The Girl is Not For Christmas: A Christmas Regency Romance Novel Page 27

  With a bit of help from Harry, who came when King yelled for help, they carried the trunks down to the front step where Harry, bless the lad, had readied the pony and cart for them.

  “Thank you, Harry. You’re a fine man, you know that I hope. I shan’t forget your help.”

  Harry blushed and stood a little taller. “A pleasure to help, King, truly. You’ve… you’ve been marvellous with all of us and we should be honoured to call you uncle, sir.”

  “Oh,” King paused, staring at Harry as the rest of the children came out to see him off. He would be their uncle. “Well, it… it will be I who is honoured, Harry. I promise you that, but I must catch up with your aunt first.”

  King looked up as Ceci came out with Walsh on her arm. “Oh, the poor man really isn’t fit to travel, my lord,” she said, giving Walsh’s arm a gentle pat.

  “No help for it,” King said mercilessly. “Walsh, I shall owe you until the end of time, but please, please help me get to Livvy.”

  “Just try to stop me,” Walsh replied gamely, though it looked like a gentle breeze could stop him he was swaying so, his complexion the colour of cold porridge. “Trouble is, my lord… we… we got no blunt.”

  King paused, horrified to realise Walsh had a point. He hunted about for his coin purse and looked at the pitiful amount remaining to him after buying the presents for the children and giving what he could to Gelly for their keep.

  “You?” King asked hopefully.

  Walsh shook his head. “Thruppence ha’penny.”

  King snatched his hat off his head and flung it to the ground, his fists clenched. He strode away into the garden, fighting for calm. Think, think, man. There must be a way. Whichever way he turned it, he needed money, and he had no way of getting it. Perhaps if he could find a card game somewhere but… Oh, Christ the longer they delayed the farther away Livvy got. He didn’t know what to do and several minutes of frantic pacing did not produce an answer.

  King turned back to the house to see everyone had gone back inside. Sick to his stomach with fear and frustration, he followed suit and stalked back to the kitchen. As he walked in, Jane ran up to him clutching a small pewter cup which… which was stuffed full of money.

  “W-What…?” he began, staring at them.

  “We’ve collected together all our pocket money, sir,” Harry explained, smiling at him. “And Spargo and Gelly put some in too. It’s not much but… is it enough?”

  King felt his throat tighten as he looked about their hopeful faces. He glanced at Walsh and saw that he felt it too, the enormity of what this family would give to help him.

  “Harry…” King said, his voice thick. “Harry… All of you, this… this is too much. I can’t…”

  “Course you can,” Gelly said, banging her fist on the kitchen table so hard Walsh and Spargo looked like they might vomit. “You go and marry that girl. Lord knows she deserves a bit of luck and happiness. You will make her happy, won’t you, my lord?” she demanded, a slightly daunting glint in her eyes.

  King nodded.

  “Please, King,” Harry said, squeezing his arm. “Livvy needs you. We all need you. Don’t give up now. Take the money and put it to good use. I can’t think of anything better I should want to spend it on.”

  “Ah, Harry, lad,” King said, choked now. He pulled Harry into a fierce hug for a moment before straightening again and turning to Walsh. “Come on, Walsh. Chin up. I’ve found a wonderful woman daft enough to fall in love with me. We mustn’t let her get away.”

  “Ing! Ing get Libby?” George demanded.

  “Yes, George. I’m going to get Livvy.” King turned to his valet who was struggling to his feet. “Aren’t we, Walsh?”

  “Right you are, sir,” Walsh said, before turning green, heaving, and running for the back door.

  King sighed. They’d go and get Livvy in a few minutes then.

  “Oh,” Susan said, staring at King with stars in her eyes. “Isn’t it romantic?”

  King smiled at her. He certainly hoped so. He hoped this would be a story they would tell their children and grandchildren, but for now he felt very much like doing as Walsh was doing and throwing his guts up, he was so bloody terrified. They were only hours behind her, he reasoned. She could hardly meet a man and get married before he tracked her down. Her aunt’s party didn’t even start until… when did it start? Come to think of it, where did her aunt even live. He knew it was Bath but…

  “What is your aunt’s address, Susan?” he asked her.

  “Oh, I have it somewhere,” the girl said, hurrying to a big dresser, packed with china and odds and ends and tugging open a drawer. “Livvy keeps them all in a little book. Yes, here it is.”

  King waited while she flicked through the pages. “Ah yes, Aunt Agatha. Dudley House, Somerset Place…”

  “Wait…” King’s heart, already bruised from the events of the morning, leapt to his throat and lodged fast. “Did… did you say, Dudley House? Do you mean to say… is she…”

  “Oh, Lord,” Walsh said faintly, having just come back into the kitchen and heard what Susan had said too.

  “Is your aunt…?” King began.

  “Mrs Dudley,” Harry said before Susan could reply, flushing a little. “Yes. She’s been widowed for years of course, but… well, she’s rather a scandal, I’m afraid.”

  “Walsh.” King moved to his valet and clutched at his shoulders. His heart was thudding in his ears now. “Where was my father spending Christmas?”

  Walsh swallowed.

  King didn’t hesitate. He stuffed the money into his pocket, snatched up his hat, grabbed Walsh and towed him out of the kitchen.

  “We must catch up with her,” he hissed to Walsh, who just nodded miserably.

  “King… King, what is it?” Harry called, hurrying behind them as King propelled Walsh out the front door. “What has this to do with your father?”

  King hesitated, but Harry wasn’t a fool, he was a young man, already aware of why his Aunt Agatha had the reputation she had most certainly earned.

  “Harry,” King said, helping Walsh collapse into the seat of the dog cart and turning back to him. “Mrs Agatha Dudley is my father’s mistress.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  28th December 1818.

  Retribution for some, forgiveness for others.

  Livvy looked up at the magnificent house in front of her. Good heavens. Aunt Agatha lived in grand style. It was everything that was modern and elegant and certainly one of the finest houses on Somerset Place, though to be fair, some were not yet finished.

  Charlie hesitated, glowering unhappily at the front door. He’d been very kind to her for the past two days, kind enough not to ask her why she was so quiet and morose. The answer was obvious enough not to need an explanation.

  “It’s for Harry,” she reminded him. “Harry and Susan and all of them, Charlie. If you must eat humble pie, what better cause could you possibly have?”

  Livvy watched as Charlie set his jaw, smacked his hat onto his head, and held out his arm to her. “Very well. I’ve made this wretched mess. I suppose this is my comeuppance, so I’d best get it over with. I only hope you’re not disappointed, Livvy. My abiding memory of her is a woman who does not mince words. We’ll likely find ourselves ejected after she’s rung a peal over us, well me anyway. That’s if we get in at all.”

  “We won’t know until we try,” Livvy said, squeezing his arm.

  “Right you are.” Charlie took a deep breath and strode to the front door.

  A smart, liveried footman opened the door, resplendent in dark blue and canary yellow trimmed uniform.

  Charlie handed his card over. “Lord Boscawen to see my aunt, Mrs Dudley,” he said, looking every inch the nobleman and not a bit like he was quaking in his boots. Livvy admitted herself impressed.

  They were seen into a drawing room so grand Livvy could not help but stare. Everything was of the finest quality and the most impeccable taste. The walls were a delicate sha
de of pale pink, the ceiling and glorious plasterwork all white with the fancier bits picked out in gold leaf. The curtains were gold too, the fabric thick and luxurious, shimmering in the sunlight through the huge windows. Every piece of furniture was elegance itself and placed with a deftness of touch that made this a grand room indeed, yet still a homely one. Livvy could well imagine curling up in the comfortable looking chair before one of the windows and reading a book or simply watching the world go by. Not that she dared now, instead staring nervously at the huge ormolu clock on the mantel that seemed to tick with such enthusiasm it rang in her ears.

  “She won’t see us,” Charlie said, pacing now. They’d been waiting for at least ten minutes. “She’ll just make me sweat and then decide she’s not at home.”

  “Will she indeed?” came an imperious voice from behind them.

  They both span around and Livvy gasped. She wasn’t entirely certain what she had been expecting of her mother’s sister, but it was not the glorious creature standing in the doorway. Good heavens, she was stunning. A woman in her early fifties, her hair was still lustrous and a dark honey colour, her eyes were a piercing blue, and the outrageously stylish gown she wore made no bones about the quality of the figure beneath the fabric.

  “Aunt Agatha?” Livvy said, gaping at her. “Good heavens, you’re… you’re exquisite.”

  Her aunt sniffed and looked at Livvy with interest. “You’re not that silly creature he brought last time,” she said, frowning and stepping closer. Her expression changed, her eyes growing wide. “Oh. Oh, my, you must be Olivia.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth.

  “Yes, aunt,” Livvy said, dipping a curtsey. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance at last.”

  “You are the image of your mother,” Agatha said, her eyes suddenly very bright, then her expression hardened. “And why, pray, has it taken so many years for me to make your acquaintance? Hmmmm?”

  Livvy opened her mouth and closed it again.

  “You know very well our grandfather did not think you a respectable woman, Aunt,” Charlie said. “You also know he would not allow Livvy to have contact with you. I have enforced his wishes since he died. It is none of my sister’s doing.”

  Aunt Agatha made a derisive sound and took Livvy’s arm. “Come and sit with me, child.”

  Livvy sent her brother an anxious glance but allowed the woman to sit her down on an elegant gold love seat. Agatha inspected her critically.

  “You’re not as beautiful as my sister was, but you have a certain something. Those eyes… yes, those eyes are very fine. Have you a beau?”

  Livvy flushed scarlet and her aunt chuckled.

  “Ah, you do. Is he going to marry you?”

  Livvy stammered and stumbled, unable to provide a coherent answer.

  “She cannot marry the man she loves, Aunt Agatha,” Charlie said, his voice full of certainty now. “He is a fine man, a nobleman, but he has no money and… and as you once predicted I have made a damned mess of everything. I’ve no doubt you will enjoy your triumph over me, but I cannot give Livvy the dowry she needs, that she deserves. I had hoped to ask you to help my children, Harry needs schooling, university and the girls need to be presented at court and come out… but… but the truth is Livvy needs your help every bit as much as they do. I’ve been a damned fool and I… I need your help. Please, Aunt. I ask not a farthing for myself, I swear, but for them….”

  Livvy gaped at her brother, touched that he should humiliate himself so to help her.

  “Oh, Charlie,” she said, getting up and running to embrace him.

  “There, there, Liv,” Charlie said with a sad smile. “It’s all true. You’ve kept my family together, kept us all in one piece. I know it. I didn’t see it for a long while, but… but I do now. I should have listened to you. I wish I had. King loves you, though. Ceci was right, it’s plain enough whenever the two of you are in the same room. He’s head over ears in love with you and he needs you, Livvy.”

  Livvy put her hand to her mouth and stifled a sob.

  “Yes, yes, very touching,” Agatha said briskly, patting the seat beside her again. “Now, come and explain yourself to me, girl. Did you say… King? You are surely not speaking of the man we know as the King of Sin?”

  Livvy nodded, wiping her eyes and sniffling. “Yes, aunt. The Earl of Kingston.”

  “In love with you?” Aunt Agatha said again, clearly astonished.

  Livvy put her chin up, a little irritated by that. “Yes, aunt. Me.”

  “Well, well,” Agatha said, her blue eyes sparkling. “I think you had best start at the beginning.”

  29th December 1818.

  King stood on the doorstep of Dudley House and did his best to smooth his hair down. The last three days had been an unmitigated nightmare. The terrible travelling conditions, poor accommodation, and King’s terrible packing skills meant he looked nothing close to the elegant model of a fashionable gentleman he usually resembled. Instead, he looked as if he’d not slept in days, and had spent a deal of that time in a hedge, which wasn’t too terribly far from the truth.

  Walsh made a flapping motion to him from the pavement.

  “Bloody hell,” King muttered, sucking in a deep breath. It must be well over a year since he last saw his father, and this was not the way he’d wished to repeat the experience. He’d not intended to see him ever again. If he discovered King intended to marry Livvy…. Oh, good God. He rapped smartly on the door. There was no getting away from it. He needed to see Livvy, and Livvy was here. So….

  A po-faced butler opened the door, his nose wrinkling a little at the sight of King.

  “Lord Kingston,” King said, handing his card over.

  The butler’s eyes grew wide.

  “I’ve had the very devil of a time getting here,” King said tersely.

  As soon as the butler realised he had an earl standing before him and that he was the son of the man his mistress was entertaining at present, the fellow almost bent double. Nothing was too much trouble, and King was shown into a very elegant drawing room to await Mrs Dudley.

  He stared out of the window, heart thudding, wondering if Livvy was here even now. If he might see her at any moment… then a crash sounded. King hurried to the door and stepped out into the huge entrance hall, looking up as movement caught his eye.

  Livvy was hurrying down the stairs.

  “I thought I heard….”

  She paused halfway down, staring at him.

  “King?” she said faintly.

  “Darling,” he said, rushing to her, taking the stairs two at a time, heedless of who might see. He swept her up into his arms. “Oh, Livvy, how could you do it? How could you leave without saying goodbye?”

  “Oh, King,” she sobbed, clutching at his lapels. “I couldn’t bear to say goodbye to you at all, and certainly not in front of everyone. I should have wept all over you and everyone would have known and… and it would have been so embarrassing for you.”

  “You silly goose,” he muttered fondly, shaking his head. “If you hadn’t fallen asleep with quite such alacrity, you wouldn’t have left me at all.”

  She blinked up at him, blushing a little, and he grinned.

  “And I made you such a romantic proposal too. Imagine my chagrin when I discovered you snoring through it.”

  Livvy’s mouth dropped open. “Y-You p-proposed?” she stammered.

  “I did, and my only response was a snore. It was most provoking, love.”

  “Oh! I do not snore,” she said indignantly.

  “I beg to differ.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him and then her face went all soft and her eyes sparkled. “You did ask me? Truly?”

  “If you doubt me. I shall just have to ask you again, won’t I?” King got to one knee, which was dashed awkward as they were halfway up a staircase, but he took her hand and gazed up at the woman he loved with all his heart. “Olivia Penrose, my dearest Livvy, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife? And
I’d better warn you, love, I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  “Oh,” Livvy said, blinking rapidly. “Yes! Yes, of course, King. But how can we? Where shall we live, and what about the children? Oh, what about your father? King, he’ll never speak to you again. I cannot make you choose between….”

  King was about to retort that there simply wasn’t a choice to make, when the shouting that had continued faintly from somewhere else in the house got a deal louder. A door crashed open and Mrs Dudley stalked out, head held high.

  “Agatha. Agatha, darling, please… don’t be like that,” came a man’s pleading voice from behind her. “I can only apologise for my youthful mistakes so many times.”

  King stared, mouth open, as his father rushed out of the room in her wake. At least… King thought it was his father, but the Marquess of Eynsham was always immaculate and never so much as raised his voice. This fellow was frantic and dishevelled, his cravat all askew, and he looked like a man who’d been mown down by a woman in a fury.

  “Don’t you Agatha darling me,” Mrs Dudley said, rounding on him. “You damned snob. You turned your back on me thirty-five years ago because I wasn’t good enough to marry, and now… and now you think to make your son do the same thing to my niece. Well, I’ll see your name dragged through every scandal sheet in the country before I let that happen, Arthur, and don’t think I wouldn’t.”

  “Agatha, I couldn’t marry you,” Lord Eynsham said, pleading for understanding. “You know this. My father would not allow me—”