by Diane Gaston
He must try to live for all of them, his father, brother, mother and sister. To champion the Whig cause like his father and brother. To heed the needs of the poor like his mother. To enjoy balls and routs and musicales like his sister. His family were the voices in his head. And in his ear was Ross’s father, the Duke of Kessington, urging him to marry and beget an heir to carry on the family line. The Duke’s wife was pushing Lord Brackton’s daughter, Lady Alice, the young woman she and the Duke wished Ross would have married instead of Genna.
Dell had no objections to Lady Alice, a young woman of good temper and excellent reputation, but he didn’t want such an attachment. He did not want to care about anyone when losing them could send him into despair.
Ross was the sole person with whom Dell felt close. They were friends, not family, but if anything happened to Ross, Dell would have no one. Even so, he tried not to depend on Ross, although Ross continued to reach out to him in friendship. At times Ross’s friendship had been all that stood between him and the abyss.
When Ross became involved with Genna, it threw Dell into company with the Summerfield sisters. With Lorene. Because of Ross he’d invited them all to Summerfield House that Christmas. Last summer, when Tess went into labour, Dell had a terror of her dying. Women died in childbirth. Princess Charlotte died in childbirth last November.
That convinced him. He kept his distance after that. He was at too great a risk of having all of them matter too much to him.
On the other hand, Lady Alice did not inspire those same feelings of connection.
He needed some time at Summerfield House. He needed time to think. He’d missed that house in Lincolnshire. And if he were completely honest, he’d also missed Lorene.
He’d thought about her much too often. Whenever he glimpsed a woman on the street who resembled her. Whenever he heard someone play a pianoforte.
* * *
After his second full day on the road, Dell rode into Wansford village, to the Haycock Inn. He’d stayed at the inn on previous trips and the innkeeper, Mr Percival, greeted him by name.
‘Lord Penford, how good to see you back.’ The innkeeper bowed.
Dell extended his hand. ‘Good to see you, too, Percival.’
‘You will be wanting a room, will you not, m’lord,’ Percival went on. ‘I just now gave away my best room to a lady traveling with her maid.’
‘Any room will do,’ Dell said. ‘I merely need to clean off the dust from the road and taste one of your meat-and-potato pasties.’
Percival glanced beyond him. ‘Is your valet with you?’
Dell lifted his bag. ‘I rode alone this trip.’
‘Come with me, then.’ Mr Percival led him up the stairway past the room the innkeeper had called his best.
The room he showed Dell was perfectly adequate.
‘Shall I send a man up to assist you?’ the innkeeper asked.
Dell shook his head. ‘I will manage.’
After the innkeeper left, Dell brushed the dirt from his clothing and washed his face and hands. He thought he might skip shaving. This was dinner at an inn, after all.
He opened the door and entered the hallway. Ahead of him the lady who had been given the best room stepped out as well.
Something about the way she moved.
But that was too fanciful. She would be in London by now.
Keeping a comfortable distance, he followed the lady to the stairway and down the stairs.
When she reached the hall, Mr Percival strode over to her. ‘My lady, your dining room awaits you.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Dell heard her say.
She turned then, perhaps to see who followed her.
Her eyes widened.
Dell froze on a step, feeling as though the air had been knocked from his lungs. ‘Lorene.’
It took her a moment to react. ‘Dell. What a surprise.’
Mr Percival grinned. ‘You are acquainted?’ He laughed. ‘Of course you are. Lords and ladies are always acquainted.’
Dell collected himself and descended the rest of the stairs. He bowed to her. ‘I hope you are well.’
‘I am in very good health, thank you.’ She smiled nervously. ‘I—I was on my way to dinner.’
‘Were you?’ Why were his insides squeezed tight? ‘I highly recommend the meat-and-potato pasty.’
‘You have stayed here before?’ she asked, her voice rising.
He found it difficult to breathe. ‘Yes. More than once.’
Mr Percival spoke. ‘Lord Penford usually stays in the room I gave to you, my lady. As I said, it is the best in the house.’
‘Oh?’ She turned to Dell with a worried look on her face. ‘Did I take your room? I am so sorry.’
‘Not at all,’ he responded, his words coming too fast. He took a breath and slowed them. ‘I am quite comfortable.’
‘Yes. Well.’ She lowered her gaze, then glanced towards the innkeeper. ‘I must not keep Mr Percival waiting.’
‘Come, then, my lady.’ Percival gestured for her to follow. ‘I will show you to your dining room.’
They walked to the entrance to the public rooms, but as Mr Percival opened the door, Lorene turned back to Dell.
‘Would—would you care to join me?’ Her brows knitted. ‘That is, if you are not engaged.’
‘I am quite alone.’ He should refuse, but instead he said, ‘I would be honoured to join you.’
‘Excellent idea!’ exclaimed the innkeeper. He opened the door and waited for them to pass.
Dell crossed the hall to Lorene and offered his arm. The touch of her hand felt so familiar, so pleasant that for a moment it felt as if he were about to enter a sun-filled garden instead of a dimly lit room filled with the scent of hops, roasted meat and the buzz of travellers’ discourse.
The innkeeper led them to a door and into a small private dining room with a window that let in the waning light of the day. Outside the window was a view of the park and the River Nene.
Mr Percival held a chair for Lorene facing the beautiful view. ‘So shall I tell you what our fare is for this day?’
‘I am content with the pasties, if Lord Penford recommends them,’ Lorene said.
‘I do,’ Dell responded. ‘For me, as well, and some ale.’
Lorene glanced up at the innkeeper. ‘Do you have wine? Some claret, perhaps?’
‘Indeed, my lady. Your food will arrive shortly.’ He bowed and left.
Dell felt too restless to sit right away. He walked to the window. ‘Pleasant view.’
‘It is lovely,’ she agreed.
He turned to her. ‘Do you travel alone?’ He suddenly thought it was not a good thing for her to travel alone.
She stood again and joined him at the window. ‘My maid travels with me. But she was ill from the ride so I sent her to bed and ordered soup to be brought to the room.’
‘Kind of you,’ he murmured.
She slanted him a glance. ‘She was one of the maids at Summerfield House. She had a great desire to see London, so I offered her the chance to come with me. I hope you do not mind.’
‘Why should I mind?’ She and her sisters had grown up at Summerfield House. ‘The servants always felt more yours than mine.’
A serving girl entered the room with a pitcher of ale for Dell and a bottle of wine for Lorene. She curtsied and quickly left again.
Dell poured Lorene’s wine and handed her the glass. He filled his tankard with ale and took a long sip.
Lorene watched him, which made him self-conscious. ‘Forgive me. I developed a great thirst on the road.’
‘Do you come from London?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I needed a few days away, I’m afraid. I decided to travel to Summerfield House to see what you have done with i
t.’ He paused. ‘Ross and Genna told me you were to have left the house a week ago.’
‘I was a little delayed.’ She smiled. ‘Who could imagine we would meet on the road?’
‘I certainly did not think it a possibility.’ He’d planned this trip thinking she would be gone by the time he arrived. He’d never guessed they might arrive at the same inn on the same day. ‘I assume my man of business took care of the expenses you incurred. For the refurbishment and repairs.’ Why was it so difficult to talk to her?
She glanced down at her wine. ‘It was all settled.’ She returned to her chair and lifted the glass to her lips. ‘I do hope what I’ve done will meet with your approval.’
He had no doubt it would.
He sat opposite her. ‘I did not mean for you to work, Lorene. I meant for you to have leisure.’
Her lovely face filled with pleasure. ‘Oh, but I adored it! I loved being useful and it was a joy to see the house restored to its former beauty.’
He liked seeing her happy. ‘Then I am glad for it.’
The serving girl returned with their pasties, along with a loaf of bread warm from the oven and a large wedge of cheese.
‘Thank you,’ Lorene said to the girl. ‘This looks delicious.’
The girl curtsied and left.
They cut into the pastry and steam rose from the inside. Lorene took a bite. ‘Mmm... You were correct. This is delicious.’
He beamed inside. ‘Simple fare, but I would take this over many a meal I’ve eaten in Mayfair.’
‘Simple fare is often such a comfort.’ She cut another piece. ‘I made certain Cook did not fuss for me at Summerfield House. We ate very plainly and, I must say, it agreed with me.’
He had to agree. She looked vibrant and...beautiful.
‘Tell me more about your work on the house,’ he said, searching for a safe topic. ‘What will I find when I arrive there?’
She talked about paint and plaster and upholstery with an enthusiasm that captivated him more than it ought. He asked questions and, as they talked, he realised his interest in the changes and improvements was greater than he would have guessed. He was impressed by her management of various craftsmen hired to do the work. Her changes were strategic and thoughtfully done, and he certainly could not have done better himself.
By the end of the meal Dell had relaxed and simply enjoyed their conversation and her company.
When she finished telling all she’d done in the house, she asked him, ‘You said you needed a few days away from London. Why?’
He poured another tankard of ale for himself. ‘Sometimes...sometimes I need to escape.’ He’d not meant to be so honest.
Her warm brown eyes filled with concern. ‘Escape?’
He placed his tankard on the table and leaned towards her. ‘The politics—I attend the House of Lords. I know some do not, but I feel I must.’ For his father’s sake. ‘But I am in the minority party and it is difficult to see voting go against what I believe is right.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What was it that went against you?’
He could not answer right away.
She persisted. ‘It was something you did not believe was right?’
He found himself pouring out the story of the whole Habeas Corpus situation, how citizens’ protections against unjust arrest and seizure had been summarily swept away the year before and now how those who abused the act and jailed innocent persons could not be held accountable.
She reached across the table and he thought for a moment she would place her hand on his arm. She withdrew again. ‘I am sorry.’
He took a breath. ‘I must stay away only briefly, though. There is always another battle to fight.’
‘That is why I prefer the country,’ she said. ‘I will not stay in London. It is all politics.’
And social events at which she was liable to be cut or whispered about. He remembered how it was for her. He might now have mentioned his ambivalence about courtship and marriage—and about Lady Alice—but something stopped him.
‘Where will you go?’ he asked instead.
‘I do not know.’ But her face filled with excitement again. ‘I would like to find a cottage that needs refurbishing on a small farm. I want to redo it all from top to bottom in every way I like.’ She faced him and smiled. ‘I really did so enjoy redoing Summerfield House.’
‘That is my good fortune, I am sure.’ He frowned. ‘Is your trip to London merely for a visit, then, and not for the Season?’ Would he see her there, he meant.
‘Only long enough to sell the town house I inherited and find another place to live. And to see Genna and Tess, and the baby, of course.’
They talked until the serving girl brought tea and dessert.
Dell felt more content than he had in a long time—certainly since...his life had changed. They talked until the sky sparkled with stars around the soft glow of a full moon.
Lorene glanced towards the window. ‘It is late. We should retire.’
He did not want to part from her. ‘As you wish.’
He stood and held her chair for her. She took his arm as they left the dining room and walked through the public rooms, still noisy with a motley crew of travellers.
When they entered the hall she hesitated. ‘Would you do something for me, Dell?’
‘Of course.’ He would do anything for her.
‘Would you step outside with me? Just for a little while? I cannot go by myself and I would love a bit of fresh air.’
‘It will be cold for you,’ he said.
She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. ‘I have my shawl to keep me warm and we will not stay for more than a little while.’
He gestured towards the door. ‘Then we shall go.’
The door led to the yard where ostlers were still tending to horses and carriages.
She looked up at the sky. ‘It is so clear out tonight. I think I am able to see every star.’ She glanced back at him. ‘Might we walk around the inn to the river?’
He nodded.
They passed through an archway that led to the back of the inn and the small park they’d seen from their dining-room window. The moonlight and light shining from the inn’s windows made it bright enough to see where they were walking. The air was crisp and clean. They walked to the water’s edge.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ she said. ‘I can almost forget we are in a village and that there are other people about.’
A sudden breeze chilled them.
Dell put his arm around her to keep her warm. ‘Is that what you want, Lorene, for there to be no people about?’
She turned to face him, tilting her head back to gaze into his face. ‘I don’t want anyone around me who would talk about me. Or who would tell me what I must do or must not do.’
He held her still, almost in an embrace.
She turned her gaze away. ‘I’ve had too much of it. I merely want peace. Like right now.’
Like right now? Yes, it was peaceful holding her under the stars.
At the moment it was all he wanted as well.
* * *
His arm felt wonderful across her shoulders. The heat of his body warmed her more than her heaviest cloak.
She turned to face him again and he held her with both arms. ‘We—we should go in.’
She did not move and neither did he.
‘It is cold out,’ he said.
Another breeze blew as if proving his words. His arms tightened around her. She let him hold her close, savouring the warmth of his body, the scent that was only his. How wonderful it was to be with him again. How easy she felt in his company. They had talked for hours, so comfortably, she’d not even thought once about when they’d last been together.
At her husband’s inquest.<
br />
It seemed a decade ago, even if it was only just over a year. She trembled with the memory.
‘We should go in,’ he said, thinking she was having a chill, no doubt.
‘Yes, it is becoming a bit cold,’ she agreed.
He released her, and they walked back in the inn and up the stairs to the first floor, stopping in front of her door.
‘Goodnight, Dell,’ she murmured. ‘It was quite the loveliest dinner.’
He merely stared down at her, his face illuminated by the sconce by the stairway. His blue eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, not looking as sad as they usually did. Now, though, she was filled with the overwhelming sense of how much she cared for him and how grateful she was for all his kindnesses to her.
She reached up and touched his face, her fingers scraping against his day’s growth of beard. ‘Goodnight.’
He leaned closer, close enough that it seemed their lips might touch, but he quickly straightened.
‘Goodnight, Lorene.’
* * *
Good God! What was he about?
Dell returned to his room and paced the floor.
Had he almost kissed her?
Very shabby of him to take advantage of her that way, especially when he was contemplating a courtship with another lady. He could not turn romantic on her, not after all that happened a year ago. Tinmore accusing them of having an affair. Tinmore going into a rage. Falling to his death.
No. He could not start something with Lorene. She could too easily become very important to him.
He must remain firm on his plan. Live for the family he lost. Continue his father’s legacy. Carry on the family name.
And do all of it without engaging his emotions.
* * *
The next morning Lorene rose early. She and her maid ate a hurried breakfast and walked into the yard at the time she’d arranged her hired coach to be ready. As she and her maid waited for their portmanteaux to be loaded on to the coach, she spied a horse and rider leaving the stable.
It was Dell, riding comfortably in the saddle of a chestnut Arabian, his hat tall, his topcoat billowing behind him.
