Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  “I have a footman, of course,” Charity replied, her nose suddenly elevated. “Tell me, Miss ... Cumberbatch,” she said, acting as if she had to struggle to remember the name. “You address me as ‘milady’ as opposed to calling me ‘ma’am’. May I ask why?”

  Sarah’s eyes widened just a bit, wondering if she was being tested. She could deny having witnessed the countess’s arrival, or claim the maid’s son provided her identity, but in the end, truth was better than a fib, she decided. “You arrived in a marked carriage, milady, and speak and carry yourself as one of our country’s noblewomen,” Sarah explained with a nod. “However, given how tedious travel can be, I prefer to treat all of our guests as if they are aristocrats. It ensures their return to our inn when they again find themselves in this part of Staffordshire.”

  Charity arched an eyebrow, thinking at first her hostess was being a bit cheeky. The comment seemed sincere, though. “I’d like to be shown to my room now,” the countess announced, deciding she wanted to be far from the madding crowd when the mail coach arrived.

  “Of course, right this way,” Sarah replied as she moved toward the stairs. She was about to take the first step up when the unmistakable cry of ‘mama’ emanated from her office.

  “What was that?” the countess demanded, her head angled in the direction of the hallway next to the stairs.

  A pink blush colored Sarah’s cheeks. “That was a baby who should be napping,” she murmured in reply, moving once again to climb the stairs.

  “A baby?” Charity repeated, her face lighting up. “Bring him to me,” she demanded.

  Sarah’s eyes widened. Him? “Now, milady?” she countered, surprised the countess would suddenly change her mind about going to her room when only a moment ago she was intent on getting there immediately. She knows, Sarah realized just then. Gabriel had to have told his mother about the baby. Her trip here was no doubt to discover if the baby was indeed her son’s. Or perhaps she would try to bribe Sarah to give up her claim that the babe was Gabriel’s. Or ...

  Or perhaps she merely liked babies and wanted to see this one.

  Sarah could only hope it was the latter.

  “Of course,” Charity replied, taking a step back to allow Sarah enough room to get to the hallway.

  Sarah nodded, gave the countess a curtsy and moved quickly to the office, hoping her son had managed to keep his gown in reasonably good shape and his stockings on his feet. He had only last week discovered his toes and more often than not saw to the removal of any foot coverings in favor of playing with his bare feet.

  “Mama!” Gabe squealed in delight as Sarah appeared in the doorway. She couldn’t suppress the grin she displayed on his behalf. “Milord, you are supposed to be napping,” she stated as she leaned down to lift him from his pen. She gingerly felt his nappy, hoping he was still dry. He was. Thank the gods!

  Sarah raised him to her shoulder and supported him with one arm as she used the fingers of her other hand to comb through his unruly curls. He shook his head as she did so, giggling when her fingernails rubbed against his scalp.

  Gabe turned in her arms, using one finger to point toward the doorway. “Lady!” he announced happily.

  Sarah whirled to find Lady Trenton standing on the threshold of the small office, her face frozen in a state of shock. Since the office was in reasonable shape, Sarah figured the countess’s reaction was due to the bundle in her arms. “Milady, I would like you to meet ...”

  “A most handsome little boy,” Charity finished for her as she continued to stare at the baby. She moved toward Sarah then, her attention still on the blond, blue-eyed Cupid.

  Sarah swallowed as a rock seemed to drop in her stomach. She knows, she thought again, a combination of panic and relief settling over her. “My son,” Sarah finally managed to get out. “He is six months old and ...”

  “Teething,” the countess finished for her, nodding her head as she continued to study the baby. When he held his arms out, she reflexively held out her own, taking him from a reluctant Sarah and settling him against one shoulder. “And heavy,” she added, patting one hand on Gabe’s back as he regarded her with a tentative grin.

  The boy was a flirt, Sarah had to admit just then, his manner endearing himself not only to the countess but to her maid who had just then peeked around the door frame.

  “He looks just like ...” Fuller clamped her mouth shut, as she realized she hadn’t been addressed.

  “He does,” the countess agreed, providing a finger around which Gabe’s fist wrapped itself. He pulled the finger toward his mouth.

  “Milady!” Sarah warned just before Gabe drew her finger between his lips and began suckling it. “He might bite,” Sarah warned.

  “Nonsense,” Charity replied happily before she suddenly straightened. “However, he has wet his nappy,” she murmured, turning so that Sarah could take the baby back.

  “Oh! I apologize, milady!” Sarah spoke as she moved to put Gabe back in the pen. “I’ll see to the cleaning of your pelisse, of course,” she offered, hoping the sleeve wasn’t soaked.

  “He just dampened my hand, and I can see to that in my room,” the countess stated.

  Hiding her relief, Sarah nodded. “Of course. I’ll show you to your rooms immediately,” she said as she hurried out of the office and up the stairs.

  Despite the embarrassment of having Gabe pee on the countess, Sarah had to wonder if the baby hadn’t timed his performance just for her benefit. The sooner the countess and her maid were in their rooms, the better.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Disappointment on the Dance Floor

  Alistair made sure to pay particular attention to Girard’s instructions, not wanting a repeat of what had happened the last time he and Julia had met for dance lessons in the ballroom. In doing so, he also made sure he didn’t allow his mind to wander—having had the experience of kissing Julia merely reminded him of how long it had been since he had been with a woman. Too long, he thought, remembering the young war widow in The Netherlands with whom he had spent a fortnight during his first year on the Continent. He had to suppress the sudden sense of grief that threatened to close his throat.

  Soldiers weren’t the only ones to die in battle.

  “Hold your arm a bit higher,” Girard ordered from where he stood next to the piano-forté. “You don’t want your partner to have to duck down.”

  Alistair immediately lifted his arm, which forced Julia’s arm that much higher and straighter as she stepped under it and made the quick turn.

  “Too high,” Girard called out, “But ... oh, never mind,” he said with a shake of his head. He held one elbow in one hand while the other hand rested on the side of his face, its pinky finger suddenly between his teeth.

  “You’re doing fine,” Julia whispered as she completed another turn and came face to face with Alistair.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Alistair answered in a hoarse whisper. He had expected that day’s lesson to be awkward; in fact, he wondered if Lady Julia would even make an appearance. But she had arrived in a yellow sprigged muslin day gown, her disposition as sunny as her dress despite the gray clouds outdoors. Alistair wondered if the kiss they shared in the stables the night before might have contributed to her brighter mood, or if he was reading too much into her behavior. She’s happy, he thought as the dance ended. He bowed as she curtsied, and the two turned in unison to face the dance master.

  Girard stood staring at them for several seconds before he finally clapped his hands together a few times. “Very good, I must say,” he spoke carefully, as if he begrudged them a good review. “Next time, we shall work on the Cotillion,” he added, arching an eyebrow as if to indicate the dance would be a challenge for Alistair.

  “I look forward to it,” Alistair said with a nod, realizing he meant his words. The Cotillion he could do in his sleep, and probably had a time or two.

  “Tomorrow afternoon, then?” Julia spoke, her comment directed at both men.

&n
bsp; Alistair straightened. Tomorrow would be Friday, the one day a week he had a few hours off from work. He intended to make the trip to Seven Dials to find Michael’s widow and gift her with enough blunt to pay her rent and buy food for her family. Although he’d intended to make the trip long before now, his work schedule hadn’t allowed him the time away.

  “I apologize, my lady, but I have a previous engagement, and I fear I cannot break it,” he said in a low voice, not wanting Monsieur Girard to overhear.

  Julia kept her face as impassive as possible. Previous engagement? What engagement could the groom possibly have arranged that would take him away from their dance lesson?

  A stab of ... something passed through Julia just then, but she pasted a smile on her face and forced herself to act as if his announcement was expected. “The day after, then?” she offered, mentally counting the number of days until her parent’s ball. The groom wouldn’t need to know all the dances. Just three or four. The rest of the time he could be seen in conversation with other gentlemen or at the refreshment table or escorting her on the flagstones outside the ballroom or kissing her in the gardens below ...

  Julia shook herself. She’d spent the better part of the night before reliving the kisses they had shared, both on the garden bench as well as in the stables. Even now, just thinking about them made her corset suddenly too tight as her breasts swelled and her breathing quickened.

  Alistair glanced at Girard and gave a shrug. “I will be here,” he acknowledged with a nod.

  “Two days hence, then,” Girard agreed, giving a deep bow to Julia. Alistair bowed back as Julia dipped a curtsy in the dance master’s direction. When she turned to leave the ballroom, Alistair stood directly in front of her.

  “The day after tomorrow,” Alistair said with a nod. He reached for her hand, lifting it so he could bend over and brush his lips over her gloved knuckles. “Good day, my lady,” he said as he straightened.

  A shiver passed through Julia’s arm, forcing her to inhale sharply. Why was it whenever the groom touched her, she felt as though she’d been struck by something akin to lightning? She lifted her eyes to meet Alistair’s. “Good day, Mr. Comber,” she replied curtly, giving him a deep curtsy. Knowing her cheeks were suddenly pink with embarrassment, Julia quickly took her leave of the ballroom.

  Alistair watched as the young woman hurried to the wide doors, wondering at the sudden change in her manner. She had been so happy and then ... damnation! His announcement of being unavailable for a dance lesson the following day must have disappointed her, or angered her, or ... Alistair shook his head. Lady Julia was no doubt concerned that he didn’t have enough time to learn all the dances. Well, he’d just have to prove to her that he already knew the Cotillion. And every other dance Girard might decide he needed to know.

  It was high time he began acting like a star pupil rather than a two-left-footed oaf.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Gabriel Goes Shopping

  “This one is especially beautiful,” Mr. Goldwin, the goldsmith, remarked as he pulled yet another ring from a tray containing dozens. Only a few included gemstones. The one he held between his thumb and forefinger included a large sapphire, its oval shape unlike any of the other stones the jeweler had on display.

  “Let me see that,” Gabriel spoke in a whisper, offering the plain one he held in one palm in exchange for the one the jeweler held.

  “Of course, Mister ...” Joseph Goldwin replied, hoping his form of address would encourage his would-be customer to offer his name. The man’s mode of dress was conservative, his breeches and topcoat in a rich brown and his embroidered waistcoat a cream-on-cream wool, but the fabrics suggested a modicum of wealth.

  Gabriel studied the gold ring, holding it up to the light in an effort to determine if the stone was, indeed, a sapphire. The blue color glowed with the candlelight of a nearby lamp. “Wellingham,” he said absently. “And if the band is too large?” he wondered, sliding the ring on his own pinky in an attempt to decide whether or not the band would fit on a woman’s fourth finger. He thought perhaps the band might be too small, but a vision of Sarah’s fingers as they stroked his chest had him deciding that probably wouldn’t be the case. A shiver passed through him, the sensation unexpected and reminiscent of the night he had last spent with the woman he now intended to marry.

  Mr. Goldwin straightened. “I will adjust it, of course,” he offered, his manner suggesting he was offended by the question. And then he seemed to suddenly realize the identity of his customer. “My lord,” he added awkwardly. “That particular sapphire is the finest one I have in the shop,” he said, as if he meant to justify its higher price. “I could put it on a different band if ...”

  “I will take this one,” Gabriel interrupted Mr. Goldwin, holding out the ring to the jeweler as he gave the man a half-smile. “Is there a matching ... necklace? Or earbobs?” he wondered, trying to imagine the look on Sarah’s face when he presented her with the ring. He knew his mistresses always expected jewelry, and then tried to act surprised when he offered them the black boxes. Sarah would act surprised because she would be surprised, he figured.

  The jeweler’s eyes widened. “I have a bracelet,” he replied, hurrying to a different velvet covered tray where several bracelets were displayed, their gold chains of varying widths stretched out in rows.

  “That one,” Gabriel said as he pointed to one with tiny chains and a gold filigree design that featured sapphires at every turn. Although it was probably only appropriate to wear at a ball or to the opera, Gabriel smiled as he imagined Sarah wearing it as she went about her daily duties as his countess.

  “Very good, my lord,” Mr. Goldwin spoke, his voice almost reverent. He plucked the bracelet from its place in the line up and stretched it out in front of Gabriel. From beneath the counter, he pulled out a black velvet-covered pasteboard box and placed the bracelet inside, securing the clasp onto a tiny circlet of gold at the end of the box. “Would you like the ring in here with the bracelet?” he wondered, “Or in a hinged box?”

  Gabriel studied the elegant box Mr. Goldwin offered. “The box,” the earl replied, thinking he would give Sarah the bracelet first and then ask for her hand in marriage. After seeing the bracelet, surely she would agree to his proposal when he showed her the ring.

  “Very good, my lord,” Mr. Goldwin replied, hurrying to secure the ring in its box. “Will there be ... anything else?” he asked carefully, thinking he could probably sell another bauble to the earl.

  “I should hope there will be, but ...” Gabriel shrugged one shoulder, as if to indicate there might be multiple purchases in his future. “I suppose it depends on the lady,” he said in a hoarse whisper. The thought that Sarah would turn down his offer was a fleeting one. Of course, the chit would agree to his proposal! She had borne his son. Her station in life would be greatly elevated, from that of inn manager to countess. How could she refuse? He had a brief memory of Lily’s reaction to his news that he would see to her come-out, and he wondered if Sarah’s reaction would be the same.

  As if he read the earl’s mind, the jeweler said, “She cannot refuse you,” realizing the gifts were not for a mistress but for a potential wife. And the woman would have to know a proposal was in the offing if she was willing to accept the bracelet. Propriety wouldn’t allow her to accept such a generous gift from a gentleman unless she was his intended. Or his wife.

  Gabriel regarded Mr. Goldwin for a moment. “Let us hope not,” he replied simply. “You can send the bill to my man,” he added as he removed a calling card from his waistcoat pocket and slid it across the counter to the jeweler.

  “Very good, my lord,” Mr. Goldwin replied with a nod as he took the card. He pushed the boxes in Gabriel’s direction. “And thank you for your patronage.”

  Gabriel took up a box in each hand and gave a nod to the goldsmith. “Good day, sir,” he said as he took his leave.

  Chapter Thirty

  Arranging a Reconnaissance Missi
on

  “Would you like to go for a ride with me?” Julia wondered, her feet dangling from the edge of Samantha’s bed.

  Her best friend turned from where she sat at her vanity. “When?” she asked, pausing the brush she was pulling through her long hair.

  “Tomorrow afternoon. Say ... about one o’clock,” Julia answered. “We could go in your father’s old coach,” she suggested suddenly, realizing they couldn’t very well go in one of the Harrington coaches—Mr. Comber would probably end up having to hitch up the equipage, and then he might recognize it– or certainly the horses—as it followed him to wherever his ‘previous engagement’ was located. Julia was determined to discover what—or who—had the groom’s attention on his afternoon off.

  “Why would we need to take my uncle’s oldest coach?” Samantha asked, angling her head to one side as she regarded her best friend. An expression of disbelief crossed her face. “What are you plotting now?” she wondered, rolling her eyes before she turned her attention back to the looking glass above her vanity.

  “I don’t wish to be ... noticed,” Julia replied with a shrug.

  Samantha arched an eyebrow. “If we take Uncle’s old town coach, we won’t need to be concerned about being noticed,” she countered. “We’ll have to be concerned about finding an alternative transport to get us home. I rather doubt the wheels will last for a trip through the park.”

  Julia smiled, knowing her friend made the comment in jest. “So ... does that mean we can? Go for the ride, I mean?” she wondered, holding her hands together as if she was pleading for her friend to agree.

  Rolling her eyes again, Samantha sighed. “On one condition,” she replied. When Julia gave a tentative nod, Samantha said, “Tell me who we’re going to visit.”