by Beverly Adam
The gentlemen seemed lately only too pleased to be in her company. And faith, she acted, for once, as if she were actually enjoying herself. That the lively inane banter surrounding her was actually interesting, even stimulating to hear.
But why not? He had found her wit to be quick, her ideas to be sound and enlightening. Faith, ever since their ride together, he’d been thinking of her various enterprises with nothing but respect.
She had accomplished what many a land manager failed to do, and on a much smaller budget and scale than any larger estate. She’d used modern methods to produce great abundance and profit from a small estate. Indeed, he’d begun since their conversation to consider plans of developing his own estates in the same manner as Brightwood Manor’s.
“Your Grace,” said Laeticia Powers, carefully trying to divert his straying attention away from the spinster heiress, whom she had decided to be her only true competitor for his interest. Although the afternoon sun had appeared briefly that morning, the air was cool around them. It whipped the ladies’ skirts around their legs, causing some of them to pull their silk shawls more tightly around their shoulders.
Despite the breeze, Laeticia wiped her forehead dramatically. “Please, Your Grace, the sun is so hot . . . can’t we walk over to the shade of those trees over there and rest?” She indicated a secluded grove of trees in the distance, away from Lady Beatrice and her circle of admirers. She knew they would not be heard or seen by any of the others. It was a perfect spot for a secluded conversation.
He paid her no heed, instead he intently watched Lady Beatrice.
“I said, if we stay here much longer, Your Grace, I shall get spots!” the lady beside him whined loudly. He sighed, reluctantly looking down at the pink confection standing next to him.
She suddenly reminded him of a toothache he’d endured as a child. Indeed, her demanding whining was fast becoming a nuisance. Why he had found this artless creature interesting for so long was short of amazing.
As they passed his man Davis, he pointedly nodded in the direction of the lady who clung to his arm. It was the agreed upon signal that Davis would help him get rid of whatever cumbersome lady was currently pestering him. In the last few days, there had been quite a few.
Davis surveyed the situation, and approached his master.
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” he said bowing to the couple. “But I do believe, sir, that you asked me to come and fetch you if you were needed by the workmen. That is, if they had any questions, which required your attention.”
“Ah, yes.” The earl smiled. “And I take it that something is in need of my attention and direction?”
“Quite, Your Grace.”
“Well, then, it’s been a delight walking with you, Mistress Powers, but as you can see, I regretfully am being summoned elsewhere.”
He made the obligatory bow to her and started to turn on his heels.
“But, sir,” the lady protested, thrusting herself and her ample bosom in front of him, blocking his escape. Her blue eyes shone with determination at her objective. She’d seen this scenario played out before by other gentlemen she’d tried to attach herself to. This time she was determined not to be fobbed off.
“Surely you will walk me over to that grove of trees first, Your Grace?” she asked sweetly, her pretty, pale, blue eyes pleaded with him. He could not possibly refuse to escort her, thus abandoning her completely, to do so would be ungentlemanly. She looked expectantly at him to retake her arm.
The earl lifted his eyes heavenwards. The woman was incorrigible. He could either give her the cut direct, which he knew she did not deserve as he had previously encouraged her flirtatious advances, or he could give in and escort her to the willow trees. Having made his decision, he took her arm once more and continued their leisurely stroll around the lake towards the group of weeping willow trees bending picturesquely over the edge.
Amused by his master’s predicament, Davis hid his mirth behind the long lace of his livery uniform. And to think this was the man Wellington had once called “One of the most courageous soldiers in Spain!”
Lady Beatrice also watched the couple make their way to the secluded grove of trees. The green sparkle of her eyes lost a little of their light, and with a pasted smile on her face, she turned away from the view.
* * *
That evening, the ballroom was lit with shimmering candlelight. The lovely chandelier hanging overhead had been one of the major feats of cleaning that Beatrice was immensely proud of having completed in time. The long dripping Venetian glass ornaments were bedazzling as their cut patterns shadowed the well-polished ballroom floor below.
Candlelit sconces with raised, golden, gilded arms and hand-blown glass protectors were lit along the walls adding an elegant glow to the room. These decorative lights had been recently ordered from Dublin and replaced the more ancient wall holders once used for torches. At the far side of the room, elderly dowagers sat warming themselves by an intricately carved fireplace, one of the few original ones left in the castle.
The earl was dancing with one of the debutantes when he caught sight of her. He held his breath and looked at the fairness of her white alabaster skin, her long, lustrous black tresses woven into an elegant style, emphasized the beauty of her oval face. She stood out among the ladies both in height, beauty, and wit. He hated that she was surrounded by her usual entourage of male admirers.
He thought her an exotic flower surrounded by lesser, more common varieties. For instance, the one hanging on his arm, Lady Anne Ferguson. Although in a very conventional sense, she fit the bill quite nicely for a harmless flirtation with her pale, blonde hair, and pretty, blue eyes. Undoubtedly, many would consider her a fetching English rose, a lady of fine breeding who would make some fortunate gentleman a worthy wife. But now, as he held the lady at arm’s distance, listening to her lisping utterances of banal conversation, he could not imagine spending an entire evening in her insipid company, let alone a lifetime.
His gaze strayed back to the corner where the exotic flower sat holding court with those vying for her hand. Rumor had spread like wildfire that she had already turned down two proposals of marriage. A third was in the works for that very same evening.
The dance ended. He made the proper bow and returned his partner to her beaming chaperon. He walked over to a potted plant near the exotic flower, waiting for the next dance to be announced. Without any hesitation, he stepped directly in front of young Lord Reginald, whom he noted jealously, had already had two dances with her. Three would have bordered on scandalous, an open declaration of his intentions to ask for her hand. The earl could not possibly permit it, if not for her sake, then for his own.
He bowed to her. She smiled encouragingly at him.
“My dear Lady Beatrice,” he said, his voice husky smooth with the pleasure of seeing her smile at him.
“Captain James. Your Grace,” she whispered, correcting herself, self-consciously aware of others listening to their conversation, her heart thumping excitedly beneath her ball gown of silver damask.
“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” he asked, holding out his hand.
She nodded and held out a white-gloved hand, her dancing card dangling unheeded, from her slender wrist. Oblivious to the disappointed looks on the young gentlemen’s faces beside her, she stood and took the earl’s arm.
He led her out onto the dance floor where couples were taking their places. It was not until he placed his hand intimately upon her small waist that she realized they were about to dance the waltz, a scandalous new dance that required a gentleman putting his hand on a lady’s waist.
She had only danced the waltz once before, and that had been at a small local assembly with friends, not in a grand ballroom surrounded by the jaded members of the ton watching on. They would not hesitate to laugh derisively at any misstep.
As if he sensed her nervousness, he smiled down at her. He gave her a squeeze of reassurance, urging her onward.
“
It’ll be fine, Lady Beatrice,” he murmured, his superfine black waistcoat briefly brushing up against her as they prepared to begin.
He reached for her hand in a confident manner of one not afraid to run the gauntlet of the ballroom. “Let me assure your ladyship that I’ve only trod on a few slippers this night. And if you will but smile up at me, I promise to do my very best not to step on yours.”
She did smile then and laughed, her worries of miss-stepping fleeing like flies before a swatting hand. When I am in my dotage, she thought as the music began and the earl swung her out onto the floor, I shall remember this night as the one in which Captain James Huntington, the Earl of Drennan danced me into a dream.
They spoke not a word as they box stepped. To Beatrice, words were not adequate to describe the joy of being held in his arms. She was oblivious of the envious glances of other ladies, only aware of that magic moment when her gloved hand touched his. Indeed, a magic as old as time itself seemed to have led them to each other.
She did not know how she found herself on the balcony, alone with him, but she walked willingly into his arms as if it were the place she most longed to be in the whole entire world.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered into her ear as they gazed down at the lake below them. Its sparkling moonlit waters glowed silver on the surface.
“Have you?” she asked, her heart pounding, as he came behind her and she felt him place his strong arms around her.
“I thought you were too busy with the other ladies to notice my absence,” she remarked, recalling vividly the afternoons he had spent in the company of Laeticia Powers. She recalled the manner in which he had abandoned her the day after their amorous interlude at the cottage, leaving her in the company of the other gentlemen, when she wanted only to be with him.
She cautiously stood back a little from him. Maybe this was a mistake. She listened to his deep, manly laugh and wistfully she thought she heard a note of jealousy as poignant as her own when he spoke.
“And you, madam, could lead an entire regiment of men comprised solely of your numerous admirers. Perhaps I ought to recommend to Wellington for recruitment your charming self? I’m certain, judging by the effect you have on most of the gentlemen here, it would prove most effectual in recruiting an entire legion of lovesick followers into joining up.”
“Indeed, sir.” She laughed. “And leave you here at the mercy of all these eager young ladies? I think not. Faith, it would be most cruel if I did so. For a gentleman may only take one lady to wife.”
“Then, my dear lady, what do you suggest we do?” he asked, his voice suddenly deep and rough with open desire blazing in his brilliant sapphire eyes.
Caught off balance, she could find no glib reply.
“I—I don’t know,” she whispered, smelling the clean scent of his freshly starched silk shirt. She pulled back to look up into his ruggedly handsome face.
His bright blue eyes searched hers. A warm, throbbing excitement coursed through her. Her beloved pirate was about to plunder her heart.
“Don’t you, my dear? And I thought that by now you understood how I felt about you . . . I told you at your father’s house that I intended to make you my wife. And I still do.”
“Yes, you did speak of wanting me,” she said, a sudden fear constricting her heart, remembering his previous proposal, how he had tried to frighten her into accepting, by dangling the threat of scandal over her head. She turned away from him, gripping the balcony’s railing, her knuckles white with tension. She was not certain how to answer.
He had spoken of his attraction for her, but not of those more tender feelings she’d always associated with marriage. That of respect and mutual fidelity mixed with the strongest of all feelings for the other person—love.
“And what is your answer?” he asked, his breath seductively warm upon her face. “Will you have me? And become the mistress of this castle and all its many holdings, including me?”
She looked up at him uncertainly. She realized she wanted hearth and home as much as any other woman. But the fear, it was still there . . . she was still uncertain she could trust him. Was he like the others who had pursued her merely for her wealth? Did he care for her beyond what her purse strings could provide?
“I—I can’t,” she said, her eyes holding his with a worried, searching expression. Did he understand her reservations? Could he possibly wait till she’d sorted out these frightening emotions? Perhaps giving her time to build her trust in him and a future they would have together?
“Shush,” he said, placing a finger over her lips. “You don’t have to answer me now. I believe you need some time to think this over. We’ll talk of this at another time, when you’ve had time to consider.”
She nodded, relieved that he understood. He was giving her the time she needed to be certain that she was about to make the right decision. It would allow her to free herself of any doubting demons.
He whispered huskily, “While you think upon our union, consider this,” and sweeping her into his arms, he kissed her. His insistent mouth possessed hers, his arms holding her body up against his until she trembled with desire and sweet longing, drawing him to her as she returned the kiss.
Unknown to the couple were two men watching from the tall, French doors that opened out onto the balcony. Their dark forms and softly spoken words were overheard.
Sharp, beady eyes focused upon the embracing couple.
A man in a stolen livery uniform wiped his nose across the clean sleeve, which would have pained the true owner if he’d known. He began to take meticulous notes. For a few gold coins placed in his unclean hands, he’d happily promised to spy upon the members of the household, thinking all the while of how to quickly destroy the couple before him.
Another set of eyes spied upon the couple, as well. But his eyes brimmed with tears of disappointment. Instead of continuing to stare at the couple, he turned and silently walked away from them.
* * *
That night in an inn of ill repute some five leagues from Drennan Castle, the same pair of cynical, sly eyes that had spied upon the earl and the spinster, made their reappearance. They squinted eagerly in the dim light of the taproom, adjusting to the pitch dark after coming in from the moonlight.
The room was crowded with thugs and cutthroats for hire. He searched for the man he’d come to contact.
He nodded to a few acquaintances. He had been here but three days ago, when he had been one of the men lounging around the taproom getting drunk, hoping to be one of the lucky to feel the cool roundness of a few coins greasing the palm of his dirty hands.
The bartender, wearing a white wig, conversed with a gentleman, a titled one by the looks of his elegant clothes. The gentleman, a dapper man, in mustard-colored waistcoat nodded to the informant as way of greeting, indicating a room to the right where the two could find some privacy for their conversation. For who knew which man in the room would be willing to betray their plans for a few well-placed guineas? A whispered word in the right ear could produce plenty of the desirable gilt. For their venture involved those of considerable wealth.
The squinty-eyed man entered the secluded room with eager anticipation. It was screened off from the rest by a mere curtain. The news he had to impart would stir, he was certain, the titled gentleman into action.
“Well, what news do you bring me, Snipes?” asked the haughty lord, hoisting an elegant red heeled boot up onto a nearby bench. “It had better be worth my while. I can’t continue spending my gilt on the worthless tripe you’ve been feeding me lately. Has there been any further development between my lady and that gentleman?”
Snipes wiped the foam from the tankard across his sleeve before he spoke. His eyes focused upon the lord before him.
The aristocrat had paid him quite well to enter the service of the Earl of Drennan and to spy upon him and the young lady who had been acting as the mistress of the household. He regretted not being able to squeeze a little more money out of the lor
d for the spying. Perhaps if he told him of what he saw and heard, the fancy shirt would be willing to hire him for the other half of the job.
“Aye, my Lord Linley. There’s been a development betwixt the two of ’em. You might even say of an intimate nature, if you gets my meanin’.”
“Indeed,” drawled the man, raising his quizzing glass to his eye, inspecting the commoner. The impertinent mercenary talked about his betters in such a knowing tone, as if he had the audacity himself to look up the lady’s skirts.
“How intimate, Snipes?”
“What I meant, sire, is that the lady and him you told me to spy upon, were seen being very friendly towards one another and talkin’ of marriage and such,” said the man with a breathy smile of villainous intent.
He eagerly rubbed his dirty hands together.
“Now what do you want me and my partner to do about it? I take it none of these goings on meet with yer approval? Been intending to have a go at the lady for yerself, eh, gov’? Want to get a little bit o’ her between the—”
“Be careful of how you speak of my intended,” the aristocrat said shortly, touching the sword at his side. “Or you may find yourself quickly being replaced by another, and quite permanently.”
“Aye, for sure, m’lord. I was just makin’ a harmless jest,” said the brigand. He was confused by the gentleman’s intentions towards the wealthy spinster and the newcomer, the earl.
“Do you wants me ter send for my friend now? He can help us, uh—escort her ladyship to you for any impending nuptials.”
The aristocrat twirled his quizzing glass. A gleaming yellow smile of satisfaction lined the creases of his pock-marred face. He leaned his head back against the chair, contemplating his revenge against the woman who had spurned him.
He envisioned how much he would harm her and felt once more the pull of satisfaction in his nether regions when he dreamt of it. Aye, he would experience great pleasure in cowing the shrew’s will to his. Demme, if he wouldn’t take a whip to her if she didn’t do as he wished.