My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance)

by Cheryl Bolen

  He looked up from his notes to watch Marmalade skitter beneath his desk. "That cat of yours seems to have developed a great fondness for the cubicle under my desk."

  Freddie screwed up her face. "He has a name."

  A slow grin spread across Stacks' face. "I'm not about to call the creature Fluff Muffin."

  She tossed her papers aside and affixed hands to her hips. "That is merely an endearment. You know very well his name is Marmalade."

  "I much prefer That Cat."

  She picked up her papers and pretended exaggerated interest in them. "And I suppose you'd spell cat with K," she muttered.

  Now he faced her with an impish grin. "I've been waiting for that."

  She threw a defiant glance at him. "For what?"

  "For you to find fault with my spelling."

  She laughed. "It's not your spelling I find fault with, my lord, but your misspelling."

  "Ouch!"

  She snatched up the papers, got to her feet and walked to his desk. She pointed to the word l-e-a-v. "What is this word, if you please?"

  "Leaf," he replied matter-of-factly.

  "In the singular it is spelled l-e-a-f. In the plural---"

  "L-e-a-v-e-s. Now that you mention it, I seem to recall some such blasted rule, like in knife and knives."

  "But a mind crowded with so much more important information simply cannot be bothered to retain anything so inconsequential as a ridiculous spelling rule."

  He nodded sincerely. "I told you no one could read my writing."

  "Give me a magnifying glass and lots of time, and I have no problem. Your script is so very small."

  "I will have to try writing larger."

  "But you won't," she lamented. "It was the same with my father. I fail to understand why the most petite women have bold flourishes to their handwriting while the most masculine men persist in their tediously tiny lettering."

  The crooked grin reappeared on his face. "I thank you for at least thinking me masculine."

  An uncomfortable silence came between them like an invisible curtain. Freddie looked down at her guardian's notes and pointed to another word. "What, pray tell, is that?"

  He looked at the word, then at the sentence it appeared in. "Oh," he said solemnly. "It's supposed to be s-a-p."

  "Very glad I am to hear of it, since I have never heard of the word s-a-b."

  He gulped. "Careless of me."

  Freddie broke out in peals of laughter.

  "What's so funny?"

  Wiping tears from her eyes, Freddie met his gaze. "It's just that in so many respects you are a devil of a perfectionist, but I do believe, my lord, you need me in this one respect." Without knowing what she was doing, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. "And I'm so very glad."

  Just then Marmalade came out from under the desk, rushing toward the open casements as if he were on fire. Stacks looked up at Freddie. "I fear I've kicked your cat."

  Freddie's face fell, and she scurried after the cat, cooing endearments.

  ***

  Upon entering the dining room for dinner, Mrs. Taylor raced to plop down in the chair next to Stacks and throughout dinner directed all her conversation toward him, much of the time while possessively settling her hand on his ruffled sleeve. It seemed to him Freddie bristled when the woman would lament over how very much she had to impart to "Poor Fredericka."

  He was pleased that Freddie did not speak of the work she was doing with him on the book. But, then, it was difficult for anyone save Mrs. Taylor to talk. The woman had no skill at polite conversation wherein others were solicited to talk. Rather, she felt every word that came from her mouth to be of monumental import to all at the table. Did not everyone wish to know about the time she had actually gotten to speak French to an exiled French nobleman? And did not everyone want to know in just what way she was related to the renowned Meriwethers? When she was not talking about what she believed to be her own superiority, she used her untiring breath to point out Freddie's inadequacies.

  "It is a good thing you have no social festivities here at your wonderful abbey," Mrs. Taylor said to Stacks, "for poor Fredericka is not at all ready to be presented to polite society."

  "I beg to differ," Edgekirth snapped. "I find Miss Lambeth to be in possession of all the graces any lady of quality could desire."

  "You have lived too long in the country, I fear," Freddie said with a laugh.

  Stacks' gaze moved from Edgekirth to Freddie, his lips compressed. The damned doctor was falling in love with Freddie! He would not do at all for her. Stacks desired nothing so much as to prohibit the insufferable doctor's visits to the abbey this very night. But he could not do so were it to cause Freddie distress. After all, the girl professed to be great friends with the outspoken doctor.

  Stacks found himself paired with Edgekirth for whist after dinner. The doctor was a skilled player--as skilled as Freddie. Stacks never thought he would say a woman had skill at whist. Elizabeth had been no better at the game than Julia Taylor. But Elizabeth had other admirable attributes, he thought with hazy longing, remembering the pleasure of removing her gown on the night of their wedding. He remembered how beautiful she looked beneath him. Then, he remembered thoughts he had long tried to purge from his existence, thoughts that were too painful to be remembered.

  "Isn't that right, my lord?" Mrs. Taylor asked, breaking his reverie.

  "I'm sorry, what was that you were saying?" Stacks asked.

  "I said women in polite society are never to discuss the gaming hells men frequent."

  "Quite right," he said, eyeing Freddie and feeling badly that the poor girl had to be straddled with Mrs. Taylor. He must have been so totally bewitched by Elizabeth that he had given no thought to her plain companion. Had she always been so obnoxious?

  "I don't know that I even like you discussing them in front of Miss Lambeth," Edgekirth said defensively.

  "You, Dr. Edgekirth, are not my ward's protector," Stacks hissed through gritted teeth.

  "But you have credited him with making me well," Freddie countered in an effort to quell an argument.

  "For which, I might add, he has been handsomely paid--against his protestations, though it may have been," Stacks said.

  "I did not use the money for myself," Edgekirth countered. "It went to buy medicinals and to help some of my patients who lost their livelihood due to ill health."

  "How very commendable!" Mrs. Taylor said, looking at Edgekirth with admiration.

  Stacks held the doctor with his fiery gaze. "If anyone in Morton needs assistance in the future," Stacks said, "I wish to know about it."

  Freddie gazed at Stacks with warmth. "My guardian is wonderfully generous."

  ***

  Roberts always stayed up to help his master undress. This night, Stacks was in a bleak mood.

  "Would you believe that obnoxious doctor is falling in love with my ward!" Stacks said vehemently. "He will never do for her."

  "What type of gentleman would, milord?" Roberts asked.

  "Well, one who is a gentleman. Who is intelligent. Of good birth, of course. Younger, too. Why Edgekirth is almost as old as me!"

  "Does your lordship plan to find a husband for Miss Lambeth?"

  "Yes, by God, I believe I do. We shall have an assembly here at the abbey. Every young man of suitable birth around will come, by Jove!"

  "If you begin having assemblies, you will have to integrate back into society, you know."

  "I know. I know." There was a grim set to Stacks' mouth.

  "It is time, my lord, to put the painful past behind you. It is to be hoped, others will be able to as well."

  "In London, they may not. But here I hold the highest rank. No one near Morton would dare refuse a request to take amusement at Marshbanks Abbey."

  "A privilege, indeed, for them," Roberts said, carefully hanging his master's jacket. "And I daresay, many a maiden and widow will be setting their caps for you."

  Stacks' eyes went cold as agate. "I meant
it when I said I would never marry again."

  Chapter 10

  Marmalade, no longer a tiny kitten but now a round ball of orange and white fur, wanted nothing so much as to plop down on Freddie's sketch pad as she worked.

  Freddie held the pad to her breast. "No, sweet fluff muffin, you are not to put those paws on my work." She stroked the soft hair under the cat's white neck, then scooped him up and firmly placed him beside her on the bed, once again attempting to complete her final drawing in the Vaccinium genus. She eyed the moist blueberries reposing in a bowl on her breakfast tray and took up her pencil. She deftly drew a bunch of the purplish berries, shading them in for depth. This time Marmalade stayed beside her, curled and sleeping.

  She sighed in deep contentment, knowing Lord Stacks would be pleased when he saw her complete work. Below each picture she had carefully printed in meticulous black ink a description of the fruit from her guardian's notes. She was pleased with her printing, which closely resembled that stamped by a printing press.

  Though she much preferred working beside Lord Stacks, he had cancelled the session this day in order to meet with his steward. She found she could work more quickly when she did not have his lordship's unsettling presence to distract her. Not that he in any way was less than exemplary in his manner to her, but she constantly fretted over the impression she was making on him. The very thought of him caused her heartbeat to accelerate.

  Eason knocked at her door, informing her that Dr. Edgekirth awaited in the great room.

  Two months ago, not cognizant of being fashionable, she would have hurried to him. Now, she knew better. She was not at all dressed to be presented to a gentleman. "Tell him I will be there in half an hour," Freddie said with authority. "And send for Maggie, if you please, to help me dress. And tell Mrs. Taylor she will need to meet me in the great room in thirty minutes." Her guardian had impressed upon her that she never be alone with Edgekirth--or any other man. She rather liked the thought of Lord Stacks caring about her reputation, something she herself had never considered before coming to Marshbanks Abbey.

  Freddie wore a cotton dress the color of goldenrod, and Maggie arranged her hair fashionably. In twenty-five minutes, she strolled into the great room and dropped a curtsy to the doctor.

  His sea green eyes shone with admiration. "You grow prettier each day, Miss Lambeth."

  "Won't you sit down?" she asked, absently looking over her shoulder for Mrs. Taylor.

  He sat, and Freddie asked Eason to get them tea-- "with three cups, if you please."

  "I shan't stay long," Edgekirth told Freddie. "Mrs. Campbell's time grows near, and I promised to check in on her this afternoon. Since I was so near the abbey, I thought to come by for the gout remedy you so hardily endorse."

  Her eyes sparkled. "Oh, yes, it is ready now." She instructed a footman to procure it from the kitchen. "Cook will know which bottles they are," Freddie said to the liveried servant.

  Eason brought the tea, but Mrs. Taylor never came. Freddie and the doctor conversed politely before he took his leave with the four bottles of elixir Freddie had prepared for him.

  "Do not forget," she told him as he walked away, "twice a day until the gout improves."

  ***

  For the first time since she had started her sessions with Mrs. Taylor, Freddie was sincerely enjoying herself. The water colors had arrived, and Mrs. Taylor remembered well the techniques she had mastered at an early age. "My sisters and I had a drawing master, you know. Cost my parents a guinea per quarter. If I do say so myself, I was the best of the three of us. I remember Mr. De Gracca saying so. Miss Julia has the talent most commendable, he said."

  After practicing just a short while, Freddie began to color in the sketches of fruit that had completely filled her first sketch book.

  As they were cleaning up, Lord Stacks entered the drawing room. "If it would not inconvenience you too excessively," he said to Mrs. Taylor, "I should like to borrow Miss Lambeth."

  Mrs. Taylor smoothed out her silk skirt, held her bosom high and favored him with a beaming smile. "You must see how successful I've been with dear Fredericka." She walked to Freddie's sketch book and flipped it open to show him Freddie's work.

  He glanced at it approvingly. "You have done a most commendable job, indeed, Mrs. Taylor," he said, shooting Freddie a bemused smile.

  With the sketch book in hand, Freddie followed her guardian to his library where he drew open the heavy red velvet draperies, then sat at his huge rococo desk, beckoning Freddie to pull up a chair beside him.

  Taking her sketch book, he began to flip through the pages. "Mrs. Taylor dazzles me with her talent," he said mischievously.

  "You odious man!" Freddie protested in jest.

  He set down the book. "Seriously, my dear, your work pleases me excessively." His black eyes held hers for only a few seconds but held her as securely as chains.

  She could scarcely get her breath. He had called her my dear. In his letters to her mother, her father had called his bride my dear. And Uncle Harold called his long-standing wife my dear. But no one had ever called Freddie my dear.

  "Once you color these, we will be able to begin the genus Viola. I thought drawing flowers might be a welcome diversion from the tedious berries you have been laboring on."

  She smiled at him. "I assure you there is nothing whatsoever tedious about drawing berries." She winked. "I have embraced every single colored sphere."

  He ruffled her hair. "You're much too compliant, my dear."

  "'Tis not being compliant but being content, my lord." She cast her lids down and changed the subject. "Is not the violet in the genus Viola?"

  "Indeed it is."

  "I hope the genuses never end," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She lived for every minute they brought her together with her guardian.

  "It is my hope you feel the same a month from now."

  "I will five years from now. I may be young, but I know my heart." She colored at her own words. Why had she used the word heart? To cover up her embarrassment, she asked, "Tell me, Lord Stacks, why is it you haven't told anyone else about your book?"

  "You mean our book?"

  "I am merely the instrument that translates your knowledge into a readable form, my lord," she said meekly.

  "Tell me, why is it you have not told anyone about the book?"

  How could she tell him when she herself did not know how to put those strange, private feelings into words? "I suppose it's because I fear others wouldn't understand the relationship we have developed through the book, and I don't want anyone to try and destroy it." Sweet heaven! There she went--bearing her soul to him. He could see through her like gossamer. Never had she felt so open with another human being.

  His large hand covered hers. "I feel the same," he admitted, his voice husky with emotion.

  Her heart pounded so thoroughly, she feared he could hear it.

  He removed his hand from hers. "There is another matter I wish to discuss with you, Miss Lambeth."

  She was disappointed. She had gone from my dear back to Miss Lambeth.

  "I will require your presence--along with that of Mrs. Taylor--tomorrow morning."

  "But tomorrow's Sunday!"

  "Precisely. I wish for us to attend church."

  "But I thought you never went to church."

  "You are correct. I have not been in ten years."

  "Then I am most joyous you renew your bonds with the Almighty."

  "I do not go to embrace the Lord. My Lord turned his back on me long ago," he said, his voice harsh.

  Did her guardian hold his Lord responsible for Elizabeth's death? How tortured he must be, Freddie mused with deep sadness.

  She swallowed hard and timidly met his earnest gaze.

  "I go to the blasted church to introduce you to society, Miss Lambeth."

  She was flattered he broke a decade-long pattern solely for what he perceived for her welfare, but she could not like his scheme. Indeed, she could not lik
e anything that would intrude on the isolation which had melded the two of them together. Frowning, she refused to meet his gaze. "Mrs. Taylor thinks me not ready for society."

  "Mrs. Taylor is an idiot."

  Freddie tried to stifle a muffled giggle. "Ah, we are in agreement on still another matter," Freddie said with levity.

  He cast Freddie a sidelong glance. "You must forgive me for saddling you with her."

  "She serves a purpose."

  They both knew the woman's presence freed Stacks to spend time in Freddie's company without causing a scandal.

  "Despite what the odious woman says, you are ready for society, and it is my desire that you find a suitable husband."

  Her heart sank. He was growing tired of her. He wanted her gone from Marshbanks Abbey. "But what of the book?" she asked hopefully.

  "Of course, I will not give my consent to your marriage until our book is finished."

  "I had expected the book to take years, which truly does not distress me in the least."

  "I cannot deprive the good men of Yorkshire of your company for years."

  "Do you not think I am too young to marry? I would be happy to wait until I'm much older--provided my presence here at the abbey is not too burdensome."

  "Your presence is indeed not burdensome, Miss Lambeth. It is just that I have an obligation to your father to see you suitably matched."

  She had until the book was finished! She would no longer race through her drawings. She would draw them slowly and meticulously, cherishing every remaining minute at Marshbanks Abbey.

  And she would be sure to find fault with any man foolish enough to be attracted to her.

  ***

  The hum of voices at St. Mary's stilled when Lord Stacks, accompanied by Freddie and the brightly dressed Mrs. Taylor, strolled down the wooden floors of the church's nave, every step resonating throughout the hushed church. His lordship took his place in the Stacks family pew on the front row.

  The church seemed especially tiny to Freddie after the magnificence of York Minster, but it was probably larger than her church back in Chelseymeade. She gazed at the arched stained glass windows of New Testament scenes that brought light into the darkened sanctuary from the sides of the building. Below the nearest window was an inscription that read In Memory of Elizabeth, Lady Stacks, 1779-1799.