Love Finds Lord Davingdale

by Anne Gallagher

  “She is here? At this ball?”

  “Yes, this is the address she gave me.”

  Thomas ran back into the house and up the stairs to the ballroom. He found William. “Have you seen Miss Cummings?”

  “Who?”

  “Miss Cummings? She was here, at the ball. Do you not know her?” Thomas could not keep the desperation from his voice. She was here and he had missed her somehow.

  “Forgive me, Thomas, I know not of whom you speak. Tell me, why are you so frantic to find her? Who is she?”

  “Two days ago, I met a woman in St. John’s village. I found her quite interesting. Yesterday I helped her when her carriage overturned. Her name is Ophelia. That is all I know. That and she is staying with her cousin, the Lady Cummings in St. John’s Wood. I gave her the use of my carriage tonight having no idea she was to attend your ball. Tell me, you do not know her?”

  “No, Thomas, I’m afraid Penny did not introduce me.”

  “Where is your wife?” Thomas looked around the ballroom.

  William looked as well. “I have no idea. She could be anywhere. Shall I help you look?”

  “No. I shall see you tomorrow.” He would wait with Graves until Ophelia appeared. Outside, Graves was already gone. Gaining Helios from the mews, Thomas galloped as fast as he could, but it was no use. He couldn’t catch up to Graves and the team. Besides, what would the poor woman think if he accosted her in the middle of the countryside after midnight?

  He would have to wait until tomorrow when he could call on her properly.

  Chapter Seven

  Unfortunately, the next morning, Thomas woke to Graves pounding on his bedchamber door. The little foal seemed to be having trouble breathing. All thoughts of Ophelia Cummings flew from his head, as he raced to dress and join Graves in the barn.

  Several hours later, Astraea, as he’d come to call her for the star on her forehead, seemed to be holding her own. Getting the little filly outside had been nerve wracking as she bucked from the cold, but coaxing her into the frigid air with her mother had done her the most good. Settled in a new stall with fresh bedding, mother and baby were sleeping. Thomas stood by the stall and watched as her breath puffed in and out.

  Graves and he mucked out the old stall and poured buckets of hot water and vinegar over the ground to help alleviate some of the possible contaminants there, and left it to freeze. They would wait a year before they used it again. Now, there was nothing more they could do except hope for the best where Astraea was concerned.

  Foaling at any time was dangerous, but in the winter even more so. Thomas could have kicked himself for not moving Iona and her daughter out of the birthing stall after she’d been born. He took the blame for her situation entirely upon his shoulders. Although he’d laid new straw for the bedding after Astraea’s birth, the drafts in the old barn brought the muck off the floor and into the baby’s lungs. Thomas heaved a sigh. All was well for now.

  Thomas left the barn and went around the back of the house into the kitchen. Seated at the table, Agnes and Harry shared a pot of tea.

  “How is she?” Harry asked as soon as Thomas stepped through the door.

  “Better, much better.” He glanced at the huge pot of water simmering over the grate. “I believe we’re done with the water for now, Aggie. Thank you for all your help.”

  “’Twas the least I could do for the poor lamb,” she said. She walked to the fireplace and swung the pot from the coals. “How about a nice warm cup, aye? Sit right down, and I’ll fix you something to eat as well. You must be starved.”

  Thomas slumped to the bench and ran his hands through his hair. “I knew I should have moved them to a different stall, but the only one open was the one near the doors. I thought she would be better off where she was.”

  Harry patted him on the back. “Now lad, do not go tearing yourself to pieces. The babe is doing well. Have something to eat. You look exhausted.”

  Thomas sighed. “I need to get that old barn up to snuff, Harry, ‘tis too dangerous with all the drafts, not to mention the rotting wood, and Lord knows what else. I should set fire to the whole damned thing and burn it to the ground.”

  “Aye, and then what will you have? A burned barn and no place to house the beasts. This is just your fear talking. ‘Tis not as bad as you make it out to be. You’ll feel better after you eat.”

  Thomas put his chin in his palm and slouched over the table. “Speaking of eating, we’ve received an invitation to Caymore House for luncheon. Two o’clock. From the dowager no less. She wishes you to attend, said you would find the afternoon diverting.”

  Harry smiled. “I think not, boy. These old bones are still suffering from the ride into Town yesterday.”

  Agnes put a plate of meat pie and coddled eggs down in front of him. “Here now, eat up. I’m sure this will keep you until luncheon.”

  “Thank you, Aggie,” he mumbled with his mouth full. “Could you make something for Graves as well? He’s been working since dawn.” Thomas glanced at the clock. One o’clock. “Harry, do you think it is too late to call?”

  “Call on whom?”

  “Miss Cummings. Seems she was at the Caymore Ball last night only I missed her somehow. I wanted to call on her today.”

  Harry glanced at the clock. “Do not you have your luncheon?”

  “Lady Pen was up to no good last night, foisting another unmarried gel on me. I would not be surprised if she has invited her to luncheon as well, and if you are not accompanying me, I shall arrive fashionably late.”

  “Where did you learn your manners, boy? Certainly not from me. ‘Twill not hold you in good stead with the dowager if you are tardy. And believe me, you do not wish that harpy on your bad side.”

  “I know, Harry, but I believe Miss Cummings is due to depart today, and I wish to have just one more meeting with her. That way I will be able to decide if I wish to pursue her or not.”

  Harry looked solemn. “She means that much to you?”

  “Aye, I think she might.” He didn’t know exactly why, but he’d lived by his gut instincts most of his life, and they were hardly ever wrong. Besides, he liked her smile.

  “Then hurry with your food, take the pot of water, wash the smell from you, and go to Cummings Hall. I’m sure the Dowager Caymore will forgive you when she finds out your reasons, for even that old stoat cannot resist a tale of love.”

  Thomas grinned at Harry, shoved the last of his food in his mouth, and stood. “I’m off.”

  Forty minutes later, Thomas sat on the squabs of his carriage while Graves raced the team for Cummings Hall. What Ophelia would think of him was anyone’s guess. An impoverished Earl with practically nothing to offer a wife, yet seeking the hand of a woman he knew nothing about. She would think him a lunatic.

  They slowed to a sedate trot as they entered the village. What if she were married? He’d never thought to look for a ring. What if she had an understanding with someone else? He should have asked Lady Cummings. What if she were already departed? Had not Aggie said she was only visiting for three days. He opened the latch and called to Graves to push the horses.

  Arriving at Cummings Hall, his heart stuck in his throat. He pulled the bell and waited. And waited. He pulled the bell again. No one answered. She was gone.

  He returned to the carriage. There was only one thing to do now, go to Caymore House and speak with Lady Pen. He would find Ophelia if it was the last thing he did today.

  Quiggins answered the door at Caymore House. Thomas shook off his greatcoat and handed Quiggins his hat.

  “You are exceedingly late, my lord.” Thomas noted the tone in the butler’s voice.

  “Forgive me, Quiggins. I was unavoidably detained. Pray they did not wait for me.”

  “No, my lord. We are now serving dessert. Should you wish for a plate?”

  “No, thank you, Quiggins. Let me make my apologies and I shall join them.”

  “Very well.” Quiggins led him down the hall to the small d
ining room on the main floor. He opened the doors and announced, “The Earl of Davingdale.”

  William pushed back his chair. “Well, it’s about damn time, Thomas. Where have you been? You know Quiggins will not wait. Penny is quite put out.”

  “Forgive me, Lady Pen,” Thomas said his gaze wandering the table full of his friends. “I had important business in St. John’s Wood.” He heard a small gasp and his eyes lit upon….Ophelia? Oh good God, it was! “Ophelia! What are you doing here?”

  “Mr. Merrit? What are you doing here?” She seemed equally surprised to see him.

  “Ophelia?” William stood. “This is the lady you rescued?”

  “Rescued?” Lady Penelope put down her glass. “Davingdale, how do you come by such familiarity with our Miss Trent?”

  “Miss Trent?” Thomas pushed his hair back from his face. “Miss Trent? You are the woman I met last night? Why were you not wearing your spectacles?”

  Ophelia opened her mouth but failed to speak. She cleared her throat. “My spectacles were damaged in the accident. I only got them fixed this morning.”

  “What do you mean rescued?” Lady Olivia demanded.

  William explained. “Davingdale said he rescued a woman from a carriage accident the other day. In picking her up when she fainted, it seems it brought back the use of his bad arm. He only knew her as Ophelia.”

  “Miss Trent,” Lady Penelope interjected, “you were in a carriage accident the other day were you not?”

  “Yes, I was. And Mr. Thomas Merrit rescued me.” She looked up at him. “But you are Davingdale?”

  Lady Olivia banged her hand on the table. “Now does not that sound like Davingdale, to use his given name to escape an entanglement?”

  “Ophelia.” Thomas moved around the table. “Miss Trent, forgive my manners last night. I had no idea it was you. You were dressed so differently from our previous meetings. Had I known it was you….”

  “Pray tell, what meetings?” Robert pushed his chair back and stood as well. “You claim to have rescued her, which would imply only one meeting.” His voice held a curious playful tone.

  Thomas could not help his face redden. “We met on her first day in the village when I accidentally knocked her down and sent her new cape into a mud puddle.”

  “Davingdale!” Lady Pen threw her napkin on the table.

  “It was an accident,” Ophelia whispered.

  “It seems a very happy one.” Lady Violet patted Ophelia’s hand.

  The air crackled and Thomas needed to get them both out of the there. He needed to speak with her – alone.

  “Miss Trent, may I speak with you privately?” Thomas walked toward her. “Would you all excuse us?” He nodded to Lady Cummings at the end of the table, who wiped away a tear.

  He stood beside Ophelia and held out his left hand. She looked up into his face and gave him a trusting smile. He took her hand, and wrapped it around his arm and laid his other hand over hers. The dining room was silent as he led her out to the hall and down the marble floor. Opening a door at the front of the house, they entered another sitting room.

  “Miss Trent,” he said bringing her to the chaise. “Please allow me to speak directly.”

  He paced the floor on shaky limbs, and took a deep breath. “From the moment we met on the street, I have had this feeling about you I cannot seem to shake. You intrigued me, and I felt the need to further our acquaintance. I called on you the next day, the day of your accident. I had hoped you would not think me too forward, but I could not get you out of my mind. When I found you lying in the bottom of the carriage, powerful emotions overtook me, and they somehow managed to bring what was dead in my arm back to life again. For that, I will always be indebted.” He sat next to her.

  “Had I only known it was you last night, but I had no idea. By some very strange reasoning, I never gave a thought that your last name was not Cummings. When you mentioned you were staying at Cummings Hall, I just presumed. Your cousin only referred to you as Ophelia. And I did not recognize you last night. I had never seen your hair, being covered by a bonnet both times we met, or even your form hidden under your coat. And with your spectacles…please forgive me.”

  “I saw you leaving last night,” Ophelia said breathlessly. “I saw you in the hall at the top of the stairs. By the time I reached the bottom you were gone.”

  If only he’d turned around! “Funnily enough, I was outside speaking with Graves.”

  “I departed right after you did,” Ophelia said. “I could not bear to be there any longer knowing I had missed my last opportunity to see you. Graves took me home and I was going to give him a note for you, but it was late and I did not want to keep the horses out in the cold. I had no idea what to say. We were supposed to leave for Beckhamton this morning. Only Lady Olivia insisted Cousin Josephine and I dine with her for luncheon.”

  He shifted toward her and his knee touched hers. “I just came from the Hall to see you. I was invited to this luncheon, but I knew Lady Pen had decided to play matchmaker again. I knew it last night when she wanted me to dance with you. Had I only known.”

  He took up her hand and held it tightly. “Ophelia, I know we have only just met, and this may seem exceedingly forward, but I should like to get to know you better. I should like to share a future with you. May I speak with your family? Would they think it strange?”

  Ophelia smiled. “My lord…”

  “Thomas,” he said and brought her fingers to his lips.

  “Thomas, are you sure? You do not even know me.”

  “What is there to know? I fell in love with you the moment you insisted I not have your cape cleaned.” And he had. He knew it in his very soul.

  Ophelia smiled. “And I fell in love with you because you did.”

  Thomas placed his hand on Ophelia’s cheek and gazed deeply into her eyes. He leaned down and pressed his lips gently upon hers. The pounding of his heart ceased. He had never felt so sure about anything in his life.

  He leaned back and looked at her. “You have found my heart and made me whole again.”

  Desire, need, and the unexplainable yearning for each other left them both breathless as his lips sought hers once more. His fingers caressed her throat and wound their way into her hair. “Ophelia, dearest, I’m so glad I have found you,” he murmured.

  Her hands reached under his jacket and tugged on his shirt. Her breath came in little gasps. “Oh, Thomas. I am yours from this moment.”

  Insatiable hunger for her drove Thomas nearly over the edge and he broke off the kiss, panting.

  She gazed at him with pure adoration in her eyes, and then giggled. “As much as I cherish this time together, do you not think we should rejoin the others?”

  Thomas threw back his head and laughed. “Of course, if you wish. But I should say now, you will be returning with me, alone, in my carriage, to Cummings Hall.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Ophelia said.

  Thomas helped her up, and brought his lips to hers once more.

  And when they finished, they went to join the others for coffee and dessert.

  Epilogue

  On a warm sunny morning in late April, the Earl of Davingdale married Miss Ophelia Trent. Their wedding breakfast was held in the gardens of Cummings Hall.

  Uncle Harry beamed as he watched his great nephew find the happiness he hadn’t even known he’d been looking for.

  Thomas’s friends grinned at the good fortune of the earl and their wives wept with joy.

  Lady Olivia and Lady Cummings shared secret smiles throughout the day. It seemed their plan had worked.

  As always, this book is dedicated to my one and only Monster.

  *****

  This book could not have been written without the support and enthusiasm of my fabulous critique partners, Liza Carens Salerno, Bish Denham, and J. Bridget Chicoine, two of the best women friends I could ever have. Their sincere regard and determination to help me make this book the best it could be is gratefu
lly appreciated.

  *****

  Anne Gallagher grew up a voracious reader on the shores in Rhode Island hoping to be a famous author. Although, not famous yet, she continues to pen stories about love, her favorite subject.

  She lives in the Foothills of the Piedmont, with her daughter, three dogs, and a cat named Henry David Thoreau.

  You can find her at her author website http://annegallagherwriter.blogspot.com

  Or her writing blog at http://piedmontwriter.blogspot.com