September Awakening

by Merry Farmer

  “I’m sorry, madam. We?” Armand blinked at her.

  “Armand,” Mr. Croydon interrupted from across the room. “We really need to finish discussing what to do in case the letter falls into the wrong hands.”

  “Yes,” Lavinia’s mother said, nodding to Armand without a hint of shame and without a bit of consideration for Mr. Croydon’s interruption. “You don’t expect me to let my daughter live just anywhere. I intend to be fully involved in every aspect of the selection, staffing, and decoration of wherever she lives. She must have a lifestyle that befits her title.”

  “Armand.” Mr. Croydon started toward them. “We need to get to work.”

  “Don’t you insult my son like that, you jumped up, Scottish bog monster,” Lady Stanhope’s shout sailed above the rest of the roiling, argumentative conversations.

  “And that’s another thing,” Lavinia’s mother went on. “I forbid you to have anything to do with that shameless tart once you begin entertaining as Lady Helm.”

  “Mama, it isn’t your place to—”

  “Hold your tongue, girl,” her mother snapped. “You must—”

  “Stop,” Armand shouted, in perfect concert with a clap of thunder outside. He held up his hands. “Will everyone please just stop talking for two seconds.”

  The room fell blessedly silent. Lavinia’s heart thumped so hard she was certain everyone around her could hear it. She waited for Armand to go on, clenching every muscle in her body tight. But Armand let the silence draw out so long that everyone else grew visibly uncomfortable. He stared at all of them, an incredulous look in his eyes, daring each one to be the first to say something.

  At last, when Lavinia was sure she would burst, he shook his head and lowered his shoulders. “This is intolerable.”

  Her mother started in with, “That’s what I—”

  Armand cut her off with a raised hand and a glare. After another uncomfortable silence, he reached for Lavinia’s hand. She found herself clinging to him before she was aware of moving.

  “I am leaving Winterberry Park and I’m taking my wife with me,” he said at last in a tone that brooked no nonsense. “I am taking her home to Broadclyft Hall, and none of you—” he glanced pointedly at Lavinia’s mother. “None of you,” he repeated with emphasis, “are coming with us.”

  He turned to Lavinia. It was clear that he’d reached the end of his rope, but behind his utter lack of patience, she had the impression he was asking her if he was making the right move.

  Lavinia held her breath. Everything seemed wrong. Her mind seemed at war with itself. She couldn’t form a thought to save her life. But as the rain drummed against the window behind her, as the warmth of his hand in hers began to infuse her, pinpricks of sense cut through the cloud of her confusion. Because what she felt pulsing through her wasn’t what she was supposed to be feeling. It wasn’t what her mother would want her to feel. It wasn’t polite or proper or amiable. She felt relief—bone-numbing relief that brought her close to the edge of tears. Relief that she could finally get away from her well-meaning but intrusive friends, the house full of strangers, both high and low, and most of all, her mother.

  “I’ll find Anne and ask her to pack my things immediately,” she said in a quiet voice, meant only for her husband to hear.

  His whole body relaxed, and a smile softened his features. “I’ll tell Mr. Noakes to have my carriage ready as soon as the rain stops.”

  Lavinia’s mother recovered slowly. “But you can’t just leave,” she said, blinking rapidly.

  Armand ignored her, offering Lavinia his arm. When she took it, he turned to Alex. “I’m sorry. I know there are important political matters at stake, but you gave me this responsibility, and I intend to take it seriously.”

  It wasn’t an ideal comment, but Lavinia was willing to accept anything that got her out of Winterberry Park as soon as possible.

  Mr. Croydon looked as though he might argue that he wasn’t the one who pushed them into marriage, which was true, but he backed off. “Go. I’ll send Phillips to help you pack.”

  “Thank you.” Armand nodded.

  “You can’t just leave,” Lavinia’s mother tried one more time.

  Once more, she was ignored. With a final nod to Lavinia, Armand escorted her through the room, through the gauntlet of their silent friends, and on to the hall without looking back.

  Chapter 9

  Armand didn’t regret leaving Winterberry Park for an instant. Not when he and Lavinia were forced to delay their departure as the storm lasted into the evening, not when his carriage became stuck in the mud left by the storm well after dark, and not when the rain picked up again in the middle of the night as they rolled out of Wiltshire, through Somerset, and into Devon. He was relieved to have the debacle of Alex’s house party behind him and to get back to normal life, whatever that was.

  As uncomfortable as the carriage was, and as much as it made him wish he’d taken the train instead, he didn’t regret the way Lavinia had finally given in to exhaustion, slumped against him, and fallen asleep. He rather liked the way he was able to brace himself in one corner of the carriage, his feet propped up on the opposing seat, and position Lavinia in his arms for her maximum comfort. She felt good in his embrace, right and comforting. She was so tired that she slept deeply, in spite of the cramped conditions and the bumps and ruts they’d ridden over.

  He could have whipped himself for the things he’d said in Alex’s library. He’d seen the second he turned around that Lavinia had been hurt by his words. He was a damn fool for using his marriage, however he’d entered into it, as a weapon to attack his friends. He didn’t feel as though his apology was enough either. Just because he hadn’t chosen to marry didn’t mean he wasn’t determined to make the best of it. The more he reflected on the whole debacle, the more he realized that he actually did have a choice. No one had held a gun to his head, just a great deal of fuss and unpleasantness. He could have said no. He could have walked away, just as he’d walked away from the house party when it became too much for him. It was his own desire not to cause a scene that had landed him where he was now. That and Lavinia’s innocent, pleading eyes, her sad, soft mouth, and the silken flame of her hair. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind coming to India with him.

  She stirred as the carriage jolted, sucking in a breath and moving against him. Morning sunlight shone around the edges of the shades Armand had lowered to block out the light, hoping to buy her more sleep. She lifted her head and blinked blearily, looking like she might fly into a panic of confusion.

  “It’s all right,” he said, rubbing her back. “We just turned off the main road and onto the lane that will take us home. Rest a little longer, we’ll soon be there.”

  Their eyes met for a moment in the dim light. He smiled to reassure her, and she nodded, then rested her head against his shoulder once more. Armand’s chest seemed to swell and tighten at the same time. He settled his arms around her, reveling in the feeling of her body against his. It didn’t matter that they were both fully dressed and wrinkled from traveling, it felt wonderful to simply hold her like that. It was just the two of them for the first time, no noise, no mothers or friends fussing over them, no demands. Just silence, warmth, and a comfortable hint of arousal.

  He wasn’t sure if Lavinia fell asleep again or if she was simply silent, but as they made another turn, from the lane to the gravel drive leading up to Broadclyft Hall, she drew in a breath and struggled to sit straight. Armand helped her, righting himself as he did, and pulling up the shades to reveal the dew-kissed world outside.

  “There it is,” he said with resignation as the massive edifice of Broadclyft Hall came into view. “There’s the pile of stones I inherited.”

  Lavinia drew in an awed breath and pressed herself against the side of the carriage, peering out at the home.

  “It’s new, as far as grand country houses go,” he explained, shifting closer to her and peering out to see what she saw. “The original estate bur
ned to the ground in the eighteen-thirties. My grandfather had this wonder built in its place. It took a good ten years for the whole thing to be finished.” He paused as the carriage turned onto the curving part of the drive that wound around a garden with a fountain in the center that faced the house’s wide front steps. “I remember spending Christmases here as a boy. Grandfather was so proud of his creation that he would pull out all the stops and invite half of Devon and Cornwall to lavish holiday parties. I think there’s something like thirty bedrooms in the house.”

  “You think there is?” Lavinia turned to him. “You don’t know for sure?”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Is it ridiculous for a viscount not to know how many rooms his country estate has?”

  She paused, her eyes saying yes, but answered, “No.”

  Armand’s smile grew, as did the warm pulse of feeling in his chest. The carriage lurched to a stop, then bounced as the driver hopped down. A moment later, one of his footmen opened the door. The young lad flinched in surprise as he noticed Lavinia.

  “Good morning, Maxwell,” Armand nodded, straightening his hat and moving to step down from the carriage, then turning to offer Lavinia a hand.

  “Good morning, sir,” Maxwell answered, stepping back and assuming a ready posture, but glancing to the front door with a touch of desperation in his eyes.

  Armand focused on helping Lavinia down from the carriage, then offered her his arm before saying, “I know, I know, Maxwell. I didn’t send notice that I was coming home. But we departed Winterberry Park under extraordinary circumstances.”

  “You didn’t inform your staff that you were on your way home?” Lavinia whispered as they started up the stairs toward the front door.

  “Is that wrong?” Armand asked.

  Again, Lavinia paused, subtly biting her lip, and while her eyes once again said “yes”, she said, “No.”

  Armand couldn’t help but chuckle. “I might have mentioned that I am a terrible failure as a viscount.”

  Before Lavinia could answer, the front door opened and his butler, Mr. Bondar, rushed out to meet them, looking startled. “Sir, we weren’t expecting you.”

  “I know, Bondar. It is entirely my fault. But I was eager to bring Lady Helm to her new home,” Armand said.

  Mr. Bondar’s eyes widened. “Lady Helm, sir?” he asked in his broad, Yorkshire accent.

  Armand reached the top step, where Mr. Bondar stood, and thumped the man on the arm. “It’s a long story, Bondar. Could you have Maxwell bring our things in?”

  “Yes, sir.” Mr. Bondar nodded, then gestured to Maxwell.

  Armand escorted Lavinia into the house, watching her with a smile as she took in the grand front hallway. His grandfather truly had a flair for the grandiose. The front hall was as large as the entrance to any museum and just as finely decorated. A lavish, curving staircase led up to the first floor, which stood higher than most first floors, since the ground floor of the house contained a vast ballroom, a portrait gallery, and a library designed to strike awe into guests. Armand was surprised to find he was actually looking forward to giving Lavinia a tour of the place.

  “Your lordship, welcome home.”

  Armand turned to find his housekeeper, Mrs. Ainsworth, hurrying across the hall toward them. “Thank you, Mrs. Ainsworth.” When the woman glanced to Lavinia with as much surprise as Mr. Bondar had, Armand went on with, “Allow me to introduce my new bride, Lady Lavinia Helm.”

  Mrs. Ainsworth nearly tripped over herself as she closed the final distance of her approach. “Your new bride?” she exclaimed before recovering herself enough to say. “Congratulations on your marriage, my lord, my lady.” She smiled at Lavinia with pink cheeks and wide eyes, half shock, half joy.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Ainsworth?” Lavinia greeted the woman with a surprisingly poised smile and nod, considering not fifteen minutes ago she’d been asleep in the carriage.

  Mrs. Ainsworth continued to gape at Lavinia for a moment before remembering herself and dropping into a respectful curtsy. “Forgive me, my lady. This is all so unexpected.”

  “Yes,” Lavinia answered with a flicker of her eyebrow. “It most certainly is.”

  Mrs. Ainsworth rose from her curtsy and met Lavinia’s expression with a flash of wisdom in her eyes. Armand could feel an instant rapport between the two women, which was a relief. Mrs. Ainsworth was seventy if she was a day, had managed the house through three viscounts, and knew how to navigate the kind of transition that a new mistress of the house would bring.

  “I regret that the household is not prepared for your arrival, my lord,” she went on, glancing past Armand and Lavinia to where Maxwell was bringing in Lavinia’s trunk while the two other footmen, Les and Carl, rushed out to collect the rest of the baggage. “Your room is prepared as always, my lord, but would you like the maids to make up the chamber across the hall for Lady Helm?”

  Lavinia blushed and lowered her head slightly at the question. Armand fought the impulse to tell his housekeeper that a separate bedroom wouldn’t be necessary, that he intended for his wife to share his bed. Sense and concern for Lavinia’s feelings held him back, though.

  “You might as well,” he said tactfully, stealing a glance at Lavinia. “It’s better to have options.”

  Again, Armand had the feeling that Mrs. Ainsworth had seen everything and knew all. She nodded sagely, sharing another quick, silent exchange with Lavinia. “I’ll have Sophie get started on it at once.”

  “In the meantime,” Armand turned to Lavinia, “you can freshen up, change clothes, or even take a nap in my room, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you,” Lavinia said with a smile. “Although once I’ve changed, I should consult with Mrs. Ainsworth about the running of the house.” She turned to the housekeeper. “I have so many questions.”

  “I’m sure you do, my lady, and I shall endeavor to answer them all to the best of my ability,” Mrs. Ainsworth answered, somehow managing to convey that she had many questions of her own without breathing a hint of those words.

  “I’d like to give you a tour of the house,” Armand began, letting go of Lavinia’s arm.

  Before she could answer, Mr. Bondar approached. “My lord, since you have returned, there are a few things we should discuss. Estate matters.”

  Armand let out a breath, removing his hat and pushing his fingers through his hair. “Yes, of course, Bondar.” He sent Lavinia an apologetic smile. “I hate to abandon you to duty when you’ve only just arrived.”

  “It’s all right,” she said, her eyes bright with the newness of everything around her. “I’m certain your staff is kind and competent and that they will do an exceptional job of welcoming me to Broadclyft Hall.” She nodded to Mrs. Ainsworth, who beamed under the compliment.

  The warm pulsing in Armand’s chest grew and spread. Lavinia’s was the cleverest answer he could have imagined to his apology. It was clear at a glance that she’d won both Mrs. Ainsworth and Mr. Bondar over in an instant. She was winning him over again and again with each new moment they spent together. He found himself reluctant to part from her. But his blasted duty called, and it would do no one any good to ignore it.

  He took her hand, raising it to his lips for a ridiculously sentimental kiss. “We’ll see each other later for luncheon.”

  “We will,” she echoed.

  Armand let her hand go and stepped away, studying her for a lingering moment before turning to head off toward his study with Mr. Bondar. For the first time since taking ownership of Broadclyft Hall, he felt as though he’d come home.

  * * *

  It was the oddest feeling that Lavinia had ever experienced.

  “So with three footmen, four upstairs maids, a kitchen maid, scullery maid, and hall boy, not to mention you and Mr. Bondar, and Mrs. Piper, the cook, you have enough staff to handle the workload of a house this size?” she asked as she and Mrs. Ainsworth finished their tour of the house by taking a seat in the housekeeper’s private sitting room.


  “Yes, my lady,” Mrs. Ainsworth nodded, smiling at the curious kitchen maid, Ellie, who immediately brought in tea. “Though we have been known to hire temporary help from the village when the viscount hosts a party.”

  “Has the current viscount hosted a party in his tenure?”

  “No, my lady.” Mrs. Ainsworth fixed a cup of tea for her. “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing that change. House parties are a challenge, but they are also a lark.”

  “I shall give it some thought.”

  Yes, the feeling was strange indeed. Lavinia sipped her tea, finding it delicious and not too sweet, the way her mother always prepared it for her. Mrs. Ainsworth was old enough to be her grandmother, but she had spent the entire morning deferring to Lavinia and asking her opinion on things. Clearly, the woman was delighted to have a mistress again. No one had stood over Lavinia’s shoulder, telling her what she should do or what questions to ask. And, remarkably, she had known precisely what to ask.

  She felt respected. She felt competent. She felt important.

  “Begging your pardon, my lady,” Mrs. Ainsworth said once she had her own cup of tea. “There is already a great deal of speculation downstairs about how you and Lord Helm came to be married. We were given no indication that he was even thinking of changing his situation.”

  Lavinia grinned, unsurprised that the servants were already chattering, though she hadn’t been in the house for more than a few hours. The giddy sense of freedom that filled her chest made her far more generous about details than her mother would ever have approved of.

  “In the interest of preventing the spread of untrue stories, I will admit that my marriage to Dr. Pearson was sudden and unexpected on all sides.” She rested her teacup in its saucer, her cheeks heating. “My mother has been intent on marrying me off to a titled gentleman for years. She saw her opportunity last week when Dr. Pearson was attempting to extricate me from a rose bush. He was only trying to help, but Mama used what she saw to accuse him of impropriety and to demand he marry me immediately to make up for what she imagined was ruining me.”