Regency Brides Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set Page 27

  “Oh! Is not this nice?”

  Cornelia's chatter woke Pauline from her long thoughts. She looked up, blinking, at her cousin, setting her book aside. She had not been reading anyway. Her mind had been with other things – with Valerian, to be more precise.

  “It is,” Pauline said neutrally. They were in the carriage, heading toward London.

  “Thank you, Pauline,” Cornelia said again. She had thanked her about five times since they left. “If you hadn't said yes, they wouldn't have let me come.”

  “Well, I am glad you're glad, too,” Pauline murmured. She glanced out of the window at the retreating countryside and noted that it was evening. They would stop at the inn for supper, and then enter the city after dark. They had been traveling for three days.

  “I'm so excited!” she insisted.

  Pauline smiled. All auburn hair and enthusiasm, their youngest cousin was a pleasure. A little too excitable, but that was her only fault. She smiled at her gently.

  “Well, we shall have many things to get excited about.”

  “What things?” Cornelia asked, breathlessly. “Balls, and parties, and recitals...things like that?”

  “Yes, and poetry evenings and salons and coffee-houses,” Pauline added.

  “Oh, I can't wait!” Cornelia breathed. “I want to wear my new gowns.”

  “Well, you'll look very pretty,” Pauline said fondly. “Now, do you think we'll get into London before eight of the clock?”

  “I don't know! Oh, this is exciting!”

  “I shall ask Greaves when we stop,” Pauline decided. “If we're going to be too late, we should send a runner ahead, perhaps consider stopping here.”

  “Oh, Pauline!” Cornelia said, as if stopping at the inn for the night was mortification beyond endurance. Then she sighed. “You are probably correct.”

  “I wouldn't wish to arrive too late,” Pauline said quickly.

  “No. We don't want to be a nuisance, I suppose. Oh, isn't this fun!”

  Pauline nodded. In truth, she did not want to be in any way indebted to Lord Stanmore, and being on the wrong foot by arriving an hour or two later, after the household retired, would put her there. She sighed.

  I should try and relax more, she told herself. I'm going to town for the season, not to prison.

  It felt like that, though. Given the option, in fact, she thought prison would be preferable. At least, in prison, she would be segregated from the likes of Cornelius Stanmore. She sighed, dismissing the thought.

  Don't be silly, Pauline, she told herself firmly. It is only a week. It's not so bad.

  As the coach headed on into the dusk, she let herself think over her last days at home. Speaking with Valerian. Their parting.

  She sighed, shivering as she recalled that kiss. She closed her eyes, savoring the memory. It was such a tender kiss, so soft. But passionate!

  “Pauline?”

  “Yes?” she asked, interrupted from her reverie by her cousin, who was looking around wide-eyed.

  “Are we almost there? It's getting dark.”

  “Yes. I think the inn is just ahead,” Pauline nodded, looking through the window at the darkening countryside. The inn sat about ten miles short of the gate to London. She and her family used it when they came to town, which happened perhaps once every two years, or more frequently since she and Matilda came of age.

  I know this road quite well.

  She had never traveled it with such a sense of menace before. She shivered. Cornelius' face swam before her vision, threatening and sullen. True to her guess, the coachman called to the horses, halting them. “Whoa!” they heard him call through the ceiling.

  “We're here!”

  Cornelia slid out of the door as soon as the coach opened, running down the path to the inn, just ahead. Pauline bit back a smile as she followed her in. The best thing about the trip was her excitement. She found it all wondrous.

  At least she lifts my own foreboding somewhat.

  Holding her skirt out of the way as she climbed the steps, she slipped in behind Cornelia, finding relief from the evening chill in the warm press of the dining-room.

  Greaves joined them and they took a seat at a table. It would have been dangerous for them to travel there without an escort, so they dined together – Cornelia, Pauline and the coachman – on stew and pie.

  “This is excellent,” Pauline murmured as the buttery-yellow pastry melted in her lips. She recalled the tea-shop and blushed.

  “It is good.” Cornelia ate with good appetite, making both Pauline and the coachman smile.

  An hour later and they were on their way. Night was starting to fall as the coach rolled in toward the gate.

  “I think we're here,” Pauline said as they slid in through the gate.

  “Hurray!”

  They giggled, the excitement overcoming Pauline's apprehension momentarily. She watched as the dark streets slid by, the taverns and public houses lit with torches on the walls by the doors.

  London never sleeps.

  It was early yet, though darkness had fallen, and it was, Pauline guessed, a little past seven of the clock as they rolled into the Kensington area, where the Stanmores stayed.

  They have an old town house, she mused. Kensington was the older region of the town, while the newer townhouses were in Chelsea. Their own townhouse was in Kensington too and the fact that the Stanmores were likewise old and moneyed was a positive sign.

  Not for me, Pauline thought miserably. If only they were poor or disreputable! I wouldn't face this.

  She swallowed. She was not going to let her own foreboding spoil things. Cornelia was on the edge of her seat with excitement.

  “We're nearly there?” she said, a lift to her voice making of the statement a question.

  “We're almost there,” Pauline confirmed. “Have a little patience, sweet cos.”

  They both laughed.

  Finally, the coach rolled up a narrow drive. Pauline guessed they would have to park it somewhere at the edge of the street, then walk down: few townhouses had their own stables, being usually too small. She looked about, seeing high gray stone edifices.

  “Milady!” the coachman said, opening the door.

  “Are we almost there?” Pauline jumped down first, followed by her cousin, who looked about, exclaiming in awe.

  “We're there,” the coachman confirmed. “Stanmore house, yes?”

  “Oh...” Pauline looked about, feeling suddenly scared. The building was tall and narrow, spreading up instead of sideways in the manner of townhouses. But unlike the ones to which she was accustomed, this one was set in its own grounds, with a gate and a stables round the back. She stared.

  They must be extremely wealthy.

  “Oh! Isn't this nice!” Cornelia chattered, obliviously.

  Pauline followed her silently, walking along the gravel path and then around the front of the house. It was tall, indeed, and imposing. The coachman knocked on the door for them, then withdrew.

  “Yes?” A butler appeared, his face reddish in the lamplight.

  “We are...” Cornelia began, then turned, flushed and apologetic, to Pauline.

  “Lady Pauline and her cousin, Lady Cornelia,” Pauline said succinctly. “We are expected guests.”

  “I shall inform his lordship of your arrival.”

  The butler bowed and withdrew, leaving Pauline and Cornelia on the steps. Pauline drew her cloak closer, shivering in the cold.

  “They're here? Hell, Harford! Why did you not invite them inside?”

  Pauline closed her eyes, feeling her heart thump as she heard the voice that had haunted her since she heard it last on the field that day.

  “Ah!” Cornelius appeared. He looked from Cornelia, to Pauline, who stood behind her. His eyes widened then narrowed and he bowed low. “Welcome, ladies.”

  “Thank you,” Pauline said politely. “Lord Stanmore, you have met my cousin?”

  “Oh, yes! We met at the party...” Cornelia began, the
n dried as both the older people present stared at her. She looked down. “Sorry.”

  “Not at all, Cornelia,” Pauline said, patting her shoulder, feeling the gauze of her sleeve through her glove. “You speak the truth.”

  “We did meet,” Cornelius nodded, grudgingly. “And you met my sister, I think?”

  “Yes,” Pauline confirmed. His sister, a slight girl with pale red hair and high cheekbones, appeared on the steps behind him. She gave a small smile and curtseyed.

  “Lady Pauline. Lady Cornelia. So charmed to have you here.”

  “Charmed indeed, Lady Claudia.” Pauline returned the curtsey. The young lady stayed where she was on the steps. Poised, some five years younger than Pauline or Cornelius, his sister had always reminded Pauline, disturbingly, of Coppelia. Like the mechanical doll in the ballet, she was stiff, formal and polished. There was little endearing or human about her.

  “It's lovely to be here,” Cornelia enthused, bringing a breath of lightness to the formal group. Pauline noticed that both Cornelius and his sister seemed uncomfortable and she cleared her throat.

  “Should we go in?” she asked politely.

  “Yes, we should!” Cornelius insisted. “Claudia, what are you thinking, keeping our guests on the steps? We should have been in an age ago. Harford?” he called.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Bring us some refreshment! We'll be in the parlor.” Thus having spoke, he walked past his sister up the stairs. “Come on!”

  Charming, Pauline thought to herself as she and Cornelia exchanged a glance. Boorish, stiff and unbending. Just the sort of man I want to spend a week visiting.

  She noticed Cornelia looked apprehensive and she patted her shoulder reassuringly.

  “We'll be out most of the time.”

  “I hope so.”

  Pauline wanted to smile. Her cousin's brown eyes were full of apprehension and nerves. “It's not too long, dear.”

  “I know,” Cornelia murmured. “And we'll go out.”

  Pauline bit back a smile, then she was in the parlor and Cornelius was showing them to the seats. She composed herself, ready to be stiff and formal again.

  “So,” Claudia said, turning to them politely. “You had a pleasant journey?”

  “Very pleasant, thank you, Claudia,” Pauline replied. “It took three days.”

  “Did you stop at...”

  “The Highfell Inn. Of course they did. Everyone must.” Cornelius cut across his sister's attempts at conversation. “Come. Sit,” he said, waving Cornelia to a seat. She looked mutely at Pauline, who took a seat beside her. She noticed Cornelia reaching out, as though to take her hand. She smiled at her.

  “We did stop at the Highfell,” she said conversationally, ignoring the interruption. “It was a pleasant supper we had there.”

  “You had the stew?”

  “We had pie,” Pauline said.

  “It was excellent pie,” Cornelia nodded hopefully.

  Pauline leaned back, feeling the immense tension in the room and trying to ignore it. It weighed on all of them, making every gesture feel as though made through treacle.

  The butler brought the refreshments, and Pauline sipped a glass of cordial, chatting to Claudia, who was to her right, about the theater.

  “...you come here often?” she heard Cornelius ask her cousin. He spoke with little interest and she caught him watching her resentfully, as if he wished she would pay attention to him and not Claudia. She sighed.

  I will talk to his sister if I wish to. She was not going to let his grunts and sighs move her on.

  “...and last year we went to a play by Shakespeare...” his sister was saying. “It was most diverting.”

  “At the King's Theater?”

  “At the Grand.”

  “I haven't seen it,” Pauline confirmed. “Though I imagine it to be a pleasant venue.”

  “Loud and over-hot,” Cornelius interjected. Pauline raised a brow at him.

  “I didn't know you had an interest in the theater, Cornelius?” she asked coolly.

  “I don't, I don't,” he reassured her. “But when I go, I expect to hear something. All I could hear was the mumbling from the box next door and some fellow selling oranges below. It was vexing.”

  They were all left with little to say after that. Pauline looked at the clock. The silence stretched a little and she cleared her throat. “I think I might retire,” she said carefully.

  “I'll have Harford show you to your chambers,” Cornelius said, jumping to summon the servant. “We put you on the second floor...east side, yes sister?”

  “Yes, brother.”

  “You'll have a view of the park from there. Splendid,” Cornelius observed. It was, Pauline thought dryly, the most agreeable thing he'd said.

  “Thank you,” she said politely. She decided encouraging his agreeable nature might help somewhat.

  “Thank you, my lady.” He smiled at her. “Now. I wanted to show you my collection of artifacts from the East...” he moved between her and his sister, effectively cutting her off from the group where they had all stood and moved toward the door.

  “I should go...” Pauline said vaguely as Claudia stood close to Cornelia and the butler arrived, leading them both on.

  “I have been waiting for you to arrive,” Cornelius said in a low voice. “Waiting all week.”

  “I'm touched, Cornelius, truly.” Pauline said faintly. She wanted to step back from where she stood, a pace away from him, but he took her hand.

  “Come. Let's go, then.”

  He led her to the right – the others went left – and down a hallway to a room. It was smaller than the parlor had been, with red silk wallpapering the walls and low tables and shelves. A fire burned in the grate.

  “Now this,” Cornelius was saying, leading her to the other side of the room, “is a very fine piece. Lacquer-work. It came from the Far East. Japan, I think?” He frowned, lost in memory. “Yes. Yes. Japan.”

  “It's very fine,” Pauline said hesitantly. It was a set of cupboards, done in black lacquer-work with gold inlay. It was fine, with its graceful legs and smooth line. She admired it a moment. Cornelius was at her side.

  “You like it?” he asked.

  “It's beautiful,” Pauline supplied. She turned to face him. Tall, with flaxen hair and those wide blue eyes, he looked down, unmoving. This close, his wide shoulders and strong arms were inherently threatening, the breadth of him blocking her way between the tables.

  He looked back at her. Did not move. His eyes were focused on her, the pupils spiraled down in the candlelight. His face was expressionless. Only a pulse in his forehead served to show he moved. His cheeks were flushed, eyes sparkling.

  “My lord?” Pauline asked, heart thumping.

  “Lady Pauline,” he said softly. He leaned forward. His hands clasped her shoulders, drawing her forward.

  His lips descended onto hers. Uninviting and firm, they pushed against her mouth. His mouth was wet and slippery and Pauline tensed as he planted a kiss on her mouth.

  “My...” she tried to protest, but was silenced. He pulled her to him, his mouth pushing hers. His hands held her back.

  Pauline twisted her head, but his mouth slid sideways, not dislodged or deterred. She tensed. Her hands formed fists.

  “My lady.” He stepped back two paces, panting. His face was suffused with color, his mouth damp, eyes slitted. Chest heaving.

  “Lord Stanmore,” Pauline whispered. Her voice was icy.

  “What?” he said, blinking. He seemed to have no idea that what he had done was unmannerly at best, encroachment of the worst kind at worst.

  “I will say goodnight,” Pauline said thinly. She turned her gaze away from him and walked stiffly past.

  In the hallway, she stopped. Her heart was thudding in her chest, body shivering with cold. She put her hands on her cheeks and breathed out, sharply.

  “Of all the disgusting...” she sighed, voice running out. She was shaking. She knew
there were no words for how she felt. Violated, repelled. Dirtied.

  “I need to wash,” she decided. Feeling a cool practicality fill the space where her mind still cried out with outrage, she turned and walked quickly and quietly along the corridor. Back to the stairs.

  She turned left, following the direction the other two had gone. Then she hurried along the corridor, hearing someone walking along the hallway behind her.

  Don't follow me.

  She tried to deduce where the chambers that they'd been loaned might be. On the east side. She headed to the end of the corridor. Reached two shut doors.

  “Cornelia?”

  She heard a laugh from behind the one and tapped it. Went in to find Cornelia, sitting at the dressing-table, brushing out her long, tawny curls.

  “Cousin?”

  “Pauline! There you are!” she giggled. “Is not this nice? The whole room to ourselves. Better than that inn we stayed in, yes?” she looked at Pauline carefully. “Cousin? Is aught amiss?”

  “I'm fine,” Pauline said, grimly.

  “If you say so,” Cornelia nodded. She turned away, stroking her hand down the silk of a cushion with evident pleasure. “It's so nice!”

  “I want a bath,” Pauline said briskly.

  “Oh! Cousin.” Cornelia said, eyes round. “What a good idea.”

  She went to the corner where a bell-pull stood and pulled it, summoning the maid assigned to help them. Voice high with excitement, she ordered a bath. When the maid had gone she sat down on the bed, sighing. She embraced herself and studied the place where the wall met the roof, appreciating the silk wallpapering with evident approval.

  “Oh, cousin, isn't it all so fine!” Cornelia sighed. “It's so beautiful, so well-appointed. I am going to love it here! Oh! I'm so glad we came here, cousin. So glad.”

  She leaned back on the bed, still with her arms wrapped about her.

  Pauline sighed. She heard the maid at the door and opened it for her, waiting with some anticipation as the bath was brought and filled.

  Later, sinking into the warm, rose-scented water, her mind drifting away, Pauline knew some peace.

  She would have to find ways of doing this or she must leave. A week suddenly seemed a very long time. At least Cornelia was here, she thought, and they would go out. Each night.