“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’s ears. He spun toward the front hall.
Lacy did, too.
Footsteps tromped up the porch. Someone rapped on the door.
Charles appeared, his gaze going to Wes and Lacy.
“Open it, Charles,” Wes charged him, and the servant hastened and flung it wide to ask who was calling.
But the man on the other side of the door waited on no such niceties. He stepped into the foyer, flinging his top hat aside and scowling at Wes.
“Good God!” Lacy shot from Wes’s lap.
“Lacy Featherstone!” The tall, silver haired man framed in the doorway shouted at her. “What in hell are you doing here?”
“Papa!” She clenched her hands together 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 shrank away. “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 toe-to-toe with the man who tried to take his daughter home. “Please, sir.”
“Listen to me, Papa. I came to him!”
“I care not who came where or when. Only what happens now!” Feather roared 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. I have made arrangements for my man to bring him here.”
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 rushed 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’s 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’s 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 i
nterest 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 sell the animal profitably and 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 guaranteed always to be happy. “We are not certain.”
Charles walked out to the porch and to Wes’s 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 shot 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.
But behind Patsy stood another figure. A man. Tall, impressive. One he knew. Well.
“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 narrowed his eyes. Curious.
But hang it all, he had to attend to his guests. “Please, all of you do come into the great hall where the fire is high and hot. We’ll warm you up with whiskey, too, if that is your wish.” He looked at his aunt with a grin.
Her gaze was fastened on Lord Feather, though why that was Wes had no earthly idea.
Feather, for his part, appeared to be apoplectic. Mouth open, eyes wide, he gaped at Amaryllis.
What the hell was going on here?
Wes turned to Lacy who beamed at Hawritch. And Charles, poor besotted man, admired Patsy, who hung back, demure and silent as all parlor maids were taught to be.
When the guests were neatly settled in various chairs before the fire, their whiskies in hand, Wes introduced each to the other. He noted that Lacy and her father Feather sat close together. Amaryllis took a chair near Wes. Hawritch to her left. Patsy stood, as was her proper place, while Charles ran around, refilling Hawritch’s and Feather’s glasses.
Wes attempted polite conversation because no one else seemed capable of giving it a go. “I’m thrilled to have you here, each of you.” But why are you each here, uninvited?
His aunt sniffed, directing her gaze pointedly as Wes. “We were delayed. I would have been here sooner, but the flooding on the roads is quite appalling.”
Hawritch agreed. “I have been on the road from London since yesterday morning. My orders were to arrive as soon as possible.”
“I see,” said Wes, his interest piqued. “And who gave you those orders, Captain?”
“Whitehall.”
Wes nodded. Army headquarters in London. “Who in Whitehall?”
“Dickson, sir. Lieutenant General Dickson.”
My commanding officer in Spain, now general staff in Whitehall. “Why would he send you to me? He certainly knows the extent of my injuries and my need for solitude.”
“Sir,” Hawritch said as he examined those in the room, “I was told to discuss my purpose only with you.”
“Very well,” Wes understood the need for secrecy in wartime. “And do you also have orders?”
Lacy shifted in her chair.
“I do, Colonel. But I was told to deliver my papers to your hand only. And to discuss them with no one.”
“I see,” Wes wondered what the hell to do. As soon as he took the orders in hand, he might very well be bound to carry them out. He shut his eyes and rubbed a hand across his forehead. He didn’t need one of his raging headaches now. Suddenly, he realized he had not suffered one since Lacy had thrown herself back into his life.
“Why are you here?”
Everyone in the room went dead silent and turned to the man who’d blurted this.
“Why?” Lord Feather demanded of Amaryllis.
“Girard,” Wes’s aunt addressed Lacy’s father by his first name in an astonishing tone of intimacy, “I am here for you.”
“What? That’s insanity!” Feather retorted.
“Well?” Feather demanded, his cheeks red with an outrage only he understood. “Tell us why.”
Amaryllis did not deign to look at him but put her nose in the air. “I see you are about to make a great mistake. The second great mistake of your life.”
Feather shot a glance at Wes. “Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”
Wes folded his hands. He knew when best to sit on the sidelines and watch opponents have at each other. “None whatsoever, my lord.”
Charles hoisted the whiskey flask. “Another, my lord?”
“No!” Feather retorted.
“I will, though!” Amaryllis raised her glass.
“You cannot tolerate more than one!” Feather objected.
Everyone’s eyes bulged with interest.
She preened. “In the intervening years since I so unceremoniously took more than one punch and passed out into your arms, my lord Feather, I’ll have you know I have learned how to drink.” She extended her glass so that Charles might pour. “Fill it up, man. There. Thank you.”
“You are impossible!” Feather jumped up from his chair. “Like you always were.”
She threw the whiskey back and got to her feet. The two of them stood toe-to-toe in the middle of Wes’s great hall. Whatever this was, a reunion or a rematch, it was damn good.
“I’ll have you know that I am my own woman. Independent. And I do as I wish.”
“Well, you shouldn’t!”
“Pardon me?” She put her hands on her hips. “As if you know how to live your life!”
“I do! Have done! And done quite well without you,” he roared back.
“Financially, yes,” his aunt sputtered. “But what of Louise?”
Uh oh. Wes knew Feather’s long dead wife was not a topic anyone discussed with Feather without coming away with a bruise or two.
“What about her?” Feather baited Amaryllis.
“You married her when you knew you should not have. She was miserable.”
The Stanhope Challenge - Regency Quartet - Four Regency Romances Page 15