Lord Dearborn's Destiny

by Brenda Hiatt

  "I knew you cared for her a month ago, my lord," she informed him. "Why, when we danced at Almack's you could speak of no one but Ellie, do you not recall?" Proudly, she recounted her matchmaking attempts on their behalf, earning chuckles and no small amount of respect for her foresight, all the more remarkable for its singularity.

  With this and other reminiscences of the Season past, the four enjoyed a merry journey. Not until noon on the third day from Gretna Green, as they were once more nearing Huntington Park, did the mood in the carriage become a trifle less jolly.

  "I say, Dearborn," said Sir George as the gates came within sight, "I'm deuced glad that you'll be with me when I face Mrs. Winston-Fitts with the news. What do you say we make our announcement as publicly as possible?" He seemed to have lost much of his stodginess over the past three days.

  "An excellent idea," agreed Forrest. "That might save us from the worst of her initial reaction. I fear, Miss, er, Lady Bellamy, that your mother will be less than overjoyed at the results of our little jaunt."

  Rosalind dimpled prettily. "She will simply have to grow accustomed to it, my lord. Surely, once she sees how happy I am, and how happy Ellie is, she can have no objections."

  "Ever the optimist, Rosie," said Ellie wryly. "For myself, I'd as soon be out of the way when Aunt Mabel first hears how things have fallen out." Happiness had overshadowed any such fears during their journey, but now she was aware of a growing nervousness. Forrest apparently sensed it, for he gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

  "Come now," he said bracingly as the carriage turned up the drive. "What is the worst she can do? She will no longer have the authority to send you to your room, you know— which, by the bye, will be my chamber now." He waggled his brows suggestively at her, causing her to giggle.

  "In that case, if she does, I shall obey her with alacrity, my lord," she told her husband with a bewitching smile.

  * * *

  "I hear a carriage, I am certain of it!" cried Mrs. Winston-Fitts, hurrying to the parlour window for the tenth time that morning. She had been so fidgety for the past five days as to drive everyone else distracted.

  Lady Dearborn devoutly hoped that whoever was approaching brought some word of the runaway lovers— preferably that they were now in Warwickshire, awaiting the Winston-Fittses there. She was sick to death of the whole business, though she wondered that Forrest and Miss O'Day had not yet returned. His eagerness to be off had convinced her that his goal had nothing to do with the eloping couple.

  Most likely, she thought, he had decided to wait in Warwickshire until Sir George and his new bride could reasonably be expected back, in order to spare Miss O'Day the worst of her aunt's wrath. The woman had given ample demonstration over the past few days just how unpleasant she could be when crossed. Lady Dearborn could not blame those of her guests —all but Lady Emma and her daughter and, of course, the Glenhavens —who had decided to make an early departure. Even her assurance that she would instantly send along any news she received to Warwickshire had not succeeded in ridding her of the Winston-Fittses, however. It was plain that the woman had not yet given up hope of seeing her daughter the next Countess of Dearborn.

  "Oh, oh! There is my Rosalind! Lord Dearborn has brought her back!" Mrs. Winston-Fitts exclaimed at that moment from her post at the window. "I knew he would manage it! Sir George is here, as well. Emmett, I know duelling is illegal, but perhaps you can have him taken up for abduction or some such thing. Such presumption! I wonder that Lord Dearborn did not call him out! And there is Elinor, too— how strange! I suppose Lord Dearborn fetched her to act as chaperon for Rosalind. He must care for her very much to have thought of it! But, la! Five days! Why, they must have been nearly to the border before—"

  Lady Dearborn waited to hear no more. At first mention of her son, she was halfway to the parlour door, her puce shawl trailing forgotten behind her, to the delight of Charm and Token, who had once again sought out their mistress. Hutchins had already opened the front door when she reached it.

  "Forrest!" she cried from the top step, attracting the attention of the four young people below her, who were clustered together in whispered conversation. The rest of the house guests crowded behind her in the doorway.

  "Good afternoon, Mother," responded the Earl jovially, doffing his hat and sweeping the gathered company an elegant bow. "I hope we have not worried you unduly."

  Mrs. Winston-Fitts, having delayed at the window, came up last and pushed her way through the interested onlookers. "Worried! Indeed we have been, my lord," she declared before anyone else could speak. "I am more grateful than I can express that you have brought my daughter back. Oh, my precious!" Rushing forward, she clasped Rosalind to her. "Whatever could you have been thinking of to use me so! I was nigh out of my mind with anxiety!"

  "I am sorry we worried you, Mama, but I am persuaded it was for the best," said Rosalind, with commendable bravery. "I hope you will wish me happy as Sir George's wife."

  "Wife! Wife? You are actually married! Then you were not in time to stop them, my lord? Oh, but surely we can have it annulled? Rosalind is but eighteen!" Ashen-faced, she looked from Rosalind to Sir George, who had draped a possessive arm about her shoulders.

  "I think not, ma'am," he said placidly. "The ceremony was duly witnessed and perfectly legal. Lady Bellamy and I are in great hopes that you will come to regard our match with as much joy as we do."

  Mrs. Winston-Fitts opened and closed her mouth several times, plainly at a loss. Seeking an outlet for her frustration, she turned suddenly on her niece. "You, miss! I suppose you knew of this all along and ran off to Warwickshire to avoid telling me! I shall have to devise a suitable punishment for such perfidy."

  Ellie was unmoved by her aunt's threat. In fact, recalling what Forrest had said earlier on that score, she felt the corners of her mouth begin to twitch. Mrs. Winston-Fitts noticed at once.

  "Do you dare laugh in my face?" she fairly shrieked. "You ungrateful hussy! After all I have done for you!" She raised her hand as though to slap Ellie's face, but the Earl quickly interposed himself between them.

  "I will thank you, madam, to refrain from insulting my wife," he said in a chilly voice.

  His words brought her up short. "Your... what did you say, my lord?"

  "Your niece has done me the honour of becoming my wife," he repeated. "Ma'am, may I present the new Countess of Dearborn?" he asked, turning to his mother, who had by that time come up to stand next to him. "You did always say you longed to become a dowager, did you not?"

  Lady Dearborn broke into a delighted smile. "Indeed I did, Forrest. Welcome, my dear. I could not be happier." She embraced Ellie warmly.

  The rest of the company, as though freed from a spell by the new Dowager Countess's action, surged round the two newly married couples, offering good wishes and congratulations.

  "Oh, Ellie, I am so happy for both of you!" exclaimed Juliet, hugging her new sister. "I prayed that it might turn out so!"

  Mr. Winston-Fitts stepped forward to shake Sir George's hand. "Well done, my boy!" he said jovially. "I can think of no one who could make my daughter happier." He bent a commanding look on his wife and, after a few deep breaths, Mrs. Winston-Fitts managed to summon up a sickly smile.

  "At least you will not be removing very far from me, Rosalind," she said, giving her daughter a kiss on the cheek. "You have captured a treasure, Sir George," she said severely to her new son-in-law. "See that you treat her as such."

  Slowly, they all moved into the house. Everyone was talking and laughing at once, asking questions and giving animated replies. As soon as they entered the parlour, Forrest rang for punch all round to celebrate, while his mother bade the footman bring in a tray of Cook's best pastries. In the midst of all this hilarity, Hutchins delivered the afternoon post to Lord Dearborn on a tray.

  "Here, Mother," he said, handing the stack of letters to her. "I do not doubt most of this is for you. Put any business letters aside for me to deal with later. I
could not do them justice at the moment."

  Lady Dearborn glanced quickly through the papers, impatient to continue her talk with her new daughter-in-law, pausing to open only one letter.

  "My goodness!" she exclaimed as she read it through. "It is from Lord Kerrigan, your grandfather, my dear. He is quite recovered, it seems, and was delighted to learn that I had made your acquaintance. He expresses a desire to see me again and asks if I would consider escorting you to Ireland. For the sake of old friendship, of course!"

  Ellie noticed that the Dowager's cheeks had pinkened somewhat. "I must tell him of my marriage at once, of course," she said. "'T'would be wonderful if I could do so in person." She looked questioningly to her husband as she spoke.

  "A splendid notion, I think," said Forrest at once. "In fact, I had already thought that Ireland might be just the place to begin our wedding trip. My mother may remain there when we continue on to the Continent, if she wishes." The look he directed at the Dowager Countess was one of mingled amusement and curiosity.

  The Dowager's blush deepened, but she said composedly enough, "Perhaps I shall. No one I know can play whist as Kerrigan used to. The four of us will have some rare games, I doubt not."

  "Pray do not expect Ellie and me to spend an inordinate time at the card table," said Forrest with a wink at his new Countess. "We shall have other things to occupy our time."

  The Dowager snorted, and began to make plans for the trip. "Let me see, if we wait another week 'twill be after the new moon, the best possible time to set out." She stopped with a gasp. "Forrest! Do you realize you were married on a waning moon? Of course, had you waited it would no longer be June, and that is the luckiest month for weddings—"

  "Mother," interrupted the Earl in a commanding tone, "you will please to keep your superstitions to yourself. I attempted to follow the advice of your Madame Fortunata, and look where it almost led me."

  "She was nearly right, you know, Forrest," she protested. "I must confess that the description of your bride was my idea, and sadly mistaken." She smiled fondly at Ellie and reached out to squeeze her hand. "But she did predict your marriage this year. The stars are never wrong!"

  Forrest looked deep into Ellie's eyes. "Whether luck or the stars had anything to do with it or not, I am eternally grateful that I finally found my soul mate," he said.

  Then, in front of the entire company, he bestowed a tender, lingering kiss on Elinor, the Countess of Dearborn —his Destiny.

  * * *

  Keep reading for a preview of Daring Deception, Hiatt Regency Classics #4!

  * * *

  DARING DECEPTION (PREVIEW)

  CHAPTER 1

  Gavin Alexander, lately 6th Earl of Seabrooke, observed the growing dismay on the face of the young man before him and sighed. He should have known his own incredible luck over the past few hours was too good to be true, and so it apparently was. The lad couldn’t pay up.

  “I’ll accept your vowels, of course, Chesterton,” Lord Seabrooke said brusquely. Frustrated as he was, it was not in him to humiliate the boy publicly. “You may redeem them later in the week.”

  Sir Thomas chewed his lower lip, glancing quickly about at the interested spectators who had gathered to watch the final stages of the evening’s deepest game, before meeting his opponent’s eye. “Might I have a word with you privately, sir?” he asked in a shaky undertone.

  Seabrooke inclined his head, masking fierce disappointment with the lightly amused nonchalance that came so easily now after years of practice. “You’ve all had your entertainment,” he said to their audience. “Our terms of payment can be of no interest to you whatever.” Though there was nothing overtly threatening in either words or tone, the crowd of gentlemen melted away at once.

  “I—I seem to have a problem,” stammered the young baronet as soon as they were alone. He raked agitated fingers through his thick shock of fair hair as he stared despondently down at the table, unable to meet the other man’s eyes.

  “You don’t have the means to pay your gaming debts. Yes, I had gathered that.” Seabrooke’s voice was cold now. He had needed those winnings so desperately! “You realize that I could have you barred from White’s for playing under false pretenses.”

  Sir Thomas’s head came up at once. “It was no such thing!” he declared hotly. “The Chesterton fortune is every bit as extensive as I said. I just don’t exactly…have access to it at the moment. It is tied up in trust, you see.”

  A flame of renewed hope sprang up in Gavin’s breast. “But the money is yours?”

  “Yes, yes, of course! Well, mine and my sister’s, anyway. The terms of m’ father’s will were rather…irregular.” Lord Seabrooke thought he detected a certain bitterness in the lad’s voice. “My share will more than cover your twelve thousand pounds, but my allowance won’t make a dent in it. In fact, my pockets are practically to let till next quarter.” The despair was back in his eyes, and Seabrooke felt his brief hope wither.

  His circumstances were becoming increasingly desperate.

  Despite his lack of a title, Major Gavin Alexander had cut quite a dash in fashionable London, especially with the ladies. The slight limp his war injury had left him seemed to make him an even more romantic figure in their eyes. His leisure hours had been spent in amusements reputable and disreputable, and his near notoriety gained him entry into places few noblemen frequented. This latter had made him particularly useful to the wartime government, though he could no longer serve in combat.

  Never precisely wealthy, he had managed to live well enough on what the War Office paid him—until recently.

  When the news reached him that his Uncle Edmund, a virtual stranger due to a longstanding feud between the 5th Earl and Gavin’s late father, had succumbed to a fever, the new Lord Seabrooke had been both stunned and elated. Giving notice at Whitehall, he had at once travelled north to his new holdings, where another shock awaited him: instead of the tidy fortune he had been led to expect, his uncle had left him a mountain of debt. Gavin sold off the unentailed lands to pay the mortgages and depleted his own savings but still there were bills unpaid.

  Never one to repine, he had eventually returned to Town and lived much as he ever had. Turning out the tenants to take up residence in Seabrooke House, he managed to keep up a pretense of wealth so as not to be denied admittance to the better clubs, where his chief hope of salvation lay. He did have one other: as Lord Seabrooke, he found himself in even greater demand by London’s hostesses—and their daughters.

  After the skirmishes of the spring, Napoleon had finally, irrevocably, been defeated, effectively eliminating Gavin’s position with the War Office. Already his credit was beginning to run out; soon the mamas of certain heiresses would get wind of it and warn their daughters away from him. And now he found himself saddled with a new responsibility, one that honor would not allow him to shirk and that made the recoupment of his finances absolutely essential.

  When the young buck before him had come into White’s looking for a game, boasting of his broad estates and vast fortune, Seabrooke was not the only one who saw him as a wonderfully plump pigeon, ripe to be plucked. While the others had been mainly amused by the young man’s airs, however, Seabrooke had perceived in him the miracle he so desperately needed. Now it appeared that he had given thanks prematurely.

  “And when, precisely, will you have control of your portion of the trust?” he asked with more resignation than hope.

  “Not till I turn five and twenty,” replied Sir Thomas dolefully, poking at the cards before him with one forefinger. “Nearly four years. Frederica gets hers when she marries, but at the rate she’s going that may well be even longer. Surely there must be some way to break this damned trust. A debt of honor, after all...”

  “Your sister is unmarried?” asked Lord Seabrooke casually, seized by a sudden inspiration born of dire necessity. “Tell me about her.”

  * * *

  Miss Frederica Chesterton was having an extremely trying da
y. She had been wakened before dawn by the shrieking of a housemaid, only to discover that the silly girl’s hysterics were precipitated by nothing more than the sight of one of Frederica’s pet mice. The maid was new, and had not yet grown accustomed to her mistress’s unusual menagerie.

  On coming downstairs, Frederica had found that someone had neglected to latch the scullery door, and one of the Angora goats had come into the kitchen. Cook was furious and threatening to give notice, and by the time Frederica had soothed him, her peacock, Fanfare, was screaming loudly for his breakfast. An hour later, the steward appeared to inform her that the late-summer rains had ruined the barley crop.

  Mrs. Gresham, the aging housekeeper, was in a sour mood after being wakened by the peacock and aroused Cook’s ire in turn by suggesting the porridge was lumpy. Frederica managed to smooth things over between the habitual combatants, pacifying Mrs. Gresham with one of Cook’s puff pastries in place of the reviled porridge. Then the accounts had to be gone over, and Frederica found that she had made an error last month that necessitated refiguring two complete columns.

  After ruining three pen nibs, hunting down the housekeeper’s missing keys and separating two young kitchen maids who were pelting each other with flour, Frederica finally retreated to the little back parlor with a tea tray, determined to have an hour to herself to recover her spirits and energy. She had taken only one sip, however, when yet another interruption occurred.

  “Good afternoon, Freddie.” A familiar figure appeared without warning in the doorway. Though the young man standing there possessed blond hair, while Frederica’s curls were the color of brightly polished copper, there was a similarity between the two that marked them at once as brother and sister.

  “Thomas! I thought you still in London.” Frederica rose with a welcoming smile. One look at her brother’s handsome countenance, however, told her that he was highly agitated about something. “Is anything wrong?” After everything else that had happened today, it seemed all too likely.