Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  “I’m hardly in danger of that, but thank you. I’d like that.” He walked to the Farthingale home with the three ladies and was immediately made to feel comfortable amid the horde seated around their enormous dining table.

  Violet’s aunt did not run a household, she ran a chaotic, undisciplined regiment.

  Her aunt must have sensed what he was thinking, for she laughed softly and shook her head. “It is a bit much, isn’t it? I thought we would quiet down once our daughters were married and out of the house, but they keep coming over to visit, often bring their husbands and children along. We are never alone.”

  Violet joined in on the conversation. “Then there’s the rest of the family who think nothing of visiting for months at a time. I was sent here for my debut season, which I’ve managed to botch, I suppose. My Oxfordshire cousins will arrive shortly. You’ll like Honey and Belle. They are next to be herded like cattle to the marriage mart.”

  He tried to follow the names and relations, but men were never good at this sort of thing. The Farthingale women, as beautiful as they were, just became a big jumble in his head. Violet stood out, of course.

  Her spectacular eyes.

  Her body that would have him panting like a dog if he weren’t careful. He’d seen more of her than any man who wasn’t her husband ought to have seen. The hint of her bosom. Her long, shapely legs.

  “Romulus,” Violet said, cutting into his wayward thoughts. What was wrong with him? And what was it about Violet that turned him mindless? “I’d like to introduce you to a few more of my cousins.”

  Lord, more names to remember.

  Most of the men were at their offices, so he was surrounded by women and children. He responded politely when introduced to Violet’s cousins, Daffodil and Daisy. “Call me Dillie, everyone does,” one of the pretty, dark-haired, blue-eyed, young women said, smiling at him. “I detest the name Daffodil. But I think my parents were caught by surprise when I popped out right after Lily. I don’t think they were expecting twins and had to scramble for another flower name. Do you know my husband, the Duke of Edgeware?”

  “Everyone does.” Blessed saints. She was Edgeware’s wife? He was the duke who was never going to marry. She was the girl who’d saved his sorry life twice. No wonder the man had fallen in love with her. Dillie was beautiful. More than that, there was a warmth and vitality to her that could not be overlooked.

  “Daisy’s husband is Lady Dayne’s grandson, Gabriel,” Violet remarked.

  “I know of him as well.” Romulus took a closer look at Violet’s two cousins. They looked remarkably like Violet, but Violet… Lord, she did something to him. Her cousins were beautiful, for certain. But there was so much more to them than merely their fine looks. “A pleasure to meet you, Daisy.”

  He meant it, too. Gabriel Dayne had been awarded an earldom for his bravery during the war. His work had saved thousands of British lives, but Daisy had saved Gabriel and broken up a spy ring in the process. Indeed, these Farthingale women were extraordinary.

  The meal was delicious, for Mrs. Mayhew’s kitchen staff was well trained.

  Everyone chattered around the table, all talking at once and mostly tossing questions at him, but he did not mind. Half the time, the conversation moved on before he had time to respond, and he particularly enjoyed the children’s questions. “Are you bigger than a house? Are you bigger than an elephant?”

  No. And no.

  “Are you a gladiator?” a young cousin by the name of Charles asked.

  “I’m a sailor.”

  The boy’s eyes grew so wide, they bulged from their sockets. “On a sailing ship? A real ship?”

  “Yes, I’m captain. My frigate is being repaired right now. Our mizzenmast was damaged during our battle with the dastardly pirate, Red-Eye McFlynn.”

  “Pirates!” The children sat rapt as he told them of the battle. He embellished a little, of course. He did not swing on the rigging, sword in hand, to leap onto the pirate ship. Nor did he engage in a sword fight with McFlynn. But there was hand-to-hand combat, and he did knock out the bastard when he’d tried to stick a dirk into Romulus’s gut.

  By the time the meal was over, Romulus was eager for quiet.

  But he’d promised to read The Book of Love with Violet, and he was not about to renege. In any event, Violet was quiet by nature. She’d hardly said two words throughout their meal. Not that anyone gave her the chance.

  He looked forward to a little time alone with her.

  They’d be in full sight of anyone who cared to observe them from the house.

  The rain had stopped, and the sun was now breaking through the clouds to shine down on the Farthingale garden. The air was warm and humid, but Romulus was used to the sea air, so this moisture bothered him little.

  He waited for Violet on the bench near the dividing wall, taking a moment to scan for the angry bees. They were definitely gone. He only saw one or two hovering by the bed of flowers along with several butterflies. One of them was a magnificent purple color.

  He thought of Violet.

  She walked toward him moments later with the red book in hand. Her steps were light and naturally graceful, almost flitting like that of a delicate butterfly. He smiled at her and rose to greet her. “Is supper like this as well?”

  “Oh, no. The children don’t join us for supper. But I rather enjoy having them about during the day. Did you see the excitement in their eyes when you spoke of your pirate battles? I was enthralled as well. I had no idea you faced such dangers daily.”

  He shrugged. “We patrol along the Irish Sea and St. George’s Channel mostly. Sometimes the Atlantic Ocean, but it is too vast to properly patrol. The pirates easily avoid us out on the high seas. We are more effective keeping close to land, catching them in sight of a port or smuggler’s cove. We engage them in battle when we find them, but most of the time, they manage to evade us. McFlynn was my toughest assignment. He controlled a pirate fleet of ten ships. They sailed together, like a wolf pack on the prowl.”

  She settled on the bench, now holding the book on her lap. “You were alone against ten?”

  He sat beside her. “No, we sailed in our own naval pack. We were six, but first-class frigates. Their ten vessels were no match for us.” He glanced at the book. “I’ve been talking about myself too long. Let’s talk about love now.”

  Her cheeks turned bright pink.

  He’d spoken lightly, his manner teasing. But he was eager to learn as much as he could about falling in love. How did one go about it? Was it something that just happened?

  How was it different from lust?

  Of course, he knew it was different. He had seen the way his brother behaved toward his wife, and the way his married cousins behaved toward their wives. Cow-eyed, besotted, ready to do anything to make them happy.

  He didn’t like to think he would allow any woman to walk all over him like that. However, being with Violet did not feel like a duty or obligation, nor did he mind any of her demands. Not that she’d been demanding at all. It bothered him that she was requiring so little of him.

  Perhaps this is why he enjoyed her company. She wasn’t meek, but she was soft and gentle. She stirred his protective instincts in a way no other woman ever had. In truth, she could ask things of him, and he would comply without fuss or hesitation.

  Well, he’d practically undressed her in his kitchen.

  He owed her some recompense for that.

  He still wanted to undress her.

  How did this innocent girl rouse such sinful thoughts in him?

  “When my sister gave me this book, she warned it might not make sense at first. She made me promise to read it in its entirety.”

  “And share it with me?”

  Violet nodded. “I don’t see why not. Poppy shared it with her husband before they were married, so I think it is perfectly fine for me to share it with you now. After all, we only have one week before Lady Withnall lowers her verbal axe on us. With so little time to get
this right, isn’t it important for us to work together?”

  “I agree. Let’s start. Where do we begin?”

  Chapter Six

  Violet opened to the first chapter and began to read. “Love does not come from the heart but from the brain. It is the brain that sends signals throughout the body, telling you what to feel. Therefore, to stimulate a man’s arousal–”

  “What?” Romulus placed a hand over the page to stop her from reading further. “Is it a book about sex acts? Forget it.”

  “Don’t you dare take it from me.” Violet frowned at him. “It isn’t about that at all. It’s scientific.”

  “It’s indecent.” And he did not need a book to tell him just how indecent his thoughts about Violet were. Nor—Lord help him—did he need Violet to read to him in explicit detail just how many positions the male and female bodies could contort into when coupling.

  “How can you make that claim when you haven’t read it? Please let me finish the paragraph. You promised. Will you prove yourself a liar and say you didn’t?”

  “I did promise. But you misled me. There is nothing scientific about arousing a man.”

  “See, you are already leaping to false conclusions. This is what the book is all about. Listening. Hearing. Seeing the truth, not what you imagine it to be. Will you let me continue?”

  Against his better judgement, he removed his hand.

  She took up where she’d left off. “Therefore, to stimulate a man’s arousal response, one must arouse his sense receptacles in a pleasing way. By touch, taste, sight, smell, and hearing. This author explains how we must properly use the five senses to find true love.” She glanced up at him. “I will admit, I did not make a good first impression.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t suppose I did either.”

  “You were brave and heroic. I was ghastly. I could not have appealed to your senses in any way. For touch, I crashed into you while running from the bees. As for the sense of hearing, I was shrieking at the top of my lungs, so I must have shattered your eardrums. Are they still recovering?”

  He grinned back. “My hearing is only now starting to return.”

  “The sense of smell, you doused that ghastly vinegar all over me. I think I still reek of it. I must smell like something pickled, even though I’ve been scrubbing my skin with oatmeal soap ever since. That leaves the senses of taste and sight.” She sighed. “I was aiming at the bees, but I kept hitting you with this book, so I don’t know how you managed to get a good look at me while your hands were in front of your face to protect yourself.”

  “I looked my fill later in the kitchen.” Whatever irritation he’d felt toward her had simply melted away as he’d unlaced her gown. Touch. Her skin, as he’d run his hands over her body and slid them along her spectacular legs, was silky soft. Sight. The sight of her breasts as the gown slipped low. He’d only seen the swell of those mounds, nothing more. It was enough to tip him over the edge.

  Scent. There was a rose-petal sweetness to her skin. Perhaps it was the oatmeal soap. He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that Violet did not pour odious perfume all over herself. Her scent was pure and natural, like a garden in spring. Hearing. Her voice was a mix of innocent and sultry, and hearing her sing was like listening to an angel chorus.

  That left taste.

  Yes, he wanted to taste every inch of her. A gentleman might start with her lips, but he was no gentleman when it came to Violet. He was a lusting hound. He’d start with her breasts and work his way down from there. Taste her, breathe in the scent of her arousal. Hear her soft sighs and passionate moans.

  “…which is why we ought to leave the kiss for last.” She stared at him. “Romulus, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

  “Of course. Kiss. Last.” Over his dead body. He was going to kiss this girl before the day was through. And it would be more than one kiss, to hell with Lady Withnall’s edict.

  “Poppy says the sense of taste is the most dangerous. That’s why we must leave it for last. We’re only going to test the one kiss anyway. It will have more meaning once we get to know each other better. This is the beauty of the book. It shows the reader how to connect with the mate of their heart, how to look at that person and see them for who they truly are.”

  She flipped forward a few pages. “What I find most fascinating is the book’s discussion about the male brain.”

  Romulus was intrigued. “Go on.”

  “The male brain functions on two levels, the low and the high. The female brain functions only at the higher level.”

  He leaned back and stretched his arm across the top of the bench. “Who wrote this book? A woman?”

  “I’m sure it was a man.” She rolled her eyes at him. “His description of the workings of the male brain is too perfectly detailed to have been done by one of our sex. Most of us don’t understand men.”

  “We don’t understand women either.”

  She snorted. “You just want us in your bed.”

  “Violet!”

  “It’s true, isn’t it? This is why the book is so important. I am not passing judgment, merely explaining how your brain works.”

  “I know how it works.” He stifled the wrenching groan threatening to spill from his lips. Yes, if he could take Violet up to his bedchamber right now, he would.

  “I don’t think you truly understand. You only think you do. But this is also about how the female brain works, so we will both be helped by reading this book. The author claims that a man’s lower brain function is designed purely for successful mating.”

  Romulus lolled his head back. “Oh, Lord. Do your aunt and uncle know what this book is about?”

  “It is about love, Romulus. There is nothing lewd about it. According to this book, men look for beautiful women. They may define beauty differently, but there is one thing they all agree upon. The woman must appear to be a successful vessel for their seed or they will immediately dismiss her in their minds—too old, too young, too frail, too sickly. So, all men will first look for cues that a woman can provide him healthy offspring.” She glanced up at him. “See, it is a scientific analysis.”

  He snorted. “Right.”

  She sighed but pressed on. “At this first inspection, the color of her hair and eyes is not as important as the shape and symmetry of her body.”

  Violet paused in her reading to look up at him again. “Do you understand what the author is suggesting?”

  Romulus nodded. “It means men look at a woman’s breasts first.”

  “Yes, that’s it exactly.” She cleared her throat. “Were you looking at mine when we were in your kitchen and you were rubbing vinegar all over me?”

  “I’d rather not answer that.” But of course, he was. Gaping. Gawking. Staring. Couldn’t take his eyes off her heaving chest.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. If the male likes the look of the female’s bosom, he will then move on to inspecting the rest of her. Did you inspect the rest of me?”

  He groaned.

  “I’ll take that as a yes as well. You should not feel badly about it. You can’t help yourself. This is your lower brain function at work, the one that is designed purely for successful mating.”

  “Got it. May we move on to the higher brain function now?”

  She nodded. “This is where the truly important connections are made. Your low brain will accept hundreds of women, because its purpose is only to seek out healthy females. At that point, your high brain takes over. That part of your brain is more complex, for it must select the best woman for you among these hundreds. It will sort out the peahens, the manipulators, the ill-tempered, and so on.”

  This was the oddest conversation he’d ever had in his entire life, but Violet was serious about this nonsense, so he sat back and let her take the lead.

  “Your high brain is seeking the one woman who will produce the finest heirs to secure your bloodline.”

  He grunted. “Women are not fields of wheat to plo
ugh, fertilize, and harvest.”

  “Indeed, not. This author does not suggest that is all men do. As I said, finding the right mother for your children in addition to her being the right wife for you is quite complex. And it is of vital importance to our sex that we find the right man for ourselves. We need that male to remain faithful to us in order to protect us and our young. Otherwise, if left alone and exposed to all manner of predators, we might be eaten by wolves.”

  “Eaten by wolves? In London?”

  She frowned at him. “Are you purposely being dense? When a female has just given birth to her young, she is at her most vulnerable. She needs to know her husband will remain by her side, will provide for her and their children. Life is difficult enough for a woman on her own, but with young children? She cannot leave them to fend for themselves from dawn to dusk. But how is she to feed them, clothe them, provide shelter for them if she cannot go out and work?”

  “Violet–”

  “Perhaps at the dawn of civilization we were worried about real wolves and bears and other animal predators. But our present-day wolf can be anything that puts the woman and her children in peril. This is why the female brain also assesses each male who passes before her. Will he protect me and my children? Will he provide for us? Will he love us? So, when a woman sets her cap for a duke, no matter how unremarkable he may be, she isn’t being greedy. What she is really doing is securing her future by the only means available to her since she is not permitted to work. And if she had to work, where could she go? She can’t command a ship or stand for Parliament or teach at Oxford, no matter how intelligent she may be.”

  She frowned at him and continued. “What are her choices? To run a lady’s shop, or be a governess or companion. There’s little else available to her. So why not aim for the duke? And why not assess him for his ability to protect her and her children? A duke, by his mere title, is deemed desirable.”

  “Violet, I’m sorry. It was callous of me to make fun of the book. It is quite a frank assessment of the lot women face in life. Few choices are open to them. But to hear you talking about men that way…yes, I suppose we do look at a woman first and think about her in a lustful way. But we are also civilized enough not to act upon such urges.”