Love in the Bargain: A Sweet Regency Romance (Women of Worth Book 1)

by Kasey Stockton

  “Read this, and you shall change your mind.”

  There was only one issue with Rosalynn’s reasoning: I did not have it in my power to change my mind. My mother had very distinctly said there was no turning back.

  Warily, I picked up the newspaper. It was opened to an article circled in ink.

  DEBUTANTE TAKES TON BY STORM, read the caption. I glanced at Rosalynn and she lifted her eyebrows in response.

  When I sat unmoving a few moments more, she grabbed the paper from my hands and cleared her throat.

  “Miss ‘C’ made her first appearance at a ball hosted by the distinguished ‘G’ family. She twirled from man to man, dancing every dance, sitting out none but the two waltzes. One would assume that was a show to preserve her purity. Has no one informed Mrs. ‘C’ that the waltz has been positively accepted in London circles for the last two years? Perhaps she was too busy gathering partners for her daughter to realize her dated notions were unfashionable. Nevertheless, Miss ‘C’ has made a splash, and I would say she is the one to watch.”

  “The one to watch?” I all but yelled. “What an absolute heap of—”

  “Ahem.” Rosalynn cleared her throat and widened her eyes. A prickle of chagrin ran down my neck when I turned my head to find Lord Cameron leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed casually over his chest and an amused smile on his lips. His dark hair was carelessly arranged, contrary to the rest of his immaculate appearance.

  “A heap of what, exactly, Miss Cox?” he asked, sauntering into the room and dropping into the chair opposite our sofa. My back straightened instinctively and I looked to Rosalynn for direction.

  “No one invited you to join our conversation, Cam. You are being positively rude right now and I fear that if you don’t leave right away you shall scare away my friend.”

  “Miss Cox isn’t frightened of me,” he responded cooly, his gaze coming to rest lazily on my face. My rebellious cheeks heated right away and I met his stare with what little pride I could claim.

  “Of course not,” I lied. Well, perhaps it wasn’t a lie entirely. I wasn’t frightened of Lord Cameron. Intimidated, maybe. But not frightened.

  “See? Now let me see that newspaper.” He snatched it from the table before either of us could protest, and his eyebrows drew together steadily while he read. “Is this all?” he asked, dropping it on the table.

  “Is that all?” Rosalynn said. “Elsie has been described as an out of fashion country bumpkin with a meddling mother! To say the least, this will draw attention to her from every eligible male in London. This is absolutely dreadful.”

  For the first time ever, I saw Lord Cameron display confusion. “I must be lost,” he said. “Why would that be so horrible?”

  “Because she cannot refuse—”

  “It isn’t,” I cut in. But not quickly enough, apparently.

  He zeroed in on me. “What can you not refuse?”

  My lips clamped together. Rosalynn must have felt the same inclination, for she remained silent as well. Lord Cameron looked from his sister to me and back again. “What have you to hide?”

  “Nothing,” we said in unison.

  “Besides,” I added with uncertainty, “my name was not actually used. They blanked out everything but the first letter. Surely no one will know it is me of whom they speak.”

  “Try again,” Lord Cameron said. “They leave out names to protect themselves, but everyone usually knows to whom they refer. There was a decent sized group of debutantes at the ball last night, but only one of them danced every dance.” He leveled me with a look. “Except the waltzes, of course. We wouldn’t want anyone to deem you fast, would we?”

  Rosalynn glared. “Quit, Cam.”

  “What is so ridiculous about sitting out the waltz?” I asked.

  “It is an antiquated notion, nothing more,” he dismissed, waving his arm languidly. Amusement glittered in his eyes. “Do not fear. No one will think you fast, Miss Cox, they will be too busy thinking you old fashioned.”

  That stung.

  “You may leave now,” Rosalynn said icily.

  He rose, dipping his shoulders in a bow before strolling from the room.

  “Is he correct?” I asked the moment the door closed behind him.

  Rosalynn looked uneasy.

  “Just be honest with me, please,” I pleaded.

  She sighed. “Yes, he is correct. Only the stuffy old matrons look down on waltzing, and refusing to dance it will set you apart. It could make you appear old fashioned. But that is not such a horrible thing!” she rallied. “You do not actually want to attract a husband, so if your mother is allowing you to refuse waltzing, then I would count that as a win and take advantage of it while you can.”

  “True,” I conceded. “I spent all morning devising ways to get out of this bargain, but I came up with nothing reasonable. She must have known before she got me to agree that I would be going against my very ideals. The very essence of this agreement takes all of my power away.”

  Rosalynn turned sympathetic eyes on me. “I know, it is unfair. But at the end of this you shall have everything we’ve ever dreamed of!”

  “If I survive, you mean.”

  “Oh pish, you’ll thrive. You might even enjoy yourself if you can turn it into a game.”

  A loud voice boomed in the hallway and Rosalynn stiffened immediately. We were quiet, listening to the deep voice call orders to the butler, and then speak to Lord Cameron, though it was hard to decipher what was said through the closed door. By unspoken agreement, we waited until the sounds faded to silence.

  “Geoff is turning into him,” she whispered.

  I didn’t need to ask her to clarify. She referenced her eldest brother, Lord Stallsbury; he’d been, as of late, mimicking their brute of a father more and more. I reached across the sofa cushion and picked up her hand, squeezing it in support.

  Freya and I had ample reason for wanting our own independence. As women who would lose every single one of our meager rights and power over our substantial inheritances the moment we wed, we were valid in wanting to maintain a small semblance of our pride and the ability to self-govern. But neither of us had the past or the experiences that Rosalynn did. Neither of us hid from our fathers in damp closets or spent hours in the cool woods of north England to avoid incessant shouting. We couldn’t truly grasp the depth of why Rosalynn so desperately vowed to never, ever marry.

  “I must get flowers in this house immediately!” a shrill voice rang through the halls. “What has Rosalynn been doing with her time this past fortnight? It is positively dusty in here.”

  We exchanged glances and I squeezed her hand once more before letting it go. Lady Clifton walked past the music room directing a maid to make sure every hall table had fresh flowers on it before noon.

  “Perhaps we really could flee to the continent with a band of gypsies,” I offered.

  Rosalynn looked at me strangely.

  I shrugged. “One of my escape ideas.”

  “You can’t escape yet,” a male voice said from the doorway. I startled, for I had not heard the door open. “Mother expects you in the drawing room in five minutes.”

  I turned to see Lord Tarquin, Rosalynn’s middle brother, dip his head in acknowledgment before turning to go.

  “How has it been having all of them under one roof again?” I asked.

  “How do you think?” she countered. “Tyrannical, naturally.”

  I stifled a laugh. It was difficult to imagine her grown brothers locking her in the school room or sending her on errands for imaginary items in the forest. While they had taken advantage of her naivety as a child, she was much too intelligent to fall for their pranks now.

  I followed Rosalynn to the drawing room. Lady Clifton tolerated my presence for the first hour of visits, but my welcome was well worn out by the time Freya and her mother arrived.

  “Wasn’t last night just grand?” Freya asked dreamily, squeezing onto the settee between Rosalynn and me.


  “Not for all of us,” Rosalynn said diplomatically.

  Freya dipped her head, abashed. “Oh, right. Sorry, Elsie.”

  “Don’t be. If my biggest troubles are that I was asked to dance too many times, then I vow it could be far worse.”

  “Perhaps, but I wouldn’t jinx myself,” Freya said with a giggle.

  “Have you seen the paper?” Rosalynn asked her.

  “Yes, and Mama was glad it wasn’t I who was called out. She is going to allow me to waltz at Almack’s.”

  “I didn’t consider your mother, Elsie,” Rosalynn said suddenly. “Does she read the papers?”

  My stomach dropped. “When she wants to keep abreast of the gossip, yes.”

  “Oh, drat.”

  “Perhaps I should go home and try to confiscate them before she can read the report. Maybe I’ll accidentally drop them into the fire.”

  “If you wait a few minutes, we can take you home,” Freya offered, smoothing a stray curl away from her face.

  I nodded. I had sent Molly home when I arrived, so I would have to wait a good thirty minutes while a message could be dispatched home requesting the carriage back.

  “There were so many beautiful gowns last night,” Freya said. “I did not realize that we could all look so different when we are forced to wear the same light colors.”

  Rosalynn lifted her eyebrows. “Wait until Almack’s. The dress code is even more severe.”

  “Will we see you at the card party tomorrow?” Freya asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  Rosalynn said, “You probably will. I know we were invited.”

  Mrs. Hurst stood, and Freya and I followed suit. “Until then.”

  Chapter Six

  The front door had barely closed behind me when Mother stormed out of the drawing room at the top of the stairs, her face mottled with rage and her hands gripping the banister tightly.

  “You are to come up here now,” she said with measured tones.

  “Yes, Mother.” I knew this was coming. It had been four days since the first ball, and I had made a game of finding ways to make myself absent during the daytime. I’d kept busy—hiding in Rosalynn’s drawing room, taking an outing to Hyde Park with Freya and her Mama, shopping with Rosalynn and Lady Clifton. And then, today, a trip to the Royal Menagerie with Freya and Rosalynn.

  Mounting the steps, I entered the drawing room prepared to receive admonishment. My father lounged on the couch, his legs stretched, ankles crossed. Oh dear. I tensed. This was worse than I’d thought. It took something truly significant to pull Father from his study.

  Silence sat thick between us, but I was not about to break decorum and speak first. Mother watched me with no small amount of dissatisfaction. I stood as though awaiting trial—my father the magistrate, my mother the gleeful spectator.

  Much of my life fell into this pattern; it was entirely familiar.

  Father coughed, his fingers interlaced over his ample belly. “It has come to my attention that you are avoiding your mother.”

  I kept my mouth closed, years of these trials only taught me that to be silent and acquiesce was the best stratagem. It mattered little if the accusations were dramatized or exaggerated. Arguing only made the punishment worse.

  “You have embarrassed her by not being home to receive your callers. It is not she who looks to wed this Season, Elspeth, and it is not she who needs to be here pleasantly awaiting your visitors.”

  It was not me, either, but heaven forbid he remembered the one thing I told him about myself. Specifically, the decision I made six years prior to never give my power to a man. That belief had only solidified the older I’d become, and the longer I’d lived with my father’s commanding presence.

  Clearing his throat, he continued, “You are not to set foot out of this house in the next fortnight without the express permission of your mother. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Abundantly, sir.”

  He glanced at me sharply. “I can easily make that a month.”

  “No, sir. I only meant that I fully comprehend the extent of my crimes and I promise to dutifully commit myself to Mother’s side until she is fully satisfied.”

  Why had I said that? The words had spilled from my mouth without my consent and I knew I would regret them. Mother grinned smugly.

  “Dress for dinner, Elspeth,” she snapped. “We are dining out tonight.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  By the time I reached my bedchamber Molly had an evening gown out and a strand of pearls with matching ear bobs laid out on the vanity.

  “Do you know where I am to dine?” I asked her. The servants knew more than I did most of the time.

  “Lord McGregor’s, I believe.”

  I stepped into the white gown with a sheer overlay of faint silver and lace capped sleeves. “Should I know that name?”

  Molly shrugged. “He’s an earl from up north somewhere. Didn’t hear anything more than that.”

  THE CARRIAGE RIDE WAS mostly silent, interspersed with Mother’s little etiquette reminders. One would believe I hadn’t spent years trained up by a governess, and then later at Miss Smythe’s school based on what Mother felt compelled to tell me. Did she really think I would forget to curtsey?

  As we entered the earl’s stately home, Mother leaned forward and whispered, “You may not deny them, Elspeth. Do not forget.”

  I didn’t bother gracing her with a response. She took perverse joy in reminding me of my misery.

  The dinner party was larger than I expected, and Lord McGregor considerably younger. He had brilliant red hair and a square jaw. The interest in his eyes was evident when Father introduced me, which was altogether terrifying.

  It was with great relief that he turned away and spoke to another debutante, freeing me to glance about the assembly.

  Catching Rosalynn’s eyes across the room, my shoulders immediately relaxed. I had an ally. Mother was conversing with another society matron, so I took my chance to escape.

  I was not leaving the room, nor was I escaping any men. Surely it was safe to assume I was not breaking any rules.

  “I am so glad to see you,” I said, sidling up to Rosalynn.

  “Is Freya here?” she asked.

  “Not that I’ve seen. The only redhead in here is the earl.”

  Rosalynn shook her head, her dark eyes sweeping the room. “It is so strange to think of him as the earl.”

  My eyebrows pulled together. “You know him?”

  “Oh yes, our estates practically border one another.”

  “How long ago did his father pass away?” I asked.

  “About a year and a half ago, but Jack went into a dark place after his father’s death. He is only recently coming out into society again.”

  “This is Jack?”

  She looked surprised, swinging her gaze back to me. “Of course it is.”

  I could not help but laugh, her innocence amusing. In all the years I’d heard stories about Jack—he was so close to her brothers that Rosalynn had always lumped him in with The Tyrants—never once had she mentioned that he was heir to an earldom. Being the daughter of a duke, though, it was probably inconsequential to Rosalynn. She outranked him.

  What an odd thought.

  “I cannot picture this man covering you with red paint in your sleep,” I said, “or tricking you into jumping in the lake because he told you your cat had swum out and gotten lost.”

  Her face turned saucy and she glanced at Lord McGregor. “I’ve got enough stories to send Jack back to his castle in shame.”

  “But you wouldn’t,” I said factually.

  She looked at me strangely. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

  Dinner was announced. I found myself seated between Lord Cameron and Mr. Jessup, an elderly friend of my father’s. I knew neither man beyond passing which meant it was bound to be a lengthy, tiresome meal.

  “Have you come to a reasonable conclusion, Miss Cox?” Lord Cameron asked before diving into
his soup.

  My spoon stalled over my bowl. Had Rosalynn filled him in on my predicament? I glanced at her across the table and a few chairs down but she was deep in conversation and didn’t look my way.

  “I don’t know what you are referring to, sir,” I said plainly, sipping my soup. Ambiguity was my best course of action.

  He shifted toward me and I could feel the weight of his gaze. Glancing up, I caught the end of a sardonic look. Well then, he probably knew about my situation. I was going to have words with Rosalynn later, that was for certain.

  “There’s not much I can do,” I said in resignation, returning my attention to my soup. “I need to wait it out and endure the Season. It cannot be so terrible.”

  “So says the girl who has never before endured a Season.”

  “Have you any advice for me?”

  He smiled, half of his mouth turning up more than the other. “Yes. Run away.”

  I couldn’t help but return his smile then. “If you dislike it so fervently, then why do you choose to attend?” He had chosen to attend the Gibsons’ ball last week; here he was again tonight, and I had seen him a handful of times in between. Lord Cameron was a grown man and not required to attend functions unless he chose to. In fact, this was the first event since the rest of his family's arrival that I had seen Lord Stallsbury or Lord Tarquin outside of their own home, and they were likely only here because of their close relationship to Lord McGregor.

  Lord Cameron shrugged. “I am a glutton for punishment, I suppose.”

  The conversation shifted in the room and Mr. Jessup questioned me on my stay in London. When we moved on to discussing the weather, I had never been so happy to see the next course arrive and gladly focused my attention on cutting my meat into dainty bites.

  “So you are no longer seeking an escape?” Lord Cameron questioned.

  Would he not let it go? I turned the force of my exasperation on him. “Lord Cameron, why are you so interested in my pathetic situation?”

  His head reared back slightly, knocking a wayward lock over his forehead. “I am not.”

  Could have fooled me. We continued on in silence. Mother was a few seats down and whenever her gaze strayed my direction the lump in my midsection grew. One particularly pointed glare catapulted me into speaking, though I knew not why I was bending to her will.