Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

Blanche looked across the table at Mrs. Swinton. “Mrs. Swinton, how do you feel about this?”

  Mrs. Swinton, who had been caught with a mouthful of dumpling, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and said, “Working in the great houses provides many people with positions that will earn money. Without that work they would be in want. I do not think that finding a vegetable dish for you, Miss Notley, will be outside our cook’s abilities, nor will he be upset by finding something suitable for you to eat.”

  “There, you see?” Darrius said, not unkindly. “We cannot have you sitting at table starving, Blanche. Just think how uncomfortable it would be for the rest of us.”

  “And of course it would be pleasant for me, would it not?” she retorted hotly.

  “I should not think so,” Darius said, “nor would we wish for you to have that experience.”

  “Then why did you have such a dish made?” Blanche asked, in a high-pitched whine that put Darrius’ teeth on edge.

  “Begging your pardon,” he protested. “I am terribly afraid I had nothing to do with the menu.”

  Blanche looked at him slightly askance. “But you know about my delicate digestion.”

  “To be sure Blanche, we are all aware of your delicate digestion,” his voice had now developed a definite edge.

  “And of course that is my fault,” Blanche said.

  “Not at all,” Darrius commented, “I cannot see that it is a fault sort of thing. No one holds you at blame for having a delicate digestion.”

  Nonetheless, Blanche gave him a sideways look that did not bode well for private conversations at a later time. In a few moments, Wilson, the butler, came back with a plate of sliced neeps, a slice of cooked cabbage, and a mound of sliced carrot medallions.

  “The cook begs your pardon, Miss Notley, and hopes that these offerings will be more to your taste.” the butler said, presenting them to her.

  Blanche sighed dramatically. “The carrots will be good,” she said. “I cannot abide neeps, and cabbage would surely upset my stomach.”

  Lady Carletane clicked her tongue at her daughter. “Blanche, you are being rude.”

  “I am sorry, Mother, but I simply cannot eat these things,” Blanche said in some distress.

  Mrs. Swinton spoke up, “If you will give me a list of the things that you like, Miss Notley, I will share them with our cook. He is a most accommodating fellow and I’m sure would be glad to prepare the kinds of foods that you enjoy.”

  “I could not put him to so much trouble,” Blanche protested.

  “I am fairly certain,” Darrius put in, “that he would find that much less trouble than trying to find something at the last moment that you might possibly eat. Really, Blanche, we are aware of your delicate digestion, but Mrs. Swinton has presented you with an excellent solution.”

  “You always take her side,” Blanche complained. “Is this how it will be when we are married?”

  “When we are married,” Darius said calmly, although inside he was seething, “you will be able to select the menu and confer with the cook yourself.”

  “I had not thought of that,” said Blanche, “but of course you will have to have the things you want to eat.”

  “Yes,” Darius said, forcing his tone to be pleasant. “to be sure, I will want things that I can eat.”

  “And you will be eating animal flesh in front of me,” she said.

  “Unless we are going to be taking our meals separately,” Darius pointed out, “I will most assuredly be eating animal flesh in front of you.”

  Miss Notley looked at her plate for a moment, pushing the little carrot medallions about upon it. “No one understands my sensibility,” she said. “I shall simply waste away from having improper food.”

  No one at table knew quite what to say to that. It certainly put a damper upon the other diners’ spirits. Darius cut a slice off the chicken and offered it to his mother who accepted it graciously. The young constable on the other side imitated his host by offering a similar slice to Mrs. Swinton.

  Lord Carletane, who was heartily enjoying a large piece of chicken and a dumpling, said with some severity, “Blanche, that is quite enough.”

  Blanche looked at her father, but said no more.

  Lady Carletane rummaged in her reticule and pulled out a paper-wrapped pastille and handed it to Blanche.

  Blanche accepted it and nibbled at the edge of it.

  “I simply do not know what we shall do,” Lady Carletane said. “I have made an appointment with a famous London physician to try to discover the cause of her delicate appetite.”

  “A very practical solution,” the Duchess said. “This certainly is not something you want to have continuing on. It is to be hoped he can discover the cause.”

  Darrius thought to himself, Indeed, no, we do not want this going on, and I tremble to think what my life will be like when I am married to this woman. Why could she not be more amiable, like Mrs. Swinton? She is so immature in her approach to everything, like a spoiled girl who has not gotten her own way and is not the center of attention.

  Something of the sort must have been running through Blanche’s mind as well, for she threw down her napkin, and stood up.

  “I am not a child,” she declared. “Nor am I feeble-minded. Right now, the mere appearance of that bird upon the table is making me feel bilious. If anyone wants me, I will be in the library. Mother, Father, you can collect me there when you are ready to go home. Pray, excuse me!” She left the room at a near run.

  “Dear me,” the Duchess said. “I am sure no one meant to upset her so.”

  “Please, continue your dinner,” Darius said. “I will attend her. Perhaps something simple delivered to the library will help.”

  With that, he left in pursuit of his one hope of keeping his creditors at bay.

  Chapter 15

  Blanche stood by the window in the library. She twisted a handkerchief in her hands and looked deeply distressed.

  “Blanche?” Darius made her name into a question. “What is really wrong?”

  “I wish I knew,” Blanche replied. “I am following all my physician’s orders, yet I continue to feel pale. I am always a little sad. What is wrong with me, Darius? Why do you not love me?”

  This question took Darius aback. Somehow he had never considered that Blanche might have feelings of any sort. She was simply a destination, a thing he had to do in the future.

  Love her? People married for convenience, for advantage, but rarely for love.

  “I am sorry, Blanche. It had never occurred to me that you desired love. It seemed to me that you were focused on your gowns, on jewels, pretty flowers, and holding the perfect conversation that is all about nothing.”

  “Of course that’s how I seem,” she replied. “That is what they teach us in finishing school. Featherhead, feather-light, sweet and charming, with not so much as a solid thought between our ears. But I do have them, Darius. I do have solid thoughts, and I do feel ill, and no one believes me.”

  Darius stared at her for a moment. “Just how ill do you feel, Blanche?”

  “Oh not unto death, just weary, as if I have no life, no energy.”

  “That is a terrible feeling,” he said, recognizing some of his own apprehensions and discomfort in her statement. “Perhaps we should try a different physician. Not all of them ascribe to the same school of thought.”

  “Do you think it would help?” she asked

  “I think it would not hurt to ask,” he said. “Is there a reason why you have not?”

  “Physicians are very expensive,” Blanche replied. “My mother and father have already spent a great deal on treatments and experimental medicines. I do not know what to do. I do not want to beggar my parents, so that when I marry they will have nothing left on which to live. The dowry is set aside and cannot be touched or changed.”

  Darius felt the blood drain from his face. “Your parents are in financial difficulty.”

  “And have been for some time,” Blanch rep
lied. “That is why we have not hastened this marriage. Although the dowry cannot be touched, the proceeds from it constitute a large part of their yearly income. My father made some bad investments, and although he is slowly recouping, he has a good way to go before he and my mother will be secure.”

  “Blanche, I had no idea,” Darius said. “Why did you not tell me this sooner?”

  Blanche gave him a thin, rather wan smile. “Darius, do you think that I do not know that our pending nuptials are holding off your creditors?”

  This was a side of Blanche that Darius had not seen before. He paused, wordless.

  “Do you think I have not seen how you look at your mother's latest companion? She is everything that I am not. She is pretty, has a lovely figure, is well-spoken and well-read.”

  “You are well-read,” Darius put in trying to put as good a face on this situation as he could.

  “I am,” she replied, “but perhaps not as well-read as Mrs. Swinton. You will make her your mistress, will you not?”

  “I’m not sure she will allow it,” Darius said, not denying the charge. “She has told me rather pointedly that she is not interested in such an arrangement.”

  “Yet you keep trying,” Blanche said bitterly, “and you keep pushing me away.”

  Darius said, “If you were honest with me more often, as you are being now, I would be less inclined to push you away. I believe that this is the first frank conversation we have had since we were ten years of age.”

  “As I recall,” Blanche said, “I told you, at that point, that you were horrible and I never wanted to marry. And you told me that it did not matter, girls did as they were told.”

  “I did say we were honest,” Darrius remarked. “Then it was not long after that our fathers announced that they had arranged this. It is supposed to conjoin your estate and mine, and create a solid situation for both of us.”

  ‘What shall we do now?” Blanche asked.

  “‘First of all, we're going to see about this not feeling well, because Blanche, I remember you as a very vigorous young lady quite capable of holding her own at shuttlecock, including smacking me with a racket..”

  “That was before our fathers announced that we would be wed,” Blanche pointed out. “I wasn’t allowed to hit you for being annoying after that.”

  Darrius gave a little snort of laughter. “See the physician. Try to feel better. Let us have a few more honest conversations before we decide what we are going to do.”

  “I am not at all sure that it will help,” Blanche said, “but I will do as you suggest and begin with trying a different physician.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Darius replied, “for whether we wed or not, we were childhood playmates and I hold you in some regard. But although I am not angry with you necessarily, on the other hand I will be very honest. I am not looking forward to being married to you.”

  “Nor I to you,” she retorted.

  “There is a simple solution,” he said. “You can cry off. Ladies can, you know, without damaging your reputation. But if I cry off, then people will wonder why.”

  “And do you not think that they will wonder why if I cry off, Darius? It might be a long time before you can get another engagement if we break this one.”

  “Better that than a lifetime of misery,” Darius said. “I have seen the arranged marriages where nobody is happy and I do not want that for either of us.”

  “Thank you for that,” Blanche said. “You are right. Being honest does help.”

  “I regret that the dinner was not to your liking. Our cook is quite good at tempting my mother's appetite. Perhaps if we sent down, he could manage something that your system could tolerate. What has tasted good recently?”

  Blanche thought about that for a moment. “Honestly, the soup that we had for dinner tasted good. And yes, I know it was chicken. But I think that, and perhaps a little new bread, I could keep down.”

  Darrius tugged on the embroidered bell pull that was beside the library door.

  When the butler came, Darrius asked, “Could we have a little more of the soup that was served as the first course for Miss Notley? She is not feeling well and the main course is not appetizing to her.”

  “Of course. I would be glad to speak with the cook.”

  In just a few minutes one of the maids brought in a tray that held a bowl of broth, several slices of new bread, some sweet butter, and a cup of golden milk tea.

  The butler and Darius quickly cleared off one of the library tables making room for the tray.

  “You should go back to your guests,” Blanche said. “I will do well enough here.”

  “Are you quite certain?” Darrius looked anxious.

  “Yes,” she replied, “This actually looks good. I think I might have a little appetite, especially if I can sit quietly and eat without people staring at me.”

  Darius glanced at her in astonishment. This was a side of Blanche that he had not seen before. “Very well,” he said. “I will be glad to leave you to your repast. The butler will check in on you from time to time. Or should I have one of the maids sit with you?”

  “The butler will be fine,” Blanch said. “I have had enough of people looking at me for today.”

  “Very well,” Darius said. “I will go see to my guests.”

  As he left the room, his mind was in a turmoil.

  Have I wronged Blanche by not paying more attention to her? But she is right. She is a pale imitation of a woman when compared to Mrs. Swinton.

  But all I can offer a woman like Mrs. Swinton, the daughter of shopkeepers, unapologetically common, is to be my mistress. Nor did she seem to favor my attentions.

  Darius found his own digestion roiling as he stood, irresolute, in the hall. But he was a gentleman, and he had his duties to his guests, his mother, and his estate. He straightened his waistcoat, repositioned the pin on his cravat, and selected a slightly worried but confident expression to display upon his face.

  Thus armored, he went back into the dining room.

  Chapter 16

  “Is there anything more beautiful than a cloudless afternoon in June?” Evelyn asked. It had been her turn to provide the picnic luncheon, but Mayson had been unable to refrain from adding a few extra touches to the bread, cheese, and new apples that she had purchased. He had rounded out their feast with some broken meats left from the noon meal and a bottle of fresh-pressed cider.

  “Perhaps one or two things,” Mayson teased gently, while looking at her meaningfully.

  “Oh, you,” Evelyn waved a hand dismissively at him. She looked down at the neatly carved wooden bowl that held bread, cheese, and several bits of thin sliced meat. It had been an unexpected gift from Mayson, carved by his own hands.

  Mayson watched her as if she was the most beautiful creature in all the world. Evelyn tried not to squirm or say something flippant under his gaze. “Could I ask you something?”

  “You can ask. I will not promise to answer.” Evelyn looked up at him.

  “If, theoretically speaking, a gentleman was to ask a lovely widow if she might wed him when her period of mourning was up, what do you think the lady might say?”

  Evelyn looked out across the pretty meadow where they had chosen to picnic on this day. “Well, theoretically speaking, I would say that if he had the patience to wait attentively for a respectful amount of time, that there would be a good chance that the widow might say yes if she liked him.” She then busied herself with arranging the items in the pretty wooden bowl.

  “Would it be rude of him to ask before the period of mourning was up?”

  “Perhaps not, if he made it clear that he was willing to wait.” Evelyn let a smile tip up the corners of her mouth, but she turned her eyes to the contents of the bowl.

  Mayson warmed to his topic. “Evelyn, do you think you could see yourself as my wife in a year’s time? I will not tease you about it if you say no.”

  “I think, Mayson, that you are a very pleasant fellow. In du
e time, I might say yes. Can you wait a little while for your answer? I would like for us both to be sure.”

  “I will wait for you until the moon turns blue and the stars fall out of the sky. I would even wait for you to the ends of time.”

  Evelyn smiled. “I’ll not ask you to wait quite that long. But perhaps you might ask me again at the end of summer. I suspect that my answer might be yes, and we could be wed in spring a year from now.”

  Mayson did a backflip off the picnic blanket, and followed that up with a series of handsprings. He came back, sat down beside her and captured one of her hands in his. “You have made me an incredibly happy man,” he said.