His Wayward Ward - A Regency Novella (Risque Regency)

His Wayward Ward

Kate Harper

Copyright Kate Harper 2011

www.kate-harper.com

Chapter One

‘I love you Eliza. So very much.’

Eliza Percival shivered as Grayson’s lips slid down the sensitive column of her throat. She tried to forget that they could be discovered at any second; wanting to lose herself in the moment, but it was difficult. The shadowy arbor they had found in the Summer Garden Pavilion was a poor refuge.

‘Grayson -’ she began, wondering if she should push him away. His lips felt warm and so did she but the knowledge that they could be discovered at any time was rendering her enjoyment difficult.

‘Shh…’ he murmured, ‘don’t you like me touching you?’

‘Of course I do. It’s just that we might be seen.’

‘Stop worrying, my love,’ Grayson’s hand had wandered close to her breast, brushing against it through the thin material of her dress. ‘After all, we
are
going to be married.’

Eliza stifled a soft gasp. No man had ever touched her so intimately! It felt… well, she was hardly able to decide
what
she felt. Excitement, trepidation and a strange, breathless warmth suffused her body, spreading from head to toe.

‘Grayson! I do not think -’

‘The roses are lovely, I suppose, but I do think those pink ones are inappropriate. Not in a garden of remembrance.’

Both Eliza and Grayson froze. The voice that dripped with disapproval belonged to Lady Sternham, a woman whose good graces were essential if one wanted to prosper in Society; at least in Bath’s Society. It would be fatal to both Grayson and Eliza’s fortunes if they were discovered in such a compromising position. Eliza looked around her desperately, seeking a way out and was relieved to see another opening at the other end of the Pavilion. ‘Come on!’

Together, they hurried out of the arbor, crouching behind a wall of privet hedges until Lady Sternham and her companion were past. Eliza smiled up at her beau, tapping him on the chest. ‘That was
horridly
close!’

He looked down at her, capturing her hand in his. While he was neither a baronet nor a lord and possessed only a modest income, Grayson Henry was not considered to be a marvelous catch by many, but as far as Eliza was concerned, he was perfect. His golden hair, his vivid blue eyes… he was romance personified. ‘You make me forget myself, my darling. I think the sooner we are married the better!’

‘Yes, well Aunt Flora has come round to the idea. Now we have merely to secure the permission of my wretched guardian and it can all be arranged.’

‘Oh, yes. Your guardian.’ Grayson’s voice took on a slightly hollow note. ‘Is it likely he would object?’

Eliza
gave a peel of laughter. ‘Hardly. I’ve yet to see the man and I am beginning to think he’s a mythical figure. Aunt Flora says he’ll be more than happy to get Edward and I off his hands.’ The parklands she and Grayson had retreated to permitted a view of the tower clock and she glanced towards it, then gave a small exclamation. ‘Look at the time! Mr. Henry, you are far too distracting! I will undo all the good work we have done if I am late again.
And
without a chaperone,’ she added, with a quick, upwards glance.

Mr. Henry sighed. ‘I understand. I just wait for the day when I no longer have to say goodbye to you. My lovely, lovely Eliza…’

Fifteen minutes later, Eliza was still smiling as she let herself through the front door, moving quietly so as not to disturb her aunt. Having given her maid the slip again to meet Grayson in the Summer Gardens, the last thing she wanted was another dressing down from Aunt Flora. All appeared to be quiet, however, which probably meant that her misdemeanor had not been discovered. Eliza hurried towards the staircase, untying the strings of her bonnet. With any luck, she could slip upstairs and get ready for dinner without anybody being the wiser. And after dinner, as soon as she could, she would escape to her room and think about the man she had given her heart to.

Grayson’s parting declaration of love was still ringing in her ears and she felt almost lightheaded with happiness. Dearest Grayson…

‘Deuce take it Liza, you’re in a pickle and no mistake.’

Foot on the first step, Eliza jumped with surprise. She looked over her shoulder at her brother Edward. ‘Shh!’ she hissed, ‘Aunt Flora will hear you!’

Edward grinned and wandered across the foyer. He was in one of the new outfits he had ordered the previous week, always keen to style himself on his sartorial heroes, chief of which was Beau Brummell. His shirt collar was so high it came up past his chin while the dark blue silk jacket he wore, trimmed with gold braid, looked like it had begun life as a cushion in their aunt’s boudoir. Edward fancied himself a dandy and considered his clothing to be the pink of fashion. Much as she loved her brother, Eliza thought he frequently looked ridiculous. ‘Too late for that. She’s been entertaining Carlton these past thirty minutes. I’ve been sent to find out where you are.’

‘Carlton? He’s
here
?’

‘Came calling. Unexpected, wouldn’t you say?’

Eliza searched her brother’s face, hoping this was nothing more than one of his tricks, but he seemed perfectly serious. ‘But… I thought it was decided that things were to remain exactly as they were?’

‘Aunt Flora decided. I don’t think she consulted our new guardian on the subject.’

Their new guardian… it still seemed incredible to Eliza that their father had consigned the care of his two children to Lord Julius Carlton, an unmarried man whose rakish reputation was well known even in Bath.

When their mother had died several years before, Eliza and Edward had moved permanently down to Bascombe Park, the family home in Suffolk. Not that Eliza had had her brother’s company for long, for he had gone off to Eton and she’d been left to her own devices and her surly, uncommunicative father. And there she might have stayed if not for Flora Fitzwilliams, her mother’s sister. Possessing no children of her own, Flora had decided it was up to her to bring Eliza out and she had arrived on her brother-in-law’s doorstep determined to obtain his permission. Mrs. Fitzwilliams was a woman infinitely suited to take a young lady from the schoolroom to the ballroom and introduce her into Society. Predictably, Eliza’s father refused, unwilling to part with the money for such an undertaking, but Aunt Flora had persisted. She had likened her campaign to a mouse nibbling away at cheese and indeed, it had done the trick. Tired of listening to his sister-in-law’s tireless arguments and desperate to cut short her stay at Bascombe Park, Papa had given in, more readily when Aunt Flora had assured him she was prepared to offset a portion of the cost of Eliza’s stay in Bath.

It had been organized for Eliza to join her aunt before the start of the Season to arrange the vast array of dresses that would be required for her debut and she’d left Suffolk behind her with a light heart, anticipating unprecedented pleasures. Typically, Papa had thrown the whole thing into disarray when he had up and died unexpectedly, six weeks after Eliza arrived in Bath and a mere two weeks into the start of the Season. And while, of course, she was very
sorry
that her father had died, she couldn’t help but think it was poor timing on his part.

Naturally, she had feared that her introduction into Society would have to be cut short, but she had reckoned without Flora Fitzwilliams. Her aunt decided to continue on, merely ordering gowns of a more subdued hue as a gesture of respect. As far as Flora was concerned, Eliza was not getting any younger and it would be a pity to waste her youthful good looks on a year of mourning. Fortunately, she held such sway with the Grande dames that ran the Season’s events that Eliza was granted an unspoken immunity of sorts. Besides, everybody knew Thaddeus Percival had been an unpleasant fellow. It seemed a pity to let his daughter suffer for his churlish bad timing.

What they had not anticipated was the provisions he’d made for his children.

After the Viscount’s death, Flora had naturally assumed that she would be given the care of her niece. But a week after her brother-in-law’s passing, it was discovered that he had left the guardianship of his two children to Lord Carlton, a far younger man, who, while of immaculate birth, was of uncertain reputation. The Viscount’s decision appeared to have been based on nothing more than the fact that had been great friends with Carlton’s own father, who had shared his passion for hunting and a full-bodied claret. For several months, nobody had received any communication from Carlton, apart from a brief letter with the contact details of his secretary and instructions on how to access monies on behalf of his two new charges. And with every week that passed, Eliza relaxed a little more. She was enjoying the social whirl of Bath, the dances, the balls and the endless buffets. And she did not lack a plentiful choice of dance partners, which made her social outings even more pleasurable.

It was at a ball at the Assembly Rooms that she met Grayson. He had stood up with her
three
times, setting tongues wagging and it was on that particular night
,
that Eliza had begun to plan her future. Fortunately, Grayson had been of a like mind.

Having conveniently forgotten that she even
had
a guardian, it came as a shock to discover that this phantom had arrived.

Eliza sighed. Clearly, anything she wished to learn about Lord Carlton would have to come from personal experience. And this visit was surely nothing more than a salve to ease his conscience (if he had one); from what she’d heard of the man, he must have been as surprised as anybody to discover he had responsibilities. Her aunt had been sure he would shirk those responsibilities as reliably as he shirked anything he found vaguely disagreeable to his self-indulgent lifestyle. Truthfully, it would be extraordinary if they saw him at all, for he rarely visited Bath.

‘Never mind that.’ Pulling off her bonnet, she hurried to the mirror that hung over a hall table and studied her reflection, keen to make a good impression. Carlton was in his thirties and quite old. As he indulged himself in all manner of wickedness – if rumor were to be believed – he would undoubtedly be like one of those ghastly men her father used to entertain; portly, possibly jolly and undoubtedly eager to pinch her cheek. As her future happiness depended on pleasing him, she supposed she would have to let him. Cheek pinching was a small price to pay, if only he would give permission regarding her marriage to Grayson.

She grimaced at the girl in the mirror. A fresh gown would have been nice but there was simply no time to change. She patted her dark curls, her own and not the work of a curling iron then shed her cloak. The pale green organza walking dress was unsuitable for entertaining in the afternoon, but it would simply have to do.

This whole thing was a nuisance, but it would probably be a fleeting visit. Duty done, he would return to London on the morrow and things could return to normal. Or not
quite
to normal, Eliza amended with a flutter of nervous hope. For was there ever a better time to coax her guardian into giving his permission in regards to her marriage with Grayson? Of course, it was Grayson himself who should be asking, but Eliza was never one to let silly little rules stop her. If only she could make a good impression, then her plans could progress even faster than she had anticipated.