Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two

by Mary Lancaster

  “Are you leaving me?”

  He laughed and came over to sit beside her. “I was planning to let you sleep for a while.”

  She sat up, and the sheet fell away, giving him a delightful view of her beautiful, full breasts, the pert brown nipples begging to be kissed. His body hardened at the sight.

  She patted the mattress beside her. “Come back to bed.”

  He sighed as he took in the sensual picture his wife made, her tousled hair and her lips plump from his kisses. “If I do, we’ll make love again, Letty. You may not welcome it; your body will be sore.”

  She rewarded him with a temptress’ smile. “Allow me to be the judge of that!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Brandon guided the chaise through a pair of tall gates. “Welcome to Fernborough Park, my boyhood home.”

  She could visualize him here as a young lad, climbing trees and tossing a ball to a dog.

  The horses trotted down a long avenue of trees to an imposing brick mansion built in the style of the last century. Suddenly nervous, Letty drew in a breath as she looked about. Somehow, she had not expected him to come from such an impressive family. He was undoubtedly the son of a gentleman, attending Harrow and Oxford, but he’d never led her to believe his father was a wealthy man, although her uncle had mentioned Sir Richard Cartwright’s parliamentary career in revered tones.

  As the chaise approached the house, doubts assailed her. What if they disapproved of his marriage? While no one could criticize her family, of which she was proud, her upbringing had been that of a country girl, and not a society miss who attended finishing school and learned to become an accomplished lady. Letty did not excel at the pianoforte, having been indifferent to it, and although she’d been told her voice was sweet, it was not exceptional, and hardly a rival to Miss Willard’s soprano. The thought of performing for a room full of guests terrified her. While she quite liked to sew, she had a hearty dislike for embroidery, drawing, and painting. She preferred to be outdoors, riding, tending the horses, picking vegetables for Cook, and feeding the chickens. Those things that country girls did, which young, well-brought up ladies might wonder at and never indulge in.

  The mansion loomed before them. “Does your father keep riding hacks?” she asked in a strained voice trying to quell her fears.

  He glanced at her with an amused smile. “There’s a good stable. Shall we ride this afternoon?”

  “I should like that.” She would be glad to escape the house for a while. “The woods are beautiful, and countryside different to Cumbria.”

  “Sadly, the best of the bluebells have gone. I should’ve enjoyed making love to you amongst them, Mrs. Cartwright.”

  She quite believed he would. Her husband had proven to be an unpredictable and passionate lover. Letty blushed as she conjured up an image of their morning in bed. She hushed him as if those in the house could hear them.

  Brandon turned to laugh at her. He pulled up the horses before the soaring front of the house as a groom rushed from the stables. Tossing the reins to him, Brandon lifted her down.

  He took her hand, and they climbed the porch to the front door which had been opened by a formidable looking butler in black. The butler’s craggy face broke into a smile. “Mr. Brandon, how good to see you, sir.”

  “Letty, this is Barnstable.” Brandon laid his hat and gloves on the hall table. “Barnstable, I should like to introduce my bride, Mrs. Letitia Cartwright.”

  “How do you do, Mrs. Cartwright,” the butler said. “We have been looking forward to meeting you.” He took Letty’s coat and bonnet. “You will find Sir Richard in the library, Mr. Brandon, and Lady Cartwright, I believe, is in the conservatory. Shall I send afternoon tea to the blue salon?”

  “Thank you. Ask Cook for some of those Chelsea buns I like.”

  “Mrs. Fry set about making them as soon as she heard you were coming, sir.”

  The hall was two stories high, a huge echoing space with a marble tiled floor and a marble staircase sweeping up to the upper stories. It took Letty back to visits to Bromley Hall when she was a child. Brandon took her arm and walked with her down a lengthy corridor.

  After passing through an elegant reception room, they emerged into a glass-walled conservatory filled with greenery. The air was dense with the scents of flowers, foliage, and earthy smells. A lady, her dark hair streaked with white, turned from where she was potting a flowering plant. “Brandon!” She stripped off her gloves and rushed over to embrace him. She kissed his cheek, then turned with a smile to greet Letty. “I beg your pardon, I have not seen my son for some time.”

  “Mama, this is Letty,” Brandon said.

  “How do you do, my dear!” She enveloped Letty in a scented hug. “I have been looking forward to meeting my son’s bride.”

  “It is so good to meet you, Lady Cartwright,” Letty said. “You have a splendid variety of orchids.”

  “Yes, I am fond of the flower.” Lady Cartwright smiled. “You must call me Mama, dear child. I am your mama-in-law, after all. Let us go and find your father, Brandon, he has finally settled in the library. He has been pacing about all morning waiting for your arrival!”

  Sir Richard raised his head from a chessboard he was contemplating as they entered. He stood and came across to greet them. “At last, someone to play with, Brandon, your mother shows no interest. And this is Letitia. How do you do?”

  Letty came shyly forward. Up on tiptoes, for he was as tall as Brandon, she kissed his cheek.

  He held her at arm’s length and nodded approvingly. “Baron Bromley and I are old acquaintances, Letitia. Never met your father, however. I’m sorry such a tragedy befell you at such a tender age.”

  As they walked upstairs to the blue salon, Brandon put his head close to hers. “I told you they would approve of you.” He called to his mother who walked a little ahead. “Which chamber have you put us in, Mama? I hope it’s the yellow.”

  “It is, my dear. I’ve had your things moved there. It’s the largest and has a nice view of the lake.”

  “It’s also far away in the corner of the east wing,” he whispered to Letty with a wink, as his parents disappeared into the salon.

  “Brandon!” she hissed.

  “You can be a bit noisy on occasion, Mrs. Cartwright,” he said in an undertone.

  She hit him on the arm with an embarrassed giggle.

  He laughed and tucked her hand through his elbow. “Shall we go in, Mrs. Cartwright?”

  After dinner, Letty roamed the drawing room, gazing at the fine oil paintings adorning the walls. She studied an oval-shaped gold medal in pride of place on the mantel. It was surrounded by a laurel wreath and attached to a blue and gold velvet ribbon. It bore Brandon’s name.

  “That was presented to Brandon by the Prince Regent,” his mother said with a proud smile.

  Letty turned to Brandon who was seated across the chess table from his father. “When did the Regent award you this, Brandon?”

  “Three weeks ago. It was for his bravery and service to the Crown,” his father said, looking up from the chessboard. “Brandon isn’t much for awards. He sent it to us at his mother’s request.”

  Letty suspected the award and his father’s obvious pleasure in it had a lot to do with Brandon’s lightness of spirit. She wondered if he would have told her about it as she came back to sit beside his mother again. “You must be very proud of him, Sir Richard.”

  “Indeed, most proud,” Sir Richard said. He frowned at Brandon who was smiling at Letty. “It’s your move, son.”

  After he’d lost one chess game to his father, and won another, while Letty chatted quite knowledgeably to his mother about gardening of all things, they retired to their bedchamber.

  In the four-poster bed hung with yellow chintz, Letty voiced a fear that he would return one day to his dangerous work. “I hate to ask you not to, but I lost my father and mother, Brandon,” she explained, her big eyes imploring him. “And I won’t lose you.”


  “When I told you I resigned, I meant it, my love.” Deeply touched, he eased back her hair from her bare shoulder and placed a kiss on her satiny skin. “I shan’t be tempted to change my mind.”

  She pleated the lacy edge of the linen sheet. “But I fear it won’t suit you to give it up. It’s not in your nature to live without some purpose.”

  “Well, I won’t involve myself in politics.” He had no intention of following his father’s path in life. “I’ll prefer to purchase that country house. We’ll spend part of the year there. I have a fancy to be a gentleman farmer. There’s my inheritance from Great Aunt Lawson, which I came into a couple of years ago. I hadn’t thought much about what I would do with it. Would you care to be a farmer’s wife, Letty?”

  She leaned over his chest, toying with the dark hair, following the line down to his navel and distracting him. “I should enjoy being the wife of a gentleman farmer. I believe my talents lie in that direction. But might we spend the Seasons in London, Brandon? I did make some good friends, and should like to see them again.”

  “Then we shall. But first we must visit Paris. I seem to remember you expressing the view you’d like that.” At her squeal of delight, he rolled over, taking her with him. “I am happy to do whatever my love desires,” he declared huskily, as her soft body lay atop his, stirring all kinds of sensations. “Within reason,” he added cautiously, reminded of Letty’s own penchant for adventure. With a smile, he kissed her.

  Epilogue

  The Foster’s ball, London

  Six Months Later

  How different London was for a married lady. Letty smiled at her acquaintances who danced by on their partners’ arms. As Lord Bakewell whisked her energetically around the floor, she thought over the changes the last few months had brought. Furnishing their new Mayfair townhouse in Curzon Street. Hiring staff. She had taken on Adele who had come to her seeking employment.

  Every day and most nights were filled with engagements. She and Brandon dined with the Willards, attended breakfasts, picnics, and soirees, and dances at Almack’s where they were greeted by Lady Sefton and Lady Jersey, and the other strict patronesses of the Assembly Rooms. When the weather was fine, Letty rode her new mare, or drove in her shiny new blue barouche in Hyde Park with friends.

  Brandon visited his club, Whites, and argued with his father on matters of government policy over their frequent chess games. Letty could see Brandon was slowly being drawn into the political sphere and suspected he would become a fine politician one day like his father.

  Aunt Edith had returned to London and inveigled Letty into joining her literary group. To her surprise, Letty found she thoroughly enjoyed their heated discussions of the latest novels and poetry.

  When she left the dance floor and curtsied to her partner, Lord Bakewell, she glanced over with sympathy at the three debutantes clustered together, appearing awkward and painfully shy. That had been her not so long ago.

  Her husband emerged from the crush. The sight of him never failed to send a thrill rushing through her. To her mind, he was the most handsome man in the ballroom. While she trusted him never to betray her, liaisons and infidelity among the ton were commonplace. Some men saw marriage as no barrier and flirted with her outrageously. They changed their lovers as often as they did a tailcoat, and Ton gossip was rife with intrigue. She had taken note of the ladies’ eyes following Brandon, how they discussed him behind their fans. Letty admitted to being a jealous woman. A good thing when Lady Fraughton announced she was to marry again.

  Brandon smiled down at her. “Are you free for the waltz, madam?”

  “Yes, I’ve kept it specially for you, darling. Lord Bakewell has asked for the supper dance, and will take me into supper.”

  Brandon scowled. “The devil he will.”

  “You are overreacting. He is a flirt but quite harmless.” She glanced around to see if anyone overheard them. It was bad ton to argue with a spouse in public, as it was to show too much affection.

  “No man is harmless,” Brandon said. “I know, I am one.”

  With several gentlemen claiming her hand for the last four dances, Letty sought to change the subject. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you. I received a letter from Jane this morning while you were out riding. Geoffrey and Ann have become engaged!”

  “That is good news.” He nodded approvingly. “We must visit them before the weather makes the trip impossible. Your uncle, too. Poor chap is alone now that your aunt is back in London.”

  “Uncle Alford is very self-reliant. I believe he took me in under sufferance all those years ago.”

  Brandon chuckled. “Perhaps, but he came to care for you.”

  “And I, him.” She raised her fan to hide her words. “Jane writes that she is enceinte,” she whispered.

  “Is she, by Jove! Gordon must be over the moon.”

  “Jane complains that he is quite indiscreet. Everyone in the village had learnt of it.”

  Letty glanced over at the forlorn wallflowers. “Those poor debutantes look marooned. I wonder if I might help ease their way into the Season? Their chaperones are quite ignoring them.” She eyed Brandon. “They will feel more the thing if a charming man dances with them.”

  “I hope that doesn’t mean you want me to dance with all of them?” he said with a quick glance to where three young ladies sat primly, hands clasped in their laps, their chaperones chatting together nearby.

  She grinned behind her fan. “Well, perhaps asking one of them to dance wouldn’t hurt. It’s so difficult, you see, to be thrust into London society and not know how one is meant to go on.”

  “I’ll mention them to Harold Reilly. He’s looking for a wife.” Brandon slipped a finger into the top of his cravat. “But really, Letty, I can’t demand it of my friends. Gentlemen will seek them out soon enough.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right. But I can still offer them my support. I remember how awful it was for me at first.”

  He gazed down at her. “Your Come-out was a little different from the norm though, was it not, my love?” His blue eyes lit up with a wry smile. “Ah, the dreaded dress.”

  She tapped him on the arm with a fan. “I just knew you would mention it.”

  “You would look enticing in a sack. Or without it,” he added huskily, raising her chin with his thumb and forefinger and planting a light kiss on her mouth.

  Letty glanced around. There would be comments. Bad ton, the Cartwrights were flirting again. “Oh, dear. The Duchess of Malvern is glaring at us.”

  “No she’s not. Her Grace suffers from astigmatism.”

  Letty laughed. “I shall ask Maria Foster to introduce me to the young ladies before I’m to dance again.”

  “Excellent notion,” Brandon said, clearly relieved not to be inveigled into dancing with them. “There’s Fraser Willard. I need a word with him about a matter I read about in the newspaper this morning. I shall return for the waltz.”

  Letty raised her eyebrows.

  “Don’t give me that look, madam,” he said in a mock stern manner. “I’m not about to involve myself in anything untoward. If Willard wants me for some mission, I will tell him I already have one. To make you happy.”

  “How nicely put, darling. But if there’s a mission you’re tempted to take, be aware you have an accomplice.”

  Brandon chuckled. “And would that be you, madam?”

  “I had no one else in mind.”

  Brandon arched an eyebrow. With a smile, he raised her hand, his lips grazing her gloved fingers. “There will be no mission, Mrs. Cartwright, but if there was, I would consider no other accomplice but you.”

  Letty smiled as she watched him walk over to Willard and clap him on the back. Then, she rose and crossed the floor to introduce herself to the debutantes.

  The End

  Once a Wallflower Series

  Presenting Miss Letitia

  Maggi Andersen

  Lady of Mystery

  The Unconventional Ladies
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  Book 1

  Ellie St. Clair

  Chapter One

  March 1814

  “‘Women have no ideas, except personal ones,’” Lady Phoebe Winters recited, leaning forward in indignant earnestness. “And then, oh then, the article continues. I will not force you to sit through the entirety of it, but will summarize to tell you that it does admit that, in fact, women do have more tenderness than men—oh yes.”

  She snorted and continued as her friends looked on, allowing her tirade to continue. “But then—and I have committed this to memory, so impactful the words were—‘Women admire in men those qualities which are necessary to their own deficiencies—courage, the power of taking the lead, activity, strength, everything in short which may be called the sexual distinction of man’s mind, and which flatters the tenderness and wraps a guiding arm around the weakness of his associate.’”

  “Can you believe such drivel? Oh, if only I could respond with the truth. The truth that women are stronger than men could ever be. Of what we must endure while always maintaining the facade that everything is perfect, that there is nothing of which we are concerned. And all of this while looking immaculate, maintaining perfect manners, and hiding all of our true feelings. I wish I could show him a true demonstration of strength and courage, that is for certain.”

  Phoebe finished her recounting and sat back against the soft green silk cushions of the sofa, her chest heaving as anger flowed through her veins anew. After retelling what she had read that morning with her breakfast, incredulity seeped out of every pore as she seethed and her ire began festering anew.

  When she had first read the words, while she was certainly not completely surprised, she had nearly spit her coffee all over the paper. She had wanted to stop reading but found she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  Now she looked around at the faces of her friends, women she had been so sure would wholeheartedly agree with her, and they stared back at her with sympathy more than anything. Her stomach began to sink as disappointment crept in.