Captain Jack Ryder_The Duke's Bastard

by Maggi Andersen

  “He’ll do.” Jack laughed and gave the pup a pat. “I’ll return for him as soon as I can.”

  “So, you’ve decided not to wander about the country?” Grant asked.

  “My plans haven’t changed.” To his own ears he sounded so confident, yet he’d never been so unsure his instincts were right.

  “Do you want the pup to remain here until you return?”

  “No. I have something in mind for him. I’ll let you know.”

  Grant nodded and made no attempt to probe him further.

  Jack returned the dog to Manners, and they walked back along the road toward the house.

  “Best man, eh? Please pass on my felicitations to the bride, and my congratulations to Harry,” Grant said. “And tell him what a poor show it is not to have invited me.”

  “Sir Ambrose and Erina’s father wished for a discreet affair,” Jack explained. “Don’t be offended.”

  “Oh? Is there a need for haste?”

  “No, nothing like that. But their unescorted journey to Ireland would raise many eyebrows if it was discovered.”

  “I see. Harry must have fallen hard to act in such an uncharacteristic manner.”

  “One might think so.”

  “How fortunate he is to have found his love,” Grant said lyrically.

  Jack grinned at his cousin. Grant was a confirmed cynic. “For love, all love of other sights controules, And makes one little room, an everywhere.”

  Grant raised an eyebrow. “Never expected to hear you quoting Donne. Are you suffering the same complaint as Harry? Might marriage be on the cards?”

  It seemed like daring fate to talk of his hopes and dreams. “Have I given you any reason to suspect it would be?”

  Grant chuckled. “Me thinks you protest too much, Jack.”

  Jack grinned despite himself as they skirted a hedgerow. “One doesn’t need to be in love to appreciate good poetry.” He sought to change the subject. “What about you? I gather a lady has yet to steal your heart?”

  “Nicely deflected, Jack.” Grant settled his hat more firmly on his head. “I grow weary of debutantes. Frightened fawns most of them. And their mothers!” He shuddered.

  They strolled through the superb parkland approaching the renowned gardens. “Not surprising, when you’re the most sought-after bachelor in London,” Jack said. “You might want to choose a bride, so you can find some peace.”

  Grant frowned. “Marriage doesn’t necessarily bring peace.”

  Jack recalled Grant’s parents’ fraught relationship. Now a widow, his mother had at last begun to enjoy life. “Is Aunt Elizabeth here?”

  “No. Mother has settled in the London house with great enthusiasm. She’s always off attending some affair. I seldom see her,” Grant pursed his lips. “But every so often she holds a soiree or a dinner party for the specific reason of introducing me to some debutante.”

  “Ah.”

  He scowled. “And she makes no secret of which of them she favors.”

  Jack slapped him on the back. “Buck up. You might agree with her choice one of these days.”

  ~~~

  Erina stood before the Cheval mirror while her aunt fastened the pearl buckle on the white satin girdle at her back. It was a lovely gown. Made by a modiste in London of sheer muslin over white satin, ornamented at the border with narrow quilted flounces. The bust was trimmed with beautiful lace, so were the short sleeves. She pulled up the long white kid gloves and gently patted her hair dressed in the Roman style, a short delicate veil falling from the tiara of pearls.

  “You look beautiful, Erina; your lovely hair is set off perfectly by this gown. Just like your mother on her wedding day.”

  “Mama wore white?”

  “No, blue as I recall, or was it green? She looked perfectly lovely in it.”

  Erina wished she didn’t feel so alone. She hadn’t even been able to invite her friends she’d made last year in her first Season. But they lived so far away it was doubtful they would have made the journey.

  “I remember your mother’s first introduction to the family,” her aunt continued. “Furious with my brother’s choice, our father almost refused to acknowledge her.”

  Erina touched her mother’s pearl necklace at her throat; the matching pearl and diamond earrings dangled from her ears. If only she were here beside her. Aunt Abbie was obliging, but she did talk so.

  “My goodness, you’re pale, Erina; the lightest touch of rouge.” Her aunt hurried to her room. She returned and urged Erina to sit before the dressing table mirror. “No need for anyone to know,” she said as she applied a little to Erina’s cheeks. “That’s much better. Bite your lips dear. Like this.” Her aunt’s visage appeared at her shoulder in an odd grimace. “You should be sparkling with excitement not drifting about like a waif. Why, when I married Herbert I declare I was…”

  As Aunt Abbie’s voice droned on Erina’s thoughts drifted. What was Harry thinking? Was he eager to marry her, or deeply disappointed? They could have prevented this marriage if only she’d stayed in London and not dragged him off to Ireland. The only pleasing thing in the whole affair were Cathleen’s glowing letters, filled with joy now that Mr. Leahy had returned to Naas.

  In her quiet moments, Erina was forced to admit that she’d been running away, afraid life would not measure up to her dreams. Poor Harry. Struck down by Gormley and now forced to marry her. Tears blurred her reflection in the mirror. She blinked them away, fearing they would run down her cheeks and ruin her aunt’s efforts. Would Harry ever forgive her?

  “Now for the shawl, my dear. My wedding present to you.” Aunt Abbie slipped the gossamer shawl, light as a feather, over Erina’s shoulders. “Remember to remove it before you walk down the aisle.” She sighed. “Your young man will fall at your feet when he sees you. I can’t wait to meet him. My brother has nothing but praise for him…”

  Erina walked ahead of her aunt. She paused, a hand on the bannister. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Aunt Abbie.” She swallowed, her throat tight with emotion. “I don’t know how I would have managed without you.”

  “Tsk. No need for that.” Aunt Abbie patted her arm. “Do smile, Erina. You’re so pretty when you do. Just like your mother. What a pity she’s…”

  Erina forced a smile on her lips and clutched the bannister. Her father had considered it best in the circumstances for the wedding to be a simple affair, so she had no maid of honor. She descended the stairs with her aunt gowned in violet behind her. Her father in his dark suit waited for her at the bottom, his expression one of pride and perhaps a little relief.

  He offered her his arm. She transferred her bouquet to her left hand and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. He patted her hand a trace of sadness in his eyes. “You look very lovely, indeed, Erina.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jack stood in the Rowntree’s noisy drawing room where the guests had congregated to chat after returning from the church. The rich aromas of coffee and chocolate blended with the scents of flowers decorating every niche. Jack raised his coffee cup to Harry as they stood together. “Here’s to a nursery filled with red-headed offspring.”

  “Heaven help me!” Harry exclaimed in a shocked voice, but he proudly gazed in Erina’s direction.

  Jack grinned. “Erina makes a beautiful bride. I suspect she will prove a stimulating partner in life.”

  “She’ll shake up a dull old dog like me.” Harry said. “Be careful Jack, love is in the air. It may prove contagious. How is the lovely, Lady Ashley?”

  “She has returned to her home in the Cotswold’s.” Jack couldn’t have put his feelings into words if he’d tried. But he doubted he’d ever find Ashley’s equal again. “You’ll be the first to know, should I ever decide to marry.”

  “Somehow, that has a nasty final ring to it.”

  A hollow sensation settled in Jack’s chest. He wouldn’t allow himself to hope for something that seemed as elusive as a rainbow. “Life isn’t always so simpl
e. And marriage isn’t for everyone, Harry.”

  “No. But I sense it would be good for you.” Harry shook his head. “I don’t intend to force my opinions on you, however. I shall wait patiently until the parson’s mousetrap snaps you up.”

  “Where are you to spend your honeymoon?” Jack asked, wishing for a change of topic.

  “Father has a tidy place here in Kent. Only twenty miles as the crow flies. We are to make it our country house. I grew up there, you know. It was after my mother died that father just upped sticks and moved to the mausoleum he resides in now. Erina and I will spend a week there and then return to London and on to Paris.”

  It would be a mansion, more likely, Jack thought. Sir Ambrose Feather’s wealth was legendary. “Sounds like the perfect place. Good country for hunting and fishing.”

  Harry raised an eyebrow.

  “Grant, Miles, and Tim, asked me to convey their congratulations. They are eager to give you a belated bachelor dinner when you return to London.”

  “Good grief.” Harry huffed out a laugh. “I hope they forget.”

  “I doubt it. They have long memories for such things. And time to prepare something special.”

  “Now you’re frightening me.”

  “I’ll make sure they don’t get too carried away. We can’t have them sending you back to your bride in a poor state.”

  Harry leveled a glance at him. “But will you be there, Jack?”

  “I hope to be, but you shall deal very nicely on your own, I suspect.” Jack chuckled. “Erina described how efficiently you dealt with a fellow called Gormley in Ireland.”

  “Nasty fellow had it coming. Good thing he’s in prison.” Harry raised his eyebrows. “The road still tugs at you? I rather thought that certain lady might keep you here.”

  “I admit that Lady Ashley is in my thoughts. And that’s where she must remain for several reasons, the first being she’s grieving the loss of her father. I was referring more to this concern with Caindale. But I shall endeavor to be there for your bachelor dinner. After that, I have businesses in the north which will take me away for a time.”

  “And then?”

  Jack shrugged. “Bit unclear at the moment, Harry. Wish I could say otherwise.”

  “As long as it isn’t you who ruins the chance of a happy life, Jack.”

  “You believe I would?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not, but I fear you might. You always did have an overdeveloped sense of honor.”

  “I suppose I overcompensate for my birth.”

  “And you may be wrong.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows. “Wrong?”

  Harry laughed. “We all can be on occasion.”

  Jack slapped Harry on the back. “Why are we discussing this now? This is your wedding day.” He glanced at Erina. “And your lovely bride will have need of you shortly.”

  Erina moved among the guests pausing to speak to each one. Earlier, she had come to greet Jack and thank him for coming. She’d given him a detailed account of their trip to Ireland, some of which had him laughing, but learning of the moment Harry was shot, sent a chill down his spine. He sent up a prayer of thanks for his dearest friend standing beside him well and happy.

  Despite her warm manner, Erina seemed a little subdued for a bride. “You might have to tread carefully with your lady wife.”

  Harry’s expression turned grave. “Erina suffers from some silly notion that I don’t love her.”

  “But you do?”

  “I’m mad about her. Fell for her almost from the first. But she didn’t want me back then, so I decided to wait it out, hoping she’d change her mind. I’m not entirely sure she has.” He stroked his chin. “Erina is a little like a wild bird. She believes marriage will cage her.”

  “You’ve told her you love her of course?”

  Harry shook his head. “I thought I’d ease into it gradually.”

  Jack’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That ball in your shoulder must have shaken your brains, Harry. You are usually such a perceptive fellow.”

  “Not so perceptive as it turned out. We had a bad beginning. I was a bit of a fool in thinking I wanted Florence Beckworth for my wife. Florence knew what she wanted, however. Women always have a better compass when it comes to these things, don’t you think? She and the vicar would be perfect for each other. I wonder if they managed to persuade her parents of it.” Harry shrugged. “So, you see, it would have sounded insincere to turn around and declare my feelings earlier. Erina would not have believed me. And that would’ve been the end of it. Words don’t mean much in the scheme of things. Better for me to show her.” He looked over at his bride. “Which I am eager to do.”

  Jack followed the direction of his gaze to where Erina, a vision in white, stood talking to the vicar. She plucked a leaf from her bouquet with nervous fingers. “I wish you all the good fortune in the world, my friend.”

  “Thank you. Now tell me what you’ve discovered during the hunt for Butterstone’s murderer.”

  Jack obliged, though he suspected Harry’s thoughts were elsewhere. And rightly so. Jack found himself a little envious of his friend. Whether it was to enjoy wedded bliss or a passionate fiery relationship, the married state had never seemed so appealing.

  In the ballroom, after a welcome breakfast of hot chocolate, ham and bacon, kidneys, eggs, and a tasty selection of breads, Jack watched Erina and Harry cut the wedding cake before they were toasted with champagne. Lord Rountree’s brief speech brought tears to his daughter’s eyes, Sir Ambrose Feather’s was just as warm if a trifle more verbose. Harry reddened with pleasure at his fulsome words. Jack realized Sir Ambrose was very fond of his son. With a sad pull at his heart, it caused Jack to think of his own father. A wise and generous man always, fond of a good pun. And they had shared many over the years.

  The small orchestra struck up a waltz and Harry led Erina onto the floor. She appeared happier in his arms, laughing at something he said. Jack thought they moved well together, which was a good sign. Weddings always made him a little pensive. His mother, denied a life with the man she loved, and his father cursed with an unhappy marriage.

  When the rest of the guests took to the floor, Jack bowed before Lord Rountree’s sister, Erina’s Aunt Abbie, who had the remarkable ability to converse without pause throughout.

  ~~~

  As they danced, Harry smiled and squeezed her hand. “You look very beautiful, Erina.”

  “Thank you, Harry.” She gazed from his chestnut hair to his crisp cravat with the sapphire tiepin, to his dove gray suit with the white camellia in his button hole. “How clever of you and Jack to both dress in gray. You looked very handsome standing at the altar.”

  Harry widened his eyes. “You noticed Jack? Your eyes weren’t only for me?”

  She laughed.

  They were married! It had happened so fast that Erina wanted to pinch herself. She studied his handsome face for some sign that he loved her. His gaze was warm and filled with promise, which made her whole body tingle in anticipation.

  But Harry was Harry. Consistent in everything he did. He handled all situations with surprising calm and efficiency. They were so different. She was impetuous and volatile by comparison. Might that mean this marriage meant little to him? Was he capable of strong passion? She certainly hoped so. Just being close to him made her want to throw her arms around his neck and press her lips to his. But she held back, afraid that her ardent nature might repulse him, or even worse amuse him. And she mustn’t forget that he’d been forced to marry her. She dropped her gaze.

  Harry’s hand tightened on hers causing her to look at him. His eyes caught and held hers. “Are you tired, sweetheart?”

  “Heavens no. I am taking in every detail of this special day so that I might remember it always.”

  “An excellent affair. Your aunt is to be commended.”

  “Yes, she worked very hard to make it so and with very little time in which to do it. I am extremely grateful to her. S
he was thrilled with your gift.” Harry had presented Aunt Abbie with a beautiful diamond and ruby brooch. Erina admired the diamond wedding ring, Harry had slipped on her finger during the service.

  “The first of many. I plan to shower you with pretty trinkets and gowns when in Paris.”

  She drew in a breath, visualizing a Parisian gown in gold silk taffeta. “You are very generous Harry.”

  Harry gave her a slow smile. “I shall enjoy seeing you in them.”

  Marrying one’s best friend was a very good idea, she decided, smiling back at him. She just wished she was confident about what lay ahead.

  She glanced across at her aunt, who’d become quite pink in the cheeks while she talked animatedly to their neighbor, Mr. Grenville, also a widower. Perhaps something might come of it. Erina hoped so.

  Ladies who lived alone tended to talk too much, either to their cats or to anyone who would listen. Like Miss Snell who did the flowers for the church every Sunday. It was a sorry state to find one’s self in. Why had she ever imagined she’d prefer to remain single?

  Chapter Twenty

  When Jack returned to London, after seeing the newlyweds off, he found Viscount Holmes in residence. Over a libation in the gentleman’s library, Jack explained that he was present when Butterstone died, and he was helping in the investigation into his death. A tall elegant man, Holmes expressed his distress at Butterstone’s death. He added that he would do anything he could to help.

  “Sadly, I was away when the funeral took place. Some flooding on my estate put stock at risk and threatened a few of the farms. Since then, I’ve paid my respects to his widow. An appalling thing to happen. I can barely bring myself to believe it, let alone attempt to make sense of it.

  Holmes took a sweet wafer biscuit from the plate. “Are you far advanced in your inquiries, Captain Ryder? Although I fear you’re here because you aren’t.”

  Jack sipped from the glass of claret. “It’s my hope that you might assist me by relating what you know about Butterstone’s movements in London before he left for his estate.”

  Seated in the maroon leather wing chair, Holmes crossed his legs. “Of course, I’ll tell you all I know, which isn’t a great deal. While in Paris, Butterstone found out that his brother-in-law was involved in a plot to assassinate Bonaparte. He insisted Caindale come to Paris to explain himself. Which he did. Caindale admitted to some knowledge of it, but said he’d done nothing untoward. He begged Butterstone to leave it be. But as Butterstone was afraid it would cause an international incident, he refused. He grew even more nervous when Welby, the editor of the London Gazette, arrived in Paris hot on the trail of a story.”