Regency Romance: The Viscount's Blazing Love (Fire and Smoke: CLEAN Historical Romance)

by Charlotte Stone

  “I do not want things to go back to the way they were,” John agreed but Jane was tired of listening. “I want—”

  She turned toward Ben. “And you… I do not see why you are encouraging this. I would like to leave. I would like to go home, first to the London house and then really home. This is…” She closed her eyes and blew out a breath to keep from crying. “I am not equipped for this. I am much better observing others than participating myself.”

  “Please, Jane,” John said, his gray eyes earnest. “There are things I would like to say to you.”

  “What are you asking me for?” she asked, taking a step closer. “For a dance? A conversation? It has been two years. You were my best friend in the whole world besides my family and you left. You never even wrote. Something could have happened to you, and I would not have known!”

  He swore under his breath, but Lord Wembley made no move to correct him. “I explained to you why I would not do that to you.”

  “You explained nothing,” she hissed. “For two years, I have remembered that day, the last day I saw you. I have gone over and over every detail.” She glanced over at her brother-in-law. She would have to be careful with what she said. “But I romanticized it. If you had meant any of what you said, you would not have simply disappeared. I know nothing of your life or the man you are.”

  “Then let me tell you,” he pleaded. “Let me show you.”

  Jane closed her eyes. His plea was so tempting, so very tempting. But her heart trembled with fear of being hurt again. “Please, Ben,” she whispered. “Can we please go home?”

  Ben pressed a kiss to her forehead and sent a wink toward John. “For now, yes. But you, of all people, know that conflicts cannot simply be avoided.”

  “I am very tired,” she insisted. Taking her brother’s arm, she turned and left.

  This time, John watched her go.

  * * *

  4

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  “DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT I THINK?” …

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Other Side of Life

  .

  J ust as John returned home and gave his coat and hat to the butler, Lord Marlington walked slowly with his cane to greet him “How did it go, boy? Did you see her?”

  Lord Marlington was almost completely bald and shorter than John, but he insisted on calling John “boy.” He was a good man, who had taken John on with the risk that John would be more trouble than he was worth. “Your father is no good to anyone from what I hear,” Lord Marlington had told him the very first day they met in his old office, which smelled of leather and tobacco. “Are you?”

  “Am I what, my lord?” John had replied humbly.

  “Are you good? Do you plan on making something of your life or drinking yourself to death like your father?” Lord Marlington grumbled. John had very quickly learned that Lord Marlington was one of the bluntest people he had ever met in his life. He did not believe in wasting anything, including time or money, on pleasantries. But his questions were so near to the promise he had made Jane just days earlier that he answered more eagerly than either one of them expected.

  “I will make something of myself,” he vowed. “And if you give me the chance, I will make something of myself while doing you and your business proud.”

  And he had.

  Lord Marlington had graciously offered John a room at his home in London until he could find a place of his own. Every morning, they took breakfast together and Lord Marlington grumbled about the gout in his foot and asked John questions to test his knowledge. Before he knew it, even as he scouted places where he could stay for the wages he was being paid, John found he looked forward to that time with Lord Marlington, as well as the rest of their business-related interaction throughout the day. On the day John had decided to announce he had found different lodgings, Lord Marlington did not quiz him.

  Instead he began to talk. “I married the first time for money. It was the stupidest decision I could ever make and we made each other miserable. When she died, I was intent on having the time of my life. So, I married the most beautiful woman I could find. This too was a mistake as beauty fades and can be boring after a time. The third time I married, I promised myself I would marry a good woman, a kind woman. And I did. We had one beautiful child together. It was not until I buried my wife that I realized that I had never told her how very much she meant to me, just how much I loved her.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “We Englishmen are not very good at declarations. I tell you this because I have been alone a long time. And I thought I liked it that way. But you are smart and quick and funny. I know you had nothing in the way of a father figure and you know I have lost my son in that damned war in France, so I think you should stay here. I shall mentor you.”

  “Are you certain, Lord Marlington?” John asked incredulously. No one had ever been so generous to him, except for Jane.

  “I just said so, did I not?” He rolled his eyes. “And call me Tom. I cannot take any more of this Lord Marlington business from you. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.” Then, John amended his answer. “Yes, Tom. If that is what you wish.”

  Now, Tom stood in front of him. John could tell that his leg was bothering him, but he had stayed up to hear what had taken place at the ball. “Boy! Did you see her?”

  John nodded and took a deep breath. “I saw her. We danced. We spoke.”

  “And?” Tom barked, limping nearer. “Did you make plans to see her again?”

  “No,” John admitted. “She was not very pleased with me. She felt that I should have written. I think she was caught by surprise.”

  “Did you tell her that I have named you my heir?” Tom questioned. “Did you?”

  John shook his head. “No, I did not. I have not yet learned how to drop that information into a conversation with any sense of subtlety. I upset her, I think. I am sorry for that.” He was sullen and sad and wanted to be in bed. “And technically, you named my father your heir.”

  “Oh, pish posh,” Tom retorted. “You know I only did that because legally he is my closest living male relative and I never plan on telling him about any of it, because we all know he will drink himself to death sooner rather than later. Besides, I plan on outliving him.”

  “You know, some men would take offense to hearing you speak about their father that way,” John murmured as he walked into the drawing room to pour himself a small drink. He could not rid his memory of Jane’s flushed face and the tears she had tried to keep at bay. He had not known that his return would cause her pain. It was the second time in their whole lives that he had made her cry.

  “But not you.” Tom made his way to a chair and sighed as he sat. “Not with the scars on your back from his lashings.” It had happened gradually, but over time Tom had demanded to know more about John. It helped that he had thoroughly investigated the boy. Apparently, a servant had told him about the scars. He had made John describe just how bad it had been growing up. Just as he made John tell him of the girl he loved, Jane Watson. In two years, Lord Marlington had become both father, grandfather, and friend.

  John shook his head. “Not me,” he admitted. “Never me.”

  “Shall I invite the family here then, boy?” Tom asked.

  John laughed heartily “You? Invite people here? When was the last time you socialized?”

  “I would do it for you,” the man said gruffly. “I would do it for you if it meant you were able to speak with Miss Watson and explain whatever you made a mess of tonight.”

  John stared out the dark window. “I do not think I will ever be good enough for her. It does not matter how I dress or speak or whether I am an heir, it is not to be.”

  “You know I do not abide such talk,” Tom cried. “Go to bed. Things will be clearer in the morning.”

  * * *

  Ben slipped into bed
and curved his body around his wife’s. “Are you asleep?”

  “Well, I am not asleep now,” Cat whispered back. “Since you are speaking to me.” She laughed and turned in his arms to face him. “No, I was not asleep. I was waiting for you to return to tell me my sister survived the last ball of the season.” When he only looked at her, his brown eyes luminous even in the dark, she grasped his nightshirt in both her hands. “What happened? Is she all right? I should go to her.”

  Ben grabbed her around the waist before she could leap from bed. “She specifically told me that she did not want to speak of it tonight and that if you had any thoughts of going to her that I should tell you she was going to directly to bed.”

  Cat wiggled in his embrace. “That only means I must go to her.”

  “No, it means she made her wishes expressly clear,” Ben stated softly, blowing out air in a deep sigh. “But perhaps you should at least hear what took place before you decide whether to go to her or not.”

  “I am her older sister!” Cat insisted, before laying back against the pillows and folding her arms across her chest, trying not to pout. She was still learning how to share responsibility of her sister with Ben. But she knew he loved her sister as if she was his own. “All right. Tell me what happened.”

  He explained as best he could, adding details when she demanded them. By the time he finished, Cat was cuddled against him, her brow furrowed in worry over her sister.

  “Do you want to know what I think?” Ben asked her, as he stroked her back.

  “Yes,” she admitted, her bare feet finding the warm place against his calf.

  “As someone who was once fell in love with a Watson girl,” Ben began and grinned down at his beloved. “I think John loves Jane. I think he loves her very much. And I think he has for some time.”

  “Do you want to know what I think?” Cat replied as she pressed a kiss to her husband’s jaw. She felt, rather than saw, him nod. “I think she loves him, too.” She burrowed into Ben’s chest. “Oh, I am not ready for this. I am not ready for my little sister to be in love.”

  “It sounds like she has decided to be whether you are ready or not, whether she wants to be or not, in fact,” Ben pointed out to her.

  “Ever since Shep wrote to you about John and his new position a few months ago, I’ve worried that we did the wrong thing by not sharing that with her. It just took her so long to get over his absence.” Cat paused. “But I think perhaps she never did. Perhaps she only put on a good face. Maybe your sister, Julia, has been giving her lessons.”

  Ben held his wife and kissed the top her head. He stroked her back and tried to comfort. Though he considered Jane a sister, it was Cat’s final decision over what would be done. He could only support her. “I think we should write to him and invite him over for a visit. It sounds as if nothing was resolved tonight and they should at least have a chance for that.”

  “We should write to him?” Ben asked as his lips wandered to her neck.

  “Well, obviously, you must write to him. I cannot, as I am a married woman,” she murmured, though he was doing a good job of distracting her.

  “And when shall we tell Jane of this invitation?” Ben touched his lips to her mouth, wrapping his hands in the braid down her back, as he rolled them so he would not crush her.

  “Right after you send it,” Cat replied, her palm against the scruff on his cheek.

  “That is rather devious,” Ben murmured as he nipped at her skin. Cat gasped in pleasure.

  “I know my sister,” she insisted, though it was rather hard to speak at the moment. “If there is ever hope of her finding love, she must close this door first. And if John is the man for her… Well, then she must admit it and face it.”

  “Like you did?” Ben asked. This time, he gasped as her hand slipped beneath his nightshirt to his skin.

  Cat smiled as she leaned forward for a kiss. “Hopefully she will have learned from my mistakes.”

  * * *

  “Well, well,” Tom huffed at breakfast the next day when a piece of post came directly for “Mr. Christopherson” even as John told himself not to get his hopes up.

  1 June 1823 London

  Dear Mr. Christopherson,

  I am writing to invite you to our London home for the day after next. My wife and I would like to spend some time with you to catch up on your comings and goings since we last saw you back in Pritchford two years ago. Lady Wembley’s younger sister, Miss Jane Watson, will also be in attendance.

  Please write back with a time that works best for you. We are flexible as we are spending the week packing and readying for our return to Pritchford Place at the end of the week. With two young sons, this is quite the undertaking. Your visit, if you accept, will be a welcome respite from the mayhem that will ensue this week.

  Please also pass along the invitation to Lord Marlington. Though we are not well acquainted, if he is a friend of yours, old friend, then he should not miss out on the hubbub. We would be very pleased to meet him again and know him better. I speak for my wife, myself and also Miss Watson.

  If you could send back your answer with the messenger, it would be most appreciated. And if I may add, keep your chin up. Nothing has been lost yet.

  Sincerely,

  Lord Wembley

  My wife insists I add as a post script that there shall be no hubbub and it will be a very civilized meeting.

  “What did I tell you, boy!” Tom chirped cheerfully. “And now, I’ll get to have a look at this sweetheart of yours.”

  * * *

  5

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  “IT WAS YOU WHO RESCUED ME.”…

  * * *

  .

  .

  .

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Forgotten Memory

  .

  “I still do not understand why you invited him,” Jane huffed at her sister. “You never approved of him.”

  “First of all, I did not invite him. Ben wrote the letter,” Cat began.

  Ben interrupted, “Now, that is not fair. We made that decision together. You could not write to him because of what etiquette demands.”

  “You’re right, darling,” Cat sighed. “We did make the decision together. Because we believed it would be the best thing for you, Jane. Close this chapter with John. Mark it as done, if you wish. I do not think you will be at peace until you do. But it is also possible that is not what you wish and, if that is the case, we support you.” Cat brushed an imaginary piece of hair from her sister’s forehead. She was so grown up. She was a woman. “And I never disproved of John. I worried about a friendship between a young man and a young woman. It could have been anyone and I would have been concerned.” She did not have Julia’s ability to raise a single brow so instead she stared at her sister. “Are you telling me I had no cause for concern? None whatsoever?”

  “No!” Jane replied hotly. “Well, not until the very last day when we said goodbye.”

  Cat hugged her sister. “I trust you, Jane. And believe it or not, I have always trusted John Christopherson. I just worried that you might get in over your head and I have to admit I did worry about what the world would think.”

  “Oh, who cares what people say?” Jane stated glumly. “I never have.”

  “No, you have not,” Cat agreed. “But this is not like you, Jane. I feel like you have not been yourself since you said goodbye. Anytime his name has been brought up, you become upset.”

  “Because he left!” Jane huffed. “He left me.”

  “Oh, Jane.” Cat tried to embrace her sister, even as little George tugged on her skirts. “Georgie, come up here and give Aunt Jane a kiss.” His attempts to monkey his way between the sisters made them both laugh. “Promise you shall be kind.”

  “Of course I shall be kind. It is John, after all. No matter what has happened. He will always be…”

  “Your John?” Cat teased.

  “No,” Jane c
orrected quietly and sadly. “Never mine. Not really.”

  “Oh, darling,” Cat crooned.

  “Please, do not ask me how I feel, because I am afraid I do not know,” Jane admitted. “I think that is why I have felt so up and down. And when I saw him, I did not know how to feel. If I was supposed to feel a certain way and what that was. Or what I really felt. I am just awfully confused.”

  Cat kissed her forehead. “Well, I love you. Whether you are acting as the wise sage to everyone you know or you are a bit confused. I love you no matter what.”

  “And I love you.” Jane smiled as the butler announced Lord Marlington and Mr. Christopherson’s arrival.

  “Here we go,” Jane whispered.

  “I shall be with you the whole time,” Cat reminded her and as George tugged on Jane’s sleeve, she continued, “And so will George, since he has refused to nap today.”

  Jane had not known what to expect from Lord Marlington. Neither Cat nor Ben had been any help. Ben was sure he had met the man once but he could not remember. What Jane had not expected was a short portly man, mostly bald, with a tremendous white mustache. He reminded her of a sometimes kind, sometimes grumpy walrus. In his own unique way, he was charming. It was clear he did not care much for doing things properly or manners, although he had clearly taught them to John in their time together. It was not that he did not know them, he just preferred to skip past them.

  “Waste of time, titles and such,” he muttered under his breath as everyone was introduced. “Call me Tom. And who is this little tyke?” he asked of George. He dispensed of the niceties because they bored him, it seemed.

  Even before they entered the drawing room, he had spoken to Ben, Cat, and even Georgie. Jane remained a little aloof. It was not in her nature to be so, but she felt shy and unsure. And she did not like feeling this way. She was determined to stop it.