His Lordship's Vow (Regency Romance Short Novel)

by Cheryl Bolen

  He shrugged.

  Mary Ann pushed at Lizzie. "Go tell your governess you'll not be taking lessons today."

  After Lizzie left the chamber, and the two of them were alone, she spoke her mind. "I know that wretched Vow is forcing you to dance attendance upon that empty-headed – albeit beautiful – heiress when it's plain as the nose on your face that Miss Featherstone is the very girl for you."

  He felt rather as if someone had walloped his chest. Miss Featherstone! He had never given the lady the slightest consideration–at least, not in a romantic way.

  Because he knew he could not.

  He had a duty to his dying father. His own preferences were not to be considered. There were too many people dependent upon him. "You are quite mistaken. Have you not noticed that Miss Featherstone and Mr. Poppinbotham are courting? I believe the man means to propose to her during their stay here at Dunvale."

  She winced. "That would be a terrible shame."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "They are so mismatched." She nibbled at her lip, then lowered her voice. "And because I know she's in love with you."

  "You can certainly know no such thing!"

  "But I do, Slade. Women know about these things."

  He looked at her skeptically. "Seventeen is hardly a woman."

  "You've told me all my life I'm much older and wiser than my years. It's because I'm the firstborn daughter with the attendant responsibilities, just as you, as the firstborn son, have even greater responsibilities."

  "You understand I have to court Lady Sarah."

  She solemnly shook her head. "I just wish you had free will to marry the woman who would make you the best life partner."

  He turned away, then spun back and faced his wise sister whose face so resembled his and David's–in a pretty version. "What makes you think Miss Featherstone has the least interest in me?"

  She lowered her voice. "Surely you can't believe her serious about that hanger-on!"

  "Actually, no. I am sure Miss Featherstone has more sense than that." He continued to lower his voice because he really would not want poor Mr. Poppinbotham to hear him. He certainly did not dislike the man. It was just that he was so far beneath the touch of the impeccable Miss Featherstone.

  Mary Ann shrugged and kept her voice low. "I can't actually say how I know Miss Featherstone's in love with you. Perhaps it's the way she watches you. Or the way she looks so sad when you communicate with her cousin. Or perhaps it's the way she seems to perk up like a pup whenever you address her. Certainly nothing like she responds to her so-called suitor." Mary Ann abruptly stopped talking, her gaze darting to the doorway.

  He turned and faced the cousins. "Good morning, ladies," he said, bowing. "I have good news. The dark clouds have gone, and we will be free to take our country walk and to have our picnic this afternoon."

  "That is good news," Lady Sarah said. "This morning I should love to ride."

  He frowned. "I'm afraid we don't keep a proper stable here at Dunvale."

  Her lovely face fell. "Oh, of course. You do spend most of your time in London, but - - -" She suddenly must have realized he kept no stable in London, either.

  He was not embarrassed that he had pockets to let; he was embarrassed that it was obvious he was interested in her fortune.

  And he suddenly felt very sorry for the beautiful young woman.

  He offered her a broad smile and came to take both her hands. "I assure you, walking outside the castle walls will be most agreeable."

  "It's not just my brother's partial opinion, either," Lady Mary Ann added. "Everyone admires our park."

  Mr. Poppinbotham entered the chamber, chatting amiably with Lady Diana. The man's face brightened when he saw Miss Featherstone.

  Lord Slade did not at all like to think of Miss Featherstone encouraging the poor man. Not when there was no way an intelligent woman like she–a woman from one of England's oldest families, no less–would even consider uniting herself to someone like Cecil Poppinbotham.

  Perhaps Slade should have a word with her today, let her know of Poppinbotham's plans so she could give the best consideration as to how to let the old fellow down gently.

  * * *

  David led the way along the broad lawn to the rear of Dunvale, Mary Ann on his left, and Diana on his right. Next came Lord Slade, with Lady Sarah linking her arm to his proffered arm and an adoring Lizzie strolling beside the Paragon of Fashion and quizzing her unmercifully about London fashions. Miss Featherstone and Mr. Poppinbotham were just a few feet behind them.

  "Have you decided what angle you wish me use when I sketch Dunvale, my lord?" Miss Featherstone asked.

  It was as if she'd stolen into his thoughts for he had been wondering the very same thing. "Ideally, I'd like to get the lake in either the background or foreground."

  She laughed. "I was going to suggest the same thing."

  "You know, my lord," she said, "I was a bit surprised when you expressed in interest in having me draw Dunvale."

  His step slowed, and he turned to look back at the lady. He hated to address anyone– especially a lady–when his back was presented to them. "Why do you say that?"

  She shrugged. He noticed she, unlike her cousin who wore a lovely pink velvet pelisse on this cool day, wore a knitted shawl of dark green. Practical and economical, like the lady who wore it. The green shawl was perfectly becoming on her. "It's just that I never felt you held Dunvale in great admiration."

  He gave a bitter laugh. "How very well you know me, Miss Featherstone. I must own that one of the reasons I wished to have a good drawing of Dunvale was to have it for my brother when he's off on his travels for crown and country. My brother seems to have inherited all the affection for the old pile that the heir was supposed to possess."

  "I have noticed that Captain St. John does seem every bit as enamored of the castle as my cousin." Miss Featherstone said.

  "I declare, Cousin Jane, I believe you're right!" Lady Sarah gave a scolding look up at her escort. "Really, my lord, you should be more proud of your ancestral home."

  He sighed. "But my dear lady, I've taken the liberty of sparing you exposure to Dunvale's warts."

  She looked straight ahead. "I shouldn't think there could be any warts at Dunvale that could not be repaired with a hefty purse."

  "But alas, my lady, I'm sadly in want of that." As uncomfortable as the confession made him, he was relieved that he'd finally been honest with the young lady. He was also relieved to have all his warts out in the open. He disliked deception of any kind.

  As they continued on, with Lizzie and Lady Sarah discussing fashion, he pondered what the lady had just said. There couldn't be any warts at Dunvale that could not be repaired with a hefty purse. Surely that had to mean she was considering him as a potential husband. Isn't that exactly what he wanted?

  Then why did he feel so very low?

  The land surrounding the castle resembled a green carpet that was symmetrically dissected by a wide gravel path. As they strolled across its vast expanse, pockets of trees stood out in the distance. These had been carefully planted to provide as many varying shades of green as possible. Though Lord Slade looked upon the castle itself as a burden as well as a cold and grim monstrosity of a building, he enjoyed its landscape.

  Once they neared the trees, Capability Brown's curving lake came into view. Lord Slade always smiled when he noted the little humpback stone bridge that spanned the lake at one of its narrower points. That had been his mother's lone contribution to the landscape.

  "I declare, my lord, one could never want to return to London." Lady Sarah's appreciation of the lake and its surrounding landscape pleased him.

  "I cannot convey to you how happy those words make me."

  They circled the lake, then still farther beyond they came to the summer house, a neoclassical structure situated on a man-made hill that overlooked the lake. There, his footmen were setting up tables for their picnic while Cook and the scullery maid were unpackin
g baskets that were brimming with food and drink.

  By the time they reached the summer house, they had walked for more than an hour. House was an inaccurate name for the structure. It was really more of a pavilion because it had no proper walls. Doric columns supported the pedimented roof.

  Several tables had been laid out to make one long table that was now generously set with food. There was cold mutton, fresh country cheese, apples, hard-cooked eggs, and ale and wine with which to wash down the meal.

  "Please feel free to sit where you'd like," Slade said.

  Lady Sarah ended up with a brother on either side of her. As the meal progressed, Lord Slade was disappointed in himself for not being a more interesting conversationalist. David, on the other hand, practically held court. He had Lady Sarah listening in raptures to his tales of India. What a pity that he, Lord Slade, was incapable of establishing a closeness between himself and the young lady he was trying to woo.

  He had hoped he and Lady Sarah could stray from the others today in order to establish some intimacy between them, but he did not at all like to give Poppinbotham the opportunity to pop his question to Miss Featherstone, not before Slade had the opportunity to prepare the young lady.

  While David was telling Lady Sarah about some raja's palace, Lord Slade found himself watching Miss Featherstone across the table. How attentive Mr. Poppinbotham was, insisting on serving her and soliciting her opinion on food preferences. Then once the man realized his host was not engaged in conversation, he began to quiz him.

  "I say, my lord, while Miss Featherstone is drawing your castle this afternoon, I thought I'd like to poke about in your library."

  "You are certainly welcome to borrow any book you choose."

  "Have you the writings of this Thomas Paine?"

  "Indeed, I do. I will be happy to find it for you when return to the castle." Lord Slade met Miss Featherstone's gaze. "I hope you'll allow me to help you bring out your chair or anything else the artist might need." He needed to prepare her for what was certain to be an unwelcome proposal from a man of trade.

  She looked a bit puzzled for a moment. She was aware he had footmen who could provide such a service, but she was her gracious self when she replied, "That would be very kind of you, my lord. Perhaps you will be able to show me from which angle you'd like me to draw Dunvale."

  "You're the artist, my dear Miss Featherstone."

  * * *

  He found The Rights of Man for Poppinbotham while Miss Featherstone raced upstairs to fetch her drawing supplies, then the two were ready to go back outdoors. She carried her sketchbook while he toted one of the folding chairs they had used at the picnic.

  "I have very much enjoyed my stay at Dunvale, my lord. And I must tell you your sisters are a delight. I feel a special affinity for Lady Mary Ann. It's almost as if we've known each other all our lives."

  "She told me she's very fond of you." He laughed. "She even thinks I should wed you!" The woman strolling beside him stiffened at his words. "Forgive me for laughing. Of course, Mary Ann has good reason to think you'd make me a fine wife. I even agree with her, but you and I know such a thing is not possible."

  She nodded. "Most certainly."

  They strolled across the vast stretch of lawn in silence. When they reached the lake, she took some time getting her perspective. When she decided on it, he set up her chair, and she settled down and began to sketch.

  He cleared his throat.

  She looked up at him. "Yes?"

  "I hoped to have a private word with you today."

  She continued to look up at him with those solemn green eyes. They were very fine, very expressive eyes. "About what?"

  "About Poppinbotham."

  "I see."

  "I'm not really sure you do. Are you aware that the man means to ask for your hand in marriage? "

  Her brows lifted. "Has he told you so?"

  "Yes."

  "I must admit that your announcement is not unexpected."

  "It was really too mean of you to lead on the poor chap. Just because he's not one of us doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings. In fact, I believe he's not only wanting to marry you to help his social climb, I believe the man has really come to care for you."

  "Yes, I had reached quite the same opinion."

  "How can you just sit there looking up at me so innocently? I beg you to consider the poor man's feelings."

  "Oh, I assure you I have, my lord."

  Her words gave him pause. "Whatever can you mean?"

  "I mean that I am not adverse to plighting my life to Mr. Poppinbotham."

  He felt as if he'd just been knocked off his feet by a swiftly moving coach and four. His gaze locked with hers, a sizzling anger rising in him. "You cannot possibly be in love with the man!"

  Her lashes lowered. "No, I cannot."

  He dropped down to his knees before her and drew her hands into his, "Then for God's sake, Jane, don't throw yourself away on him." He suddenly realized he'd called her by her Christian name. In his nine and twenty years, he had never slipped in such a manner. At least not with a proper lady.

  Tears gathered in her eyes, but she made no effort to swipe them away. It fairly broke his heart to see her suffer. Almost as much as it broke his heart to think of her lying beside Cecil Poppinbotham. "You must understand, my lord, Mr. Poppinbotham is the only man who has ever fallen in love with me. That I am poor and plain should not relegate me to a spinster's life. I should like my own home, my own children. Mr. Poppinbotham can give me those things. And I assure you, he is excessively kind to me."

  Jack St. John, the Earl of Slade, had never done a rash thing in his life. Until he drew Miss Featherstone's upper torso into his arms and began to kiss her with a hunger which bowled him over in its intensity.

  Just as surprising as his action was the lady's reaction. She kissed him with the kind of passion he would have thought a spinster like she incapable of. God in heaven, but she felt so sweet in his arms!

  But unlike Mr. Cecil Poppinbotham, Lord Slade was not at liberty to ask for her hand in marriage.

  Because of that wretched Vow.

  With a deep, retching ache, he pulled away from the most perfect female he'd ever known. "Forgive me, Miss Featherstone. I had no right." Then he got to his feet and strode away.

  * * *

  Somehow during the next few minutes Jane managed to continue sketching his lordship's home even though tears raced down her cheeks. Why did Lord Slade have to go and spoil everything? She had convinced herself that marrying Mr. Poppinbotham would be very good for her.

  Even if the thought of kissing him was not.

  Why had Lord Slade felt compelled to kiss her? She had never thought him a man who would casually toy with any maiden's affections. He was always the very picture of propriety. Everything about the scene between them a few minutes earlier seemed like something she had dreamed, something that had no basis in reality.

  And, indeed, she had best relegate the memory of it to the same place where abandoned dreams resided.

  Her heartbeat roared. Now that she had been properly kissed by a man with whom she was in love, how could she ever submit to Mr. Poppinbotham's kisses? The very memory of his lordship's kiss made her insides feel like quivering jelly. How wondrous the kiss had been! Dare she even think. . . it was passionate?

  Especially her wanton response to him. Lord Slade was bound to think her a harlot. How could she ever face him again after that sizzling kiss?

  Even worse, how could she ever consider spending her life with a man whom she could never kiss as she had just kissed Lord Slade?

  Chapter 8

  Were it not for the friendly banter between Captain St. John and Lady Sarah, dinner would have been a grievously somber occasion. Their host had glowered from the head of the table. Even after the meal when they gathered in the drawing room, his lordship hardly spoke.

  More than once she had caught him staring at her, but Jane was always quick to look away. She, to
o, had been embarrassed over the unexpected intimacy between them. She prayed he would not think her a loose woman, prayed that his good opinion of her–which she knew with certainty she had possessed before the kiss–would not change.

  She was far too intelligent to confuse his good opinion with romantic interest. They were two entirely different matters. For reasons she could not understand, something had compelled the earl to kiss her. Even had he not begged her forgiveness, she knew he immediately regretted the action.

  Now they both must forget it. He needed to marry an heiress, and she needed to accept Mr. Poppinbotham because she was quite certain this was her only hope of marrying and becoming a respected matron and mother.

  For despite what had occurred between Lord Slade and her, she was going to accept Mr. Poppinbotham. She must.

  Before they retired for the night, Mr. Poppinbotham addressed her. "I beg, Miss Featherstone, that you will do me the honor in the morning of walking to the lake with me."

  Her heartbeat drummed. She knew the purpose of their solitary walk. "I should be honored, Mr. Poppinbotham." Before she turned away and began to climb the stairs, she saw that Lord Slade was watching her.

  And listening.

  That night she closed the heavy velvet curtains tightly around her bed, then she lay there in the total darkness. Even the thick curtains could not keep out the night's morose sounds. Winds howled. Rain fell in lusty sheets. And the logs in her fire spit, crackled, and collapsed time after time.

  While she wept.

  She hadn't wept since her mother died when she was a little girl. Tonight she felt that same, horrifying sense of loss. It was entirely too cruel that on the verge of committing herself to a man who would wed her, she had a taste of what it was like to be with the man she loved, the man she could never marry. She had always known that Lord Slade was far, far above her touch.

  And nothing had changed.

  Except the kiss.

  Now she would unite herself to a man she did not love. Never again would she experience a shattering kiss like she'd experienced that day.