Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  Eloise’s eyes rounded in obvious alarm. “Violet, you do not know what you are saying.”

  What had she said that was so shocking? “I am quite aware of the importance of maintaining my reputation. It is Lady Withnall who seems determined to shred it, not me.” She picked up the book and held it up to Eloise. “My sister claims it is a brilliant scientific explanation of the course of true love. She suggests I test its theories on someone safe. Who better than Mr. Brayden?”

  Eloise shook her head. “Oh, dear me.”

  “We’re thrown together for the rest of this week anyway. It is obvious he’s a gentleman. So, where’s the harm in seeing how he responds to some of these ideas? I plan nothing wicked or immoral, I assure you.”

  Yet Eloise appeared unconvinced, her kind eyes wide and filled with amused concern. “Violet, I think I had better chaperone the two of you.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t necessary. I doubt we’ll be left alone long enough for matters to get out of hand. My family will make certain of it.”

  “Well, don’t try anything on him before you talk to me about it first. Goodness, you Farthingale girls are never dull. No, indeed. The London theaters are nothing to the entertainment you’ve provided. Better than any Covent Garden comedy.”

  Violet felt none of Lady Dayne’s cheer. “It is more of a tragedy. Why would your friend insist on taking the choice away from us? It is our lives and happiness at stake. If word leaks out, that will be the end of my debut season. No man will come near me except for the dishonorable ones, and I’ll have nothing to do with them. More important, Mr. Brayden will insist on marrying me. It isn’t fair to him.”

  Eloise finished lacing her up and turned her so that they faced each other. “Violet, have you not noticed?”

  She tipped her head in confusion. “Not noticed what?”

  “Mr. Brayden has not uttered a word of complaint about his punishment. He has gone along with Lady Withnall’s demands without a fuss. Indeed, it seems to me he does not seem to mind nearly as much as you do.”

  Violet was surprised by the remark. “What are you suggesting? That he wants to marry me?”

  “Yes, and why not? You are a lovely girl.”

  “How could he tell beneath all the bee stings?” She shook her head and glanced down at the book in her hands. “We don’t know each other at all. I could not have made a less favorable impression. But if Lady Withnall will not relent and matters come to a head, then I had better read The Book of Love cover to cover. If we are trapped in an unwanted marriage, we’ll need to come to an understanding.”

  “Oh, my dear. I hope you find much more than that.”

  She sighed. “I hope so, too. Poppy insists this book holds the secret to making a man fall in love.”

  Eloise patted her lightly on the hand. “Do you believe it does?”

  Violet sighed again. “No, but I lose nothing by testing out its lessons on Mr. Brayden. I think I had better attend to it immediately. I wouldn’t feel so badly if he loved me. But Eloise, you know far more about men than I do.”

  “Yes, my dear. I suppose I do.”

  “Is it possible for him to fall in love with me in only one week?”

  Chapter Three

  Violet had been sent by her parents to reside with her Uncle John and Aunt Sophie on Chipping Way during her come-out season. They had generously agreed to sponsor her, and she now felt terrible all their efforts would go to waste if scandal broke out. Not that Farthingales were strangers to scandal. Had any of John and Sophie’s daughters enjoyed a traditional courtship?

  The answer to that was a resounding no.

  Her cousin Lily had been abducted and the Royal Society gone up in flames quite spectacularly during her courtship. Still, her husband Ewan Cameron and his dog Jasper, managed to fall in love with her when lesser men…and dogs…might have run away as fast as their legs would carry them.

  “Aunt Sophie, once Mr. Brayden and his brother arrive, how long do you think they will be huddled in Uncle John’s study?” Violet had just come downstairs to join her aunt in the parlor while they awaited the arrival of Romulus Brayden and his brother.

  James Brayden happened to be the Earl of Exmoor.

  Perfect, not even through her first season and she’d already made an enemy of an earl. She deserved his anger, but hoped he would not direct it at her aunt and uncle as well. They were entirely innocent in this sad affair.

  Hoping to make herself presentable, she had tried her best to wash the stench of vinegar off her body, using an oatmeal soap known for its soothing properties on the skin as well as for its mild scent. Afterward, she had donned a fresh gown, a pale lavender silk that was perhaps too formal for a quiet afternoon’s entertaining, but this was no ordinary afternoon.

  Despite having been offered a seat on one of the delicate, blue silk-covered settees, she chose to remain standing by the doorway, her ears straining to hear the sound of Mr. Brayden’s voice at the front door. Or should she think of him as Captain Brayden? Perhaps Commander Brayden since she knew he had command of one of the ships in the Royal Navy fleet.

  This was the problem. He was quite accomplished despite his relatively young age.

  She had been sheltered all of her life and was not accomplished in anything.

  There was nothing in the least remarkable about her, other than her singing voice. But that accounted for very little. She wasn’t the only debutante who could warble like a nightingale. And what practical use was it? Most men did not care if their wives could sing.

  Indeed, while women seemed to enjoy evening musicales, most men detested them and would strain for any reason to beg out of attending. She knew this first hand from the Farthingale men who constantly came up with excuses not to sit for hours listening to the dulcet tones of their daughters or nieces.

  “Do sit down, Violet. Fretting will not make Mr. Brayden arrive any sooner,” her elderly, and very crusty Aunt Hortensia grumbled as she entered the parlor and settled her ample frame in one of the matching blue chairs beside the settee. No doubt, Hortensia wanted to be perfectly positioned to watch the explosion of fireworks when the Braydens arrived. “Nor will it make your predicament disappear.”

  “I know.” Still, she remained standing by the door, trying to ignore her aunt’s disapproving gaze.

  Hortensia meant well, but she sometimes had such a sour disposition, it was not at all pleasant to be around her. Violet loved her, of course. But did everyone have to pass comment on her situation? It was unnecessary and not in the least helpful.

  She did not need Hortensia’s prophecies of doom and gloom just now and was considering how to politely tell her to mind her own business when the Braydens arrived.

  Violet clasped her hands and took a deep breath, forgetting her aunt for the moment since the intractable family elder was firmly planted in her wing chair. All Hortensia lacked was a box of marzipan or chocolates to munch on while the fireworks went off around her.

  Violet expected a running commentary from her, too. Farthingales were known for their meddling. It is what they did best.

  To her surprise, Lord Exmoor had brought along his wife, so that Mr. Brayden arrived with both of them. Well, perhaps not so surprising. Lord Exmoor, being the ever dutiful and protective brother, must have asked his wife to join them in order to find out more about this interloper who had tricked Romulus into marriage.

  Lady Exmoor was several years older than Violet, but hardly matronly. Indeed, she looked young, and upon quick inspection, Violet decided she was beautiful in a warm, approachable way. She had a sparkling smile and obviously knew the Farthingale family quite well.

  She and Aunt Sophie greeted each other as longtime friends, kissing each other on the cheek and exchanging “Good afternoon, Sophie,” for they were both named Sophie, to add to Violet’s confusion.

  Lady Exmoor greeted Hortensia more formally because her prickly manner required it. Only then did she turn to Violet and cast her a warm, welcoming smile
. “There seems never to be a dull moment on Chipping Way or in the Farthingale household. And now you and Romulus have collided. I wish I had been there to see it.”

  Violet sighed. “They are hanging him out to dry because of his good deed. It isn’t fair.”

  “Life is never fair,” Hortensia intoned before anyone had the chance to utter a more cheerful response.

  Violet held her comments while the Farthingale butler, Pruitt, rolled in the tea cart and set out the pot, cups, and cakes. Those lovely looking cakes had been elegantly placed on display on a tiered plate.

  When Pruitt left, Lady Exmoor took a seat beside Violet on the settee and gave her hand a comforting pat. “Romulus is no milksop. He’ll fight for himself, assuming he really wishes to. He is a naval captain, after all, and no stranger to fierce battles. He’s been fighting the savage pirates who prowl off the coast of Cornwall and Wales for several years now. Made quite a name for himself. James,” she said, referring to her husband the earl, “is very proud of him.”

  Violet glanced at the study door. The men had been in there only a few minutes.

  Lady Exmoor followed her gaze. “They’re discussing the betrothal terms. I’m sure there is a lot to review. I doubt they will come out to join us any time soon. Another hour, I should think. What do you suppose, Sophie?”

  Aunt Sophie tried to appear calm, but Violet knew she was also fretting, for her gaze was constantly darting to the study door, and she was nibbling her lip. “Oh, yes. At least one hour.”

  Lady Exmoor seemed far more relaxed. Indeed, she was still smiling.

  Hortensia was frowning, but she always frowned, so that was no indication of anything.

  “James and Romulus are honorable to the point of making one want to scream,” Lady Exmoor remarked, casually sipping her tea. “There will be little argument, for they won’t quibble about anything. You will be well provided for, Violet. Whatever your uncle demands, they’ll accede to it.”

  Violet’s heart sank, for not only had she trapped Mr. Brayden in an unwanted marriage, but her family was going to bleed him dry. “Lady Exmoor, this does not make me feel better.”

  “I knew I’d like you. You are worried for Romulus and wish to protect him. Have you seen the size of him? He is quite capable of protecting himself.” She laughed lightly. “Of course, you’ve taken notice of him. He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

  Violet grimaced but nodded. “Yes, very.”

  “Ah, an honest answer. I fear it is so rare these days to find that trait among those in Society, especially when the season is at its height. Mothers will lie, cheat, and steal to trap a worthy bachelor. What is the expression? All is fair in love and war. But it should not be so. No man wants to marry a woman he cannot trust. Lies and trickery are never acceptable. He will value your honesty.”

  Violet stared down at her plate, wishing she could go back to sleep and pretend this day had never happened. “I don’t know about that. I’m sure he feels he’s been tricked. It was never my intention. I only meant to save myself from the bees.”

  “I know, my dear. Romulus was quite clear on that point. He does not blame you at all.” She patted Violet’s hand again. “I look forward to getting to know you. I’m sure we shall become fast friends.”

  “Thank you, Lady Exmoor.” She sincerely meant it, for the woman was kind and amiable. Despite her gentle appearance, she obviously had the spine to hold her ground when dealing with her husband.

  Violet admired her for that.

  She’d noticed James Brayden, Earl of Exmoor, when they’d all walked in. He was as big as Romulus. But he was not nearly as handsome, for his face was badly scarred. At first glance, Violet had thought him quite frightening. However, she quickly looked beyond those scars and saw how much he loved his wife and the goodness inside of him. “I hope we do become friends, whether or not I marry your brother-in-law.”

  Hortensia sighed. “Resign yourself to it, Violet. You and Mr. Brayden shall marry. The sooner you accept it, the easier it will go for you.”

  Aunt Sophie frowned. “I hate to agree with Hortensia in this matter. If Lady Withnall spreads gossip about what she saw, you will never recover from it. I’ll do my best to make her see reason. We Farthingales marry for love, and it isn’t fair to deprive you of the chance.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Sophie.” She stared at the ginger cake set on her plate but had no appetite for it just now.

  Her aunt nodded. “Meanwhile, clear your head of these worries and simply take the time to get to know Romulus. Perhaps your hearts will lead you to each other. This would be the happiest outcome. I shall remain ever optimistic. After all, look at the chaos my daughters caused during their debut seasons, and they came out of it all right.”

  Violet was heartened by that. Lily’s courtship wasn’t the only one botched, and yet she and Ewan were now blissfully happy. Her cousin Rose had abducted her best friend’s brother who later had the good sense to marry her. Laurel met her husband when she practically trampled him to death with her beast of a horse. Fortunately, Graelem had merely suffered a broken leg. Daffodil had almost killed her husband by shooting off an elephant gun. That was most frightening of all, for no one wanted a dead duke on their doorstep. Hard to explain that one away. Daisy had saved her husband from certain death when he’d almost sailed into a trap laid by Napoleon’s spies.

  Bees were nothing.

  Violet sighed and raised the teacup to her lips. “Lady Exmoor, what else can you tell me about your brother-in-law?”

  “What does it matter, Violet? He took off your clothes,” Hortensia interjected before Lady Exmoor had the chance to respond. “No matter who or what he is, you are marrying him.”

  Violet choked on her tea, but covered it up with a small cough and a dab of her lips with her table linen. “He unlaced my gown, that is all. It is not the same thing as taking it off. As for marrying him, that remains to be seen.”

  She was doomed if her own family insisted on overlooking the innocent facts.

  Lady Exmoor took a sip of her tea before responding to Violet’s question. “Well, as you have no doubt guessed, Romulus is honest, fiercely loyal, and quite protective. All these Brayden men are.”

  Hortensia sniffed the air. “What is that odd scent?”

  Violet groaned softly, realizing she still reeked of pickling brine. “Do you mean the oatmeal soap I scrubbed myself with? Or the lingering scent of vinegar? Mr. Brayden claimed it was an antidote to the venom from the bee stings. The welts are still all over my face, neck, and limbs, but the venom is no longer burning me. I didn’t think to ask him how he is feeling. I hope he is not suffering from his stings.”

  “He hasn’t complained,” Lady Exmoor assured her. “He was more concerned about you.”

  The men came out of the study a short while later. They were five men in all. The two Braydens and her three uncles, John, George, and Rupert. She called them uncles, but they were really her father’s cousins. Still, in this large family, it was easier to simply refer to the older men as uncles and the women as aunts.

  If one attempted to delve deeper into the family connections, it would all be too confusing.

  John Farthingale was the eldest, and this was his home. He was the patriarch, but everyone knew his wife Sophie was the heart and soul of the family and their comfortable home. George was a renowned doctor. He’d taken her aside before she’d gone upstairs to wash and dress in order to examine her and make certain the bee stings were nothing more serious. For some people, even one sting could be deadly. She’d suffered at least twenty, and Mr. Brayden probably more.

  Rupert was the negotiator of the family, responsible for their contracts and finding new materials, the Italian velvets, muslins, satins, exotic sarcenet silks, to introduce into the family’s thriving mercantile business. It was likely he led these betrothal negotiations.

  Romulus marched straight toward her and offered his arm. “Take a walk in the garden with me, Violet. We’ll stay in
sight of the house, if you are concerned.”

  She readily accepted, eager to be away from all these prying eyes. “Do you think the bees have gone?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I think so. We should be safe enough. With their hive knocked down, they’ve probably moved off to find another garden and another tree in which to rebuild their honeycomb.”

  She nodded. “I’m eager to hear what went on in the study. Will you tell me what you gentlemen discussed?”

  “Yes, I don’t want the financial arrangements to be kept from you.”

  Once Violet had grabbed her shawl, Romulus led her outdoors to a wooden bench beside the stone wall that separated their homes. She sat while Romulus remained standing next to her with his foot on the bench. He propped an arm on his bended knee and leaned toward her. “We are betrothed now,” he said, stating it as a matter of fact. “The contracts will be drawn up in the next few days, and your uncle and I shall sign them at the end of the week.”

  She tucked her shawl around her shoulders as a soft, May breeze blew cool air through the garden. The sun was shining, and a few birds were chirping in the trees, but thankfully, Violet heard no buzzing. It was as Mr. Brayden had said, the bee swarm had flown off to make a new hive. “Hopefully, Lady Withnall will change her mind before then.”

  His expression turned grim. “She won’t.”

  “Nevertheless, we ought to keep our betrothal as quiet as possible on the chance she does. What would she gain by telling the world what she saw?”

  He shrugged. “The satisfaction of striking terror in the hearts of all in the ton who have sinned. I suppose that would be just about everyone. Not even the best people are always saints.”

  “Well, nobody knows me in London other than my family. I am not a wealthy heiress and my father is no one important. The news will be met with a big yawn.”