Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2)

by Lee, Jade

  So it was this midafternoon, three days after Sophia's refusal, that Anthony arrived with corset in hand, intending to once again ask Lady Sophia to set the date of their wedding.

  "She will not receive you."

  Anthony paused in the act of handing his horse to a servant, turning slightly as he searched for the source of the muffled voice. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I said, 'She will not receive you.'"

  The sound came from behind him, and Anthony once again twisted awkwardly, scanning the near gardens for the source of the female voice. The woman emerged slowly, backing out from beneath a large hedge, her round posterior quivering as she wiggled and twisted.

  Lady Agatha, Sophia's aunt.

  "These vines are terribly difficult," she muttered as she tugged on a rather long and twisted vine of unknown progeny. "They were a special gift from a dear but dotty old friend, imported from the Continent. The plant, not the friend. I thought to simply kill the thing, but everywhere I turn, there it is again, growing in the most difficult places. Here," she continued, pushing the greenery in question into his hand. "Have a tug."

  Anthony had no choice. Good manners insisted that he comply with the lady's request. Wrapping the vine around his glove, he pulled... to no avail.

  "Come now, Major," Lady Agatha chided as she finally stepped out of the shrubbery, her ribbons trailing behind her. "Put your back into it."

  "Perhaps your gardener..."

  "Nonsense. This will take but a moment."

  Anthony sighed, impatient to see Sophia, but the girl's aunt appeared blithely ignorant of his desires. Finally giving in to the inevitable, he put aside his wrapped package and added his other hand to the first and began to tug.

  Nothing.

  Frowning, he set his feet wider and pulled again. This time, he was rewarded with a slight hitch as at least one root gave way.

  "Oh, bravo, Major. Please, keep pulling."

  "Madame—"

  "Pull!" The lady added force to her command by laying her hands on top of his and adding her own bulk to his weight. Together they hauled on the vine while her ribbons brushed his nose and fluttered in his eyes.

  "Madame," Anthony sputtered. "Your bows... madame!"

  But it was too late. Though he tried to fight the urge, the sneeze was as undeniable as the persistent tickle of her ribbons. It exploded through him with the force of a gale, ripping the roots from the soil and throwing both him and Lady Agatha backward.

  He landed flat on his gift of fashionable unmentionables and skidded directly into a patch of mud.

  "Bravo, Major!" Lady Agatha cried as she tumbled off of him, further mangling what was left of his package. "I feel certain we have finished this usurper once and for all!" She waved the uprooted vine, then gained her feet, calmly shifting the vine to inspect its dirty base. "Oh, bother! I thought you would be strong enough to get more of the root system." She sighed heavily. "But I supposed there is a limit to what even a major of His Majesty's army can achieve."

  Anthony did not dare comment; he was busy surveying the damage done to the poor corset, not to mention his now soiled attire. Surveying his damaged gift, he realized the shopkeeper had been less than expert in his wrapping. The box had split open and a whalebone corner had cleaved a deep rut through the mud.

  Really, he thought as he lifted the item from the muck, why did women subject themselves to such torment? The corset looked most uncomfortable to him.

  "A corset, Major? That is a tad unusual."

  He glanced up, feeling his face heat to the roots of his hair. "Lady Sophia suggested, um, that I purchase her new ones as I, uh, ruined her—"

  "Ah, yes, that silly ritual." Lady Agatha shook her head and turned away. "I thought it would be good for her at the time, but I can see it has just confused her mind even more."

  Anthony frowned as the lady began walking away. Confused her mind? Perhaps this sweet lady possessed the answer to Sophia's strange behavior. "Lady Agatha," he called as he hurried to catch up with her. "What do you mean, confused her mind?"

  "Hmmm? Oh, she wished to be rid of everything related to London, and burying corsets has always sounded like a perfectly delightful thing to me, so I suggested she do it. Now it appears she was more interested in burying you." She bent down to lift up a basket of cuttings, pausing to take a frowning look at his muddy clothing. "I suppose I cannot blame her for refusing you, if that is your choice of attire when calling."

  He looked up at the lady, frustration washing over him as he catalogued the things he now must do before finishing his business with Sophia. Not only would he have to go back to his room to bathe and change, but he would have to purchase a new corset, a most humiliating affair, to be sure. By the time that was accomplished, Sophia would no doubt be bedded down for the night.

  "Well, you need not glare like that at me," exclaimed the lady as she calmly folded the vine into her basket. "I am not the one who has barred the door to you."

  It was not until Anthony had given up trying to clean off his pantaloons that her words sank in. But by that time, the woman had already begun wandering to the near gardens, and he was forced to catch up to her there. "Sophia has barred the door to me?"

  Lady Agatha grasped one of her fluttering ribbons and tugged on it far enough to pull back the wide brim of her bonnet. "Did I not just say so?"

  "Well, of course," muttered Anthony as he measured his pace to hers. "But that must have been two days ago. By now your niece has reevaluated the situation enough to—"

  "To be seeking your visit?"

  Anthony smiled. "Yes."

  "No."

  "But..."

  Lady Agatha took a sharp turn to the right, and Anthony had to struggle over a rather strange purple hedge to remain by her side.

  "She will not see you, Major. She will not even go out of the house in case she might chance to meet you. In fact, she has vowed to remain inside until her mother writes that you are safely ensconced in London, wooing some other girl."

  It was fortunate that Lady Agatha chose that moment to suddenly stoop down over a broad-leafed weed, for Anthony stopped dead in his tracks to consider her words.

  "Sophia is not nearly that stubborn," he said, as much to himself as to the girl's aunt.

  "Oh, I assure you, Sophia is that stubborn and more. You shall have quite a time if you intend to continue wooing her."

  Anthony did not answer. He was too busy considering his options. There were not many. "She has truly barred the door?"

  "Most explicitly."

  "Does she take walks?"

  "Not anymore."

  "She must ride."

  "She sold her horse in London."

  "Damnation! Then how am I to see her, short of dancing on the rooftops and dropping whole into her bedroom?"

  "Oh, pray do not do that!" cried Lady Agatha. "You would undoubtedly crush the rare plants I have cultured by her window."

  Anthony stared at the plump woman digging gingerly at some weed as if she was born to the task. Then, suddenly, she turned her head and he gazed into her pale green eyes. He had not realized they were so keen, but here with the sunlight falling full on her face, he felt the weight of a stare his commanding officer had never managed.

  Instinctively, he stiffened his spine. "Madame?"

  She stood slowly, bringing the muddy weed with her. "So you intend to continue wooing my niece."

  It was not a question, but he answered it nonetheless. "Yes, my lady."

  "Why?" she asked. "Certainly there are other girls available to you."

  "Lady Sophia has already consented."

  The woman snorted as she tossed the weed away. "Sophia is locked in her room for fear that she might see you. Is that how you wish to spend your married life? With a wife who bars the door to you?"

  "Of course not! Sophia is not truly so intemperate."

  "You know full well she is," the lady snapped. "I repeat my question: Why Sophia?"

  He answered withou
t thought, as if commanded by a superior officer. "Because she is perfect in every way."

  Clearly that was not the correct answer; Lady Agatha shook her head, and her eyes narrowed as she inspected him from head to toe. "Sophia finds you domineering and inflexible. I cannot say that I disagree."

  Shock jolted him out of his rigid posture. "But that cannot be true," he said, as much to her as to himself. "Our conversations in the hospital were spirited and entertaining." His tone softened in memory. "She even said I had a stimulating perspective on the world."

  "Are you certain she said that?"

  His posture stiffened, and he found himself somewhat offended. "Those very words."

  The lady sighed, then ambled forward through her garden while Anthony hurried to fall in line with her. But even as they moved, his gaze shifted upward, to Sophia's bedroom window. He had to speak with her. Surely, face to face he could find a way to convince her.

  Then her aunt was speaking, jolting him out of his thoughts. "You must prove to her that you can be flexible. That you can serve."

  Anthony frowned. "I was a soldier in His Majesty's army. I served every day of my career."

  Her chuckle set her ribbons to dancing about her hair. "A wife is a much more difficult taskmaster than His Majesty."

  Anthony stopped walking, his impatience getting the better of him. "My lady, I beg of you, call your niece outside. Allow me to speak with—"

  "Major, I have decided it is time for Bowen to visit his mother. He is our butler, you understand, but he neglects his poor parent so, I really feel I must insist he visit her more often."

  Anthony frowned, wondering at this apparent non sequitur. What could the butler have to do with anything?

  "My lady, if I could just speak with Sophia—"

  "I shall have to find a replacement, you understand," she continued without pause. "Starting tomorrow." Her keen gaze once again fell full on his face.

  Suddenly, he understood. He felt his eyes widen, and his shoulders pulled back with astonishment. "You cannot possibly think I would make a good butler!"

  "Well, of course not!" returned the lady. "You will, no doubt, make a perfectly wretched butler, but for Sophia's sake, I feel I can make the sacrifice."

  "Madame, I am the son of an earl!"

  "Well, what is that to the point? I am the daughter of an earl, and yet I tend my own garden. If rank made a difference with Sophia, she would no doubt already be married to that stiff-rumped duke with the watery eyes and wandering hands."

  Anthony clenched his teeth in anger. Sophia had not told him about any duke with wayward hands. But he was not given time to dwell on such things as Lady Agatha continued, her voice as sharp as his old nurse's.

  "The only way to see Sophia is to come into the house. And the only way into the house is as a servant."

  "Could you not just invite me in?" he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  "Well, of course I could, but she will not come down. And she asks now if we have visitors to dine before coming to table. I told you, Major, she is as stubborn as that vine, but together we can move her."

  Anthony flinched, not appreciating her analogy, but he was nevertheless forced to admit certain similarities. "Why are you helping me?"

  "Because I must observe you two together." She turned to him, and her face softened into a mischievous smile. "And because you make her mad as I have never seen her before."

  "But—"

  "Never underestimate passion, Major. It stirs the blood to all sorts of things. Anger. Recklessness. Sometimes even love." Then Agatha wandered off, her basket once again on her arm. Her last words floated over her shoulder. "Do try not to get mud in the house, Major. As our butler, you must be more careful with your appearance."

  Then she was gone.

  * * *

  Sophia's defense against the Major's "flanking maneuver" had been well planned. She left word with Bowen to refuse posies, sweets, or even impassioned letters; she refused to take trips into the village for fear of "accidentally" meeting him; and she even stopped her daily walks in the dale near her aunt's house.

  Nothing happened. In the three days since the major's proposal, no letters were refused at the door. No trinkets were pushed through her window. Indeed, no impassioned cries came from the front walk. Anthony had disappeared from her life, no doubt riding back to London on his magnificent steed, leaving Sophia once again alone.

  Perversely, the situation left her mood decidedly flat.

  Obviously, her aunt had been exaggerating the major's intentions. As a practical and logical man, Anthony clearly understood her refusal and had left for London. She was now free to resume the normal course of life in Staffordshire.

  Naturally, she was pleased that the situation had been resolved so easily, she told herself. It was merely the cloudy day that affected her mood.

  So, on the fourth morning after the Major's tea time appearance, she dressed in one of her prettiest gowns to cheer herself up and went down to breakfast. She spotted her aunt immediately. Indeed, who could miss a plump woman adorned with more than a dozen pink bows, when suddenly a deep, rich, very male voice interrupted her thoughts.

  "Good morning, Lady Sophia," the major called as he backed awkwardly into the breakfast room toting a tray of breakfast. "You look quite lovely this morning."

  Sophia did not know how to respond. She simply stared at him.

  "Would you care for some poached eggs? Toast?" he continued almost gleefully. "Cook's kippers are delicious this morning."

  Sophia continued to stare. It could not possibly be true. But it was. It was the major, dressed in a butler's knee breeches and stockings, his limp masked by his careful pace. And he was serving her kippers.

  "Close your mouth, Sophia," commented her aunt in a merry undertone. "You are catching flies."

  Sophia snapped her jaw shut.

  "Would you care for some eggs, my lady?" repeated the major.

  Sophia lifted her gaze to look directly at him. His eyes were twinkling. Sparkling, actually, which was an odd thing for meltingly dark brown eyes to be doing. Still, somehow he had accomplished it. Just as somehow he had managed to appear in her breakfast room, serving her eggs and morning chocolate.

  She swallowed convulsively. "Are you quite well?" she asked before she thought to stop her words. "Does your leg pain you?"

  He grinned as he poured her chocolate. "Of course I am well. Thank you for asking. Eggs?"

  She watched him a moment longer, searching his face for telltale signs of a fever. There didn't seem to be any.

  "Kippers?" he inquired.

  Slowly, she dropped her eyes to the cart. "No, thank you," was all she managed.

  "You may go now, Major," called her aunt sweetly.

  The man nodded and quit the room, his manners impeccable. Sophia watched, her mind still reeling from the sight. The moment the door swung shut behind him, she rounded on her aunt.

  "What is he doing here?" she hissed.

  "I told you last night that Bowen had left to visit his ailing mother."

  Sophia clenched her fingers in her bright canary skirt. "Yes, you did. But I fail to see what that has to do with the major serving kippers to us."

  Her aunt raised one finely drawn eyebrow. "Is there something wrong with the kippers?"

  "I have no idea; I have not tasted any," she snapped.

  "Oh, then did the major spill as he served your chocolate?"

  Sophia gritted her teeth but was unable to keep the frustration from her voice. "You know quite well that he did not, although it was a near thing there for a moment." The major obviously was not used to handling fine china while wearing white gloves. Which was all the more reason to suspect her aunt of hidden motives.

  "I fail to see the problem," claimed the older woman serenely.

  "Well, I do. The major cannot act as our butler!"

  When she so chose, Aunt Agatha could look like a cherub being cruelly and unjustly tortured. Now was one of t
hose times. She placed one hand on her chest and opened her eyes wide with shocked horror. "Goodness, Sophia," she gasped. "You must know I had to hire another butler until Bowen returned."

  "Of course, but—"

  "And the major came to me looking for employment."

  Sophia gave her a skeptical look. "Really? The stiff major, an earl's son, came to you looking for employment?"

  Her aunt colored. "Well," she answered slowly, "he is only a younger son." Her voice trailed away.

  "Out with it, Aunt Agatha. What have you done?"

  The dear lady stiffened, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I could not allow one of our dear casualties of war to starve. Especially when I had a job available."

  "He is not on the point of starvation!" Sophia snapped.

  "Well, I fail to see how you could know that. After all—"

  "Aunt! Why is he here?"

  Aunt Agatha looked down at the lacy tablecloth, her expression too innocent. "We, um, had a long conversation yesterday."

  "Regarding?"

  The older woman lifted her gaze until her light green eyes were flashing irritation at her niece. "Regarding your ridiculous refusal to see him. Goodness, Sophia, you have practically gaoled yourself in this house."

  "I have not!"

  "Excuse me, Lady Agatha," interrupted the major's deep voice. It was so unexpected that Sophia nearly jumped out of her chair. "The gardener wishes to speak with you," he continued. "Shall I bid him wait?"

  Sophia frowned at their erstwhile new butler, showing every ounce of displeasure available to her. "It is customary to wait until we bid you to speak, Major. My aunt and I were in the middle of a discussion." Her tone was haughty, almost rude, and she had the satisfaction of seeing the major's face flush with the effort to hold back his response to her words.

  Taking advantage of the man's temporary silence, Sophia turned back to her aunt. "Surely you can see he is not fit to be a butler. A general, certainly, but not our butler."

  Her aunt did not respond. She simply gave her niece a serene smile as she turned to the major. "I will see the gardener directly. Thank you." Then, with a slight nod to her niece, she stood and withdrew from the room, the delicate wave of her pink ribbons her only good-bye.