Pride Of Honor: Men of the Squadron Series, Book 1

by Stein, Andrea K.

  The actual human abode, she assumed, was the small jewel of a house with second-floor gables across the middle and both wings. A double-sided door surrounded by ornate stone carving stood open. All the windows, including the perfectly rounded set above the doorway, gleamed in the sun’s last rays of the day. Standing at the head of the circular drive was Sir Thomas with his arms outstretched and laughing while the coachman pulled them to a stop and footmen rushed forward with steps. This was the way she’d always think of the kind barrister. In fact, she could not remember ever seeing a single dour look from the man.

  He moved forward as their coachman pulled Howick’s team of six to a stop. “At last. Sophie and her retinue arrive. Wait until you see my library. You will never want to leave Clifford Park again.”

  Arnaud and Lord Howick had handed their mounts off to groomsmen who walked them toward the stables.

  Howick and Sir Thomas exchanged firm handshakes while Arnaud gave him a short bow. “Do you always use books to coax women to your country hideaway?”

  Sir Thomas burst into uncontrollable laughter, leaning over with his hands on his knees. When he straightened, he pulled Arnaud into a fierce bear hug. “You might be well served to learn from my techniques, Captain.”

  Sophie threw Arnaud a dark look before she, Lydia, and Lady Howick followed the Clifford Park housekeeper to a set of rooms on the second floor of the west wing. Howick and Arnaud were ushered to the east wing by a maid. Sophie understood Howick had reached a compromise with her guards. While Arnaud would stay at the house, his three men would take rooms at the nearby inn at Cliffshire. Lydia had overheard her father telling her grandmother Sir Thomas did not want his house party resembling a rout within an armed fortress.

  Ever since she’d tried to explain her feelings to Lord Howick, Sophie kept wondering whether he’d really heard what she’d said, or was just humoring her. Arnaud was back as her guard, either with a scowl on his face or a blank, inscrutable look. Sometimes she wished she would get a marriage offer, any offer, just to be able to escape his constant, sour regard.

  “Sophie, quit wool-gathering.” Lydia’s cross tone belied her indulgent smile. “Look at the view out those dormer windows.”

  Sophie joined her friend and took in a deep breath. Emerald fields and hedgerows stretched out for miles, broken occasionally by darker masses of deep woods. Sir Thomas’s beloved horses dotted a number of fenced areas, accompanied by colts of various ages, cavorting on spindly legs around their mothers.

  She eyed several elaborate carriages rumbling up the long drive, nearing the house. “Who else do you suppose he’s invited?”

  Lydia launched herself back-first onto the soft counterpane, letting out an “ah” with a huge exhale. “I could get used to the comforts of country living like this.” She rolled onto her side and waggled her eyebrows at Sophie. “Do you suppose I could bring Sir Thomas up to scratch?”

  Her grandmother chose that moment to join them. “Lydia, you could bring any number of men up to scratch, if only you weren’t so flighty.”

  Lydia pounced back up onto the carpet. “That’s not so. Why only a few weeks ago, just before Sophie’s coming out ball, Captain Neville said I would make a fine farmer’s wife. He wouldn’t have said that if he didn’t mean it, but of course he didn’t know who I was. He thought I was one of the downstairs maids.”

  Both Sophie and Lady Howick stood open-mouthed at Lydia’s sudden declaration.

  “And just what did you do to make the poor young man think you were a downstairs maid?” Her grandmother’s voice turned steely.

  Lydia gave her an odd frown, a tiny wrinkle forming on her forehead. “Nothing. I did nothing. I was merely arranging flowers for the ball in an old dress and apron with my hair tied back behind a kerchief.”

  Lady Howick shook her head slowly, easing herself down with the aid of her cane onto a chair near one of the dormer windows. “If I live to see you safely settled into your own home with a sensible husband to keep you in hand, I will consider that a miracle.”

  At a light tap, Sir Thomas’s housekeeper bustled into the room with an armload of fine woolen blankets, one of which she offered Lady Howick and then tucked the covering over the older woman’s legs and feet. “Would you like some hot tea sent up?”

  “That would be wonderful. And do you have any ginger biscuits?”

  The woman nodded with a smile. “Of course.”

  Lady Howick gave Sophie and Lydia a wave. “You girls should go down and let Sir Thomas show you his home and the grounds. I’m sure he’s anxious to make Sophie feel welcome.”

  “What about me?” Lydia feigned a slight moue with her mouth.

  “You’ve been here before, when you were still mad about horses at thirteen.”

  “But I might like to have my memory refreshed.”

  “Of course you would.” Her grandmother gave a long sigh. “You and Sophie can serve as chaperones for each other. Poor Jane is probably exhausted from the trip and would appreciate a bit of a rest before she tackles unpacking your trunks.”

  Sophie and Lydia tied on their bonnets again for the walk around the grounds with Sir Thomas. The sun slanting at the end of the day was intense. Sir Thomas wore a wide-brimmed straw hat with a black cloth strip around the crown.

  “What do you want to see first?” Sir Thomas gave Sophie a questioning look.

  Sophie gave him an impish smile. “All I want to see is that famous library you crow about so much. However, the on dit’s say your horses are the love of your life.”

  “I’ve been found out. I admit there is nowhere I’d rather be than in the stables, coaxing my beauties to thrive and make me proud.”

  “We saw so many colts in the fields.” Lydia neatly side-stepped a clump of dirt at the side of the path, lifting her skirts out of the way. “Do you have a nursery for all of the little ones in the stables?”

  “No. They stay with their mothers until they’re ready to venture out into the fields.” He hailed one of the grooms walking from the stables to a nearby cottage. “Ned—do we have any wee ones in the stables now?”

  “Aye, Major. One of Rubal's mares. She dropped her foal last night.” The groom waved before continuing to his cottage.

  “Why did he call you ‘major’?” Sophie asked.

  “He served with me in the cavalry.” A cloud of something Sophie could not quite name momentarily blocked Sir Thomas’s usually open, sunny smile. “But, come. We’re about to see something that can’t help but lift our spirits.”

  He led them through large open doors of the immaculate stables and down a long aisle to the end where a beautiful chestnut-colored creature watched over her diminutive son leaning close to her. She snorted and gave them wary looks before Sir Thomas spoke low with soothing words in a strange language.

  “What did you say to her?” Lydia whispered, for once seeming calmed by the scene in front of them.

  “Some Gaelic I learned from one of the stable boys who has the gift.” His smile was back.

  “Do those phrases always calm them?” Sophie had no idea there was a special tongue for conversing with horses.

  “Most of the time.”

  “What do you do when Gaelic doesn’t work?”

  “I do whatever is necessary to make my beauties happy.” He dipped the brim of his hat and stretched an arm back toward the entrance. “Ladies, there’s still time to see the rose and sculpture gardens before the sun sets and dinner is served. Are you interested?”

  “Of course,” Sophie said, and extended her gloved hand.

  He took both of their hands and walked slowly back past the luxurious stalls.

  When they were outside again, Arnaud joined them and frowned at Sophie’s gloved hand clasped in one of Sir Thomas’s.

  “All right, then, if you insist on being surly…” Sophie broke her contact with Sir Thomas and grasped Arnaud’s hand tight. When he stiffened, she warned, “Don’t” in a low voice. They fell in behind the barrister a
nd Lydia, who barely stifled a giggle.

  After Arnaud delivered Sophie back to the main house, she and Lydia excused themselves to change before dinner.

  Sir Thomas lightly tapped his shoulder when he made to leave. “I have an idea for an outing for Sophia tomorrow morning and I was hoping you could come along to make sure we aren’t deviled by any outside interference. She’s been through so much, she deserves some time away from London where she can be free to enjoy the countryside.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “A nice, long horseback ride through the park. What do you say? You’ll join us?”

  “What about Lady Lydia Howick? Shouldn’t she come along?”

  “Oh, I think Miss Lydia is much more interested in the social offerings at the house. And she’ll have your fellow crewmen to look after her. Maybe that upright Captain Neville would be just the thing to keep her out of trouble? He seems a proper serious sort. I’ll send word tonight to the inn for him to come over to the house in the morning.”

  “Let me assure you, just because you don’t see my men doesn’t mean they’re not on watch.” Arnaud’s eyes narrowed. “Now, to be clear. You want me alone along for guard duty while you court Miss Brancelli?”

  “Yes, absolutely. That’s it. You’ve got it. Nothing escapes you Royal Navy chaps.”

  “Of course. What time?” Arnaud ignored the slight sarcasm in Sir Thomas’s tone.

  “Let’s say about nine in the morning? We’ll meet at the stables. I’ll have your mount ready.”

  “Right.” Arnaud was deeply suspicious of Sir Thomas’s reasons for wanting only him along on his morning ride with Sophie, but he couldn’t very well resist or complain. Lord Howick had already lectured and warned him on the perils of any further obstinance or surliness in guarding Sophie.

  “Now, I must see to my guests. There’s Admiral Longthorpe and Frannie. He must have offered to escort her out to the party. What a gentleman. You will excuse me.” Sir Thomas walked away toward Arnaud’s former lover standing close to the man who could elevate or destroy Arnaud’s Royal Navy career. Why the hell had Frannie been avoiding him, and why had she chosen now to show up at the same house party he was doomed to see through to the end?

  When Arnaud stepped out into the twilight for a breath of air before returning to his wing, another elegant carriage pulled up to the Clifford House entrance. While grooms hastened to take charge of the team, a familiar face exited the carriage and then held out his hand to help an even more familiar figure leave the equipage.

  Sir Thomas’s butler directed footmen and maids with guests’ trunks and servants with the efficiency of a field sergeant. In fact, Arnaud suspected he might very well be. He’d discovered, on his inspection of the property, that many of Sir Thomas’s workers were indeed veterans of the recent wars.

  Arnaud faced a delicate military-type operation of his own, however. His mother walked up the steps on the arm of Admiral Sir Edward Thornbrough. One of her footmen from London extricated a cage containing a squirming, white mass of fur. God. Sophie’s damnable dog. Just when he thought circumstances could not get any darker.

  “Good evening, my darling.” His mother dipped her head toward Arnaud.

  “Captain,” the admiral intoned.

  “Admiral Thornbrough.” Arnaud straightened with a snap. “So glad you’ll be joining the party.”

  “Your mother reached out, and I came to her assistance. No one says ‘no’ to your mother.”

  Arnaud decided there was no safe answer to that exchange, so merely nodded and gave his mother a light kiss on the cheek before following the couple back into the hall.

  Once they were inside, Sir Thomas came forward, arms extended. “Welcome to Clifford Park. I see you’ve all met.” The jovial tone in Sir Thomas’s voice and the twinkle in his eyes made Arnaud want to pummel him down onto the expensive marble floor of his hall filled with portraits of his illustrious ancestors. Arnaud felt like an insect trapped on a chess board filled with complicated moves.

  Sophie smoothed the pink-striped heavy silk of her evening dress and held the skirts up a bit while Lord Howick held out her chair. He pushed her chair in toward the table while she adjusted the heavy layers of trim along the hem and sat on the lush, velvet-cushioned chair. A thin line of gilt edged the light wood trim. Sir Thomas certainly took great care to ensure his guests’ comfort.

  After she scooted back and settled into the generously proportioned chair, she looked up into the startling violet-hued eyes she could mistake for no other. Her father’s old friend, Mrs. Withers, sat directly across the table from Lord Howick. She stifled an involuntary gasp when she sensed Lord Howick next to her still as if waiting for her reaction.

  Sophie gave the actress a sunny smile. “What a beautiful costume, Mrs. Withers. Isn’t that the one you wore for ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream?’”

  Mrs. Withers returned the smile. “Yes, Titania. Sir Thomas asked me to present a few monologues after dinner this evening.”

  “What an unexpected surprise.” Sophie leaned forward and couldn’t help sneaking a quick look at Lord Howick. The warm smile she caught from him told her everything she needed to know. Everyone at Howick House had worried about his loneliness, his many trips to the theater on his own. Sophie had to stifle a giggle. Lord Howick was in love.

  She gave a discreet glance up and down the long table. Sir Thomas sat at the head of the table to her right, while an older woman she’d not met was at the opposite end. Perhaps an aunt? Or maybe his mother? The lady in question was giving her a piercing stare at the moment. When Sophie shifted her glance full-on to the lady, she did not look away.

  Sophie had been to lots of boring dinner parties since the Season began. It seemed like years had passed, but actually it had been little more than a month. But this evening’s fete was unlike anything else she’d been forced to attend in her endless search for the perfect “gentleman of the ton.” Sir Thomas’s sense of playfulness apparently extended to his entertaining style as well.

  Lord Howick, to her left, leaned close enough to whisper in her ear. “Lady Fitzroy, the dowager countess, appears to be studying you in detail. She must be convinced you have designs on her son.”

  Sophie turned to Howick, shocked. “But we’re merely friends. Doesn’t she know that?”

  “There is no such thing as ‘merely friends’ within the ton. Don’t be surprised if she traps you later for an interrogation.”

  Sophie stiffened. How would she extricate herself from this mess? Jupiter!

  Chapter Eighteen

  Arnaud loosened his neck cloth, knowing full well Artemis would shout at him later. Thank God his valet was back in the kitchen wing with the rest of the Clifford Park servants. He’d brought him along because, frankly, he had no idea how to dress himself for such formal settings as the events at Sir Thomas’s house party.

  Fortunately, his mother and Admiral Thornbrough were at the opposite end of the table. He had enough problems without getting looks of censure from her while he fidgeted through the long formal dinner. When he glanced to his right, his neckcloth tightened again. His sometime lover, the dowager Viscountess Frances Fairfield, was settling into the chair next him, being assisted by a footman.

  Admiral Longthorpe, the very person who’d been pressing him ever since he returned to London to settle down and offer to marry the viscountess, sat in the chair across from her.

  Arnaud had called at Fairfield House several times over the last few weeks, but each time her servants had said either she was ill, or away in the country. It wasn’t as if they were strangers. They had shared a bed many times over the last five years since her husband’s death. Whenever he’d been in London on leave, they’d been together as much as possible.

  None of her current behavior, or that of Longthorpe, for that matter, made any sense.

  “Good evening, Captain Bellingham.” Her husky voice and heavy floral scent drifted through his senses like a discordant melody
. She turned toward him. “How long has it been?”

  “Two years this time,” he said. “I’ve been trying to see you for the last few weeks. Are you feeling better?”

  She favored him with a dazzling smile. “I am so much better now, the best I’ve felt in years.”

  “Then may I call on you when we return to London?”

  “Let me think on that.” She paused a few moments, and a fleeting air of sadness flashed across her heavily powdered face. “Perhaps I’ll send for you next week. Wait for word from me.”

  She turned suddenly and engaged in conversation with Howick on her other side.

  Arnaud rubbed the back of his neck and tried to make sense of her words. First Admiral Longthorpe had pressed him to offer for her, then she refused to see him, and now…he had no idea what to make of her behavior.

  “Quit fashing yourself, you hard-headed swab,” a voice whispered in his other ear. He turned to see Cullen slipping into place where a hand-lettered porcelain placard plainly indicated Viscountess Rumsford would be sitting.

  “What are you doing here? Who’s patrolling outside?”

  “Sir Thomas sent for me, said the lady was indisposed and he needed an extra guest at the table.” A footman stepped between them, neatly removing the placard and placing a heavy linen square in Cullen’s lap. “Lieutenant Bourne is out there with Artemis slogging through the underbrush.”

  Any further discussion was interrupted by the arrival of the white soup course.

  After the maneuvering of servants in the dining room subsided, Arnaud noted Lady Lydia Howick was seated directly across from him, and next to her was Captain Neville.