Regency Valentines

by Jo Beverley

  "So you worked for your living."

  "It wasn't very hard work, and I played a great deal, too."

  "Are you determined to paint the worst picture?"

  "I'm being honest. I am honest, Agnes. That, at least, I can swear to." He looked around. "I like Dux Cherrymead. It feels right to me. Will you let me stay?"

  She blush and had to look away, but her face was aching with the width of her smile. "I can hardly prevent you, sir."

  "Will you let me stay here, with you? In your house, even, if your father will agree. I don't want you to lose anything by it."

  She looked up at him and took his hands. "Yes. With delight. But what will you do here? I can't imagine you idle."

  "Nor can I. I'll continue my American business from this end. I'll be more able to find interesting goods to send. That will mean some travel, but I promise, not too much. If any land becomes available, I'll farm. I grew up on an estate and was trained to it after a fashion. And I'll love you, and our children, with all my heart. Let's go and speak to your father. Will he put obstacles in our way?"

  "I don't think so." She happily let him kiss her again. "I wonder if this is predestination."

  "What?"

  "Me, going to my father with a black sheep in my arms. Or even Cupid's Choice."

  "Have I turned your wits?"

  She chuckled. "Of course, but there is some sense in that. Come."

  As they entered the house, she paused. "There's only one dark cloud in this."

  "What?" he asked, and she saw alarm.

  She smoothed his brow, wondering at having such freedom to touch him in any way she wished. "Only that my grandmother might think she won the battle."

  "You're a saint," he said, kissing her fingers. "You can be magnanimous and hope the notion gives her pleasure. I, being a sinner, can hope that our happiness rankles all her days."

  "No, don't do that. We'll forget about her.

  He captured a finger and sucked on the tip. "If female saints must be virgins, I intend to knock you out of the ranks."

  Flushed and flurried, Agnes glanced around. "You can't say things like that!"

  "Indeed I can. It's in the Bible. All that marriage and procreation stuff." He stroked her parted lips, setting up tingles there. "I know that you'll insist on us doing exactly as we ought once we are finally man and wife. Which will be soon."

  "Soon," she said. It was a mindless echo, but she meant it. In fact, she could hardly wait.

  In fact, she realized, if she weren't in her father's house, in her village, where anything of significance would be noticed, she'd easily slide into the nearest most convenient spot and be very unsaintly indeed.

  He smiled at her. It was a hot and knowing smile, but it was loving, too. Cherishing.

  She took his hand. "Let's go to speak to my father."

  * * *

  The End

  * * *

  Were you intrigued by the glimpse of Meg and Sax in this story? Their novel is Forbidden Magic, and it does have a little magic in it. Meg and her siblings are left penniless in winter, but she does own a magical statue, a shelagh-na-gig, that is supposed to grant wishes, at a cost. In desperation she uses it to summon help, but she doesn't expect an eccentric earl demanding immediate marriage.

  Here's an excerpt.

  * * *

  Meg helped the others to dress, fingers clumsy with cold, nerves, and guilt. After all, if the earl did turn up at the church he would have no idea why. It was wrong to be-spell him, but she couldn't let that sway her. Whatever the cost to her or him, her siblings must have security and hope for the future. Laura must be saved.

  Weaving Rachel's fine hair into a plait, Meg told herself that Lord Saxonhurst was getting exactly what he'd bargained for. A hardworking, honest, dutiful wife.

  Her sister was one long wriggle. "Is it true that you'll be a countess, Meg?"

  "I suppose so. Sit still."

  "I wish I were going to be a countess. Will you go to Court?"

  "I have no idea." Pushing aside that terrifying thought, Meg tied a tight ribbon around the end. "There. You'll do. Go start the fire."

  Laura was nearly as bad. "You'll have robes, won't you? And have to take part in state occasions."

  "I dearly hope not. Let me fasten your buttons."

  Laura stood with her back to Meg. She'd chosen a pretty dress far too flimsy for a winter day, but Meg hadn't the heart to make her change. She'd be warm enough in her woolen cloak.

  "What if the king dies? He could, couldn't he? Then there'd be a coronation and you'd be there!"

  "Laura, you can't wish for the poor man's death!"

  "I'm not. I'm just thinking."

  Meg's sensible gown buttoned at the front, so she fastened it herself. "Can you see me in velvet and ermine? I'll be the sort of countess who runs an economical household and rears happy, healthy children. Come on. Let's get breakfast.

  As she stirred porridge, Meg held the vision of happy, healthy children in her mind as shield against the terrifying vision of robes and state occasions. They ate the porridge with salt and heavily watered milk. She was sure an earl's household had cream and sugar in abundance. That was the sort of thing she was paying for with her freedom. When they'd finished and washed the bowls, she made sure everyone was neat and warmly dressed, and led them to St. Margaret's Church.

  She thought she had herself completely in hand, but at the sight of the church, where she went every Sunday for service, her feet froze to the ground.

  Marriage.

  She was about to give not just her body but her life into a stranger's hands. She would no longer have privacy, or freedom to come and go as she pleased. She would be giving him power over her family....

  "What's the matter?" Laura asked.

  "There's no carriage. What if there's no one there?" The outer doors stood open, but there was no hint of anyone being around.

  "No one there? Why wouldn't he be there? He asked you to marry him, didn't he?" A hint of suspicion rang in it. And fear.

  "Yes, of course."

  Jeremy said, "They couldn't keep horses standing in this weather, Meg."

  "I'll go peep-" Meg seized Richard's coat before he could run across the road.

  "No, love. It's just silly bridal nerves. Jeremy's right. I'm sure he's there waiting."

  What folly to hesitate. How private or free would any of them be as a paupers on the streets, or residents of the workhouse? And she mustn't forget Sir Arthur's vile plans for Laura.

  She forced a smile for them all. "After all, I don't expect to be a bride again, and I intend to enjoy all the stages, including nerves and watery tears!"

  "Silly," Laura said, but with a relieved laugh. "You never cry!"

  "I've never been married before." It came out more grimly than she wanted, so she grinned at her brothers. "Gentlemen, prepare to catch me when I faint!"

  Resolutely smiling, she led them up the stone steps into the church vestibule, into the familiar smell of musty hymn books and remembered incense. Another set of doors stood between her and the nave, concealing her future. With only the slightest hesitation, she opened one and walked through.

  For a moment the contrast between daylight and gloom blinded her. Then, in the weak winter light shooting through stained glass windows, she saw people standing near the altar. The church clock began to sound eleven and they all turned.

  Six men, two women.

  She couldn't make out details.

  She had frozen in the doorway, and Laura pushed her gently forward out of the way. "Which one is he?" she whispered, nothing but excitement in her voice.

  Meg walked forward, walked as slowly as she dared down the long aisle. Which one was he? As her eyes adjusted and her nerves steadied, she eliminated Reverend Bilston and a few other men who were clearly servants.

  That left two gentlemen, one brown haired and one blond.

  Dirty yellow! What a way to describe that elegant arrangement of dusky gold curls.
She wasn't close enough to see his eyes. She was quite close enough, however, to see that he was tall, handsome, elegant, and terrifyingly everything one would expect a young earl to be.

  He was no desperate charity case! How had the sheelagh managed this?

  He was looking back at her, assessing her in a quick, intelligent way. She searched his features for any sign of shock or disappointment. All she saw was a sort of interest marked by a sudden, charming smile.

  He was clearly slave to the magic.

  She stopped as if a wall had sprung up in front of her.

  It wasn't right.

  No matter what her need, it wasn't right to bewitch someone like this. No good could come of it.

  "I'm sorry." She turned and pushed past her startled family, hurrying back down the aisle.

  Someone had closed the door. In her panic, her cold fingers fumbled the latch. Then a hand appeared, pressed firmly against the dark wood, preventing her from opening it.

  "Miss Gillingham, please don't run away."

  He must have run to stop her, but his voice was beautifully modulated, and used -- consciously she was sure -- to soothe. It didn't help. Susie had said the earl could easily find a bride, and it was clearly true.

  It was all magic, evil magic.

  "Please, my lord...."

  His hand did not move. It was beautifully made, with long, elegant fingers and buffed nails. An earl's hand.

  His large body loomed behind her, placing her in shadow. Without looking, she knew he must be close to a foot taller.

  Lacking any choice, she turned against the oaken door to look up at him, grateful for the shadows. She couldn't confess the truth -- she could never speak of the sheelagh. "It is just so ridiculous, my lord. I thought I could. But now...."

  "But now you need a moment to collect yourself." He moved back slightly, and smiled again, that charming, practiced smile. "Come, sit in this pew with me, Miss Gillingham, and we will discuss it."

  He took her gloved hand and led her to the nearest row of seats. She couldn't think of a reason to object. As she sat down she saw Jeremy, Laura, Richard, and Rachel watching wide-eyed. With a jolt, she remembered why she had to do this. The twins looked frightened and Laura looked bewildered. Jeremy, however, was beginning to look pugnacious. She found a smile to reassure them all, but feared it was all wobbly.

  "Miss Gillingham," the earl said, sitting beside her on the polished seat, "I assure you I am not so terrifying."

  His eyes were yellow, or at least a strange pale hazel ringed around the iris with dark brown. More to the point, they were powerful. She didn't know what made eyes powerful, but they were. Even with light brown brows and lashes, they shone intensely and sparkled with energy.

  She looked away, away at a memorial plaque on the wall -- to the Merryam family, one of whom had been Lord Mayor in the last century -- trying desperately to sort through her thoughts. "You're not terrifying, my lord. Far from it. That is why I wonder at you wanting to marry me."

  "Susie explained about my predicament."

  She had to look at him. Unfortunately he was just as handsome as before. "It seems a foolish reason to tie yourself to life."

  "You think my word of honor a foolish thing?"

  She felt herself color. "No, my lord. But is it so impossible to admit to your grandmother that you have been unable to keep your promise?"

  "Yes. Completely. Come now, Miss Gillingham, let me turn the tables. What possible objection can you have to me?"

  His easy self-confidence made her want to roll her eyes, but he was right. She had no rational objection. How could she say she didn't want to marry him because he was victim of a magic spell? Or that she was dismayed because the bargain would be so unequal? That she wished he were grotesque and drooling.

  "You are very tall," she said weakly.

  "Not very. And sitting down, the difference in our heights is not so obvious. I will try to sit a lot." Then he challenged her. "I thought we had an agreement, Miss Gillingham. A promise."

  "I did add that we would have to find each other congenial, my lord."

  "I find you congenial."

  "How can you? You do not know me."

  "I like the fact that you have these nervous doubts."

  "What?"

  "If you'd marched in here and said your vows without a flutter, Miss Gillingham, I would have been concerned. After all, I am somewhat nervous. But it won't be hard for two reasonable people to rub along together, especially when cushioned by wealth. And, of course, I will take care of your siblings." It was a trump card and he played it without flourish, but she knew he had played it deliberately. "Won't you introduce them to me?"

  There was no way to refuse, and so Meg gestured them over.

  The twins were wary, but in a few moments of casual conversation became adoring.

  Laura was awkward, but he soon had her blushing.

  Meg watched these easy conquests with misgiving, and was pleased that Jeremy remained stiff. "My lord," he said, "Meg doesn't have to marry you if she doesn't wish to. We can make do."

  "I'm sure you can. You all look like capable, hard-working people. But all our lives will be made more comfortable by this arrangement, and I will be eternally grateful."

  He then began to converse with them, asking about their schooling and interests. Under this skillful handling, soon even Jeremy had relaxed, seduced by casual references to the earl's own time at King's College, Cambridge.

  Meg should be glad that her family were shedding their anxieties, and in most ways she was, but she also felt threatened. The Earl of Saxonhurst had the confidence of a man who'd never been crossed since the day he was born. He was wickedly charming, and he knew it. Knew how to use it. She'd felt the effects when he'd talked with her so briefly -- almost a warmth melting her fears and doubts.

  It was unreasonable to object and yet she did. She felt as if she were being spellbound.

  So! She almost gasped aloud.

  That certainly served her right. He was spellbound by the sheelagh, and she was in danger of being spellbound by him. Watching him, she could almost see his charm like a halo....

  Then she shook her head at the fancy. It was just a shaft of sun through one of the church's colored windows. But no. That was not all it was. She couldn't deny his effect, or the panic it stirred in her.

  He was too much, too much man for mousy Meg Gillingham.

  But she had no choice.

  He turned to her at last, assessing her. Clearly he decided she'd had time to settle her nerves, for he raised her to her feet. He believed that she wouldn't resist any more, and he was right. It was simply a matter of need, however, not inclination. Her family desperately needed his help. She truly did wish he'd turned out to be an ugly eccentric. She'd be much happier with her fate.

  In moments they were standing in front of the vicar.

  Thin, white-haired Reverend Bilston looked at her with concern. He had known her most of her life and buried her parents only three months before. "Are you quite recovered, Meg? There is no need to rush, you know. The license will be valid tomorrow or next week. If you are at all uncertain...."

  She glanced at the earl again and saw that he would not pressure her any more. He had rolled the dice and now merely watched to see how they would lie.

  Laura, Laura, Laura.

  Having fortified herself with that incantation, Meg smiled at the vicar. "It was just an attack of nerves, Reverend. I am quite ready now."

  After a slight, concerned pause, Reverend Bilston began to recite the service. For Meg, the time for questions was over and she made all the appropriate responses, letting herself be carried along toward the course she had decided on. Nothing had changed, after all, except that the earl was not an object of pity, and it would be strange indeed to regret that.

  Then he was turning her toward him.

  They were man and wife!

  "Now, now," he said calmly, clearly seeing her flare of panic. "The worst is over
. Thank you, Lady Saxonhurst." And he kissed her hand close by the ring he'd placed there.

  She was suddenly, blindingly grateful that he had not kissed her lips. But, heaven help her, if she wasn't ready to be kissed, how could she face the coming night?

  He studied her a moment then smiled. "I'm sure these doubts and fears are quite normal, but do try not to let your imagination run away with you, my dear. Now, let's sign the register and have this done."

  As soon as the formalities were complete, the earl turned to her family. "Welcome! I have no brothers and sisters, you know, so I am delighted by an instant family."

  "Wait until you get to know them, my lord."

  At her mild joke, he flashed her a look of surprised approval. It felt strangely like the lick of a flame.

  Warming, but dangerous.

  She hastily turned to accept the good wishes of all around.

  Jeremy was still watchful, but a glowing Laura ran over hug Meg. "I think this is all wonderful!"

  The earl claimed a kiss on the cheek then gave her into the care of his secretary. "Owain, take especial care of my new sister."

  Owain Chancellor, with his brown hair and square face, was a pleasant-looking, ordinary-looking gentleman. Meg wished she was in his care, not that of her handsome husband. Then she noticed that the twins were looking up at the earl with their curious look. Oh dear.

  "Do you have robes?" Rachel asked.

  "My earl's robes? Yes. And a coronet. Your sister will have them, too."

  Richard demanded, "Will I?"

  "Not unless you earn them for yourself. Which is more than I did."

  "Have you met the king?" Rachel asked.

  "Not for a long time. He's too unwell for visitors."

  "But you must have met the prince," Richard said. "Is he really, really fat?"

  "Very. Now, let's be on our way. A luncheon awaits."

  "What's to eat?" The twins said it in unison, with the true fervor of ten-year-olds who'd been on short rations.