The Captain and the Wallflower

by Lyn Stone

She nodded uncertainly as if the full impact of the evening’s events had suddenly hit her.

  “No more plans tonight. You need to eat and then sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough for arrangements,” Caine declared. He looked meaningfully at Trent.

  Trent set down his glass and stood. “I’ll just be off then.” He held out a hand to Caine. “Congratulations on your betrothal.” He bowed to Grace. “My lady, I wish you every happiness. And with that, a good night to you both.”

  Grace exhaled audibly. “Thank you.”

  Caine grinned at Trent’s wry expression. “See you in the morning.”

  When they were alone, Caine sought to soothe Grace’s concerns, since she surely must have a few. “Everything will be done for you and you needn’t worry about anything.”

  A kitchen maid arrived with a tray laden with cold meats, bread, sliced oranges and a pot of tea.

  “You may leave it,” Caine told her. “I will serve the lady.” He proceeded to slather butter on a slice of bread for her.

  She hurriedly rolled two slabs of ham and attacked the food without pause. Or anything resembling manners. Caine stopped what he was doing and watched with fascination as she ate. Eyes closed, she moaned softly and chewed rapidly.

  After a few moments, she stopped and covered her mouth with her serviette.

  “Too much, too fast?” he asked. “Perhaps you should rest a bit first.”

  “She should and that’s a fact,” Mrs. Oliver declared. Caine turned to see her standing in the doorway Trent had just vacated. The heavyset retainer marched forward and virtually lifted her charge out of the chair. “You come right along, miss.”

  He stood quickly to bid Grace good-night, noting that she plucked up the slice of bread he had buttered before being hauled away.

  Caine sat down again when they were gone, eye fixed on the remnants of the cold supper without actually seeing it. Why would Grace admittedly starve herself, then gobble down food with such abandon? Had she lied about Wardfelton’s treatment? Had the man withheld sustenance? And if so, whyever would he do such a thing?

  This would bear some investigation, but there was no rush. His little Grace would be perfectly safe now and hereafter. He would see to that.

  For the first time since the morning of the battle that nearly blinded him, Caine felt a wave of calmness and well-being. He dearly hoped it would last.

  *

  The next morning, Caine awakened late, but fully alert and eager, for once, to face the day. He ascribed that to having a meaningful and interesting project other than the tedious business of straightening out his uncle’s affairs.

  Grace must take second place, of course, immediately after their marriage. Once he had grown accustomed to the new duties he would assume and felt confident he could handle them, he would investigate Grace’s situation or have someone do it.

  No sooner was he dressed and on his way downstairs than Trent arrived with news. Caine motioned him toward the library.

  Trent began speaking before he even took a chair. “The archbishop will provide the special license to wed any place you wish,” he announced immediately. “However, Jarvis says that you will still have several weeks’ wait.”

  “I thought we could wed at any time thereafter.” Caine made himself comfortable behind the earl’s desk and began rearranging the papers he had been working on the day before.

  “Well, these days, a special license has become a status affair and everyone wants one. So why not have banns called at the Wildenhurst chapel and do things in the regular way?”

  Caine steepled his fingers beneath his chin and thought about it. “I had hoped to have it done sooner, but I suppose there’s no great reason for haste.”

  Trent nodded his agreement. “He also said it might be wise for either you or the lady to repair to the country for the duration in order to establish residence. Though, that could likely be waived, since it was your home before the war.”

  Caine considered that for a moment. “Very well.” Truth was, he didn’t mind leaving London, but he would need to convince his uncle to accompany them. “Would you see to retrieving Lady Grace’s belongings from Wardfelton’s house for me?”

  Trent sighed and threw up his hands. “I went by to accomplish that after I asked about the license. Her uncle refuses to part with a thread of hers, or to countenance what he’s calling her abduction. He swears he plans to bring charges against you, but I doubt it will come to anything. Too many witnesses heard her accept your offer.”

  “I suppose the town’s abuzz with last night’s antics,” Caine said.

  “If that was your intention, it was wildly successful. Still, public approval of your little romance doesn’t help clothe the lady, does it?”

  “No matter. I’ll send for a dressmaker. Grace will need a trousseau. But absolutely nothing in yellow,” he added with a shake of his head. “Atrocious.”

  Trent was staring at the doorway and wincing. Caine turned to see Grace standing there, wearing the awful garment he had just referred to. “Sorry you heard that, but you must admit…”

  She nodded thoughtfully, staring at the floor. “I am well aware of how I look. No need to mince words on my account.”

  Caine wished he could call her beautiful, but he did not want to begin their relationship with lies. She was not beautiful. The poor little dear looked pitiful this morning, even worse than last evening. Her light brown hair hung from a middle parting in stick-straight strands, the ends uneven about her shoulders. Pale as death, her features seemed far too small for the large blue eyes. Remarkable eyes. His heart went out to her in that moment.

  “It’s the color yellow that I object to, Grace. And only that,” he said with conviction.

  Trent cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Yes, well, if you two will excuse me, I have errands of my own.”

  Caine thanked him absently as he left.

  “Mr. Trent is a good friend to do so much for you,” Grace said as she ventured farther into the library.

  “It’s Lord Trent, Viscount Trent. His father’s Marquis of Alden. And yes, indeed he is my best friend.” Trent had been that since they were boys. “We schooled together and served under the same command in the army. I would scarcely know what to do without him,” Caine admitted.

  She traced her fingers along a row of books before facing him with a sigh. “Would you grant me permission to go to the country alone while the banns are being called?” she asked.

  “Not to Wardfelton’s estate. Unless you’ve changed your mind about the marriage.”

  “Heavens no on both accounts,” she answered with a little huff of laughter. “I will go anywhere you say except there, but I would like some time to myself before the wedding if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “If you would be willing to take a companion and the dressmaker I mentioned, you could go on to Wildenhurst. It’s one of Hadley’s minor properties, but well appointed. And I could remain here. I understand that my company is probably—”

  “Oh, no!” She frowned and shook her head vehemently. “No, I swear, it isn’t anything to do with you at all!” For a moment, she looked at him with a plea evident in her expression. “You promised me freedom. I would like a taste of it.”

  Yes, he had promised. He nodded.

  “There you are!” Mrs. Oliver came marching in, hands on her hips. “You come with me now, miss. You’ve not had your chocolate and toast yet and aren’t even dressed proper for the morning, showing shoulders and such. Excuse us, sir, and go on with your business. I shall see to the little miss.”

  In spite of him
self, Caine liked the old lady, overbearing attitude and all. Everyone in the household, regardless of rank, obeyed her. Even Jenkins, the earl’s snobbish butler, didn’t dare oppose her. How she had gained so much power, he couldn’t guess, but she was one to reckon with. Still, he felt an urge to defend Grace. “Little Miss has a name, Mrs. Oliver.”

  “Well, she’s Little Miss to me until she’s a married lady. Got to look after young misses, we all do, till they grow up and marry.”

  Caine could see Grace hiding a smile behind her fingertips. So she understood and didn’t mind the heavy-handed martinet. Perhaps she would enjoy being fussed over and looked after. “Go with Mrs. Oliver then and have a good day. My aunt and uncle will want to meet you, but I think we should wait until tomorrow for that.”

  “She’ll be ready,” Mrs. Oliver assured him. “Now, come along, luvvy, so I can put you to rights. A good feed and a hot bath should do the trick.”

  “Could I have eggs?” he heard Grace ask her as they left.

  “And black pudding. Good for strength and such,” Mrs. Oliver declared.

  Caine smiled at Grace’s groan. A fair beginning. They had two dislikes in common. Black pudding and Wardfelton. He toyed with his pen as his gaze lingered on the doorway. He wondered idly whether they shared any likes. And then, why such a question should occur to him at all.

  Chapter Four

  Caine promptly went to work, but found he could not concentrate. Impatiently, he pushed aside the account books for his uncle’s largest estate. The figures were not in good order, but today there were more pressing matters.

  There were inquiries to answer, orders for supplies and letters of instruction to be prepared for signature. He arranged the paper, dipped a pen in the inkwell and began to write.

  In all his life, he had never thought to do anything but soldier. He liked the structure of army life in general, but had hated the chaos of battle and the incompetence of leadership. If not for his wounding and the earl’s illness, he would have continued trying to rise in rank until he could displace some of that inefficiency. But now here he was, facing the ever-increasing responsibilities of an earldom. So many people were dependent upon his ability to manage well. And soon, so would a wife.

  Thankfully, Grace shouldn’t pose a problem or even much of an added responsibility. She would remain practically invisible, by her own choice, he expected.

  She was easily led and apparently preferred solitude. An excellent match indeed with which to satisfy his uncle’s demand and Caine’s own need for time and space to acclimate to the nobility. Yes, he had his personal affairs arranged precisely as they should be. Well, almost. There were matters there that needed his attention before he could relax.

  *

  That afternoon, he put aside the earl’s business for his own. A meeting with Grace’s uncle was necessary and might as well be accomplished as soon as possible to get the unpleasant errand out of the way. He changed his coat, ran a comb through his hair, adjusted his eye patch and set off on foot for Wardfelton’s town house.

  The man was not at home, but the maid who answered the door did advise Caine where the earl might be found at that hour.

  Caine had avoided the clubs since returning from the war. Before that, he and Trent had frequented White’s on occasion. His leanings were Whig, as were his uncle’s. Apparently, Wardfelton preferred Brooke’s, overwhelmingly Tory.

  Things had worked out well, after all, he thought as he strode down St. James road. A public place would be better than a private meeting.

  Caine used his uncle’s cachet and feigned interest in joining in order to gain entrance. He strolled room to room. Attendance proved low in midafternoon, most of the cardplayers and drinkers still at home, readying for the next night’s revels, he supposed. He found Wardfelton upstairs, sitting alone in one of the assembly rooms and reading a newspaper.

  Grace’s uncle certainly looked the part of an earl, though he, like Caine, had not been born to it. He was a third son. The elder brother had died accidentally, thrusting the title on Grace’s father. Then the country doctor, cum lord, had perished of cholera two years later, leaving Wardfelton to inherit.

  Caine assessed the man who had not yet noticed him. The suit appeared to be Saville Row, tailored to perfection, the linen snow-white. His black hair, stiffly pomaded, showed no gray. The waxed mustache curled upward in direct opposition to his thin, pale lips. His hands were smooth, long-fingered and as delicate as a woman’s. Nothing else about him looked effete, considering that he was nearly the size of Caine.

  Wardfelton looked up suddenly, glared at Caine and folded the paper into a neat rectangle. He did not speak and he did not stand. The gaze of steel held fast as his lips tightened to a straight line.

  Caine pasted on a smile in an offer of civility. This was Grace’s uncle, her only family. And though she obviously had no love for the man, nor he for her, it would serve no purpose to irritate him further.

  “Good afternoon, milord,” Caine said as he approached the table and executed a congenial nod in lieu of the bow convention demanded.

  “You have no business in this club. Or with me,” Wardfelton said, his tone flat. He slapped the paper on the leather tabletop.

  “Surely I do, sir. We should discuss the contract. The marriage is in three weeks.”

  “There is nothing to discuss,” Wardfelton snapped, looking past Caine, a deliberate cut. “I made it clear that my niece is destitute, without property or funds.”

  “I thought you might want her interest served, since I am not destitute. We should decide her portion, agree to provisions should I drop dead before I inherit.”

  Wardfelton sighed, rolling his eyes. “Very well. Sit down, Morleigh. I see I shall have to speak with you about her, but it’s nothing that you’ll enjoy hearing.”

  “Nothing that will dissuade me, either.” Caine pulled out a chair and sat, certain that the man had suddenly decided to stifle his anger over Caine’s appropriation of his niece and be reasonable. “Understand that we must amend today’s contract after I inherit, for there will be more to settle on her then.”

  “I doubt either will be needed once I’ve had my say. What has Grace told you?”

  “Very little,” Caine said truthfully, unwilling to share how much he had divined from the bits she had revealed. “But I have heard that her parents died, as did her betrothed. She served as her fiancé’s mother’s companion, then came to live with you almost two years ago. Have you something to add?”

  Wardfelton nodded and sighed again. He pressed his fingers to his brow. “I’m afraid I do. I had hoped not to have to reveal this. The grief affected her mind, Morleigh. I regret to tell you that Grace is quite mad. She conceals it at times, but she is rarely stable for long.”

  Caine froze, locked in denial. Of course it could not be true. Still, a shadow of doubt began to flirt, tempting certainty to desert him. Grace’s response to him had been unexpected, definitely out of the ordinary for a young unmarried woman. There was that sudden faint. And she had expressed unusual candor on such short acquaintance with him. Then there was the fact that she had admittedly starved herself, no reason given.

  She certainly seemed lucid enough, however, and he had witnessed no hysterics or incomprehensible tirades. How did this supposed madness present itself?

  “I cannot blame you for what happened,” Wardfelton declared. “Grace can be quite persuasive when she chooses and I do not doubt she fabricated some tale of woe to stir your sympathy. Some imagined plight to do with me. You see, I’ve had to keep her confined for her own s
afety, no choice about the matter. I thought it better than sending her to strangers in some institution.”

  Caine listened well enough, but observed even more carefully. His army command and dealing with all sorts of men had taught him that. Tongues could easily lie, but the body often spoke the truth. Wardfelton’s eyes met his only briefly now and again, as if gauging whether Caine trusted what he was saying. The man often shook his head as if he couldn’t believe himself.

  “Yet you took her to a public ball where you knew she might embarrass you before the ton?” Caine asked.

  “And so she did,” Wardfelton said with a huff. “But I had to do it. Rumors were gathering. Some thought I had done away with her. As if I would harm my own flesh and blood! They have no idea how difficult it has been to care for her at home rather than relegate that duty.”

  “That must have been a difficult decision. Did you even consider it, putting her somewhere?” Caine asked, projecting sympathy he did not feel. Wardfelton struck the wrong notes in this song of woe. It simply did not ring true.

  The earl pressed his fingers to his forehead, hand concealing his eyes, and groaned softly. “I am ashamed to admit that I did inquire. Not Bedlam, of course, but a licensed house in Houghbarton that provides such care. You see, Grace has wandered away twice and had to be brought home, kicking and screaming.”

  “But you decided against sending her? Why?”

  “Even though our own king is so afflicted, poor devil, I dreaded the scandal to my own house,” Wardfelton confided, his voice deep and sorrowful. “Madness in the family, you see… You understand my conundrum, surely.”

  “Indeed. An unfortunate situation for anyone to imagine,” Caine remarked with a nod. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, letting the silence gather, wondering what the man would say next to fill the void.

  Once again and once too often for his act, Wardfelton heaved a sigh of regret. “So you must bring her back to me, Morleigh, or let me fetch her. No one has to know why the betrothal was dissolved. We can put it about that Grace herself had second thoughts.”