Sunday's Child (Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Book 1)

by Rosemary Morris

  Tarrant nodded, glowering at her.

  “Johnson brought Pennington’s daughter-in-law and his grandson to me in Brighton. We thought the earl would not acknowledge them, so I provided for her while Syddon examined their claim.” She twisted the fingers of each hand together. “It is valid. Pennington’s son married her before he died.”

  Tarrant scowled. “You forgot something, madam. You consulted Syddon instead of me.”

  She raised her head and looked into his angry eyes. “Was it so very wrong of me? For Sarah’s sake, I did not want to raise a false alarm.”

  “If you have kept any other secrets from me, madam wife, this is the time to confess.”

  “You said you never wanted me to mention my allowance.”

  The expression in his eyes incredulous, Tarrant stared at her. “Your allowance! What has your allowance to do with this coil? Are you in debt?”

  “No, but you must have thought I have many needs?” Nervous, she tried to smile. “I used most of my money to lease a manor house where persons such as Johnson and Annie can be trained for civilian life. She need not go to the school on your father’s estate so she and her father will not be separated.”

  Tarrant’s jaw tightened with evident rage, which alarmed her more than if he shouted at her. “Who helped you?” he asked with dreadful civility.

  “S…Syddon and Langley,” she faltered.

  “You approached my friend instead of me about your charity?”

  In spite of her apprehension, she looked into his eyes. “I consulted him because he is your friend.”

  Tarrant turned to leave the room. Her hand fluttered to her cheek, and then, too late, reached out to detain him.

  * * * *

  An hour later Mrs. Deane barged into Georgianne’s parlour. “Where is the major? Elliot said he is here.”

  Jerked out of her misery Georgianne looked up. She should have told Tarrant about the Foundation when she first decided to establish it. She did not because she had believed he would not share her determination to help others. Not only had she thought her project would not interest him, she thought he might disapprove. Since they married, he seemed to have nothing other than enjoyment in mind. Now, to make matters worse, his sister Sarah, her dear cousin, was married to a man with few prospects of advancement. She shuddered, contemplating Cousin Stanton’s fury and Sarah’s tears when they heard the earl’s grandson had been found. Although she did her duty by the widow and orphan, she was guilty of depriving Sarah of a fortune and a title. Yet even if she had not been instrumental in doing so, surely Lady Castleton and her young son would have been restored to their rightful positions sooner or later. She must persuade Tarrant to settle an allowance on Sarah and Cousin Stanton to partially compensate for the part she played in the matter.

  “Mrs. Tarrant,” Mrs. Deane prompted.

  “What is it? What has happened?”

  “Napoleon has escaped!”

  “What!” Would the French invade England? During her childhood, she and her sisters trembled and could not sleep at night for fear of an enemy onslaught. No! Napoleon Bonaparte would not be successful. The monster’s armies had been defeated once. They would be defeated again.

  “It’s true, my dear, he landed in France on the first of March.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Do not mention it.”

  “Johnson will be pleased,” she remarked with false nonchalance.

  “Why?”

  “He will have the opportunity to re-join the army, at least, I think he will. If he does, I shall care for Annie. She and her father are my first protégés.”

  Mrs. Deane sat and helped herself to some coffee.

  “Dear God,” Georgianne murmured. “I think my husband will purchase another commission.”

  Tarrant pushed the door open. “Georgianne, have you heard the news?”

  “About Napoleon? Yes, Mrs. Deane told me only a moment ago. If war breaks out again it will be as if my father, brothers, and so many other splendid men died for nothing.”

  Tarrant clasped her hands and drew her to her feet, heedless of Mrs. Deane’s presence. After the widow went out of the room and shut the door, he spoke again. “The world owes a debt to men such as your father and brothers. I hope Langley and I will conduct ourselves as valiantly as they did.”

  She pressed one hand to her throat. “What do you mean?” she asked although she guessed the answer.

  “I met Langley in the hall. I came to tell you we are going to the Horse Guards to see if we can purchase commissions in our old regiment.”

  She clutched his sleeve. “Oh no, you and he have already played your part in Napoleon’s defeat.”

  “It did not suffice. Wellington will need experienced men. Many of his seasoned troops are in America.”

  “Wellington does not need you or Langley. Are you going to soldier again because I did not tell you about the Foundation, and because I broke my promise not to visit Pennington again?”

  He put a finger to her lips to silence her. “Princess, you are too intelligent to believe that.”

  The endearment brought tears to her eyes so she covered her eyes with her hand to hide them. “Wellington does not need you,” she repeated, “but I do.”

  “Wellington does need me. Oh, Georgianne, my good angel, how trivial my anger seems. You had a good reason for not confiding in me and for breaking your promise. As for me, I was once fool enough to tell you that, as the saying goes, husbands and wives do not live in each other’s pockets. I am sorry and confess I was somewhat jealous of you and Langley.”

  Georgianne giggled. “Of Langley? Foolish, so foolish. I believed you wanted me to be no more than an ornament in society. That could never be enough, so I asked Langley to advise me about the charity I founded. Oh, Tarrant, do not frown at me, you have no reason to be jealous. The viscount really is like a brother to me.”

  “Please accept my apologies, Georgiana, and forgive me because I must go, Langley is waiting for me.” He kissed her hand. “When I return I will have much to say to you.”

  Unable to bear the thought of his short journey to the Horse Guards, which in the time to come, might result in a fatality, she wanted to put her arms around him and hold him close to her. “I wish you would change your mind about a commission,” she said in a small voice.

  * * * *

  Disinterested in the possibility of war, Amelia and her grandmamma sat at a dining table large enough to seat twelve people.

  “Amelia, my pet, cook has made your favourite custard tart, won’t you have some?”

  Deep in thought, Amelia nodded. Why did Langley ask her to marry him? He was not like the heroes described in the novels she borrowed from the library. Langley made no pretty speeches. He maintained a chilly formality, and refused to set a date for their wedding. In no way could he be described as romantic. She sighed.

  “No need to be down-hearted, Amelia Every morning gentlemen call to see you. The knocker raps so frequently that it gives me a headache.”

  Amelia concentrated on the morsel of ham on her fork. “Please don’t tease me, Grandmamma.”

  “Are you pining for your handsome—?” Mrs. Bettismore broke off when she saw Amelia’s lips quiver. “There, there, my love, I’ll not plague you.”

  The butler entered the dining parlour. “Viscount Langley begs the favour of a word with Miss Carstairs. I’ve shown him into the withdrawing room.”

  Amelia stood. She settled the skirt of her sprigged muslin gown, and then looked in the mirror to make sure her curls were tidy. “With your permission, Grandmamma.”

  “You may have five minutes alone with your betrothed.”

  Amelia joined the viscount in a small, comfortable parlour.

  The viscount bowed politely, cutting a fine figure in his fashionable blue coat and equally fashionable pale yellow pantaloons.

  Amelia curtsied and smiled. “My lord, how serious you look.”

  “You have not
heard?”

  “What?” She sank onto the sopha.

  “Napoleon has escaped.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard.”

  “It does not trouble you?”

  Miss Carstairs turned the gold and sapphire betrothal ring on her finger, and then held it up to watch the gemstones sparkle. “I can’t alter it so why should I be concerned?”

  He scrutinised her. “Of course, as my wife, you will follow the drum, will you not?”

  Alarmed, her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “To do so, you require several riding habits, strong boots, and a well-stocked medicine chest to deal with ailments and wounds.”

  “You speak in riddles, my lord.”

  “My riddles are easily answered. Will you or will you not be a soldier’s bride, and follow him to war?”

  She raised her eyebrows before looking down, unable to bear the fierce expression in his dark eyes.

  Langley sat next to her, and put an arm around her waist. “I know I can count on you to sustain me.” He cupped her chin with his free hand and gazed at her.

  Afraid, she stared at him. “My lord, are you telling me you will purchase another commission?”

  “Yes, Wellington will need battle seasoned officers.”

  Amelia pressed a hand over her heart. “Oh no, I can’t follow the drum.”

  Langley’s clasp around her waist tightened.

  “Let go of me!” She tried to twist away from him.

  The viscount did not loosen his grip. “I’faith, your stays are like a suit of armour.”

  “And you, sir, are no gentleman. A gentleman wouldn’t swear, and he wouldn’t refer to stays.” Amelia burst into tears at the very moment her grandmother joined them.

  Mrs. Bettismore glared at Viscount Langley while supporting herself with one hand on her cane. “What’s amiss?”

  Tears spilled from Amelia’s eyes. “Langley is indelicate. He mentioned my stays, and, oh, Grandmamma, he can’t make me. I won’t. Tell him I won’t.”

  Mrs. Bettismore’s eyes narrowed to slits of fury. “What did you ask my granddaughter to do?” she thundered.

  Instead of answering Mrs. Bettismore, Langley handed Amelia a handkerchief to dry her eyes. “Return the ring Langley brides have worn for centuries. We shall announce our betrothal ended by mutual consent. Neither of us will sue the other for breach of contract.”

  “A moment, my lord,” Mrs. Bettismore protested.

  Amelia wrenched the ancestral ring off her finger and thrust it into Langley’s outstretched hand.

  “For pity’s sake, my lord, marry my granddaughter. My poor corns will not endure another season.”

  The viscount stood. “My dear Miss Carstairs, the ring was too heavy for you. It did not suit you any more than I do.” Langley spoke more kindly to her than he had spoken to her since their betrothal.

  Langley left the room before her grandmamma could detain him. “What happened, Amelia?” the old lady asked before he closed the door.

  Amelia ignored her, and followed Langley into the hall where she dismissed the butler and footman.

  Langley put two fingers under her chin to force her to look at him. “Please believe I wish you well, and please accept my advice. You are a beautiful heiress. There is no need for you to pretend to faint in order to catch a husband. Do not be in a hurry to get betrothed again. You are young enough to enjoy another season or two before you marry.”

  Amelia tried to smile. “If Grandmamma’s corns can bear chaperoning me.”

  Langley roared with laughter. “At this moment, I like you more than I ever did.” He sobered and regarded her seriously. “You know Mrs. Bettismore better than I do. However, I know she loves you and desires your happiness. My dear, your husband will be a fortunate man.”

  Langley pulled on his gloves. After he buttoned them, he raised her right hand to his lips. “There are too many mismatched couples for us to add to their number. If you are honest, you will admit we could not make each other happy. We would not be comfortable with each other.” He released her hand. “Confess you are not heart-broken.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re handsome. Everyone admires you, and you dance well, but it’s not sufficient for marriage is it?” Without waiting for his answer, Amelia hummed a merry tune and hastened up the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Georgianne dozed. She turned over, and opened her eyes. Half asleep, she remained conscious of Tarrant’s absence from the house. Where was he?

  She tucked a stray curl into her fine linen nightcap, trimmed with Brussels lace. When they married, she had not considered what her bridegroom’s expectations might be. How selfish of her. He had been right to address her as a child, for she was one when they tied the knot. However, marriage brought change. Now, she wanted to care for Tarrant, and share his life in good times and bad. Indeed, she would follow the drum if he allowed her to.

  Georgianne sat, hands clasped around her knees. Someone was in Tarrant’s dressing room—his valet or Tarrant? She got out of bed and listened at the door. Yes, he had come home. She could hear him talking to his valet.

  She longed for Tarrant to come to her bedchamber. Tears gathered in her eyes. What could she do to win his love, and prove she loved him?

  Deep in thought Georgianne walked toward the bed. Imminent war changed everything. She must reveal her love for him before his departure. She trembled. God willing, Tarrant would come home to her after Wellington defeated Napoleon again.

  Candlestick in hand, Tarrant opened the door to her bedchamber. “Why aren’t you asleep, Princess?”

  “I was waiting for you to come home.”

  “You should be in bed. Do you know how late it is? Nearly dawn, I think. It is cold. Come.” He led her to the bed. “Get in and snuggle under the covers.”

  She wiggled her cold toes and settled under the warm covers. “You said you had something to tell me when you returned home. What is it?”

  Her husband put the candle on a high table by the bed. To her astonishment, he unfastened his dressing gown, and allowed it to fall to the floor, and then bent his head to kiss her. Little shivers ran through her before coiling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Wh…what did you want to tell me, Tarrant?” she asked when he ended the delightful kiss.

  His hands pressed down on either side of her pillows. He looked at her without blinking. “There is so little time, Princess. When I married you, I did not want to father a child. Now, it is my fault we are more like good friends than husband and wife.”

  She ran the tip of her tongue around her mouth while noticing Tarrant’s breath came faster than usual. “Are we no more than friends?”

  “I longed to be much more but, like Bab, was afraid for a long time.” He shook his head as if in disbelief. “It took a child to make me face my demon.”

  “Afraid? You? I can scarcely credit it.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “If we are to enjoy a happy marriage, I must be honest. I loved a lady named Dolores, a Portuguese aristocrat, and planned to marry her. Dolores was gentle and kind. Everyone who knew her, adored and respected her.”

  With a sense of foreboding, she stared at him. “What happened?”

  Tarrant bent his head preventing her from seeing his face. “We planned to marry and have children.”

  Georgianne cradled his head against her bosom. “You did not marry. Why?”

  “French soldiers looted her brother’s house and raped Dolores. Later, while I visited her, she and her baby died in childbirth and— Oh, how her death has haunted me. That is why I hesitated to take the first step toward setting up our nursery.”

  * * * *

  By candlelight, Georgianne’s lovely eyes glittered like jewels while she spoke.

  “Oh, Tarrant, I do understand. When I told Bab she need not be frightened I might die in childbirth, you realised many women survive the birth of many children. Tarrant, you are not a coward, you are the kindest man I know and
—”

  The admiration in Georgianne’s eyes, and her entrancing smile further aroused him. Strewth, he should be more in control of himself. But kind! He wanted to be much more than kind to his innocent wife.

  Tarrant wanted to thrill Georgianne with his kisses until she quivered with desire for him. He controlled his passion in order not to frighten her but could not resist holding her in his arms and voicing some of his thoughts. “With your permission, I want to be much more than kind to you.”

  Georgianne’s small hands reached up. They rested like white doves against his hard chest. He captured them in his hands, and then laid them gently on top of the quilt. In a fraction of time, he joined her beneath the covers, kissed her soft, silky neck and unfastened the strings of her nightcap.

  He spread her torrent of black hair on the pillow, inhaling the fragrance of her lavender scented curls as he did so. If only she loved him as he loved her.

  Georgianne opened her eyes and looked into his. She caught hold of his hand and pressed a kiss on the back of it. “My love, my dear, dear love, God keep you safe when you go to war.”

  Tarrant propped himself up on his elbows. “Am I your love?”

  “Yes, and I hope—” Her breath caught in her throat. She clasped her hands together at the back of his neck.

  “What do you hope, heart of my heart?”

  “Tarrant, what did you call me?”

  “Heart of my heart,” he whispered in her ear, his love for Dolores no more than a distant, sweet memory. “Georgianne, this is what I intended to tell you when I came home tonight. I love you now, and shall love you for as long as I live.”

  “And I you,” she murmured into his ear.

  * * * *

  At sunrise, long before Elliot brought Georgianne’s morning chocolate, Tarrant lay awake watching his beloved wife’s face. He smiled. Last night dispelled his mild jealousy of Langley and other gentlemen. He wanted to shout his joy but refrained to allow Georgianne to sleep.

  He need not worry about one thing. His wife was a colonel’s daughter, who accepted he must do his duty to his king and country. He did not want to be parted from her so soon after they confessed their love for each other. Yet his blood surged through him at the thought of leading his men into a charge against the enemy. Well, he must put his uniform on before he returned to Horse Guards.