The Regency Season

by Ann Lethbridge

  Minette viewed the portrait, tilting her head first to one side then the other. ‘He looks like your mother and you look more like your father.’

  ‘My colouring mostly comes from my mother’s grandmother, I’m told.’ Along with other less desirable traits.

  ‘It is easy to see they loved your brother.’

  His throat closed, but he forced himself to speak. ‘As did I. He was one of the best brothers a fellow could wish for.’

  He moved on to the next portrait. This one was of his brother alone, a few years older than in the previous one, a shotgun over his shoulder, a brace of partridge at his feet and a look of pure mischief in his bright blue eyes. ‘This is the Lawrence Mother spoke of. Reggie was going to be eighteen later that summer.’ He’d never reached his eighteenth birthday. Freddy had been sixteen.

  ‘He makes one think of an English Apollo. Where is your portrait by Lawrence?’

  The question jolted his gut. His hands clenched. His shoulders tightened. He turned from the picture and went to look out of the window, coward that he was. ‘There was no need of a portrait of the spare at that time.’

  He’d been so damnably jealous.

  ‘His loss must have been a dreadful shock to you, as well as your parents.’

  Worse than she could possibly imagine. ‘I was devastated. And then, God help me, I was expected to step into his shoes. It was years before I could bear to think about it, let alone apply myself to the matter.’

  ‘The reason you do not come to Falconwood very often.’

  That and the bitter recriminations from his mother. Recriminations that echoed loud and clear in his conscience. ‘I hate coming here.’

  Chapter Ten

  His words were cold. Perhaps even calculated to shock. He stood looking out of the window, so alone, so remote. And beneath the coldness Minette sensed the pain of an old wound. Something he was not talking about. She strolled to stand beside him at the window, looking out at the view. ‘Thank you for bringing me to see your brother’s likeness,’ she said softly. ‘I am sure he would be proud of you.’

  He looked startled then turned away as if he did not want her to see his reaction. Sadness filled her that he would not share his thoughts with her, but it was only to be expected. Theirs was a betrothal of convenience and they barely knew each other and trusted each other even less.

  Giving him time to collect himself, she gazed silently at the vista, from the formal gardens near the house across the ha-ha and out over the large expanse of treed park. A gleam of white beside a lake caught her eye. ‘Oh, what is that?’ She pointed. ‘At the edge of the lake.’

  ‘The Pantheon. My family’s version of a folly from the early part of the last century. There’s a hermit’s cave in the woods nearby, too. And a grotto. Would you like to see it?’

  ‘As long as we are back in time for dinner,’ she said, smiling at the eagerness in his voice. Clearly this was something he would enjoy showing her.

  With the day warm and sunny it was not a hardship to take the path that led from the house down to the lake and meander across the grassy arched bridge to arrive at the folly she had seen from the upstairs window. The view of the house was lovely from this vantage point, the red-brick fiery in the afternoon sun. But it was the folly that held her attention. A fully realised Roman temple of glowing white marble. ‘It looks so real,’ she said. ‘As if we have stepped back in time and been transported to Rome itself.’

  ‘One of my ancestors had it build after the Restoration. They were all the rage.’

  ‘Can we go inside?’

  ‘Of course.’ He took her arm and walked her up the steps and through an enormous set of oak doors. Inside there were marble statues and reliefs around the circular chamber.

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said. ‘It is astonishing. One almost expects to meet Caesar in his toga.’

  ‘My mother used to hold picnics here when my father was alive. Before...’ He pressed his lips together. ‘Their summer parties were famous. No one ever turned down an invitation. Come, let me show you the grotto and the hermit’s cave.’

  ‘Was there really a hermit?’

  ‘Oh, yes. There were three of them over the years, when they were fashionable. Before my time. They were paid a handsome sum to stay in the cave all summer. When the last one retired, the duke at the time gave him and his wife a cottage on the estate. Reggie and I used the place as a fort when we were young.’

  They strolled back out into the sunshine and wandered to the other end of the lake. There, rocks had been placed artfully to form a tunnel that led to a grotto complete with natural spring. A shaft in the roof brought in light from outside, but the effect was cool and damp and unpleasantly gloomy. The white marble statue of a water nymph tucked against the wall behind the bubbling spring gazed at them soulfully.

  Minette shivered.

  Freddy took her hand. ‘You are cold. Let us go back outside.’

  The sunshine was a welcome relief. They turned the end of the lake, and he showed her the ruined walls of the hermit’s dwelling. ‘A great place for boys to play,’ she said.

  His eyes seemed to look inside himself, and then he smiled. ‘It was.’

  They strolled arm in arm back to the house. The coldness that had settled over Freddy in the portrait gallery had thawed and there was a pleasant easiness between them. It was as if they were becoming friends.

  ‘Your home is beautiful,’ Minette said, standing in the dappled shade of a tree at the edge of the lawn leading up to the house. ‘This tree is huge. Oak, n’est pas?’

  ‘It is supposed to be three hundred years old. It is on one of the earliest drawings of the house.’ He looked up into the branches. ‘It is amazing to think this tree was right here at the time of Henry the Eighth.’

  She stroked the bark. ‘If trees could only talk, they would whisper a great many secrets.’

  His hand came down beside hers. Large. Encased in black gloves as hers were in tan. He didn’t move. Slowly she turned to face him, and he brought his other hand up to cage her against the tree.

  The heat of his body washed up against her like a wave. She raised her face to meet his intent gaze. While she could make out nothing from his expression, the heat in his eyes said exactly where his thoughts had gone. Her body flushed with answering heat, as it always did when he looked at her that way.

  What was it about this man that brought forth longings she’d thought she had long ago repressed? She knew too well the heartbreak of giving a man what he wanted. The pain of betrayal. Yet inside she trembled with familiar sensations. The bloom of desire.

  ‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ she whispered.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Someone might see us.’

  ‘No one can see us here.’

  He would know all the secret places where a man could be alone with a woman.

  When his eyes searched her face and his head dipped slowly, giving her every chance to reject his advance, she rose up on her toes and claimed his lips with her own.

  His sigh of satisfaction made her breasts tingle and long for his touch. She arched into him, pressing her body against the hard wall of his chest.

  One strong arm pulled her into him, the other caressed the curve of her spine, and he nudged her backwards until she was supported by the tree. His thigh pressed into her and she widened her stance to accommodate the sweet pressure against her lower body, rocking against him, purring deep in her throat, the sweet ache throbbing low in her core. Slowly one hand skimmed her bottom, then up her side until it rested heavy on her breast. She pushed into his palm, longing to feel his touch against the aching fullness.

  He broke the kiss. ‘Every time. You drive me beyond reason,’ he said, his voice harsh. ‘Have you any idea of the consequences of this game you are playing with me?’

  ‘I think you are the cat and I am the mouse,’ she whispered. Of course he was. He tempted her unbearably. Made her want things she should not want. And if sh
e let him have his way, he thought she would have no choice but to marry him, when in truth it might cause him to send her away. Something she could not allow until the threat of Moreau was vanquished.

  She pushed at his shoulder.

  He lifted his head, gazed around and groaned. ‘You are right. This is not the right place.’

  ‘Or the right time,’ she said as calmly as her frustration would allow.

  ‘We should not anticipate our vows.’

  She gave him a tight smile. ‘Precisely.’

  He glanced at the ground and then at her face with a wicked smile she’d never seen before, wicked and boyish. ‘If it hadn’t rained yesterday, I might think about trying to change your mind.’

  Loverlike teasing. Such a shock from this emotionless man. ‘Thank heavens for the rain, then.’

  The smile remained.

  She wagged a finger at him. ‘A kiss between those newly betrothed is perfectly acceptable. It fits with our story. But anything more is not a good idea.’ Oh, what a dissembler she was. She would like nothing more than to romp with him in the grass, but she didn’t dare give him a glimpse of how she was tempted. She had no doubt he would take advantage of any sign of her weakening under the onslaught of his charm.

  ‘You are right,’ he said, though he sounded grudging.

  A tone that made her foolish heart lift.

  * * *

  Dinner over, Freddy forwent the glass of port in solitary state after the ladies withdrew. Instead, he took it with him to the drawing room. He would not leave Minette to the tender mercies of Mother, despite the fact that over dinner she had more than held her own.

  Once the tea was poured, he leaned back in his chair and sipped his port. ‘Thank you for attending to the arrangements for the ball, Mother.’

  ‘Given how the little time I have been given to prepare, I hope you are not expecting anything extraordinary,’ his mother said stiffly.

  ‘It was too bad of us,’ Minette said, clearly trying to soothe the other woman’s ruffled feathers. Given Mother’s penchant for slicing into one with her tongue while looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, he could only feel admiration. Minette was kind as well as lovely, no matter how much she tried to hide it. But kindness would not help her with Mother.

  ‘Perhaps we should scale back on the guest list. Keep it to family only,’ he said, stretching out his legs.

  Mother pursed her lips. ‘The betrothal of a duke is a matter of great importance. It cannot be skimped.’

  As usual she took the contrary position to anything he suggested. Just as he’d hoped. He shrugged. ‘The wedding celebration is usually the main event.’

  ‘You would put us to shame?’

  Minette winced. ‘If it would not be too bold an offer, I would love to help.’

  Mother stiffened. ‘I am perfectly capable of arranging for the entertainment of a hundred people, Miss Rideau.’

  ‘A hundred?’ Minette put down her teacup with a shaking hand. Her gaze flew to Freddy’s face. ‘I had no idea so many had been invited.’

  Freddy winced at the sight of her consternation. ‘A hundred is small for us.’

  ‘Oh, Your Grace,’ she said to his mother, ‘you must allow me to be of assistance.’

  Not unexpectedly, Mother turned frosty. ‘My steward, Carter, and Mr Patterson are all the help I require, thank you. However, I did not receive instructions with regard to those to be invited from your family, Miss Rideau. How many people am I to expect from that quarter?’

  Clearly she did not like it that he had asked Nicky to send out invitations to her and Gabe’s friends. ‘I gave the list to Patterson when I spoke to him before dinner.’

  ‘Should I not know who is invited to my house?’ Mother said.

  ‘My house,’ he said with lethal quiet.

  The frost turned to a wall of solid ice. ‘I might have known you would have no notion of what it is to take responsibility.’ She sniffed. ‘I trust you found your accommodations suitable, Miss Rideau?’

  ‘Thank you, they are lovely.’

  A scratch at the door, and Patterson entered. ‘A message for you, Your Grace,’ the butler said with a stiff bow, and held out a salver.

  Freddy reached out to take it at the same moment as his mother.

  ‘It is addressed to Falconwood,’ the butler said with an apologetic glance towards Mother.

  Freddy took the note, and as the butler left the room he slit the seal with a thumbnail. The shock of the words he read held him rigid for a second. He tucked the note in his pocket.

  ‘Who is it from?’ his mother asked. ‘One of the neighbours thinking to ingratiate themselves now that you have finally decided to come home?’

  Freddy looked up. ‘No. It is business. Mother, why not let Miss Rideau plan the supper menu?’

  Mother looked horrified, but he could see the calculation going on in her mind, the realisation that if she wasn’t careful he might wrest all control from her hands. ‘I suppose someone needs to plan the arrangement of flowers for the ballroom,’ she offered.

  ‘I would love to help with that,’ Minette said. ‘I will begin first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Don’t forget our plan to drive out in the morning,’ he said, ‘so I can show you more of the estate and some of the surrounding countryside.’ Show her the note.

  Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, yes. I had forgotten.’

  He nodded his acknowledgement of her quick wit.

  Minette turned to his mother. ‘I can work on the floral arrangements after lunch, if that is all right with you. Is there a budget?’

  ‘You can spend whatever you think is necessary,’ Freddy said.

  His mother let out a small sound of protest.

  ‘You have some ideas, Your Grace?’ Minette said, as if she had no idea that Mother wasn’t happy. ‘Shall I come to you for direction first? Before Freddy and I leave for our drive. Say around ten?’

  Mother never left her chamber before noon.

  ‘Certainly not, my dear,’ Her Grace said with sugary sweetness. ‘I will leave it all up to you. I will have one of the gardeners put at your disposal.’

  ‘The head gardener, Mr Jevens,’ Freddy said, knowing the way his mother’s mind worked. ‘Since Minette will shortly be taking over the running of the household, I think that is a very good idea, Mother. She should also be present when you speak to Chef.’

  The longing to object writ large on his mother’s face was a painful thing to observe. She had prided herself on the running of the household since her marriage and Freddy had done nothing to alter her role since his father had died. Now was the right time to make changes. The servants, all loyal to his mother, had served him some unpleasant meals when she had been annoyed with him, and once his bed linen had been damp. Punishment for arriving at his home unannounced. There would be none of that unpleasantness for Minette. He was determined.

  ‘Of course, dear,’ his mother replied, and he heard the little break in her voice without a shred of emotion. It was all an act designed to make Minette feel uncomfortable.

  ‘I shall look forward to it,’ Minette said with forced brightness.

  ‘Then I suggest you speak to Jevens first thing, before we drive out,’ he said. ‘Mother will make herself available after lunch.’

  * * *

  Ready for bed, Minette had never felt less like sleeping in her life. What on earth had made Freddy so anxious to take her driving in the morning? She’d seen insistence in those dark eyes that could be so expressive—when they weren’t keeping her at a distance.

  She still couldn’t believe his mother’s coldness towards him. It was horrible to be in the same room with them. Couldn’t the dowager duchess see how much she was hurting her son? Or how much she lost by keeping him at a distance? She had barely stopped herself from taking the woman to task. She picked up the book Nicky had given her to read on the journey and flicked through the pages to find her place. She stared at the words. Clearly t
here had been something important in the note Freddy had received. Although he’d hidden it quickly, he had been surprised by its contents. And then he’d talked about arrangements they hadn’t made.

  The door to her chamber opened. Expecting to see Christine returning on some forgotten errand, she gaped at the sight of Freddy in a silk dressing gown closing the door behind him.

  His hot, dark gaze swept over her. Answering heat raced across her skin. ‘Freddy?’

  He inhaled a breath and his expression shuttered.

  Control. The man had icy control.

  Something inside her wanted to smash down the walls. Only if she did, her own walls might come tumbling down, too. Not a good thing. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘The note. It is from Vitesse. Things have changed.’

  Her heart stilled at the seriousness in his voice. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Moreau is not returning to London.’

  ‘We have lost him?’ Damnation. She should not have left Town.

  ‘According to Latour, Maidstone is his destination.’

  Her heart lurched as if the ground beneath her feet had shifted. ‘Maidstone? Is it not nearby?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Why does he go there?’

  ‘There are only two reasons I can think of. The first is the barracks located in the town. Information about troop movements and so forth.’

  ‘The second?’

  ‘The news of our sudden engagement was in all the papers, and the ball was announced at the same time.’ His mouth flattened. ‘As a sop to the sensibilities of those that care about such things. He would no doubt have seen the London papers, wherever he was. He might see it as a chance to get to Nicky. Or he could be plotting yet another assassination. Someone attending our ball.’

  She hadn’t yet seen the guest list. ‘People of importance will attend?’

  ‘I’m a duke. Invitations went out to the Prince Regent, half the cabinet and a couple of royal princes.’ He sounded defensive.