Regency Brides Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set Page 23

  Lady Braxton blinked. Then she smiled. “An impudent request,” she said with the air of someone who didn't mind the odd impudent request, provided it was an isolated offense. “But yes. Very well.”

  Pauline wanted to sing. He was in! She smiled at him, dazzlingly, then hid the smile lest someone notice.

  “My lady,” Valerian said, bowing over her hand. He bowed to Cornelia, too, whose eyes went big. Pauline hoped she wouldn't say something about recognizing him, but she seemed to guess he was there incognito, for she let out the breath she'd held and he went inside.

  “Whew,” Pauline sighed.

  After what seemed like an age, the guests had all filed past and she was free to join them in the downstairs parlor. She went across to a trestle table, breathing in the scent of buttered bread, and made a selection. Her mind was elsewhere, scanning the room for traces of Valerian.

  She went over to the window, looking out onto the sunny garden.

  “My lady.”

  She turned round. There he was beside her.

  “Lieutenant.” She smiled at him, eyes sparkling.

  “You have a lovely park here,” he commented, and bent his arm, inclining his head toward her, than it. “Will you take a turn with me?”

  Pauline's heart thumped in her chest. “Yes, lieutenant Harrington. I will.”

  She slipped her arm through his, heart soaring at the new closeness. It reminded her of dancing with him. They walked out of the door and down the steps together to the garden.

  “A lovely day,” he mused.

  “Very,” Pauline agreed. They walked across the lawn and seemed to be heading in the direction of the rose arbor.

  “You have a beautiful garden here,” he commented as they stood together. Here, they were out of sight of the house. Pauline was, to all intent and purpose, alone with him. Her heart skipped a beat and then raced as she realized that fact.

  “It is beautiful,” she commented. “This is my favorite part, almost. I love roses.”

  “That is fitting,” he said softly. “They are the fairest of the flowers, so I've heard.”

  He had a soft voice, gentle; a voice that would soothe a frightened horse or sow calm on a battlefield. Pauline let it wash through her and looked up into his eyes.

  “You are kind,” she murmured, blushing at the compliment he had just paid her.

  “No, my lady. I speak true. You are beautiful, like a rose amidst the wildness of the woods.”

  Pauline smiled. “Now you flatter me,” she said, breaking the lock of her eyes with his by looking at the ground. He touched her chin, lifting her face to his. She sighed.

  “My lady, I do not flatter.” He grinned. “I'm a bluff soldier, aren't I?”

  She laughed. “A bluff solider with a silver tongue.”

  He roared with mirth. “I have never been told that before,” he chuckled. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Well, you charmed your way in,” she commented.

  He let out a sigh. “It was a close thing,” he laughed.

  They both chuckled. “You make it sound like a maneuver,” she commented wryly.

  “I've seen less subtle maneuvers, trust me. And less perilous ones.”

  She grinned. “Now you tease.”

  “Well,” he nodded, thoughtfully. “A little. But it is true that I wanted desperately to succeed. I wanted to be here today.”

  Pauline felt herself flush red. She looked into his eyes and the gaze that met hers was utterly sincere. She felt strange, as if she had always known those blue eyes, and had sought them, unfound, for all her life.

  “Truly?” she whispered. “I wished you to be here, too.”

  He let out a shaky breath. “My lady, now you honor a poor soldier too much.”

  She smiled and he leaned forward. She leaned closer and gently, so gently, his mouth descended onto hers. She sighed and closed her eyes as his lips touched hers.

  When he leaned back, his own eyes closed, she opened her eyes.

  “Lieutenant,” she said, voice tight with emotion. Then she was lost for words. She rested her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes.

  “My lady.” He returned her gaze and they stood like that, eyes locked on one another, her hands on his shoulders, his arms clasping her waist.

  She did not want to move, did not want to speak. She wanted to stay here forever, with her hands on his shoulders, held in his embrace, gazing into his eyes.

  “My lady,” he said, clearing his throat harshly. “We should return to the house.”

  Pauline nodded sadly. “Yes.”

  He linked his arm with hers and together they wandered back across the lawns and into the parlor.

  Pauline glanced around, hoping that she had not been missed. Her father was sitting with Lord Houghton, engaged in some complicated discussion that could equally have been about chess or his finances, Pauline wasn't listening. Cornelia was in the corner, speaking to two young ladies in a bright, happy voice. Mother was with a group of ladies and Allectia sat with an elderly countess whose name escaped her, listening intently to a long tale.

  Whew. No-one seems to have missed us. She glanced about for the lieutenant, and saw him standing on the lawn outside, looking through the window, a tea-cup and saucer in his hand.

  I do wish he could talk with me openly, she thought. But then, if she had been in here with him, everyone would have guessed at once the depth of her feeling for him.

  Mama would not approve of him then.

  She glanced around, smoothing her skirt, and went to fetch herself a cup of tea. As she straightened with the delicate china in her hand, she noticed someone just across from her, in the furthest corner by the door.

  He was standing at the window, a russet jacket and pale trousers offsetting the paleness of his hair. He was leaning there, silk gloves loose in one hand, not eating or drinking, just watching the other guests. He had a simmering anger on his face and when he lifted his eyes to her, he did not try to hide it.

  It was Cornelius.

  Pauline nodded to him. He nodded stiffly back.

  “Lady Needham,” she said, quickly slipping into conversation with the first solitary person she recognized on sight. “It's so nice to see you here!”

  As she lost herself in the conversation, she shivered, recalling the depth of anger in that gaze. She tried to forget about it.

  “You were up in London? Oh, how nice. Though it must have been quite warm, this time of the season?”

  “It wasn't too warm, no,” lady Needham said slowly. “Though I must say, I got good use out of my new fan.” She lifted it, a fashionable one of feathers, for Pauline to see.

  “Oh! How pretty,” Pauline enthused. “They're very stylish at the moment, are they not?”

  “Oh, yes,” lady Needham said, flapping it breezily about. “That's why I decided I simply had to have one...”

  As the conversation ebbed and flowed, Pauline found herself slowly calming down again. She could not forget that look, though. Nor all that had been before it.

  She looked wistfully out to the garden and she saw the lieutenant, looking in. She lifted a hand, a surreptitious wave. He looked sideways and returned it. She smiled.

  All through that afternoon, which seemed all too briefly over, she could not stop thinking of him. And though she did not have another chance to talk to him, she replayed that conversation in her mind. And that kiss.

  I know that where ever I go, and no matter what else happens, a part of me will remain in that garden, in the scent of roses, kissing that man.

  There were, she decided warmly, some moments that were evergreen. And that had been one.

  Chapter 5

  The drawing-room was warm. Pauline, leaning back philosophically in her chair, a cup of tea in her hand, let the summery heat soak into her bones, her mind drifting. She was thinking of Lieutenant Harrington.

  He's cultured, eloquent, good-humored...everything that seems honorable and pleasant.

&nb
sp; “...and you know?” Cornelia's voice cut into her thoughts. “I even danced twice with him!”

  Pauline blinked. Her thoughts had been far away. “I'm sorry, dear? With whom?”

  “Francis Westcote, cousin!” Cornelia said, brown eyes round. “I think he's the most lovely man I ever saw.”

  Pauline smiled. At nineteen, Cornelia found it easy to fall in love, none of the concerns that hampered Pauline worrying her.

  “He's very charming, yes,” she agreed. “We must ask Lucas to inquire about him. Who knows but that he's suitable as well?”

  “Would you do that?” Cornelia asked hopefully. “Oh, cousin! I would like that a lot.”

  Pauline laughed. “Of course I shall. If he is lucky enough to catch your eye, our handsome officer needs some investigation.”

  Cornelia chuckled. “You make him sound like buried treasure, cousin.”

  “Maybe he is.”

  They both laughed. At that moment, Lady Braxton stepped in.

  “Ah, girls! There you are. Now. Weren't you supposed to be somewhere, Pauline?” she asked, raising a brow at Pauline, who sighed.

  “I'm riding with Cornelius this afternoon, Mother.” Don't remind me. I was forgetting.

  “Ah, yes. Now, your aunt and I had thought to take the coach to Highgrange for some shopping. So many more things to choose from there than here in Braxley. Any takers?”

  “Oh, yes!” Cornelia breathed, already standing. They all laughed.

  “Good, good!” Lady Braxton said. “Perhaps we can stop in Newbury for a spot of chocolate. I do like a good cup of chocolate. Yourself, Allectia?”

  “A cup of chocolate sounds promising.”

  “Settled. You'll remain here, Pauline?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mama. I need to practice, after all.” She indicated the pianoforte by the wall.

  “Oh, indeed. Well, don't practice too hard, dear. You don't want to over-polish things. An over-polished piece is as bad as a first trial, you know.” she turned in the doorway, already calling for Marwell to fetch the coach.

  Pauline sighed inwardly. “Yes, Mama.”

  When the happy band had left the room, Pauline went and sat at the pianoforte, gazing out over the fields. She ran a hand absently over the keys, a sonnet by Beethoven, sweetly sad, on her fingers.

  I know, now, how he felt when he wrote this. Alone, separated from the one he loves.

  She sighed. She knew she was dreamy and romantic, but she couldn't help it. Something about Lieutenant Harrington had ignited the poetry in her soul. And, now that it was lit, it would not be subdued.

  She sighed and finished the piece, then turned to another; something less romantic. She glanced up at the clock, feeling her heart sink.

  “It's almost one o' clock. Time to prepare.”

  She stood, feeling her heart lurch queasily at the thought of leaving. Conversations with Cornelius and his friends were usually taxing. But this time?

  I can't forget the way he looked at Lieutenant Harrington.

  She smoothed a hand down her skirt and hurried through to the hallway, heading to her bedchamber.

  Charity, her maid, helped her to dress. She chose a butter-yellow riding dress and a peaked bonnet. Elegant and fashionable and severe. The dress had long gauzy sleeves with tight cuffs and a high neck. Somehow, the thought of being anything less than demure around Cornelius made her feel vaguely ill.

  “You look pretty, milady.”

  “Thank you.” Pauline surveyed herself in the mirror objectively. With her black curls pulled back in an austere style, her bonnet framing her slender face, she looked aloof and distant.

  Just the way I wish to be.

  She sighed. If she had been riding with Lieutenant Harrington, she would have chosen the blue dress with its pretty capped sleeves and ruffled neckline. But today she was remote and cool.

  “Tell Mama to expect me at six of the clock, please Charity.”

  Her maid curtseyed low. “Very good, milady.”

  I hope to be finished long before them.

  She rode to Cornelius' country seat with an uneasy feeling in her stomach. The manor was perhaps five miles from their own, the ride disappointingly short. When she reached the boundary, she was depressed to note he was there, all clad for riding, black top-hat and navy suit shining in the summery sunshine.

  She noted two men with him, just behind his position. He must have been riding all morning with his companions. That could be good or bad. Either he would be relaxed and cheerful, or tired and vexed. Either mood had its own challenges.

  “Ahoy, Lady Pauline! Well met!” he called. His face was flushed and he looked as if he had already been riding most of the afternoon too. “We just returned from Highfield!”

  “A good ride, my lord,” Pauline observed, trotting up to join them, ribbons fluttering below her chin. “I wonder you have a wish to go onward!”

  He laughed. “I never tire, milady.”

  “No,” Pauline observed coolly. “I think not.” Inwardly, she wanted to add: I know, I've had to listen to you talk about your hunting exploits. But she smiled politely. “I trust you had a pleasant outing?”

  “Capital!” he said with gusto. “We went all the way up the hill, did we not, fellows?”

  “Indeed, Cornelius,” a man behind Pauline observed. She turned to see Rodney Trent, son of the duke of Ellington, with them. She turned her horse and fell in beside Cornelius.

  “We would have made it, had you not sighted that fox!” Alexander Leeson, earl of Swinburne, observed. “He led us a merry dance, milady.” He added to Pauline.

  “Well, what d'you expect?” Cornelius asked with some ill-temper. “It's a fox, isn't it? I gave chase!” He laughed. “You should have seen old Kentrige take off after it! He won't sit still for a week after that turn...” he shook with mirth.

  Pauline raised a brow and Rodney Trent explained. “Arthur Kentrige, marquis of Needham, was riding with us. He took a turn on his horse – it shied and he was thrown.”

  “Oh, no!” Pauline covered her mouth with her gloved hand. “Poor unfortunate man!”

  “Serves him right,” Cornelius said grumpily. “He oughtn't to have got in the way like that. Messy horsemanship, it was. Most messy.” he shook his head.

  Pauline sighed. “I trust you sent for the physician?”

  “He's being seen to, my lady,” her companion agreed.

  “Good.”

  They rode on in silence for a while. Pauline watched the trees and fields pass, trying to find some tranquility in the scene. Cornelius, brash and argumentative, almost always put her in a bad frame of mind. She decided to focus on the beauty of nature and forget all about him.

  Her thoughts strayed to the latest work of Lord Byron, and she found herself lost in the intricacies of his verse. A laugh, harsh and unkind, broke through her thoughts.

  “My lord?” she turned to Cornelius. He rode beside her, Lord Trent and Leeson perhaps forty paces behind, out of earshot. Her heart flipped, alarmed.

  “I was just saying, you got yourself a fine prize the previous evening,” he commented, chuckling again.

  “My lord?” Cornelia asked again, frowning.

  He laughed. “That man! Lieutenant Harrington. Elvers...something like that.”

  “Lieutenant Valerian Harrington.” her voice was small, teeth gritted.

  “Ah, that's it!” he said with some enthusiasm. “Nasty piece of work. Not that you'd think it, though, the way the ladies watch him,” he said with some venom. Pauline blinked.

  “He seemed polite,” she said carefully. Inside, she was fuming. Lieutenant Harrington might be a mere officer, but he cultured, thoughtful, kind...worth a dozen boorish titled louts!

  “Ha! I'm sure! Polite!” he laughed.

  “Yes. Polite.” She wanted to ask if he had heard of such a thing, but bit her tongue.

  “Yes, I'm sure he is. When he's not seducing teenagers.”

  “What?” Pauline felt the reins fall f
rom her grasp, her fingers slackening with shock. She turned round and stared at him. “I beg your pardon?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Aye, that got your attention,” Cornelius said stiffly. “You didn't think our oh-so-modest lieutenant would do that, now, would you?”

  “What are you saying, Cornelius?” Pauline asked quietly. “I need to know.”

  “And I'll tell you,” Cornelius observed. He looked pleased with himself. “I'd ask you not to tell anyone, but they probably know already. Not like him to keep secrets, I think. Why hide it when you do it flagrantly, eh? Flagrant!” he repeated.

  “Cornelius, please,” Pauline said tightly. “What. Please?”

  He smiled. “Only that our good lieutenant did charm a young lady of good birth into his bed, get her with child and leave her.”

  “What?” Pauline covered her mouth with her hand. Her horse and his were standing still and she had barely noticed. The thought had shocked her rigid. Cornelius wouldn't do that. She couldn't believe it. She wouldn't.

  “That got your attention,” Cornelius chuckled. “Best part of it I've had all week, that.” When Pauline turned to face him, he was grinning, looking uncommonly like the cat who stole the last pint of milk.

  “Cornelius,” she said, feeling lightheaded. “Please. Who said this?”

  “Everyone knows,” he said, waving a hand across the whole region. “Ask anyone; they'll all tell you the same. He's a rogue, obviously.”

  “Well, he hides it well,” Pauline said in a small voice. Part of her still admired his wiles ahead of Cornelius and his brash ways.

  “Ha!” Cornelius chuckled. “Well, if the best you can say for a man is that he hides his wickedness, then I'd say he's a true knave.”

  Pauline wished she could cry. Not only because of the shock, but because this man took such delight in hurting her with it. He's not a knave. He's not!

  But was he?

  “Well, time will show the truth of all men,” she said solemnly.

  “It will,” Cornelius said with relish. “That it will.”

  And maybe it will show the truth of you. Pauline glared at him, eyes narrowed. But she said nothing. She rode along beside him on her horse and, when the rest of the group rode up to join them, she laughed and joked and rode along with them as if she had no care in the world.