Major Lord David

by Sherry Lynn Ferguson

  She drew breath, prepared to relay something of sense, but a footman entered just then with the tray of coffee. Thankfully, the major waved the man away rather than have a cup poured out for him. Billie was left to meet his inquiring gaze.

  “You must understand the … the circumstances, Major. My family has known for many years of my … admiration for you-from the time I was no more than seven or eight.” She swallowed as she watched his eyebrows shoot high. “I never spoke of it, but my brothers, quite understandably, became aware of my … fascination. I used to follow you about. ‘Tis how I knew of the weir. I was there” Her chin rose. “My brothers teased me mercilessly. Of course my parents came to hear of my … regard as well. I had thought, with my schooling taking me so much away, that all of them would have for gotten. But last night, even before we danced, Morty made some comment” She gestured dismissively and started to pace. “I suspect my father must have mentioned my sentiments to your father at some point, that the two of them should have proposed anything so serious as an arrangement. Papa told me last summer that he thought His Grace, your father, had raised the possibility with you. I did not know whether you had indeed been approached. But ‘tis their notion, not mine, my lord.” She straightened her shoulders as she again met his gaze. “It seems I must pay in full for a childish partiality. Though I am no longer a child.”

  She could not see his face. He had turned from her to pour himself some coffee, though the act was in no way inattentive. In fact, she was conscious of the alertness in his stance. Even turned away from her, he listened.

  He raised the cup, holding it casually free of its saucer and about the rim, as one might hold a pewter cup in an alehouse. His gaze focused somewhere on the carpet. As he took a sip, she could read little besides consideration in his expression.

  “Few of us,” he said, at last returning the cup to its saucer, “are held accountable for youthful … preferences in quite the manner that you have been, Miss Caswell. I thank you for being so forthright. I was unkind to imply you might ever be otherwise. Still-well, les premieres amours.” He shrugged. “Puppy love. My grandmere is a very wise woman”

  “Your grandmere? The Dowager Duchess? She knows of this as well?”

  He shook his head. “No. She is only an observer, but a most astute one. You’ve nothing to fear from her. In fact, I think I must have her look to your interests in town”

  “That is not necessary, my lord. I would never presume-”

  “Where will you stay?”

  “At my aunt’s-my father’s sister’s. My aunt Ephie, Miss Euphemia Caswell, has a house on Grafton Street. And Morty shall come as well.”

  “From what I’ve seen, he will make a most disagreeable escort,” he said curtly. “Why does he dislike me so?”

  “Morty? Why, you must not remember. But he, living here, has had little opportunity to forget. He once held the squire’s daughter, Cora Peebles, in some esteem. Yes, I see that you recall her. I think Morty even thought to offer for Cora some six years ago. Before you left for the Peninsula. But at the Braughton assembly that spring, you stood up with Cora twice. And after your attentions and your patronage, she had no time for Morty.”

  “Cora Peebles! I can hardly picture the girl. Though I remember dancing many hours that night. I set off for Portugal within the week. I assure you, Miss Caswell, I cannot be charged with an indiscretion at that event”

  “Oh, I know it-Morty knows it. Even Cora must admit it. But she was quite above herself and would have naught else to do with Morty. You forget that everything of Braughton, of doings at the hall or in town, is of greatest import. When we are away, it is not so very momentous. That is, it never seems of much account. But I have just revealed my own folly. I cannot criticize Cora’s.”

  “You were a child.” At her silence, he moved closer. “But we come back ‘round to our difficulty. And I must ask you again-what do you want?”

  For a few seconds she could only stare at him, at the warm blue gaze that never failed to hold her. Despite all to which she might confess, as juvenile and irrational as the confession might be, she still wanted him. But that could not be acknowledged. She could scarcely admit it to herself.

  “To speak frankly, Major…’

  .,Yes?”

  “I would not refuse to marry you. But I object to your objection.”

  “I do not object. I am here.”

  She thought he smiled too easily.

  “You are most polite. But you know you have been forced”

  “Forced or not, Miss Caswell, I do not object” He considered her. “Do you seek to induce me to cry off, to flee the country or behave in some other shameful manner? What is the point of your season, after all, if not to catch a husband?”

  “I don’t plan to `catch a husband’ !”

  “You would simply prefer another.”

  “You are not inclined.”

  “I could be.”

  “I shouldn’t wish you to labor at it,” she said sharply.

  “Perhaps I ought to kiss you once more”

  “That is not the solution to anything.”

  “No?”

  She looked down. She had never noticed before that the carpet held a small lotus design. She drew a deep breath. “I think I should like more time,” she said. “‘Twould pacify my father.”

  “Well, that is easily managed. How much time would you wish? The season? A year?”

  “Oh, no-not nearly so much! A month might do, so that I-so that I might appear to develop another..

  “Distraction?”

  Again her face warmed. “Another interest, certainly. Which should not be unusual, in anticipation of our departure for town. My interest needn’t be more involved than an eagerness to freely attend the events of the season, such as parties and dances. I might be expected to have second thoughts, to be excited on the eve of a visit and to wish to … explore some choices. That at least must be understandable.” She thought he watched her with a particular care.

  “Then a month it is, Miss Caswell. How we proceed at the end of it is, of course, entirely your decision. I am in no hurry.”

  Billie’s chin rose. “Nor am I. I merely please my father-as you please yours”

  “Oh, I think I might be relied upon to please myself as well.” He did not quite smile as he studied her face. “You know I am too old for you,” he added, as though he seriously contemplated a match-so much so that she swallowed.

  “If you persist on that topic, my lord, I shall think you most limited in conversation.” At his quick smile she added lightly, “You are scarcely ten years older than I. You are not yet twenty-nine.”

  “I suspect you even know my birth date” He tilted his head as he eyed her. “I caution you, Miss Caswell. Whatever you believe you know of me is not enough. You may have observed me as a youth, but I have been away a very long time.”

  “People do not change. Not in their essentials.”

  “Don’t they? Is that for good or ill?” When she did not respond to his smile, he said, “I must suppose, then, that though you are now a young lady of fashion, at heart you are still a hoyden. One who would see me carried wounded off the field?”

  “I did not mean to harm you”

  His hand rose to his left shoulder. “I should certainly hate to see you angered!”

  She would not tell him the truth of that encounter. Her candor extended only so far. She struggled to think of the present.

  “Would you say, then, that we-that we understand each other, my lord?”

  “As well as man and woman might.” Again he drew her attention. Again he was smiling. She had always thought him good-humored but did not like to imagine he exercised his high spirits at her expense. At once she feared that even the most temporary of arrangements might prove too dangerous to her heart.

  “Would it not be more sensible,” she offered abruptly, “for me to release you from any obligation now? Tonight?”

  “You said you wanted t
ime.”

  “But if that is not the wisest course . .

  “You convince me that it is the wisest course. Your first instincts are sound. We mustn’t be hasty. We must maneuver within the small space allowed us. Else our well-meaning parents will feel frustrated in their aims. As you say, this is a union they desire. They mustn’t consider themselves aggrieved or crossed in any way. Anything that might further their friendship and comity is for the best. We might even find it apropos to extend your required month, Miss Caswell. By the time you reach town-when? March?” At her nod, he continued. “By March you might boast of having rejected one offer-mine, that is. I understand such a romantic history heightens the interest of others”

  “You would make this a game?”

  “It is a game, my dear. Though its aim is anything but frivolous. ‘Tis best you realize it. Consider that I prepare you for the game’s intricacies. I would suggest, to your own advantage, that you play me upon your line. Only as your patience allows, of course”

  “I wouldn’t wish to appear fickle.”

  He smiled. “Certainly not”

  Her glance at him was impatient. “You are remarkably generous with your time, Major-and with your reputation.”

  “I am on leave,” he said mildly. “And my pride is of a different variety. ‘Twould probably be of benefit to me to be perceived as a spurned suitor. I might even find a generous heart to take pity on me”

  Again she looked to the floor. “Do you seek a generous heart?”

  “Oh, always.”

  When she looked up, he was considering her.

  “We appear to have settled our affairs, then, Miss Caswell, and since it is, after all, the New Year, won’t you now entertain me with a tune?”

  As she thought further conversation more than likely to betray her abiding affection, she went dutifully to the piano and took a seat. Her fingers were not quite steady, but they warmed as she ran them over the keys. She chose a simple, ancient tune, “The Soldier’s Delight.” As she played, he came to stand by the piano. The drawing room, in reality so large, at once seemed stiflingly close.

  “Will you join me, Major?” she asked. “By singing?” She knew she made an effort at composure.

  He shook his head. “I will not spoil your rendition.”

  “You shouldn’t demur. I know you have a fine tenor.”

  “Too many in this county seem to remark it. One would think I had been endlessly bellowing about the countryside. I must have worn out my welcome long ago” He viewed the music from over her shoulder. “‘The Soldier’s Delight.’ Do you know what that is, Miss Caswell?”

  “Why, I should suppose-the call to battle. The honor and glory of war.”

  Again he shook his head. “Any soldier’s delight is home. A safe return home”

  For a second her fingers faltered. But as she continued to play, he did join her, by lightly humming the tune. She thought her delight must surely be hearing that deeply masculine accompaniment and having him stand so near.

  At a loud disturbance in the hall, she stopped abruptly. The front door banged back upon its hinges as a cold blast of air found its way even to the warmth of the fireside. Tate’s soft protest rose above the tramp of boots upon the hall’s tiled floor.

  “S’blight-Trent’s s’blight-cursed neighbors!” The slurred, accusing words came from the door, where Tate and the portly Braughton innkeeper, Mr. Puddiway, attempted to prop her slumping brother Christopher between them.

  “Kit!” She was instantly upon her feet. Lord David stepped back as she slipped around the piano and hurried across the room.

  David’s first thought was that the boy might have been Billie’s twin-the newcomer was so clearly her brother, with the same striking coloring and fine features. A second glance confirmed that this was no boy but a youth of at least twenty-two or three, and already showing the signs of dissipation that would soon make him look older yet. His collar hung limply. He needed a shave and almost everything else. Were it not for the good offices of Tate and Puddiway, Kit Caswell would have been a heap upon the floor.

  David stepped forward to relieve the two older men of their burden.

  “Allow me,” he said, taking the lad’s full weight upon his own left side. Kit Caswell seemed to make some small effort at rebellion but then collapsed even more heavily against him.

  “I thank’ee, milord,” Puddiway gasped. “Had a sight o’ trouble gittin’ ‘im out from town, what with the snow startin’ agin. But I knew Miss Caswell would be worryin’, so’s I brought him meself. Though we’re plump full with New Year’s guests and the missus readyin’ supper..

  David managed to slip his free hand inside his tunic, where he retrieved a sovereign.

  “Appreciate it, Puddy,” he said, handing the coin to him. “You’ll want to be heading back to your hearth”

  “Oh, yessir, milord, uh-Major. Thankee. Best o’ the New Year to ye, milord.”

  “`Thankee,’” Kit Caswell mimicked sullenly, as Puddiway departed. “Milord-nothing!”

  “Kit!” Billie was pulling at her brother’s sleeve, as though so slight an effort might aid in keeping him conscious, or courteous. The mixed anxiety and affection in her voice made David’s lips firm.

  “Where should you like him, Miss Caswell?” he managed impatiently. Though thin, the youth was difficult to hold upright. David expected him to pass out or be thoroughly sick at any moment.

  “Oh, upstairs, please, Major-if you can?”

  He nodded and hoisted the baggage up farther upon one shoulder. As he carried his load up the stairs, with the elderly butler providing an occasional steadying hand, Sir Moreton came out upon an upper landing.

  “Kit!” he exclaimed, in such a tone that David decided the name must often be spoken with exasperation. “Where have you been?”

  “Mr. Puddiway just brought him from the inn, Father,” Billie said, as Sir Moreton moved to aid them in maneuvering Kit through a narrow bedroom door.

  David slid his burden onto the bed and stepped back to let the others stretch the wastrel out upon the duvet. He found he could not quite appreciate the solicitude with which Billie eased a blanket across her brother. David viewed the disheveled lump upon the bed with scarcely concealed distaste.

  “Has he been ill?” he asked, noting Kit Caswell’s pallor and the beads of sweat upon his brow.

  “He has not been well for some time, my lord,” Sir Moreton answered gruffly, drawing him hastily from the room. “Come, Billie. Tate, do send my own man to see to him. Lord David, you must be eager for your dinner.”

  “Not at all, sir. In fact, I believe I mustn’t stay.” He heard Billie Caswell’s swiftly drawn breath as they made their way back downstairs. “Puddiway said the snow has started once more. But if you please-I should like a brief word”

  Sir Moreton nodded and led the way to his study off the back of the hall. David could feel Billie’s gaze upon him as he followed her father. He wondered if she could read his thought, which was at that moment intensely clear to him: she ought to welcome an establishment of her own. She could never have deserved being saddled with such a churlish lot of relatives.

  He knew that view influenced his manner-that he was more peremptory and unyielding with the Caswell patriarch than he’d intended to be. But, given his desire to depart and Caswell’s obvious distraction, a brief interview served. David repeated his offer for the daughter, relayed her request for time, and promised his own attentions as long as she desired them. He stressed that no date had been set for a wedding and that no effort should be initiated to draw up settlements, because the lady had not yet ascertained her wishes. Miss Caswell still anticipated her season.

  Sir Moreton appeared to find the interchange satisfactory, at least to the extent of warmly shaking hands with him. When they parted in the hall, Caswell again excused himself to return upstairs. And David asked that his horse be brought around.

  “You are certain you must leave now, Major?” Billie ask
ed from the drawing-room door.

  “I fear I must, Miss Caswell,” he said, shrugging into his greatcoat. “I would not tax you with a guest on such an evening.”

  “‘Tis no burden,” she assured him, though her smile was slight.

  No burden certainly, he thought, compared to that of your family.

  As she stood there so obviously proud and alone, her beauty struck him as something extraordinary. Whatever elegance had been borne through the Caswell line had distilled itself in her. And that sudden recognition struck him strangely silent.

  “It is much too cold to ride back tonight, my lord,” she added.

  “‘Tis not cold at all. The snow assures it. I have confronted much worse, Miss Caswell.”

  “What did you say to Papa-to my father just now?”

  “That I am at your command” He bowed. “And only your command, for as long as you wish it. You understand me?”

  She was studying his face. “You said earlier that I `punish’ you.”

  He smiled. She was young indeed to have found any hurt in that. “You misunderstood. The punishment was not the necessity to offer, or being held to an offer. I brought that on myself, after all. I referred only to your lack of clarity. But now we are in accord, are we not?”

  She nodded and moved with him to the door.

  “All is well, then, Miss Caswell. You have your time. I’d suggest you not waste it in babying your brother.”

  ” `Babying’?” Her instant temper surprised him. “I suppose you are so used to the privileges of Braughton that you cannot imagine … that you … Oh! You forget yourself, Major!”

  “What the devil!” In confronting her wildly pink cheeks, his answering, astonishing pique required unexpected control. “Has the whiner infected you with excuses and resentments? That would be poor recompense for all your affection and care. But ‘tis the way of such spoiled youngsters. I have seen too much of it, Miss Caswell. And I fear I must correct you. My brother and I have had privileges enough, as you rightly point out, but we have never been indulged.”

  “You are too proud, my lord,” she said. “Surely it is not your place to determine whether you have been indulged. And that you should dare attack my family! Whatever we havewhatever you believe you arranged here this evening-is at an end. I release you from any understanding. Now-this minute! We have no agreement. You need not contact me, or my father, ever again!”