Saving Lord Whitton's Daughter: A Regency Romance Novel

by Susan Tietjen

  “Of course not. I cannot wait that long to tell you.” She began the story as they headed towards the privacy of the rear veranda. “It’s not what you’d think, Cam,” she said with caution. “Certainly no fairytale. We each have situations the other can remedy, and that’s the sum of it.”

  Lady Camille’s enthusiasm dampened as the truth came forth, of Whitton’s dire financial circumstances and Bethany agreeing to live the life of a nun while married to a man with the face of an angel. Bethany insisted it was a relief he didn’t want her. Otherwise, it would be wrong to marry him. She desired neither pity nor censure; she just hoped to do as Locke had asked and to live a good life. Ultimately, she would become Lady Locke, and Whitton would be saved.

  The twins arrived in much higher spirits than when they’d left Whitton earlier, joining the women in the dining room. The straight-laced surface they showed to the world—a majority of the time—was cast aside when they greeted Bethany so jovially they made her blush.

  “You’ll make an adorable couple,” Lord Matthew said, his face alight with mischief. “Lord Locke loves to ride and to dance, dear cousin, and he’s almost as good as you.”

  “Oh, stop, Matthew,” Bethany muttered. “There’s more to life than riding and dancing, and I’m no more than an average dancer. I met this Lord Locke once a long time ago and barely remember it. He must have a screw loose somewhere to do this. I just hope neither of us lives to regret it.”

  Mr. Nicolas laughed. “Not likely, Love. You’re meant for each other.” Then he turned his back to the group, wrapped his arms around himself, and made kissing sounds that had Lord Matthew laughing. Lady Camille and Bethany begged him to quit, and Lady Whitton sighed in exasperation.

  “You’re odious, Nicolas,” Lady Camille insisted, fighting a grin.

  “You’re next, Cam,” Mr. Nicolas insisted. “Now that Scarbreigh’s finished making a fool of himself with our favorite cousin—”

  “Your only cousin.”

  Mr. Nicolas waved Bethany’s comment aside. “He might open his eyes and realize what a wonderful match he’d bring off with you.”

  “We’ll not have that discussion again,” Lady Camille said, her smile drooping. “Lord Scarbreigh isn’t interested and I won’t force what isn’t right.”

  “What’s your opinion, Aunt Katherine?” Lord Matthew asked. “Wouldn’t Scarbreigh and Camille do well together?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve done as much matchmaking as I want today. Come sit down and enjoy our meal. Lady Camille, you know Lady Bethany cares little about fashion, so it will be our duty to get her ready for the wedding.”

  Mr. Nicolas moaned and Lord Matthew insisted, “I’d rather muck out stalls and braid horsetails than plan a wedding. In fact, I believe my brother and I must undertake a drive to Maidstone. Soon as we’ve cleaned our plates. What do you think, Mr. Nicolas?”

  Mr. Nicolas stared upward towards the ceiling as if consulting an oracle. “By Jove, you’re right, Lord Matthew. Why, look! There! I picture me and you escorting Marc, excuse me, Lord Locke, to the Fisherman’s Arms for a toast and an insightful discussion on the extraordinary care he’ll take of our cousin or else find himself drawn and quartered.”

  “After we’ve given him forty lashes.”

  “And keel-hauled him to boot.” They crowed with laughter.

  Bethany fought with laughter of her own. She loved her rowdy cousins but they could do it a bit brown. Neither of them entertained any greater interest in marriage than Bethany’s brothers or Lord Locke supposedly had—until now—and planning a wedding wouldn’t excite them one bit. Indulging in whatever bachelor endeavors would amuse Lord Locke until the wedding day arrived would be far more to their liking.

  Glaring at her brothers, Lady Camille said to Bethany, “You didn’t mention a wedding date, dear.”

  Bethany blinked at the sudden realization. “Oh. We didn’t discuss it, other than that he mentioned soon.”

  Lady Katherine conceded he’d not told her, either.

  “I’d guess right away,” Lord Matthew replied, following a sip of his tea. “I do believe he’s headed for the Continent soon and will want it done beforehand.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, we’ll ask him tomorrow,” the countess suggested. “This morning, before he met with Bethany, Lord Locke told me he wanted the ceremony kept simple but fine enough to please Lady Bethany. Either way, it will still take time to put it together.”

  Mr. Nicolas harrumphed and cleared his palate before saying, “Which means we might as well don sack cloth and ashes. Bethany would rather die than put on airs, or lavish attire.”

  “That’s not true,” Bethany complained, even if it were true, to some degree. “I love wearing beautiful clothes, but only when I feel like it.”

  The twins howled and slapped their legs, and Lord Matthew said, “Which is almost never.”

  “Would you rather exchange vows in a riding habit or a tunic and leggings?” chimed in Mr. Nicolas.

  “I’d rather the two of you found something else to do and left us alone,” she replied.

  “My sympathies exactly,” Lady Camille added, and Lady Katherine cleared her throat.

  The men applied broad grins, dabbed their mouths with their serviettes, and rose to offer chaste kisses to the three women’s upturned cheeks.

  Mr. Nicolas said, “Thanks for allowing us to stay the night, Aunt Katherine. Means we can be on hand in the morning to harry the groom.”

  “And you’ll do that harrying with at least some modicum of decorum,” Bethany’s mother insisted, “or I’ll send you home.”

  “Yes, my lady,” he replied, daring winks at his sister and Bethany.

  “Tally-ho!” Lord Matthew cried, throwing an arm round Mr. Nicolas’s neck and dragging him from the room backwards.

  “Were they really born that obstreperous?” Bethany asked Lady Camille.

  “I have no idea. They were five years old when I was born.”

  “They were scalawags at first breath,” Lady Katherine grumbled. “I was eternally grateful to have such staid sons in Lord Christian and Mr. Collin.”

  “And then you got me,” Bethany said, knowing her mother had always considered her a trial.

  “You, my dear,” the countess said, “have an independent streak that challenges decorum, but you’re not given to mischief nor prankishness. Now, shall we put our heads together for the wedding?”

  “I look forward to it,” Lady Camille oozed, giggling when Bethany sighed in dismay.

  * * *

  Despite herself, Bethany couldn’t help watching the road from her second story bedchamber the next morning, anticipating Lord Locke’s arrival. A night’s sleep had done nothing to erase her memory of his devastating, dark blue eyes and dimpled smile, and she hated admitting she could hardly wait to see him again.

  Embracing Lady Camille’s advice, she wore her mint-green chiffon day dress, one that supposedly complimented her eyes. In lieu of Lady Whitton’s and Bethany’s personal maids, dismissed a while ago, Lady Camille dressed Bethany’s hair, drawing its mass on top of Bethany’s head, while letting a single, curled lovelock fall over her left shoulder nearly to her waist.

  Lady Camille squealed the moment she glimpsed a crested coach, drawn by a team of four-in-hand, coming towards them, the two men atop it dressed in the finest livery. Lord Locke’s dun was tethered behind the carriage, while the Earl himself leaned slightly out of the window, gazing up at the two women.

  “Oh, heavens, Bethany. I remember him! He’s ... he’s magnificent! Regal, like a king.”

  “Why don’t you marry him, then?” Bethany muttered, starting to wonder if she could go through with this. Not because Lord Locke wasn’t as handsome as she remembered him. It was because he was toe-curling and eye-dazzling, and, yes, magnificent, and she couldn’t imagine becoming his wife.

  “He didn’t offer for me. I would if he had.”

  Bethany barked laughter. “Oh, I must collect myself. I cannot be la
ughing like a hyena in ‘His Majesty’s’ presence.”

  “If it were me, I’d simply melt at his feet.”

  “Come along, cousin. Let me introduce you before you dissolve into a puddle.”

  The twins already waited in the yard, Jason on hand to help with the horses and carriage, when the women joined them. The perfectly matched team of dapple-grays drawing the splendid coach had Bethany awed. They pranced into the yard, as if they knew they were beautiful.

  Lord Matthew greeted the coachman—named Seaworth—and Mr. Treadwell, the earl’s valet. Seaworth was a grizzled, unkempt sort, despite his fine clothing, while the valet was a tall, thin, stately man of inestimable years. Both were briefly but properly polite.

  Seaworth leaped atop the carriage to remove the earl’s baggage, while the twins greeted Lord Locke with an exchange of exuberant backslaps and handshakes. Then the earl sobered and approached Bethany.

  Today he wore a jacket of dark-blue superfine and beige trousers, and his hessians shone even beyond yesterday’s brightness. She almost rued wearing her gloves today when he removed his right kidskin and took her gloved fingers in hand. A gentleman did not kiss a glove, although he did bow over it, and butterflies buzzing in her belly signified her disappointment.

  It took her a second to gather her wits sufficient to introduce Lady Camille. It then required several more to shrug off a mild pique at her flaxen-haired cousin’s natural grace at greeting men—and Locke’s earnest response to her charms.

  Bethany was uncertain what to say when he returned his gaze to her, but then he nodded toward his team and said, “There’s nothing quite like quality horseflesh, is there?”

  “No, my lord,” she murmured, although she feared Lord Locke’s handsome face certainly rivaled them.

  Lady Katherine materialized, hurrying to meet the earl. “Mr. Drew will show your valet to your quarters, my lord. Lord Matthew, you haven’t seen Mr. Bradbury yet, have you?”

  “No, my lady. But I’m sure he’ll arrive soon.”

  “Yes, of course. We’ll have him join us in the sitting room, my lord.”

  They settled on the cluster of furnishings arranged around the unlit fireplace in the sitting room, and when every chair was taken except the one Lady Katherine had reserved for the solicitor, Bethany found herself sharing the small sofa with Lord Locke. Her heart fluttered strangely whenever his arm or knee bumped hers. She dared not look at him, fearful he’d realize how profoundly he disconcerted her.

  Locke laid out his expectations quickly and succinctly. He had pressing matters overseas to attend to in the near future and wanted the wedding done beforehand. With his parents gone and few relatives or close friends nearby, he needed the ceremony small and quick.

  Bethany had forever dreamed of only one thing for her wedding, a garden ceremony, and her eyes widened in surprise when Lord Locke requested precisely that.

  Bethany could see Lady Katherine was disappointed. Her mother had always wanted her only daughter’s nuptials to be first-rate, contrary to Bethany’s preferences for something more modest.

  The dowager countess pointed out one important matter. “You’ve said you want the wedding soon, my Lord, but we haven’t discussed a date.”

  “Ah. Until this morning I couldn’t have given you one.” His gaze shifted to Bethany as he said, “Now it’s imperative we address it. My meeting in Maidstone yesterday confirmed my need to leave Moorewood for the Continent in two weeks. To allow time for a brief wedding trip, we must set Thursday, the twenty-third day of June, as the date for the nuptials. I know it’s short notice, only ten days from now, but, for your and your mother’s sakes, Lady Bethany, we must be married before I depart.”

  The dowager countess’s eyes flew wide, disapproval written all over her face. “But we must post banns, my lord, which requires at least three weeks; and my sister, Lady Hannaford, who isn’t well, wouldn’t be able to return from her physicians in Bath in time. We cannot possibly journey to London and have either the wardrobes or Lady Bethany’s wedding dress done on such short notice, and what about inviting even a few guests? They need time to respond to our invitations.”

  Pulling her fan from its customary place up her sleeve, she applied it with vigor. For a moment Bethany wondered if her mother would revoke her consent for the marriage.

  CHAPTER 4

  “I regret the haste, my lady. Your solicitor made it plain, however, that Whitton needed funds immediately. I offered for Lady Bethany as quickly as I was able, but I cannot rearrange my business. If we don’t accomplish the ceremony now, I won’t likely be able to reconsider it until Christmastide. I would prefer the guest list short, and I’m sorry about Lady Hannaford, but I assume the delay would not do.”

  Bethany was aware of her mother’s dismay, but Lord Matthew’s brief exchange of looks with Mr. Nicolas raised the hairs on the back of her neck. The twins had a language of their own, and although she didn’t always understand it, she did know they’d just communicated something they didn’t want anyone else to know.

  Was the earl’s comment not entirely true? Was he hiding something? Was his journey to the mainland connected with her father’s estate and his financial losses? Like most men, he wouldn’t care to discuss financial details with Lady Katherine any more than was required, but what if he waited too long? Even such a non-pareil might not be able to pull Whitton back from the brink of complete ruin.

  “Excuse me, my lord, but what will we do about posting the banns?” Bethany intervened, giving her mother time to calm.

  “We won’t. My personal solicitor left for London yesterday afternoon, to acquire a special license from the archbishop, and I’ve already contacted your vicar. He understands the gravity of the situation and is pledged to assist. Canterbury is closer to Whitton than London. I assume you’ve taken advantage of its shops in the past. I trust it will be an acceptable compromise for you now in acquiring your new wardrobe.”

  Lord Locke’s answers almost felt rehearsed. As if he’d formulated a response to any objection either Bethany or her mother could present. Yet, knowing how dire their situation was, she, like her mother, realized they must comply, and leave the rest to Providence.

  “It doesn’t seem we have any choice, Mum,” she said. “June the twenty-third or not at all.”

  A flicker of surprise at her abruptness wrinkled Locke’s brow but passed quickly.

  Locke then honored the cousins by inviting Lord Matthew to be his best man and Mr. Nicolas to stand for Lady Bethany, if she agreed—which she did, of course. The three men would take care of their own wardrobes, and the countess and Lady Camille would consult with Lady Bethany about her needs, both for the wedding ceremony and her trousseau.

  Next, he turned to address Lady Camille. “I’ve an unusual request to make of you, Lady Camerfield. In my absence, I would like to invite you to join Lady Bethany, to keep her company, for as long as you both like. Perhaps you can arrive the evening before I’m to leave. I’ve an excellent staff at Moorewood, but they are strangers to her, and I don’t want her lonely.”

  “I’d—I’d love to.” Lady Camille’s round-eyed gaze met Bethany’s. “Does that suit you, Beth?”

  “You need ask?” Bethany said, wanting to pinch herself. Beyond having a marriage that required nothing unpleasant of her, she could think of nothing else that would make the situation more bearable.

  The pendulum clock near the doorway chimed 10:05 just as Mr. Bradbury arrived, puffing his apologies for his tardiness, caused by a fractious horse, as he scuttled his stout frame into the room. The Camerfields excused themselves to allow the solicitor to review the paperwork he’d drawn up.

  “His Lordship has requested that I continue to manage Whitton’s accounts, Lady Whitton,” Mr. Bradbury said while he sorted through the sheets of papers. “He’s examined my record-keeping and declared that I’ve managed adequately.”

  “Better than adequate, Bradbury,” Lord Locke interjected. “You’ve kept this estate
afloat despite extraordinary obstacles. I’m pleased you’re willing to carry on.”

  Flustered, the solicitor wiped beads of perspiration from his brow. “You’re very kind, my lord, and I’m grateful to remain.”

  As to the particulars of the estate, Bradbury addressed them in minute detail, rambling on and on, and growing bored, Bethany found her mind wandering to other things, especially Lord Locke’s long legs stretched out alongside hers. His large but comely hands, now divested of their gloves, rested comfortably in his lap, his arms and shoulders clearly more muscular than the conventional nobleman’s.

  From under her lashes she caught a glimpse of the earl’s striking profile, noting that his near-black hair was shorter than current trends dictated yet neatly arranged, and although he’d shaved that morning his beard was dark enough it still shaded his jawline and upper lip delightfully.

  She had to force herself not to stare. He smelled delicious, of shaving lather and men’s cologne and the faint muskiness of a man, and desires she’d never before experienced had her thinking thoughts about him that, under the circumstances, she had no right to entertain.

  “I trust that pleases you, my dear?” Lord Locke said, resting those fascinating eyes on her.

  Bethany gaped, not sure what to say. Someone had said something important while she’d been woolgathering.

  “Your father bequeathed you the ownership of several horses, including a stallion named Raven?” the earl prompted.

  “Oh. Yes.”

  He nodded his agreement. “I’ll have those animals moved to Moorewood beforehand, so that they’ll be at your disposal when you arrive.”

  Mr. Bradbury jotted a note to add to the others he’d already scribbled during their visit. After Lady Katherine and Bethany signed the contract, Locke added his own signature to the papers. Then Bradbury departed and Mr. Drew returned Lady Camille and the twins to their company.

  “I have a request, if I might, Lady Whitton,” Lord Locke said, rising. “I’d like to take a closer look at some of the grounds.” His gaze took in the others. “And I’d enjoy having all of you ride with me.”