Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  Her eyes widening, Julia shook her head. “We’re not going to visit anyone.” When Samantha cocked her head to one side, as if she didn’t believe her friend’s claim, Julia dropped a shoulder. “We’re simply going to follow someone.”

  Her own eyes widening, Samantha straightened at the vanity. “Who are we following?” she asked, abandoning her brush to the vanity top.

  Julia sighed. She would have to tell Samantha. In fact, she would have to tell the driver of the equipage they were about to borrow so that the man would know whom to follow. She could only hope the man could keep up given the Harrington House groom would be on horseback. “Mr. Comber,” she finally spoke, her voice kept deliberately low.

  “Julia!”

  “He said he cannot be present for tomorrow’s dance lesson because he had a previous engagement.”

  Samantha blinked. “We’re going to follow a servant because he has a previous engagement?” she questioned, her voice a clear indicator of her surprise.

  “Well, it can’t be just any engagement,” Julia retorted, hoping she could make her case with Samantha. “He has the afternoon off from his work in the stables, and rather than spend that time learning to dance, he arranged an engagement.”

  Shaking her head, Samantha whispered, “Can’t say I blame him for wanting to avoid Monsieur Girard.”

  “And I intend to discover the nature of it,” Julia continued, ignoring her friend’s remark.

  Samantha shook her head. “And what if he discovers the nature of our business when he finds us following him?” she countered. “Indeed, what would you say should he suddenly stop in his tracks and come to the coach?”

  Julia’s mouth dropped open in alarm. “He won’t. He wouldn’t. He ... He wouldn’t do such a thing. And he won’t have the chance because our driver will simply continue along as if our destination is beyond his own,” she explained, as if she’d already considered the possibility.

  Taking up her brush again, Samantha studied the bristles. “Why are you so ... interested in the groom’s business?” she asked carefully. “In all the years I’ve known you, I cannot recall a single instance of you giving a servant a second look,” she added in support of her argument.

  Julia stood up and began pacing along the bed. “I do not know,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I do not know why, except that he ... he kissed me, and ...”

  Samantha was up from the vanity so quickly it caused Julia to stop in her tracks. “He kissed you?” Samantha repeated, her eyes once again wide. “On the ... lips?” This last was said in a hoarse whisper, as if she feared being overheard by a servant.

  Bobbing her head back and forth, Julia finally gave a nod. “I was angry with him, and he ... I think he meant it as an apology of sorts ...”

  “Did you slap him?”

  Julia blinked. Slap him? Why ever would she slap him? She quickly came to her senses, though, when she remembered her initial reaction to his impertinent behavior.

  She had been angry with him.

  “I pushed him away, of course,” she said in her own defense. “He apologized, as he should, and ... that was that,” Julia explained, hoping her friend wouldn’t notice how her face was suddenly red with embarrassment.

  “That was not it!” Samantha countered, nearly stabbing a finger into Julia’s arm. “You kissed him back, didn’t you?” she accused. “The poor man,” she went on. “He has to put up with Monsieur Girard and all manner of humiliation in order to become a gentleman for you, and then you put him in an impossible position and kiss him.”

  Julia stood staring at Samantha, shocked by her friend’s accusation. “He knew ..,” she started to say.

  “So, you did kiss him?” Samantha half-questioned in awe. “Your first kiss, is it not?” she whispered, a hint of jealousy and maybe a bit of awe sounding in her voice.

  Staring at her friend, Julia realized she was caught. There would be no keeping the truth from Samantha. “Yes,” she finally admitted. “As long as you don’t count my uncle’s attempt last year at Christmastime.”

  Her eyebrows nearly into her hairline, Samantha thought a moment. “But you turned at the last minute, did you not?”

  “Oh, I did,” Julia replied with a firm nod. “He only got my cheek.”

  “Then it doesn’t count,” Samantha agreed.

  “Thank goodness.”

  “But that means your first kiss was with a ... servant,” Samantha whispered carefully, finally understanding why Julia wanted to follow the man. Had they been seen kissing, she would have been ruined!

  “My first and second and ...” Julia tried to decide if she should admit there was a third and maybe a fourth whilst she and Mr. Comber kissed in the stables. She wasn’t exactly sure how to count kisses. Where did one end and another begin? Had their lips parted for even an instance? Or was it all just one long, luxurious ...

  “Julia!”

  Samantha’s admonition brought Julia out of her reverie. “I rather like kissing,” she admitted sadly. “That makes me a wanton, doesn’t it?” she whispered, her expression at least showing she might feel a bit scandalized.

  Frowning, Samantha gave the question some thought. “Would you kiss just ... anyone ... knowing that you like doing it?” she wondered, crossing her arms and leaning against a bedpost.

  “No!” Julia replied with a shake of her head. “Of course, not.”

  “Then you’re not a wanton,” Samantha announced, as if she had some experience in the matter.

  Julia shrugged in response. “But Mr. Comber ...” She sighed, remembering for the hundredth time the feel of his firm lips against hers, the sensation of his tongue as it touched her teeth and tangled with her tongue.

  “He is rather handsome,” Samantha agreed, as if she was imagining the same thing as Julia. “Too bad he’s a groom,” she said with a good deal of emphasis on the word ‘groom’, forcing Julia to return her thoughts to the present. “Are you afraid he’ll be off kissing someone else tomorrow?” Samantha wondered, one eyebrow arching up.

  What if the groom was using his time off to spend an afternoon at a brothel with a lightskirt? Samantha wouldn’t know of such things except her older brother seemed to want it known that he did such a thing on frequent occasions. What if the man was betrothed? Or worse, what if he was married? Perhaps he was off to visit his wife!

  “No!” Julia replied with a shake of her head, her tone suggesting she was trying to convince herself as much as Samantha. “He’s merely running an errand,” she insisted. But should the man’s previous engagement take him to some brothel in Covent Gardens, Julia decided right then and there that she would have nothing more to do with the man—the dare be damned.

  Now as curious about the groom’s destination as Julia, Samantha crossed her arms. “We’re going to follow that man until we discover exactly what his previous engagement is,” she announced. And, hopefully, it wouldn’t involve a harlot. Or a fiancée. Or a wife.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Charity Ponders a Baby Over Luncheon

  “He looks exactly like my dear Gabriel did when he was that age,” Charity said to no one in particular as she perused the tray on which several slices of cheese, a collection of cut fruits and a small loaf of hot bread were artfully arranged.

  Fuller regarded the cold collation with a cocked eyebrow. “The fare seems rather better than most taverns,” she remarked, not sure if she was expected to agree with the dowager countess’ comment about the baby.

  Charity reached for some cheese and a slice of apple. “About six months, wouldn’t you say?” she wondered, apparently oblivious to her maid’s comment.

  “Yes, milady,” Fuller agreed. Not that she had any doubt the baby she’d seen in the manager’s office was anyone other than the son of Gabriel Wellingham. The earl had been quite earnest in his description of the boy—and rather insistent about his affections for the mother—when Fuller had listened in to the conversation from the adjoining room in Trenton
Manor the day before. The timing was certainly accurate— the earl had been on his way to London after a brief visit to Stafford the December before last, and had even sent word he was stopping in Stretton before proceeding south on his trip to London to meet with his solicitor. Fuller remembered the earl’s itinerary since it was Gabriel’s first trip outside of Staffordshire since his father had died.

  “He looks healthy,” the countess remarked, helping herself to a hunk of the bread and spreading it with a generous amount of butter.

  Fuller’s eyes widened. The countess rarely ate bread and never used butter at Trenton Manor. But the scent of the fresh-baked bread had the maid helping herself to a portion of the remaining loaf. “And well cared-for,” she murmured, placing a piece of the cheese on to the bread before taking a bite. She closed her eyes as she savored the treat; the cook at Trenton Manor was obviously unaware how bread should taste and smell, she considered. She felt a hint of pride that her only son was an employee of the establishment.

  Then she wondered how they might convince the cook to work at Trenton Manor.

  “It’s rather unfortunate the mother is ...” Charity allowed the sentence to trail off, as if she couldn’t say the words, a commoner. The idea that her son wanted to marry the chit shouldn’t have rankled her, but it did just then, bringing her out of her reverie. “I wonder if it always takes this long for supper to be served?” she said with a hint of annoyance. As if on cue, there was a knock at the parlor door.

  “Come,” she called out, helping herself to another apple slice. The fruit was rather good, she thought, and then she noticed the loaf of bread.

  Or what was left of it.

  “Goodness, Fuller, you must be quite hungry,” she murmured.

  Her maid lifted her head and displayed a look of surprise, but she clamped her mouth shut when she realized the countess had no memory of eating the bulk of the bread.

  The door was opened by the woman who had introduced herself as the inn’s manager. With the door open, Fuller could hear the general hubbub of a full public room. The mail coach had probably arrived after she and the countess had taken their rooms and moved to the parlor for their late luncheon.

  The manager carried a bottle of wine wrapped in a linen, and she was followed by a man who carried a tray laden with steaming dishes.

  Fuller looked up to see her son regarding her with a lopsided grin. He nodded in her direction but said nothing as he set down the tray onto the dining table. The manager poured the wine while Fuller’s son placed the dishes onto the table. They curtsied and bowed before taking their leave of the parlor.

  Charity glanced over the simple inn fare—slices of roast beef, potatoes in a cheese sauce, another loaf of bread, a tartlet made of strawberries, and two cups of tea. Her eyes widened when she saw Fuller remove the lid from a sugar bowl to reveal a generous amount of sugar. “Well, they are civilized, I’ll give them that,” the countess remarked before she allowed Fuller to fill her plate. In normal circumstances, her maid would not eat at the same table as she did, but when they traveled, she preferred the company of her maid.

  “If Cook should meet her Maker, I would recommend her ladyship hire the one that works here,” Fuller said as she took her first bite of the roast beef.

  Having already taken a bite of her own, Charity nodded. “Agreed,” she murmured, surprised at the flavors. Everything proved delicious as well as generous. The two were soon full. “I do believe I need to lie down for a bit,” Charity said as she finished off the tartlet.

  Suppressing a smile when she realized the countess had eaten the entire tartlet herself, Fuller nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

  As the two made their way to their rooms, passing the stairway that led down to the public room, Charity was surprised at how quiet the inn had become. When she turned to ask Fuller why that might be, she heard the rattle of the mail coach leaving the inn yard. “Tell me, Fuller,” the countess murmured, “How often does this inn see a mail coach?” she wondered.

  Fuller stopped in front of the corner room’s door and slid the key into the lock. “Why, every afternoon, my lady,” she replied, wondering at the question.

  Charity Wellingham gave her maid an arched eyebrow. “How convenient,” she replied. “How very convenient.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Witnessing a Secret Assignation

  Lord Chamberlain’s ancient town coach, pulled by a team of matched Friesians, pulled into traffic in Park Lane and headed in the direction of the park. Samantha had been sure to keep the driver busy with a number of small requests until Julia deemed the time right for them to make their way past Harrington House and the outlet for the alley on which the stables were located.

  “Do you see him?” Samantha wondered as she lifted the curtains from her side of the coach and took a peek.

  “No,” Julia replied with a shake of head. She angled herself so she could see farther up the street. “Wait!” she whispered loudly. “There he is! He’s just come from the alley.” A frisson passed through her, the sensation so unexpected, she was forced to sit up straight.

  “Did he see you?” Samantha asked, incredulous. The coach windows were so smeared, she wondered how Julia could see anything beyond the glass, let alone how anyone could see into the darkened interior.

  “No,” Julia whispered, pushing the curtain to one side. Bright afternoon sunshine filled the side of the coach in which Julia sat, and she had to close her eyes against the sudden glare. “But he’s in the traffic somewhere up ahead of us now,” she said with a hint of worry.

  Samantha used the handle of her parasol to knock on the overhead door. The driver’s head soon appeared. “Yes, milady?” he wondered, his attention mostly on the road ahead.

  Julia leaned over. “Follow the man wearing the brown coat on the brown horse. He’s just ahead,” she ordered. “And do keep up. We don’t want to lose track of him,” she added when the driver nodded.

  “I see him,” he said when it was apparent he was looking up ahead. The door suddenly closed.

  Another block or two of travel and the coach took a right turn into Oxford Street.

  “We could be shopping,” Samantha said with an arched eyebrow.

  “But you dislike shopping,” Julia countered, her attention still on the traffic outside her window. Fashionable shops lined the street, interrupted by the occasional office. “Besides, ’tis a beautiful day for a drive,” she added, rather enjoying the anonymity the old, unmarked equipage offered. No one gave their coach a second glance as they passed shoppers, costermongers and other coaches.

  After nearly an hour of stop-and-go traffic, the coach took a right turn and headed toward the older area of London. Despite the bright sunshine, Julia was forced to pull a hanky from her reticule and hold it over her nose as the odors of a more crowded city center made their way into the coach.

  “What is that smell?” she wondered as she felt more than saw the coach turn again.

  Samantha pulled her own hanky from her pocket. “That would be the charming scents of manure and garbage,” she replied, wondering how much longer she would have to endure what had become a rather boring trip. And just as she was about to ask the driver for an update, the coach seemed to veer sharply to the curb before coming to a sudden halt.

  Julia dared a glance out the window, wondering in which street they were parked. From her vantage, she could see down the entire length of two streets. “Monmouth?” she guessed when she noticed the name on a shabby storefront.

  “We’re in the Dials!” Samantha nearly shouted, her own view showing two streets angling off from where they were stopped. She was about to tap on the ceiling with her parasol, intending to order the driver to continue through the slums as quickly as possible when he opened the trap door and dared a glance down. “Your man is off his horse and heading for that building, just there. Gave a caddy some blunt to hold his horse,” he added, his comment suggesting the man they followed was either wise to do so, or a
fool. Julia couldn’t be certain.

  Samantha glanced over at Julia, wondering if she would take her leave of the coach and follow the groom. But to leave the coach would certainly be a mistake, given how well she was dressed compared to those who populated this section of London. “You cannot go out there,” she warned in a frightened voice. “You’ll be ruined for certain!”

  Julia straightened, thinking it was the middle of the afternoon and still quite light despite the two- and three-story buildings that lined the series of seven streets that intersected near where they were parked. Surely it would be safe enough if she and Samantha walked together.

  As if she could read Julia’s thoughts, Samantha shook her head. “I am not leaving this coach,” she announced, now quite glad they had taken an old coach. The equipage looked like it belonged in the neighborhood.

  “He’s just knocked on a door,” the driver suddenly said. After a moment, he glanced back down at the girls. “A woman just opened the door. Couple of urchins ...”

  A woman? Children? Julia’s heart beat faster as she imagined who they were—and why Mr. Comber would be calling on them. Julia pushed the curtains away from the window and dared a glance out, finally able to make out where Mr. Comber stood.

  “Woman looks a bit distraught,” the driver said just as Julia saw the young woman’s face suddenly pressed against Mr. Comber’s chest. And then Mr. Comber’s arms wrapped around her shoulders.

  Julia sat back a moment, taking a breath when she realized she’d been holding it whilst she watched.

  Samantha quickly moved to the window. “Two children ... and a babe!” she reported in a hushed voice. “They’re all crying ... and your groom is pulling something out of his pocket.”

  “He’s giving her a purse,” the driver spoke from above. “Pretty full purse, if I do say,” he said with a degree of awe. “Now the woman is really bawlin’, as are the urchins.”

  “That will be quite enough, Mr. Gray,” Samantha said as she continued to watch from the window.