Here Comes the Bride

by Alexandra Ivy

  Simon was not surprised that the rumor was already circulating throughout the neighborhood. His position in the area had always made him a source of interest and speculation, a fact he had found decidedly unnerving when he was younger.

  “That is astonishing.”

  Locky eyed him squarely. “But is it true?”

  “As a matter of fact, it is,” Simon admitted.

  “Egad.“ Locky gave a disbelieving shake of his head. “Are you feeling quite the thing?”

  “I have never felt better,” Simon retorted. Then, as his companion gave a sharp burst of laughter, he narrowed his gaze. “What?”

  “Quite frankly I never thought I would see the day when you would willingly spend the afternoon with a marriageable maiden, no matter how lovely. And now there is a mysterious child.”

  Simon’s own lips twitched in response to Locky’s amus~ment. It was true enough that he went to inordinate lengths to avoid debutantes. Matchmaking mamas had long ago given up hope of luring him to the altar. It was little wonder his current behavior seemed a bit peculiar.

  “Be assured the scamp does not belong to me,” he reassured with a chuckle.

  “And Miss Blakewell?” Locky demanded.

  Simon shrugged. “It was an innocent picnic.”

  Locky gave a disbelieving snort. “There is nothing innocent in a gentleman entertaining a young lady. You taught me that yourself.”

  “Do not fear, Locky, I am merely satisfying my curiosity.”

  “The battle cry of every gentleman before they tumble into the parson’s mousetrap.”

  Simon brushed aside the absurd warning with a wave of his hand. He was in no danger of such a terrible fate. Soon enough he would grow bored with his game. Until then, he meant to enjoy himself.

  “Tell me, Locky, why should a lady who has taken a violent dislike to a gentleman suddenly accept his every invitation?”

  Caught off guard by the abrupt change of subject, it took Locky a moment to respond.

  “Coercion?” he at last hazarded.

  That had been Simon’s first thought as well, but after considering Claire’s fiery temperament, he realized she would be burned at the stake before being coerced into anything.

  “No.”

  Locky lifted his hands. “A change of heart?”

  Simon smiled with sardonic amusement. “Unlikely.” There was a pause before Locky gave his final pronouncement.

  “Then, she wants something.”

  “Yes, but what?” Simon muttered.

  “I haven’t the faintest notion.”

  “Neither do I, but I intend to discover.” Simon placed the money bag into his coat. “Care fer a trip to the village?”

  Locky gave a shake of his head. “I have already been to the inn.”

  “Actually I have to call on the blacksmith.”

  Locky eyed him in surprise. “Whatever for?”

  “I wish to purchase his apprentice.”

  “Egad.”

  Seven

  The gray stone church tucked on the edge of the village was a simple building with a lofted ceiling and unadorned bell tower. It was nothing out of the ordinary; certainly it could not compare to the Walkhampton church or those in Exeter, but as always Claire felt a sense of peace as she entered the shadowed vestibule and crossed to the altar.

  Although she always enjoyed arranging flowers for the church, today Claire was more eager than usual to seek the quiet serenity that the church offered.

  Laying down her large bundle of flowers freshly picked from the greenhouse, she added water to the bronze urns and tossed aside the faded blooms.

  Beginning with the greenery, Claire set about arranging a pleasing bouquet. For moments she sternly concentrated on the task at hand, theri, quite against her will, the memories of the previous afternoon began teasing at the edge of her mind.

  Poor little Harry, she thought with a tiny pang. To think of the child alone and frightened in the woods for two entire days was heartrending, especially when it was combined with months of abuse from that horrid blacksmith. Of course, he was safe now, she reassured herself. The orphanage would take good care of him, and somehow she would discover a means of protecting him from the blacksmith. Even if it meant smuggling him out of Devonshire.

  Perhaps she would ask Lord Challmond to help, she thought with a renegade smile.

  He had certainly proven to be unexpectedly good with young Harry. What other gentleman would have endured a decidedly filthy lad climbing about his carriage and ruining his boots? Simon had even allowed him to sit upon his lap. Hardly the actions of a sophisticated rogue.

  Of course, that kiss . . .

  With a sharp hiss Claire abruptly put an end to that train of thought. Memories of his kisses had occupied far too much of her time. She would be better served to mind what she was doing and put aside the dangerous pleasure she had experienced in his strong arms.

  Moving to the second urn, Claire was nearly finished when a shrill female voice pierced the peaceful silence.

  “Claire, there you are.”

  Suppressing the urge to flee in horror, Claire instead forced herself to turn slowly to watch Lizzy march up the aisle with obvious determination.

  “Hello, Lizzy.”

  “Dearest Claire,” Lizzy cooed. “How are you?”

  Claire longed to inform her that she had been splendid until that moment, but her ingrained manners forced a smile to her stiff lips.

  “Passable.”

  The hard, assessing gaze swept over Claire’s simple muslin gown in a cinnamon shade with a seed-pearl trim.

  “What a charming gown.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lizzy’s own gown was a brilliant blue silk that had clearly cost a small fortune. “I had hoped I might fmd you here,” Lizzy continued.

  “Indeed?”

  Coming to a halt, Lizzy carefully held her gown off the stone floor and peered about the dusty shadows with a sniff.

  “What a ghastly relic,” she complained in lofty tones. “It is only to be hoped that the new earl will see fit to sponsor renovations.”

  Claire instantly bristled. This church was where her parents, her grandparents, and generations of Blakewells had attended service, as well as the distinguished Challmond family. It was clearly good enough for them.

  “This is a place of worship, not a front parlor to be refurbished with every passing fashion. I should hope that the earl would donate his charity to more worthy causes.”

  A flare of annoyance darkened Lizzy’s eyes before she forced herself to flash Claire an arch smile.

  “Such as your orphanage, you mean?”

  “It is certainly worthy.”

  “It is rumored that Lord Challmond visited the orphanage only yesterday.”

  Claire drew in a sharp breath. For heaven’s sake. A person could not slip out of their door without the entire village discussing it, she thought in exasperation.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Along with you and a small lad.”

  “Yes,” Claire agreed.

  Lizzy gave a coy laugh that scraped over Claire’s nerves.

  “He is very handsome, is he not?”

  “The small lad?” Claire deliberately misunderstood. “Yes, indeed, Harry is quite splendid.”

  Lizzy’s lips fractionally tightened. “I was referring to Lord Challmond.”

  Claire shrugged in a nonchalant manner. “I suppose he is not utterly revolting.”

  Refusing to be put off, Lizzy batted her lashes. “And quite charming. He is, you know, considered the catch of the Season in London.”

  Claire deliberately lifted her brows. “Lizzy, you have not fallen victim to Lord Challmond’s attractions, have you?”

  “Certainly not,” the woman snapped before regaining control of her composure. “He is obviously intrigued with you.”

  Claire frowned with suspicion. It was obvious that Lizzy had deliberately tracked her to the church and that she had delib
erately shifted the conversation to include Lord Challmond.

  But why?

  It took only a moment for realization to hit. Why, the scheming... jade! She was obviously attempting to discover whether Lord Challmond was going to sweep Claire off to Westwood Park and out of Blakewell Manor. It would certainly solve her own troubles. After all, she could not wish to reside in a home with a grown daughter any more than Claire wished to obtain a mother a mere year her senior.

  She felt her features stiffen with irritation. “I am unconcerned if he is intrigued or not”

  “But surely . . .” Lizzy frowned at Claire’s casual disregard for the honor being bestowed upon her.

  “What?”

  “Surely you must be pleased by his attentions?”

  “Why should I be?”

  “You cannot wish to remain a spinster?”

  Did she?

  The memory of warm lips caressing her own sent a shiver through her body, then, with a ruthless precision, Claire thrust the traitorous thought aside.

  Being a spinster was precisely what she wished.

  “I am quite satisfied with my life,” she retorted with more force than necessary.

  Lizzy regarded her with rising irritation. “And what will you do should your father choose to remarry?”

  At last they came to the reason Lizzy had sought her out.

  “That is hardly likely.” Claire waved an indifferent hand. “But even if he should, that would not affect me.”

  “You could not remain at Blakewell Manor.”

  “Why not?” Claire demanded.

  “It could hardly be comfortable there for you with a new mistress in the house.”

  Claire narrowed her gaze. “Not comfortable for me or the new mistress?”

  “I am thinking only of you, dear Claire,” the woman spat out.

  “How kind of you, dear Lizzy,” Claire retorted. “But there is not the slightest need.”

  Their gazes clashed, then Lizzy conjured a cold, decidedly cunning smile.

  “Do you not have an aunt who resides in Bath?” she at last inquired. “Perhaps she would allow you to reside with her.”

  Claire unconsciously curled her hands into tiny fists at the woman’s audacity. How dare she!

  “I have no intention of residing in Bath, now or ever.”

  “Certainly that is for your father to decide?” Lizzy retorted, then, belatedly noting the dangerous heat simmering in Claire’s eyes, she wisely chose to retreat. “Now you must excuse me. I have promised your father I would give him my opinion on new drapes for the library.”

  Nearly trembling with anger, Claire whirled back to the flowers and angrily began stuffing them into the urn.

  The woman was beyond the pale, she seethed. She had all but threatened to have her removed from her own home, either by marrying her off to Lord Challmond or having her exiled to Bath.

  And then, to actually imply Henry Blakewell would request her opinion on refurbishing Blakewell Manor . . . fah.

  Shoving the last of the flowers into the urn, Claire whirled about, only to discover Ann Stewart watching her with raised brows.

  “Oh . . . Ann.”

  The older woman smiled as she stepped forward.

  “Good morning, Claire.” She deliberately glanced toward the maltreated flowers in the urn. “Is something troubling you?”

  “Lizzy Hayden is troubling me,” Claire promptly replied.

  “Mrs. Mayer? What has she done?”

  “She has set her cap firmly in my father’s direction.”

  “Ah.” A faint smile curved Ann’s mouth.

  “Even worse, my father has informed me that he has grown weary of waiting for me to present him with an heir and has decided to take matters into his own hands.”

  Not surprisingly it took Ann a long while to comprehend her meaning. Then she gave a startled blink.

  “You mean that he is actually considering Mrs. Mayer as a wife?”

  Claire shuddered. “Yes.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “It is insufferable,” Claire burst out. “I would as soon reside in the stables as with that cunning harpy.”

  Ann’s brows drew together in vague bewilderment. “I cannot conceive your father would choose Mrs. Mayer. Even though I dislike speaking ill of others, there is not a soul in the neighborhood who is not aware of her shallow nature and spiteful tongue. And she has certainly made no secret of the fact she will wed only for money.”

  “My father has clearly taken leave of his senses.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Sensing Ann’s distraction Claire reined in her simmering emotions.

  “What is it?”

  “It is just so odd,” Ann murmured, then added after a shake of her head. “In any event, I did not come here to speak of Lizzy Hayden.”

  “Thank God,” Claire muttered.

  “I wish to discuss Lord Challmond.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. What happened to the days when she never heard the names of Mrs. Mayer or Lord Challmond? They seemed too far in the past.

  “Not you too?”

  “Excuse me?”

  The delicate features hardened. “Lizzy has already attempted to marry me off to the earl.”

  Ann’s soft laugh echoed through the silent church. “I am not quite so daring. But I must say that I was quite surprised by his generosity.”

  Feeling suddenly foolish, Claire blushed. Of course Ann was referring to Lord Challmond‘s hefty donation. She had been a fool to leap to the conclusion that she had meant anything else.

  “Yes. The orphanage will be fortunate to have him as a patron,” she swiftly agreed. “Indeed, I was thinking we might use a portion of his contribution to build the greenhouse I have always desired. The children could help us to grow their own vegetables all year long.”

  “Yes, we must check on the cost of such a project,” Ann agreed, absently moving to straighten the lopsided flowers. “But I was not referring to Lord Challmond’s contribution to the orphanage, as generous as it was.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was referring to the fact he had offered the blacksmith a considerable sum to release his claim on little Harry.”

  “What?” Claire breathed, her mind reeling. Lord Challmond had paid the blacksmith to release Harry? Why?

  Ann turned back to regard her in surprise. “You did not know?”

  Claire gave a slow shake of her head. “No.”

  “Mrs. Laury overheard Lord Challmond call on the blacksmith yesterday afternoon. She claimed Lord Challmond offered a ridiculous sum to free Harry from his apprenticeship.”

  He must have gone straight from her to the village, Claire acknowledged. But why had he not revealed what he intended to do?

  “I cannot believe it.”

  “She also said that the earl threatened to have the blacksmith sent to the gallows if he were to abuse another boy,” Ann continl:led with a hint of relish.

  “Goodness.”

  “She claimed that the blacksmith was on his knees, begging for forgiveness, before the earl left.“

  A sudden surge of gratitude overrode her wary disbelief. She might not comprehend why Lord Challmond should go to such trouble for a stray waif, but she was fiercely glad that he had. Only a man of his power and position could intimidate the bully of a blacksmith into releasing his claim on Harry.

  “I only wish I could have seen the horrid man on his knees,” she retorted with a slow smile. “He deserved to be horsewhipped.“

  Ann smiled with gentle understanding at her less than charitable delight.

  “Yes, it was certainly a disgrace, the manner he treated Harry,” she agreed, then she regarded Claire in a knowing manner. “Still, what could possibly have convinced Lord Challmond to go to such an effort for one small boy?”

  A thoroughly ridiculous hint of color bloomed in Claire’s pale cheeks.

  “I haven’t the least notion.”

  “No?”

  “No,” she d
enied in firm tones.

  Ann shrugged as her lips twitched with inner amusement.

  “Well, he has certainly proven himself to be a true gentleman. We shall be forever in his debt.”

  Keeping her expression deliberately bland, Claire gave a faint nod.

  “Yes.”

  Ann regarded her for another moment, then, with a small laugh, she moved forward to lightly pat Claire’s arm.

  “I shall see you at the orphanage tomorrow.“

  “Of course. Good day.”

  Claire deliberately waited until Ann had moved out of the church and across the yard to the large vicarage. She wanted to be alone to ponder Lord Challmond’s odd behavior.

  At last Claire gathered her now-empty basket and made her way to the side door and out into the late morning sunlight. She barely noted the gentle warmth of the rare spring sunshine or the faint scent of wildflowers coming into bloom. Instead, she considered the inordinate amount of trouble Lord Challmond had gone to for one small boy.

  A half hour later Claire walked into the courtyard of Blakewell Manor no closer to comprehending the truth, only to discover the gentleman occupying her thoughts was just arriving in his glossy open carriage. Her heart gave a pleasurable flip as he vaulted onto the cobblestones attired in a smoke-gray jacket and pale silver breeches. It was utterly unfair, she thought as he crossed toward her, that one gentleman should possess such an overabundance of devilish charm.

  “Good afternoon, Claire.” He offered her an elegant bow.

  Her gaze unknowingly searched his handsome countenance with piercing intensity.

  “My lord.”

  “Simon,” he instantly chided.

  “Simon.”

  He frowned, appearing to easily sense her distraction. “Has something occurred?”

  She paused, then gave a restless motion of her hand. “Do you mind if we walk instead of riding today?”

  He lifted an auburn brow in mild surprise. “Not at all.”

  Turning, he motioned toward the waiting groom. “Keaton, you may return to Westwood. I will walk back.“

  “Very well.“

  With an experienced flick of his whip the uniformed groom sent the matched grays out of the courtyard. Returning his attention to Claire, Simon reached out to firmly place her hand onto his arm and slowly led her toward the scythed parkland. Waiting until they were away from the manor, he glanced down at her tiny countenance.