It Happened One Season

by Stephanie Laurens

  “Flattered,” he said. “You are not worthy of me, then, Cleo? Is that what this is all about? You are not worthy of me? You are worthless, unlovely, dull, ineligible, old?”

  Her eyes brightened with tears, but almost simultaneously sparked with anger.

  “Of course I am worthy,” she cried with more vehemence than he had ever heard from her before. “I am a person. I am me. And perhaps beneath the skin I am as beautiful as the most lovely person you could name. Of course I am worthy. Stand back. You are too close. You did not rent a house as you said you would. You were going to end our affair. You have had second thoughts about it. You no longer want me after yesterday afternoon. It does not matter. Maybe you are not worthy of me. Stand back.”

  He kissed her. Hard and openmouthed. But she did not relent.

  He raised his head, took a step back, and clasped his hands behind him.

  “Yes,” he said, “I would have ended the affair even if you had not, Cleo. I could not do it. There was no moral objection. There is no reason in the world why you and I cannot enjoy each other if we choose. Except for one. I want you as my wife, not my lover. And I want that for only one reason that matters. Having children with you is not that reason. The fact that I love you is.”

  She blinked back tears again, though the anger had not gone from her face.

  “You see what I mean?” she said. “Kindness. Do you not see that this is worse than bluntness? Cleo must be reassured. She must not be made to feel rejected. She must not be made to feel that she in not worthy of a good man’s regard. I do not need this, Jack. I am strong enough to live my life my way. I always have been. Aubrey made me unhappy, but he did not destroy me. Meeting you again and loving you again will not destroy me either. I will not have you feeling guilty.”

  He regarded her silently, and she looked defiantly back.

  “Meeting me again and loving me again?” he said softly.

  She bit her lower lip.

  “A slip of the tongue,” she said. “But you must have known. It must have been painfully obvious. Of course I loved you. I always have. And I probably always will. But that is my concern. It need not concern you.”

  “I am to believe you, then, am I?” he asked her. “But you will not believe me? I am insulted again.”

  “Don’t, Jack,” she said. “Don’t be kind.”

  “What a mass of contradictions you are, Cleo,” he said. “Strong, independent, stubborn, invulnerable, and as ignorant of your own worth as it is possible to be. Cleo, believe me because you must believe. All of my future happiness depends upon it. And it would seem that yours does too. I love you. I believe I loved you without realizing it from the time I first knew you, though I did know it after that day I kissed you. And then I ruthlessly suppressed the feelings as rather horrifyingly inappropriate. I could not love another man’s wife. It took me a few days after we met again this year to realize that those feelings had always remained dormant, just waiting to bloom again when I saw you again. I love you, and it must be marriage between us or nothing.”

  One of his hands was splayed beside her head again. The other he kept behind his back, and he realized suddenly that two of his fingers were crossed—a long-forgotten superstition of childhood.

  “But what,” she asked him, “if I am barren?”

  “Then I will be disappointed,” he said. “I daresay you will be too. We will deal with it if that is what happens. I will never stop loving you and striving to remain happier with you than I have ever been before in my life. I don’t believe you will stop loving me. It is not in your nature not to love with your whole heart. I know that about you without any tangible proof at all. Sweetheart, Matt and Charlotte have not stopped loving each other because they cannot have more children and the four they do have are all girls. Surely you could see last evening that they are a happy, loving couple.”

  She swallowed rather awkwardly.

  “Say you will marry me,” he said. But he pushed himself away from the tree even as he said it. “No, wait a minute. Let me do this properly.”

  And he went gingerly down on one knee, noting the uneven ground and the exposed tree roots as he did so, and took her right hand in both of his.

  “Cleo, will you marry me? On the understanding that my motive is entirely selfish and concerned solely with my own happiness and yours? That love is my only motive even if it was not when I first began my search for a bride? But then I saw you, and how could anything else matter except love and the chance to reach for happiness for the rest of both our lives? Will you say you will marry me before I go rambling on even more and make an even greater ass of myself?”

  And then they were both laughing and she looked quite dazzlingly beautiful as she bent over him and kissed his upturned face.

  “How could I possibly say no now?” she said. “You would surely die of embarrassment.”

  And he surged to his feet, wrapped both arms about her waist, and swung her about in a complete circle while she shrieked and laughed.

  He set her feet back on the ground and kissed her again. As he had that very first time. As he had wanted to yesterday before lust got in the way.

  Not that he would rule out lust for their wedding night and every available night after that. Lust was a healthy expression of love, though by no means the only or even perhaps the most important one.

  Now, because they were in the middle of Hyde Park, even if they were in a secluded part of it, there was no place for lust.

  Only love.

  And so he kissed her with all the love and yearning in his heart. And he knew that she kissed him back the same way.

  “Was that a yes?” he asked against her lips after a long while.

  “It was a yes,” she said, her beautiful eyes shining back into his.

  “Good,” he said. “Let’s go and tell Charlotte and Matthew. I promised to bring you for tea if you had no other engagements. They were very taken with you last evening and congratulated me on making such a wise choice. And lest you become suspicious of that word wise, let me explain that they consider you warm and mature and capable of giving me the companionship and care and love that I apparently so richly deserve. I have very kind relatives.”

  “Well,” she said as she took the hand he offered and allowed him to lace his fingers with hers, “of course I am warm and mature and capable of all those other things and more. Of course I am beautiful and wonderful and—”

  But she had to pause to laugh. Her eyes sparkled into his as they began to walk back down the path together.

  Epilogue

  Jack walked alone on the beach at Rigdon. The sunset created an orange-and-yellow band of exquisite beauty across the still water. He wished Cleo was beside him so that they could share it.

  But she was not.

  She was at home, sleeping.

  At least, he hoped she was still asleep. She had earned the rest. She had been hard at work for almost twenty-four hours.

  Hard at labor.

  And, shockingly, it was only eight months since the grand wedding at St. George’s on Hanover Square in London that Matt had insisted upon.

  It was surprising how large premature babies could be.

  Jack smiled across the water.

  A son.

  And perfect in every imaginable way despite the anxious assurances the physician had given them that the child’s head would look less distorted and the skin of his face less patchy tomorrow.

  Their son was perfect as he was. Jack had never seen a more beautiful baby, in fact.

  He had left the house to come to the beach because he had been afraid that he might use his time while mother and son slept pestering all the servants with his enthusiasm.

  But he was going back now.

  Perhaps Alexander needed to be held.

  Or perhaps he needed to hold Alexander.

  And perhaps Cleo would wake soon and he would see in her eyes again, as he had seen earlier, tired though they had been, that her happiness w
as complete, that all lingering anxieties had been put to rest.

  Foolish Cleo. With her head she still sometimes entertained doubts about herself and his happiness with her. With her heart, of course, she knew the truth.

  The heart would eventually rule the head completely.

  He turned from the sunset toward the brighter light of home.

  And Cleo.

  And their son.

  Hope Springs Eternal

  JACQUIE D’ALESSANDRO

  Prologue

  London

  April 1816

  Dear Sir:

  Per your request to keep you informed on the whereabouts and activities of Miss Penelope Markham, I am writing to inform you that she has returned to England from the Continent. As you know, she wasn’t scheduled to do so for another two months; however, an unfortunate situation arose in Italy, one involving her making a sculpture of a most inappropriate nature, embroiling her in a scandal that resulted in her being dismissed as art instructor to Lord and Lady Bentley’s children. Given the lurid circumstances regarding this matter, I fear it will be impossible for Miss Markham to find another position, especially as she will most emphatically not receive a recommendation from Lord and Lady Bentley. Indeed, they have informed everyone in their circle of Miss Markham’s disgrace, and word of the incident has spread like wildfire, casting her in a most unfavorable light. A shame, as I understand Miss Markham possesses great artistic talent. Sadly, she clearly also possesses a rebellious, wayward streak, much to her detriment. Miss Markham arrived in London yesterday and has taken lodging at Exeter House in Covent Garden. Her future plans are unknown at this time, although given Lord and Lady Bentley’s determination, it is safe to surmise that whatever they are, they hold little promise.

  I shall await further instructions from you and remain at your disposal.

  Sincerely,

  Harold P. Wheeler, Solicitor

  Chapter One

  Alec Trentwell stood in the doorway of a dilapidated coffee house and stared across the cobblestone street at Exeter House. The faded brick facade and peeling, dull paint lent the boarding establishment a tired, worn air, much like the haggard, hollow-eyed prostitute assessing him from the adjacent alleyway. She tugged her bodice lower in invitation, filling Alec with a combination of pity and revulsion. He shook his head and she shrugged, then sank into the shadows.

  He thought of Penelope Markham and his hands tightened into fists. Bloody hell, this was no place for an unmarried, unescorted woman. In spite of—or perhaps because of—the crowds frequenting the nearby market, danger lurked in every doorway, every shadow. The area was maybe marginally safe during the day, but at night thieves, footpads, prostitutes, and pickpockets made their living preying on the hoards of theatergoers. He shuddered to think of what could happen to a lone woman. Especially to the one particular woman he sought.

  Penelope Markham. Although he’d never met her, through the strong bond he’d shared with her brother, Alec felt as if he knew her. Certainly he felt a deep sense of responsibility toward her. In spite of the gut-churning emotion that gripped him at the prospect of facing her, he’d intended to do so upon her return to England—an occasion he’d believed was still months away until this morning, when he’d read his solicitor’s note. He’d planned to spend those months in seclusion in the small cottage he’d purchased in Little Longstone—another of his plans that had sadly gone awry. He should have known that his well-meaning but interfering family would find a mere three-hour buffer between himself and London far too easy to breech. One minute he’d been existing in the solitude he craved, then the next his brother had descended and Alec’s life had changed. Again. And not for the better. Again.

  Damn it, he was tired of change.

  In truth, he was simply tired. Of everything.

  But there were promises to keep. And he intended to keep them, no matter how much he dreaded the prospect of doing so.

  The door to Exeter House opened and Alec stilled at the sight of the woman who emerged. Based on Edward’s description of his sister, and her unmistakable resemblance to Alec’s former sergeant, he was certain the tall, bespectacled, dark-haired woman was Penelope Markham. Dressed in a plain brown walking gown and matching spencer, she clutched what appeared to be an oversized sketch pad. She glanced in both directions, as if aware of the dangers lurking about and debating which route was safer.

  She frowned and pushed her glasses higher on her nose, a gesture that tightened Alec’s throat. How many times had he seen young Edward doing that exact same thing? He didn’t know. Only knew he’d give everything he owned to see his sergeant do it again.

  But dead men didn’t push up their glasses.

  Just then, Miss Markham’s gaze caught his and nailed him in place. Her eyes seemed to pierce him, making him feel as if she could see his soul. His secrets. And the countless lies that writhed in the empty darkness there.

  For the space of several heartbeats he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything save stare back at her. A wave of hot shame washed through him, making him feel as if he stood in a ring of fire, burned by the guilt that had been his constant companion for the past ten months, since that horrific day at Waterloo.

  She blinked several times, then turned away. Clutching her sketch pad to her chest, she walked with a purposeful stride toward the muted sounds of the nearby Covent Garden Market. Alec shook his head, jerking himself free of the stupor into which he’d momentarily fallen, and started across the street. He’d taken less than a half dozen steps when a shabbily dressed man emerged from a shadowed alleyway and blocked Miss Markham’s path.

  “Where’s a pretty piece like ye off to in such a hurry?” the man asked with a leer.

  Miss Markham gasped and stepped back. Outrage and disgust ripped through Alex. In a single, swift motion he pulled his knife from his boot and sprinted across the street. The man reached out to grab Miss Markham’s arm, but before he could touch her, Alec stepped between them.

  “You have precisely two seconds to disappear,” he said in a deadly voice.

  The other man narrowed his eyes. His lips curled back, showing rotted, broken teeth. “And if I don’t?”

  Alec pressed the point of his blade under the man’s ribs. “Then I’ll gut you like a fish. I may do so anyway, just because you sicken me. I definitely will if I ever see you so much as look at this woman again.” He pressed the knife in harder and the man sucked in a quick breath. “Any questions?”

  A combination of hatred and fear flickered in the man’s eyes. He shook his head, stepped back, then disappeared into the shadowy alleyway from where he’d first appeared, his footfalls echoing, then fading to silence.

  Alec released a breath he realized wasn’t quite steady and ruthlessly shoved aside the mental pictures bombarding him, accompanied by the terrifying echo of men’s and horses’ screams … images and sounds he normally only experienced in the dark of night while lying alone in his bed. But the threat of bloodshed and the feel of a knife hilt gripped in his hand had brought the vivid memories sneaking out into the light of day, rendering them even more starkly horrifying. He needed several seconds to compose himself before turning around. When he did, he found himself staring into startled gold-flecked brown eyes magnified by spectacles. Miss Markham stood less than a foot away, wide-eyed and pale.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She moistened her lips. “Y … yes. Thank you, sir. I—”

  “We need to get you away from here, Miss Markham.” He lifted his hand and whistled for his carriage, which waited at the end of the street.

  Her eyes widened further. “How do you know my name?”

  Alec had imagined this moment when he’d meet her countless times over the last ten months. He’d prepared for it, the scenario running through his mind over and over again. He’d introduce himself, then tell her what he had to say. Quick, impersonal, emotionless. Then he’d return to his solitude. And try to forget the unfo
rgettable.

  Never once had he considered that he’d be standing on the street, a cold sweat covering his body, stomach knotted, heart and head pounding, gripping a knife after scaring off a man who would have done God knows what to her.

  Nor had he imagined the impact of looking directly into those gold-flecked eyes. Or of her standing close enough for him to notice the pale freckles dotting her nose. Close enough to detect the subtle scent of flowers rising from her skin … skin that looked like velvet cream. Nor had he even once considered that a wayward curl of glossy mahogany hair might blow across her cheek, begging his fingers to tuck the spiral back into place. Or that her mouth would look so lush, yet so vulnerable at the same time, making it nearly impossible to tear his gaze away from it when she moistened her lips.

  He needed to pull himself together. Escort her to his carriage. Yet his legs felt like stone. He needed to speak, but all the words he’d planned to say fled his mind.

  Wariness filled her gaze and she retreated a step. The movement jerked him back to his senses and he cleared his throat. “Please don’t be alarmed. My name is Alec Trentwell. I knew your brother. In the army. I was—”

  “—Edward’s commanding officer,” she broke in. Her expression cleared. “I know your name well, Captain Trentwell. Indeed, given how frequently Edward mentioned you in his letters, I feel as if I already know you.” Confusion again clouded her features. “But how is it that you are here and know who I am?”

  “I …” Once again Alec found himself at a loss. “I heard you’d returned to England and I wished to see you.”

  Crimson bloomed in her cheeks. “Oh, dear. Clearly, word of what happened in Italy has reached London. Truly, the entire incident was misunderstood—”

  “Miss Markham, I wish only to talk about your brother. I was with him that last day at Waterloo, and there are … things you should know.”

  His carriage halted beside them and he nodded toward the black lacquer vehicle pulled by two matched bays. “As this is not the safest place, would you consent to accompanying me somewhere else? Somewhere we can talk?”