by Lavinia Kent
Lady Clarington’s voice met her. “Oh good, the last trunk has been loaded. Maybe now we can be on our way. Don’t know why we had to wait. Lord knows we’ve time enough ahead on the road. Clarington, I daresay you’ll want to ride ahead on that new gelding you speak so much of. And Sommerton, I do hope you’ll join me in the carriage. It will be dreadfully dull if I am left alone.” Lady Clarington stood poised in the grand doorway, her eyes focused on her new prey.
Sommerton looked momentarily nonplussed, but then with a shrug of his shoulders, walked towards her.
“Of course, I am always eager to please a lady.”
“Good that’s settled then.” Lady Clarington’s eyes devoured him, before she turned back towards her husband. “Now where is Simon? He knows I am eager to be off.”
Rose stepped forward. “I saw him walking in the gardens an hour or more ago. Did he know you were planning to depart?”
Lady Clarington glanced at Rose with the barest shrug. “I asked his valet to let him know. He was probably just saying his farewells to your sister. He seems quite taken with the girl despite my best . . . Well, let’s just say it’s good that we’re leaving. I am sure you’ll agree your sister is a little . . . young to be forming attachments.”
Rose didn’t think any such thing. But the thought of sweet Marguerite with Lady Clarington for a mother-in-law was reason enough to discourage the relationship.
“Are you sure the roads are dry enough for travel? I’d hate for you to get stuck. Why don’t you stay another day?” Rose bit her cheek as she spoke the words.
“Nonsense. I’ve a coachman who can manage through any mire. We’ll be just fine. I’ve plans to visit with the Duchess of Devonshire the beginning of next month and I need to visit the modiste first. Something that’s truly a necessity.” Lady Clarington’s eyes swept Rose’s gown, making it clear that she also was in desperate need of a visit to the dressmakers.
Rose resisted the urge to straighten her skirts further. She knew her gown was old fashioned. She had been in mourning for the last year, and even before that fashion had never been her weakness. Still, under Lady Clarington’s unforgiving eye she felt unsure of herself.
“If you are sure, I would certainly not want to delay your departure. I’d hate to interfere with your commitments.” She smiled as sweetly as she was able.
“No, I am sure you wouldn’t. I must say it’s been a most interesting party. You certainly have a unique style of entertaining.”
“Yes, doesn’t she?” Wulf spoke with surprising bite considering the flatness of his tone. He descended the stairs from above, the Marquess of Wimberley at his heels.
Wimberley eyed Lady Clarington. “I know I for one have had a most interesting visit. I do hope our tales won’t be contradictory when I return to London. It’s always surprising who people choose to believe, isn’t it?”
Wulf strode forward until he stood directly behind Rose. She could feel the heat of his body wrap around her like a most comforting blanket, only her long ago lessons in deportment kept her from sagging against him. She should have been upset by his taking command, but it was a relief to let someone else bicker with Lady Clarington.
Matson appeared in the front entry. “The carriages are ready, my lady. And your horse as well, Lord Clarington. Might I say what a fine looking animal he is.”
“He’s a rum one. That he is. You should come and take a look, Wimberly. Reckon that even in your stable you’d be hard put to find his equal. Come along Minerva, you’ve been fussing all morning about how you wanted to return to the civilized world. Never did understand why London’s described that way. There’s nothing as civilized as a mown field and a good mount.”
Rose trailed after her guests as they moved down the stairs to the waiting coaches. Lord Simon came running up just before departure and swung in with his mother and Sommerton. Rose wished she could see Lady Clarington’s expression.
“That’s a relief.” She thought she’d spoken to herself, but both Wimberley and Wulf raised their brows. “Well, it is.”
Wulf chuckled deep in his throat. “Yes, it is. I’ve enough worries without having to check that the hands in my pockets are my own.” His eyes sobered as he spoke.
“Are you expecting another guest?” Wimberly, who stood high on the steps by the door, gestured into the distance. A large horse and rider could be seen, with several more riders trailing behind.
Chapter Sixteen
“He’s not yours, is he, Tris?” Wulf spoke to Wimberly. Rose could hear each word catch in his throat.
“Don’t think so. I am not aware that any of my men can afford a mount the likes of that one.”
The huge black stallion drew closer by the moment and Rose knew that there was not a single inhale between the three of them as the watched the powerful mount.
“Westlake.” Wulf gulped the word as he drew a large, audible breath deep into his chest.
Wimberly followed suit with his own swallowed gulp. “Yes, it must be the license.”
Rose stood poised at the bottom of the steps. First joy that it was not the dreaded news filled her, then tension as Wimberly words sank in. And then . . . warmth and acceptance. Her choice was made and strangely she did not dread it any longer. It might not be the life she had planned but, she glanced at the tall man who stood above her on the stairs, she would do her best to make it a good one.
Westlake galloped up the drive and pulled up sharp. He slid from his mount, and glancing at the companions gathered on the stair, threw his reins to the stable lad and strode forward.
“He won’t bite, if you don’t bite him first.” The words thrown over his shoulder did not reassure the lad who led the horse off on a long lead. “Just be sure he’s boxed by himself. He’s not much for company, like some men I know.”
He mounted the stairs and grasping Wulf in a most unducal embrace. “Were you even going to let me know you were in Cornwall? My wife was not happy to hear that you had not bothered to come pay us a visit. If you think she was bad the last time, you should see her now. She claims she is not ready to forgive you.”
Wulf glanced down at his boots. Rose would not have believed he could look so embarrassed. Was that really a blush that colored his cheeks? He was quiet a moment and then looked up to meet Westlake’s perusal. Westlake had stepped back from the embrace and stood tall, every inch the duke.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want, that she’d want.”
The duke stiffened. He reached into his side pocket and drew forth a gold quizzing glass. He examined Wulf minutely starting with his toes and then carefully progressing inch by inch up his legs, over his chest and finally settling on his rough features. Rose thought Westlake even leaned forward a bit as he examined Wulf’s eyes. Wulf stood still through it, proud and hard, his gaze never leaving Westlake.
Having finished the examination Westlake turned up the stair to Wimberly, who still stood at the top. “Well, Tris, he looks like our old friend, sounds like him too. But, considering we always said he was the smartest of us, there must be some mistake. Did he suffer a head wound at Waterloo? In your business, you’d know.” There was actually the hint of a smile playing at the corner of the duke’s mouth. This was not the removed neighbor she had met on occasion. He dropped the quizzing glass back into his pocket as he extracted a folded piece of vellum. “That might explain this too. Not what I expected when I promised a favor.”
Wimberly stepped down and took the paper from him. He glanced at it and handed it to Wulf, who still stood frozen. It must be the license. “No, I think this is foolery of a different sort.” He glanced at Rose and smiled with surprising gentleness. “As for the head wound, I would have expected to hear, but maybe I am mistaken. He does seem to rather have forgotten the meaning of friendship. He never bothered to look me up in London, either. He stayed at his club, leaving me alone in that rambling monstrosity of a house my grandmother couldn’t resist. Now, is that friendship?”
Wulf finally fo
und his tongue. “Damn you both. You know nothing was the same after Falmouth died. We were equals once, or at least nearly so, since then I’ve been nothing much beyond a half-pay soldier, not even that anymore,” he paled suddenly, “at least until . . .”
Westlake thrust back his shoulders and looked down his long nose at Wulf. “As for that, I am afraid I must disappoint you and say you are destined to stay a mere ‘mister’ for at least a few more years.” His hauteur broke into a wide smile. “Tris’ riders stopped to change horses. I desired to bring the news myself. Apparently tales of young Falmouth’s illness were somewhat exaggerated – a mother’s panic, perhaps. In any case, from what I can understand, the boy is up and about. I believe from Tris’ earlier disposition that this is the best of news and not the worst.”
Peter was alive. His son was fine. If the heavens had broken open and streams of liquid gold had poured to earth Wulf’s heart could not have been happier. He stared at his friends and knew he shook with disbelief. His knees weakened and for a moment he thought he would fall.
The boy would live.
Both Tris and Arthur looked ready to come to aid if he should actually falter, but it was the soft womanly hand slipping into his own that restored him. He felt her squeeze, so similar to his own the night before, and strength flowed back into him.
He turned to her then, and setting his arms about her waist lifted her high in the air twirling her about. His laughter reverberated in the open air.
Peter was up and about.
He spun her again and again, letting all the imprisoned emotions of the last days tumble out in one great yelp of joy. Finally, feeling his head grow light with both dizziness and delight, he slid her down against him ‘til she stood trapped against his frame.
Then, unmindful of his audience, he tilted up her chin with one finger and settled upon her lips a kiss filled with every drop of bliss and ecstasy his soul contained.
It was not gentle. It was not brutal. It was simply everything. In one kiss he gave her his whole world. His lips moved over hers with ever increasing pressure and she opened beneath him, gifting him with a sweetness and understanding he had thought long gone. The honey scent of her hair rose about him, drawing him ever further.
He felt her body soften against his own hard one, knew every breath she drew, every whimper she made, and still he wanted more.
He started to press forward with growing desire. She pushed him back. Hard.
“This is not the time or the place, no matter the news.” There was a flustered tone to her voice.
A masculine cough drew his attention. “Well, Tris, I guess you were right that the license was its own foolishness. Never thought I would see Wulf forget where he was. I remember even when we caught him with his hand up the skirt of the master’s daughter he . . .” Arthur’s voice echoed with the shadow of the schoolboys they’d been together.
“I hardly think that’s the story to tell in front of man’s bride to be, although she didn’t look much like she was listening, either.”
Wulf lifted his head and did his best to shoot fire from his eyes at his two ex-friends. They hadn’t even had the grace to look away.
That must be why she’d pulled away.
The license he’d stuck there crinkled.
The license. He was not going to be an earl. The power and estates would not be his. His heart caught and refused to beat. A moment ago the thought had brought nothing but joy, but now – Rose had agreed to marry him because of all that was coming. How would she respond once she understood that he had nothing to offer her? Was that why she had stopped the kiss? He still had the one estate his uncle had gifted him with, but compared to all she had reckoned on a few minutes ago it was nothing. He closed his eyes and let the thoughts settle about him.
He stepped further back from her, ignoring the cold that settled along him where a moment before her warmth had reassured.
“Arthur, I thank you for bringing the news with all possible speed. I trust you will both forgive me if I take my leave for a while. I need some time alone to adjust to the news – I am afraid it has most unsettled me.”
He walked down the stairs and around the house. He would not stay and see the comprehension of changed circumstance continue to play out across her face.
Blasted, bloody man. How many times could she think that about him? He set her spinning faster than a child’s top and then danced out of the way as she careened about the room. She watched him stride off towards the stables and tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. How could he kiss her like that and then leave? If it hadn’t been for the company she’d never have stopped him.
“Well, gentlemen, if you’d care to follow me I’ll see about some refreshments. I am sure, your grace, you must be hungry after your ride and Wimberley I’ve never seen you refuse a bite.”
“No, my lady,” Wimberley’s voice offered warmth and companionship. “I am never that foolish, unlike some people.” He watched Wulf, who walked away without looking back.
“Are you sure you didn’t hear about a head wound? I’ve never known Wulf to be a lout. Unreasonable, yes, but never quite so . . . rude.”
“I believe that must be my special gift. I do seem to bring out the best in the man.” Rose attempted to joke, though her belly still clenched and she fought back tears.
“Actually, my lady, I do believe you do. He just has not realized it yet.” Wimberley spoke with great seriousness, not continuing her fake joviality.
“And, Lady Burberry, you must allow me to make recompense for my lack of proper greeting. My wife would never forgive me if she heard how I ignored you in favor of that brute. She is most anxious to renew her acquaintance with you. She said to tell you she would have called sooner, but she understood you wished privacy during your mourning. She wanted to hasten to reassure you that nothing would have kept her from joining you for the festivities last night except, well, she is not in the best of health.”
Rose relaxed under the normalcy of Westlake’s conversation. She would never have expected the haughty duke to put her at ease, but his conversation provided welcome distraction. “Yes, I did hear that congratulations were in order.”
“Thank you. We were both delighted with the news, but, unfortunately, she is having a difficult time, if I may be so frank.”
Rose smiled at him, trying to return the reassurance that both these men offered her. “I have heard that the second child can be more difficult. But, the duchess is young and strong. I am sure all will be well once she has passed these first few months.”
“I pray you are right. She has proved most resilient in the past.” The duke’s smile grew less practiced.
Wimberley chuckled suddenly. “Yes, as long as you can keep the dear duchess off balustrades, I am sure all will be well. It is evident that her condition has done much to lighten your mood, Westlake. Now, tell me, Lady Burberry, did you ever slide down the stair rail as a girl?”
Would she still marry him? The question revolved through Wulf’s thoughts. He pulled a dead branch off a tree and attacked a small sapling with deadly precision.
Thrust, parry, thrust. The force of each blow resounded with his growing frustration.
How could such joy bring such despair? He stopped mid-swing. Despair? Did he feel despair at the prospect of losing Rose? It would be easy to say it was the loss of Anna he feared, but in all honesty that thought had never once entered his mind. He knew that no matter what happened he would not let his daughter be taken from him, but what of her mother? Could he weave a net around Rose that would hold her tight despite his loss of title and wealth? He knew he would not hold her to the betrothal if she wished to be released. He drew back the switch and let it swing full force.
“You shouldn’t be doing that. The gardener guards those trees. I lose my pudding if I even peel the bark. He won’t like you hitting them.” Anna stared up at him. “Will you teach me to swing like that? Mama said she learned how to use a sword once. Maybe if I learn she’ll
let me have mine back. She made Matson take them off the wall in the nursery, said they were too dangerous. Do you think if you showed me how I could have them back? How will I keep the monsters away if I don’t have my swords?”
“I am sure your mother is right. They are very dangerous. You wouldn’t want to be hurt.” Wulf bent down beside his daughter until their eyes were level. He wanted to gentle the message of his words. He couldn’t resist smiling at her. When they’d first met he’d thought her a child of few words, but the more time they spent together the more verbose she became.
“If I knew how to use them I wouldn’t get hurt.”
“Women don’t use swords.”
“Of course they do. I already told you about Mama, and there was a goddess with a sword. I’ve seen drawings in books. I don’t see why I shouldn’t get to keep my swords. My father gave them to me.”
“I know the admiral did, but I am not sure he meant for you to use them.”
“I am sure he was just waiting for me to be big and I am big now.” Anna puffed out her tiny chest. “I am a big girl.”
“Yes, I am sure you are, but maybe not quite big enough for swords. If I promise to teach you with a stick, do you think you could be happy with that?” Was she really only four? Wulf had not been so cornered by many an adult conversation.
“But my father gave me the swords. They are mine. Now they’re in the library. Who needs swords in a library?”
“I don’t think you need them in a nursery either. Don’t you have something else of your father’s?”
Anna chewed her lower lip, a gesture so reminiscent of her mother Wulf almost groaned. With muddy fingers she slowly reached up and undid the top button of her dress, then slipping her fingers inside she drew out a thin gold chain, a chain strung with brass buttons.