Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  “I don’t think Lord Beacham warmed to me.”

  A crease appeared between Georgina’s brows. “I’m sure I don’t know why. You are clever, charming, and beautiful.”

  Eleanor laughed. “Thank you, dearest. If I am all that, I should have the ton at my feet.”

  “You would have in your first season, had you not married that same year.”

  “Now how would you know that, goose? You were barely out of nappies. You chattered all through our wedding ceremony as I remember. Nanny had to take you out of the church.” She rubbed her fingers. She had finally removed her wedding ring with an effort to get on with her life. “I don’t regret a moment of the years Gordon and I were together.”

  Georgina hurried over to sit beside her on the sofa. “Of course you don’t. We all loved Gordon, and we miss him.”

  What Georgina wouldn’t say, was that Eleanor might now have a child. Eleanor squeezed her sister’s hand. “I know you do. I’ve cast off my widow’s weeds. I’m extremely grateful to you and Hugh for all you’ve done. While I’m not resisting the idea of another man in my life, I do try to keep my feet on the ground, Georgie. To find a kindred spirit seems unlikely at my age.”

  Georgina looked doubtful, but she rallied. “You will, I’m sure of it. Perhaps tonight, someone will capture your heart at first glance!”

  Eleanor grinned. “Perhaps.”

  Georgina rose. “I must go and see what’s holding up that sweep, so we can have a fire lit in here.”

  Eleanor sighed, pulled off her house slippers, and tucked her feet beneath her gray poplin morning gown. She took up her pencil, turned to a page of her journal, and soon became lost in improving a line of iambic pentameter, which could be difficult but so satisfying when one got it right.

  A knock came at the door.

  Eleanor raised her head in frustration as the perfect line threatened to escape her mind. “Come in.”

  The butler opened the door. “Lady Eleanor, the sweep and his master are here to clear the chimney.”

  “Oh yes,” Eleanor hurriedly donned her shoes. “Have them come in, Loveday.”

  A beefy, shabbily dressed fellow entered with a small boy. He nodded at Eleanor as she gathered up her things. “Grimsby, milady. We’ll get this ’ere chimney workin’ quicker than a startled fox.”

  Eleanor stared at the boy. He could be no older than seven at the most, with an angelic face which might admittedly prove misleading. Young boys were more often devilish if Georgina and Hugh’s boisterous young fellow was anything to go by.

  “He’s so young,” she said drawing closer to the lad. Longish dirty blond hair hung lankly from beneath the sweep’s cap.

  An unpleasant odor emanated from the man who had adopted a wary expression. “The smaller the better they be. ’E’ll be up and down in a trice.”

  “What is your name?” she asked the boy.

  “Nash, milady.” Nash had the bluest eyes. His skin was so grimy, it had taken on a grayish sheen.

  “Be very careful, Nash,” she said, her heart breaking for him. She wanted to whisk him away from this mean-looking man.

  “’E’s a good one, yer ladyship. No need to worry.”

  Nash was gazing at the piano. “Up you go, boy. Yer not ’ere for tea,” Grimsby said poking the boy with his long brush.

  Nash entered the white marble fireplace and climbed nimbly up into the chimney. For a moment, his thin legs dangled and then he was gone.

  Eleanor left the room and was making her way to the staircase when her brother-in-law appeared. She smiled at Hugh, His Grace of Broadstairs, of whom she was most fond. Accompanying him was a tall, dark-haired man. “Eleanor, allow me to present a friend of mine, Viscount Hayworth.” He turned to his friend. “Mark, my sister-in-law, Lady Eleanor Fitzherbert.”

  She curtsied. “How do you do, Lord Hayworth.”

  “Lady Eleanor.” Hayworth bowed. There were gray streaks at his temples, but he would be no more than forty if that.

  “We see little of Mark since he took a government post in Paris,” Hugh said.

  “Paris. How fortunate, my lord,” Eleanor said. “A magical city filled with art and poetry.”

  “And so much more,” Hayworth said. “You’ve not been to Paris?”

  “No, unfortunately, I have not.” After the war, Gordon had never been well enough to travel abroad.

  “Then I hope the opportunity arises.”

  The men bowed and moved on. Eleanor glanced after him as Hugh drew him into his study. She suspected Hayworth’s polite green gaze took in rather a lot. He had a good face, with a straight nose, strong chin, and a generous mouth. She wondered if he was married as she put a foot on the staircase to return to her bedchamber. Then she paused, realizing she’d left her journal in the salon and retraced her steps.

  A footman stood at the door of the salon. Inside, Grimsby was poking at the chimney with a broom.

  A cloud of coal dust burst forth. “Help…”

  Eleanor, shocked by the child’s reedy voice floating down, stepped smartly over to the fireplace. “What has happened? Where is the little sweep?”

  “Daft lad has got ’imself lost.” Grimsby sounded more annoyed than worried.

  She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Well, get him out!”

  Grimsby shuffled his feet. “’As to get ’imself out, milady. “Or ’e’ll be up there ’til kingdom come.”

  Eleanor wasn’t about to let that happen. She left the room and ran down the corridor to knock on Hugh’s study door.

  “Come.”

  She threw open the door. “Hugh, the sweep’s stuck in the chimney. His master is totally useless,” she blurted.

  Both men came to their feet.

  “Poor lad.” Hayworth strode to the door. “May I assist, Duke?”

  “Please do,” Hugh said. “We’ll have to get him out somehow. And quickly. I’ve heard too many sad tales.”

  “The boy is little more than a baby,” Eleanor murmured as she attempted to keep up with the men’s long gait.

  A footman admitted them into the salon where Grimsby was yelling curses up the chimney.

  “No need for that,” Hugh said, glaring.

  Grimsby smiled, showing blackened and missing teeth. “Sorry, yer Grace. The silly lad ’as lost ’is way. ’E’s new to a job of this size, yer Grace. Won’t ’appen again, yer Grace.”

  “Perhaps we could reach him from the room above?” Hayworth suggested.

  Hugh nodded. “That’s your bedchamber, Eleanor. Show Mark where it is.”

  She and Hayworth ran up the stairs and into her luxurious bedchamber furnished in peach satin and cream. The fireplace was in alignment with the one downstairs and would connect with the same shaft.

  Eleanor quickly placed a towel over the tiles on the hearth, and Hayworth knelt upon it. He called up into the dark space. A young voice answered, louder this time.

  Her hands gripped tight, she watched as Hayworth coaxed the boy down. Moments later, a foot appeared, then the other. The viscount took hold of them and gently pulled until the boy stood trembling before them. He was black with soot from head to foot.

  “I got meself lost,” he explained, his eyes huge in his dirty face.

  “Indeed you did,” Eleanor said. “You shall require a bath.”

  Nash gasped. “Never say so. Me master will be wantin’ me.”

  “He can wait,” she said, ringing for the footman.

  Nash made a dash for the door.

  Hayworth caught him easily. “You are soiling the carpet,” he said as the boy swung from his arm. “Now is that a polite way to treat your rescuer?”

  Nash looked doubtful, but he shook his head.

  “You will enjoy a bath, Nash. The water will be lovely and warm. And afterward, I shall have a meal sent up for you.”

  Nash blinked. “Will there be pie?”

  “Yes, if you wish. And chocolate pudding with custard.” She hoped Cook had made some,
but as it was Hugh’s favorite dessert she was fairly confident.

  Nash opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

  Lord Hayworth chuckled. “I shall leave you to it, Lady Eleanor. I think you’ve convinced him. Although I suspect you might end up as wet as Nash.”

  “Thank you for your assistance, my lord,” she said, easing back a wisp of hair with her forearm. “Shall we see you again soon?”

  “No. Unfortunately, I return to France on the evening tide.”

  “Then I wish you a safe journey.”

  “Thank you.” Hayworth nodded. “Be good for the lovely lady, Nash.”

  The door closed behind him.

  For a moment, Eleanor stared after him. Then she turned briskly to Nash. “Now then… I believe we might be able to find some suitable clothes for you.”

  Nash looked shocked. “I’m wearing clothes.”

  “Not those,” she said firmly. “You can hardly sit at the table and eat a meal in such filthy rags, now can you?”

  Nash shrugged. “I could. But not if your ladyship don’t like it.”

  A smile tugged at Eleanor’s mouth. “You are most obliging, Nash.”

  *

  Mark descended the stairs to Broadstair’s study. So engrossed was she in the child, Lady Eleanor seemed completely unfazed by the fact that she’d entertained a gentleman alone in her bedchamber. He could not say the same for himself. He’d breathed in the flowery perfume scenting the air as he cast an eye over the bed covered in a luscious satin quilt, the carpet the color of thick cream dense beneath his feet. The lady’s pretty patterned silk robe lay over a gilt-legged chair, and for a brief moment, he allowed his mind to dwell on the possibilities. Lady Eleanor was tall and curvaceous, her beautiful face only improved by the faint lines the years had written upon it, and the wisdom and compassion which imbued her fine gray-blue eyes.

  He knew her to be a widow. She’d been almost unaware of him, rolling her sleeves up over her slender arms, her focus solely on the boy. He’d been instantly drawn to her and wouldn’t mind a little of that unwavering attention centered on him. But there was no point in perusing a relationship. He was needed in Paris and had no idea when he would return to London. But the regret lingered as he said his goodbyes to Broadstairs and climbed into his carriage.

  Chapter Two

  “Some clothes have been found, milady.” The footman held out several small garments.

  Eleanor sorted through them. “I wonder where these came from? The attics I suppose.” The clothes were more elaborate than was fashionable. “Never mind, they shall do for now.”

  The hip-bath had been placed before the hearth, and two footmen filled it with buckets of steaming water. Nash stood eyeing it warily.

  When the door closed on the servants, Eleanor approached him. The boy backed away. “Where is your mama, Nash?”

  “She died.”

  “And your father?”

  The small shoulders shrugged. “Never knew ’im.”

  “Allow me to help you undress.”

  Eleanor divested him of his dirty clothing while trying not to exclaim at how thin he was. “Step into the water, Nash. It’s not too hot.”

  Nash obviously wasn’t one to believe what he was told. He cautiously put in a toe.

  “Am I right?”

  He nodded and stepped in, lowering himself into the water. He leaned back and his gaze drifted. She realized how exhausted he was. Taking up the sponge, she soaped his arms, across his thin narrow chest, and then his back. “You have bruises,” she said, trying not to sound outraged. “Did Grimsby do this to you?”

  “I’ll get more now cause I haven’t done me job,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “There will be none of that,” she said fiercely. “Close your eyes, please.” She began to soap his hair.

  “Ow! That stings!”

  “I did warn you to close your eyes.” She tipped water over his head from a basin.

  She grinned when Nash shook his head like a dog. “Now, I’ll have a foot, please.”

  He raised a leg, and she held his foot in her hand, aware of how slender and fine-boned it was. “Your sole is blistered!”

  “The chimneys get hot.”

  His knees were badly scraped, too. The breath seeped from her lungs. She knelt back on the carpet and let the boy relax in the warmth. It would take several good scrubs to get him clean.

  “You’d best get out before you fall asleep,” she said after a moment. Then regretted it, for the boy’s panicked eyes flew open.

  “Grimsby will be waitin’.” Nash stood, and water splashed over the side of the bath onto the hearth tiles.

  Eleanor helped him out. She towel-dried his long fair hair. “His Grace will deal with Grimsby. How did you come to be working for him?”

  “I lived on the street. A few of us begged for food and coins and shared it every night. Then Grimsby turned up. Said he’d give me a better life.”

  A better life? “It’s not better though, is it,” Eleanor stated flatly as she pulled the shirt over his head.

  “In a way. The bigger lads didn’t always want to share. They’d punch the smaller ones if they carped.”

  “How dreadful,” she murmured, doing up the buttons.

  Nash shrugged. “Weren’t so bad. Some boys got taken off. Never came back neither. Tried to get me once or twice but I ran and hid.”

  “You’re fortunate to be so smart, Nash.”

  His brow shot up. “I’m smart?”

  “Indeed you are.” She stood back and surveyed him. Nash looked like a gentleman’s son from the last century in his pale blue satin trousers, frilly white shirt, and coat. He had delicate bone structure. “Now I think it best we cut your hair.” She went to her sewing box and came back with scissors.

  Nash darted out of reach. “You might cut me ear off.”

  “I promise you’ll keep both ears, but I can’t promise about your nose,” she said.

  A reluctant smile raised Nash’s mouth. He returned to the chair.

  “Gentlemen are wearing their hair shorter this season.”

  “Are they?” Intrigued, Nash studied himself in the mirror with a towel around his shoulders. He allowed her to cut the thick locks which slid away from the blades. Tufts drifted down over the carpet. Heaven, the maids would have quite a job restoring this elegant room, she thought. Nash’s hair began to curl as it dried. What a pretty child he was.

  He was eating his dinner at the small table in Eleanor’s room when the door opened, and Georgina entered. She started at the sight of Nash, and the maids cleaning away the disorder from the bath and haircut. “Eleanor, that dreadful man is demanding his sweep back.” Her eyes rested on Nash who was eating fast, the food heaped on the plate quickly vanishing.

  Eleanor frowned. She drew her sister away into a corner of the room. “Nash mustn’t go back to Grimsby. Did you hear what happened?”

  “I did. And I quite agree with you. But dearest, you can’t keep him. He’s not a stray pet. He must have a family somewhere.”

  “He hasn’t. Grimsby took him off the street. Nash’s mother had just died.”

  “Hugh supports a very good orphanage. We should send the boy there. He will be well cared for.”

  “Georgie, I know it’s well run, but it is still an orphanage. He will not thrive there.”

  “But what can you do?”

  “I need to think about it. Then I will discuss it with you and Hugh.”

  Georgina raised her brow. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “In the meantime, be a dear and have Grimsby removed from the premises?”

  Her sister nodded. “That will be a pleasure.”

  Eleanor frowned. “I will happily speak to the man.”

  “Wait and see what Hugh does,” Georgina said. “He’s good at this sort of thing.”

  Georgina cast another glance at Nash, grinned, and shook her head. The door closed behind her.

  Eleanor turned to find the
food eaten and Nash’s head nodding over the plate. “Come and lie down for a bit, Nash.”

  He eyed her warily, but allowed her to lead him to the bed. She settled him beneath the satin coverlet. A blissful smile briefly lit his small face as he snuggled down, and then he was asleep.

  Eleanor sat and took up her knitting. She enjoyed knitting small garments for her sister and brother-in-law’s baby even though the baby was hardly in need of them.

  An hour later, Nash stirred. He sat up and gazed around. “I thought it was a dream,” he said fuzzily.

  A knock came at the door.

  “His Grace would like to see you in his study, milady,” the footman said.

  “Thank you, Ben.”

  Nash bounced out of bed. “I think you’d better come with me, Nash.”

  “Where to?” Nash asked as she brushed his hair.

  “To meet the gentleman who owns this house.”

  Nash widened his eyes. “He’ll throw me out into the street.”

  “He will not. He’s a very nice gentleman.”

  Eleanor had no idea what Hugh might say as she went downstairs. She had been forming a few plans in her mind but had yet to make them sound reasonable enough to put to Hugh.

  “Stand here for a minute, Nash. Don’t go anywhere.”

  She knocked and entered the study.

  Hugh was behind his huge desk. He stood. “Ah, Eleanor.” He motioned to a seat. “Georgina has told me about your young sweep. We shall have to find a place for him.”

  Eleanor perched on the edge as Hugh sat. “Has Grimsby gone?”

  “Yes, paid him off. He won’t bother us again.”

  “I’m sorry you had to do that. He didn’t deserve any money. You should see the bruises Nash has on his back.”

  “Yes, well. I wouldn’t have had I known that.” He steepled his fingers. “But Eleanor, you can’t take a small ruffian off the streets, he’ll probably rob us blind and run off.”

  She rose. “I’d like you to meet him, Hugh.”

  He cocked a brow. “Should I?”

  “Yes. He’s outside.”

  He glanced at the pile of papers on his desk and sighed. “Bring him in then.”

  Eleanor ran lightly over the coffee-colored carpet and opened the door. She almost feared he’d wandered off, but there he was. “Come inside, Nash.”