Regency Bride Series: Regency Romance Box Set Page 2

  Matilda sighed. Lucas was shrewd. He might have a lighthearted outlook, but he was far from unwise, or untruthful. If Lucas said it was not so bad, he was probably right. But what if he was not?

  “We are facing bankruptcy,” their mother said flatly. “And your father is...gravely ill.”

  She did not say he was dying. But the way her voice flattened to nothing, her eyes quite expressionless, said the words. Matilda felt her heart go through the floor. She could not lose that bright, kind spirit with the warm brown eyes. She loved him too much. She put her hand on her chest, feeling a pain there.

  “There's only one thing we can do, girls,” her mother said, her voice tight with unshed tears.

  “And what is that?” Pauline asked, face gentle.

  “You will have to wed.”

  The words were like a bell tolling death. Matilda felt as if someone had frozen her inside. What? Wed? But...

  But what about Henry? What about the possibility..?

  “Mother, could I...”

  “Girls,” her mother said firmly. “This is serious. You will have to wed. Soon. And wed well. I will have nothing less than a duke for you. I could consent to an earl. But nothing less. What will you do if you have to stay here? We might have to let Braxton house! There's barely enough here for your father and I. No, you two need your own homes.”

  “Mama...I...”

  “Girls!” her mother said again, raising dark eyes to Matilda's face. “You are both handsome, fine girls, accomplished and well-raised. You could have anyone you chose. You just have to go looking.”

  “Mother, we...” Pauline paused. “We have limited options here. You know that.”

  “Yes, I do.” Their mother agreed. “Clever girl, Pauline.” Her voice was gentle again, more like herself. “Which is why we are going to do something about it.”

  “We are?” Matilda felt scared.

  “Yes. We are hosting a ball here at Braxton as soon as I can make it happen. We will invite all the local gentry. As many balls as we need. We are going to attend every gathering we can. And you girls will find husbands. You must.”

  When she heard that, Matilda felt her heart sink. Her mother wanted them to find dukes. Or earls at least. Not Barons. And this ball was the start of the hunt.

  She wanted to protest, but she knew there was really nothing to say. Her mother had decided their fate. And that was how it would be.

  She looked at Pauline, whose soft eyes met hers, equally worried though it showed less.

  “You should rest, Mama,” Pauline said gently.

  “I need to organize the tea,” Lady Braxton insisted. “I'll just invite Lord and Lady Featherston, and Lady Terence. They'll know all the social events in the area. I'm going to write them all down”

  “Yes, Mama,” Pauline nodded. “I'll speak to Cook about supplies.”

  “Good girl,” her mother nodded. “I'm going to organize a fitting for new dresses with Mrs. Pearson in the village. It's time we brought some London fashions into our wardrobes.”

  “Yes, Mama,” they both agreed.

  Matilda waited until Mother and Pauline had gone before she sat down heavily before the window. She wanted to cry. Henry was the man she wanted. And now she knew her mother would never agree to it.

  Chapter 2

  The next day, Matilda woke with a strange sense of restlessness, as if something momentous were going to happen. She just didn't know what.

  I suppose it's because Aunt Allectia and Cousin Cornelia are arriving today.

  Her mother's cousin Allectia visited every May, just after the family returned from Town. Though she usually looked forward to seeing friendly, outgoing Cornelia, today Matilda felt restless. She rinsed her face and shrugged on a night-robe of soft silk, then rang the bell for her maid.

  “Good morning, milady,” Stella, a brown-haired young woman came in, smiling at her.

  “Good morning, Stella. The blue gown, I thought. No...make it the white with the blue sprigs.” It struck a nice balance between comfortable and formal, modern-enough for Mama to approve.

  “Yes, milady.” Stella curtseyed and hurried off to fetch Matilda's things.

  Dressed and with her hair freshly brushed and styled, Matilda headed off to breakfast. The restlessness had not diminished.

  “You know,” Mother said, looking up from a cup of tea. “After tea, I was thinking we should arrange a fitting for the ballgowns? She assured me she could have them done by tomorrow.”

  Matilda sighed. She didn't really want to think about the ball. The thought of having to make herself pretty for prospective husbands made her shudder. She wanted Henry! It felt like a knife was cutting into her chest, imagining having to impress other suitors.

  “Yes, Mama,” Pauline said softly. “I'm sure we could bring Mrs. Pearson up to the house to do the fittings?”

  “Of course,” their mother nodded briskly. “I'll ask Mrs. Marwell if a message could be sent down to Braxley.”

  Matilda nodded. She was quiet, though the rest of the family seemed subdued as well. Lucas was out riding already, having dined earlier. Their father ate very little.

  “I...I think I'll go upstairs a while,” he said, standing and pushing in his chair.

  Matilda and Pauline cast worried glances at each other.

  “Very well, dear,” their mama said neutrally. “I'll need to organize things down here with Cook.”

  “Yes, Adeline.” He nodded and went slowly out through the door. Pauline excused herself a moment later.

  “I'm going to go and practice the pianoforte.”

  “Good idea.” Matilda nodded, smiling

  Pauline smiled back and pushed in her chair, heading upstairs. A moment later, Matilda decided to follow her. She didn't want to disrupt her practicing, but she needed to talk to someone.

  “'Tis the last ro-ose of summer...”

  Matilda smiled as she walked past the drawing-room. She could hear Pauline's sweet voice drifting from the doorway, a soft accompaniment of the piano underlying her song. Pauline's voice was like her presence – soft and draped in beauty, like an evening in midsummer. She paused at the door, listening to the song.

  “...thy blooms on the...oh, dash it!”

  Matilda grinned as she heard Pauline pause and the scrape of the stool on the floorboards. She guessed the music had blown off the stand. She walked in to find Pauline bent forward, her pale neck long, arms searching under the piano. All she could see was the rounded form of her sprig muslin gown, and the back of her head.

  “Sister?”

  Pauline appeared from under the piano. She grinned, then shot Matilda a worried glance. “What is it, Tildie?”

  Matilda smiled, hearing her sweet childhood name. Her sister's dark gaze was clouded with worry and Matilda realized she must have looked quite tense.

  “Sorry, sister,” she said. “I can't stop worrying...”

  “About this ball.”

  Having the words come out of her sister's mouth was reassuring. Matilda sighed.

  “Yes.” That was the source of her worry. Ever since her mother's comments the day before, about their finding husbands there, she had been concerned and the concern had just been growing inside her.

  “Are you ready? I mean...” her sister made a gesture that took in the pianoforte, her shoes, her dress. She nodded.

  “Mother has the gown organized – as she said, Mrs. Pearson has it almost done. And I put in some practice yesterday.”

  “Good,” Pauline agreed firmly. “We might have to play and it's good to know one's practiced.”

  “Yes,” Matilda nodded, feelingly.

  “You're wearing yellow?” Pauline asked.

  “Yes,” Matilda nodded. Her mother had organized the gowns. She insisted it was her best color, though Matilda herself liked blue. Pauline was wearing green, by their mother's persuasive suggestions. She usually wore lavender or lilac.

  Pauline sighed. She flopped onto the chaise-lounge, looking up
at Matilda, her brown eyes tired. They were both skirting the real problem, and they knew it. Father's illness. Mother's persuasion.

  “You think that Mother...” Matilda began hesitantly.

  “I don't know what to think.”

  That was the problem. They had seen the guest-list: more peppered with titles than a pudding was with nuts. They had Lord Featherston, and Lady Terence, of course, but then there was Lord Mallory and Lord Watts and Lord Alexander and Lord Hugh and...more names than Matilda could recall. Matilda had no idea there were so many noble bachelors in Dorsetshire.

  “Mother really is determined to find us a husband.”

  Pauline closed her eyes a moment, as if the thought was too horrid to consider.

  “I know.”

  Matilda sighed. As the elder of the two of them, there was more pressure on Pauline. Beautiful, cultured and accomplished, she would be expected to make the better match. If Matilda was stuck with an earl, no-one would really mind much. And besides, she was less pretty than her sister. She doubted her mother's hopes were as high. Anyone with a title of earl or above would be fine with their mother. And, since none of them were Henry, they were all equally awful from Matilda's view.

  “Sister!” a voice broke their worried quiet. “There y'are.”

  “Lucas,” Matilda said. Handsome and youthful, with unlined pale skin and eyes glossy chestnut like his locks, Lucas was far more likely, Matilda reflected, to make a good match than herself. It wasn't as though he was going to be spared their mother's merciless hunt either.

  “Were you looking for us?” Pauline asked mildly.

  “I was looking for good company,” Lucas replied, flopping into a padded chair with an appreciative out-breath. “So yes. I was looking for you two. What're you up to?”

  Matilda stifled a grin. Lucas was a breath of lightness.

  “We were discussing the ball,” Pauline said evenly, sitting up on the chaise-lounge and rearranging her muslin skirts.

  “Oh, hell,” Lucas swore mildly. Pauline blinked and Matilda stifled a grin.

  “Quite,” Pauline said stiffly. “I might not have said it so...um...expressively. But, you are very right.” She gave him a fond smile, porcelain cheek coloring slightly.

  Lucas laughed. “I'm not alone, then, in dreading it?”

  “No,” Matilda agreed.

  He smiled. “Well, I'm all ready with my new suit, in dark red, would you believe?”

  “What would you have wanted?” Matilda asked.

  “Pale brown,” Lucas and Pauline answered. Matilda laughed.

  “At least we will all be equally mortified,” Pauline commented. They all laughed.

  At that moment a maid appeared. “Would you young mistresses and master like some tea?”

  “Oh?” Lucas looked at his watch. “Is it that time? Thank you, Marwell. We'd love some.”

  “Aye, thank ye', master Lucas,” she said, blushing spectacularly. Matilda smiled.

  From the age of ten to one hundred, Matilda was sure Lucas could charm any woman.

  “Well,” Lucas smiled, leaning back in the chair and looking up at the plastered ceiling with its designs of leaves and fruit. “It's not so bad after all. Tea, cakes...I can survive the ball, with that.”

  They all laughed.

  “I hear Cousin Cornelia is expected any moment,” Pauline commented as the tea appeared. “Thank you,” she added graciously to the maid as she reached for a slice of jam tart.

  As if in direct communication, a sudden shout rang out in the hallway.

  “Oh! Aunt! Adeline! How lovely! It's been years...”

  They all looked at each other, faces stiff not to smile or let out an involuntary moan. Cousin Cornelia.

  “No it hasn't Cornelia,” a voice contradicted wearily. “We last saw Adeline two months ago...”

  Aunt Allectia. Matilda smiled to herself. Uncle Honorius and Aunt Tertia seemed far too gentle and relaxed to have raised Allectia, who seemed permanently concerned. Cornelia, on the other hand, was permanently, effusively, cheery and generally larger-than-life.

  “Oh! Cousins!”

  Matilda stood up and smiled, about to say something polite, only to find herself engulfed by the rosewater-scented cannon-ball that was her younger cousin.

  “Matilda!” her cousin said, stepping back and then hugging her fiercely. “So wonderful. Pauline!”

  She repeated the same action with Matilda's sister, drawing her into a tight embrace. Matilda noted that Pauline's face softened and she gave the younger woman a firm hug. Pauline had always been quite protective of Cornelia.

  “Lucas!” Cornelia exclaimed, turning full-circle to face her only male cousin. “My! You've grown.”

  “You've shrunk,” Lucas teased. Cornelia tipped back her head, merry laughter rising from her.

  “Lucas, dear, you know that's impossible...”

  He, too was embraced, and Matilda had the rare privilege of seeing him turn pink. Cornelia stepped back a little breathlessly. They all stood facing her in a slightly-awkward but happy circle.

  A small woman, with dark chestnut hair, brown eyes and a full, curvy figure, Cornelia was intensely pretty. Her personality added to the appearance, making her seem to Matilda like a small spaniel – made for fuss and petting. They were all fond of her. Her visit did a good deal to break the tension, Matilda realized. She already felt slightly less apprehensive about the coming ball.

  “You had a good trip?” Pauline asked kindly.

  “Oh! Terrible!” Cornelia said dramatically. “The coach was stuck for hours, and we had to get down, and...”

  “It was not so bad,” A tired voice said. They turned to see Aunt Allectia in the doorway. Also small, with a full figure and pale auburn hair, Aunt Allectia had large eyes that seemed perpetually sad. Matilda stepped closer to her.

  “What happened, Aunt?”

  “We had the wheel stuck in a rut,” aunt Allectia explained quietly. “The roads are bad up this way. It was not too great a delay, however. We made good time – just on five hours to here.”

  “Five hours?” Cornelia exclaimed. “Well I never! Poor Jarvis.”

  Allectia looked tired as she turned to her daughter, ready to explain. “Jarvis will be well, dear. We sent him to the kitchens here to take his repast.”

  “Which reminds me,” Lady Braxton said, appearing suddenly before the five of them, smoothing her hands down deep brown taffeta skirts. “Will we all take tea? It's set in the parlor upstairs.”

  “Tea! Hurray!” Cornelia exclaimed.

  Matilda smiled and saw Pauline drape a friendly arm around their cousin's shoulders, leading her up the stairs. Matilda could hear their little cousin chatting excitedly as they went. Though there were only five years between Pauline and Cornelia, she seemed to have stepped into a caring role. When Uncle Hugh, Cornelia's father, had died, Pauline had become her confidante and there was a special bond between them.

  “Oh, cousin,” Allectia was saying, walking beside Mother, just behind Matilda, “I do hope it will be no imposition if we stay here for a few days...the return trip would be too much for me tomorrow afternoon...”

  “Cousin! Of course. I've had rooms made up. Cornelia is in the Ocher room, and I've put you in the Blue. Though you must excuse me – we're going to host a ball, and my attention's all taken with that.”

  “A ball! Oh, gracious! Poor Adeline! So difficult to organize!”

  “It's not too bad,” Matilda heard her mother assuring her. “Though of course I'd welcome some help.”

  “Of course, Adeline. You only have to ask.”

  Matilda smiled at Lucas, who grinned back.

  “And I'm wearing a red suit,” he mouthed. Matilda stifled a giggle at his horrified face. They reached the small-parlor, where they all sat down to tea.

  The conversation was mostly of the ball, and then it split off into groups, with Mother and Allectia exchanging news and Pauline and Lucas engaged in some lively conversation about the Fra
me Breakers, a worrying movement among the factory-workers in the countryside. Pauline always followed the gazette, while Matilda preferred not to know.

  “Cousin?”

  She turned to find Cornelia looking up at her gravely. “Yes?” she asked.

  “Could we...might we take a turn outside now? It's stifling here,” she said, waving a hand to fan herself with.

  “Of course,” Matilda agreed. She wouldn't mind a turn in the countryside herself. It might ease her restlessness. And in here, she couldn't very well escape from the ball and her worry. Looking at her mother, she inclined her head towards the door, lifting a brow in inquiry. Her mother nodded. She stood, and Cornelia followed her out.

  “Oh!” her cousin exclaimed, the moment they reached the door to the outside. “But it's cold!” She drew her coat closer around her, then smiled. “So wonderful to be out in the fresh air! Cousin. You have no idea...”

  Matilda smiled. She linked her arm in her cousin's and they walked through the grounds. The talk turned, as Matilda had expected it inevitably would do, to the ball.

  “And are you excited also, Cousin?”

  “I don't know, Cornelia.”

  “What?” Her cousin frowned intensely, as if the most contrary thing imaginable was not liking parties.

  “It's not that I don't enjoy the odd ball or social occasion,” she explained hastily. “It's just the whole...you know...finding a husband.” She sighed, her face twisting into a grimace.

  “Oh!” Cornelia brightened, then grew sad. “But you and Henry..?”

  Matilda breathed out. “Yes. Henry. Well?”

  Her cousin looked horrified. “But, Matilda! You can't mean...”

  “You know Mother doesn't approve,” Matilda explained.

  “Well,” Cornelia said firmly. “You should do it anyway. You know, elope.”

  “Cornelia...” Matilda found herself staring at her young cousin, agog. Her cousin covered her mouth with her hand, laughing.

  “I am shocking, am I not?” she giggled. “But truly, Matilda! My friend Terentia did it and she is so happy.”

  Matilda sighed. “I could,” she agreed sadly. “But what of Father? And Mother and Pauline and Luke...I couldn't leave this all for them to fix on their own. And the scandal!”