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

by Kasey Stockton

  When it came to a close, I sat up and watched her face, the exhaustion rimming her eyes evident in dark circles. I crossed to the instrument and laid a hand on her shoulder, whispering, “Rosie?”

  She opened her eyes but did not startle. “How long have you been here?”

  “Only a few minutes.” She scooted over on the bench and I sat beside her. “That was lovely.”

  A smile tipped half of her lips and she slouched forward slightly. It was so unlike her that I feared something was horridly, dreadfully wrong. “What is it?”

  She sighed, leaning back as though she was watching a memory I could not see. “Where do I begin?”

  “Perhaps the beginning?”

  She looked at me sharply then, and I could see the calculation in her eyes. Was she gauging how much to tell me, or whether she could trust me? Both of the thoughts hurt, and I shoved them aside. “When have we ever kept secrets from one another?”

  Rosalynn stood, and I thought I had pushed too far, but she only moved to the sofa. I followed her over, pulling my feet under me and tucking my skirts around them.

  “Where is Freya?” she asked instead.

  “She is not home for visitors.”

  Rosalynn nodded as though it made sense. I had never before felt so left out. “What is going on? I feel like I have missed something, but I do not know what.”

  “No,” she said. What did that mean? No, I did not miss something? Or no, she could not tell me?

  I pulled the unflattering newspaper articles out of my reticule and smoothed them out, laying them on the bare seat cushion between us. “Have you seen these? My mother is considering leaving town.”

  Rosalynn glanced at me sharply. “That seems a drastic measure.”

  “So you’ve read them.”

  She did not answer, only picked up the clipped papers and shuffled through them. In the days since the ball—and that horrid, delightful kiss—the articles in the paper had changed their tune. The jokes became barbs, the ‘facts’ significantly exaggerated, and I was painted to be a high society hussy who could not refuse the attentions of any man.

  Thankfully, the writer of the articles seemed unaware that I literally could not refuse; I was simply illustrated as a flirt. Not that that was any better.

  “Mother is livid,” I said. “She cannot determine if the better course of action is to flee Town or face them head-on.”

  “You are not a coward,” Rosalynn said, setting down the articles. She hadn’t done more than glance through them. I was correct, she had read them before.

  “No, I am not,” I agreed. “I have been fighting to stay in London.”

  “And your father?”

  I lifted one shoulder. “It is the one time I would like him to step in and tell Mother we will not run away and all he has done is make himself scarce.” I had a theory that Father was disturbed by the accusations against my virtue and chose to avoid me altogether instead of punishing me.

  That was punishment enough, however, for it only fed my desire to defend myself.

  “What am I going to do?”

  “Push through,” Rosalynn said stiffly. “We’ve already come this far, there is no sense in wasting our efforts.”

  I wanted to ask what efforts she had been making, but there were many other questions which took precedence. I was simply formulating the best way to approach them.

  “Shall we drop the facade, Rosie?”

  She looked up sharply. She was so on edge. “What do you mean?”

  I sighed, then began to count off using my fingers. “Your argument with Lord Cameron at my aunt’s card party. You’ve worn nothing but red gowns since the ball last week, which defies all convention and basic etiquette—you essentially painted a target on your back and still, you were not discussed in the papers. Explain that to me. And then Freya’s absence the last few days and the fact that I was turned away from her door. Which you seem to understand.” I threw my arms in the air in exasperation. “What am I missing?”

  “Come now, Elsie. It is not nearly so bad as you are painting. Is it really so shocking that I should shed the white debutante gowns the moment my mother leaves town?”

  She had a point. “Yet still, it does not explain the argument with your brother.”

  “Ugh! Elsie, let it go. Why are you so focused on Cameron anyway?”

  I went still. Was it obvious? “I’m not.”

  She avoided my gaze. “Then let it go. He’s only my brother, a Tyrant. Beyond a few shared dances you do not know him at all, so quit wondering why we argued and let it go.”

  I felt like I had been slapped in the face. She was right, though her delivery could have been kinder. I had gone to her in search of an ally and support, but I only found an irritable, testy friend who was undoubtedly keeping secrets from me.

  I stood, clutching the articles in my hand. “Very well. Shall I see you at Almack’s this evening? Oh, I suppose not, since they will bar your entrance if you defy convention and wear anything less than reputable.”

  She said nothing, and I let myself out. I only hoped I had not walked out of her life so easily.

  “YOU must have an opinion on the suitability of the high perch phaeton, though, surely,” Major Heybourne said, the amusement in his eyes belying the hollow topic of conversation.

  I tried to smile, but everywhere I looked eyes were avoiding me and mouths were whispering behind fans. Major Heybourne’s hand tightened on mine and he spun me away.

  “Do not let them get to you,” he said deliberately.

  “I was allowed through the doors this evening,” I said. “So I suppose I ought to count that a success.”

  “You would never be so far removed that you would be denied entrance to Almack’s,” he said loyally. “The papers could not disparage you so.”

  “They already have,” I countered. “And this new reputation is not a good thing. I have never before been so popular a dance partner. I vow I just may agree with my mother after this evening ends and flee to Kent.”

  His eyes were troubled and he looked away. We continued to dance, though I effectively cut the conversation off at the hilt. Sorrow swirled in my gut. I did not try to be so morose, but I did not need to hide my feelings with Major Heybourne and he received the brunt of my despondency.

  “How is Miss Hurst?” he asked. “I have not seen her for some time.”

  He did not need to say he had been turned away from her door. I knew it firsthand. And if she denied me, then surely she was denying the whole of London.

  “I do not know,” I answered honestly. “She will not admit me, and I have not seen her about in at least a week. It would be untrue if I said I was not worried.”

  His eyebrows drew together. I tried to rally. “She is equal to anything, though. If she has gone into hiding it must be for a good reason, and she will be recovered quite soon, I am certain.”

  “You sound confident.”

  The tune came to a close and I delivered my most genuine smile. “I suppose I am.”

  He took my arm and escorted me back to my mother. “Perhaps we should join forces. She cannot turn us away if we camp out at her door.”

  “No, but my reputation could not withstand any more gossip, I fear. Particularly of that caliber.”

  His rueful gaze was enough of a confirmation and I flinched at the rawness of it. At least I knew I could always count on him for honesty.

  We passed by Cecily as she was led to the dance floor on a man’s arm who I did not know. She caught my eye and looked away without acknowledgment. I tried not to be hurt. It was silly to let her actions bother me simply because I had defended her once.

  On deeper reflection, I suppose I had only spoken the truth at the time. Regardless of her treatment of me, I would do the same again.

  “What is going on over there?” Mother asked as we approached. We turned in unison to see a commotion at the entrance. Voices were raised and a man began forcibly pushing his way inside. I caught a glim
pse of his face and sucked in a breath, my eyes involuntarily shooting toward Cecily.

  Her face was pale as she stood in the center of the dance floor facing the door, where Lord Fischer was trying to get inside, calling her name. He was saying something to her but over the commotion of the room, it was impossible to understand what was being said. I saw a flash of dark hair when Rosalynn snuck around the outer edge of the room away from the men and I left Mother’s side to join her.

  “You are here,” I said simply, not knowing quite where we stood.

  “Only just arrived,” she said, her breath coming rapidly. “They tried to turn Lord Fischer away and he threw a veritable fit.”

  “That I can see.” I watched her face a moment. She seemed distracted, but not upset. Were we meant to pretend our earlier argument had not occurred?

  “No,” she said, leaning closer. “At the door. He was determined to get inside. He said he needed to explain to Cecily.”

  We watched as a few men grabbed him by the arms and removed him from the room. Many fans were hard at work cooling off ladies from the excess of excitement. “Why here, though?”

  Rosalynn shrugged, distracted. “Her parents probably forbid an alignment with him. His name is being bandied across every gossiper’s tongue in London.”

  “So is mine,” I said, “but I have not been refused entrance to Almack’s.”

  She speared me with a look. “You have done nothing wrong. That gossip is speculation on who you will marry, not an attempt to elope.”

  That was true.

  I opened my mouth to agree with her when her brother approached behind her and my breath caught in my chest.

  Lord Cameron was here.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Lord Cameron!” I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Did I have to squeak?

  He bowed.

  Rosalynn turned to him impatiently. “I do not see her. I suppose we must try her at home tomorrow.”

  “Freya?” I asked. Both siblings looked at me; neither responded. “She is not here,” I continued. “In fact, I have not heard from her in days.”

  “Drat,” Rosalynn said under her breath, fingering her white skirt. “I wore this gown for nothing. I suppose we can go home.”

  “I am not ready to leave yet,” Lord Cameron said, his gaze coming to rest on me. “Are you spoken for the next dance, Miss Cox?”

  My mouth went dry. Rosalynn was not paying attention, but if she was would she notice my rapidly beating heart? I was angry with Lord Cameron. At least, I was supposed to be absolutely livid. But I found that the only feeling I had when his brown eyes sought mine was lightheadedness. That could not be good.

  “Miss Cox?”

  “Oh, I am afraid I cannot. I promised this dance to Mr. Wendel.”

  “The American?” Lord Cameron all but yelled, his eyes growing enormous. “He is here?”

  I shared a look with Rosalynn. Whatever could his outburst be about?

  I nodded, which only made Lord Cameron’s fury grow. He stepped closer to me, pushing Rosalynn aside, and said in a low, dangerous voice, “Do not tell him a word. Not a single word. Do you understand me?”

  Taken aback, I leaned away from his vehemence.

  “Miss Cox, promise me,” he continued.

  “Whatever for?” Rosalynn asked, her hand on her hip and eyebrows pulled together in anger.

  Lord Cameron did not grant his sister a response. Instead, his eyes bored so heavily into mine that I found myself nodding against my will. I left them to return to my mother and was chastised to find Mr. Wendel waiting for me and the first song of the set already begun. I apologized for my tardiness, blaming the commotion of Lord Fischer’s removal. Mr. Wendel accepted the explanation graciously. When he asked my thoughts about the patronesses of Almack’s refusing Lord Fischer’s entry, I merely deflected, obeying Lord Cameron’s demand to keep my opinions to myself.

  Why I felt compelled to do his bidding, I knew not. That I wanted to obey him was reason alone to resent the man. So whyever did I not?

  The dance was boring and after a few indifferent responses to his inquiries, Mr. Wendel quit asking me questions, instead engaging in conversation about the assembly hall and its dry cake. I laughed at his jokes, though they were not funny, and smiled while I curtseyed, though I was not enjoying myself. I had not given Lord Cameron the opportunity to beg the next set and I was irritated with myself for hoping he would still ask.

  If I was not careful, I would have to admit I actually wanted to be around the man. I stopped dead in my tracks, the person behind me ramming me in the shoulder while the man that was meant to spin me stepped on my foot instead, shoving me to the side.

  I let out a yelp of pain and immediately Mr. Wendel was by my side, helping me to a chair along the back wall.

  “Are you well, Miss Cox?” he asked. “Shall I retrieve your mother?”

  “No,” I said hurriedly. “She mustn’t be bothered. I shall be fine in a moment. I only need to catch my breath.”

  He looked dubious but relented. I followed Lord Cameron with my eyes while he crossed the room, spoke to Major Heybourne, and then walked away.

  It was with utter disappointment that I watched Major Heybourne approach, his face a mixture of compassion and joy. “Miss Cox, perhaps I can have the next set?”

  “I do believe I will be sitting out, sir. My foot needs a moment to recover.”

  “Then allow me to accompany you.”

  I nodded and he gave Mr. Wendel an exceedingly pointed look until the small man bowed crisply and walked away, the final strains of the country dance coming to completion.

  “You hurt yourself?” Major Heybourne asked, seating himself beside me.

  I glanced away, the throbbing in my toes beginning already to ebb. “I will be fine. Thank you for rescuing me once more.”

  He dipped his head in acknowledgment before turning to sweep his gaze over the room.

  It would have been prying and rude to ask if he was looking for someone in particular, so I swallowed the question. Besides, I had a strong inkling that he held a fondness for Freya. If only she returned his feelings.

  We chatted throughout the duration of the set of dances, amiably discussing our favorite events of the Season thus far.

  I caught sight of Lord Cameron dancing with a young lady, smiling down on her with his cordially tilted lips, and my body clenched. I did not want to think too deeply about my innate physical reaction, but I could not deny that since the kiss I had not really been able to think of him again without feeling some level of keenness for a repeat performance.

  And I hated myself for it.

  What would Rosalynn think if she knew how I felt? How would Freya react to this break in our pact? These developing feelings were far richer and heavier than any basic reaction I had previously had for an attractive male. Before, I had believed myself able to live a single life. But now I wanted to be around Lord Cameron. I looked for him when I arrived anywhere, and my heart was light when he was nearby. This must be it. This must be how women are trapped into relationships and marriages and then shoved aside, belittled and ignored later.

  I would not be like the rest of them.

  Panic seized my heart and tears started behind my eyes. Of course he was not interested in me, but at this point, that was irrelevant. I was so thoroughly ashamed for the way I had been feeling. I stood abruptly and searched for my mother, spotting her nearby. I started toward her and jumped when Major Heybourne came upon me. I had forgotten all about him. Mumbling an apology, I reached Mother and clutched her arm, beseeching her to read in my eyes the sincerity in my words. “I should like to go home,” I said softly.

  She glanced at the women she was chatting with and then back to me. “Very well.”

  I kept my gaze from the dance floor. We skirted the spinning gowns and made our way to the exit. I caught Rosalynn’s eye, dancing near the end of the row, but merely received a brief smile before she was gone again.
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  Shaking, I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders and followed Mother out to our carriage. I was unsure what I was going to do next, but I knew it had to involve accepting and squashing whatever developing feelings I was entertaining for Lord Cameron. I would not give my power to him or any man.

  “WHAT IS IT?” MOTHER asked the moment we took off, her shoulders swaying in time with the moving carriage.

  Borrowing time, I glanced out the small side window, biting my lip. I was not going to lie, though the idea to feign a headache was very desirable. “I was overwhelmed,” I explained. I tried to further deflect the conversation. “Did you hear any gossip? I am determined not to let it bother me, but I should like to be prepared to face what I must.”

  The grim smile I could see on her lips in the dim light was telling. “It is being said that you were propositioned.”

  “By Lord Cameron?”

  She nodded.

  “But that is untrue.”

  “Yes, we know. But it did not help that you were seen speaking to him tonight.”

  This could be the very thing I need. “So I must avoid him?”

  “At all costs. At least while his name is thus connected with yours.”

  I turned away. I couldn’t like this. It was unjust. “That is not fair to him, Mother. He has done nothing wrong. I was elbowed in the back, or pushed, or something. It was an accident. To say I had purposefully thrown lemonade in the man’s face for such vile, imagined reasons is preposterous. Are we not condoning the lies by refraining to dispute them?”

  She did not answer me. By the time we made it home and went into the house, I was convinced she was not going to say another word. She surprised me by turning back once we reached the hallway to our bedchambers. “The damage is done and you cannot convince anyone otherwise. At this point, our wisest course of action is to say nothing and stay out of the spotlight. Your respectable actions and good name will speak for themselves in time.”

  And in the meantime, I would be part of the besmirching of another’s name. I felt sick inside, but I said nothing when Mother turned away.