Major Lord David

by Sherry Lynn Ferguson

  When her partner, the Earl of Windover, future brother-inlaw to Lord Demarest, asked if anything were wrong, Billie forced herself to rally. She smiled as she denied any troubles at all, and was still making an effort to smile as Major Trent entered the doorway from the hall.

  She missed the next step and immediately apologized. She had to rely upon Windover, a very skilled partner, to see her through the remainder of the dance, as her attention was so entirely fixed upon the unexpected scarlet coat and broad shoulders at the hall door. She could not meet David’s gaze. But she felt the relief of knowing he was well.

  Hayden had to have told him of the event, though it puzzled her that David should not have come with his brother’s entourage. Had he just arrived? Billie’s gaze at last sought his.

  But he was speaking animatedly with two young ladies, two of Billie’s newest acquaintances, May Sanders and Charis Athington. Billie did not truly feel at ease with either, but she was too new to town to be overly particular, and both were deemed excellent ton. May Sanders was an admired beautya petite blond who trailed a wake of suitors whatever the venue. Her friend, tall and elegantly stylish Charis Athington, was reputed to be the catch of the season-wealthy, lovely, and with every proper connection. The perfect Miss Athington was at that moment gazing raptly up into Major Trent’s face.

  Billie bit her lower lip.

  “Miss Caswell.” Lord Windover was frowning. “You are certain you are quite well? Perhaps we should sit out the rest of this set”

  “No-no, my lord. This tune nears its end. I am only a bit thirsty. I shall take some punch at the break”

  In truth she was parched. In truth, she felt she had been dancing for days without end. The room seemed very crowded and extremely hot, though all the fires had been lit earlier to ward off the pervasive March chill.

  The dance ended. Billie thanked her patient partner. She wished only to escape into the empty supper room. But Kit had appeared from that very room-he must have entered the house from the mews-and now he handed Billie her muchdesired glass of punch.

  She thanked him and tried not to gulp the drink.

  “When did you arrive?” she asked. “I’ve been watching-” She realized she’d been watching only Major Trent.

  “Came around back to surprise fusty old Withers and leave my gift for you in the kitchen.”

  “Whatever have you brought me?”

  He laughed. “Come and see”

  She was so relieved to have Kit sober, and to have an excuse to leave the party, that she let him lead her by the elbow through the drawing room and down to the kitchen. Cook and several startled servants abruptly ceased talking and looked at them in astonishment.

  Kit left Billie’s side to stride to the back door and open it to the cold night air. When he returned, he was holding a dripping, moving lobster above a copper pot.

  “Look here, Billie! You love lobster patties-this fellow should give you a birthday feast!”

  She had never seen a live lobster before. At once the thought of eating the magnificent, struggling creature made her ill.

  Kit must have read the dismay on her face. “I won him off P.B. Marsh at Boodles this evening,” he added stubbornly.

  “Won him?”

  “At faro. What’s wrong, Billie? I thought you’d be pleased.” He brought the poor thing closer. “Don’t be squeamish, now. You used to like to find crayfish”

  “Oh, Kit!” She fought the urge to wring her hands. It did seem that though everyone about him wished Kit would learn some sense, Kit himself was most determined to disappoint them. That he should bring such a thing to her party-and expect an ecstatic reception! Billie’s gaze rather desperately sought out Cook’s disapproving face.

  “Not that way, Master Caswell,” Cook cautioned as Kit moved to place the pot and the lobster on the stove. “We must boil the water first-else it will suffer.”

  “Suffer? Why, the thing’s to be eaten!”

  Kit was laughingly holding the lobster up to Cook’s grim features when a purposeful clearing of a throat at the kitchen door made Billie turn. Major Trent, looking every inch the distinguished military officer, his blue gaze focused in amusement on the scene before him, smartly bowed.

  Billie knew she flushed, whether from embarrassment, the heat in the kitchen, or Lord David’s quick, penetrating glance, she could not have said. She raised her chin, observing silently that he had at last managed to tear himself away from Charis Athington’s charms.

  “Your pardon,” David said, apparently speaking most directly to Cook. “I was told I might find Miss Caswell in the kitchen.” As his keen gaze took in Billie’s pink cheeks, he seemed to be fighting a smile.

  Kit’s high spirits had fled. He again looked resentful.

  “Why, Major,” he asked, “d’ya think my sister’s preparing supper?”

  “Certainly not, Mr. Caswell. You would appear to be the one charged with that chore”

  “Oh, the devil!” Kit scornfully tossed the lobster into the midst of the carefully prepared serving dishes on the table. As Cook protested, Kit sent Billie a dark look. “One red back’s as good as another, I s’pose,” he muttered disagreeably, and he brushed rudely past Lord David, who stepped aside.

  Recalling the major’s charge that she “babied” her brother, Billie held her tongue. She had to concede that Kit had not acted just then in anything other than rag-mannered fashion.

  “He is certainly a fine-looking young man,” David conceded mildly. His gaze seemed to envelop her. “I had not seen him upright.”

  She almost rose to the bait, half compliment though it was. Instead she turned to Cook and assured herself that her brother’s unusual and unfortunate gift would be handled appropriately. When she looked again toward the doorway, David Trent had held his ground. He still observed her closely. One might have suspected he had traveled all the way from the Continent for the express purpose of frequenting her aunt’s kitchen.

  “How kind of you to come, Major,” she said, as she walked toward him.

  “It is a major event” Despite his smile, despite his impeccable grooming and the dashing scarlet coat, he looked rather pale and tired. Billie fought her swift rise of concern. When she’d last seen him, at the New Year, she had released him; his welfare could be none of her affair.

  “Did Lord Hayden convey my message?” she asked.

  He smiled and shook his head. “Was it in answer to mine?”

  “Yes.”

  “And was the answer yes?”

  ‘No.

  “Ah! But the question would now seem irrelevant-and how else shall I deliver your birthday present?” He did not step aside as she approached, as he had stepped aside for Kit, so that of necessity she came very near him. She was breathlessly aware of his height, of the scent of his shaving lotion, of how dark his pupils looked within the striking blue of his eyes. “I have missed you, Billie,” he said softly.

  “Have you? Is that why you have stayed away so long?”

  “Does it seem long to you?”

  She shook her head. As she mutely made to push past him, he at last moved aside and followed her into the dark stairwell. She could hear the laughter and music of the party in the rooms just overhead, and she stepped briskly toward the stairs. But a gentle pull on her arm stayed her at the very first step.

  She turned to protest, only to find her face on a level with his.

  “You said you wanted time,” he continued softly. “How could I imagine you would object to more of it? Though I confess,” he muttered, “it seems dreadfully long to me” And he swiftly kissed her.

  For some seconds she forgot herself. Then she drew breath.

  “You are too fond of kissing, Major.”

  “Perhaps because it is so rare”

  “Surely you might determine whether it is rare or not?”

  “No, Miss Caswell. You do” Again he smiled. “Though I fear you might reach the point that you feel you have had enough of my kisses-and dev
alue them…

  “We shall never reach such a point!”

  “I am pleased to hear it.”

  “That is not what I meant!” She had to think. His ready smile fascinated her.

  “There must be no more kissing, though,” he explained lightly, “until you have decided.”

  “I assure you, my lord, that is not a deprivation.”

  “I speak for myself, Billie.” His gaze held hers. “Have you any news for me?”

  With a strangled breath she managed only, “I shall not tryst here in the stairwell,” and raced on up the steps.

  For all she had been absent a good fifteen minutes, little about the gathering had changed. Except that May Sanders and Charis Athington were no longer occupied by dancing or conversation. Both girls were much too aware of her return with Major Trent; from across the parlor, they boldly assessed the major at her side. Billie took the happy group into dazed, uncomprehending view all at once-because she felt so closely the presence of her partner. Everyone at this party believed her engaged to him, yet in all these weeks she had received not one word from him, not of love or even of liking. They ought to deny any intention here, now, finally and openly. But he had kissed her once again….

  “Will you not go?” she urged under her breath, sensing only that she could not manage both the major and the party at once. “This is not the time to talk. I do not want you here” She knew instantly that she’d been too sharp. To treat him so was disgraceful. When she glanced at him, his fine jaw had set stubbornly. She swallowed. “I mean you-you must of course stay for some supper. As you have come all this way .. “

  “I think not,” he said abruptly. She had never seen him look quite so stern. He was signaling the butler for his coat and hat. “As you say, I have indeed come a long way-from the Channel and Dover through the night-and would benefit from some sleep.” As he shrugged into his high-collared greatcoat, he drew a small parcel, carefully wrapped in paper and twine, from one deep pocket. “Happy Birthday, Miss Caswell,” he said, tendering it to her without a smile. “‘Tis from Brittany. On seeing it, I thought of you and your brothers” He did not meet her gaze as he bowed and swiftly exited, letting in a rush of frigid air at the door.

  Only later, when the company had left and the house was silent, when she could most self-indulgently regret rejecting his company, did Billie unwrap the perfect Faience pottery box with its charming depiction of one skirted girl amid a host of boys.

  66We’ve the devil to pay,” Hayden muttered, as David stood next to him at the following Monday’s musicale. The angry cries from the street outside were much at variance with the politely restrained evening in progress indoors. Their hostess, the mother of pretty May Sanders, could never have reckoned on the circumstances in town that night.

  With the introduction in Parliament of the Corn Importation Law, a bill calculated to keep grain prices high and the pockets of wealthy landowners full, much of the poorer populace of the countryside appeared to have descended on the capital to object. Deliberations on the bill in the Commons had begun only that morning, and tempers both on the floor and out on the street were running hot.

  David reflected that the weekend had certainly not been an auspicious one on which to return to London. He had left behind a continent at peace, only to confront an armed camp in the West End.

  Since his return, he had scarcely seen his brother, Hayden, catching only a brief glimpse of him two nights before, at Billie Caswell’s birthday party. And because Grandmere had wanted David to reside not at Hayden’s rooms in St. James’s but with her at the town house, there had been little opportunity to speak.

  At this evening’s informal recital, they were meant to be listening to May Sanders play the harp. May Sanders herself had invited him. But David’s attention had been drawn instead to the back of Billie Caswell’s glossy head. She sat among the attentive audience, as immovably courteous as most, thoughbecause she sat at the end of the row-he could see the slight impatient tapping of her gloved fingers against her lap.

  To distract himself he whispered to Hayden, “How shall Father vote on the bill?” The duke usually took Hayden’s recommendation. “That is, if the thing should pass?”

  “Oh, it will pass. Nothing more certain than that this rush to remedy should pass.”

  “And then how shall Father vote?”

  “Why, as he’s always voted” Hayden eyed him languidly, then returned his attention to the musicians. “In his own interest! But if you are asking if the Lords will then approve the billthat is a surety as well.” He sighed. “If I troubled to counsel anything, ‘twould be delay. ‘Tis all an unseemly hurry to tinker. We might reasonably wait a year or more to see how the peace suits. But I shan’t trouble.” He straightened a coat sleeve, as though matters of state were, after all, of trifling import.

  “These mobs grow surly,” David observed. “I sailed across from Calais with Lord Castlereagh’s suite. The folk meeting us at Dover seemed cheerful enough. But as we came on to London, the dissent increased. I feared some wished him physical harm”

  “Naturally the discontents must focus their ire on the Foreign Secretary-no matter that he’s been away in Vienna. The issue is certainly on his plate now.” He looked at David. “Why did you not stay in France, to go on to Vienna with Wellington? D’you plan to cash out after all? Or were you concerned about the filly?”

  “I wish you would not refer to Miss Caswell so, Myles.”

  “Why, ‘twas you yourself likened her to your horse! At the New Year.”

  “I shouldn’t have done so. The color of her hair put me in mind of it, that is all.” David’s gaze drifted again to that dark chestnut head. “And I like to watch her walk.”

  “Walk?”

  “Yes. She’s most graceful, yet assured. She has no fear.”

  “Even I have some fears, David.”

  “And it shows in your walk.”

  Myles promptly and surreptitiously elbowed him, a hard jab that might easily have toppled him. But David held his place.

  “In all seriousness, Myles,” he whispered. “I must have a decision from her-if not tonight, then soon. I had no interest in moving on to Vienna with Wellington; I’ve no taste for diplomacy. Either I rejoin the regiment or sell up and head home”

  “You were always one for doin’ and rushin’ about. Perhaps you ought to stand for this energetic Parliament.” But Hayden sobered as he listened to May Sanders pluck dutifully upon her harp. “I’ve mentioned before that Father wants you home. And nothing would please Grandmere more than if you were to skip off to Scotland with Miss Billie-and promise her a great-grandchild.”

  “Grandmere would be even more pleased were you to marry.”

  Hayden shook his head. “I am incapable of pleasing her.”

  “Au contraire. You are the one most capable of pleasing her. But you are also the least inclined to do so.”

  The Marquis of Hayden had no response. Since David knew he had simply stated the truth, he did not refine upon it. So much of what Grandmere had said to him and to his cousin Chas in the past year had evidenced her frustration over Hayden’s apparent apathy. One did not fret so if one did not care very much indeed.

  May Sanders finished her ordeal. Before the next performer, a young lady whose complexion defiantly challenged her pink gown, could be prevailed upon to leave the safety of her seat, Charis Athington was up out of her own-and rather too obviously and playfully importuning Billie Caswell to seek the stage. Billie was shaking her bright head.

  “Egad! We can’t have that, can we?” Hayden observed with a wince. “Will you not intervene?”

  David smiled and declined. With a disgusted sigh, Hayden moved as though to leave the room.

  “Do stay, Myles.” David put a hand on his brother’s sleeve. “I’ll wager she’ll surprise us all. Or if not, ‘twill be worth it to watch her brazen it out”

  “You would let the girl be embarrassed? That is clearly Athington’s aim.”
<
br />   “I do not expect Miss Caswell to be embarrassed.”

  “You act as though she is your pet.”

  “No” David followed Billie’s progress as she made her way to the piano. “But I am proud of her.”

  Billie did not appear in the least flustered; instead she looked thoughtful, as though she silently reviewed her repertoire of possible pieces. David did not miss the expression on Charis Athington’s face. Despite the spoiled beauty’s evident intention, despite her anticipation, David thought Charis destined to be disappointed.

  Even as he thought it, Charis sent him a sly, sidelong glance. David quickly looked to the piano.

  “What do you think of the Misses Sanders and Athington?” he asked Hayden softly.

  “Ah, Miss Sanders-the pocket Venus” Hayden quizzed golden-haired May with his glass. “So petite and prettily packaged-with no room left for a heart. And the elegant Miss Athington-of the dark eyes and sharp tongue…. She is known to be very hard on a fella.” He dropped his glass and glanced at David. “I hear they dance well,” he conceded.

  David stifled a laugh. “I should have guessed you would not be entranced”

  Myles acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. “You understand, then,” he whispered as Billie began to play, “why I remain fancy-free.”

  Billie had chosen Bach, a short but difficult prelude. Though David had guessed at her proficiency, he was still pleasantly surprised. Her rendition was far from a simple exercise; there was nothing tired or methodical about the crisp clarity of the music, nothing merely competent about her playing. Though he could not recall much of the piece, David knew she played it both accurately and beautifully. And the choice was appropriate, fitting the evening’s effort at entertainment more comfortably than any lengthy, virtuosic display.