She had hoped for so much on leaving the academy. She and her godmother had talked of her debut and of the balls she would attend, the travelling they would do together—France, Italy and Spain—but all she felt was betrayed and led down by her own father, and she had not even left the academy.
As an only child she had been her father’s pride and joy and he had given her anything she wished for, so why was he doing this to her? Without being consulted or offered the choice, she was to marry a man she had never even heard of. Because of circumstances was she any less her own person because she was a woman under her father’s domination and because she had a mind of her own and a will to go with it? She was eighteen years old with her whole life in front of her, a future of excitement and new experiences. And now, without warning, the exciting future she had hoped for was being snatched away from her.
She found herself wondering what kind of woman her stepmother was. From her father’s letters she knew her name was Sofia and that he had met her on a visit to New Orleans. They had married after a short courtship. There must be something endearing about her to have captivated her ageing father. But Lucy felt nervous about meeting her. How would they react to each other when they met?
* * *
Broughton Fair was a tremendous social event, when the close-knit families of the surrounding countryside came together to enjoy and revel in the two days of festivities. It was also of economic importance, for livestock and farm produce were brought in from nearby farms and villages to be sold, and wandering gypsies came in gaily painted caravans, positioning them in fields adjacent to the fairground. Fairgoers would go and have their palms read and buy good luck charms. There was music and dancing and games to play with the riotous children. It was a colourful, exciting affair and everyone could forget their troubles for a while and enjoy what was on offer.
It was mid-afternoon when some of the girls from the academy were allowed out to attend the fair. Miss Hope, one of the teachers at the academy who was in her middle years and sadly overweight, was in charge of them, which she found tiresome at the best of times. Having found herself a comfortable bench in the shade of a leafy elm, she had soon dozed off, unaware of the mischief her young charges got up to.
Lucy was with her friend Emma. Missing her Louisiana home, Emma had been her salvation when she had arrived at the academy. She had entered Lucy’s life like a shining light. They often quarrelled, but this did not spoil their friendship. They talked with the easy camaraderie of kindred spirits and would be eternally united by girlhood memories. Emma charmed all her companions and could not be found wanting in those accomplishments that characterise a young lady. She was so very different to Lucy. Emma was petite with a profusion of golden curls, cornflower-blue eyes and was sweet tempered, whereas Lucy was slightly taller and exotic with her darker hair and creamy complexion.
Dressed in identical blue skirts and white blouses, which marked them as pupils at the academy, lying on the grass on the edge of the crowd beneath a warm July sun, with the appetising aroma of cooked food filling the air, they were discussing the letter Lucy’s father had sent to Miss Brody. Emma was a dreadful romantic at heart, and was of the opinion that Lucy was lucky to find herself in a situation where she was to marry and had immediately launched into a torrent of questions.
‘You might not be so displeased when you see him. Your father might have made a good choice. And he’s to come to England. Perhaps he’s impatient to take a look at his bride.’
Emma’s words weren’t meant to provoke Lucy, but they did just that. ‘Really, Emma! Are you saying that I should be grateful to my father for choosing my husband? I am eighteen years old and not ready to be married off. When I leave the academy I want to have some fun and enjoy myself. I don’t care how rich he is or how handsome, I don’t want to meet him. I have every intention of foiling their arrangements. I absolutely will not marry yet. There are more important things in life.’
Emma sighed, sitting up and picking a bonbon out of a box she had purchased from one of the stalls. ‘I don’t know what. I hope my papa soon finds me a husband—a handsome one, of course. I wouldn’t want to marry an ugly man,’ she said, popping the bonbon in her mouth and proceeding to lick her sticky fingers.
‘I’m sure he will, Emma. Men find you attractive and the way you flirt with them is quite shameless. You’ll soon have yourself a husband—although,’ she said, as she watched Emma’s soft pink lips close around the sugary sweet, ‘if you carry on eating those bonbons like that you’ll become so fat you’ll put them off.’
‘No, I won’t. I don’t intend to get fat. But what will you do when you meet with your stepmother and this gentleman your father wants you to marry? You can’t very well ignore him. He’s not going to go away after travelling all the way from Louisiana.’
‘I know.’ Lucy frowned. She would have to give it careful thought. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll think about what to do when I reach London.’ Sitting up, she brushed the stray pieces of grass from her skirt. ‘I wish you were coming with me, Emma. I’m going to miss you when we leave here.’
‘We’ll keep in touch. You must come and stay with me and we’ll write often.’
‘Yes. I promise.’
Emma declared the she was thirsty and wandered off to the stall selling lemonade. There was a dark-haired young man in front of her and the two soon got into conversation. Purchasing their drinks, the two wandered off towards the archery range. In the company of such an attractive young man and suspecting Emma wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry to return—unless Miss Hope woke up and went looking for her—Lucy got to her feet and mingled with the crowd.
Groups of people jostled each other and the clamour of voices was all around her. She sauntered past acrobats and a man with a performing bear. Across the field horses brought by the gypsies were being auctioned off. This piqued her interest and she strolled towards them, failing to see the man with his shoulder propped against a tree, his arms folded across his broad chest, a leather satchel slung over his shoulder. One horse was particularly beautiful, a grey stallion, which appeared to have attracted a great deal of attention. It tossed its head and flowing white mane, the hint of restrained power in every movement of its muscular body. It would prove a challenge to even the most accomplished rider.
Unobserved to Lucy, a youth carrying a wriggling young goat walked by, the goat determined to be free. The youth stumbled and dropped the goat, whereupon it leaped to its feet and zigzagged across the grass. The stallion sidestepped and the man holding the leading rope let go when it reared up. Finding itself free, it then began to prance with its hooves flailing, scattering all those around it and raising shouts from the crowd.
Somebody shouted a warning to Lucy to get back, to get out of the way, but she stood, not out of bravado, but as one mesmerised by the fabulous animal as it reared up and shook its head. But then suddenly, all her senses alert to danger, never of a nervous disposition, she felt the chilling hand of fear clutch at her. That was when a swift, agile figure appeared from nowhere and a powerful pair of hands reached out and grabbed her, lifting her off her feet and she was borne backwards into the safety of the trees. Then she was held quite still. She was unable to struggle, unable to utter even the smallest sound as she watched as the horse was caught and brought under control. She knew at once that her saviour was a man, a tall individual with immensely strong arms and fingers that gripped her arms like bands of steel.
‘You silly little fool,’ he said. ‘You court danger.’
The voice was rich and hypnotically deep and pleasant. It lacked the roughness that would have marked him as a common countryman. He sounded cultured. He continued to hold her, his long-limbed body pressed close to hers. His hot breath touched her skin as the voice sounded close to her ear. She could feel his steady heartbeat and she could smell his maleness. The contact was electric. It flashed like a powerful curr
ent, charging the air between them. Her skin tingled and grew warm with pleasure.
To Lucy it seemed as if the moment was suddenly suspended, along with the noise of the fair and even the movements of the crowd. Only after a lengthy pause did she become aware that the powerful grip was being eased by degrees until her hands were free. For all its intensity the moment from when the horse had bolted until now was brief, but Lucy felt a shifting deep inside her and experienced an unmistakable sense of longing.
Slowly she turned to face her rescuer. He was wearing fawn riding breeches that were tucked into high-topped brown leather riding boots. He wore a white shirt, left open at the front to expose his tanned chest, the sleeves rolled back over powerful brown forearms. Tilting her head, she shielded her eyes in the sunlight, squinting into a face that made her breath catch in her throat when she found herself looking into eyes like shards of splintered glass, piercing her. There was a tiny scar on his cheek and a slight cleft in his chin, and those small imperfections only marked him as more handsome, more dangerously desirable than any man she had ever seen. His thick, softly curling black hair glistened in the sun.
She was used to handsome men—had met several when she had stayed with her society-loving godmother, but this man was in a different class altogether. There was something so forceful, so compelling in the confrontation that gooseflesh raised itself on her forearms and an icy tingle raced down her spine.
The incident had made them the focal point of the crowd’s attention, but when the runaway horse was caught and brought under control, people turned away. Lucy’s rescuer drew her aside, casting a glance at his horse which had wandered off when he’d let go of its bridle to pull Lucy out of the way of the runaway horse. It was nibbling contentedly at the grass, unaware of the furore.
Mesmerised, Lucy gazed up into his recklessly handsome face. She knew she should do something, say something, if only to express her gratitude. His eyes seemed to bore right through her and she felt her secret thoughts were revealed to him, her petty vanities and jealousies, her less than admirable nature. ‘Thank you, sir. Why did you risk your life for me?’
‘I didn’t,’ he answered, his voice faintly amused. ‘I know how to avoid a runaway horse—which is what you should have done instead of waiting for it to trample you.’
The authority in his calm tone brought Lucy up short. Feeling like a child who had been caught misbehaving, she sighed. ‘I suppose I should, but I couldn’t move. It’s such a beautiful creature. But it could have killed you.’
‘You were in dire need of rescuing—and I’m not that easy to dispose of.’
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t believe you are.’
‘It’s not difficult to survive if you see from where the danger is coming.’
‘You are fearless, sir.’
‘I like to think so.’
‘But—that cannot be. Everyone has something to fear.’
‘That is not always the case.’
‘There isn’t a man alive who doesn’t fear something.’
‘Had I not pulled you back the horse would have trampled you to death.’
‘Then I owe you my life. My name is Lucy Walsh.’
‘And are you enjoying yourself, Miss Walsh?’
‘Oh, yes, very much. I would offer you a reward if I had something to give.’
A fleeting grin flashed white against his tanned face and a roguish glint that must surely be what would charm any female he came into contact with made his eyes dance with silver lights. ‘As pretty as you are, you can give me all the reward you want. It is a pleasure to meet such a beautiful young lady.’
His eyes gleamed as he looked at her and she was aware of an acute pleasure because, having reached eighteen, she was becoming rather susceptible to admiration from the opposite sex and experienced a warm feeling towards those who expressed it. Cheeks burning, she offered him her most brilliant smile. ‘There can be no doubt that you saved my life. Should I offer money?’
‘Good Lord, no!’ he exclaimed, then lowered his voice and smiled into her eyes. ‘I am fiercely proud, Lucy Walsh. To offer money would offend me deeply and I could never expect payment from a lady for services rendered. Although,’ he murmured, a glint entering his narrowed eyes, ‘were you older, a kiss would be reward enough.’
Lucy laughed. She could tell from the teasing note in his voice that he was jesting. ‘That would be highly improper, I’m afraid. Old or young, I don’t go around kissing people because they saved my life. There must be something else.’ Tilting her head to one side, she gave him a frowning look. ‘What makes you think I want to kiss you?’
‘I can see it in her eyes when a woman wants me.’
‘You can? You are arrogant, sir.’
He grinned. ‘It’s in my nature. Tell me, Miss Walsh, do you live in Broughton?’
No. I’m at the academy for young ladies here—it’s just outside the village.’
‘A schoolgirl.’
Lucy bristled with indignation. ‘I’m not so young. I’m eighteen.’
‘Not so young, then. A veritable ancient, in fact.’ He laughed lightly when her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.
Lucy detected a glint of silver in his penetrating eyes—it was a dangerous light, which warned anyone rash enough to challenge him that he would be a formidable adversary. But not today. Not with her. ‘I’m leaving shortly.’
‘And where is home?’
‘I live with my godmother in London when I’m on holiday from the academy—although at present she is in Paris. I hope to join her shortly.’
‘You have been before?’
‘No. I have that to look forward to.’
‘I might be going myself in the next week or so—relating to business.’ He looked annoyed when a group of rowdy young males who had imbibed too much of the ale on sale came too close, a couple of them looking at Lucy with undisguised interest. ‘Shall we move away from here and see what the fair has to offer—if you have the time?’
Thinking he was the most handsome and exciting man she had met in a long time, if ever, she was reluctant to be parted from him just yet. However, aware of the impropriety of going off with a strange gentleman, she hesitated. She could almost feel the force of Miss Hope’s cold stare and was relieved when, on glancing in her direction, she saw she was still dozing.
Lucy had no doubt that should Miss Hope be made aware of her impropriety she would have to listen to her telling her how a perfect lady should behave, quoting as an example Lydia Brownlow. Lydia was prim and proper, refined and easily shaped, whereas Lucy was quite the opposite. She had tried to be like Lydia and adopt her demure mannerisms, but it was no use. She could not be like Lydia no matter how hard she tried.
‘Well?’ he said, waiting for her answer, seeing her hesitation. ‘I promise I shall behave like the perfect gentleman at all times. No one is going to bother you with me at your side.’
When he looked at her and smiled the way he was doing now her spirits soared. Suddenly all the condemnations Miss Hope would heap on her, telling her that she was without a grain of sense or propriety and taking a morbid delight in listing all her transgressions should she find out, would be worthwhile. Besides, since she was to leave the academy and be forced into marriage with the man her father had chosen for her, then this would be the last time to have some fun before entering the world of adults.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said in answer to the gentleman’s suggestion. ‘I’m in no hurry to return to the academy.’
They strolled, looking at the various stalls selling all manner of goods, pausing to look at a puppet theatre that had attracted a large number of children, booing and cheering their enthusiasm. Eventually they sat under the trees in the shade on the edge of the fair to eat warm gingerbread, neither of them in any hurry to end the camaraderie between them. He told her he was a sea captain
, owning his own vessel.
Tucking her legs beneath her skirts, Lucy sat facing him. ‘You don’t look like a sea captain.’
‘I trust you will not hold that against me.’
‘No, of course not. Why should I?’
‘Because you might think a sailor to be out of place at an event such as this.’
Lucy fancied he was laughing at her so she smiled. ‘Not in the least.’
‘I like to go where the will and the spirit takes me. I’m used to being at sea beneath the wide open sky and with a never-ending expanse of water before me. There’s something about the sea that makes one conscious of life’s blessings and to enjoy it to the full. I like to feel the hot sun by day and watch the moon and stars by night.’
‘And the wind and the storms?’
‘We weather them—as sailors do.’
She laughed. ‘How poetic you sound.’
‘I am many things, but a poet is not one of them. And yet here I am today—a sailor partaking of what the fair has to offer and in the company of a beautiful young lady.’
‘There is nothing strange in that.’
‘Ah, but if I were a gentleman I would not have taken the opportunity, just bowed in a deferential manner and declared myself unworthy of the honour of passing a moment or two in conversation with a young lady of note.’
Lucy smile broadly. ‘Deferential? Oh, sir! I doubt you have a deferential bone in your body and consider yourself worthy to sit down with the King himself.’ He looked at her steadily and she felt herself flushing.
‘And what would a young lady like you know what is in a sailor’s heart?’
‘I don’t, of course.’
‘But you are a clever young lady, Miss Walsh, with a great life ahead of you because you are bold and will take what you want with both hands. It will be a lucky man who wins your heart and shares that life with you.’
Harlequin Historical May 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 24
