Grenville 02 - Lord John's Dilemma

by G. G. Vandagriff

  A very superior butler met her at the front door, took her traveling cloak, and immediately showed her into a back parlor overlooking the kitchen garden.

  This does not bode well.

  Delia did not sit down, but concentrated on lengthening her short spine and telling herself that she was perfectly qualified for this situation. She had a long wait, however. In order to take her mind off the coming meeting, she speculated about the character of Major John Lambeth.

  He was certainly a handsome man with his dark hair and square jaw. But it was his light blue eyes with their dark rim that had transfixed her. Set off by his sun-weathered face, they were startling and had seemed to see straight through to her core. Next to his eyes, his voice had intrigued her most—deep and characterized by an odd timbre of sadness which had kept her from being offended by his short temper. Delia confessed to herself that if she were not currently a governess, she would be very interested in getting to know what made the man so melancholy. Had he lost someone close to him in the war? Perhaps a brother or a cousin? Or was there something he was facing when he arrived home that he was dreading?

  Was he naturally rude? Or had he disliked her personally? Perhaps it was only the weariness of battle, injury, and a long ride. She was inclined to believe the latter, for she had a soft spot for a soldier. Her brother, the Earl of Sudbury, had been a Lieutenant in Her Majesty’s Army before he had died of an infection from a shrapnel wound. He should not have been serving at all, but he had always dreamed of being a soldier and was not about to let his sudden and early elevation to the peerage keep him from the battlefield. If he had returned home, she would not find herself in this predicament. Nor would she have been left to mourn the death of her beloved parents and brother during the space of eighteen months.

  She jerked her mind away from that road. She was Miss Delia Haverley now. Not Lady Cordelia Frensham. She was a spinster in reduced circumstances, not a young woman of fortune and consequence.

  At last, a woman she took to be the Viscountess Lindsay entered the room. She was tall and severe looking, her black hair piled high on her head, making her seem even taller. Delia stretched her backbone once again and set her shoulders.

  “I am told you arrived in the Grenville carriage,” Lady Lindsay said by way of greeting.

  “Yes, my lady. Your carriage, unfortunately, fell into a ditch. I do not believe it to have been seriously damaged. It should be returned to you shortly.”

  “You are very well turned out for a governess,” the viscountess remarked.

  Delia thought it best not to reply to this impertinence. Now that she was rid of her dustcoat, her oldest dress, a peacock blue silk two years out of date, was displayed. Perhaps it was a bit bright, but she was not about to apologize for it. In fact, most of her clothing could not be said to suit a governess. Her circumstances had made it impossible for her to have a appropriate wardrobe made.

  “I am most anxious to meet my pupils,” she said.

  “It is almost time for dinner. You shall take yours in your quarters. There is a small table provided. You will meet my daughters tomorrow morning. My housekeeper, Mrs. Daniels, will be here shortly to show you to your room.”

  Delia felt as though a curtsey was expected from her. She refrained, saying only, “Good evening then, Lady Lindsay. My trunk will be arriving with your carriage.”

  “Mention it to Mrs. Daniels. She will see that it is delivered to your room.” She looked Delia over once more, from head to toe. “I must go to dress for dinner. Good night.”

  Drawing a long breath after her employer left the room, Delia finally allowed herself to sit. She had been awake all the previous night and most of the night before, riding the crowded Mail. It was just as well she would not be facing either a family dinner tonight or her first meeting with her pupils. She was very tired. And from what she had just experienced of the viscountess, she felt that the fewer times they crossed paths, the better.

  In comparison to her employer, Mrs. Daniels proved to be a comfortable woman. She was short, though not as short as Delia, and inclined to corpulence. Her hair was gray and worn in a coronet about her head. Upon seeing the new governess, her face creased in a welcoming smile.

  “Well, if you are not a little dab of a thing! You must be tired, journeying all this way from Kent. I will show you to your room. I have had a fire lit, so you should be comfortable.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Daniels. You are very kind. I must tell you, I had a mishap on the road. My trunk should be arriving shortly.”

  “Oh, me. How did you get here?”

  “Major Lambeth came along right after the carriage overturned. He was kind enough to see to my transportation.”

  “Oh, he’ll be home from the War? I am sure Miss Lindsay will be glad.” The woman gave a somewhat sly smile. “She features herself married to the man.”

  Delia was surprised to feel a spurt of disappointment. She quelled it immediately. I scarcely met the man! He may have a pair of beautiful eyes, but he thinks me to be a mere governess and I am certain he holds me in dislike.

  Her quarters turned out to be scarcely adequate. She was in the attic, tucked away in a small space under the eaves. Her room contained a narrow bed covered with a worn quilt, a table and chair where she would take her meals, a small wardrobe, and a dresser with an old mirror hanging above it. The only good thing about it was the cheerful fire.

  She took herself in hand. Her new home might be spare, but at least she was independent. Better this room than any of the spacious rooms in the house of her uncle, the new Earl of Sudbury. And better this employment than marriage to the most notorious womanizer in London.

  { 3 }

  John felt weak as a kitten and had no clear idea of the recent past, or even what day it was. The sawbones he had not seen since he was a child was prodding his wound.

  “Well, my boy, it is good to see you open those eyes. I told your brother you were too tough to kill with a little inflammation,” said Dr. Manford.

  Alex leaned over him. His face was scruffy, with at least two days’ growth of dark beard, and his eyes were hollow with exhaustion.

  “You look like the devil,” John said to his brother.

  “That’s the thanks I get for being your ministering angel?” Alex responded. “Let me tell you, you look a bit offish yourself.”

  “How long was I under?”

  “Two days. I thought you were going to cash in your chips, John. Thank the Lord you’ve made it through.”

  “No thanks to that miserable army surgeon,” Dr. Manford said, frowning under his enormous jowls. “He left some shrapnel in the wound. Had to open you up again. Lady Grenville talked me into filling you up with honey. No doubt she will take credit for your recovery.”

  “Not Felicity,” said John. “She will give you the credit, I am sure.”

  The doctor’s presence was irritating. John wished he would go. But the man was rebandaging his arm in clean linen, retelling the story of setting John’s broken leg when he fell out of the apple tree at the tender age of five.

  “If I had not known what I was doing, you would have been lame for life, lad. Never could have gone for a soldier.”

  John closed his eyes. His head pounded with headache, and he felt lost in some sort of fog.

  “Lady Lindsay and Miss Lindsay have called,” Alex said. “They are below with Felicity. They were most concerned about your condition. Lady Lindsay is just waiting for news of your recovery to send you a basket of peaches from her orchard. She really is being most obliging.” Alex gave the half-smile with which he had teased John all his life. “I wonder why?”

  “Perhaps because I rescued her governess,” John said, forcing a small smile.

  “Believe me, her governess is the last thing on her mind at the moment.”

  “Well, lovely as Miss Lindsay is, I shall not be visiting with her today.”

  “Nor for a few more days, if Felicity and I have our way. You shouldn’t have be
en in such a hurry to ride home. You came a long way with that injury, John.”

  “Yes, but if I had not, I would most likely have died in the field hospital with that shrapnel still in my arm.” John took a deep breath, overcome by a familiar blackness of spirit. “Besides, all I could think of was getting home.”

  “We are glad you are here. Jack is chomping at the bit to see his uncle.”

  Alex’s imaginative seven-year-old son was one of John’s favorite human beings. However, at the moment, he was not in any mental or emotional condition to deal with the sunny child. “That’ll have to wait until tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

  His brother frowned. “What is it, John? Is it the pain? The doctor left some laudanum.”

  “I don’t need laudanum, Alex. And thank you for keeping your vigil. But I need to be alone now.” With the gloom overtaking him, he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up any semblance of conversation. Like a wounded bear, he simply wanted to disappear into his den until he could live in the light again.

  Standing, Alex laid a hand on his shoulder. “Rest well, brother. I’m glad you’re out of danger.”

  As soon as his brother left, John closed his eyes. He was back inside the hospital tent where men were dying all around him, calling out for their mothers. The air hung heavy and hot, smelling of blood and mud. The flies were a scourge. The place was as dark and barbaric as a prison. He longed to die and be done with it.

  On reflection, it was easy to understand why men wanted their mothers at such a time. At the moment when death seemed near, all one’s bravado melted away and one was thrown back into vulnerability that only a mother could understand and be trusted with. A dying man needed the illusion of safety in his journey to the next life.

  John forced away the darkness by thinking of his own mother. She had died when he was sixteen, leaving a vacuum in his life unusual in one of his class. She had not been a social creature, but a homebody. Her husband had been fond of gaming, parties, and his club. They had lived mostly in London, except for a few months in the summer when they had stayed here at the manor—the manor which was falling down about their ears.

  Mama had been beautiful with her dark hair and patrician face. John had inherited her startling eyes. Until he had gone away to school at ten years old, she had been his world, teaching him herself in his nursery and then his schoolroom every day. He remembered her as an enchanting storyteller, making up her own series of tall tales, illustrating them with her watercolors. There had been Billy, the talking beaver, with Mrs. Beaver and the twins, Sophie and Marjorie. When he was older there was Irenie the owl and Horatio the falcon. But his favorite stories had been about the bear cub, Nathaniel. John had his own stuffed Nathaniel bear, with a plaid bow tie. Mama had caused a papier mâché tree to be made for his room with a hollow for Nathaniel to live in.

  She had made his childhood a magic time. Thinking of her dulled the edge of his melancholy.

  He heard his door open slowly. Raising his aching head, he saw a tiny face framed in blonde hair peeking through the opening.

  “Cate? Is that you?”

  “I am Emma. Papa thaid you are thick.”

  He found he very much wanted to see the little creature. “Come in, Emma.”

  “I brought you my thepecial blanket,” she said, holding out what looked like a pink fluffy shawl. “Here.” Climbing up onto the dais where the bed sat, she spread the baby blanket over his bandaged arm with elaborate care.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I am certain I will be all better now.”

  The little sprite went running from the room. John smiled.

  Could it be that the answer to this melancholia and world weariness he had fought so long was a family? Could he leave the blackness behind if he lived, not a soldier’s life, but a life full of people who loved him?

  Felicity and Alex were a devoted pair. The attraction between them fairly crackled even after eight years of marriage. And his brother was an exceptionally fond father. His eldest son, Jack, was John’s namesake and an engaging scamp. The twins were shy little misses, but had always succeeded in wrapping Alex around their fingers. The newest babe, Henry, at age seven months, had yet to reveal his personality but was doted upon by everyone.

  But would he be a good husband and father with these fits of melancholy? When the blackness was upon him, every tree was leafless, every pebble a boulder, and the sorrows of the world weighed him down with an unending script of misery. Was it really fair to inflict such a flaw upon a family? It had been coming and going ever since he had begun fighting on the Peninsula. So far, he had been able to mask his moods whenever he was on leave, so even Alex knew nothing. Seeing them as a weakness, John’s instinct had always been to hide his times of mental anguish. If he were in better health now, he would disappear on horseback, putting up at inns where he was unknown until his world was habitable again.

  Could he confide in Alex? Would his brother think him some kind of mental weakling, hopelessly unhinged? Or was it time he took his brother into his confidence? Maybe Alex could advise him as to whether family responsibilities would make John better or worse. Worn out by his infection and inner turmoil, John fell asleep.

  He was awakened when Felicity looked in on him what seemed a good while later.

  “John, dear, are you awake?” she whispered.

  Struggling up on his good elbow, he said, “Yes, Felicity. What time is it?”

  “It is after nine. We have finished dinner and Mrs. Hopkinson is bringing you some on a tray, if you would like it. It is roast beef and Yorkshire pud. We must build you up.”

  “That actually sounds delicious.”

  He shook his head, trying to dislodge his mental dullness. Maybe a good meal would help.

  “Would you mind lighting some candles in here?” he asked.

  “Of course, . I will do it straightaway. I think a bath after your dinner might do you some good as well. It must have been a long time since you’ve had a bath.”

  “Yes. Another excellent idea. Between you Emma, you will have me fixed up in no time.”

  “Oh! Is that Emma’s blanket? I hope she did not disturb you.”

  “She was just what the doctor ordered.”

  Felicity smiled. “You are very patient with the children, John. They idolize you, I hope you realize.” She felt his forehead. “Your fever does seem to be a thing of the past. I will send up dinner then. And afterward, Alex’s valet will fix you up with a bath.”

  “Thank you, Felicity. You always treat me like a king. Alex married well.”

  She laughed. “He did not always think so!”

  Before he could question her, she walked out of the room.

  Alex had doubted his decision? How could he have? Felicity was everything he could imagine in a wife. Plus she had brought a fortune with her to restore the Manor and the estate. Maybe his brother was not the superior judge of character John had always taken him to be.

  The following two days found John much improved in body, if not in spirits. His nerves remained badly frayed, making him irritable and not inclined toward company. However, the third day was fine out, and he realized the worst of his mood was behind him. Perhaps this time, it had been brought on by his physical weakness. Now he just wanted to sit on the terrace, watching the twins play tag on the lawn. Soon, he was instructing Jack on the proper positions for his lead soldiers in the boy’s reenactment of Waterloo.

  Felicity emerged from the house, frowning.

  “John, the Lindsays have called again. I did not know whether you would wish to visit with them or not. They are in the sitting room, but if you like, I can bring them out here. Otherwise, I will tell them you are not quite up to visitors.”

  “Who exactly is calling?” he asked with some weariness.

  “Lord and Lady Lindsay and her two eldest daughters, Miss Lindsay and Miss Leticia.”

  He sighed. John had not spoken to Alex yet about his mental limitations, but he suppose
d it would not hurt to see Miss Lindsay again. He was miles away from making a declaration. Indeed, he did not even know if he wished to. He had not been around respectable women much in the past years.

  “You may bring them out here,” he said. “But not a long visit, please.”

  Soon, Felicity had returned with her guests.

  “Oh, Lord John!” Lady Lindsay said. “We were so sorry to hear you have been so ill. We brought a basket of peaches from the orchard. I hope you like peaches?”

  “English peaches are the very best,” he said. “It is pleasant to see you all again.”

  “Devil of a good show, Waterloo,” Lord Lindsay said. Long, lean, and ascetic looking, he had fought Napoleon in his younger days.

  “Yes. I think Boney is finally defeated for good,” John said.

  Miss Leticia wandered out onto the lawn to play with the twins. Lady Lindsay and Miss Lindsay seated themselves in the shade while Lord Lindsay surveyed Jack’s battlefield.

  “It is the battle of Waterloo,” Jack said proudly. “This is the farmhouse where Uncle John and his men were holding off the enemy.”

  “Jolly good,” remarked their neighbor. He listened as Jack elucidated the other details of his reenactment.

  Lady Lindsay said, “I understand you will not be going back to the army. We are so glad to have you as a neighbor once more.”

  He could not mistake the eager light in the eyes of this matchmaking mama. Looking at Miss Lindsay, he saw that her eyes were cast down and that she was weaving the ribbons on her gown. She was a beauty all right. High cheekbones, shiny, luxurious black hair, rosebud mouth. He could not remember the color of her eyes, but her figure appeared tempting enough.

  Did her retiring disposition signal shyness, disinterest, or a cold nature? Until this bout of matchmaking, he had always found her mother a cool, imperious woman with no patience for or interest in young boys, such as he had been. Did the daughter take after the mother?

  “I hope Miss Haverley made it to you safely?” he asked.