An Officer, Not a Gentleman: A Traditional Regency Romance (Brethren in Arms Book 3)

by Elizabeth Johns

  Tobin began to stride about the small parlour. “Because I am an ejeet, and did not tell her how I truly felt,” he muttered. “She was just trying to do what was best for me. She said something about being too far apart in stations and not needing to marry for convenience any more. It was all nonsense, of course.”

  “Then why was she looking for a position?” Rory was not making this easy for Tobin, or herself, Bridget thought, but they were good questions.

  “I could not tell you,” Tobin answered, running his hand through his hair. “Even more curious is why she gave up the position and ran to you when she wanted to marry me in the first place to avoid marriage to you.”

  Rory shrugged, suddenly looking defeated. “I want to know that you deserve her.”

  “Who could deserve her? She is the most beautiful, extraordinary, giving person I have ever met. You and I are not fit to wash her boots.”

  Bridget’s throat burned with unshed emotion.

  “Do you love her?”

  “Aye, more than anyone or anything on this earth,” Tobin answered in a strangled voice. He was trying not to cry. “The thought of doing this without her…”

  “Have you told her this?”

  “He just did,” Bridget said as she began to walk into the room. It was undoubtedly the wrong thing to do, but her feet seemed to be moving of their own volition.

  Tobin met her and pulled her into his arms. “Are you daft, woman? How could you leave me?”

  “I was trying to do what was best for you, Tobin.”

  “You would prefer him to me?” He inclined his head towards Riordan, but did not take his eyes from her. Their heat bored straight through her.

  “No need to answer that,” Riordan said dryly.

  “You are what is best for me, lass. Please say you will marry me, a chuisle, a chroí. I only discovered you had left so soon because I was coming to find you to announce our betrothal.”

  “Are you sure you have thought properly about this? There are so many reasons why we should not,” she argued half-heartedly.

  “Name one that holds water. I cannot think of any—and I do not want to hear anything about the bloody title or money.”

  “Well, I care about it,” Lady Dungarvan snarled from the door. All of them gasped and turned, surprised by her entrance. She was holding a pistol, aimed right at Bridget. “Now give me the key, you stupid chit!”

  “Wh-what key?” Bridget had no notion of a key.

  “The one mentioned in your father’s will!” Her hand was shaking as she held the gun.

  “Aunt, this is truly the first I have heard of it. If I may see the will, perhaps it will become clearer to me.” Bridget did her best to keep her voice neutral and not antagonistic.

  “I am losing my patience, gel. It said the ‘key of my heart holds my greatest treasure.’”

  Bridget frowned in thought. Trust her father to write in riddles. Perhaps he had done it to protect her from his family. However that may be, she did not know what it meant.

  Lady Dungarvan let out a howl of frustration. “Rory, go back to the coach and fetch her trunks at once!”

  Bridget tried not to laugh at the absurd look on her cousin’s face. A movement behind her aunt caused Bridget to blink, but she tried to keep her face impassive. Lord Wrexford had arrived and was creeping up behind Lady Dungarvan, who still had her back to the door. Fortunately, she was too distracted by ordering her son about to notice she was about to be overtaken.

  Surprising the old woman, Lord Wrexford wrapped his arms around hers and pulled her backwards. The gun exploded with a roar, deafening in the small room, the ball going harmlessly into the ceiling. A cloud of plaster dusted the combatants. Waverley sprang to Wrexford’s aid. Aunt Betha was no match for the two men and was soon subdued, at least physically.

  “Unhand me, you English oaf! How dare you interfere? Riordan, do something, you snivelling man-milliner,” she wailed. “Too think how I have strived to make a man of you. And you!” She spat in Bridget’s direction. “Viper! Jade! Turncoat! You have not heard the last of this...”

  Her wails and shouts fell on deaf ears. “Stubble it, woman, or I will gag you!” Waverley warned.

  Bridget glanced sideways to see if her cousin would come to his mother’s rescue, but he seemed to sag with relief.

  “What will you do with her?” Rory finally asked.

  Waverley frowned in thought. “I think the four of us can devise something satisfactory amongst us, to keep this quiet, but she cannot be allowed to go free. It is clear she is a threat to Miss Murphy.”

  Her aunt squirmed, trying to fight Waverley’s hold.

  “Perhaps house arrest at Dungarvan; and ensuring that whatever was stolen is returned to Miss Murphy,” Wrexford suggested.

  “I stole nothing! That money belonged to the Murphy family!”

  “Hush, woman!” Wrexford snapped.

  “That is far greater leniency than you deserve, Mother,” Riordan said with impatience.

  “And ye are a saint she leads about by yer nose,” Tobin growled.

  “Might I suggest you both go upstairs? I will see you locked in your rooms and safely on your way to Ireland in the morning.” As Waverley escorted Riordan and Lady Dungarvan away, Bridget felt Tobin’s hands on her. She leaned against him with relief.

  “Do you know what key she was talking about?”

  “I do not have any idea. She seemed to think it was in my possession.”

  “I retrieved your trunks from the abandoned coach,” Wrexford said. “They are safe for now.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I will go and see if Waverley needs my assistance.” He gave a brief smile and closed the door behind him.

  Tobin pulled Bridget with him to a chair that had been pushed against the wall.

  “I am fashed,” he said as he sat her sideways across his lap.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “He managed only one good hit,” Tobin replied. “I am more exhausted over you.”

  “I did not mean for it to come to this,” she whispered.

  Looking into his eyes, she saw his vulnerability and love. She had mistaken his lack of expressed affection for a change in his feelings.

  “Ye… ye are… unharmed, Bridget?” he murmured, his voice hoarse. Concern rippled through the rough tone. “I will drag him behind my horse by his—”

  “Shh.” Reaching up, she tenderly fingered a cut above one of his eyebrows. “More so than you, it seems, my anamchara. He did me no more harm than tie my hands, so you may be easy.”

  He brushed a stray curl back from her forehead and gazed down at her. His green eyes drilled into her but he said not a word.

  “Tobin?”

  “Yes, mo grá?”

  “I want more than friendship. Tá mo chroí istigh ionat.”

  “Thank God for that. My heart has been yours since I first saw you.” The words were strangled, as though they had been locked in his throat. A slow smile slid across his face, and lifting one hand to stroke her cheek with his thumb, he bent and softly touched his lips to hers. Warmth flooded her being and at once paraded her love in her cheeks.

  “You really must stop behaving like a ruffian, you know. That cut will need a stitch. You cannot beat every man who crosses my path. When will you get it into your thick, Irish skull that I love you too much to keep seeing you hurt?” she demanded as he straightened.

  “Thank God for that,” Tobin said again. Without warning, he pulled her to him and took her mouth in a fiery, passionate kiss, erasing all doubts—and most thoughts—from her mind. When at last he pulled away, he favoured her with his devilish grin and remarked wickedly, “I told ye I was no’ a gentleman.”

  “Thank God for that!”

  Epilogue

  Six weeks later…

  It was so strange to be preparing for her wedding without any of her family present. It was bittersweet. It had taken some time to clear matters up in London, but they had
sold her family’s town house and brought everything back to Ireland. Tobin had sold out of the army in order to take over his duties as Kilmorgan.

  The ceremony would be small, with only Lord and Lady Wrexford and the Duke and Duchess of Waverley in attendance. Bridget was still in mourning but there was no reason to delay the wedding, since she was living at Wrexford.

  She wore her mother’s pale blue silk gown. The old lace had been replaced with a beautiful Mechlin lace which the Duchess had purchased in Belgium as a wedding gift. It would not do to wear black to her own wedding. No indeed. Maria had styled her hair into curls, with half pinned up and half allowed to fall over her shoulders in a very soft manner.

  A gentle knock on the door was preceded by the Duchess peeping into her room.

  “Am I disturbing you? You look perfect!” she exclaimed.

  “The dress is more beautiful than I could have imagined. Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure.” She held out a thick pouch. “This was delivered for you from Dungarvan. We have been debating whether or not to give it to you before the ceremony.”

  “I shall not be thrown into a fit of the blue-devil, I assure you. I doubt anything they say can alter my feelings at the moment.”

  “I will leave the decision to you then. We will look for you in a few minutes. We are leaving for the church now.”

  The Duchess left quietly and Bridget stared at the packet for a few minutes before deciding to open it. It contained a sheaf of papers, on the top of which was a letter addressed to her.

  Dearest cousin,

  I hope that some time has healed your opinion of me. I do not have good reasons for my actions against you, except I have never been strong enough to withstand Mother. She has always ruled with an iron fist, as you know. Nevertheless, I was able to obtain your father’s will from her; please find it with this letter. I hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I have begun the process of repaying your dowry. Thus far, I have found no other evidence of anything Mother has stolen. Please correct me if there are further wrongs I need to right. I hope this eases your mind and that you find the treasure you were looking for. My felicitations upon the occasion of your wedding.

  Your devoted cousin,

  Riordan

  Bridget wiped away a tear which had spilled over. She had known in her heart that Rory was not evil, but he had always been easily influenced by others. Bridget had been able to escape his mother’s clutches, but he had not. At least he was now trying to do what was right, although it did not excuse his ill behaviour towards Tobin.

  She rifled through the will, but there was hardly time to look before she left for the wedding. There was a little doubt in her mind that there was any monetary treasure to be had. Father would have told her if he had acquired some great windfall. She shook her head and laughed when, scanning the pages for those words, she found them at last.

  To my daughter, Bridget, the key of my heart holds my greatest treasure.

  What could they mean? Now was certainly not the time to ponder her father’s riddles. She went to her mother’s jewellery case to find her pearls; there was nothing she would rather wear on this most special of occasions. She pulled out the pouch which held the string of pearls and matching earrings and poured the contents into her hand. To her surprise, a small key also dropped into her palm. Laughing, Bridget set it on the dressing table and put on the pearls so she would be prepared when the Duke came for her. Her curiosity was now running rampant.

  She searched the small case for somewhere into which the key could fit, now suspicious after discovering the secret panel in her father’s desk.

  Sure enough, a panel was hidden under a piece of velvet in the bottom of the case and the key fit perfectly into the hole.

  Bridget let out a gasp when she saw what was inside.

  There was another small velvet pouch, and it contained a small fortune in jewels. There was a miniature of her mother and father as they must have looked at their wedding, and at the very bottom was a packet of letters tied up with a narrow ribbon. They appeared to be letters her parents must have exchanged. She held the picture and letters to her heart, inhaling her mother’s nostalgic scent. She would treasure these later, she mused, for another knock on the door indicated it was time to go. Hurriedly she replaced the treasure and locked the jewels back in the hidden panel.

  Walking over to the door, she opened it to see the Duke waiting for her.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “I am.” She smiled.

  “Tobin is a very lucky man,” he said as he led her through the house and to the small family chapel between the house and the cliffs.

  As they entered the small church and she saw Tobin waiting for her by the altar, she knew that it was she who was the lucky one—especially when she saw that devilish smile and green eyes twinkling at her.

  “Beggorah mo grá,” Tobin said reverently as he took her hand from the Duke’s and tucked it under his arm near his chest.

  “Dearly beloved,” the vicar began, but Bridget scarcely heard a word, she was near to bursting with happiness. The only thing she could think was that the greatest treasure had been with her the whole time.

  Afterword

  Author’s note: British spellings and grammar have been used in an effort to reflect what would have been done in the time period in which the novels are set. While I realize all words may not be exact, I hope you can appreciate the differences and effort made to be historically accurate while attempting to retain readability for the modern audience.

  Thank you for reading An Officer, Not a Gentleman. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other readers find this book:

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  Acknowledgments

  There are many, many people who have contributed to making my books possible.

  My family, who deals with the idiosyncrasies of a writer’s life that do not fit into a 9 to 5 work day.

  Dad, who reads every single version before and after anyone else—that alone qualifies him for sainthood.

  Wilette and Anj, who take my visions and interprets them, making them into works of art people open in the first place.

  My team of friends who care about my stories enough to help me shape them before everyone else sees them.

  Heather who helps me say what I mean to!

  And to the readers who make all of this possible.

  I am forever grateful to you all.

  Also by Elizabeth Johns

  Surrender the Past

  Seasons of Change

  Seeking Redemption

  Shadows of Doubt

  Second Dance

  Through the Fire

  Melting the Ice

  With the Wind

  Out of the Darkness

  After the Rain

  Ray of Light

  Moon and Stars

  First Impressions

  The Governess

  On My Honour

  Not Forgotten

 

 

 
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