by Abby Gaines
“Quiet,” her father ordered. “You were...how old at the time?”
“Eighteen, sir.”
“You were in no position to commit to anything on your father’s behalf, and his concern would rightly have been all for you, rather than for the girl he would consider had lured his son into a secret betrothal. There would have been very little I could do to ensure Serena’s material comfort, and she would always have been seen by your parents as an encroacher.”
Alastair looked as if he wanted to argue, but he didn’t.
“I am appalled, miss,” her father said.
“Reverend Somerton,” Dominic interjected. “Please speak to your daughter with more kindness.”
Her mother made a tiny sound.
Serena had never seen her father at a loss for words. Now, if only for a second, Dominic had rendered him speechless.
“I beg your pardon?” the reverend said.
“We all have things in our past of which we’re ashamed,” Dominic said. “Few of us experience the misfortune of having our sins come back to confront us. I don’t know about you, but if I were in Serena’s situation I’d hope for kindness. For compassion.” He slanted her a small smile, acknowledging his use of a word he’d accused her of bandying about too freely.
Her father thumbed his chin, and for a moment looked as if he might smile. Then he said to Serena, “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Only...” A convulsive sob almost escaped, but she swallowed it. “Only that I’m sorry, Papa. Please forgive me.”
He sighed. “And of course, that’s exactly what I must do. In fact, if I’m to do the thing properly, I must act as if this never happened.”
She pushed herself up off the sofa, rubbing damp palms against her ball dress. “Could you, Papa, do you think? Please?”
When her father seemed momentarily lost in thought, Dominic cleared his throat expectantly.
“You’re forgiven,” the reverend said, with a wry glance at Dominic.
Serena hugged him, and then her mother.
“Reverend Somerton, please accept my humble apology, too,” Alastair said. “I behaved dishonorably five years ago out of youthful foolishness, but let me assure you my feelings were genuine then, and they haven’t changed.” He took an impulsive step forward. “Serena, tell me I still have your heart.”
Serena’s stomach hollowed. “I— Of course you do.” Because she wouldn’t have risked her reputation, her family, her future children’s stability for a love that couldn’t stand the test of time. That would surely be unforgivable.
Dominic made a strangled sound. He crossed to the window, stared out.
“Reverend Somerton,” Alastair said, “with your permission, Serena and I can announce our betrothal tonight. This is our chance to put right the sins of the past.”
Whatever it was that struck Serena’s heart, it wasn’t the joy of love rediscovered. But Alastair’s words made sense. If they were betrothed now, everything would be right. She wished Dominic would turn around, so she could... She didn’t know what she wanted from him. But she hated that he was looking out into the street, his shoulders relaxed, as if her future was of no account to him.
She took an involuntary half step toward him.
Then her mother said, “Sit down, my dear,” and pushed forcibly on Serena’s shoulders, until she was back on the sofa.
“Young man,” her father said, “I have no intention of approving a betrothal tonight, and I don’t care that Serena is of age and doesn’t need my permission. I certainly don’t care if you still have her heart. I hope by now she’s wise enough to know I wouldn’t withhold permission without good reason.”
“Yes, Papa,” Serena murmured. Relief made her light-headed.
“How old are you now?” the reverend asked Alastair.
“Twenty-three, sir.”
“Still young,” her father said, “but not too young. If you and my daughter still feel the same way in three months’ time, when you’ve paid your attentions to her in an aboveboard manner, then I will countenance a betrothal.”
Alastair looked as if he would argue. Serena said quickly, “Thank you, Papa.”
Dominic turned from the window. He bowed. “Miss Somerton, allow me to offer my felicitations on your newly rediscovered connection.”
Her father held up a hand. “There is no connection yet, Mr. Granville.”
Dominic acknowledged that with a skeptical nod. “I assume you’ll wish to relinquish your post in my household immediately, in order to return home,” he said to Serena.
“Very decent of you, sir,” Alastair said.
“No!” Serena blurted. And found herself the target of several stares.
Dominic would let her go, just like that? But then, why wouldn’t he?
“Miss Granville has particular need of a loyal companion just now,” she told her parents, with a beseeching glance at Dominic. “It would be quite wrong of me to leave her.”
After a pause, Dominic said, “It’s true, my sister has suffered a recent shock, and is in some distress.”
Margaret Somerton clucked in sympathy. “Of course you mustn’t leave her, Serena.”
“Of course,” Alastair muttered, with obvious disappointment. Not that anyone had asked him, Serena thought crossly.
“Then you will remain at Woodbridge Hall,” Dominic said, with about as much interest as he would use to read the mail coach schedule. “If you’re sufficiently recovered from your faint, I propose we return to Brook Street. I’ll have the carriage brought round and will tell Marianne we are to leave. Excuse me, Mrs. Somerton, Reverend Somerton.”
Margaret Somerton spent the time neatening her daughter’s hair, disheveled by her faint, while the reverend and Alastair talked quietly over by the window. Alastair didn’t seem comfortable, and Serena imagined her father was lecturing him.
Dominic returned a few minutes later to report that the carriage would be here any moment, and that Marianne was saying their goodbyes to the Spenfords. Margaret Somerton stood. “I’ll leave you now, Serena—Isabel’s too young to be alone in a ballroom this long.”
“Of course you must go, Mama.” Serena kissed her.
With her father and Alastair still engrossed in their discussion, she and Dominic were left standing awkwardly near the door.
“It’s kind of you to put Marianne’s needs first, in deciding to stay in your post,” Dominic said formally.
Serena shook her head, denying any kindness.
He glanced at the other man. “Serena...” he lowered his voice “...did you mean what you said, that Lieutenant Givens still has your heart?”
How could he ask her that? And why?
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “You know you have no right...”
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “When God gives us a second chance, we don’t always have to start from where we left off. It can be brand-new.”
“What do you mean?” She sensed movement behind her, as if her father and Alastair had finished their discussion.
“Just tell me this,” Dominic said urgently. “Is my sister the only reason you chose to stay at Woodbridge Hall?”
His hazel eyes locked on her face with an intensity that cut through to her soul.
What did he expect her to say?
There was nothing she could say, not without making a hideous situation worse.
She’d just announced that she still cared for Alastair. What kind of woman would then tell another man she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him?
A man who had never professed to love her. Who had vowed, in fact, that he would never marry her.
“To leave immediately would be too sudden,” she said. “It would upset the children.”
“The children,” he murmured. As if he’d forgotten they existed. “Of course.” His mouth twisted, too bleak to be a smile.
Alastair and her father approached. The possessive glint in her suitor’s eye made Serena want to b
olt.
Thankfully, a servant entered to report that the carriage was ready. Serena could have kissed him.
“I shall miss you, Serena,” Alastair said, a public declaration of affection that embarrassed her.
The poor man has been a prisoner in France or some such place. Naturally, he’s overwhelmed with emotion. Equally natural that he’d forgotten the manners expected of an English gentleman.
“Though I wouldn’t have been in Piper’s Mead the first week or two, anyway,” Alastair continued. “General Blake of the 3rd Foot is currently at his home in York and has requested I visit him there to report on various observations I made while in prison.” Yes, he’s been a prisoner, poor Alastair. “I travel to see my parents tomorrow, then north to Yorkshire on Monday.”
“Lieutenant Givens, if Reverend Somerton approves, you’re most welcome to visit us at Woodbridge Hall on your way back south,” Dominic said.
Serena stared at him. No!
“If you wish to stay a night or two, we have fishing and some nice walks,” Dominic continued. “My sister will chaperone Miss Somerton.”
Alastair turned to Serena’s father with barely checked enthusiasm. “Reverend Somerton, would you object to such a visit?”
Say no, Serena willed him.
Her father looked from Serena to Alastair, then to Dominic. He thumbed the cleft in his chin and said with the driest of smiles, “I don’t object.”
Serena felt as if the last sandbag holding back a flood of complications had given way. Three men—her father, Alastair, Dominic—waited for her response.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
It seemed the thing to say.
Chapter Sixteen
Dominic collected Hester Lacey from her home at ten o’clock the next morning with the promise of a walk in Hyde Park.
“Not the fashionable hour,” he apologized, as they alighted from the hackney at the park’s Curzon Gate, “but tranquil.”
“Just what I like.” Hester smiled as she took his arm.
So did he. Right now, he craved tranquility, craved an end to the storm of thoughts and doubts that had buffeted him through the night.
Serena’s lost love had returned to her.
Alastair Givens was not only alive, but he still loved her. And Dominic had a sinking feeling the lieutenant’s tale of survival, when revealed, would focus heavily on how his love for Serena had sustained him under harrowing conditions, inspiring him to heroism.
Serena had said she loved him, too.
More accurately, she’d said Givens still had her heart. If there was a difference between the two, Dominic couldn’t see it.
None of that should mean anything to him, he knew. Indeed, if this pain—always a dull, numbing presence, but sometimes so piercing he lost his breath—meant there was a danger he might be falling in love with her, then he wanted no part of it.
My jealousy is perhaps more because Serena has her love back, whereas I won’t see Emily again in this lifetime.
Jealousy was a base emotion. He couldn’t allow it to gain a foothold.
Hence his need for tranquility. Hence his visit to Hester, for she was indeed a tranquil person.
“Did you enjoy last night’s ball?” he asked.
“It was lovely.” She adjusted her bonnet against the glare of the sun. “I didn’t see you when we left.”
“Miss Somerton, Marianne’s companion, was unwell, so we returned to Brook Street early.”
He steered her around a bed of primroses to a seat. “Shall we rest awhile?”
The bench’s wooden slats and wrought-iron back looked clean enough, but he gave them a wipe with his handkerchief before Hester sat. She moved along to make room for him.
An accommodating lady. Just what a man needed in a wife.
They sat in silence—Dominic told himself he enjoyed silence, rather than the steady flow of conversation Serena would have subjected him to. He hadn’t seen her this morning. Both she and his sister had slept in.
“We leave for home tomorrow,” he said at last.
“I’m sorry we shan’t see more of you and Marianne,” Hester said. “It’s been too long.”
This was the moment he was here to seize.
“Miss Lacey—Hester.” Dominic turned to face her. “My sudden departure from London forces me to speak sooner than I might otherwise have.”
He saw the dawning comprehension in her face as to the purpose of this walk. Even so, it was impossible to read her reaction.
“I desire to marry again, to find a mother for my children, and a life’s companion for myself.”
“That’s...understandable,” Hester said, when the pause grew too long.
“While you and I haven’t spent much time together since Emily died—not before this week—I’ve always thought of you with the utmost liking and respect. As a dear friend of the family.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Dash it, this was difficult. He and Emily had reached an understanding at such a young age, there’d never been a scene such as this. He wished Hester would give him some indication of her feelings. But that was not in her nature.
“I’m not in a position to offer any lady my heart,” he said. “I gave that to Emily in its entirety.” A vision of Serena crossed his mind. He expunged it, shocked that he would let the thought of another woman intrude at such a moment. He was making a hash of this; it would serve him right if Hester pulled off her gloves and slapped him with them.
“I know how much you loved Emily, Dominic,” Hester said.
Her use of his Christian name seemed a positive sign. Even if they were talking about how much he’d loved his wife.
Lord, help me. He really should have enlisted divine assistance before he reached this point.
“Hester, I like you very much.” He’d already said that. “You’re kind, caring, and you’re soothing company. You deserve the unqualified love and affection of a man far worthier than myself. But I’m hoping you’ll accept— Hester, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Her lips parted with shock, as if despite seeing his proposal coming, she hadn’t quite believed he would get it out. Hastily, Dominic took her gloved hands in his. He refused to compare them with Serena’s shorter fingers, instead focusing on their steadiness.
Hester was breathing a little heavily. “Let us be quite clear, Dominic, about what you’re offering. I will be your wife, the mother of your children. As well as—” she blushed “—any other children that may result.”
He found himself reddening, too. “That’s right.” He hadn’t thought that far ahead, but of course, they would have a marriage in every sense of the word. Other than the romantic love sense.
Some might accuse her of indelicacy with her mention of procreation, but she was hardly a schoolroom miss. Or a twenty-one-year-old likely to have her head turned by every dashing soldier who returned from the dead....
Stop that.
“We would live at Woodbridge Hall,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“It’s my home,” he said. “My visits to London have been sporadic in recent years, but I would be happy to spend the Season in town each year, if that suited you.”
She nodded, still noncommittal.
“There’s one thing I must tell you, Hester,” he said. “Marianne would continue to live with us. Likely for the rest of her life.”
“She could hardly set up home on her own,” Hester agreed. “I don’t know your sister well, but I like her, and I know Emily was very fond of her.”
“You’re not recently acquainted with the children,” Dominic began. It felt as if they were discussing an offer of employment, rather than a marriage. But this was exactly what he’d planned. “They can be a trifle unruly, but for the most part are—” he meant to say well-behaved, but somehow ended up with “—dear.”
“I would always love Emily’s children,” Hester said with a smile. “No doubt they need the disciplined loving of a mot
her and the loving discipline of a governess.”
“You’ve said it perfectly,” Dominic said. Relief filled him—he’d made the right decision. “In fact, we need a new governess. I’ve delayed the appointment, feeling that my wife would choose best.”
She nodded again.
“Your face,” he said ruefully, “reflects the level of enthusiasm my poorly worded proposal deserves. It must sound as if I’m offering you a life of service to my family, with nothing in return. But I promise I will be a good, faithful, affectionate husband.” He lifted her gloved hand to his lips, kissed it. “Hester, I’d be delighted if you’d do me the honor of becoming my wife. Will you marry me?”
* * *
“It’s the most romantic thing.” Marianne adjusted the enormous pink straw bonnet she was trying on. In her spirit of determined resilience, she’d refused to leave London without a new hat. She signaled to the milliner to hold up a mirror behind her, so she could see the reflection of the back of the bonnet in the larger mirror in front of her. “Five years away, and all that time Lieutenant Givens’s love for you hasn’t wavered.”
“I’m truly fortunate,” Serena agreed, conscious of a lack of gratitude in her heart. Oh, she was grateful Alastair was alive, of course. But overwhelmingly, she felt guilt at her indiscretion so many years ago. Strange to think that at the time, her youthful besottedness had convinced her it would be a crime not to be secretly betrothed!
She’d been kept awake by the thought that to marry Alastair now, to do everything properly, would be a chance to atone for that error.
“But enough about me,” Serena said. “Are you recovered from last night?” She stepped back to let the milliner adjust the set of one of the bonnet’s feathers.
“Ah.” Marianne’s color deepened. She waited until the milliner had moved away, then said quietly, “Serena, last night I was so angry, I didn’t feel embarrassed, but this morning I feel like the world’s biggest fool. How could I have imagined a man like Mr. Beaumont would have a real interest in me?”
“Mr. Beaumont quoted enough scripture for me to feel he had more depth to him than preoccupation with appearances, too,” Serena said. “Part of me still wants to think there’s hope for him. But if, as my father says, we should know a man by his deeds...”
