Love's Misadventure (The Mason Siblings Series Book 1)

by Cheri Champagne

  Bridget chuckled. “You needn’t explain yourself or apologize, Lane. I quite understand.”

  “Did Mama retire for the evening?” Lane asked.

  “Yes. She does not know yet that you have returned.”

  “Good. I will speak with her come the morn.” Lane eyed his sister. “How did you know that I had returned?”

  Bridget cast him a coquettish grin. “I have my ways of knowing.” At Lane’s raised eyebrows, she let out another laugh. “I have excellent hearing, or had you forgotten? I should think you would remember; you’ve exploited my talents once or twice.”

  Lane barked out a loud laugh. “Indeed I have. I should have known I could not sneak past you, Bridget.”

  “Of course.” She paused, eyeing him carefully. “Tell me, Lane, where you really were for the past four days.”

  Lane froze, unsure what to say.

  “I do not,” Bridget continued, “for one moment believe that you were doing research for the country estate. So, out with the truth.”

  “Good God, but you are a termagant.”

  “And you are a lying—”

  “That is quite enough, dear sister.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I will tell you where I have been, but you must promise to keep this information to yourself. It is of a very…sensitive nature.”

  Bridget leaned forward in her seat. “I will keep your secrets, Lane. I always do.” She winked at him, and Lane wondered of which secrets she was speaking.

  “Very well, I will trust you with my secret. This one, however, is not solely my own.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a resigned sigh. “I was with Annabel.”

  “Annabel?” Bridget’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  “I can see that you are shocked. Allow me to explain…” Lane told Bridget about discovering his love for Anna, his plan to have them kidnapped, and the subsequent events of the past four days, once more omitting his and Anna’s sexual encounters, leading up to the moment he returned home.

  “Goodness,” Bridget breathed. “How does Annabel fare?”

  “I am uncertain.” He shook his head regretfully. “I had thought her well enough, but I was proven wrong while she wept at the inn. It affected her far more deeply than I had thought. Though more the fool am I. Of course she was frightened…” He trailed off with a self-loathing sigh. “I need to make my feelings known to her. I intend to speak with Mr. Bradley tomorrow and request permission to court Anna.”

  “I would dearly love to have her as a sister, Lane. She nearly is, already. But you obviously botched your first proposal; this one must be done properly.”

  Lane nodded in agreement. He must do something spectacular.

  He blinked. Of course! He still owed Anna her winnings from their last chess game! He could find her something particularly wonderful…

  “What of the kidnappers?” Bridget’s voice cut through his thoughts.

  “I intend to find them!” Lane blustered.

  “That could be dangerous.”

  His jaw clenched involuntarily. “Yes it could. But is it any more dangerous than those blackguards loose in England, terrorizing hapless victims?”

  “I suppose not,” Bridget said grudgingly. “How do you intend to find them?”

  Lane shook his head. “I do not know. Alerting the magistrate would only serve to ruin Anna after her family had taken such pains to preserve her reputation. Perhaps Charles knows of a way.” He nodded to himself as he decided on a course of action. “I will speak with him, as well, on the morrow. I am certain that he would like to see those villains in Newgate just as much as I.”

  “How is Charles?” Bridget’s voice was deceptively nonchalant. She cared far more about the answer than she wanted him to see.

  “Odd,” he admitted.

  Her brows pulled together in a delicate frown. “How do you mean? Is he well?”

  Lane looked into Bridget’s concerned, emerald-green eyes. Yes, something had definitely occurred to separate them. And neither was pleased with the situation.

  “Charles is fine,” he assured her. “He is merely behaving very oddly. I am not certain what caused it, but I have noticed it since his return from war. He is increasingly distant, more proper, reserved, quick to anger, and he is unmistakably hiding something. God help me, I cannot figure out what that something is.”

  “I understand precisely what you mean. Before he left for war, he and I were the best of friends. I received letters weekly from him during his years on the continent. Then one day, nearly two years ago, he stopped. I worried myself sick, as you recall, for months. It was only once I heard of his impending return to London through Annabel, that I—” She took a deep breath. “When his ship docked, I went to greet him…but he behaved as though he did not know me.” Tears began to form in her eyes. “I am sorry.” She stood and walked toward the door. “I should leave you to your rest,” she said over her shoulder. “Good night, Lane.”

  Lane stood and followed her. “Wait, Bridget. Are you well?” He put a hand to the door, halting her retreat.

  “I am fine, merely tired.”

  “Your behaviour would suggest otherwise, dear sister. This is hurting you. Did anything…” He’d wanted to ask this question for nearly two years. He braced himself for Bridget’s evasion. “Did anything happen between the two of you that you have been heretofore unwilling to share?” The tears that had threatened to fall began to stream down Bridget’s pale cheeks. He suppressed a sigh. She would not answer. “I should like you to know, my dear, that if you feel the need, or the desire, to unburden yourself to anyone, you are welcome to confide in me.”

  Bridget threw her arms around Lane’s shoulders and buried her face in his chest. Lane returned her hug, wrapping his arms around her small form.

  “Thank you. You are a wonderful big brother, Lane.” Her voice was muffled by his shirtfront and waistcoat. “I am not prepared to discuss it quite yet.” She pulled back from his embrace and wiped her tear-streaked cheeks with both hands. “You will be the first to know when I am ready, however.”

  “You are more than welcome, Bridget. Good night.” He stood aside and held the door open for her.

  “Good night.” She tilted up to kiss him on the cheek, then paused. “A word of advice, Lane. When you see Annabel tomorrow, be sure to shave. You look like a bushman.” Bridget turned and walked silently down the hallway.

  Lane tugged the bell pull while he thought. He had grand plans for the morrow, but he was also concerned for Bridget. He retrieved a cigar, lit it on a candle, and sat languidly on his chaise. He needed to deliberate.

  Chapter 19

  Major Charles Bradley lay in his bed, staring at the canopy as the rest of the household slept. He had not yet heard from Thomson, nor had he read any reports from the others.

  He had found Annabel and Lane, which had been a great relief. But now he must focus his energy on finding the wretches who had abducted them. He snarled, his lip pulling back to reveal his teeth. The Boss, he spat in his mind. The devil of a Frenchman remained elusive. He and his men had somehow discovered who Charles was and aimed an attack at his family. And they weren’t done.

  The Boss and his men would continue to come for him until the job had been done. Unless Charles found him first.

  Damn but he wished he knew for certain what had transpired with those ruffians. He had a distinctly uneasy feeling that something nefarious had happened to Annabel that she was unwilling to admit. The thought made him feel ill.

  A memory of his discussion with Lane on the journey home danced tauntingly—and entirely unwanted—through his mind. The thought that Bridget was ill made his heart sink further. She could not be despondent because of him.

  Could she?

  His heart thumped against his ribs. Lord, but he missed her. Bridget was his everything.

  Which was precisely why he could not be with her.

  * * *

  Anna awoke earl
y the next morning, after a night of restlessness. She had thought the past several nights of fitful sleep would ensure a night of rest upon her return home, but she had lain awake late into the night thinking about Lane. Would he speak with her father? Did he wish to court her? Or seek her hand in marriage? Once she had finally fallen asleep, Lane had followed her into her dreams, leaving her hot and frustrated upon awakening.

  Annabel sighed and swung her feet over the side of her bed. She was not one to be patient. She was becoming far too old to spend her nights dreaming of love and lust. And Lane. She was no longer a child, in any fashion. She was a woman, and it was about time that she started behaving like one. Today she would arrange a meeting with Lane. She would be bold, like one of the heroines in her favourite novels, and she would declare herself confidently, directly, and honestly.

  Anna tugged the bell pull to summon her maid, Marie, then sat at her writing desk to pen a note to Lane. She smiled to herself as she blotted then reread the missive. It was bold, indeed! Anna folded the letter and sealed it with her personal wax and stamp, just as Marie scratched at the door.

  “Come,” Anna called.

  “Good morning, Miss Bradley. What shall we dress you for this morning?”

  “A good morning to you, Marie.” Anna thought for a moment. “The azure-blue walking dress with the sky-blue ribbon and lace trim. Oh, and would you please have this letter sent immediately to Lord Devon?” She extended her arm out toward the maid.

  Marie took the missive from her with a shallow curtsey. “I would be happy to, miss. Then I shall fetch your ensemble, with the walking shoes, gloves, and bonnet to match.”

  For the next three quarters of an hour, Annabel and her maid worked at perfecting her attire and hair. Anna had stressed upon the fact that today’s outfit was a very important one, without revealing why. Her eyes must sparkle; her skin must glow. For today she would tell Lane that she loved him.

  A knock sounded at her door just as Marie finished Anna’s hair. “Come.”

  The door opened to reveal Charles’ wearied form.

  “Charles!” Anna sped forward to place a concerned hand upon his shoulder. “Are you well? You look affright.”

  “That is neither here nor there.”

  Hurt, she withdrew her hand from his shoulder. “There is no need to be snappish. I was merely concerned.”

  Charles’ shoulders slumped briefly, then returned to their customary rigidity. “My apologies, Annabel. I had a sleepless night, I’m afraid. Thank you for your concern.” He glanced about the room, his gaze fleetingly resting on Marie, then back to Anna. “I came to fetch you. I had wondered what had kept you from breaking your fast. You are not ordinarily late.”

  Anna pasted on a placating smile for her out of sorts brother. “You are forgiven, Charles.” She wrapped a hand around his elbow and allowed him to lead her down the hallway. “I was just about to come down to join you. I am famished.”

  “Mama and Papa are also awaiting your arrival. They will be pleased to hear from your own lips that you are safely returned and doing well.”

  He pulled her to a stop before the staircase then glanced around, as if to ensure their privacy. “Anna, did you sleep well?”

  She watched her brother with curiosity. “I had some difficulty, but I eventually fell asleep. Why? Whatever is the matter, Charles?”

  His face cleared. “Nothing. I just wished to be certain that you are telling me everything you should about the kidnapping. That nothing…inappropriate occurred while you were gone.”

  His blue eyes searched hers as she steeled herself for the lie she was about to tell. She had never lied to him about something so serious. Although, this was more of a lie of omission.

  “No, Charles. The kidnappers did not do anything ‘inappropriate.’ Besides abducting us, that is.”

  Charles’ expression was of stormy disbelief, but he nodded nonetheless. They continued their walk to the morning room in silence.

  Anna halted just inside the morning room door. “Good morning, Mama and Papa.”

  “Annabel!” her parents exclaimed in unison. They both rose from their seats to envelop her in a tight embrace. She may have only been away for four days, but they were trying days, indeed, and she had missed her parents very much.

  Mama released her, holding her at arm’s length. “Charles informed us of your…” She trailed off, clearly unable to finish the thought as she bit her bottom lip. “Are you well? Are you not hurt?”

  “I am fine,” Anna assured her. “Lane was there to ensure that I was as safe as possible, given the circumstances.”

  Mama eyed her critically while Papa harrumphed. “You look thinner.” Mama shook her head. “That is not good. Come, eat.” She gestured toward the sideboard piled high with all of Anna’s favourite morning meal foods.

  Anna’s mouth began to water as she filled a plate with eggs, ham, and fresh fruit.

  “I am pleased to see that you have an appetite.” Charles served himself, his previous tense demeanour gone. How strange that he could change his manner so swiftly.

  With a shrug, Anna took her seat at the table. Her first bite of eggs was heavenly. Somehow, she had forgotten just how wonderful her parents’ cook was. She continued to eat with delight until all the food on her plate had been consumed. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin and sipped from her second cup of tea.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Bradley, but you have a caller.” Tim stood in the doorway, holding a silver salver.

  Before Anna could respond, Mama interjected, “So soon? But Annabel only returned last evening; who could know she is at home?”

  Tim stepped forward and held the salver out to Anna. She picked up the calling card and leapt up when she saw Lady Bridget Mason’s name on the card.

  “It’s Bridget!”

  “Bridget?” The colour leeched from Charles’ cheeks.

  Anna turned to Tim. “Is she in the front parlour?”

  “The family parlour, miss.”

  “Even better. Would you be so kind as to have tea brought in?”

  He bowed. “I shall inform cook, Miss Bradley.”

  “Thank you, Tim.” She smiled at her family still sitting around the table, then fled the room.

  How lovely for Bridget to call on her! Anna made her way to the family parlour, toward the back of the house, which had a wonderful view of the garden.

  She entered, closing the door behind her, and saw Bridget gazing out the wide French doors toward the garden. The light from the window created a halo of light around Bridget’s nearly white hair, done up in a neat chignon.

  “Good morning.” Bridget turned at the sound of Anna’s voice, a patently false smile upon her lips. The poor dear had been struggling with her emotions of late. “It is wonderful to see you, Bridget.”

  Anna strode forward to clasp her friend’s hands in her own, kissing her on her pale cheek.

  Bridget’s voice was soft and breathy. “Good morning, Anna.”

  They both sat on the settee. Bridget stared mutely at her hands.

  “Is everything well, Bridget? Is there something that you wish to discuss with me?”

  Bridget straightened her already impossibly stiff spine and notched her chin outward. “I spoke with Lane last evening. He told me what really happened while you were away.”

  Anna’s stomach sank. Had Lane told her everything? Oh no.

  “He told you that…that he and I…”

  Bridget nodded. “Yes, he told me.”

  Annabel was aghast. “He told you that we made love? How could he—”

  * * *

  Bridget’s shocked countenance told Anna that she had assumed incorrectly.

  Oh no, oh no, oh no! A blush flamed from her toes to the roots of her hair. Anna held her hands to her burning cheeks, stood, and began to pace the room. “Oh! You didn’t know. How could I have been so senseless?”

  Bridget stood and held a
hand out to halt Anna’s pacing. “Annabel, everything is all right.”

  “No.” Anna covered her face with her hands. “No it is not. I should not have said anything, and now I have gone and—”

  A scratch sounded at the door just before it opened. “Your tea, Miss Bradley.” One of their downstairs maids entered with tea and teacakes on a large tray.

  “Thank you, Tessa,” Anna said absently.

  The maid placed her burden on the low table, curtseyed, and left, closing the door behind her.

  Anna slumped on the settee once more and poured a cup of tea with trembling hands. Lord, how could she have admitted to such wanton behaviour? And to Lane’s sister no less! She couldn’t suppress the humiliation blazing through her belly and firing her cheeks. She kept herself busy adding milk and sugar to the teacups and putting biscuits and cakes on small plates.

  “Annabel,” Bridget’s barely audible voice said beside her. “Anna, it’s all right. I do not judge you.”

  Anna frowned. “But why not? You should judge me. I’ve been a hoyden, a—a lightskirt.” Her hands covered her flaming cheeks once more. “And heaven help me, I would do it again in a heartbeat.” Oh, why did I confess that?

  Bridget unexpectedly encircled Anna in a hug. “All will be fine soon enough, Annabel. Trust me.” She pulled away and gave Anna a warm smile.

  Anna blinked, entirely perplexed by Bridget’s astonishing understanding.

  Charles’ barked laugh echoed through the hall from his study, and Bridget paled.

  “I do apologize for being abrupt, but I must be on my way.” She stood and glided gracefully toward the door. Anna took a small moment for envy as she watched the petite woman effortlessly exude such femininity.

  “Just a moment, Bridget.” Anna followed her across the room. “Will you please keep this discussion… That is to say, would you mind terribly…”

  Bridget clasped one of Anna’s hands in hers. “Rest assured, Anna, that this conversation will remain between the two of us.” She gave a half-hearted smile, her complexion pallid.