The Lady's Desire

by Audrey Abbott

  William, tall for his age, all elbows and knees, stood next to his one wee trunk. His father’s only admonition, “Study hard and obey your uncle, Willie.” He said nothing as his father climbed into the homely wagon and drove away.

  A slate gray sky opened on the city and the downpour plastered his blond curls against his head. Only a slight tremor of his lower lip betrayed the misery over what he considered to be his parent’s abandonment. He watched his father’s hunched form recede into the rain-swept mist. Ferguson men did not cry. Or so he thought. He bit his lip to keep it from trembling.

  “Captain Ferguson?” Anne asked. “You were saying about the bookshop?”

  The clouds in William’s memory dissolved as his thoughts returned to the grotto and Lady Anne and their conversation. “Aye. I apprenticed there. Working in the afternoons and attending classes in the morning.” He paused. “I can still smell the tang of leather and parchment.”

  Anne smiled at him. “How marvelous! What kinds of books did you sell?” Anne asked, sipping on her beverage.

  “Mostly books on religious topics, Psalmodies, plus histories and music. Also textbooks for the many University students. They visited the shop often. And of course there was poetry. Like that of Robert Burns.”

  “I have read some of Mr. Burns. He has a lyrical, romantic quality about his work,” Anne commented as she brushed some crumbs from her lap.

  “And a sense of humor as well,” William said. “Do ye ken this one?

  “What of Earls with whom you have supped,

  And of Dukes that you dined with yestreen?

  Lord! A louse, sir, is still a louse,

  Though it crawls on the curls of a Queen.”

  They both laughed aloud at the wit of the famous Scottish poet. “No, I have never heard that particular verse.” Anne almost choked on a piece of cheese as she tried to control her sudden fit of laughter. “Mr. Burns did have a wicked sense of humor.”

  “Aye, he did and he was a most courteous gentleman, too.”

  “You knew him?” Anne began, slicing some more cheese and offering it to William, their fingers touching as she did so. She paused in her question suddenly confused and very much aware of the warmth of his skin. Blushing slightly, she turned away.

  After gathering her composure, she resumed her question, “Robert Burns. You met him?”

  “Aye, he lived in Edinburgh for a while,” William answered, aware of their touch, the softness of her hands and the sweet blush, now caressing her face. He offered her a half smile. “He came to my uncle’s shop often. He even signed my copy of his collection of Scottish folk songs. He was a handsome man, and he had an eye for the ladies. I am told.”

  Anne looked up from her luncheon to meet William’s eyes, twinkling at the memory of the famous poet. A fleeting look passed over his face, a look she had observed when he lifted her off her horse. She blinked and the look was gone. “Oh?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Well, I should not speak ill of the dead. He was married, ye ken, but was rumored to have had several . . . shall we say . . . female admirers in his lifetime.”

  William smiled and at the sight of that smile, Anne’s heart skipped a beat. She flushed again and hastened to change the conversation. “Tell me more about the bookshop, Captain. What did you do for your uncle?”

  “Everything and anything,” William said, gesturing with his hands. “Stocking the books. Dusting the shelves. Making deliveries around town. I became quite familiar with the narrow wynds and hidden closes of the city.”

  Anne noted how animated William became the more he spoke about his life in Edinburgh. “So you also continued your education while in Edinburgh?”

  “Oh, aye. In the mornings, I raced to the nearby parish school where I studied classical languages, history, science, and mathematics. I would dash from the bookshop to class, running through the tight wynds that connected one cobblestoned street with another. But I often found myself arriving late for class and dunned a pence for tardiness by my unsympathetic instructors.”

  “Did you have a favorite class?”

  “Aye. I loved mathematics, ye ken?”

  “I guess that is why you were teaching that subject at Addiscombe?”

  William nodded. “I dinna like music lessons. At first. Are ye musical? I noticed a piano in your parlor at the vicarage.”

  “Yes, I do play. My mother was an exceptional musician and she taught all her children to play and vocalize. And you?”

  “Well. I was required to take music lessons, which I dinna much enjoy. But eventually my youthful soprano deepened into a more acceptable baritone. My school chums often broke into three- or four-part harmony and we rattled the windows as we sang our way from class to class.”

  William paused. “I must admit that dancing lessons frustrated me the most. I stumbled often and crushed the toes of many a fair lass.”

  “But you dance so well now, Captain,” Anne said, trying not to laugh.

  “Aye. Well, eventually I persevered and I could make my way across a ballroom floor without embarrassing myself or tripping my partner.”

  Anne encouraged William to share more about his childhood. “Do you have any other memories of your childhood in Edinburgh?”

  William grinned as he helped himself to another raspberry tart. “On fair Saturdays, I would borrow my uncle’s horse and race to the Leith Links just north of the city to scrounge the shallow ponds for golf balls with my friends. We would then sell them to the golfers on the green for a ha’penny each. If we were lucky, someone would hire us as a caddie for the day.”

  “Did you and your friends make a great deal of money with this enterprise?” Anne could not restrain her own smile.

  “Well, I turned my caddie fees over to my uncle. But the ha’pennies I put aside for wee gifts for my mother and sister and for those persistent payments for tardiness.”

  Anne’s laughter faded as William’s expression took a sudden serious turn. He rested his elbows on his knees and folded his fingers together. “It was a precious childhood, milady, but those days ended when my father died and I returned to the farm.” William, his voice subdued, stared ahead as if seeing through a window into his past. “My only solace there was the horses.”

  “You said your father bred horses? Did you breed Greys?” Anne asked, already knowing the answer, but hoping to amend her companion’s sudden altered mood.

  “Indeed! They are splendid animals. We bred them for the cavalry, ye ken. Our horse master, old Hodges, taught me everything he knew about them and he knew much. I can still see him, standing in the paddock scrutinizing the new foals. He had the cheeriest blue eyes set above a ruddy face framed in gray whiskers. He was verra strict, but also kind.

  “When I turned eighteen, a major from the Aberdeen Royal Scots Greys regiment arrived to inspect some horses. Hodges and I showed off the best stock.” Here William paused, looking back over his shoulder to Angus. Anne watched as his thoughts again turned inward, seeing the pride he held for his mount.

  Finally, he continued. “The major also sought new recruits for the regiment. When he observed me riding one of the horses, he offered me a place in the unit. I have served king and country since then. That was in 1798. My mother did not want me to go, but she saw how much I wanted to accept the offer. She finally acquiesced.”

  A sudden gust of wind danced through the grotto and tugged at Anne’s hat. Anne grabbed for her napkin as it fluttered away. Laughing, she retrieved it from among some balsam shrubs. So engrossed were they in their conversation they hardly noticed a darkening of the sky until the wind picked up velocity.

  “Perhaps we should consider a return to the manor house, Captain.” Anne spoke reluctantly, gazing up at the iron gray clouds swirling overhead. William nodded. Thrusting the remains of their meal int
o the hamper, they hurriedly packed up and mounted their horses, William giving Anne a gentle boost onto her mare. They rode out of the grotto and climbed back up the hill.

  “There is quite a view from up there of the North Downs. And in the distance you can still see the winding of the old Pilgrims’ Way toward Canterbury and Beckett’s tomb,” Anne pointed further up the hill to a wooded knoll. She shouted over the wind.

  Low black clouds scudded overhead, racing before what appeared to be a fierce storm. While they debated the wisdom of whether or not to continue their jaunt or return to the manor house, the clouds parted and poured cold rain on their outing.

  “Follow me. I see a cabin in the woods just up ahead.” Anne spurred her horse and raced away. William and Angus followed close behind. In a small clearing, a neat little shack appeared. They dismounted quickly and tied the horses under a three-sided shelter built for just such an occurrence. From there they dashed toward the cabin.

  Inside it was dark. Anne found and lit an oil lamp. The glow revealed a tidy retreat with a small cot, a stove, and a wicker chair. Evidence of recent use was provided by a cambric shirt hanging on the door and a pipe resting in a tray.

  But a damp chill gripped the place. William found some dry logs and soon a merry little fire blazed in the stove. They huddled near it, rubbing their hands together. “I guess autumn will soon be upon us,” Anne said as she removed her hat, scattering drops of rain on the rough wooden floor. A few hit the flames. They hissed and sparked. The burning wood toasted the air.

  “I am sorry to miss it. I leave for India in three days. I always enjoy this time of year.” William glanced at Anne. He saw her shiver and he suggested she move closer to dry her hair by the fire. He gazed fascinated as she freed her wet tresses, allowing them to cascade over her shoulders.

  His breath caught in his throat as he watched the firelight play across her features and shimmer over the auburn highlights in her chestnut curls, now softly framing her face. God, she was so beautiful. So innocent. So unaware of the effect she had on him. He inwardly groaned. It took tremendous willpower not to reach out and stroke her hair. To caress her pale cheek. To draw her into his arms . . . To . . .

  “Three days. That is not much time . . . to . . .” Looking up from the fire, Anne searched his face. Her eyes locked on his, unblinking. “Captain, I . . .”

  A sudden clamor outside cut short her words. The door of the cabin burst open. William jumped to his feet. Hampered by her long skirt, Anne struggled to rise.

  She turned to face an angry intruder.

  Chapter 30

  Jasper Winebiddle halted just inside the threshold of the cabin, rainwater dripping from his hat onto the floor. He glared at them and glanced around the room. “What are ye two doing in here?” The steward scowled at them and pointed a crooked finger in their direction. “Up to no good, I wager.”

  “Winebiddle. This is Captain Ferguson. He is my guest. We sought shelter from the rain.” Anne tried to keep her voice calm, but her heart pulsed rapidly. She noticed Winebiddle’s black-stained fingernails. She repressed a shudder. And again she thought she smelled something of the sea. How very strange.

  “This here cabin is mine. Ye two get out! Now!”

  William rose to his full height, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “What is your status here, Winebiddle?”

  “I am his lordship’s steward of the manor and ye are trespassing.” Winebiddle noticed William’s movement and he backed up a pace.

  “I hardly think that Lady Westmeare is trespassing on her own land. And if this cabin is indeed on Westmeare property then it also belongs to Lady Westmeare, does it not?”

  “W-Well,” Winebiddle sputtered. “What are ye two doing here anyway?”

  “Lady Westmeare already explained that. We were escaping from the rainstorm. And it is not your place to question your employers.” William glared down at the man.

  “Lord Westmeare is my employer and he placed me in proper charge while he is away.” The steward spat his words at William.

  “You may be in charge, but that does not give you permission to bully either Lady Westmeare or her guests.” William’s tone was brittle as he shed his Scottish brogue. “Do you understand, Winebiddle?”

  Winebiddle did not answer the question. He stomped out of the cabin, but not before he threw William a look filled with loathing. The malevolent glitter of his eyes was the last Anne saw of the steward before his form faded into the shadows of the windswept storm.

  Anxious and perplexed, Anne turned to William. “He has always been difficult. He does not look upon me as his mistress.”

  “Ye do not have to fear him, Lady Anne. Ye are mistress of this estate. Never let Winebiddle nor any other servant forget that.” William moved to shut the door as the driving rain darkened the wooden planking of the cabin floor.

  “I am not accustomed to running a mansion. Only a small vicarage. And until a few months ago, I never employed any servants, just a village girl who came a few days a week to help with the laundry and cleaning.”

  “Lady Anne, do ye know the name of your husband’s solicitor?” William asked as he stepped to the small window and peered outside.

  “No. I am not certain.”

  “Check his desk for any legal papers. See if ye can find the name. Do ye have any relatives who may help ye?”

  “I have an uncle in London,” Anne offered. “But I would not wish to bother him with such matters.”

  “Winebiddle is a bully! Once ye have the solicitor’s name, contact your uncle in London. He perhaps can help ye with this concern,” William suggested. “I will consult Major Mayhew. He may be able to assist ye as well.” William turned back to the room. “If Winebiddle knows ye have powerful advocates, it may curb his threatening behavior.”

  “When you arrived, I was just writing to my Aunt Martha. I will include a note to Uncle Augustus.”

  “Good.” Returning to the stove, he attempted to change the subject. “Ye said that ye grew up in Abbey Mead?”

  “Yes, there are five of us. My brother Randall and I are twins. Randall is away at university, but you have met Penelope, Richard, and Edwina, of course.” William nodded.

  “Our parents raised us to respect others and to love God. They were devoted to each other, a most loving couple. After our mother took ill and passed away, our father died not too long after, I am certain, of a broken heart.” Anne spoke softly, gazing into the flames.

  William watched as Anne’s memories carried her to a most tragic and painful period in her past. Even with grief etched upon her face, she was still beautiful. He could not take his eyes off her.

  After a brief interlude, she added, “We had modest resources, Captain, but ours was a happy childhood.” She looked up to see his gaze, warm and compassionate.

  “But thanks to the assistance of Lord Westmeare, my brother Randall was able to continue his studies at Cambridge; our brother-in-law, David, purchased a commission in the Army; and my younger siblings have a secure roof over their heads.”

  William now understood why the reserved and innocent Anne Tuttle chose to become the Viscountess Westmeare. Not for any personal advantage. For the security of her brothers and sisters, she had sacrificed her own happiness. Admiration mounted in his estimation of the fair Lady Anne. She was not only beautiful, but noble as well.

  After the rain ceased, Anne and William returned to the stables. William carried the now empty hamper back to the house, and asking to meet Mrs. Clarke strode into her culinary domain, causing the cook to almost faint in alarm. But upon hearing his praises, she recovered and beamed at the young officer.

  “I hope that someday in the future I can return and sample more of your culinary delights, Mrs. Clarke. Especially those delicious raspberry tarts!” The lady in question sat down abruptly
, fanning herself with her apron, her cheeks puffed and rosy.

  The sun blinked from behind retreating storm clouds as Anne accompanied William to the front of the manor house. They walked side-by-side in an unhurried pace, their hands almost touching. Neither one spoke a word. Reaching the portico, Anne watched him gather the reins of his horse. A sense of deep melancholy overwhelmed her at the sight of William preparing to leave as if she were losing a long cherished friend. Anne tried to smile, but without success.

  William stopped, turned abruptly, and taking her hand he bowed low over it, his touch warm and gentle.

  A tingle streamed from Anne’s fingers along her arm and radiated heat throughout her entire body. She did not mind nor even notice that his touch lingered perhaps a trifle too long for propriety’s sake.

  “Lady Anne,” William said, his hazel eyes gazing into blue. “May God grant ye a safe voyage to India. I hope that our paths will cross one day. Until then, may God keep ye well, milady.”

  “A safe journey to you as well, Captain,” Anne whispered as his fingers slowly released her hand. In a single fluid movement, he mounted Angus, turned the horse and trotted away down the drive lined with hedgerows fragrant with the last of summer’s roses and honeysuckle. Then he was gone. But his gentle words burrowed into her heart and nestled there.

  A sudden sense of loss . . . a deep melancholy overwhelmed her. Would she ever see Mrs. Mayhew’s paragon again? Would her path cross Captain Ferguson’s sometime in the future? Such a reality was probably quite remote. Even if she did travel to India, that subcontinent was so immense that she might never encounter him there. Her heart lurched at the thought of never, ever seeing William Ferguson again.