by Amy Field
“My lady, your father is attending to the Commander. Only the officers are here in his offices.”
“Yes, I know. I am here to summon the Commander’s steward per his request upon his sickbed,” she replied, staring down the servant standing in her way.
The servant eyed her carefully “Very well, then I shall accompany you as chaperone,” he said nodding.
“If you so desire, you may. It matters little to me,” she shrugged flippantly.
The servant knocked loudly on the doors, and another servant within opened it directly. “We are here to deliver a message,” Ellie’s chaperone said lowly.
They were granted entrance. Ellie spied Chadwick deep in conversation with two other men huddled around a map unfurled upon a table.
“I’ve been instructed by the Commander himself to find his steward and send him directly to his bedside,” she announced to the room filled with a dozen or so men. They all stopped mid-conversation and stared at her.
“Yes, my lady. I will go to him right away,” an older gentleman spoke up, bowing before hurrying from the room.
She took the opportunity to catch Chadwick’s gaze, and she hoped he could see in her face that she needed to speak with him. She very well couldn’t ask him to accompany her from the room.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. I do apologize for the interruption, albeit necessary,” she said, curtseying low before seeing herself out of the masculine room.
Ellie took the slowest, most infinitesimal steps down the hall leading out of her father’s wing of private rooms.
“Ell--,” he cleared his throat, “Lady Carrington!”
She turned to see Chadwick emerge from the room she’d just left.
“Captain Wyndmere,” she curtseyed, retaining a formal air for the benefit of any servants lurking nearby.
“I was wondering if you would accompany me on a short walk around the courtyard?” he asked.
“Certainly,” she nodded and waited for him to catch up with her.
“Have you need to speak with me?” he asked quietly, as they walked side by side through the great hall.
“Yes, indeed,” she replied but didn’t speak further until they were safe from eavesdroppers in the open courtyard.
“Lord Southerland, as you know, is gravely ill. He requested my presence at his bedside and begged my forgiveness for the grief he has caused,” she said, her whispers furtive, “I asked him to nullify his orders for your presence on the front lines of battle and he agreed!”
“Oh, Ellie!”
“Yes, I know. T'is wonderful news, and the reason he requested his steward.”
“My love! All is not lost then!” Chadwick pulled Ellie toward the edge of the courtyard, dipping into an archway leading to the greenhouses and kitchen gardens. His arms wrapped around her and his mouth found hers in the seclusion of the passageway barely illuminated by the faintest reach of the courtyard’s lanterns. Ellie surrendered to the delicious feelings as they celebrated his life, but as the pounding of her heart sped out of control, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him slightly away.
“I apologize for my forward actions, Ellie,” Chadwick admitted with urgency.
“Chadwick, I am still betrothed to the Commander, it is neither prudent nor kind of me to fall so readily into your arms as he fights alone for his life. I cannot tell you how very thankful I am that your life is no longer hanging in the balance, but I owe him much for his kindness. I will gladly sacrifice my happiness if it ensures your wellbeing,” she told him, biting her lip to keep from crying.
“We could run away—elope to Gretna Green and spend the rest of our lives together. I may not be considered wealthy, but I do receive a stipend from my father, and I’m to inherit one of his estates,” he told her.
“As tempting as that sounds, I cannot think about such luxuries during this current trial. I hope you understand,” she replied. “If you will excuse me, I must go where I am needed.”
Ellie rushed from the quiet courtyard and through the great house until she reached the Commander’s rooms. Immediately upon her approach, she saw the faces of those gathered, the sag of her mother’s shoulders. Something had happened.
“How is he faring?” Ellie asked quietly.
Her mother clutched her lace handkerchief to her breast, a fresh spate of tears falling from her glassy eyes. “Ellie, dearest, I am afraid the Commander is no longer among us,” she cried, crossing herself.
At that moment, equal parts of bitter sadness and blissful relief fought for dominance within her bewildered soul. A man she had despised and resented for the freedom he had so easily stolen from her spent his last moments showing kindness and presenting her with a selfless act of love.
“Is Father seeing to arrangements?” Ellie inquired, placing a gentle hand on her mother’s arms.
“He has sent a messenger to the king and to the undertaker. We shall send the body to his relations in Devonshire,” her mother said, her nose wrinkling at having to speak about such unsavory tasks.
“Have you spoken with his steward?”
“The man left but moments before Lord Southerland breathed his last. According to your father, the Commander was insistent upon settling a matter of military importance,” her mother explained in confusion.
“Mother, I’m so very weary. Tonight has been… quite difficult. Please excuse me,” she said, an urgent need to assure a certain man’s safety being the only task on her mind.
Her mother waved her away, and Ellie swiftly headed not to her bedroom, but back to her father’s private chambers once more. She walked purposefully down the corridor, not even pausing to explain her presence as she opened the heavy door before the footman serving as guard knew what was happening.
Bursting through the door, she saw the Commander’s steward, his right-hand man, seated at her father’s desk, feather pen in hand.
“Did Lord Southerland speak with you regarding Captain Wyndmere’s assignment?” she asked boldly.
The steward sat the pen in its holder and rose to bow. “My lady, these are gentlemen’s matters that do not concern you.”
“I would have to disagree, sir. Lord Southerland made a promise to me, and a man’s life will be spared if he upheld that promise. I only want assurance that he did as he said he would do.”
“If you must know, the Commander signed the order he had me hastily draw up, rescinding his original plan to add Captain Wyndmere to the infantry’s front line. As Captain Wyndmere is a trained cavalry captain, it would have placed him in grave danger. However, the Commander also had me to draw up a request for Captain Wyndmere, and he even went ahead sealed it, trusting I would pen his wishes as he has trusted me with all important matters these many years.”
“What did he request?” Ellie asked, curiously.
“That Captain Wyndmere be promoted to Lieutenant General, second in command to whoever the King selects to be the Commander of the British Army. It is the highest honor he could bestow,” the steward explained.
Ellie sank into the leather chair behind her, the gesture taking her utterly by surprise. To think, she had rushed to ensure the Commander had simply kept his promise and instead found out that he’d gone above and beyond his promise and promoted Wyndmere!
“He wanted me to tell you that he owed Wyndmere much for protecting what he’d so unforgivably trampled upon,” the Steward added.
She jumped from her seat, her heart unable to soak in the wonder of what was transpiring. “I must go!” she cried.
“Captain Wyndmere! Chadwick!” she called as she reached the hall. She had to find him, and she didn’t care who knew.
“He’s with the gentleman in the billiard room, my lady,” a footman told her. She hurried to the other end of Lyndhurst Hall toward the jovial sound of gentleman cheering and taunting and the scent of pipe smoke and spilled brandy.
Just outside the arched doors to the room, she employed a servant to fetch Chadwick. She surely didn’t need another
scandalous entrance to sully her tarnished reputation.
“What is it, Lady Eleanor?” Chadwick asked as he rushed from the room. He took her arm and guided her down the corridor. “Is there somewhere we can go for a private word?”
“Yes, in here,” she said, pulling him into the small drawing room, rarely used due to its distance from the grander staterooms and halls.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, taking both of her hands in his.
“Dearest Chadwick, the Commander is no longer with us, I’m sure you will hear shortly. I spoke with his steward. Your orders have been canceled, and you are to be promoted to Lieutenant General!” she squealed.
He pulled her into his arms and twirled her around before kissing her soundly. “You shall be my wife. With my rise in status, there will be no objections to our union, and I will speak to your father as soon as the arrangements are settled,” he said, smiling broadly.
She nodded, too excited to speak, lifting her lips to receive his kiss once more.
“I owe much to the Commander. He has given me the opportunity to live the happiest of lives. I regret not being able to express fully my gratitude for his kindness,” Ellie mused.
“Tis a strange circumstance. Had he not fallen ill, you would despise his vileness and vain manner, but instead, we praise his kindness and charity now that he is no longer with us,” Chadwick added.
“Fate has a confounding sense of humor. I do believe.”
“No matter what path led us to this place, I will never cease to consider Fate a dear friend as I now have you, dear Ellie.”
“And I, you, my dearest Chadwick," Eleanor responded, as she squeezed his hand.
THE END
Book II
The Earl’s Runaway Bride
Chapter One
Pelham House
Hampshire, England
April 1803
Wesley Pendleton, the seventh Earl of Winchester, did not care for trivialities. There was no time for frivolous parties and courting nonsense. He straightened the thick stack of letters before beginning to the contracts and deeds his steward, Mr. Chadwick, had spread out across his desk, his brother, James, entered his chamber, settling into a leather wingback by the fire.
“Wes, you must stop with this nonsense,” James said, crossing his long legs in front of him.
“What nonsense would you be referring to, dear brother?” Wes asked without looking up from his papers. James was prone to fancy and pondering. Wes tried his best to placate his younger sibling.
“You are far too busy, buried in work up to your nose all day long. I’ll have you know, I truly do not wish to be the master of this house. You need to find a wife and have an heir on the way post-haste,” James told him, folding his hands behind his head.
Wes snorted. “I’ve yet to reach my twenty-seventh year—there is still much time left to settle down. However, I suppose providing an heir is essential to the Pendleton line. But who has time for dalliances and courtships?” He complained with a flick of his hand.
“Perhaps, you shall have more luck finding a proper wife were you to look beyond the walls of your study. The ladies find you quite appealing,” James teased.
Wes harrumphed impatiently. “I have business that needs my attention. The last matter of which I am concerned is my marital status.”
James rose. “Very well, dear brother. Though I had paid you a visit to inquire about your interest in an afternoon ride, I find that you are rather quarrelsome. I shall ride out alone,” he announced, striding purposefully from the room.
Wes paid little heed to his brother’s swift departure, but his words remained heavy on his mind. Perhaps he had not shown his concern to James, but he certainly was not unaware of his need to marry. Not because he was so desirous of a wife, mind you, but rather due to his need to produce a Pendleton heir.
For the rest of the day and much of the next one, the task plagued him. Something would have to be done soon. How could he manage to concentrate on important matters with marriage on his mind? As he sat before the fire in his library the following evening, an idea came to him.
He had distant relatives in Northumberland. Rothbury, he believed. If he recalled correctly, his third cousin removed, Lord Henry Seabourn, had a couple of daughters. Surely, at least one of them must be of marriageable age by now. Along with his parents and James, Wes had visited their humble country estate some years ago. He didn’t recall meeting the girls, but he knew they had been there, tucked away in their schoolroom or nursery.
“Chadwick!” Wes called.
His steward appeared almost instantly. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Find out what you can in regards to my relations in Northumberland. Lord Seabourn’s family.”
“Yes, sir. Might I ask what information you may be seeking?”
“I have decided that I need to marry. I believe their daughters are of marriageable age and proper upbringing. Perhaps an arrangement can be made.”
“Sir, you are quite the eligible bachelor. You may certainly choose any lady of quality that your heart so desires, and they would be most happy to wed you.”
“Yes, but I have no time to waste on such flippant matters. A wife is a wife. As long as she is toothsome and amenable, any woman shall do. That is the information which I require for you to discover in regards to Seabourn’s daughters.”
“Very well, Your Grace. I shall send a letter to Lord Seabourn on your behalf and request likenesses of his unmarried daughters to be sent to Pelham House.”
“Splendid, Chadwick.”
Within four weeks, the portraits and a most enthusiastic letter arrived from Northumberland. Wes studied the small framed portraits, noting the likenesses and differences of the two Seabourn daughters, and appreciating their father’s most welcoming embrace of his inquiry.
Melanie, the elder sister, was most fetching, with dark hair and eyes that seemed to dance merrily. Arielle, the younger, appeared lovely as well, with a mass of honey blonde hair, her smile containing a dash of mischief. From what he could glean from the portraits, both were slender and tall, though most else regarding their countenance was left to speculation. Who knew if the artist had taken liberties to enhance their beauty?
After much thought, Wes made a decision. Melanie Seabourn would be his wife. She was the older sister and quite lovely. There would be no impediment to a marriage arrangement between the two of them; surely her father would welcome such an illustrious match. Now that he had settled the matter within himself, he sat at his desk and wrote a concise correspondence to his distant cousin in Northumberland, entailing his desire to wed his eldest daughter.
Lord Seabourn,
I have received your letter in response to my inquiry along with the portraits of your two lovely daughters. Upon due contemplation, I have made my decision, with your blessing, to wed Miss Melanie Seabourn, as she is the elder sister.
My solicitor will draw up the wedding contracts, and we shall be in further contact regarding my travels to Northumberland to wed your daughter as soon as agreeable. I look forward to hearing from you in regards to these arrangements.
Sincerely,
Wesley Pendleton, the Earl of Winchester
With a flourish, he signed the letter and sealed it with wax. With the matter of his matrimonial state as settled as it could be for the time being, he could concentrate on more important affairs, such as the impending trade deal he had with an Italian merchant and his shipping team. Several loads of his lands’ finest wheat crops were to be transported across the countryside to the port at Plymouth, travel through Spain and across the Mediterranean to Italy. The deal had several working parts, and Wes felt personally responsible for ensuring that all went smoothly. He poured over travel arrangements, ensure that the shipping barrels were sturdy and waterproof, and kept a running correspondence with the port at Plymouth and the merchant.
As he read over the latest letter from Italy, he sighed with relief. A burden had been lifted fr
om his back once he’d decided to marry Melanie Seabourn. Especially, seeing as how easy the arrangements were settling into place.
Chapter Two
Havenwood House
Rothbury, Northumberland
May 1803
“But I do not wish to marry a stranger!” Melanie Seabourn cried, her cheeks red, the green of her eyes more intense than her father had ever seen them in her nineteen years.
Her father stared at her. “The matter is settled. The Earl of Winchester is a most advantageous match. You will marry him,” he said, brooking no argument.
Melanie’s mouth popped open, ready to argue the matter further, but her father’s furrowed gray brow gave her pause. Little good it would do to expound upon the fact that she was but only nineteen, had yet to have her proper Season in London, and she had never even met her intended groom before that she could recall. However, her father did not find her reasons valid grounds to dismiss his arrangements for her impending marriage to the Earl.
With a sullen stomp of her foot, Melanie turned from her father and stormed wildly from his library. In a most uncharacteristic way, she flew through the house, her muslin gown a blur of pink and ribbons trailing through the hallway. Not stopping for her mother’s troubled face, nor Mrs. Keaney’s admonitions, she slipped out the kitchen’s back door and into the fresh air of a spring afternoon.
Slumping against the trunk of an ancient oak tree on the edge of the Havenwood gardens, she threw her head in her hands. In a matter of weeks, she was expected to wed a stranger and move two days journey away to his faraway home. Far from her family and the life she had always known. She pictured Pelham House as a dark, dank castle complete with cobwebs and heavy, dusty drapes.
“Melanie?” Her sister, Arielle, asked as she approached quietly.
Melanie wiped her cheeks and sniffled. “Yes?”