Aunt Jane had outdone herself in preparing the guest list, and the grounds comfortably contained everyone as the ceremony itself closed and the festivities were waning. But as she had also taken it upon herself to act as hostess because, as she put it, Augusta’s first try at hosting an event as an aristocrat should not be her own wedding, she’d had hardly a moment to herself.
Will followed Augusta’s eyes. They watched as a handsome, silver-haired man in his mid-sixties drew Aunt Jane’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. It was the first time Augusta had ever seen the stalwart lady blush, but it filled her with happiness to see Aunt Jane so pleased. When, one night, she’d explained the entire situation to Will, her darling fiancé was mortified that his aunt had elected to look after him rather than take her own courtship further.
Augusta had to explain that it had been an act of love, not sacrifice, and as an older widow, Aunt Jane felt more secure in biding her time than a spinster or a younger lady might. It turned out that she’d been correct in her instincts, for this man looked highly taken with her.
“Perhaps the next wedding we hold shall be Aunt Jane’s,” said Will, brushing a kiss to Augusta’s hairline.
“If they bother with marriage. At their age, I don’t know if I would. I’d tell everyone it was none of their business. Do you think she would want it here, or would she prefer to have it in London?”
“She does love the city,” said Will thoughtfully. “But I suppose it also depends on where his people are. He is a widower, you say?”
“Yes,” said Augusta. She smirked. “They have both done all of this before. I wonder if they shall just elope to Gretna Green.”
“Never,” said Will with a grin. “Aunt Jane is far too fond of planning events. If they elope, there will be no wedding party for her to craft.”
A young, ginger man approached them and Will’s smile grew.
This must be Peter, thought Augusta. She had heard so much about him in the last few weeks that she felt as though she knew him already, and she knew for certain that he possessed red hair and, she’d been told, an infectious smile.
“Will,” he said.
“Thank God you’ve finally dispensed with the ‘Lord Ainsworth’ and ‘Your Grace’,” said Will, keeping hold of Augusta’s hand as he went forward to clasp Peter around the shoulders in a display of true affection. “Even when you were staying here I couldn’t get you to stop.”
“Well,” said Peter. “Better late than never, I suppose.” He glanced at Augusta. “I now know that you were never Miss Brooke, but that is how I knew you in Will’s letters.”
“You wrote letters about me?”
Will went very faintly red and said, “Augusta, this is Peter Mills, a dear friend and fellow physician.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Peter,” she said. “When we have more time on our hands, I would love to hear about these supposed letters.”
With one loaded look at Peter, who seemed ready to laugh at his friend, Will disengaged has arm from Augusta’s and said heavily, “I shall leave the two of you alone, shall I? I don’t see how I will be unembarrassed by any of this talk and I need to meet Aunt Jane’s suitor.”
Augusta went on tiptoe for a deep, parting kiss and Will sauntered off to join Aunt Jane and her dashing man.
“He really did write about you,” said Peter. “It was nothing salacious, but I think that as soon as he realized he might be feeling something… more… he had to confide in someone.”
“I wonder if Aunt Jane knew,” said Augusta, following Will with her eyes and smiling when she saw him join his aunt. With animated speech, she introduced him to her suitor, who bowed and shook Will’s hand cordially.
The grounds were gorgeous, studded with candles, the trees festooned with ribbons of forest and lighter greens. It looked like a fairyland, especially as the sun was dipping below the horizon and the golden hour began to bathe guests and surroundings alike in amber light.
“He believed she did,” said Peter. “But like me, I am sure that Lady Jane only wished for Will’s happiness. He has faced a lion’s share of loss.” He surveyed Augusta warmly. “You have managed to help him find it. Even if he did not wax too poetic in his missives to me, his tone still changed after he began to speak to you.”
“Even though I did not tell him the truth at first?”
Peter chortled. “Oh, I think that was good for him. A good mystery gave him something to chew on besides his sorrow.”
After half an hour or so of merry chatter with Peter, who as it happened was an adept conversationalist, Aunt Jane meandered over to mutter in Augusta’s ear, “You must be ready to come away from all of this, my dear.” Then she said to Peter, “Hello, Peter. I am so very glad to see you again.”
“And, indeed, I am pleased to see you on so wonderful an occasion,” he replied with another of his sunny smiles. Aunt Jane gave Augusta a small nudge between the shoulders, which would have been invisible to anyone unless they were standing directly behind the two of them.
“If you’ll excuse me… Peter, Aunt Jane. I must check on Eggy and make sure he has not discovered the punch.”
“Eggy?” Augusta could hear Peter asking as she sailed away, pretending she had urgent hostess-related business to attend. Surreptitiously, she found her way to Will, who was lingering near a footman with a tray of glasses of champagne.
“Indulging overmuch?”
He looked relieved when she sidled up to him. “Not at all. Merely staying out of the way.” Augusta took a glass and sipped. Today had been the first time she had champagne, and she resoundingly liked it. “I haven’t been the center of attention this way since… oh, possibly ever. It was one nice part of being a youngest son.”
“Would you like to make a strategic retreat?”
Will began to smile. “The thought had crossed my mind, but you looked so content with Peter. Was he really telling you everything I’d written him?”
“No, he finished that with a sentence or two. He began speaking about his time growing up. Did you know he has five brothers, and he is the youngest? I can’t even begin to imagine.” She chuckled. “All ginger, too.”
“I knew he came from a large family. While I was still bedridden, he spoke a lot, for which I was very grateful. Otherwise, I was alone in my own mind, which was a horrendous place to be, then.”
Augusta took another deep sip. “I’m glad you had such a friend.”
Will ran his fingers along her arm, then up along her neck. They left a warm trail on her skin. It made her feel like she was glittering in a way only she could see. “Shall we go inside? Jane is more than equipped to do the polite, done thing and see to our guests.” He looked out across the section of the gardens they’d annexed for the festivities after the ceremony. “Besides,” he murmured dryly, “everyone will be expecting us to disappear around now. Especially the villagers.”
“Because common folk know that sometimes you don’t have all the time in the world to, ah, make merry,” said Augusta. She turned to him and kissed the base of his neck. “Life can be more abrupt for us in the day to day… not that it cannot be awful to anyone else.”
“Wife, you are going to have to learn to be more cheerful,” said Will, but he was jesting. Meanwhile, Augusta felt a thrill at being called “Wife” in such an offhanded, affectionate way. She took her final gulp of champagne. The glass was small and easy to consume, but it still went pleasantly to her head. She set it on the tray, and Will took her hand. “Let us resume our interlude in better confines than the library.”
Delighted, she chuckled at him. The six weeks leading to the wedding had taxed both of their limits. They’d had some stolen kisses and a few clandestine meetings in Will’s study that had not gotten much further than kissing and his hands just inside her dress, whether skimming along her thighs or her décolletage.
But he is such a gentleman, she thought fondly.
There was also the matter of his own self-consciousness. At fir
st, continued intimacy seemed difficult for him, even though they were properly engaged and she had given her clear consent. She supposed she could attribute that to his rejection all those months ago, which must have cut him keenly still. They had not yet discussed Lady Diana, but she hoped that, one day, they would. Until he felt comfortable doing it of his own accord, she would not bring up the subject.
Besides, she had much to learn about being the mistress of such a vast estate. That would, no doubt, monopolize many of their conversations to come. She did not want to shame him.
For now, she drove that thought from her mind. She had Aunt Jane, and she had Will. They were both patient teachers.
Will led her through the crowd of guests, many of whom shot them both knowing looks. No one stopped them from entering the manor through the darkened conservatory that overlooked the gardens. Once indoors, Will tugged her to an alcove inside the main hall and, as though he could not contain himself any longer, he kissed her roughly. She responded with fervor, allowing his tongue to part her lips and explore her mouth.
“You taste like champagne,” she purred. “You were having some, at least.”
“I was nervous. Too many people out there,” he breathed. “But I promise you, I’m not foxed.”
“I know. You’d never.”
He resumed kissing her until they were both panting and his hands were restlessly exploring her torso, then just skimming her breasts through her dress. “Upstairs,” he said, chiding himself more than her. She smothered a giggle.
“It is your manor, is it not? Surely you can have me wherever you wish.”
“That is not the issue,” he said, mustering his dignity. “I simply don’t want Lucy or Marcus or the others to happen upon us in a prone position. That would hardly be fair to them.”
“Though it would hardly be surprising from newlyweds.”
“Vixen,” he said affectionately. “Don’t tempt me.” He pulled them both from the alcove and Augusta grumbled at the loss of contact.
They made their way through the quiet manor and, though she might have needed a candle to see in the low twilight, Will seemed to be very surefooted. He had lived here his whole life, and he must have mastered finding his way around even more surely while his sight was worse.
When they reached a narrow wing upstairs that she had never seen, Augusta assumed it must house his private chambers.
Will opened the heavy door and ushered her inside, closing it with a soft thunk. An enormous window overlooked the gardens, and the muffled sounds of the wedding party filtered through the glass from below. There was enough light to see him by, but the sun had all but died, leaving the sky a painting of deep navy and ruddy orange. She barely had enough time to admire the view before Will was upon her, caressing and nuzzling her skin.
She gasped and, mistakenly thinking she was startled, he stopped immediately.
“I’m sorry. This must be a lot for you,” he said. “You have not…” he fell quiet and grazed one of the scars on her shoulder until it dipped under her dress. “I’m assuming you might not like to be… touched… so abruptly.” He was breathing deeply, but had enough self-control to halt himself.
“No,” she assured him. “I want your hands on me.”
“If I do anything that makes you wary, I want you to tell me,” he said.
“Will, I promise I’ll tell you,” she said.
Slowly, she sat on the bed, which looked as though it had been freshly made that afternoon. She took a moment to look around the large room. It appeared to be one of the later additions to the manor, for its walls and windows were slanted, angular, and although she had never been to Italy, its accents and carvings reminded her of a woodcut of one of the Italian cathedrals she had seen in her childhood.
As though he were reading her mind, he said, “My father had this set of rooms constructed. Well, redone. He was very taken by Italianate architecture. I always liked them, so when he passed, I moved in. It was also a way of being closer to him, somehow, while I was grieving.”
“You have lost so much,” she said wistfully.
Will sat on the bed next to her and it dipped a little under his weight. “No more than many others,” he said, resting a hand on her upper thigh. “And today, I have gained more than many others will ever have.” He placed his other hand on her hip and bore down on her gently until she was laying back.
“What have you gained?”
He smiled in the dying light. “Love.”
“Oh,” she said, as he dipped down to kiss her throat.
“And I’ve shed some awful illusions about myself. I am not a monster, and I’m quite capable of treating patients if I wish.” He nibbled at her collarbone, then a little lower between the swell of her breasts. “You guided me away from all of that… at first, unknowingly… then…” he sighed. “I adore you, Augusta.”
Epilogue
Jane wondered, not for the first time, whether they should consider erecting a fence and gate around the gazebo hill. She hurried after the intrepid, only just turned four-year-old boy with the curly dark hair. She was less terrified than resigned.
“Joseph,” she called, trying to be stern. “Joseph!”
The little lad hardly paused. He knew he was Auntie Jane and Uncle Max’s favorite. Therefore, he did not heed her. He was such a sweet, good-natured child that it did not often matter, but he was also too clever for his own good and knew exactly how to give his governess, his mother, and his auntie the slip. Unfortunately, his favorite place in all the world was the gazebo. It was a family trait, and not the only one he had inherited.
Luckily, Joseph halted just at the base of the hill. He’d met his mortal enemy: stairs.
They were still too steep for him, which he took personally every time they loomed ahead, whether that was indoors or out.
He turned to Jane with a belligerent glower and she tried not to chortle. He was the spitting image of William at this age, all tangled, charcoal curls and green eyes and a pouting mouth. It was both a wonderful and aching resemblance, and it had taken William a little time to adjust to the tiny being looking exactly like him before his wartime injuries. Neither Augusta nor Jane believed he would become bitter about it, but Augusta had mentioned, astutely, that it must have been strange for William to witness.
The resemblance would only become stronger with time, Jane suspected, for there were no traces yet of the Copperweld line in Joseph. Even her beloved husband, Maxwell, who had not been in the family for more than two years, had noted the striking similarities between William, portraits of William’s mother, and Joseph.
“Do you see? You cannot make it up on your own, little one.”
Joseph pouted. “Up?” he asked hopefully, after a moment.
“Auntie Jane is too tired from chasing you all over the gardens.”
“Up,” he repeated, firmly.
“Not now, darling. It is almost time for luncheon.”
Considering this, Joseph brightened. “Can we have cheese?”
“Perhaps we can,” said Jane. “I don’t know what Cook has made.”
He nodded solemnly and took Jane’s outstretched hand. “Perhaps we can have cheese later.”
Cheese, and it didn’t seem to matter what kind, seemed to be Joseph’s favorite food. The more pungent, the better. It was an oddity in such a young child.
Together, they made their way back to the manor and when they crossed the threshold into the conservatory, Augusta scooped her son up into her arms and kissed his cheek. “You cannot tear off so quickly, dear one.”
“I am sorry, Mama,” he said, genuinely contrite. “The sun is out today.”
“And so it is, but you need to wait for one of us to go out into the gardens with you.”
Jane heard William’s footfalls coming down the main stairs and waited for him to enter the conservatory, which had become the family’s impromptu sitting room. Joseph was enchanted by the views out of the windows, and Augusta, who was now about five
months pregnant with Joseph’s younger sibling, was close enough to both the gardens and the rest of the house that moving between rooms did not overexert her.
“Have I heard you dashing about, Joseph?” William asked his son as he strode in. “That won’t do; you know how Mama tires these days.”
Joseph looked seriously into his mother’s face. The earnestness of his expression prompted William to smile, which he had to hide with a cough. “Yes.”
Even Augusta struggled to keep a straight face. William went to her and took Joseph into his own arms. “Good. You are a very observant lad.”
Jane watched them with such fondness that she thought her heart would burst.
This love was all she’d ever wanted for her nephew.
Dukes of Destiny Series
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About the Author
Whitney is a bit of a wanderer and something of a bluestocking. She’s been telling stories since childhood, when she would rewrite the endings of her favorite books and movies (or add “deleted scenes” to them). When she’s not writing or reading, she enjoys cooking, dancing, and going for long walks with no specific destination in mind.
Literary work comes naturally to Whitney and she’s very excited to be pursuing her passion – rich storylines, vibrant characters, and most of all, a happily ever after.
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Captive of the Corsairs
Heart of the Corsairs
Book One
Elizabeth Ellen Carter
Acknowledgements
Captive of the Corsairs would never have come to be without the support of my wonderful husband, Duncan. His encouragement during the times when this story became too difficult to write means the world to me. Much love to Susanne Bellamy as well. Once more, a huge thank you to my editor, Scott Moreland, who pushes me harder and makes my stories better as a result. Thank you to Kathryn Le Veque and the support of the Dragonblade Publishing team, working with you all is a joy.
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