by Tuft, Karen
He kissed her hand and bid her farewell with a heavy heart.
* * *
“Ho, there, Lucas,” James called as Lucas walked toward the stable to get Hector, who was saddled and ready for him.
He turned and held his hand to his eyes to block the overhead sun. James was striding toward him, and not far behind him were Thomas and Isaac, with Finch bringing up the rear. “I thought I might ride with you to this little property you’ll be gaining by marrying that delectable heiress of yours, and then this lot decided they ought to tag along. Doesn’t anyone have anything better to do around here than gallivant up and down the countryside?”
“I am not joining you today,” Finch said indignantly. “For I do have work that needs to be done. I am merely giving Lucas the banknotes for funding the next work projects. Here you go.” He handed the notes to Lucas with a dramatic flair that would have made Artie proud before returning the way he’d come.
They all watched him go before looking at each other and breaking into laughter.
“Four brothers back together again, eh, Lucas?” James said. “It wants only Simon and the set would be complete. Is he returning home, by any chance?”
“If he’s not here within the next day or two, our mother will probably petition the Home Office for his speedy apprehension and return,” Isaac said.
James laughed. “That does sound like Mama.”
“Did you not see Simon during your time in London, Lucas?” Isaac asked.
“I’m sorry to say I did not,” Lucas replied. He’d intended to travel to Primrose Farm alone, but spending the afternoon with his brothers would do him good—despite the guilt he was now feeling over his avoidance of Simon while he’d been in Town.
“Probably just as well,” Thomas said. “Simon has some wild oats to sow, and I’m not sure he’s done sowing them yet or that Mama will like what she sees if and when he does arrive home.”
“I had no idea,” Isaac said, his brow wrinkled in vicarly concern. “I would have done something before now had I known.”
“Which is precisely why the little bounder chose to write to me over the past year or so and not you, Isaac,” Thomas replied.
“He’s not as bad as all that, surely,” Isaac said.
“We all sow our wild oats in one way or another,” James said, looking slightly bored at having to explain this to Isaac. “Lucas went off to play soldier. Thomas and I did as much reveling as studying while at university. Simon merely has the fate of being the youngest of five brothers and must exceed our accomplishments—both bad and good—in order to find his place amongst us. He’ll be fine.”
“I hope you’re right,” Isaac said. “I never felt the need to sow any oats.”
“We know,” James said in a dramatically exasperated tone, making the other brothers laugh.
“You were born pious, Isaac,” Thomas added. “We were always concerned you were going to confess our boyhood pranks to Father and we would get a birching as a result.”
Isaac shrugged with mock modesty. “’Tis true. I was the most perfect of all our parents’ sons.”
“And still are to this day,” Lucas said. “As you remind us on a regular basis.”
“Pride must be the reason you have not entered sainthood yet,” James said wryly. “As soon has you have developed humility regarding your perfection, I shall contact the Archbishop myself on your behalf.”
Isaac laughed.
“Now that we’ve settled all that, are we allowed to join you on your errand this afternoon or not, Lucas?” James asked.
“Do I have a choice in the matter?” Lucas said.
“No.”
“Then, by all means, I welcome the company.”
Chapter 17
Lavinia returned to the sitting room and resumed her seat, picking up the small square of embroidery she pretended to work on when doing needlework was socially called for. Hannah had always done any of their necessary sewing, although she’d taught Lavinia enough basics to muddle along.
Delia picked up her own neglected needlework, stared at it, and tossed it aside. “I never could understand the great interest women take in poking needles and thread into fabric day in and day out.”
“It has something to do with wanting clothes to wear,” Hannah said.
Susan and Rebecca burst out laughing. Lavinia might have thought the exchange humorous, but she was still reeling from the fact that they’d be moving to Primrose Farm the following week. In a week’s time, she would have no more reason to see Lucas, and she would be the one to cry off the betrothal in order to protect his gentlemanly honor.
“I know it’s required for having clothing, Hannah,” Delia replied. “But how many cushions and pillows and such can a person cover with embroidery before one goes completely mad?”
“I agree with you wholeheartedly,” Susan said, earning a glance from Lady Thurlby. “Which is why I chose to read this afternoon.”
“I don’t mind sewing. I’m making a few new things for the baby,” Clara said.
She held up the tiny gown she was working on, and Lavinia’s heart felt a new pang. She’d never considered having children before. For so long, her life had consisted of mistrusting and avoiding men and merely surviving. Now she had the opportunity to have the normal life that she’d never thought possible.
A husband and a baby . . .
“That’s so precious,” Delia said, admiring the tiny gown. “I never had children. Never married either. Some people don’t realize what’s right in front of them until it’s too late.” She looked directly at Lavinia. “That is why I’m so delighted our dear Lavinia has found her perfect match in your son, Lady Thurlby. When Arthur and I first heard of their betrothal, we were beside ourselves with joy. Were we not, Hannah?” She turned her fairy queen gaze on Hannah.
Hannah glanced at Lavinia before replying. “You and Artie were very enthusiastic,” she said.
Lavinia bit her lip.
“As we still are,” Delia said, nodding with satisfaction. “When I see the love these two young people share, it fills my soul with a bittersweet longing, but I shall rejoice in knowing they will be sharing something wondrous and beautiful that I wasn’t privileged to have.” She sighed dramatically.
Of course she did.
Lavinia wanted to take her from the room and throttle her—if she didn’t think it might break every brittle bone in Delia’s body. She was laying it on too thick. There was something in that little speech of hers, with its poignant tone of regret—especially when she knew full well the betrothal wasn’t real—that was intended to turn the screws even tighter.
“Were you ever in love, Miss Weston?” Clara asked.
“Oh, yes,” Delia said, staring off into the distance like any accomplished thespian would. “Thoroughly, deeply in love. But things don’t always turn out as we’d wish, now, do they? We must reach for love when it is right before us.”
And there it was.
That little wisp of an exasperating woman was bound and determined to make Lavinia’s fake betrothal a real one since fate hadn’t granted her with her own happy ending. Bless her little interfering heart.
“I’ve been so impressed with how the children have taken to both you and Mr. Drake,” Lady Thurlby said as she rethreaded her needle. “The boys especially seem rather keen for his company.”
“Arthur has always enjoyed the company of children,” Delia said. “They have such wonderful imaginations, you see.”
“Mr. Drake does seem rather imaginative—I daresay I’ve never seen the like from a grown man before,” the viscountess said.
Hannah snorted and bit off the end of her thread with her teeth.
“I must confess I was rather uncomfortable with his . . . antics . . . at first,” Isobel said. “Even yesterday my little Sarah wasn’t sure what to think when he pretended to be a bear and charged after Edmund and Isaac Junior, roaring with his arms outstretched, when the children were outside for their daily con
stitutional. Of course, according to Sarah, the boys thought it great fun and created some sort of invisible bear trap to catch him.”
“I wondered where he’d gone,” Delia said thoughtfully. “The children. I should have realized.”
“Is it a good thing, do you think, for a grown man to cavort with children in such a manner every day?” Clara asked hesitatingly. “The children seem delighted, but is it something they should encounter with such regularity? Isaac recalls imaginative escapades with his brothers—playing pirates and explorers and such—but not with his father, although I know Father Jennings spent quality time with his children. I am trying to understand.”
“I shall speak to Artie,” Lavinia said. “He should have consulted with both you and Isobel before imposing himself upon the children and Mrs. Wynn. Wouldn’t you agree, Delia?”
“I’ve never had to consider it from a parent’s point of view—all I can say is that I’ve known Arthur Drake for nearly fifty years, and in all that time, I’ve never known a kinder man whose greatest delight is making others happy, especially children.”
“I’ll speak to him,” Lavinia said again when it appeared Delia’s speech hadn’t entirely reassured Isobel and Clara.
“Thank you, Lavinia,” Lady Thurlby said. “I’m sure the others would agree that the occasional theatrical or imaginative playtime, with their mothers’ prior approval, would be entirely acceptable. There. That is settled. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to discuss with Cook regarding the betrothal party we’ve arranged for next week.”
The other ladies dispersed soon after the viscountess left the sitting room, leaving Lavinia alone with Delia and Hannah.
Hannah stood and shut the sitting room door before turning to Delia. “What you done is beyond the pale,” she scolded. “It’s bad enough our poor Livvy here was pulled into this betrothal nonsense, nice as Mr. Jennings is, but you talking about love and ‘sharing something wondrous and beautiful,’ as you put it, like it’s a real thing between them two—well, that’s taking it too far.”
“We were to keep as close as possible to the truth, Delia,” Lavinia added. “I care about these people. They are going to be hurt and embarrassed when the truth comes out. I don’t want to make it any worse.” Especially for Lucas. Oh, especially for him.
“As far as I’m concerned, the betrothal is the truth,” Delia said. “He said the words, didn’t he? I’ve seen the looks he gives you—and you give right back to him. I’m an old actor who’s seen more than my share of good acting in my day—some so convincing it looks as real as I’m sitting here—but Lucas isn’t an actor, dearie, and I’ve been reading his face like a book ever since we met up with him back in London. He looks at you different than all the other gentlemen did—and you know he does.
“You’re a fine actress yourself, Livvy, but I can see what’s in your eyes too. You don’t fool this old woman. I know that look. I’ve felt that look—” Her voice caught. Seasoned actress that she was, she shook off her real emotions and continued on—and Lavinia’s heart broke for her. “Love is a precious thing, Lavinia. Too precious to waste. I should know.” She stood and straightened up, looking like the grand lady of the stage she’d been for so many years. “Now, I believe I shall go to my room and lie down for a while.” She turned to Hannah next. “If you love this girl of ours even half as much as Arthur or I do, Hannah Broome, you’ll convince her that what I said is the truth.” She turned and marched out of the room, as grand an exit as any she’d ever made onstage.
“Don’t say anything, Hannah,” Lavinia warned.
Hannah folded her needlework and placed it in her sewing basket. “I don’t need to,” she said. She rose and kissed Lavinia on her forehead. “Because she’s right—at least when it come to Lucas Jennings. I never seen a man what’s treated you with such respect.”
“And that’s precisely why I won’t force him into a betrothal, Hannah, or allow Delia and Artie to force the issue,” Lavinia said. “I won’t repay his kindness that way. I can’t.”
“That’s as it should be, but it’s a sorry thing too. For I want you to be happy for once in your life, and I think you’ve found a man who has finally seen that you’re as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside. And that’s a rare thing, Livvy. A rare thing, indeed.”
* * *
It had felt good spending time with his brothers at Primrose Farm, Lucas thought as he handed off Hector to the stable boy. Now it was time to clear the air with Thomas—and with Isobel too. The few conversations he’d had with either of them since returning home had been uncomfortable. Except for yesterday.
Spending time together, reminiscing and playfully badgering each other as they had done as boys, had felt like old times, and it seemed to Lucas that it might also have worked to soften the edges of the prickly subject that was Thomas’s marriage to Isobel.
Mr. Allard had done a fine job supervising the laborers repairing the farmhouse. It wasn’t difficult to imagine it being ready for occupants within the week. Considering its dilapidated state a mere few days ago, Allard and his men had worked something of a miracle.
A miracle that would take Lavinia away from him.
He and his brothers had discussed Lavinia on the way to and from Primrose Farm. They had been brimming with questions about her: Where did they meet, where was she from, where did that hair come from, what could she possibly see in him (that particular question had come from James), and did he worry that others would assume she wasn’t modest enough (that tactfully worded question had come from Isaac)?
Lucas had kept his answers brief and to the point: they had met in London (without telling them when or how), her family at least partly hailed from Lincolnshire (pointing to Primrose Farm as evidence), she obviously had good taste (that one in response to James’s question), and she’d been given her glorious beauty from God, so God-fearing people should not be inclined to judge her based on it (that one in response to Isaac).
“You’re one lucky devil,” James declared to Lucas as they walked toward the house. They had lagged behind the two other brothers.
“You think so?” Lucas replied, knowing he alone understood the irony in his words.
“Yes, I do. You survived seven years in the army and on the Peninsula, which, I understand, is a remarkable feat in itself. You have an absolutely stunning bride-to-be, who appears to be quite devoted to you—and only you, although, with looks like hers, she could have her pick of any man.”
“Agreed,” Lucas said.
“How she managed to escape London with you before finding herself scooped up by some wealthy nabob or duke is a mystery I think many gentlemen would find intriguing. Me included.”
James’s phrase “managed to escape” made the hairs on Lucas’s neck stand on end. James was so near the truth that Lucas wondered for a moment if his barrister brother had gained inside knowledge about Lavinia in some clandestine manner. And how ludicrous was that? As though James could have known beforehand that she was even here. Ridiculous.
“As I was saying,” James continued. “You land a gloriously beautiful bride, who also happens to be an heiress, after surviving years of war as an enlisted man, to boot. I think, perhaps, you are the most successful Jennings brother of us all—or at least the luckiest. And still a relatively young buck too. Quite unfair.”
“You wish to marry?” Lucas asked. James had always been so academically driven and focused on his career that Lucas thought his older brother would never allow time for a wife and family.
James shrugged and whacked some mud from his boot with his crop. “Not in the immediate future, no. Too many professional duties to attend to at present. But when I see my other brothers—and now you, too, in such happy circumstances . . . it makes a man think.”
For the merest of moments, Lucas wondered if he should tell James his secret regarding his betrothal. It would have been nice to discuss it with him, unburden himself a bit, and feel he had a family member who ha
d his back when he finally confessed the truth about the betrothal. But he wouldn’t put Lavinia and her friends at risk, so any thoughts he had of confiding in James died a quick death.
James, and everyone else, would find out soon enough. It was going to feel like a very short week, Lucas suspected.
* * *
As Lucas headed toward the stairs on his way to breakfast the following morning, he could hear that someone had just arrived at Alderwood. The arrival of a person or persons this early in the morning could mean only one of two things: either his brothers had gone out for a morning ride without him, which he doubted—one of his brothers surely would have invited him along—or Simon had finally arrived, with or without the Home Office’s intervention on their mother’s behalf.
Indeed, it was his little brother handing over his hat and gloves to a manservant when Lucas arrived in the entrance hall. More precisely, it was his younger brother in the entrance hall—there was nothing little about Simon Jennings anymore. He was at least at tall as Lucas, slender, and had a darker shade of hair than any of the other brothers. There was only three years between them in age, which was nothing at all, especially when compared to Thomas, who was nine years Lucas’s senior. But Simon had always been the baby brother, a lad of but sixteen years when Lucas had enlisted.
Lucas himself had been not quite nineteen at the time, but had felt ages older than Simon back then—he’d had a term at university and had been dealing with a broken heart. They were adult things, to Lucas’s way of thinking, that had made the gulf in age between Simon and himself seem even wider.
Amazing what a few years could do to a man’s perspective.
Lucas came down the stairs quickly and crossed the hall to him. Why hadn’t he felt an urgency to meet up with his brother in London? He felt the urgency now, now that he was here. “Simon!” he said, his hand outstretched.
Simon turned away from the manservant, and Lucas came to a halt. Simon hadn’t simply grown up—he’d aged. Lucas had seen his expression on countless soldiers and officers. It was the world-weary look of someone who’d seen too much and considered himself hardened to it. His eyes were bloodshot, his welcoming smile more of a smirk. “Well, if it isn’t my soldier brother, home alive and well,” he said, shaking Lucas’s offered hand.