by Joan Vincent
“Of course, my lord. My office is this way.” Sir Aderly motioned forward.
“Ballin, Miss—Mrs. Ballin please?” he looked at them impatiently.
Both started, then stepped aside and let the two men pass.
“I told ye all would be well,” Ballin whispered, giving his wife a pinch.
“Mr. Ballin,” Mrs. Bea protested.
“Does little good to complain ye don’t enjoy it now. Experience tells me otherwise,” he teased her.
Colour surged to her cheeks. “Wait until we are alone, Mr. Ballin,” she attempted a scold.
“Aye, I’ll do that,” he said and winked, “willingly.”
Mrs. Bea reddened even more and waved a hand irritably as she walked away from him. A wide smile came to her lips as soon as her back was to him.
* * * *
“I heard that Mr. Ballin and Miss Strowne had married,” Greydon commented as the two men entered Aderly’s office.
“Yes, shortly after we returned home.” Sir Maurice smiled. “We were pleased for both of them.”
“You might wish to know Patrick Darby is on the continent now. I doubt he’ll ever return. Lord and Lady Darby were able to keep a small portion of the estate when it was sold and do not lack for necessities.”
“I had wondered about the outcome. I must thank you once again for dealing with the matter. Be seated. Please.” Aderly motioned to a chair across from his as he sat behind his desk.
“Why have you come, Lord Greydon?” he asked bluntly.
“I wish to ask Audacia to marry me,” the earl replied with equal candour.
“Do you have reason to think she is amenable to such an offer?”
“None, sir. I have come with little hope.”
“Have you not considered she might consent because of gratitude?” Aderly questioned, watching him closely.
“The thought is not foreign to me but I do not believe Audacia would do that. At least not without making it plain to me.” He smiled wryly. “She is not one to mince words.”
“How well I know that,” Sir Maurice chuckled, and then became serious once more. “On the occasion of Squire Webster’s marriage to your sister one could not help noticing how aloof you held yourself from Audacia. I know that no letter in your hand has come here and she has written you none—is this not true?”
“Yes, sir.” Greydon had the urge to squirm under this father’s questioning stare.
“For over two months no communication has been exchanged and yet you are here to offer for her hand in marriage? Is this not a strange way to pursue a courtship, my lord?”
Greydon coughed and cleared his throat. “I believe . . . believe . . . Well,” he made a new attempt. “There was much I had to reason through before my mind was clear. Audacia had made several points rather painfully clear and they had to be resolved before I felt free to come to her.
I believe that I have been the cause of some pain to her. It is not my desire to add to this. If you think it best, I will go without seeing her, and never attempt to do so again.”
Sir Aderly saw the impassive visage but noted the pain in the man’s eyes and voice. “I believe you mean it, Lord Greydon. And respect you for it, whatever my thoughts have been on your behaviour in regard to Audacia. That is between the two of you.” He paused and rubbed his chin.
“You do realize the tale of my wife’s benefice to Audacia was greatly exaggerated? In truth, almost all is gone.”
“I do. It is of no import.”
“I know not what answer she shall give but I wish you the best of luck,” Sir Aderly said. He stood, a new twinkle in his eyes. “If you’ve enough daring to want to brave life with my Audee—well, God bless.”
“Thank you, Sir Aderly.” Roland pumped his hand enthusiastically. “When may I see her?”
“You can await her return—an hour or so hence, I would say.”
“Is she out walking?”
“Yes, but suitably garbed this time.” Sir Maurice winked. “I think you might know the spot she frequents. It is not far from the squire’s gamekeeper’s cottage, I’m told.”
Roland shook Aderly’s hand with renewed vigour. “Thank you,” he said again.
“Be off with you. What are you waiting for?” Aderly laughed and continued to chuckle as Greydon strode from the room and broke into a run as he left the house.
* * * *
Sitting beneath the leafless tree beside the lazy river, Audacia reread Lady Lucille’s letter. More had been said of Greydon than she had told her father. Now she absorbed it word by word, even as she considered his cold, hard stance at the squire’s wedding, aloof only to her. She had longed to reach out and touch him that day. Longed to offer comfort and ached to be held and comforted by him.
The few days she had remained in London with her father after the wedding had passed hope-filled for sight of him, for a note or word. He had not appeared. None had come.
Audacia leaned her head against the bare trunk and closed her eyes. Incident after incident flashed before her. Roland proud, angry, teasing, amused, enigmatic. She slipped into a half-sleep filled with dreams.
* * * *
Running carried Greydon well into the trees. As he neared his destination, he slowed his steps. Roland saw some purple heart’s ease. Their soft violet fragrance reminded him of Audacia and he picked a bouquet for her.
With hesitant steps Greydon arrived at the river. His heart fell as his eyes swept the empty area about him. It soared when he at last spied Audacia at the foot of the lifeless tree in gentle sleep.
Noiselessly he approached and drank his fill of the raven locks, long enough now to curl softly about her neck. A silent oath filled him when he noted her thinness.
A step from Audacia Roland went down on one knee and gently laid the bouquet of heart’s ease in her lap.
At the sense of someone’s nearness, Audacia opened her eyes. “How lovely,” she breathed dreamily as she took in the delicate beauty of the wildflowers. Cupping the violet blossoms in her hands, she breathed in their sweet fragrance. Slowly, her eyes looked further to the figure before her.
Several minutes passed as the two simply gazed as if to take their fill before the vision of the other could fade.
“Your beauty,” Roland said at last, “is as delicate, as fair as this posy I offer. Only the flowers of the woodland can match your looks.”
“It was you, then,” Audacia said softly, “who sent the wildflowers for my first soiree. Why did you not acknowledge them?”
“I feared you would not wear them had you known their source,” Roland said and sat beside her.
Audacia looked down at the blossoms. “You judged me too well. I was an overgrown child too filled with my own importance to see—”
“No,” Greydon said, laying a finger across her lips. “This is not the Audacia I know.” He looked at her closely as he removed it.
“I hope she is gone forever,” she whispered but a shadow of her former spirit crept into Audacia’s words.
“My life would be oppressively dull if that is true.” Roland said tenderly.
“You make fun of me, my lord?” she questioned, doubt and pain dull in her eyes.
“Am I to be drowned if I am guilty? Look, the river awaits me,” he teased.
Doubt persisted.
“My dearest Audacia. My love. Dare I hope you return some small part of what I hold in my heart for you?”
A great joy began in the depths of her heart. It showed first in her eyes, and then swept over her face.
Roland crushed Audacia to him, easing his hold only to allow their lips to meet. Long moments later, he drew back. “You forgive me?”
“Forgive you? You have done nothing. It is I who was ever rude and thankless.” Audacia smiled and hungrily drew him to her.
“This shall never suit,” Roland said shakily some time later. He rose and held out his hand to assist her. “Let us walk. Do not look so crushed, my love,” he chided her. “I am but
a man. Geoffrey and Lucille do not return for two days more.”
“What have they to do with us?” she ask taking the hand he offered.
“If they are to be our witnesses we must await their presence.”
“Witnesses? But?”
“I have brought a special license.”
“So certain of me, were you?” Audacia tossed back saucily.
“I knew only that I dared not let you escape. Audacia, you will never know what a torture these past months have been. When the truth of your words finally sank through this thick-headed dolt—well, I cannot describe how I felt. No more than I can tell you the depth of my love.”
“How glib my lord is,” she tossed back, her former spirit returning.
Roland grinned. “I’ll not be baited,” he laughed. “But listen to what I have done. I know you shall be pleased. We have several factories—”
“My lord is also rich. Shall I value him more?”
“Listen to me, imp. I have arranged for amputees to be trained for what work they are capable and offered them cottages and a small piece of land suitable for gardens. If this proves successful in a small way, then there are many who can be aided in this manner.
“There are so many proposals I have in mind. My father is to introduce a bill in the next Parliament—”
“Parliament?”
“Yes, and I am going to try for a seat in the Commons. If I succeed—”
“Now my lord is too busy for his family, if indeed he has time to father one,” Audacia noted in mock seriousness.
“In order to sire a family one must have a wife,” Roland returned in like vein.
A pensive frown came to Audacia’s face and she peered solemnly around the earl at the slowly flowing river.
“By the lord above,” he expostulated, “what meaning am I to take from this?”
“Oh, I was merely wondering if the water was deep enough.”
“This bodes ill.” Roland raised his eyes skyward.
“Drowning is not too mild a punishment for a gentleman who speaks of special licenses—love—and then launches into plans for reform. Not that this lady is unwilling to listen. She is immensely pleased and proud of what he has done and means to do. Oh, yes.” She nodded her head.
“But a proposal of marriage would be much more suited to his earlier protestations. “What should one do with such a dolt?” she teased.
Roland gently cupped her face. “Marry him,” he urged.
Audacia’s response as their lips met assured him she would willingly comply.
To Patty and Clayton
for
“Joan Vincent”
Copyright © 1982 by Joan C. Wesolowsky
Originally published by Dell Candlelight Regency Special (0440102286)
Electronically published in 2006 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
