Unlaced 1

by Kristina Cook

  Lucy grinned back. “You, my lord, are pressing your luck.”

  “Come, let me hold you.” He held out a hand to her, and she complied. He put his arm around her waist and they stood silently gazing out at the glorious day. Sparrows flitted through the tree before them, calling out gaily to one another. One alighted on the windowpane, cocking its head to the side as it appraised the room’s occupants. Obviously unimpressed, it flew off with a chirrup to join its companions.

  Lucy was awash in happy contentment, wishing she could remain there all day, watching the world go by outside the window. She sighed contentedly and leaned into Henry’s side.

  “This is my favorite time of year, you know,” he finally said, breaking the companionable silence.

  “Is it?” She looked up to his profile, taking in the noble lines of his proud nose, his full lips, his strong chin. Her heart fluttered in her breast at the sight.

  He nodded in reply and reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers. “When I was a boy our village held an annual autumn fair, just after everyone returned from Town. I’ve no idea why they stopped holding it.” He looked down at her and smiled. “Perhaps I should look into renewing the tradition.”

  “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

  He looked pensive. “It gives the local nobility an opportunity to mix with the townsfolk, the farmers. To see their children, speak with them. Perhaps then they’ll understand why educating them is so necessary.”

  “I know Lord Rosemoor wholeheartedly agrees with you. Perhaps word of your local efforts will aid your cause in Parliament.”

  “You’re right. I’ll speak with Rosemoor as soon as he returns from London.”

  “They returned just yesterday, with some exciting news, at that.”

  He looked down at her curiously. “Tell me.”

  “Susanna is engaged. To Mr. Richard Merrill.”

  “Is that so? Are the Rosemoors pleased with the match?”

  “They’re delighted. Apparently it’s a love match—something sparked at your sister’s house party and the two have been courting ever since. They’ll be married in little over a month’s time. I’ll stay for the nuptials, and then...” Her voice trailed off and she looked down at her hands. She felt her chest contract. “And then I must return home.” How would she do it? How would she leave him, knowing she’d never again see his face?

  Henry’s gaze remained fixed on the window. “How do you find Covington Hall?”

  “It’s lovely, Henry.” She’d never before seen a grander home.

  “It pleases you, then?” His brows were drawn.

  “How could it not?”

  Henry only nodded, almost distractedly. He cleared his throat and turned toward her purposefully, reaching for her hand with a smile.

  He opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again as a distinctly feminine voice sounded just outside the door. “I got halfway to town when I realized I’d left my reticule in my room. Here, let me look in on Henry one last time.”

  Lucy looked to Henry with panicked eyes.

  No!

  The door swung open and Lady Mandeville stood there openmouthed. Her look of utter surprise was quickly replaced by a twisted mask of fury as her cold eyes swept the room and took in the scene before her.

  “Why, you little slut,” she spat out. “What do you think you’re doing, sneaking around here? Get out! Get out at once, before I—”

  “No, Mother, you get out.” Henry released Lucy’s hand and strode angrily across the room, glowering at the despicable woman. Lucy scuttled to the window, gripping the pane with damp palms.

  “What do you mean, get out?” Lady Mandeville narrowed her eyes at Lucy. “This is my home.”

  “This is my home, Mother, and if you have a problem with Lucy’s presence here, then I suggest you remove yourself at once.”

  “Do you mean to say...am I to believe that you are choosing this...this piece of baggage over your own mother? Your own flesh and blood?”

  Henry nodded savagely. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Lucy was too shocked to speak, to move. She remained by the window, wondering why she had ever thought Lady Mandeville handsome. She was nothing short of ordinary, and with her features contorted as they were right now, she was even unattractive.

  “And what shall I tell Lord Corning? How will the duke take the news that his future son-in-law enjoys dalliances in the country whilst Lady Helena remains in Town?”

  Henry shrugged. “I don’t care what you tell Lord Corning. I’m not marrying Lady Helena. Yes, Corning and I discussed the possibility, but we never entered into an agreement. In fact, before I left London for Nottinghamshire, I paid the duke a call and told him my intentions. Towards Lucy, that is.”

  Lucy’s heart soared, her veins flooded at once with relief and delight.

  The color drained from Lady Mandeville’s face. Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed to slits as she visibly quivered with rage. “Still a weakling, no better than your fool of a father,” she spat out. “You came so close, so very close to becoming the man he should’ve been. You could have had Lady Helena Waring, the darling of the ton, and all the benefits of her connections and wealth. By God, if she wouldn’t do, you could have had Lady Charlotte instead. Indeed, you had your pick of the ton’s finest ladies. But no, instead you choose this.”

  Lucy shrunk back against the window’s casing, her back pressed against the glass as Lady Mandeville’s vicious gaze returned to her, her cold eyes filled with disgust.

  “You’re a fool, Henry Ashton. I did my best to keep her away, you know. After your accident, Eleanor insisted she write to her. I offered to post the letter to this...this creature,” she sputtered, “and I put it in the fire instead, where it belonged.”

  With a roar, Henry kicked a spindle-legged chair, and sent it flying against the wall with a splinter of wood.

  “How dare you, Mother!” a voice called out.

  Lucy looked to the doorway and saw Lady Worthington there, clutching the cut-glass door handle, her cheeks stained scarlet.

  “How dare you take up for her, Eleanor!” She turned on her daughter, her face livid. “Haven’t I taught you anything? Do you want the Mandeville title to remain in obscurity forever? Do you want our family name tarnished by a mere country nobody like this?”

  “Miss Abbington is as fine a lady as I’ve ever met,” came Lady Worthington’s vehement reply. “And if anyone’s tarnished the family name, it’s you.”

  “Get out,” Henry growled, stepping toward his mother menacingly, his hands balled into fists by his sides. “By God, you better remove yourself from my sight this instant or I swear I’ll—”

  “Henry, don’t. Your injury,” Lady Worthington chastised, reaching for his arm. “She will go.”

  “I won’t be so easily dismissed,” Lady Mandeville bit out through clenched teeth.

  “Is that so?” Henry retorted. “Much to the contrary, Mother, it appears that you have been dismissed.”

  “Come, I’ll help you pack your trunks,” Lady Worthington said sharply.

  Lady Mandeville’s head snapped from her son to her daughter, and then back again, her face awash in fury. “You’ll come to regret his, Henry. Mark my words.” She whirled around and stormed out of the room, her slippers tapping an angry staccato down the hall.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Abbington,” Lady Worthington said. “You must excuse me. I’ll see that she’s off at once, Henry.” With a sigh, she followed her mother out.

  Henry stood in the doorway facing Lucy, his features an unreadable blank.

  A smile began to form at the corners of Lucy’s mouth and then spread slowly across her face. Her heart pounded so erratically that she feared it might burst.

  Henry opened his arms and Lucy rushed into them. She pressed her cheek against the soft linen of his shirt, her eyes closed tightly. Inhaling his scent, she could feel the heat of him seeping through the cloth, warming her face,
spreading down to her toes.

  Neither of them spoke. They stood—clasped together, their hearts beating in perfect rhythm—for what seemed an eternity.

  “I suppose we’re all alone,” he said with a smile.

  Lucy tilted up her chin. Tingles raced up her spine at the mischievous glint in his eyes.

  “Good,” she answered. “Then kiss me.”

  “You realize your reputation will be in tatters?” Henry said with a grin. “The door is wide open, and servants talk.”

  Lucy only shrugged. “Amazingly enough, I find that I no longer care what anyone says about me.”

  “Is that so?” He pulled her closer still, and Lucy could feel the rigid proof of his desire pressing against her.

  His mouth took hers, roughly, possessively. Their bodies melded into one as their breaths mingled, and she opened to him, boldly invading his mouth with her own tongue.

  At last he drew away, and it took Lucy several seconds to recover her breath and regain her equilibrium. He reached for her chin and tipped it up, his hands stroking her burning cheeks as his eyes sought hers.

  “I hope that you can someday forget the words my mother said here today. If she’d been a man, I’d have called her out. As it is, she’s lucky I didn’t wring her neck.”

  Lucy reached her hand up to his mouth, covering his lips with her fingertips. “Shh. No more. It’s forgotten.” She stepped back and smiled broadly at him. His eyes searched hers, full of questions. She answered them with her own gaze, drinking in his deep blue eyes as if she’d never get enough, certain that all the love she felt for him must be evident in her countenance. For how could it not be? She was practically bursting with it. She loved this man so deeply, so completely, with every last inch of her being, right down to the very core of her soul. He made the world a more colorful place, the sun shine more brightly, the moon glow more intensely.

  As if he’d read her mind, he spoke at last. “I love you, Lucy Abbington—so desperately it hurts.”

  She sucked in her breath as he sank to one knee, took one of her hands in his and placed it against his cheek.

  His eyes sought hers, and the intensity—the raw emotion—she saw in them made her breath hitch in her chest. “I never understood the value of love,” he continued. “I always thought it was something to be avoided, something that would hobble a man. But now I see I was wrong.” He turned her hand over and gently kissed the palm.

  “I admire you more than I’ve ever admired anyone, and I want nothing more than to love you till my dying breath.” He peered up into her face. “Please say something, Lucy. I can’t stand it another second, wondering if you feel the same.”

  At once she burst into tears. At last she’d heard the words she’d been so very desperate to hear. She couldn’t think clearly...couldn’t speak. Her relief was nearly too much to bear.

  Henry rose awkwardly and released her hand. He stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Lucy forced herself to staunch her tears, to find the words to set his mind at ease. She reached blindly for his hand, brought it to her heart.

  “Of course I love you, Henry. More than I ever imagined I could love anyone. Dear God, when I thought I’d lost you...” She shook her head wildly. “I couldn’t have borne it.”

  He folded her into his arms and clutched her head to his heart. He kissed her hair and took a deep, ragged breath. “Say it again.”

  “I love you, Henry.”

  He smiled then, and for the first time since she’d met him, the shadows lifted from the blue depths of his eyes and the furrow in his brow smoothed out. It was as if all his troubles had been erased.

  Chapter 25

  “Slow down, Henry, this isn’t a race.” Lucy laughed as she skipped to catch up to him.

  He immediately shortened his stride to match hers. “Sorry. You’ve no idea how good it feels to be outside again, breathing fresh air. It’s a beautiful day.”

  “It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Lucy tilted her face up to the perfect, cloudless sky. She was certain that Covington Hall’s park was perhaps the loveliest in all of England. The hum of crickets filled the air and the scent of honeysuckle carried pleasantly on the breeze. They passed through a cluster of flowering autumn cherry, tender pink blossoms littering the ground beneath their feet. A song thrush called out gaily, as if it were heralding Henry’s return.

  It had been a lovely week since Lady Mandeville’s hasty departure from Covington Hall, and they’d been able to properly court. Lucy had come each day to spend the afternoon with him, beginning with a short turn in the garden and invariably ending with a cup of tea and a game of chess—usually under the watchful yet approving eyes of Lady Worthington. They hadn’t spoken much, just enjoyed the companionable silence, and Henry grew stronger each day.

  Yet there was something inexplicably different about him today, some new gleam in his eye. A palpable air of expectation, perhaps because today the physician had at last given Henry leave to venture beyond the garden. Finally he could escape out to his estate’s vast park, so long as he was careful not to overtax himself.

  As he was doing right now.

  “Slow down, Henry. Please, you’ll overexert yourself and then where will you be?”

  He didn’t slow his pace one bit.

  “Back in the bed again, that’s where,” she called out after him. She huffed and hurried to catch up as he began ascending a steep, grassy slope. They’d been walking for nearly an hour. She shook her head and quickened her gait. “Where are we going?”

  “There’s something I want to show you. It’s not much further.” She noticed his breathing becoming a bit labored.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this? Come, let’s go back down to the glen and rest a bit. It’s lovely by the river, Henry.”

  He stopped and smiled. “I love it when you call me by my given name. Besides, I’m certain I can make it. I’ve done it hundreds of times, oftentimes in no better physical condition than I am now. Come now, Luce, stop acting like a nursemaid. Here, watch your step. The brush gets a bit thick. We’re nearly there.”

  Lucy lifted her skirts above her ankles and picked her way through the brambles, following him further and further up the slope. At last, they crested the hill. Lucy blinked and shook her head. She could only gasp at the magnificent sight before her.

  The ruins of a small, stone chapel crowned the grassy hill, the sun slanting through the one wall that was still standing and casting long shadows on the ground. She dashed to the center of the ruins and stood amidst the moss-covered stones, her hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun as she gazed off to the horizon. She squinted, her breath catching in her chest. Could it be...? Yes! She could see the sea in the distance.

  She shivered as tiny pricks of gooseflesh rose on her arms. The place felt magical, enchanted, as if something wholly good radiated from the ground, gathering her in its comforting embrace. She untied her bonnet and tossed it to the ground, then opened her arms wide and spun in a circle, lifting her face to the sky.

  “You like it?” Henry called out, laughing easily as he joined her at the summit.

  She stopped spinning and looked to him with a grin. “It’s wonderful, Henry. Just what is this place?”

  “I’ve no idea. No one’s ever mentioned it and I’ve kept it my secret, my hideaway. I used to come here as a child. I brought Eleanor once, but she didn’t see the magic in the place. I’d sit up here for hours, gazing at the sea, drawing, dreaming. I haven’t been here in years.”

  “I love it, Henry.”

  “I knew you would. Come, you must see this.”

  She followed him to a tree on the far side of the clearing. The bark had been peeled away near the base, leaving a smooth, bald surface. Henry reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief and then gently rubbed the wood till it shined. “There, can you see it?”

  She peered closely and saw it—a crude, childish carving of a figure on a winged horse. She looked more sharpl
y and saw that the figure was a woman, curls streaming out behind her, a halo encircling her head. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s you. I never before realized it until I saw you standing there in the ruins, your hair shimmering like a halo in the sun. It’s you, it was always you.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “When I came here as a boy I always imagined the same vision, the same image that I carved here into this tree. A beautiful young woman with golden curls would be my savior. She’d ride up on her winged horse and use her magical powers to heal me, to make me strong and whole. I’d walk down from here a new person, able to finally enjoy life, enthusiastically, without reservation.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “But what does that have to do with me?”

  “You were my vision, Lucy. I’ve imagined you, dreamt of you, drawn you my entire life. Don’t you see? You’ve healed my heart, made me whole again. With the knowledge of your love, I’ll walk down from here today a new man, a changed man.”

  Lucy felt a lump form in her throat. “This place must truly be magical, for I feel it, too. Yes, there must be magic in the air.” She looked to the heavens, felt the bright sun warm her face. “Kiss me, Henry. Make me yours, forever, right here in this enchanted place.”

  He did kiss her, slowly, tenderly, lovingly. Finally, he drew away from her, untying his cravat. He unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat and shrugged them off, his eyes never leaving hers. Eagerly, she reached for the buttons on his shirt and began undoing them, one by one, and peeled away the linen in anticipation. She flinched when she saw his wound, now nothing more than an angry red scar. Tentatively, she reached for it, traced a finger down the raised surface. She moved closer, touching her lips to it. She drew her mouth away and unfastened her pelisse with trembling hands.

  Time seemed to stand still as he came to her. He released her hair from its pins, and reached behind her to unfasten the row of buttons on her frock. With one small tug at the shoulders, it fell to the ground with a swish. She stepped out of the rose-colored folds and stood before him in nothing but her thin cotton shift, stockings, and boots.