The Lady's Desire

by Audrey Abbott

  The viscount’s shrill voice wrenched William from his reverie. “Ferguson!”

  “Sir,” William responded.

  “Join us for a hand of cards.”

  Not able to refuse the invitation, William sat down opposite his new commanding officer at the green baize table and proceeded to win the next three games.

  “Blast,” Viscount Westmeare grumbled as he lurched from his chair. “I believe that I must retire before Captain Ferguson steals my entire fortune.”

  Someone clapped William on the back and hissed, “Ferguson, you are a damned good card player and an idiot. No one ever beats Westmeare! They always allow him to win. He gets into a terrible mood when he loses and we all pay the price!”

  “I’ll remember that in future,” William said as he rose, collected his winnings, and strode in a direction opposite from the retreating viscount.

  He wondered where the viscount’s lady might be. She remained fixed in his mind, but he steeled himself not to pursue any course of action that might even remotely touch on the lovely Lady Anne Westmeare. Yet, he could not resist scanning the room as he headed toward his hosts, Major and Mrs. Mayhew, to pay his respects.

  He would be sorry to leave Addiscombe. The Mayhews were excellent people and he enjoyed the teaching and the students, but his combat wounds were healed now although his injured left shoulder would probably continue to plague him. And aye. He must admit he was restless and eager to return to the rigors of regular military duty.

  After taking leave of his hosts, William searched the perimeter of the ballroom one more time. A curtain of smoke revealed the location of the smoking salon. As all of the rooms were crowded and warm, he escaped into the hallway to avoid the crush of silk gowns and woolen regimentals.

  Stifled by the heat and impatient to make his departure, he hastened down the stairs to the first floor. As William turned a corner, he encountered a delicate breath of lavender. With a shock of recognition, he collided into a lady dressed in a gown of sapphire blue silk, almost spilling her drink.

  Chapter 24

  “My sincerest apologies, milady. I am so verra sorry,” William murmured. “I hope I dinna harm ye?” He reached out instinctively to steady her arm. At the same time he offered her a look of frank admiration. All thoughts of immediate departure vanished from his mind.

  Flustered, Anne clutched her flute of champagne punch. She peered up into the man’s warm hazel eyes, more green than brown. Anne could not ignore the way he returned her gaze. He possessed fine strong features and a deep voice. And a most engaging smile.

  Something about the man seemed familiar. Where had she seen him before? He wore the insignia of a captain. She had noticed him standing in the center of the throng at the gaming tables earlier. Tall and erect, blending a military bearing with an easy grace, he stood several inches above the other men at the fête.

  Anne felt a pleasant tingling on the back of her neck as she experienced a jolt of recognition. Yes! Of course! The horse race. An earnest fair head and a lean form gripping his mount as they took the lead. And he spoke with a Scottish inflection.

  Could this be Mrs. Mayhew’s paragon?

  Anne continued to gaze up at him, feeling a surge of heat bloom across her face and neck. Seconds ticked by and she realized he still held her arm. His hand felt warm and strong and somehow reassuring. He had asked her a question.

  “N-No. I am fine. Truly, I am. It is all my fault,” she stammered, finally looking away as she smoothed her gown. “I did not see you. I was on my way to the courtyard to escape the heat.”

  “Aye. ’Tis indeed most warm inside. May I accompany ye, milady? I am recently returned from Scotland and not certain of the social protocol here.”

  “Are you the cavalry officer I have heard so much about?” Anne blurted as her eyes were drawn past his broad red-clad shoulders up to his face, clean-shaven except for neat golden side whiskers that accented a strong jaw line. His deep-set hazel eyes shimmered over tanned cheeks and a straight nose.

  She felt her heart prance as he smiled down at her. Mrs. Mayhew certainly did not exaggerate the appeal of this officer. Anne was aware of his fingers, firm yet gentle, still resting on her arm. Very aware. His hand felt as if it belonged there, as if he were protecting her. This captain was indeed special, perhaps . . . Yes, even a paragon.

  She smiled to herself at the memory of such a tactless thought. Then her smile vanished as she recalled her own unhappy position. She dragged her gaze away from the officer. With her free hand, she fingered the unwelcome necklace that lay so heavy against her skin. She was wed to a man who cared more for his jewels than he did for his wife. She was wed to a man who enjoyed publicly demeaning her. She was wed to a man who did not love her.

  But she had conceded to convention and uttered a vow at the altar. And paragon or not, this officer was . . . Alas . . . Not for her. If only she had met him sooner . . .

  She allowed her eyes to once more study the paragon. Perhaps, she thought wistfully . . . Perhaps they could somehow be friends.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, milady. I am Captain William Edward Ferguson of Edinburgh.” He bowed, reluctantly removing his hand from her arm. He could not help but notice her rosy glow and then the sudden fading of her smile.

  “Do you own a swift gray horse named Angus, Captain?”

  “Aye. I do, milady.”

  Anne explained about the horse race she had witnessed several weeks before. William nodded and offered to escort her over to the stables to see Angus. Anne, uncertain as to the etiquette of accompanying a man alone to the stables, hesitated.

  “Do you mean now? Yes, that would be lovely, Captain, but not while wearing this gown. It would get spoiled for certain.”

  The captain swept an appraising glance over the apparel in question. Although Anne turned to face the stables, she did not miss his look as the color bloomed again on her cheeks.

  “And besides, I have already made my acquaintance with Angus! The day of the race. Mrs. Mayhew showed me to the stables.” She blushed, but continued, “And on other occasions I visited him. He is a most splendid animal.”

  Drawing his eyes back to her face, William asked, “Are ye the lady who has been treating Angus to apples and sugar during my absence?”

  Collecting her composure, Anne said, “Guilty as charged, Captain Ferguson. I hope you do not mind?”

  “Nae, milady. That was verra kind of ye. I am certain that Angus appreciated your gentle touch.”

  Anne looked up at him. “Have you had the opportunity to explore the Surrey countryside, Captain? Perhaps soon, we could go riding. Angus would probably enjoy the exercise.” Anne stifled a sigh, wondering if she were being too forward.

  “I would enjoy that. Are ye familiar with Surrey, milady?”

  “Why yes, I grew up in Abbey Mead. My father served as the Vicar there.”

  The captain nodded as if her words held some special significance. He continued, “If we are to go riding, it must be verra soon. I depart in a few weeks to sail to India.”

  “Oh. My Lord Westmeare is sailing there as well.” Anne spoke a bit breathlessly, still worried she might have seemed somewhat too bold. As they conversed, they strolled out onto the terrace, Anne stepping carefully and clutching her glass. “I would hate to waste even a drop of this excellent punch. I am not accustomed to drinking champagne!”

  Several tables were placed around the courtyard, and William guided Anne toward an empty one in a shady corner, again placing his hand lightly on her gloved arm. After she was seated, he folded himself into the chair opposite her. A cooling breeze and the shade provided a respite from the heat of the manor house.

  A footman hastened to William’s side and asked if they required anything. Anne smiled as he ordered a champagne punch for himself and another for her.


  “Will ye be joining us in India, milady?”

  “Perhaps. I am to . . . Sometime after Lord Westmeare sends for me. But I am not certain when. I understand it will be a long voyage.”

  “It can sometimes take four to six months to sail to India. It all depends on the prevailing winds.”

  “That is a very, very long time,” Anne responded, knitting her eyebrows together. “What does one do on such a long voyage?”

  “Well, I usually spend my time reading and getting to know my fellow passengers,” William answered, accepting the glasses provided by the returning footman.

  “Then you have taken the journey before?” She sipped her beverage, the bubbles tickling her nose. She stifled a sneeze.

  “Aye. Only once. And that was many years ago.”

  “Is there anything I should anticipate on such a long voyage?”

  “Well, most are verra monotonous, although there have been attacks by pirates. But these are uncommon as the ships usually sail in convoys. And the journey can also be interrupted by long periods of calm.” He paused. “Then there are the storms. Some so severe that ships sometimes capsize and all souls aboard are lost, never to be seen again.”

  “Oh!” In spite of the heat, Anne shivered as she felt the inexplicable tug of icy black water dragging her under.

  “Truly, milady, pirates and storms are verra rare,” William reassured her. His warm, deep voice plucked her to safety. “Ye should have no problems.” Raising his glass, he offered a toast. “Here is to our mutual safe arrivals in India and to the pleasure of discovering new acquaintances there.”

  Anne lifted her glass and her eyes in response. The captain’s hazel eyes held her gaze for several sweet seconds before she flushed and murmured, “To new acquaintances.”

  The sounds of instruments being tuned floated over the garden. The windows of the ballroom were thrown open and they listened to the practice chords as Anne’s foot began to tap to the rhythm of a country reel. She looked up to see William beaming down at her. He rose and, bowing, asked, “May I have this dance, milady?” Anne laughed as he drew her to her feet.

  ~ ~ ~

  From behind a curtain in the smoking salon, Albert Grenville, Lord Westmeare, watched the eager pair ascend the steps and enter the ballroom. He held a drink in one hand and with the other, his gloved thumb and fingers swirled. His lips twisted into a smile that never reached his eyes.

  Chapter 25

  For the rest of the evening, Anne and William joined in quadrilles and other country dances, bowing, curtsying, passing from partner to partner. One sprightly dance led to another. For one set, they moved into a circle of eight partners, ladies on the outside, gentlemen in the center. William placed his hands around Anne’s slender waist and lifted her easily then set her down. They crossed hands and circled around, then took one step back, then two steps forward. William released her and moved on to the lady in front while another man stepped forward to partner next with Anne, placing his hands around her waist and raising her up.

  The cycle continued until William again appeared at her side. Anne found herself counting steps and partners until Mrs. Mayhew’s paragon once again moved beside her. She found herself laughing each time he lifted her. She found herself holding her breath each time he released her. She could not remember when she had last so enjoyed herself.

  William and Anne partnered with other dancers, but inevitably found themselves drawn together for the finishing dance. The musicians struck up the tune for the popular reel, “Sir Roger de Coverley.”

  After this spritely dance, William and Anne, warm and breathless, escaped to the balcony. The sun was setting and cooling breezes floated over and around them. From a passing footman, William plucked two more goblets of punch and handed one to Anne.

  “Will we have such pleasurable delights in India, Captain?” Anne asked, sipping her beverage.

  “Nae, milady, but we will have this night to remember.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Returning later that night to Hartwood, Anne settled into the luxurious comfort of the coach’s leather seat. Physically exhausted, she closed her eyes, but her restless mind did not think of sleep. Instead she savored her recollections of the events at the fête. The herald’s introduction, her brief acknowledgement and then abrupt dismissal by her husband, then the music, the glorious punch, and finally, meeting Mrs. Mayhew’s paragon.

  Anne sighed inwardly as she recalled their conversations and the shared conviviality of the dances. William Ferguson was everything Mrs. Mayhew had described and more. Anne recalled his tall presence, his handsome face, and curling yellow hair. His kind hazel eyes and warm smile . . . And his deft touch as their hands clasped or arms locked when they whirled, now together, then apart, and the strength of his arms as he wrapped his fingers around her waist and raised her effortlessly into the air, gently setting her down again through the complex and rapid movements of the reel. She felt her cheeks warm at the remembrance.

  Albert Grenville, seated across from his bride, watched his wife’s emotions play across her face. His features arranged themselves into a half smile as he busied his fingers and thumbs.

  Chapter 26

  September 1812

  Abbey Mead

  Surrey, England

  A week after the fête, a riding party set out from Addiscombe. It included Major and Mrs. Mayhew, Captain Ferguson, and Lady Westmeare. As Lord Westmeare declined to accompany them, Anne happily guided the group through the shire, stopping first at the church and vicarage in Abbey Mead and then on through the nearby countryside.

  At the vicarage, Anne introduced the company to her sister, Penelope, and to young Richard and Edwina who still resided there. Randall had returned to his studies at Cambridge and David, Penelope’s husband, was presently stationed in Hampshire not too far distant from Surrey. David gained permission to return home on occasion and joined his wife as she organized the nursery and prepared for her confinement.

  William considered the Tuttle offspring, especially a shy but inquisitive Edwina who peeked at him from between her sisters’ skirts, and from whom he eventually coaxed a wee smile. Richard, guarded and keenly perceptive, observed him thoughtfully from behind intense blue eyes. Penelope, he observed was very pretty, but not as lovely as her elder sister.

  And a curious Penelope scrutinized the cavalry officer in return as he helped Anne off her horse and raised her eyebrow at Anne after being introduced to William. After refreshments were served, the sisters shared a private moment. Penelope drew Anne into the kitchen and fired off a dozen questions about the handsome captain, including, “And he has been at Addiscombe? How long? Why have we never met him? You were introduced to him at the fête? Did you dance with him? Where will be his next duty station?”

  “Yes, we did dance. Some country reels,” Anne admitted, and she felt color rise to her cheeks.

  Penelope saw the blush, but did not comment on it as Anne added, “Captain Ferguson will be sailing to India in a few weeks, as will Lord Westmeare.”

  Bidding the vicarage and its occupants farewell, the riding party continued on its pilgrimage. Surrey, still deeply wooded, had changed little since the time of the Saxons. William observed that the shire, located so near to London, still retained a large degree of rural charm. He appreciated the thatched cottages, wicket gates, and rough barns, now full of just-gleaned wheat and barley. Copses of ash and oak and glades of beeches lured the riders deeper into sunlit woods. Gold and copper leaves drifted around them, cascading onto the forest floor, whispering as the horses’ hooves slid through them.

  William fell under the spell of the landscape’s tranquility. Picturesque pathways led them through meadows of daisies and buttercups, beside loamy fields rich with the smell of just turned earth, and across shallow streams that splashed over rocks and under lush
grasses. The place possessed a softness that caressed the spirit. William could not recall anything so delightful and he shared his enthusiasm with their beautiful guide. She flushed with pleasure and offered to lead them to the ruins of the old abbey that stood a mile outside the village.

  “When King Henry VIII dissolved the cloisters and monasteries, many of them fell into disrepair. This was once the home of an order of Benedictines who fled to France and never returned,” Anne instructed. “I came here often as a child. This is such a charming place, above all in the spring when the lilacs are in bloom. I have always found solace here.”

  The ancient edifice stood roofless in the center of a clearing, a quiet sentinel to the past. All that remained of the once-majestic structure were hollow gray walls that now encompassed a floor dressed with grasses, primroses, and heather. Sunlight streamed through the empty arched windows placed high in the nave of the former sanctuary.

  A family of hedgehogs perched on a fallen piece of carved stonework, taking advantage of the warmth from a bright shaft of sunlight.

  William nodded and absorbed the bygone details of the once grand abbey. His gaze however, kept returning to the sweet countenance of Lady Anne, wondering, and not for the first time, how such a rare beauty became the wife of such a strange man as Lord Westmeare.

  It certainly was not due to the man’s charm. For as far as William could tell, Viscount Westmeare possessed neither charm nor wit. Perhaps the title and the money attracted the former Anne Tuttle. Did she know the money was rumored to be almost gone? It seems the viscount managed his investments rather poorly and then there was the speculation about his mounting gambling debts.