Loving Lieutenant Lancaster

by Sarah M. Eden

She would make the late earl proud, and she would, at last, not be alone.

  Chapter Three

  “I don’t understand why highwaymen never attacked our carriage.” Artemis, Linus’s nineteen-year-old sister, had lodged a great many complaints over the course of their journey to Nottinghamshire. Most had involved adventurous experiences she felt herself deprived of. “Adam makes no effort to hide the fact that this conveyance likely contains items of value, or at the very least people who might be held for ransom. His coat of arms is on the door, and the Kielder heraldry flies from every corner.”

  “And thus, your mystery is solved,” Adam said as he turned a page in his newspaper.

  After a moment’s thought, Artemis looked to their oldest sister for an explanation. Persephone paused long enough to tuck a blanket more firmly around the shoulders of the child sleeping on her lap. Three-year-old boys did not generally keep still during long drives, but this one had tired himself out.

  “The crest and the heraldry are not advertisements of wealth,” Persephone explained. “They are a warning.”

  Artemis crossed her arms over her chest and sank low on the squabs. “Adam ruins all of my adventures.”

  “You’re welcome,” Adam said without looking up.

  “Someday,” Artemis said, “a dashing and daring rogue will whisk me away, probably to Scotland”—she emphasized the scandalous nature of her hypothetical destination with both volume and a tone of intrigue—“and you won’t be able to stop him.”

  “Stop him?” Adam’s mouth twisted in dark amusement. “On the contrary, I will fund the excursion.”

  “You are the very worst sort of guardian.” Artemis clearly meant the observation to wound him.

  “I have heard it said that a guardian becomes what his ward requires.” Adam tipped his paper to allow more of it to be illuminated by the light from the carriage window. “Or perhaps that was ‘what his ward deserves.’”

  “I was a rousing success this Season.” Artemis had, in fact, been quite the diamond of Society. She had been so in demand that Linus had hardly seen her or Persephone, or his sister Athena, for that matter, she being just as involved in their youngest sister’s debut.

  “I consider myself to have been successful as well,” Adam said a bit darkly.

  “Yes,” Artemis muttered. “I know.”

  Persephone, ever the mediator, entered the fray. “Adam was right to dampen the pretensions of the young gentlemen as he did. You are yet too young, as were all of them. A few were known to be cads. To have accepted a courtship—”

  “I wasn’t looking for a courtship,” Artemis insisted. “I simply wanted a crowd.”

  As far as mottoes went, it was a remarkably good one for Artemis Lancaster.

  Persephone’s little bundle opened a single eye, blinking a few times. A moment later, he began to squirm.

  “Why could Adam not go back to the Castle while we attend this party?” Artemis asked. “It would be vastly more enjoyable for all of us.”

  Persephone’s armful grew more uncooperative as she attempted to soothe her sister and her husband.

  Linus wasn’t particularly necessary to their discussion—he very seldom was—so he held his arms out to his nephew. “Come sit with me, Oliver,” he said.

  The child complied, moving gladly from his mother to his uncle. Oliver had taken to Linus straight off. Linus adored the little boy and cherished his nephew’s attachment to him. Too many years away from his family had rendered him a bit distant from them. But not this boy. Oliver loved him.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked his bleary-eyed companion and received a slow nod in return. “Did you have any dreams?”

  “Papa fought the wolf.” Oliver didn’t seem frightened by the recollection.

  “Did your papa win the fight?”

  Oliver’s tiny black brows shot up in offended surprise, the perfect mimic of one of his father’s signature expressions. “’Course he did.”

  “I should never have doubted,” Linus said.

  Oliver raised his dimpled chin and very nearly looked down his nose at his uncle. “Papa is the duke.”

  “The duke?” Linus hazarded a glance at Adam.

  Nothing in the set of Adam’s features had noticeably changed, and yet there was no mistaking the amused pride he felt.

  “What else does your papa do?” Linus asked his little lapful.

  “Everything.” Oliver popped up his little fingers and counted them off as he listed his father’s impressive achievements. “He has a castle. He has a cage on a chain.”

  “Yes, the infamous gibbet.”

  Oliver’s eyes opened wide, and he whispered, “Papa let me go in the cage.”

  Persephone was apparently listening in. “He did what?”

  “I am the duke,” Adam answered. “I can put children in gibbets if I wish.”

  “Well, I am the duchess. And we will be having a discussion about this later.”

  Oliver leaned closer to Linus and whispered, “We weren’t s’pposed to tell Mama.”

  “I suspect not.” Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, he asked, “Did you have fun in the cage?”

  Oliver nodded emphatically. Across the carriage, Adam unrepentantly grinned. A mere moment later, Persephone was fighting a smile of her own. Linus did not doubt she would make Adam fully aware of her opinion on the matter of their three-year-old son being placed inside a medieval torture device, but she knew her husband well enough to find humor in the situation.

  Linus had known few couples better suited than they. Truth be told, he had known few couples at all. Life aboard ship did not provide ample opportunity for interacting with families. Still, having spent every shore leave with them from the time Adam and Persephone had married, he had seen their connection grow and deepen. He had watched as they’d become more comfortable with each other, more understanding, more integral to one another. He’d seen the same in his sister Athena and her husband, Harry. Sister number three, Daphne, and her husband, James, had not been married as long, but the beginning of that same enduring connection was clear between the two of them as well.

  His family had grown up and left. When he returned to the Shropshire estate, only he would be there. He thought often of the gaping loneliness of the place, the empty corridors, the vacant rooms. His every footstep would echo into the silence. Only the sound of his heart beating would interrupt the memories he knew would plague him there. His mother. His father. Both gone now. And Evander. His brother’s memory never wandered far, but in their childhood home, in the bedchamber they had shared, Evander would haunt him. There would be no escaping that loss.

  Adam’s gruff voice interrupted Linus’s musings. “Come sit with your papa, Oliver.”

  The little boy eagerly obeyed. Few people truly liked Adam—he worked very hard to make certain of that—but Oliver adored his father, idolized him. Society would have been confused and amazed to see such affection.

  Oliver sat on his father’s lap, gazing up into his eyes. Adam, his paper set aside, locked his hands behind his son.

  “Show me your very best smile,” Adam instructed. Oliver must have complied, because Adam nodded with approval. “Now, cast that smile toward your mother. Look as adorable as you can manage.”

  “Do not use our child to get out of my black books,” Persephone said. “It won’t work.”

  “Smile cuter, Oliver,” Adam whispered loudly.

  The little boy set both his fists beneath his chin and looked directly up at his mother. She didn’t smile back, but the laughter in her eyes was evident. Even Artemis looked amused despite her continued determination to be put out with her brother-in-law.

  “You always have fought dirty, Adam Boyce,” Persephone said, shaking her head.

  “I will thoroughly apologize to you later, my dear.” Adam’s tone grew noti
ceably warmer.

  The corners of Persephone’s mouth tipped upward ever so slightly. Her eyes twinkled. “Do you promise?”

  Artemis groaned. “Please, stop.”

  “Would you rather Adam whisk me off to Scotland?” Persephone asked.

  “Yes.” Artemis turned her head toward the window, her posture speaking of continued discontent. “One of us needs to be in Scotland. If it can’t be me, it might as well be him.”

  Linus met Adam’s eye. It was sometimes hard to know if he was more amused by Artemis or thoroughly annoyed. Likely a bit of both.

  “Am I meant to prevent you from ‘torturing or maiming’ this one as well?” he asked Adam, motioning to Artemis.

  “That depends on how much you like her,” he said.

  “I do like her quite a lot.”

  Adam nodded. “Then you have your task.”

  Artemis slid the rest of the way to Linus and slipped her arm through his. “I like you too.”

  Though she was often overly dramatic and sometimes gave the impression of flightiness, Linus had seen in her a foundation of kindness he didn’t suspect many were privy to. Indeed, over the past few months he had come to suspect that she purposely presented only one aspect of her character to the world. What he did not know was why.

  “Let us see if we can’t find a young gentleman at this house party who likes you enough to not whisk you off to Scotland,” he said. “I have missed all of our sisters’ weddings. I would very much like to be present for yours.”

  She smiled at him. “And I would like to attend yours.”

  “Mine?” He laughed out loud. “What makes you think I am getting married?”

  She shrugged and set her head of golden curls on his shoulder. “What else do you have to do?”

  That very question had hung heavy in his thoughts since his arrival in London. Once this party was over and he returned to Shropshire, he hoped to find something to fill his days that appealed at least a little. Long lists of tasks for his staff and tenants to undertake, hours spent sitting by a fire, balancing a ledger . . . He could not imagine feeling much enthusiasm for the undertaking.

  Evander would have been far better suited to this life had he survived the war. Linus would have happily continued on as the younger son, visiting on occasion but leaving the tedium of gentlemanly living to his brother.

  He pushed away thoughts of Evander. That pain was still too raw, even after eleven years. His family had begun to change while he’d been away. They had become more a part of Adam’s life than his.

  Three of his sisters were married. Two of them now possessed titles. All were important and influential in their spheres. He was a one-time lieutenant, a mere “mister,” late of the Royal Navy—late of his own family, it often seemed.

  For a time, he’d had his brother to keep him connected to someone, to something. When his brother died, Linus had lost far more than his very best friend. He had lost the strongest, most enduring connection he’d felt to the life and family he’d left behind when poverty had sent him to sea. Nothing had been the same since. It likely never would be.

  Chapter Four

  Arabella’s heart picked up pace at the sound of a servant’s voice echoing down the corridors of Lampton Park. “The Dangerous Duke’s here! The Dangerous Duke’s here!”

  Mater turned to Arabella. “Would you be so good as to slip upstairs to see if Sorrel intends to join us in greeting the arrivals?”

  Arabella had been given few responsibilities since taking up the job of companion, which worried her. She would not last long in this household if she had no purpose. She was grateful every time someone asked her to do something. Yet she hesitated at this latest assignment.

  “I do not wish to impose upon her privacy.” Arabella was hardly in a position to invade Lady Lampton’s isolation. “I would not want her to be upset with me.”

  “As you come to know Sorrel better, you will find her less overwhelming,” Mater said. “But I assure you she is good-hearted. You need not worry.”

  It was not reassurance enough. “Perhaps if a member of the family—”

  “You are not exactly a stranger, Arabella. Simply peek down the corridor and see if she is on her way.”

  Not exactly a stranger. More than a servant. The brief phrases were encouraging.

  Arabella made a quick curtsey and left the sitting room. Footmen and maids were gathering in the front entry in anticipation of the guests stepping inside. She quietly tiptoed around them and up the stairs. Knowing time was short, she took the stairs at a fast clip, rendering herself more than a touch breathless.

  No sooner had she reached the landing of the floor on which the family bedchambers lay than she spotted Lady Lampton only a few paces away. Her eyes met the countess’s. How could she explain her presence without admitting she had been sent to check on her? Such a thing would hardly be welcome, nor would it be loyal to Mater. Navigating this family was proving more complicated than she had anticipated.

  An explanation was not necessary; Lady Lampton spoke first. “Have they sent you as a spy?” She spoke in tones not entirely devoid of humor, which seemed to Arabella to be a good sign. “If it is my husband for whom you are spying, feel free to tell him I have my walking stick handy, and I am not averse to using it.” Lady Lampton continued on with head held high and a wave of dignity rolling in her wake.

  Arabella hadn’t the least idea what that message meant nor whether or not she was truly expected to deliver it. Amongst the Jonquils, she lived in a constant state of uncertainty, not knowing if she was proving disappointingly unhelpful or simply a nuisance.

  The countess paused at the head of the stairs and looked back at her. “I do not move swiftly, as you have no doubt observed, so you have ample time to make your report before my arrival.” It was both an observation and an instruction.

  “Yes, my lady.” Arabella descended as quickly as she had ascended.

  At least she had a task.

  She glanced at the entryway below as she made her way down the last portion of the front staircase. The servants stood at petrified attention as a couple, who could have been none other than the duke and duchess, stepped inside. Directly on their heels came a young lady, beautiful, poised, with ringlets of gold that most women would have given nearly anything to claim.

  Arabella slipped around the gathered servants and moved toward the spot where Mater and Philip stood awaiting the opportunity to greet their guests.

  “Is Sorrel coming?” Philip asked her in hushed tones.

  She nodded. “She told me to tell you that she has her walking stick and is not averse to using it.” Arabella shrugged a little. “She did not elaborate.”

  He smiled, though not broadly and not with true amusement. “She is displeased with me, apparently.”

  “I did get that impression,” Arabella admitted.

  “Lud, I hope this works,” Philip muttered under his breath.

  Philip sauntered in the direction of the new arrivals. Arabella stayed back—Do not draw attention to yourself—and kept to the shadowed corner at the side of the stairs.

  Mater joined her son. A moment later, Lady Lampton arrived as well. Greetings were exchanged, with pomp and grandiosity on Philip’s part and barely concealed annoyance on the duke’s. Lady Lampton’s expression remained as impassive as ever. Where her husband was all bright colors and overt displays, she was the very picture of ironclad composure. Though Arabella was yet disappointed at the notion of living at the dower house and not at the Park, where she felt so close to her long-lost earl, she felt some degree of relief at knowing she would not be under the same roof as Lady Lampton. There was an unreachableness to her that Arabella found intimidating.

  The servants were seeing to the guests’ trunks and portmanteaus. Her Grace, Lady Lampton, and Mater were all exchanging the expected warm greet
ings. Philip was waxing long about the joys of a well-sprung carriage, while the duke appeared to barely tolerate the uninterrupted flow of words. By His Grace’s side, the golden-haired beauty waited in polite impatience.

  Arabella leaned her shoulder against the side of the staircase, waiting to see if she would be needed. The scene playing out before her was fascinating. She was not overly familiar with fine visitors and the requirements of a host in greeting newly arrived guests. The late earl had visited her uncle’s house now and then, always on some business or another. His arrival had inspired much the same awe-filled formality in her uncle as the duke’s arrival was even now creating in the servants. The earl, however, hadn’t appeared to require nor appreciate the grandiosity. Philip looked as though he were thoroughly entertained by the current display.

  As the Jonquils and the duke’s party made their way up the stairs, Arabella caught sight of someone she hadn’t yet noticed in the back of the group: a gentleman, younger than the duke. He held his back ramrod straight and broad shoulders squared, as if ready to face down an enemy, yet he carried what appeared to be a case for some kind of musical instrument. He must have been related to the young lady in the group; he had the same golden curls. He was beautiful, if such a thing could be said of a man. That beauty was tempered, however, by an aura of command and a fearsomeness she sensed in him.

  He looked in her direction as he passed, the only member of the group to do so. She doubted he could make out much more than her silhouette, tucked as she was in the shadows. Yet his emerald-eyed gaze lingered as he took the first step.

  She pulled back further into the shadows. No words were exchanged. He didn’t smile or dip his head as one would in acknowledgement of seeing her there. Yet he had noticed her, something few people ever did.

  * * *

  Linus followed the Lampton Park housekeeper down the corridor of guest rooms, but his thoughts remained in the entryway and with the lady who’d stood tucked into the shadows. The faintest shaft of light had illuminated her face. She’d not said a word, but she’d watched him. Amongst his illustrious relations, he seldom drew anyone’s notice, but she’d seen him. She’d studied him.