Love With an Improper Stranger

by Barbara Devlin

  “How romantic.” Rebecca skimmed the dispatch. “And I am impressed, as I did not think Blake capable of such emotive testimony.”

  “Well, of course, he does.” Caroline relocated to Lenore’s left. “Did you doubt him?”

  “I am ashamed to admit I did.” Overwhelmed with elation, Lenore wanted to shout from the rooftops. “In my defense, my husband professed a disdain for public displays of tenderness, and he made me vow not to weep at the docks.”

  “But you were a veritable water pot at Deptford.” Sporting a mischievous grin, Sabrina clucked her tongue and then sobered. “Although, I was, too, so I am one to talk.”

  “Men.” Rebecca folded her arms. “You would think they might learn from the mistakes of the past, given we have enjoyed a front row seat to the humorous courtship antics of the Brethren, since Dirk pursued me.”

  “Actually, their impromptu comedies began with Trevor.” Alex snickered. “Do you recall the Northcote’s Ball and six helpings of lemon custard?”

  “Ugh.” Caroline blanched and pressed a palm to her round belly. “Do not remind me, as I would prefer to erase that part of our past.” Then she wiped her brow. “It is awfully hot in here.”

  “Should I ring for some cool water?” Lenore stood. “As you look quite flushed.”

  “It is normal, as Dr. Handley approximates I am in my fifth month.” Church bells pealed throughout the city, and Caroline peered toward the windows. “What on earth?”

  “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but something peculiar has occurred.” Jennings bowed. “There is a commotion in the square.”

  “Hurry, ladies.” Lenore ran along the hall, veered left into the foyer, and opened wide the front doors. As she came to a halt, halfway down the entry steps, she noted people scrambling in all directions. Just then, Uncle Samuel reined in, with Lucy and Elaine perched on the boxed seat. “What is it? What has happened?”

  “We were at the museum, when an assistant curator made an announcement, and everyone is talking about it.” Lucy threw her arms about Lenore. “It is over. Wellington defeated Napoleon at a town called Waterloo, last Sunday, and the war is ended.”

  A collective cheer reverberated from the wives, and Lenore shrieked, as the husbands would be coming home. But her elation was short-lived, when Caroline collapsed.

  “Upon my word.” Lenore flagged the footmen. “Quick, carry her ladyship inside.” To Jennings, she said, “Have a footman notify Dr. Handley, and tell him it is an emergency, as the Countess of Lockwood has fainted.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” The butler clapped his hands. “Take her to her chambers on the second floor.”

  “Rebecca, look.” Alex pointed. “She is bleeding.”

  “Do you think it is the babe?” Sabrina sobbed. “What can we do?”

  “We must remain calm.” Lenore squeezed Sabrina’s fingers and then glanced at Lucy. “Sister, fetch Mrs. Parker. Tell her we need hot water and fresh towels.”

  “Right away.” Lucy sprinted to the kitchens.

  “Rebecca, please, stay with Caroline, and I will be there, posthaste.” In her mind, Lenore counted off a list of items. “Alex, Elaine, take Sabrina back to the morning room, and I will come to you once we have Caroline settled.”

  Elaine bit her lip. “But I wish to help.”

  “And you will do so by comforting Sabrina, as she is due in three months.” Lenore’s thoughts raced, as she tried to anticipate any deficiencies in her care. “The last thing we need is another sick countess.”

  “You are right.” Alex huddled with Sabrina. “There is a scone left, and you are fond of the cook’s marmalade.”

  “Can you give me an errand?” Uncle Samuel frowned. “What can I do to be of use?”

  “You can keep watch for the doctor, and send him to Caroline’s chamber as soon as he arrives.” And then Lenore thought of Sarah, Caroline’s mother. “Afterward, will you journey to Randolph House and collect the dowager, as she is playing cards with Dirk’s mother?”

  “Of course, my dear.” With a slight smile, he cupped her chin. “Your husband would be proud of how you handled the situation, and I am certain Caroline will be fine.”

  “I pray you are right.” As the servants rushed into action, Lenore ascended the grand staircase, hurried through the gallery, traversed the long passage, joined Rebecca, and removed Caroline’s slippers. And all the while, she tried not to gape at the ever-growing crimson stain on the front of Caroline’s dress. “I am worried, as she is so pale.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” Rebecca eased to the edge of the mattress. “And I fear she is miscarrying the babe.” She caressed Caroline’s cheek. “Poor darling. It will devastate her, and the pain will follow her for years to come.”

  “Blake told me of your loss.” Lenore revisited the daring tale of the lady spy. “I am very sorry. If this is too difficult for you, I will sit with her.”

  “On the contrary, I would not leave her for anything in the world.” Rebecca brushed hair from Caroline’s face. “You have done well in this family, Lenore. In strenuous circumstances, you have assumed your rightful place at the helm, and I hope you know how glad we are that you are here.”

  “Thank you.” She remembered the old days, when her father was alive. They were only three, but they were close. Now, she had grown protective of her new relations. “Should we change her into a nightgown?”

  “She would certainly be more comfortable.” Rebecca walked to the armoire. “I believe she keeps a few personal items here, as she often spends the night, along with the children, when Blake and Trevor are at sea.”

  Caroline moaned and then rolled onto her side, revealing more blood, and Lenore fought for composure. While her sister-in-law gritted her teeth, Lenore held Caroline’s hand. Not a moment too soon, Dr. Handley dashed into the quarters, just as Caroline writhed and screamed.

  “Merciful heavens.” The physician grimaced and pressed his palm to her forehead. “Her ladyship is fevered.”

  “We were going to clean and dress her in something more comfortable,” Lenore explained. “Tell me what to do, as I am at your service.”

  Clutching her belly, Caroline scrunched her face and moaned. “My baby.”

  “I need a large basin.” Dr. Handley shed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and washed his hands. “Prop her on the pillows, and give her something on which to bite down, as this will be painful.”

  As Mrs. Parker directed the household, the staff moved with the precision of a well-organized troop movement. With the requisite supplies at the ready, Dr. Handley presided over one of the saddest experiences Lenore had ever witnessed—the loss of life yet realized, and she mourned for Trevor and Blake, who remained blissfully unaware of the tragedy. Holding Caroline, as she wrenched and heaved, Lenore offered support and succor, but nothing could compensate for the incalculable agony.

  “What happened?” Sarah entered the room, glanced at her daughter, and pressed a clenched fist to her mouth. “Oh, no.”

  “Here.” Rebecca slid from the bed. “You sit with her, and I will return to the morning room, to wait with the others.”

  The dowager positioned at the opposite side, kissed Caroline’s temple, and twined her fingers with Lenore’s. After a couple of tortuous hours, the lamentable deed was done, yet Caroline deteriorated, and Dr. Handley drew Lenore and Sarah into the sitting room.

  “The Countess of Lockwood is afflicted with some sort of infection, and it has taken rapid hold, such that I am concerned for her ability to overcome it.” The doctor whisked off his spectacles and wiped his eyes. To Lenore, he said, “Your Grace, I recommend the removal of the other ladies, especially those who are increasing and and those with small children at home.”

  “I will speak with them,” Sarah replied. “They may not resist, if I deliver the petition.”

  “That is a wise course.” Dr. Handley took the dowager by the wrist and led her to the door. “And Your Grace should depart with them.”

&nb
sp; “What?” Sarah yanked free. “You wish me to abandon my daughter when she needs me most?”

  “No.” It dawned on Lenore that Caroline was in grave danger, such that even the dowager was at risk, so she had to think fast to minimize the threat. “You abandon no one, given you will move to the Lockwood residence and tend your grandchildren, as without their mother they are alone but for the nanny and the staff.”

  For a few minutes, Sarah just stood there. She gazed at Caroline and then snapped to attention. “I shall leave immediately.” But the dowager drew up short. “You will take care of her, and give her my love when she wakes.”

  “You may depend upon it.” Lenore managed a brittle smile. “As she is my sister.”

  #

  A brisk breeze rustled his hair, as Blake, brimming with anticipation, stood on the quarterdeck. The Tristan sailed past the North Forelands, which marked the entrance to the Thames estuary, and Portman signaled the shore watch. In five hours, he would dock at Deptford. Shortly thereafter, he would weigh anchor in Lenore’s honey harbor, all the way to London.

  But since he had three hundred minutes—yes, he counted, to endure until the much prayed for reunion with his wife, he busied himself with the tasks expected of a ship returning to port.

  In his cabin, he gathered his maps and charts, bathed, groomed, dressed in fresh clothes, and packed his trunk. Yet no meager occupation could tamp his excitement or hunger for his duchess, and he struggled to muster an air of authority, while burdened with the most stubborn erection known to humanity.

  And so he marked the passage of time with the sun’s journey in the sky, pacing the waist as the crew worked. “You there, clean the smudge from the lantern.”

  “Aye, sir.” The tar saluted.

  “Cagle, batten down the rain barrels.” Blake scrutinized the flemished falls and the polished grain of the boards. But every heretofore-innocuous item served only to remind him of some aspect of Lenore’s naked body and a new position he would employ to invade her fertile landscape. In a vain attempt to cool his heated blood, he grabbed a ladle and filled it with water. Just as he was about to take a sip, his first mate snatched the wooden utensil.

  “Cap’n, what are you doing?” Portman frowned and tossed the liquid back into the container. “That is saltwater, for washing, and it will give you a wicked bellyache and more, which I suspect your pretty bride will not appreciate.”

  “Bloody hell.” Blake raked his fingers through his hair and groused in disgust. “I am distracted.”

  “No, you are as randy as a rutting midshipman on his first shore leave.” Portman folded her arms and snorted. “Now do us all a favor and station on the poop deck, before you run us aground, as I would make it home in one piece, and I am in no mood for a swim.”

  “I should break your teeth for that.” But Blake could not deny the truth, so he chuckled and found a measure of relief in the absurdity, and Trevor’s sage counsel proved correct. “The deck is yours, Portman. Get me back to my lady, else I may run amok.”

  By the time the Tristan steered into the East India docks, Blake was raring to go, and he spied his duchess waving furiously. The ship lurched at anchor, the crew prepared the mainsail hull, and fueled by an emotional tide he charged down the gangplank and into Lenore’s embrace.

  “Blake.” To his abiding delight, she covered his face in flirty kisses and then claimed his mouth in a searing affirmation of her devotion, and he could have cried as he lifted her in his arms and rotated. “How I have missed you.”

  “Oh, let me look at you, as I could eat you, alive.” For several seconds, he studied each and every curve and angle of her stunning profile, the splendor of which would shame Aphrodite, and then he cupped her cheek and steeled himself. “Lenore, I love you.”

  That earned him a squeal of delight, an inexpressibly arresting smile, and she shone bright as a gold guinea. “My adored sea captain, I love you, too.”

  The delicate assault she waged on his mouth was the stuff of poetry, as the earth shifted, the heavens aligned, and a collective of chubby cherubs played their harps, fired their arrows, and sprinkled their magic dust, swaddling them in a diaphanous shroud impervious to corporeal influences. And although Blake’s thoughts had focused on the more physical enjoyments of marriage, prior to his arrival, in that instant, in the glorious glow of their reunion, all he wanted to do was hold his wife and relish her mere presence.

  “Say it again.” He closed his eyes and rested his chin to the crown of her brown curls.

  “I love you, Blake.” She hugged him about his waist, and that homecoming was like none he had ever experienced.

  “I love you, too. And I apologize for asking you to eschew emotional displays, as it led you to labor under the mistaken assumption that I wanted not your declaration.” The subtle honeysuckle scent of her favorite perfume teased his nose, and he inhaled a deep breath. “Never let a day go by without your tender proclamation, my darling duchess, as it feeds my soul to hear it.”

  “And I would ask the same of you.” To his chagrin, she drew back. “Blake, there is something I need to tell you, and I should do so, at once, because we must break the news to Trevor.”

  “What is wrong?” A chill of dread penetrated the fire of desire. “Is it Mama or Caroline?”

  “Yes, it is your sister.” Lenore furrowed her brow and proceeded to impart a woeful account, and the joy in his heart yielded to despair, as he learned what the past sennight wrought on his family. “Yet you must worry not, as Caroline is much improved, and Dr. Handley no longer maintains a vigil, but she is still too ill to be moved, so she remains at Elliott House.”

  “And the babe?” When Lenore made no verbal response, and merely shook her head, he clenched his gut. “Oh, no.” He glanced at Trevor, who searched frantically for his wife. “I need to tell him, but I will wait until we are in the coach.” Blake flagged a sailor from his crew. “Have Lord Lockwood’s men deliver his trunk to my rig.”

  “Aye, sir.” The tar made his obedience.

  “Are you all right?” Lenore leaned into his side, as they navigated the wharf. “I am so sorry to burden you with such ill tidings on an otherwise jubilant occasion.”

  “It is not your fault, darling.” Blake braced, as his brother-in-law approached.

  “Has anyone seen my countess, as she is never late, and our carriage is not here?” Trevor asked.

  “Join us, as we will give you a ride.” Blake caught Trevor by the elbow. “And my sister is at Elliott House.”

  Trevor came to an abrupt halt and pinned Blake with a lethal stare. “Just tell me one thing. Is she alive?”

  “She is on the mend, but let us discuss it in private.” Blake handed Lenore into the rig and eased into the squabs beside her. Once Trevor was settled, and the journey commenced, Blake set about the difficult task of relaying the information, but it was recounting the miscarriage that broke his heart. Focused on the landscape, Trevor maintained a stiff upper lip, but a single teardrop coursed his cheek.

  When Blake feared he could stand no more, Lenore twined her little finger with his, as had become their habit prior to their wedding, and soothing warmth spread, investing his muscles and relaxing his frayed nerves. In that seemingly inconsequential contact he drew a wealth of strength, and in silence he thanked whatever benevolent fate placed her in that muddy street in Brussels, so he could shower her in road muck, trample her favorite hat, and win a lifetime of incomparable devotion.

  At last, as they traversed Grosvenor Square and crossed the threshold of the entrance gates to Elliott House, Trevor jumped from the moving coach and took the steps, two at a time. If not for Lenore, Blake would have followed in Trevor’s wake. Instead, he waited for his wife, and together, they walked into the foyer.

  “Welcome home, Your Grace.” Jennings bowed. “I am happy to report that Dr. Handley departed not five minutes ago, and Lady Lockwood has no fever.”

  “That is marvelous news.” Lenore rested her palm in the
crook of his elbow. “Shall we go up and see her?”

  “Yes.” And then Blake desperately required some personal attention from his duchess. “It sounds as though she is out of danger.”

  “Then my prayers have been answered.” Lenore offered a gentle nudge. “And we should send for your mother, as she has taken care of the grandchildren but is anxious to return.”

  “I imagine so.” The polite chatter did nothing to appease him, but Blake preserved a calm façade, even as his insides manifested an ocean of raw emotions he could scarcely contain. At his sister’s old chamber, he strolled through the sitting room, set the inner door ajar, and discovered Trevor, boots and all, in bed, with Caroline nestled in his lap.

  “I want another babe, as soon as you can manage it.” Caroline sniffed.

  “My sweet Caroline, I shall endeavor to make that happen as soon as Dr. Handley grants his permission.” Trevor kissed her forehead. “Until then, let me dote on you, as I love you more than words can convey.”

  “Stop,” whispered Lenore, as she stayed Blake. “Do not disturb them.”

  Since it appeared his sibling was well on the road to recovery, Blake gazed at his wife. “Our suite—now.”

  “Your wish is my command.” With an expression of serenity, Lenore cut the perfect picture of a highborn lady. “I took the liberty of arranging dinner to be served in our apartment.”

  “How very resourceful of you, my duchess.” He just had to put one foot in front of the other, and remember to breathe, and he might persist. “What of Sir Ross and our elusive villain?”

  “He tracks three possible suspects, but he shares few details.” Her fingers tensed, belying her tranquil demeanor. “But he is positive the blackguard is a lobster, which I find rather tragic.”

  “I suppose we shall give the bastard a fair court martial and then hang him.” Unrelenting arousal beckoned, and he gritted his teeth. “We must hurry.”

  In the main hall, an upstairs maid arranged a bouquet of flowers, and she curtseyed. “Your Grace.”