Charmed by His Lordship (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 3) Read online

  CHARMED BY HIS LORDSHIP

  JEN GEIGLE JOHNSON

  CONTENTS

  All of Regency House Party Havencrest

  Follow Jen

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Follow Jen

  The Captain’s Lady

  16. Tabitha’s Folly: Shocking Proposition

  About the Author

  ALL OF REGENCY HOUSE PARTY HAVENCREST

  Miss Marleigh’s Pirate

  The Vexatious Widow

  Charmed by His Lordship

  The Captain’s Lady

  The Marriage Bargain

  FOLLOW JEN

  Jen has five other published books

  The Nobleman’s Daughter

  Two lovers in disguise

  Scarlet

  The Pimpernel retold

  Spun of Gold

  Rumplestilskin Retold

  Dating the Duke

  Time Travel: Regency man in NYC

  Tabitha’s Folly

  Four over protective Brothers

  To read Damen’s Secret

  The Villain’s Romance

  Follow her Newsletter

  CHAPTER 1

  A family could only afford one do-nothing wastrel, and Lord Abraham Bolton’s brother had secured that role long ago. A certain feeling of doom settled across Abraham’s shoulders as he stared out across the ocean, the white cliffs towering above him in ominous observance of his task: to woo and marry a woman of substantial dowry. The wind on the Brighton beach whipped through his hair, but he gave it no mind. His valet would have him presented to perfection when he returned to his room. He let out the tension in his chest through one large breath after another. So much of his future success rode on this one house party.

  Loud giggling carried over to him on the wind, and he was reminded of a persistent woman he’d met in London one month past. Another burst of laughter and a feminine exclamation, and he felt sure of its owner. Out of the corner of his eye, her figure came into view, and he groaned. Miss Margaret Tittering. And her intrusive guardian, Mrs. Harrow. Praise be, her guardian was at least present. Miss Tittering had spent the whole of one London ball trying to sequester him in a corner. A forced tie to her would not be endurable, dowry or no.

  Her excited chatter grew nearer.

  He froze. If he ran, she’d surely see him. Carefully positioning himself so that he faced completely away from the pair of them, he held his breath.

  “Lord Bolton!” Her shout sounded small, wispy enough he could ignore it. Desperately he searched the beach for a diversion, something, anything; for he knew she would call his name again, and then he’d be relied upon to acknowledge her and escort them.

  A lone figure, a woman in a white dress, with a full bonnet covering any view of her face, walked along the water’s edge. Perfect. He moved in her direction, picking up his pace when he heard another call of his name.

  At last arriving at her side, he bowed to speak to the side of her head in urgent undertones. “Please, miss, this will seem so untoward, but I am in need of your assistance.”

  Her head swung in his direction so fast she nipped his eye with the rim of her bonnet.

  “Ah. Oh, ow, woman, you’ve sliced me in the eye.” Tears poured from his eye and it stung, a desperate need to blink plaguing him.

  She sniffed and turned away. “Well, if you hadn’t come upon me in such a brash manner, and we not even introduced, I imagine your eye would have been spared.”

  Miss Tittering moved closer. He could hear her and almost smell her intense scent of rose, always too much rose. With one hand over his still suffering eye, he began again. “I know we don’t know one another, but I am in need of some assistance. If you wouldn’t mind pretending as if we were acquainted?”

  Her eyes lifted to his, and he was struck by the brightness of the blue staring back at him. Her pert nose wrinkled; her lips thinned. She looked as though she would turn away again, but he held out his arm. “Please. Might we suppose we are dear friends, and I have agreed to escort you and catch up on our mothers.” She eyed him with disdain, but a tiny flicker of adventure danced across her expression, and he knew he had a chance. “Please, take my arm? Perhaps you are in need of your chaperone? We can go to her forthwith.”

  “I don’t know what to say. It’s all highly improper, and my chaperone, you are most correct I have one—Mrs. Dotting is her name—is not even here to advise me.” She eyed him with no small amount of suspicion.

  He gave her his most charming smile and waited. “I am in the most desperate need.”

  Her mouth twitched, and she placed a gloved hand over her lips to hide what he hoped was a smile. “Oh, I suppose there is no harm in it.” She placed a hand on his arm. “There. Now will you tell me what this is all about? I’ve never met the likes of you.” Her fingers trembled on his arm. How young a creature had he imposed himself upon? Tendrils of guilt disturbed his peace, but before addressing any wrong to his new accomplice, he must rid himself of other annoyances.

  Miss Tittering approached with her companion not far behind, her face red from the exertion of walking across the tiny rocks that made up the beaches in Brighton. “Lord Bolton! I knew it was you. What a delight, what pure enjoyment will be ours. Imagine both of us here in Brighton at the same time.”

  Before she could make a move to attach herself to his other arm, he bowed, “Miss Tittering. Mrs. Harrow.” He dipped his head to them both. “I too am surprised at our being here the same week. Imagine. Standing on the same rocks.” He turned to his companion, the side of her bonnet all he could make out as far as her expression. “I would like to introduce a Miss, eh . . . Bumbly.”

  She gasped and turned to him, her mouth wide. He searched her youthful expression. He’d wager she was just out of the school room if out in society at all. But what seemed like a stubborn streak to her personality told him she might not let youth or innocence deter a setting down in response to his personal affront to her name and privacy.

  He winked. “And Miss Bumbly, this is Miss Tittering and Mrs. Harrow.”

  The three ladies curtseyed, and he bowed. “Lovely day to take a stroll, but Miss Tittering, Mrs. Harrow, I do feel that apologies are in order, for I’ve just been given the task of accompanying this young lady, the ward of a friend . . .”

  Her fingers tightened on his arm.

  “To her chaperone. You’ve happened upon us quite at the moment of our departure. I’m sure you understand.” His eye started to sting again, and he wiped at it.

  Miss Tittering eyed him in suspicion. “Lord Bolton, are you ill?”

  “He is abominably ill-used.” The surprisingly wicked raise of Miss Bumbly’s eyebrow held Lord Bolton’s attention.

  Then he coughed. “Pardon?”

  “Yes, attacked.” She nodded to the others, the decisive rise of her chin, at once powerful and charming.

  He forced a straight face. “Attacked . . .”

  “By a seagull.”

  The ladies gasped and searched the air in alarm.

  “The evil bird came at him while he was searching the sky for . . . um, rain.” She looked away, her mouth twitching furiously.

  All Abraham could do was stare in amazement.


  “Until it dropped a bit of something right inside.”

  The ladies stepped back with expressions of disgust.

  Aghast at the thought, he shook his head. “That did not . . .”

  She lifted her hand and tilted her head in warning.

  He coughed. “Did not surprise me in the least, for this beach has the most vicious and intrusive birds.” He searched the empty sky again for one. “And now, if you’ll excuse us? I must get this young lady back to those who care for her.” He dipped his head and led the lady away toward the house. He would thank the seas she came with him, her tiny hand still gracing his arm and her small frame in step beside him.

  When they were sure to be alone, she sniffed. “Do you find yourself in this situation often? In need of subterfuge to rid yourself of unwanted women?” Her face was completely blank, and he couldn’t tell if she disapproved. Though he suspected her opinion of him not too high.

  “A seagull? Leaving dropping in my eye? Come now.”

  “I felt it fitting.”

  “I do thank you for your timely assistance. How pleasurable for me to discover someone as lovely as you to hide me.” He grinned, hoping she would turn her head again so that he might look into her face, but he kept his distance, already the victim of her bonnet rim.

  Thinking of it caused his eyes to water once again.

  “Do take this if you must wipe at your eye incessantly.” She handed him a lace handkerchief.

  He dipped his head. “I thank you. It does sting a bit.” The gift smelled of a lovely mix of oranges and lemons. “Much better. And now I’m in your debt twofold.”

  “I admit I assumed your need truly dire, as you communicated.” She sniffed. “Though I’m unconvinced it is precisely as you say.”

  “My situation is dire indeed. Has she gone?”

  The woman glanced up the beach. “No.” Then she turned from him and huffed. “Miss Bumbly? I cannot even remember how to say it correctly. Is Bumbly to be my new name? Someone’s ward?”

  He did not blame her for her disapproval. But he must continue to beg her good will. “I didn’t know what to do. What recourses were left to me, we not yet introduced?”

  Her chin rose higher and her eyes flashed. “I refuse to allow you to be the victim. You have come upon me, begged my help, changed my identity and reduced me to the status of someone’s ward.”

  “I shall make amends, I promise, but first, I believe we must carry on a little longer? Has she gone?”

  “Still no.”

  “Then I’m afraid I must beg to trespass more upon your kindness. For we must continue to seem as though we are quite fond of one another.” He turned to face her, stepping as close as he dared to the skittish miss. “Like so. Now, if you would, look up into my face as though I’m important to you.”

  She brushed a hair from her face and then fisted her hand. He was impressed with her fire. But as she tipped up her bonnet, her eyes wide, he nearly stepped back at the innocence that stared back. She eyed him for a moment and then asked, “Like this?”

  Enchanting, with the full force of her face looking up into his. He’d rarely met such a beauty. Who was this woman? She was youthful, yes, but as he studied the curve of her beautiful neckline, the softness of her skin, the curve of her lips, he saw nothing of the child. He breathed. “Excellent. Just so. And now I will move my hand to adjust this one curl, here.” He waited for her to nod her acceptance, and then he moved it out of her face, enjoying the soft feel of her skin just skimming against his fingers. The errant curl held its perfectly coiled shape.

  “Oh.” Her face flushed.

  “Have you had a season?”

  She nodded. “Just one, but it was cut short, you see, else I’d be married now, surely. That’s the way it is done, is it not?” She seemed flustered.

  He stepped back. “I don’t hear her any longer. Would you mind causally gazing about the beach and tell me if they are close?”

  She blinked and turned her head. He held back a laugh at her overly large attempt to appear indifferent. Then she nodded. “They are still here.” She straightened. “I feel I have spent enough time with you alone on this beach. Mrs. Dotting should have been here by now. She is my chaperone, if you remember.”

  He held out his arm. “I am greatly in your debt. I thank you for your kindness, for you have saved me from a lengthy and uncomfortable encounter. I’d be happy to continue in my escort to find her?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Your uncomfortable encounter has been avoided, yet you have gifted me my own. It is all so very untoward. I don’t quite know what to do. Nothing in the books, not even my governess has prepared me for the likes of you.” Her cheeks colored again, and he was charmed.

  “The likes of me? And how exactly would you describe the likes of me?” He had immediately found a most diverting activity in unsettling his beautiful new companion.

  “Oh, you are too much. Which is precisely your measure. Too much. Too improper, too reckless. Untoward.” She gasped. “They warned me against men such as you.”

  He laughed again, completely fascinated by her. “I imagine they did.” Then a worry crept in. She’d been warned against men such as his brother, but he, Abraham, was a harmless flirt, not a do-nothing, gambling waste of a human. He’d heard himself described as a jovial nature, a fun associate, a flirt, for years. He was, wasn’t he? He paused to consider his actions. Perhaps not to this woman, in this instance. Perhaps he would need to amend her opinion of him. As soon as he avoided Miss Tittering completely.

  They walked a minute more, Abraham wishing they could linger, but her steps were hurried. “Let me ask you this. Was our encounter enjoyable?”

  She started to nod and then stiffened. “That hardly signifies, as I doubt very much it was proper.”

  “Oh, but it wasn’t improper. There are so many delightful activities that fall right in that area of not proper but not terribly improper either.” He stood taller. “Because I am of the proper sort. Though at times my activities might diverge into the questionable but not improper.”

  She sniffed. “I think I shall manage my actions so as to stay well within those defined as decidedly proper.”

  He laughed and steadied her as they made their way. “Then you might miss the magic. And we can’t have that. Take this morning, for example . . .”

  A matronly looking woman, red in the face, hurried towards them, her hands in a flurry, her bonnet attempting to fly away in the wind, tendrils of her hair blowing out about her face.

  “That is Mrs. Dotting.”

  “Your chaperone?”

  “Yes, and she doesn’t look pleased.”

  “Before she arrives and unsettles things, consider carefully. If we kept ourselves so decidedly within staid lines of your chaperone’s creation, I would have missed spending time with you.” He dipped his head so as to be within sight from within the walls of her rather large and dangerous bonnet. “I’ve been enchanted. I shall never accept time with such an exquisite creature to be a crime.”

  Her mouth opened, her eyes wide. She said nothing, but he saw a hint of the daring, a hint that told him she would be an engaging conquest, a truly diverting flirtation.

  Mrs. Dotting approached. “Oh, my lady, my dear. I apologize for my delay.” She bustled her way in between the two of them and eyed him with the greatest suspicion.

  She was titled? Again he cursed his brother’s reckless behavior that such a thing should matter in the search for a wife. He bowed his most gallant effort. “I thank you for your time this fine morning. Perhaps we shall some day truly meet?”

  Mrs. Dotting gasped. “You’ve not been introduced. Oh my dear.” She eyed Abraham and her charge.

  Highly amused, Abraham watched the guilt take over his accomplice’s face, but as her eyes flitted to his, that same adventurous glint dared him to pursue the diversions they could have together. Alas, he could not. So he nodded. “Thank you. I’ve had an enlightening morning.”

>   She bustled away, chattering with Mrs. Dotting toward the very stairs he would ascend. Could it be? Were they to attend the same house party? He watched them unabashedly until they were almost out of sight and was rewarded with a glance over her shoulder in his direction.

  Triumphantly, he raised his arm in response. She whipped her head back to the front so quickly, he had to laugh. She was diverting. And certainly completely unavailable to him.

  CHAPTER 2

  F elicity Honora Honeyfield had never felt so discomfited in her life. The wind blew her hair, but it stayed nicely secured beneath her bonnet. The rocks were uneven and shifted beneath her feet, but she walked with steady ease toward the path leading up to the Garveys’ house party. Her gloves remained glaringly white. Her skirts fell precisely to the tops of her slippers. Everything appeared to be under control. But she could do nothing about her heart’s rebellious, erratic beat. She could do nothing for the strange upheaval she’d never experienced before. The man’s shocking behavior should have horrified her. And yet.

  Mrs. Dotting’s constant looks in her direction were not helping. They hurried together up the beach toward the path to the house. Felicity resisted looking in any other direction and resisted wondering what more had happened to a certain man who she hoped not to notice ever again. Did he watch their progress across the beach?

  She clasped her hands to her front, steadying her steps as she walked. “We must greet our hostess; I believe it is high time.” When their carriage had arrived, she had wanted a brief respite with the ocean air all about her after so many hours of travel. She expected the walk to restore her constitution, but instead she was . . . unsettled was the best way to describe her current state . . . and unsure. Her stomach clenched in an upheaval not altogether unpleasant, but not at all calm.

  She shook off the tingling sensation on the back of her hand where he’d pressed his lips and marched with purpose across the rest of the steep incline to do her duty to Mrs. Garvey, the hostess. Did he watch her? Every part of her awoke in awareness of movement, conscious of the rise of her shoulders, of the fall of her feet. If he watched, what did he see? She resisted turning her head, though her body burned with the sensation of being watched, the pleasant awareness of alluring eyes, friendly curiosity, interest. She and Mrs. Dotting stepped on the first of the stone stairs, leading back up to the house. Five more steps to a turn in the stairwell, and Felicity would turn out of sight of the beach. What if she never saw him again? Did he watch her still? She risked a glance over her shoulder, and when his hand raised in farewell, she gasped, and then a sudden giggle shocked her in its escape from her own lips. Mrs. Dotting eyed her in alarm.