Her grandfather’s nostrils flared once more. “Doverton? The Dovertons are nobodies, and what they have has all gone to the elder brother. From what I hear, your major has nothing but his prize money and ill health, both derived in the Peninsula.”
“You are wrong on both counts,” Tillie countered. “But to quote your own words, sir, that is none of your business.”
“You won’t say so when you are looking for a place to live!”
Tillie laughed. “Sir, are you really not aware that I am quite vulgarly wealthy? I don’t need your money, and I wouldn’t take it even if I were starving.”
And that, Tillie thought with fierce satisfaction, was that.
But it wasn’t. When the carriage finally pulled up at the vicarage, her grandfather helped her down. They barely glanced at each other. Instead, the old man was looking toward the other carriage. Grant had just jumped down from the box, and Dove was striding to meet her.
“Major Doverton,” her grandfather said. “Might I have a word? If we may impose on Mrs. Grant a few minutes longer.”
“Of course,” Kate said cordially.
She took Tillie’s arm, urging her through the gate. Now Tillie was uneasy, for she had no idea what her grandfather meant to say to Dove, and how it would affect his innate chivalry. But clearly, Sir Alfred, having committed to this fight, was not giving up easily.
*
Dove followed Sir Alfred into Grant’s study and closed the door.
“I will come to the point,” Courtney said abruptly. “You are not the husband I choose for my granddaughter. I believe you to be grasping and opportunistic, in short, sir, a fortune hunter.”
Dove ushered him politely to a seat but remained standing, gazing down at him. “You do not know me, sir, and your age compels me to accept from you insults that would be unforgivable in a younger man.”
“Yes, yes, very admirable. You are indigent, sir. But since Matilda appears to have a fondness for you, I will grant you a sizeable pension. Provided you leave her alone. She will marry my grandson, Captain Anthony Blackshaw.”
Dove blinked. In a bizarre, unexpected kind of way, the relationship made sense. “I beg leave to doubt it, sir.”
Courtney shrugged. “Then you are a fool. She has already agreed.”
“You lie,” Dove said, looking him straight in the eyes.
Courtney smiled. “Do I?”
“Yes, you do. Good evening, sir.”
As he turned on his heel, Courtney’s jaw had already begun to drop.
“You’ll lose the pension,” he said with a shade of desperation. “And I’ll make sure you never touch a penny of Matilda’s money!”
Dove laughed. “Bless you, Sir Alfred. Not everything is about money. Or even birth.”
He was still smiling as he crossed the hall to the drawing room. But when he opened the door and went in, he didn’t like the anxiety he saw in Tillie’s brilliant eyes.
“What?” he said, going to her at once.
“What did he ask you?” she demanded.
“To give you up for a pot of money, I think. He has a very inflated sense of his own importance.”
“What did you say?” Tillie demanded.
Dove paused and scowled. “What the devil do you think I said?”
At that, her shoulders relaxed and a smiled wreathed her face, depriving him of breath.
“I’d best go and see him,” Grant said, taking his wife’s hand and making for the door.
“Wait a second, Grant,” Dove called. “If Tillie’s agreeable, can we get a license and be married the same day as Lampton?”
“Of course you can,” Grant said and went out.
“That is only a week away,” Tillie said, awed.
“Is it too soon?” he asked, drawing her down onto the sofa beside him.
She shook her head, her smile now adorably shy, and yet her eyes shone with happiness. It stunned him all over again that he had inspired such feeling in her. “I was just wondering why you wished to be married at the same time as Dr. Lampton.”
“The idea just came to me… I’ll have to speak to him and to Princess Elizabeth, and of course if they don’t care for the idea, we’ll change it. It’s just…” He smiled a little deprecatingly. “The truth is, I always held myself a little aloof from Blackhaven, and even from my fellow officers—at least those I did not know before my injury. Afterward, because I knew I had not long on this earth, it seemed…unnatural and unkind to make friends.”
She took both his hands in hers. “Because you thought you would die?”
He nodded. “I wasn’t lonely,” he said quickly. “Or I don’t think I was. I was just…distant. Oh, I did my duty at headquarters and in the town. I went to some of the assembly balls and occasional parties people invited me to. But I was never like Grantham or old Fredericks, never really part of the community.” His fingers curled around hers. “I think I would like to be. Since you came, I’ve realized how much I like and appreciate these people—the Grants and the Lamptons, the Muirs and the Winslows, even Sylvester Gaunt! It just came to me that I would like to be married along with such friends.”
He kissed her forehead. “But I don’t truly mind. If you dislike the idea in the slightest—or they do!—it doesn’t matter. The important thing is to marry you.”
Smiling, she held up her face to be kissed.
*
A little over a week later, Tillie married Dominic Doverton in Blackhaven Church, in the same ceremony that married Dr. Lampton to Elizabeth von Rheinwald. Attending her was Catherine Gaunt, while Dove’s brother John served as best man.
Of course, Dove’s family was not best pleased by the match, although they were no doubt mollified by the fact that she was Courtney’s granddaughter and brought a considerable fortune with her besides. On top of which, Dove had told John and Ellen in no uncertain terms that his wife was to be treated with every respect. And if she was not made welcome to the family, it would cause a serious rift.
“But, Dominic, Felicity!” Ellen had pleaded in a somewhat feeble last-ditch attempt to influence matters.
“Felicity does not like to be without a husband to order her life,” Dove had retorted. “I could not live with a woman who lies and considers no one but herself. More importantly, I do not love her, and she should never have been led to believe that I still did. I blame you for that, Ellen, however good your intentions. Now you must respect my wishes in this. I hope you can. I hope you both can, for you’re my family and I have no wish to begin a quarrel.”
Neither clearly did John or Ellen, for they said no more, and even postponed their departure to attend the wedding, as did Mr. Ashley, although Tillie caught the odd rueful look in his eyes.
Several of the regiment came to the church, including Captain Blackshaw. More of a surprise was the presence of Sir Anthony Courtney, glowering from the back of the church.
Annie, now Mrs. Trent, was there, too, with both big and little Georges. The latter was good as gold and didn’t cry at all until after the ceremony. With Mr. Hatton’s help, the old King’s Head Inn had been purchased, and Annie and George were supervising repairs before George’s mother arrived from Manchester. They both had great plans for the place, and Tillie was delighted to see them so happy.
If only the inn had been ready on time, Tillie would have chosen to have her wedding breakfast there. Since it was not, everyone repaired to the hotel dining room.
During the breakfast, the brides compared wedding trips.
“I shall love to see Italy with Nicholas,” Elizabeth confided. “Beneath the man of logic and science, he hides a deep appreciation of the arts… But oh, I shall miss Andreas. I have never been apart from him before, and I cannot bear the thought that he might cry for me.”
“I believe your governess has plans to keep him so occupied, he will have no time to cry,” Tillie said. “Besides, only think how delighted he will be when you come back!”
Elizabeth laughed. “There is that!
But where is it you are going? Did I ever hear?”
“Probably not. We were waiting for Captain Alban to return from Ireland—oh, did you hear they caught the conspirators?” Who had included her own uncle and cousin, desperate to make money from anything. “Anyhow, Alban is lending us his yacht, weather permitting, to sail to France and from there we intend to travel to Spain to visit Dove’s old haunts, and then, perhaps Vienna.”
“Then we might see you there!” Elizabeth said, pleased.
“Vienna?” said Sylvester Gaunt, who was passing behind them. “You might come across my sister Anna there, too. Give her my best, if you do. Tell her to write to Tamar, for I probably wouldn’t reply.”
“The Gaunts are a strange family,” Dr. Lampton observed. “Brought up almost feral and yet somehow grew into decent and charming people.”
Before setting out on their trip, Tillie repaired to the cloakroom. While she paused to straighten a hair pin and wonder at the flushed happiness in her own face, Ellen Doverton came in.
Although Tillie smiled in a friendly manner, she did not expect the encounter to be warm. But to her surprise, Ellen paused beside her, as though she had something to say.
“You would have married him when you believed he was dying, wouldn’t you?” she said abruptly. “You would have nursed him and suffered with him.”
Tillie nodded, a little warily.
“That is no small thing,” Ellen said with difficulty.
Tillie tilted her chin. “I love him.”
“Dominic also told us it was you who persuaded him to let doctors examine him again. It is because of you we know he will live.”
Tillie had always known Ellen’s concern for Dove’s marriage stemmed from more than pride and snobbery. Ellen cared for him. Now, Tillie recognized the depth of that love and forgave everything.
She smiled. “I think it was just Dove himself. It was the right time.”
“Because of you. We won’t forget that,” Ellen said. She dashed one hand across her face and hastened to a washing bowl.
Tillie blinked after her in some wonder. In this shared affection was the basis of a friendship with her new sister-in-law. “You know we’re going to buy a house in Blackhaven?” she told her. “You’ll always be welcome there.”
Ellen turned. “Then you won’t return to Manchester?”
“Not to live. My later memories there are not good. Others will run the mills and the rest, though I will keep an eye on them. I want my workers happy as well as prosperous.”
Ellen narrowed her eyes. “Are you a radical, Miss Daw—Mrs. Doverton?”
“Oh goodness, how strange that sounds! You are Mrs. Doverton! Please, call me Tillie. And no, I’m not a radical. But I like everyone around me to be contented.”
Ellen’s lips curved into a smile. “Funnily enough, I suspect they are.”
*
“I think Ellen likes me,” Tillie crowed to Dove some time later. “Secretly, of course. We might even be friends one day.”
They stood together on the deck of Alban’s yacht as the sun began to set. The sea was quite calm, but the air felt icy on her face. She was glad of her fur cloak and the gorgeous little fur hat that matched. And of Dove’s shoulder pressed to hers.
“Of course she does, and I believe you will be.” He nudged her gently. “If it makes you feel better, they didn’t approve of Felicity when I was engaged to her either. They are older than me, and were always inclined to be overprotective, even before my injury. But this is a new life for you and me, and I believe they want to be part of it. They already like that you make me happy, and that you bully me about doctors.”
“I did not bully you!” Tillie protested. “You merely saw sense.”
The smile died on his lips. “Because of you, I wanted to live. I wanted you to know. Because of you, I was afraid to know, which didn’t sit well with me once I’d acknowledged it.”
She hugged his arm and rested her head against his shoulder. “Look how beautiful the sky is. I wish I could paint colors like that.”
“We’ll buy paints and you can try.”
In silence, they watched the sun sink below the horizon. A deep contentment filled Tillie’s heart, and yet it beat too quickly, too excitedly, for Dove stood close to her. And in the eyes of God and man, she was his.
He said, “Come, it’s growing cold. Let’s go below.”
She turned to meet his warm gaze and her heart turned over.
He cupped her cheek, then bent and kissed her lips. “I want to make love to you. At last.”
“At last?” she teased, although her voice was not quite steady. “You have only known me a month!”
“I feel as if I have always known you, always wanted you.”
She shivered with delighted anticipation. The crew, well-trained by Alban and Lady Arabella, accorded them no more than a cheerful nod when they passed. Climbing down the ladder to their cozy and yet luxurious cabin, Tillie’s heartbeat left her breathless. By the time they stood in the middle of the cabin, almost touching the post of the large bed, she was trembling. Two lamps were lit in the cabin, casting a soft glow over Dove’s strong face. He was at once a stranger and her friend. Her husband.
“You are lovely in that hat,” Dove said, taking it off with reluctance. He smiled. “But then, you are lovely without it too.”
His greatcoat was hung behind the door with her cloak. His hands on her shoulders, he bent and kissed her lips with soft, devastating sensuality. She melted against him, clutching his coat buttons until she found she was unfastening them and could slide her arms around him inside it, even burrow with her hands under his shirt to the hot, smooth skin of his back. His muscles rippled under her caresses while he seduced her with his lips and tongue and nibbling teeth.
Her whole body seemed to be on fire as her gown and underdress dropped around her feet with her stays. He drew back to shrug off his coat and waistcoat, and for an instant, stood gazing at her, breathing heavily. He reached out slowly and gathered up her chemise and drew it over her head.
“Dear God,” he whispered, gazing at her as she gasped and trembled with embarrassment. Without meaning to, she took a step toward him, and with a muttered oath, he seized her in his arms, swung her off her feet, and onto the bed. In a trice, his shirt was over his head and his breeches kicked to the floor. She caught a glimpse of the jagged scar across his abdomen and the dark shaft rising over it. And then he lowered his body over hers and she could run her greedy, wondering hands over his hard chest and shoulders and back, over the rise of his buttocks.
He kissed her mouth with breath-taking passion, before moving down her throat and shoulders to her breasts, which he kissed so delightfully that she moaned and wriggled beneath him, clutching him to her. He returned suddenly to her mouth, claiming it with strength as he slid inside her. She cried out with shock, but he whispered her name, kissing and caressing her until she relaxed once more into his embrace. And then he pushed deeper and rocked within her, and she gazed up at him with awe, while her body blindly followed him, deriving ever intensifying pleasure from her every move and his.
The strange, wonderful dance grew wild and overwhelming until it consumed her, shattering her into ecstasy such as she had never imagined. And he felt it, too, collapsing on her with fierce groans of bliss that astonished her more than all the rest.
Slowly, he detached his mouth from hers and turned, drawing her with him so that they lay on their sides, still joined. “I feel I have waited a lifetime for this one moment.”
“Just this one?” she said breathlessly. “Won’t there be others?”
“Oh, many, many others,” he assured her. “If you like.”
“I will like,” she whispered.
And she did.
Mary Lancaster’s Newsletter
If you enjoyed The Wicked Waif, and would like to keep up with Mary’s new releases and other book news, please sign up to Mary’s mailing list to receive her occasional Newsletter.
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Other Books by Mary Lancaster
VIENNA WALTZ (The Imperial Season, Book 1)
VIENNA WOODS (The Imperial Season, Book 2)
VIENNA DAWN (The Imperial Season, Book 3)
THE WICKED BARON (Blackhaven Brides, Book 1)
THE WICKED LADY (Blackhaven Brides, Book 2)
THE WICKED REBEL (Blackhaven Brides, Book 3)
THE WICKED HUSBAND (Blackhaven Brides, Book 4)
THE WICKED MARQUIS (Blackhaven Brides, Book 5)
THE WICKED GOVERNESS (Blackhaven Brides, Book 6)
THE WICKED SPY (Blackhaven Brides, Book 7)
THE WICKED GYPSY (Blackhaven Brides, Book 8)
THE WICKED WIFE (Blackhaven Brides, Book 9)
WICKED CHRISTMAS (Blackhaven Brides, A Novella)
REBEL OF ROSS
A PRINCE TO BE FEARED: the love story of Vlad Dracula
AN ENDLESS EXILE
A WORLD TO WIN
About Mary Lancaster
Mary Lancaster lives in Scotland with her husband, three mostly grown-up kids and a small, crazy dog.
Her first literary love was historical fiction, a genre which she relishes mixing up with romance and adventure in her own writing. Her most recent books are light, fun Regency romances written for Dragonblade Publishing: The Imperial Season series set at the Congress of Vienna; and the popularBlackhaven Brides series, which is set in a fashionable English spa town frequented by the great and the bad of Regency society.
Connect with Mary on-line – she loves to hear from readers:
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The Wicked Waif Page 21
