The Harrington House Party Series: Three Novellas (Regency Romance)

The Harrington House Party Series:

Three Novellas

Anne Glover

© 2011 by e-Ton Publishing at Smashwords

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States of America.

Last Chance for Passion

Caroline’s Story

The windswept manor was settled on a hill away from the main coaching roads and down a rocky path where it rested on a flatten plat of ground. From this vantage it seemed to be at the very edge of the world. Or at least an island unto itself.

The stone of the house was the lovely color of very milky tea, capped by several sharply pointed chimneys and a rich, red roof. Peeking from the roof on all sides were windows to the third floor and recessed at the very top were small windows to the attic rooms. The house was unlike most in that windows dominated the façade and were very symmetrical in both shape and arrangement.

The grounds were exquisite; a neatly manicured lawn and rose garden rolling in to an orchard to the west, a forest with a little lake to the southeast, and a grand maze with fountains directly south of the house. Flanking both sides of the house were exact rows of trees that sheltered the house from harsh light and made a nice haven for imaginative children to play. Overlooking it all was a carefully groomed terrace which showed off the rose gardens to their best advantage.

All in all, Wickenham Hall was the very picture of a fashionable country home.

At least that was Caroline Whitby’s thought as they turned into the drive in their less than grand carriage her mama doing her best not to gasp in unladylike glee at the boon. Caroline stifled the urge to laugh made merry by her mother’s wide-eyed abandon.

The invitation had been a surprise to Mrs. Whitby and even more to Caroline. After a less than successful debut she had resigned herself to the notion of marrying a rather fat and aged cousin who had made the first overtures of interest at the Season’s end. It was the way, she knew, when one didn’t take. She would not get another Season.

The Whitbys were genteel, yet provincial, unable to afford the expense of a Season for their only daughter. Mrs. Whitby’s well-to-do sister offered to sponsor Caroline two months in Town. With little more than borrowed baubles and freshly trimmed gowns, Caroline was sent to make her debut. It was not a grand come-out; Caroline was presented to the Queen and then totted around Town to a few, select events.

Lady Caddish was sweet, if a little overbearing, and no doubt viewed Caroline’s visit as more of companionship than anything. While in London Caroline had scarcely seen the inside of a ballroom and had more oft than not been a silent addition to afternoon teas and early evening musicales. Her days primarily consisted of running up and down the stairs of Lady Caddish’s manor to fetch the odd book or tea tray for her aunt, who suffered from chronic megrims. On the few days she felt well enough to rise from bed, even the lightest of entertainments were taxing and so they had in total been to only five balls in two months. Caroline knew her counterparts would sometimes see as many balls in one evening, let alone a week. For all the conversation about her good fortune in being chaperoned by Lady Caddish, Caroline knew herself to be at a distinct disadvantage.

Caroline had not been in Town long enough to receive vouchers and Lady Caddish’s acquaintances were largely aged with established families not actively engaged in the marriage mart. It was another strike against her in her short lived Season.

For other girls it might have been a crushing defeat. For her part, Caroline was grateful that her debut was limited. Her papa did not have the blunt to afford a new wardrobe and doubtless having to frequent ton functions in anything but the first stare of fashion (not to mention wearing the same gown over and over) would have been humiliating. She had already overheard some wretched fellow call her a toady. She couldn’t bear it becoming commonplace.

And normally a lighthearted spirit, the few balls Caroline had attended only served as a reminder of what she was missing. It was like being shown a lovely piece of cake, but told that one could not have but a taste. Only Caroline knew the cake represented the rest of her life, and she knew she would have been better off living in blissful ignorance about how other, wealthier and titled marriages might be.

With her characteristic humor, Caroline had pushed all whimsy and dreams aside and resigned herself to return home and accept her cousin’s suit. It would have been nice, she thought, to at least be courted. To feel wanted. Caroline knew it was too much to ask. Like a dutiful daughter she would return home and without ceremony, marry Cousin Harry.

But then, as she was packing her things to return back to Devonshire, her mama showed up on the doorstep of Lady Caddish’s Mayfair home waving an address from Lady Harrington herself. It was a coveted invitation to Lady Harrington’s annual house party and rumored to be the last of its kind.

Caroline was not plain but nor was she an Incomparable. Her hair was a mousy shade of brown, unfashionably straight and unforgivably wont to escape her chignon in flyaway fashion. Her eyes were almond shaped and a pretty blue, the only remarkable feature in a rather common face. Her nose was long and pert, her lips full and cherry red, her cheeks high and her eyebrows a pronounced shade darker than her hair. Perhaps beautiful in the country, but among the other girls in London only an ordinary sort of pretty.

Her figure was a compromise, with breasts slightly larger than normal and able to fill the style of gowns admirably. However, her hips flared just a bit too much and she was nothing if not of average height.

Growing up in Devonshire with three older brothers, Caroline had never given much thought to her appearance. While other girls might have been learning proper deportment or dreaming over the latest fashions she was happiest with her brothers engaged in some type of outdoor adventure. She loved to ride, chasing them through the fields and forest of Devon. She loved to walk, and could be found most times attending to her routine by foot. And her brothers had taught her to fish, to climb trees, and in general do a number of things that young ladies were forbidden to do.

Although they were not wealthy by London standards, the Whitbys had horses, a modest home, and the income from their tenants was enough to keep the children in food, clothing and education. Caroline learned later that Lady Caddish had helped buy her second brother’s commission as well as influence her third brother’s post, but such a thing was not uncommon. It seems that until her trip to London, she was the only Whitby child who had not benefited from her kinship with Lady Caddish.

Overall, after only a few weeks in London Caroline was well aware that in comparison with her peers, she was sorely lacking in the qualities the marriage mart demanded to help secure a good match. She had no great beauty, wealth, or title and therefore little leverage to snare an eligible suitor. And while she had not really attended enough events to make friends, and therefore tended towards being quiet, she was no retiring miss. Too often, in the past, her hoydenish ways had created a stir, if not out and out trouble.

In some ways, she relished her time at the fringe of the ton as one might welcome the rain after months of sun.

Mrs. Whitby said the Harrington house party was just the thing. After a few insufferable dinners of silence and tension, Mrs. Whitby had finally persuaded Lady Caddish to spare the coin to purchase Caroline a few new gowns. Lady Caddish had thought it an utter waste of money and had lectured Mrs. Whitby and Caroline on how she secured her marriage with nothing but her wits. But Caroline didn’t mind the ordeal of a lecture after her final fitting for two evening gowns, a day dress, and a riding costume.

Her father had given her enough pin money to buy a new bonnet and gloves, as well as a new pair of kid boots. Somehow her mother had also convinced Mr. Whitby to give them enough to stay overnight at a coaching inn on the journey from London to Sussex. Mrs. Whitby had thought it imperative that Caroline be able to rest up before their arrival so that she appeared fresh faced and happy when they reached Wickenham Park.

Wearing a new white muslin with matching print pelisse and bonnet she was indeed a pretty picture as she alighted from the carriage. And there to greet her stood the wickedly handsome Lord Malcolm Harrington, alongside his mother Lady Harrington.

Caroline recognized Lord Harrington from a select appearance at one of the few balls she attended. He was a wiry, tall man of about thirty years with thick, curly brown hair and soft, friendly brown eyes. When he smiled, which was often, his cheeks were neatly dimpled adding further to his appearance of a sunny disposition. Lady Harrington made a fine foil, being petite and prone to a stern façade. No doubt she was doubly vexed by a son who not only appeared disinterested in marriage but was also considered one of the most eligible bachelors of the haute ton.

After being handed down from the carriage by a footman, Mrs. Whitby scuttled forward to greet Lady Harrington with an artless bow. Biting her lip, Caroline followed suit and soon found herself comfortably tucked away in a small suite of rooms on the second floor.

As their maid unpacked the trunks, Mrs. Whitby surveyed the room. Caroline quickly gravitated toward the window in the main room. It overlooked the orchard, a lovely sight that gave her a brief twinge of homesickness.

Wickenham Park must be the largest estate in Sussex, Mrs. Whitby remarked, fanning herself as she found a seat on the dressing table chair. She fussed over her reflection. Caroline spared her a brief glance over her shoulder before returning her gaze to the orchard. I am sure that Lady Harrington said there are to be eight girls and eight gentlemen in attendance. There must be at least twenty rooms.

Caroline murmured an agreement.

I must say she is a very gracious and elegant lady. And Lord Harrington seems all that is amiable.

Mrs. Whitby took a breath to direct the maid on which gowns to press.

I am sure you shouldn’t set your cap for someone like Lord Harrington, but one never knows, Caroline. After all, my own sister managed to capture a Viscount and our father was only a parson. She sniffed, Although both my family and your father’s have impeccable lineage. We are only just removed from the peerage ourselves.

Pulled from thought, Caroline turned and watched her mother. The brief separation from her mother had softened the memories of her constant tendency to prattle. It was harmless but it still made Caroline tired. Lady Caddish spoke with an economy of words. Caroline was now sorry that she neglected to appreciate several months of frequent silence.

But instead of being shrewish, Caroline crossed to the dressing table and kissed her mother on the cheek. Mrs. Whitby instantly fussed. But when Caroline moved away back towards the window, she could see her mother’s reflection in the mirror as she smiled and touched the spot on her face her daughter’s lips had touched.

Caroline herself smiled, watching a mysterious drab figure dismount from his horse and walk it towards the stables with a sour expression. It was as if mischief called her by name. And after two months of silence (even as blissful as it was in company), Caroline felt instantly ready to have one last grand adventure before settling down into domestic life.

This is it, she thought, my last bow before the curtain falls. She could no longer deny that her options were few. Become a spinster or settle into a loveless marriage.

But she could have a few stolen moments for herself, she thought covetously. At least she would like to be kissed by someone out of desire rather than duty. She watched the man as he made for the house. A man like that, she knew, would know how to kiss.

Chapter Two

The crack of the billiards breaking sent a fleeting satisfaction through the Earl of Danbridge. And then, as two balls neatly sunk into the pockets and he looked up at his companions with a wry grin, he was filled once again with the sensation of dread.

It was an awful ennui that had crept into his days. He had begun to notice it shortly before Parliament was back in session. And then with the so called delights of the Season boredom had become so routine it was maddening. He knew that others saw his boredom as arrogance but cared little enough to bother with it.

Why he had agreed to spend a month suffering in the heat and company at Harrington’s he was not quite sure. He knew house parties were not even remotely a potential panacea. But he had hoped against hope for at least a diversion. Another summer buried in the country with his mother could not be borne. And a summer spent wilting in London was out of the question. So Harrington’s it was.

Harrington and Danbridge had gone up at Oxford together. They were not close, but then Danbridge was not considered to be a fellow one might ever form a close attachment with. They had little in common aside from their fortune, title and unmarried state, but still they did seem to rub on well together. Harrington appreciated Danbridge’s dry sense of humor and Danbridge was enchanted by Harrington’s sunny disposition. It seemed an odd pairing, but Danbridge could not afford to question the few friendships he had.

When he had met Harrington at Eton they had not got on well. But at Oxford they both lost their fathers and had bonded in mutual need to commiserate on the immediate responsibilities and burdens of being heir. Harrington had rather liked his father, as well, so Danbridge had helped shoulder his grief. It had solidified an otherwise impossible friendship.

Harrington leaned over the table to take his turn. Danbridge watched lifting his monocle to his eye as the cue sailed forth to give Harrington a punishing lead.

I say, you have been improving on your game Harrington.

Harrington glanced up and grinned.

It keeps me out of the ballrooms.

Danbridge quirked his eyebrow with a trace of sympathy. It appears the ballrooms have come to you.

Harrington laughed good naturedly and then came around the table to slap Danbridge’s back. And lucky that you have decided to join me in my misery, as Mother is determined to see me married by the end of the summer.

Danbridge took his shot after Harrington musing, It would appear that my mother and yours are in concert on that score. She all but begged me to attend.

I am surprised you acquiesced.

Danbridge shrugged coolly, I had nothing better to do.

Then I will count myself fortunate.

Danbridge lined up his next shot.

How is Lady Danbridge? My mother laments that she has not seen her for a time.

Very well. Still fending off the advances of Lord Breckenridge.

The old goat, Harrington laughed. It was well known among friends that Lord Breckenridge had been pursuing Lady Danbridge for years. They had formed a friendship that had bordered on the improper, much to Danbridge’s chagrin. A footman came in bearing a tray with two glasses and a decanter of port. Harrington offered Danbridge one, which he sipped as he watched the footman leave.

I envy them sometimes.

Who? Harrington had tidily won the game and had set down his cue in favor of his port. He sat down in a chair close to the fire. Danbridge followed suit after a moment, tossing his head towards the door.

The footman? It was to be expected that this was said with a generous measure of incredulity. Being in service was fairly unimaginable and definitely not to be envied.

It must be nice to have so little choice.

No autonomy, Harrington hummed, no creature comforts.

No responsibility. No duty.

No freedom, Harrington challenged, raising his glass in a mock toast. No leisure.

Leisure is overrated, Danbridge grumbled.

What’s this about? Harrington leaned forward in interest.

Danbridge shook his head, finding he could no more answer his friend than himself. He wasn’t sure what it was about, this ever increasing gorge of tedium. Only that he felt terribly tired of himself. Always having to be the proper lord and master of everyone and everything.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Danbridge turned to Harrington and asked flippantly, So who else will be in attendance? Any chaps from Oxford?

Harrington swallowed his port with a nod. Dashwood, Burns, Nash.

Danbridge groaned at the mention of the familiar names. It would be just like an evening at White’s. He could feel the boredom already seeping in through the walls.

I believe I heard something about Rutledge and Markham. And an odd sort of other fellows whose names I recognize from the club.

And chits? Which debutantes has Lady Harrington chosen as acceptable to foist upon her only son?

Harrington snorted. Many of the names I didn’t recognize, although she assured me all were Quality.

Of a quality not to be chosen in their first Season? Danbridge muttered dryly.

Something like that.

Just then the door opened and the majordomo announced the arrival of Dashwood and Markham. Both were familiar faces from Whites and so Danbridge rose to greet them with mild satisfaction. For misery did so love company, especially when faced with a prolonged sentence.

Her mother had insisted that they take a short rest before going down to the parlor for tea. Caroline was restless from having been indoors too much and longed to escape and explore the gardens. But after a short lecture on propriety, she forced herself to lie down. And amused herself by counting tiles on the ceiling while her mother tossed and snored in her sleep.

When her mother finally woke she helped Caroline into a new set of gloves and a bright yellow spencer that helped to change the appearance of her gown so that she might wear it at least once more. Caroline made sure that her hair was still tucked away in its chignon as Mrs. Whitby checked her own appearance in the dressing table glass.

Finally joining the other ladies in the parlor, Caroline was surprised when Lady Harrington shooed the young ladies out for a walk so that she might meet privately with the chaperones. The girls tittered with excitement when Lady Harrington announced the gentlemen would join them. And because it would be a group walk, it was seen as acceptable for the girls to be temporarily without their chaperones.

As Lady Harrington closed the doors to them, Caroline smiled up at the other eight girls who milled about the hall waiting for the footman to lead them towards the terrace. She knew only one of the debutantes, Millie Hedgewood, and made her way to the girl’s side.

Miss Whitby! Millie exclaimed. I didn’t expect to see you here.

Caroline made a face that was a tangled grimace and smile. Nor did I! The invitation came as quite a surprise.

Millie flushed. I only meant that you were so selective about the events you attended during the Season… Millie paused to snort, While it’s no surprise I am here. My Mama dragged me to everything! I had to attend five functions one night. Caroline smiled sympathetically. I wore out three pair of slippers. My Papa was quite red faced about that one.

They giggled, trailing behind the other girls as they made their way outside.

How are your rooms? Millie asked as Caroline pulled on her bonnet.

Splendid. They overlook the gardens. Millie hummed her approval.

I was relieved to learn that Wickenham Hall is so grand and large that we needn’t share rooms. The last house party I attended I shared with Flora Livermore who whistles like a kettle in her sleep.

The group approached a gable where the gentlemen lounged in obvious boredom. The girls at once burst into nervous chatter.

Who are you for? Millie asked in a whisper behind her hand.

Caroline shrugged. I confess I only just recognize any of the gentlemen.

Millie nodded with determination. Well then, let me apprise you. To explain she added, Mama made me study Debrett’s after she acquired the guest list from Lady Harrington.

Millie and Caroline hung back as the group started to trickle and merge with the gentlemen. The dashing, cheerful one is Lord Harrington. He is wealthy, amiable, and by all reports a determined bachelor whose mama is equally determined to make him a match. Next to him is Mr. Dashwood who is heir to a large estate in Kent and is by all reports a catch. Caroline admired Dashwood who was ginger haired and well built.

Millie motioned to another party just behind Dashwood. The other ginger haired gentlemen is Viscount Markham who has ten thousand pounds and is apparently hound mad, and next to him Baron Nash and Mr. Rutledge who has a substantial annuity. Just behind him is Col. Burns who will inherit an earldom. I think he is rather well favored. Caroline caught a twinkle in Millie’s eye and it was suddenly apparent who she had her cap set for. And then the Marquis of Hardwicke whose sister is also here, she gestured towards a dainty blonde who now walked on Lord Harrington’s arm.