My Fair Lord

by Wilma Counts

  So he did. He gave her another three days, and then he accosted her in the park early one morning. It was now well into the third week of February. Winter was not ready to give way yet, and spring was just thinking of asserting itself. Some trees were sporting promises of flowers and leaves, but these had not yet materialized. The promise alone, though, raised the spirits of all London’s inhabitants.

  * * * *

  Still depressed, Retta insisted on keeping to the schedule of her morning rides. Uncle Alfred agreed to accompany her this day and, as usual, he hung back when she insisted on taking Moonstar for a hard run. She was remembering that last ride with Jake as she returned to her uncle, to see him talking with another rider on a magnificent roan stallion. Jake. Her heart fluttered at the mere sight of him, but she felt distinctly shy about meeting him. Nevertheless, she was certainly not going to make a show of avoiding him. She would be just cool and contained.

  “Hello, Retta,” he greeted her.

  “Lord Bodwyn,” she said coolly, and refused to hold his gaze.

  Uncle Alfred picked up the reins of his horse and said, “I think you two have a good deal to talk about.” With that he urged his mount into motion.

  “Uncle Alfred!” she called, but he ignored her.

  She turned to Jake. “That was a rather sneaky trick,” she said.

  “I know. But desperate men seize what opportunities fall their way. And now, my Lady Henrietta, you will talk with me.” He reached to grab her reins and led Moonstar to a nearby park bench, where he tied both horses and then reached to set her on her feet.

  “I could scream, you know. Someone might hear me and come to my aid.”

  “Yes, you could,” he said, “but I doubt you will. That is, I sincerely hope you will not do so.” He grasped her elbow and sat down on the bench, pulling her down next to him.

  “Well, say your piece and get on with it,” she said, staring beyond his shoulder.

  “Retta—” There was a note of impatience in his voice that she had never heard before. He put a gloved finger on her cheek and forced her to face him. Then he just kissed her. It was a very thorough and prolonged kiss, for she was unable to stop herself from responding with the same sort of longing that he showed.

  “Woman, you are driving me crazy,” he murmured. “Admit it: you missed me.”

  Chagrined now, she said quietly, “All right, I do admit it. But why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you trust me? Have you any idea at all of how much courage it took for me to ask you to—to—”

  “Marry you? That is what you had in mind, is it not?”

  Now she was embarrassed again. “Well, yes. That is what I had in mind, I think, though my suggesting it would have been most unorthodox.” She turned slightly to look him squarely in the eye. “But really, I just wanted us to be together.”

  “And women—ladies—do not do the asking, do they?”

  “Not usually.”

  “If you think about it really, really hard, you may remember that I was the first to mention marriage. But—all right, then, if that is what this is all about—” He moved to kneel on one knee at her feet. “My Lady Henrietta, will you do me the very great honor to become my wife?”

  She laughed. “Oh, do get up. That ground is cold.”

  “Not ‘til you answer me.”

  “Of course I will marry you.” As he resumed his seat next to her, she added, “I rather fancied that fellow Jake Bolton, but I suppose you will do well enough.”

  “I happen to know that fellow, Bolton, loved you insanely, but I promise to love you just as much.” He kissed her again, then raised his lips from hers just long enough to murmur, “Or more.”

  “And I promise to love you likewise, Major Lord Jacob Bodwyn. And I will, indeed, be happy to marry you.”

  “When?”

  “Why, uh—”

  “Today? Tomorrow?”

  “Today? Tomorrow?” she echoed rather stupidly.

  “Either one,” he said. “But not much longer, please, Retta.” He pulled a paper from inside his coat. “I have a special license right here.”

  “You were that sure of me?” she asked, feigning umbrage.

  “I was that hopeful,” he said, giving her a quick kiss.

  “Day after tomorrow, then. Our families deserve some warning.”

  “Fine.” He put the paper back in his pocket and drew out a small packet, which he placed in her gloved hand.

  “What is this?”

  “A birthday present. A day or so late, but it comes with birthday wishes and my heart as well.”

  She removed her gloves to unwrap it and found a small gold locket. She opened it to reveal tiny portraits of him and her. She looked up in wonder. “How— When—?”

  “I picked it up three days before your sister’s ball. Your aunt helped me get your portrait.”

  “Oh, Jake!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I do love you so very much.”

  “Today, then?” he said hopefully.

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  Epilogue

  Major Lord Jacob Bodwyn and Lady Henrietta Parker were married ten days after her sister’s ball. The ceremony took place in the drawing room of her father’s London residence. They were attended by such family members as were then in town, and after as sumptuous a wedding breakfast as the Blakemoor retainers could provide on such short notice, the newlyweds retired to a suite in Grillon’s hotel where they were known to be very late risers.

  They were making plans to remove to Lord Jacob Bodwyn’s extensive property in Derbyshire when, during the first week of March, England learned that Napoleon Bonaparte had finally made good on one of several attempts to escape his confinement on the island of Elba. He landed in the south of France and made his way north, gathering troops as he went.

  This event, of course, interrupted the marriage of Lord Jacob and Lady Henrietta for what turned out to be Napoleon’s famous “One Hundred Days” before his defeat in mid-June at a tiny Belgium village called Waterloo. This time, the allies were less generous in their treatment of the deposed dictator, and he was consigned to the much less opulent island of St. Helena where he was allowed a far more restricted entourage.

  In the interim, the bride was invited to move into Holbrook House, which she did for a time where her new in-laws tried to assuage her worries over her husband’s being in serious danger. They entertained her with stories of his childhood and youth and she became quite close to his sister Elizabeth and his sister-in-law, the Marchioness of Burwell. She warmed to his father who proved less austere than she had expected; in fact, he reminded her very much of her dear Uncle Alfred. During this time, too, she paid a prolonged visit to Cornwall to spend time with her friend Hero and with Harriet, who had also journeyed to Cornwall for their impromptu reunion.

  Over four months after their wedding ceremony, Lord Jacob and Lady Henrietta were at last able to move to Derbyshire. They were accompanied by another set of newlyweds: Lady Henrietta’s maid Annie was now the wife of Lord Jacob’s valet, the newly promoted former footman Baker.

  Privately, Jake and Retta felt that their marriage really began in early July when the major was finally able to return to his bride, but they could not make a public declaration to that effect. Since their eldest son had clearly been conceived in February, it was deemed a not very practical idea.

  Meet the Author

  Wilma Counts devotes her time largely to writing and reading. She loves to cook, but hates cleaning house. She has never lost her interest in literature, history, and international relations. She spends a fair amount of time yelling at the T.V. She is an active member of Lone Mountain Writers in Carson City, Nevada.

  Readers can visit her website at www.wilmacounts.com.

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