Regency Innocents

by Annie Burrows

  A trip to a milliner followed, and then to the bootmakers, where she had her feet measured for a last.

  ‘You must be growing tired,’ Charles eventually declared, when all his efforts to spoil his wife had met with supreme indifference.

  Felice would have been in ecstasy to have had so much money spent on a wardrobe of such magnificence, not to mention his undivided attention in selecting it. But Heloise, he was coming to realise, cared as little for such fripperies as she did for him. He was not going to reach her by showering her with the kind of gifts that would win most women over.

  ‘I have other business to attend to for the rest of the day,’ he told her. ‘But I shall be in for dinner this evening. Will you dine with me?’

  Heloise blinked in surprise. He had spent hours with her today already. She had assumed he would have something better to do with his evening. But he had actually asked her to dine with him!

  Struggling to conceal her elation, she had just taken a breath to form a suitably controlled reply when he added, ‘Or would you rather remain in your room?’

  Was that a veiled way of telling her that was what he wished her to do? Did he hope she would take the hint?

  Well, she was blowed if she was going to take all her meals in her rooms as if … as if she were a naughty child!

  ‘I will dine with you,’ she said, with a militant lift to her chin.

  As though she were about to face a firing squad, he thought, hurt by her response to a simple invitation.

  ‘Until tonight, then.’ He bowed, then stalked away.

  The evening was not a success. Charles made polite enquiries about how she had spent the rest of her day, while they sat sipping sherry in an oppressively immaculate anteroom. He looked relieved when the footman came to inform them dinner was ready. She soon realised this was because they would no longer be alone. A troupe of footmen served a staggering variety of dishes, whisked away empty plates, poured wine, and effectively robbed the event of any hint of intimacy.

  Her heart did begin to pound when Charles leaned forward, beckoning to her, indicating that he wished to whisper something to her. Only to plunge at his words.

  ‘At this point it is the custom for ladies to withdraw. I shall join you in the drawing room when I have taken some port.’

  Feeling humiliated that he’d had to remind her of this English custom, Heloise followed one of the younger footmen to a vast room that was so chilly her arms broke out in goose pimples the moment she stepped over the threshold. She sat huddled over the lacklustre fire for what seemed like an eternity before Charles joined her.

  ‘Should you like to play cards?’ he suggested. ‘Some people find it helps to pass the time until the tea tray is brought in.’

  He could not have made it clearer that this was the last way he wished to spend his evening.

  ‘I enjoy cards as little as I care to pour that vile drink, which is fit only for an invalid, down my throat,’ she replied rather petulantly.

  ‘Most husbands,’ he replied frostily, ‘take themselves off to their clubs, where they find companionship and amusements they cannot find at home, leaving their wives free of their burdensome presence.’

  As Heloise stormed up the stairs, she decided never to set foot in that horrible drawing room again. If Charles would rather go off to his club, then let him go! She did not care, she vowed, slamming her sitting room door behind her, almost knocking over one of the silly little tables dotted about the floor as she stormed across the room to fling herself onto the sofa.

  She glared at it, and the collection of ornaments it held with resentment. She hated clutter. She would have to get a footman to move it against the wall, out of the way. After all, Charles had said she could do as she pleased up here.

  A militant gleam came to her eye and she sat up straight. He had meant she could decorate as she pleased. But she could do much more than that. She dared not ask him for a proper drawing table, knowing how much he disapproved of her sketches, but if, under the pretext of reorganising her rooms, she had that one large desk moved to a spot between the two windows, to catch the maximum daylight …

  Her spirits began to lift. Drawing was more than just a hobby to her. She could lose herself for hours in the fantasy world she created on paper. It had been a solace to her in Paris, where she had been such a disappointment to her parents. How much more would it comfort her here in London, as an unwanted bride?

  Her fingers were already itching to draw Madame Pichot, with her peculiar accent that would only pass for French in England. She reminded her of a drawing she had seen in the Louvre, of a creature whose eyes stood out on stalks and which was said to change colour to match whatever type of background it walked across.

  Though how she was to locate a really good shop where she could buy pencils, paper and brushes without Charles finding out, leave alone how she would pay for her materials, would pose quite a problem.

  It was very late when Charles came up to bid her goodnight, as he had warned her he would do.

  ‘Do you have everything you need?’ he enquired politely.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied in an equally polite tone, her fingers plucking listlessly at the quilt.

  ‘Then I will bid you goodnight,’ he said, barely brushing his lips across her forehead.

  Heloise glared at his back as he left, barely suppressing the urge to fling some pillows at it. She was not a child for him to come and kiss goodnight in that insufferably condescending manner! She was surprised he did not tuck her in and pat her on the head while he was about it!

  But the sad truth was she was as inexperienced as a child. She had no idea how to encourage her husband to regard her as a woman rather than a girl. And there was no female to advise her. Her worst fear was that if she did try to breach his reserve she might only succeed in alienating him completely. She heaved a sigh as she sank down under the covers. At least he appeared content with the present situation.

  Several evenings passed in an equally unsatisfactory manner before Heloise discovered a chink in Charles’ armour.

  When they met before dinner, and he enquired, as he always did, how she had spent her day, she told him that several outfits had arrived, and she had spent the afternoon trying them on.

  ‘Was the riding habit among them?’

  ‘Yes, and it is …’ She bit her tongue. The pale blue gown with its silver frogging had instantly put her in mind of his servants’ livery, and had made her crushingly aware that he only regarded her as just one more of his chattels. ‘It is very pretty,’ she finished in a subdued tone.

  ‘If you are still determined to learn to ride, I could arrange for you to begin lessons with Robert tomorrow morning.’ He frowned into his sherry glass for a few seconds, before saying softly, ‘I bought him a lovely bay mare, very soft about the mouth, for Christmas. He has never even been to look her over. I shall be for ever in your debt—’ he flicked her a glance ‘—if you could goad him into taking some form of exercise.’

  ‘Of course!’ she cried, immensely flattered that he had entrusted her with such an important mission. ‘He must not stay in those dark rooms and moulder away.’

  The rigid formality of the dining room was completely unable to dampen her spirits that night. For now she had a plan.

  If she could be the means to help poor Robert get out of his rooms, Charles would be pleased with her. Riding lessons would only be the start. He could take her shopping for art supplies. And, though he might be sensitive about his scars, surely she could get him to take her to Vauxhall Gardens to watch the fireworks one evening? Buoyed up by the prospect, she received her husband’s goodnight kiss with complaisance. Even though he was dressed in his evening clothes, and clearly on his way out.

  One day, she vowed, snuggling down beneath the covers, he would take her with him on one of these forays into London’s night life from which he had so far excluded her. If all went well with Robert in the morning, it might be quite soon!


  The sound of the outer door slamming, not once, but twice, roused Charles from the pile of invitations he had been poring over in his study early the next morning. As the season got under way, more and more people were expressing an interest in meeting his bride. But he had no intention of exposing her to this collection of rakes, cynics, and bitches, he vowed, tossing a handful of gilt-edged invitations into the fire. It said something about his social circle that he thought it unlikely he would ever find a house into which he could take his vulnerable young bride without risk of having her confidence ripped to shreds.

  ‘Stop right there!’ he heard Robert bellow, just as he emerged from the study. Heloise, the back of her powder-blue riding habit liberally stained with mud, was fleeing up the stairs.

  She did not even pause, but ran along the corridor to her rooms, from whence echoed the sound of yet another slamming door.

  Robert, red-faced, had stopped at the foot of the staircase, clutching the newel post.

  ‘Problems?’ Charles drawled softly.

  Robert spun round so swiftly the heel of his false leg slipped on the marble floor and he nearly lost his balance.

  ‘Go on, then—order me to leave your house!’ he panted.

  Charles leaned against the doorjamb, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Why do you suppose I should wish to do that?’

  ‘Because I have insulted your bride,’ Robert flung at him. ‘I swore at her. Comprehensively and at length! You must have seen that she was crying when she fled up the stairs!’

  Frowning, Charles pushed himself from the doorframe and advanced on his brother. ‘If you have insulted her, it is for you to put right. This is your home. I shall not evict you from it.’

  Glowering, Robert spat, ‘And just how do you propose I make the apology? Crawl up all those stairs?’

  Charles regarded the false leg his brother had, for the first time to his knowledge, strapped onto his mangled knee joint. Heloise was amazing. She had only been here a matter of days, and already she’d cajoled Robert out of his rooms, into his false leg, and onto the back of a horse.

  ‘No,’ he mused. ‘Until she calms down, I dare say all that will happen is that she will inform you she hates you. Far better to wait until she has had time to reflect on her own part in your quarrel. I suggest you join us for dinner tonight, and make your apologies then.’

  ‘Dinner?’ Robert blustered. ‘I had as well crawl to her suite now as to attempt ascending to any other rooms on the upper floors!’

  ‘Then I will order dinner for the three of us in the little salon,’ he replied, indicating a room across the hall. His heart beating with uncomfortable rapidity, he waited for Robert to protest that nothing would make him sit down and eat with the man who had been instrumental in causing his mother’s death. Instead, he only glared mutinously before hobbling back to his own rooms and slamming the door behind him.

  Upstairs, Heloise was blowing her nose vigorously. It was no good feeling sorry for herself. That her first riding lesson had been such a fiasco was not what upset her the most, though that had been bad enough. What really hurt was her failure to gain any ground with Robert at all. Charles would be so disappointed with her.

  Startled by a tap on the door, she blew her nose again, annoyed to find her eyes were watering afresh.

  ‘May I come in?’

  Charles stood in the doorway, ruefully regarding his wife’s crestfallen appearance. ‘Was it the horse, or my brother?’

  Waving admittance to the footman who hovered behind him, bearing a tray of what looked like His Lordship’s finest brandy, Charles advanced into the room.

  ‘I thought you might feel in need of a little restorative,’ he explained, as the young man placed the silver salver on an elegant little table beside the sofa she had flung herself on when first she had come to her room. ‘And, since I know of your aversion to tea, I thought I would supply something more to your liking.’

  ‘You are m … most k … kind,’ Heloise half sobbed, as Charles stooped to pick her riding hat up from the floor, where she had flung it not five minutes before. The feather that adorned the crown had snapped. He ran his fingers over it with a frown.

  ‘Why is your hat on the floor? Is your dresser not in attendance?’

  ‘I have not rung for her. I don’t want her!’ she snapped. Since he was already disappointed in her, she had nothing to lose by admitting she could not live up to his exacting standards. ‘If I wish to throw my hat on the floor and … and stamp on it, then I have no wish to have her tutting at me as though I am a naughty child. It is my hat, after all, and I can do with it as I see fit!’

  Instead of reprimanding her for her childish outburst, he merely smiled and remarked, ‘I’ll buy you another one,’ tossing the crumpled headgear to the footman as he exited the rooms.

  ‘I don’t want another one,’ Heloise said, perversely irritated by his magnanimity in the face of her tantrum. ‘I am never getting on another horse again as long as I live.’

  ‘I thought you scoffed at people who disliked falling from horses. I seem to remember you saying—’

  ‘Yes, I remember very well what I said. If the horse had been trotting, or even walking, it might not have been so humiliating. But the horrid creature was standing perfectly still when I fell off. If I can fall off a stationary horse, which is being held at the head by a groom, I cannot think how much worse it will be should the brute try to move.’

  ‘Are you badly hurt?’ Charles frowned, suddenly wondering whether her tears and her evident discomfort might stem from more than wounded pride. ‘Should I send for a doctor?’

  So, after a perfunctory check, he was going to palm her off on another person? If they had the relationship a husband and wife ought to have, he would be running his hands over her bruises right now, assuring himself that nothing important was damaged. Instead of which he had handed her a drink, with a mocking smile twisting his lips.

  ‘I don’t need a doctor.’ She sighed. I need a husband. A husband who would put his arms round me and tell me everything is all right, that he is not ashamed of his stupid little wife, or disappointed in her failure to help poor Robert.

  Mutinously, she went to the bellrope and tugged on it viciously. ‘I wish to change out of these clothes now,’ she informed him. And take a bath. Unless there is anything else you wish to say to me?’

  Charles bowed politely, remarking, ‘Only that I hope, when your temper has cooled a little, you will endeavour to mend fences with Robert. I have invited him to dine with us this evening. It is the first time that he has agreed to do so. I would not wish it to be his last.’

  Heloise glared at the door through which he departed. Not a word of thanks for her efforts, abortive though they had been. Only a stern warning to watch her behaviour at dinner this evening, so as not to offend his precious brother any further. He had not even bothered to find out what the boor had said to upset her!

  Nothing she ever did would please him.

  Very well, then, she would start pleasing herself. She tore at the silver buttons of her riding habit with trembling fingers. She would dismiss the horrible dresser who looked down her nose at her. As a pair of housemaids came in, carrying towels and cans of hot water, she eyed them speculatively. Her husband seemed to employ dozens of staff. If she could not find one amongst them with whom she could strike up a tolerable relationship, then she would advertise for an experienced lady’s maid and begin to conduct interviews. If nothing else, it would give her something to fill the endless monotony of her days.

  And as for tonight … Oh, Lord! She sank into the steaming fragrant water of her bath and bowed her head over her raised knees. Charles would be watching her like a hawk. Robert would resent her for being the catalyst that had forced the two men to eat at the same table. She would be like a raw steak being fought over by two butcher’s dogs.

  By the time she entered the little salon Robert and Charles were already there, sitting on either side of the fireplace, sippi
ng their drinks in a silence fraught with tension. Both, to her surprise, looked relieved to see her.

  ‘I believe I owe you an apology,’ Robert said, struggling to his feet.

  She merely raised one eyebrow as she perched on the edge of the third chair which had been set before the hearth.

  All right, dash it! I know I owe you an apology. I should never have used such language to a female …’

  ‘Not even a French female?’ she replied archly, accepting the drink the footman handed to her. ‘Who is not even of noble birth, is an enemy of your country, and most probably a spy to boot?’

  Flushing darkly, Robert muttered, ‘If I said any of those things to you this morning …’

  ‘If?’

  ‘All right. I admit I said a lot more besides the swearing I have reason to apologise for! But don’t you think it is pretty disgusting behaviour to laugh at a cripple?’

  ‘Oh, I was not laughing at you, Robert.’ Heloise reached a hand towards him impulsively, her eyes filling with tears. ‘No wonder you got so cross, if that was what you thought. It would indeed have been the most unforgivable behaviour if that was so!’

  ‘But you were laughing …’

  ‘It was the horse! When you went to climb onto him from the right side it looked so surprised. I have never seen such an expression on an animal’s face before.’ A smile twitched her lips at the memory. And it turned to stare at you, and it tried to turn round to place you on what it thought was the correct side, and the groom was dodging about under its head, and you were clutching onto the saddle to stop from falling off the mounting block …’

  ‘I suppose it must have looked pretty funny from where you were sitting,’ Robert grudgingly admitted. ‘Only you have no idea how I felt—too damned clumsy to mount a slug like that, when I’ve always been accounted a natural in the saddle.’