Loving Lieutenant Lancaster

by Sarah M. Eden

  Arabella nodded. How well she knew that truth. She had once asked the earl if she could live with him and be part of his family. Though he had not been unkind in his response, he had told her she could not. “Family stays with family,” he had said gently. He had not needed to elaborate. She was not his family. She belonged where she was, and dreams of something better were just that . . . dreams.

  “Good.” Her aunt pursed her thin lips. “We had best go through your adornments next.”

  Arabella took out her small shell-covered box, a discarded container she had found behind Sarvol House when she’d gone scavenging at eight years old and in which she kept her few baubles. As quickly and subtly as she could, she pulled from it a slender chain, on which hung a single glass bead. She clutched it in her fist, hidden from view, and handed the box to her aunt. Any of the rest of its contents could be denied her without causing pain, but that chain and bead meant the world to her.

  Philip Jonquil, the oldest of the earl’s sons, had brought her the simple bit of jewelry shortly after his father’s death, having found it among his father’s things with a note indicating it was meant for her. She had been but eleven years old. Her dear earl had not forgotten her, even in death. She’d accepted the offering and wept, her heart breaking. Philip, far too young to be bearing such a burden, had, like his father before him, put an arm around her and offered her his strength, comforting her in her grief even as he’d battled his own.

  If only she had been permitted to be a part of that family. Among them, she would never have been lonely or broken or forgotten. But eleven years had passed, eleven years without her Lord Lampton, eleven years of loneliness and struggle. She was now more than twice the age she had been when she’d received the necklace, the earl’s final act of kindness toward her, yet she felt the loss almost as acutely as she had then.

  Her aunt dropped the shell box onto Arabella’s bed. “All of this will have to remain behind.”

  Arabella clutched her treasure ever tighter, making absolutely certain it was entirely hidden.

  “You will have four dresses and two gowns suitable for dinners or entertainments,” her aunt said. “No one will expect you to have jewels or fine hair combs.”

  Leaving behind what few adornments she had and resigning herself to her most dowdy gowns was a small price to pay. She would be away from her aunt and uncle and the misery they inflicted. Better still, she would be among the Jonquil family, walking the corridors where her dear Lord Lampton had spent his days. Being there, even as a companion rather than an honorary daughter as she’d once dreamed of being, would help fill the void she’d felt all her life.

  In Lampton Park, she might at last find home.

  * * *

  Arabella’s heart sped as the carriage traveled the manicured drive to the front portico of the Lampton Park manor house. The regal prospect, park land stretching out in all directions, the imposing façade of the grand home, and the stately trees placed at deliberate intervals all declared to new arrivals that this was the seat of an important family. Only a very naive, very lonely little girl would ever believe such a place could be her home simply by asking for it to be.

  But it will be now. In a sense. She would be living there, and that would be enough.

  Arabella, along with her uncle and aunt, was ushered inside directly to a sitting room where the dowager countess, the late earl’s widow, clad, as always, in unrelieved black, received them. Bows and curtsies were exchanged.

  “What a pleasure—” Aunt Hampton began.

  “I will not keep you,” the dowager said. “Your niece and I are perfectly capable of sorting everything on our own.”

  Aunt and Uncle Hampton could do nothing but accept their dismissal. To argue would be to imply that the dowager was not, in fact, capable of seeing to the business at hand.

  Quick as that, Arabella was free of the two people who had controlled every aspect of her life for years. She stood a moment in shock. No matter that she was a grown woman; she’d never been granted any true freedom. She hardly knew what to think.

  “I am so pleased you are here.” The dowager took her hands and squeezed her fingers.

  “You are?”

  The dowager’s smile grew. “Oh, dear. I can see your aunt and uncle have dampened your enthusiasm.” She slipped her arm through Arabella’s and guided her from the room and toward the grand staircase. “If I told you we are soon to have a house party, would that lift your spirits?”

  Arabella nodded. House parties required a great deal of work. She would have plenty to do, which would help secure her welcome here.

  “Wonderful,” the dowager said. “For now, though, let us focus on getting you settled.”

  Arabella ran her hand along the banister as they climbed the stairs. The earl must have often done the same. He had been at home here, happy and content. She could so easily picture him in this place, greeting guests in the entry hall, standing at the top of the stairs. Were he here just now, he would smile at his wife in that way he always had, with love so palpable no one seeing his expression could ever have doubted the depth of his feelings.

  He had loved his wife with an open affection few gentlemen allowed. And Arabella knew with absolute certainty that he would have welcomed her here as well, hugging her as he had so often done. Of course, she was much older now, but she wanted to believe that he would not have stopped comforting her with those paternal embraces she had depended upon so much.

  “Your room is just down here.” The dowager’s voice broke the spell of Arabella’s reminiscences. “I should warn you, we will be removing to the dower house when the party ends, so you will need to pack again. Let that guide you as you decide which items to pull out and which to keep tucked away until we are settled for good.”

  The dower house. It made sense. Philip was married, making his wife the true mistress of the Park. That the dowager had remained in residence at the manor house as long as she had was, in all actuality, unusual. Yet Arabella felt more than a twinge of disappointment. The dower house was not the place she had dreamed of all these years. It had not been his home.

  Still, she would be nearby, which was a comfort, and she would be in a position to help and to be companion to the dowager, which would have pleased the earl. There was great reassurance and a sense of purpose in that.

  Philip, the current Lord Lampton, stepped from a room only two doors farther down the corridor than they presently were. He wore a jacket of bright green, not an unusual choice for the flamboyant young earl, though his waistcoat was a subdued grey, the influence of his wife, no doubt.

  He grinned when he spotted her. “Arabella.” They had known each other all her life, which didn’t truly make their use of Christian names entirely proper, but it didn’t make it utterly absurd either. “I see Mater was able to steal you away after all. She was very determined to manage the thing.”

  All the Jonquil brothers had been rather impish growing up. The entire neighborhood had stood in mingled amusement and wariness, wondering what mischief they would get into next. None of the brothers had been as endlessly entertaining as Philip. Arabella had sometimes tiptoed down to the banks of the Trent to watch the brothers enact one of their paper-boat battles or chase each other around the trees and brush. More than once, Philip’s antics had set her laughing loudly enough to give away her hiding spot. None of them had chastised her. She had even been invited to join in.

  The brothers had all grown more solemn after their father’s death. Philip’s transformation had been more heartbreaking, owing to the weight he’d then carried and the drastic change it was from his carefree personality. Over time, he had shed that soberness in favor of an almost ridiculous degree of dandification. No one could be entirely certain why. Arabella could not remove from her mind the memory of him, nineteen years old, only days after burying his father, sitting on the low wall of the Hampton House b
ack garden, his arm around her as she’d cried. That was the Philip she remembered and the one she more and more often saw peeking through his mask of frivolity.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Lampton.” She curtsied, as was proper.

  He laughed, the sound so familiar to anyone who had been a child in the neighborhood while he was growing up. “I don’t imagine I will ever grow fully accustomed to being called that by someone who knew me when I was a ragamuffin young pup.”

  “You are a number of years older than I,” she said. “That does help a little.”

  The famous Jonquil smile lit his face. “I’m not quite in my dotage yet.”

  “Thank the heavens for that,” the dowager said. “If you were anywhere near your dotage, that would put me in the realm of an ancient relic.”

  “Hardly.” Philip kissed his mother’s cheek. “I haven’t forgotten about our planning appointment. I will meet you in the sitting room in a quarter hour, fully prepared to commit myself to all manner of inconvenient and miserable things in the name of your house party.”

  The dowager nudged him teasingly. “You love those ‘inconvenient and miserable things.’ Do not attempt to convince me otherwise.”

  Philip tugged foppishly at his waistcoat. “I do enjoy a gathering.”

  “What you enjoy is an audience.”

  He laughed once more, then disappeared down the corridor. The dowager led Arabella to a room at the far end.

  “This room was Stanley’s,” she said. “I am afraid it is not very feminine, but it does afford a nice view of the east garden. When we relocate to the dower house, you can choose from three different bedchambers.”

  “Thank you.”

  The dowager watched her a moment, her expression unreadable. At last she said, “I am glad you are here, Arabella. I so hope you will be happy at the Park.”

  “I know I will be. I know it.”

  The dowager nodded. “I will leave you to your unpacking. If you feel up to it, I would appreciate you joining us for our planning session. I could use some extra eyes and hands in the final arrangements for this party.”

  “Of course.”

  She stepped inside her temporary bedchamber, intent on hanging up her gowns and placing her smallclothes in the clothespress as quickly as she could so as not to be late. The room was, as the dowager had pointed out, rather masculine, with heavy fabrics and darker colors, but it was also very pleasant. The large window let in a great deal of light, brightening the space.

  She would be very happy here for the interim. She also intended to remain busy enough that her time in this corner of the house would be limited.

  “Whatever you are asked to do, you consider it a command,” her aunt had said on the drive over.

  Arabella would consider it a privilege. She was at last part of the earl’s household; she would not allow this long-awaited dream to die.

  She had not been permitted to bring much with her, though even had she brought everything she’d owned, it would have looked sparse in this bedchamber. Laying out her things required little more than a moment. Last of all, she pulled a glove from the bottom of her portmanteau. Hidden inside the thumb was her gold chain and glass bead.

  She held it a moment, comforted by it as she always was, before clasping it around her neck. She set her open palm against the bead, where it hung over the bodice of her gray gown. Her pulse pounded beneath her fingers, echoing her nervousness.

  “I am here at last,” she whispered. She would not squander this opportunity.

  She found the dowager in the sitting room but only after wandering a bit in search of it. Philip and his wife had not joined her there. The dowager patted the seat beside her on the sofa.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Lady Lampton?” Arabella asked.

  “You really are going to have to stop calling me that. The title also belongs to my daughter-in-law. You will confuse everyone when she is also present.”

  Arabella acknowledged the truthfulness of that but didn’t know what would be proper.

  The dowager absentmindedly twisted her black-bead necklace around her finger while she thought. “My mother-in-law had everyone call her ‘Old Lady Lampton’ after her husband died. She thought it was hilarious. To her credit, it was.”

  Arabella could smile at that. “Is that where your son gets his sense of humor?”

  “Most likely. His father was quite entertaining too.”

  Entertaining was not the word Arabella most associated with the late earl, but it still fit. She had seen him join in his sons’ antics many times, and he had always been quick with a jest or a laugh or an irresistible smile.

  “I think, Arabella, you must call me Mater, just as the boys and their wives do,” the dowager said. “In public and amongst guests, of course, I will have to be Lady Lampton or the dowager or some variation on that. But amongst family, and especially when only the two of us are present, Mater will do nicely.”

  Arabella could hardly imagine such a thing. “That is a very personal term for one who is here as little more than a servant.”

  “Arabella.” The dowager set her hand atop hers. “You have always been and always will be far more than a servant.”

  A sudden ache clutched her heart. “More than a servant” was a far cry from “part of the family,” but it sent an almost painful surge of hope through her, a desperate, aching hope. But optimism had proven ill-advised before. “Are you certain?”

  “Quite. If need be, I will declare it an order, like a cantankerous old matron.”

  Arabella smiled at the exaggerated tone. “Very well, Mater, though it will take some getting used to.” And yet, happiness bubbled inside at the prospect of being on such personal terms with a lady she had so long loved and admired.

  The clanking of watch fobs announced Philip’s approach. “I have news, Mater.” He sauntered over to where they sat. “The Duke and Duchess of Kielder have accepted your invitation, with the caveat that they be permitted to bring little Lord Falstone.”

  Mater—thinking of her by that endearment, let alone speaking it, would take time to feel at all natural—nodded. “Of course. Do the Windovers mean to bring their children as well?”

  Philip expertly lobbed his quizzing glass into the small pocket on his shirtwaist designed specifically for holding it. “It is my understanding the little Windovers will be visiting an aunt for the next few weeks.”

  “And the duchess’s brother and sister?” Mater pressed.

  “Both coming.” Philip made a minute adjustment to his intricately tied cravat. “That was the last of your guest list. This party of yours has all the makings of a roaring success.”

  Far from appearing triumphant, Mater’s expression grew immediately concerned. “If Sorrel does not choose to participate though . . .”

  Sorrel was Philip’s wife and, lately, something of a recluse.

  “I believe she will,” he said. “She has never been one to neglect what she sees as her duty and obligations, no matter her current preference for solitude.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Mater sounded genuinely worried at the possibility.

  Arabella kept her gaze lowered, not wishing to intrude on what had become a rather personal topic. She may have been granted the right to address Mater by her boys’ name for her, but she knew hers was not that close of a connection to them.

  “Let us worry over that if it proves necessary.” Most of the ridiculousness had left Philip’s tone. “I refuse to believe we have lost her so entirely.”

  Arabella didn’t know what had sent the new countess into seclusion, but all the neighborhood had noticed how withdrawn she had grown. She had not attended any of the assemblies before the family had gone to London for the Season. She had returned before her husband, long before the social whirl would have ended in Town, and hadn’t been seen much since. Thou
gh she still attended church on Sundays, she did so with a distant and heavy expression permanently affixed. It was discussed often, but no one had answers. The Jonquil family, unshakably loyal to one another, had refused to indulge anyone’s curiosity.

  “I do worry a little about the wisdom of inviting the Duke of Kielder,” Mater said. “He can be harsh. Sorrel might not respond well to his abrasiveness.”

  Philip took a deep, uneasy breath. “It is a calculated risk, to be sure. But I have seen the fire in her rise when faced with a difficult person. I am hopeful that His Grace’s presence will prick her into action.”

  “And I am hopeful”—Mater didn’t sound entirely hopeful—“that you will be proven correct.”

  This was not at all the direction Arabella had anticipated the house party planning to take. She had come to the sitting room ready to accept any number of tasks, to carefully ascertain her place in this household. Finding herself awkwardly pretending to not overhear so personal a conversation was decidedly uncomfortable, a firm reminder that she was very much an outsider despite a lifetime of daydreams.

  “You will be pleased to know”—Philip’s voice had regained its ridiculousness—“that my tailor intends to deliver to me a newly made jacket in an extraordinary shade of blue.”

  “The duke will hate it,” Mater warned.

  “I know,” Lord Lampton answered with a laugh. “I look forward to it.”

  Mater shook her head. “Inviting his displeasure is dangerous.”

  “Which is what makes it so very entertaining.”

  Mater laughed quietly, real pleasure in her expression. She took up the topic of the coming party and the needed preparations. Arabella was given several small tasks, which she eagerly accepted. The family would find her to be a welcome addition to their household. She would find a place among them and a purpose; she was absolutely determined to.