Wanton Widows: Three Short Regency Romps (3 page)

“You must show them to both Jerome and me.”

He inclined his head in agreement. “Perhaps
after breakfast you will assist me to bring them downstairs. There are several
albums.”

Why did he want her assistance? It would be
polite to agree, so she said, “Of course.”

She and Jeremy climbed the grand staircase to
the upper floor of the house. At the head of the stairs was Arabella’s chamber
and she knew her husband’s was to the right, as that was where she had found
him last night. She expected her brother-in-law to turn left to the other
chamber on this floor, but instead he strode to the door of her husband’s room.

She halted. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“To my chamber. It’s here.”

Bewildered she said, “That can’t be your room.
It’s my husband’s.”

“I think you will find Jerome occupies the
master chamber beyond yours.” He indicated the doorway to her left. “Didn’t you
see the connecting door from your chamber?”

Confusion and horror swamped her senses. She
closed her eyes to think. “It couldn’t be so.” She opened her eyes and looked
into his dark ones – the same as her husband’s. He looked so like him. “Show
me,” she demanded.

He pushed the door open and stepped back to
allow her to precede him into the room. Following her, he walked to his
dressing room between their chambers and returned with three large sketch
books.

She gazed around. It was as familiar as a room
seen by moonlight could be. There was the large four-poster bed and the
curtains remained open. When she walked to the dressing room doorway she
recognised the now-familiar scent of his shaving soap pervading the air. Her
stomach churned with horror. “It must be true.” She looked at him in shock.

He returned her gaze. “I will never say
anything to my brother. I had no idea who you were. I took you for a maid who
was more than willing. I apologise most sincerely.” He looked it.

Her hand covered her mouth to hold back the
bile threatening to roil up from her stomach. The consequences were too
numerous to comprehend. What if Jerome found out? Guessed? What if she had
Jeremy’s baby instead of her husband’s?

“Do you usually have relations with any
willing woman who appears in your bed?” she asked, appalled.

“Never before. I can’t tell you why I did last
night, except that you were a vision, like a goddess come down to Earth, and I
wanted to experience you.”

She ran to the dressing room and opened its
far door. There was her room, as she had left it. She slammed the door closed
and leant against it. What had she done?

Jeremy had followed her to stand in his
doorway. “I am truly sorry to have caused you pain. I will leave today and you
will never have to be in my company again.”

Desperation coloured her voice. “That cannot
happen, because Jerome would suspect something if you were to suddenly leave.
And then cut off contact with us … with me.”

“I will be discrete.”

“What if I were to have your child?”

“It is unlikely from such a single encounter,
but who would know? As you can see yourself, my brother and I are identical.
How could anyone tell whether it was his child or mine?”

She clutched her stomach trying to still the
queasiness there.

“Hello,” called Jerome as he strode into his
brother’s room. “You’ve found the albums, I see,” he said pointing at the books
under Jeremy’s arm.

Arabella and Jeremy nodded simultaneously.

Jerome seemed oblivious to the tension
twanging between her and Jeremy. “And now you’ve returned, I’m sure we will all
get on well. I have missed your company, Jeremy.”

“Now you have a beautiful wife, you won’t need
me under your feet.” Jeremy smiled fleetingly. “I shall find lodgings as soon
as possible.” He held Arabella’s eyes with his direct gaze.

“No, no, you mustn’t leave.” Jerome said to
his brother, then turned to Arabella. “My brother and I were inseparable until
this latest trip. Usually we share every experience. You won’t mind if he
continues to live here, with us, will you?” His look was expectant of her
agreement.

Before she could answer, Jeremy said, “That
must change now. I must leave.”

“No, you must not. I wouldn’t like that at
all.” Jerome looked adamant.

“You must also consider what your wife would
like, and I’m sure she would prefer to live alone with you.”

“But, I’m sure you’ll come to love Arabella
too. And she, you.” Jerome smiled benignly at them both.

Arabella gasped in shock. Did Jerome realise
what he had said?

“I don’t doubt that will happen.” Jeremy gave
a tight smile, looking into Arabella’s eyes.

Jerome nodded, a look of satisfaction on his
face. “Good, good. That would be splendid. Just like our parents and Uncle Sebastian.”
He turned to Arabella. “He lived with us all our childhood. This was his room.
When he passed away our parents were devastated.”

The brothers exchanged a long look of what?
Recollection? Understanding?

She remembered last night’s satisfying encounters
with each of them as both tender and fulfilling. She yearned for more. Perhaps
she wouldn’t need to choose between them after all?

By Isabella Hargreaves

The Viscountess Helena Tremoyne sat at her
table eating a late breakfast and reading the morning broadsheets. Her butler
interrupted her, his voice betraying distaste although his face did not. “A Sir
Hercules Standfast wishes to speak with you on an ‘
important personal matter’
.”

She sighed and refolded
The Gazette
.
“Another fortune-hunter, Sims?” she asked the grey-haired man.

“Quite likely, your ladyship. Shall I send him
away?”

“No. I will see him and, if he looks
presentable, initiate the usual selection process.”

The butler smiled briefly before reforming his
face into its usual impassive mien.

“Show him into the library please. I’ll be
there shortly.”

He left to do her bidding. Helena rose from
the table with a sigh and hurried to her bedchamber to check her appearance.

Ten minutes later she opened the study door to
see her potential suitor. He was not pacing the room wearing holes in her
Aubusson rug, not staring out the window at the garden in the square opposite,
and not fidgeting with snuff box or any of the other adornments with which men
of his rank bedecked themselves.

Instead, her suitor, brown-haired, tanned and
slim, was seated facing the window with a book open in his hand. He was so
engrossed in its contents that he didn’t notice her arrival.

She went to stand behind him to read over his
shoulder –
Tristram and Isolde
– in Italian. She was surprised by his
taste, but then poverty could engulf even the educated. “Sir Hercules
Standfast?” She spoke quietly.

He swivelled his head to look at her, closed
the book and rose to his feet in a fluid series of motions. A lock of his wavy
hair fell across his brow as he stood to reveal his impressive build.

He bowed. “Lady Helena Tremoyne.”

“Have we met previously?”

“We met once a number of years ago when you
first came out. Perhaps you do not remember me, but we were introduced by your
father.” His eyebrow was raised in gentle enquiry, revealing a hint of
disappointment.

Surely she would remember such a good-looking
man? “Forgive me for not recalling our previous acquaintance. How may I assist
you today?”

“Lady Helena, I have come with a proposal.”

“For a business venture?” She acted
intentionally obtuse.

“No – of marriage, your ladyship.”

“But we have just established we are barely
acquainted. How can you propose marriage?”

“It’s for that very reason that I believe we
should
marry.”

What?

She must have looked askance at him because he
explained, “Marriage is a great journey through life, during which two people
come to know each other intimately. The difficulty, I believe, is that when
people marry knowing each other well already, they ruin the journey. Whereas,
if we were to marry knowing nothing about each other, then we would have our
whole lives to discover the other person.” He seemed perfectly serious in his
belief.

“I take the opposite view, I’m afraid, Sir
Hercules. I believe that people marry before knowing the
right
things
about each other.” However, his was an intriguing argument. One she had not
heard before from any of the army of fortune-hunters who had pursued her wealth
and proclaimed a great love for her.

She made a spur-of-the-moment decision – not
something she did often – and decided to assess his suitability, although she
knew nothing about him.

He looked about to argue their differing
viewpoints so she forestalled him. “You haven’t yet proposed to me,” she
reminded him.

“Would you consider me if I did? If not, I
won’t take that honour upon myself.” He gave a cheeky smile.

Intriguing though he was, she kept her manner
sombre. “Should you propose, I will take your offer seriously and give you a
considered answer after we have gotten to know each other better.”

“In that case…” He dropped to one knee in
front of her and taking her hand in his said, “Lady Helena Tremoyne, will you
do me the honour of becoming my wife?” He smiled in his beguiling way.

This time, she couldn’t help but return his
smile. “As soon as I have made my decision, I will inform you, but it may take
a week or two. Now we must get to know each other and to achieve that there are
some social events to which I would like you to accompany me.”

“I am at your disposal, Lady Helena.” He
flashed another charming smile.

“Good. Do you have a carriage?”

“No.”

“Never mind, I have two. This afternoon you
will accompany me in my landau for the circuit around Hyde Park, at the
fashionable hour.”

“I will?” He looked bemused.

“You shall. Please arrive promptly.” She held
the door open for him. “Goodbye for now.”

At Hyde Park, Helena found herself sharing her
carriage with a popular man. Although he hadn’t been an acquaintance of hers,
he appeared to be one of almost everyone else in the park – many of them his
relations – although he was an only child of an only child. It was a far
different outcome from that achieved by many of her former suitors. They had
been shunned for being outright fortune-hunters.

An hour later they escaped the crush of
vehicles. “Gunter’s, please,” Helena called to her driver.

One notable suitor had accompanied her there
only to leave shortly afterwards, complaining that anywhere that was a venue
for the nursery set was not one for him. Helena had waved him on his way and
remained to enjoy her ice, unconcerned by the large number of children being
indulged by their kith and kin.

Sir Hercules escorted her into the well-known
café, smiling to the left and right at paramours, parents, nursemaids and
children alike. He seated her, then ate his ice with finesse and patiently
waited as she savoured hers.

Helena said, “Tomorrow, you will take me to
the British Museum. I particularly want to see the new
Asante
artefacts
.”

“I will be delighted. I know the head curator,
so perhaps you would like a tour of the back rooms where the pieces too fragile
for display, are kept?” he asked matter-of-factly.

She would enjoy that.

Another suitor, Lord Nicholas Fothergill, had
taken half a dozen steps inside the museum and hastily reversed, claiming a
prior engagement. That had given Helena many hours of enjoyment amongst the
exhibitions, without any distraction from an uninterested companion, but Lord
Fothergill had joined the “Failed Suitors’ List”.

Needless-to-say, her visit to the British
Museum with Sir Hercules was an outstanding success. From his extensive
travels, he had first-hand knowledge of the places from which many items had
arisen, and was an entertaining guide.

The following afternoon they visited the Tower
of London and its zoo. Sir Hercules earned her undying admiration for resisting
the urge, which Earl Tamar had not, to run his walking stick along the bars of
the lions’ cage, causing anxiety and mayhem for the animals.

In the afternoon, Helena took Sir Hercules
shopping with her on Bond Street. The outing was usually a particularly taxing
one for her suitors. She had returned from the fitting room of Madame Couturière’s
to find Lord Snodgrove touching up Madame’s assistant. He also had joined “The
List”. Sir Hercules not only politely ignored the serving staff, but actively
assisted her in the selection of dress designs for her new ball gowns.
He
remained in the running.

“A picnic is a wonderful thing when the
weather holds good,” Helena said during the short journey to her Grosvenor
Square residence.

“It is indeed. Are we to take one?” His voice
showed polite curiosity.

“Tomorrow at Richmond.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I look forward to
showing you the lovely river walk.” He assisted her from the carriage and
kissed her hand by way of farewell.

“And I look forward to taking it.” She caught
herself daydreaming about walking arm-in-arm with Sir Hercules beside the
river.

The day dawned fine, but clouds scudded across
the sky threatening rain, as the carriage took them towards the park.

They picnicked beside the river, watching
swans glide across the Thames. Sir Hercules stood and leant down to offer her
his hand. Helena placed her fingers in his grasp, and a tell-tale flicker of
attraction set her heart beating faster. Could this be the day that Sir
Hercules stopped behaving with perfect propriety and made some sort of advance,
like her other suitors?

They walked along the riverbank until the
first fat drops of rain splattered on them. Sir Hercules took her hand and they
dashed for the tree line on the ridge above. He pulled her, panting, amongst
the trees, where the rain was lighter. The shelter of a full-leaved oak tree
gave a feeling of seclusion. Perhaps now he would kiss her?

“Allow me,” he said, holding out his folded
handkerchief. He dabbed the raindrops from her face.

She swayed closer. He pocketed the damp
handkerchief and offered her his arm.
Oooh!
He was ever the gentleman!
With her hopes unfulfilled, they hurried to the carriage. The picnic blanket
and the lunch had been packed away by the footmen. So, damp from the rain they
hastened into the carriage, to sit side-by-side regaining their breath.

As the vehicle set forth, Helena gave her
usual direction, as though to a servant. “Dinner and a ball at Lord Lacey’s
home tomorrow.”

“Would I care to accompany you? Yes, thank
you, Lady Helena, it would be an honour.” His tone was light but firm.

She gave him a long look. Was his enthusiasm
for marriage to her flagging already? “There is no compulsion that you should
accompany me, except your desire to marry my money.” She was testing him after
all, and wanted to see what he would put up with for the prize. But suddenly
she realised how disappointed she would be if he failed.

“Even if I were to be so lucky, I would want
to like you. Being ordered around does not assist that.”

“Sir Hercules.” Such a silly name. “Do you
know how many men have sought to marry me for my money? You couldn’t, because
I
have lost count. Be grateful that I didn’t dismiss your proposal immediately.
So far you have been a good companion, but you may falter on the next few
tests.”

“I am being tested?”

“Of course you are! Isn’t that what courtship
is?”

He paused as if to consider her question. “I
suppose so.”

“Although you want my money from the marriage,
I want companionship. This is my only way of finding out if it is possible. My
future happiness depends upon this tenuous method of finding a companion. If I
appear abrupt, it is because that is part of my selection process.”

He took her hand in his and kissed it, looking
up at her. “I see. Then I shall be delighted to accompany you to Lord Lacey’s
dinner and ball.”

You’re a good actor. I could do much worse
. “You behave like a gentleman at all times, not like the Viscount
Lovelace, who took the opportunity of our picnic to try to seduce me. My
footmen had to rescue me from his advances.” She shuddered at the memory and
Sir Hercules took her hand again and patted it gently.

Sir Hercules dressed with his usual good taste
for Lord Lacey’s event … and looked marvellous. She received some envious looks
from the other ladies when they all assembled before dinner. He gave them
little attention, instead focusing on her. She watched him closely during the
dinner. He didn’t slurp his soup or eat off his knife like Lord Swindon, so she
relaxed her fears. To his dinner companions, herself and Lady Travener, he was
entertaining.

At the ball that followed he solicited two
dance sets, writing his name in bold letters on her card for the waltz and dinner
dance. Then, with her permission, he sought other dancing partners and spent
the evening twirling his way through set after set. She did the same, while
keeping him under scrutiny.

The waltz was announced and he appeared
promptly at her side. “My dance, I believe, Lady Helena?”

She set her hand on his strong forearm and
proceeded to the dance floor.

“Tomorrow, I think we should go to the opera,”
he said.

“My thoughts entirely. I have a box
organised.”

“Do you indeed?” He spun her around the floor
in his warm embrace, making her feel she was the centre of his universe.

At supper he fetched a plate of dainty
pastries and a glass of ratafia for her. She remembered Mr Basingthwaite, who
had imbibed too much wine and spilt the glass he fetched her all over her gown.
That put
him
on the “The List” also. Sir Hercules appeared as sober as a
clergyman, although she knew he had drunk wine with his dinner.