My hostess gasped and sat back in her chair. “My dear, what a thing to say. I am sure it cannot be true.”
“Oh, I have it on the best authority. God’s.”
“No!” Lady Ambrosia shook her head from side to side to emphasize her disagreement.
“M-my parents arranged for me to also marry a man of God, though he was a local vicar and had no grand intentions of traveling the world, which was fine with me for I wished only to be a good wife to him.”
“And I am sure you were.”
Memories flooded my mind and I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. “Marital congress,” I whispered for I had never spoken of this shame to another, “awakened something in me. Something my husband called the devil itself. I was w-wanton. M-my body heated with longings and urges. He said I was like an animal in h-heat.”
My single tear had morphed into a torrent. I wiped my face with the mangled linen napkin and glanced at Lady Ambrosia, expecting her to be horrified, but all I could see was kindness and acceptance. She patted my arm. “I am sorry he spoke to you in such an ugly manner, my child. It was cruel. You must have been deeply wounded.”
“Yes,” I said, amazed at her discernment. “I felt dirty and wrong and like a mistake of nature. He told me that I was to simply hold still for copulation and when I writhed beneath him and moans of pleasure came forth from me without my control, he accused me of being possessed by the devil.”
“The bastard,” Lady Ambrosia said, her voice hard.
“You do not believe I am possessed?”
“Absolutely not!”
“B-but he was a man of the cloth, would he not be an expert on such things?”
Lady Ambrosia clenched her jaw for a moment before she answered. “Do you believe you are possessed by the devil? Have you consorted with pagans?”
“No! Of course not.”
“And what of your husband?” She glanced at my decidedly male clothing. “I assume he is not aware of your current location or state of dress.”
“He passed away a few months ago. But not before he had slandered my name throughout both our families. I was left penniless and my parents disowned me based upon his accusations.”
Lady Ambrosia swore under her breath.
“My sister is the only one I have left. Whether she is aware of the words which have been applied to me, I do not know. She has never indicated and I have never told her. Her husband also passed on recently and I intend to join her in America and assist her in her charitable endeavors.”
“And you intend to do those things as a man?”
“It is easier for travel, a woman alone draws too much attention. As for whether I shall continue this persona once I reach America. I do not know. There are certainly many advantages to being a man.”
Lady Ambrosia helped herself to a second jam and cream covered scone and offered one to me as well, which I accepted. Another of the benefits of no longer caring whether my waist was deemed sufficiently narrow—the ability to eat with abandon. A man’s worth was measured by his pedigree and family fortune, not the size of his pantaloons.
“I wonder, and please forgive me if I am prying, my dear, but I cannot help but wonder if your choice to abandon a feminine appearance had anything to do with the wicked things your husband said about you?”
I met her gaze. She was not only kind but unerringly perceptive. “There is some truth to what you say. Cutting my hair and binding my breasts has made me feel less feminine, less needful of carnal pursuits.”
“I see,” Lady Ambrosia said, stirring her tea thoughtfully.
“You must think me a lunatic.”
“No,” Lady Ambrosia said, “not at all. I think you are quite a pragmatist. It is a man’s world, after all.”
“If you cannot beat them, join them, eh?” I said, trying to buoy my spirits.
“Absolutely! And so you shall sail for America soon?” Lady Ambrosia said around a mouthful of food.
Any spirits that had been buoyed soon deflated. “Not soon,” I said. “I was on my way to purchase passage to America when those ruffians robbed me. I have only a few notes which I had hidden in my shoe in case of an emergency. It would appear, I shall have to rely on those funds to get me by and I shall start over.”
“Oh dear. Can your sister be of assistance?”
“Sadly, no. Her situation is as dire as my own. I hate to imagine what she will think when I write to tell her I have been delayed.”
“I am so sorry, my dear.”
By this time, the tea was gone and I stifled a yawn.
“My apologies,” said Lady Ambrosia, “I have kept you talking much too long. I have brought a powder for your headache.”
I thanked her for the medication and resumed my place in the large bed. Lady Ambrosia tucked the blankets around me and kissed my forehead. “Sleep well, my dear. We shall sort things out in the morning.”
Chapter 2
Jade River Hall
The Village of Briar Glen
Early Summer
Drake Stowe, the Viscount of Redmond
I paced the hallway outside my uncle’s bedchamber. The doctor, Lucas Spencer, had been called during the night and I was grateful for his prompt assistance.
My uncle, Lord Redmond, had never married nor sired any legitimate children. There were rumors of illegitimate children fathered during his carefree youth, but the subject had never been broached directly between us, nor was it the sort of thing which I would ever mention to him. There had been times, over the years, when I had overheard conversations related to regular payments to women for the care of themselves and their children. Initially I had assumed my uncle, as benevolent landlord, was caring for the less fortunate of his tenants. As I grew older and wiser, particularly wiser in the ways of the world, I had my suspicions. Uncle Jarvis would not be the first man to spread his seed in places not approved by society.
Like he had with those other, unknown, children, my uncle had been more than kind and generous to me as well. My father was his younger brother and my parents both died when I was but a child. My uncle took over the rearing of me. He took an unusual amount of interest in my education, often requiring me to read books and then discuss them with him, his insights always impressing me with their depth. Additionally, I was sent off to boarding school with the other sons of privilege where I learned from books as well as schoolmates.
All of these kindnesses ran through my mind as I paced. This was not the first time the doctor had been called during the night, or day. His visits were becoming more and more frequent. His face, more and more serious each time he exited my uncle’s bedchamber to report his findings to me, his sole heir.
As my brain swirled with distress over my only living relative, I attempted some simple arithmetic. I was one and thirty, had been in my uncle’s care for approximately twenty years. At that time, he had been approaching forty. How had the time gone so quickly?
When the door opened, I spun on my heel. Dr. Spencer exited, his brow furrowed. His gaze met mine. “Is there a private place where we can talk?” he said.
“Yes, of course,” I replied. “My library is this way. However, may I see my uncle first?” I hated appearing like a desperate child, but at that moment, I was.
Dr. Spencer paused. “He is very weak, please do not upset him. But, I am sure he would enjoy a visit from you. I shall wait for you in your library.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“Do not be long. He needs his rest.” The doctor moved down the hallway and I opened the door to my uncle’s sick room.
Though he had been in poor health for several months and I had seen him abed many times, this morning he appeared even more pale and weak than ever before. How was it possible that this towering figure of a man, who had been the only reliable presence in my life, could be weary and fragile?
I approached his bed and he opened his eyes to look at me. “Drake,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Hush now, U
ncle. Save your strength.” I pulled a chair up next to his bed.
“Water, please,” he said, his voice slightly louder.
I helped him with a drink and then he laid his head back against the pillows, eyes closed. I thought he had fallen asleep and rose to leave, my heart heavy at his frail condition.
“Wait. Sit back down.”
Startled, I did as he instructed. “Yes, Uncle?”
“Prop me up so I can see you better.” Once he was situated, he summoned all his strength and looked at me earnestly. “I do not wish for you to come to the end of your life and have the same regrets that I do,” my uncle said, his gaze uncomfortably steady on me.
Oh, how I did not wish to have such a serious conversation ever. Why in heaven’s name was my usually affable uncle suddenly speaking of such morbid things? I made an attempt to redirect the conversation. “Uncle,” I said giving him my best jovial smile, “you are far from the end of your life. Please, let us not talk of unpleasant things. It is a fine morning. I am sure that after some rest, the medicine from Dr. Spencer will take affect and you will be much improved.” I stood, indicating my belief that the conversation had ended, but my uncle was not to be deterred.
“No, I will not be put off like a doddering fool,” said he. “Much to my surprise, I find I have reached an age where I can look back at my life and I do not always like what I see on my jaunts down memory lane. I have many regrets. I would hate for you to suffer the same fate.”
He gazed into the distance and then glanced at me and said, “Do not envy me. Do not wish to be like me. Look at me. I am alone. Even in my younger days, the only person who cared when I got home was my valet and that was only so that he, too, could retire for the evening.”
I moved to speak but he held up his hand to stop me. “I know, you care too. And I appreciate that. And because I care as much, or more, for you, I need for you to listen and heed my words. Find a wife. Have a family. Settle down so that you have someone to go home to. Someone who will watch out the window for your return.”
He gestured toward his water glass and I refilled it for him. He took a hearty gulp before continuing.
“I know how Marie treated you and the scar that caused. But do not allow that to prevent you from loving again.” A cold chill ran through me at the mention of the woman who had broken my heart and shattered my trust in people.
“Uncle, I assure you I am no longer pining for Marie. I simply have not found another I find suitable.”
“Because you have not even tried. Have you? When was the last time you attended a ball or even accepted an invitation for dinner? You have turned into a recluse. No doubt the local children tell stories about the mysterious viscount who lives in the large manor house.”
“Uncle, you are exaggerating. And you are using your energy up on this argument.”
He paused and tried another tact. “I loved a woman once with a passion that frightened me. Being around her made me feel alive in a way no drink or game or working girl ever could.”
Never in my wildest imaginings had I ever considered that my uncle might once have been in love. My expression must have conveyed my thinking for he said, “What? Do you find it so hard to believe that I was once young and in love?” He laughed, but it was not a joyful laugh. It was a laugh of self-derision, mocking. “All these years later, my heart still pangs for her. Why do you suppose I drink so much? To drown out the memories... and the self-loathing I feel for my foolishness and pride.”
I gaped for a full minute before I could utter even a minimal a response. “Who? What happened?”
“Like me, she was unconventional and did not care to follow the rules of society. She had her own dreams and aspirations. Her talents were unquestionable. I asked her to be my wife.” He paused and stared at the floor for a moment. “She refused. She said she did not wish to be any man’s wife, his chattel. She demanded freedom and independence to pursue her destiny... not mine.” He laughed again and looked up at me. “She rejected me. Me? Can you believe it?”
“No, I cannot,” I managed to say. “And you did not try to change her mind?”
He shook his head from side to side. “Oh, how I wish I had. But my pride was wounded and so I let her go. Not a day goes by that I do not regret allowing my pride to keep me from her.”
Any other time, I would have found pleasure in my uncle’s self-deprecating humor, but not this time. The pain, even to someone like me who was not known for his keen sense of attention to the feelings of others, was palpable and raw. His pain became my pain and I had an uncharacteristic impulse to offer him comfort, though in what form, I knew not. A handshake? A hug? No, definitely not a hug. But a handshake was so impersonal.
While I debated how to accomplish the unfamiliar task of providing comfort to someone I cared about, the issue resolved itself because my uncle grabbed my hand in his, drew it to his mouth and placed a kiss on the top, then looked up at me and spoke directly into my face. “Find a wife. Create a family. Please do not finish up like me.”
“Yes, Uncle,” I said. For, truthfully, what else could I say?
When I entered my library, Dr. Spencer had already poured a drink for me. “Doctor’s orders,” he said, handing it to me.
Despite the early hour, I downed it at once. The liquid burned the length of my gullet and fortified me for what was to come.
I gestured for Dr. Spencer to take a seat.
“Thank you for coming here in the middle of the night. I am sorry to drag you from your bed. I am sure Mrs. Spencer is none too pleased over these late night calls.”
“She is becoming accustomed to life as a doctor’s wife.”
I nodded to acknowledge his diplomatic answer.
“Your uncle continues to decline.”
“So it would appear.” I stared at the carpet for a moment before returning my gaze to the doctor. “What more can be done for him? I will spare no expense.”
Dr. Spencer was thoughtful for a moment. “I have noticed recently that he is more anxious and agitated than usual and that continues to increase. I have found no physical cause for it.” The doctor glanced away and then met my gaze again. “He is particularly concerned about you. Even in his weakened state, he asks me repeatedly to encourage you to find a wife. Until now, I had not mentioned it to you as I felt it was not my business. However, I have done all that is medically possible to ease his distress.”
There was a moment of silence in the roomful of books.
“A-are you saying that if I marry it will cure my uncle?” I gaped at the good doctor. I had known him since his arrival in Briar Glen and always found him to be a gentleman of good sense, but I had to question his thinking now. Perhaps it was the result of a lack of sleep.
“There is recent research in the medical journals indicating a correlation between emotions and the body.”
“Just now, when I spoke to him, he was particularly adamant that I find a wife and ‘not end up like’ him. He has hinted at such things in the past, but he had never been so assertive about it.”
“I hope you will at least consider his request,” the doctor said. “I have found marriage to be quite pleasurable. Much more so than I expected.”
“I am not suited to marriage. There is plenty of evidence for that.”
“It is not my place to comment on your personal life, my lord, but for the sake of your uncle, who is my patient, I would encourage you to reconsider that statement. Perhaps there is a woman out there who is well suited to you and vice versa.”
“Tell me this, Doctor, how long do you think my uncle has to live?”
“At this rate, perhaps only a fortnight.”
“And if I were to marry and assuage his concerns?”
“There is no real way to determine, but I would think it might extend his life by a month or two.”
I let out a long breath. “So I must shackle myself to a virtual stranger for the rest of my life in order to extend his by a few weeks? And without any sort o
f guarantee?”
The doctor appeared thoughtful for a moment.
“What if,” he said, then shook his head. “No, it is a foolish idea.”
“Tell me. I am willing to consider anything.”
“What if you simply presented your uncle with a fiancée? His concern is knowing that once he is gone, you will have a family, someone to care for you. If you introduce him to a young lady who is going to be your wife at some point in the future, it might have the same effect on him.”
“And where am I to find a short term fiancée? I can hardly place an advertisement in the paper.’
Dr. Spencer drew a calling card from his pocket. “Perhaps this lady can help.”
I took the card from him.
Lady Ambrosia
Matchmaker to the Discerning
Chapter 3
Amy
It had been several weeks since I had taken up residence at Lady Ambrosia’s home. Nearly every morning I had told myself that I ought to find another place to live and stop being a burden to the fine lady who had taken me in, but invisible strings held me in place. A quiet voice told me to stay, just a little longer.
For what reason or purpose, I had no idea. To my utter shock, I learned Lady Ambrosia made her living as a matchmaker. How ironic that I, who had made a determination never to marry again had become a firmly ensconced member of her household.
What’s more, in order to provide some service to my kind hostess in exchange for my keep, I had taken up the task of being Lady Ambrosia’s assistant. No, I did not have any input in the process of making matches, but I did keep track of her correspondence and appointments. Over time, I had also been allowed to sit in on some of her matchmaking sessions, which were, to say the least, fascinating.
I had expected a matchmaker to determine her pairings based upon the temperaments and desires of those seeking her services. I was wrong.
His Bargained for Bride (Regency Matchmakers Book 4) Page 2
