Lady Featherstone's Fervent Affair

by Cerise DeLand

  Serving luncheon, Charles placed before Lacy a bowl of the stew Lacy had prepared herself early that morning. “The road from here to town is dry. The riverbanks have receded, too.

  The coach to London is running again.”

  Wes raised his gaze to Lacy but asked of his man, “When did it resume?”

  “John Topper said day before yesterday.”

  Lacy bit her lower lip and considered her dinner. “When you went to buy the ale today, did he give you any news of the post?”

  “Mail went out three days ago. John expects our delivery here restored tomorrow.”

  Charles glanced sideways at Lacy.

  Wes smarted at the look. What was that? His man was not still making advances on Lacy, was he? Would Charles dare to touch Lacy now? Now that he knew she slept in Wes’ bed? Now that he knew what Wes planned for tomorrow? Still, the incident shook him. Good thing you have made arrangements with the vicar or you would be fit for bedlam with your worry over her reputation.

  “Thank you, Charles,” he instructed in his commander’s voice. “We are well served. You may leave us.”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  After a minute of silence, Lacy put down her fork and inhaled deeply. “You must know he is not being bold with me.”

  Wes met her glance. “I have only one eye, but I know what I see. He gave you a look.”

  “It was…” She waved a hand.

  Wes threw down his napkin. “Do not demean yourself by telling me—”

  “If you will let me finish, Wes, I will tell you that he is concerned for me. That is what it was. Concern.”

  “He is not making himself a nuisance?” Wes’ blood pounded with the very idea.

  “No.” She put a hand over his. “Darling, stop. He is your loyal man. Always has been. He was helping me make you jealous, and now that you and I are one, he is done with paying me attention. Besides Charles has confided in me that he cares deeply for a maid in the service of your Aunt Amaryllis Stanhope.”

  Wes felt mollycoddled and grumbled. “It’s true. Patsy O’Shea is a parlor maid in my aunt’s house in Park Lane. She served briefly in my father’s house, but Aunt Amaryllis took her a few years ago when she needed new staff.”

  “So there you have it!” Lacy lifted both shoulders, a smile wreathing her face. “You should let them marry, you know. Suggest it, in fact.”

  Wes frowned at her once more. “I doubt my Aunt Amaryllis needs a sergeant who—”

  He shut his mouth with a snap. And smiled. “I see your line of thought.”

  “Wonderful.” She beamed at him.

  “You think we need a maid?” He took Lacy’s hand in his own.

  “I believe we will,” she said with an air of expectation to her tone. “You are not sending me away—”

  “No. Never.” He picked up her hand and put his lips to her palm.

  “And though the sun is shining, darling, I certainly am not inclined to pack my bag and go.”

  “As if you ever intended to leave,” he said with rueful joy.

  “There you have it! So you see, if I am staying and we are, shall we say, living together, then don’t you think we should—”

  “Get married. I do. I definitely do, Lady Featherstone.”

  She got the most sublime expression on her face. “Please say that again.”

  He pulled her from her seat and put his chair around to take her upon his lap. There, with her warm, giving body in his possession, he brushed a tendril of her silken hair from her cheek and smiled at her. “I have not much to give you, darling. In fact, I fear for what I, and therefore we, might become. I am a proud man and broken.”

  She put a finger across his lips and shook her head.

  He took her hand away. “Listen to me, sweetheart. I love you. And I find that shocking at my age, for I have never loved another woman. To care for one so young and innocent astounds me. I thought I was such a man of the world.” He smiled sadly. “But I have my limits, like other men. This war and these injuries shake my confidence in me.”

  She would have objected again, but he stopped her.

  “Let me speak, Lacy. I can take you to bed, and I can love you until we are both mad with it. God knows, you have a taste for me that I am gratified to see.”

  “And feel.”

  He nodded. “And feel. But there were sights on the fields that stay with me. Sights I had seen before but never affected me so sorely. The military is how I have made my way, but I do not relish it or war. In fact, I wish to end it. End it all as quickly as possible. And yet to accomplish that objective, I must face the world again, and I hope you will bear with me to do it.

  I promise little but my love and devotion to you and any children we may be fortunate to have.

  But I cannot promise to be the man you met at my brother’s house, nor danced with at the assemblies. That man is not here. Still, he asks if you will marry him. I love you, Lacy. Will you,” he asked with measured tone, “marry me?”

  “I will. As you were, I loved you, Wes. As you are, I love you. And as you will become, I will love you, too, my darling.” She kissed him quickly, deeply and wound her arms around his neck.

  Outside, a clattering of horses’ hooves sounded on the drive.

  Wes cocked his head, wondering who this could be. The vicar had no carriage and was not to come until tomorrow. But Wes sighed and focused once more on the woman in his arms.

  He cupped her chin and admired her face. “I hope you are never sorry, Lacy, that you agreed to this.”

  Shouts met Wes’ ears. He inclined an ear toward the front hall.

  Lacy did, too.

  Footsteps tromped up the porch. Someone rapped their knuckles on the door.

  Charles appeared, his gaze going to Wes and Lacy.

  “Open it, Charles,” Wes charged him, and the servant flung it wide to ask who was calling.

  But the man on the other side of the door waited on no such niceties but stepped into the foyer, flinging his top hat aside and scowling at Wes.

  “Good God!” Lacy shot from Wes’ lap.

  “Lacy Featherstone!” The tall, silver haired man framed in the doorway shouted at her.

  “What in hell are you doing here?”

  “Papa!” she said, hands clenched together, gathering her wits, Wes thought, as she rushed toward Lord Feather.

  “My lord.” Wes stood and lumbered toward the foyer and his newest visitor. “Please, do come in!”

  “Demmed right, I will! Only far enough to get my gel!” He shot out a hand to Lacy’s forearm.

  “No!” she cried and dug in her heels. “Papa! Stop! You must listen!”

  “I’ll not listen. I see what’s going on here. You on his lap like a hussy. Him, him!” Lord Feather advanced, brandishing a hand at Wes. “You asked for her hand. I gave it! And then what did you do but got her here and ruined her good name! Hero of Talavera! Ba!” He tugged at Lacy. “More like Cad of Talavera!”

  “Father!”

  “My lord.” Wes had reached the hall and stood nearly toe to toe with the man who tried to take his daughter home. “Please, sir.”

  “I came to him, Papa!”

  “I care not who came where or when. Only what happens now!” Feather roared down at her.

  “Papa! Stop this!” Lacy stomped her foot.

  Wes might have laughed in other circumstances. As it was, he could only inject with some semblance of reason, “Lord Featherstone, please, sir. Lacy and I are to be wed.”

  “Is that so?” Feather challenged him, his face florid with rage.

  “We are. I would have wed her days ago, but the roads have been flooded, sir. The vicar could not come. He has no coach. His cottage was surrounded by the waters, said my man when he returned. I had Charles offer the cleric one of my horses.”

  Lacy observed Wes with measured interest. “You have?”

  Wes nodded at her, her face alight with love for him.

  “Likely story!” Feather shot
back. “Get in the coach, Lacy.”

  “Sir,” Wes advanced another step on the man who would, please god, soon become his father-in-law, “Lacy and I will wed.”

  “When might that be?” the man picked at him.

  “Yes, Wes,” Lacy turned up a sparkling robin’s egg blue gaze to him. “When might that be?”

  “Tomorrow.” Wes announced. “Charles went out to arrange it with the vicar yesterday.”

  “Tomorrow,” she whispered, her countenance angelic.

  “Tomorrow,” Wes confirmed and smiled down at his bride as she came to his side, rose to tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth. “At eleven. Here.”

  Chapter Seven

  The vicar was late.

  Lacy paced her own bedroom, smoothing her pale blue gown to her hips and praying the man would come. The rains had returned, and she feared that he was marooned inside his little vicarage near the creek toward town. She, having come so far herself to brave her father’s wrath and Wes’ to have him marry her, wanted no more delays. “So much more to accomplish,” she murmured as a knock came at her door.

  “Ready, my poppet?” her father called to her.

  “Oh, yes,” she said and flung the door wide. “Come in, do.”

  Her father, a dapper man of fifty-five, stepped inside and closed the door. He towered over her, his face kindly and concerned as he kissed her cheek. “You look lovely. Though I would have preferred to see you wed in London in a proper ceremony.”

  “This is proper. Wes would not have come to me. You see that, don’t you?”

  “How changed he is? I see he is not as jovial. War does that to a man, you must realize.”

  She nodded. “I do. He has nightmares. During the day, too, he will relive moments which he refuses to share with me.”

  “Perhaps he is wise not to burden you.”

  “I love him. What happens to him is no burden to me. I want him well and happy, doing what he was trained to do.”

  “You mean return to his men?” Her father blinked, astonished. “Well, I would say the wounds, aside from the loss of his eye, are not severe. The arm will heal with use. The ankle, too, I daresay. Broke one when I was his age, and it came to rights.”

  “His spirits are what I wish to improve.”

  Her father lifted her chin and peered into her eyes. “You are a willful woman, my dear child. You may have to do no more than wait for him to come around. You are a tonic for him, I would think.”

  “Thank you. I agree. But I have a few plans to improve his attitude quickly.”

  “If he loves you, and I believe he does, then it will do him well just to marry you. Love makes all the difference in your life.”

  She tipped her head to consider the sire she had always adored. Her parents had made no secret of the fact that neither loved the other. “I wish you had had that opportunity.”

  He fidgeted, reaching for his pocket watch and staring at the time. “I did once. I am not proud to say I let it pass me by.”

  Surprised by that revelation, she waited for the explanation.

  “We let circumstances part us. I was a fool to let her go.”

  “What was the reason? Money? Position?”

  He frowned. “Fear.”

  “Of?”

  He drew himself up and shook his head. “A family curse.”

  How many families could claim such a disaster? “A family curse? No! Not…this family?

  The Stanhopes?”

  “The same. We must go down now.”

  “But I want to know more!” She was being led along by her father’s persuasive hand.

  “You shall. Some day. When I have the courage to tell you what an idiot I was to believe that love could not cure a curse.”

  “I believe it can,” she told him at the top of the stairs.

  He grinned down at her. “I know you do, poppet. I am proud you have acted to prove to Wesley that love is more powerful than anything else.”

  “I have more to accomplish on that score, I’m afraid.”

  “You do. But you are a determined woman.”

  She smiled weakly. “I am.”

  “The better to stand your ground with a Stanhope.”

  We shall see very soon just how well I can do that.

  * * * *

  For a man who was used to leading cavalry charges, Wes was shocked he had a case of nerves before his wedding.

  Of course, the vicar was late. In the eight years since he’d been appointed, the man had never made a service, a baptism or a funeral on time. A wedding was no small difference to a man like that.

  Wes fumed and paced the great hall before the fire. Bad enough we are to wed up here in the country, far from the friends and relatives whom Lacy should have had applauding this marriage. He sighed. His two brothers would not be pleased at Wes’ haste. Jack, the oldest, insisted on performing the familial functions that their father had never taken up. Though Jack himself remained unmarried, he did aim for sibling solidarity. So, too, did Adam their youngest brother. Now married for the second time to a woman who was a vast improvement in temperament from his first wife, Adam took a keen interest in his two older brothers, inviting them often to dinner and receptions in Berkeley Square.

  Now, the family would add Lacy Stanhope to their circle.

  Wes prayed he could be worthy of her. Yes, he knew that when he’d proposed to her she had a sizable dowry coming to her on her marriage. He had not refused it then. He would not now. With only his pension as income and this house to live in, he would have to take the money to make Lacy’s life bearable. Perhaps, over time, if he got his mare to breed, he would be able to earn enough to keep them in some semblance of comfort.

  He strode to the window. The rain was coming down again and making his ankle ache.

  His once broken arm, too. He rubbed his shoulder. If he was prudent with his money, he might make a decent living from the mess of his life. And if Lacy leaves me because I cannot give her what she needs? He squeezed his eye shut. So be it. I have saved her reputation for her. That, above all, is the best thing I can do for her to ensure she lives well. With me. Or without me.

  Charles appeared from the kitchen, a tray of glasses in his hands. He had been laying out a cold luncheon for all of them to have after the ceremony. The hams, sausages and cheeses, plus the whiskey, would make the afternoon warmer and more convivial than the weather, certainly.

  “Sir, I put a soup on. The damp is chilling.”

  “Good idea, Charles.”

  Wes squinted at the apparition coming up the drive. “Whose carriage did the vicar say he would borrow?”

  “A barouche from the farrier, sir.”

  “Odd. Looks like the four in hand from the inn.”

  Charles put down his tray on the table and strode to the front door. As he opened it, Wes heard chatter among those in the coach.

  “Is this the vicar?” Lacy asked as she descended the staircase with her father at her side.

  Wes turned to look at her. With her pale hair caught up in delicate curls atop her head, she wore an empire gown of blue, a shade lighter than her eyes. The angelic vision she presented humbled Wes. Made him proud to claim her, though he knew their marital road ahead was not smooth or happy. “We are not certain.”

  Charles walked out to the porch and to Wes’ surprise addressed the figure climbing down from the conveyance.

  “My lady? Welcome, if we had known you were coming…” His voice drifted off in the din of the rain, as he offered his hand up to the woman then to another. Behind them was another figure in the coach.

  “Who are these people?” Lord Featherstone asked Wes, a measure of alarm and irritation in his tone.

  “I have no idea, my lord,” Wes told him as he made for the foyer. He had invited no one.

  Never did. So who this was— “Good god! It’s my aunt.”

  “Amaryllis?” asked Lacy.

  “Amaryllis?” echoed her father.

  “Yes,” Wes sho
t forward to bring his aunt in from the rain. “I have only one aunt.” He went for the lady and offered his arm. “Aunt, do come inside, my dear. It is hideous out here.”

  He brought her in and took her wrapper. Looking her over, he grinned at the woman who never failed to amuse him. Her height so near to his own, her auburn hair so like his, her face so similar to his fascinated him. Rather like looking at the family heritage to see yourself so much reflected in another person’s form and demeanor. She grinned at him, liking the resemblance, he was certain, herself.

  Amaryllis stomped and brushed off the raindrops. “I hope you have some spirits, Wesley.

  I am cold as hell and so is my maid.” She turned, surrendering her coat to Charles who kept glancing back at the maid.

  Wes had to chuckle. “Charles, do leave the coats for later. Pour our new guests a straight draught, will you? Yes, man. I mean Patsy, too.”

  Wes examined the servant girl standing just inside the entrance. With her carrot-topped hair and ivory skin, Wes could see how Charles found the Irish lass attractive. Here’s hoping she had a personality as sunny as her looks, and if she did, Charles would be the luckier. Wes pursed his lips. But then I should suggest he marry her, shouldn’t I? Let him free to do so.

  The manly figure standing behind Patsy cleared his throat to announce his presence to the group so taken with Patsy and Amaryllis.

  “My god, man!” Wes blinked, not believing what he saw. Whom he saw. One of his junior officers dressed in the royal blue field coat of the King’s Hussars, his shako under his arm in respect for his senior officer, his colonel. “Captain Hawritch? What are you doing here? Come in. Do come in!” Wes shook the man’s hand and led him inside the foyer. “Close the door, Charles. Captain, where have you come from? Surely not London!”

  “Indeed, I have, sir. Straight from Whitehall.” The younger man surveyed the group and bowed as was proper for his station. “Your servant,” he said to all.

  Wes could not understand the bounty that had befallen him. Especially on his wedding day. He’d make the best of it, having Charles bring out more food and wine. Then too, he’d somehow find a way to make up this infernal embarrassment to Lacy. But as he turned to look at her, she gazed with unbridled interest at Hawritch. And Wes frowned.