by Susana Ellis
“Good morning, my dear Cornelia,” he said as he seated himself next to her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Why did you not waken me so we could share a meal together?” In a private parlor, away from the ogling of other men.
She flushed. “You returned so late from the Pavilion. I expected tonight would be the same, so it was best to let you sleep.”
“And spend another entire day fawning over His Majesty and listening to his boring friends? Not a chance, particularly now that I have a lovely bride to entertain.”
She bit her lip. “But I thought… Did you not intend to speak to the Prince about business?”
He chuckled. “No need. The Prince is as purse-pinched as ever, according to a certain someone who would know.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Oh, but that’s not good, is it? Will you not have to find another investor?”
He turned and smiled directly into her eyes. “It was merely a passing notion, my dear. I am not sorry that nothing came of it, because now we can spend our honeymoon together, as is fitting for a newly married couple.”
“But—“ she sputtered. “It is not a real—"
He gently squeezed her hand and nodded toward the innkeeper’s wife, who stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Now what were you planning to do today, Wife? A walk along the beach? It looks like a fine day for it.”
She nodded, a soft glow in her eyes. “I brought a book to read, but I should much rather walk with you, Preston.”
He sat up straighter, feeling ridiculously lighthearted at the prospect of spending the day with his wife. “Pleased to hear it, my dear.”
“You’d best not miss the Ship Hotel,” advised the proprietress as she placed a plate in front of him. “Concerts and assemblies are held there, in the ballroom. His Majesty holds a ball there too, now ‘n again. Perhaps you’ll be invited and get to dance there with all the fancy.”
A “No!” came from two voices.
Both Cornelia and Preston looked at each other in surprise, then burst out laughing.
“Newlyweds,” muttered Mrs. Polk as she returned to the kitchen. “Not a bit o’ sense between the pair of ‘em.” But she was smiling when she returned with the coffee pot.
Portsmouth, Hampshire
Ten days later
“Mon Dieu! How shall I bear being apart from my children for so long a time?” Cornelia’s mother turned puffy eyes on her. “You must come for a visit.” She faced Preston. “Promise me you will bring her.”
Preston aimed a non-verbal appeal for help at Cornelia.
“Oh Maman…” Cornelia began.
Her father hugged his wife, nodding calmly at Cornelia and Preston. “Now Léonie, the time will fly by, you will see. It shall be as it was twenty-five years ago, when we were first married. A fresh, exciting adventure with just the two of us. A second honeymoon in a great new world. In any case, you will be far too busy reveling in your new status as wife of the Governor-General to pine away for your children.”
“Oh, but I shall not, Cornelius. My children are my very life.”
Cornelia bit back a laugh at the gleam in her mother’s eyes. “Think of the fine mansion you will have, Maman, and the houseful of servants who will address you as ‘Your Excellency.’ All the traveling dignitaries from around the world you will meet. This is truly the opportunity of a lifetime. Imagine all the stories you will have to tell us upon your return.”
Léonie clutched at her husband’s arm. “Mon coeur, I am not at all certain that I am suited for such a role. Après tout, I am only a merchant’s daughter from Toulon.”
Cornelia’s father chuckled. “Nonsense, my dear. You have never been ‘only a merchant’s daughter’ to me. Not since that first day when the men brought you aboard my ship and I knew you were unique.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, let us get on with our leave-taking before the Neptune sails without us.”
A horn sounded in the background, and Léonie threw her arms around Cornelia.
“Oh ma fille, I shall miss you every day, but I will be content to leave you in the care of this wonderful husband you have married.” She offered a hand to Preston. “You must write me immediately as soon as you have any joyful news to impart. I shall expect a delightful grandchild or two upon our return.”
Cornelia blushed. The thought of her parents returning to discover that their daughter and son-in-law were not even living together—and had not done so since the beginning—made her stomach roil. Oh Maman!
“We shall indeed, Mrs. Hardcastle.” Preston’s grin was half flirtation, Cornelia noted, and reflected again on her husband’s skill in the art of deception.
Léonie clutched at both of Preston’s arms. “Do not think I have not noticed how happy you have made my Cornelia. The moment you returned from your honeymoon, I saw the radiance in both your faces. The two of you were destined for each other. I shall be forever grateful to that Marriage Maker for bringing you together. He must be touched by angels to be so gifted.”
Cornelia blanched. Radiant? Both of them? Surely not. At least, she hoped she wasn’t displaying an excess of affection for her husband. The last thing she wanted was to give Preston any indication that she was beginning to develop feelings for him. They’d become great friends during their honeymoon, but she lived in fear that he would discover her feelings had gone beyond friendship.
Her father’s face trembled with emotion as he clasped her in his arms for the final time. “I shall miss you, moppet. More than anyone else. From the day the midwife brought you to me as a tiny babe, you have been my own little darling. While at sea, I thought about you every day and regretted that I was not able to watch your first step.”
The sight of his eyes filling with tears caused Cornelia’s eyes to burn.
“Your mama and I shall never cease feeling proud of the fine young woman you have become, Cornelia. Nor could we be more pleased with your choice of husband.” He nodded at Preston. “You make her happy, young man, or suffer my wrath when we return.”
Preston grinned. “You can count on me, sir.”
Cornelia couldn’t help a smile. He really does have the knack.
After their final goodbyes and bon voyages, Cornelia stood alongside Preston as her parents ascended the gang-board toward the deck of the Neptune.
Her heart twisted. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
Preston slipped an arm around her waist and drew her close. The heat from his body sent butterflies skittering across the insides of her stomach.
“Your parents will be back, my dear,” he said. “I want you to know I meant what I said when I made that promise to your father. Your happiness is my highest priority.”
Cornelia’s heart raced. She said nothing as he led her away from the wharf.
Chapter Eight
A month later
Preston awoke as he always did at nine o’clock when the maid came in to open the drapes, followed by his valet with a cup of coffee and a damnably cheerful, “Good morning, sir.”
“What’s so good about it?”
Preston had never been fond of morning, but after a night of tossing and turning, he was in a particularly cantankerous mood. Cornelia had left three days ago to visit her friend in Hampshire, and the massive townhouse felt empty without her. He missed the lively morning chatter between Cornelia and her maid coming from the adjacent room. He missed the tentative raps on his door when she wanted to ask him something. He missed seeing the light in her eyes at breakfast as she recited her schedule for the day. He missed the tingling in his body when he accidentally touched her ungloved hand or graceful neck. He missed her, period.
After they’d settled into the Hardcastles’ townhouse as master and mistress and she’d mentioned the possibility of the visit, he’d had no objection, seeing it as an opportunity to concentrate on his business. Having a wife around the house—even a convenient one—was proving to be exceedingly inconvenient. As much as they lived their lives apart—he at his office
in town and she with her social affairs and the Foundling Hospital—they also spent time together, for meals and church—and with increasing frequency, drives in the country, with or without picnics, and peaceful hours reading in the library. He hadn’t expected to like having a wife. He was a free spirit, a man who could bid his friends adieu and move on wholeheartedly to the next adventure. Once she’d departed, he’d expected to revert to the happy-go-lucky man he knew and his world would be right again.
Except that it wasn’t.
Jackson—his new valet—helped him into a robe and Preston went to the table where the coffee awaited. He dropped into the chair. Preston caught the sideways glance Jackson cast him.
“Now, now, Mr. Warrington, the mistress will be back before you know it. You enjoy your coffee while I lay out your raiment for the day.”
Was his attraction for his wife so obvious that even the servants knew? He couldn’t be falling in love with his wife. What about his upcoming trip to India? His dreams of future trips to Asia, Australia, and America? The freedom to do whatever he wanted to do whenever he wanted to do it? Caring too much for Cornelia—for anyone—would take a good part of the joy out of his plans.
Worse, Cornelia didn’t want a husband. Not a real one. She didn’t care for him in that way—not if she could go off and leave him for an entire fortnight. He’d agreed to a marriage in name only and that was what he was stuck with.
“Damn it all to hell.” He pounded a fist on the table, causing the cup to rattle on the saucer. Coffee splattered.
“I believe it would be best if you were to drink the coffee, sir.” Jackson poured warm water into a basin on the wash table, where razor and towels awaited. “But if you will not, at the very least, I hope you will control your temper during your shave lest you injure yourself.”
Preston narrowed his eyes but submitted to his valet’s ministrations. Going about with an unshaven face would only perpetuate the belief that he was brooding over his absent wife.
Preston was just sitting down to breakfast half an hour later when raised voices emanated from the back door. A moment later, the butler ushered in a footman he recognized as his brother’s. The man’s livery was creased and dusty, his face red and his hands shaky as he made a valiant attempt at a bow.
Dropping his fork, Preston jumped to his feet. “What is it, man? Has something gone wrong with my brother? With the viscountess? The children?”
The footman pulled a sealed note from inside his jacket and thrust it toward Preston. “It’s the viscountess, sir. She lost the babe, and his lordship requires your presence in Cheshire, at once.”
Preston read the note and immediately barked orders to the staff, determined to set off for Cheshire within the hour.
He instructed the footman to eat and rest before attempting to return. A frantic, two-hundred-mile journey on horseback was exhausting.
As he was about to find out himself.
* * *
Early in the morning, two days later, Preston brought his horse to a halt at the stables of Warrington Manor. Dirty, unshaven, aching all over, and dead on his feet from lack of sleep. He leapt from the animal and handed the reins to the lad who opened the door and raced down to meet him. Preston’s heart pounded. He dared not let himself consider what could’ve happened in the two days it had taken him to get here. William adored Joanna. Preston couldn’t imagine his grief should he lose her. And the children—
His chest tightened. Children needed a mother.
He and William had been eleven and thirteen when their own mother had passed away, and he would never forget the numbness, the sorrow, the pain that went through him when he realized he would never touch her again. William and Joanna loved each other. They didn’t need to say it; it was obvious in every look and touch. It would be unspeakable for one to have to live without the other. Preston strode to the back door and entered the kitchen.
“Master Preston!” exclaimed a maid.
“Where is my brother?” he demanded.
“The study, sir.”
Preston stalked past her, calling William’s name at the top of his lungs. He reached the hallway and the study door opened.
His brother appeared, a fireplace poker in hand as though to battle an invader. “Preston? Is that you?” The poker hovered in the air, ready for action.
“Of course, it’s me,” said Preston. “Put that thing down before you hurt someone.”
“What did you expect, barging into the house at daybreak making such a commotion? If you have wakened Joanna, I will have your head.”
Preston halted a few feet from his brother. “She’s alive? Joanna is alive? Thank God.”
William lowered the poker and looked heavenward. “Thank God, indeed. But Preston…all is not well. “
For the first time, Preston noticed his brother’s condition. Unshaven, red eyes, rumpled clothing, and the unmistakable smell of brandy on his breath. Joanna still lived, but something was very, very wrong.
“What is it? Tell me, William.”
William turned toward the study. “Brandy for my brother,” he barked.
The butler appeared a moment later and Preston said, “Coffee will do for me,” then looked at William. “You have clearly had enough. Now speak, man. What has happened?”
William crossed to the fireplace where sat a table between two chairs and picked up the glass of brandy sitting there. He took a hearty gulp, then faced Preston. “When I sent you the message, Joanna had miscarried and was hemorrhaging badly. The blasted doctor had no idea how to stop it, said she was likely to die.” William finished the brandy, then smashed the glass against the fireplace.
Preston remained motionless. William never made reckless gestures.
William stared into the fire. “He told me if she lived she would never bear another child and would no doubt be melancholy about not being able to give me a son, and so it might be best for all if she died.”
Preston started toward him. “Bloody hell, old Forrester would never dare—”
William whirled to face him, and Preston halted a few feet away. “Forrester’s been gone five years,” William said. “This new charlatan has a proper diploma from the Royal College of Surgeons, but no practical knowledge and is a fool besides.” His eyes narrowed. “He will never show his face here again, not after the punishment he took from me.”
Preston stared, not recognizing the wild-eyed man before him as his steady, peace-loving brother. “But Joanna—”
William let out a huge breath and fell into the nearest chair. “The bleeding stopped. The midwife knew what to do. It was touch and go for a while, and she slept for so long I thought she would never wake, but last night she finally did, and—I have never been so thankful for anything in my life.” He pressed his palms to his eyes. “Oh, Preston, when I thought she was going to leave me, I couldn’t bear it—the thought of living without her. I had no thought of anything else, not even the girls. It was—unbearable.”
Preston crossed to his brother and clasped his shoulder. If it were Cornelia in that room taking her last breath, would he feel as desperate as his brother? An image flashed of Cornelia lying in bed, her thick hair matted with sweat, eyes glazed with pain, the laughter gone from her face. Pain stabbed his heart and he found it difficult to breathe.
“Joanna will recover?” he murmured.
William took a deep breath. “So says the midwife. I have a doctor coming from Birmingham today, just in case. Highly respected fellow, not a quack. He is bringing a nurse with him, and the housekeeper has some girls from the village coming in, too. Joanna will have the best of care, Brother, because I will not let her die.”
In the days that followed, Joanna made slow but steady progress. Preston passed the time entertaining his nieces, telling stories from his travels, teaching them how to play cricket, and taking them on rides around the estate, the two-year-old on the saddle in front of him. And—if the weather was fine—they picnicked. Cornelia would have loved it.
Thoughts of Cornelia plagued him. He missed her, but it was more than that. Her presence would have brightened considerably the gloom in his soul, even though, unbeknownst to her, she was greatly responsible for his melancholia.
Joanna would have no more children. Which meant William would not have a direct heir. Which meant the responsibility for providing the heir now fell on Preston.
He ran a hand through his hair. What of his marriage bargain?
* * *
About the same time in Hampshire…
Cornelia’s eyes were moist as she reluctantly handed Freddie’s little son back to the nursery maid, who hustled away to the nursery with her precious bundle. There was something about the warmth of the infant in her arms, the smell of baby, the bright searching eyes and happy smile when he looked at her and knew her for a friend that activated her maternal instincts. Instincts she’d been trying to suppress from the age of eighteen, when she’d learned the truth about her heritage.
Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she looked up to see her friend regarding her intently, brows wrinkled with concern.
“No, don’t,” Cornelia commanded. “I do not want to hear it. I will not change my mind.”
Frederica, her friend since their presentation days, let out a loud breath. “You are the most exasperating person, Cornelia. Why do you refuse to listen to reason?”
Cornelia snorted. “My mother says the same of my father. Two peas in a pod, she says.”
Silence.
Cornelia wished she could disappear. With a slip of the tongue she had practically proved Freddie’s point. But it didn’t make any difference. Not really.
She stood up. “I’d best see what I can do to help Norton with the packing. Six o’clock will come sooner than—”
A scratch at the door drew their attention. A footman entered and bowed. “An express for Mrs. Warrington.” He presented Cornelia with the letter on a silver tray.
