by Lucy Adams
“Rushton?”
Augusta stepped out from where she had been standing, watching Lord Rushton as he paced up and down the hallway, one hand raking through his hair. He had been doing so for some minutes but she had not wanted to interrupt him, watching him carefully and feeling a great swell of sympathy rising up within her heart.
“Augusta.”
He was beside her in a moment, his hands stretching out towards her. She took them both in her own two, as he looked down at her with tenderness in his eyes.
“How are you?” she asked softly, as the morning light streamed through the windows, illuminating his features. Letting go of one of his hands, she reached up and ran one hand down his face, seeing the lines around his eyes soften. “You were distressed, I think.”
“How could I not be?” he asked, a little gruffly. “The man I had relied upon, my own servant, who had helped me for so many years, I had to send to London to face the gallows.” His forehead furrowed as he frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It was the right thing to do and I do not regret it but still, my soul aches.”
She cupped his face tenderly, wishing she could take some of his pain and bring it to herself. “I cannot imagine what that must feel like,” she said, honestly. “But I admire you greatly, Rushton. Despite all that you have had to face, you have acted justly and correctly, with great deliberation and wise judgement.” Searching his face, she allowed herself a small smile, seeing how his gaze fixed to hers. “You are a good man.”
Lord Rushton closed his eyes at this remark, as though he could not quite accept her words. “I am glad that it has been brought to an end,” he said, quietly, the strain still showing on his face. “Knowles was not someone I ever suspected, and he knew Stayton was directly in my path and had plenty of flaws and mistakes to push him to the fore.”
“You ought not to blame yourself,” Augusta replied, with as much firmness as she could. “He was a man determined to hide himself in the shadows. What is important is that you have captured him, prevented him from continuing with his intentions and can consider yourself victorious in this matter.”
Lord Rushton let out a long breath, sighing heavily but nodding. Augusta dropped her hands to his shoulders, looking into his face and seeing the tension begin to fade from his eyes. Boldly, she reached up and pressed her lips to his for just a moment, brushing a kiss across his mouth and hearing his swift intake of breath as she stepped back.
And then, without warning he caught her up in an embrace, pulling her into him and holding her tightly, his lips to hers and his head angled to one side to deepen their kiss. Augusta melted into him at once, her arms about his neck and her heart pounding with such a furious joy that she felt as though she was being broken into pieces without any hope of being put back together again.
“Lady Augusta,” he breathed against her mouth, his forehead resting against hers. “I will speak to your father this very morning. I cannot bear to wait any longer.”
She laughed softly with joy and held him tight. “I am sure he will be glad to hear you,” she said, as Lord Rushton chuckled in response. “And I can hardly wait to give you my answer.”
Epilogue
“Goodbye, my dear girl.”
Augusta smiled up at her father as he looked down at her, aware of the hint of sorrow in his eyes. “Goodbye, father,” she said, quietly. “You will be all right?”
He smiled at her, patting her shoulder. “I will be quite contented,” he said, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Now that you are wed, I think that I will perhaps find the impetus to leave this old, drafty house and find some enjoyment of my own!”
She looked up at him, a little surprised but finding herself quite glad to hear him say it. “Truly?”
He nodded and she felt her heart lift with happiness. In the months since the house party, her father had found himself to be a little more contented with life at the estate. Stayton had been sent from the house within a month of the house party coming to an end, and since then, the planning for her wedding had taken all of her attention. Her father had begun murmuring about returning to town and about finding some old acquaintances again, which had cheered her immensely. She had hoped he would make definite plans but, as yet, he had not.
“I have already had my townhouse—which I have owned for many years but never had the opportunity to visit—cleaned and prepared, with a new complement of staff already set within,” he told her, as her eyes widened with delight. “I am to travel there next week, for the beginning of the little Season.” He chuckled, his eyes bright. “Not that I intend to catch any debutantes or the like, but merely to be within good company again.” A small frown caught his brow. “Just so long as you do not think that I would be an unwelcome presence, should we meet?”
“I am very glad to hear it, father,” she told him, honestly. “And if we should meet, I would be delighted to see you.” Smiling up at him, she reached up to press her hand lightly against his cheek for a moment. “I am very happy indeed to hear that you wish to go to London. I think it will do your health a great deal of good.”
“I think so too,” he agreed, his eyes now drifting over Augusta’s shoulder. “Go now. Your husband is waiting.”
Augusta felt a flurry of excitement in her belly as she heard that word being spoken, turning around to see Lord Rushton standing by his carriage, resplendent, with his arms held behind his back. As she began to approach, he held out one hand towards her, waiting for her to reach him.
“My beautiful bride,” he murmured, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to it. “Are you ready to depart?”
She smiled into his eyes, glad that the difficulties of the past had been set aside, no longer a burden on Lord Rushton’s shoulders. “I am,” she said, unable to quell the excitement that came with the knowledge of where they were going. “Thank you, Rushton.”
He smiled and helped her to climb into the carriage, coming to sit next to her as the footman shut the door. Putting one arm about her shoulders, Lord Rushton pulled her into his embrace and she went at once, turning to look up into his eyes.
“To London for the little Season, then,” she said, thrilled with what had been planned. “I can hardly wait.”
Laughing, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I intend to give you the most wonderful of Seasons, my dear lady. We shall go to the theatre, to Vauxhall Gardens, for walks through Hyde Park and St James’ Park.” He smiled at her as she clasped her hands together in excitement. “I intend to buy you more than a few new gowns, take you to dinner and to have just as much delight and happiness as you can manage.”
Augusta, almost overcome with his love and his sweetness, reached up to brush her fingers down his cheek. “If I can share such a time with you, then that is all that I need,” she told him, honestly. “The happiness I have is more than I have ever felt in my life before.” Her hand dropped to rest lightly on his chest, still a little overcome with the knowledge that she was now his wife. “You are truly wonderful, Lord Rushton.”
“No,” he answered, his hand tight on her shoulder as he lowered his head. “I am the one who has been blessed, given that I have you as my wife.” His lips brushed across her forehead and she sighed contentedly. “I love you dearly, Augusta.”
She tilted her head up towards him, her eyes bright with happiness. “As I love you,” she answered, before he lowered his head to kiss her.
A Truth Revealed
The King’s League Book Six
Book Description
Having become a widow at a young age, Lady Callander has no desire to marry again anytime soon. Plenty of gentlemen are however interested in her, as she was left with enough money to last her whole life.
One gentleman in particular is all to eager to call upon her and it seems he has mysterious information about her late husband. Eager to hear more of what he has to say, she agrees to meet him again, only to find him murdered!
Lord Millerton is a member o
f The King’s League who remembers meeting Lady Callander over a year ago. When she asks for his assistance with a man he has been investigating… his interest is piqued to say the least.
Not only is Lord Millerton eager to solve the murder mystery, but he also finds himself all too eager to be in Lady Callander’s company and reacquaint himself with her.
With The King’s League by their side, Lord Millerton and Lady Callander must work together to find out the truth.
Drawn to him even more than she was before, Lady Callander begins to let herself hope that perhaps the love in her heart might one day be returned. All they have to do first is solve a mystery that is becoming all the more confusing with every step they take!
Chapter One
“I do.”
Lady Bridgette Callander looked at her reflection in the mirror and recalled the very moment she had said those words. Lord Callander had been hurried in his speech, eager to make his vows as though she might escape from him, whilst she had struggled to even form the words that had been required of her. She had never once wanted to marry the Earl, but for whatever reason, from the first moment he laid eyes on her, the Earl of Callander had made his intentions quite clear.
Sighing, Bridgette ran her fingers lightly over her cheeks, gently massaging the dark circles under her eyes. She had not slept well for some time, even though there was nothing, at present, to torment her mind. She was now a wealthy widow, her husband dead these last few years, and thus, she had been given the freedom that she had always wanted. Having silently determined that she would not marry again, it had come as something of a shock to realize that she was beginning to feel herself a little lonely. Last Season, she had found herself caught up in a dramatic set of circumstances that had her flung from one place to the next alongside her friend, Miss Hemmingway — who was now married and quite contented with her lot. This Season, however, had been markedly different. It was as though the ton now recognized that she was both wealthy and unwed, for she had found a good many more gentlemen had been eager to make her acquaintance this Season. She did not know them all, of course, but she suspected that a good many of them — if not all of them — wanted to know her better and mayhap even court her, so that she might bestow a little of her wealth upon them.
“My lady?”
Bridgette jumped in surprise, having been too lost in her own thoughts to see her maid come into the room.
“I am sorry,” the girl said, bobbing a quick curtsy. “I didn’t mean to —”
“It’s quite all right,” Bridgette said quickly. “I was merely thinking.” She lifted one eyebrow. “Is there something wrong?”
The maid hesitated, then shook her head. “No, my lady. It is only that your first caller has arrived and….”
Bridgette’s eyes flared, her mouth forming a perfect circle as she stared, horror-struck, at her maid. She had known full well that it would soon be time for her afternoon callers and thus, she had come to her rooms to check over her appearance before returning to wait in the drawing room. However, having let herself become much too caught up in her own musings, she had clearly made herself very late indeed.
“Oh, goodness!” she exclaimed, rising from her chair and hurrying towards the door. “Who is it? And where are they at present?”
The maid hurried after her, not even a quirk of a smile on her lips. “It is Viscount Hazelton, my lady,” she said, as Bridgette flung the door open and hurried out into the hallway. “Franks has asked him to wait for a moment by the front door, stating that you were just finishing some correspondence.”
“Thank goodness for Franks,” Bridgette murmured to herself, her breath quick as she walked with quick steps towards the drawing room. Her butler, whom she had chosen herself some years ago, had proven himself entirely invaluable time and again and this, she knew, was another of those moments. Reaching the drawing room door, she pushed it open and hurried inside. “Have Lord Hazelton come in,” she gasped, trying to arrange herself in her chair as though she had been doing nothing other than waiting for the gentleman’s arrival. “And then return to this room, if you please.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, my lady.” She scampered off, leaving Bridgette to try and catch her breath in the few minutes that were left for before Lord Hazelton arrived. She did not explicitly need a maid to linger in the room, given that she was a widow and thus, able to entertain without a companion or the like, but Bridgette had always been careful to do so. She did not want any gentleman to think that she was improper in any way and certainly that she was rather loose with her morals or expectations. Lifting her chin, Bridgette managed to quieten her ragged breathing, preparing for the arrival of Lord Hazelton. Her introduction to the gentleman had been when he had practically fallen into her during one of the many dances at what had been her first ball of this Season, but she had found his apology to be quite lovely and his begging for her forgiveness to be utterly genuine. However, Bridgette was still wary. She did not know the gentleman’s situation, nor just how wealthy he might be. No doubt, if he lacked some funds or had found himself in a difficult situation with debts, then that was the sole reason for his eagerness to call upon her.
The door opened and Bridgette turned her head towards the door, lifting one eyebrow as though she was surprised by the interruption. “Yes?”
The butler walked into the room and stood by the door. “Viscount Hazelton, my lady.”
The gentleman strode into the room, his chest puffed out and a broad grin on his handsome features. The moment he caught sight of her, he stopped dead, as though struck by her beauty. And then he bowed low, giving her a slight flourish with his hand as he did so.
“Lord Hazelton,” Bridgette murmured, rising to her feet and curtsying beautifully as she did so. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Lady Callander,” he boomed, looking at her with a warm expression. “I thank you for allowing me to call upon you this afternoon.”
Her smile, whilst present, was not entirely warm. She eyed Lord Hazelton with a glimmer of suspicion in her heart, seeing how he fawned over her as she gestured for him to sit down. His eyes were fixed to hers, his smile ever present and the eagerness in his expression seeming to grow by the minute.
“You must forgive me for my tardiness in receiving you,” she told him, seeing how he shook his head as though to suggest there was nothing she needed to apologize for. “I had some important correspondence to complete.”
“But of course,” he replied, with another broad smile that did not bring her any joy but rather only added to her suspicions. “Sometimes there are letters that simply must be written, no matter what else is waiting for you.”
Bridgette frowned, wondering if Lord Hazelton was intending to provoke a little guilt within her, tilting her head to look at him but finding nothing in his expression save for a small glimmer in his eye that she could not quite make out. Was he hiding something from her? Or did he merely hope to provoke a reaction from her by such a statement? Did he want her to tell him just who it was she had been writing to, out of fear that she had written to another gentleman? Choosing not to make any remark in response to what he had said, Bridgette merely looked back at the gentleman, keeping her smile fixed but allowing no comment to pass her lips. For a few moments, silence grew between them, with Lord Hazelton shifting in his chair, perhaps a little uncomfortable now.
There came a quiet scratch at the door, and then a maid came into the room with a tea tray in her hands. Setting it down between Bridgette and Lord Hazelton, she quietly asked Bridgette if there was anything else before scurrying away again. Glancing towards Lucy, her lady’s maid, Bridgette saw that she was sitting quietly in the corner, her back towards them both, just as she always did. Satisfied that this visit from Lord Hazelton would soon be over, Bridgette reached to pour the tea for them both, fully aware that Lord Hazelton appeared to be watching everything she did. His steady gaze was rather discomfiting, although Bridgette forced herself to ignore
it. Having not spilt a single drop of tea, she smiled tightly at Lord Hazelton and then handed him his cup.
“You are very kind, Lady Callander,” Lord Hazelton said, with a warmth to his voice that troubled Bridgette. “You are truly delightful, I am quite convinced of it.”
This, now, was the beginning of what would soon follow, Bridgette realized, sitting back in her chair and picking up her teacup. “That is very kind of you to say,” she answered, with a small smile, ready to find the words to tell him quite firmly that she had no intention of marrying again. “My late husband was always very complimentary when it came to such things.”
Lord Hazelton sat forward in his chair, his eyes bright. “I was introduced to Lord Callander a few years ago,” he said, as Bridgette arched one eyebrow in surprise. “Before you and he were wed, of course. The Season before that, I think it must have been.”
Bridgette swallowed hard, her brows furrowing as she looked back at Lord Hazelton, wondering at his manner and what he meant by such a thing. It could not be true, given that Lord Callander had never once been to London aside from the time he had come specifically to find a wife — and even then it had been for a little over a month. Her frown deepening, she wondered if he was simply mistaken.
“Indeed?” she queried, with a slight lift to her shoulders. “My husband did not once mention you, I am afraid Lord Hazelton.” It was a bit of a set down, of course, but Bridgette wanted to speak the truth, as well as encouraging Lord Hazelton to change his topic of conversation. She did not want to speak of her late husband, especially when she had so many conflicting emotions in her heart because of him.