by Alec, Joyce
Francis could not raise a smile, not even for his friend, Viscount Wickton. “I did not forget,” he lied. “You were late and I was hungry.”
Wickton did not smile. “I was not tardy in the least,” he stated quite calmly. “Good gracious, Newton, are you sure you are quite well?”
“Of course,” Francis replied heavily. “I am quite well. I do apologize, Wickton. You are quite right.” Guilt swarmed through his mind. “I did forget. My mind was a little caught up over another matter entirely and it quite went out of my head.” He shrugged and gestured to the row of dishes just behind Wickton. “But no matter. There is still more than enough. I have only just begun to eat.”
Lord Wickton grinned, rose to his feet, and began to help himself to the various dishes that Francis’ cook had prepared. Francis finished his coffee and made to pour more, thinking that some good had come out of his recent conviction and pardon. He had been given a tidy sum as recompense for all the wrong that had been done to him, which was more than enough to keep him in comfort for the rest of his days, should he live carefully. The townhouse had been given to him by his brother, the new Baron Hollard, who had no intention of returning to London, having found himself a quiet little wife and had settled down in the country estate.
Francis had resided in his brother’s country estate for the last year, choosing only to return to London once his brother and new wife had returned from their honeymoon. He had thought that having been away from town for a little over a year would have been more than enough to bring an end to the rumors, gossip, and whispers about him, but his return seemed to have stoked everything again. At least he had managed to find himself one or two good friends amongst it all, which included Lord Wickton. Although, Francis was growing irritated with the way that his friend insisted that his ‘dear sister’ would be more than the perfect match for Francis, even though she had shown no interest in him whatsoever.
“May I ask what is lying so heavily on your mind?” Lord Wickton asked, sitting back down with a plate piled high. “It is unlike you to be so melancholy.” He grinned, his sapphire-colored eyes sparkling with that almost childish demeanor that Francis knew so well.
“Very well,” Francis murmured, not quite sure what to say. He was well acquainted with Lord Wickton, yes, but he was not particularly used to revealing the depths of his heart to anyone. “I was at Lord Chaucer’s wedding breakfast yesterday.” He said nothing more but saw Lord Wickton’s eyes widen slightly.
“Indeed!” Lord Wickton breathed, leaning forward across the table, so that his crisp white shirt came dangerously close to the plate of food. “I have heard a good many rumors about that particular event. Tell me, was Lady Chaucer as much of a mouse as everyone said?”
Francis’ mind went straight back to Lady Chaucer, seeing her sitting on the floor with nothing more than distress etched across her face. His stomach tightened.
“Not a mouse, no,” he said quietly. “Trapped, I think.”
“Trapped?” Lord Wickton echoed, looking rather surprised. “Trapped? In what way, old boy?”
Francis tried not to give too much away, aware of the tugging of his heart as he considered the lady anew. Whatever had become of him, that he was busy thinking so deeply about a lady he had only just become acquainted with?
“I do not think that Lady Chaucer had any choice but to marry Lord Chaucer,” he replied carefully. “She is not a spinster, as I had thought, but seems to have only recently come out into society.” Shaking his head, he recalled how her father had appeared utterly delighted with the match, which had brought him the same sense of swirling anger and frustration he felt now. “Lord Chaucer is not a gentleman I consider to be of good character. I am more than surprised that Lady Chaucer’s father seemed so eager and willing to marry his daughter to such a man.”
Lord Wickton shrugged. “Mayhap he wished to remove himself of the responsibilities of having a daughter unmarried,” he said, shrugging as though it did not particularly matter. “Regardless, I confess myself to be somewhat envious of your invitation to the event itself. It was already being discussed at White’s last evening, although I myself had very little to say about it.” His eyes lit up. “Although this evening, however, you might think of joining me at White’s to discuss it further. I am sure everyone would be quite agog to hear your description of it all!”
Francis’ stomach turned over. “Absolutely not,” he stated, his voice hard. “I do not wish to do such a thing at all.”
“Oh?” Lord Wickton tilted his head just a little, looking at Francis with interest. "And why might that be?”
Francis shook his head mutely.
“You think it is a shame that such a lovely creature should be forced to marry Lord Chaucer, is that it?” Lord Wickton continued, a teasing note in his voice. “I confess I do not know the lady at all and certainly have not heard of her beauty being spoken of in any particular way, but if she is a diamond of the first water, then I quite agree with your sentiment that she ought not to have been thrown away on someone who will not appreciate her.”
Rubbing one hand over his eyes, Francis held back a sharp retort and forced himself to consider what it was he wanted to say. “You quite misunderstand me, Wickton,” he said slowly. “She is not a diamond of the first water, nor is she plain. However, it is not her figure nor her beauty that concerns me.” Briefly he told Lord Wickton of how Lady Chaucer had appeared last evening, when she had first come into the library. “I find myself quite unable to forget about her distress, even though I am keenly aware that there is nothing whatsoever I can do. I find myself struggling with what I feel, Wickton, for it is terribly foolish to be so concerned over a lady who belongs to another. Therefore, that is why you find me so discontented this morning. I am being exceedingly idiotic, even by my own standards, and therefore I am more than a little frustrated.”
This speech was met with utter silence for a few minutes. Francis dared to look at Lord Wickton, realizing that he had said a good deal more than he had meant to, only to find his friend staring at him as though he had revealed something truly horrifying.
“This cannot be so,” Lord Wickton breathed after a moment. “Here I am, parading my dear sister in front of your nose, and you tell me that you feel nothing for her. You tell me that you are disinclined towards courtship and matrimony and the like, only to discover that you do, in fact, have a heart within you after all. Except it is not at all interested in those who are, perhaps, available for your consideration. Instead, your hearts is inclined towards someone who is already married and therefore quite unavailable, unless you are willing to engage in something most improper.” Lord Wickton shook his head in mock disbelief, before folding his arms and glaring at Francis. “My sister will not do for you, but a married lady captures your attention? It is preposterous!”
Francis grinned, despite himself. Lord Wickton was making a very good attempt at appearing to be offended, but Francis knew him well enough to know that he was not truly serious.
“And now you laugh at me!” Lord Wickton protested, although there came a slight smile to his face that told Francis his friend was struggling to contain his severe composure. “Good gracious, I thought we were dear friends and now…” Much to Francis’ amusement, Lord Wickton trailed off, his grin appearing as he shook his head. “You know me much too well, Newton. I cannot maintain a stern composure when I know that you are aware I am speaking in jest.” He shrugged, making Francis laugh. “So, you care for Lady Chaucer, is that what you are trying to say?”
The smile died from Francis’ face. “I do not care for her, no,” he said carefully, refusing to permit himself to even consider that. “I was only introduced—if it can be called that—to her yesterday, but I find that my heart is so concerned with her, so greatly caught up, that I can do nothing but think of her. I fear for what Lord Chaucer will do to her spirit, or to her body, for that matter.” His brow lowered, his heart squeezing painfully. “He is not a gentleman of good chara
cter and whilst I am well aware that this is not something I ought to be pursuing, I cannot remove her from my mind. I returned home in the early hours of this morning and attempted to sleep but even as I awoke, she remained fixed in my mind.”
Lord Wickton considered this for a moment, before shrugging. “Then I think we must pay them an afternoon call,” he stated quite calmly. “If you are truly concerned for her, if you truly wish to ensure that she is quite all right, then what else can we do?”
Francis shook his head, holding up one hand in protest. “You know that to do so would be remarkably foolish,” he said, seeing Lord Wickton’s eagerness but refusing to go along with it. “One does not call upon a gentleman and his new bride the day after they have married!” His cheeks were suffused with a slight flush of embarrassment at the thought. “No, indeed, it is quite ridiculous.”
“And since when have you cared much for propriety?” Lord Wickton asked archly, his smile no longer fixed to his face and a steel in his eyes that Francis had not expected to see. “You have never once expressed any sort of interest in a lady of your acquaintance until this moment and I fear that you will not be able to do a single thing until you are quite certain that she is in good health. That is all I am suggesting, for you know that I would never consider anything illicit to be something you ought to pursue.”
The idea sent Francis recoiling back into his seat. “Nor would I even permit myself to think it!” he exclaimed, seeing Lord Wickton nod slowly. “I would not even think of taking another gentleman’s wife into my arms, not even if I cannot remove her from my thoughts. Surely you must know that of me.”
Lord Wickton smiled. “You are more than honorable, Newton, of course,” he said gently, as though wanting to reassure Francis that he had not meant any offence. “But here is my proposal. You say that you cannot remove this lady from your mind. You say that you have struggled with your concern for her. Therefore, let us call on them both briefly, to reassure your heart that all is well and that she is not at all in danger. I am quite sure that it will ease your torment a little and, once they return from the honeymoon, you can call upon them both again. What say you?”
Francis considered this for a few moments, letting his mind chew over the idea and look at it from every angle. Lady Chaucer would be pale and silent whilst Lord Wickton and he spoke to her husband, he was quite sure, but there might be a way that he could have a few moments alone with her, even to reassure her that she was not alone in her trial. Could he write her a short note, giving her directions as to what she might do should her life become unbearable?
“She said there was nothing else for her to do but endure,” he murmured aloud, his mind working quickly. Yes, that was what he could do. He could write a note and inform her of his address and his assistance, should she be in fear of her life. Arrangements could be made for her departure to a safer lodging, and he could reassure her that she would not be given any poor treatment at his hand, and that he would not think less of her in running from her husband. That was all he wanted to say and if he could not say it in words, then he would give her the note that she could keep with her and read at her leisure. That, then, might be enough to relieve the pain and upset that he continued to feel whenever he thought of her.
“Newton?”
Francis’ head jerked up, realizing that he had spoken aloud but had not spoken directly to Lord Wickton.
“What say you?” Lord Wickton asked with a slight smile. “Shall we call upon them this afternoon? We have an hour or so until—”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Francis interrupted hurriedly. “If you will excuse me for a few minutes, Wickton, I have something I must do.”
“Do?” Wickton queried, as Francis made his way towards the door. “What is it that has caught your attention so?”
Francis hesitated, the door now pulled wide. “I must give her a way out,” he declared, half to himself. “I must give her hope. I fear I can do nothing else.”
Lord Wickton stared at him, then shrugged. “You must do whatever will bring you some relief,” he stated with a small smile. “I shall remain here, if that is quite all right with you. I am not yet satisfied.”
“But of course,” Francis said quickly, wanting nothing more than to find his writing desk and write out his note to Lady Chaucer. “I will not be long.”
“Take your time,” Lord Wickton called after Francis, as he hurried out. “Lady Chaucer will still be abed at this hour, I have no doubt.”
Francis shook his head, trying not to consider what Lord Chaucer would have demanded of his wife in the late hours of the night, knowing just how afraid she had been.
“Let this bring her some relief,” he said through gritted teeth as he made his way to his study. “Let this tell her that she is no longer alone.”
And let this bring me the desire to forget her, he thought to himself, as he sat down at his desk and brought out a clean, fresh piece of paper.
It was time to let his words flow onto the paper, in the hope that he would be released from these deep, confusing feelings that had started the moment he had first set eyes on Lady Chaucer.
4
“Lord Chaucer is not receiving callers.”
Francis’ hand tightened on the note he held, praying that he was not about to be forbidden entry by Lord Chaucer’s overeager butler.
“Lady Chaucer, then,” Lord Wickton said easily. “Come now, there can be nothing wrong with us seeing the new Lady Chaucer, surely?” He sent Francis a quick glance, a broad smile on his face. “You did not say that she was not receiving callers this fine afternoon?”
Francis saw the butler hesitate and began to wonder what it was Lord Chaucer had said to his staff that had the man so obviously concerned. Was it that he did not want his new bride to receive callers without him being present? Did Lord Chaucer truly wish to have such a hold on his bride’s life that she could not even converse without his say so?
“Lady Chaucer is… ill, I am afraid.”
Francis swung around to face the butler, ignoring Lord Wickton’s warning look. “Ill?”
“Yes, sir,” the butler replied, his pale face now without any emotion etched across it. “Taken ill last evening, I believe.”
“Last evening,” Francis murmured, feeling anxiety begin to climb through his veins. “How unfortunate. Can you tell me what time last evening she began to feel unwell?”
The butler frowned, but Francis held his gaze, unrelenting.
“I believe she retired early from the festivities and took to her bed,” the butler said, after a moment of hesitation. “I cannot permit anyone to see her ladyship, sir, not until Lord Chaucer is quite certain she is strong enough to do so.”
Lord Wickton let out his breath slowly and Francis was surprised to see the spark of frustration in his friend’s eyes. Perhaps he knew more of Lord Chaucer than he had said and was beginning to feel the same concern for Lady Chaucer that held Francis captive in his desire to see the lady again.
“Is she still abed?” Lord Wickton asked, taking a step closer to the butler. “It is just that I was quite certain I saw her ladyship at the window as we entered the house.”
Francis, knowing all too well that this was nothing more than a lie, watched the butler with interest. His face, which had been stoic for the last few minutes, now became quite panicked. The man’s eyes had widened, his mouth working as he evidently tried to find something to say, some explanation to give to the gentlemen for what they had supposedly seen.
“If Lady Chaucer is able to see us, even if only for a few minutes, then we would both be most grateful,” Lord Wickton continued in a very soft voice that seemed to fill the entire hallway. “We will not disturb the master of the house, of course, but we must be allowed to give our congratulations to Lady Chaucer, so that she might pass it on to her husband.” He settled his steely gaze on the butler, who looked as though he might faint from the difficulty he was having in removing both Francis and Lord Wickton from the hous
e, such was the paleness of his face. “The last thing either of us wish to do is to bring about Lord Chaucer’s displeasure for our lack of courtesy.”
Francis said nothing, allowing Lord Wickton to speak and do all he could to convince the butler to permit them entry to the house.
“I do not know where her ladyship is at this present moment,” the butler replied, after drawing in a deep breath. “I am afraid that I—”
“That does not matter,” Francis interrupted, trying to sound as jovial as possible. “As you may recall, I was one of the invited guests to the festivities yesterday, and I am more than able to find the lady in question.” He knew, of course, that this was most improper and more than a little foolhardy, but his desire to find Lady Chaucer was growing with every moment that passed. Perhaps there would be no need for his note. Perhaps he would be able to speak to the lady directly, before her husband knew of it. “Do come along, Lord Wickton. I am quite sure Lady Chaucer will be in the drawing room or dining room.”
“Or mayhap, the library,” Lord Wickton interjected with a slight grin on his face, as they walked past the hapless butler and began to make towards the drawing room.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Francis murmured out of the corner of his mouth as they pushed open the drawing room door. “You are quite convincing, when you wish to be.”
Lord Wickton grinned, his eyes dancing. “How else do you think I am able to convince so many young debutantes that I am quite the gentleman, and therefore they should be eager to seek out my company?” he asked, reminding Francis of just how the young ladies of the ton always seemed to swarm around his friend. “But yes, this is quite unorthodox and I do pray that we do not bring any difficulty or harm to Lady Chaucer by our actions.”
Francis glanced into the drawing room and then closed the door again, finding it empty. “I had not thought of that,” he muttered, making his way towards the dining room with Lord Wickton following behind. “If need be, I will wait until Lord Chaucer decides to rise and insist that I simply have to see him.”