by Tuft, Karen
His father fell in step next to him as his mother herded the others toward the drawing room. “Welcome home, son,” he said. “It’s past time you returned to the bosom of your family. Your mother in particular felt great anxiety after you traipsed off to war, taking the King’s shilling in Spain. It is good to have you with us again at last.”
“I’m truly sorry for any worry I may have caused Mama, Father. I am one of the fortunate ones. Many mothers lost and are continuing to lose sons in the fight against Napoleon.” It had been a close call for him on more than one occasion. “I’m here now at least, although I cannot say for how long. I must find the means to support myself.”
“Yourself and a family,” his father added. “As you apparently have found a bride-to-be.” He was studying Lucas closely as he spoke those words.
“Indeed, Father, although we have yet to discuss a date for the marriage. It was important to return home and spend time with my family first.”
“Quite prudent of you both, I must say.” They stood next to the drawing room door while his mother led Lavinia to a small sofa and the others took the remaining available seats in the room. “She has quite dramatic coloring, does she not? Not the run-of-the-mill English beauty at all.”
“Indeed.”
“One might wonder where the two of you became acquainted. But I suppose London has a greater variety of young ladies from which to choose a bride than we do here in our modest little corner of Lincolnshire.”
“I believe Lavinia would be considered a rare beauty even in London, Father. I feel very fortunate.”
“I’m sure you do.”
The arrival of Lucas’s elder brothers, Thomas and Isaac; Isaac’s wife, Clara; and their sister Susan interrupted them.
“Lucas!” Isaac cried, shaking Lucas’s hand before pulling him in for a brotherly hug. “I was just telling Clara this morning that my faith was foundering on whether you’d actually arrive here before the week was up and we must return to the vicarage. No sooner spoken than proven wrong, by George!”
“Clara, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Lucas said. “I hope you’ve been able to keep my brother sufficiently on the straight and narrow,” he added jokingly.
“Considering he’s the vicar, it hasn’t been too much of a strain,” she bantered back.
“It’s about time you returned,” Susan said in a low, slightly bored voice as he leaned in to kiss her offered cheek. “As you can see, I have long needed someone with whom to have a sensible conversation. I hope you have exhilarating stories of war and intrigue to share and gossip from Town to make me laugh.”
Clara jabbed her good-naturedly with her elbow.
“I shall do my best,” Lucas said, smiling.
“That is all one can ask.”
Susan was just older than Lucas, and Isaac just older than Susan. As children, the three of them had been inseparable, and he’d missed them, he realized.
Thomas, the eldest, stood apart from the others, appearing aloof and much more serious than he’d been the last time Lucas had seen him. “Thomas,” Lucas said after greeting the others. “It’s good to see you.”
“It is time you were home, Lucas. Past time,” Thomas said.
“It appears you have brought guests with you,” Susan said after peering into the drawing room. “Ah, and tea has arrived for us all. Excellent; I’m parched. You must introduce us to your friends, Lucas. They look . . . enchanting.” She bit her lip to hide an amused smile.
He could only imagine what thoughts Susan might already entertain about Lavinia and her entourage, and under other circumstances, he might have found it amusing to hear her impressions, but not today. “I would be delighted to introduce you, Susan. Come with me, all of you, if you please.”
They joined the others in the sitting room, and Lucas watched the faces of his siblings as he made the introductions. Isaac’s eyes were as wide as saucers when Lucas introduced Lavinia as his betrothed, although he was polite enough, as was Clara. Thomas’s eyes narrowed slightly before glancing at his wife to assess her reaction.
Susan, on the other hand, grinned widely. “Miss Fernley—Lavinia—may I call you Lavinia?—I believe we are going to become fast friends. I can feel it.”
Lavinia smiled warmly, although Lucas had gotten to know her well enough in the past few days to detect a glint in her eye. “I think you are right . . . Susan,” she replied. Lucas took a sip of his tea to hide a chuckle. His wily sister had asked to call Lavinia by her Christian name but hadn’t offered the same courtesy in return. The redheaded minx hadn’t let her get away with it.
Susan, for her part, turned back to Lucas. “Fast friends, indeed,” she murmured and sipped her tea.
“Miss Weston, would you care for another tea cake?” his mother asked. “Mr. Drake?”
“I would, by all means,” Mr. Drake said. “‘What nourishes me destroys me.’”
His mother looked alarmed as she placed the cake on his plate. “Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Drake?”
“Not at all, ma’am, I assure you. I say, ‘What nourishes me destroys me,’ for I could simply die of bliss at its deliciousness.”
“Marlowe,” Miss Weston said. “Well done, Arthur. He was quoting Christopher Marlowe, you see, to express his enjoyment of your tea cakes, Lady Thurlby. I quite agree with him.”
“What a relief.” Lucas’s mother said as she placed another cake on Miss Weston’s plate. “Miss Broome?”
“No, thank you, ma’am.” Miss Broome sat, looking like a fish out of water, her feet planted next to each other, her back straight, her hands clutching her cup and saucer.
“Such a lovely family you have, Lady Thurlby,” Miss Weston said after she dabbed at some crumbs speckling her chin. “Family is a wonderful blessing, is it not? We were brokenhearted for our dear Lavinia when she lost her mother . . .” Miss Weston trailed off sadly.
Lavinia shot Miss Weston a glance and surreptitiously shook her head at her.
“Oh, Miss Fernley, how dreadful for you. I’m so sorry,” his mother exclaimed.
Lavinia opened her mouth to speak—
“So you can imagine our distress,” Miss Weston said, “when our dear, dear cousin lost her father too, and such tragic circumstances they were. But perhaps those particular details would be better shared on another occasion. Today is a day of reunion and celebration, after all.”
Lavinia choked on her tea and set her saucer down, coughing.
“Are you all right, dear?” Miss Weston asked.
Lavinia glared at Miss Weston over the napkin pressed to her mouth as she continued to cough.
One wouldn’t think a woman of advanced years would be inclined to stir things up, Lucas mused, but then, one would be forgetting it was Miss Weston one was talking about, who had already proven to be the unpredictable sort ever since she’d marched into his room while he was bathing.
Mr. Drake took up the reins now. “And so Delia and I and Hannah, of course, who has been our dear cousin Lavinia’s nurse and companion all these years—have made it our calling to take care of our sweet girl since the loss of her parents, may they rest in peace.” Mr. Drake raised his eyes toward heaven—Lucas didn’t think Isaac the vicar could pull off such a look of piety—before casting his gaze serenely at the other persons present in the room.
“For that is what a family does, does it not?” Miss Weston said.
“Indeed,” his mother said. “Well, we are certainly happy to have Miss Fernley and you all as our guests. Perhaps, now that you’ve had refreshment, you’d like to be seen to your rooms so you may settle in and rest for a while. Miss Fernley, may I rejoin you here in an hour’s time so we can get better acquainted? It isn’t every day a woman learns she is to be blessed with another daughter.”
“Thank you, Lady Thurlby,” Lavinia managed to croak, still suffering the effects of choking on her tea.
Lucas heaved a sigh of relief. They were dismissed—for now. And then a low voice spoke behind him.
“Lucas,” his father said, “join me in my study, please.”
* * *
“Cousins?” Lavinia said in a low, albeit piercing voice once she was alone with Delia, Artie, and Hannah in her assigned suite of rooms, consisting of a small sitting room and bedroom. She suspected it was one of the Jennings sisters’ rooms and had been given to her as Lucas’s “betrothed.” “Cousins? What happened to staying as close to the truth as possible?”
“It didn’t seem right, you having no family when there were so many of them,” Delia explained unapologetically. “Besides, Lucas started it by announcing you as his betrothed. If you’re going to be angry, you should be angry with him too.”
“I am angry with him,” Lavinia said. She refused to see the parallel of what he’d just done to what she’d done at the White Horse. That had been a roomful of strangers and had been intended only as a simple ruse for escaping. No one would have cared or remembered once they were gone—barring the possible exception of the Earl of Cosgrove’s friends. Hopefully they’d been drunk enough to forget the incident.
What Lucas had done today was not even close to the same thing.
“Besides, Livvy, we are your cousins; I’m sure of it,” Artie added. “We are undoubtedly related through some tiny distant branch on your family tree. There is such a strong theatrical connection, you see; it must be in the blood.”
“Yes, well, if we go all the way back to Adam, I’m sure we’d find something,” Lavinia retorted. “And you said I lost my mother, Delia, as though she died. She left us. Left. I have no idea who or where she is. Another untruth.”
“Not at all, Lavinia. You lost your mother,” Delia replied. “I cannot help it if they presumed she passed away. Isn’t language a beautiful, artful thing?”
“Indeed, Delia,” Artie piped up again. “As the Bard once said—”
“Enough of quoting Shakespeare, Artie! Enough of Marlowe and anyone else you intend to dredge up. We are not cousins, nor am I betrothed to Lucas—”
“A pity, that,” Delia said with a sigh.
Lavinia fought for patience. “We are supposed to be starting a new life—no longer actors but normal people. Normal! And yet, what is the first thing that happens when we arrive here? We are acting again. Pretending we are family and I am Lucas’s betrothed.”
“That’s Mr. Jennings’s fault, luv,” Hannah said.
“Truth be told, Livvy, I’d rather be here under the pretext of being your doting cousin than a friend of your father’s,” Artie said. “I never liked the man all that much.”
Delia nodded in agreement. “Nor I. Artie’s right, Livvy; you must see that. And don’t worry; we are consummate actors, as you know, and will have them convinced of our familial attachment to you with no effort whatsoever on our parts.”
Lavinia buried her face in her hands. “If I am to face his mother in one hour’s time, I think I’d better lie down,” she mumbled. “I’m going to need all the strength I can muster to get through that conversation convincingly. And then I am going to find Lucas and give him a piece of my mind.”
Chapter 11
Lucas wasn’t surprised to see that Isaac and Thomas had joined his father and him in the study.
Thomas immediately went to a side table and poured himself a healthy measure of brandy. “Anyone else interested?” he asked. No one was, so he replaced the stopper of the decanter and took a seat in one of the leather chairs near the fireplace.
“It is good to have you back home, Lucas,” his father began after they were all seated. “Your brothers and I have a keen interest to hear about your experiences fighting Napoleon, but those are not topics for the tender ears of our ladies. Perhaps we should have allowed you some time at home before having this conversation. But I think it is altogether better that we discuss things now and put our questions to rest.”
“We are anxious to know whether our brother returns to us whole,” Isaac said.
“There have been others in the district who have returned to their families but are no longer . . . themselves,” Thomas added. “That knowledge has had us concerned for your well-being. And when you were reluctant to return to Alderwood—”
“You feared the worst,” Lucas said.
“We were hopeful you were well,” his father corrected. “But we could not be certain until we saw you for ourselves.”
“And now?”
“I am still hopeful,” his father said.
“What can you tell us?” Isaac said. “I ask, not only to assure myself as your brother, but also as your vicar and spiritual advisor. I wish to be of service to you, if needed.”
“Thank you, Isaac, but truly, I am well enough. Each man’s experience is his own, and he must reconcile it within himself the best he can. Those who cannot reconcile it deserve compassion and support. No one who experiences war firsthand comes out of it unscathed. It changes him—and her—for better or for worse.”
He stood and wandered over to the table with the decanter. He removed the stopper and sniffed the contents. Drink had deadened many of his friends’ anguish, but Lucas himself had not found it effective. “We may speak at length about the honor of fighting for one’s country and the glories that come with victory, but honor and glory come at great cost to the soldier. There is a brutality—” Lucas stopped speaking and replaced the stopper. Outside the study window, birds were singing. The sound seemed ludicrous.
“There is a brutality I would not wish to impart on any of you, for even to speak of it gives it continued life. Suffice it to say, I did my utmost to sustain life in the midst of so much suffering and death. I was blessed to find a friend in Lord Halford early on. We kept each other alive and in relatively good spirits for seven years. And when he was gravely wounded, I felt a need and obligation to stay at his side until I got him safely back to England and was assured of his continuing health.”
“At the expense of your own family’s concern for you,” Thomas said.
“I knew I was well enough, Thomas, and I had been informed through letters that my family was well enough too. Should you have had me leave my friend and fellow soldier under such circumstances? Do you take issue with my judgment in the matter?”
“Of course, we don’t,” his father said. “Come, sit down, Lucas. We are merely trying to understand and assure ourselves.”
“You are different,” Thomas said.
“As are you,” Lucas replied. “But then one would expect change after the course of seven years.” He briefly fought temptation within himself and lost. “How is Isobel? She looks in good health.” He shouldn’t have asked or even spoken her name aloud. Thomas had learned of Lucas and Isobel’s attachment after the nuptials, when Lucas had announced his enlistment in the army and the reason for it had become apparent.
“She is, thank you,” Thomas said.
“And Clara, Isaac?” Lucas asked, hoping to cover his lack of discretion.
“Clara is quite well, although somewhat peaked these days. She is increasing again. Our fifth child.”
“Four children already and another on the way. You’re building nearly as big a brood as Mama and Father did.”
“God willing,” Isaac said. “The children are with Thomas and Isobel’s two up in the nursery.”
“Now that you have assured us that you are well,” his father said, “perhaps you can enlighten us regarding your friends, among whom is a young lady you referred to as your betrothed.”
Three pairs of nearly identical eyes looked fixedly at him, awaiting his response. Lucas’s neckcloth suddenly felt tight, but he resisted the urge to tug at it.
“I am the luckiest of men to have had Lavinia accept my proposal of marriage,” he began. “We met in London.” He’d been in London for a few months now—plenty of time to meet a young lady, court her, and propose.
“Your letters to your mother never mentioned her,” his father said.
“What man writes to his mother of such things?” Lucas responded.<
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“Good point,” Isaac said. “I didn’t write to Mama about Clara either.”
“I was here at home when I proposed to Isobel and she accepted,” Thomas said, “so I wouldn’t know.”
“What more can you tell us about her?” his father asked.
“She recently inherited a farm of two hundred acres.”
“An heiress, eh?” His father nodded. “Well, that is something, at least. Land is always a valuable asset.”
“Land is an asset when it’s thriving and profitable, Father. Unfortunately, the farm has not been maintained the past few years, and there is a great deal of work to be done, so I shouldn’t think of her as an heiress in the typical sense, and I didn’t propose marriage to her based on that anyway.”
“It would seem she has plenty of other assets from which to choose,” Thomas said.
“Thomas,” Father said reprovingly.
“Have a care, Thomas,” Lucas warned, feeling protective and surprisingly possessive of Lavinia. “I have an affection for the lady.”
“My apologies.” Thomas stood and moved to lean against the fireplace mantel.
“But Thomas’s comments raise an important concern, Lucas, if I may be allowed to speak freely on the matter,” Isaac said.
Lucas waved his hand. “Fire away.”
“Thomas’s words illustrate something you must be prepared to deal with if you marry the lady.” Isaac paused before continuing. “How shall I put this? Your Miss Fernley’s looks speak more of sinner than of saint.”
“She cannot help the features with which she was born, Isaac,” Lucas said. “Any more than I can help that you and I—and Father and Thomas, for that matter—are over six feet tall and have varying shades of brown hair.”
His father reached over and laid a hand on Lucas’s arm. “True enough, son. Of course it is true. But that will not stop men from looking or women from wagging their tongues. And sadly, in our so-called genteel society, many men take mistresses at their whim. Even in marriage, your Miss Fernley may be considered fair play by men of lesser character.”