To Release an Earl

by Ilene Withers

  As he passed the church, John decided to stop to see if the vicar was in. Tying up his horse, he opened the door and stepped into the darkened interior of the church. The vicar was indeed in, for he was practicing his sermon behind the pulpit. Upon seeing his visitor, the man stopped in mid-sentence. "Lord Roydon," he said in a friendly tone.

  John walked further in. "Vicar," he greeted. "I hope I am not intruding."

  The man stepped down from the altar. "You are not. I was only practicing my sermon, and, frankly, any interruption is welcome. Some weeks I feel my sermon lacks something, perhaps verve, and this is one of those weeks." He shook John's hand. "What brings you by on this fine autumn day?"

  "Oh, I was just out exercising my horse and thought I would stop by."

  "Life at the estate must be dull today after the activities of the past sennight."

  "I would not say it is dull. Actually, I welcome a return to the normalcy we have developed."

  "I can understand that, although my wife and I heartily enjoyed joining the festivities upon occasion. The village social life can seem lacking at times, and it is always nice to have a break from the routine."

  John looked around, noticing the artistic stained glass window above the altar. At last, he looked at the vicar. "I am worried about my fiancée and cannot talk to her family about it. I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind listening and offering any advice you might have."

  "Of course. Why don't we have a seat?" The man indicated a close pew and John sat down, leaving room for the vicar to sit near him. "Tell me; what's on your mind, my lord."

  John thought before he spoke and finally said, "Her behavior toward me has changed. She seems cooler, and I do believe she is avoiding me." The vicar remained silent beside him, so John went on. "Perhaps I am imagining things, but I feel as if she was trying to push the other single women at me during the party. It's almost like she was trying to get me to swing my attentions from her to one of the others." He let the silence stretch for a bit and then went on. "I am wondering if she no longer loves me, or if she ever did love me, but when I try to talk to her she avoids me and puts me off."

  The vicar spoke up rather quickly. "I am sure she loves you, my lord. Positive of it, in fact." And here he was quiet for a bit as though he was selecting his words carefully. "Sometimes, however, a person acts in this way out of love. I think you must try to talk to her, get her to open up to you."

  Having nothing else to say, John rose, and the vicar followed suit. The older man turned to him and said, "I cannot break the confidence of a parishioner, my lord, but I feel strongly that Miss Willa has something she wants to tell you, but she may be struggling with how to say it, as well as with what your reaction will be. Trust me, you must open up a conversation with her."

  With those vague but sage words ringing in his ears, John left the church. He collected his horse and walked him through the village until he arrived at the few shops that lined the main road. Here he once again tied up his horse and then walked into the shop where he had purchased the pretty fan for Willa hoping to find some trinket she might enjoy.

  He had made the trip around the store's small interior before he noticed it. There, on a hook in a dim corner, was a dark brown bonnet trimmed with feathers in a variety of tans and rich browns. A bright orange ribbon encircled it and ended in a jaunty bow in the back. He loitered, imagining it on her as she rode in the pony trap down a country road.

  "May I help you, my lord?" the shopkeeper spoke. Everyone in the village knew who he was, he had been there so long.

  "Yes, I would like to see that bonnet," he pointed toward it. "The brown felt one," he added for clarification.

  The shopkeeper took it down. "It would be lovely on Miss Dutton," the woman said. "Most women pass it by as they don't believe it to be feminine enough, but Miss Dutton is a young lady much at home with nature."

  "Was it made locally?" he asked.

  "Indeed, it was. My eldest daughter trimmed it."

  John picked up the hat and turned it around and around. "She is quite talented. I do believe I will purchase it."

  "If it is not too forward of me to ask, how is she, our Miss Dutton?"

  "She is adjusting," John answered. "There has been no improvement in her condition, but we are all trying to find ways for her to be more mobile and to learn to live in her new life."

  The woman tut-tutted. "So sad. It is just so sad."

  When John walked into the house, he inquired as to whether Miss Willa was up. "No, my lord," Abbott said. "Miss Fayre is in the parlour, however."

  John handed him the hat box. Could you have this placed in my bed chamber?"

  "Certainly, my lord."

  John removed his coat with the butler's assistance and then went into the parlour, where Fayre was sitting quietly, her feet tucked under her, reading a book.

  "Good afternoon," he said to his fiancée's cousin.

  She looked up at him and smiled, "Hello, John. You smell like the outdoors."

  John seated himself. "Since I have been out riding that seems logical."

  "Did you ride somewhere fun?"

  "I went into the village. The vicar was practicing his sermon, so I talked to him for a bit and then went into the shops and bought a gift for Willa. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small box of sweets he had purchased for Fayre. "I got these for you."

  Her young face burst into a wide smile. "Sweets! I do so love sweets." She reached for the box and quickly opened it, starting to select one and then thinking better of it. "Would you like one?" she asked, proffering the box.

  "Thank you, but no," he replied. "I haven't much of a sweet tooth."

  He watched as she popped one into her mouth. "Thank you. I do so appreciate it."

  John was silent for a few moments, wondering whether or not to put her in the middle of his troubles with Willa. It might not be fair he thought, but he was desperate, and he had to turn to someone. "Do you think Willa will see me today?" he asked her.

  Fayre hesitated before answering, "I don't know. She claims to feel bad, but …" She looked down as she trailed off.

  "But?" John prompted.

  "I went up to check on her, and she is sitting in her Bath chair near the window and reading. Usually, when I have a headache I don't like to read. I just sit quietly with my eyes closed until it goes away."

  John got up and walked to the window. "I feel she is avoiding me."

  Fayre did not reply. In fact, when he turned back she was studying her hands.

  He walked back, sat, and leaned forward in his chair. "You know something don't you?"

  Her voice quivered a bit when she answered. "I told her I could be discreet."

  "We all know you can," he replied, "but should you be? If it can benefit someone, perhaps being discreet is not the best option." He fell quiet, giving Fayre time to think about what he had said.

  Finally, she burst forth worriedly. "She wants to release you from your engagement."

  "What?" Having not meant to raise his voice, John took a calming breath and then apologized. "I'm sorry, Fayre. You surprised me, and I let myself express that a little too much. Tell me what you mean."

  "She thinks you should marry someone else. Someone who can walk and dance and ride. Willa is worried she won't be able to provide you with an heir." The young woman looked up at him imploringly. "She loves you enough to release you."

  It all fell into place. John realized why she had pushed him toward the other women, for that matter possibly even why she had hosted the house party. He shoved his hands through his hair and then stood up to pace once again. "How can she think I could ever marry anyone else? I love her."

  "She thinks you could eventually love someone else. I believe she has Miss Marty in mind for you."

  "Because I enjoy talking about cattle to her? I like her, but as a friend. I could never love her or marry her." He paced a bit more. "I still don't understand why Willa would think I wouldn't want to marry her
just because she is paralyzed."

  "We went to see Miss Marty," Fayre said. "I believe you had been there before us and Willa perhaps thought you cared for Miss Marty more than you did for her."

  "What utter nonsense," he burst in.

  Fayre waited patiently. "Miss Marty had a bull which kept jumping fences until she built the fence extra high and restricted him to only a small space."

  John stopped and stared at her. "Yes, she told me. She said the other night that she sold him to a man in Scotland."

  "That's right," Fayre replied. "When we were there, she told us she was thinking of selling him. That he was her favorite bull, but he was unhappy being restricted and she cared for him enough to let him go."

  John said, "This is ridiculous," and he strode out of the room. Thinking better of it, he turned around and stuck his head back into the room. "Thank you, Fayre. I promise we will name our first born after you."

  Fayre giggled. "What if it is a boy?"

  "I'll teach him to be tough," were his parting words as he hurried toward the stairway and up to the second floor. He paused long enough to knock, but when he heard the quiet, "I'm resting," he turned the knob and made his way into the room. Indeed, Willa was sitting in her Bath chair at an angle near the window. A book lay open in her lap. She looked unbearably sad. He would wager she hadn't turned a page in a long while.

  "I've asked to be left alone, John. Please honor my request."

  John walked across the room and fell to his knees in front of her. He removed the book from her lap and placed it out of her reach should she decide to throw it at him. Then he picked up both of her hands, encasing them in his own. "Willa, sweetheart, we need to talk."

  "Yes, we do," she agreed. Before she could get any more words out, however, he went on.

  "It's time we marry. We have postponed it long enough."

  "No, I refuse to marry you, John. In fact, I am releasing you from our engagement so you can marry someone else, someone whole. I believe you should court Miss Marty. You have much in common."

  "Absolutely not," he declared emphatically. "If I do not marry you, I will marry no one. I love you, Willa. I love you more than riding horses, more than dancing, more than having children. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

  "But I am paralyzed and cannot be a proper wife to you."

  "Because you cannot move your legs, you cannot love me?"

  "That's not it," she said.

  "That is the only expectation I have of a proper wife, Willa. I want you to love me." He reached up and gently grasped her chin in one hand forcing her to look him in the eyes. "Do you love me, Willa?"

  She looked away and then straight back at him. "Of course, I love you, John. I love you enough to release you."

  He didn't reply. Instead, he rose up on his knees, released her hands and leaned ahead. He captured her lips with his and caressed them ever so gently at first, but with increasing urgency as the kiss progressed. At last he lifted his head and murmured, "I don't want to be released, my love. You have well and truly captured my heart and it will never be set free again. I am not like Miss Marty's bull which you and Fayre met. You see, I don't need to be released because I do not want to jump fences. I am not looking for greener pastures. My pasture is already paradise."

  "Hear, hear," came from the open doorway. "I think, my dear, we need to get back to planning the wedding," the viscount said to his wife.

  John and Willa looked over to find Fayre, along with her aunt and uncle crowded into the doorway of the room. John rose to his feet. "Yes, I believe Noel and Claire should return from their travels soon. I see no reason why our wedding needs to be postponed at all. Let us return to our original date, a fortnight hence."

  ****

  The days ahead sped by for Willa. She half-heartedly suggested to John a few more times that he should let her release him. However, each time she did, he kissed her to silence her. He no longer cared who saw, and so Willa began to torment him on purpose.

  "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to marry Miss Clarke? You said yourself she has a great sense of hum..." She was silenced by a kiss. This in the parlor in the midst of tea.

  "I think you should consider marrying Miss Marty," she said one day at the stables while feeding Pirate an apple over the stall gate. "She so loves…" At least three stable employees witnessed the earl giving her a rather lusty kiss to silence her. Young Jem, the tack boy, had the audacity to applaud, while both Brooks and Ward were caught chuckling at the scene before them.

  "Miss Russell could no doubt quote you the science behind a kiss and even discuss with you the most famous literary lovers…" That kiss happened in private, in the West Garden, so it lasted quite a bit longer than the others.

  As the wedding plans had been halted and then renewed, it was decided they would downsize them a bit. They would be married in the local church by Vicar Wright and Willa’s uncle. Her uncle was ecstatic to be asked to perform the ceremony. The Duke of Lamberton would return in time to stand up with John, and the new duchess would serve as the bride's attendant. Fayre was frantically practicing the pianoforte, for she was to provide the music. Her parents and sisters were to arrive in plenty of time to celebrate the marriage with their family.

  The local seamstress had been retained to create a wedding dress. Her previous design of looser sleeves so she could wheel her chair had worked so well, Willa insisted on a similar design. Willa’s father, however, would push the chair down the aisle in the small church but at the wedding breakfast at the estate Willa would not be reliant on others if she wanted to move for a short distance. The seamstress had been willing to drive out to the Amhearst estate with some samples of fabric and Willa, with the aid of her mother and Fayre, selected a wonderful rich ivory brocade. It became known far and wide that the dressmaker was too busy creating a dream wedding gown for the future Countess of Roydon, to be bothered with any other orders. Indeed, the small seed pearls, alone, would take hours of stitching.

  The current Countess of Roydon arrived several days before the wedding. Her carriage was laden down with luggage, and her entourage included her maid, her companion, and her newly acquired lapdog. She announced to all and sundry that the tiny canine was necessary to keep her company in the dower house, a home not far from the main house to which she had already moved. Lady Roydon told her son she would be quite comfortable in her new home. "In truth," she told him, "I should have moved there a long time ago. It is much less house and is warmer and far more comfortable, although I do feel the gardens need some work come spring."

  "I will send my gardeners over at the first sign of the season," he promised.

  Willa had made the decision to restrict the invitations to the locals and family members. It was rumored that the neighboring women, including Miss Marty, had had to travel to the next village over to find a seamstress with enough free time to clothe them for the event of the year. Cook had approached Abbott about hiring some temporary assistance in the kitchen. "There's many local women who could use the extra money," she had said, "and I cannot be expected to produce a wedding breakfast to be remembered for years to come without the assistance."

  The butler, then, had approached Lady Amhearst and had been assured he had carte blanche for hiring as many as he needed. She suggested he might want to hire some of the local men as well to tidy the grounds just a bit. All must be perfect for her only daughter's wedding.

  The Duke and Duchess of Lamberton rolled into the yard only three days before the wedding. Claire did not even wait for the door to be opened before she burst forth and ran up to where Willa was waiting in her chair. Both women squealed and laughed and cried and hugged.

  "Do come into the parlour," Willa said. "We will lock everyone out and have a comfortable coze. I cannot wait to catch up with everything you have done on your wedding trip."

  "And I must know about everything which has happened since our marriage," Claire stated. "I cannot believe someone tried to
harm you. I know a bit about what you have gone through, and it must have been awful."

  Willa did not mince words, "It has not been pleasant, Claire. I have been so afraid, and I still do not feel I am a good choice for a wife to John, but he refuses to listen."

  "Good for him. The two of you are meant to be together."

  Indeed, the two women did lock themselves in for tea until Fayre finally announced at the door, "Claire, Mama and Papa and the girls have just arrived. The two of you are being selfish holed up in there alone."

  The rest of the days flew by in a flurry of excitement and preparations. It was decided that Blythe and her sister together could have served their country better than Wellington himself when it came to drawing up war plans. The men hid out either in the stables or the library. John and Noel caught up on each other's lives by riding. Noel rode John's horse and John rode Pirate. On the eve before the wedding, Willa was unusually quiet. Everyone attributed it to nerves, and it was decided that Claire should speak to her cousin. She found her in Willa’s original bedchamber, which Willa had moved back into recently. Entering the room when Willa called for her to come in, Claire first examined the trapeze-like item hanging over the bed.

  "Does it work?" she asked Willa.

  "Oh, yes. I simply slide the canvas sling beneath me, and then I reach up and grasp the bar. When I pull the rope, it swings me over to my chair, and then I can lower myself into it. John is having another built for our home. Dawson did such a good job on this one that John has hired him to make two more – one for the country home and one for London. Although I do not think I will need them much. John insists we shall be completely unfashionable and share a room once we are married," Willa said with a slight blush.

  Claire looked around and then moved to a chair near Willa. "You've been quiet today," she said. "We are all worried about you, but Mama and Aunt Blythe both insist you are only nervous. I have been selected to talk to you about any qualms you may be having about being a bride or about the wedding night."