Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  “He looked more handsome, though, don’t you think?” Phoebe added and Livvy wanted to stuff something into her sister’s mouth to get her to stop talking. “Bigger and more distinguished,” she said, using the bedcovers to mop up the tears that Livvy hadn’t realized she was crying. “In fact, it appears the black sheep of the Duke’s family has returned, and looking nothing like the spoiled nobleman who left so suddenly five years ago.”

  “He wasn’t spoiled,” Livvy protested. “He was just misguided and misunderstood.”

  “He was a spoiled brat, who got into many disreputable scrapes that caused his family no end of angst, Olivia. You just couldn’t see his faults through your love-dazed eyes,” Phoebe added.

  She had been blinded by love, Livvy conceded, yet that would no longer be the case. After kissing her, he had walked away and she would never forgive him for ripping her heart from her chest and stomping on it. When he had stepped from that carriage at her urging tonight, Livvy had nearly fallen from her horse. She had recognized him, of course; after all, he was the first, and possibly last, man she would ever love.

  “Do you remember that day when Lord Ryder told Livvy she was uglier than old Mr. Boswell’s one-eared, toothless dog?” Bella laughed, which made her look like the carefree young girl she had once been.

  “Yes,” Phoebe giggled. “She had walked straight up to him and jumped into the air and punched him on the nose, and from that day forth they had been inseparable. He resembles his brother the Duke more now,” Phoebe added. “Especially that fierce scowl.”

  “We shall have to be careful to keep Livvy away from him until she is healed,” Bella said. “As they were very close before he left.”

  Yes, they had once been very close; so close that Livvy had believed he would one day be the father of her children.

  “He will not connect a highwayman with the Luscious Langley Ladies.”

  “Don’t use that name, Phoebe. It makes us sound like women of loose morals,” Livvy scolded.

  Even her laughter was appealing, Livvy thought sourly as Phoebe giggled.

  “Oh, to be sure we are not woman of loose morals, sister, merely dashing highwaywomen who will fleece the rich to give to the poor… namely us.”

  “Is it just me?” Livvy said, looking at Bella. “Or is she getting more annoying with age?”

  “I like being a Luscious Langley.” Phoebe pouted. “It suggests we’re not boring like most of the other women of our acquaintance.”

  Ignoring her sister, Livvy patted Bella’s hand. “I’m sure we shall see nothing of Lord Langley, Bella, don’t fret.” She sincerely hoped that was the case because, for some reason, from the day she had been old enough to take note of Lord William Ryder, he had drawn her like a moth to a flame, and although she believed her heart now healed, the flutter in her chest when she had seen him had unsettled her. It had been shock, of course, Livvy reminded herself. She would never allow herself to love him again.

  “Almost done now, Miss Olivia,” Jenny said, pulling Livvy from her thoughts. She would have to make sure to keep away from Lord Ryder in the future, and not because, like Bella had said, he would connect her to the highwayman. She would keep her distance because his sudden departure from her life had nearly destroyed her, and she never, ever, wanted to feel that kind of pain again.

  Chapter Three

  “I hope I am not imposing on you,” Mrs. Popplehinge said, settling herself in a chair in the Langley front parlor, which was the only room in the house Livvy took great pains to keep tidy. It had the best drapes and pieces of furniture collected from the other rooms so that no one would suspect the household was, in fact, struggling for money. Windows ran along the entire wall and let in plenty of light, even on a gray winters day like today. A fire blazed in the hearth and Jenny kept the flowers fresh and the rugs swept, and even to Livvy’s critical eye it was a lovely room.

  “Not at all, Mrs. Popplehinge,” Livvy said, placing one hand over the small rip she had just noticed in the skirt of her dress.

  Dabbing her lips with a handkerchief that wafted a sickly scent around the room, Mrs. Popplehinge turned to glare at Phoebe as she and Bella entered.

  “You know I would not ask if I were not in desperate need.”

  Livvy gave Phoebe a look that said silently, Behave, as Phoebe sat next to Mrs. Popplehinge and then made a great show of yawning loudly.

  “How can we help you, Mrs. Popplehinge?”

  The woman was head of every committee in the area and her long-suffering husband was, by silent vote, the mayor of Twoaks. Mrs. Popplehinge had called unexpectedly and thrown the Langley sisters into a spin as they had been clad in their oldest dresses and outside feeding the animals.

  “Let’s just present ourselves like this,” Phoebe had said, to which Livvy ordered, ‘Get up those stairs and tidy your appearance at once.’ Phoebe had poked out her tongue and dragged a giggling Bella behind her. Livvy had then hurriedly scrubbed her face and hands in the kitchen and asked Jenny to re-tie her hair before she brushed out her skirts and ran to the front door to let Mrs. Popplehinge in.

  “Thank you, Jenny,” Livvy said as the housekeeper came in with a tea tray.

  “I need someone to do the flowers and look after the church while I am in London, Miss Olivia, and as there are three of you here with little to do, I had hoped you could take on the task.”

  Mrs. Popplehinge was a tall, stick-thin woman who spent the majority of her days delving into people’s lives. Her bright red hair was pulled into a severe bun that was so tight, her eyes tilted up at the corners. She dressed in dark colors and always carried herself very upright, mouth pursed in disapproval.

  “Of course, I know I can rely on you and Miss Isabella, too,” Mrs. Popplehinge said, glaring at Phoebe who fluffed her curls and smiled insolently back.

  The mayor’s wife had hated Phoebe since she had turned down her son’s marriage proposal. Bernhard Popplehinge had made a fool of himself for months, calling on Phoebe and sending her gifts. In fairness, she had been gentle with him at the start, thanking him but offering him no further encouragement; but he had been persistent and finally he had asked her to marry him. Horrified that she would dare to refuse him (his mother, rightly or wrongly, had instilled in him a great deal of self-worth), he had demanded to know her reasons for the refusal. That was when everything turned nasty, as Phoebe was never one to hold back when provoked. She had used words like ferret-faced and weakness of mind until Bernhard had stormed from the house. He had then fled to London and married another woman within weeks.

  “I had a letter from dear Bernhard. He and his sweet-tempered wife are expecting their first child in a few weeks, and that is why I must travel to London to be at her side at this trying time.”

  “Has she no mother of her own?”

  Livvy narrowed her eyes as Phoebe spoke, but of course she just smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes, looking angelic. Appearances, Livvy thought, were deceiving.

  “Of course, darling Margaret has a mother, you foolish girl!” Mrs. Popplehinge stormed, flushing red, which clashed terribly with her hair.

  “I wonder why she will not be at her side, then,” Phoebe mused, her face a picture of innocence.

  “I am going to support my Bernhard!”

  “What a wonderful mother you are, Mrs. Popplehinge.”

  “Yes, well,” Mrs. Popplehinge said, not realizing that Phoebe was mocking her. Eugenie Popplehinge was a literal creature. “Children who are without parental guidance tend to lack the respect necessary to participate in society, and often find themselves cast out due to misguided behaviour.”

  Seeing the storm clouds brewing in her sister’s eyes at this pointed reference to herself, Livvy quickly said, “Indeed. Well, you can rely on us to look after the church in your absence, Mrs. Popplehinge. We shall look forward to the task.”

  “Of course,” Bella added.

  “Excellent. Since the Reverend’s wife passed, the burden of the church
’s interior has, I fear, fallen heavily upon me. Therefore, I shall enjoy the rest from this chore.”

  Livvy and Bella mumbled the appropriate response. Phoebe remained silent and stone-faced.

  “Before I leave, I must tell you the marvelous news,” Mrs. Popplehinge said, getting to her feet. “Mrs. Fletcher told Miss Lindsey this morning that her son, Luke, has returned with Lord Ryder.”

  “Oh we knew that.”

  Mrs. Popplehinge looked crestfallen as Phoebe cut her off.

  “But thank you, anyway,” Livvy added, ushering the woman out of the parlor. Walking back minutes later, she was relieved to hear the wheels of Mrs. Popplehinge’s carriage rolling out of the driveway.

  “Children lacking parental guidance,” Phoebe mimicked, and then she and Bella collapsed in a fit of giggles onto the sofa.

  “That woman is dangerous, Phoebe, and taunting her only makes her more so.” Livvy picked up her tea and took a mouthful as she walked to the windows. She wanted to be sure that Mrs. Popplehinge did not return unexpectedly.

  “She’s a meddling busybody who loathes us as much as we loathe her,” Phoebe stated.

  Relieved the driveway was now clear, Livvy returned to the table to pick up the tray, wincing as her shoulder pulled. The bite of pain made her angry. Why was she the only one who understood how precarious their situation was? Slapping the tray back down she watched their best tea things bang together and was relieved when nothing broke.

  “Do either of you understand how perilous our position is at the moment? If word gets out that we cannot meet our bills, or that our father left us penniless, then we will be received by no one. We will be pitied and shunned and left to bloody well starve. Every door to every social occasion will shut with a resounding bang, and you two will have to live with me for the rest of your lives because no man will want a penniless wife, even if she is pretty!”

  “I don’t know which I shudder at most,” Phoebe mocked. “The door slamming or being forced to live with you.”

  Normally, she would have laughed as Bella was doing, because that was Phoebe’s way. She poked fun at everything, especially anything serious. But today she couldn’t. Today, Livvy was feeling raw and exposed after seeing Will again. Her shoulder ached and she was fearful of their future and, more importantly, she was fearful that she did not have the strength or courage to see this charade through to its conclusion. Bella was sick, they were penniless, and she was terrified that she would crumble under the weight of responsibility and guilt of what she was forced to do.

  “You won’t be so cavalier, sister, when you no longer have your looks to rely on, and you can be sure your beaus will not follow behind you like lovesick swains when you have nothing else to recommend you!”

  “One day, I will find a rich husband and save us all, so you can stop venting your spleen, Olivia. I know where my duty lies,” Phoebe said calmly.

  Before her parents’ deaths, Livvy had also been known for her volatility. She would pout and cry when thwarted or angered and say the first thing that popped into her head. Now, she no longer had the luxury of such behaviour. As head of the family, she had to remain in control at all times; however, some moments were harder than others.

  “Do you believe that I want that for you, Phoebe? To see you in a loveless marriage just so our futures are secure?”

  “You expect me to believe the thought has not crossed your mind, Olivia, when it would be the answer to all our prayers?”

  Had Phoebe slapped her, the impact would have been less devastating.

  “Dear God, how can you believe that of me? I want to make sure both you and Bella have your pick of men and can find the one you love. I want happiness for you both, joy and laughter. It would be torture to see you sold to the highest bidder.”

  “Livvy, there is no need for this, I assure you. I have no wish for a love match; therefore, I shall marry the richest man who asks me and we shall be saved.”

  Phoebe’s laugh was hollow and her eyes glittered with anger. Livvy knew she was being cruel deliberately. Lashing out because she, too, was feeling the strain of the life they were now forced to live. Yet even though Livvy knew the reasons why, it hurt no less. Looking down at the patterned rug beneath her feet, she willed herself not to cry.

  “I’m sorry if the person I have become led you to believe that I want such a match for you. But everything I have done, and am doing, is for you both. Please never doubt that.”

  “Livvy, wait!”

  She didn’t. Ignoring Bella’s words, she turned from her sisters and left the room. Hurrying through the house, she made her way along the hall past the dark squares on the wall where her father’s cherished hunting pictures had once hung, and down the stairs and into the kitchens. Jenny hummed softly as she walked through, but Livvy didn’t stop. Lifting her old cloak off the peg, she toed off her slippers, put on her boots and hurried out the back door. Using her good arm, she swung the cloak around her shoulders as she walked.

  It was cold, but she enjoyed the chill against her cheeks as she headed down the garden and opened the gate that would take her to the cemetery. Looking back as she closed it, she noted two faces pressed to the glass in the parlor. Turning away, she lowered her head and started walking.

  She wasn’t sure what hurt the most, that her sisters believed her capable of such insensitivity or that perhaps the person she had become could be that insensitive. Shooting a last look at her home, she noted the windows were now empty.

  Willow Hall had been a real home for the first seventeen years of her life. It was big and rambling with many rooms, most of which now stood empty. It had been filled with love and laughter for years, but all that had changed with the death of her mother.

  Viscount Langley had accompanied his wife and youngest daughter to visit a neighbor, and on the return journey the horses had spooked and bolted, causing the carriage to collide with a tree. Their mother was killed instantly but Bella had her leg trapped and their father, his arm. The doctors had amputated it that day, and after that he had suffered with terrible pain and simply lost the will to live, and not long after he had passed away. Livvy had gone to take her father his lunch and found him dead, slumped backwards in his chair, his eyes staring sightlessly at her as she had run to his side.

  “And I understand how you suffered and that you took your life to be freed from the pain of your body and heart, Papa. Yet you left us alone without a penny,” Livvy whispered, still feeling the ache deep inside her from his death.

  Their family had revolved around the strong and loving Lord Langley. The man who had adored his wife to distraction, and his daughters equally, had strode around the house and lands with a daughter usually hanging off one arm as he talked endlessly of his love for this place he called home. To watch him wither and die had destroyed Livvy and her sisters, and no matter how hard they fought to retain the good memories, they were left with the ones created in the last days of his life. The dull, pain-filled eyes and gaunt, hollow cheeks of a man who no longer wished to live.

  Livvy tried not to wonder what her parents would think about the decisions she had made for her sisters as she walked along the worn path through the woods. How they had taught her to always be honest and fair in dealings with people. But what other choice was there? Her father’s will had left no provisions for them; everything had gone to their cousin. Livvy had believed that this meant the new Viscount Langley would pay their bills; therefore, they had continued to order from the village. It had been mortifying to realize that this was not the case. They owed several proprietors money and were just lucky that, due to the history they had in Twoaks, they were not being hounded for it. At least they still had a home; for some reason, the new Viscount Langley had allowed them to remain at Willow Hall.

  Leaving the woods, she started up the hill and was breathless by the time she arrived at the little cemetery perched high above the village. Her shoulder was throbbing and her gloveless fingers were chilled as she opened th
e gate and then made her way along the rows until she found the two headstones that sat side-by-side. Bella had been here, Livvy realized as she saw the fresh flowers. Her little sister liked to place them here every few days. The effort of walking up the hill must cause her pain, yet she did it because their mother had loved flowers so much.

  “It’s all such a mess,” Livvy whispered, walking to the graves of her father and mother and then dropping to her knees between them. Placing a hand on each, she lowered her head. She felt close to them here, close to the people she remembered and loved.

  “I’m stealing from people because we are in desperate need of money, and my pride will not let anyone know that we are poor. I cannot, even if Phoebe and Bella don’t understand why I am doing this. I will not have shame brought down on this family or on the names of you both. I will not taint our name and thus ruin their chances of a future,” Livvy vowed. “Perhaps the task is too great and we will fail, and perhaps no one but me understands why I’m taking these risks, yet I have to at least try.” Feeling the hot sting of tears behind her eyes, Livvy slumped onto her father’s grave and wept.

  ***

  Will threw a stick for Gilbert and watched as he took off after it. At least his Labrador, like his sister and Penny, had forgiven him for leaving.

  He had woken in his bed this morning and found himself smiling; even the prospect of facing his brother could not dampen his pleasure at being home. Before leaving, he had felt only unrest at Rossetter, yet now it represented the roots he had missed so much in his travels. He knew the changes in him would mean he could not stay here for long. He and his brother could never live under the same roof again, but he would not think of that today. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

  An early riser, Will had washed and found the breakfast parlor only to find his brother there before him. Stunned to hear singing, he had entered to find a small, pink-cheeked, fair-haired boy being jostled on the Duke’s lap. The boy was giggling and tugging handfuls of his father’s hair as Joseph sang. His brother’s face was softened in a smile as he looked down at his son.