Major Lord David

by Sherry Lynn Ferguson

  Lord Sidley’s Last Season

  Quiet Meg

  The Honorable Marksley

  Sherry Lynn Ferguson

  The year 1815 was at the door, but the Duke of Braughton’s guests refused to admit it. The crowd’s easy laughter and excited conversation continued unabated as midnight and the first of January approached.

  Observing the revelers, David found nothing lacking. This New Year’s celebration was one of a long line of happy gatherings. For more than three decades his parents had entertained family, friends, and neighbors in grand fashion at the castlethe massive, medieval “ruin,” as his brother, Myles, Marquis of Hayden, inevitably referred to their eminence of a home. Tonight Braughton overflowed with greenery, candles, mirrors, and colorful swags, and sheltered a throng of masked visitors. Their joyful activity warmed the lofty Leicestershire halls, turning the place into what Hayden had also ruefully termed an “inn.”

  Hayden was heir to it all. He might call it what he chose. Yet David reflected that few inns could boast Braughton’s extensive number of beautifully appointed guest suites.

  Just now the festive ballroom was a spectacle indeed-such a melding of motion, music, and merry anticipation that any observer’s heart would have instantly lightened. For David, who had missed the occasion for far too many years, the sight was doubly welcome.

  He knew the duke and duchess celebrated not only the holiday but his own return from Paris. He also knew that his parents intended that this time the homecoming be permanent. To be home was his desire as well; it had been his dearest goal for six long years. He had held this vision of Braughton in dreams, on every tedious march, through every campaign, for all the years of war on the Peninsula. Its realization had been delayed last fall, when his colonel had recommended unexpectedly that he accompany Wellington and the occupying allied forces to Paris. But the terms of his return here to Leicestershire were the sticking point, for his father was suggesting, however discreetly, that his second son, Lord David, should be thinking of marriage. And the duke had gone so far as to select, most efficiently and carefully, the bride.

  David sighed as he stood pensively at Hayden’s side. In keeping with the spirit of the evening, his brother had donned an elaborate mask, one that covered his eyes and extended on either side of his face into gilded rays-portraying the sun, perhaps, or possibly the mane of a lion. Either role would have suited him. Despite the mask Hayden was unmistakable, given his distinctive flaxen hair, his tall form, and his immaculate clothing. In town, some wags even called Hayden “His Resplendence.”

  “I never tire of looking at that man,” one masked lady whispered as she and a gaping companion passed in front of their post. David knew the two women referred to Hayden. Yet his brother appeared oblivious, his attention fixed on the opposite side of the ballroom, where a lively country dance had just commenced.

  “And what draws your interest so, Myles?” David asked. They were of a height, such that when the mask turned to him, David met the hooded look in Hayden’s level blue gaze.

  “Love,” he said, and his lips rose in a grin. He nodded toward their cousin Charles Cabot and his new wife.

  “Chas and Meg,” David agreed. “Yes” Though the pair now stood apart in the midst of the dance, their attachment was palpable. Yet they had come alarmingly close to losing their future together-and their very lives.

  “A good job, that, David,” Hayden remarked. “Chas might have died but for your care”

  David shook his head. “He could not have died, knowing Meg awaited him.” He followed the two in the energetic figures of the dance. “No wonder Chas smiles so. Were I similarly blessed, I’d want the world to know it. Watching them is a pleasure, gratifying to us all. I’m happy for them”

  Hayden stared at him. “You’re fickle, David.”

  “Why so? I met Meg Lawrence on her wedding day. She’s now as close as we shall ever come to having a sister. And I’m a practical man, Myles. I would never have had a chance with her.”

  “Well, you see, that is where I must wonder.” Hayden paused. Behind the mask his expression was indecipherable. “‘Twould not have been a bad match,” he mused aloud.

  “That you say so tells me it would have been far from good. You are too cynical, Myles. I’ll wager someday you’ll regret it.” David pointedly looked back at the dancers. “You could not have made Meg as happy.”

  “Oh, I know that. That is one of the regrets. But happiness is your standard, is it?”

  “Unless one is a completely selfish beast” Again he looked to his brother’s hidden eyes, so strangely mirroring his own. “Why did you not take a chance with her, then? You’d seen Meg Lawrence years before Chas ever met her.”

  “I believed her taken-another’s property. And I was slow to consider it. Complacent, I ‘spose. Grandmere would call me worse. I hadn’t Chas’ pluck.”

  David sighed once more. “Perhaps it was not quite right, else you would have tried.”

  “I suspect ‘twill never be `quite right.’” Hayden attempted to ease the mask upon his nose. “Yet I must marry this year. I must settle. I shall be thirty-two.”

  David laughed. “Is it a prescription, then? Heaven forbid that you should ever let your heart rule your head.”

  With a dismissive sound, Hayden returned to reviewing the ballroom.

  “Has Father been after you as well?” David pressed. He wondered if their father’s plans extended to matrimony for both of them.

  “Not at all.”

  David considered that as he also surveyed the merrymakers. “You frighten me sometimes, Myles,” he commented at last. “I wonder if there is a woman in the world who might trump your sense of duty.”

  Hayden answered only with silence. Again David found his own attention caught by the slim, shapely woman dressed as a Spanish senorita in colorful, tiered, ruffled skirts and a lacy mantilla with combs. But the mantilla could not entirely cover her lustrous chestnut hair, nor could her black domino hide a creamy complexion and delicately bowed lips. David had tracked her much of the past hour. He’d noticed her walk. It was perhaps the least self-conscious walk he had ever seen in a woman-modest, yet light and free, with nothing of feminine feints or flirtation. Because of the senorita’s presence at the ball, David had been looking forward with considerable expectation to midnight’s unmasking.

  “Speakin’ of duty,” Hayden said, breaking in upon his reverie. “Have you spoken to our neighbor Caswell yet?”

  “No” David’s high spirits immediately plunged. “Why should it be my task, when he seeks the interview? Father might present me at any time. I’ve seen him over there, with Caswell and two of his sons and half a dozen other neighbors. If they wish to acquaint me with the girl, let them get on with it. I’ve not been hiding. Meantime, this is my homeand a holiday.”

  “Indeed, little brother. And you have a certain role-as a host.”

  “I’ve been about it! I’ve danced with every matron in the place and not touched a drop of anything stronger than the punch. If I want a trot with the chestnut filly before confronting Sir Moreton Caswell, what’s wrong with that?”

  Hayden shrugged and looked at the senorita. “Do you know who she is?” he asked.

  “I expected you to tell me that”

  “You assume I know everybody in the place, even masked?”

  “Quite frankly, yes. You are usually aufait with most matters, Lord Hayden. But I believe I might wait for midnight’s revelations. It wants only twenty minutes to the hour.”

  Hayden sighed. “Deuced uncomfortable,” he muttered, pushing the mask an increment higher above his nose.

  “You might have dispensed with the contraption. Everyone knows perfectly well who you are. Chas cert
ainly did not bother, and I knew my regimentals would betray me”

  “More than your regimentals, perhaps, Major. But unlike you, I am sharing in the spirit of the occasion.”

  David laughed. “Mon frere, you are unexpectedly agreeable. Grandmere will suspect you have been tamed. `Without teeth!’ Le marquis sans dents! Le marquis manque!”

  People turned to look at him. He’d been told he had a pleasant laugh. Yet David was not aware of laughing all that oftencertainly not during the past few years. He supposed the compliment was meant to encourage him, like commending the smile of a shy wallflower.

  His laugh attracted the attention of another bystander. Masked Squire Melrose, singular in his stoutness, sidled up to David’s side. “Lord David!” he boomed. “Will you be treating us to a song tonight?”

  “I had not planned on it tonight, Squire.” David nodded politely. “I have not had enough punch”

  “Not enough punch? Well! That is soon remedied, surely? I shall bring you a cup.” As Melrose trundled off in the direction of the refreshments, Hayden groaned.

  “Now you are in for it. Are you in good voice, or must we tolerate the usual?”

  “Your support and encouragement are always so welcome, Myles,” David commented dryly.

  “Compliments are not my function.”

  “Oh? What is?”

  Hayden shrugged. “I am your brother.”

  David silently wondered just what filial obligations Lord Hayden deigned to acknowledge. But as for singing-perhaps singing would not be that bad. Many years ago, David used to sing frequently.

  “I shall sing if pressed,” he conceded. “Since you reprimand me, I shall attempt to participate in the esprit de parti.”

  Hayden grinned at him and nodded in the direction of the dancing senorita.

  “You might skip over now to ask the lady, before you are forced to yodel. Granted, she is a bonny bit. But what in particular appeals to you?”

  “In particular? I believe she reminds me of Mateo”

  “Mateo? Your horse? The one you lost at Salamanca?”

  “The same,” he admitted, smiling. “He was a beautiful chestnut.”

  “I thought I needn’t school you in your approach, David. But as you liken the lady to a horse, perhaps I must. ‘Twould at least justify spending such a sobering amount of time on New Year’s Eve speakin’ to my own brother!”

  “I beg your forbearance, Hayden. Though I must admit I’ve enjoyed our limited exchanges these past six years”

  “Indeed.” He bowed deeply. “My pleasure, my lord.”

  “Mine, my lord.” David returned the bow and watched Hayden stroll off to a knot of guests. They had always amused each other; David trusted his own affection was returned. But like their father the duke, Lord Hayden revealed little of his feelings. Their grandmere claimed that Hayden grew coldera claim David had disputed. But the heir to Braughton was unmistakably reserved.

  The dance set was ending. The senorita had come closer. Proximity only enhanced her attractions. Through the last strains of music and the laughter and chatter, David could hear the great clock in the hall strike the three-quarter hour. With reckless resignation, he moved toward the amber-haired beauty. He thought, with a certain practicality, that he must satisfy the urge to dance with her-or be forced to sing.

  The senorita was fanning her flushed cheeks while speaking to her partner, young Frank Farrington, the vicar’s son. Though Farrington had also disguised much of his face, his skinny neck and prominent Adam’s apple betrayed him. David bowed before focusing entirely on the lady. Her black satin mask frustrated him. Her eyes looked dark and longlashed, but he could only guess at their color. Everything else about her was perfection.

  “Senorita, me permite-may I have this next dance?”

  “Oh! My lord … Major …” Her voice was sweet. She was surprised. “I regret-that is, this gentleman..

  Farrington had the good grace to yield. “I would not keep you, miss, from the guest of honor,” he said, and he nodded to David. “My lord.”

  David offered the girl his arm, noting with satisfaction that the senorita’s fingers held no wedding ring. And she was tall-her face was close, closer than he’d anticipated. He had to concentrate on taking a place in the set as the orchestra struck the opening chords. Near to, her hair looked like streaming silk, the color of rich caramel.

  “Querida,” he said, as they passed in the dance. “Nos conocemos. We have met before.”

  “You know me?” Again she was surprised. And her anxiety intrigued him, for despite the masks, this house party consisted of few who were unknown to one another, though David had been away long enough that many were now less than familiar to him.

  “I meant only that you and I were never intended to be strangers,” he reassured her.

  “We are not strangers”

  “No,” he agreed, smiling. “We are of one mind.”

  He thought she was also tempted to smile.

  “You have met me before, Major-Lord David.”

  “Never! I can only ever have paid you the most minute attention. I should have remembered. And my memory has never been faulted.”

  “‘Twas some time ago. I have known you and your brother many years.”

  “Hayden too, then? I am not certain it is such a recommendation that you know Hayden” With a quick, unreasoning jealousy, he wondered how well Myles could know this beauty; he certainly had not let on. In the dance David let his hand skim her arm lightly and too forwardly.

  She moved away.

  “I see your cousin, Charles Cabot,” she said.

  “You know Chas as well?”

  “Of course. He used to live here at Braughton for a time. I remember him riding a huge white horse named Falstaff.”

  David almost missed a step. “You must have been very young! Falstaff has been dead these eight years!”

  The senorita bit her luscious lower lip. “The lady with Charles tonight … is very lovely. Even with the mask, she is … she is . . “

  “Indescribable. Yes, that’s Meg. Only someone as exceptional as Chas could do her justice-in any sense. Someday perhaps I shall tell you their story. Her father is Sir Eustace Lawrence, the barrister. Have you heard of him?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve not been much in the world these four years, my lord.”

  “And why is that?” he asked softly, again bringing her arm close against his in the dance. “Have you just escaped from the seraglio? Or have you been held, like Rapunzel, in some distant tower?”

  She smiled even as he led her, slowly and carefully, away from the end of the line of dancers, toward a curtained alcove at the room’s edge. As a son of the house, David knew every secret spot. And he intended to touch one of those irresistibly silky curls of dark chestnut hair.

  “You must tell me,” he said, drawing her gently into the shadowed window embrasure, “how you can know Hayden and yet not be much in the world. The two states would, to my mind, be mutually exclusive.”

  “I know him from here at Braughton, not from London. Just as I know you and your cousin Charles.”

  “Then you are not one of Hayden’s … friends?”

  Again she drew a sharp breath. “I have been away at school, my lord. You are hard on me-and on him.”

  “Forgive me. Hayden and I are used to teasing each other. You must not consider it cruel.”

  “He has always looked out for you.”

  “And you are his defender! Querida, you must tell me why you think Hayden cares one jot for me.” She was permitting him to hold her-lightly, it was true, but hold her nonetheless. In their private enclave, an ancient ogee of arched stone screened them from the rest of the party.

  “Why, I remember that time at the weir-” She broke off abruptly. And David knew he must look shocked. She could not know about the weir; only Myles and Chas knew of that incident, so many years ago, when Myles had risked much to save him from drowning.

  As he frowned, h
e felt her slight attempt to withdraw, but the effort lacked will. His clasp on her was not tight; she might have fled him had she wished. But he did not intend to let the mystery elude him.

  “Hayden told you about the weir,” he suggested softly.

  “I believe the dance is ending, my lord. We should-we should return” Just then she seemed to notice their distance from the company. But she worried her lips, which she should not have done.

  “I wonder what might have prompted Hayden to relay the tale. In general he does not boast of heroics. No doubt”-David leaned closer-“he yielded to your considerable charms”

  “It was not at all as you suppose! Ah …” Her attention had flickered beyond him. “How beautiful! ‘Tis snowing….” At the mullioned window a gust of snowflakes eddied in the dark, patting at the panes, obscuring the already snow-dusted spruce trees beyond. The dance had closed; the dancers were dispersing to refresh themselves. The orchestra had started to play Praetorius’ tune, in anticipation of the New Year.

  David knew the signals by heart. Braughton, both the duke and the legacy, had always introduced the New Year with this overture, and as Braughton had always done, so it would always do. But David would not release the senorita. Despite his awareness of the noise echoing in the high-ceilinged hall and the frolicking crowd so close to them, he felt curiously still, as though she and he were trapped together, muffled by snow. The rest of the world could only be a distraction.

  “This music-it is a Christmas carol,” she said, unwisely drawing his attention again to her lips.

  “‘Tis my grandmere’s favorite,” he explained. “My father has it played for her every year, just before the turning of the new. Just now,” he breathed, “it is apt” And he sang, very low, and for her ears alone:

  His fingers captured one bright, luxurious lock of her hair. She did not pull away. For an instant her face was close enough that her breath mingled with his. Then the horns and clapping and cheers announced 1815.

  “Querida,” he murmured against her ear. “I believe you owe me your name” Flattering as it was that her masked eyes were closed, David pulled away to observe her. And just in time.