What a Lady Most Desires (8 page)

 

Chapter 13

S
tephen had never been seasick before, but the blindness made the motion of the ship unbearable, and he was sick again and again as they crossed the channel, until his body was too weak to throw up anymore, and his broken ribs burned. He struggled to get up, but Browning's careful hands held him down, confining him to the narrow cot in the stinking little cabin.

“I need some air. Take me up on deck.” The sergeant picked him up like a child in his powerful arms. “I can walk,” he insisted.

“The ship is pitching rather badly. If you fall, you'll do more damage to your ribs or your arm,” Delphine said. When had she arrived? In his mind's eye, Delphine's voice was issuing from Browning's lips, and it was she who carried him. The infernal woman apparently served as Browning's tongue, and Browning was her strength. He gritted his teeth, concentrated on not being sick in front of her. He was grateful when Browning set him down carefully on the deck, in a spot sheltered from the spray. The air was cold, but fresh and clean, and he immediately felt the seasickness ebb.

“Better?” she asked.

“Still here?”

“I am,” she said brightly. “Do you want anything? A rug, or a cloak, perhaps?”

“No.” He leaned back and drew deep gulps of air.

She didn't say anything more, but she remained somewhere nearby. The wind brought snatches of her perfume, and he heard the fabric of her cloak snapping like a sail.

“Are you afraid I'll jump overboard?” he asked.

She took a long moment to reply, and he wondered if she was there after all. “Will you?” she said at last.

“Would it matter?”

“Yes, very much. I would be forced to jump in after you, and that would ruin this gown. I like it very well, you see.”

“What color is it?”

“It's striped, pale pink and white,” she said.

“And the trim?”

“A deeper pink ribbon at the bodice and cuffs. My spencer is moss green, but also trimmed with pink.”

“And there's a matching bonnet, isn't there? Straw, trimmed with green feathers,” he said, picturing it in his mind.

She laughed. “You're very good.”

“And lace gloves.”

“White kid,” she corrected. “Have you always taken such an interest in ladies' fashions?”

“My sister was an invalid for a time, and when I would go out, she would insist I come back armed with news of the latest dresses, gowns, and shoes. A modiste's pattern books weren't good enough. She would make me describe everything London ladies were wearing in painful detail. I became an expert on clocked stockings, pin-­tucks, and muslin flounces. I know the names of at least nine different bonnet styles.”

She laughed. “You are an example to brothers everywhere. The only thing my brother ever brought me when I was sick was a basket of toads,” she said. “It took my nurse and three footmen an hour to catch them, while I stood on the bed and screamed.”

He tried to imagine the Delphine he'd seen at the duchess's ball afraid of toads. That Delphine would have faced down an army of crack French
crapauds
, or toads, and he'd wager that if she had, they would have been the ones standing on the bed screaming at the end of it. “I thought you weren't afraid of anything,” he said.

“I'm afraid of a good many things.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Deep water,” she replied, all mirth gone from her voice.

“Then I promise not to jump today. Not that I could find my way to the railing without assistance. What else are you afraid of?” She was silent, and he frowned.

“Come now, my fears are perfectly obvious, at least to everyone else,” he said. “Isn't it fair that you should share yours?”

“You may ask, my lord, but a lady must be allowed to keep some secrets to herself.” Her tone was stiff. Had he touched a nerve?

“We must be nearing the docks,” he said, changing the subject.

“How did you know?”

He grimaced. “I can hear the gulls, for one thing. And for another, I can smell it.”

“Yes, there's a fishing boat passing by us,” she said. “It's filled to the gunwales.”

“I prefer the smell of fish once it's been cooked,” he said.

“You've never lived by the sea, then.”

“No. My grandfather's estate was in the midlands, and his cook's specialties were venison and roast goose.”

“No baked hake, no ling-­and-­launces, no stargazy pie? We used to dig for oysters at low tide on the shore at my grandmother's house by the sea. They squirt, you know.”

“Grandmothers?” he asked. She sounded like a girl, excited and very young. He imagined her with her pink-­and-­white-­striped skirt tucked up into her belt, her feet bare, her hair long and loose as she roamed the beach with her bucket and shovel, and felt a yearning to see her like that.

“No, oysters,” she said. “Look, there's an Indiaman. Oh, I mean—­”

“Is it arriving or departing?” he asked quickly.

“I don't know. How would you be able to tell?” she asked.

He took a long sniff of the air. “I don't smell spice, or tea. Are there men loading it?”

“Why, yes—­they're rolling barrels up the plank.”

“Then it's going out, probably on the next tide.”

“There are ­people on the dockside. A lot of soldiers, probably back from—­” she broke off, and he knew what she saw—­men who were wounded, exhausted, and dirty, an army coming home from war. At least this time it was finished. He wondered if Hallet was among them. Not that he'd recognize him, even if he could see, since he was very sure he had never met the man.

Delphine was babbling about everything she saw, probably to amuse him, and to keep his mind off his circumstances. It was like reading a letter about a voyage rather than being present for it, and yet he found he could picture everything she described perfectly. For a moment, with Delphine by his side, it almost felt as if he could see again.

Her chatter made him feel like the man he'd been before—­whole, normal. Almost. It was an illusion, of course. He could not see the eager light in her green eyes, the sparkle of sunlight on her hair, the damned pink-­and-­white dress she wore. He wished—­

He shut his eyes, rubbed them for the thousandth time, and opened them again, praying his sight would miraculously come back. It did not.

He was still blind.

 

Chapter 14

T
he young captain glanced up from the regimental lists before him, and smiled nervously at the Duke of Temberlay, peer and war hero. “Sergeant Hallet must have been discharged. He may have died, even. There's no record of him, Your Grace.”

He had no idea what had happened to the particular sergeant His Grace wanted, or to hundreds of others, for that matter, and he wouldn't know until the final butcher's bill reached him here at Horse Guards. Even then, well—­men disappeared in battle, lost forever, and some signed their enlistment papers with an
x
, and recruiters could not spell. Hallet's name might have been written down as Hall, or Mallet, or Tom Turkey. All the captain was sure of was that he had no facts to give the very annoyed, very large duke looming over him.

No one on the Continent seemed in any hurry to send information, and he was left to fight the battle all over again here in London, fending off the volleys of questions from anxious wives and mothers, as well as important ­people like Temberlay, all of them looking for news of someone who had fought at Waterloo. Sergeant Hallet might even be safely back home, wherever that was. Whoever and wherever the man was, the captain hoped he didn't owe Temberlay money. His Grace did not look like the forgiving type.

“Is there anything—­or anyone—­else I can help with, Your Grace?”

“Do you have a file on Major Lord Stephen Ives?” the duke asked, leaning forward in his seat, pinning the captain to his own chair with a sharp look.

“I—­” The captain ran a finger around the inside of his collar, and tried to assess whether His Grace would welcome the ill news he had of Major Lord Ives. The major was due to be court-­martialed. He'd been granted a brief reprieve because he'd been badly injured during the battle, and if the captain knew anything, he knew the army liked to be certain their cowards were completely healthy when the time came to disgrace them or hang them.

“He is to be arrested when he arrives in England, held for questioning prior to a court-­martial,” he said carefully.

Temberlay shook his head. “He's in my custody until the court martial. There is no need to arrest him. I will be responsible for him. Have they set a date for the trial?”

“The first of October, Your Grace.”

The duke rose, and the captain hastily shot to his own feet and came to attention. “Major Lord Ives will appear on that date. Until then, please send word of any witnesses who come forward to me. I expect to be kept apprised of all details, including being notified the moment Sergeant Hallet returns to England, is that clear?”

The Duke of Temberlay was tall—­very tall. The captain had to lift his chin to meet the man's eyes, even though he was standing on his toes behind the desk. The captain nodded smartly, and the Duke of Temberlay strode to the door. With shaking hands, the captain sank back into his chair, and tucked the file concerning Major Lord Ives into a special drawer for safekeeping.

 

Chapter 15

“Y
ou're leaving again? But you've only just arrived home, Delphine!” the Countess of Ainsley said to her daughter. “Your father and I were expecting you to join us for the summer at Neeland Park. He's most anxious to see you.”

“Is he?” Delphine murmured, watching her maid repack her trunk for Temberlay. No doubt the earl would make time to see her between meetings with government ministers and political allies. It would be a serious discussion. Her mother had no doubt made him aware that the clock was ticking, the years passing, and his youngest daughter was not yet married. In her mother's eyes, Delphine was about to slip into spinsterhood.

“Did you meet any eligible gentlemen in Brussels?” the countess asked. “Eleanor promised she would make your introduction to anyone suitable.”

Delphine felt her skin heat. “The single, rich, titled officers were all busy, I'm afraid.”

“Even after the battle? Was there no victory celebration, no ball to mark the occasion?”

Delphine opened her mouth to tell her mother exactly how it had been after the battle, but Maman preferred not to hear about the harsh realities of life. Lady Ainsley did not like blood, misfortune, poverty, or filth. She was
aware
of them, of course, but she did not discuss them.

“Many men died, Maman,” Delphine said gently.

The countess paced the carpet. “I'm sure
some
did, but not the eligible ones. Anyone with a title would have had the good sense to remain where he would not be harmed, and Eleanor would never allow you, a young lady of quality, to see anything untoward.” She stopped and clasped her hands pensively. “You didn't, did you?”

Delphine could not deny it. “I'm afraid I did, Mama. I was helping Eleanor, and I felt—­”

The countess gasped, and set a hand over her heart. “Did anyone see you?”

“I assume a good many ­people did. Eleanor's house was full of wounded men.”

“You can't mean Eleanor allowed you to mix with gentlemen—­soldiers—­in a state unfit for a lady's eyes? What will ­people think? What will they say?”

Delphine held her tongue, and let her mother draw her own conclusion. The countess collapsed onto the chaise longue. “Oh, the scandal!”

Delphine looked at the pile of petticoats and underskirts waiting to be packed for her departure. Would she ever look at fine linens again and not calculate how many rolls of bandages they'd make? She couldn't begin to describe to anyone who had not been in Brussels—­especially her mother—­how terrible the carnage was, or how honored she felt to be useful. She hadn't been squeamish or missish or disgusted. There hadn't been time.

“What of your father's annual house party? ­People will talk of nothing else but your behavior in Brussels. You are teetering on the edge of the shelf now—­the very edge, mind you—­after two Seasons without a wedding. If this gets out, it could destroy even the faint hopes you have left—­you, the Earl of Ainsley's daughter, a duke's granddaughter, sister to a viscount. It is beyond shocking, Delphine. ­People will think there is something wrong with you, especially after you've gone and—­” She put a hand to her brow. “Oh why couldn't you choose from one of the gentlemen who have offered? You would have been married by now. You never would have gone to Brussels.”

“They didn't suit me,” Delphine said with a shrug. But Brussels had, as difficult as it had been.

The countess stared at her. “I know there were some dry sticks, and some dreadful fops, and one or two fortune hunters, but there were a goodly number of nice gentlemen as well.”

Delphine smiled. “Of course there were—­and most of them have gone on to find equally nice brides who will make them far happier than I would have.”

“And what happy mothers those brides must have, all of them fulfilled in their maternal duty! This year's house party may well be your final opportunity to find a husband with the right qualities. Your father has invited a number of eligible men, Tories all, gentlemen of fortune and title, for you to choose from. Of course if it gets about that you were in Brussels, that you
stayed
in Brussels after the battle, I daresay none of them will want to know you, let alone marry you.”

Delphine patted her mother's hand. “I'm sure ­people are too busy talking about the victory to give me a single thought.” And there would always be gentlemen willing to overlook any scandal to get their hands on her vast dowry.

“Until you are standing before them on the steps of Neeland Park, presented as a potential wife and mother—­then they'll remember.”

“Shall I excuse myself from attending the house party? Surely without my presence, the scandal will be forgotten all the more quickly.”

The countess sat up. “Not attend? What will we tell ­people?”

“You may tell them that I am visiting the Duchess of Temberlay, who is a very dear friend, at Temberlay Castle in Derbyshire. Meg was in Brussels as well, and Nicholas is a hero. They are held in great esteem by the
ton
. Surely being in their company can only improve my connections, even in Father's opinion.”

Her mother considered. “Will Temberlay be hosting a house party while you're there?”

“I doubt it. It will be a quiet and relaxing summer, a chance to rest and recover—­” She paused, needing to convince her mother to allow her to go. “After—­well, the
ordeal
in Brussels, I am ready for a few peaceful weeks with a friend.”

Her mother chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Temberlay is rather near to Treholme, isn't it? The Earl Halidon is an old friend of your father's, and he's sure to be in residence for the summer. His heir has four thousand a year, and he stands to inherit a much greater fortune when Halidon goes to his reward. His lordship was quite frail when last we saw him in Town. Perhaps you could visit him and his son and pay our respects.”

Delphine felt a frisson of horror race up her spine. More matchmaking. Could her mother speak of nothing else? The countess kept endless lists of eligible gentlemen, and she simply crossed off each one as he was rejected and set her sights on driving Delphine into the arms of the next man on the list. The list was annotated to include title, income, acreage, and political affiliation—­Papa would never countenance a match with someone whose politics differed from his own. Better she should marry a Catholic than a Whig.

“Of course I'll visit Lord Halidon,” she said a trifle sharply. “Shall I take him a pot of liniment or a basket of fruit?”

The countess sniffed. “Don't take that tone, Delphine. Just be sure to spend a goodly amount of time with his heir. Wear something fetching.” She scooped a hand low over her breasts to indicate where the bodice of Delphine's gown should fall to be truly fetching, not to mention eye-­popping. Now there was a scandal!

“What's the young man's name?” Delphine asked.

Her mother waved her hand. “Does it matter? Viscount something or other.”

Delphine rolled her eyes. “You are cordially invited to the wedding of Lady Delphine St. James and Himself, Viscount Something-­or-­Other. Has a pleasant ring to it, and if I should change my mind and choose someone else, the invitations would not need to be reprinted,” she quipped.

The countess bristled. “A girl who has gone two Seasons without accepting a single offer cannot afford to be pert, Delphine. If you have a gentleman in mind, please speak his name and I shall have your father make the arrangements.”

She thought of Stephen Ives, even now, broken and blind and accused.

When Nicholas introduced them at her mother's ball in this very house a year ago, Stephen had met her gaze with the familiar light of masculine admiration clear in his gray eyes. That was the first time he'd taken her breath away. Her infatuation had been instant, unexpected, and deep. Not just because he was handsome, or because he sent shivers up her spine when he had bowed over her hand and smiled at her. It was the
way
he looked at her, as if she were an
interesting
person, and not merely Ainsley's wealthy and eligible daughter. Her value to him was not measured in pounds sterling. It was measured in potential. He did not spend their brief conversation blustering about politics. He had asked her opinion. Oh, the topic was ordinary enough—­a play they had both attended. He wanted to know her thoughts. That hadn't happened before. How charming, how refreshing, how different from any of the suitors her mother flung at her. She had no idea if his politics matched her father's. She suspected he was a man who observed each issue—­political, military, or diplomatic—­and made his own decisions.

When her mother stole her away from his side that evening, intent on introducing her to an eligible duke, Delphine knew Stephen was watching her from across the room. She had been aware of his eyes on her, felt his gaze like a touch. Her body had vibrated with it. Her parents had expected Delphine to charm the duke, and so she had. But as she did, Stephen had turned away and disappeared into the crowd. Her heart had dropped to her slippers. Did he not understand? It was her duty to her father, only that. Like all the rest of her suitors, the duke looked at her the way one might regard a priceless vase, or a statue of a woman. She was an object of grace and beauty, there to reflect his wealth, taste, and opinions while having none of her own. In the duke's eyes, she had no worth at all beyond her monetary value and her beauty.

She had not understood that until she met Stephen, hadn't known why she did not want to marry any of the men her mother selected. Not until Stephen Ives looked into her eyes and noticed
her
, listened when she spoke, asked her what she thought. In that moment, her whole world changed—­she could be more than she was, she realized breathlessly. Stephen had made her different than she'd been.

But then he'd turned away, left the ball, left her.

She'd spent the rest of that Season and most of the next trying to get his attention back again, to find that look in his eyes once more, to understand what he'd seen in her during those first fleeting moments. But until the duchess's ball in Brussels, he had avoided her company if possible, and when he did look at her, his eyes were glazed with boredom or disdain.

She did not understand why he did not like her. Everyone liked Ainsley's charming, lovely daughter. Except Stephen Ives—­and herself. He'd made her want more from life, made her want
him
, and then he'd turned away.

She thought of all that as she looked at her mother, who stood waiting for an answer to her question. Stephen's name hovered on the tip of Delphine's tongue.

But he was blind, and accused of dreadful crimes. He had only a courtesy title and a modest fortune. They were hardly the kinds of qualifications that would encourage her father to allow her to marry him.

Not, of course, that Stephen had asked, or was ever likely to.

But he needed someone to help him heal. She would do that, in return for the moment he'd changed her, opened her eyes, made her see. How ironic.

“I have been very busy in the past weeks, Maman. I would like to go to Temberlay and enjoy a few weeks of quiet. If you are afraid my presence in London or at Neeland Park will cause scandal, wouldn't it be better if I went away until it all blows over, and there is some other bit of gossip for ­people to chew on?”

The countess brightened. “Why, I hadn't thought of that. You could still come to Neeland in time for the party.” She kissed her daughter's forehead. “Go then, with my blessing. We'll make plans for the little Season—­a new wardrobe, perhaps—­”

“Oh Maman, what will you do when I finally do marry?” Delphine asked, hugging her.

The countess sighed. “I suppose I will have to occupy myself with seeing that your brother is happily married too. And by then, Eleanor's girls should be old enough to make their debuts. A mother's work is
never
done.”