Second Chance Love: A Regency Romance Set

by Wendy Lacapra

  Yes, he and Devon had argued. Adam had refused to pay for Devon's absurd scheme of going to London to study to be a physician. But surely that disappointment alone could not explain Devon's rebellion

  He rubbed his aching head above the patch that covered his sightless left eye. Devon was just a boy. He hadn't been there to see their father suffer at the hands of the leeches and purgers. He hadn’t endured their torturous treatment that had stolen half of Adam’s sight. Nor did he understand how lowering it would be for a man of his station to take up a profession that involved intimacy with all sorts of people, probing their flesh and exposing oneself to every sort of malady. What was the honor in that?

  “M’lord? Sir Michael Penrod is here to see you.”

  Adam straightened in his chair and nodded to his butler. “All right, Madely. Send him in.”

  He rose to greet Sir Michael, his longtime solicitor and family friend. “I brought the papers for the sale of that bit of York woodland.” Sir Michael dropped the sheaf of documents on the desk and frowned at Adam. “Dash it, Morgan, you look all in. What’s wrong?”

  Adam flinched at the solicitous tone of in his friends’ voice. “What do you know about a Waverly House, in Sussex?”

  Sir Michael sank into a chair in front of the desk. “Waverley House? Yes, I believe I’ve heard of it. Some sort of convalescent home for the well-to-do. Run by Lady somebody or other.”

  “Lady Delaware.” Adam handed him the letter.

  Sir Michael fitted a quizzing glass to his eye and scanned the page. After a moment, he raised his head to stare at Adam. “I don’t understand. Why do you have this?”

  Adam resumed his seat behind the desk. “I paid a man to steal it from Jacques DeLae.”

  The quizzing glass dropped from Sir Michael’s eye. “The smuggler? Or perhaps I should say reputed smuggler, since he hasn’t yet been caught.”

  “Also known as Lord Jared Delaware.”

  Sir Michael whistled low. “You’re sure of this?”

  “I’ve spent a goodly sum making very sure of it. That letter is the last bit of proof.” He steepled his fingers. “Devon is with him. I’m certain of it now.”

  Sir Michael shook his head. “It’s a bad business. The excisemen would like nothing better than to catch that bunch. Word is they’ve smuggled in thousands of pounds worth of contraband – everything from liquor to lace.”

  Adam’s head throbbed. “What will happen to Devon if he’s with them when they’re caught?” he asked.

  Sir Michael looked grim. “The hangman’s noose is the prescribed penalty for smuggling, though whether they would go that far with a nobleman depends upon the mood of the House of Lords.”

  The pounding in Adam’s head was almost unbearable. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of his brother swinging from a gibbet. “What if I can get him away from them?”

  “If you could persuade him to cooperate in capturing the others, it could go well with him.” Sir Michael nodded. “That, and money applied in the right places.”

  Adam’s eyes snapped open. “I don’t give a tinker’s dam about the money. It’s Devon I want.”

  Sir Michael clucked sympathetically. “I wish I knew how to advise you. But a boy that age seldom listens to reason. And how are you going to find him? Even if you know where he is today, he won’t be there tomorrow. DeLae has made an art of avoiding the law.”

  “I’ll find him.” He stood and Sir Michael rose also. “You’ll oversee my affairs while I’m away,” Adam said.

  “Of course. But where are you going?”

  He folded the letter and tucked it into his coat. “To Waverley House. To call upon Clarissa Delaware.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lady Clarissa Delaware applied wax to the folded letter and stamped it with the Waverley seal. The ring which bore the seal had been her father’s, and she could not use it without remembering him. What would be think of her now, reduced to taking in frail lodgers to keep them all from destitution?

  She sighed and added the letter to the stack at her elbow. Father had been a practical man, and like as not he’d approve of her using her wits instead of her wiles to provide for herself and her children. She’d made the mistake once of seeking to solve her problems through marriage, and look where that had led.

  She smiled ruefully. My, but she was in a dark mood today. She had too much to do to indulge in a bout of the sulks. She rose from the writing desk and gathered up her finished letters.

  “I’m going into the village this afternoon. I can post those if you like.”

  She turned, smiling, toward the speaker. She shouldn’t have been surprised to find Miss Emma Freed standing in the open doorway of the room. The governess moved as soundless as a wraith through the rooms and halls of Waverley House. With her fair skin and white-blond hair, she had an ethereal beauty and manner women envied and men found daunting. At least, that had been the way of it when they were girls together. Later, Clarissa had come to believe Emma cultivated detachment as a defense against her position as an impoverished younger daughter.

  “Thank you, Emma, I would be most obliged.” She handed over the letters. “I was just coming to see you. Lord Carstairs is dining here tonight. You will join us, won’t you?”

  Emma pocketed the letters. “Wouldn’t you prefer to dine with Lord Carstairs alone?”

  Clarissa made a face. “I discovered last time we dined that our neighbor had been somehow misled to believe I desire a…a more intimate acquaintance with him.” By his third glass of wine, he had become more fervent in his attentions. Finally, she’d contrived to spill half a decanter of most excellent Madeira in his lap to cool his ardor. “I believe I have disabused him of that notion, but your presence tonight would help to restore our previous good relations.”

  “I’ll do it if you’ll lend me the use of your fichu embroidered with pink roses. It will go so well with my pink muslin, and the dining room can be chilly this time of year.”

  “Of course. You know you are always welcome to make use of anything in my wardrobe. And I really appreciate your understanding about Lord Carstairs.”

  “If the man offends you, why invite him back at all?” Emma asked.

  “He’s an old friend of the family, and he’s been most kind to us. I’d hate to see such a friendship destroyed over a silly misunderstanding.”

  Emma shook her head. “You never see ill will in anyone, do you?”

  Clarissa bowed her head. Jared had often laughed at her naiveté, but there were days she feared once she started looking for the darkness in every situation, she would soon see nothing else. “At times it would be so easy to do so, but I prefer to try to see the good,” she said.

  “Then you’ll surely see the good in this. There’s a gentleman waiting for you in the library. A Mr. Adam Kendrick. He wishes to stay here.”

  Another paying customer. What would it be this time? An elderly baron with the gout, or a retired country parson seeking the restorative effects of sea air? No matter, she was willing to coddle them all in exchange for the living they provided. “What’s he like?” she asked.

  The corners of Emma’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Not like the others.”

  “The others” were the four elderly residents of Waverley House, who spent their days reading novels and their evenings playing whist. “What do you mean by that?” Clarissa asked.

  Emma’s smile was full blown now. “You’ll see. Now I’d best go post these letters. Then the children and I are off to collect specimens for our botany study.”

  “Have Harry wrap up well. He was very fussy last night. I fear he may be coming down with something. And don’t allow Fanny to throw rocks in the lane. She almost hit Sir Henry as he was napping in the garden yesterday.”

  Emma left to see to her young charges and Clarissa descended to the library. The room at first appeared to be empty, then a man rose from an armchair by the fire and moved toward her. “Lady Delaware. So good of y
ou to wait upon me.”

  Clarissa scarcely heard the words, so startled was she by his appearance. Indeed, this man was not like the others. He was younger – surely only in his mid-forties, broad-shouldered and dark-haired. Her first impression was one of great strength of body. When she raised her eyes to meet his burning gaze, she knew him to possess a strength of will to match.

  Only one eye stared at her, the color of finest whiskey in a glass. His other eye, the left one, was covered by a black silk patch. This single flaw only served to emphasize the perfection of all his other features.

  “Lady Delaware?”

  His voice recalled her to her senses. Her face too warm, she offered her hand. “Welcome to Waverley House, Mr. Kendrick.”

  He bowed low over her hand, brushing the knuckles so lightly with his lips she might have imagined it, if not for the jolt of heat his touch sent through her.

  She jerked her hand away and walked past him. How absurd she felt, like a young girl swooning over a handsome swain. Had she been without a man so long her body would betray her this way with the first attractive male to darken her doorway? “What can I do for you, Mr. Kendrick?”

  He followed her across the room, to stand behind her, too close for comfort. Or was it only that his presence filled the room, making any distance between them too short? “Your establishment was recommended to me by a friend who knew I was in need of a quiet place to recover,” he said.

  She turned to face him, not bothering to hide her surprise. “Recover? You look most healthy to me, sir.” Her cheeks grew warm again. How was it an innocent phrase could sound so illicit?

  “I suffer from…a certain infirmity. My friend felt I might benefit from your care.”

  Did she imagine the suggestiveness in his voice? But of course, she might have deduced at once what would bring such a handsome, virile man to her door. Her blush deepened. “I fear you have been misled, sir. While it is true I provide respite for persons recovering from any number of illnesses, I do not accept patients suffering from, um, the French disease.”

  His laugh startled her. It was rich and deep, transforming his features from forbidding to gracious. “Have no fear, madam. My problem is not the ‘French disease.’ Rather, I suffer from attacks of nerves which at times leave me incapacitated. The cure, I am told, is rest and retreat from harried life in the city.”

  Clarissa silently cursed herself. If not the pox, the man must suffer from the after-effects of some shock. Perhaps he was a soldier, who had lost his eye in battle. Was his outer strength merely a brave façade? Sympathy for him almost overwhelmed her earlier misgivings.

  Still, he was not at all the sort of client she was used to helping. “I fear you would soon grow discontented here, Mr. Kendrick,” she said. “While I can offer you rest and the finest care, the others here are quite elderly. And the village offers little amusement for a man such as yourself.”

  “I am an undemanding sort,” he said, with a firmness that belied his words. He extracted a purse from his coat. “And I am prepared to pay in advance.” He laid five gold sovereigns on the library table.

  Her mind raced with thoughts of the repairs needed to the roof, and the tuition for Harry’s schooling next year. She could ill afford to turn this man away, no matter her misgivings. Aware of his gaze burning into her, she swept the coins into her pocket, then turned toward the door. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Adam collected his valise from the hallway and followed Clarissa Delaware up the stairs and down a long passageway, into the east wing of Waverley House. What had possessed him to greet her like that – kissing her hand when a mere clasp would do? Her appearance had startled him. He had expected a dark beauty, whose dress and manner proclaimed her passionate nature, not this auburn-haired matron, past the first blush of beauty, plainly attired and plain spoken.

  But then he had felt her hand tremble in his, and seen the blush stain her cheek at the touch of his lips. He was reminded that every man, and likewise, every woman, was not all they first appeared to be.

  She walked ahead of him now, her trim figure moving gracefully down the corridor. “All the guests live in this wing,” she said, as they traveled briskly along a gallery lined with paintings of stern-visaged ancestors. “There’s a library and a music room for your use, as well as a private dining room.”

  “Then I won’t have the pleasure of dining with you.” He hadn’t meant to say the words aloud. The startled look she gave him alerted him to his error.

  “On occasion, we do all dine together,” she said. “As it so happens, one of the local landholders is my guest tonight. I believe you would enjoy meeting him. Please, do say you’ll join us.”

  What could he do but agree? “It would be my pleasure.”

  She smiled and he fought to keep from returning the look. When she smiled, she looked years younger, somehow vulnerable. He didn’t want her to be vulnerable. He wanted her to be cold and hardened. The kind of woman who would conspire with a villain to defraud her country and ruin a young man.

  She pushed open a door at the end of the corridor and led the way into an elegantly furnished room. “These are your quarters. Mary is the housemaid assigned to this room. She’ll bring hot water for shaving each morning and see that the fire is well-tended. If you require anything else, you only need ask.” She frowned. “I neglected to ask if you have a valet. We do have servant’s quarters, though there is an extra charge.”

  He shook his head. “No, I can see to myself.” He’d purposely left his valet and his title behind for this trip. “I did give my horse to the care of your groom. He assured me he would be well looked after.”

  She nodded. “Yes. And there are many good riding paths in the area.” She stepped to the window and drew back the curtains. “In any case, I hope you’ll be comfortable here.” Sunlight streamed through the polished glass to illuminate a poster bed, highboy and desk. A seascape of pounding waves hung on the wall above the desk, which was well stocked with an inkwell, blotter, and sheets of writing paper.

  He stared at the paper and compressed his lips into a thin line. He’d best not let Clarissa Delaware’s pretty face and seemingly gentle demeanor distract him from his reason for being here. “It will do,” he said.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “You don’t look very pleased.”

  He met her gaze once more. Since when was he so clumsy at hiding his feelings? “The room is quite all right. I…I suffer from the head ache at times.” At the moment, his head throbbed in a painful rhythm.

  Her expression softened to a look of pure compassion. “I can bring you a posset—“

  “That isn’t necessary. I’ll be fine after a brief rest.” He set his bag on the bed and ushered her to the door. The sooner she was away from him, the sooner he’d be able to think clearly again.

  “Very well. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  She left, closing the door softly behind her. Adam sat on the edge of the bed and removed the letter from his waistcoat pocket. Once again, he scanned the lines of tender words. Return to me quickly, my love. There is no loneliness greater than that in a heart which has known true love and been denied.

  And what of the heart that had never known such depth of feeling? What of the person who would never have words of such devotion addressed to him?

  Scowling, he put the letter away and lay back against the pillows, hand over his eyes. Ever since the accident that had killed his father and stolen his eye, he had been plagued with headaches, but lately, they had grown worse.

  He thought he might have dozed. A tapping on the door disturbed him. “Come in,” he muttered.

  A fair-haired woman entered, bearing a steaming mug, a cloth folded over her arm. “Lady Delaware has sent this posset for you, sir,” she said.

  He shoved himself into a sitting position. “I told her that wasn’t necessary.”

  The woman set the mug on the table beside the bed. “La
dy Delaware is not one who believes the patient always knows best.” She offered him the cloth. “When you have drunk the posset, you are to put this on your forehead. It’s been soaked in an infusion of herbs which will aid in your healing.”

  He took the cloth and set it aside. “See here, Mary, this is not—“

  “I’m not Mary. I’m Emma Freed. The governess.”

  The pain in his skull made it difficult to think. He rubbed his temples. “What sort of household has the governess waiting upon guests?” he demanded.

  Miss Freed’s eyes laughed at him, though her mouth remained solemn. “Lady Delaware was bringing this to you herself when I offered to take it. She generally likes to oversee treatment for those under her care.”

  “Is she a doctor, then?”

  “No, but she does have some knowledge of medicine, and a talent for nursing.”

  The world was plagued by healers! “I am not in need of nursing. I’m here to rest.” He lay back on the pillows again and closed his eyes, trusting she would take this as a signal to leave.

  “You’ll rest better if you’ll drink the posset and wrap your head in the cloth.”

  When he opened his eyes, she was still there, looking down on him with an amused expression. “Don’t you have children to look after?” he asked.

  “The children are completing their reading assignment. And I wanted to meet you.”

  “Why?”

  She folded her arms beneath her breasts and studied him with unnerving directness. “I’m curious as to why a gentleman such as yourself would retire to an isolated hamlet to live in a household of ailing elderly people, single women, and children.”

  He sat up again and leaned toward her, purposely intimidating. “Is Lady Delaware single? What of her husband?”

  She took a step back from the bed and busied herself stirring the posset. “What of him? Lord Delaware has been gone many years now.”

  “Gone? Is he dead?”