Loving Lieutenant Lancaster

by Sarah M. Eden

  A stable hand greeted them as they approached. Linus pulled his thoughts back to the present, where they belonged.

  They dismounted, handing their reins to the stable staff. No sooner had they begun walking the path toward the terrace doors at the back of the house then Linus spotted Miss Hampton just stepping out. She wore a shawl and a pair of heavy walking shoes. He was more than pleased to see her; he was eager.

  “It seems Miss Hampton means to take a stroll,” he said. “Does she really walk as often as you said yesterday?”

  “All the time.” Charlie brushed some dust off the front of his jacket. “Even when we were all little, she was forever wandering the neighborhood. Philip told me once that she was probably escaping.”

  “Escaping what?” Linus asked.

  “Home.”

  She had told Linus the evening before that she had only two family members and they were not kind people. Charlie’s description of her painted those relatives in an even less flattering light. What must her life have been like if she had avoided home as much as Charlie’s memories indicated?

  “Good morning, Arabella,” Charlie greeted her when she came near.

  Christian names were not generally permitted between a young lady and a gentleman who were not related. The dowager’s description of Miss Hampton as a friend of the family had clearly not been an exaggeration.

  “A good morning to both of you,” she returned. “Did you enjoy your ride?”

  “I did,” Charlie said. “Mr. Lancaster let me talk at length about things that could not possibly have interested him. I can’t remember the last time that happened.”

  “I have seen Mater listen to you for hours on end, Charlie Jonquil. Do not dismiss that.”

  Why that hadn’t occurred to Linus, he couldn’t say. Charlie thought his brothers too busy for his concerns and questions, but surely he felt his mother would listen.

  “Why don’t you go offer your mother a good morning,” Linus suggested. “I’m certain she would appreciate it.” And perhaps Charlie would think to turn to her with more of his worries.

  “I likely should.” Charlie whistled as he made his way farther up the path.

  “That was well done of you, sir.” Though she spoke seriously, a hint of humor touched her words. “I do believe he was going to attempt to infiltrate our club.”

  “And what is the point of a club if it is not very exclusive?” His attempt at appearing grave dissolved into something that felt an awful lot like embarrassment. “I am glad you were willing to endure my ridiculousness last evening.”

  “I think we all need a bit of ridiculousness now and then,” she said.

  Linus didn’t think he’d met anyone who so fully shared his view of things. He was eager to discover in what other ways they were similar.

  “How much younger is Charlie than you?” She asked the question with confused curiosity. She didn’t seem to be certain of his own age. That, no doubt, was the result of long days out at sea in the sun and harsh winds that had aged him quickly.

  Did she think him haggard and aged? Lud, he hoped not.

  “I am twenty-four.” He watched for any signs of shock but, blessedly, didn’t see any. “Half a lifetime spent at sea no doubt makes me seem like forty-two.”

  She shook her head. “I would not have guessed forty-anything. And if you know what is best for you, you won’t guess my age near there either.”

  His grin only grew. “I know better than to guess at all.”

  She pulled her shawl more snugly around her shoulders. “Twenty-three,” she said. “Though a lifetime spent walking this neighborhood in all weather no doubt makes me seem like one hundred twenty-three.”

  “That was my next guess,” he said.

  She shook her head in clear amusement. “I suspect, sir, that you are something of a handful.”

  “Guilty.”

  “I will have you know, I have never been difficult a day in my life.” She was teasing, yet there was truth in the declaration.

  “I believe you,” he said. “I cannot imagine you being anything but an absolute delight.”

  She blushed deeply and immediately. Did the color rise out of embarrassment or because she liked knowing that he enjoyed her company?

  “May I join you as you walk?” he asked.

  She looked at him once more. “Going for drawn-out walks will make you an oddity in this neighborhood.”

  “This seems a fitting course of action for a misfit.”

  “Who am I to deny a fellow outcast?” Her smile tugged at him fiercely. She began walking. He moved alongside her. “Did Charlie speak with you during your ride?”

  “No. He was silent the entire time. Not a single word.”

  She eyed him doubtfully. “There is only one Jonquil who can remain silent for any length of time, and it’s not Charlie.”

  “You know the family well.”

  “I have spent my life among them.”

  Something in her use of among belied the word, as if she had been with them but not truly with them. Heavens, he knew that feeling. He lived among his family but still felt in many ways like an outsider.

  “Charlie was feeling a bit down last evening,” Miss Hampton said. “I had hoped he would confide in you.”

  “He did a little.”

  She looked genuinely relieved. “I know it is none of my affair, but I do worry for him, just as I worry for the dowager and for Lady Lampton.”

  “Is Lady Lampton often unwell?” He held his hand up in an attempt to dismiss the question. “Forgive me. I realize that is more prying than I ought to be doing.”

  “The two of us missed our calling,” she said. “We ought to have been gossipy matrons.”

  “Yes.” He nodded emphatically. “I have been trying to decide what to do with the remainder of my life. I believe you have hit upon it.” She likely thought him inexcusably nosey.

  “I am a problem solver.”

  She seemed truly at ease with him, laughing and jesting. The dowager had indicated that such openness on her part was unusual. They’d known each other two days. Two. Yet they spoke as easily as if they were longtime friends.

  “You’ve lived in the neighborhood all your life, then?” he asked.

  She nodded. “The estate that now belongs to my uncle was my father’s. My parents passed away when I was six years old.”

  He knew the pain of losing one’s parents. “We lost my mother when I was five. My father died while I was at sea.”

  “I am sorry for your losses.”

  The mournful empathy in her tone and expression brought a tightness to his throat and a twinge to his heart. He pushed his reaction down fiercely and immediately. Losing his family was not a weight he allowed his mind to carry for more than a moment.

  “You must have known the current Lord Lampton while you were young.” An abrupt change of topic but a necessary one. “Was he always so . . . unique?”

  A flash of something resembling regret crossed her features. That was wholly unexpected. What in his question had caused her grief, however momentary?

  “He was always entertaining,” she said hesitantly. “The brother just younger than he, Layton, enjoyed larks every bit as much but had a more somber mien. The neighborhood often remarked on the oddity of the younger of the two being better suited to the role of heir. Of course, Layton was heir to his own estate through his mother. And Ph—Lord Lampton—grew into his role, as unique as his approach to it has proven.”

  How was it that this conversation, focused as it was on other people, continually struck at the heart of his own experiences and uncertainties? “The son best suited to a role is not always the one to assume it.”

  That brought her searching gaze to his face once more. “Do you not consider yourself ‘the son best suited’ to the role you have assumed?�
�

  “I was the younger son. The part I have been given should never have been mine.” He could hear that his voice and tone had grown more tense, more clipped. That always happened when he spoke of Evander. He didn’t seem able to prevent it.

  She turned her focus to the flowers they walked past, not speaking or looking at him any longer. Had his tense response wounded her? He’d not been unkind in his words, but it was entirely possible she had taken his change in tone as a rebuke, as an indication that her conversation was not welcome. Nothing could be further from the truth. They simply needed to choose a different topic, return to the light banter they’d been enjoying.

  “Miss Hampton.” A man’s voice echoed from up the path.

  Her attention shifted in that direction. She didn’t speak but seemed pleased to see the new arrival.

  The man reached her side and offered a quick bow. “I have come to check on the children. Those from Farland Meadows are also here, both having developed fevers. Having all three in the same place simplifies their care.”

  Miss Hampton didn’t respond verbally but did indicate with a quick dip of her head that she approved of the arrangement.

  “Their location is also very fortunate for me as I have the opportunity of seeing you.”

  She blushed. Linus did not like that at all.

  The man eyed Linus. He thrust out his hand. “Dr. Scorseby.”

  Doctor. A physician. Linus grasped the offered hand firmly. “Lieutenant Lancaster.” He was retired now, so “lieutenant” was not entirely appropriate, but it was the only impressive claim he could make for himself.

  “Army or navy?” Dr. Scorseby asked.

  “Navy.”

  “What has you on dry land?”

  Linus glanced at Miss Hampton. Quietly, he said, “The company.”

  “I wish I had more time for such pleasant pursuits,” Dr. Scorseby said. “I have too many patients depending on me.” He spoke with palpable self-importance.

  “Don’t let us keep you from your patients,” Linus said.

  Dr. Scorseby turned once more to Miss Hampton. “Am I asking too much to hope you might accompany me to the house?”

  He spoke properly but with a hint of less exalted beginnings. Linus had heard that a lot during his years at sea. Those who’d started in the navy young and who’d come from lowered circumstances but had had eyes on advancement and opportunities had often practiced speaking more properly.

  What were Scorseby’s origins? Physicians were considered gentlemen.

  Miss Hampton spoke for the first time. “I am taking a turn about the gardens with Mr. Lancaster.”

  Her reference to their excursion sounded far more like a confession of obligation than a joyful experience. He had been enjoying their time together. Had she not?

  “Do not reject the invitation on my account,” he said. “By all means, accompany Dr. Scorseby to the nursery.”

  For the length of a breath, she didn’t answer. She didn’t look at him or move. Was she hesitant? Anxious to remain? But the moment passed, and she turned fully to the doctor. She gave a quick nod.

  Dr. Scorseby offered his arm. She accepted and, arm-in-arm, walked beside him back up the garden path and out of sight.

  That hadn’t ended at all the way he’d hoped. He’d suggested their club of outcasts as a jest, but there’d been some truth to it.

  He did feel like the misfit at society gatherings and the member of his family least likely to be missed should he wander back to sea. With Miss Hampton, though, much of this misery and loneliness disappeared. She made him a little nervous, yes, but she also made him feel as though he had a place once more.

  She had shown him real concern and kindness. She had teased and jested and lightened his mood. He missed her company already. Reluctantly, he returned to the house.

  Voices drifted out of the sitting room as he passed. One, he was certain, belonged to Athena. He would enjoy some time with his sister; he’d had little enough of it the past thirteen years. However, like Miss Hampton, she had company of her own: a room full of ladies. Though he would have preferred to make good his escape, he’d come too far inside to go unnoticed.

  The expected bows and curtsies were exchanged. Athena eagerly urged him to sit near her, which placed him very near Lady Belinda, who was visiting with her mother. Nearer his youngest sister was Mrs. Blackbourne, who eyed him with the same look of suffocating familiarity she had worn the evening before.

  The dowager was among the group as well. While Linus’s sisters were watching him with earnestness and Lady Belinda’s mother eyed him with curiosity, it was pure, unmistakable amusement he saw in the dowager’s eyes. Did she know of his sisters’ plotting as well?

  “Aren’t you so pleased Lady Belinda has returned?” Athena asked him.

  Lady Belinda was pleasant enough, but he had no desire to raise expectations in that quarter. “A house party is always more enjoyable with lovely ladies present.”

  Athena’s smile remained, but she eyed him a bit more narrowly. His verbal dodging, it seemed, had not met entirely with her approval.

  Their youngest sister entered the fray. “And we have Mrs. Blackbourne here. I am certain you are particularly pleased to see her.”

  Subtlety never had been Artemis’s strong suit.

  Fortunately, Linus was a dab hand at maneuvering around shoals. “As she was the Heracles to my ancient Linus only last evening, I find myself a little trepidatious at seeing her again.”

  Mrs. Blackbourne laughed.

  Artemis rolled her eyes. “She didn’t actually portray Heracles. We were interrupted.”

  “Perhaps she has arrived today to finish the job.” Linus only hoped a jesting approach would communicate his lack of romantic interest in the widow. Or Lady Belinda. Or whoever else they brought around to toss at him.

  The dowager spoke next. “I’m certain you will be equally pleased to meet two more of our guests who will be joining us this evening.”

  He met her eye. Her expression was far too innocent and far too full of laughter. She did know of the Lancaster sisters’ efforts, and she, like Miss Hampton, was laughing at him.

  “I am certain I will be,” he said. “I have enjoyed all of the people you have invited to the party thus far.”

  Athena and Artemis eyed him with frustration. They had chosen their favorites in the “Find Linus a Wife” scheme and clearly did not like that he’d offered such a general compliment and hadn’t shown any preference for their picks.

  Was Persephone participating as well? Although he trusted her judgment more than either Artemis or Athena, having spent more time with her during his shore leaves, he didn’t particularly care for three-against-one odds.

  The dowager tapped the seat beside her. He recognized the invitation and sat.

  “How was your ride this morning?” she asked.

  “Very pleasant. Your youngest is excellent company.”

  She smiled fondly. “He is a good boy, though I say it myself.”

  “And I spoke again with Miss Hampton. Despite your insistence that she is painfully quiet, we conversed quite easily. Indeed, I was more nervous than she seemed to be.”

  She studied him. “What is it about you that has set her so uncharacteristically at ease?”

  “I am nothing special.” He didn’t care to admit that, yet it was true.

  “On the contrary, Mr. Lancaster.” She studied him.

  Artemis and Athena were watching him, as were Lady Belinda and Mrs. Blackbourne.

  Beating a hasty retreat proved quite simple. A bow. A word of excuse. A barely dignified flight from the room. He had insisted to Miss Hampton that he could withstand his sisters’ machinations. He was beginning to fear he had been overconfident.

  Chapter Twelve

  Arabella had seen Dr. Scorseby treat pat
ients before. Her aunt had required his expertise to clear up a purification of the lungs a few months earlier. Uncle had sought the young physician’s evaluation of what proved to be gout. Dr. Scorseby had looked after a small child who had managed somehow to cut her finger during church services the week before.

  He had a very pleasant way about him. Even little Lord Falstone, who had been very reluctant to leave his father’s arms, allowed the physician to examine him after a mere moment’s interaction. Caroline and Henry Jonquil accepted the necessity as well without fuss or concern. Henry, of course, was not yet a year old and knew nothing of what was happening, but he had been quite fussy right until Dr. Scorseby had held and soothed him.

  Arabella liked that about their local man of medicine. Gentle kindness was tremendously important to her.

  Lady Marion Jonquil, who had been rather fretful herself, calmed as she watched the physician care for her children. The duke, however, never stopped looking thunderous. At first glance, Arabella had thought he was angry. As she watched him, his gaze never leaving his son, she realized his look of anger was not anger at all but the strain of worry over someone he loved.

  She looked away, the old, familiar ache resurfacing at seeing such affection. She’d wished for that all her life, to know with such certainty that she was loved.

  She had stepped out for her walk that morning earlier than she usually did on account of Philip and Layton, the second brother, both being in the house. The weight of her memories had proven difficult, and she’d sought her customary escape.

  She had been quite pleased to encounter Mr. Lancaster as she’d stepped outside. His company lifted her spirits. She felt different with him, as though she were truly welcome and wanted. But he had dismissed her company so easily, so quickly. Do not reject the invitation on my account. He’d not seemed to regret her departure. Perhaps there was less enjoyment and more pity in his attentions than she’d allowed herself to acknowledge.