Lord Freddie's First Love

by Patricia Bray

  “Heaven help us all,” the butler replied.

  Indeed.

  Two

  His mother was waiting for him in the breakfast room. For a moment, George Pennington, sixth and possibly last Viscount Frederick, thought of creeping back to his room. But with a sigh he realized that there was no point in postponing the inevitable confrontation. It was best to let his mother have her say now, rather than have her spend all day working herself into a fury.

  He squared his shoulders, and advanced into the breakfast room.

  “Good morning, Mother. You are up early this morning.”

  “Dear George,” his mother said.

  He repressed a wince. He hated that name. Friends called him by his title Frederick or by the nickname Freddie he had acquired, having inherited his title as a small boy. But his mother refused to address him as Freddie, saying that it was a common name.

  He approached her chair, and she presented her cheek for him to kiss.

  “Naturally I arose at once, after my maid told me that my only son had arrived during the night. I wasn’t expecting you and Priscilla for weeks. Is something amiss?”

  “There is no cause for alarm,” Lord Frederick replied, taking his customary seat at the opposite end of the table from his mother. Pouring himself a cup of coffee he continued, “Prissy left London on a tour of the lakes with Elizabeth and David, as we had planned.”

  Prissy, the youngest of his five sisters, was also the most unruly, and at eighteen was more than a handful to manage. His mother, who by rights should have been responsible for overseeing Priscilla’s come-out, had developed an aversion to London society that coincided with her youngest daughter’s coming of age. After a season of watching over Priscilla, it had been with a great deal of relief that Freddie had turned her over to the care of his sister and her new husband.

  “Yes, I recall. But were you not planning to attend Lord and Lady Glendale’s house party?”

  “There are matters here which require my attention, so we agreed to postpone my visit,” Freddie said. Although Lord Glendale had urged him to change his mind, Freddie had held firm. He did not begrudge Glendale and Jane their happiness, but he could not bear to see them. Not now, when it felt as if he would never find such happiness for himself.

  “Then you did get my letter,” his mother replied. “I must admit, I had not thought you would be so prompt.”

  “Letter? Oh, yes, your letter.” A letter had arrived just before he’d departed from London. He had not bothered to open it, certain that it contained no more than his mother’s usual none-so-subtle hints that it was time he found a wife and began breeding heirs. The letter was probably in his bags somewhere. He would have to find it later.

  “Well, now that you are here, you can attend to this matter,” his mother said, giving him a rare smile of approval. “I can’t imagine what made her think she would be welcome in New Biddeford.”

  “Indeed.” What the devil was his mother talking about?

  “I always knew Anne Webster had a wild streak, but I never imagined she would disgrace herself in such a fashion. Showing her face in New Biddeford, still unmarried and not in the least penitent over her situation.”

  Anne was here? He hadn’t seen her for years, and yet he’d thought of her just the other day. Now he wished he had read his mother’s letter.

  “Even at her age, being unmarried is hardly a crime,” Lord Frederick countered. But it was surprising. Nearly seven years ago Anne had left England to visit her sister in Canada. When she didn’t return, he’d assumed that she had found a husband and begun a new life.

  Lady Frederick set down her knife and fork with a decisiveness that made her china plate ring. Motioning for the footman to leave, she fixed her only son with her best glare, making him feel like a small boy caught in mischief.

  “I can not believe that you are defending her. What would you think if it had been your own sister who had returned home with a natural child?”

  He swallowed his coffee in such haste that he nearly choked. “A child?”

  “Yes, a baseborn brat. And they say he looks just like her.”

  Anne had come home. Unmarried, but with a child. It was too much to comprehend. His brain refused to wrap itself around the idea. Anne had been willful and impulsive, yes. But he would never have imagined her capable of such an enormous indiscretion. He did not believe it now. It must be a mistake.

  “And what does Anne have to say for herself?”

  Lady Frederick drew herself up stiffly. “Surely you don’t expect that I would lower myself to speak with that trollop? I have not seen her myself, but when I do, I will refuse to acknowledge her.”

  Freddie fixed his mother with a firm stare. “You will do nothing of the sort. I will not have Anne condemned simply on the strength of malicious gossip. I am certain there must be a reasonable explanation. I will call on her myself, and will have this matter straightened away in no time.”

  “And when you find the gossip is true? You will have to do your duty and see that she leaves New Biddeford,” his mother said.

  “I am sure that will not be necessary.” It would not. It could not.

  Lady Frederick gave a delicate sniff, then turned her attention back to her breakfast. Clearly she considered the matter settled. This was not like her. His mother was perfectly capable of haranguing him for hours, until he agreed to do what she asked. Her easy acceptance of his dismissal of the subject worried him. It meant she was certain of her ground and that no persuasion would be necessary.

  He found he had no appetite for breakfast. Freddie excused himself, and went to his study. The correspondence he had brought from London was neatly arranged on his desk. Flipping through the letters, he found an envelope addressed in his mother’s hand at the bottom of the pile.

  Holding the envelope in one hand, he walked around the desk and sat in the chair. He stared for a moment at the envelope, as if he could somehow divine the contents. Then, with a sigh, he tore it open and began to read.

  The Dowager Lady Frederick had found four sheets of paper barely sufficient to describe her moral outrage and distress. She had urged Freddie to come home at once, lest the village slide into an irreversible moral decline. She reminded him of his duty, not once but seven times, and then finished by warning of the dangers to Priscilla’s reputation should Anne Webster be allowed to remain.

  Lady Frederick did not describe how Anne’s presence could possibly affect Priscilla, who was presently one hundred miles away in London. Nor did she elaborate on the circumstances of Anne’s return. From reading the letter, he knew no more than he had before. Only two facts seemed clear. Anne had come home at long last and had brought with her a child.

  Beyond that, he would reserve his judgment. His mother had never liked Anne. Anne had been an unruly child, who preferred playing crusaders and infidels with Freddie to the more genteel games of his sisters. Whenever Freddie had failed to live up to her standards, Lady Frederick had been quick to blame his failures on Anne’s influence.

  No doubt this was all a simple misunderstanding. He had every faith that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation of why Miss Anne Webster should have charge of a child. A few words from Anne would suffice to clear up the matter, and they would laugh together over the foolish gossip.

  He glanced at his watch. Nine o’clock. It was too early to call on Anne. Once that would not have stopped him, but they had been mere children. Now he was a gentleman, and there were civilities to be maintained. He had waited seven years to see her. Another few hours could hardly matter. He would wait upon her after lunch, as was civilized.

  He heard the village bells strike the hour of ten as he turned his horse into the lane that led to the Websters’ estate. So much for his vow to wait patiently, as a gentleman would. Freddie tried, but could not remember the last time that he had visited here. Could it really have been seven years? It seemed impossible. Mr. Webster had been a member of the gentry and the most prom
inent landowner in the area, save for Lord Frederick. Yet Mr. Webster had been little given to entertainments, and after the death of his wife, he had become a recluse. Out of courtesy Lady Frederick had sent him an invitation to every party held at Beechwood Park, but he had seldom deigned to accept.

  Yet the manor house looked much the same as it always had, and the stables were still off to the left. Freddie rode his horse to the stables, noting that the turnout paddock looked unused and most of the stalls were empty. He’d heard that Webster had sold off most of his horses in the years before his death, but it was still disconcerting to see the rows of empty stalls that had once housed some of the finest hunters in the county.

  As Freddie dismounted a groom came out to take his horse. A smile creased the groom’s weather-beaten face as he recognized the visitor. “Lord Frederick,” he said. “Miss Anne will be that glad to see you.”

  “Thank you, Samson,” Freddie said, handing the reins over. “Is she receiving callers?”

  “Some yes, some no. But she’ll see you for sure,” the groom replied.

  “There’ve been a great many changes since I was last here,” Freddie said, referring to the empty stables.

  The smile left Samson’s face. “It’s not my place to say,” he said stiffly.

  Freddie wondered how he could possibly have offended the man. He felt as if he should apologize, if only he knew what for. But he could hardly demand an explanation.

  Just then he heard the sound of running feet on the gravel. “Mr. Sammy!” a voice called, and then the figure of a small boy came into sight.

  The boy raced up to the groom. “I finished my lessons, and Mama said I could come help you with the horses.”

  Freddie swallowed hard. The boy looked to be about five or six years of age. And with his bright red hair and copper freckles, he was the image of Anne at that age.

  This was no simple misunderstanding. This was a disaster.

  Samson’s eyes caught and held his, and in his gaze Freddie saw the confirmation of his own worst fears.

  “Now where are your manners, Master Ian?” Samson asked. “Did you not see this gentleman?”

  The boy turned toward Freddie. “I am sorry, sir,” he said.

  Freddie could see Samson was watching to see what he would do next. A part of him grew angry. Did the groom think so little of him as to imagine that he would scorn the boy simply because of his birth?

  “I am Viscount Frederick,” he said, extending his hand. “A friend of your mother’s.”

  Young Ian shook Freddie’s hand with as much vigor as he could muster. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Frederick.”

  “Lord Frederick,” Samson corrected him. “The gentleman is a viscount.”

  The boy stared at him as if he had grown another head. “A real lord? With castles and knights and all?”

  “Not quite like that.”

  Ian bore this disappointment philosophically. “I should have guessed. A real knight would have worn his armor.”

  Freddie quelled the urge to defend his family’s honor by pointing out that the first Lord Frederick had indeed been a knight, with a castle of sorts. Not much of a castle, but the ruins were still there, as proof of his family’s ancient heritage.

  But he had not come here to explain English history to Master Ian. He could save that for another day. For now, having seen the boy, it was even more urgent that he see Anne.

  “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Ian,” Freddie said. It was also the shock of his life, but there was no reason to let the boy know that. “And now I will leave you to Samson while I go see your mother.”

  Three

  A footman showed him into the formal drawing room. “Miss Webster will be with you presently,” he said. Still unsettled by the sight of young Ian, Freddie willed himself to be calm. He was burning with curiosity, but he vowed that he would not be the first to raise the subject of her supposed son. He would respect her privacy and let Anne tell him what she would.

  Then he heard her voice. “Kindly inform Mrs. Perry that I have finished the inventory of the linens, and I will join her as soon as I may.”

  “Yes, miss,” a voice replied.

  Then Anne came into sight.

  At first she looked a stranger, her auburn hair tightly pulled back and a white apron covering her dark gray gown. He looked in vain for some trace of the old Anne, whose curls would never stay tamed and whose gowns, more often than not, had a flounce ripped from her carefree adventures.

  And then her eyes caught his, and he knew at once that this was indeed Anne.

  Her gaze was wary. “Lord Frederick, how kind of you to call. As you can see, I was not expecting visitors,” she said, gesturing with one hand to indicate her apron and gloveless state.

  Lord Frederick, indeed. What did she mean by this sudden formality? In the past she had only called him by his title when she was angry with him.

  He crossed the space that divided them and took her hands in his. “Anne, it is good to see you. I came as soon as I learned you were here.”

  She did not pull her hands away, but neither did a smile lighten her face. “You mean to say that your mother sent you. I am certain the Dowager Lady Frederick had much to say on the subject of my arrival.”

  He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “I am fortunate my mother mentioned your presence,” he said diplomatically. “Why did you not write me and tell me that you had returned?”

  Some of the wariness left her eyes. She gently disentangled her hands from his. “Please sit down,” she said. “Let me ring for refreshments.”

  She rang the bell, then seated herself in a wingback chair. Freddie chose a seat on the sofa opposite her. Within moments a footman appeared.

  “Lemonade? Or do you prefer something stronger these days?”

  “Lemonade will be fine,” he assured her.

  “Then have Cook send lemonade, and some of the biscuits she made this morning,” Anne instructed.

  It was all so civil. So genteel and well mannered. Yet at the same time, it was all wrong. He and Anne had never stood on ceremony in their lives, yet now she was treating him as a mere acquaintance.

  “So, why did you not write of your arrival?” Freddie asked. Unspoken was the thought, why had he not heard from her before? Once they had been as close as two friends could be. And then seven years had passed. Seven long years, and in all that time not a single letter. Not one. Not even a message given to her father to relay to him. Anything could have happened to her over there, and he would never have known.

  His mind pulled up short. Something had, indeed, happened, as witnessed by the presence of young Ian.

  “I did not have your direction. And even if I had, I am not certain it would have been proper for me to write. Your wife might not have understood.”

  “There is no Lady Frederick,” he said.

  Anne appeared surprised. “Still a bachelor? I find it hard to believe that after all these years on the town, no lady has captured your heart.”

  “Still a bachelor, to my mother’s eternal despair, I might add.”

  Anne chuckled at his rueful expression. “Poor Freddie. I imagine she exhorts you constantly to do your duty and secure the line.”

  “Not more than once a fortnight,” he said. “And you?”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them.

  “Still Miss Webster, as you have no doubt heard.” Her tone was positively frosty.

  He fought for something to say, but nothing came to mind that did not seem patronizing or accusatory. He was rescued by the arrival of the footman, bearing a tray of biscuits and a pitcher of lemonade.

  Anne poured out two glasses and handed one to him. He took a sip of lemonade, then bit into the biscuit. It was soft and chewy, and the taste of molasses brought back memories of his childhood. How many times had he and Anne sat in the kitchen of this very house while Cook plied them with biscuits and lemonade?

>   He sighed with pure happiness. “Ah, I had forgotten how much I missed this. And you, of course.”

  “Dear Freddie. I always knew Cook came first in your affections and I a distant second,” Anne teased. The awkwardness of a moment before was forgotten.

  “True. But could we combine your beauty with Cook’s talent for baking, then we would have my ideal woman.”

  “No wonder you have found no wife. You should cease courting the ladies of the ton, and seek out baker’s assistants instead.”

  Freddie stroked his chin. “The idea has merit,” he said in mock solemnity. “I shall give it serious consideration.”

  The moment of levity passed, and the silence stretched between them. Where once the silence would have been companionable, now it was uncomfortable, reminding him of how little he knew of how she had spent the past years. A half-dozen topics came to mind, and were as quickly discarded. Strange that he, veteran of hundreds of drawing rooms, should find himself with nothing to say. Yet Anne would have no interest in the gossip of London, though no other topic came to mind that did not seem either trite or damning.

  And Anne showed no sign of being willing to speak first.

  “I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing. Did you have a chance to see him before the end?” he asked, broaching the stated purpose of his call.

  She shook her head. “He died a fortnight before my arrival.”

  It was a cruel trick of fate that she had journeyed so far only to find she had come too late. “I am sorry for that as well. It must have been a dreadful disappointment to you.”

  She nodded gravely. “I thank you for your kind sentiments.”

  Her face was calm and gave no hint of whether or not she was grieving for her father’s passing. Anne’s father had been a hard man. A difficult man to love or even like. Freddie would not blame her if she found it difficult to mourn him, and yet, after all, he had been her father and only living parent.

  Freddie was frustrated by his inability to read Anne. Once she had worn her emotions on her face so all could tell how she felt. But in the years that she had been away, she had learned to hide her feelings. Was this simply a consequence of maturity? Or had some painful lesson forced her to learn to dissemble?