Love With an Improper Stranger

by Barbara Devlin

  Mustering courage, and dreading what she might find on the other side of the door, Lenore knocked twice, twisted the knob, and swallowed her anxiety. “It is Lenore, Dr. Handley. May I enter?”

  “Come,” the physician responded.

  Lenore stepped into the inner chamber, and sitting on the edge of the bed perched Lucy. In a flash, Lucilla squealed, leaped from the mattress, and swamped Lenore.

  “I thought you dead.” With a death grip, Lucy clung to Lenore and cried. “When I woke, and you were gone, I feared he killed you while I slept.”

  “Oh, dearest, I would never leave you.” Cradling her younger sister, Lenore wept. “He sold me as chattel.”

  “Sir Ross told me.” As was her habit, Lucy toyed with Lenore’s hair. “I am so sorry, Lenny.”

  “Let us not talk about the unpleasantness.” As usual, Lucilla tried to put on a brave face, but Lenore guessed her little sister nursed invisible but potent wounds. To the doctor, Lenore asked, “What is her condition?”

  “Miss Lucy has lost a great deal of weight during her captivity, but her feigned sleep spared her the difficulties you suffered from excess laudanum consumption.” As Dr. Handley collected his instruments, he chuckled. “From what I gather, that is what enabled her the opportunity to escape.” After closing his leather bag, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Feed her all she can eat and let her rest, and Miss Lucilla will be none the worse for wear, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Handley.” She assessed Lucy’s dirty and torn dress, but what stunned Lenore was her sibling’s gaunt appearance. “Shall I ring for a bath?”

  “The doctor did that, Your Grace.” Lucy chuckled. “Congratulations. Sir Ross told me your wonderful news, and I am thrilled for you.”

  “Oh, Lucy, I am so sorry I could not wait for you, but Blake insisted we wed prior to his departure.” Lenore retrieved a fresh nightgown from the armoire. “But let me help you get comfortable, and we can talk tonight.”

  “That is not necessary, as I can take care of myself.” After kicking off her slippers, Lucy stripped her tattered hose and garters. “And Uncle Samuel gave me an account of your ceremony. He is awfully nice, Lenny, and he invited me to journey to America with him. Is that not wonderful? What an adventure.”

  “You wish to live apart from me?” Lucy’s proclamation rang in Lenore’s ears, and she knew not how to react, given her sister had just imparted earth-shattering news but behaved as though she commented on a sewing technique. “But you just returned.”

  “Yet you are a newlywed duchess, and I cannot stay a child forever.” Sitting at her vanity, Lucy gazed at her reflection in the oval mirror, picked up a brush, and frowned. “Do not be vexed with me, but during my ordeal, I realized I have spent the better portion of my life with my nose in a book, reading about so many magnificent escapades, instead of participating in my own feats, and I am past due for a change. It is time for me to grow up, and I want to travel, Lenny. I want to experience the world beyond London.”

  “Dearest, you quite take my breath away.” Lenore had more to say, but Dorothea’s entrance cut short the exchange.

  “Your Grace, the staff has prepared the hot water.” The lady’s maid curtseyed. “May we fill the tub?”

  “Please, do so.” As was their routine, Lenore removed the pins from Lucy’s tangled hair.

  “Stop it, Lenny.” With a huff, Lucy pulled away. “I can do it, myself.”

  “Shall I wash your back?” Lenore inquired, even as she marveled at her sister’s altered attitude.

  “No, as that is not necessary.” Lucy shook her head. “I wish to be alone and soak. And I would visit with Uncle Samuel and make plans for my future.”

  “Then I will grant your request.” More than a little injured by Lucy’s detachment, Lenore turned on a heel, because the moment was not about her. “You will send for me, if you have need of me.”

  “Lenore?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.” Lucy peered over her shoulder and smiled. “Never was I more relieved than when Sir Ross told me of your liberation, as my prayers were answered.”

  It was sad to witness the death of innocence. The charming bloom of naïveté that glistened in a sleeping baby’s expression, a child’s peal of laughter, a puppy’s playful bark, a kitten’s purr, or the sigh of an artless virgin was second in brilliance only to the sun’s light, in a place where the brutality of war scarred the landscape. Like so many youthful dreams, the bloom of purity was forever tarnished, diminishing in equal proportion to the beholder’s acquired knowledge and experience, until all that remained was the memory of a simpler reality, never to be recaptured.

  It was that inner glow, which Lucy once sported, that Lenore mourned as she studied her sister. Although Dr. Handley pronounced Lucy in fine fettle, the truth was she had been damaged beyond repair, and no physician’s potion could restore the ingénue to her original state.

  So Lenore returned to her suite, after bidding a pleasant evening to her uncle, only to discover she still wore her cloak. Numb from the emotional upheaval of the day, she doffed her outer garb and slippers and sat at her escritoire. For untold minutes she stared at nothing. Then she snapped alert.

  On a piece of Blake’s expensive stationary, she penned a letter, detailing Lucilla’s recovery. Mulling Lucy’s words, Lenore thought her sister was right about one thing. It was time to live.

  #

  The War of the Seventh Coalition reached a fevered pitch, after Napoleon returned to Paris, overthrew Louis XVIII, recalled tens of thousands of veterans, drafted millions of new men, and launched a preemptive strike against the Allied forces in Belgium, which almost drove the Prussians from the conflict. While Wellington organized an attack, the British Navy transported troops to the Continent and enforced a blockade to isolate France.

  As April showers yielded to warm May afternoons, the Brethren of the Coast were deployed in the Channel, as a last line of defense of England. For Blake, the ten miserable weeks since he held Lenore in his arms threatened to undermine his sanity, as he burned for her. The usual distractions afforded naught but frustration, despite his partiality for sailing, so he resorted to spending part of his evenings in the tiny cabin his wife once occupied, reminiscing of fonder times.

  Penning another in a series of fervor-filled missives to his bride, Blake paused when a knock at the door intruded on his latest bawdy composition. “Enter.”

  “Sir, the mail is just arrived, along with a visitor.” Mr. Portman stepped aside to reveal a familiar face. “Shall I hold dinner?”

  “Not at all, but set another place, as I anticipate my guest will join me.” Blake stood, sidestepped his desk, and extended a hand in brotherly affection. “Trevor, it is good to see you. I thought I spied the Hera in the line, this morning.”

  “After rendezvousing with a Packet Service ship out of Falmouth, I was ordered to report here and maintain the blockade. You have official, as well as not-so-official, communiqués, brother.” Trevor clicked his heels and presented Blake with a bundle of correspondence. “Since March, I have made eight runs to reinforce not only our armies but also the Austrians, so it is good to drop anchor.”

  “What news from the front?” Blake sifted through the envelopes and tensed, as he discovered numerous letters from Lenore.

  “The King of Naples supported his relation, to his own downfall.” Trevor sat at the small square table and poured himself a brandy. “Murat issued the Rimini Proclamation, in a failed attempt to inspire the Italians, but the Austrians decimated Murat at Tolentino, and from what I hear, he has fled.”

  “That is excellent, as such developments may hasten the end of the war.” Yet Blake fixated on a particular message from his bride, which had been franked just a day after he departed London. “And what news from the front?”

  “Blake, you already asked me that.” Grinning, Trevor arched a brow. “Go ahead and read it, as I was fortunate enough to receive a similar parcel from Caroline, and
I tore into it before I ventured forth, given the post is anything but reliable.”

  “Am I really that obvious?” Blake groaned, even as he broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. As he suspected, the opening bore a monumental revelation, and he slapped his thigh. “Miss Lucilla is recovered and safe.” Yet the successive paragraphs revealed an emotional torment, and he longed to console Lenore. But then his gaze lit upon a startling passage, which he read and reread, as his fingers shook.

  My dearest husband, I owe you an apology for my emotional behavior at the docks, when I promised I would not cry and promptly broke my oath. If you were displeased, then I should offer another expression of regret in recompense for further disappointment, but I shall attempt to minimize your irritation by stating in this message my feelings, which are so disconcerting to you, and then I shall never mention it again. Blake, I love you. I love you. I love you so much that I am lost without you. In your absence, I ache for you, for your gentle touch and sweet kisses, in the aftermath of your tender attentions, but I also miss your teasing, your shocking suggestions, and your bold advances, so much a part of your character that I would not have one without the other. So I say, for one last time, I love you.

  “Now she tells me.” Blake gazed at the timbers and laughed. “Only Lenore would precede a declaration with a proper explanation and polite remorse.”

  “Ah, it is good to be a husband, when you own your wife’s heart.” Trevor raised his glass. “That is worth a toast.”

  “But I am in no mood to celebrate, as I would have her with me.” With care, he folded the stationary and tucked it in his waistcoat pocket. “Tell me something, given you have been married to my sister for five years, does the separation ever hurt any less?”

  “Not in the least.” Trevor swirled the amber liquid and caressed the tiny crystal stem. “But I surmise it has something to do with the fact that I also yearn for my children. By the by, Caroline informed me we anticipate the birth of our fifth Lockwood.”

  “Felicitations, but you wasted no time.” Mulling his situation, Blake opened his mouth and then closed it. Finally, he composed the query foremost on his mind. “So you still desire her, despite the length of your marriage?”

  “You truly do not quite comprehend the depth of my attachment to your sister, do you?” Trevor scoffed. “Because if you did, you would know that I want her more now than I did when we first wed, and no one is more surprised than I by that development.”

  “Then why do you not bring her with you on missions, as do Lance and Mark?” The prospect of having Lenore in Blake’s bunk seemed suddenly more appealing—until he recalled her seasickness. “They even brought their families, which amazed me, given the admiral’s infant son.”

  “For the same reason I suspect you forgo your bride’s estimable company.” Trevor snickered. “Because dereliction of duty is a serious offense in the navy, and I would never get anything done from the confines of my bunk, which I would be hard pressed to abandon with your sister in it.”

  “She means that much to you?” It was no insult to Trevor, but in that instant, Blake realized his sister had chosen an excellent mate. “You love her that much?”

  “Blake, you labor under a misapprehension.” With a ghost of a smile, Trevor averted his stare. “You love your mother, your friends, your sibling, your favorite brandy and cigars, and even your best hound. No, I do not love Caroline. Rather, I am in love with her, and there is a vast difference between the two, as it is a rare condition that requires a partner equally afflicted, which I believe you are learning, at the moment. So I would ask you to consider your routine before you met Lenore. I wager you kept busy, you went about the mundane tasks, as well as the important ones, you chased light skirts, and you performed the commitments associated with your title. But I would argue you never really tasted the passion manifested in your bride’s embrace, savored the luminescence of her smile, or thrilled to the unfettered acceptance with which she gifts you, every day, no matter your faults.” He propped his elbows on the table and cradled his chin. “You know my upbringing, and in some respects Caroline paid for the sins of another, though she was blameless, so I shall endeavor to keep the smile on her beautiful face, because without her I have nothing. Indeed, I am nothing.”

  “You are correct in your presumption, brother.” Just then, the cook entered with a meal of Strasburg pie, and Blake assumed his place and drew his napkin across his lap. “Now let us eat.”

  The dinner passed in companionable silence, as Blake knew, without doubt, Trevor suffered the same hollow gnawing in his gut. After consuming more than a little brandy, and several bawdy jokes unfit for mixed company, Blake walked his in-law to the waist, where Trevor descended to the jolly boat, with a couple of tars from his crew, and rowed back to the Hera.

  For a log while, Blake loomed on the quarterdeck, studying the night sky and the constellations by which he navigated, a sight that often inspired calm. Yet a peculiar unrest kept tranquility at bay. The bells sounded, and the middle watch assumed their stations. In mere seconds, he descended the gangway, stormed into his cabin, and came to an abrupt halt, as he envisioned the glorious afternoon when Lenore kissed him, after falling ice cut his forehead. Closing his eyes, he imagined her lips pressed to his and groaned. “She loves me.”

  Yet she labored under the mistaken presumption that he welcomed not her priceless affirmation, when nothing could be further from the truth, and he was liable for that. So he doused the lanterns, excepting the one at his desk, shed his coat, waistcoat, and stock, and sat. To bolster his nerve, he poured another healthy portion of brandy, set a clean stack of parchment atop the blotter, and fetched his inkwell and quill. When he was ready, he reached into his pocket and retrieved her letter, which he unfolded. Again and again, he read her cherished words, but he cursed himself for her accompanying contrition, and that he would rectify, there and then.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was a particularly warm June afternoon, when the Brethren wives gathered in the morning room at Elliott House, as Lenore hosted what had become a regular Thursday luncheon. Afterward, the women shared their most recent letters from their sea captains. Of course, the greater portion of Blake’s correspondence focused on a certain aspect of their marriage, including a few Latin terms in which he attempted to school her prior to his departure, and the contents were not fit for public consumption, and that bothered her.

  Despite her declaration, and apparently unreasonable expectations that he might acknowledge her sentiments, he all but ignored her momentous affirmation, and that hurt more than she was willing to admit to herself or anyone else. But she reminded herself of his professed disdain for emotional displays, so she decided it was enough that he desired her. At least, some day it would be enough.

  “Lenore, you have yet to tell me of my brother.” Caroline cast a knowing smile. “Come now. I divulged Trevor’s ardent expressions.”

  “And I recited Everett’s charming attestations of affection.” Sabrina clutched the envelope to her bosom and sniffed. “I do miss my shameless lord.”

  “And I quoted Dirk’s approbations.” Rebecca furrowed her brow. “Yes, I know his posts are a bit dry, but you have to infer between the lines to glean the suggestive references, which are rather salacious, I am proud to say.”

  “Ooh, I have a poem from the captain of my heart.” Alex bounced as she digested the missive. “My adorable Jason writes, ‘Your eyes shimmer as sunshine on the ocean, and your sweet bottom mesmerizes me like an enchanting potion. Your naughty handiwork makes me howl and grunt, how I love to lick your succulent—’ never mind.”

  “That is not fair, as you cannot leave us hanging.” Rebecca leaned forward. “What did he compose?”

  “Can you not guess what rhymes with grunt?” Without a word, Alex passed the message, which made the rounds, accompanied by a series of giggles and snorts, until Lenore perused it, and she started.

  In a flash, she recalled the first time Blak
e made love to her. He began with the very same activity, and her cheeks burned at the cherished memory. Then she glanced at the three unopened missives, two of which bore a May franking date, in her lap.

  With a brisk snap, Lenore broke the seal of the top note and unfolded the stationary. What she found was more of the same risqué language, and she sighed. The second communication began with a formal salutation, and that snared her attention, but it was the lone paragraph that held her spellbound.

  My most cherished Lenore, how dare you apologize for loving me, when I love you, too. Shall I record it again, so there is no mistaking my intention? I love you. I am in love with you. I have loved you since the night you slept in my arms, aboard the Tristan. You do not recall it, because you were foxed, but you confessed, in an unutterably endearing fashion that completely disarmed me, a desire for your future that so perfectly aligned with my own aspirations that I knew you were destined to be mine, just as I am yours. While you were gone, your absence left a chasm of emptiness that tormented my soul, and my love for you served as the only balm to carry me through our separation. It is the same devotion that sustains me, now, as I suffer your absence, and how I ache for my duchess. When I return home, I vow to declare my sincere attachment, every day, for the rest of our lives, and I want nothing more than to savor your response, in your sweet voice. But as that date eludes the calendar, I implore you to keep this letter nearby, as I treasure yours, so that you never forget how much your husband loves you.

  Crying happy tears, Lenore laughed, and it felt so good. Just as she thought she might contain her joy, she bubbled with mirth. The tension investing her nerves seemed to melt, and in its place blossomed indescribable joy.

  “Lenore, are you all right?” Rebecca moved to sit beside Lenore on the sofa. “You appear a tad hysterical.”

  “But I am wonderful.” Hugging the priceless disclosure, she dragged her sleeve across her face, as her heart sang. “Blake loves me.”