards?” she asked, a bit taken aback by his proposition, “Surely there are better places to dine in for a man of your exalted status.”

  “Surely,” he replied, “But none where I can dine with a friend.”

  “Of course,” she said, feeling herself blushing slightly as she ushered him into the small cottage, “You are welcome to come inside for dinner.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, walking towards the small door of the cottage. He paused next to her and sniffed before saying, �
��Working with chickens, have we?”

  “Aye,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

  “I rather prefer geese,” he muttered with an amused smile on his face as he crossed her and entered the small home, leaving her rather confused.

  She followed the duke into the house to find her aunt greeting Beaufort as if she had met him before. She took his coat and escorted him to the table which was already set with a rather elegant looking dinner. There was bread, cheese, and roasted potatoes and right in the middle of the table, a goose cooked whole and stuffed with an assortment of vegetables; it was one of her aunts best known recipes. As she walked up to the table, she found it very hard to mask her confusion.

  “What be this all about?” she asked her aunt in a whisper, “Do ye know the duke already?”

  “Aye,” she replied, beaming at her, “He dropped by this afternoon when you were out in the orchard. He said he knew your father and Henrietta and he was in town for some investment ventures so I invited him over for supper.”

  “A very delightful lady, your aunt,” said Beaufort, looking at her with a slight smirk on his face, “Very hospitable and kind.”

  “That, she is,” replied Eleanor before cleaning her hands in a tub of water and sitting opposite Beaufort at the table.

  “Truly!” exclaimed her aunt, blushing, “Ye stop and dig in before the food gets cold, eh?”

  “Thank you,” replied Beaufort graciously as he took a small plate and filled it with roasted potatoes.

  “Be a darl’ and carve our guest some goose, Eleanor,” her uncle said as he sipped on water, “He requested it himself this morning.”

  “Aye, uncle,” she muttered before rolling her eyes at Beaufort’s grin and carved some goose for him which she then served on another plate.

  “Thank you,” he said graciously as he accepted the plate and proceeded to make conversation with her uncle about any prospective investments in the area.