“Lady Simmons, are you saying that. . .” She hesitated over Bess’s real name. “Lady Bradford Simmons has a life interest in your younger son’s estate, and that if her child is a boy, he will inherit the title and lands? There is no doubt about the marriage documents?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” the older woman said huffily, turning her attention back to her guests. “Our family solicitor would have made certain all was in proper order before settling Rose’s portion on her. Poor Rose will never be right, so I provided for her future. Hamm is her executor.”
Will kept his eye on Cornett slumped against the wall with the bobby standing watch over him. Will knew from experience that once the servant’s lies were revealed, the rogue would attempt to flee. Cornett was a tall man with a military bearing. He would be dangerous.
Before he asked any further questions, Will placed himself in the room’s one doorway and nodded to the footman, who discreetly stood behind Lela and blocked the window.
“Your son’s wife is under the impression that her marriage isn’t legal,” Will explained, wishing he had Erran’s silver tongue. “She has been removed from her husband’s home. Are you aware of this?”
“What?” Lady Simmons turned immediately to her son. “Did you know of this? Why would. . .” And then she turned an ashen gray and slumped over, holding an arm across her chest.
Lela was on her feet at once, rushing to the lady’s aid. A mouse of a woman appeared from the shadows with smelling salts in hand.
And Cornett shoved from the wall, as Will feared. Caught by surprise, the policeman didn’t grab him fast enough as the rogue dashed straight for—not the door where Will stood, but Lela.
Will roared. Lela dodged. The scoundrel didn’t have time to do more than grab at her hat before Will was upon him, wrapping his fingers in the cad’s over-long hair, yanking his head back, and plowing his fist into a bony jaw. Cornett flew backward, off the floor, into the arms of the duke’s footman.
“Don’t hurt him,” Rush shouted. “Whatever he’s done, it’s all been for me. I shouldn’t have denied him. I shouldn’t have insisted on staying in town. It’s all my fault.”
“We’ve seen enough. Take them both to the magistrate,” Will ordered. “Bind Cornett’s arms and hobble his feet. I’ll be down to testify shortly.”
“Hamm’s a good boy,” Lady Simmons whispered as more maids arrived to help her up and a footman ran for her physician. “I told him to find a nice wife, that he’d need someone when I was gone.” She glanced at Lela. “I never dreamed he’d seek so high as you, my lady. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Will wrapped Lela in his arms and let her weep as the lady was led away. “Because of you, Bess and Rose will have their home back. Think happy thoughts.”
She sniffed and nodded against his shoulder, letting him lead her back to the waiting carriage.
In a few days, Lady Aurelia would hold her grand ball, with every eligible bachelor in town at her feet. Will had to give her the opportunity to see if she could tolerate the society events she’d been raised to attend. There might never be another woman for him, but he had to let her discover if there might be someone more suitable for her.
The duke’s orders be damned. Lela needed to spread her wings on her own terms. Will refused to cage her as the duke had.
Chapter 24
Riding beside the carriage taking Rose, her infant brother, and the wet nurse back to Bess—Lady Simmons—Will wished for the company of his dogs. But he’d left Ajax guarding Lela and given Hero to his brothers to take to Iveston.
Not knowing what the future held, he could make no other plans. His entire life rested upon the answer to one impossible question. How had he ended up in this predicament?
Will’s gut ground as he imagined Lela happily preparing for her ball. The house had been full of women nattering about decorations and gowns. Now that she was learning how to cope with the noises in her head, she wouldn’t miss him.
But Will missed her, far more than he’d ever imagined. Every time he thought of something he wished to say to her, he jotted it in a little notebook he’d picked up in the city. He wanted to offer her poetry as her other suitors did. All he had was a misspelled scrawl with foolish lines like: I almost heard you laugh when Tiny stuck his nose in Rose’s porridge bowl.
He missed Lela’s laugh and her feminine understanding and the way she made his day lighter. He missed her scent of vanilla—he’d finally learned the name for her sweet bakery aroma. And he spent way too much time recalling that night in the freezing warehouse—except it wasn’t the cold he recalled. He’d always thought he’d wanted a large woman, but delicate Lela. . . Lela felt like a part of him that had been missing.
But instead of courting her, he was escorting Bess’s brood to their home. They’d agreed to meet at the late viscount’s estate. It was a long ride from London in the upper reaches of nowhere, but the weather held and they arrived on time.
Rose’s home was a vine-covered block stone house. Will could hear the child’s excited cries as she recognized the familiar sight, so he knew they’d done the right thing. She’d been upset to leave Lela, weeping and refusing to go with the nurse. Will hadn’t seen any other choice but to take the child himself. It was probably safer this way. If he’d been left alone with Lela for any length of time—
If he had any chance to make a future in civilized society with Lela, he had to eliminate the animal part of him that he’d followed for so long.
For her sake, he was trying very hard to be a gentleman, but he was still a man with all the faults of his kind. And Lela wasn’t helping him be strong. She’d pouted and flirted and pressed her breasts into his arm until he’d almost been ready to fling caution to the wind and Lela into bed. Almost. Only his desire that she have what was best for her had kept him on the straight and narrow.
Shortly, he’d be on his way back to face temptation and possible rejection of his tentative new hopes and dreams. He’d never spent much time dreaming before. He was wary of it.
Bess rushed out to greet the carriage as soon as it stopped. She looked better now, stronger and healthier. The respite from worry and fear had wiped the lines and shadows from her eyes. She was a tall, strong woman who joyously swung Rose up in the air much as a man might. But she wept like any weak female when the nurse climbed out carrying the infant.
She was the type of sturdy woman Will had once thought he wanted. But now he understood it wasn’t a woman’s body that mattered most, just as a woman’s aristocratic parentage shouldn’t put him off. It was hard to adjust his thinking, but he meant to stop and tell Miranda good-bye before returning to London. He’d never raised her expectations. He didn’t think she would be heart-broken or even miss him. He would be the one to suffer if Lela rejected him.
Holding the babe while Rose chased after Tiny, Bess turned her tear-stained face to him. “I cannot thank you enough. What will happen to Hammond and Cornett? Will we be safe now?”
Lord Rush had turned on his lover after learning what the valet had done. They were both broken men. Will didn’t see the need to expand.
“After half England learns what they did to you? They have no chance of stealing your home again. Whatever the courts decide, your son’s title and inheritance are safe. The rest is up to you, I suppose.” Will was still uncomfortable explaining since he seldom fully understood all the layers of human reactions—but Lela did. He needed her here with him.
“You saved our lives, then you saved our futures,” Lady Simmons said gratefully. “How can I ever repay you?”
Will shrugged uncomfortably. “By helping others when you can, I suppose. It’s what people do. Lady Aurelia said she will be sending you a book of hand signs to help talk with Rose, but she wanted to make copies first.”
Bess looked both shy and elated. “Lady Aurelia has been a saint. I must find a good way to thank her as well. Won’t you come in? The house has been empty, but there’s still water and tea. It’
s been such a long journey!”
Will dug in his pocket for the letters Lela and his brothers had written to explain all that had happened. “Forgive me for not accepting your invitation, but there are still daylight hours left, and I’m in something of a hurry. You’re to write if you have questions, and I believe the magistrate will be corresponding with your solicitor, so he will be speaking with you as well.”
Bess shifted the infant so she could reach for the packet. She wore an expression of awe as she studied the seal and the elegant script Will could never produce. “The Right Honorable, The Viscountess Simmons,” she said in wonder, reading the direction. “They address me as if I’m truly one of them.”
Uncomfortably, Will recognized the feeling. Bess was no more than the bastard of some poor unfortunate vicar’s daughter, but she was a viscountess by way of marriage. He was a bastard son of a much higher sort, with the breeding and education Bess could never attain. And yet, he still felt astonished at being recognized as a gentleman.
He’d have to go beyond that flaw in his thinking if he meant to propose to the daughter of a duke. He had no idea where they’d go from there if she actually said yes. He needed to hear that yes before he could make a single plan.
He was far more prepared for a no. Or to be ignored while Lela listened to the strains of a waltz instead of his impassioned plea, he acknowledged with grim humor.
He left the little family laughing and hugging and promising to write. He left the carriage in his dust. He had to see Miranda, then make London in four days’ time, and the weather was threatening to turn.
Standing unhappily in the middle of her suite as family and servants swirled around her, Lela cried, “Will isn’t back. Can’t we wait until he is?”
Her maid tightened the strings of Lela’s exquisitely embroidered corset, designed just for the gown another maid held ready. “You have shrunk to nothing,” Addy scolded. “You must eat.”
“I don’t want to eat. I should be with Rose and Will, not standing here like a useless fashion doll.” Lela took a nibble of the meat-filled roll Christie shoved between her lips.
Aster and Celeste had brought in reinforcements in the form of the marchioness for the evening. Christie, Lady Ashford, had a way of bringing order out of chaos while seeing that everyone had what they needed, when they needed it.
She frowned at Lela now and held up the rest of the roll. “Eat. William will be here when he gets here. He’s not likely to vanish or melt in this rain. We’ll not have you fainting from lack of nourishment tonight. The rumors would be dreadful.”
Lela rolled her eyes. “The gossip is already hilarious. It’s obvious no one knows Will. As if he’d do anything improper!”
Well, he had touched her in ways no other man had, and she fully intended that he do so again—if only he would return! The wretched man insisted on doing what was right and proper at all times, when all she wanted to do was fling aside proprieties and tell the world to go away. She supposed that reflected her privileged upbringing.
“He has enough against him without allowing rumors to circulate,” Aster admonished, unintentionally contrasting Lela’s freedom to Will’s more restricted background.
But Lela hadn’t really been free until Will had come into her life. If only they had time to talk and plan, they might make their differences work—if only he would see that!
Aster used the looking glass to adjust the bodice of her multi-colored evening gown and continued speaking over Lela’s thoughts. “It’s not as if it’s easy to explain that Will has rescued a viscountess and her family when society knows nothing of them. They only know that Lady Simmons had an apoplexy in his presence, and that a baron is under arrest because of Will’s charges. We must use this occasion to make the ton see him as the hero he is.”
“As if I’ll be able to think two words without Will in the room,” Lela said in frustration. “I’m learning, but there will be hundreds of people present. I had so counted on him—”
“In which case, you definitely should go without him,” Christie scolded. “You must learn to stand on your own. It’s only by being able to act independently that you can be a true help to the husband you choose.”
The marchioness was older and wiser and had a gift for knowing how people felt. She sailed through the halls of society with head held high, confident of her position—unlike Lela.
“Don’t,” Celeste warned, coming to help the maid lower Lela’s wide skirt over her head. “I know that expression. Do not give us excuses about your inability to think and need to be somewhere quiet. You have been hiding all your life behind that excuse. You owe it to Will to go out there and enjoy yourself. I cannot imagine how that poor man is suffering out on the cold road while he knows you’re in a glittering ballroom, surrounded by suitors.”
“Do you think he even cares?” Lela whispered her fear. “He rode off as if eager to see the last of us. He’s probably on his way to Scotland, relieved to be free.”
Aster, Celeste, and Christie all broke into gales of laughter.
Lela wasn’t reassured. They didn’t know Will as she did. They were thinking in terms of their own Ives males, the legitimate heirs who walked through society with cynicism and confidence, doing as they pleased. Will wasn’t like that. Underneath that muscle, he was a gentle, honorable man. He respected his brothers and society, as they hadn’t always respected him. He was accustomed to rejection and going his own way.
He didn’t need her.
He was trying to show her that she didn’t need him.
“Sometimes, men need to be hit about the ears with a big stick,” she muttered, which sent her family into more gales of laughter.
With the grim preparation of a soldier going off to war, Lela allowed them to powder and paint her face, drip her with diamonds and pearls, puff the ice-blue silk of her gown to perfection, and put her into heels that raised her to eye level with half the gentlemen who would be attending. Glaring into the looking glass, she saw a crystalline ice princess. If that didn’t scare off suitors, they were more stupid than she expected.
Will rubbed his hand over his still damp jaw, feeling plucked, shaved, and basted for roasting. Ash’s valet had done his job so well that he now felt more like the marquess than himself. Even the coat and trousers tailored just for him felt as if they belonged on one of his brothers. And the shoes. . . he glared at the offending pieces of useless leather as he stomped up the stairs, past the gleaming lamps illuminating the duke’s palace for this grand affair. The shoes were worthless for anything except dancing.
It had been a dozen years since he’d been forced to prance around a ballroom.
At his expression, liveried servants inched out of his way. With a scowl, Will strolled past guests glittering in jewels and stinking of expensive perfumes. He probably knew some of the gentlemen. He’d made his reputation by training dogs for the highest ranking nobles in the kingdom, after all. Most of them didn’t know his work in training rescue dogs, but their tenants had occasionally benefited from his talent. The tenants weren’t at a duke’s ball, and the men he’d worked for probably thought he was one of his brothers in these exalted corridors.
So he felt safe acting as if he owned the place, brushing past the throngs on the broad marble staircase, behaving as if he had no one to account to or for—unless he ran into the duke or Rain. He’d like to avoid them for as long as possible.
He could hear strains of a waltz drifting from the ballroom on the top floor. Would Lela be there? Or would she be in one of these crowded public rooms with the champagne and cards and food?
Or in a private niche being wooed by some upstart Will would have to heave over a banister?
It was nearly midnight. He’d been riding all day. Saying farewell to Miranda had felt right, but now that he was here. . . He was having doubts again. But he hadn’t worn out himself and the horse to give up now.
He reached the top floor. It was well past the time for receiving lines and anno
uncing guests. He strode in without interference, searching for his only purpose in being here. He should have brought Ajax. He almost smiled at the image that conjured. But he was here to prove he could be a gentleman when necessary, so he had left the dog in her kennel.
The center of the ballroom swirled with dancers. The edges were crowded with clumps of black-and-white intermixed with exotic colors, all laughing and talking above the music.
Lela wasn’t tall. She would disappear in this mob.
Will walked the perimeter, searching. He saw his brothers and their wives among the swirling dancers. Except for Aster, they were all tall and easy to discern. He’d hoped to see Lela dancing and enjoying herself. He wished he knew what she was wearing. Aster’s peacock gown stood out among the crowd, but he’d never seen Lela wear wild colors.
He investigated every clump of males he passed, fearing she would be at their center. She wasn’t.
There was no garden path for her to be led down here. But there was a balcony—and the kind of quiet she’d prefer. Gritting his molars, Will shoved open the glass doors and stepped into the cool night. Lanterns had been lit up and down the length of the building, but there were plenty of shadows in between. Couples strolled about, cooling off after dancing, having intimate conversations.
Could he ever have that with Lela? He longed for it in ways he didn’t understand but wanted to experience.
“Your eyes are like a sunlit sky, your skin rivals the pearls in the sea. . .”
Will cast his eyes heavenward and followed the babble of drivel.
“Oh, look, there is Cassie! I really should ask about her modiste.”
Will grinned at the familiar voice and the addled reply.
“Lady Aurelia, please, I’m trying to—” A strapping black-and-white form stepped out of the shadows, following a fleeing vision in icy blue.
Will debated flipping the magpie over the balcony wall, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the vision racing toward him. He braced himself, prepared for her to run straight into him. She wore her pale hair in a marvelous construction of curls and diamonds, and his first urge was to divest her of all that fol-de-rol. Her neck was so slender, how did she hold her head up under the weight?
No Perfect Magic Page 25