Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  Lucinda stiffened in open rejection. She held no desire to travel anywhere near London and Sir Carter Lowery. Moreover, she did not want to face the recent scandal surrounding her late husband’s activities. Despite Sir Carter’s masterful manipulation of the facts, many of the ton would snub her. She closed her eyes, willing away her anxiousness. “Should I not remain with Simon? Surely you will not tarry long in London,” she said lamely.

  “Simon’s tutor and his nurse will see to the boy’s needs,” her uncle asserted. “Your future is calling. You have spent the last decade nursing an ailing mother, serving attendance upon an ungrateful husband, waiting upon your father’s every whim, and caring for another woman’s child. It is time for you to assume your place in Society, Lucinda.”

  “But all of Town knows of Captain Warren’s deceit,” she pleaded. “How shall I ever face so many critical strangers?”

  “Straightforward. You will address them while on my arm,” Charleton declared without censure. “Greet them as my niece. As a woman who placed her love of King and Country over her marriage vows. Yes, the ton will find you a novelty at first, but they will quickly see you as an intriguing, as well as a most handsome, woman. The longer you delay, the more the tales will grow with absurdities. Trust me. I have already heard from Prince George, who repeated the story Sir Carter provided him. The Regent wishes your acquaintance, and as Prinny goes so does the beau monde.”

  Lucinda had always considered herself an outsider, but her uncle meant to chip away at her veneer; and despite her fear of the unknown, she prayed the earl successful. She had tired of the forced fragile woman façade, which she had assumed with her late husband. “Are you certain, Uncle? I would not wish to dishonor you by bringing disdain to your door.”

  Charleton caught her hand in his two large ones. “If I had faced scandal years past, you would not be in this position,” he declared boldly. “It is time I discover upon whom I can count as friends. I suspect I will have less respected associates when this is over, but I will be richer with you in my life.”

  Lucinda caressed his cheek. “You deserve a better niece–a better daughter,” she said softly.

  He brought the back of her hand to his lips. “No man could have a better daughter. You are perfection.” He kissed her knuckles a second time. “I failed you once, but never again. I know your heart, Lucinda. I know the goodness of the woman you have become.”

  Tears misted her eyes. “I wish I had trusted my mother’s well-honed intuition and had come to you straight away after leaving Brussels. We lost two years together.”

  “Yet, we have today,” the earl countered. “And this is a beautiful day for a ride across the estate.”

  She frowned in confusion. “A ride across the estate?” As a child, Roderick Rightnour had been her rock, even during the turmoil after her marriage to Matthew Warren, but now it was Gerhard Rightnour to whom she clung.

  A swift smile flashed across his mouth. “When I purchased the pony for Simon, I came across a mare of golden blonde, very much the color of your hair.” He stroked a stray strand of fluff from her cheek. “I thought the animal an excellent match for my dearest girl.”

  “You purchased a horse for me?” She released the breath she held in a sigh of disbelief.

  “I mean to spoil you,” he whispered as he gathered Lucinda into his embrace. “So much so you will find a riding habit awaiting you in your quarters.”

  Lucinda laughed through her tears. “When?”

  The earl’s laughter reminder her of the colonel’s–rich and dark. “When Mrs. Benton came to take your measurements for the new gowns, I took the liberty of asking the woman for a proper riding habit. I gave Mrs. Benton permission to choose the color and style. I hope it is acceptable.”

  Lucinda went on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “It is the first riding habit I have ever owned; therefore, I shall be pleased no matter the color.”

  Charleton’s eyes closed slowly, and his breath came in a soundless sigh. “And that is my first kiss from my beautiful daughter,” he whispered. He laughed softly. “The gesture makes me wish I had ordered a hundred habits just to know the pleasure of your smile. To see you filled with innocent delight.”

  “Save your money,” she whispered as she kissed his cheek a second time. “My love is free of encumbrances.”

  Carter stared at the blank page. He had returned to London late yesterday evening, having accompanied Pennington on a duty call to Thorn Hall. The Duke and Duchess of Thornhill had welcomed a son into their household, and although Carter had celebrated his friend’s good fortune, he experienced the deep loneliness, which had clung to him since leaving Lucinda Warren behind.

  “He is a handsome boy,” Pennington had declared as he cradled the sleeping child in the crook of his arm. “You are a fortunate man, Thornhill.”

  The duke appeared bleary eyed, whether from lack of sleep or from emotions Carter could not say; yet, a look of complete abandon covered Fowler’s countenance, and Carter felt envy creeping through his veins. He wished to discover a similar expression in his mirror’s reflection. “My wife is phenomenal,” Fowler gushed.

  “Then it was an uneventful delivery?” Pennington asked.

  Fowler collapsed heavily into a chair. “I would not say the duchess did not have the whole household on sixes and sevens,” the duke confessed. “I am happy to have a son with the first child; I envision the duchess will not look upon another lying in with such idealistic aspirations.”

  Carter was delighted to have been in London when Velvet Fowler had delivered the child. He could easily imagine the duchess’s excessive cries for attention–her unreasonable demands–and the duke’s futile attempts to please her. If he had been in residence in Kent, he was certain Thornhill would have looked to Carter to solve the situation, and Carter could never claim competence in such an intimate matter.

  “A message from His Royal Highness, Prince George, Sir,” Henderson announced as he entered Carter’s office. “The third one in a fortnight,” his assistant said with a bit of awe.

  Carter motioned the man forward. On some days, he felt much older than his four and twenty years Five and twenty, he corrected in another sennight. He wondered if he had ever been as “green” as some of the Realm’s newer recruits. “Prince George wishes to use the recovered art as the basis for future treaties,” he had said in explanation. Only he and Pennington knew the depth of Prinny’s demands. “That shall be all for now, Henderson. Perhaps you might check with the Home Office for an updated list of the pieces we have identified from the Woodstone-Ransing affair.” Several aristocrats had turned over the artwork they had legitimately purchased from Lord Ransing, without knowledge of the viscount’s sources. Even the Earl of Holderman had convinced many within the Home Office of his innocence in the matter, claiming he was unaware of his son’s nefarious activities.

  With Henderson’s exit, Carter opened the message: An invitation to one of Prinny’s famous fêtes, one where Carter, his comrades, several key players in the investigation, including his brother and parents, and Lord Charleton, as well as Mrs. Warren, were to be Prince George’s guests.

  A light tap on the door brought Pennington’s entrance. “I see you received a separate invitation,” the Realm’s leader said as he dropped into an empty chair. “I do not like it when Prinny exposes agents to public notice.”

  Carter agreed. “How might we temper the prince’s enthusiasm?”

  Pennington assured, “I will remind him England has numerous enemies. It will be a difficult conversation; the Regent is a stubborn man, but not an unreasonable one.”

  “One of the prince’s parties in which we all just happen to attend would be acceptable,” Carter suggested. “I am quite fond of Prinny’s parties,” he said with more levity than he felt. “If not for our prince’s idiosyncrasies, I would not own Huntingborne Abbey.”

  Pennington flipped the invitation over and over, feeding it through his fingers. “I thought the changes y
ou have made in the guest chambers at Huntingborne inviting, yet quite sensible.”

  Carter schooled his expression. “In my absence, Mrs. Warren assisted Mrs. Shelton in the design.”

  Pennington’s eyebrow rose in curiosity. “I was unaware you had asked the lady for her opinion.”

  “I questioned Mrs. Shelton regarding the changes, and my housekeeper assures me Mrs. Warren wrote to me, seeking my permission for her intervention.”

  Pennington nodded his understanding. “Likely another of Monroe’s ploys.”

  “When I heard the tale, I assumed Monroe had used the opportunity to establish his attempts at forgery. I now comprehend why Mrs. Warren so readily accepted Monroe’s sending her to the Rising Son Inn in my name. “

  “And you hold no objections to the lady’s efforts?”

  Carter thought of Lucinda Warren’s lovely countenance. “I find few faults in Mrs. Warren’s opinions,” he said honestly.

  “Yet, you have not called upon Charleton’s household?” Pennington said archly. “You were aware the earl and Mrs. Warren had come to London?”

  Carter spoke through tight lips. “I was aware. Lord Charleton and his niece were listed among those attending Portuous’ musicale on Tuesday last.” Although he acknowledged the attraction privately, Carter still could not explain his obdurate captivation with the woman. Each night, he made love to Mrs. Warren in his dreams. He felt the urge to stake his claim on her, which was the reason Carter had avoided calling upon the lady. He doubted, upon renewing his acquaintance, he could refrain from declaring his proposal.

  “I see.” Pennington leaned across the desk. “Then it is as I suspected, Mrs. Warren is the one.”

  Carter ignored Pennington’s assumption. The idea he would speak his wishes to the woman did not alarm him as much as he thought it might. His only qualm came with the realization Mrs. Warren might refuse. “May I ask a question?”

  Pennington offered no argument.

  Carter chose his word carefully. “If the former duchess had come to you when you were five and twenty and had agreed to become your wife, which would you have chosen: Rosabel Crowden or your position with the Realm? Knowing what you know now, would you have risked your opportunities?”

  “In a heartbeat,” Pennington answered without forethought. “I am attempting to recapture a lifetime of lost memories. Just think, I could have returned home each evening to the welcoming arms of my wife and children. I could have known the comfort of Bel’s body lining my chest every night. Now, all I pray is Lord Damon will permit to play the role of grandfather to his children. Yet, as wonderful as that would be, it will never be perfect because Adrian Murdoch’s children will hold not one drop of my blood in their veins. They will always belong to Lawrence Murdoch; I will forever be the outsider. Do not mimic my mistakes, Lowery. I should have fought harder for Bel.”

  However, despite Pennington’s emotional advice, Carter had not called on Mrs. Warren. Stubbornness filled his body with unyielding tension. He made excuse after excuse until the time had slipped by, and then he knew he was too late the moment he had entered the hall at Carlton House and had seen her holding court, surrounded by a bevy of English gentlemen.

  Lucinda knew Sir Carter had come before the prince’s herald had announced his name and station. His family surrounded him, and she could not completely conceal the look of longing crossing her countenance. She wished to rush to Lady Hellsman’s side–to hear Bella’s friendly chatter–to discover the reason Sir Carter had turned from her, but Lucinda’s pride would not permit her to do so. Instead, she focused on Viscount Lerhman’s story of his hunting dogs, plastering a welcoming smile upon her lips. She expected tears at the knowledge she had lost the baronet forever, but none threatened. Perhaps she had shed her last regret. She stood amiably with the viscount and the Barons Clarkson and Lavelle. All three men were sons of Lord Charleton’s closest acquaintances, and her uncle had carefully orchestrated the men’s attentions to display her in a flattering light.

  Since her first appearance at a ton event, the gentlemen had called upon her regularly, along with a half dozen others who were equally devoted to her dowry. Her uncle had let it be known he intended to present her husband with a substantial settlement, and as Charleton had predicted, many of the ton had turned their heads from the scandal and sought her acquaintance. In fact, Lucinda’s drawing room held many hopefuls, but not one man who set her blood afire. Sir Carter Lowery held that position in his solitary grasp.

  She looked up from Lord Lerhman’s smiling countenance just as Arabella and Lawrence Lowery offered her a bow of respect. “Lady Hellsman,” she said politely. “I am so pleased to find you in health.” She noted how Arabella Lowery had chosen a bell-shaped gown, one that concealed her blossoming figure. Women of the ton were generally sequestered away from prying eyes once their pregnancies became evident. Obviously, only an invitation from a prince would have induced Lady Hellsman to make an appearance in public.

  “As happy as ever,” Bella bubbled with excitement, and Lucinda knew a moment of envy. “You will join us for supper?”

  Lucinda shook off the suggestion. “I am to remain as part of my uncle’s party.” Immediately, she regretted the lie. While at Blake’s Run, Lucinda had wanted Bella as her dearest friend. Now she pushed Lady Hellsman away because Lucinda’s foolish heart had fallen in love with the lady’s brother in marriage.

  Lord Hellsman caught his wife’s arm; he stiffly said, “We should leave you with your company, Ma’am.” Arabella nodded her agreement, but Lucinda noted the flash of disenchantment in her friend’s eyes. The Hellsmans presented Lucinda a brief bow before withdrawing. Rather than returning immediately to her suitors, she watched them as they conversed with other couples in the crowd. She realized belatedly she had not even thought to ask of Baron Blakehell’s health or of the baroness’s plans for the lying in of her daughters. Essentially, Lucinda had become one of the women she had always despised: self-centered and without empathy, and it was all Sir Carter’s fault.

  His mother nattered on about finally having the acquaintance of the Prince Regent, but Carter had studied the interplay between Lucinda Warren, Law, and Lady Arabella. He forced the disapproval from his countenance. The encounter had not gone well. Carter recognized the irritation held tightly in the slant of his brother’s shoulders. At that particular moment, he had despised how his relationship with Mrs. Warren had affected the lady’s response to Arabella’s overtures of friendship. Could Lucinda Warren not see how much it grieved him to withdraw from her? Could she not separate their relationship from the one Arabella offered? He was miserable, and now Arabella suffered also, and it was all Lucinda Warren’s fault.

  “Why do you not speak to the lady?” Kerrington asked. As was their way, Carter, his associates, and their ladies had sought one another’s company during the supper hour. Even Pennington and Crowden’s Aunt Bel had joined them. Mrs. Warren, her uncle, several of the lady’s suitors, and Crowden’s other aunt, Rosalía, Viscountess Gibbons, who according to Mrs. Pennington had a longstanding acquaintance with the earl, had chosen a table across the crowded room, and despite his best efforts, Carter’s eyes drifted to where she sat.

  “There is nothing to say,” he repeated stubbornly. Both Swenton and Kimbolt had asked variations of the same question previously, and each time, Carter had given the same response.

  Lady Worthing’s brow knitted in disapproval. “You could ask of the lady’s health or that of the boy,” she suggested.

  “Or of the horse she rode in the park this morning. Aidan says it was a fine mare,” Mercy Kimbolt added.

  “Or you could speak of your obvious infatuation,” Grace Crowden declared.

  His good humor evaporating, Carter’s façade of indifference transformed to one of controlled ire. “I hold no fascination for the lady,” he insisted through tight lips. “I am only concerned for the scandal dogging Mrs. Warren’s steps. The lady has experienced enough drama for one lifetime
.”

  Unfortunately, the women ignored his protestations. “Nonsense,” Crowden’s bride said dismissively. “I would venture to say Mrs. Warren is stronger because of her trials.”

  “And as I am fond of saying,” Crowden said as he kissed the back of his wife’s hand, “it takes a woman with sense, as well as sensibility, to find contentment with men of our ilk.”

  Kimbolt agreed, “When a woman comes meekly into the marriage, there is no basis upon which to build a relationship. Challenges faced together are the foundation for future bliss. A woman must exercise her choices.”

  Carter groaned. “I suppose it is foolish to declare my disinterest.”

  Swenton lifted his wine glass in a salute. “Although I know nothing of the contentment the others describe, I would be blind not to recognize you are besotted with the woman.”

  “Enough!” Carter said sharply. He prayed his response betrayed little but his insistence. “It is my life and my mistake to make. I appreciate your concern, but I must follow my original inclinations.”

  Lucinda worked hard to keep her countenance absent of the emotions coursing through her. The evening was more than half over, and Sir Carter had yet to join her even for the briefest of moments. In fact, he had not crossed an invisible line, which separated the room. Earlier, she had assumed he might seek a dance, or, at least, address his well wishes to her uncle. His parents had spent several minutes with the earl, but the baronet had ignored their previous connection.

  “I understand you hold an acquaintance with my nephew,” Lady Gibbons said quietly. Uncle Gerhard had claimed the woman’s attentions throughout the evening. The viscountess’s late husband had been the earl’s long-time friend, and her uncle and the viscountess shared many acquaintances. The impish spark in Lady Gibbons’ pale eyes spoke of the woman’s quick mind. She was as petite as Lucinda and the perfect complement to Lord Charleton’s boxed frame, and Lucinda had noted her uncle’s tender care of the woman.