Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Brayden. Seek me out later if you wish.”

  “I do wish it.”

  She ignored him and turned to walk away.

  She heard Lady Felicia’s lilting laughter behind her. “What a quaint, little bird. Not your usual sort, is she, Rom?”

  “No, not at all.”

  Violet would not linger to hear the rest of his response.

  The man who married Lady Felicia next, assuming she cared to marry, would live in unsurpassed luxury. But there was little else to recommend her. Oddly, although the woman was beautiful and rich, there was a hardness about her that detracted from her otherwise considerable assets.

  Violet thought of the Book of Love when it spoke of beauty. The widow’s features might appear beautiful at first glimpse, but there was an ugliness to her character that could not be overlooked. How could she be beautiful in any man’s eyes when on the inside she was cold as ice?

  What did Romulus think of this woman?

  Violet realized how little she knew of him. Still, she had learned something of his character. He was protective by nature, but that was a far thing from being a fawning dolt. He was ruled by honor and kindness, not desperation and jealousy. He was not the sort to fall in doting rapture at any woman’s feet. Was he?

  Nor did he appear to be impressed by all Lady Felicia had to offer.

  Quite the opposite, he looked as though he was irritated by the woman’s flirtation.

  She turned back to glance at him.

  To her surprise, Romulus was looking at her as she retreated. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was casting her a pleading glance. Was he imploring her to return to his side? Did he not wish to be alone with the beautiful widow?

  Violet wished she was more sophisticated and adept at handling such matters. In truth, she was confused. Romulus seemed to want her to remain by his side, but his words as she’d turned to walk off still stung.

  Not your usual sort, is she, Rom?

  No, not at all.

  That’s what he’d said in response to Lady Felicia’s remark.

  He had the choice of two women before him. One, namely herself, a reluctant debutante with a bee sting on her nose and ugly red welts all over her body. The other was perfection itself. And this perfect woman was rich, worldly, and hungry for him.

  Violet could see Lady Felicia for what she was, cold and calculating. But would Romulus see her this way as well? Perhaps. But would he care?

  She crossed the room to greet her cousin Daisy who had arrived with her husband, Gabriel. “I hear the Chipping Way curse is still going strong,” he said with a rakish grin and a wicked sparkle in his eyes. “I’m sorry you were beset by bees, Violet. But this is how the blasted curse works. Something calamitous always happens to throw you and your intended together. How soon before the wedding is announced?”

  She glanced at Romulus.

  Lady Felicia was standing so close to him, she appeared to be atop him. “It won’t be.”

  Gabriel and Daisy followed her gaze.

  Gabriel sighed. “Don’t be too hard on him. I know Lady Felicia’s type. She is the one making all the advances.”

  Violet shook her head. “He doesn’t seem to be objecting.”

  “It isn’t easy for a man to step away under these circumstances. He isn’t about to rebuff her now, for he knows Lady Felicia is not above causing a scene. He is handling her the only way he can at the moment, by remaining polite but cool to her advances. Ah, he keeps looking your way. See, that proves my point.”

  “He didn’t want me to leave his side,” she admitted. “But I had to. I’m not good at sophisticated banter with a cutting edge to it. And look at me…then look at her. She’s elegant. I look like a measles case.”

  Daisy regarded her affectionately. “Oh, Violet. It is obvious she is jealous of you.”

  Violet laughed. “Thank you, Daisy. That is utter nonsense.” She refused to pay any more attention to Romulus and his overly amorous widow.

  The evening passed more pleasantly than expected, even though Romulus happened to be seated beside Lady Felicia at the dining table. Violet’s place was immediately across from them, but next to the son of an old family friend. “Miss Farthingale, do you still sing?”

  “Yes, I do.” She was pleased Lord Jameson Forester had remembered this about her. “And your sister, Lord Forester? How is she faring?”

  “Valerie is well. She sends her regards.” He studied her a little too closely for comfort, no doubt noticing the spots and being too polite to comment on them. “She is Lady Rawley now, a viscountess. Unfortunately, she is not in a happy marriage.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “She and her husband live apart. Lord Rawley is a dull bird who prefers the life of a country squire. He spends most of his time trudging through his cornfields, and when he isn’t doing that, he’s duck hunting. His estate is in Cumbria. Valerie prefers London, of course. Who doesn’t? She’s found a house to let on the outskirts of Mayfair. Barely fashionable.”

  “I’m sure it’s lovely.”

  “I suppose it will have to do for her. She would have liked a residence as fine as those on Chipping Way, but Lord Rawley is tightfisted and barely sends her enough pin money to last her through the month.”

  Violet was surprised when he proceeded to tell her precisely how much his sister received. Goodness, it seemed more than generous. But still crude to mention his sister’s finances here and now. “I must disappoint you, Lord Forester. I prefer the countryside as well. It can be quite lovely, especially in summer when the air is mild and the foliage is lush and in bloom. Autumn is also quite splendid, especially when the leaves are changing colors and–”

  He laughed. “I forgot what a little pigeon you are. I think I would enjoy the country quite well if I spent time up there with you. But I have something serious to discuss with you, Violet. May I call you that? We are good friends. I hope you won’t take offense. And do call me Jameson.”

  She eyed him warily. Yes, they had been friends. She hadn’t seen him or his sister in years. What was this serious matter he wished to discuss? Jameson always had one wild scheme or another rolling in his head. His father, the Marquis of Broughton, had hoped he would settle down over time. Was he still dreaming up wild schemes? “What’s on your mind, Jameson?”

  “My sister and I have decided to raise funds for St. Aubrey’s Orphanage in Langdale. The buildings on the property are in a sad state and require urgent repairs. Father has made a generous donation, but it isn’t nearly enough. We don’t want the orphans to be turned out. Where would they go? I shudder to think, for where can they go but to the workhouses?”

  “That would be awful.” She knew of the orphanage. Everyone who spent time in the Lake District knew of it and admired the abbess who ran it. “How can I help?”

  He cast her a beaming smile. “I was hoping you would offer. You see, we thought we’d hold a charity recital and we need an extraordinary singer. We thought of you immediately. It is the reason I arranged to be invited to this party.”

  The notion surprised her. “Why me? I’m not a professional.”

  “You are young, beautiful, and you’ve always had the voice of an angel. The men will flock to hear you sing.”

  “Men? You expect me to sing to a roomful of men?” It sounded indecent and she was sorry she’d offered to help him. “No, that is out of the question.”

  “You mistake me, Violet. It will be an elegant affair, with all the best Society in attendance. Lords and ladies. It’s just that the men hold the purse strings, don’t they? So, they’ll be the ones making the large donations. A man will pay more if the singer is young and beautiful.”

  She supposed she ought to be flattered, but the discussion made her uncomfortable. “Surely, there must be professionals who will do a much better job than I would.”

  He took a sip of his wine, then frowned and studied the crystal glass as he set it down. “Most of these op
era singers demand a fee. So do the stage actresses. But they are lower class. You are a gentlewoman and will elevate this event. Won’t you do it for the children?”

  Ugh, he knows just how to pull at my heartstrings.

  She wasn’t an utter ninny. Yes, she wanted to help children. But why this sudden compassion for the downtrodden and helpless from Jameson? This was out of character for him. “Send me more details and I’ll discuss it with Uncle John and Aunt Sophie. I’m staying with them for the season. They’re sponsoring my come-out.”

  He frowned. “They’ll refuse. Why can’t we keep this as our little secret?”

  When he was younger, Jameson had a tendency to pout when he did not get his way. Too bad this had not changed. He looked like a petulant boy as he drained his glass and raised it to be refilled by one of the attending footmen.

  “You forget, I’m a Farthingale. We don’t keep secrets from each other. Yes, they will likely refuse. If so, I will write to the abbess and see if we can help in some other way.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Why her? I’m the one putting this event together on behalf of the orphanage. All she has to do is receive the funds.”

  Although the desserts looked quite tempting, Violet had no appetite for them. She merely wished this dinner party to be over. Jameson was now sulking beside her, and Romulus appeared enraptured by Lady Felicia, his head tipped toward her as she engaged him in another intimate conversation.

  When supper finally came to an end, she rose and joined the ladies in the parlor while the men remained at the dining table for drinks and smokes.

  Lady Withnall intercepted her as she made her way to Aunt Sophie and Daisy. “Sit next to me, Violet.”

  It wasn’t a request, but a command.

  “That was not well done of you,” the diminutive dragon said and tapped her cane on the floor twice to mark her disdain. Thuck. Thuck.

  “I don’t know what you mean?” In truth, she could not imagine what she had done to overset this woman.

  “You allowed Lady Felicia to steal Romulus from you.” She tapped her cane again. “And who was that blackguard you were speaking to all evening?”

  Violet arched an eyebrow. “Do you mean my dinner partner, Lord Jameson Forester? His family and mine are long-time friends. And what did you expect me to do to Lady Felicia? Challenge her to a duel over Captain Brayden? She’s known him for years. I’ve known him for a day.” She rose abruptly. “Forgive me if I seem rude, Lady Withnall. But I have enough demands placed on me just now. I don’t need more from you.”

  Oh, that did sound rude.

  It wasn’t the old gossip’s fault Romulus had lavished his attention on Lady Felicia throughout supper. Nor was it her fault that Jameson had spent the entire meal urging her to sing to a roomful of men. “I’m sorry. I still feel like a duck out of water here.”

  She made her way into the garden, needing to be alone for a moment. The night was overcast, the clouds covering the moon and stars. The breeze was laden with moisture and carried the scent of lilacs, the heady fragrance filling the air.

  She was alone no more than a moment before Jameson came up to her. “Violet, this is important to me. I need to know that you’ll help.”

  “I told you I would think about it.” She took a step back when he attempted to take her hand. “Go away, Jameson.”

  “You wound me to turn me away. Please don’t spurn me, you bewitching creature.”

  She rolled her eyes. There was that word again. Creature. No one had ever called her that before, and now she’d heard it twice in one night. “Oh, for pity’s sake. Do not insult me by pretending you have the slightest interest in me.”

  “I’m not pretending. You were always a pretty girl, but you’ve grown into a ravishingly beautiful woman. You are like a magnificent butterfly just sprung from its cocoon.” He suddenly took her by the arms, his touch light enough, but entirely inappropriate.

  She didn’t struggle, for she didn’t fear him. He wasn’t a brute, just a pampered, idiot lord. “This butterfly would like you to let go of her. Nor will I sing for you if you continue your ridiculous behavior, so take your flattery elsewhere.”

  “I meant every word. If you won’t help me with the charity, then indulge me by granting me a kiss.” His grip tightened on her arms.

  She sighed in exasperation. “Go back inside and leave me alone, Jameson. Don’t insult me by attempting to steal a kiss. You are certainly not going to be the first man I kiss. So, let go of me before I do you bodily harm.”

  He laughed and held his hands up as he drew them away. “There. See. I can be a gentleman.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Romulus said, catching both of them off guard as he came up from behind. “Get out of here, Forester.”

  Jameson gave an extravagant bow and backed into Lady Dayne’s parlor where the men had now joined the ladies.

  Violet let out the breath she’d been holding. “Thank goodness he left without incident. The man was giving me a headache. I had no desire to use physical force on him, but I would have done so if he’d attempted to kiss me.”

  “Physical force? Against him? You aren’t strong enough, Violet. He would have gotten his way.” Romulus folded his arms across his chest. “Why are you out here alone?”

  “To escape all of you.” She mimicked his stance. “Why are you out here? Won’t your precious Lady Felicia miss you?”

  “No. She couldn’t care less about me.”

  “Are we speaking of the same woman? Your old friend? She couldn’t keep her hands off you.”

  “That was for your benefit. She was bored and this is how she amuses herself. What did Forester want? You seemed to be having an intense dinner conversation.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d noticed. Your eyes were on Lady Felicia and her scantily clad bosom the entire time.” She groaned. “Oh, I sounded quite bitter and jealous, didn’t I?”

  He sighed. “We’re both out of sorts. If Forester hadn’t taken his hands off you, I would have hurt him, probably broken some part of him, and then tossed him into Lady Dayne’s rose bushes.”

  “Jameson is harmless. You needn’t have worried. Besides, I know how to defend myself.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he muttered.

  “What? That he’s harmless or that I can defend myself?”

  “Both, I suppose. There’s something about him I don’t like. Perhaps it’s that he was so attentive to you.” He cast her a wry grin. “I can be bitter and jealous, too.”

  Her annoyance eased, and she laughed softly. “Good to know I’m not the only one out of sorts tonight.”

  “Are you busy tomorrow morning? Let’s meet by the bench and go through more of that book.”

  “The Book of Love?”

  He nodded. “I think we both need to learn how to trust each other.”

  “Agreed, but how do we build a lifetime’s worth of trust in less than a week?”

  Chapter Eight

  The day was once again overcast and breezy, but there was no sign of rain. Violet was up early, as was her routine, so after washing and dressing, she decided to write a letter to St. Aubrey’s abbess, Sister Ursula, about the condition of the orphanage buildings and what needed to be done. She did not know if Sister Ursula’s response would come in time. Still, she thought it important to let her know what was planned.

  Although Jameson had been his usual, irritating self, he was trying to do a good deed and she wished to help him. Also, it was rather flattering of him to think of her singing talent as a means to raise funds for this charitable cause.

  She walked downstairs and had just given the letter to Pruitt to post, when her aunt bustled into the entry hall. “Aunt Sophie, would you mind if I invited some friends of mine to tea tomorrow? Lord Jameson Forester and his sister, Lady Rawley.”

  Sophie smiled. “The Foresters? They are friends of your parents, are they not?”

  Violet nodded. “Their father and mine are
best of friends. I know Jameson and Valerie quite well, although I haven’t seen them in a few years. The marquis relied on my parents to help him through the difficult months after his wife died. We saw a lot of him and his children back then.”

  “They are most welcome, my dear. Give me their direction and I’ll send off an invitation at once.”

  She hugged her aunt. “Thank you, I don’t know how we would all get along without you.”

  Her aunt laughed. “I think you’d all manage quite well. I’ve spent most of these past five years in a fog. Each daughter having her come-out, each one botched spectacularly. But it all worked out in spite of the mistakes I made.”

  “I don’t think loving your children can ever be a mistake.”

  “No, but sometimes we parents must learn to hold our tongues and trust our children to do what’s best for themselves, not to push them into doing what we think is best.”

  “Ah, yes. Trust.” She nodded. “I think I must work on that as well. It’s very hard to trust someone you’ve only known for a day or two.”

  “You are referring to Romulus Brayden, I assume. Yes, it is difficult. Those bonds take time to develop.”

  Violet took her aunt’s arm as they walked into the breakfast room. The men had already left for the day, and none of the other relatives had come down yet, so they had a rare moment alone. “Unless Lady Withnall relents and agrees to keep quiet about what she saw, I only have one week to learn all I can about him. Last night did not go well for us.”

  “Ah, I saw him with the Marquis of Herringdon’s widow, Lady Felicia. The woman was relentless, never leaving him alone.”

  “Hard to miss, weren’t they? She knew just how to bring out the worst in me. I turned into a green-eyed monster. And I don’t even have green eyes.”

  Her aunt shook her head and laughed again. “Violet, I can only say that the Braydens are men of honor. I don’t think Romulus will lie to you about his feelings for Lady Felicia. If he likes her, he will tell you straight out. The truth may hurt, but it is best to know exactly where you stand with him.”