The Making of Baron Haversmere

by Carol Arens

  ‘What luck that he found her costume! You will increase his salary?’

  ‘By however much you instruct me to, Lady Haversmere.’

  Crossing the bridge, Olivia stopped to stare at the Rothay rushing swiftly away towards Grasmere.

  ‘I think she is all the more wicked for wanting to help Victor and then choosing not to. More, perhaps, than if she had outright meant him harm.’

  ‘Come, let’s go inside and see her come to justice. Further justice, by sugar.’ Taking her hand, he squeezed it. ‘I cannot recall ever seeing anything so gratifying as when you doused her with water. You, my avenging angel, were impressive.’

  They came into the house, their clothes dripping on the floor. They were barely noticed, though. Conversation buzzed since Prudence Lapperton’s entrance a few moments ago would have given everyone a great deal to gossip about.

  ‘Rest assured, Joe, the next time a woman tries to compromise you, or hurt our children...’ she used the plural casually, but to Joe the word was a miracle. He could think of nothing more wonderful than giving his son sisters and brothers ‘... I will be impressive again. Society will quake at my wrath.’

  * * *

  Baroness Haversmere snuggled into the plush coach cushions, feeling utterly content to simply sit and listen to the wind whistle about the conveyance.

  A shaft of moonlight washed the interior in a soft glow. Outside trees lashed, branches cracked, but here inside? She could not recall ever feeling so peaceful—so blessed.

  Joe had tried to give the driver extra pay for sitting on top in the elements, but he had refused it, adamant that he was that grateful to the Baron for ferreting out the ghost—even more grateful that he had given up America for Haversmere.

  Everyone was pleased Joe had chosen to make the estate his home, grateful to call him Baron.

  Olivia yawned, but did not bother to cover her mouth, the only people in the cab to see her were her husband and her son and they were sound asleep, snuggled together and exhausted.

  It had been twenty-four hours since they had left Haversmere for Gretna Green and she did not expect to make it home until dawn. She did not mind, of course. Not as long as she could watch her cowboys, see how Joe wrapped his new son up in his arms, how his breath stirred Victor’s hair while they slept.

  She tried to preserve the sight to memory because she was certain nothing had ever touched her in quite the same way.

  Having Joe as her husband was beyond joy—a dream she hadn’t hoped for—but perhaps not as much of a joy as seeing her baby with a father. As incredible as it seemed, they were a family.

  Victor had wasted no time after the vows had been uttered to remind her to thank Uncle Oliver for all of it.

  Even now she did not believe her brother had any more to do with it than that it had been his grave they were visiting when Joe rescued Victor.

  Clearly it did no good to say so to her son. He believed it more now than he had then.

  It was understandable, she did have to admit it was, given he did have the cowboy he expected to have.

  Whereas she married the gentleman she never expected to. Indeed, she had not believed such a man existed. Lord Haversmere was not the façade of a gentleman—no, he was honourable to his core and she completely adored him.

  She closed her eyes to look back on the past day. So many visions came to her mind.

  The first was hearing Constable Rollins declare that although he could not arrest Prudence Lapperton for portraying a ghost and scaring everyone, nor was there enough evidence to prove she had neglected to rescue Victor when she could have, he stated quite clearly that what she had done was reprehensible.

  He also gave his opinion that it would be well for her to seek another town to live in because no one would welcome her in Grasmere. Further, it was the opinion of nearly everyone that she ought to give the hotel back to Mr Miller since she had all but stolen it from him.

  Of course, it remained to be seen what did become of the woman. Public opinion might not be a thing that influenced Lapperton overmuch.

  At the end of it, Olivia was done with the widow, whether she remained in Grasmere or went somewhere else. Because Joe loved her, and she trusted in that love, Prudence Lapperton had no power to haunt her.

  Oh—my word! She sat up straighter on the cushion, grinning because she realised Henry’s awful women no longer haunted her either. She could think of them without a twinge of pain, or anger even.

  Love had freed her.

  She would have reached across and touched her husband, but decided it was just too wonderful to look at him, enjoy the sweep of his lashes, the crinkle lines at the corners of his eyes.

  After a few moments her eyes grew heavy and slowly closed.

  She saw him still in her half-dreamy state—how handsome her groom had been, gazing at her during the vows. There had been a lifetime of promise in his kiss. It had lingered a bit long given that his mother, sister, Freddie, and even Victor were present. None of them seemed to mind if their grins and Freddie’s slap on the back were any judge of it.

  She drifted towards sleep, watching it all again while the carriage rocked through the wee hours of night.

  * * *

  ‘Lady Haversmere.’ She felt heat skim her ear, then a tender nip on her lobe. No dream but this, but a promise.

  Settling beside her, Joe drew her tightly to his wonderfully firm chest. He touched her throat, gently stroking a path from her collarbone to her hip before he kissed her.

  ‘I’ll be glad when we reach home and you no longer have to treat me with respect.’ How many more hours would it be?

  Too many. Perhaps she ought to have accepted Esmeralda’s offer to have Victor ride home in their carriage. But at that moment, the three of them had just become a family. It only felt right to be together.

  However, in this moment with her groom’s hands and mouth giving a preview of what was to come—well, she might have made another choice.

  ‘Ah, Olivia, my beautiful, sweet wife. I do intend to respect you. I am going to respect every...’ he lightly skimmed the bodice of her gown, tapped each button from neck to waist ‘...lovely line and curve of your exquisite body for the rest of my life.’

  Mayfair—first evening of summer, 1890

  ‘Are you certain you feel up to going to the Duchess of Guthrie’s ball?’ Joe asked while they waited in the Fencroft hall for the rest of the family to come down.

  No doubt it was her husband not feeling up to it. He was making his first public appearance as Baron Haversmere. The results of her training were to be put on view for everyone to witness.

  Given his last reception at the Duchess’s home, it was no wonder he felt ill at ease.

  ‘I feel wonderful.’ She went up on her toes to kiss him. In truth, she did not feel wonderful, but not as wicked as she had early today. ‘If you would like to draw back my hair each morning while our child makes its presence known, you may.’

  Light footsteps tapped down the stairs. ‘Is Freddie here yet?’

  One could only call Roselina joy incarnate—from her smile to the rose-coloured gown which seemed to float about her, she sparkled. And why would she not? For the first time, she and Lord Mansfield were to appear in public as an engaged couple.

  The front door flew open wide and the young man rushed in.

  ‘Lord Mansfield,’ the butler announced, rolling his eyes and closing the door on the warm summer evening.

  Roselina hurried forward, laughing and hugging him tight.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Ramsfield,’ she said. ‘You may tell him we are at home.’

  ‘Ah, just in time.’ Esmeralda hurried into the hall.

  Olivia thought her mother-in-law looked grandly elegant. She, too, was to be introduced to society as Dowager Baroness Haversmere.

  This was going to be an outstandin
g night. With any luck, baby Steton would not send Olivia rushing for the nearest convenience.

  ‘The coach has arrived, my lord,’ the butler announced, opening the door.

  Mr Ramsfield reached for the coat rack, handed each lady her cape along with a smile. When it came to Joe, he handed over his formal coat along with the top hat. The butler arched a brow, then handed him the Stetson also.

  ‘I am so proud of you, Joe,’ Esmeralda said, beaming at her son while he went down the front steps. ‘Given that you spent your youth running free on the open range, not knowing an earl from a viscount, you have cleaned up rather well.’

  Olivia did have to admit it was true—and yet—in the privacy of the bedroom her cowboy was not a bit refined, but wild and quite wonderful.

  ‘But I am even more proud of you, Olivia. I would not have thought my son could be so transformed.’

  ‘Until he wears the top hat the job is not complete,’ she pointed out.

  Joe tucked one hat under each arm and still managed to hand her into the carriage.

  He helped his mother in, then came in and sat between them. Freddie helped Roselina up the steps. The pair of them rather resembled sunshine they were so aglow with their young love.

  It was a heart-warming thing to see, but all things considered, Olivia would not change the fact that she had met Joe later. It did not mean she did not feel as aglow as the youngsters did, she was completely aglow. But she also felt grounded in the very best way.

  ‘Should we not bring Sir Bristle in case Lord Waverly is attending the ball?’ Roselina asked.

  ‘Have you not heard?’ Esmeralda smiled, clearly happy to impart some news about the low-down Marquess. Although she had never had the misfortune to cross his path, she had heard him spoken of.

  ‘What news?’ Olivia asked, hoping whatever it was would prevent him from being there tonight.

  Now that she was married she was safe from his lecherous attentions, but the evening would be better if she did not have to look at him.

  ‘It seems that his wife has had quite enough of him. She sent him away and did it while in the company of others. They say she collected his secret portraits, displaying them for all to see. What could he do but flee in shame? He is quite cut—is that what it is called when one is banished?’

  ‘Cut or banished—either will suit nicely just as long as he is gone,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps he will go to America,’ Freddie said. ‘Is not that where it is rumoured that Prudence Lapperton went? They might well meet, she being a widow. I can’t imagine a change of location will cause him to change his ways.’

  ‘America is vast and it is unlikely,’ Roselina pointed out. ‘But one never knows. It is rather lovely to think of justice being served in that way. The pair of them would make each other miserable.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Joe said. ‘I think if it did happen our sympathy ought to go to the town they settle in.’

  * * *

  The ride to the Duchess’s was a short one. The driver opened the door before the subject was exhausted.

  It was just as well. Olivia had no wish to think of the man ever again. She tossed his memory on the rubbish heap along with Henry’s and his mistresses’.

  Esmeralda, Roselina and Freddie went in ahead of them. The butler’s voice announcing them carried down the front steps of the mansion.

  ‘Are you ready, Lord Haversmere?’ Truly, she was so proud of him. There was not a more polished gentleman in all of Mayfair.

  He glanced at the door where the butler waited.

  Then he smiled, kissed her quickly and shoved the top hat on his head and held the Stetson behind his back.

  He took her arm to lead her up the stairs.

  ‘Wait!’

  She snatched the top hat off his head, tossed it back at the street, where a breeze caught it and sent it into the path of a passing cart.

  ‘It never did look right on you.’ She took the Stetson, placing it on his head.

  ‘I love you, darlin’,’ he said while they went up the steps, arm in arm.

  ‘Baron Haversmere and Baroness Haversmere,’ the butler announced in his full deep voice.

  All of a sudden Joe stopped, glancing at her in surprise.

  ‘Did you just hear a laugh? From behind us? Directly behind us?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Joe. It is only Oliver.’

  * * *

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from A Royal Kiss & Tell by Julia London.

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  A Royal Kiss & Tell

  by Julia London

  Chapter One

  Helenamar, Alucia

  1846

  It is an absolute truth that men and women alike desire the earnest vow of someone to love and cherish them all their days, and that nothing elicits joy in the breast of all mankind quite like a wedding.

  Recently, the most joyous occasion was the wedding of the universally admired Lady Eliza Tricklebank and His Royal Highness Sebastian Charles Iver Chartier, the Crown Prince of Alucia.

  The bride entered Saint Paul’s Cathedral in the Alucian capital city of Helenamar at half past twelve. She wore a gown of white silk and chiffon. It was fashioned in the Alucian style, cut close to the body and featuring a customary train thirty feet in length. The train was hand stitched in silver and gold thread with the symbols of Alucia and England, including the famous Alucian racehorses, the mountain buttercup and the Chartier coat of arms. England was duly represented in the Tudor rose, the lion and the English royal banner. The Alucian national motto, Libertatem et Honorem, was embroidered in tiny scalloped letters around the hems of the sleeves.

  The bride wore a veil anchored with a diamond tiara with a center stone weighing ten carats, lent to her by Her Majesty Queen Daria. Around her neck she wore a pearl necklace comprising twenty-three pearls, one for each of the provinces in Alucia, a gift from His Majesty King Karl. On her breast Lady Tricklebank wore a sapphire-and-gold brooch, a wedding gift from her fiancé, Prince Sebastian.

  The prince was dressed in a black frock of superfine wool, worn to midcalf, a white waistcoat embroidered in miniature with the same symbols of Alucia and England as the bride’s train, and a silk cravat trimmed in silver and gold thread. He wore the crown bestowed on him at his investiture as crown prince.

  After the ceremony, the newlyweds rode in open carriage to Constantine Palace through a throng of well-wishers that lined the avenue for three miles.

  The king granted the prince and his new bride the titles of Duke and Duchess of Tannymeade. They will reside in the port city at Tannymeade Palace.

  Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies

  THE PROMISE INHERENT in any wedding was delightful, but if it were a royal wedding, the paroxysms of joy might very well result in smiles permanently frozen to all the cheerful faces. It would turn the most jaded heart to gold. And if the beatific royal bride were one’s dearest friend, it would provoke cascading waves of unbridled happiness.

  Lady Caroline Hawke was over the moon at the good fortune of her dearest friend, Eliza Tricklebank, who was, at that very moment, swearing her love and fealty to Prince Sebastian. Until a scant few months ago, Eliza had been determined to be a spinster and care for her blind father for the rest of his days. She spent her days in plain gowns an
d aprons, alternately reading to her father or engaging in her curious hobby of repairing clocks. But then Eliza was invited to a royal ball, and a man was murdered, and she was given some gossip that pointed to the identity of the killer, and the next thing Caroline knew, her Eliza was marrying a man who would one day be king of this country. Which meant Eliza would be queen.

  It was so improbable, so impossible, that it went well beyond even the wildest fairy tale Caroline had ever heard or had the capacity to imagine.

  Seated in the front row of the cathedral, a place of honor awarded to her as Eliza’s dearest friend, Caroline was a little misty about it. Eliza radiated happiness. Caroline had never considered herself the sentimental type, but here she was.

  She shifted her gaze to Prince Leopold, standing beside his brother, Prince Sebastian. She wondered what he thought of the occasion and the happy couple. He was quite tall and had a robust and muscular figure. The broad shoulders of his coat tapered to a slim waist, then flared out again. He looked so regal and masculine that Caroline allowed herself a bit of a daydream—she imagined walking down this very aisle on his arm.

  She refused to ruin this pleasant little dream by recalling his wretched reception of her at the royal banquet. At that august event, he’d looked at her as if she were a servant come to take away his soiled clothing. He’d done it again during a morning ride through Klevauten Park that had been arranged for the wedding guests. On that day, when she’d galloped up beside him and his friends, he’d frowned and said, “You must be lost, madam.” As if she were some ragamuffin who had slipped into a royal party!

  Fortunately for him, Caroline had a forgiving nature and, in spite of her pique, could still imagine what it would be like if Prince Leopold were to smile at her the way Prince Sebastian smiled at Eliza. What joy it would be to walk down the aisle with him while wearing a gown as beautiful as Eliza’s, which, naturally, Caroline had helped the royal dressmakers to design. She had a keen eye for fashion.