by Diana Lloyd
“I’m perfectly healthy. There’s no reason to fuss.” She placed her hand flat on the front of her gown. “It’s just a little bump yet, darling. I’ll be fine.” His concern was touching but also a reminder of the child they’d lost, a little part of them that wasn’t meant to be. “I’m going to fetch my cousin Edwina so she doesn’t have to walk back alone.”
“If she would learn to drive the gig, she wouldn’t have to walk.” Oliver offered his oft-repeated solution. Edwina, still unbearably shy and now a spinster, had found happiness in Elvy’s tailor shop, embroidering handkerchiefs and table linens. She’d no sooner drive a gig than sail a ship. She’d reached out to Jewel, who was more than happy to put a roof over her cousin’s head. Jewel never forgot the small kindnesses her cousin had offered that had meant so much in a household where she’d been reviled.
“If I can do it,” Mary said, indicating her round belly, “she can do it. I’ll keep an eye on her, father hen.”
Grabbing up Mary’s hand, Jewel started walking down the path, leaving Oliver scowling at their backs.
“He’s just worried about you.” Mary turned and looked back. “Penry got over that three children ago. With this one, I’m sure he’ll expect me at the breakfast table the next day.”
“Frankie was such an easy birth that we weren’t prepared for such trouble with our second one.” Jewel blinked a tear from her eye. To be expecting again after a miscarriage three years ago was both frightening and exhilarating. She’d thought herself unable to conceive again, convinced herself that her son was more than enough, but here she was blindly venturing into childbearing once again.
“I’ll come back and stay with you through your confinement.” Mary pulled her a little closer. “I’ll hold your hand through birth, if you’ll hold mine.”
“You’ve your own belly to worry about. Besides, Oliver is stuck to me like a burr. I appreciate his concern, it’s sweet, but I can hardly relieve myself without him watching.”
“Oh dear,” Mary said with a laugh. “By this time next month, I might as well just carry a bourdaloue with me wherever I go. Penry has no patience for it. He just looks at me and says, ‘Again?’ every time I get up.”
“I’d forgotten about that part. Funny how you forget the painful, inconvenient bits once it is all over.” That was true for Franklin’s birth, but the second one had felt different from the start. Maybe that was the way of it—each pregnancy felt as different as the personality of the child within. The child she carried now, who was probably no bigger than a peach pit, would make its character known soon enough.
“Just once, I wish a man could feel what it’s like. If just one man did, all traditions would change. There’d always be a servant ready with a chamber pot, every chair would have mounds of cushions, and, when the time came, you’d get a lovely dose of sleeping potion. When you woke up, someone would hand you a baby.”
“I’m certain Oliver would refuse to sleep. Sometimes he gets up in the night and sneaks up the stairs just to watch Frankie sleep. He’s installed Jones in the nursery, and the damned bird whistles and squawks whenever the boy wakes at night.”
“Oh dear,” Mary choked out the words between laughter. “Penry’s scent-training my dog so she can find the boys should one of them wander off.”
“How did we get so lucky to have landed these two idiots, Mary?”
“You’re not fooling me, Jewel, you’re as blissfully happy as I am. Seeing Penry with Oliver and our children playing together is my every dream come true.”
“I was an only child, too, I understand exactly what you mean. You’re the sister I never had but always wanted.” Their double wedding six years ago had made them more than sisters within the law. They were true sisters of the heart.
“I feel the same way. I knew you were a kindred spirit as soon as you and Oliver were caught kissing in the library.”
“Keep that story to yourself, sister. As far as anyone else knows, we met in the ballroom.” Jewel had told only one person the facts of how she’d met Oliver and the events thereafter. It was the hardest letter she’d ever written, but Oliver had helped her with it. Her father, once Oliver helped secure his release from prison, had deserved to know the truth.
“The news from London is that the war is all but over now. That must be a relief for you.” Mary stopped walking and took off her shoe to shake out a pebble. “When it’s over, will you persuade your father to visit and meet his grandson?”
“My father is already caught up in his next scheme. I doubt even the lure of a grandson will be enough to tear him away from it. He is as passionate about his causes as Oliver is about our family.” He’d never visit. Jewel was as sure of that as she was that she’d never go back to Boston. There was no reason for it; her entire life was here now.
“Maybe,” Mary said. “Like your grandfather, he will mellow over time. To see the duke with Frankie makes me think your son turned back the clock a few years for that old man.”
“My father is who he is. We correspond with some regularity, and I think that’s enough. Having an attentive father and a doting great-grandfather is a boon for Frankie.” Her child knew he was loved, of that she was sure. “Elvy’s new place is just up here,” Jewel said, pointing up High Street.
“Oh, look at the windows! What a lovely shop. She’s done very well for herself, hasn’t she?”
“She has,” Jewel replied. “She’s hired three local girls as assistants so far. In spring, she’ll visit us in London for her annual fabric shopping holiday. I think Mr. Yoakey will be coming with her this year.” Elvy’s beau, Tam Yoakey, one of her brother’s shipmates, had looked her up two years ago to deliver the sad news of Rob’s death at sea. Tam, a dark-skinned blackamoor who’d joined the ship in Morocco as a sailmaker, found his skills translated well to tailoring and had stayed on with Elvy at her shop.
“Hello!” Elvy called out as they entered the shop. “Here for a visit, or can I whip up something for you?”
“Just a chat, if you have the time.” Jewel gave her old friend a hug. “I’m bringing Edwina back to the house before guests start arriving.”
“She’s in the back room. I’ll get her. Have a seat and rest then,” Elvy said, pulling over two comfortable chairs she’d reupholstered from the Winchcombe Abbey attic. “Your timing is good. I’ve got news I’ve just been dying to spread around.” Elvy motioned for Tam to join her. “We’re getting married, Tam and I. He finally convinced me.”
“Such happy news!” Jewel jumped up from her chair and hugged Elvy again. “I knew he’d wear you down. I’m so pleased for the both of you.” While Tam had made his intentions clear from the start, Elvy had worried about carrying on with a younger man and had resisted his affection. “When is the wedding? Please let Oliver and me host the wedding breakfast. We’d be more than pleased to do it.”
“Never in my life did I imagine having a proper wedding breakfast at the estate of the local lord. Not at my age.” Elvy turned to Tam and smiled.
“Your age is just fine, darling,” Tam said, his low, calm voice commanding attention. “That was a kind offer, my lady, and I know better than to argue with you. I believe we’ll accept.”
“I told you he was an evergreen, Elvy.” Jewel winked and smiled. “We have so many happy occasions ahead of us, I feel I might burst with joy.”
“You’ll be bursting soon all right.” Elvy raised an eyebrow at the women. “Tam can take you ladies back to your estate in our new delivery wagon. It’s well-sprung, should be a comfortable ride.”
“A new wagon? I worried Winchcombe was too small of a town for you, now look how well you’re getting on. As soon as my Aunt Bettina arrives, you know she’ll be here buying up everything in sight.”
“I’ve finished stock just for her to paw through, and that green waistcoat you wanted for your grandfather is almost done. All that work on sails and rig
ging has made Tam a magician with buttons. Here,” Elvy said, running to a worktable and grabbing up a paper-wrapped package. “I couldn’t resist. I used leftover cloth and made one just like it for little Frankie.”
“Thanks to you I have the best dressed child in all of Gloucestershire.”
“Thanks to you, I have four walls and a roof over my head once again. I’ve decided I like it.”
“I owe you my life, truly I do. You’re the cleverest woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t mean just with a needle. You did all this yourself—all I did was pay you what you were worth.”
“You and his lordship did need a sage head between you for a time. I enjoyed most of it.” Elvy walked to the back room to coax Edwina away from her work.
“What do you mean, most?” Jewel laughed.
“Have the guests started to arrive?” Edwina’s voice, soft and timid, betrayed her nervousness at the thought of a large gathering.
“Penry and Mary and the boys. That’s all so far.” Edwina’s shyness might have been a result of her mother’s henpecking, but it hadn’t gotten better when away from her family’s influence.
“You’ve met all of us before, Edwina. Surely you recall.” Mary spoke up. “You read my boys the story of the little duck, and they remember you with such fondness.” Edwina only nodded, pulled her bonnet low over her face, and started to tie the ribbons.
“You don’t have to socialize if you don’t feel like it. If ever you feel uncomfortable, send a servant to fetch me and I’ll walk with you back to your room,” Jewel said. Edwina often lived in her own little world, which consisted of needlework, books, and the bedroom that overlooked the gardens.
“Wagon’s ready,” Tam said, poking his head in the front door.
“Don’t forget to bring Elvy to the picnic tomorrow afternoon. We’re having archery contests afterward if the weather cooperates. You will both come, won’t you?” Jewel looked to Elvy for her nod of agreement. When she’d first mentioned it, Elvy thought she’d feel out of place, but Jewel couldn’t consider a house party without her best friend.
“Ain’t much of an archer, but I might have thrown together some fancy new clothes for the two of us,” Elvy replied. Once out of her patchwork working garb and with styled hair, it was easy to see that Elvy was strikingly pretty. There might be a few gray strands of hair among the dark locks, but her olive-hued skin glowed with health and vigor. “I was there at the beginning, would be a shame to miss your first party.”
“By the way,” Jewel said, “if anyone asks, you’re my cousin, and Oliver and I fell in love in a ballroom. Let’s say it was at the Evergreen Ball.”
Sneak peek of Last Lord Standing
London 1812
Ruined. A public snub from the daughter of a duke was as silent, quick, and efficient as a blade through the heart. Olivia Liberty Chalford always thought she’d fall from Society’s grace with a bit more fanfare. She raised her chin as her face warmed with indignation, and she watched her former friend disappear into the crowd.
Refusing to look around to see the shocked faces of those who’d witnessed the cut direct, she adjusted her mouth into the semblance of a blithe smile and stared at the orchestra. The most notable event of the evening was supposed to have been the attendance of the poet Lord Byron. Instead, the recklessly ill-mannered lord had breezed past the ballroom without greeting her parents or wishing her felicitations on her birthday.
Two and twenty today, the evening portended the beginning of her downward slide into spinsterhood. After three seasons, she’d not received one acceptable offer. The cut by Lady Elsinore Cosgrove, the Duke of Wallingford’s youngest daughter, sealed her fate. Any offers received now would come from fortune hunters, elderly rheumatics, and gentlemen who’d also fallen out of Society’s good graces.
The situation only confirmed her doubts about getting married at all. No family knew better than hers what a precarious thing social standing could be. Luckily, neither her father, the Earl of Winchcombe, or her mother put much faith in the foibles of Society. That attitude would be tested when they heard of the cut.
Convincing her feet that they’d no need to grow roots into the floor, she lurched forward and crashed into a wall of blue wool with silver buttons. The unfortunate occupant of the blue wool was forced into an impromptu juggling act with the cups of punch he carried. A performance that left them both splattered in blood-red cherry liquid.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I wasn’t minding my direction.” Abandoning her retreat for the moment, she pushed her own calamity aside and apologized by force of habit. The splattered guest managed a deceptively warm smile in response. Her social life was most likely about to come crashing down around her ears, but she could be no less than cordial to one of her parents’ guests. Matching his smile with one of her own, decorum dictated she offer the poor man assistance with good humor.
“May I…” the guest said, executing a reasonably elegant bow with cups still in hand.
“Might I…” she said at the same time, their words bumping into each other. Nervousness and habit forced her lips into another smile as she bobbed a curtsy. His face elicited no memory of acquaintance or name. Who is he? Neither as tall nor as old as her father, the stranger’s bright blue eyes, reddish-brown hair, and youthful face teased at any age from twenty to forty. Perhaps he was a rogue Corinthian who’d slipped into her birthday ball for liquor and cards.
“Punch, miss?” he asked, offering an empty cup. “I hope you’re not too thirsty.”
“No, thank you, I just had some.” Snatching the cups away, she slipped them onto the tray of a passing footman. “Follow me, I’ll direct you to the gentlemen’s retiring room and have someone meet you there with something to clean your coat.”
“You need to dance with me.” Offering up his arm, he turned to the dance floor.
“My gown is ruined, sir. I couldn’t possibly.” Determined that her last evening before becoming a social pariah shouldn’t end as badly as it started, she boldly looked him over. Other than the punch stains, the guest’s suit was well-tailored with no threadbare spots or loose seams and his shoes well-made and polished. Other than access to money and a degree of meticulousness, it was impossible to decipher anything of his character.
“Ruined?” His tone was teasing, as if they were already old chums who could speak of such things publicly. “I say it is an improvement. An embellishment of red rosebuds or little red birds taking flight across your skirt. You wear it so well no one would be the wiser.”
“I would.” Curious, yet distrustful, she said the one thing that would surely send him packing off to sniff around someone else’s hem. “You’re quite the accomplished liar, sir.”
“Quite true. I’m very good at it. Take up my hand,” he said, still teasing. “A new set is starting.”
“I will do no such thing. We’ve not been properly introduced.” Cheeky bastard. Civility be damned, she had her own problems and owed him nothing. “Enjoy your evening, sirrah, the offer to have your coat cleaned stands but I will not be dancing with you.”
“I saw,” he said in a contrived whisper. “And if you leave now, you confirm what everyone else is thinking. Refuse to be cowed by Society’s perception of someone else’s rudeness. Dance with me and plant doubt in their minds that their eyes may have deceived them. Besides, you’re wearing my punch, what more of an introduction do you need?”
“Why would you help me? I don’t even know you.” He was right in one thing, until enough gossip spread, she could pretend the cut hadn’t happened at all. If she was seen speaking to Elsinore later, what had just happened would hold no credence. Whoever the man was, she applauded his jaded view of Society.
“I’m the second son of a second son. A nobody who occasionally performs a good deed to crawl up from the abyss of anonymity.” Delivering his words with casual self-deprecation, he offered his arm again.
“Just one dance.” Placing her hand on his arm, she swallowed down pride and reason before stepping onto the dance floor. Outrageous as it was, there was merit in his reasoning. While a good friend, Elsinore was as flighty as a sparrow. When she returned to the ballroom, she’d rush up like nothing had happened between them and laugh at her own absent-mindedness. What harm could there be in being found on the arm of a handsome gentleman?
Three steps into the dance, she dared to relax. The mysterious guest took no liberties, no one was staring at her or her gown, and he was a decent dancer. No longer feeling dread and panic wrestling in the pit of her stomach, she dared to hope she’d make it through her birthday without further calamity. Holding her fingertips with gentle pressure, the mystery man leaned in as they began the last promenade.
“Kerrigen Northam,” he said, introducing himself at last.
“Lady Olivia Liberty Chalford, but my friends call me Libby,” she whispered back. His manner was disarming, she’d bet her pin money that women regularly blurted out their deepest, darkest, secrets to him in exchange for one of his smiles. Perhaps he was a spy.
“I know who you are, Lady Olivia. Everyone knows who you are. Your family is… I mean, everyone knows your family.” If he was embarrassed by the admission of her family’s notoriety, he didn’t show it.
“My family isn’t a curiosity to be gawked at,” she whispered back, dancing him into the potted plants at the edge of the dance floor until they could retreat no further. “My father is no monster nor is my mother a spy, and I’m not the sort to be played with. Thank you for the dance and for fetching punch,” she said, holding out her stained skirt. “I’ll have a footman show you out.”
“I take no offense to being called a liar, but you wound me deeply by assuming I’m here to stir up scandal-broth. I was innocently delivering a cup of punch when I witnessed your dilemma. Out of kindness and nothing else, I diverted my path only to have you stain my suit, toss me into a shrubbery, and insult my honor.”