The Lady Is Daring

by Megan Frampton

  He nodded. “Yes, but only with you. Only for you.”

  Chapter 19

  Dare. Just dare.

  Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler

  The sky, Ida was pleased to see, was relatively bare of clouds. No chance of precipitation on this most auspicious of days.

  Although it was a rainstorm that had precipitated so many things, so she couldn’t complain about the weather no matter what happened.

  “Are you ready?” Della asked, touching Ida’s cheek. Pearl stood behind, fussing with the ribbons at the back of Ida’s gown.

  “I am.”

  “Come look,” Pearl said, taking Ida by the hand and leading her to where the mirror stood.

  “You look beautiful,” Eleanor said in a quiet voice.

  They were at Eleanor’s house, upstairs in one of the guest bedrooms. Olivia was still in the country with Mr. Beechcroft, but she had hopes that her father-in-law would feel well enough to travel soon.

  Della and Mrs. Wattings were making plans to set up their own household, even though Eleanor begged them to consider staying for longer.

  The duchess had refused to acknowledge Della’s return, although Ida knew it must be tearing her apart, since she was equally desperate to see her daughters married, and the least marriageable one was about to fulfill her mother’s most fervent wish, and the duchess would want to be there to boast her triumph at finally having a Howlett marry the elusive Lord Carson.

  Ida stared back at her reflection, startled to see how she looked. Not because she didn’t know how she appeared, obviously, but because—

  “Is that a happy expression on my face?” she asked in an incredulous voice.

  Della and Pearl both burst out laughing, although Pearl, at least, had the grace to look embarrassed at the outburst. Eleanor just rolled her eyes.

  Ida was all set to glare at her sisters, but then Della made a funny noise as she laughed so it was impossible for Ida not to join her. And then they were all laughing, holding their stomachs as they shared glances brimming with amusement.

  “I am happy,” Ida said after the laughter had died down. “I never would have thought it, that I would be the Howlett sister to finally snare the elusive Lord Carson.”

  “The way he looks at you, sister, it would be a scandal if you weren’t to be married,” Della replied in a sly tone.

  Ida felt herself blush. Something else she’d rarely done before.

  Apparently being happy and blushing were things she could look forward to from now on.

  “And you didn’t have to wear white,” Pearl said, nodding toward Ida’s gown.

  It was not white. Not in the slightest. It was a rich, glorious purple, the purple of grapes and crocuses and amethysts. Except for the ribbons that wrapped around Ida’s waist and tied at the back, it was bare of ornament, and cut low enough that Ida had to resist the urge to tug the gown up.

  Pearl had pulled Ida’s hair into an equally simple chignon, wrapping a length of the matching ribbon around her head. She’d also found purple gloves that were a lighter hue.

  “Lord Carson likes me in rich colors,” Ida said in satisfaction. Actually, she knew he liked her best in no clothing at all, but she couldn’t very well get married naked.

  “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late,” Della said, glancing at the clock in the corner.

  “Thank you for bringing Della back to us,” Eleanor said. “Thank you for standing up for all of us, for sharing your knowledge and wisdom.” She sounded sincere, and Ida felt her heart swell.

  They did appreciate her. They did understand her, to a point, but what was most important was that they loved her.

  “There she is,” Alexander murmured, even though his words were unnecessary—Bennett hadn’t stopped looking for her since he’d arrived at the church half an hour ago.

  He and his brother were standing at the front, watching as she walked down the aisle accompanied by all of her sisters.

  There weren’t many people in attendance. Not because so many refused to come, but because neither Ida nor Bennett particularly wanted a large crowd for their wedding. When Bennett had asked Ida if she was certain, she’d given him that “are you actually questioning me” look, and he’d laughed.

  The only person besides Alexander that Bennett wanted there had managed to make it, and he glanced over to where his mother sat, frail but smiling, under Nurse Cooper’s watchful eye.

  He had told his father, but he hadn’t expected the marquis to make an appearance, and he hadn’t. He was still sulking from Bennett’s refusal to sacrifice himself, and had taken off to the country, apparently bringing his second family with him.

  Bennett had made certain that his father had enough to live on, but not so much it would threaten the family’s livelihood.

  Ida walked toward him, her head held as proudly as when he had first met her, when she’d shared her dreams of escape and what it meant to be a female in their world. She was so beautiful it made him hurt, but that hurt was assuaged because she was going to be his. She was his.

  And he was hers, because he knew she would insist in theirs being an equal partnership.

  “My hedgehog,” he said in a low voice as she stepped beside him.

  She opened her mouth as though to protest—in her very hedgehog-like way—then must have changed her mind, because instead she smiled, that true, wonderful, glorious smile that had knocked him flat when he’d first seen it.

  “Stop trying to distract me,” she said in a mock outraged tone. “We’re here to get married, not have you bestow epithets.”

  Bennett bowed. “Of course. I do not want to delay a moment more than I have to for you to be my bride.”

  “And you my husband,” she retorted.

  “Do you—” the clergyman interrupted, stumbling a bit on the change of wording. “Do you, Bennett, dare to take this woman Ida to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in heath, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto her for as long as you both shall live?”

  “I dare.” Bennett felt the truth of his words in his entire body.

  The clergyman turned to Ida, who grinned as she waited for him to repeat the same words.

  “I dare,” she said in a voice loud enough to be heard at the back of the church.

  Epilogue

  Sometimes the most daring adventure is at home.

  Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler

  “You’re not—?”

  Ida glowered. “No, I am not,” she said, swatting Bennett’s hand away from her midsection. “I probably just ate too much at breakfast. Just because my two sisters had babies practically within moments of their weddings does not mean I am like them.”

  “You are nothing like them, wife,” Bennett said, kissing her shoulder. “You are only you. Ida.” As always, his touch made her shiver, and he chuckled, a deep knowing sound that made her want to drag him off somewhere and strip him naked.

  But since it was the morning, and they were on their way to visit Della and Mrs. Wattings at the Society for Poor and Unfortunate Children, she couldn’t very well take time out to have her way with him.

  Or his way with her, to be honest.

  She very much enjoyed making love with and to her husband. Bennett was willing to be flexible in all such matters, sometimes taking her hard and ruthlessly, other times letting her take the lead, giving her a gloriously powerful feeling.

  What was always consistent was that she found her pleasure, and that was a wonderful thing.

  “This afternoon, hedgehog,” Bennett said, because apparently he had become a mind reader.

  “Speaking of which,” Ida said, picking up a letter from the tray, “I’ve had an odd letter from Della.” She held it out to him. “She says not to worry about whatever news might surface about her, but doesn’t say what it is.” She looked up at him. “What could be worse than running off with the dancing instructor?
”

  Bennett took the letter and scanned it, handing it back to her when he was done.

  “It seems as though your sister might finally be finding her own adventure. Perhaps she’ll dare as well?” He shook his head in mock disapproval. “The Howlett sisters are quite disgraceful, aren’t they?”

  Ida grabbed the back of his head and drew him down for a kiss. “That they are.”

  An Excerpt from Never a Bride

  And now check out a sneak peek of

  Megan Frampton’s next in The Duke’s Daughters series

  Never a Bride

  Coming next spring from Avon Books!

  Chapter 1

  Report from Africa

  The H.M.S. Albert, steam sloop, Captain Griffith Davies, captured a valuable slaver, based in Brazil, off the coast of Monrovia on 17 February of this year. The slaver attempted to evade its captors through nefarious deception, but the brave and courageous sailors aboard the man of war noticed the ship’s suspicious activity and boarded after exchanging a volley of shots. None of the British crew was wounded, although two of the slaver’s sailors were slightly wounded. Captain Davies and his crew liberated the men on board and brought the ship’s captain and crew to the Brazilian authorities in Monrovia for judgment. It remains to be seen if Captain Davies will be reprimanded by the British authorities since he did not follow proper procedure.

  April 30, 1851

  London, The Mermaid’s Arms, a not so respectable pub on the dock serving mediocre porter

  “I think we should get some more ale,” Griffith said to his first mate, Clark, as he downed the rest of his drink. “That’s proper procedure,” he snorted ruefully.

  Proper procedure in this pub meant that he would get more beer. But proper procedure, at least according to Her Majesty’s government, meant that innocent people would likely die, caught in the conflict between nations. Proper procedure meant that women and children would live in a ship’s hold for months, with meager provisions and unsanitary living circumstances.

  So he’d acted improperly, according to the Naval authorities. It smarted, being told he’d done wrong. But he had acted entirely properly when it came to Griffith’s own law, which demanded that people be free to live as they wish, not kept in captivity.

  It was one of the many reasons he’d run off to sea when he was sixteen—he’d seen the inequity of his family’s situation, that they were blessed with wealth and land and power, and the families that worked for them were entirely dependent on their largesse. He would not stand by and benefit merely because of the lucky circumstance of his birth. Especially if he could do something about other people’s unlucky circumstances.

  Also there was the truth that he and his parents did not agree on anything. They wanted him to follow in the footsteps of all the Davies sons before him, which meant getting the best education and then forgetting entirely about it since it wasn’t seemly to appear too intelligent.

  Not that Griffith believed himself to be too intelligent—school had been difficult for him. He wanted to be outside all the time, moving his body rather than sitting in a wooden chair for hours.

  Although after several months at sea, this chair in the pub felt quite comfortable.

  “Clark?” he said again. “Another drink?”

  Clark did not answer. Likely because Clark had already had enough and was currently sleeping on the table.

  “More!” Griffith called as he downed the rest of his drink. One of the barmaids nodded.

  “Excellent service, don’t you think?” Griffith asked Clark. “Very proper procedure,” he couldn’t help but add in a low aside.

  Clark snored softly in reply. Not even appreciating Griffith’s wit.

  Griffith shrugged, adjusting Clark’s head so he was lying more comfortably. That was one of the secrets behind being a well-respected captain: making certain your crew was taken care of.

  He’d taken such good care of Clark that his mate was getting some well-deserved rest. Albeit in a pub, his nose pressed against a wooden table.

  He didn’t see the point of being sober either if he was on land, but unfortunately it took a lot for him to get drunk, since he was so large—he towered over everyone on his crew and couldn’t get comfortable below deck. His jackets always felt a bit snug, too, since it seemed tailors did not actually believe that a person’s shoulders could be as wide as Griffith’s.

  The curse of the Davies family.

  The barmaid placed another glass on the worn wooden table in front of him. “You need one for your friend here?” she asked.

  Griffith shook his head no and tossed a few coins to her, which she caught handily. “Thank you,” he said as he took a long draught. The porter was fair to middling at best, but it was beer, so that made it all right.

  They usually ran out of beer aboard the ship sometime around the second month of the voyage, and this most recent voyage had lasted over ten months. Too long without alcohol. Or a woman, to be honest.

  He did feel slightly fuzzy around the edges, which was good. It also had the benefit of disguising the quality of the alcohol. And the lack of female companionship.

  He might’ve attempted some sort of discourse with one of the barmaids, but several ships had docked, it seemed, so the pub was full to bursting and the women were scurrying about with no time for flirtation. Despite their bosoms full to bursting delightfully out of their bodices. He enjoyed the view at least.

  While he’d engaged in anonymous couplings in the past, he found the idea distasteful now. He wanted something more, although he had no hope of finding more for the short time they were ashore. So he’d resigned himself to looking—discreetly, so as not to cause distress—and consoling himself with beer and sleeping in a bed long enough for him to stretch his entire body out.

  That was heaven for him. Even if it was a solitary heaven.

  Plus, there was Clark to consider—it would be downright rude to leave his first mate here alone. Even if Clark was currently unconscious, so perhaps not the best company.

  “It’s you and me, love,” he said to the glass, which was already nearly empty.

  He, Clark, and his crew had made shore only that morning, and after filing the ship’s paperwork with the authorities, he had told his crew to do whatever they wanted for the next forty-eight hours. He presumed they were scattered around London, doing exactly what he was doing, give or take a few ales and women.

  Or, like Clark here, getting some well-deserved rest.

  He took the last pull from his glass as he saw the door to the pub open. His mouth dropped open as he saw who had walked in—not that he knew the lady. How could he? Just that she looked like a glorious angel, a vibrant, dark-haired woman wearing a dark cloak. The glimpse he got of her face indicated she was truly stunning. And was entirely out of place in this dingy dockside pub.

  “I wish you were awake for this,” Griffith murmured in Clark’s direction. “And I’m reconsidering my stance on anonymous couplings. Although she is clearly a lady, so that would not be possible.” Too bad, he thought. For him, not for her. He didn’t think a lady would wish to have anything to do with someone like him.

  The female wore an enormous bonnet on her head, making her have to turn her head to glance around her, a newspaper tucked under one arm, while in the other she was brandishing a—a tiny sword? A poker for the fire?

  Oh. A hatpin. Of course. Because young, beautiful ladies often ventured into disreputable establishments carrying only a newspaper and an accessory.

  “The fool,” he muttered, shaking his head as he watched her movements. He felt his body tighten in an unconsciously protective position. He wished he weren’t so determined to rescue anybody who seemed they might need help, but that was what had propelled him thus far, so he supposed it wouldn’t stop just because he was off duty. He shrugged, taking another drink as he accepted his own inability to stay uninvolved.

  She held the hatpin in front of her, clearly apprehensive. As she should
be. The only women in the pub worked here, and they were definitely not ladies. The noise had been growing steadily in the short time he’d been inside. There had even been a few scuffles, although there hadn’t been any full-fledged fights. At least not yet. She glanced around, her gaze, from what Griffith could see of it, intent. As though she were looking for someone or something. She picked her way over to the bar, a few tables away from where Griffith sat and Clark slept.

  Griffith rose slowly from his chair, now relieved he hadn’t had more to drink. This lady had no idea what she was walking into, or she would have at least brought a Derringer pistol.

  “Pardon me,” he heard her say to one of the barmaids in what was obviously a cultured accent, as though her clothing didn’t give her status away. But she wasn’t able to finish, mostly because the barmaid she’d inquired of was too busy handing out the ales at the other end of the bar.

  The noise in the room began to subside as the occupants heard and saw the lady. Griffith grimaced as he heard the low hum of talk that wasn’t the rowdy conviviality of a few moments earlier. This conversation held a tone of suspicion and interest. Damn it. It seemed likely he would have to interfere.

  “Who’s this, then?” The voice came from behind Griffith, and he turned, seeing the man wobble up to his feet, a predatory tone in his voice.

  It wasn’t one of Griffith’s shipmen, unfortunately. If it were, he could command him to sit back down. To ignore one of Griffith’s direct commands meant immediate dismissal.

  “I am looking for someone,” the lady said, raising her chin—and her hatpin—as she turned away from the bar to face the man.

  The man walked toward the bar, a lewd grin on his face. “Looking for me, I’d say. How about we grab a drink and get to know each other? I’ve always wanted to have a la—” But he stopped speaking as she raised her arm, sticking the hatpin into the man’s chest, making him yelp as he took a few steps backward.