Here Comes the Bride

by Alexandra Ivy

  Her smile was without humor. “As tempting as it might be, my lord, I fear that I must decline—”

  Her determined refusal was interrupted as her father stepped into the room and came to a sudden halt at the sight of Lord Challmond.

  “I did not realize we had a visitor.”

  Lord Challmond gave a bow, not bothering to apologize for his unorthodox intrusion into the manor.

  “Mr. Blakewell.”

  “Lord Challmond.” The older gentleman turned toward his daughter. “I was on my way to Mrs. Mayer’s. I thought perhaps you would join me? It would be the perfect opportunity for the two of you to become better acquainted.”

  A flare of panic raced through Claire. Spend the day with Lizzy? Good God, was it not enough she had endured the morning with Mr. Limpet and his bugs?

  No, she simply could not bear it.

  Claire turned toward the tall form of Lord Challmond. A startling, nearly unbelievable nation bloomed in her mind.

  Her father already believed she was interested in this gentleman. He had in fact given his blessing to a relationship between the two of them the night before. Could she possibly endure Lord Challmond’s aggravating presence long enough to convince her father he had no need of Lizzy Hayden?

  A shiver of alarm raced through her body, but Claire sternly ignored the warning. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could be worse than Lizzy as her stepmother.

  “That would be delightful, Father. Unfortunately I have just promised Lord Challmond I would ride with him this morning.”

  Five

  Simon was decidedly intrigued. He was well aware the chit was up to some devious scheme. After all, she openly professed a staunch distaste for the bonds of matrimony. And yet throughout the party she behaved as any other maiden on the prowl for a prospective husband.

  Well, perhaps not like every other maiden, he amended with a flare of amusement. There were not many other maidens with her beauty and wealth that would send an entire roomful of gentlemen fleeing in terror. Lord, he had nearly laughed aloud to watch the young men blanch at her awkward flirtations.

  And so he had ridden over that morning, determined to discover the truth behind her odd behavior, only to be thrown off guard by her abrupt agreement to go for a ride. He had been thoroughly expecting to have to browbeat her into accompanying him. Or even having to resort to actual kidnapping. To have her so easily comply sent a rash of suspicion through his mind.

  Glancing sideways, Simon covertly studied the delicate profile of the woman seated at his side. Attired in a pink gown with a deep rose spencer, she was breathtakingly lovely. So lovely, he felt his heart give an odd twinge. Suddenly he was delighted he had brought his groom to drive so that he could concentrate on the mysterious maiden rather than on the spirited grays pulling the open carriage.

  With an effort he reined in his wayward thoughts and instead concentrated on the puzzle of Miss Blakewell.

  “I find myself bewildered once again, Miss Blakewell.” He finally broke the silence of the early spring.

  With a decidedly wary expression she turned to meet his probing gaze.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Are you going to confess why you suddenly agreed to join me this morning?”

  She gave a vague shrug. “I simply had a change of heart.”

  “A change of heart?”

  “Is that so surprising?”

  “With you nothing is surprising. Still, I find it distinctly intriguing. I am not so much a looby as to flatter myself that your change of heart was influenced by my charms.”

  “Perhaps I merely wished to enjoy the fine weather.”

  He gave a sharp laugh. “You will have to do better than that, Miss Blakewell.”

  “Can we please discuss something else, my lord?” she retorted pertly. “I find the subject giving me a headache.”

  His lips quirked. Vixen. He would clearly have to be more subtle in his approach.

  “We cannot have that. Allow me instead to inquire as to why you have never traveled to London.”

  She blinked in bewilderment at the abrupt question. “For a season, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “I told you, I possess no interest in attracting a husband.”

  He tilted his auburn head to one side. “There are other attractions beyond the marriage mart in London,” he pointed out. “Museums, the theater, concerts.”

  “I have been far too occupied to leave Devonshire.”

  Simon paused. He could not think of one lady who could resist the temptations of glittering London society. Especially a lady who could easily have claimed the title of an Incomparable.

  “Occupied with what?” His gaze suddenly narrowed. “Or should I say whom?”

  “Miss Stewart, of course,” she retorted as if he were a fool to even ask.

  “The vicar’s daughter?”

  Without warning, the blue eyes flared with an inner fire. Her vivid beauty was more pronounced than ever.

  “She has accomplished the most amazing things.” Claire seemed to forget momentarily her prickly dislike toward him as she spoke of her friend. “In just the past ten years she has established an orphanage with a wonderful school and a charity that supports workers who were injured in the factory.”

  Simon was only vaguely acquainted with Miss Stewart. He recalled a calm, rather quiet lady with a pleasing smile. Certainly nothing at all like the spirited hellion at his side. Still, Claire’s admiration for Miss Stewart and her accomplishments were unmistakable.

  “Quite impressive.”

  “She is the only truly good person I know,” Miss Blakewell continued, as if to impress upon Simon the saintliness of Miss Stewart. “She is kind and generous and always patient. My one wish in life is to follow in her example by devoting my life to helping others. There could be nothing more rewarding.”

  Not nearly as saintly as the vicar’s daughter, Simon felt a flare of distaste. It was one thing to champion the cause of the defenseless. Or to help those in need. Such characteristics were as much a part of Claire Blakewell as her sharp tongue and fiery temper. But to think of her sacrificing her entire life to others was oddly unwelcome.

  “You cannot mean to devote all of your time to charitable works?” he protested.

  “Certainly I do.” Her chin jutted out in a growingly familiar motion. “And I hope that someday Miss Stewart and I can travel to other places throughout England and even the Continent to establish similar schools.”

  Simon swallowed his instinctive urge to protest such an absurd scheme. As much as he might dislike the notion of Claire becoming an old spinster as she toiled for others, he was wise enough to realize the least hint of reproach would only ensure her folly.

  “A very noble cause,” he forced himself to say.

  Her chin inched higher. “Yes, it is.”

  “A rather lonely future, however.”

  She shrugged. “It is what I prefer.”

  This beautiful woman alone? Ludicrous.

  “You are very close to Miss Stewart,” he said.

  “Yes.” Her expression softened. “After my mother died, she began to invite me to the vicarage. No doubt my father hoped she would influence me to become a proper lady. Instead, she inspired me to join in her cause to help others.”

  His auburn brows lifted. “So you are attempting to mold yourself in the image of Miss Stewart?”

  She eyed him squarely. “What are you implying?”

  He smiled in a rueful fashion. He had to admit he found it decidedly peculiar that both he and Claire would have been influenced by someone other than their parents, but while she was clearly determined to become another Ann Stewart, he had fled with all speed from the Earl of Challmond.

  “Nothing at all.”

  She eyed him with suspicion. “I should be very pleased to be compared to Miss Stewart.”

  “Indeed.” His tone was deliberately mild. It was too beautiful a day to argue. Especially with the delectable vixen. �
��I intend to call on her later in the week.”

  “Really?”

  “I hoped that she will be able to suggest a competent replacement for Foster.“

  She did not bother to hide her surprise. “Foster is gone?”

  Simon grimaced as he recalled the beastly scene with his steward. The blackguard had shrilly denied pocketing the allowance meant for the estate upkeep; he had even implied that the tenants themselves were responsible for their miserable conditions. But once realizing that Simon would not be swayed, he revealed an ugly, vindictive nature that had revolted the earl. How could he ever have left his people in the care of such a brute?

  “I have given him a fortnight to leave the estate, although I have relieved him of all duties.”

  “Oh.“

  His expression lightened. “You appear surprised?”

  “Perhaps a bit.”

  “Pleasantly surprised, I hope?” he demanded, surprised himself by the knowledge that he wished to please this woman.

  “Of course,” she retorted. “Foster was an incompetent bully.”

  He couldn’t prevent a laugh at her blunt reproach. She was nothing if not brutally honest.

  “Be assured that my next steward shall be fully aware of my expectations, especially in regard to my tenants.”

  Just for a moment the blue eyes appeared to darken.

  “So you intend to leave?”

  Did he? Simon discovered himself shying from the question.

  “I am uncertain what I intend to do.” His lips twisted. “Odd, is it not?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Since I was born I have had others planning my future. My parents, Lord Challmond, my headmasters, and finally Wellington. Now that I am in the position to make my own choices I seem remarkably unable to do so.”

  Once again she did not bother to soften her words. “Westwood Park needs an earl, my lord.”

  Simon winced before giving a resigned chuckle. “As you say, my little cat.”

  A short silence fell as they turned onto a narrow path that led through the rolling meadow. A flood of pale sunlight danced over the countryside, adding a hint of welcome warmth.

  Inwardly Simon pondered her sharp words. Westwood Park did need an earl. His brief inspection of his lands had effectively proven that. And he could not deny that a part of him still felt an attachment to the estate. More than once he had caught himself pondering how best to rotate a field or repair a barn. Thoughts that were as unnerving as they were unexpected.

  Granted, he had always known that he would take control of Westwood Park. It had been his destiny since the previous Lord Challmond had failed to produce the necessary heir. And, of course, it had been firmly reinforced when that Lord Challmond had arrived at his moher’s door with a large bank draft to allow the next heir to be raised at Westwood Park. The money had been badly needed for the struggling widow, who had readily handed Simon over.

  But the thought of shouldering the dull responsibilities of a proper landlord made him shudder. Was he prepared to become the stern, humorless Earl of Challmond? Did he truly wish to spend his days hunched over the accounting books or settling the complaints of his tenants? Could he give up his carefree existence?

  For no reason he could comprehend, his gaze shifted to linger on the pale countenance of Miss Blakewell. He had to admit a gentleman would never become dull or grim-faced with this firebrand about.

  At last the carriage rolled to a halt at the edge of a copse of trees. With a small smile he met his companion’s wary glance.

  “Why have we halted?”

  “I thought you would enjoy a short stroll,” he retorted, climbing out of the carriage and holding out an imperative hand. “Come.”

  She hesitated, as if considering denying his request, then clearly deciding that it was not worth the fuss, she placed her hand in his.

  “Very well.”

  With care he helped her to alight, then, ignoring the tightening of her lips, he firmly tugged her arm through his own. Quite deliberately he led her deeper into the shaded glade, moving toward the nearby stream. Claire appeared to be unaware she was being carefully herded, until they rounded a large bush to discover an elegant picnic spread upon the mossy ground.

  Simon noted the amazed disbelief that rippled over Claire’s face with a sense of satisfaction. He had taken great pains to ensure she would be suitably impressed, and his servants had not disappointed him.

  A large cover was nicely arranged among the dappled sunlight, laden with elegant trays of trout, pheasant, delicate pastries, and strawberries fresh from the hothouse. He had requested the finest Wedgwood dishes and crystal glasses for the chilled champagne. Surrounding all were lavish bouquets of red roses that provided an exotic spice to the air. Then, at his signal, the soft sounds of a violin from behind another bush floated through the trees.

  “Oh . . .” Claire, perhaps for the first time in her young life, appeared at a loss for words.

  Simon gave a pleased chuckle before turning to the uniformed butler standing a discreet distance away.

  “Thank you, Calvert, it appears perfect.”

  Calvert gave a slight bow. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I . . . what is this?” Claire demanded.

  “A picnic.”

  She gave a shake of her head, far from satisfied by his bland response.

  “But . . . how did you know I would agree to join you for a drive?”

  He held her gaze as he slowly lifted her hand to his lips.

  “I possess unwavering faith in my powers of persuasion.”

  He felt her tremble before she was firmly tugging her fingers free.

  “Fah.”

  “Allow me.” Gently clasping her elbow, he tugged her through the roses to place her on the cover. Then, still using her obvious bewilderment, he filled a plate with the waiting delicacies. “You see, I have not forgotten your weakness for strawberries.” He settled beside her, pressing a large berry between her lips. “Delectable.”

  Instinctively she ate the strawberry, licking the juice from her lips in an unconsciously provocative motion.

  “Lord Challmond.”

  “Yes, Miss Blakewell?”

  “This is very nice, but I . . . I should be returning home.”

  Simon poured them both a glass of champagne, offering her the crystal flute with a chiding grin.

  “Surely you cannot mean to offend my cook, Miss Blakewell?” he protested. “Just consider the effort she has gone to.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “That is not fair.”

  “Perhaps not, but true nevertheless.” He tilted his head to one side. “You will stay?”

  “Very well,” she conceded grudgingly.

  Simon laughed, filling his own plate. He could name a dozen, perhaps even several dozen maidens who would have swooned with delight at the romantic picnic. It was an elegant feast designed to seduce the senses. The faint strains of Mozart, the scent of roses, the exquisite meal, and soft breeze that danced through the trees. A susceptible maiden should have been swept off her feet, but Miss Blakewell merely nibbled on her food, a guarded expression on her face.

  Still, he thought with a flare of wry amusement, at least she had not stormed off in a fury or blackened his eye at his audacity. Perhaps age had tempered her hellion spirit a bit.

  But just a bit.

  At last sensing his intense scrutiny of her profile, Claire turned to regard him with a frown . .

  “What?”

  He absently nibbled on the sliced pheasant. “I am merely recalling you as a grubby schoolgirl.”

  She gave a shrug. “You were occasionally grubby yourself.”

  “Do you recall when Froggy dared you to spend the night in the old abbey?”

  Claire wrinkled her nose at the memory of the pudgy, ill-natured son of a local viscount. Although he had been a spiteful bully, Simon had always suspected the cad had nurtured a violent attraction for Claire.

  “He was a pest.
”

  “He also knew you were terrified of the dark,” Simon retorted. “Not that you would back down from his dare.”

  “I would never have remained if you had not arrived,” she admitted.

  “I could not allow you to lose a bet,” Simon said, not willing to confess he had followed her out of a fear that Froggy would seek her out at the isolated abbey. Older than Claire, he was all too aware of the dangers of a young girl on her own. And a portion of him had suspected the cunning Froggy had simply desired a chance to force his attentions on the innocent child. So he had slipped from his chamber and followed Claire to the abbey, where he had remained on full alert for the course of the long night. “Not when you had pushed him into the pond for daring to mock my decidedly large ears. Whatever happened to dear Froggy?”

  “He was forced to marry his cousin after he lost his inheritance at the gaming tables.” The image of a gaunt, sour-faced woman several years his senior rose to mind.

  “Not Daisy?”

  “Yes.“

  “Egad, poor blighter.“ He gave a dramatic shudder. “Not even Froggy deserved such a ghastly fate.”

  A reluctant smile tugged at her full lips. “I do not feel sympathy for him. He was a horrid sneak.”

  Simon was swift to take advantage of her softened disposition. Setting aside his plate, he scooted close enough to smell the scent of lilacs.

  “Perhaps, but I wish he were near,” he murmured.

  She blinked in surprise. “Good Lord, why?”

  “I would not object if he were to once again dare you to spend the night at the abbey.“ His voice dropped to a husky pitch. “An evening together would be far more intriguing now.”

  Her soft lips parted in shock. “My lord.”

  “I was once Simon.”

  She hastily set aside her plate and champagne, a hint of panic darkening her blue eyes.

  “My lord, we should be returning.“

  “There is no hurry.” His glance shifted toward her abandoned plate. “You have not finished your strawberries.”

  “I am quite finished.“

  Simon lifted a slender hand, anti immediately the butler was at his side.

  “Calvert, you may pack this away.”