by Sue Lyndon
Miss Wickersham lifted her calendar from the desk where she had just locked up a pistol. She picked up a quill and spoke to Lord Grayson, “I am available Thursday next at ten o’clock in the morning, I shall schedule an appointment for you at that time. As you can see,” she gave a pointed glance to Lord Kensington in his wedding finery, “we here at Talcott House have urgent matters to resolve to which your presence is neither invited nor required.”
Miss Wickersham moved to escort both Lord Grayson and the lawman from the room, though without returning the pistol. Cynny held her breath. If anyone could escort two uncooperative men from the premises, it was Miss Wickersham. She did not put up with shenanigans, not from Cynny or Daisy and not from high born gentlemen. To her relief, Grayson actually took a step toward the door and Cynny slowly let out the breath she was holding. Maybe...just maybe…
And then he stopped in his tracks.
“No,” he said. “I am here for Miss Heathrow and I shall not leave without her.” His stern voice sent a shiver down Cynny’s spine, but surprisingly it was not fear. The warmth in her kitty spread and pulsed and Cynny’s breath caught in her throat.
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Kensington, who was there intending to wed Hyacinth himself, asked as he stepped forward. “Have you gone mad? I am to marry the girl within the hour and I would thank you to leave the premises as Miss Wickersham has requested. Are you in the habit of causing disruption everywhere you go?”
Rosie’s elbow jabbed Cynny in the ribs. “Lord Kensington is fighting for you,” she whispered. “Is it not romantic?”
Cynny looked up to see that Rosie had found a small crack in the floor and had her face mashed against it.
It was romantic. Why did it not give Cynny the same tingly feeling as when Lord Grayson spoke?
“I believe perhaps I have gone mad,” Lord Grayson said, raking his hand through his hair. “What other explanation is there for this type of behavior? Regardless, I can think of no other and I must have the girl.” He was certainly determined and that meant Cynny would be spending what was supposed to be her wedding night in jail.
“That is all well and good, my lord, but she is to be Lady Kensington. My bride, not yours. The arrangements have been made. Money has changed hands and the vicar is on his way here. I am sure Miss Wickersham has other young ladies who will be acceptable to you, but you shall not have my bride.”
Cynny held her breath and waited for the bottom to fall out of her world.
This is where Lord Grayson would make it clear that he intended to haul her off to prison, not the chapel. She wondered how quickly Lord Kensington would vacate the property once he learned the truth.
“What makes you think that you are the proper gentleman to marry her? Have you spoken with her? Have you ever even seen her? Have you heard the lilt of her laugh or gazed into her eyes, which are the shade of a morning sky in spring? Have you spent hours upon hours, imagining in great detail how you would be a good papa to her? She must be my bride, my little girl. I will have no other,” Lord Grayson challenged Lord Kensington and Rosie gasped.
“They are going to fight over you,” she said, looking up from the scene, a grin on her face.
“Let me see,” Daisy said, making room to look in the crack Rosie was peering through.
Cynny sat straight up, eyes blinking.
Marry her? Lord Grayson wanted to marry her?
Her eyes were like the morning sky? The weight upon her shoulders fell away and joy danced in her heart. She was not going to jail. She was going to be his bride. She wanted to jump up, run down the stairs and burst into the room, throwing herself in his arms.
He was the man she wanted. Lord Grayson. Not Lord Kensington.
Suddenly her whole world made sense.
However, Lord Kensington did not share her sentiments. His raised voice floated up through the floor and she resumed her position at the spy hole.
Lord Kensington looked only slightly chagrined then jutted his chin out in a prideful manner. “It is true that I have not yet met her, but that does not mean I am not suitable as a husband and papa for her. I at least do not storm into other people's homes and disrupt social engagements, which is more than I can say for the likes of you, my lord.” Lord Kensington took a step toward Lord Grayson and Cynny’s heart skipped a beat.
Miss Wickersham stepped between the two men holding her hands up to keep them from coming to blows. “Lord Grayson,” she said, “Hyacinth has been promised to Lord Kensington and, as he states, they are to be wed in just a few moments.”
At this point, the mysterious man who was not an officer of the law but apparently a friend of Lord Grayson’s, stepped in. “But until vows have been exchanged and the marriage license has been filed, the young lady is free to marry whomever she chooses, is she not?”
Lord Grayson picked up on the point which his friend made. “And how are we to know that marrying you is the young lady's choice at all?”
Cynny thought her heart might leap out of her chest and wondered if the occupants of the room below could hear it pounding. In just a few short moments she had gone from a life in prison to learning that the man she loved...yes, she was sure it was love...cared for her as well and had rushed all the way to Talcott House to stop her wedding to Lord Kensington.
But maybe it would not come to pass after all. Miss Wickersham was to choose her papa and her decision was final. How could Cynny ever be happy married to Lord Kensington when she knew that Lord Grayson had sought her hand?
Miss Wickersham rapped upon her desk with a ruler until the men in the room quieted and looked at her. “All of the young ladies under my care are well aware that I am the one who makes the choice of spouse for them. I have seen to their care and done my utmost to decipher their personalities and make the best matches possible. All of my young ladies have had happy marriages and I have no reason to think that the union of Lord Kensington and Miss Heathrow will be anything other than blissful as well.”
Cynny’s heart sank and sad tears pricked at her eyes.
Marriage to Lord Kensington would not be blissful. Not for her. Oh, he seemed a nice enough man and would no doubt make a good husband for someone, just not her. She was meant for Lord Grayson. But, she would be a horrible ingrate if she did not follow Miss Wickersham’s decision.
A memory of the discussion she had overheard between Miss Wickersham and Nurse Lister passed through her mind. If she refused Lord Kensington, what would happen to Talcott House? And her friends? Or Miss Wickersham and Nurse Lister? Even Garland needed a home and Hyacinth could not be the one to deprive them of one.
As though he had heard her thoughts, Lord Kensington chimed in, “In addition, my payment has been deposited and I refuse to accept a refund. Therefore the obligation is upon Miss Wickersham. If she fails to keep her agreement, I shall instruct my barrister to bring suit against her.”
Cynny’s eyebrows shot up—and caught on the rough wood of the peephole. She had never seen anyone challenge Miss Wickersham and come away unscathed. The headmistress still had the ruler in her hand and Cynny would not have been surprised to see her use it on Lord Kensington.
Miss Wickersham, who had previously been on Lord Kensington’s side, turned upon him, the ruler clutched ominously in her hand. “I beg your pardon, sir, but if you are under the impression that I am in the business of selling young ladies, then you are quite mistaken. While I appreciate your kind donation to Talcott House, it was a gift, not a purchase, and I will thank you to remember that.”
Lord Grayson stepped forward. “Whatever he has donated, I shall double it.”
“What? You do not even know the amount.” Lord Kensington stared at Lord Grayson.
“Nor do I care. I must have her for my own.” He reached into his pocket and threw a wad of bills as well as a bag on the desk in front of Miss Wickersham. The bag burst open and gold coins spilled across the surface. “Now,” he demanded, “bring Miss Heathrow here at once. And tell the vicar to
hurry.”
In the darkness of the closet, Cynny, Rosie and Daisy gaped at each other.
“That was the most romantic thing I have ever seen or heard of,” Daisy said. “And I have been sneaking Miss Wickersham’s novels for years.”
“You must go to him,” Rosie said, clasping her friend’s arm. “Oh, Cynny. You are going to be so happy.”
The three of them rushed to leave the closet, but a burst of sunlight filled the small space as the door flew open. The light was then blocked out again by the formidable personage of Garland, hands on hips. “What are you three doing in here? I ought to have known you would be up to trouble. And on your wedding day too. Now, show me why all of you are in here of all places.”
Garland pushed them back into the confined space and it was too much for the weakened floor of the old manor house. With a crash, the four young women broke through the floor and landed in a heap in the middle of Miss Wickersham’s study. The three younger girls were tangled in each other. Somehow, Garland had fallen on a chair.
“Oh, Miss Wickersham, my apologies. I have broken the naughty chair.”
“Naughty chair?” the three men said at once.
Hyacinth broke free from the pile and rushed to Lord Grayson but pulled up short, suddenly shy, in front of him.
Behind them the commotion continued and she had to tear her eyes away from Lord Grayson to check on her friends. Miss Wickersham had gone to Garland’s aid, but the two gentlemen had taken a keen interest in Rosie and Daisy. Lord Kensington lifted Daisy from the floor, his hands spanning her slim waist and even Hyacinth could see his hold lingered just a moment too long on her friend’s body. For once, it appeared Daisy was speechless as she stared up into Lord Kensington’s face, a pink blush covering her cheeks.
The man who had accompanied Lord Grayson had gone to Rosie’s rescue, assisting her to stand and then leaning down in a most attentive manner, gazing into her face and whispering words of comfort. Rosie was clearly shaken up by the ordeal as the man brazenly poured a glass from Miss Wickersham’s special decanter and handed it to Rosie. She took a sip and smiled up at him.
“I am curious, miss, about the naughty chair. Can you tell me more about that?” And he took Rosie by the arm and escorted her from the room. He was a bold man, indeed.
Cynny turned her attention back to the man who had just thrown down a fortune for the privilege of marrying her. Her breath came out in shallow gasps and warmth spread throughout her body, particularly between her legs in that achy way she had come to associate with Lord Grayson.
“Were you spying on us, Miss Heathrow?” His dark gaze held her in place.
“Y-yes, Lord Grayson.”
The corners of his mouth turned up in a slight smile. “Well, then, we shall see to your discipline once we are married.”
Chapter 8
Perhaps she was dreaming.
Cynny almost pinched herself, because she could scarce believe the events of the past few hours. In fact, she wondered if her heart would ever cease its frantic pounding in her chest, or if the nerves in her stomach would eventually calm enough to allow her to fully appreciate and enjoy her abrupt change in circumstances.
She cast a shy glance at Lord Grayson seated next to her in the carriage and felt herself flush hotly when his dark gaze collided with hers.
Her husband. He was her husband now, and her papa, too.
Through an incredible series of events, her day was turning out vastly different than she’d anticipated when she awoke this morning, after spending a night tossing and turning.
In a rather short period of time, she’d gone from thinking she was about to marry Lord Kensington, to fearing she was about to be arrested and jailed for her thievery of the pocket watch that had been intended as a wedding gift for Lord Kensington, no less...to finding herself suddenly married to the handsome Lord Grayson, owner of said pocket watch and a constant fixture in her thoughts ever since the day he’d approached her in the gardens.
Oh, heavens. Why had she stolen the watch? If she hadn’t done that, everything might be absolutely perfect on this day. Guilt and fear filled her heart suddenly, because she’d trespassed against her new husband, her new papa, and now she dreaded him finding out the truth.
What would happen if he learned she’d stolen from him? Would he still think her eyes were like the morning sky?
She felt faint with increasing worry. What if he regretted fighting for her and promptly returned her to Miss Wickersham? The very possibility left her heartbroken. And such a fall wouldn’t only affect Cynny. If she was found out, her grave blunder would forever tarnish the reputation of Talcott House as well. She made a mental note to stealthily place the pocket watch in a random part of his house at the first opportunity, where no doubt it would be found by happenstance and he would simply assume he’d misplaced it.
Yes, that’s just what she would do, and then all would be well and she could have her happily-ever-after with the intriguing Lord Grayson who’d shown up at Talcott House to oh so romantically fight for her hand in marriage. With a large sum of money and a pistol, no less.
She studied him, admiring how rugged he looked compared to the first time she’d met him in the gardens of Talcott House. His wavy shoulder length hair, dark blond with brown undertones, was swept back over his shoulders but wasn’t as neatly styled as the last time she’d seen him, as if he’d repeatedly run his hands through his disheveled locks in a fit of frustration. His jacket and trousers were a tad wrinkled, but she would not have noticed had he not been so finely dressed during their meeting in the gardens. His eyes were alert and his stature confident as ever, though she occasionally saw flashes of fatigue in his dark depths.
Well, she supposed his slight ruggedness was a result of his hurried, apparently last minute, trip to the country to try and prevent her wedding to Lord Kensington. Her insides fluttered at the thought of his hasty yet impassioned decision to claim her as his wife. He’d arrived at Talcott House with great urgency, his carriage barreling down the lane, having traveled from London during the late hours of the night.
The companion who’d come along with him, Lord Caldwell, was apparently returning to London this afternoon in the company of Lord Kensington, for which Cynny was grateful. Lord Caldwell’s presence would have made their post-wedding carriage ride all the more awkward, and perhaps the gun-toting man would be kind enough to make sure the lord to whom she was formerly betrothed wasn’t too upset over her decision to marry Lord Grayson.
Oh, please don’t let Lord Grayson find out about the watch, she prayed silently. Please let us fall in love and be happy forever and ever. Please let this marriage be the fresh start I’ve so desperately been seeking. I’ll be good and never steal again, I promise.
She glanced down at her hands and realized they were shaking in her lap, and she quickly folded them tightly together and hoped her new husband hadn’t noticed.
“You needn’t be afraid of me, Hyacinth,” Lord Grayson said, and his use of her given name rather than calling her Miss Heathrow, spoken in his deep masculine voice, made her insides flutter as a pulsating warmth affected her nether area. But she wasn’t Miss Heathrow anymore, she realized with a start. She was a lady now. Lady Grayson. She almost pinched herself again, for this twist of fate seemed too good to be true. She wondered if she would ever recover from the surprise of today.
She squirmed delicately in her seat, puzzling over the odd but not unpleasant sensations that were unfurling within her, then took a deep steadying breath before peering up at her Papa.
“I am not afraid of you, my lord.” Yes, I am. I’m terrified. You might get rid of me or have me arrested if you find out the truth about me. In this moment, she vowed to let him continue disbelieving the tale she’d told him about belonging to The Weasels. If he questioned her about her past again, she would simply claim to have once been nothing but a boring, homeless orphan taken in by Miss Wickersham.
Lord Grayson slid closer to her,
until his thigh was touching hers. His nearness overwhelmed her, and her entire body came alive, some parts of her heating and tingling, while other parts of her, like the area between her thighs, began to throb. Her ninnies felt weighted and achy in the confines of her bodice, a garment she wasn’t accustomed to wearing. She almost reached for her bosom, but unfolded her hands and then curled her fingers tight around the skirts of her bridal gown and tried to remain as still as possible, lest she lose control and shame herself in front of Lord Grayson.
“You’re trembling, little girl.” He reached for her, tilting her chin up and forcing her to gaze directly into his eyes. A shiver ran up her spine and her bottom cheeks clenched. Would he be a strict papa? Given the firm set of his jaw and the serious gleam in his eyes, she got the sense that he wouldn’t kindly abide any amount of naughtiness from her. She wondered if he would really punish her for spying on him in Miss Wickersham’s study. We shall see to your discipline once we are married. His words came back to her now and made her kitty clench up with delicious sensation. But she didn’t know him well enough yet to determine whether he’d been serious or only teasing when he’d said that.
“I’m not trembling, my lord.” She tried to withdraw from his touch, but he leaned over her, crowding her against the wall of the carriage and leaving her with nowhere to look but him.
“You will call me Papa from now on, Cynny, unless we are in public or entertaining guests. In those settings, you will address me as sir or my lord.” He stroked one of the golden curls that framed her face. “Now, little one, I want you to be a good girl and sit in Papa’s lap.”
She swallowed hard, past the sudden dryness in her throat. Papa. He wanted her to call him Papa. She couldn’t think of anything else she’d rather do in this moment. She drew a deep breath as she continued staring at him, her heart contracting with warmth at the tenderness that was now glimmering in his beautiful dark eyes. Had she ever seen eyes so lovely on a man before? She didn’t think she had, though perhaps lovely wasn’t a word she ought to use to describe any part of Lord Grayson. The man radiated masculine power, and a quiver raced across her bottom cheeks as she again wondered if he would discipline her for spying.
