by Unconquered
“Yes, sir.” Jed left the room.
“Is your business finished here, brother Jared?” asked Jonathan softly.
“I thought it was, Jon. I had told them that, now that I was a married man, I could no longer work for them as I had in the past. They wanted me to make one more trip to Europe, and I said no. But I’ve changed my mind. I shall go back to them tonight and say that I will. If a war between England and America can be prevented, I will feel it work well done. Despite what President Madison feels, Napoleon means us no good. He has been badly advised in this matter. All those young, ill-educated congressmen from the Western territories are so eager for a war. To them, another war with England is no more than a good barroom brawl, and they’re spoiling for a fight. How glamorous it seems in retrospect! Little David challenging and defeating Goliath. God, how sick I am of wars, big and small! If this country is to grow and thrive we must build a strong economy, and war only wastes lives.” Then he laughed at himself. “Jon, you got me going again.”
“You should run for Congress yourself, Jared. I’ve said it before.”
“Perhaps I will someday, but at the moment I seem to have little control over my own home,” he answered ruefully.
“It was not a mistake, then? You really do love her?”
“God, yes! So much that she can drive me to anger as quickly as she can to passion. You know, brother, in the four months we’ve been married she has never admitted to the slightest affection for me, but the first three words of her letter are ‘I love you.’ Does she mean it, or does she mock me? I intend to find out, and as quickly as possible.” Again, his fist tightened around her letter.
His temper had not improved when, several weeks later, he stood on the West India Company docks in London and watched Seahorse being made fast. He had left Plymouth on the fourteenth of April and, by a combination of favorable winds, expert sailing, and the fact that his Dream Witch was sleeker and built for speed, managed to arrive in London three days ahead of his quarry. Roger Bramwell had been quite surprised to see him, but with his usual efficiency had gotten Jared’s London house running smoothly.
“M’lord, it is good to see you,” the secretary had greeted him. “I didn’t expect you back for some time.”
“My ward’s wedding to Lord Swynford draws me, Bramwell. And why the ‘m’lord’?”
“Your title, sir, ‘lord of the manor,’ was a royal grant. You are entitled to use it here in England. I suggest that in the interest of your business and your social position you do use it. As to Miss Amanda Dunham’s wedding, the gossip, thanks to the dowager Lady Swynford, has it that the match is off. Lord Adrian is going about with a very long face, and the mamas of several eligible heiresses have been seen at Almack’s in deep conversation with Lady S. Everyone assumed the political troubles between England and America would prevent your coming.”
“It might have, Bramwell, were my wife not so stubborn. Send a note around to Lord Swynford asking him to dine with me tonight. Say that my ward is en route to England now. Best to put him out of his misery quickly. Be sure the note is delivered to Lord Swynford personally and not to anyone else.”
Miranda had been correct, Jared mused, and had she not taken the initiative her sister might indeed have lost young Swynford.
The wind blew the stench of the river at him, and Jared lifted a scented handkerchief to his nose. Adrian Swynford had arrived promptly at seven o’clock that evening, and never had Jared seen such an eager young man. He smiled at the recollection. Lord Swynford was of medium height and build. His eyes were cornflower blue, his hair a dark blond, clipped short in the back, a deep wavy curl falling across his high forehead. He had a fair English complexion with ruddy cheeks that bespoke his good health. His eyes were intelligent. He had a straight nose, well-shaped mouth, and firm chin. It was a pleasing face.
His dress was the height of current London fashion, ankle-length dove-gray pantaloons, sky-blue long-tailed coat, a simple white silk shirt, a pale-rose satin brocade waistcoat, a white cravat tied in the fashion known as “Love Lost,” and high black boots. His dress declared that he had taste, but was no dandy.
“Lord Dunham?” He had come toward Jared, his hand held out. “I am Adrian Swynford. Your note said Amanda is on her way to England. Why has she not come with you?”
“Because,” said Jared, taking the outstretched hand and shaking it, “I forbade the journey. But my wife—you do remember Miranda?—disobeyed me, and ran off with her sister and mother as soon as I was safely out of the way. Sherry?”
“Good Lord!” Adrian Swynford slumped into a chair.
“Sherry?” repeated Jared, holding out a Waterford glass of the amber liquid.
“Yes! Yes, thank you, sir!” Adrian took the glass, sipped, and, leaning forward, said anxiously, “Do you object to me as Amanda’s husband?”
Jared sat down in the brocade wing chair opposite his guest. “Not at all. For months my wife and her mother have been singing your praises and Amanda has been quite frank about her feelings. I did not forbid your marriage, I forbade the women from making an Atlantic crossing because of the unfavorable political climate between our countries. Miranda, however, was determined that your wedding not be postponed, and in my absence she arranged passage on a British blockade runner.”
“My God!” ejaculated Lord Swynford. “How irresponsible! What utter madness! Has Miranda no idea of the kind of men who run blockades?”
Jared smiled ruefully. “I must admit to blockade running also, m’lord. Nevertheless, I agree with you. My wife’s naiveté is amazing. However, the captain of her ship is Christopher Edmund, the Marquis of Wye. I believe his older brother was also a suitor of Amanda’s. I assume they are relatively safe.”
“If you left after Amanda then why are you here before them?”
“My yacht is sleeker and swifter.”
“And you are most determined, eh, m’lord,” chuckled Adrian Swynford.
“Much more determined,” said Jared softly. “Since we are to be brothers-in-law, I hope you will call me Jared, and I may call you Adrian. Now, before my cook has apoplexy, let us go in to dinner.”
The twenty-year-old English lord and the thirty-year-old American became friends. Adrian Swynford saw that he had a strong ally against his tiny but formidable mother when, the very next day, she looked down her lorgnette at the upstart American and found herself charmed by him despite herself.
“His manners are impeccable and he is amazingly genteel,” she told an acquaintance.
“For an American, you mean,” came the reply.
“For any real gentleman,” said the dowager Lady Swynford.
Three days after their meeting, two gentlemen stood on the rainswept docks of the West India Company watching as the gangway of the Seahorse was lowered. The captain appeared at the top of the gangplank, Miranda on his arm. Behind her were Dorothea and Amanda. As they came down the gangplank Miranda said gaily, “La, Kit, how can we thank you for getting us here so quickly and safely? I shall be eternally grateful.”
“Having you aboard has been a pleasure, ma’am, but if you truly wish to thank me then a kiss will do quite nicely.”
They had reached the bottom of the gangway.
“Fie, sir! You are most wicked!” scolded Miranda, but she was smiling. Then she kissed him quickly on the cheek. “There, Kit!”
“You are well rewarded, sir,” said Jared smoothly, stepping out from the warehouse porch. “Welcome to London, madam.”
“Jared!” The look of utter astonishment on her face was his reward. Never again did he expect to have such an advantage.
“Amanda!” cried Jared’s companion.
“Adrian! Oh, Adrian!” Amanda flew into her betrothed’s arms, and was soundly kissed.
“Thank heavens you are here, Jared,” said Dorothea. “Perhaps now you can talk some sense into Miranda.”
“What would you have me say, Doro? She has already accomplished her objective.” He turned to
his wife. Miranda’s heart was pounding wildly as his fierce green gaze held her captive. “Did you mean what you wrote me?” he asked her in a deep, intense voice.
“Yes,” she said in a low voice.
Slowly he lifted her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. “We will talk later, my love.”
“Yes, m’lord,” she murmured, wondering if he was very angry with her. Knowing she loved him, she wanted to please him, and she had matured enough to realize she could do so without losing her own being. She was so very happy to see him.
“Miranda, m’dear, I believe you should introduce me to Captain Edmund,” said Jared, and she came out of her reverie.
“Kit, may I present my husband, Jared Dunham, the lord of Wyndsong Manor. Jared, Captain Christopher Edmund, the Marquis of Wye.”
As the two men shook hands, Kit said, “I was given to understand that the press of your other affairs would keep you from England, m’lord.”
A smile played at the corners of Jared’s mouth. It was plain to see the young puppy fancied himself in love with Miranda. Undoubtedly he had intended to squire her all over London in her husband’s absence. “I was able to conclude my business far in advance of my expectations,” he replied smoothly. “I owe you a great debt, m’lord, for transporting my ladies in safety. I hope you will favor us at dinner one night soon. And, of course, we shall expect you at the nuptials.”
“Thank you, sir. It was an honor to have Mir—Lady Dunham and her family aboard.” He turned to the others. “Ladies, m’lord, your servant. I must now see to my ship.”
“I would add my thanks too, Edmund,” said Adrian. “I owe you a greater debt than I can ever pay,” and he smiled happily into Amanda’s radiant, upturned face.
Kit smiled back at the lovers. “I am more than well rewarded, seeing you together,” he replied graciously. Then, bowing smartly at the assembled group, he walked back to his ship.
“I’ve brought the coach,” said Jared, offering his arm to his wife and mother-in-law. “What of your luggage?”
“We’ve very little,” Miranda replied. “There was no room aboard for luggage. Besides, Amanda’s trousseau was ordered from Madame Charpentier before we left London. All that is necessary for her is to send to Madame for delivery.”
He smiled. “Amanda cannot wear her trousseau before the wedding. Neither can you and Dorothea be seen in society in last year’s fashions. I suggest that when Madame Charpentier delivers Mandy’s trousseau, she fits you all for a London wardrobe.”
“But we are returning to Wyndsong immediately after Mandy’s wedding, aren’t we?”
“I have business here, my dear, which may not be concluded by then. Since you have gone to such trouble to get to England, you may as well enjoy it. Besides,” and here he lowered his voice, “I am not sure how easy it will be for us to get home.”
“Do we not have Dream Witch?” she asked in the same tone.
“The British could impound it and all other American property if the situation between our countries grows more serious. That was another reason for my hesitating to make this trip.”
“I am glad we came!” she said. “Do you see how happy Amanda is?”
“Yes, I do, but you are still not excused for disobeying me, wildcat. We will speak of this later.”
The coach was black and ivory with a gold-velvet-draped coachman’s seat, pulled by two perfectly matched gray horses. Two lackeys in green and white livery were helping a sailor load their baggage into the boot beneath the driver’s seat. As Jared approached, one of the lackeys turned and opened the coach door, pulling down the folding steps.
“We will sit with our backs to the coachman,” said Adrian, helping Amanda into the vehicle.
Jared helped Dorothea up, and then Miranda, following and closing the door behind him. The coach moved at a sedate pace off the West India Company docks and into the London traffic.
“I’ve never been so relieved to see dry land in my life,” announced Dorothea.
“Was the crossing so unpleasant then? I ran into no foul weather with Dream Witch,” replied Jared.
“The weather was unusually fine. In fact, I’ve never had such a smooth trip. But I lived in terror of the French catching us, or an American patrol boat.” She sighed mightily and her ample bosom heaved. “How, my dear Jared, could we have explained our presence on a British ship to our fellow Americans? I shudder even to imagine it. Then, when I decided we were safe from our own people, I had the Barbary pirates to worry about.”
“The Barbary pirates don’t often attack English ships, Doro.”
“Nonsense! They are savages! The sailors on board the Seahorse told me the Turks love blondes. Why, we could all have ended up in a harem! Thank God that we are safely here in spite of Miranda’s wilfulness.” She sighed again and leaned back against the tufted gold velvet seat. “I am utterly exhausted. I shall sleep for three days!” Her eyes closed, and within minutes she was snoring softly.
On the opposite seat Amanda giggled and snuggled next to Adrian. “I almost believe Mama is sorry we arrived safely.”
“Nevertheless, you took a serious risk,” said Adrian gravely.
“Had my sister not been bold enough to take the risk I should not be here with you now,” replied Amanda pertly, and Jared raised an amused eyebrow. The kitten had claws.
“If I had lost you …” began Lord Swynford.
“But you didn’t! Now please kiss me again, Adrian. I have missed being kissed for these last nine months.”
Lord Swynford willingly complied with his betrothed’s request, and Jared turned to his wife and tipped her face up to his. Her sea-green eyes regarded him warily. “I have spent the last several weeks debating whether I should kill you or kiss you when we met again. Adrian is right. You took a serious risk.”
“I would not have gone aboard the Seahorse if I had not felt Kit a trustworthy captain,” she said in a low voice.
“You would have sailed with the Devil himself to get Amanda here, my dear, and we both know it.” She had the good grace to blush, because it was true. He continued, “Will you be as loyal to me as you have been to your sister, Miranda?” She had barely time to murmur yes before he kissed her passionately, his lips branding her. She boldly sucked on the velvet of his tongue, and he pulled her roughly into his lap, his hands seeking her perfect little breasts.
“Jared!” she whispered frantically, “not here, m’lord!”
He bit her neck gently, and said roughly, “Mama is sleeping, and Amanda and Adrian are far more involved than we are, m’lady.” Undoing the strings of her bonnet, he pulled it off, and pushed it aside. His hands tangled in her pale-gold hair, drawing the pins out, letting it fall around them like a curtain. “Oh, wildcat, if anything had happened to you!” and his mouth found hers again, bruising her soft willing lips.
The carriage came to an abrupt halt, and the embracing couples parted, flushed, their breathing rapid. Adrian pulled down the window and leaned out. “Oh, blast! It’s Prinny’s coach, and he’s driving slowly so the crowds can see him.”
“Have Smythe take one of the side streets,” replied Jared. “It isn’t necessary for us to have a tour of London. Besides,” and here his dark eyebrows waggled ferociously, causing both sisters to giggle, “I suddenly find myself eager to be home.”
“And I find myself eager to be married,” laughed Adrian.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” said Miranda with mock severity, rearranging her long hair back into its chignon.
“They are both as randy as billy goats,” remarked Amanda innocently. There was a shocked silence quickly followed by a burst of laughter.
“My dear young sister-in-law, as your guardian I am strongly tempted to spank you. Your manner of expression is shocking. However, since you are quite right in my case, and, I suspect in Adrian’s case, I can hardly punish you for telling the truth.”
“I shall endeavor to be more tactful in future, sir,” promised Amanda. Her co
rnflower-blue eyes were dancing merrily.
“Very good,” he answered, his eyes bright with amusement.
“Where are we going?” asked Miranda.
“To my house,” said Jared. “It is on a small square near Greene Park. Where had you expected to stay? Surely not at a hotel?”
“We were going to Sir Francis Dunham’s home. I knew you had a house in London, but you never told me where, and I didn’t know whether you kept it staffed or let it out.”
“You are definitely not an organized traveler, wildcat,” he teased her.
“We did come away in a bit of a hurry.”
“Indeed you did, and what provisions, pray, did you make for the running of Wyndsong?”
“I expected you to go home, Jared,” she answered, “but even so, Peter Moore, the manor foreman, is quite capable of running the farm and seeing to the horses. I told him to continue as my father had unless you gave him other instructions. Were you in such a hurry to come after me, m’lord, that you sailed off and forgot Wyndsong?”
“Do not provoke me, madam. My revenge will be fierce.”
“Do your worst, m’lord. I am ready to battle with you,” she challenged. Her look was smoldering.
Gracious, thought Amanda, snuggling close to Adrian, I far prefer my quiet love. They are both so strong, and so wild.
The coach turned into a small square a block off the park. There were only eight houses around Devon Square, and the center had a planted miniature park of its own with chestnut trees at each corner. A carefully raked gravel walk in the shape of a cross bisected the area into four sections of green lawn edged with bright flower beds. The center of the cross held a greenish-bronze lily-shaped fountain from which spouted a column of water. There were four curved white marble benches in the classical style around the fountain.
The houses were all a mellowed red brick, with dark gray slate roofs and high, white marble stoops. The Dunham carriage pulled up before a house on the east side of the square, and the two footmen leaped down from their perch behind the coach and hurried to open its street-side door. Two other footmen came from the house to carry the luggage.