The Lady's Desire

by Audrey Abbott

  Anne smiled at the older woman’s indulgences. “Could you show me more of the grounds?” Anne asked.

  “Yes, of course, my dear.” Mrs. Mayhew rose. “Come with me!”

  Anne followed her hostess through a set of double doors out into a spacious inner courtyard. The elegant garden contained roses and precisely clipped hedgerows and stone pathways that led to double doors in each wing of the quadrangular house. Sturdy vines covered the walls of the building, facing the interior of the courtyard. Gaps in the foliage allowed the window lights to capture the sunshine, reflecting the sky and clouds sailing overhead.

  Entering the south wing and passing through the hallway, they exited the building onto a small lawn and garden. Beyond, Anne spied more outbuildings and fields in the distance. She watched as dozens of men wrestled, fenced, and practiced archery in the fields and lawns beyond the racetrack.

  At the other end of the track, a few men on horseback continued to put their horses through their paces.

  Anne searched for the tall cavalry officer, but did not see him. Anne loved to ride and she itched to mount one of the fine horses she saw cantering along the track. “Do you ride often, Mrs. Mayhew?”

  “Yes, I enjoy it. We have our own horses stabled here and I frequently ride through the fields beyond the Seminary grounds. Surrey is such a lovely corner of England. Would you like a closer look at the stables, Lady Westmeare?”

  “Yes, yes I would!” Anne responded as an image of the fair-haired cavalryman lingered in her thoughts.

  Chapter 22

  The ladies made their way across the rear lawn, glancing both ways before crossing the sunbaked track as they successfully negotiated the deep ruts and steaming lumps of horse dung. Approaching the open stable doors, Anne felt the comforting caress of cool air as the familiar scent of hay and leather and horse flesh embraced her.

  To Anne, such aromas carried her back to her childhood when their father would take his family on regular outings through the Surrey countryside. By age five, Anne Tuttle knew how to sit a horse well.

  Mrs. Mayhew approached a groom and informed him of her intention to show Lady Westmeare some of their best racing stock.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The groom doffed his cap. “If ye like, I can show ye ’round. Will ye be interested in perhaps taking a ride today?”

  “No, Gordon, we are not dressed for it. But perhaps another day, Lady Westmeare will pay us a visit and we can explore the local scenery together,” the older woman explained. “Would you like that, my dear?” she asked, turning to Anne.

  “Yes, that would be wonderful.” Anne smiled at the groom. “Gordon, which is your swiftest and gentlest horse?” she asked, already stepping through the stable doors.

  “Why, that would be Lilly.” Gordon led them to a stall partway down the aisle. He stopped before a black mare, her soft brown eyes turning to gaze at Anne. “She is part Arabian and she can fly. Almost as fast a Captain Ferguson’s Grey.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Mayhew laughed. “Lilly is a pleasure to ride. She is one of my favorites.”

  Anne fearlessly undid the box stall door and approached the horse. “Easy, girl. You are sweet. We could be friends.” From out of her reticule, Anne pulled some sugar cubes, smiling sheepishly at Mrs. Mayhew as she did so. “I took them from your sugar bowl when I heard we were going to the stables. I do hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Mayhew. When they are ripe, I will bring some apples from Hartwood Manor. We do have a lovely orchard.”

  She laughed as the horse nibbled the cubes from her outstretched hand. Lilly nickered her satisfaction and searched Anne for more of the sweet treat. Gordon and Mrs. Mayhew laughed with her.

  “Where is Captain Ferguson’s Grey?” Mrs. Mayhew asked.

  “Angus is down on the right hand side. Let me show you, madam.”

  Gordon led them to the box stall of a magnificent dappled horse. The door to the stall was open and they watched as a younger groom brushed and curried the mount. Up close, Anne marveled at the size of the Scottish steed. “So this is the stallion I saw win the race today.” Anne admired the powerful limbs and broad chest of the horse. “Whoa, boy, you are a beauty, aren’t you now?”

  Angus turned his great head around and sniffed Anne’s outstretched hand. “Where is the rider?” She looked over her shoulder, hoping to see the fair-haired cavalryman appear suddenly inside the stable.

  “Watch, miss! Watch,” Gordon called out. “Angus ain’t as friendly as Lilly.” But the great horse pushed his head closer and nuzzled Anne’s flattened palm, his soft lips gently sucking up the remaining sugar cubes that she provided. Anne raised her now empty hand and patted his gray muzzle and the big horse snuffled softly.

  “Well, I’ll be. Imagine that. Angus likes ye, milady,” Gordon cried while Angus stretched out his neck and reached for more of the sweet treat.

  “I’m so sorry, Angus. I have no more,” Anne said, her voice tinged with regret. “It would be amazing to ride such a wonderful mount! He must be a cavalry horse! He is so big!” Anne moved her hands gently over his shoulder and neck. The gray ears twitched as if in appreciation. “I believe I saw the officer riding him today.”

  “Angus is Captain Ferguson’s horse, milady. Captain rides for the Royal Scots Greys.” Gordon puffed out his chest in pride at his connection to the officer and his grand horse.

  “What exactly are the Royal Scots Greys?” Anne asked, continuing to admire Angus.

  “They are a cavalry unit formed in Scotland,” Mrs. Mayhew answered. “All of their horses are dappled gray like Angus. Some of the horses are bred on Captain Ferguson’s family farm near Edinburgh.”

  “My, an entire regiment of these horses must be a marvelous sight,” Anne said, a sense of wonder shading her voice.

  “Yes, indeed, they are.” Mrs. Mayhew smiled. “And they can be very intimidating on the field of battle.”

  “Is the Captain still here at Addiscombe?” Anne asked Mrs. Mayhew, giving Angus a farewell caress.

  “We must have just missed him. William rode into London to catch the coach to Edinburgh to visit with his family and bid his farewells. He will be sailing for India in a few weeks,” Mrs. Mayhew said, moving toward the doors. “Of course, William will return here before he ships off. We will certainly miss him.” Turning to the groom, she said, “Thank you, Gordon.”

  The groom touched his cap as the women exited the stables.

  “Who is this Captain Ferguson?” Anne asked, perhaps more curious then she should have been.

  “Oh, only the most charming of officers, intelligent, and so very handsome, my dear,” the older woman said. “William is most pleasing to look upon. And such an affable young man. He is kind to all, whether stable boy or junior officer. And no one can sit a horse like William. It is as if man and steed were one. And did I mention that he is handsome? He would turn any girl’s heart. You really should meet him.” Then she paused and checked her enthusiasm. “Of course, you are married, my dear. Oh well.” She sighed. “I have perhaps said too much!”

  Anne wondered how any man could possess all of the fine attributes that Mrs. Mayhew bestowed upon this one cavalry officer. The person she described sounded like a paragon of manly virtues. But of one attribute Anne was certain. This paragon could certainly ride!

  “What does Captain Ferguson do here at Addiscombe?” Anne asked. “Why is he not attached to his regiment in Scotland?”

  “He is one of our instructors. He was temporarily assigned to the Seminary while he recovered from a battle injury he sustained while serving in Spain with Lord Wellington. William teaches mathematics to the engineering students here.”

  Turning back toward the house, she continued, “Come, my dear, let us finish the tour. Then we should find our husbands. Perhaps you could join us for dinner, Lady Westmeare. We do have an excellent co
ok.”

  The ladies joined arms and retraced their steps across the race course back toward the house. Mrs. Mayhew completed the tour of the military seminary by guiding her guest up a flight of stairs. “As I said before, here on the second floor are the dormitories for the students. And the original ballroom is also located here.”

  Stepping into the ballroom, Anne was not prepared for its opulence. She gasped and turned to Mrs. Mayhew with a questioning look. Her hostess smiled with pleasure, “Yes, it is an amazing space. Not overly large, but so very elegant.”

  “This is a wonderful room!” Anne exclaimed. “I remember. I have been here. Once before. When the Earl of Liverpool owned it. I was very small, but I remember this room with all the windows overlooking the courtyard. There must have been a thousand candles glowing on every wall and table. It was all so magical. I remembered it as a fairytale castle.”

  Anne stepped to the middle of the ballroom floor. She threw out her arms and twirled in a circle, her muslin skirts billowing around her. The polished parquet surface mirrored her swirling lace-trimmed petticoat.

  Mrs. Mayhew smiled at the childlike gesture of her guest. She, too, stepped onto the gleaming floor and spun about once, laughing as she did. “I have a wonderful idea! We can throw a house party. Not a ball. But a fête! If the weather holds we could hold it partially outdoors in the courtyard. It will be a fête champêtre. There will be cards and music and country dances and, of course, refreshments. Many of our recruits will be leaving soon to take up their new assignments. It will be a wonderful opportunity to send them off in style! Perhaps you and Colonel Westmeare could be our special guests. How does that sound?”

  “What a grand idea,” Anne said, gazing out a west window at the stables. She hoped Albert would permit her to attend. “But you must allow me to help with the arrangements.”

  “Come, my dear, let us persuade our husbands!”

  ~ ~ ~

  Later, as the coach drew near to Hartwood Manor, Anne’s thoughts returned to her tour of Addiscombe and to the upcoming fête. For the first time in weeks, she felt lighter of heart. Here was something to look forward to. She allowed her thoughts to reflect on the young Captain Ferguson. Would he return in time to attend the event? Might she meet him?

  But she must cease such thoughts. This would not do! She was a married woman! But Mrs. Mayhew spoke so highly of her paragon! Surely there could be no harm in meeting the man.

  Lord Westmeare busied himself with his own thoughts. When he looked up from his own reverie, he was amazed to see a most enigmatic smile hovering over his wife’s lips.

  Part II

  Chapter 23

  August 1812

  Addiscombe Military Seminary

  Surrey, England

  Captain William Ferguson strode into the ballroom at Addiscombe. He resolved not to linger there. He would greet his hosts, Major and Mrs. Mayhew, and present himself to the Viscount Westmeare, his new commanding officer. Then he would achieve a hasty retreat. Guided by the herald, William spied Colonel Viscount Westmeare in an adjoining room, holding court at the gaming tables and surrounded by a coterie of fawning junior subordinates.

  As he edged his way toward the card table to make his required introductions, William noted the total absence of senior officers. Never having met Westmeare, William knew him by reputation only. Rumor spoke of his advancement through the Army more by associations than accomplishments. That would perhaps explain the dearth of higher ranking officers who might surely look askance at such conduct.

  As William approached the viscount, he surveyed the collection of junior officers and their ladies. Silk and muslin gowns rustled among the tables. Some of the ladies wore elaborate turbans, many ornamented with feathers. The feathers turned in William’s direction as a fluttering of fans and a murmur of feminine voices announced his arrival.

  Just as William neared the viscount, the man uncoiled and rose from his seat. “Blast and damn! What rogue approaches and causes our ladies to stir so?”

  Lord Westmeare’s lean, pale face gazed up at the rogue. He continued in a harsh voice. “Young man, who are you? And why do you intrude upon our person?”

  William bowed slightly, concealing a smile. Rumor spoke of the viscount’s character, but not about his stature. “I am your new cavalry officer, Captain William Ferguson, reporting for duty, Sir.”

  “Aha! The Scot. So you have returned from your sojourn to Scotland. Report to me tomorrow. We will discuss your fate in India.” Westmeare threw William a perfunctory glance and then turned away.

  As William pondered the ominous meaning of the word “fate,” a hush rippled through the crowd. Every head swiveled toward the staircase as the herald boomed the newest arrivals, “The Viscountess Westmeare escorted by Doctor George Campbell.”

  William heard someone whisper, “It is Lady Anne.” Then he, too, turned toward the ballroom entrance. A vision, wrapped in sapphire silk, floated downwards as if from the clouds of heaven.

  At that moment, for William, nothing else existed except the striking creature descending the stairs on the arm of the medical officer. Dazed, he felt as if he had just been thrown by Angus, a most unimaginable occurrence. Yet although he was tumbling through the air, the experience was strangely pleasant.

  When the room stopped spinning, William found himself upright and only a few yards from the vision. She was tall. Her long limbs carried her toward him. Here was perfection. Here was the sweetest lass he had ever seen. Framing fine cheekbones and sweet lips, the lady’s chestnut-colored hair curled along her slender neck. He scanned her pleasing figure, accentuated by a high-waisted gown. But it was her blue eyes, large and luminous, that captured and held his attention. Blue, like cornflowers at dusk.

  Suddenly, William imagined himself under the leafy branches of the spreading oak on a high hill at the northern edge of his family’s farm. Around him, low gray stone walls gently embraced fields of green. This had been his sanctuary, his refuge as a boy. Now he stood under the tall tree’s wide shadow.

  The day was warm and the sky, a rich blue with small clouds lacing the horizon. And this flawless lady leaned into his embrace, whispering his name. Those lovely blue eyes gazed into his with a sweet promise revealed within their depths.

  Here was . . . Who was she? What was her name? Anne. Anne Westmeare. Westmeare!

  At the recollection of that name, the tree and fields and gray walls vanished. Reality crashed around William and dragged him out of his reverie. He watched in dismay as the vision approached the Viscount Westmeare. His lordship rose to greet his wife, bowed, and limply took her hand within his gloved one. The viscount’s lips never touched her fingers.

  William struggled to remember all he knew about this lady. There was not much except rumors attached to her husband. And those rumors spoke of scandal.

  Then it struck him. Angus!

  Gordon, the stable lad, spoke to him about a lovely lady who, while he was in Scotland, visited Angus on several occasions, bringing him sugar and sweet apples. She had displayed no fear of the massive horse. And Angus welcomed her overtures. And allowed the lady to pet him. Even, Gordon said, to sit upon him. Och! Unbelievable!

  William regarded the lady with renewed interest as the viscount with one gloved hand lifted up a stunning necklace of diamonds and sapphires that graced her neck. “My dear. How utterly charming you look this evening.” He tilted his head and a brittle smile creased his face as he admired the jewels. “You have arrived and the company is enchanted.” The other gloved hand caressed a matching earring as he breathed in her ear, “So very lovely.”

  A blush colored the lady’s cheeks. “My lord, please don’t.” William stood close enough to hear her whispered plea. He followed that blush as it crept down her pale throat, slipped under the gleaming gems, and plunged beneath the lace ruffles of
her low-cut gown. The tall Scottish oak tree reappeared.

  William repressed a groan. This lovely Anne was not his for the rude taking. Nae. She was regrettably, most undeniably, another man’s wife. And William never deviated from that creed. Ever. No matter how tempting the lass. What God hath joined together, let no man part.

  Yet William realized that while he might be in control of his actions, his thoughts would not be so easy to restrain. For there was something verra extra ordinary about this lass besides her beauty. She radiated a quality of innocence and of vulnerability and also of strength.

  And Angus liked her. Aye. For certain, this lass I canna forget.

  “My dear, don’t let us deny that I am the envy of every man in this room,” the viscount said, looking over the crowd, his harsh voice intruding on William’s thoughts. Then in a louder tone, “Am I not, gentlemen?”

  “Here, here,” the assembled young officers cried as the Lady Anne stiffened. Then turning abruptly from his wife, Lord Westmeare sat down and resumed his card game.

  William, rarely at a loss for words, swallowed and watched in dismay as Doctor Campbell took the lady’s arm and began to escort her toward the receiving line. Only a few feet away, she turned and searched the crowd. Her gaze fell upon William.

  At such close proximity, William could study her eyes, dark blue with just a hint of green and gold sparkling within their depths. The luster of the lady’s jewels paled beside her eyes’ natural beauty. He could not stop staring at the lass as she moved on. She looked back one more time. Her eyes betrayed her misery and isolation . . . In a room filled with strangers.

  William managed a slight and hopefully encouraging smile before Doctor Campbell drew the lady away. They halted within various circles and exchanged greetings with the other guests. William’s smile withered as Lady Anne disappeared into the crowd. Only a light breath of lavender lingered. Damn. But Lord Westmeare was indeed fortunate in his wife.