Loving Lieutenant Lancaster

by Sarah M. Eden

  Mater laughed lightly. “My husband often said that if you were free of your aunt and uncle’s home, your personality would blossom. I am discovering that he was correct in that.”

  Arabella had often thought of the earl when they were apart, but she had not, until that moment, known if he had ever thought or spoken of her when she was not nearby. To know that he had, at least in a small measure, brought tremendous comfort.

  “Mr. Lancaster told me he was surprised I didn’t think you were talkative,” Mater said as they turned a corner near the back wall.

  “He told me he was surprised people didn’t generally think I was funny.”

  Mater eyed her a moment. “You were different in his company. I don’t know if you realized that. You were more sure of yourself, more at ease. You seemed happier.”

  “I was.” Arabella plucked a leaf from a shrub as she passed. “But it amounted to nothing in the end.”

  Mater’s expression was utterly empathetic. “Things do not always turn out the way we expect them to.”

  “Says the old, abandoned workhorse.”

  Mater slipped her arm through Arabella’s. “Do not worry for me. I have plans.”

  “Do you?”

  Mater nodded eagerly. “I am going to travel.”

  That was unexpected.

  “I don’t know where yet but someplace new and interesting. Of course, I would have to convince my companion to come with me, and we would have to keep it a secret from my sons, or else they’ll worry themselves into a decline, and then where would we be?”

  “I believe we would be someplace new and interesting.”

  Mater squeezed her arm. “Oh, I do like you, Arabella.”

  Just as she was beginning to think everything was wonderfully right in the world, her aunt appeared on the garden path and ruined the illusion.

  “We appear to have a visitor.” Arabella sighed.

  “We can be gracious,” Mater said. “For a while, anyway.”

  That was one advantage to being Mater’s companion: the Dowager Countess of Lampton had no difficulty ridding herself of visitors who overstayed their welcome.

  Curtsies and words of greeting were exchanged, then Aunt Hampton joined them on their stroll about the lawn.

  “Has Arabella imposed her walking habit upon you?” Aunt Hampton asked. “Such an odd occupation.”

  “Is it?” Mater posed the question innocently enough, yet Arabella sensed something more strategic in the question. “I’ll make certain to inform the Almack’s patronesses, as they will likely wish to never walk again.”

  Though Arabella recognized the subtle jab for what it was, Aunt Hampton didn’t seem to. “The patronesses? You speak with them often?” her aunt asked.

  “Often enough,” Mater said.

  “Perhaps you might introduce me when we are in Town for the Season.” Her aunt eyed Mater hopefully. “We are neighbors, and my niece is a member of your household. That was our arrangement, after all.”

  “I understand you left early the night you joined us for the house party.” Mater’s conversational tone didn’t slip, but her posture had grown more rigid. “My son, in fact, spoke to me of it at length.”

  Arabella hadn’t realized her misery had been discussed. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Plenty of other people had been spreading word of her. Those “discussions” had sent Linus running for the hills. If only they’d had the same impact on Aunt Hampton.

  “Our departure that evening stemmed from a mere misunderstanding, I assure you.” Aunt Hampton was almost desperately insistent.

  Mater held her chin at an authoritative angle. “I am not certain I can introduce to the patronesses someone with whom I have that kind of ‘misunderstanding.’”

  Aunt Hampton urged Mater aside. “We were simply concerned. Arabella had been ill. We were hearing rumors that a duchess’s brother was showing her attention. We simply wanted to know that she was well and that she wasn’t being taken advantage of. A gentleman of Mr. Lancaster’s standing is less likely to have honorable interest in a mere lady’s companion than he would in one of your more exalted guests.”

  “That ‘mere lady’s companion’ will have vouchers to Almack’s next Season.” Mater appeared genuinely offended on Arabella’s behalf. It was little wonder Arabella felt so safe amongst this family. “Furthermore, I certainly hope I would not be one to extend an invitation to a gentleman who would behave in such a caddish manner as you are implying.”

  “Forgive me.” Panic edged Aunt Hampton’s words. “Our concern that evening temporarily overcame our reason.”

  The desperation in the apology was not difficult to interpret: her aunt and uncle were depending upon Arabella’s position in the Lampton Park household to further their own standing. Any threat to their connection to her was reason, in their minds, for great concern.

  “In the end, we were right to be concerned.” Her aunt, not one to be cowed long, pressed onward. “The young lieutenant left without a backward glance.”

  That was a truth Arabella couldn’t deny.

  Mater managed it though. “On the contrary. Mr. Lancaster’s uneventful departure is evidence you made a spectacle for no reason.” She urged Arabella on toward the dower house. “I will bid you farewell, Mrs. Hampton. I wish to lie down.”

  They moved with determined step, leaving Aunt Hampton little choice but to accept her dismissal.

  “I may have to instruct the housekeeper to always tell your aunt that we are not at home to visitors; otherwise, all the powders Dr. Scorseby can procure will likely not be enough to prevent that woman from giving me indigestion.”

  “I don’t know about the wisdom of that,” Arabella said drily. “If she does not come by, how will I know if I am pinning my hopes on a gentleman who isn’t likely to come up to scratch?”

  It was more than Arabella had intended to confess, she having thus far not admitted that she’d actually had hopes of a future with Linus Lancaster. Mater didn’t press the matter.

  “We will simply have to travel somewhere where your aunt won’t find us,” Mater said, her tone light and laughing.

  Arabella latched on to the humor, grateful for it. “And somewhere without gentlemen,” she added.

  Mater tossed her a mischievous look. “Where would be the fun in that?”

  There was no doubt in Arabella’s mind: life with Mater, though perhaps not the one she had always dreamed of, was going to be an absolute joy.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Do the Nappers know I’m only nineteen?” Though Charlie’s confidence had grown over the past fortnight, he still had many moments when his self-doubts resurfaced, always in regard to his being too young for something or simply unwanted.

  Was this a common struggle for younger siblings? Linus didn’t think Artemis had this particular worry.

  “I would imagine they do,” Linus said. “Yours is a well-known family. Your name and age and quite possibly your favorite color are likely public knowledge.”

  “My favorite color?” Charlie laughed a little. “How is it they know something I don’t?”

  “I will let you in on a secret.” Linus leaned forward, closing the gap between them in the carriage. “The matrons’ gossip circle possesses the second sight.”

  “Do they?”

  Linus nodded solemnly. “They can see your future, provided that future involves one of their daughters.”

  “Or nieces?” Charlie asked a little too innocently.

  Charlie hadn’t been present when the Hamptons had pressed the idea of a match between himself and Arabella. Still, he’d apparently heard about it.

  “I didn’t imagine the rumors, it would seem.”

  “Unless I was imagining them too,” Charlie said. “And Arabella as well.”

  “She started doing a lot more walki
ng.” That told a story unto itself.

  “She was escaping the whispers.”

  “Either that or she found a treasure map and was seeking out her fortune.”

  Charlie shot him a look of commiseration. “And you won’t see a single galleon of it. Pity.”

  “Galleons, you say? Lud, I should have encouraged the rumors.”

  “You should have started them.”

  Linus couldn’t help laughing, something he did often in Charlie’s company. The young gentleman had lightened considerably these past two weeks. His personality had emerged more. Though Linus knew better than to say as much out loud, the lad reminded him of Lord Lampton: quick with a smile, always up for a lark, and endlessly entertaining.

  The carriage slowed. A moment later, both he and Charlie emerged in good spirits.

  Their host and hostess welcomed them warmly. The Misses Napper, of whom there were three, seemed even more delighted than their parents. The vicar had been invited as well, no doubt to even up the numbers. He, however, was not a young man by any means. None of the sisters appeared terribly interested in their oldest guest. Charlie would quickly realize that being a little young was preferable in these situations.

  They were soon situated at the dining table, Charlie on one side, sandwiched between the second and third daughters of the household. Though he at first seemed at a loss to know what he was meant to do, he quickly found his footing. He conversed easily, flirting harmlessly. He would be a favorite in Society in another few years.

  Arabella would have been pleased to see Charlie doing so well. She spoke of all the Jonquils with such tenderness. Their happiness mattered to her, no doubt because their father had shown her kindness.

  Arabella. How often his thoughts returned to her. Had Lampton adequately shielded her from her aunt and uncle? Was she finding her place in the dowager’s household? Was she happy? Did she miss him? If Dr. Scorseby were even half as attentive as he’d been during the house party, Arabella had likely not even noticed Linus’s absence.

  He reminded himself of that firmly before focusing once more on the current evening’s engagement. His companion was the oldest of the Napper sisters. She spoke very little, and he was not entirely certain why. She did not seem overly bashful, but neither did she give the impression of feeling herself above her company.

  “Your family was kind to invite us this evening,” he said.

  “We have been anxious to make yours and Mr. Jonquil’s better acquaintance.” Miss Napper then returned all her attention to her plate.

  This was different from Daphne’s bashfulness. Even when she was at her most timid, she made a concerted effort to try to converse and interact. How ought he to respond? He didn’t wish to make the lady uncomfortable, yet neither did he want to leave her feeling neglected. Around him, the others’ conversations swirled unhindered.

  Mr. Napper spoke, pulling Linus’s attention to him. “I understand you and young Mr. Jonquil here have been quite busy laboring about your estate.” His feelings about that laboring were not apparent in his tone.

  Still, Linus was not ashamed of the work they were doing. Indeed, it brought him his first glimmer of excitement about the life he had returned to England to live. “I am a naval man, accustomed to the arduous labor necessary for survival at sea. Were I forced to adopt a life of unending leisure, I am certain I would run mad.”

  While Mr. Napper did not appear to truly agree, his nod indicated that he at least understood.

  Not wishing Charlie to be questioned for his assistance, Linus continued. “Mr. Jonquil has been a tremendous help, enduring my odd propensity for working at the tasks most gentlemen consider beneath them. Perhaps I will convince him to seek a career in the navy as well.”

  The suggestion sent the younger Misses Napper into a running dialogue, at once insisting that Charlie would be the very best of sailors, dashing in his uniform, and, at the same time, in such danger at sea that they could not countenance the idea. Linus could not have planned this evening better if he had tried.

  The physical work had helped give Charlie a sense of purpose. Their growing friendship and camaraderie had given him a feeling of belonging and importance. But few things did as much good for a young man’s too-often fragile sense of worth than the notice of a young lady. Being the last in a large family of brothers who were not exactly hideous had likely meant he’d been many times overlooked.

  “If the two of you are not opposed to arduous tasks,” the vicar said, “there is a patch of loose slate on my roof. You would save me the trouble of climbing up there myself.”

  Though the vicar obviously spoke in jest, Charlie, without hesitation, said, “I can be there in the morning.”

  He met Linus’s eye, confidence in his expression. Linus felt a surge of pride. Here was the person Charlie ought to have been all along: one who didn’t question whether he could make a difference or wonder if he was needed. Now if only Linus could find an equal measure of that for himself.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Arabella and Mater were elbow deep in plans to improve the dower house’s back garden. They walked its environs every day and had quickly discovered an unfortunate lack of shade trees and fragrant flowers. Philip had happily granted his mother full reign over her new dominion.

  Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, maid, and general servant at the dower house hurried into the sitting room and announced, “Dr. Scorseby to visit the both of you.”

  “The both of us?” Mater asked with a laugh.

  Heat warmed Arabella’s face. She knew perfectly well the local physician came to visit her, Mater having been faithfully following his advice of a few weeks earlier and, as a result, not at all in need of his attention.

  Arabella had no real experience with suitors and could not say with any certainty quite how she felt toward him. She enjoyed his company and, generally speaking, looked forward to their conversations. But she experienced none of the contentment and ease she’d known with Linus. She also felt no flutterings inside or surges of anticipation at seeing him again.

  She didn’t miss the doctor between his visits, but she’d missed Linus every day since he’d left for Shropshire. Her attachment to him was hopeless and one-sided, but it was real just the same.

  Arabella firmly told herself to keep her mind on the present rather than losing herself in the past.

  Dr. Scorseby offered a very proper bow upon arriving. Mater invited him to sit.

  “How kind of you to visit us,” Mater said. “What brings you around?” Mischief filled her eyes and tone.

  Dr. Scorseby answered seriously. “I came to the Park to look in on Lady Lampton.”

  “How is she?” Mater’s expression transformed to one of concern.

  “All appears to be well,” Dr. Scorseby said. “She is in good spirits, which is always beneficial.” He turned to Arabella. “I had a very pleasant visit with your aunt and uncle yesterday. They seem quite pleased about your situation here.”

  She knew she was meant to say something in response. They were her family, after all. Yet she knew precisely why they were happy about her position. Theirs was not happiness for her at all but rather for themselves.

  “I hope you also found them in good health.” That sounded reasonably personal.

  He nodded. “I found them to be in generally good health.”

  “And I find myself generally pleased,” she said drily.

  Only when Mater choked on a held-back laugh did Arabella realize how impolite her remark had been. Thoughts of her relatives’ selfishness had pricked at her, and she had allowed the resultant annoyance to loosen her tongue inadvisably.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I’m not certain what has come over me.”

  His features assumed the expression she had come to think of as his physician’s face. “Are you feeling feverish? Faint? How have you been s
leeping?”

  Ever the man of medicine. Still, his questions offered her a way out of the increasingly embarrassing situation.

  “I have not slept as well as I would have liked the past week or so. I have a lingering cough.” It was true, no matter that she didn’t believe exhaustion was the reason for her momentary lack of manners.

  “Coughs can be very persistent.” Dr. Scorseby said.

  A knock at the front door reverberated throughout the dower house.

  “Good heavens,” Mater said. “Whoever that is knocking sounds likely to pound the door down.” She rose and crossed to the window, eyeing the front door. “It is Bill from the stables.”

  They all turned to watch the sitting room door. A moment later, it opened, Mrs. Hill letting Bill in. His face was splotched with frantic color. His widened eyes searched, then found Mater. What had happened? The room held its collective breath.

  “Ma’am,” Bill said, a touch out of breath. “Word’s come from Shropshire. Young Charlie’s had an accident.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “He’ll not sleep if he’s in this much pain.” The surgeon Linus had brought in to evaluate Charlie’s condition did not sound overly encouraged. He had more experience than the local physician and was highly respected.

  “What can we do to ease his suffering?” Linus hadn’t heard yet from Daphne. He’d sent a missive, but messages took time to travel across counties. She would know an efficacious tisane or tea, but he might not receive word from her for days yet.

  “I’ll write up instructions for the apothecary,” the surgeon said. “We’ve a few things that’ll help.”

  That was a relief. Charlie was by now as much family to him as his own siblings; he hated seeing him in such pain.

  Before he could ask the surgeon for more details, the sounds of carriage wheels on the pebbled lane out front caught his attention. That could not possibly be the dowager. There hadn’t been time enough for her to have made the journey. Indeed, his letter explaining the situation would likely only just have arrived at Lampton Park.