Fighting For His Lady

by Christi Caldwell

  Godrick started over. A gentle summer breeze whispered about them, calming and peaceful. “I didn’t believe you’d want to.” The hesitancy of that admission wrenched at her. “After Edwin—” He stopped abruptly and, turning on his heel, wandered away several steps.

  Drawn as she’d always been, Patience drifted after him. “What happened?” Because the man Godrick was and had always been would never have deliberately beat her brother into partial blindness. Even when he’d broken her heart with his lies, she’d never believed him capable of violence.

  His shoulders went taut, straining the fabric of his flawless sapphire jacket. “I came after your father’s death.”

  The world froze on its axis and then resumed spinning at a frantic rate. “You came,” she whispered. All these years, she’d believed that he’d not given them another thought after he’d left. Had hated him for not coming when her father died. Only to find out now, four years too late, that he had been there. But why?

  “I asked to see you. I… pleaded with your brother. With Edwin. He turned me away. Ordered me gone.”

  Oh, God. When her father had died, Godrick… had come. Her legs weakened, and she shot her hand out for purchase, finding it against the steel gas lamp.

  “He’d just died,” Godrick went on, his voice hoarse. “I wouldn’t cause you more upset that day.” His throat moved. “I’d already caused you enough pain.”

  Her eyes slid closed. Despite his betrayal, he’d been whom she’d needed that day. The man she’d wanted there. She had always been stronger with him at her side.

  Patience made herself open her eyes. “So you left.” Her words emerged a barely-there whisper.

  His nod confirmed he heard that faint threadbare sound of her voice. “He attacked me when I walked away.” He scrubbed a hand over his face; but not before she detected the way his features contorted in a paroxysm of grief. “He kept coming. I tried to back away. Evading any more of his blows. But he wouldn’t quit,” he whispered. Godrick sucked in a slow, pained breath. “I meant to stop him and nothing more. I lifted my elbow to shield myself from one of the blows, but I caught him.” Her heart froze. “In the temple.” Tears gleamed in his eyes. “I tried to help him inside,” there was something pleading in his tone, “but he ordered me gone.”

  Oh, God. Godrick had come to her and then, her brother had attacked him for it. “You thought I would blame you,” she said, the puzzle at last making sense. Why he’d failed to pay respects to a man who’d trained him. Why he’d not come to be at Patience’s side. How many secrets had existed between them, and how many had kept them apart? Patience moved quickly and positioned herself before him. She caught his face in her palms. “I would never blame you for defending yourself against Edwin,” she said adamantly. “He was an angry boy and grew into an even more bitter man.”

  And yet… what reason had there been for Godrick to think that she would not have been able to forgive him? The weight of that realization hit her hard in the chest. And not for the first time, she wished she’d handled so much, so differently.

  Godrick slid his eyes closed, and when he opened them, there was a peace contained within their emerald depths. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

  She grabbed his hands; taking them in her own. “You had every reason to expect I’d not be receptive to listening to you and for that, I am so sorry. Just as I am so grateful that you came… that day.” So much time, lost.

  His fingers twined with hers, and he squeezed lightly… and in their joined palms, was… forgiveness.

  But I want more…

  I want so much more with him…

  Then, as if fate had heard that wish and mocked her for it, Godrick released her. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I expect you are tired. I promised to give you this.” He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a thick folded sheet of ivory vellum.

  Furrowing her brow, she looked at the black seal and then took the page. “What is—?”

  “It is a personal invitation from Prinny for your entire family.” An invitation? “In honor of the triumph at Waterloo and to celebrate his birthday.”

  Patience dropped her gaze to the noble crest marked upon it. This was also why he’d come, then. To extend an invitation on behalf of the Prince Regent… for a ball. Her palms moistened. A sea of lords and ladies, guests of the prince, surrounded by dignitaries. And then… her. And her siblings of their lot.

  “My parents will also be there.”

  That brought her head flying up. She choked. “Your parents?” Of course, they’d be present at one of the most celebrated events.

  But a powerful duke and duchess and… Patience? She couldn’t go to such an event.

  “You belong there,” Godrick said quietly.

  How easily he’d always followed her thoughts.

  She shook her head, but he cupped her cheek in his hand, staying that movement. “You belong there,” he repeated, caressing her face in a tender touch that threatened to shatter her. “And I want you there. Not as Sam’s sister. Not as Prinny’s guest.” He paused. “As my… betrothed.”

  A loud humming filled her ears. “As your…”

  He fell to a knee. “You are all I’ve ever wanted: your smile, your laughter, your hand in mine. And even as I’ve made so many mistakes, I’d ask that we begin again. Marry me, Patience… please,” he said softly.

  A plea… for her to marry him? She shook her head: trying to process what he asked and what it meant and… any of it.

  His smile faltered. “You don’t want to marry me.” His tone emerged deadened.

  “No,” she exclaimed. His brow dipped. “That is yes.”

  He cocked his head.

  Running her hands over her face, she took a deep breath, and tried again. “Of course I love you. I want to marry you,” it was all she’d ever wanted, “but…” She wasn’t born to the nobility.

  Godrick brushed a loose red curl back behind her ear. “Since I first knew you, you questioned your worth. Oh, but you did,” he said, continuing over her sound of protest. “I only hurt you more by not revealing the truth of my birthright. But Patience Storm, you have been running from the world, and now, I’d ask you to stand beside me.”

  Head swimming, she backed up a step. What he spoke of, what he offered was both her every hope and her ugliest fear. She’d been born the daughter of a seamstress and a London street fighter. A life of societal scrutiny, where she was whispered about… She didn’t belong to the ton… and yet… Patience lifted her gaze to his. I want a life with him. I want to know the laughter I’ve had these past four weeks. She wanted a family with him. “I never wanted to live amongst the ton.” A muscle leaped at the corner of his right eye. “I never longed for balls or fancy gowns and sweeping town houses.” Her gaze wandered beyond his shoulder. “The moment I learned you were a duke’s son, I hated y-you.” Her voice broke, and he closed the space between them. “I hated you because I would never belong to your world. And I didn’t realize until I lost you.”

  “Realize what?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “I didn’t care what world I belonged to, unless it was one with you in it.”

  Hope leaped into his eyes. “Is that a yes, love?”

  The weight of self-doubt and sadness suddenly lifted.

  A half-sob, half-laugh spilled from her lips. “That is a yes.”

  With a groan, Godrick pulled her into an embrace that promised forever.

  Epilogue

  Time stretched on as Patience sat perched on the edge of the carriage seat, unmoving. The crimson velvet squabs belonged to a conveyance grander than the finest one her family had ever owned, sent round by the Prince Regent himself in honor of Sam’s victory.

  “Smile,” Ruth urged. “You look as though you’re attending your own funeral.”

  Which, in fairness to her sister’s supposition, was rather on the mark. Patience hadn’t managed a true smile since she had risen. In the light of day had come the realization th
at she’d have to enter his world. Nonetheless, for her sister’s benefit, she forced her lips up—

  “Egad, that’s a nasty grimace,” Sam piped in. “Less of that. You’ve the look of a wolf.”

  Ruth kicked him in the shins, earning a grunt. “Hush, it’s entirely different if I tell as her sister than you.” Her youngest sibling looked back in Patience’s direction. “That was a horrid grimace. Try again.”

  She made her next best attempt. By the beleaguered sighs, it was another dismal failure. But she also welcomed the distraction as it prevented her from thinking of exiting the carriage, climbing those steps, and confronting the lions of Polite Society.

  “It will have to do,” Ruth conceded.

  Sam consulted his timepiece. “Is it time?” That exasperated question coming now the third time since they’d arrived at Vauxhall.

  Patience gave her head a little shake. Not yet.

  “We’re going to miss the entire evening,” Ruth complained under her breath and yanked the curtain back. The glow of the gas lamps sent light into the conveyance, illuminating the grounds.

  Wetting her lips, Patience forced her gaze away from the tops of her brother’s and sister’s heads and looked about at this latest luxury earned from Sam’s triumph over King. Everything about this moment, from the black barouche, to the soft satin of her gown, to the street they even now sat parked upon, had the peculiar feel of a dream.

  The unease twisting away in her belly, however, proved the realness of this moment.

  Patience pressed her eyes closed. She would step inside a masquerade thrown in honor of Prinny’s birthday and the great triumph at Waterloo. She, Patience Storm, the daughter of a seamstress and street fighter. People would stare and mock. What if Godrick’s family shunned her? No duke or duchess wanted a baseborn spinster as a daughter-in-law. The worries tumbled over one another until her breath came hard and fast.

  Callused fingers covered her own, forcing her eyes open. She looked down at her sister’s hand. Sam layered his own upon Ruth’s. “We’re Storms,” Ruth said simply, with pride and strength that chased back every reservation that had dogged her that day.

  We are Storms. They were not noble or born of wealth and prestige… but they were a family of strength and resilience. You have been running from the world, and I’d ask you to stand beside me… Godrick’s words whispered around her mind, giving her courage.

  “Is it time?” Ruth muttered impatiently for now a sixth time.

  “It is time,” Patience whispered. It was time to enter Godrick’s world and make it theirs together.

  “It’s about bloody time,” Ruth grumbled, knocking the wall of the carriage. A moment later, one of the Prince Regent’s finely liveried servants drew the door open and helped Ruth down. The bewigged man then held a hand back up to Patience. She made to take it when Sam stopped her.

  She looked questioningly to him. “Thank you,” he said quietly, with more seriousness than she’d ever seen of him.

  Patience furrowed her brow.

  “You knew I needed instruction,” he clarified. “Knew what my weaknesses were.” Pain darkened his eyes. “Knew I needed more than Edwin’s guidance. I don’t know what once passed between you and Godrick, but I’m grateful to you for going to him and finding happiness with him again.” Leaning over, he bussed her on the cheek. He immediately flushed and then jumped down.

  Patience hesitated once more and, before her courage deserted her, accepted Sam’s proffered hand. With Sam between the two of them, she and Ruth made their way through the grounds of Vauxhall. With every step, the din of the crowd grew, blending with the strains of the symphony. She battled back every fear that had ever come from existing outside this station. This was a foreign world. She had no place being here.

  You’ve been running from the world…

  They reached the entrance of the ball, and elegantly attired guests craned their heads back to glance at the latest entrants. Patience saw as their eyes tried to make out the identity of the Storm trio. We are interlopers in their world… Biting the inside of her cheek, Patience thrust aside those self-doubts and looked among the sea of guests. Searching. Searching. And finding. The tall gentleman, in all black, from the midnight sleeves of his jacket to the gleaming black of his Hessians, stood in command of the entire place. Godrick grinned, and just like that, all the tension went out of her.

  Patience smiled. Ignoring the crowd about them, he started for her. “Miss Storm,” he greeted, capturing her hand and raising it to his lips for a lingering kiss. Little shivers radiated from that delicate caress. And then, Patience registered too late the couple who stood just beyond his shoulder.

  She stiffened. By the green of Godrick’s eyes in the slender, silver-haired lady and the noble angle of the jaw belonging to the gentleman, the pair before her could be none other than the duke and duchess. Patience promptly sank into a curtsy. “Your Grace—”

  The duke touched a finger to his lips, cutting across her greeting. Immediately silenced, she colored. In a moment of pure envy, she stared after her brother and sister as they dissolved into the crowd of merry revelers. “Makes a gentleman feel old to have a young lady such as you ‘Your Gracing’ me.” He followed that with a waggle of his eyebrows. “You’ll soon discover I’m not one of those stuffy lords.”

  Startled into a laugh, Patience looked to Godrick. He winked once, and that slight, so-very-Godrick-like gesture immediately chased away all worries.

  “Now, be off to dance with my son, Miss Storm,” the duchess chided. “He’s not danced a set in ten years.”

  Ten years. Shock went through her, and she swung her gaze back to Godrick’s. All earlier teasing gone, he held out a hand. Automatically accepting that offering, she allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor, where they settled into position for the waltz.

  “Ten years,” she said softly as he guided her through the slow, sweeping circles of the dance. The forbidden steps he’d taught her long ago came as easily as the last time they’d danced back then.

  He caressed the lower curve of her back. “I’ve not danced in ten years, Patience,” he confessed. “I’ve not truly smiled.” He held her gaze. “And there has been no other woman in any way.”

  Her heart started. The papers had marked him as a rogue. They’d—

  “There has been no other,” he repeated quietly. “And there will never be another but you. I love you.”

  His words washed over her, warming her from the inside out, chasing away a lifetime of loneliness and leaving in its place a gentle peace. “I love you, Godrick Gunnery,” she whispered.

  So many years she’d resisted the idea of a future with him for the reason of the station divide between them, only to find their strength came not in any manner of fight, be it ring or over birthright, but rather in the one gift they’d found long ago—love.

  *

  Three years later

  Godrick had faced off any number of men in the ring: some men who’d been nearly a foot taller than him. Most men, some inches shorter, and several stone heavier. Not a single one of them had been able to bring him to his knees.

  Until now.

  A fist connected with his side, and Godrick grunted.

  Huffing, out of breath, he staggered. “Y-You deal a n-nasty blow,” he panted., as he clutched at his side.

  That admission earned him a quick: Jab-Jab-Jab in reply.

  Grunting, Godrick tumbled back; stumbling and pitching… and then throwing his arms wide, he gave in, surrendering, as he let himself fall back.

  He landed safely on the sofa; his efforts met with a flurry of giggles from the two-year-old boy. Clasping his chubby fists together, Henry held them aloft, and waved them about.

  “Gloating are you,” Godrick growled teasingly, and grabbing for his son, he tickled him mercilessly, in the sensitive spot behind his knees.

  Godrick framed Henry between his arms, and stared down at him: chubby-cheeked, bright blond curls, he was… perfe
ction. Clever and spirited and determined, he was so very much his mother’s child.

  And Godrick couldn’t believe he was his. That he’d been given, this greatest of gifts. So much warmth and tenderness, filled his chest, as it always did, every day. Just over three years ago, he’d never thought to know any happiness… and now to feel this, every day?

  His son stared back up with enormous, adoring eyes. “Da-Da-hug. Da-da. Huuug,” Henry said waving his chubby arms wildly. “Da-Da, huuuuuug.”

  “Now, however, can I resist such a request?” Godrick drew Henry close.

  The little boy immediately hugged him back, giggling.

  Godrick froze: feeling her presence, before he heard her. “Had she caught us, little man?”

  Henry batted at Godrick’s face; catching him in the nose and cheek. “Box-Box.”

  “She has, indeed, caught you,” Patience drawled from the doorway.

  Godrick released an exaggerated sigh. “You have given your papa away, my little man.”

  Her belly big with their second child, Patience’s gait was slower as she made her way into the parlor. “What is this training our littlest, fiercest fighter without me?” she scolded.

  Giggling, Henry squirmed out from under the shelter of Godrick’s arms, and raced across the room. “Mammmaaaa,” he squealed, and hurled himself at Patience’s legs.

  She scooped Henry up.

  Frowning, Godrick hopped to his feet, but the words of worry on his lips were cut-off, as he stared on at the sight of mother and son.

  She touched her nose to Henry’s, cooing words of praise and love.

  “Here now,” Godrick said, and rushed forward to relieve Patience of Henry. “You shouldn’t be lifting him.”

  Their son, in possession of both Godrick and Patience’s stubbornness, squirmed his way out of Godrick’s arms, and made his way back over to Patience. The little boy plunged his hands in the front of her apron pocket and fished around.

  “Is this what you are searching for, my love?” she asked in a sing-song voice. She brandished from within that same pocket, a pair of crimson painted toy soldiers.