The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

by Trisha Telep

  He came to a halt by the window, thoroughly disgusted with himself. A small fleet of ships – his ships – floated on the Thames. They might as well have been toy boats bobbing around in a tub for all it mattered. The only thing he could focus on was the face of a little girl, staring up at him with amber eyes.

  And Marissa’s eyes, too, pleading for understanding. The worst of it was that he did understand, now that his fury had cooled. What else could she have done when she discovered her predicament? Pregnant and alone – her lover supposedly on the other side of the ocean. She had protected her daughter – their daughter – in the only way she could.

  But she hadn’t trusted him with the truth, and that knowledge twisted in his gut.

  A knock sounded on the door, and a clerk stuck his head into the office. “There’s a young lady to see you, Captain. Says she’s Lady Paget’s daughter.”

  He jerked around. “What? Who’s with her?”

  “She’s alone, sir.”

  Anthony muttered a curse and strode to the outer office.

  The child sat on his clerk’s high stool, her feet swinging inches above the floor. She looked like she hadn’t a care in the world as she twirled her little beaded reticule around her fingers.

  He glowered at her. What was she thinking? Coming all alone to Wapping – home to sailors, thieves and whores. “Good God, child! What are you doing here? Where’s your mother?”

  She scrambled off the stool and gave him a polite bob. “Good afternoon, Captain Barnett. I was hoping to have a word with you. Is there someplace we can be private?”

  He eyed her, reluctantly impressed by her audacity. Pluck to the backbone, his daughter was, and full of brass. “Step into my office,” he growled.

  She sailed past him, a dignified miniature of her mother – except for the eyes. Those were all his.

  “I don’t have much time,” she said. “Mamma thinks I’m taking a nap.”

  He sighed. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I heard Mamma talking about you to Uncle Edmund. Then I snuck out of the house and found a hackney.”

  He stifled a groan. Clearly, his daughter was both precocious and in need of supervision. He’d have to talk to Marissa about that.

  It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t even know her given name. “Forgive me if I sound rude, but what’s your name?”

  “I’m Lady Antonia Paget. But you can call me Antonia.”

  His heart lurched. Marissa had named their child after him. With effort, he marshalled his wits. “Best get on with it, then. I’ve got to get you home before your mother discovers you missing.”

  She studied him, as serious as a parson in a pulpit. “You’ve made Mamma very unhappy. She cried. I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  He blinked. Were all little girls so blunt?

  “I’m sure I haven’t,” he managed.

  “You have. It’s not very nice of you, especially since she loves you.”

  That hit him low and fast.

  “Ah, I don’t think that can be right,” he replied. Not after today, anyway.

  She impatiently tapped her foot. “Oh, no. I’m right. She told Uncle Edmund she did.”

  He wished his heart would stop jerking about in his chest. It made it difficult to think. “You heard her say that?”

  The look she gave him clearly expressed her opinion of his intellect, and not a favourable one, at that. “Are you really my father?” she demanded.

  His brain, as heavy as an overloaded frigate in a gale, struggled to keep up with her. “Why would you think that?” he hedged.

  She looked thoughtful. “I’m not surprised. My other father, Sir Richard, that is, was never really fond of me.”

  A flare of anger cleared the fog from his brain. “Did he mistreat you?”

  “Not at all. He was a perfectly adequate father, under the circumstances.”

  He’d lost her again. “What circumstances?”

  She sighed dramatically. “The very large circumstance that I wasn’t his daughter. You’re not very bright, are you? I do hope I take after Mamma, in that respect.”

  He choked back a laugh. It wouldn’t do to encourage her. “Did Sir Richard tell you he wasn’t your father?”

  “Of course not. But I overheard him fighting with Mamma a few months before he died. It was about me, but I didn’t really understand what he meant. Of course, now it’s all perfectly clear. How silly of me not to have realized before.”

  Anthony wondered if someone had knocked him on the head when he wasn’t looking. His daughter, however, seemed completely at ease with the bizarre conversation.

  “You seem to do quite a lot of eavesdropping for a little girl,” he said, latching on to the one thing in this whole muddle that seemed clear.

  She shrugged. “I know. Mamma says it’s my greatest fault. But how else am I to know what is happening? Adults never tell children anything. Not anything interesting, that is.”

  He really couldn’t let that one pass. “Well, stop it. It’s not at all becoming in a young lady.”

  She crossed her hands in front of her, looking as meek as a Spanish nun. Except for the mischievous smile playing around the edges of her mouth, of course. “Yes, Papa. Whatever you say.”

  He shook his head, dazed by the odd creature already fastening herself like a little barnacle on to his heart. “You’re rather terrifying, Antonia,” he said thoughtfully. “But I suppose you already know that.”

  Her smile widened into a grin. “Then I do take after you – at least a little.”

  He laughed. “I refuse to believe you were the least bit frightened by that scene in Hatchard’s.”

  “Not really. I was a little nervous in the hackney coming down here, though. I’ve never been to this part of London.”

  He was about to deliver a stern parental lecture on that subject when he heard a commotion in the outer office. A moment later, Marissa, looking like a wild woman, came bursting into the room.

  “Antonia,” she cried, clutching her daughter by the shoulders. “Thank God! You scared me half to death!”

  Anthony crossed his arms over his chest and, with some effort, wiped the grin from his face. He was a wicked man, but he couldn’t help taking his revenge on the two females who would no doubt lead him a merry dance for the rest of his life.

  And thank God for that.

  “Ah, Lady Paget, come to collect your errant child. I’m amazed you allow her to wander about town like a street urchin. You really shouldn’t unleash her on the unsuspecting citizens of London without any warning. Mayhem would no doubt ensue.”

  Marissa pokered up, just as he had known she would. “I beg your pardon, Captain,” she said in a cold voice. “She won’t trouble you again. Come, Antonia.”

  Antonia resisted her mother’s efforts to drag her from the room. “Mamma, I don’t want to leave yet. Papa and I were just getting acquainted.”

  Marissa stumbled to a halt. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She looked stunned, anxious and defiant, all at the same time. But mostly, she looked like the woman he loved.

  He couldn’t tease her any more, not even for the fun of it. Crossing the room, he took one of her trembling hands in his. “My love, I’ve been a brute, and I beg your forgiveness. But why didn’t you tell me about Antonia last night?”

  Her beautiful eyes filled with remorse. “I wanted to. But I was afraid you would hate me for the lies I told. And for not remaining true to you all those years, no matter what the consequences.”

  When her voice broke, Anthony pulled her into his arms. She put up a token struggle before relaxing against his chest.

  “And I didn’t know what to tell Antonia,” she whispered. “What would she think?”

  He nodded grimly. “You were ashamed of me. Of what I had become.”

  “Never!” she exclaimed, giving him a fierce hug. “You’re the finest man I’ve ever known.”

  He let out a tight breath. “Then what we
re you afraid of? You should have known I would never let anyone hurt you – either of you.”

  She looked woeful. “I was afraid Antonia would despise me. My life was a lie, and I made hers a lie, too.”

  Antonia propped her hands on her hips and gave her mother a severe look. “Mamma, I worry that your mind is as disordered as Papa’s. How could you think such a thing? I love you more than anything in the world.”

  Marissa extracted herself from Anthony’s embrace and gently grasped her daughter’s shoulders. Mother and child gazed into each other’s eyes, seeming to communicate in some mystical, female way.

  “Then you don’t mind that you have a new father? Your real father?” Marissa finally asked.

  Antonia looked puzzled. “Why would I? He seems nice, and you love him. Plus, he’s rich. You are rich, aren’t you, Papa?” she asked, suddenly looking worried. “Mamma and I wouldn’t be happy if we had to live with Uncle Edmund, instead of with you.”

  Anthony pulled the two most important people in the world into his arms. Each fitted snugly against him, as if they’d both been there from the beginning of time.

  “No man could be richer,” he said.

  And with the prizes he had captured, no man ever would.

  Lady Invisible

  Patricia Rice

  Cotswolds – 1816

  One

  “‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife,’” quoted Mrs Higglebottom, the vicar’s wife, reading from the novel on her husband’s desk.

  Ill at ease, Major Lucas Sumner stretched his shoulders against the confinement of his civilian attire. He had hoped Reverend Higglebottom might be available for consultation. He did not remember the vicar’s wife being quite so . . . enigmatic . . . in her younger days. They’d both grown up here among the rolling hills of Chipping Bedton, but Lucas obviously had been away too long. He must adjust his military sense of order to village idiosyncrasies.

  “My fortune is a major’s pension and a small inheritance,” Lucas corrected. “I am in want of a wife because I have a daughter in need of a mother.”

  Mrs H. – Lorena, as he’d known her – waved a careless, plump hand. “The extent of your fortune does not matter these days. The village has lost most of its available young men to war and to the city and to marriage. You can have a choice of ladies, from fifteen to fifty, I daresay. The task is to find the right one.”

  “Well, yes, that is why I thought I would consult with Edgar—”

  “Edgar did not grow up here as we did,” Lorena admonished. “My husband has a worthy, virtuous mind, but not necessarily one connected to the realities of life. Women are far better at matchmaking than men.”

  Lucas granted that possibility. He’d married in haste as a young man, and the result was currently uprooting daffodils from graves in the churchyard, if he did not mistake.

  With an apology, he rose, pushed up the vicar’s study window, and shouted, “Verity! Stop that at once. Where is your aunt?”

  His seven-year-old hoyden waved a bunch of yellow flowers and dashed off. Lucas could only hope it was in the direction of his much-put-upon sister.

  “I have a lot to account for in this life,” he said, striding back to the chair. “Verity’s mother died far too young, and I’ve neglected my daughter’s upbringing. Now that the war is done and I’ve come home, it’s time I find a mother for Verity who can teach her to be a lady and turn my bachelor household into a home.”

  Lorena nodded and consulted the list she’d evidently drawn up in anticipation of his visit. “Jane Bottoms is still unmarried. She’s a bit long in the tooth, but a very respectable, proper sort.”

  Lucas tugged at his neckcloth. He remembered Jane. Thick as a brick, they used to call her. “My daughter needs someone a little more—”

  Lorena cut him off, as she seemed to do regularly. “Yes, yes, of course. Verity would tie her to a tree and forget about her. How about Mary Loveless? She’s a bit plump and her mother tends to dictate . . .” She caught Lucas’ eye and hurriedly looked at the list again.

  Impatiently, Lucas snapped the paper from her hand and scanned the names. “Harriet Briggs is still unmarried?” he exclaimed in amazement. “How is that possible? She’s the Squire’s daughter and had a dozen beaux before I left, but she was much too young to be interested in any of them.”

  Lorena crossed her plump hands on the battered desk. “She is still not interested in any of them. She has not changed since the child you remember. You need a mature, proper lady to teach your daughter manners. Harriet is totally unsuitable.”

  This time Lucas was the one to interrupt. “I remember her as a spirited little thing. Perhaps she was a bit of a tomboy riding to the hounds because her father never told her no, but she could argue intelligently. Verity needs a smart woman to guide her.”

  Lorena vehemently shook her head. “Now that her mother has passed on and all feminine influence is lost, Harriet has become quite impossible. Rumour has it that she called off two perfectly respectable arrangements while she was in London, even though her looks are nothing to brag about.” She shook her head and cut herself off. “Her father has refused to give her another season.”

  Lucas conjured a mental image of Miss Harriet Briggs the last time he’d seen her, when she wasn’t quite sixteen. He had been twenty and sporting his newly purchased officer’s colours. He’d been home to say farewells to family and strutting about in hopes his new uniform would impress the ladies.

  The Squire’s daughter had been sitting on the doorstep of one of the village houses, showing a youngster how to feed a baby pig. She had not been impressed by his uniform but had appreciated his aid when the pig had squirmed free. They’d had a rational discourse on the care and feeding of abandoned farm animals, a conversation that he could not imagine having with any other female of his acquaintance.

  Hope surged, despite Lorena’s warning. His household was in dire need of the discipline a lady could bring to it.

  “She must be twenty-three or twenty-four by now?” In the eight years of his absence Harriet should have grown into her lanky limbs at least. Lucas didn’t think he’d care for a skinny woman, although a mother for Verity should be more important than attractiveness.

  Well, perhaps not, or he’d have hired a nanny. So he needed a wife who appealed to him, as well as a mother for Verity. Doubt crept in at the seeming impossibility of that task. Perhaps he should have gone wife-hunting in London.

  His sister should not have to deal with Verity while he danced through society. There had to be someone local, who would want to live here and raise his child among his family.

  “Harriet should be a good age for looking after a child.” A man of action and decision, Lucas rose from the chair. “I don’t think anyone younger would be up to the challenge.”

  Lorena looked harassed. “No, really, Lucas. Don’t be foolish. I do not wish to speak ill . . . Look, here is Elizabeth. She’s an extremely attractive young lady . . .”

  Having made up his mind – and worried that Verity would be digging up the dead next – Lucas was already halfway out the door when Lorena leaped up, waving the list. “And Mary Dougal! Mature, quiet, and very lovely . . .”

  “I will consider them all, of course,” Lucas said, making his bow, although he privately thought Elizabeth to be a simpering ninny and Mary Dougal to be a pinchpenny prude. Verity was a bright child. She needed a disciplined woman up to the challenge of taming her. And a patient one to ease them into their new domestic routines.

  “I told you not to climb the trees!” he roared, after departing the vicarage. He crossed the cemetery in long strides to where his sister stared upwards in dismay. He could see the bright blue of his daughter’s gown several limbs from the ground. “Come down from there at once, you little monkey.”

  He nearly had failure of the heart when Verity’s small foot slipped and missed the branch below her. Without a seco
nd’s thought, he swung up on the lowest limb, heedless of his best trousers, caught Verity by the waist, and lowered her to Maria.

  “I have three of my own, Lucas,” his sister called back. “I cannot do this much longer. You should hire a circus trainer.”

  “I am amazed you did not hire her out to a zoo before this,” he said in exasperation as the child took off running before he could climb down. “Does she never speak?”

  Maria shrugged and followed Verity across the church lawn at a slower pace. “She can talk if she must. Mostly, she does what she wants rather than ask, because she knows she’ll be told no. I have three young boys. It’s all I can do to keep up with them. I hate to burden you, Lucas, but now that you’re home safe and sound, she’s your responsibility.”

  “I agree. And someday I hope to repay you if possible. You have been a saint, and I don’t know what we would have done without you.” He caught up with Verity when she stopped to pet a shaggy mutt. She was no longer a toddler for Lucas to heave over his shoulder and carry off as he had the few times he’d been home when she’d been younger. He’d missed almost her entire childhood.

  “Your safe return is payment enough,” Maria promised. “If you never go to war again and can provide a home for Verity, that will ensure our happiness.”

  Lucas thought of his sister’s request as he knocked at Squire Briggs’ door the next afternoon. Now that Napoleon had been routed, he would not be going to war again, but that meant he had no other purpose.

  Lucas’ father had died before he could attend Oxford or obtain any type of training. Other than the cottage and the lot it sat on, he had no lands of his own. The only trade he knew was soldiering. It was a problem he must solve after he found a mother for Verity.

  Before setting off on this visit to the Squire, he’d left his daughter with Maria, had his hair properly barbered, and had his old cutaway coat with the broad lapels brushed and pressed. And still he squirmed like a raw lad on the brink of courtship.

  He had been far too young to have encountered Squire Briggs regularly before he’d left for war, so he didn’t know the man well. The unfamiliarity of civilian life threw him off balance, forcing him to recall that he had earned his major’s stripes and fought battles far worse than the encounter ahead.