“All right.” Shifting, he eased back and cupped her chin. “I spoke with my father, and all is well between us, so we have naught to worry about, from him.” Anthony paused, as he caressed her cheek with his thumb. “You know, this is one of those instances when I truly regret that I have but one arm, because I would hold you, forever, if I could. But I want you to know that I want to wed you. Indeed, I cannot see myself, or my future, without you. I want to build a life, for us. I want to create a family, and spend my days in peace, fretting over naught more than crying babies, scraped knees, and our children’s education.”
“More’s the pity.” Grasping his wrist, she pressed her lips to his palm and then held his hand to her bosom. “Because I feel the same.”
“Do you, little one?” Even in the dim light, Arabella detected a wistful tone to his voice. “Is it possible our desires are so fortuitously aligned?”
“Yes.” On tiptoes, she kissed him. It was a quick affectation meant to reassure him. “I want to be your wife, to face the world at your side, and to make a home where we are safe to live as we choose, without fear of retribution. And if we never venture to London, I shall count myself quite satisfied to remain lost in the country, with you.”
“Do you mean that?” None too gently, he hauled her against him. “Tell me the truth, and I will not be angry.”
“My lord, I could not be more sincere.” Hugging him about the waist, she held fast, and her spirits soared to new heights. “I know not how or why, and my attempts to comprehend it have failed, but you understand me better than those who have known me from birth.” Something took root within her, in that instant, and she relished the sensation, as it unfurled and spread, suffusing her with renewed confidence. “You talk to me, and you listen when I speak, which is more than I ever thought I would find in a husband. With you, I found something I believed did not exist, and I embrace our union, despite past reservations, which I am convinced were unreasonable.”
“I would laugh if this were not so incredible, but I could say the same of you.” To her delight, Anthony trailed a series of kisses along the crest of her ear, and she hummed. “I know not how you managed it, but you understand me, in much the same fashion, and I am too smart to let you slip through my fingers, so we shall marry, my dear Arabella. And I engaged my solicitor to purchase a lovely cottage, on the beach, in Sussex, just east of Brighton, where we will spend our honeymoon, if you are amenable.”
“Oh, I love the sound of that.” The conversation with Mama echoed in Arabella’s ears, and she cursed her burning cheeks, as unwanted images assailed her senses. “Because I prefer privacy when we consummate our vows, in the unlikely event I scream.”
“I beg your pardon?” To her embarrassment, Anthony burst into laughter but quickly checked himself. “Are you so concerned, my dear, because I would never hurt you. On my honor, you have my solemn promise that we will take our time, because I will not rush you. Although I suspect you will have much to articulate, given your propensity for sharing your opinion, I will do my utmost to ensure you express naught but passion.”
“My lord, it is not that I doubt you—what do you mean I will express naught but passion?” His bold statement startled her, because she feared the single most important part of his anatomy. “And my mother discussed the deed, thus I am hesitant, yet I will not fail you.”
“Ah, Arabella, you make me happy.” Again, he chuckled. “Have I told you as much?”
“More or less, but I never tire of it.” Her mother beckoned from the terrace, and Arabella started and hunkered. “It is Mama. What shall we do, because she will raise quite a fuss if she finds us?”
“Shh.” Anthony pulled her upright and licked her bottom lip, and she forgot the rest of her oratory. Indeed, everything yielded to the point of their delicious contact, and he playfully nipped her flesh, between words. “She will not find us, and we will return to the ball, in a moment, via the study door.” He settled his hand to her hip, in a shocking display of familiarity. “For now, I would kiss you.”
Several minutes passed before they dashed to the residence.
Chapter Ten
The day before Anthony’s wedding dawned with a howling gale and a ferocious tempest, which was why the unexpected delivery of Arabella’s summons surprised him, because he could not imagine any woman venturing forth in the storm. Then again, his fiancée did not fit the norm. Umbrella in hand, Walker shielded Anthony from the deluge, when he bounded down the entrance stairs and climbed into the coach. Secure in the squabs, he nodded once, and the butler retreated.
“Take Lord Rockingham to the corner of Upper Brook Street and North Audley, posthaste.” After closing the door, Walker stood at attention, and the equipage lurched forward.
Curious about his bride-to-be’s motives, Anthony tapped his fingers on his thigh. Then he brushed a speck of lint from his black wool breeches and considered the shine of his Hessians, during the short ride a mere couple of blocks to the prearranged meeting place. The rig slowed to a halt, and a footman leaped to the pavement and opened the door.
On the sidewalk, a cloaked figure shielded her face with an umbrella, but Anthony would have known Arabella anywhere. In a rush, she relayed an address to the footman. After closing her umbrella, she jumped into the coach, and eased to the bench opposite him, while he drew down the shades, to protect their privacy.
“The weather is dreadful, my lord.” When she unbuttoned the collar of her pelisse, he moved to sit beside her. “Anthony, just what are you about?”
“I thought it obvious, my dear Arabella.” Cupping her chin, he moved to steal a quick kiss, but she rebuffed him with an upraised hand, and he groaned. “All right, why the secrecy, and why am I here, if we are not to re-enact last night’s events in the gazebo?”
“My lord, you are a man of singular purpose, and I would oblige you, but there is a matter of importance I wish to discuss.” To his dissatisfaction, she removed to the space he previously occupied. “And I would introduce you to a friend. If you cooperate, we might take a turn or two about the park, in the confines of your coach, before you return me to my home.”
“How intriguing.” But something in her demeanor struck him as odd. “Do your parents know of our rendezvous? Because I find it strange that you met me on the street and not at your doorstep. What did you tell them, and to what purpose?”
“That I am with Patience.” Deploying a charming pout, she almost waylaid him, but he regrouped and gathered his wits.
“And what does Miss Wallace believe?” He compressed his lips and vowed not to fall prey to her considerable allure, which tempted him beyond reason.
“She knows I am with you.” Averting her gaze, she furrowed her brow. “In regard to my purpose, I would wait until we arrive at our destination. Once I make the introductions, I will explain everything.”
“How far must we travel?” When he posed the question, he peeked beyond the shade. To his surprise, the coachman drew to a halt. “Are we there, already?”
“I suspect so, because we do not venture beyond Mayfair.” A footman opened the door. Arabella scooted to the edge of the bench and stepped to the sidewalk. “Come, my lord, and keep an open mind.”
Curious, he did as she bade. When he exited the coach, he glanced about the immediate vicinity and discovered they journeyed to Albemarle Street. The nondescript residence, comprised of red brick with Portland stone trim, boasted a sign near the front window.
Anthony stopped in his tracks.
“Arabella, just what are you about?” His chest tingled, and his stomach rolled. “Why have you brought me to see Dr. Handley?”
“As I said, he is a friend, and he wants to help us.” She tugged on his arm, but Anthony gnashed his teeth and remained rooted to the ground. “Please, do this for me. I beg you, do not refuse what could mark a new beginning for us.”
“What does he plan to treat, given you have told me, time and again, there is nothing wrong with me, or do you claim som
e mysterious malady?” Anger mixed with fear, forming a formidable blockade, and he retreated a step. “Did you lie to gain my compliance? Did you conspire with my father to bring me here?”
“Never, and His Grace is no friend of mine.” When she reached for his hand, he recoiled. “My lord, you must believe me, I would never betray your trust.”
“Hello, Lady Arabella. You are prompt, as usual.” A bespectacled gentleman loomed in the doorway, and he narrowed his stare when he looked at Anthony. “This must be Lord Rockingham. What an honor, sir.” The stranger bowed. “Dr. Handley, at your service. Will you come inside, to get out of the rain, and enjoy a spot of tea?”
“I do not drink tea, sir.” Shaking with irrepressible anxiety, Anthony knew not what to make of what he considered an unforgiveable betrayal. “There seems to be a misunderstanding, and I apologize for wasting your afternoon.”
“Well, my wife is shopping, and the host provides brandy in lieu of tea.” The doctor smiled. “If you decline my hospitality, I shall return to my study, smoke my pipe, and peruse the papers, so you see you keep me from nothing of importance.”
“Anthony.” Positioning herself opposite him, Arabella said in a low voice, “If you do this for me, I shall take a turn about the park with you, with the shades drawn, and I shall abide whatever you ask of me.”
“Indeed?” Now that was enough to sway him, but he needed to dictate terms. “You give me your word, you will deny me nothing, regardless of what I require in recompense?”
“I will do anything.” Clasping his hand, she gulped and twined her fingers in his. “If you indulge me, I shall return the favor, in equal measure. In fact, you need not even converse with Dr. Handley. Just hear what he has to say, but I wager you will like him.” Again, she swallowed hard. “Thereafter, I am yours to command.”
“All right, but I intend to collect on our bargain, in full.” When she prompted, he followed her into the residence. “However, I do not appreciate being ambushed, and you will never do it again.”
“Of course not.” Glancing over her shoulder, she cast an expression of contrition. “But my cause is just, and I had to try, else I could not live with myself.”
“It means that much to you?” He cursed himself when he spied tears in her blue eyes, because he did not want to hurt her.
“Yes.” She nodded. Not for an instant did he doubt her.
“Why?” In the hall, after Anthony and Arabella shed their outerwear, the doctor motioned toward a modest but elegant drawing room, and Anthony strolled to the sofa. After he unbuttoned his coat, he sat. To his surprise, Arabella perched beside him and clasped his hand in hers.
“My lord, I cannot fail you.” She scooted closer, while Handley poured a couple of glasses of brandy, one of which he sat on the table before Anthony. “As your wife, it is my duty to serve you.”
“And that is what you are doing, now?” Confused and wounded by her breach of faith, he sighed and shook his head. He believed her incapable of dissemblance. “We are not yet wed, and you deceived me.”
“I did no such thing.” She squeezed his fingers. “In fact, I am here to reveal a simple truth, which you have inquired about on more than one occasion.”
“What is that?” Reflecting on previous exchanges, he clung to the hope she had not fooled him, and somehow he misconstrued her scheme. “Because I recall nothing of the kind.”
“My lord, often you have remarked on my ability to calm you, when you are out of sorts.” When he blinked, she peered at Dr. Handley and then met Anthony’s stare. “Like the afternoon in the park and the evening of my father’s impromptu dinner. Do you remember?”
How could he forget?
“Then why did you not tell me, last night?” Releasing her hand, he cleared his throat and grabbed the balloon of brandy, the contents of which he downed in a single gulp, despite his trembling. “You could have warned me.”
“I planned to do so.” She opened her mouth and then closed it. “But you distracted me, in the gazebo.”
Oh, he distracted her, all right. For several minutes. A series of salacious vignettes flashed in his brain, and familiar warmth spread from his center to his limbs. When his cheeks burned, he swore under his breath and shook himself alert.
“Lord Rockingham, I understand your hesitation, given the personal nature of the topic.” Dr. Handley leaned forward in his chair. “But you are not alone. Indeed, many soldiers returned from the war as changed men, and I gather you are no different.”
“What do you know of my plight?” Anthony responded, a little too defensively, and he checked himself. “I mean, do you presume to know me?”
“Ever struggle with night terrors, bouts of uncontrollable anxiety, intense excitement, fever, gastrointestinal discomfort, or feelings of hopelessness? Ever see or hear things that are not there? Perhaps a combination of symptoms?” Standing, Dr. Handley wrinkled his nose. “I beg your pardon, Lord Rockingham, but you are white as a sheet. Would you like to lie down?”
“No.” Anthony pushed from the sofa and paced near the hearth. “I want to know what is wrong with me.”
Leaning against the mantel, he gazed into the blaze, opened the door to his memory, and the drums signaled the battle commenced. The walls collapsed, and the floor pitched and rolled. How he wanted to run. When he closed his eyes, hoofbeats pounded in his ears, and his knees gave way, but he did not fall, because Dr. Handley and Arabella supported Anthony at either side.
“Can you hear me?” Arabella’s plea came to him, as if from afar. “Anthony, you are safe. We are in London, and no one will hurt you.”
“Lord Rockingham, come back and recline, please.” The doctor draped an arm about Anthony’s shoulders and situated a pillow. “Better?”
“Much, thank you.” Weak, Anthony did not object when his fiancée sat at the edge of the sofa and wiped his brow with her handkerchief. “I am sorry if I frightened you.”
“I am not afraid.” With the backs of her knuckles, she caressed the curve of his jaw. “I am worried, and I want you to give Dr. Handley a chance to help you. If you will not do it for yourself, do it for me.”
“If you wish.” To his amazement, his lady bent and kissed him, despite the doctor’s presence. “All right, I will cooperate. What do you require of me?”
“The answer is simple, really.” Shifting his weight, Dr. Handley crossed his legs. “You need only talk, Lord Rockingham. Whatever comes to mind, share it with us. If you prefer, you may pretend I am not here, and speak directly to Lady Arabella.”
“I am well-versed in that.” Anthony half-chuckled and pondered the suggestion.
There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to tell Arabella of his former self, but he could not bear her rejection. Then again, she might not spurn him, and it was her idea.
Inhaling deeply, he relaxed and studied his beautiful fiancée, arresting in her morning gown of pale yellow. Reflecting on previous conversations, he told her of life in the camps. Of the long marches in the miserable heat. Of the trumpets blaring in the wee hours before dawn. Of the torrential downpours and the mud. Of the meager rations and the disappearing faces with each new battle.
Then he related the various aspects of war, including the telltale clash of metal against metal. The jarring blast of cannon fusillades. The crack of gunfire, which merged with the cries of the wounded to form a woeful requiem for the dead. The thunderous roar of advancing regiments. The sickeningly sweet smell of blood. The stench of damp earth mixed with munitions powder, and the often-mutilated bodies.
So many secrets fell from his lips, while Arabella gave him full attention, and he found himself, at last, describing the never-ending anxiety. The terror that twisted his insides, stretched his spine ramrod straight, and threatened to reduce him to a wailing babe. Worst of all, he lacked the ability to control any of it and seemed forever destined to live as a prisoner of the past.
Exhausted yet relieved, Anthony started when the mantel clock chimed, a
nd he realized Arabella wept.
“My dear, please, do not cry for me.” Sitting upright, he pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dried her face. In that simple gesture, it dawned on him that he cared for her. He genuinely cared for her. Indeed, he could not envision himself without his lady at his side. “I can bear anything but your tears.”
“Oh, Anthony, I once called you the bravest man of my acquaintance, but I am now convinced I grossly underestimated you.” She sniffed. “Your courage knows no bounds, and I am truly honored to be your future wife.”
“Darling, while I appreciate the compliment, mine are but the ravings of a coward and, I suspect, a lunatic.” He glanced at Dr. Handley. “What say you, sir? Am I crazy?”
“I hate to disappoint you, Lord Rockingham, given you seem quite sure of your condition, but your diagnosis is incorrect.” The doctor adjusted his spectacles. “Because only the sane react aberrantly to the aberrant. I assure you, there is nothing normal about war. Indeed, I would worry if you did not exhibit lingering signs of trauma, in light of what you survived, and you are to be admired. Not scorned.”
“You must be joking.” Anthony gave vent to a self-deprecating snort. “I did what I was ordered. Where is the valor in that?”
“You believe you had no choice to react otherwise?” Dr. Handley furrowed his brow. “Bless my soul, sir, but your actions in the heat of battle are nothing if not heroic, because you had an option, even though you do not recognize it. The decision you confronted was whether to fight or to flee, and you did your duty. Counter that point with me, if you can, Lord Rockingham.”
For several minutes, Anthony tried but failed to compose a suitable rejoinder. Every possible argument he contrived came to naught, because the doctor’s pronouncement offered immediate refutation, until he surrendered the cause.
The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) Page 15
