Gentlemen and Brides: Regency Romance Collection

by Joyce Alec

  Jonathan laughed. “And a protective elder brother, it seems.”

  “Oh no!” Lord Richards exclaimed at once, holding up his hands in mock protest. “The sooner she is off my hands the better, but she simply will not choose any particular suitor, which I find rather frustrating.”

  “And why is that?” Jonathan asked, a swirl of curiosity running through him. “Are we all not of a suitable standard? If that is not too probing of a question?”

  Lord Richards did not seem affronted in the least. “I am not altogether sure, I confess. I am not the best at paying attention, given that I have a lot of responsibilities. My estate is undergoing a few renovations whilst we are in London, so I am constantly busy.”

  Jonathan nodded, drawing in a long breath. “I can well understand that.”

  Frowning, Lord Richards tilted his head just a little. “You have an estate of your own?”

  Recalling that he was meant to be Lord Michael, Jonathan cleared his throat a little gruffly, desperately trying to remember what the name of Lord Michael’s estate was.

  “Yes, a small one,” he muttered, his eyes roving over the twirling couples on the dance floor. “Renovations can be rather expensive, can they not?”

  Lord Richards chuckled. “Indeed, they can be.” He gestured towards one of the couples on the floor, a slightly wry smile on his face. “There is my sister, you see? The one in the yellow gown dancing with that rather rotund gentleman.”

  Jonathan frowned as he gazed into the crowd, trying to pick out which woman Lord Richards was talking about.

  “Why she is dancing with him, I have very little idea,” Lord Richards continued, shaking his head. “He will not do! Not in the least!”

  Jonathan, finally spotting the girl Lord Richards was pointing at, drew in a rather sharp breath.

  “Something wrong?” Lord Richards enquired, hearing him. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a bone to pick with that old rogue!”

  Giving a slightly wane smile, Jonathan shook his head. “No, not the gentleman but rather the lady—your sister.”

  The smile slowly faded from Lord Richard’s face. “What of her?” he asked, his voice a little lower than before. “Tell me she has not been up to anything untoward!”

  “No, of course not,” Jonathan replied at once, as Lord Richards let out a breath of relief. “It is just that I have had the pleasure of your sister’s company once already, although I did not know her name.”

  “Oh?” Lord Richard murmured, as the dance came to an end. He beckoned his sister over, who—after glancing at Jonathan—frowned heavily, as she walked towards them both.

  “I’m afraid I spilled my drink over her gown,” Jonathan murmured, his neck burning with heat, as the rather obvious stain caught his eye. “She was not exactly pleased.”

  Lord Richards rumbled with laughter, seeing the way his sister was practically spitting fire as she approached. “I see,” he grinned, slapping Jonathan on the back. “Well, nothing to stop you from being properly acquainted now. I am quite sure it was an accident, no?”

  “You!”

  She glared at him, steam almost pouring from her ears as her blue eyes blazed with cold fire.

  “I do apologize, Miss Richards,” Jonathan said at once, bowing deeply. “I can only hope that this evening has not been ruined by my clumsiness.”

  “You seem to have found yourself a partner regardless,” her brother said, calmly. “And what was the poor, unfortunate chap’s name?”

  Miss Richards glared at her brother. “Lord Winchester and I found ourselves in rather good company,” she replied, with a slight lift of her chin. “And he is a rather graceful dancer, despite his size.”

  “He is much too old for you, Mary!”

  Jonathan, feeling as though he was intruding in a private conversation, began to back away, only for Lord Richards to turn his attention back towards him.

  “I think Lord Michael Astor has made a rather pretty apology, Mary, and you ought to forgive him. Now, what do you say?”

  Recalling that Lord Richards had stated his sister had a somewhat fiery temper, Jonathan held his breath, as the lady turned her eyes back to his, her mouth settling into a rather thin line.

  “What was it you were looking at that had you so distracted?” she asked, her forthrightness taking Jonathan a little aback. “You walked directly into me!”

  Jonathan swallowed hard, his mind scrambling for a lie with which he might cover his true reason. “I have been out of society for some time,” he said, truthfully enough. “I was merely overwhelmed by it all, I confess.” The truth was that he had caught the real Lord Michael’s eye and had been chuckling to himself over their combined success—not that he could confess such a thing to the lady, who was looking at him with a rather suspicious eye.

  “May I say that, regardless of the unfortunate incident, you are still quite lovely, Miss Richards,” he continued, hoping that a compliment might soften her anger towards him. “You shine like a star in the—”

  “That is quite enough,” Miss Richards interrupted, swiping the air with her hand so as to cut him off. “Your apology is accepted, so long as you pay the bill for the restoration of my dress.”

  “I shall even pay for a brand new dress, if I must,” Jonathan promised, despite Lord Richards mutter of protest. “Again, I am truly sorry, Miss Richards.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes calculating, yet no longer angry. “Very well,” she murmured, her voice soft. “Then shall we dance, Lord Michael? Just to prove to my brother that all is well between us.”

  Jonathan was stunned, spluttering some vague answer as Miss Richards waited patiently for his response. A lady did not ask for a gentleman to partner her onto the dance floor, it was simply unheard of. And yet, here was Miss Richards suggesting just that.

  “Mary, you cannot be so uncouth,” her brother muttered, rolling his eyes. “I do apologize, Lord Michael. As I said before, my sister is rather an unusual sort.”

  “No, no, it is quite all right,” Jonathan managed to say, holding out his arm towards the lady, albeit rather woodenly. “Shall we dance, Miss Richards?”

  The next dance was a waltz, and as Jonathan had not had to dance a waltz for some time, he found himself a little nervous.

  “You are surprised at me, I think,” Miss Richards said plainly, looking up at him as he placed one hand on her waist. “I know I am rather forward and certainly not what society expects, but I find that I care very little.”

  Jonathan felt his mouth go dry, as he looked down at her, surprised that he found himself a little attracted to the lady. Her expression was clear, her eyes bright and gaze firm. There was no hint of guile in her, and instead of being repulsed by her plain speaking, Jonathan found himself rather delighted with it.

  “I will say that I am quite surprised,” he replied, as they waited for the music to begin, “but I will also say that I find it rather refreshing.”

  She laughed aloud, her smile warming his heart. “Then you are one of the very few gentlemen of my acquaintance who will accept that about me without question,” she replied, with a slight shake of her head. “Mayhap my first impression of you was the wrong one and you are not as foolish as you first appeared.”

  Jonathan flushed. “I will do all I can to prove to you that I am not as ridiculous as I seemed,” he promised, unable to tear his gaze away from hers. “Again, I—”

  “Apologize, yes, you have said that already,” she murmured, her expression softening. “I do believe, however, that the music has begun, Lord Michael.”

  Starting, Jonathan realized that the other couples around him had already begun to waltz. Biting back a groan, he clasped Miss Richards hand a little more firmly, and hoping desperately that he remembered how to waltz, he began to spin her around the floor.

  4

  One week later, Jonathan slowly began to discover that he rather enjoyed London life. Whether that was because he was pretending to be Lord Michael, or
whether it was due to his ongoing acquaintance with Miss Richards, Jonathan could not say.

  The truth was, he found Miss Richards to be a rather interesting sort of lady. She was bright and quick-witted, with a disregard for the rules and regulations that came with being a part of the beau monde. It rather made him smile. He had danced with her a good few times by this point and found that he was slowly beginning to look forward to her company.

  He was making his way to the dining room to break his fast, only to discover that Lord Michael was already within.

  “And how did you fare last evening?” Jonathan chuckled, seeing the way Lord Michael held his head as the door slammed shut. “Enjoyed yourself a little too much, eh?”

  Last night’s ball had been another triumphant success. By this point, no one in society had questioned their titles, and it seemed that they had gotten away with the ruse thus far. Lord Michael, much to his own chagrin, seemed to be throwing himself headlong into all that society could offer a man with such a high title as marquess.

  Lord Michael groaned, as Jonathan poured himself some coffee from the pot, deliberately clinking his china cup around simply to laugh at the way Lord Michael muttered darkly under his breath.

  “I had a rather good evening, yes,” Lord Michael replied, as soon as Jonathan had sat down. “Mayhap a touch too much brandy, I will give you that.”

  “And no one recognized you?”

  He shook his head, a small smile on his face. “I do not think I have ever had so much attention as I did last evening!” Michael exclaimed, with a chuckle. “Almost everyone wishes to be acquainted with me, it seems. They don’t seem to care about my leg.”

  Jonathan smiled broadly, lifting his shoulders. “You see? I told you we had nothing to worry about. One week in and I am quite sure we are in the clear.”

  Lord Michael’s smile slowly left his face. “Oh, I think I must disagree, Rivenhall.”

  Frowning, Jonathan looked up from his plate. “What do you mean?”

  “I must ask what your plan is, should you find yourself a rather eligible young lady,” Michael began, a small frown on his brow. “What if you come to care for her? What if there is a true attachment between you, and then you have to tell her the truth that you are not whom you said you were?”

  Jonathan took a bite of his toast, chewing it carefully as he thought. “I suppose I had not thought about that too much,” he replied with a shrug.

  “That is because you are the true Marquess of Rivenhall,” Lord Michael said, darkly. “There need not be any concern from you on that account. A lady will practically fall into your arms should you tell her your true identity!”

  “Whereas you think they might turn from you when they discover the truth,” Jonathan said slowly, seeing the expression on Michael’s face. “Ah. I see.”

  “Why would they not?” Lord Michael asked, sitting back in his chair and rubbing one hand over his forehead. “After all, I do not have the same title and fortune as you.”

  Jonathan sighed inwardly, recalling how Michael had spoken of how he did, in fact, have a strong desire to marry. It was not something he could easily understand, for he certainly did not feel the same way. “I would suggest that, if there was a strong attachment between you and a young lady, that such a revelation would simply prove her true dedication to you.”

  “Or turn her away from me.”

  Nodding, Jonathan spread out his hand. “But then she never really cared for you in the first place, Michael. Surely this is a way to discover whether or not her heart is true! This was what you wanted, was it not?”

  Lord Michael paused before nodding, his expression rather grim. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”

  “Do tell me you have not lost your heart already,” Jonathan exclaimed, making his friend chuckle. “After all, we have only been back in London for a little more than a week!”

  “No, not quite yet,” Michael chuckled, pouring himself some more coffee. “Although there were a great number of rather pretty young ladies at my side last evening.” He looked over at Jonathan, his expression a little lighter. “And you? Did you meet anyone of note last evening?”

  Jonathan thought for a moment. “I continued my acquaintance with Lord Richards and his sister, Miss Richards,” he murmured, seeing no recognition on Michael’s face. “You have not yet been introduced to him, I don’t think. Probably best to keep it that way.”

  “Ah yes, Lord Richards.” A small frown appeared between his brows. “Something of a gambler, when I knew him, although he is likely a very different man to the youngster I met some years ago. And this is the Miss Richards you will not allow me to introduce myself to,” Lord Michael chuckled, raising his brows. “You cannot hide her from me forever.”

  “I have no sort of feeling for the lady, other than to protect my true identity from both her and her brother,” Jonathan replied firmly. “After all, it was Lord Richards who introduced himself to me, believing me to be you. Should you introduce yourself to him, then he might very well recall your face and the game will be up.”

  Lord Michael shrugged, a lazy smile on his face. “So be it. Is Miss Richards still the spitfire you first encountered?”

  “I find her rather intriguing,” Jonathan confessed, ignoring Michael’s raised brows. “She is entertaining enough and rather outspoken at times.”

  “Quite improper then?” Michael asked, with a lift of his brows. “I would have thought you would have stayed away from someone such as that.”

  Jonathan shook his head, settling back in his seat as he thought of the lady. “I actually find her rather refreshing—although I was taken completely by surprise when she asked me to dance the first time.” He laughed, lifting one eyebrow. “However, that has occurred again since then, and I find I am becoming rather used to it.”

  Michael tipped his head just a little. “Are you going to call on her?”

  Surprised that his friend would ask, Jonathan blinked furiously.

  “Do not pretend that you are not somewhat taken with the lady, Rivenhall,” Michael continued rather dryly. “Your expression softened when you spoke of her, and there was a small smile on your lips as you talked about your dance together. So, are you going to call on her?”

  “She would not make a suitable wife!” Jonathan protested, wondering why he suddenly had a desire to do just as Michael had suggested. “She is much too indecorous.”

  “Nonsense,” Michael chuckled, adding a touch more milk to his coffee. “You need someone who will bring you a little excitement, Rivenhall. Give her a chance. After all, calling upon her does not exactly mean that you are about to propose to her, does it?”

  Shrugging, Jonathan cleared his throat and tried to change the subject, well aware that now that the idea had been planted in his mind, he was not about to easily rid himself of it.

  “Shall we take a stroll through Hyde Park later this afternoon?” Michael suggested when it became clear Jonathan was not about to jump at the opportunity to call upon Miss Richards. “The fashionable hour might be a welcome opportunity to greet any new acquaintances we made last evening.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Yes, of course. I must go to the bookshop first, however. I am in desperate need of something new to read.”

  “Oh yes, I quite forgot you were rather caught up in novels,” Michael replied, with a chuckle. “Always had something to read, even when we were up to our knees in mud and forced to remain so for the night!”

  “A good story can take one far away from one’s difficult circumstances,” Jonathan replied with a quick smile. “I think I shall go there now and be back in plenty of time for the fashionable hour.” He lifted one eyebrow towards Michael, who was by this point yawning rather widely. “What do you intend to do?”

  “Go back to bed,” Michael grumbled, pushing his chair away and slowly getting up from the table. “Now it is no longer my leg that pains me but my head also.”

  “I want to remind you that your head is your own doing
, but I am not convinced you would find that helpful,” Jonathan chuckled, as Michael shot him a dark look. “I shall see you later this afternoon, old boy. I do hope you soon recover.”

  The streets of London were as busy as he remembered them, and much to his dismay, he found himself longing for the quietness of the country even though he had only been in town for a short time.

  “I cannot already be pining for the quiet, surely,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Buck up, man!”

  A great many people were moving around, mostly from the working or lower classes, busy with their daily excursions. It was drawing close to the middle of the day by this time, and Jonathan was well aware that the fashionable set would not be out until much later. It allowed Jonathan a rather uninterrupted stroll along the streets, taking in all the sights and sounds of the town. Some members of the beau monde were out and about already, of course. They were mostly young debutantes and their mothers, making their way to the milliners or seamstress, ensuring they would be prepared for whatever entertainment would come with this evening.

  Remembering the stack of invitations that had appeared at his door, Jonathan chuckled to himself, thinking just how much of an influence one had when one held a strong title. Had he not been a marquess, then the invitations would not have spewed forth in such a ridiculous way. However, Lord Michael had been included in the invitations also. For a moment, Jonathan wondered whether Lord Michael would have received as many invitations had he come to London alone.

  It was a rather sobering thought to realize just how much preference he received simply because he was a marquess. It was everything he disliked about society. All the fawning and simpering over him, simply because of a title he had never particularly wanted.

  Had his brother ever felt this way? The moment the question hit Jonathan’s mind, he instantly knew the answer. No, his brother had never felt this way. He had behaved in quite the opposite fashion, reveling in his title and all that it had brought him.