His Lordship's Vow (Regency Romance Short Novel)

by Cheryl Bolen

  She shrugged. "I expect we haven't seen you since your father's last, grave illness."

  "Then it's been nearly four years. I'm eagerly looking forward to tomorrow night. Will your cousin be there?"

  A puzzled look passed over her lightly freckled face. "Lord Harry?"

  How stupid of him to have expected the most popular debutante in London to choose to spend an evening discussing political reform at her uncle's modest home. "Actually, I was referring to Lady Sarah, but I realize now how unlikely that would be."

  Miss Featherstone's gaze swept to the dancing floor where Lady Sarah was presently standing up with Lord Slade's dashing brother. "I believe my cousin will be dancing blisters on her feet for the next several nights."

  "You will not accompany her to all the fetes?"

  "It was important for me to be with her this first night, but I believe she will be more than capable of handling herself from here on out."

  "It just seemed to me this afternoon in the park that your cousin rather deferred to you."

  "How perceptive you are. We are as close as sisters—neither of us having a sister—and, owing to the fact that I'm three years her elder, Lady Sarah has always rather looked to me for guidance." She paused, casting a quick glance at her elegant cousin, "But as you can see, in one single night the pupil has surpassed the teacher."

  He shook his head. "I beg to differ. Were Lady Sarah to sit at your father's table tomorrow night, your acumen of politics and literature would likely leave Lady Sarah sadly in your dust."

  "You're much too kind."

  "I'm honest."

  "I have noticed that about you. Sometimes your honesty hinders your- - -"

  Silence stretched between them while Miss Featherstone was obviously searching for a non-offensive comment.

  Then he understood. "You refer, of course, to my effectiveness in Parliament?" The lady was too gracious to malign him, but he was well aware of the many times his truthful tongue had gotten the better of him on the floor of the House of Lords. And Commons before that.

  To this day, Lord Haygood refused to speak to him, and he couldn't blame the man. After all, he'd referred to the Tory—on the floor of the House of Lords—as a "bloated parasite gorging on riches won by his long-ago ancestor."

  "Exactly." Her eyes flashed with mirth.

  "You certainly are your father's girl. A pity you weren't a male. We could use you in Parliament."

  "Papa's always lamented that my brother Robert did not choose to stand for office. Of course, it is very expensive. It's understandable his wife would wish to funnel funds elsewhere. Not all of us are as wealthy as Harold Berkley was."

  Money! That's why Miss Featherstone had not married. None of the Featherstones had a feather to fly with. "How well I know about that. In fact," he cleared his throat. He hated like the devil what he was about to do, but it was his duty. "In fact, that brings up the question I wished to ask you tonight."

  Her thin, nicely arched brows rose.

  "I intend to court your cousin, and I would be grateful if you could lubricate my way into her intimate circle. While such a request might be onerous to you, I assure you I have the best intentions."

  This was devilishly difficult for him. All afternoon he'd practiced what he was going to say, and now he recited his points like a schoolboy racing through his memorized Chaucer. "Allow me to appeal to your altruism, Miss Featherstone. I remember well how that bleeding heart of yours bent and cracked over any misfortune to orphans or to others who've been oppressed, and were I to marry Lady Sarah, I vow that I will put her money to humanitarian use."

  There! He had finished his plea. Had he just asked the heiress he'd met but once for her hand in marriage, he could not have felt more nervous than he did at this moment.

  Miss Featherstone did not respond. Her soft brown lashes lowered, and she appeared to be examining the fan gripped tightly in her fingers.

  From the turmoil he read in her expression, he already knew the answer. In his nine and twenty years, Jack St. John, Earl of Slade, had never been more humiliated.

  In the same way that her brilliant father never spoke rashly but gathered his composure while rationalizing a situation before commenting, Miss Featherstone must be carefully arranging her rejection before speaking.

  Finally, she looked up from the fan, and squarely met his gaze. "It pains me to have to turn you down, my lord, but you must realize the selection of a husband is something my cousin must do with no help for me—or anyone." Then she stood, looking down at him. He'd never felt so small.

  "I must assume your reacquainting yourself with me was for this nefarious purpose, and I won't expect you at dinner tomorrow." She spun away.

  He lunged from his chair and snatched her gloved arm. "I will be at your house tomorrow."

  "Very well." She whirled back and left the chamber.

  He hated what the Vow had made him become.

  * * *

  She raced down two flights of stairs, and on the ground level she found the French doors leading out onto the terrace which gave onto Green Park. Speeding past gathered couples who were merrily chatting, she rushed out into the vast blackness of the park. She had to get away. She couldn't let anyone see her in such a disheveled state.

  Sweet heavens! She had almost burst into tears in from of Lord Slade. All because she had been so ridiculously stupid as to have thought the man was going to ask for her hand! How could she have been such an imbecile?

  He had said he'd come to the ball expressly to see her. Then he flattered her prettily and said he had a question to ask her. What was a lady to think?

  Now she felt like a rug he'd wiped his shoes upon.

  Equally as disappointing was how far her respect for him had plummeted. She had never thought the noble lord would sink to marrying for fortune, and that is exactly what he intended to do. As pretty as Lady Sarah was, Jane knew the man could not have formed a deep attachment to her after one brief meeting. Why, he hadn't even danced with her!

  How could he wish to pledge the rest of his life to a woman for the sole reason that he wanted control of her wealth? His single act—or more precisely, his mercenary intention—had stripped from him every commendable trait she'd ever admired. How could she have been so wrong about his character?

  Her stride fast and furious, she paced in the park, her fists clenched tight, her eyes stinging. Her thoughts in a black swirl, she was startled when, at length, buttery squares of light seemed to burst through the darkness. Houses. How far had she gone? The pounding in her heart had by now returned to normal. She finally forced herself to stop and get her bearings. It took her a minute to realize she'd reached Buckingham House. She hadn't gone so terribly far, after all. It had gotten beastly chilly. She rubbed her arms, lamenting she'd not stopped for her shawl.

  She turned around and headed back. It was so dark she could barely see where she was placing her satin slippers, but she knew she must hurry. Her reputation could be ruined if she did not immediately return to Spencer House. Besides, it was almost time for supper, and she was uncommonly hungry.

  When she returned to the lantern-lighted terrace she was relieved the others had gone inside, obviously to eat. No one would witness her indiscretion. She climbed the steps and entered the house a great deal more calm than when she'd left.

  The late-night supper at these balls, though, always posed a problem, owing to the fact a lady must wait until a gentleman honored her by asking to escort her to the table. It was rather embarrassing not to be paired. Often, her dear cousin, Lord Harry, would do her the honor. Would he forgo the opportunity to escort a lovely debutante in order to spare his cousin?

  She reached the corridor at the same time as Lord Slade's brother. The brothers' appearances were very similar. Both were tall and possessed of dark chocolate hair, and there was also a strong resemblance in their faces. Lord Slade, though, was a great deal more muscular than his brother; some might say Lord Slade was too large. It was true, she mu
st admit, the younger brother's build with his exceedingly trim waist and wide shoulders would be considered perfection, while Lord Slade might be considered just a large man.

  His gaze met hers, and a smile flashed across his handsome face. "Miss Featherstone, is it not?"

  "Indeed, Mr. St. John, or should I call you. . ." She looked at the various kinds of metal pinned onto his scarlet military jacket. "I know I should be able to know your rank, but I'm sadly ignorant of such matters."

  He chuckled. "From the one and only time I had the pleasure of your company, I would have to say the word ignorant could never be applicable to you." He gave a courtly bow. "I am now known as Captain St. John."

  Other couples around them began to pair up for supper. "Would you do me the goodness of allowing me to escort you to dinner?" he asked.

  She only barely suppressed a huge sigh of relief as she placed her hand in his. "I would be honored, Captain."

  She was happy to find Lady Sarah and Freddie Whey sitting across the table from her. "Do you know my cousin, Lady Sarah?" Jane asked the captain as he scooted in her chair.

  He smiled at the lady in question. "I am beholden to Sir William for making me known to the lady. How do you do again, my lady?"

  Lady Sarah fluttered her lengthy lashes. "Very well, thank you, Captain."

  "I should think you must be welcoming the opportunity to sit," Jane said to her cousin. "You've danced every single set."

  "Oh, la! I enjoy dancing ever so much." Lady Sarah turned to her partner. "Are you acquainted with my cousin, Miss Featherstone?"

  Freddie Whey, who was a year younger than Jane, nodded. "Yes, I've had that pleasure."

  "How do you do, Mr. Whey?" Jane said by way of greeting.

  She was very sure his response was all that was proper, but for the life of her, she could not hear it.

  As the long table filled, the drone of more than a hundred voices made communicating across the table excessively difficult.

  "I must own, Captain, I was astonished you remembered me," she said over cold, diced mutton sprigged with fresh parsley. "You must have been just a boy the last—and only time—we saw one another."

  "Indeed. It was five years ago, when I was seventeen."

  So he was a year older than she. "However would you remember that?"

  "Because Jack did not deem me mature enough for dinners at Featherstone House until I was seventeen, and the following year I was off to the Peninsula." He tossed back a sip of his champagne. "I must own, I was most curious to meet the girl Jack was always telling me about."

  She gave him a quizzing look.

  "You, Miss Featherstone. Jack would lament that I was not more diligent in my studies. 'Miss Featherstone is younger than you, and she knows everything,' he would tell me. So, of course, I was most impatient to meet this remarkable girl he was always blathering about."

  Some of her oppression lifted away, like a gray cloud to reveal a blue sky. Lord Slade had actually admired her! "Then you must have been very disappointed when you did make my acquaintance."

  "Not at all. I still remember what was being discussed that night. Penal reform. I shall always remember your insistence there should be a hierarchy of offenses, that the punishment for poaching should not be the same as for murdering. That sort of thing."

  "If your memory is that remarkable, then you must have been a far better student than you say."

  He vigorously shook his head. "That's why I'm a soldier. "

  She was struck by how much he looked like his brother. Only his brother was far more grave. "Your facial expressions are so much like your brother's, except that you're a jollier version."

  "It's no wonder. I have the good fortune to be the second son."

  Her brows hiked. "You prefer being a younger son? No title? No fortune?"

  He laughed out loud. "There is no fortune. There's nothing but a crumbling castle, a pile of debts, and a pack of siblings who have to be provided for. And if all that wasn't enough crushing responsibility, poor Jack was pressured into making a deathbed vow to our father that I don't think he'll ever be able to keep. And to know Jack is to know he has always prided himself on his truthfulness."

  "Indeed." She wanted to ask what the Vow was, but it really wasn't her concern. Lord Slade was nothing to her. The Vow between him and his dying father was a deeply personal matter. Nevertheless, she was consumed with curiosity.

  "You understand, I'm telling you this only because I know you and my brother are on some terms of intimacy," he said.

  If he thought that, perhaps he might tell her what The Vow was. Of course, she had no right to ask. Absolutely no right. And she most certainly was not on any terms of intimacy with Lord Slade! She hadn't even seen him in nearly four years.

  But he had actually praised her to his brother! Such knowledge had the power to make her feel as if she were walking on clouds. All these years she had believed he couldn't possibly notice anyone as plain as she (no matter how pretty her father told her she was). All these years she had rather fancied she blended in with the wallpaper. And all these years he had actually been aware of her! She was exceedingly flattered.

  Even if he had destroyed her high opinion of him tonight.

  Being aware of her, though, was nothing like actually being attracted to her. He was an earl, after all. His looks and title could win any woman's heart. A man who could have any woman he chose would never settle for a drab thing like her.

  "Oh, yes," she said. "I've always been a great admirer of your brother. I'm sorry to learn that he's under an obligation he is unable to fulfill. Pray, is there any way I can help?" Perhaps now he would tell her more about the mysterious Vow.

  He shook his head sadly. "Not unless you had a fortune."

  She shrugged. "You know what they say about us Featherstones?"

  "Indeed." He gave her a sheepish grin. "You don't have a feather to fly with."

  They both laughed.

  "The pity of it is, the money poor Jack needs will be impossible to raise. Unless he . . .well, there's nothing for it but to . . ." He looked around to make sure no one was listening, then he lowered his voice, "marry a considerable heiress."

  She could stand it no longer. Now he was blathering, and he hadn't got to the point! "Why must he possess a considerable fortune? Pray, what was the Vow?"

  He looked taken aback. "Did I not say?"

  "No, you did not."

  "Well, then, Papa asked Jack to save Dunvale Castle, to bring it back to glory. You must know the old pile is crumbling."

  "Actually, I've never been to Dunvale."

  "There's little to see anymore. We're reduced to occupying but two floors in one wing. It's really ghastly. The turrets have tumbled, and the keep has kaput."

  She felt ashamed of herself for giggling over so serious a problem, but Captain St. John was most entertaining. "How long has the castle been in your family?"

  "That's the pity of it. Since the Conquest."

  "Oh, dear. I do see why your father was so keen to preserve it."

  "But his request, you must own, was beastly unfair to Jack."

  "Without question."

  "There are also the girls."

  "You mean your younger sisters?"

  "Yes."

  "How many of them are there?"

  "Three."

  "I see. Lord Slade must present them and dower them?"

  He nodded. "In time, I think he'll be able to manage that. He's very clever about economizing, and he has no vices like gaming and. . .well, you know the sorts of things a lot of bloods do."

  Her nose wrinkled with distaste. "Indeed."

  "He's bought my commission; so, that at least is behind him."

  "One down. Three to go."

  "Exactly," he said, smiling.

  "Allow me to pour your wine." He filled her fine crystal glass with a fine French wine. She supposed Lord Spencer had filled his cellars back in '02 after the Treaty of Amiens had provided a temporary respite from wa
r with France.

  Though she had been ravishingly hungry, her appetite vanished. How terribly she had misjudged Lord Slade. She should have known the man who had always championed the unfortunate would be just the sort to sacrifice his own happiness in order to help others. Not that marrying Lady Sarah would exactly be sacrificing his happiness. Lady Sarah was all any man could want in a wife.

  But somehow she did not think Lady Sarah was the sort of wife Lord Slade would have selected, had he free choice.

  She looked up and down the table and all around the room, searching for Lord Slade, but he was not there. "Where is your brother?"

  "He's gone. Must have left about an hour ago."

  "Without dancing?"

  Captain St. John shrugged. "Now that you mention it, I don't remember seeing him on the ballroom floor all night. Of course, balls have never been to Jack's taste."

  She need not ask why he had chosen to come tonight. "What about you, Captain? Do you like to attend balls?"

  He glanced across the table at Lady Sarah. "Very much." His gaze returned to Jane. "It's gratifying to find so many lovely ladies all in the same room."

  She could well believe he was quite the ladies' man. In temperament, the brothers were as dissimilar as she and Lady Sarah.

  She pushed away her untouched plate of sweetmeats. Her heart went out to poor Lord Slade, who was so weighed down caring for his family and worrying about that wretched Vow. Not that there was anything she could do to help him. It wasn't as if she could order her cousin to fall in love with him.

  Could she even try to assist him in his quest?

  What a heartbreaking choice she had to make.

  Chapter 3

  "Oh, dearest, I just remembered we'll have to add one more plate," Mr. Featherstone said to his daughter.

  Jane drew a long breath, gritted her teeth, then whirled around to face her father. "Now you remember to tell me—when the guests should be here in less than ten minutes?" She stormed to the butler-less butler's pantry to fetch one more plate, her father's shuffling gait trying to catch up with her.