A Reckless Desire

by Isabella Bradford

  The little boy who, if the duke had his way, would never be born to Lucia.

  “I will marry her, Father,” Rivers said, his words filled with angry determination. “I wished for your blessing, but if you refuse to give it, then so be it. I’ll never again bring my wife to this house, where she is not welcomed, nor will I come without her.”

  Lucia bowed her head with misery and regret. This was exactly what she’d feared would happen. She’d never wanted to come between Rivers and his father, and now she’d done precisely that.

  The duke began to answer, but Celia stopped him.

  “Brecon, please, don’t speak in haste,” she said, her voice beseeching yet firm. “Remember what it is to love, and be loved. If you cannot, then you will lose your son.”

  The duke’s expression softened, his belligerence replaced by a genuine sadness that Lucia hadn’t expected.

  “There are cases, Celia, where love alone is not sufficient,” he said. “If my son persists on this course then I fear I’ll have no—what in blazes is that?”

  The knocking at the drawing room door was frantic, and one of the footmen opened it. The butler quickly ushered in another servant, in different livery, and the two of them made short, bobbing bows.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace,” the butler said breathlessly. “But this man brings news that you—”

  “It’s Her Ladyship, Your Grace,” the other servant interrupted excitedly, forgetting himself. “That is, Lord Hargreave sends his compliments, and requests that His Grace come at his earliest convenience, as her ladyship’s been brought to the bed of her babe.”

  “The child!” At once the duke snapped to attention, Lucia and Rivers forgotten before the arrival of the latest grandchild. “We must go to them at once. At once!”

  In the dashing flurry of activity, Lucia hung back, feeling thoroughly out of place.

  “I should return to my lodgings, Rivers,” she said. “But come to me tomorrow, and let me know whether Gus bears a boy or another girl.”

  “Nonsense,” Rivers said. “You’ll come with us.”

  Lucia shook her head. “I don’t think your father would—”

  “I’m asking you, not him,” Rivers said, and smiled crookedly. “Harry and Gus will want you there. Especially Gus. To be sure, I cannot force you to come, but I hope you’ll choose to be with me.”

  She smiled. “For you, Rivers,” she said softly. “I’ll stay with you.”

  —

  It was one thing for Rivers’s father to declare that they all must hurry to Gus’s side, but quite another to see it done in the middle of the night. Hats, coats, and cloaks must be fetched. The grooms, coachman, and footmen needed to be roused from their beds, the horses harnessed and two carriages brought around from the stable. Celia and Father rode in the ducal carriage, while Lucia and Rivers rode with Geoffrey and Serena in theirs. There was little conversation among them, with everyone acutely aware of the importance of the coming birth.

  Nearly an hour had passed by the time the two carriages drew up before Harry and Gus’s home, the only house on the square still ablaze with candlelight, and almost another hour besides since Harry had sent one of his footmen to Breconridge House. Nearly two hours, then, and more than enough time for Gus to be delivered of her fourth child.

  Father himself was the first in the house, rushing up the stairs to the countess’s bedchamber, with Celia hurrying to keep up. No one thought to stop him; it was his place to be first to see his newest grandchild. Next came Geoffrey and Serena, and then Rivers and Lucia.

  “Even tonight, we follow by rank,” Rivers said wryly. They were several steps behind the others and out of their hearing, which was fine with him. “We can’t help it, can we?”

  “I feel sorry for Gus,” Lucia said, “having so many people crowding into her bedchamber at such a time.”

  “After three children, she’s probably accustomed to it by now,” he said. “The price of marrying Harry, I’m afraid.”

  He tried to smile, but Lucia was well aware of the tension that seemed to fill the entire house. It wasn’t just her own worry for what would become of her and Rivers, or even the very real concern for the much-loved Gus as she endured the hazards of childbirth. There was a sense that the fates and happiness of everyone in this family depended on the safe arrival—and gender—of this new, small person into the world.

  And as she and Rivers reached the end of the hall and Gus’s bedchamber, that small person let out a monumental wail over the excited voices of all the adults already there.

  “Does that sound like a boy?” Rivers asked.

  “It sounds like a baby,” Lucia said, drawing him forward.

  Hand in hand, they entered through the open doorway. The room was crowded. In addition to all the Fitzroys, there were also assorted midwives and nursery maids, plus a physician. The two elder sisters of the new baby were there, too, brought from their beds by their own nursery maids. Also in attendance were a couple of large spotted dogs with feathered tails, bustling back and forth around the bed. In the center of all this swirling confusion sat Gus, flushed and exhausted but already washed and tidied, and propped up against a mountain of pillows and wearing an extravagant silk organza cap, new for the occasion.

  Beside the bed stood Harry, the proud new father once again, looking thoroughly harassed in his shirtsleeves with his oldest daughter, Lady Emily, clinging to his leg. Next to him stood the duke, and in his arms was the well-wrapped bundle of lace-trimmed linen and squalling newborn babyhood that had drawn them all here.

  “It’s a boy, Rivers,” the duke announced over the general din of the others, his voice reverberating with joy and emotion. “At last, a fine, healthy son!”

  “Well done, Gus, well done!” Rivers exclaimed. “You, too, Harry, you dog, though none of the hard work was yours.”

  Gus, however, wasn’t looking at him, or her new son, either, but at Lucia.

  “Mrs. Willow, isn’t it?” she asked, excited despite her weariness. “Did Rivers propose? Did you accept?”

  The others fell silent, leaving only the crying baby. Harry took him back from the duke, soothing him to a whimper, which only made the silence following Gus’s questions more awkward still.

  Rivers’s fingers tightened around Lucia’s. “I have proposed, yes,” he said. “Exactly as you advised, Gus, and Lucia has almost accepted me.”

  Gus frowned beneath the ruffled cap. “How can she almost accept? She either has, or she hasn’t. Mrs. Willow, can you explain? Do you not love him?”

  “I do love him, with all my heart,” Lucia said, hesitating. “But because of that, I know I will make him unhappy.”

  “That is not possible,” Gus declared, holding her arms out for the fretful baby. “Not if you love him as you say.”

  Carefully Harry settled the baby back into her arms, and Gus put him to her breast. At once he quieted, peacefully suckling as she rocked him gently, and she smiled with contentment herself, especially after Harry rested his hand on her shoulder. When she looked back to Lucia, her expression was soft with love, yet determined, too.

  “Without love, you’ll never be happy,” Gus said softly. “But with it, anything is possible. With love, you will be happy.”

  Lucia nodded, her heart so full she feared she might weep from the weight of it. All she had to do now was say yes to Rivers, yes to love, and yet as she gazed up at him, emotion had robbed her of her voice. She, who could make a theater full of people weep at her words, suddenly had none of her own.

  “It’s my fault,” the duke said suddenly. “I said I wouldn’t give my consent to Rivers marrying Mrs. Willow.”

  “Oh, Brecon,” Gus said. “How could you? Look at them. How could you stand in the way of love like that?”

  “I won’t, not now,” the duke said gruffly, gazing down at his new grandson. “Babies change things, don’t they? Rivers, you have my blessing. As Gus says, if you love her and she loves you, then that will be enough. That
will be everything.”

  “It is everything,” Rivers said firmly. For the second time that night, he dropped down on one knee before Lucia. “Will you marry me, Lucia? Will you be mine forever?”

  Lucia smiled, and let her tears slip. “Yes, Rivers,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  One year later

  The invitations had been written in French, and therefore sounded dauntingly formal: Fête Solstice d’été avec la Famille. But the truth of the Duke of Breconridge’s annual Midsummer Party with the Family was that it was neither formal, nor daunting. Instead it was a country affair for all the members of the duke’s extended family, including every nephew and cousin as well as their wives, sons, and daughters, gathered together beneath the summer sun at Breconridge House. Every child was welcome, no matter how young, and for this one week of the year, the large old house echoed with the children’s laughter and excitement.

  This was the first year that Lord and Lady Rivers Fitzroy attended the fête, not only as husband and wife, but also as a small family themselves. Two months earlier had brought the birth of their daughter, Juliet, who was herself making her first appearance before the extended family.

  Juliet had been named for one of her mother’s most famous roles, and had in fact performed it many times with her. London theatergoers had been willing to overlook their favorite actress’s pregnancy, and the famous Mrs. Willow continued to perform nearly until Juliet’s arrival. As a result, her father, Rivers, was jovially predicting that her first word would not be Mama or Papa, but Romeo.

  But for now she was a charming, happy baby, with her father’s blond hair and her mother’s round cheeks, and there was nothing she liked more than being on her mother’s lap and watching the water drops fly and scatter from the fountain in her grandfather’s garden.

  “She does like the fountain,” Lucia said. “She’s fascinated.”

  “Every child loves that fountain,” Rivers said. “I know, for I was one of them once. Next step she’ll want to put her hands in the water, then will come wading, and then finally she’ll want to climb into the center to ride the lead horses that spurt the water.”

  “I’d like that,” Lucia said. “Would your father be upset if I went wading, too?”

  “Oh, I doubt it,” Rivers said easily. “Nothing much upsets him these days.”

  Lucia smiled, for they both understood the reason for the change in the once-overbearing duke’s temperament. Thanks to Gus and Harry, not only did he finally have his heir in their son, young George, but Serena and Geoffrey had also recently given him a second grandson, Charles. With his legacy secure, the formerly stern duke had learned to relax and enjoy all his grandchildren, boys and girls alike, and had even been observed giving the occasional pony ride on his shoulders.

  “You realize it will be our turn for a boy next,” Rivers continued. “It’s the law of averages, you know. Mathematical observations would prove that after so many—”

  “Hush,” Lucia scolded gently. “No mathematical anything today. I am on holiday, and I mean to enjoy it. You should, too, if you’ve any sense.”

  Rivers grinned, and took Juliet from her, cradling her in the crook of his arm. “I would be a fool not to enjoy this day, here in the sunshine with my two favorite ladies.”

  “As it should be,” Lucia said, her face softening as she gazed at the two people she loved best. “Gus was right. Love is enough.”

  “Not even Shakespeare could have written it better,” Rivers said, leaning over the baby to kiss her. “With you, love is everything.”

  “Everything,” repeated Lucia softly. “Everything.”

  For Junessa,

  for always making my books better

  Acknowledgments

  As always, many thanks must go to the friends and colleagues who shared both their support and their expertise: Kimberly Alexander, Loretta Chase, Abby Cox, Mary Doering, Beth Dunn, Jay Howlett, Neal Hurst, Jenny Lynn, Mark Hutter, Michael McCarty, Annelise Robey, Mollie Smith, Janea Whitacre, and Sarah Woodyard.

  BY ISABELLA BRADFORD

  When You Wish Upon a Duke

  When the Duchess Said Yes

  When the Duke Found Love

  A Wicked Pursuit

  A Sinful Deception

  A Reckless Desire

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ISABELLA BRADFORD is a pseudonym for Susan Holloway Scott, the award-winning author of more than forty historical novels and historical romances. Her bestselling books have been published in nineteen countries and translated into fourteen languages, with more than three million copies in print. Bradford also writes as half of the Two Nerdy History Girls (twonerdyhistorygirls.blogspot.com), an entertaining history blog that is also on Twitter (@2nerdyhistgirls) and Pinterest (pinterest.com/​2nerdyhistgirls). A graduate of Brown University, she lives with her family outside Philadelphia.

  IsabellaBradford.com

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