Once Upon A Regency: Timeless Tales And Fables

by Samantha Grace

  “So do you think Finn is a fool or an unsympathetic arse?”

  “I'm sure I wouldn't know.”

  “What are your plans for him?”

  “I have no plans for Lord Cole.”

  “I thought perhaps you had set your cap for him.”

  “No, I'd not be any man's mistress.”

  “You made it clear that marriage was required.”

  She stopped and stared at him. “You think I expect to be a countess?”

  “Don't you?”

  She couldn't help but to laugh in his face. What started as a burble of mirth became a gale of laughter that almost doubled her over. “And how would he introduce me? As the girl he met fighting bare-knuckle at a house of brassers?” She snorted indelicately. “You think Lord Cole a fool.”

  “Most men are fools for at least one woman in their lives.”

  She shook her head. “He fancies me, but he'll fancy another.”

  For the rest of the walk the baron confined himself to safer topics, such as the sites to see in London. He seemed shocked that she'd not been out to tour the museums or walk along the Thames. She didn't point out that those were hardly things she could do on her own, because that would sound too much like she was dangling for his escort. And if there was one thing she didn't need it was the attention of another man. Now that she knew his appearance was based on concern for his friends, Maeve could begrudgingly admire his intentions. But that also meant that if she could turn aside Lord Cole's interest she could rid herself of all of them.

  THE ENCHANTED CAVE

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  With the exception of Miss O'Malley, who seemed to have no more interest in him than she did the coat rack in the hallway, Galen's plan was working only too well. All three of the other Irish Sisters had been crawling all over him in the parlor. He refused their invitations to go upstairs, either individually or as a group, with the excuse that an excellent mistress was also an excellent conversationalist.

  “One can only spend so much time in the bedroom,” he protested, trapped on the sofa with one Sister to each side and the other on his lap.

  The one known as Margie, who seemed most likely to have an authentic Irish lilt, said saucily, “Mum said if you can satisfy a man in the bedroom and the kitchen you need aught else.”

  “A wise woman,” he conceded, tickling her nose, “but likely not married to an intellectual.”

  “Not married at all, I'd wager,” Eva quipped.

  Margie laughed. “I'd fight you over me mum's reputation, except I think you might have the right of it. Claimed to be a widow but I've no recollection of a father, nor did she ever speak of him. Came over here for work, and work her to death, they did.”

  “Are you an intellectual, Lord Mornay?” Bridget asked breathlessly. She was the one who lost her accent most often, pinning her chances on the act of sweet innocence she had perfected. It seemed as though the large word was difficult for her to pronounce and he didn't know if she played at it, or simply was less intelligent than the other girls.

  “Not as such, but I certainly read more than most.”

  Eva curled more tightly to his side and stroked his hair. “I love to read.”

  “Really? And what do you read?”

  “I adore poetry.”

  “It's no wonder that you and Oscar get along.”

  She brightened. “He wrote me a poem once.”

  “Let me guess. Were parts of his anatomy featured in it?”

  Her laughter was gay and spirited. “Perhaps! But it was a lovely poem nonetheless. No one had ever written poetry for me before.”

  “Then you deserve a man who will write you poetry. And not about his anatomy, may I say.”

  “Do you write poetry, Lord Mornay?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

  “I'm afraid not, sweetling.”

  “What do you deserve, my lord?” Margie was apparently the insightful one.

  “Deserve? I'd hate to get what I deserve. Why do you think I'm in the market for a mistress rather than a wife? A mistress is a woman you desire; a wife is a woman you deserve.”

  The girl's laughed as though he'd made the cleverest of jokes. And he had been teasing, hadn't he? There was a bit of unease in his heart that told him he spoke something closer to his own truth than he meant to. That he had avoided marriage to date because of some belief that it would be a trial. And one he deserved.

  * * * *

  Maeve found herself bothered. She wasn't bothered that her 'sisters' were entertaining Lord Mornay. Or at least not bothered much by that. It was just that everything seemed thrown off for the day. Her dress felt too tight, her skin itched, she couldn't find the letter she'd been writing to her mother until she tore her bedding apart and then remembered she had tucked it in her wardrobe. It felt as though everything was going oh-so-slightly wrong.

  She finally caught herself and took a deep breath. After tidying her tiny room, she withdrew her rosary from the little reticule she kept it in and knelt on the floor. If everything felt wrong, then certainly the Lord could put it to rights. Within moments she felt the peace that prayer always gave her. Reciting the familiar Latin phrases by rote, she tried to focus on the sense of connection she always felt to the Virgin Mary, the simple warm light that always filled her mind in her contemplation of the Mother of Our Lord.

  She was enjoying that peace and warmth when she heard Bridget giggle in the hallway outside her door. It sounded suspiciously like the girl was leading a man to her room. The sun had not yet set on the Sabbath! Maeve returned resolutely to her prayers, trying to ignore the squeaks and giggles from the next room. One particularly loud gasp made her finish her prayers, pack away her rosary, and stomp downstairs. This entire day had been ridiculous. Innocent Catholic girls did not say their prayers in a room next to a brassy plying her trade. And heavens, but girls who prayed the rosary and stomped down stairs certainly didn't aspire to be countesses. The baron was the most ridiculous part of the entire ridiculous day. To think she would expect Lord Cole to marry her. Why did men think that women were only good for one thing, and only wanted another? It was infuriating. But clearly the baron realized Bridget agreed with his perspective and wanted to prove that she was good for that thing, thus he had gone upstairs with her. And as Margie had pointed out yesterday, even if she didn't want marriage, she wanted to be taken care of, to have her future secured. It drove Maeve mad. Marriage was neither about pleasures of the flesh nor material wealth. It was a sacred joining, in the eyes of God and man, to be a help meet and to bring more of the Lord's children into the world.

  Stomping past the parlor she drew up short. There, on the blue sofa, was Lord Mornay, with Eva and Margie plastered to his sides. He looked perfectly comfortable, but when his gaze met hers she felt a charge in the air.

  Margie was the first to speak. “Did Bridget bother you, lovey?”

  “I was praying,” Maeve said, still too stunned to think clearly. The baron had not gone upstairs with Bridget. Not that it meant anything, of course. He was clearly familiar with brassies and their ways.

  The worst part was that seeing him still downstairs she felt a tiny bubble of hope in her heart. That wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. She was a common Catholic girl from Ireland and he was a peer in England. The only thing that small bit of hope could do was break her heart, like a wedge used to split a log. She couldn't go upstairs to pray, not with Bridget and her man carrying on in the next room, so she fled out the front door to find some peace in the nearby park.

  THE ENCHANTED CAVE

  CHAPTER NINE

  Galen watched countless emotions flicker through Miss O'Malley's eyes before she suddenly turned on her heel and strode away. The front door slammed in her wake.

  “She's not a quiet girl,” he observed dryly.

  Margie grinned. “Not when we're sinning.”

  Eva laughed. “Which means she's never quiet.”

  Margie turned serious for a moment, addressin
g her 'sister'. “Come now, she's a good, sweet girl. She deserves our protection for the fame she's given us.”

  “One of us won't need that fame for much longer, isn't that right, my lord?” Eva playfully nipped at Galen's ear.

  “I don't know,” he said. “Why do you think I've sought out the fighting Irish Sisters if not for their fame?”

  Eva gave him a wicked smile. “Hopefully you want more from your mistress than just... fame?”

  Galen laughed. “Perhaps a bit of this, too.” He captured her lips in a torrid kiss, teasing her until she moaned low in her throat.

  “Come now,” Margie protested. “When is it my turn?”

  Galen switched his attention to her, nibbling at her lips before deepening the kiss. Once he had her wriggling against him, he drew back. Both girls were starry eyed now, looking at him as though he had defeated Napoleon. His plan was proceeding excellently. If he could only break the attachment between the O'Malley girl and Finn then he would be done in less than a fortnight with ease and back to his typical routine. Although at the moment that sounded a bit dull as a reward.

  He begged off from their company and saw them eye each other speculatively at his departure. Bridget, it seemed, had given up early in the contest for his attentions, choosing to take the coin offered by a visiting gentleman rather than compete for the position as his mistress. It hardly mattered, as she and Conan already seemed at odds. So long as he kept Margie and Eva distracted, and competing against one another, it should work brilliantly. Granted, Oscar might not care much if his lover was distracted by another man, but Bran would undoubtedly be offended. Galen was willing to try anything that broke the hold these girls had over the Mad Clan.

  * * * *

  Maeve sat on a park bench and realized she had been so busy doing what she needed to do, that she hadn't thought overly much about what she was doing. She had been grateful and thanked the Lord every night for having the opportunity to earn her keep and send her folks some coin besides, and she was truly grateful. But her thought earlier today about how ridiculous it was for a Catholic girl to live in what amounted to a brothel was also true. Her faith in the Lord meant that she should accept that this was the path He had put her on, but she couldn't see where it was supposed to lead. Was this a time where blind faith was needed? Should she accept that this was His path and follow it with an open heart? Or was this a time when the Lord only helped those who helped themselves? She could try to find another position, but nothing sang to her heart as an appropriate option.

  Her mind once again turned to the baron. She would not be that man's mistress. Nor any man's mistress. And it was as much a folly to think he would want her as his baroness as it would be to think she could fly. And she wouldn't even want to be a baroness. She was firmly from a class lower than his and happy to remain so. But perhaps marriage was something to consider. Even if uncommon, surely there were good Catholic men of moderate means in London. She couldn't think of any at her church, but she hadn't been thinking of them that way, either. She would ask the priest when next she saw him.

  That decided, she felt clearer of mind and less troubled of heart. It was the right path, then. Certainly the Lord would only allow her to proceed as was good and correct. If her mind turned time to time to Lord Mornay it was only in gratitude that he had awoken her from her current life and helped her to see that marriage was the right path for her now.

  When she returned to the house it was coming on evening and men were loitering in the lower rooms. Many of them, she thought, had undoubtedly been at church mere hours before, yet they thought nothing of spending their evening with brassies. Even Anglicans should be better than that. Now that she had decided to move on from this place, she found she had even less patience for it than she did before.

  As she walked by the parlor she glanced inside, but it was no longer Lord Mornay on the blue sofa. Avoiding the men who tried to stop her, she made her way upstairs and locked herself in her room.

  THE ENCHANTED CAVE

  CHAPTER TEN

  Galen set down the papers he'd been reading when his butler knocked and entered the office.

  “Lord Williams to see you, sir. Shall I tell him you're in?”

  “Yes, see him in. Thank you, Vickers.” As it was Wednesday, the timing was about right, but Oscar was the one he had been least expecting to see.

  Lord Williams, as he was styled being the youngest son of a duke, strolled in as Vickers was announcing him.

  “Just as dismal as ever in here, I see,” Oscar observed

  “Not everyone has your garish taste.” Galen sat back in his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Straight down to business, like always.” Oscar fiddled with the scale on the edge of Galen's desk.

  “Would you like to sit down?”

  “In a moment.” He set a tiny statue of a cat on one side, then balanced it with the inkwell on the other. “Not quite right.” He added a coin from his pocket to the side with the cat, then another. Finally satisfied that the sides were evenly matched he took a seat across from Galen with a flourish.

  Galen looked at his friend. “I tend to doubt you came here to balance my inkwell.”

  “Maybe I came to balance your cat.” Oscar wiggled his brows.

  “Couldn't you be bothering someone else?”

  He flicked a speck off his knee. “Well, Bran and Conan are busy complaining about you, and Finn is attending to his father's business interests. What else was I to do? I have no interest in business and certainly no reason to complain about you.”

  Someone unfamiliar with Oscar would assume that his bonhomie meant he wasn't upset, but Galen knew him far better than that. Lord Williams was in a right dudgeon. It took effort of will not to grin about it. “That doesn't sound any more awful than gadding about my dismal study.”

  “It is a dismal study. Why don't we pop off to White's? Oh, or we could go to Gentleman Jackson's!” He said the name of the boxing establishment as though it had just occurred to him. If Galen knew Oscar the way he thought he did, there was someone waiting there who had already been paid off to challenge and dust him. Oscar didn't like getting his hands dirty when he could help it, but he always got his revenge. The question was, would Galen rather let Oscar have his fun now, or should he avoid this trap and see if a less dire punishment would be meted out once Oscar had calmed down? Or perhaps the third option of forcing Oscar to show his cards here and now.

  “I'd been thinking to have a night in. I'm sure Vickers would be happy to set a place for you at table.”

  Oscar's expression soured briefly. “And you wonder why you hardly see your friends anymore? Dismal and boring makes a terrible combination.”

  “Yes, it's clear that your tastes run much more to the gaudy and lively. Such as the lovely Eva.”

  For a moment irritation flashed in Oscar's eyes but he waved a negligent hand. “Apparently that is where our tastes coincide. Or at least, so she tells me.”

  “Ask yourself, Os. Since when did a woman understand me?”

  Galen could see the moment that Oscar's nimble mind was engaged. “What are you up to, Gale?”

  “Saving Finn from himself.”

  Oscar snorted. “Bloody good luck with that.”

  * * * *

  It had been a horrid week and Maeve was fairly sure that the rest of the Irish Sisters would have a go at each other before it was time for the fights to begin tonight. The baron had visited twice more this week, each time seeming to have a slight preference for one of the girls over the other. The three of them were ready to tear each other apart for the right to be his mistress. If Maeve didn't find it all so terribly disgusting it would almost be amusing. Especially as now whenever he saw her, the baron treated her like a lady. He had taken to bowing to her of all things. She couldn't tell if he was being cheeky or sarcastic. As he seemed otherwise uninterested in her she hadn't raised the ire of the sisters while they squabbled among themselves. At the moment it wa
s just Eva and Bridget bickering in their room, but it had grown heated enough that Maeve stepped in to check on them.

  Bridget was red-faced. “And what are you like to do for a man other than spend all of his money?”

  “At least I'm not a weepy little twig of a thing!” Eva spat back.

  “Oh, at least I'm not all chicken breasted like you are!” Bridget said, grabbing the little mounds of her breasts that made her tiny body look lush.

  “You're no bushel bubby like Margie, either, so you'd best hope that's not his measure.”

  “Maybe I've not a bushel, but some men like apples. I've yet to know a man who prefers grapes!”

  Eva grabbed the nearest thing to hand and threw it at Bridget. Fortunately, it was only a hairbrush. Maeve waded into the fracas like she always had with her younger sisters, putting herself between them. “All right now, you two. Settle!”

  “She would be a horrible mistress for Galen!” Bridget protested, her face mottled from her anger.

  “As though I have a say in it!” Maeve said.

  Eva gave a derisive sniff and flounced away. Maeve wasn't sure where Margie was, but thanked the Lord she hadn't been here when things went flying. Margie gave much better than she got, and a brush thrown at her probably would have seen a chair in return.

  “Pull yourself together,” Maeve admonished. “We've only a few hours until the fight starts.”

  Bridget used the brush that had so recently been thrown. “My fight starts earlier, as soon as the men get here. I'll find me a protector yet, Lord Mornay be damned.”

  “He probably will be,” Maeve agreed.

  Bridget gave Maeve one of her rare penetrating looks. “You should be looking to find one, too.”