Lady of a Recluse Earl

by Mirella Tinley

  “Blissfully so, Nora,” said Emmy with a smile.

  The wedding of Earl of Penryn Gilbert Langley and Viscount Nightingale’s daughter Miss Emmeline had been a wondrous event, despite the somewhat unorthodox circumstances under which it had come about.

  “I believe he will prove to be an excellent husband,” Nora said warmly, her eyes glancing toward where Gilbert was walking alongside Ambrose Wyndham, who had come up to the house for the evening meal. The two men were strolling on the lawns, their faces animated, looks of good humour resting across their features.

  Nora watched Ambrose closely, recalling the way he had looked at her at Emmy’s wedding. Although her sister had been the most exquisite creature in the room, Ambrose only had eyes for Nora. It troubled her.

  “I believe so too,” Emmy laughed, a knowing look on her face. “But you must know that none of this could have happened without you. Had you not carried the letters between us or listened when I needed someone to hear me, none of this would have come to pass. I am certain of it. I owe my happiness to you,” she said, clasping Nora’s hands tightly.

  Nora smiled. “I did what any sister would have done, Emmy. I am just glad I was not foolish enough to stand in your way, though you know I had my doubts about his suitability!” She laughed softly, though her heart was not entirely in it. Thoughts of returning to her cold, brutal husband and his home, Fallow Manor, were tarnishing every happy thought she had been having of late.

  With summer coming to a close, it would not be long before she had to leave her childhood home and return to married life. Where Davenham Park was warm and welcoming, Fallow Manor was grim and austere. She dreaded the very thought of it.

  “And now do you think him suitable?” Emmy asked, gazing adoringly at her new husband. “I mean, goodness, isn’t he handsome? I always knew he was, even undernourished and dressed in threadbare clothes, but after Mrs Harbour’s endeavours to see him fed properly, he is looking far more exquisite with each day that passes. I can barely keep my eyes off him!” she gushed, her cheeks flushing pink.

  Nora chuckled. “I imagine you are struggling to keep your hands off him, also! Don’t think I haven’t seen you stealing kisses in the hallways,” she teased. “Although, if Mama catches you she’ll move him to the opposite end of the house.”

  He was indeed a striking figure, tall and broad shouldered, with dark curls and piercing blue eyes. A handsome man by any standards, though from the way Emmy spoke of him anyone would have thought he was an Adonis. Nora always laughed at her sister’s enthusiasm, wishing she had a husband she could think so fondly of.

  “Nora, I am surprised at you! I shall have you know that the pair of us are entirely chaste,” Emmy replied with a wink.

  Nora laughed, knowing that could not be true given the true nature of the evening that had almost ruined Emmy’s reputation. Though nobody had ever found out what truly happened that evening entirely out of wedlock, Emmy had confided it all in Nora who had listened with bated breath, hardly daring to believe that a union could be filled with such affection and delight.

  Nora was just glad of their continued affection for one another, given the trouble they had come through to get to where they were now. Thanks to the love they shared and the revelation of Gilbert’s heritage, Emmy had been saved, and Nora had never been more grateful. Lord Nightingale still looked at Gilbert with a wary eye, though Lady Nightingale was simply delighted that she had both of her daughters married.

  “Have you thought of where you might reside?” Nora asked, her eyes straying toward Ambrose for a moment. She couldn’t deny he looked handsome in the golden light of the summer evening, his auburn hair glinting almost bronze, his green eyes flashing with irreverence.

  Emmy shook her head. “We thought we might continue on here a month or so more before returning to Beresford Hall. Gilbert’s family are eager to have him back, but his mind is still not where it ought to be,” she explained. “Also, I believe Mrs Wyndham has asked that he stay a while longer.”

  Nora nodded. Mrs Wyndham lived in the neighbouring house of Whitecroft Abbey; she was the mother of Gilbert’s fallen comrade and Ambrose’s older brother, Albion Wyndham. Nora could see the house from where they sat, the building looming across the woods and up the hill, the flame Mrs Wyndham always lit for the deceased Albion still flickering in the far-right window. His death had hit her hard, and she was still struggling under the grief. Ambrose often came with news of her despair, and it broke Nora’s heart to hear it.

  Especially after the wedding of Emmy and Gilbert, she had been particularly desolate. Nora believed Mrs Wyndham had always held out hope that Lady Nightingale would relent and allow Emmy to marry one of her other sons, Ambrose or Archibald, the youngest. Her marriage to Gilbert sputtered out that small flame. Nor did it help matters that Gilbert had served at Waterloo with Albion, meaning he now served as a daily reminder of what Mrs Wyndham had lost. Indeed, it was the very reason Gilbert had come to Davenham Park in the first place. It had been Albion’s last request that he watch over his family, the Wyndhams. Still, she would not have him leave on her account. In fact, she seemed comforted and pained in equal measure by the presence of one who was so close to her son.

  “So things are progressing well between the two of you?” Nora quipped, though there was a shyness in her tone. Without knowing the true affection that love brought to a marital union, she knew she could not comment on it as she would have wished to.

  Emmy smiled. “I believe there may soon be the pitter-patter of tiny feet, though it is likely too soon to say,” she whispered conspiratorially.

  The news was like a blow to Nora’s heart. She was happy for her sister, endlessly happy, but what Emmy spoke of was something she longed to have for herself. With children, she felt she could better endure her loveless, violent marriage. They would provide the light at the end of a very dark, unforgiving tunnel. With seeing her sister so happily wed and suspecting a child was on the way, Nora could not help but feel the smallest pang of envy.

  “I am so delighted for you, Emmy,” Nora gushed, though the happiness did not quite reach her eyes. “I wish you every happiness!”

  Emmy’s face clouded over with a wave of sadness. “Listen to me, chattering on about my endless bliss. Oh, Nora, you must think me the biggest, most selfish fool in all the land,” she sighed, gripping Nora’s hand tighter in apology. “Is it long before you return to Fallow Manor? Is there no way you can entice that brute to let you stay?”

  Nora shook her head miserably. “He has already sent several letters requesting my return before the month is out. I could perhaps steal another week in your company, leaving upon the first week of September, but that is all. I must return—there is no preventing it,” she murmured, wishing she did not have to.

  That brute was Baron Hugh Hodge, Nora’s lawfully wedded husband. It had been a marriage arranged by Lady Nightingale, which Nora had been forced to go through with. To begin, it hadn’t been so bad, but then his temper had revealed itself, and things had never been the same again.

  In truth, she dreaded returning, knowing it would mean further suffering. Davenham Park was her sanctuary, but her time here was running out. She did not wish to think of the repercussions she would endure when she finally did return to Fallow Manor if she stayed too long.

  “Might I write to him and request you remain here until Gilbert and I return to Beresford Hall? I could explain to him that I believe myself to be with child and would very much appreciate the presence of my eldest sister,” Emmy said hopefully, her dark eyes wide like saucers. Nora could see faith brimming within them and wished she could share her sister’s eternal optimism. Everything had turned out well for her, and though Nora did not resent it one bit, she longed for a slice of that good fortune.

  “I believe it would fall on deaf ears, Emmy, though I thank you for your thoughtfulness,” Nora replied sorrowfully, though she tried to keep the despair out of her voice.

  Once again, her
eyes turned toward Ambrose, who had stopped to look at the horizon. Slowly, he turned over his shoulder and glanced back at her, their eyes connecting for the merest moment before Nora dropped her gaze. It was improper for her to look at another man that way, though she did not think she had ever looked at her husband Hugh with such affection. She had tried on the day of their wedding, but he had not even bothered to turn toward her as she walked down the aisle. She realised she should have known then what a disaster their union would be.

  “I wish I could do something, Nora,” Emmy murmured hopelessly. She knew as well as Nora did that there was nothing anyone could do.

  “I shall return before you know it, Emmy,” Nora promised. “It will be Christmastide, and all will be well with the world. Snow shall fall upon the grounds, and we shall walk across the fresh blanket of it until there is no place left untrodden.” She forced a smile onto her lips, though her heart felt heavy.

  Just then, the two men wandered over to where Nora and Emmy sat. They were smiling, their cheeks rosy with the exertion of the walk. Gilbert was still building up his strength after so long living off the meagre portions and stagnant lifestyle of a hermit, but Mrs Harbour’s hearty food and constant plates of cake and pastries combined with daily constitutionals seemed to be doing him the world of good. If Nora squinted in the golden evening light, she could almost picture him the way her sister did. Even so, her eyes were ever drawn to Ambrose.

  “Might I entice Lady Langley toward a turn about the grounds before the light goes entirely?” Gilbert asked, a coy smile turning up the corners of his mouth as he held out his hand toward Emmy. She took it eagerly before slipping her arm through his and leaning her head against his shoulder.

  “Of course you may, my lord,” she chuckled, delighting in the name. Nora grinned as she watched them go, though they had not thought to offer a farewell—they were too wrapped up in the throes of newlywed joy to remember there was anyone else in the world but them.

  It had happened several times since the wedding, with Nora often left to her own devices. Not that she minded. Indeed, she revelled in peaceful solitude. However, from time to time company was preferable, and in that time Nora’s one salvation had been Ambrose Wyndham. Most days, he had found a reason to be at the house, often seeking her out so they might take a walk, or read together, or converse by the fireside in the library.

  She knew she would be sorry to leave him once the summer was finished.

  Preview of next book…

  Lady of a Rogue Lord

  Chapter 2

  Ambrose Wyndham had been in love with Honora Nightingale for as long as he could remember. He could never bring himself to refer to her as Lady Hodge. The name stuck in his throat, though he knew he had to use it.

  As children, he had been delighted by her charm and good humour, which had only continued into adulthood.

  As soon as they were of age, Ambrose had braced himself for the news that Honora was to be betrothed to his older brother, Albion, but the engagement had never come. Instead, it had been Emmeline who had been betrothed to Albion, with Lady Nightingale evidently holding out for a richer match for her eldest daughter. It had given Ambrose hope that he might somehow woo her, but the opportunity had never arisen.

  When the letter came inviting the Wyndhams to the wedding of Honora Nightingale and Baron Hugh Hodge, he had known his chances were dashed.

  A year had passed since then, but it did not get any easier. After learning that Hugh sought delight in hurting Honora, it took all he had not to strike Hugh whenever the pair of them met in polite society. To be given such a gift and seek to destroy it—he could not understand it and did not wish to.

  The summer had been one of the happiest he had ever had, due to being permitted close proximity to Honora. With her now married, it was more acceptable for the pair of them to speak in private with no chaperones, and nobody suspected a thing. Not that there was anything to suspect. Ambrose did not allow himself to believe that Honora could ever share his affections, though he was happy to entertain the idea in daydream when the moment arose.

  He pictured her by his side, her arm looped through his, the way Lord and Lady Langley now walked in their wondrous reverie of new love. The thought made him flush, as he knew he should not think in such a manner. It was not proper of him… and yet he could not help himself. He knew he could be a far better husband to Honora than Hugh, but he also knew he would never have such an opportunity.

  The most he could hope for was their continued friendship, with their cosy afternoons spent in deep conversation or in discussion over a book they had both recently read. He adored their walks in the grounds with her hand upon his. Although she usually wore gloves, he liked to pretend he could feel the smooth porcelain of her skin against his.

  Smiling, he sat down on the bench beside her and gazed upon the happy couple, who were disappearing into the horizon. The bell would ring for dinner soon, calling them back, but until then he and Honora had a moment to themselves.

  “They look blissfully happy, do they not, Lady Hodge?” he said softly.

  She laughed quietly. “My sister has just said that precise thing, Mr Wyndham.”

  “I think they may be the most content couple I have ever seen,” Ambrose continued, feeling pleased and envious in equal measure. With his mother still so occupied by his brother’s death and his father wandering about the house like a ghost, there had been no room for matches or potential wives over the past year, not that he would have welcomed them even if they had come his way.

  “I think you may be right, Mr Wyndham,” Honora murmured, though Ambrose could detect a tight, woeful quality in her voice. He knew it must be difficult for her to watch her younger sister bathing in such joy whilst she suffered in silence.

  “Did I hear you say you had plans to return to Fallow Manor soon, Lady Hodge?” Ambrose asked, dreading the answer.

  She nodded. “I return at summer’s end, Mr Wyndham. My husband has already called me back, though I am hopeful of gaining an extra week here,” she replied, her face unbearably sad. All Ambrose wanted to do was comfort her, but he knew he could not—it was not his place.

  “I shall be sorry to see you go, Lady Hodge. I have enjoyed our summer days together,” he said boldly, hoping she wouldn’t mind.

  For the first time that evening, he saw a genuine smile rise to her lips, her eyes glittering with something other than held-back tears. “I have enjoyed our summer days together, too, dear Mr Wyndham,” she murmured shyly. “Indeed, it is excellent to see yourself and Lord Langley getting on so well after your initial disagreements,” she ventured, the elation quickly fading. It pained Ambrose to see it go—she had no doubt realised she had spoken much too honestly.

  “He is an excellent gentleman, Lady Hodge. I am most glad to have met him. I believe we have the makings of a firm friendship, especially if he is to remain at Davenham Park a while longer,” Ambrose replied, wanting to bring the joy back to her face.

  “You no longer desire to take up pistols against him, Mr Wyndham?” she teased.

  He smiled. “Not unless he is hiding further secrets and hidden identities. Indeed, he has brought several piles of letters and a journal to the house which have brought my mother immeasurable peace of mind. I think she finds comfort in reading them, imagining his voice recounting the tales within.”

  Ambrose thought back to the first encounter he and Gilbert had had, several months before, in which a discrepancy over a ring bearing Albion’s initials had concluded in an ill-fated duel that almost saw Gilbert on death’s door.

  Ambrose understood now why Gilbert had not explained how he had come to have the ring, given the fact he wanted to keep his true identity secret so as not to reopen the wound of Albion’s death amongst the Wyndham family. The poor man did not realise then that the wound of Albion’s death would likely never close.

  But the two men had forgiven one another, and Ambrose had come to find Gilbert a very agreeable gentleman
with a wise mind and a keen wit. Indeed, when he was not out with his new wife, he was invariably by Ambrose’s side indulging in discussion. Although it was not always about Albion, he did often come up in conversation. Ambrose wished to know more about Albion’s time on the battlefield, and Gilbert wished to know more about Albion’s time at home before soldierly duties had taken him away.

  Ambrose could tell that Gilbert still felt a twist of guilt at having married the fiancée of his former comrade. However, Ambrose often sought to assure him that it was the best conclusion for all, and Albion would have seen the funny side.

  Had the roles been reversed, he would likely have done the same thing. Albion had always had a way with women, though he was loyal with his affections.

  “And how is young Mr Archibald Wyndham these days? I do not believe I have seen him since the ball at the beginning of the season. Is he well?” Honora asked, turning to Ambrose, her dark eyes looking up into his.