Authors: Elizabeth Mansfield
A Regency Charade (29 page)
During the remaining two days of the Earl’s house party, everyone was singularly hilarious. It was obvious to all that Priss and Alec were the happiest of mortals; Ariadne and Ferdie announced their intention of becoming betrothed by Christmas time; Clio and Gar were discovered kissing in the library—all of these occurrences occasioned unrestrained mirth. But the highest point of merriment occurred when Gar found a recipe for “Humble Pie” in an old book (it was, he discovered, a true edible, being made of the “umbles” or entrails of deer), Kellam coaxed the cook to make one, and Ferdie, Gar and Kellam trapped Alec in his dressing room and made him eat every morsel of the evil-tasting concoction, to the accompaniment of their very rude and raucous laughter.
About a week after they all had gone, Priss awoke one morning in the huge gilt bed of the “love nest” and looked over at her sleeping spouse. He was snoring ever so slightly, and his lips were curved in a small smile as if over a private but very enjoyable dream. She let her fingers drift over the lines of his cheek, the scar under his eye and the bridge of his nose. But since her touch failed to rouse him from his dream, she sighed and slipped out of bed. She put on a loose morning robe and went downstairs.
The Earl was already at the breakfast table, just finishing a second cup of tea. “Sit down, my dear, sit down,” he urged. “Shall I butter a biscuit for you?”
“No, thank you, Grandfather. I’ll wait for Alec. You are in fine looks this morning, my dear. Evidently the illness which troubled you before we came has not recurred.”
“What illness?” the Earl said, sipping his tea innocently.
“The illness you wrote about when you invited us for the house party,” she said, looking at him curiously.
He chuckled. “Oh, that. Nothing but a slight attack of gout, that’s all.”
“Gout? Why you … you made it sound so … so ominous. As if you’d had a heart seizure or something equally frightening.”
“Did I?”
She looked at him suspiciously. “You
know
you did!”
“Well, if I hadn’t,” he said, pushing himself out of his seat with the help of his cane, but moving quite vigorously to the door, “you two would never have come here to play that little charade of yours. And you might still be crying yourself to sleep in Hanover Square and Alec might be entangling himself with your little minx of a cousin.”
“Grandfather!” Priss gasped. “You
knew
!”
“Of course I knew,” he said as he made a hasty escape from her flashing eyes. “Know just as much about people as I do about decorating bedrooms,” he chortled as he retreated down the hall, “and you can lay odds on
that
!”
While this exchange was taking place in the breakfast room, a caller was being ushered into the study. He had arrived in Derbyshire the night before but had put up at lodgings in Wirksworth so that he wouldn’t disturb the family so late at night. However, feeling that he had to deal with the business that had brought him as soon as possible, he’d risen at dawn and hired a conveyance to take him to Braeburn. The butler installed him in the study and gave Kellam the unpleasant task of waking his lordship.
Kellam tapped at Alec’s door several times before he received a sleepy “Come in.” He entered briskly and drew back the drapes. Alec blinked at the light. “Have I overslept? Where’s Priss?”
“Waitin’ fer you at breakfast. But ye’d best see Mr. Newkirk first, I think.”
“
Newkirk
? Is
he
here? Whatever for?”
“Queers me. But ’e looks mighty worried, wringin’ ’is ’ands an’ pacin’ about. Lost yer fortune on the ’change, more ’n likely.”
Alec laughed and tumbled out of bed. “Well, that wouldn’t be so bad, would it? All we’d have to do is sign up again. It wouldn’t be a tragedy to take the King’s shilling again, would it?”
Kellam looked at him disgustedly as he helped him into an ostentatious green satin robe with enormous frogs that Priss had bestowed on him after a recent shopping spree. “An’ what would we do with the Missus, might I ask? Ye can’t expect ’
er
to follow the drum.”
“Well, then, I suppose we can always sell the family silver. But before we despair, let’s see what Newkirk wants, shall we?”
The solicitor was indeed in a state. Alec found him chewing his underlip as he paced about the study nervously. “We hardly know how to tell you, my lord,” Newkirk said despairingly after the greeting had been exchanged. “It’s the most unexpected and disturbing news.”
“Well, don’t take on so, Mr. Newkirk. Whatever it is, I’m certain we shall manage to survive it. Please sit down.”
“Very well, my lord,” the solicitor said, perching on the edge of a wing chair and opening his black case, “but we wish you to understand that we did our very best. We presented what we truly considered our
strongest
arguments, but all to no avail.”
“Yes, I’m sure you did. But what arguments? What is it you’re babbling about, Newkirk?”
Mr. Newkirk looked at Alec in considerable surprise. “We’re speaking of the decree of nullity, of course, my lord. What else?”
Alec paled. He’d completely forgotten! “Good lord!” he croaked. “You’re not trying to tell me that I’m—”
“Yes, my lord, that’s
just
what we’re trying to tell you. The petition has been rejected.” He removed a thick sheaf of papers from his case as if to substantiate his statement.
“
Rejected
?”
Newkirk held up a trembling hand. “Now, let us not lose our heads. It will not do to fall into a rage, my lord. The grounds we presented were simply not sufficiently strong for the courts to grant it. It was the matter of coercion. We couldn’t prove coercion, you see. We had hoped that this case might mark a giant step forward in divorce legislation … forge new
grounds
, if you’ll forgive a little pun. At the very least, a new precedent. But it was not to be.”
“Let me make sure I understand you properly,” Alec said firmly. “I want no possible misunderstanding in this matter. You say I am
still married
?”
The lawyer threw him a fearful look. “We’re afraid, my lord, that that is the case. You are still married.”
“Just as if none of this … er … legal business had ever been executed? Just as married as the day I first came to you six years ago?”
Mr. Newkirk shivered in the expectation of a monumental explosion of wrath. Tightening himself into a tense knot and wincing so that every muscle of his face clenched, he nodded. “Yes, my lord. Exactly so.”
Instead of an explosion, the door opened. “Alec, love, what’s keeping you? The biscuits will be quite cold and the—Oh! Mr.
Newkirk
!”
Newkirk jumped out of his chair. “L-Lady Braeburn! I didn’t know you were …”
“And I didn’t know you were here either,” she laughed. “Please excuse me. I’ll let you get on with your business.”
Alec got out of his chair and brazenly pulled her into his arms. “Never mind business. You haven’t yet kissed me this morning.” And with a wink at Newkirk over her shoulder, he proceeded to kiss her with unmistakable fervor.
Newkirk’s eyes widened until they almost popped from his head. His mouth dropped open in a disbelieving “O”, but soon spread into a beatific smile.
“Alec, are you
mad
?” his wife hissed in embarrassment as she struggled to free herself. “What will Mr. Newkirk
think
of us!”
“I suspect, my love, that he will not mind. Will you, Mr. Newkirk?”
“Oh, no! I assure you, my lady, that I … we … don’t mind
at all
!”
She nevertheless extricated herself from Alec’s embrace and glared at him, blushing most becomingly all the while. “I’m certain, Mr. Newkirk, that you would not have come all this way unless you had some important business to discuss. Therefore, I’ll leave you to complete it. But I shall expect both of you to join me in the breakfast room when you are finished.”
“But, my dear, we’ll join you right now,” Alec said, putting an arm around her and leading her to the door.
“But … what about your business?” she asked, looking from her husband to the solicitor in bewilderment.
Mr. Newkirk and Alec exchanged grins. “Well, it seems, my lady,” Mr. Newkirk said with a chuckle, ripping his papers in half and tossing them into the wastebasket, “that we have no business to discuss after all.”
About the Author
Elizabeth Mansfield is a pseudonym of Paula Schwartz, which she used for more than two dozen Regency romances. Schwartz also wrote an American immigrant family saga,
A Morning Moon
, as Paula Reibel, and two American history romances—
To Spite the Devil
, as Paula Jonas, and
Rachel’s Passage
, as Paula Reid.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1981 by Paula Schwartz
Cover design by Andy Ross
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9775-1
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
EBOOKS BY ELIZABETH MANSFIELD
FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA
