My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance)

by Cheryl Bolen

  A huge lump formed in Freddie's throat.

  Though he had been away ten years, Lord Stacks remembered all the Psalms and sang with an admirable baritone. Then Freddie remembered how very well he played the pianoforte. Music, like so much else, came easily to him.

  When the middle-aged vicar began to deliver his sermon on the vice of greed, Freddie noticed he seemed nervous and cast many a glance at the tall nobleman who sat beside her.

  Following the service, Lord Stacks made polite conversation to those gathered outside the little chapel in Morton. "May I present my ward, Miss Lambeth, and her companion, Mrs. Taylor," he said countless times. Freddie had curtsied so much she wondered if her stockings would hold beneath the garter and if her asparagus green dress was getting hopelessly wrinkled. She met so many new people, she feared she would never remember all their names. There was the squire, Tobias Whitcombe, recently widowed and holding the hands of his two young progeny. And a very good looking Mr. Rountree fresh up from Cambridge. And Mr. and Mrs. Meresham, the innkeepers. And so very many more. Freddie knew she could not possibly remember all of them.

  Maggie's words kept intruding on Freddie's thoughts. They say wicked things about him. She found it difficult to believe Maggie could possibly be referring to these people in Morton, for everyone they encountered behaved with the utmost respect toward her guardian.

  Wearing silken robes, the vicar met Lord Stacks on the steps. "How very good it is to see you here again, my lord," he said to the baron.

  Lord Stacks introduced him to Freddie and Mrs. Taylor.

  Meeting Freddie's gaze, the vicar said, "Your guardian has been most generous to St. Mary's."

  "My guardian is the most generous person I have ever known," Freddie stated flatly.

  Turning to Lord Stacks, the vicar said, "It is a pleasure to thank you personally for all you have done for St. Mary's, my lord."

  Freddie felt eyes on her and looked up to meet the honey-colored eyes of Mr. Rountree, who smiled approvingly at her. She guessed him to be in his early twenties and quite proud of his undoubtedly fashionable dress. For Freddie's taste, the man's appearance was far too loud, not of the subtle quality of her guardian's. However, Freddie thought wickedly, Mrs. Taylor would probably look most favorably upon the young man's silk jacket of royal blue with extremely large brass buttons and his red waistcoat. After all, Mrs. Taylor was equally as colorful in her puce silk dress with a bright orange bonnet adorned with purple plumes.

  "You must permit me to call on you, Miss Lambeth," Mr. Rountree said.

  "I would be delighted to entertain guests and show them my guardian's prodigious garden and orchard," she replied.

  The vicar introduced his wife and three pretty daughters to Lord Stacks. Two of the daughters were very young girls dressed in dainty pale blue dresses, but the eldest, Catherine, was probably older than Freddie.

  "You and your lovely wife--and Miss Farraday, too--must come to the abbey for dinner tonight," Lord Stacks said.

  "We would be honored," the vicar said humbly.

  By this time, Edgekirth had shaken off all the gathering townspeople who sought free advice about their medical complaints and managed to come to Freddie's side.

  Lord Stacks turned to him. "The vicar has agreed to have dinner at the abbey tonight. Would you honor us with your presence, Edgekirth?"

  The physician bowed and accepted the invitation.

  Chapter 11

  "I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to see Marshbanks Abbey come to life again," the vicar's wife, Mrs. Farraday, told Lord Stacks at dinner that night. "Oh, the wonderful balls you used to have here. I declare, things have certainly not been the same since--since you lost your wife." Her eyes leapt to Elizabeth's portrait, and she bowed her head reverently.

  Mrs. Taylor did not give their host an opportunity to reply. "One cannot mourn forever," she said, sighing heavily. "Despite my dear Mr. Taylor's memory, I should like to marry again." She threw a coy glance at Lord Stacks. "As I am sure Lord Stacks will. After all, he is yet a young man and could make some fortunate woman most happy indeed."

  Lord Stacks' mouth tightened. "I shall never marry again."

  The words tore at Freddie's heart. Was he so tortured still over the loss of his lovely Elizabeth? The lovely Elizabeth whose beauty no woman could ever match. Freddie's gaze lifted to the portrait behind her guardian, and Elizabeth's elegant presence seemed to fill the room, smothering the desolate Freddie.

  "You must only allow yourself to fall in love with the right woman, my dear Lord Stacks," Mrs. Taylor said confidently, helping herself to a second bowl of soup.

  "Some men are not suited to marry," Edgekirth said, his hostile gaze shooting toward Lord Stacks.

  "Have you determined not to marry?" the pretty Catherine Farraday asked the doctor, concern in her voice.

  "I have been far too busy to even contemplate courting," Edgekirth said, "but I have a strong desire to marry and have a family." He peered at Freddie, but she feigned great interest in stirring her soup.

  "Well, even if you do not plan to remarry," the gray-haired Mrs. Farraday said to Lord Stacks, "it is hoped you will honor us with your presence at church more often than you have this decade past."

  "Yes, quite," the well-fed vicar mumbled, stabbing the broiled mutton with his fork. "Should love to see the abbey bustling with people and festivities as it once was. Oh, but those were the days!" he said wistfully.

  Their host's gaze shifted from the vicar to Mrs. Farraday. "Think you people would actually attend were I to hold a ball?"

  Mrs. Farraday's hands flew to her breast. "Oh, mercy me, yes!"

  "Then I should like to have a ball," Lord Stacks stated. "I am desirous of introducing my ward to the good people here in Yorkshire."

  Freddie supposed she should be flattered. For her sake, he would abandon what had been his way of life for ten years. She should be happy for him, too. How lonely he must have been all these years, and now he would be able to embrace long lost friends. She swallowed hard, hating herself for being so wretchedly selfish, for wanting the abbey to stay as it was now, to have her guardian to herself, to spend her mornings with him in the quadrangle or working quietly beside him in the library, to sit beside him on the pianoforte bench in the afternoons, warmed thoroughly by the sheer virtue of his closeness. Those days would likely end when he became reacquainted with friends and filled his calendar with morning visits and plans for assemblies and routs.

  When dinner came to an end, the gentlemen gathered in Lord Stacks' billiards room to smoke cigars and drink port while the ladies assembled in the great hall.

  It was all Stacks could do to be civil to the vicar and doctor. They bloody well bored him. After just one glass of port, he suggested they rejoin the women.

  In the great room, where they settled on sofas and sturdy Tudor chairs upholstered in jewel-toned brocades, Stacks turned to Catherine. "Won't you play for us, Miss Faraday?"

  The young lady rose gracefully, crossed the room, and sat down at the pianoforte. She played beautifully, and it was a difficult number, too, Stacks realized. The girl was quite pretty. And accomplished, as well. She also dressed nicely in a pale blue sarcenet. Appropriate attire, indeed, for a young maiden. He guessed her to be nineteen, a year older than Freddie. Would Freddie be as polished at nineteen?

  Perhaps he was rushing his fences, trying to bring Freddie out before she was ready. But if he did not, she would probably marry Edgekirth, for the man clearly was in love with her.

  Why was he so set against the girl marrying the outspoken doctor? Edgekirth and Freddie had much in common. And Edgekirth was an intelligent, well educated man. He would probably make Freddie a good husband. Nevertheless, for some inexplicable reason, Stacks could not tolerate the thought of Edgekirth marrying Freddie. The man would not do at all for her.

  Why could Edgekirth not be attracted to Miss Farraday? Stacks turned his gaze to the doctor, who watched Catherine play. Though he gave her his
full attention, Stacks did not see the gleam that was in Edgekirth's eye when he watched Freddie.

  A pity.

  When Catherine finished, Stacks said with genuine appreciation, "You play beautifully, Miss Farraday."

  Her mother answered. "I should not boast about my dear Catherine, but the girl is wonderfully accomplished. She will make some fortunate man a very fine wife."

  Stacks watched while color rose in the maiden's face as she glided across the room on light feet and sat on the sofa next to Freddie.

  The vicar looked at Freddie. "Will you not honor us with a tune, Miss Lambeth?"

  "My ward has hurt her hand," Stacks snapped. He would be damned before he allowed Freddie to reveal her lack of accomplishment. The girl was not ready for a public performance.

  "Why I am sure Fredericka can play," Mrs. Taylor said mischievously. "Why don't you grant us the pleasure of that adorable little nursery song you play so well?" Mrs. Taylor's brown eyes glinted wickedly as she watched Freddie sit uncomfortably.

  "Nothing could persuade me to embarrass myself after hearing how very well Miss Farraday plays," Freddie said, smiling at Catherine.

  Stacks's black eyes flared. "Why do you not play for us, Mrs. Taylor," he said with controlled anger.

  The woman, undoubtedly proud of her appearance in a pink silk gown like something a debutante would wear, rose slowly and made her way to the pianoforte. She played the same old love song she had played the last time, the one she knew by heart. Was that the only tune in the woman's repertoire, Stacks wondered.

  When she finished, Stacks thanked her curtly, then suggested a game of whist for the three gentlemen and Freddie, and he insisted Freddie be his partner.

  The vicar and Edgekirth were a poor match for Stacks and Freddie, but Stacks felt the doctor was distracted and not playing his best. It was obvious he was totally besotted over Freddie and could scarcely remove his eyes from her.

  Stacks himself took a long look at his ward. She wore the ivory crepe gown again. Its neckline was low and rather flattering to her youthful breasts. Her creamy shoulders showed off to advantage, as did her graceful neck. He continued to watch her as she tossed her head back in laughter, her face lively and not at all unattractive. As he listened to her gentle voice he formed a mental picture of her toting around that little orange cat, stroking it and talking sweetly to the creature.

  But it was Freddie's bearing Stacks found so utterly captivating. So proud and defiant, even when she arrived on his doorstep dressed in those insufferably shabby clothes.

  And a lump came to his throat. He understood why the doctor was in love with her.

  But the man simply wouldn't do. Stacks must find a suitable young man for her.

  The vicar tossed out a card. "I say, Stacks, Miss Lambeth is uncommonly good at whist. Didn't know a mere girl--or a woman for that matter--could be so skilled."

  Stacks smiled. "It was not for politeness I desired her to be my partner."

  "How is it you came to be Miss Lambeth's guardian?" the vicar asked, scooping up a discard.

  "I was at Oxford with her father. We were the greatest of friends."

  "Her father was a surgeon," Edgekirth told the vicar, "and Miss Lambeth knows as much of medicine as any physician I know."

  "That so?" the vicar mumbled.

  "In fact," Edgekirth said with pride, "Miss Lambeth has prepared for me some elixirs that are said to have great success with treating gout."

  The vicar took his eyes off his cards and spoke to Freddie. "Delicate subject, I know, but have you a remedy for troubling wind? It is an affliction which causes me a great deal of distress, and I get no relief whatsoever with Modd's lozenges."

  "Oh, yes," Freddie answered, not embarrassed at all. "I shall prepare a decoction of boiled dill seed with white wine for you. It is a gallant expeller of wind."

  Stacks cast a bemused glance at Freddie, who was intent on studying her cards.

  At the end of the game--which Stacks and Freddie easily won-- the guests left, and Stacks bid Freddie a good-night, then said to Mrs. Taylor, "I beg a private word with you. Won't you join me in the library?"

  "I should be exceedingly happy to do so, my lord," she said, a broad smile covering her round face as she followed him.

  "Sit down," he told her icily when they reached his library.

  She took a seat and gazed up at him hopefully as he stood in front of her. "I am very displeased with you," he said sternly, beginning to pace the room.

  The complacent smile vanished from her face. "Whatever for, my lord?"

  "It is my belief that you undermine my ward's efforts to be accepted into society as a lady."

  "How can you say so?" she shrieked in indignation. "Why, I work very diligently every day to make a lady of the girl, and I tell you, it is no easy task."

  He came back to stand in front of Mrs. Taylor. "I do not know what motivates you, but I believe you scheme to tarnish Miss Lambeth's reputation."

  "Never!" she protested.

  "Then why did you not accompany Edgekirth and Miss Lambeth in the great room the other day when Eason tells me he himself informed you that your presence was required? I believe you hoped to compromise Miss Lambeth."

  "That is outrageous! I merely forgot. I would never wish to sully Miss Lambeth. It would only reflect poorly on me."

  His eyes smoldered. "Precisely."

  "Surely that one little slip does not merit such rancor from you my lord."

  "That--and what you did tonight."

  "What I did tonight?" she questioned, outrage in her voice.

  "I clearly did not want Miss Lambeth to play the pianoforte and be compared to the superior skill of Miss Farraday." He glowered at her. "But you did. It was obvious you wanted my ward to appear in an unfavorable light."

  Tears began to drop to her rouged cheeks. "I am deeply offended by your charges."

  "And I am deeply offended by your conduct," he countered. "If such incidents occur again, I shall be forced to dismiss you."

  A cry broke from her throat. "Is that all, my lord?" she asked, her voice shaking with emotion.

  "Yes. You may leave."

  He would have dismissed her that very night were it not for his desire to lend propriety to his ward's situation here. He could never let it be said that Freddie lived alone with the man who had murdered his wife. He could not allow his own vileness to tarnish Freddie's innocence.

  He enjoyed Freddie's company too much. He enjoyed playing chess and other games with her. He enjoyed seeing her haul around that skinny cat. He enjoyed seeing her transformation from ugly duckling to . . . what was she? Not a beauty like Elizabeth, certainly. But he found her appearance most agreeable. In fact, he took entirely too much pleasure in gazing upon her youthful countenance. Though he had never before thought tall women attractive, he now believed women with long, slender limbs like Freddie quite elegant.

  Not that she was elegant, exactly. It was deuced difficult to be elegant when one's nose was dusted with freckles, and he really did not approve of the new fashion of short hair on a woman. Though he had to admit now that Freddie had cut her hair, she did look older.

  With her long, graceful neck, she did wear her clothing with the grace of a princess. She'd had that same proud bearing when dressed in the rags she had arrived in at Marshbanks three months earlier.

  For ten long years, he's been more dead than alive. Until Freddie. Was she the reason he had not followed Elizabeth to the grave? Had it been God's plan for him to redeem himself by caring for something far more precious than his plants? He'd never felt more alive, all because Freddie Lambeth had brightened his dreary existence.

  He thought he could be completely happy were it just he and Freddie rattling around the cavernous abbey. And he did not mean that in a prurient way.

  Because of her innocence, though, he was plagued to have put up with the blasted Julia Taylor and the odious Edgekirth. Because of his deference to Freddie's unblemished reputation, he w
ould be forced to open his home to activities that would showcase his ward. Which he really did not wish to do.

  All he really wanted was to keep her to himself. He could not understand how a girl of such tender years could convey such maturity. Not once had she ever bored him. She did not prattle. She did not bat her lashes. She did not speak in hyperbole. In short, she did not act like other maidens of eighteen.

  She was as intelligent as any learned man he'd ever known.

  In fact, she reminded him greatly of her father. A high degree of intelligence and capability had intertwined in Frederick Lambeth. A pity he was dead.

  A pity everyone Stacks had ever loved was dead.

  Save Freddie.

  Not that he loved her as a man loves a woman. No, what he felt for her was more like what a father feels for a daughter.

  But altogether different.

  To do justice to his position as her guardian, though, he knew it was his duty to see her marry well.

  No matter how painful it would be for him to lose her.

  First, though, he wished he could expel Edgekirth. Would Freddie be terribly offended if the physician came no more?

  He had been fuming all day over the man's visit to Freddie that very afternoon. Since he'd left open his library door, he'd heard Eason announce the visitor, had heard Freddie beckon Mrs. Taylor, too, just as Stacks had instructed. She was not to meet any man alone.

  But Julia Taylor had failed to perform her most important duty.

  Damn the insufferable woman!

  He, at least, could uphold his duties as the guardian to whom her father had entrusted his only child.

  Even if she was not precisely a child any more.

  Chapter 12

  Freddie sat contentedly in the library, her guardian working silently behind his desk, facing her as she sketched the delicate petals of the violet. After she finished the page and was about to begin a new page, she glanced up at Stacks. He was neither reading nor writing but staring blankly in front of him.