The Wedding Season

by Deborah Hale

  His chest felt empty, as if his heart had been ripped out and left at Devon Hall. Indeed it had been. And all he had to carry home was the memory of Miss Elizabeth’s sweet face gazing up at him in trust that he would secure the right to propose to her. But he’d failed.

  What else could he have said to Captain Moberly? It wasn’t in him to lie and certainly not about a matter as serious as releasing Whitson from his debt. And why should he? So the scoundrel could be liberated to find some other family to cheat?

  Still, Philip would have been pleased to be a part of Captain Moberly’s family. Beyond the exquisite Miss Elizabeth, there was the kind, warm Mrs. Moberly, who spent many days in Portsmouth ministering to poor wounded sailors who’d served England and then been cast aside when no longer useful. There was gentle Miss Prudence, a good friend to her cousin. There was Jamie, the witty scamp who would grow into a good man like his father. Philip had actually entertained thoughts of introducing him to Lucy once her heart mended. And then the captain himself who, despite his stand on Whitson, would make a worthy replacement for Philip’s own father, giving sage advice about countless matters large and small. He had lost them all.

  Something nagged in the back of his brain. Ah, yes. The biblical play about the unforgiving servant. The evening the children had performed it, he’d suspected collusion within the family against him. But he could not credit that thought and still respect them as true, good-hearted Christians. No, it had been an innocent bit of entertainment with no more plan behind it than the play about the lame man. After all, in the play, the unforgiving servant had owed a great debt to his master. But what misdeed could be laid at Philip’s feet that he should be indebted to any man? Had he not spent his entire life choosing the good and the right thing to do? Was he not now planning to assume unwanted duties God had ordained for him? To whom did he owe anything? No one.

  And yet…

  The truth came crashing down upon him like a thundering ocean wave, and he nearly drowned in the force of it.

  “Homer!” He thumped his cane against the roof of the carriage and felt the horses slow.

  “Aye, milord?” the driver called down.

  “Turn around, man. We’re going back to Devon Hall.”

  Elizabeth could not believe Sophie’s words. Nor could she believe Di’s sober agreement. The sisters sat side by side on the parlor settee, a picture of grief.

  “But how can you countenance such a thing?” Pru asked.

  “Don’t you see?” Di appeared close to tears on her sister’s behalf, exhibiting a rare concern for someone other than herself. “Whatever Mr. Whitson may have done, he truly loves Sophie. I have seen it myself.”

  “And you will be pleased to know—” Sophie dabbed at her tears with a silk handkerchief “—he has acknowledged that what he did was wrong. Why, he has even spoken with Mr. Smythe-Wyndham about the danger his actions may have posed to his immortal soul.” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

  “Please, Beth dear, implore your Mr. Lindsey to devise a payment plan whereby we can return the ten thousand to him over time rather than putting my dear Gregory in prison.” She sniffed, and somehow her tear-covered face seemed almost pretty. Perhaps it was true love.

  Elizabeth swallowed her own tears. “If it were possible, I would do so. But Papa has forbidden me to write to him.” And had been far too attentive these past two days for her to run away. Not that she planned to—not seriously, anyway. She knew her Mr. Lindsey to be an honorable man who held her father in great respect. He would not approve of her traveling to his side against her father’s wishes.

  The glow faded from Sophie’s face, but she gripped Di’s hand. “At least one of us has good news.”

  “Aha.” Pru sat up straighter. “Mr. Redding.”

  Di blushed prettily. “Yes. And Papa has agreed.”

  Elizabeth and Pru both left their seats to offer congratulatory embraces and many more tears.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Di said. “He does not possess a title, but he is a gentleman.” Her cheeks remained a rosy hue. “I freely confess that his father was a merchant who gained his wealth during the American rebellion. There, I said it. Now tease me as much as you wish.”

  Elizabeth could find no cause for teasing. If one of her cousins could find happiness, what did the man’s rank matter? In fact, some titled men like Lord Chiselton considered themselves above the laws of decency and propriety, reason enough to abandon her former goal. No, she wished only to marry her ordinary gentleman, a far superior man to any other. But unless he and her father could resolve the discord between them, such a dream could not come true.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The midmorning sun broke through the trees and turned the long driveway into a mottled carpet leading to Bennington Manor. The air smelled fresh and clean, with summer scents of hay and roses wafting into Philip’s coach and clearing his head.

  Yesterday, after he’d ordered his coachman to turn around, he’d reconsidered his destination, for he must deal with a matter of grave importance before seeing Captain Moberly. Never had he been so certain his actions were right.

  At the door, a younger butler greeted him. Philip worried about old Blevins until he saw that worthy soul standing by, perhaps training the new man.

  “I’ve come to see Lord Bennington, if you please.”

  The butler eyed him up and down without expression, and Philip briefly wished for a mirror to check his appearance. Wilkes had done his best to groom him at the inn this morning—

  He dismissed such silly thoughts and straightened his posture.

  “Please tell him Lord Lydney is here.” He managed not to stutter over this first use of his title, but indeed it did feel strange on his tongue.

  The man blinked. “Yes, milord.” After a glance at Blevins, whose stony face didn’t change, he took Philip’s hat and led him into the drawing room, a bright chamber well-lit by sunshine beaming in through tall windows.

  The fragrance of lavender in a dozen vases filled the air, while an abundance of artwork captured his attention. Most prominent were the statues of Zeus and Hera guarding the giant hearth and a large painting of a battle above the mantelpiece. In the center rode a man on horseback, and from his clothing, Philip assumed he was George II defending his Hanoverian throne against Stuart forces. Behind the king rode another black-haired soldier who looked very much like Captain Moberly. Perhaps it was his father, the previous Lord Bennington.

  “Ah, Lydney.” Bennington entered the room with one hand outstretched. “Welcome back.”

  Philip accepted the greeting, noting the older man’s weak handshake. “Good morning, Bennington.” How hard it was not to say “my lord.”

  “Well, I must assume you’ve come to cart off the thief.” Bennington’s thick, gray eyebrows bent into a frown. “Shall I send for him?”

  Philip hadn’t prepared exactly how to execute this battle, so, staring up at the late king’s portrait, he quickly devised a strategy.

  “Yes, if you would be so good.”

  Bennington winced but rang for a footman. “Bring Whitson.” He waved Philip to a chair. “Won’t you be seated?”

  “I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind.”

  The older man breathed out a long sigh. “And if you don’t mind, I believe I shall sit.” He eased his well-fed body into a wooden, thronelike chair with red cushions. Around his light blue eyes, a red rim indicated some deep emotion. But whether it was grief or anger, Philip could not tell.

  Whitson entered the room in a halting gait as if approaching the gallows. “Mr. Lindsey, I am at your disposal.” His pale face exuded no fear, only misery, and perhaps a touch of resigned courage.

  His address confused Philip. A glance at Bennington, who shrugged, gave him no satisfaction. Had the earl seen fit to keep his title a secret? That was all the better for Philip’s plan, for he wouldn’t want his rank to influence this situation or intimidate his adversary.

  “G
ood morning, Mr. Whitson.” Lord, give me the words You would have me speak. “I’ve come to tell you that I’ve forgiven your debt.” Behind him, he heard Bennington gasp.

  Whitson swayed. “Sir?”

  Philip swallowed, and his eyes burned. “As Christ has forgiven my sins with no demand for any works on my part, so I forgive you with no expectation of repayment.”

  Whitson stared at him, his mouth working but no sound coming forth. At last he found his voice. “Oh, thank God. I thank You, God.” The man fell to his knees, his face in his hands. “I did not dare to pray for this, only for your mercy.” He gripped Philip’s hand. “I will be your servant, sir. Somehow I will repay the debt.”

  Every part of Philip cringed at Whitson’s words and actions, but it would be arrogant to shake him off. “Stand up, man.” He gripped Whitson’s elbow and lifted, almost dragging him to a chair. “You need not repay me. It was never about the money but rather, your deceit.” And my own pride over falling for your scheme. What was ten thousand pounds when he considered his recent inheritance? Not quite a trifle, but near it. “You may be certain that should you attempt another scheme of this nature, I shall prosecute you to the full extent of the law.”

  Whitson nodded feverishly. “Yes, I see. Of course. But I never meant to deceive either you or Miss Lindsey. She is a delightful creature, so kind and good and beautiful and accomplished. It seemed an advantageous match. My intention was to use the dowry money, which you so liberally provided, to make my own business connections in London so that I could provide for Miss Lindsey in the long term rather than rely on your generosity. An old schoolfellow of mine named Rigsby vouched for me at Almack’s.” He paused to gulp in air and breathed out a strangled laugh. “How was I to know I would meet a remarkable woman of like interests as myself and fall madly in love with her?” A look at Bennington. “Lady Sophia and I are two halves of a whole.”

  Surprised—and a bit worn out from Whitson’s lengthy self-justification—Philip nevertheless understood the concept of unexpectedly falling in love with a remarkable woman. He prayed Whitson wasn’t once again deceiving them all. But that wasn’t his responsibility, rather, God’s.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Philip gave Bennington a slight bow.

  The old man rose from the chair with the vigor of a twenty-year-old. He strode to Philip and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Will you not stay and share our midday repast?”

  “No, thank you, milord.” He couldn’t smother a tiny smirk.

  Bennington chuckled, his pale eyes now bright with good humor and perhaps even joy. “You cannot keep it a secret forever,” he whispered. “The newspapers, servants, gossip, etc.”

  “No, sir. But let me enjoy my privacy a bit longer.”

  Bennington still held his shoulder and now gave it a slight shake. “You are an extraordinary man, my friend. I am more than a little pleased to have met you and look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”

  “May I return the compliment?”

  During this exchange, Whitson’s eyes shot back and forth between them, but no comprehension registered there. “Mr. Lindsey.” He approached Philip. “You have given me back my life. Whether or not Lord Bennington gives me his daughter, I have much to repent of and much to be grateful for.” He reached out a trembling hand.

  Without hesitation, Philip shook it, feeling a freedom of spirit he had not experienced since he first learned of the man’s plans to marry Lady Sophia.

  As he made his way to his carriage, he treasured the sense of satisfaction filling his heart. But another more gratifying emotion swept into both heart and mind: his love for dear Miss Elizabeth. For now he must obtain Captain Moberly’s permission to marry her…or die trying.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “My thread keeps tangling.” Seated in a parlor chair across from Mama, Elizabeth tugged on her needle, but a knot kept it from pulling through the fabric.

  “It’s too long.” Mama paused in her own sewing and eyed the blue floss. “Don’t be so impatient to finish.”

  Feeling like a child just learning to sew, Elizabeth used the point of her needle to loosen the knot. “I do not understand why Papa would not let me go with Pru to visit Di and Sophie.”

  “Don’t you?” Mama’s dark eyes searched hers, a gentle yet knowing smile softening the lines of her face.

  So Elizabeth’s suspicions were correct. Her parents had somehow divined her initial intention to follow Mr. Lindsey. What they failed to discover, however, was that she had discarded the plan. Now she would never see him again, and her heart ached inconsolably.

  But whether or not her parents trusted her, the experience of being tempted to do something she believed to be wrong and yet refusing to actually do it had made her stronger. Perhaps even more mature.

  “You’re right, Mama.” She snipped her thread with silver shears and began again with a smaller length. “I have been too impatient.” This time, she had no tangling, and the monogram was quickly done.

  Pru would return home to her parents soon and had not yet finished her handkerchiefs. Completing the task was the least Elizabeth could do for her favorite cousin, whose counsel had refined her own faith. As exemplified by Elizabeth’s former desire for a titled husband and the calamity such a dream almost caused, at last she grasped the truth that no earthly object was worth having if the Lord did not will it for her. Not even the man she longed to marry.

  “There. P for Prudence.” She lifted a silent prayer of thanks for the prudence her cousin had imparted to her, but also asked the Lord to ease her heartache.

  “Do not mention my title to the captain’s staff.” Philip’s gaze took in his three servants, all of whom appeared wounded. Or disappointed. “This is important to me.”

  After receiving their resigned agreement, Philip climbed into his coach. As certain as he’d been before visiting Bennington Manor, his nerves now wound tight with uncertainty. Never had six miles gone by so slowly as the trip back to Devon Hall, where either bliss or doom awaited him.

  But soon enough, he found himself standing once again before Captain Moberly’s desk. The strange, intimidating glint in the man’s eyes threatened to undo him, but for Miss Elizabeth’s sake, he plunged ahead.

  “Sir, I have been a Pharisee.”

  The glint vanished, replaced by a friendlier light. “Indeed?”

  “While it is true I’ve always endeavored to do right by every man, no one can be perfect, for pride over one’s supposed righteousness is the worst of all sins.” He exhaled a quiet laugh. “As God forgives my pride, I must forgive my adversary for his offense against me.”

  The captain appeared about to speak, so Philip rushed ahead.

  “The Lord claims the right to vengeance, and I will no longer usurp His authority. I have absolved Whitson of his debt. He will not only not go to prison, but he need not repay a…a farthing.”

  Moberly’s mouth hung open for several seconds. “You need not have forgiven the debt, just given him time to repay it.”

  “No, sir.” Philip would not be deterred. “This is what the Lord wants me to do.”

  The captain came close to smiling, and warmth filled his gaze. “Well done, my boy. Or should I say—” He stopped and shook his head. “Is there anything else you would like to say?”

  Philip shuffled his feet. He couldn’t bear another rejection. “Sir, I love your daughter. May I have your permission to propose to her?”

  Now the captain gave him a full, welcoming smile. “You may.”

  Relief dropped Philip into a chair, yet he pulled together enough strength to fully lay his heart out before Moberly. “I will see to her every need, whether spiritual or material. The Almighty has blessed me with more than enough wealth to care for a wife and children, should He grant them to us.”

  Moberly chuckled. “So I have heard.”

  “You know?” Philip gripped the arms of the chair. “But do you know I have no desire for this elevation?”

/>   “Yes. Bennington told me.” The captain held his gaze. “Your very reluctance will make you a better leader. You will weigh issues with more equity if you have no personal ambitions. And think of the good works you can accomplish.”

  “Perhaps so.” The thought encouraged Philip, but he did not wish to pursue the subject. Not now, at least. “Sir, if you have no objection, may I see Miss Elizabeth?” His heart began to hammer.

  Moberly answered by ringing for a footman. “Tell Miss Elizabeth she is wanted in the library.” He nodded to Philip and left the room on the heels of the servant.

  Dizzy with relief and excitement, Philip paced the length of the room for what seemed an eternity.

  And then, there she stood in the doorway, radiant in her pretty blue dress that turned her eyes into shining sapphires.

  And then, she was in his arms, warm, soft, trusting…and all was well.

  “Oh!” Elizabeth jumped backed. “Forgive me, Mr. Lindsey. I was overcome with…with…” Oh, my, how good it had felt to be in his arms for that brief, audacious moment.

  His gentle gaze, filled with love and amusement, imparted a reassurance to her that she had done nothing amiss.

  “Well, then.” He grasped her hands. “I hope you will be as pleased as I am to know your father has consented to our marriage.” Doubt flitted across his eyes. “That is, if you still want—”

  Relief and joy bubbled up within her. “Of course I do. I am yours, Mr. Lindsey, to have and to hold, um, once our wedding vows are completed.”

  Now he laughed, and she enjoyed the way his face brightened. Too soon, he sobered again.

  “Before you fully consent, you must know something. I cannot think to offer you a life you may find displeasing.”

  “Oh, do not be concerned. I shall be as happy in Gloucestershire as ever I have been here at home.” Or would have been in London. “As long as we are together.”

  His pleasure beamed only briefly from his handsome face. “Do you recall when I received word my distant cousin had died?”