The Earl and the Nightingale: Historical Regency Romance Novel Read online

  “Of course,” she said. “And will you be coming to the banquet? I simply have to have you by my side. I hear that caterwauling French woman has dared to attend, and we simply must put her in her place. Would you help? I know how witty you are.”

  “You do?” he said, perplexed.

  “Why of course! You were the wittiest man at that frightful display at Covent Garden. I shouldn’t wonder she has taken a lover who has decided to parade her around in good company. There is a rumor going around that she has taken up with one of the old earls. It is simply too delicious.”

  Jonathan was horrified that she would do something so cruel and decided to beat a hasty retreat before he said anything untoward.

  “I am most frightfully sorry, but I shall turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of midnight. I couldn’t risk such a calamity.” Cordelia laughed, and her laugh reminded Jonathan of a pig snorting. He was both horrified and disgusted by her coarseness.

  “I must tell you that I am devastated, but I expect you to attend my next at-home day on Monday, Jonathan Anderson-Reese!” she said slipping her calling card into his trouser pocket.

  Surprised and unnerved, Jonathan scurried away from her, snatched Garance’s overcoat as well as his own, and his umbrella, and scampered back to Garance.

  “Let us go immediately, if not sooner!” he said. “This is a den of thieves!”

  “Is there something the matter, dear Jonathan?”

  “It is nothing,” he said. “Just a matter of the coarseness of English society. Too many of these daughters and sons of industrialists. I daresay that level of civility in this company is quite low.”

  “Ils sont fous ces anglais!” she said under her breath. “Well I enjoyed your company, Jonathan. I enjoyed speaking with the Prince, and I enjoyed the champagne. It was French I believe, was it not?”

  Jonathan laughed, trying his best to cover his feelings of humiliation on behalf of the English.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After the Ball

  In the carriage on the way back to St. Martin-in-the-fields, Garance was quiet and pensive, and it made Jonathan uncomfortable to be sitting there with nothing to say. He had believed with all his heart that this ball would be a wonderful experience for Garance, a unique and memorable event, and his hopes for her had been dashed. As he discovered, English society could be terribly judgmental and closed to foreigners. He had heard the expression from several of his father’s friends, mainly army types, that “strangers begin at Calais”, but he had always assumed that these sorts of absurd feelings and expressions were confined to the narrow minds of the military men he had known.

  To his disappointment, society appeared to be very closed to new members, as he began to realize when he noted that the young ladies whose fathers were recently enriched through their industry, ingenuity, or thievery were all assumed to be criminal in some way, despite the origins of their fortunes. In fact, he realized to his consternation, that was precisely what he had done to Cordelia, and he felt himself to be a cad. He resolved to visit her on Monday.

  “I think we should attend some of these games. They have several dens in Cheapside, or so Camille tells me.”

  “Who is Camille?” asked Jonathan.

  “Why she is my lady’s maid. She speaks perfect English and has investigated these dens in what they call Tiger Alley.”

  “Tiger Alley? Sounds frightfully dangerous.”

  “Doesn’t it though?” She laughed, and the sound of tinkling glass reverberated through the carriage.

  “Yes, it does, and not in that same exciting sort of way as the new novels. What exactly does it refer to?”

  “It refers to a number of these so-called gambling dens, or Pharaoh dens, where gentlemen congregate to bet on this game called Pharaoh.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Garance, and I really am most grateful, but I do not think we should be discussing this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is unseemly, and I am not at all myself.”

  “Not yourself? What do you mean?”

  “This evening’s events have put me rather off my game, I’m afraid. Would it be alright if we were to speak of something else? Perhaps your next concert? When is it?”

  “Why, you know very well that I have no further concerts until next Sunday, Jonathan,” she said. “You seem to have suddenly changed. Tell me why?” She took his hand as he looked out the window.

  “I suppose it is the humiliation of this whole affair. I have had many lessons in the past few days that have made me change my mind about many things.”

  “Things?”

  “Why, yes. For example, I have been brought up to believe that earning money is frightfully mundane, that a gentleman is a man of leisure, able to contemplate the great thoughts, to be a member of the House of Lords. And soon I shall be a member of the House of Lords, but I shall be unable to give my attention to the noble sport of fox hunting, or whatever these fools spend their time thinking about.”

  “You know, my love,” said Garance quietly. “That may not be such a terrible thing. My country fought a revolution to stop gentlemen from thinking such silly things.”

  “I am aware of that!” he said smiling. “It’s really nothing, I suppose, and I am being frightfully selfish, but I seem to have been thrust into the world of the bourgeoisie, rather precipitously. That is all.”

  “Well, I like you the way you are,” she said taking his hand in hers, and caressing it warmly.

  “Thank you. But there is more. I have had to take a leave of absence from Oxford, and well, dash it all, I miss my chums. I hardly had a chance to spend five minutes in their company because I simply didn’t have the energy to chase after them and their silly childish games.”

  “This is a wonderful thing, Jonathan,” said Garance. “When one is forced to grow up suddenly, one can only thank God that one has left behind the childish things and come into the world of men.”

  “I suppose,” he said. “But it puts a chap off his nut a little, can’t you see?”

  “I see you behaving appallingly,” she said teasing him.

  “Well, I do not mean to,” he said. “In any case, I have had enough of social life for a little while. I’m afraid I must return to the thrilling world of barristers and solicitors, and the like while I settle the family affairs. May I write to you, or perhaps call on you?”

  “I should be delighted if you would,” said Garance warmly.

  The carriage had arrived at her quarters in St. Martin-in-the-fields.

  “Good night, dearest Jonathan,” said Garance as she leaned over to him and kissed him on the lips. Jonathan was seized with passion for her at this moment and clasped her around the waist, passionately kissing her back. They sat in the carriage, while the rain pelted down on the roof, and the driver sat haplessly in the very wet seat above waiting for them to finish.

  Inside, Garance kissed him on his face and his hands, while Jonathan returned her ardor with great vigor. He ran his fingers up and down her body, admiring her many curves, and he kissed her breasts and her neck as she gasped with the passion of a woman who was truly in love.

  “Jonathan,” she gasped. “I have been so blessed to know you, and I could not be happier than I am at this very moment.”

  “And I am happier than I have ever been before as well, my dearest one!” he replied kissing her hands and her wrists before pulling her closer to his warm and passionate body. He kissed her with the ardor of a man who knows his ship is doomed, and only when the driver finally leapt from the seat, sodden and miserable, and knocked on the door of the carriage, did he stop, and bid her a fond good night.

  “Do come again very soon, won’t you, my love?”

  “Of course, I shall,” he said as he led her to the door. At the door, while they waited for the butler to attend to them, he kissed her with a passion of a condemned man. And she returned his passion with her own desperate love.

  “Good night, good night,” he said
quoting Shakespeare. “Parting is such sweet sorrow that I could say ‘good night’ till it be morrow.”

  “You are the most passionate man I have ever met, Jonathan Anderson-Reese. And I am still so surprised that I should have met you in this most frigid country.”

  Jonathan laughed as she shut the door.

  He returned to the carriage, where the driver, furious by now and soaked, looked at Jonathan with a steely glare.

  “Now see here, Sir Jonafan. I have a few fings to say.”

  “Yes, well then, get on with it. What have you to say?” he replied annoyed. “But please, sir, be good enough to tell me your Christian name so that I can address you properly, for you have me at a disadvantage.”

  “My name is Nayfan,” he said scowling. “It’s only that I have not been paid nuffing for this month, and if I don’t get paid, I can’t continue to work for you. You seem like a nice bloke and all, but I need to feed my family, see? I’m not a man of means, and if I don’t get pay from you, I can’t keep driving this ‘ere ‘ack. You see my drift?”

  “Indeed I do, Nathan, I do, and I shall endeavor to remedy that at my earliest opportunity. Please, though, Nathan, can you please take me to my home?”

  “Yeah, I can do that, but only because it’s my ‘ome as well at present owing to the fact that me wife has tossed me out, and all.”

  “I’m most obliged, Nathan, and please forgive me this oversight.”

  Jonathan jumped into the carriage, and Nathan drove him home. Although he maintained a good humor for the purpose of the conversation with the driver, he was torn in several directions. On the one hand, he was madly and passionately in love with his dear Garance, and on the other hand, he was utterly humiliated and embarrassed that he was destitute and trying to maintain a public persona of a gentleman. While Garance, being a French woman, did not fully grasp the importance of a family fortune, for an Englishman, this was something that was unbearable.

  When they arrived at his home on Wimpole Street, he looked at its grand facade and wondered if he would have to leave. Nathan pulled up in front and he descended from the carriage. Nathan drove around to the coach house, and out of sight. Alone, he looked up and down the street, and noticed the narrowness of the place. He was in the center of London, where the streets were often much wider than this and somehow, this street, with its working-class facades, was still considered fashionable. Perhaps it’s a sign that this is my destiny, he thought wryly. The idea of being ruined was something that Jonathan was not brought up to contemplate, and as a result, he found it extremely difficult to imagine. Would he get a job in some counting house, adding figures for an alehouse?

  As he turned from the street to the door of his place, he imagined himself working in some counting house, wearing those gloves with the fingers cut out, a muffler tied around his neck as he tried to warm himself from the single taper that illuminated the otherwise dark and frigid room. He was horrified at the thought of entering numbers in a ledger, and contracting consumption at an early age, or chilblains or frostbite. He looked into his own future and saw only misery, hardship, and bleak and unhappy days.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cordelia

  The following morning was Tuesday, and Jonathan awoke alone. It was early in the morning and there had been some disturbance outside, and that disturbance awoke him without letting him know why. He looked down at the street and saw a young woman rushing, looking afraid. She was alone though, and her dress and her demeanor made him consider the possibility that she was a lady of easy virtue, who had been unceremoniously ejected from one of the more fashionable abodes, in the hopes that the neighbors would not learn of the indiscretion of one of its denizens.

  Jonathan looked at his watch. It was only just after six in the morning. He noted that he had been foolish enough last night to fall asleep in his damp clothing, and he felt very much the worse for wear.

  Tuesday, according to the soggy card in his pocket, was one of Cordelia’s ‘at home’ days.

  That moment the previous night, in which he imagined his future without his fortune, combined with the awkward end to the awkward evening with Garance, convinced him that it was time he spruced himself up and devote himself to the task that would save himself and his family from ruin.

  He had been receiving letters from his mother and his sister, and he had failed to respond adequately to them, because of his obsession with Garance. She was a woman he respected and admired, a woman he was preternaturally drawn to, but he also experienced the liberties the young men who were in his circle would take with her because she was, as they would say, ‘not one of us.’ And so, he could not figure out how best to respond. There was no appropriate response.

  And so, he resolved to do right by his family. He opened the letters, which were filled with requests to see the barrister who was to take care of the will of his father, or to somehow finish off this frightful situation, even if it meant the descent of the sword of Damocles on to his head.

  He knew what he had to do. He rose from the fitful sleep of his soggy bed and tossed off his fine clothing that was beginning to smell musty from the rain, performed his grooming ritual, shaving in front of a mirror, brushing his hair, and filling the basin with water that he used to clean his face and ears. Then, he found some fresh and somewhat fashionable clothes, and went downstairs to find himself something to eat.

  He found some gruel bubbling on the hob, and wondered how it got made. Probably that driver, what was his name? Nathan. Probably. Or perhaps it was actually taken care of by the housekeeper, Mrs. Porter. She had a habit of coming and going and doing kind things.

  He chewed on the tasteless mess he had in a bowl and realized he had been alone too much. He had had very few interactions of any consequence that would help him to resolve his awful situation. It made it difficult to think about things in a calm and deliberate way. As he poured a cup of luke-warm tea, he thought about what needed to be done. This situation could not go on any longer.

  He needed to call on that dullard, Cordelia de Montmorency. The idea that he would be selling himself out to that fool curdled the porridge in his stomach, but at some level he knew this was something he would have to, at least, try to do. And so, he resolved to go today, as she had indicated it was her ‘at home’ day, and that he must pay a morning call.

  In the meantime, he did not know what to do with himself. Morning calls, of course, were between three and five in the afternoon, and he wanted to be the first person there, so that he could get the obnoxious reason for his visit over with.

  At three, he was in front of her house, knocking at the oversized lion’s head knocker on the gaudy front door. He felt distinctly small, as though someone had shrunk him to half his size, as he stood there at their front door.

  The door opened, and a portly middle-aged woman in a black dress and a white apron and lace cap answered, looking distinctly surprised to see a man. As a rule, ‘at home’ days were used by young unmarried women to keep in touch, and when a man attended, it was often regarded as a forerunner to a proposal. And Jonathan knew this.

  “Good afternoon. I am Jonathan Anderson-Reese, Earl of Yarmouth. I am told that it is at home hours for Miss Cordelia de Montmorency.”

  “It is, and all, sir,” said the woman in the doorway. “I didn’t know to expect you, sir.”

  “I see,” said Jonathan. “Is she in?”

  “Yes, of course. She is just doing some needlepoint in the parlor. Would you like to enter?”

  Jonathan smiled sweetly. “By your leave,” he said and the woman giggled.

  “Oh sir!” she said. “You are too kind.”

  The housekeeper led him down a narrow hallway to a room in which Cordelia sat, needlepoint in her hands. As he entered, she looked up and a look of shock passed over her face.

  “Jonathan!” said Cordelia, dropping her needlepoint on the floor. “I didn’t know to expect you.” She looked past him in a mirror, checking to see if there were any
stray hairs falling from her chignon, and wiping her face clear of sheen. It was clear from her coiffure alone that she had been expecting him, and that she had taken remarkable attention to her physical presentation. Her hair was more than usually curled, and it hung in a very attractive way along the sides of her lovely head. Her skin was unblemished and quite beautiful in its alabaster splendor, and her lips were full and smiling, revealing those perfect teeth. Her dull blue eyes were the only thing that revealed the unpleasant soul inside, thought Jonathan.

  “But you invited me, Cordelia, do you not remember?”

  “Oh well, of course I remember. It’s only...” her voice trailed off as she primped in front of the mirror. This went on rather too long, making Jonathan uncomfortable. Her dress was far too formal for an ‘at home’ day. She was dressed in a white raw silk dress with black vertical stripes. It was cut in an Empire waist, with a deep décolleté, and she wore an ivory cameo on a gold chain that hung at her cleavage. It was clear that she had the intention of attracting his eye, and, being a man, after all, his eye did travel in that downward journey. However, he made every attempt to focus his attention on the woman and not the bosom.