Love for all Seasons

by Knight-Catania, Jerrica

  “Yes, I am glad to know that. I would hate for you to be feeling poorly.”

  The silence between them seemed to crackle. Heat built in Damien’s gut and naturally spread to other more obvious parts of his anatomy. He had never wanted anything or anyone so badly in all his life. Unable to control himself, he grabbed Isabel around the waist and dragged her into his arms. She wore so little clothing—the material so thin that he could feel her, every part of her, as he lowered his head to claim her lips.

  Lockwell’s kiss was more than welcome tonight. After all the inner turmoil that had consumed her for the last two days, she realized this was the one thing that felt right. Never mind that love was ridiculous and people in love were even more ridiculous. Perhaps she was the ridiculous one for raging so heartily against it when it felt so wonderful. Much to her amazement, she realized that she loved Lockwell. Not only that, she didn’t mind that she loved him. She wanted to love him, and she wanted him to love her back. Oh, heavens! What if he didn’t love her back?

  She pulled away from his kiss with a great deal of reluctance. “Lockwell, if we are discovered—”

  He shushed her and put his lips to hers again. She allowed it for a moment, then pulled away again. “Lockwell, really, if we are discovered, there will be no escaping—”

  He cut her off with yet another kiss. But this time, Isabel would not be deterred. “Lockwell!” she hissed at him, pushing him back with all her might. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Yes, of course, darling.”

  Darling? “Well. What will you say for yourself if we are discovered?”

  A smile came to his lips—that same sly smile he’d given her in the library the day before. “I will say, ‘To hell with all of you! I can kiss my bride whenever I so choose!’”

  Isabel’s jaw dropped and she stared aghast at Lockwell. “Your what?”

  He moved closer to her again, then dropped to his knees before her. “I know that I am a wastrel and a scoundrel and lots of other unsavory terms, but I am also a man in love…with you,” he added when she didn’t respond. “In case there was any question.”

  This tickled Isabel and brought her from her stupor. She laughed wholeheartedly as she collapsed to her knees and fell into Lockwell’s arms. At which point a thought occurred to her…

  “Lockwell,” she said, sitting back on her haunches. “I don’t even know your given name. I can’t marry you without knowing your name, can I?”

  “Damien,” he said.

  Isabel tried it on for size. “Mrs. Damien Lockwell.” She smiled wide at him. “I love it.”

  He pulled her into his arms again. “And I love you.”

  “You look magnificent, my child.” Grandpapa held out his arms to Isabel as she descended the staircase to the grand foyer. “I think married life suits you.”

  There was a glimmer in his eyes—a glimmer she knew Grandpapa reserved just for her.

  “Well,” Isabel said with a tilt of her nose, “it turns out Mr. Lockwell isn’t nearly as much a waste of space as I originally thought.”

  “Thank you for that, my dear,” Damien said from beside her. “I’m glad to know your opinion of me is slightly elevated from a few days ago.”

  She turned to him, a mischievous smile on her face. “Yes, but only slightly. You still have much to prove.”

  “I will endeavor to impress you the rest of my days.”

  Isabel giggled, marveling inwardly at how things had changed so drastically in such a short amount of time. If someone had told her on Sunday that she would be married by Wednesday—to a man she’d never even met, no less—she would have locked them in a carriage bound for Bedlam.

  She turned back to Grandpapa, who watched them both with a wide smile and watery eyes. “If the two of you are even half as happy as your grandmother and I were, then yours will be a very happy union.”

  “Thank you, Grandpapa.” She wrapped her arms about his neck and squeezed hard. “Happy Christmas.”

  “Happy Christmas, my child.”

  That evening, at the famed Danby Yule Ball, with all her cousins and aunts and uncles in attendance, Isabel danced with her new husband. She tripped once or twice, but she didn’t care, for she knew that Damien Lockwell would always be there to catch her should she fall.

  The Marriage Trap

  Originally from The Betting Season

  For Ava, Catherine and Jane…

  Thank you for forcing me to do things I don't want to do, and for making me rewrite things I don't want to rewrite. I don't know what I'd do without you.

  ~ Jerrica

  Rowan Findley bets Lord Swaffham 200 guineas that he cannot bed Miss Patience Findley without finding himself leg-shackled to her within the month…

  Miss Patience Findley was starting to realize that she was anything but patient, as her name would indicate. As a matter of fact, she probably should have been named Impatience, though she realized it wasn’t nearly as nice of a name as simply Patience. Either way, her current mood did not reflect her given name.

  She’d been waiting all night for someone to approach her and ask for a dance. No. Not just someone. A man. Any man would have been fine, but several hours into the ball not a single man had come to rescue her from the edge of the ballroom or, as she liked to think of it, Hell. Her cousin Rowan had stopped by a few times to check on her, but he was more interested in dancing with loose widows than with his debutante cousin.

  Blast her father. If it wasn’t for him, she’d have had plenty of dances tonight. But thanks to the scandal he’d caused upon his return from India, Patience was left to sit alone all night at her very first ball. And it was the Heathfield Ball, nonetheless. Lady Heathfield clearly knew what she was doing when it came to hosting one of these things, not that Patience had anything to compare it to. But it was beautiful and romantic and such a waste of a romantic setting to spend it holding up the damask walls.

  “Stop sulking, Patience,” came a gruff voice from behind her.

  Without turning around, Patience answered, “I’m not sulking, Father. Just waiting to be noticed is all.”

  Her father came up beside her but kept his focus on the dancers in the middle of the floor. “I know you’re still upset about your mother, but there’s not much to be done about it.”

  “Yes, I’m aware that death is rather permanent. Clearly, love isn’t, though.”

  “Don’t start that again, Patience. I loved your mother.”

  “Deeply, it would seem.” She didn’t try to hide her sarcasm. She knew her father would scold her for her disrespect, but she didn’t care anymore. His disrespect ran deeper than hers ever could.

  He sighed heavily as if he didn’t know what on earth he was going to do with his daughter. “You might learn a thing or two from your new step-mother. For instance, how to hold your tongue.”

  Patience grasped mentally for a biting comeback but none would come. It didn’t matter anyway—they’d had this argument a thousand times since her father had returned from India, having left her mother’s corpse behind and arriving with a new, pregnant wife in her place.

  “There now, that’s better,” her father said. “Now, why don’t you try smiling a bit, and maybe then someone will ask you to dance.”

  Not bloody likely, she wanted to say, but he had already left her side, no doubt to go and find his new wife.

  Patience sighed and slumped against the wall. She knew she shouldn’t have—how unladylike she must look—but she didn’t really think it mattered anymore. She was destined to die a spinster, she just knew it. So what was the point in trying?

  The only thing she had to recommend her was a sizeable dowry, but it came from trade, so not everyone was interested in pursuing the connection. It didn’t help that she wasn’t terribly attractive. She had hair every bit as black as her Indian stepmother, only she didn’t have the coffee-colored skin to complement it. No, she was as white as the dress she wore this evening. She imagined it looked as if an inky
black cat was floating about the room atop a ghostly apparition.

  At least she wasn’t suffering the fate her dear friend Moira was. Patience stood up straighter to try to acertain why her friend was being dragged from the ballroom so soon, but she was too far away to hear anything. Poor Moira. Her mother was overbearing, to say the least. It could have been worse, though…she could have had no mother at all.

  Her cousin approached, looking dapper as ever. He was quite a fop, but Patience couldn’t deny he’d be a nice catch for a young woman. At the very least, he’d keep her well outfitted.

  “All your friends are leaving, it would seem,” he said in his lazy drawl. “Maybe you could be next?”

  Patience snorted. “Wouldn’t that be lucky for you if I did? No, I think I’ll stay, cousin. I’m waiting for someone to ask me to dance.”

  Rowan sighed. “Fine. Patience, would you care to dance with me?”

  Patience swatted her cousin on the arm with her dance card. “I didn’t mean you.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Any other man of eligible age would do, though it seems they’re all taking rather wide berths around me.”

  “Well,” Rowan said with a shrug, “let me know when you leave. I don’t care to linger at these events, you know?”

  “Yes, I heard that somewhere,” Patience laughed, recalling the hundred times he’d mentioned that very thing to her in the last week. “My father and Rangana are here, however, so I think you’re free to go whenever you please.”

  “Not so.” Rowan turned to look at her. “Your father informed me that they were departing shortly and charged me with making sure you got home all right.”

  Patience nodded. “Thank you for telling me. I promise not to keep you too long. I’m sure you have many women to charm in less respectable parts of Town.”

  Rowan put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “You’re a darling.”

  He disappeared into the crowd, and Patience returned to her sulking. She wasn’t usually one to dwell on her misery, but what a horrible way to start out her first Season. No friends about to keep her company, no suitors. Yes, this Season was off to a rather bleak start.

  The next morning, Patience woke feeling rather well rested. After spending another hour or so holding up the marble wall at the Heathfield Ball, she had found her cousin again and begged him to take her home early. It was no hardship on Rowan, of course, and he’d blessedly put her out of her misery.

  Today was another day, however. A day full, as a matter of fact, of social obligations, starting with a morning ride down Rotten Row with her cousin. At least that bit would be enjoyable. Atop her chocolate mare named Fae, and wearing her most fashionable green riding habit, Patience prayed today would be a better day than yesterday.

  They rode up to the gates of Hyde Park, and Rowan led them onto the dirt path, which was quiet at this time of day. Still, Rowan nodded in greeting at the few who had ventured out on this chilly morning.

  “Do you know all these people?” Patience asked, smiling and nodding her own head towards an elderly man and his wife.

  “If not by name, at least by face.” His lazy smile turned his speech to a drawl. “You’ll learn in time, cousin, that this is a rather small community we’re a part of.”

  “But are we really a part of it? We’re in trade, after all.”

  “So long as you have money, you can infiltrate any group, no matter how exclusive they claim to be.”

  “Yes, but they can find ways to make you miserable in the meantime, can’t they?”

  “Haven’t you already infiltrated the ton? Your dearest friends from school are all daughters of the realm, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, but I can’t very well marry any of them, can I?”

  Rowan smirked, and Patience had the distinct feeling that he was thinking of something entirely inappropriate, which would not have been out of the norm for him.

  “What does it matter? No one’s going to look twice at me, no matter who my friends are. That was made perfectly clear evening last. It’s one thing to have money, but it’s another to cause a scandal.”

  “Your step-mother isn’t so bad, Patience.” Rowan gave her a patronizing look that made her want to slap him.

  “My mother is barely cold in the ground—”

  “It’s been six months.”

  “Not for me.”

  Silence fell between them. It was true her mother had been gone for six months, but Patience had only learned about it two months ago, when her father had arrived home from India with her new stepmother, who was pregnant at the time. It didn’t take a mathematician to realize her father had not been faithful to her mother whilst they were away.

  “Oh, look!” Patience’s friends were walking down the lane towards them and she welcomed the distraction. She didn’t really care to discuss her familial situation any further. “There are Moira and Pippa. Would you mind stopping?”

  “Of course not.” They both began to slow their mounts. “Not for Miss Casemore, at least.”

  Patience shot him a warning glare, but her friends were upon them, so she’d have to save her verbal warning for later.

  “Oh, Patience,” Pippa said as she approached them, her green eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Where have you been? I didn’t see you at the ball last night…or did I?”

  Patience stared at her friend, wondering why she’d be so confused about whether or not they’d seen one another or not. How odd. “I’m afraid it was quite a crush, wasn’t it?” she replied, hoping that would clear up her friend’s confusion. “I spotted you from across the room, but I couldn’t get anywhere near you. And then you were gone. Both of you,” she added, pointedly turning her attention to Moira.

  Moira swept a wayward strand of auburn hair from her eyes and cast Pippa a quick but meaningful glance. Patience couldn’t help but feel left out. There was something going on. Something had happened last night, and she had to know about it. “Could I persuade you both to come for tea this afternoon?” she ventured. Tea at Findley Place would at least provide them with a little privacy.

  “We’d love to,” Pippa said. “Shall I send word to Georgie?”

  “Oh, please do. It will be lovely to all be together again.”

  With that, they said their goodbyes, and then she and Rowan continued on their way. Patience didn’t really want to go back home, but at least now she had something to look forward to other than the shrill cries of her new baby sister.

  That afternoon, two lovely young ladies appeared on Patience’s doorstep and brought a smile to her face that she simply could not erase. She loved her friends dearly—they’d shared several years at Broadmoor Academy together, and Patience rather thought those would probably be the best years she’d ever see.

  Not that she wasn’t thrilled to embark on her adult life, though she knew she had a somewhat fanciful idea of what it would be. Her head kept telling her to stop dreaming so about love and romance and skipping through the fields with an adoring husband. After last night, she wasn’t sure she’d ever have any husband at all, be he adoring or otherwise.

  “Isn’t Georgie coming?” she asked as she led her friends through the grand marbled foyer to the back of the house where there existed a more private parlor than the front one, which was typically used for receiving guests. Her mother probably would have tsked at her for not maintaining formality, even with such close friends. Mother was nothing if not a stickler for propriety. Being a trade family, she’d always said it was important to be even more attentive to etiquette than anyone else. Certainly, she was rolling over in her grave at the latest familial developments.

  “I believe so,” Pippa replied as they took their seats around the small, round table. “Perhaps—”

  Pippa was cut off as a blur of honey blonde hair burst into the room. Patience stood to greet Georgie, only to be nearly barreled down when she ran into her arms.

  “Goodness!” Patience exclaimed. “Glad to see you too
, Georgie.”

  “I’ve just missed you all so,” she said, making her way around the table to hug their other friends.

  Pippa smiled softly. “It is different now, isn’t it? Not being at school together, all the time.”

  “But we’re together now, aren’t we?” Patience began to pour the tea. “Now, will someone please tell me what happened last night?”

  “Are you certain you want to know?” Pippa asked. “It isn’t at all pleasant.”

  Patience looked to Pippa, then Moira. They stared back at her with rather pained expressions. “Well, what is it?”

  “Yes, please,” Georgie put in. “I must hear everything. Goodness, I’ll never forgive Mother for forcing me to go to the Sutherland ball rather than the Heathfield’s.”

  “Somehow,” Pippa began, “Moira and I ended up with our names in White’s betting book.”

  Patience’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened, but she couldn’t seem to find any words. Not for a few moments anyhow, but eventually, she had to ask the question: “How?”

  Pippa sagged forward. “I wish I could remember what I did last night, or perhaps I don’t want to. All I know is that some dastardly earl claimed he could bed me before the Season ends and those terrible words are now scrawled in that awful book.” Then she tilted her head towards Moira. “And she was overheard saying something to her sister-in-law about compromising a gentleman.”

  “And I plan to use it to my advantage.” Moira accepted the cup of tea that Patience handed over to her, seeming quite indifferent to her precarious position.

  “How so?” Georgie wondered as Pippa heaved a beleaguered sigh.

  “To help me find a laird, of course. A nice Scottish lord, who will take me far away from here and my mother.”

  The wail of Patience’s baby half-sister sounded from outside. That meant Rangana was nearby. All four heads swiveled to the door as the handle turned and then opened to reveal Patience’s stepmother and baby Mabel.