Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  Violet curled her hands into fists and laughed. “I’ll be right there beside you.”

  “Which is why Ian will insist on attending with us,” Dillie said with a roll of her eyes. “He knows he can’t keep me away from the lecture. Perhaps Daisy and Gabriel will join us. Ian and Gabriel have both perfected that cold, lethal stare. No one will dare cause trouble while they are present.”

  Violet nodded, suddenly wondering whether Romulus might like to attend. He’d certainly learn firsthand what it meant to ally oneself to the Farthingale clan. But it would also give him the chance to discreetly back out of the betrothal if he decided a quiet domestic life was what he wanted. Farthingales did not know the meaning of the word quiet.

  “Come on, Violet. Let’s escape to the music room.”

  The room was empty when they walked in. Dillie sat beside the piano and lightly tinkered with the keys. Violet stood next to her, facing Dillie and her back to the door. She began to hum along to the playful notes.

  Dillie began with a country lilt they often sang at family getaways in Coniston. Violet closed her eyes as the tune began to envelop her. Immediately, she felt the air fill within her lungs, and she was soon surrounded by a lightness of spirit. She warbled the first few notes. The music inspired and transported her, the words and melody now floating from her lips as gently as a feather on a summer breeze. She reached the high notes without difficulty, accomplished the playful trills with similar ease.

  Her father affectionately called her his songbird, adopting this name for her almost from the time she’d learned her first words.

  Songbird.

  This is what she was whenever she sang, a majestic bird in flight, its wings outstretched and gliding on the wind.

  Free.

  Soaring.

  Happy.

  When the song ended, the room began to fill with a different noise, that of enthusiastic cheers and clapping.

  Violet opened her eyes and turned in surprise to the ovation.

  The room was packed, all the guests now crowding around her and Dillie to offer their compliments. Romulus stood by the doorway, his arms folded across his chest and his expression stoic.

  She stood on tiptoes to catch a glimpse of him, hoping to gain his attention.

  He arched an eyebrow and a slow smile spread across his face.

  She returned his smile, then lost sight of him as the guests surrounded her to offer their congratulations. Jameson was among the first to approach her. “You must do this, Violet. Look how everyone responds to you.”

  “They adore you,” Valerie said, giving her a hug as she nodded in agreement.

  Yes, she wanted to benefit St. Aubrey’s for more reasons than anyone suspected. It wasn’t only for her singing. That was mere vanity on her part. The real reason was much closer to her heart, and none of her friends knew of it.

  Her family never spoke of it.

  There was one child who had been raised at the orphanage, one child who was the dearest thing in the world to her.

  That child was her mother.

  Indeed, it was not something the family ever spoke about. There was no shame involved, only sympathy for her mother’s feelings. She had never overcome the pain of being abandoned, of not knowing her blood kin. When her parents had married and Violet’s father had brought her into the Farthingale clan, she’d acquired a host of loving relations. Yet, as happy as her mother was, the anguish still festered for the blood connections she was denied.

  Perhaps this was a little of what Violet was feeling now. Oh, she knew who her family was. What she did not know was who she was. She had yet to answer these questions. Who am I? What is my role in life?

  She smiled at Jameson and Valerie, merely nodding as they continued to gush about her singing.

  She was relieved when they finally moved away.

  “Aunt Sophie,” she said when her aunt reached her side and gave her a hug. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you and Uncle John. May we speak after the tea party?”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  Violet glanced over at Romulus who was still standing by the doorway. Detached. Removed. Tensing as Jameson and Valerie strolled past him into the hall. Oh, dear. There was going to be trouble between these two men.

  How much trouble? And how was she to prevent it?

  Chapter Eleven

  “Romulus, please stay,” Violet said as the afternoon tea came to an end and he was about to return to his home.

  Many guests had lingered, still talking about Violet’s recital and the beauty of her voice. Romulus was the first to admit it was spectacular, but he knew what this discussion would entail, and he was not looking forward to it.

  Lord Forester and his sister still made his gut roil with unease. Whenever they got near Violet, he had the urge to draw her behind him and stand protectively between her and that pair. It had nothing to do with his behaving like a possessive arse, although there might be a little of that, for he was not indifferent to Violet.

  He didn’t care if she thought he was behaving like a jealous baboon. She meant something to him, and he was not going to let anyone hurt her. “Of course, I’ll stay.”

  Night was falling, and as the doors were open onto the Farthingale garden, Romulus could see the brightest stars just coming onto the horizon. The day had been warm, and the scent of grass and roses lingered in the air.

  “Thank you,” she said, nibbling her luscious lower lip in an obvious sign of worry.

  “What is it, Violet?” He was in no hurry to leave her side, for he hadn’t been alone with her all day. There was nothing waiting for him at his home since it was still sparsely furnished and most of his newly hired staff would not move in for another day or two.

  “I wish to talk to you and my aunt and uncle about the St. Aubrey’s charity.” There was a look of trepidation in her eyes, as though she was worried about his response to the news she intended to relate.

  He knew what she was going to say, for the joy of singing had been evident on her face.

  And now she thought he would disapprove.

  But he’d heard the magic in her voice and seen how happy she was when singing. The talk they’d had earlier about her wanting to be something more…this was it. This was her calling, to use her voice to better this often-dangerous world.

  He took her hand when she started to turn away. “Violet, I want you to know, I’ll support you in whatever it is you wish to do.”

  “Much as you dislike it?” She seemed surprised, but pleased.

  He ran his thumb along the delicate curve of her jaw. “Yes. What matters is that it means something to you. But I’d like to hear the details, and if you’ll allow me, I will offer my suggestions.”

  Her smile was as beautiful as starlight. “Yes, of course.”

  She stood a moment longer, smiling up at him.

  He chuckled. “What?”

  “You are quite wonderful. I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

  His grin faded. “You never could. I mean it, Violet. You are perfect for me in every way.” Lord help him, it was all he could do to keep from taking her in his arms and kissing her into forever.

  She cast him an impertinent smile and nodded. “I shall make certain to remind you of your words when we discuss the matter of the St. Aubrey’s recital.”

  It took another half an hour before Romulus finally sat with Violet, her aunt, and uncle in her uncle’s study. “Tell us what Lord Forester proposes, Violet,” John Farthingale said, taking a seat behind his desk and looking a little weary.

  “He would like to organize a music recital to seek donations for St. Aubrey’s.” She cleared her throat and blushed delicately. But this was Violet, shy about attention being foisted on her. “He thinks your well-heeled friends will pay to hear me sing. The proceeds would all go to the orphanage, of course.”

  “Where and when does he intend this event to take place?” Sophie asked.

  “As soon as possible.” Sh
e reached into her sleeve and withdrew a folded parchment. “It is all quite rushed, but Sister Ursula, the abbess at St. Aubrey’s, wrote to Jameson. I haven’t read it yet, however their need is dire and she is urging him to obtain the funds immediately.”

  She handed her uncle the letter.

  He took a moment to read it and then grunted, but made no comment.

  Romulus was now curious to look at it as well. “May I see it, Mr. Farthingale?”

  “Yes, of course.” But her uncle’s brow was still furrowed. “Violet, tell me more about this benefit he wishes to hold.”

  “It’s rather simple, Uncle John. Champagne, cakes, and music. I don’t know if he plans on having other singers, or perhaps a pianist or harpist. But he thinks my singing will be the lure to draw donors to this event. You know why this orphanage is important to me. I want to help in any way I can.”

  Romulus eyed her curiously. “Why is it important to you?”

  Another blush crept up her cheeks. “I…I…” She turned to her aunt and uncle for help.

  Blessed saints! Was she adopted? The possibility never occurred to him, for her resemblance to the other women in the family was too strong. But this may have been the very reason the Farthingales had taken her in.

  His heart tugged, watching her still struggling for words. He reached out and wrapped her hand in both of his. “Violet, you can tell me anything.”

  She nodded, but her lips were tightly pursed, and he could see this was not an easy thing for her. He stroked his thumb gently over the top of her hand. “Do you think I care where you come from? There is no shame in being raised in an orphanage.”

  Her eyes rounded in surprise. “No, it isn’t me.” She cast her aunt and uncle another desperate glance, but eased at her uncle’s nod, as though he was giving her permission to reveal a dark, family secret. “This is where my mother was raised. She was the orphan.”

  She took a deep breath. “But she still feels the pain of not knowing who her family is, so we try very hard not to talk about it. I’m glad she and my father are traveling now. This would be very difficult for her. Yet, she’d want me to help the orphanage in any way I can. I am able to do it using my voice. Perhaps this is why I was given this gift, to be able to help in a cause so dear to my mother’s heart.”

  Romulus entwined his fingers in hers. “Then there’s no question you must do it. But all the more reason your uncle or I must be involved as well.”

  Her eyes widened in dismay. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t trust Forester or his sister.” He felt her stiffen in his grasp, but he would not allow her to slip her hand out of his. “Violet, this is important to me. I will support you in every way, but Forester and his sister do not touch the donations. In this I am adamant.”

  She frowned at him. “He will never agree to your holding the funds. Nor can I blame him. You’ve disliked him from the first. How can he take this as anything other than a vile insult?”

  “I don’t care. What I cannot shake off is the oily feeling I get when I’m around the two of them. Why should he care if someone trustworthy is given responsibility for the donations he hopes will pour in? I am not requiring it to be me. I can ask my cousin Finn. While Tynan and James run the Brayden business affairs, it is Finn who manages the family wealth. He does the same for many prominent members of Parliament, be they in the House of Commons or House of Lords.” He turned to Violet’s uncle. “Of course, I would have no objection to you or any of your brothers taking charge of the purse strings. My only concern is to keep Forester out of the financial end of it.”

  Violet’s uncle gave a curt nod. “I shall discuss this and other terms with my brothers. In the meantime, will you ask your cousin Finn? I know of him, and I think he’s a good choice.”

  “I’ll be seeing him for a late supper this evening. I’ll discuss it with him.”

  “Good. I’ll meet with Lord Forester tomorrow afternoon to finalize the details. I don’t like the idea of holding this function in the Earl of Welles’s London townhouse, especially since he won’t be there. But I will ask the Duke of Lotheil if he’ll allow us to hold the recital in the new Royal Society hall.”

  “I would like that,” Violet said, her eyes now brighter. “The hall is beautiful. To sing among those ancient relics would be quite remarkable.”

  Romulus said nothing.

  The short hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end again. Perhaps he was indeed being a possessive arse, not liking the idea of other men ogling this beauty as she sang her angelic verses in a packed hall.

  He would not feel so ill at ease if they were married. Perhaps it was foolish of him, but it would seem quite a different matter if the angel singing among the rare antiques was known to be his wife.

  Unfortunately, he did not think Violet would now agree to marry him before this event took place. He glanced at her, willing himself to be patient.

  After another few minutes of discussion, Romulus rose to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Violet.”

  She nodded and rose along with him. “Same bench, same time.”

  He bid her aunt and uncle farewell, intending to walk out and leave the three of them to talk over whatever else was needed, but Violet followed him out of the study. He was surprised and pleased as she walked him to the front door. “Do we need to discuss my participation in the recital any further?” she asked.

  “No.” He caressed her cheek. “So, it appears you are to sing.”

  “Assuming we’ll have the Royal Society hall. And assuming Jameson will accept to have your cousin manage the donations.”

  “He can have no objection. Finn is known and respected among the Upper Crust. If he refuses, it will only confirm my suspicions as to his motives.”

  She sighed. “I am going to give you Lily’s monograph to read. I think you will recognize yourself among the pages.”

  He grinned wryly. “Are you suggesting I’m behaving like a baboon’s arse?”

  He ought to have merely bowed over her hand, but they were alone in the hall, and he could not resist giving her a kiss on her soft cheek. “I’ll dream of you tonight, Violet.”

  Her smile was sweet and teasing. “In a high brain way?”

  “No, love. Low brain all the way.”

  *

  Violet’s heart simply melted when Romulus strode toward her the next morning with an appealingly boyish smile on his face. However, there was nothing boyish about him. He was all hard-muscled man. “Good morning,” she said, hoping not to sound breathless.

  He was dressed in his naval uniform, obviously donned for a ceremonial occasion. His buttons and medals gleamed in the sunlight, and his black, thigh-high boots were polished to such a bright shine, one could almost see one’s face reflected upon the black leather.

  She set aside The Book of Love and rose from the garden bench, returning his smile with a warm one of her own. “Romulus, you look so handsome.”

  He laughed. “Are your legs turning to butter? It’s the uniform. It has that effect on women.”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks, and she knew her face must now be in flames. Of course, who could resist such a man? Now that she knew him better, she admired his intelligence and his sense of honor, but there was no overlooking the magnificence of his body.

  The uniform made him look incredibly daunting. He was muscled, but the cut of his jacket made his shoulders appear massive and chiseled out of solid rock. He was all sinew and strength.

  He tipped her chin up so that their gazes met.

  She felt like a fool, swooning over him just as any other woman would.

  He knew it and was grinning at her. “I had lots of naughty dreams about you last night,” he teased. “I’m glad I’m not the only one of us who can’t think straight when we see each other.”

  She laughed.

  He always knew just how to put her at ease.

  “I want to kiss you, Violet. Ache for it. But little Farthingale spies are all about.�
�� He turned toward the oak tree where her two cousins, Charles and Harry, were hiding amid the branches. Their giggles filtered down through the thick cover of leaves. “Of course, your Aunt Hortensia is staring out the parlor window with her usual prune-faced scowl. I don’t think she likes me. She knows exactly what I wish to do to you.”

  Violet shook her head. “She’s scowling at me because she knows I won’t refuse your wicked advances. However, you’ll be pleased to know Pruitt approves of you.”

  “Ah, your wise, Scottish butler. I am honored.” His smile softened. “I can’t stay this morning. As you may have surmised from the uniform I’m wearing, I’ve been summoned to the Admiralty.”

  She frowned. “On a serious matter?”

  “No, just a formality.”

  He must have noticed the worry in her eyes, for he continued to assure her in a purposely light manner. “I’m not going anywhere before I make you my wife. I mean it, Violet. Make the wedding plans once you’re through with the St. Aubrey’s benefit. I don’t need more lessons out of that book.” He glanced at the tome. “It doesn’t matter to me whether love begins with the brain or the heart. I don’t need to review the five senses to know that the sight of you, or the sound and scent of you, gives me pleasure.”

  He groaned and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I want to marry you. I don’t need the threat of Lady Withnall’s anvil falling on my head to convince me.”

  “I feel the same way, but I also feel it is important for us to get through this first week. Not only to see what comes of Lady Withnall’s threat. Getting through this charity recital will require all my concentration. My heart is wrapped up in it. I know how much the orphanage means to my mother, and I want everything to be perfect, something we can all look back on with pride.”

  “It will be, Violet.”

  She swallowed hard, suddenly caught up in ache for her mother.

  Romulus regained her attention by caressing her cheek. “My aunt wishes me to bring you to her house for tea this afternoon. Lady Dayne has also been invited. I’ll come by at four o’clock to pick you both up. You’ll like Aunt Miranda. She is the notorious Lady Grayfell, possibly the only person in London able to strike fear in the heart of Lady Withnall. I think she was Julius Caesar in an earlier life. Perhaps Atilla the Hun.”