“No,” a strident voice intoned. “No, no, no, no. No!”
For the first time since she’d met her, Minerva finally agreed with Lady Creighton.
“Minerva.”
Quiet. So quiet, dark, and deep, his voice rolled through her like thunder in the darkest night. It would have been quite romantic had it not been accompanied by a horse breathing down her neck. The silence in the church turned her blood cold and then blazing hot.
How dare he! He didn’t bother to show up for his own wedding to her and now he trots into the church to disrupt her wedding to the most eligible earl in England. Minerva shoved her bouquet at Aphrodite. She untied the ribbons of her dainty bonnet and turned around with it clutched in her hand. Of all the arrogant—
“Hello, Lovey,” Edward piped up. “Mama, look its Colonel Brightworth. His horse’s name is Lovey.” A collective chuckle made the rounds of the wedding guests.
“Lovey,” Minerva ran her hand down the white mare’s face. She handed her bonnet to Ditey to keep it from being eaten. When she had no choice at all, she looked up at the man who had ridden his horse up the aisle of the village church.
Unfair, Sebastian. Monumentally unfair.
He was dressed in his cavalry uniform; the same one he’d worn to ride away from her nine years ago. He was doubly handsome now, a man full grown and commanding beyond all reason. Not even a hint of doubt or embarrassment did he show, only a calm assurance she found frightening and more than a little alluring. She should be entirely too old to go weak at the knees at a handsome hero riding to her rescue. On a white horse, no less. She should be.
“You owe me nothing, Minerva. Not a moment of your time or an ounce of forgiveness.”
“She certainly does not,” Lady Creighton rose from the pew and glared at Sebastian in unholy fury. “You will get that beast out of this church at once, Colonel Brightworth. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Finally found them, if you ask me.” This from Lord Fitzhugh.
“Mother, sit down and stubble it.”
Minerva stifled a laugh. Sebastian smiled. It was the smile she remembered. The one of the young lieutenant who had seduced her under the stars. And she wanted to believe it. She truly did, but how could she trust him after all he’d done?
“Sebastian, why are you here?” It hurt to breathe. It hurt to ask because she could not think of a single reason he could give that would make all the heartache and lies between them right.
“To defend myself against your charges.”
“My charges?” This was not a conversation she’d ever imagined having with him. Let alone having it in the middle of her wedding to his best friend. In front of a large portion of the ton and no less a person than Fitzwilliam Darcy, who appeared to be taking notes?
“You said I stole your heart.”
Minerva gasped softly and pressed her hands to her mouth.
“You have never lied to me, so it must be true.” He looked down into her face and shook his head. “I won’t give it back. I’ll never give it back. I’ll sell all I own if you ask it of me. I’ll risk it all, lose it all, and count it worth every penny. So long as I have your heart I will still have the richest treasure a man might hold.” He extended his hand to her. “Come with me.”
The tears she’d held back for two days began to spill down her cheeks. “I can’t, Sebastian. I want to believe you. I c-can’t.”
“I’ve been to Haddonfield. The earl has given me the estate at Chesnick Wharton in Hampshire. It needs some work and a mistress to whip it into form. It will cost me a great deal of money.”
“The earl, your brother, Sebastian?” What was he saying? Why was everyone so quiet? And why did her chest feel as if it might break open at any moment?
“We haven’t quite worked out the brother part.” He shrugged. “Then I visited Faircloth who had just returned from Jamaica. I informed him should he attempt to take your son away from you he would have the cumulative influence of the Earl of Haddonfield and the Earl of Creighton brought to bear against him.” He took a moment to glance at Lord Crieghton. “Any issue with me invoking your name, Creighton?”
“You just interrupted my wedding on horseback. If I don’t object to that, why would I object to the use of my name in such a cause?” Laughter rippled through the church.
“Sounds like you’ve worked out the brother part to me,” Fitzhugh observed.
“If it isn’t enough, I’ll fight Faircloth in court. To my last farthing I will.” Sebastian gazed at her now, his eyes alight with such anguish and adoration it fairly stole her breath away. “I was afraid, Min. That’s why I left you. I’d not cared for anyone or anything since I was twelve years old and then I met you. I didn’t dare risk having you, because I knew losing you would kill me. I’m still afraid – of losing you, of not being able to take care of you and Edward.”
“Sebastian, it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. Life isn’t to be feared. It’s to be lived, no matter how uncertain it seems.” She wanted to set him free, for him to know in his soul he’d never done anything to deserve the cruel blows life had dealt him. Blows she felt as deeply as if they’d struck her heart no less than his.
“I’m uncertain of nearly everything, Min. Everything save this. I’ll do anything you ask, my love. Give you anything it is in my power to give you. Being charged with your care scares me to death. Not being given the chance scares me more.” He reached out his hand once again. “Come with me, my love. Follow your heart. Follow mine.”
Minerva’s heart knocked against her ribs with such force the sound had to be heard by the occupants of every pew in the church. It had never been so full, nor hurt so much. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Creighton, kneeling beside Edward and speaking to him in hushed tones.
Ditey pressed a hand to her back and gave her a little shove. “You’ll still be my sister, dearest. Go.”
Lord Fitzhugh made a wide birth around Lovey to stand at Sebastian’s stirrup, his hands cupped and his face wreathed in a ridiculous grin.
“I love you, Minerva. I always have.” Sebastian’s hand never faltered. “Don’t make me ride through life with only your heart and a disagreeable horse for company.”
“And no furniture in his house,” Fitzhugh added.
“Lord Creighton…” Minerva found him standing next to her, his hand on Edward’s shoulder.
“Take care of Brightworth, my dear,” the earl said as he lifted Edward onto Lovey’s back behind Sebastian. “I daresay you’re the only person he’ll allow to do it.” He kissed her cheek and stepped back a half tick before Lovey’s snapping teeth.
For the second time in her twenty-six years Minerva Welton Faircloth did the last thing anyone expected of a vicar’s daughter. The absolutely wrong thing, for all the right reasons. She placed her foot in Lord Fitzhugh’s cupped hands, her hand in Sebastian’s and found herself wrapped in the arms of the most impossible man she’d ever known.
“I love you, Sebastian,” she managed right before his lips found hers. His kiss was half invasion and half benediction. It tasted of joy, relief, desire, and a love so deep she wanted to fall into it and never escape. As ridiculous as it sounded for a moment she was seventeen again and a promise made then was finally kept.
“Creighton, get her down from there. I will not have you lose another bride to one of your upstart friends. Minerva Faircloth, you are without a doubt— Lord Fitzhugh, unhand me. How dare you!”
Sebastian sighed and raised his head. Minerva followed his gaze to see Lady Creighton struggling to shuck Fitzhugh’s insistently comforting arm around her as he dragged her back to the front pew and held her there. Lord Creighton appeared to be mollifying the very indignant vicar. From behind Sebastian she heard the most beautiful sound on earth – Edward giggling.
“Lord Creighton says you are to be my new papa, not him.” Edward peered around Sebastian’s back and looked from him to Minerva. “Is that true?”
&n
bsp; Sebastian touched his hand to her cheek. The look he gave her was entirely improper to be given in church. Then she was seated in his lap on his horse at the altar of said church. He turned to ruffle her son’s hair. “I am indeed, Master Edward. I’ll need you to stand up for me when we get to Scotland.”
“Scotland,” Edward replied with all the excitement any little boy in anticipation of an adventure could muster.
“Scotland!” Lady Creighton shrieked.
“Scotland?” Sebastian stared into Minerva’s upturned face.
“Anywhere,” she murmured. “So long as it’s with the two men I love most in the world.”
Sebastian turned Lovey and started back up the aisle to a smattering of applause that turned into an ovation. Several of the older ladies appeared to have swooned. Silly enough, Minerva finally understood what might incite a lady to do so.
“It’s a dashed long ride to Scotland three to a horse,” Fitzhugh shouted over the din. “Even for a nipcheese like you.”
“That is why I stopped by Fitzhugh Place and borrowed your new carriage and horses. It is waiting for us at the end of the drive with the lad’s pony.”
Minerva’s shoulders shook with laughter.
“My carriage?” Fitzhugh pushed his way down the church aisle, now crowded with people anxious to see what the mad colonel would do next.
“Your grandmother said it would be fine. I sent word to McWhorter to order one just like it for me in London.”
“I shall have words with my grandmother,” Fitzhugh declared above the cacophony of wedding guests, villagers and tenants all anxious to see what would no doubt become legend for years to come. “I hope you had McWhorter order some furniture. You’d best not break down my horses, you pinchpenny.”
“We’ll be stopping at every inn between here and Scotland,” Sebastian shouted back.
Minerva was laughing out loud now, great whoops of laughter.
“By gad, I’ll make a spendthrift of you yet, Brightworth.” Fitzhugh and Creighton caught up to them at the lynch gate, which they opened for Lovey to pass.
Sebastian turned the horse back and looked at his friends one more time. “Creighton,” he said, his tone so firm and certain Minerva stopped laughing and took his free hand in hers.
“Yes?”
“I understand now.”
Lord Creighton nodded. “I believe you do, Brightworth. I truly believe you do. Safe journey, my friend. Be happy.”
Minerva reached out and the earl took her hand. “Thank you. Harry.”
“You are entirely welcome. Minerva.”
“Harry? Enough of that.” Sebastian pulled her hand from Lord Creighton’s and kissed it soundly. “Shall we, my Min? Finally?”
“Yes, please.”
They rode up the road and turned onto the yew-lined drive from the church to the front gates of the Creighton estate. The church bells began to peel and Minerva’s eyes misted with tears of a happiness she’d never thought to have.
There at the gates stood one of the loveliest travel carriages she’d ever seen. And on the box sat Creighton’s Sergeant Tibbles grinning like a fool. Edward insisted on sitting in the driver’s box with him. Sebastian helped Minerva into the carriage and went to secure Lovey to the back alongside Edward’s pony. When Sebastian climbed into the carriage and knocked on the roof, the old sergeant called to the horses and they set off at a leisurely trot.
“I fear you have made a poor defense against my charges, Colonel Brightworth,” Minerva chided when he pulled her into his lap and began to unfasten the buttons of her pelisse. “You’ve stolen my heart, Lord Fitzhugh’s carriage and horses, and one of the earl’s head grooms.” She sifted her fingers through his hair and cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand. “Not very well done of you, sir.”
He turned his head to kiss her hand. “Stealing Tibbles, my soon-to-be wife, may not have been wise.” He drew her hand to press against his heart. “Stealing Creighton’s bride is without a doubt the very best thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
“Sebastian,” she breathed and sealed her lips to his. He groaned and kissed her back, fiercely, with the ferocity of a man who wanted to tell her without words how very much he needed her and yes, loved her with a love years of pain and loss in the making. She knew this as well as she knew her own name. Because she knew him, her Sebastian, her love.
“Now,” he said as he drew back a little and set to work on her buttons again. “It’s two hours to the nearest inn. Edward is thoroughly occupied, but he won’t ride up there forever. Help me out of this uniform and I’ll show you how good a thief I really am.”
And all the way to Scotland and for the rest of their days – and nights, he did.
—The End—
About the Author
Louisa Cornell
Louisa Cornell -Louisa was introduced to Regency romance at the tender age of nine when her father’s Air Force career took the family to live in the tiny Suffolk village of Kelsale. A pair of sisters, retired librarians, insisted she read Pride and Prejudice, and she has been a devoted Anglophile and Regency England fanatic ever since. She even tried her hand at writing her own historical romance. It was notoriously bad. Her mother has the only surviving copy.
A classically trained musician, Louisa’s study of music began at the London College of Music and continued once she returned to the States. After four music degrees and a year of study at the Mozarteum in Salzburg, Austria, Louisa was fortunate enough to embark on a singing career in opera houses in Germany, Austria, and most of Eastern Europe.
Now retired from an active career in opera, Louisa has returned to her first love – writing Regency-set historical romance. Her debut novella, A PERFECTLY DREADFUL CHRISTMAS, in the anthology Christmas Revels,won the 2015 Holt Medallion for Best Novella in Romance Fiction. A two-time Golden Heart finalist, she has also won three Daphne du Mauriers, three Royal Ascots, and the 2014 Emily.
Louisa lives on five acres in the middle of nowhere in the wilds of LA (Lower Alabama.) Her house is surrounded by azaleas, wisteria, kudzu and dirt roads. And it is filled with a great many Regency research books, hundreds of historical romance novels, dozens of pairs of shoes, and a herd of pets under the command of a notorious Chihuahua who has been banned from vet clinics all over the county and a tabby cat who thinks she is a Great Dane.
Louisa loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted all over the web.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/RegencyWriterLouisaCornell
Twitter: @LouisaCornell
Wesbite: www.louisacornell.com
HIS LORDSHIP'S DARKEST SECRET
Elf Ahearn
His Lordship's Darkest Secret: Chapter One
Exeter, England
In a storeroom at the back of a thatched cottage on the outskirts of the city of Exeter, Lady Claire Albright, the daughter of the Earl of Alphington, Tweaksend and Surry, separated chamomile stalks from a wheelbarrow piled high with freshly-picked herbs. Quickly binding the ends with string, she hung the bouquet upside down from a nail in the rafter. As she reached for the next bunch, a deep, rumbly male voice filtered through the wall, and instantly her breath caught and her throat constricted. She knew that voice; had listened for it for two pain-filled years, had longed for it, had fretted about it, had torn through every word it had spoken trying to understand what she’d done wrong. And here it was—so sonorous and wise, laced with a gentleness she knew now she should never have trusted.
“We’ve got fresh chamomile in back there,” said Jenny Martin, the proprietress of the odd little establishment; part dwelling, part apothecary shop, and part medical clinic. Within its small frame the building burst wtih racks of drying plants, shelves of tinctures, jars of salve, and a packed overnight bag by the door—ready for those nights when a woman went into labor. It was with Mrs. Martin that Claire had found a calling as a healer. Society might dictate that an earl’s daughter has no need for a profession, but for Claire healing was as important as d
rawing breath. If she couldn’t be of use than her life would amount to nothing, and that was a fate she couldn’t bear.
Cultivated voices such as his were rarely heard within Mrs. Martin’s overstuffed abode. The gentry came only after their physicians had drained blood and prescribed poison; when their loved ones lay in feather beds, the breath fluttering from their lungs. Had he married? Claire wondered. Was his wife unable to rest, so he’d travelled all this way for a sleeping potion?
“My lady,” Jenny called, “Could you bring three bunches of the chamomile?”
Claire’s heart broke into a gallop. Go out there and see him? Oh no. No. As if it were on fire, she hurled the chamomile stalks back into the wheelbarrow then froze like a rabbit.
“My lady? Are you there?” Jenny called. Then a bit louder, “My lady?”
Claire pressed her knuckles to her mouth and frantically wished there were a hole to dive into.
“Could you go back yourself, my lord? I’m so terribly sorry, but this brew depends on continuous stirring.”
My God, where to hide!
“Which would be the chamomile?” he asked, voice as musical as a bass fiddle.
“It’ll be dried, but you’ll want the stuff with yellow buds that look like daisies.”
Yellow buds, yellow buds. Claire dashed behind a multi-tiered rack of dangling lavender, as purple as purple could be. There, she stood absolutely still.
His footsteps approached. If one kept one’s eyes shut, one was less likely to be noticed. She’d heard that somewhere—where? She couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. Down went her lids, and in the darkness the volume of his steps fairly roared in her ears. He stopped at the threshold looking for yellow buds, no doubt. Look to the right, to the right! she silently urged.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 76
