The Complete Regency Surrender Collection

Chapter Fifteen

Stephen spread the afternoon mail out on the writing desk in the salon and sighed. The packet of letters was not as large as he would have hoped. After his recent marriage, there should be invitations to balls, routs, or at least a dinner or two. Most importantly, there should be something addressed to Lady Fanworth.

Hopefully, Margot would not notice the degree to which she’d been snubbed. So far, the only event they would be attending was the hastily arranged reception Justine was hosting to celebrate the wedding and to welcome her brother-in-law, the Duke of Bellston, to Bath.

His parents would be in town by then. If they attended, it would give him a chance to introduce the family on neutral ground. Mother would be charming wherever they met her. But Larchmont was more likely to be civil if another peer was present. Much to his father’s annoyance, the Bellston title was the older and respect for tradition would force him to be on his best behaviour.

If the rest of the town did not see this party as a reason to welcome them, then they could all be damned. Since the majority of the ton followed the Regent to Brighton, it hardly mattered what people thought here. They would manage well enough until it was time to retire to Derbyshire and by the London Season, it would be old news.

But while he could ignore the snubs of strangers, he would not abide dissension in the staff. When he had come on holiday, he’d brought Mrs Simms, and the cook along with him. He liked his comforts and, in Derbyshire, those two women fussed over him like two hens with a single chick.

But it appeared that his marrying a woman of a lower class did not meet with their approval. Worse yet, he had entertained her in his home before marriage and they knew for a fact that she was not as virginal as her snowy-white gowns.

The insults to his wife were subtle, but frequent. Mrs Sims had been able to keep her own counsel while he’d entertained Margot as a mistress in the house she managed. But her patience had come to an end the moment he announced he would be marrying her. At any mention of the wedding or the bride, Mrs Simms had taken to sniffing in disapproval. She had done it so often that he had enquired of her whether she had a cold, or some chronic condition that affected her breathing.

Cook was little better. Lady Fanworth’s portion of last night’s wedding supper had been practically inedible, as if she thought that it might be possible to starve the interloper out of the house. It was only Margot’s kind-heartedness that had saved the pair of them from a dressing down worthy of Larchmont at his most temperamental.

As it sometimes was with servants, the lady’s compassion was greeted with more contempt than obedience. And now they were growing so careless as to be gossiping in the front hall, oblivious to the fact that the master of the house was listening to every word.

‘I suppose it will be dinner in the bedroom, again,’ said Cook in a disgusted voice, ‘while a perfectly good dining room stands empty.’

‘Herself is too busy to use it,’ Mrs Sims responded, equally annoyed. ‘Down to that shop, dawn until dusk.’

‘Perhaps I should ask her to stop at the grocer’s on her way home,’ Cook said with an evil chuckle.

‘It makes more sense than that we be waiting on her,’ Mrs Sims agreed. ‘A tradesman’s daughter. No better than us, really. The duke will never approve. Of course, her Grace’s blood is as blue as the Princess Charlotte’s.’

Stephen rose, throwing down the letter he had been holding. By God, he had heard more than enough. They had served in the family since before his birth. But he would sack the pair of them if this was how they behaved when he was not in the room.

‘Ladies.’ Margot had heard as well. She had come home hours earlier than usual, totally unprepared for a household contretemps. If he’d handled the problem last night, as he should have, he might have saved her from this embarrassing encounter.

‘Your ladyship,’ both women responded in unison and there was a moment of silence to cover what must have been the most hypocritical curtsies ever performed.

Stephen waited for his wife’s response. Had his mother ever been in such a situation? He doubted it. She held the staff in check as Lord Nelson held the Navy. But then, she was past fifty and had been the daughter of an earl before becoming a duchess. If his sister had been presented with such a problem, it would have reduced her to tears.

And Margot was barely older than Louise.

‘Despite the concerns you voiced a moment ago, dinner will be in the dining room tonight,’ Margo said. ‘And so it will be on any evening I arrive before six. I trust that it will not be necessary for me to run errands, since Fanworth assures me that his house is very well managed.’

Liar. They had never discussed such a thing. He smiled.

She sighed so heavily that he could hear it from where he sat. ‘But I begin to wonder if that is the case. Last night, the capon you left for me was practically inedible. It was as if someone had upended the salt cellar over it. There was too much pepper in the carrots and the potatoes were bland. Fanworth shared his plate with me and neither of us got enough to eat. See that it does not happen again.’

‘Yes, your ladyship,’ said Cook, properly chastised.

‘And before we go any further, Mrs Sims, I must correct your other assessment of me. I am not a tradesman’s daughter.’

‘You are not?’ Now the woman was torn between bravado and confusion.

‘I am something far worse.’ It was said in a sweet and youthful voice that hardly matched her matter-of-fact tone. ‘My father has been dead for over twenty years. I own and run the business alone. I am in trade myself, Mrs Sims. As such I am accustomed to dealing with employees, both hiring and firing.’ She took another dramatic pause. Then she continued. ‘Perhaps other young ladies of my age would be intimidated by your obvious mastery of the household. But I am not. I respect it, of course. And Fanworth adores you. It would be a shame to have to replace either of you. But I will do so without hesitation if you are unwilling or unable to take my instructions.’

‘Of course, your ladyship.’ There was a kind of grudging respect in Mrs Sims’s answer, as though she had not expected the new lady of the house to have such starch in her.

‘Very good.’ Through it all, Margot’s voice had lost none of its cheerfulness. ‘Dinner at seven, then. Send up a maid, for I intend to dress. And remember, do not over-salt the meat.’

‘Yes, your ladyship.’ This answer came in unison, as both women acknowledged her authority.

Then Margot was gone. The sound of her slippers pattering up the stairs was light, youthful and unladylike.

Stephen smiled and settled back into his chair.

* * *

As requested, dinner was served promptly at seven. Lady Fanworth looked well satisfied with herself and sent her compliments to the cook on an excellent meal. Then she smiled at him more warmly than she had in weeks.

Stephen smiled at her in return. For all he cared, they might have been eating gruel. He’d still have proclaimed it ambrosia. To see her smiling across the table at him was the fulfilment of the dream he’d harboured since the first day they met. And no part of that fantasy had prepared him for the sight of her, dressed for dinner.

Perhaps Bath society thought they could spurn her, as a lower-class woman who’d got above herself. But they had not seen her like this. She was perfection: her beauty unrivalled, her grace unaffected and her smile so warm and genuine that one could not help but be drawn to her. One had but to speak to her for a few moments to learn that her personality matched her looks. God made a woman once or twice in a generation who was fit to be a queen. It was only natural that Stephen should wish to make her a duchess.

And on a much more personal note, it was dizzyingly erotic to see her perfect shoulders displayed above the low neckline of her green-silk gown. He had kissed those shoulders. She wore the pearls around her throat to remind him that they had done far more than kiss. They would do so again tonight. He was, truly, the luckiest man in England.

She was staring at him as if she knew a secret. Her sea-green eyes were bottomless. He could gaze into them for the rest of his life, floating, sinking, lost in their depths.

She had spoken.

He had not heard. He dragged himself back to reality. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I said, I had a most interesting day at the shop today.’

‘Really.’

‘Your sister came to visit me.’

He could not even manage am abbreviated answer. All words were shocked out of him and he could do nothing but stare at her in silence.

‘She is perfectly charming. You should have introduced us sooner.’

He nodded. Of course he should have. He had attempted it. It had not been his fault that he had failed.

The smile that she was using on him was dazzling, as though she knew how easy it was to beguile him. ‘We spoke of you, of course. And of the rest of the family.’

They talked about him. Of course they had. What other common subject could they have? It was rude to tell him of it. But what had he to fear? Of all the people in the world, he could trust his sister to be kind. And, of course, he could trust Margot.

I do. Two simple words, Fanworth...

He had managed to forgive her that. She had been angry. But he had given her reason to be. If he wished her to forgive him, he could not rage at her over every slight. Last night, he had trusted her with his body and been well rewarded for his faith.

But that had not involved conversation.

Now, her smile looked positively smug. Could he ever truly trust a woman who knew his greatest weakness and mocked it on their wedding day? She might sound sweet, but today that honeyed tongue had put the servants in their place with just a few words. He had admired her ruthlessness. But then, she had been using it on others.

‘Fanworth.’ She waved a hand in front of him, to gain his attention. ‘Stephen.’

It was only then he realised that she had continued speaking and he had not heard a word.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I asked if you were enjoying the dinner.’

‘It is fine,’ he assured her.

She gestured to the plates on the table. ‘Do you have a favourite, perhaps?’ She was trying to persuade him to speak.

He looked down at the dishes set before them. Duck in burnt butter. Pickled beetroot. Potted pigeon. Pears in puff paste.

It was a trap.

His father might use force and shouting to make his point. But his wife was a subtle creature. Now that he had taken her into his life, there were a hundred ways she could find to make him miserable. If there were any weaknesses she had not already guessed, she was likely to learn the rest from his sister. And he had no one to blame but himself. He had been the one to court her, accuse her and seduce her. He had made her his enemy.

He had created his own hell.

He said nothing. To speak was to give her ammunition. Instead, he tossed his napkin on the table and left the room.

Chapter Sixteen

Margot crumpled the note in her hand. She had not seen her husband in days. And now he chose to communicate in writing. It was outside of enough. The worst of it was, she had no idea what she had done to make him angry again.

In her opinion, things had been going quite well. They had proved they were more than compatible, once the lights were out. And after speaking with his sister, some of her reservations about the marriage had been laid to rest. There was still much to discuss, of course. She still did not understand the matter of the necklace.

But to discuss, both parties had to speak. And for some reason, he had gone from speaking little, to not speaking at all. She had no idea what she’d done to cause the change.

She’d returned home early, specifically to please him. They’d dined at the table and she had dressed in a manner befitting the wife of a great man. If he could find nothing good to say about her, the least he could have done was remark on the food. The cook had outdone herself and the quality of her portion had been the equal of his. A single taste of her plate would have proved to him that he would not have to involve himself in domestic strife or the running of the house. She was perfectly capable of managing the staff on her own.

Her efforts to please him had been for naught. He’d stared at her over dinner as if he’d never seen her before. Then, with no warning and not a word of explanation, he had got up from the table and abandoned her.

She had assumed that they would have time later, in bed, to talk. She had even planned to playfully remind him that he was still entitled to one more night of her company. But he had not been in his room when she had gone to bed. Even though she’d arisen early the next day, he was not there. It looked as if he had not come to bed at all.

And so it had gone, for several days. To question the staff about the location of her husband after only a week of marriage would embarrass her in front of servants that had only just come to accept her as mistress. And as it had repeatedly over the last few weeks, she felt the creeping suspicion that he’d got all he wanted from her, and had lost interest.

Now, this. A curt note reminding her of her sister’s reception, this evening, and his request that she be dressed and ready to accompany him at eight. Apparently, though they did not speak in private, they were to be a happy newlyweds in the eyes of the world. And he expected her to be the beautiful ornament suitable to a man too proud and well born to have an ordinary wife.

If he meant to escort her in silence, it would be an even greater ordeal than she had expected. Margot had more than enough time to visit with Louisa, since customers continued to avoid the shop. But this morning, the girl had informed her, as gently as possible, that the family would not be attending this evening’s festivities. It was quite possible that her visits to the shop would end, as well. Now that the Duke and Duchess of Larchmont were in Bath, they would expect their daughter to stay with them and not with the cousin she had been visiting. Since it had been decided that Larchmont and his lady would not be attending the reception, Louisa had little choice but to remain at home with her needlework.

So, his family was not willing to celebrate the union. If the ledger book told a story, the rest of Bath meant to avoid her as if she had some contagious disease. If no one liked them, then why were they bothering to play-act their happiness? Perhaps she would simply ignore his command and pretend she had forgotten the invitation. She would work later than usual, even if it meant sitting in an empty shop.

Then she remembered Justine, so eager for her happiness that she had orchestrated the wedding, and the party to celebrate it. If the evening was a poorly attended disaster, it would be up to Margot to console her sister, thank her for her efforts and pretend to be happy, just as she planned to do in her marriage. And, if Fanworth wished for nothing more than a beauty, she would give him what he deserved.

* * *

She arrived home even earlier than necessary and ate a hurried supper alone before giving herself over to the ministrations of the maid whom her husband had hired for her. The gown they chose was the green of spring leaves, with a deep hem embroidered with white-and-gold flowers. The maid dressed her hair so that tendrils wound down about her face like so many vines in an overgrown wood. Margot had to admit, the finished look was striking. There was something faintly pagan about it, as though a nymph had been dragged from the woods and forced to marry well.

She smiled at herself in the mirror. If the town gossiped that Fanworth had married beneath him, at least there would be no question as to his reasons. And she had just the jewellery to match it. She directed her maid to get the ebony box from my lord’s room.

As the door to the connecting room opened, she could hear him on the other side of the suite, swearing quietly as his valet dressed him. It surprised her that the son of a peer had such a diverse and vulgar vocabulary. But he used it with confidence, for there was not a trace of a stammer as he complained about the tying of his cravat.

The cursing ceased as her maid entered and requested the jewels. There were a few more moments of profound silence. Then Fanworth stood in the doorway, cravat still hanging untied about his neck, shirt open at the throat and the ebony jewellery box in his hands. He was staring at her with the same hungry expression he’d had at the dinner table, before everything had gone wrong.

Perhaps he had only wanted her for her beauty. Then she would desire him for his handsomeness. She was sure that, at this moment, they were both thinking the same thing. If they dismissed the servants, she could go to him, lick once against the bare skin of his throat and they would not leave the house or the bed until morning.

He stepped forward and the spell was broken. When she reached for the jewellery box, he held it just out of her reach. ‘Allow me.’

Only two words. But they were the first she’d heard from him in days and they struck right to the heart of her. With a casual flick of his finger, he opened the box, reached into it, and removed the necklace she wanted: a narrow band of gold leaves, set with pavé emeralds. His fingers trailed along her skin, circling her throat as he fastened it.

Why could he not speak to her the way he touched her, as if she were the most precious gift in the world? Now he was affixing the matching drops to her ears, his index finger drawing lightly along the shells before settling on the lobes, sliding the wires into place.

She turned to look into the mirror, if only to distract herself from his touch. Her throat tightened at seeing her work reflected back to her. At last, these pieces would be worn in public, just as she had intended. She would see, first-hand, if they were admired.

Fanworth reached out and took her gloved hand, kissing the knuckles before slipping a bracelet on her wrist. It was the emerald viper he had bought on the first day.

She looked down at it, worried. ‘Surely this is too much.’

He shook his head and smiled. ‘Eve needs a serpent.’

Did he still think her a temptress? If so, he had been resisting well enough lately. But he was right. The bracelet did go well with the gown. And then she remembered the story. ‘Eve was...’ Not wearing a gown.

His glance swept her body as though he could see through the silk to the woman beneath. ‘Later, you may keep the bracelet on,’ he said, smiling again. Then he returned to his room to finish dressing.

* * *

While the assembly room was hardly full, it was not the barren wasteland that Margot had feared. The Duchess of Bellston greeted her with a warm kiss upon the cheek and compliments on both her marriage and her appearance. The duke smiled and kissed her hand, then exchanged properly sombre greetings with Fanworth as they took their places in the receiving line.

Though she had been to a few routs with her sister, Margot had never been in such high-born company, much less an honoured guest. Then, she remembered her husband held precedence over all in the room but the duke. She must learn to behave as the duchess did, polite, friendly and confident in her place.

If any guests came with the intent of offering a snub, they were properly subdued by the obvious warm relationship the new marchioness had with Bellston and his duchess. Some even dared to enquire, politely, if the jewellery she was wearing was from her own shop.

She acknowledged that it was so. She had designed it herself. In response, she saw speculative looks on the faces of some of the ladies, as though trying to decide if the social awkwardness of greeting the Marchioness of Fanworth from across a shop counter was greater than their desire to be the first of their friends to own one of her pieces.

Beside her, Fanworth greeted both the ladies and their husbands with a cool smile and as few words as was possible. When compared to his disdain, she looked all the more approachable. And to her surprise, the looks cast at her by some of the ladies in the room changed from suspicion to pity. They seemed to be imagining how difficult life would be, in the presence of such a cold and unfeeling husband.

She had been thinking such a thing herself, only this morning. But then she remembered their wedding. There was a lull in the crowd and she glanced at him now, noting the slight frown that creased his forehead and the way his lips pinched in the tightest possible smile. He was not sure what might escape should he relax and speak freely.

This continual wariness must be as exhausting for him as it was frustrating for her. And it must be very lonely. Without thinking, she reached out and touched his sleeve to remind him that she was still by his side.

He started, looking down at her, as though he had forgotten her presence. Then, ever so slightly, his brow seemed to relax and his smile became less threatening. Perhaps she was more to him than a warm body in his bed. He had chosen her to be his life’s companion.

When he had visited her in the shop, he had willingly shared his soul. If he could not manage a few simple hellos at a time like this, there was no way he’d have been so open to her, just to bed her. He had loved her, just as she thought. For this union to succeed, they must find their way back to that place of communion.

The first step would have to be hers. She let her hand remain in the crook of his arm. Let him think that she needed his support, if it was easier for him. Perhaps it was true. But it was equally true that they needed each other.

In response, he moved an inch closer to her. And at the approach of the next gentleman in line, his other hand covered hers. The man in front of them bowed and, though he was a stranger to her, greeted her with an overly familiar smile.

She felt her husband stiffen again, as he made the introduction. ‘Lady Fanworth? Lord Arthur Standish.’

She should have recognised him without Stephen’s help. Now that she had reason to look for it, the similarity between the men was marked. But the younger brother’s good looks were spoiled by the fading blue circles under his eyes and a nose which was still a little swollen.

‘How do you do?’ she said, offering a hesitant smile.

‘Not as well as you, I think,’ Lord Arthur said. Unlike her husband’s superior smile and distant manners, there was something wolfish about Arthur. She suspected, if he should grin, he would show far too many teeth. Then, as suddenly as he had come, he disappeared into the crowd and they were greeting the next couple.

Once the majority of guests had arrived and the line dissolved, Stephen parted from her with little more than a light touch on her hand and a sympathetic smile. Apparently, she was to be left to her own devices while he did whatever it was a marquess did at such gatherings. If his current behaviour was any indication, they stood disapprovingly against a wall, avoiding other people.

She looked back at him and frowned. Something would have to be done about that. But now was not the time to find a solution. At least he had his brother to talk to. Lord Arthur was beside him, speaking to him as though there was nothing unusual in his behaviour.

It was wrong of her to take such an instant dislike to a person. But there was something about her husband’s brother that unnerved her. When he was not at her husband’s side, she found herself searching the rest of the room for him, as if she feared the mischief he might create if he was not always in sight. When she could not find him, the raised hairs on the back of her neck told her that he was somewhere nearby, watching her.

Perhaps she was right. After she had not seen him for some time and was almost convinced that he had left the room, he appeared before her wearing the same predatory smile he’d shown at their introduction. ‘Lady Fanworth.’

No matter what her feelings, this man was her husband’s brother. She had little choice but to respond politely. ‘Lord Arthur.’

‘It is a shame that it has taken so long for us to meet. We are family, after all.’

‘You are Stephen’s brother.’ It was hardly necessary to state that fact. But somehow, she could not muster a warmer acknowledgement of their connection.

‘That I am,’ he agreed. But the way he was looking at her was not in the least bit brotherly. ‘I must admit, Stephen has excellent eyesight, if dubious taste. You are the most handsome woman here.’

An insult wrapped in a compliment did not warrant a response, so she remained silent.

‘It is a shame we have not met before now,’ he said. It was an innocent statement, but the ironic glint in his eye said something far different.

‘I suspect there is a reason for it,’ she said, glancing out over the room and taking a sip of her wine. If he had truly wished to meet her he could have searched her out, just as Louisa had.

Arthur laughed in surprise at her sarcastic response, but he did not leave. ‘Perhaps it is because I do not frequent any but the best merchants.’

It was one thing to insult her and quite another to insult the shop. ‘Then it is fortunate that I do not need your patronage,’ she said.

‘Of course you do not,’ he agreed. ‘You have married well enough that you need no one’s help.’

‘It was not my plan to do so,’ she said.

‘Of course not. We have my besotted brother to thank for this union. I told him it was unwise.’

And it appeared he had got a punch in the nose for his trouble. She glanced across the room at her husband who stood as impassive as a statue against the opposite wall. ‘Fanworth has a mind of his own.’

‘Would that he was less stubborn. He has overstepped himself, this time. Larchmont will never accept you.’ He looked her up and down again as though the flaw in her character were somehow worn on the outside, for all to see.

‘What’s done is done,’ she said in response. ‘He cannot exactly un-marry me.’

‘I suppose not.’ Now he was quite obviously admiring her body. ‘If I were married to you, an annulment would be impossible. And I have heard that the lower classes do have a greater appetite for certain things than the milk-and-water misses you find at Almack’s.’

When one had customers, one grew used to accepting insults with a smile and not responding to them as they deserved. But Louisa had been right. Lord Arthur Standish deserved to be struck, hard and often. Before she could stop herself, Margot had given him a hard slap to his broken nose.

With a curse that was heard by half the people in the room, Arthur doubled over, cupping his offended proboscis in both hands. All conversation stopped as heads snapped to look in their direction. And then it began again. The crowd swirling like stirred tea as those who had seen informed those who hadn’t that the new Marchioness of Fanworth had raised a hand to her husband’s brother.

Arthur straightened, glaring at her and mopping at the trickle of blood that dripped from his re-injured nose. ‘Pratchet was right. When I sold him the rubies he said you were every bit as stubborn as Stephen. Since neither of you would choose the sensible course, I hope you are both satisfied with the results.’

‘Infinitely.’ Margot felt the reassuring touch of her husband’s hand on her arm. ‘So nice to see the family represented, Arthur.’ There was a long ironic silence. ‘If you will excuse us?’ Then, with a gentle tug on her elbow, Stephen led her away.

* * *

Catastrophe. Fiasco. Calamity.

When one had the time to think, there were many words to describe the evening other than disaster. Judging by the way Margot was slumped in the carriage seat opposite him, she had thought of all those and more.

In Stephen’s opinion, it could have been far worse. It was fortunate that they’d not met his parents, as he’d expected. If Arthur was any indication, he had been naïve to assume Larchmont capable of good behaviour. More likely, he’d have thought it good sport to humiliate Margot as Arthur had tried to do. While she’d proven capable of handling difficult servants and annoying younger brothers, the duke would not be so easily dispatched.

Her victory tonight had not come without cost. After Arthur had gone home to tend his injury, Stephen had remained by her side, to make it clear to the crowd that his sympathies lay with his wife. But as the evening wore on, she smiled less and spoke hardly at all. It was as if, by marrying her, he’d infected her with his own form of misery.

She had not said a word to him since they’d departed the assembly rooms, staring out the window of the carriage without really seeing the streets they travelled. ‘I am sorry,’ she said suddenly, not turning her gaze to meet his. ‘So very sorry. I never intended... It just happened.’ Her hands gave a helpless flutter, then covered her face.

‘I understand,’ he said.

‘Louisa was right.’ The words came muffled from between her fingers.

‘How?’

‘She said you had struck your brother. But that he sometimes deserved to be hit. I did not give it much thought. And then...he began speaking to me...’ She shrugged, unable to continue.

‘Normally, when we Standishes strike each other, we do so in p-private.’ The truth sounded even worse when stated thus.

But she looked up at him, with a surprised smile. What had he said to put such hope on her face? ‘You are not angry with me?’