Loving Lieutenant Lancaster

by Sarah M. Eden

  Arabella looked away. She did not like these feelings of doubt, but she didn’t know how to rid herself of them. The Nappers were shifting about, switching seats and rearranging their positions. When Mrs. Napper vacated the chair nearest Mater, Arabella took advantage of the opening. She would feel better situated near the lady who came so close to being a mother to her. And Charlie sat on the sofa on the other side of the chair Arabella took. She would be flanked by Jonquils. A person couldn’t help but feel safe in such a position.

  The younger Misses Napper had moved to surround their sister. They were whispering and fluttering whilst their oldest sister simply smiled quietly. Mrs. Napper, now sitting nearer the fire, met her husband’s eye. They exchanged pointed, knowing looks.

  “Mr. Lancaster is very indulgent,” Mater said to Arabella.

  “He does like to play the lyre. I don’t imagine he needs a great deal of convincing to do so.”

  “Especially since Miss Napper seemed keen on hearing him play,” Charlie added.

  Despite her wariness to receive a further explanation, Arabella looked to him for one, praying it proved innocuous.

  “We had dinner with the Nappers the night before—” Charlie motioned to his broken legs.

  “Before Mr. Lancaster pushed you off a roof,” Arabella finished for him.

  Charlie laughed. “You’re funnier than I remember you.”

  “Mr. Lancaster is shocked that the lot of you don’t think I am endlessly hilarious. He, apparently, has thought so from the very beginning.”

  “Maybe he’s just more observant than the rest of us,” Charlie said.

  Mater’s brow pulled in an expression of pondering. “I don’t believe that’s it.”

  Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know if he thinks Miss Napper is hilarious. At the dinner we had at their home, Linus talked to almost no one other than her. He was so persistent, so determined to hold her attention.”

  “She seems a little timid,” Mater said.

  Charlie nodded. “And he seems a little interested.”

  Linus returned with his lyre and set himself down in the midst of them. He had the eldest Miss Napper’s full attention. He strummed the strings a moment, just as he’d done the night before. The tune he played first was the one he’d begun with the previous evening. The second and third were familiar as well. Then he played her song, the one about walking, the one that had set her heart to fluttering. He had looked at her as he’d played, his expression warm and personal, at least it had seemed so to her.

  He wasn’t doing so now, but neither was he looking at anyone else.

  As the tune ended, Miss Napper declared herself quite thoroughly impressed. Linus declared himself pleased that she approved.

  Arabella’s heart sank. His music the night before had touched her. His declaration that the song he’d chosen for her had, indeed, been for her had swelled in her. She’d felt special, important, noticed. She still believed it, and yet . . .

  It was all very confusing and a touch overwhelming.

  She rose. With a quick quarter smile of apology, she made her excuses to Mater, insisting her long walk had left her weary.

  She’d gone no farther than the corridor directly beyond the sitting room door when Dr. Scorseby caught up with her. She’d all but forgotten he had joined the gathering.

  “Miss Hampton, are you feeling unwell?” His assessing gaze swept over her, taking stock of her condition.

  “I am only in need of a brief moment to lie down,” she told the doctor.

  His brow pulled low. “Are you certain? I cannot like the idea of you feeling unwell, not if I might be able to alleviate some of that suffering.”

  His solicitous treatment of her served as something of a balm in that moment. “I thank you for your concern and kindness. I really do need nothing more than a bit of quiet.”

  He nodded, not pressing her, though he clearly disbelieved her minimizing of her suffering. “I hope we will see you at dinner.”

  “I am certain I will be feeling quite well by then.” She fully intended to have herself sorted out enough by then to return.

  He offered a bow and she a curtsey, and they parted.

  She slipped into the quiet sanctuary of the room she had been assigned, a peaceful, tranquil bedchamber draped in sheer white. She had loved it from the moment she’d stepped inside, yet it seemed to have lost some of its soothing ability. Her mind and heart, she feared, were too burdened.

  Life had afforded her so few opportunities to truly come to understand people and relationships. Every hope she had harbored for a connection as a child had ended with four simple words: Family stays with family.

  The only thing she knew with absolute certainty was that sometimes, no matter the closeness she might feel to someone, there was simply not a place for her. It was not an easy lesson to unlearn.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  With Charlie out of danger and the dowager insistent that she was fully capable of seeing to his recovery, Persephone felt it best if those bound for Falstone Castle continued their journey. Linus stood in the front entryway as his family prepared to leave. The house would be very quiet after they left, especially once Mater, Charlie, and Arabella were gone as well. Linus hadn’t found the loneliness of his house as overwhelming the past weeks as he’d expected it to be. But, then, the house hadn’t been empty.

  Persephone arrived in the entryway, Oliver on her hip. Adam was directing the footmen as they put trunks and bags on the carriage.

  “You will, no doubt, be grateful to have us out of your hair,” Persephone said.

  “Nonsense. I’ve loved having you here.”

  She eyed him doubtfully. “Even though you’ve been sleeping in the study ever since young Mr. Jonquil’s family arrived?”

  “A few days sleeping in a chair won’t kill me.”

  She shifted Oliver to her other hip. “And what about all the days before that?”

  Did she know he hadn’t been sleeping in his childhood bedchamber? He’d tried to keep that hidden, not wishing to explain.

  Persephone gently touched his cheek. “Is there any corner of this estate where Evander does not haunt you?”

  “He is everywhere,” Linus confessed. “But I’m wading through those waters and making my way to shore.”

  “He would not have wanted you to be unhappy, Linus. None of us have ever wanted you to be anything other than joyous.”

  “Joy is in relatively short supply in the navy during a war,” he said.

  Regret and sadness filled her expression. “I know. If there had been any other option—”

  He’d not meant to cause her remorse. “In the end, I loved my time in the navy. It made me who I am.”

  “And I love who you are.” Persephone pulled him into a one-armed embrace.

  Oliver set his arm around Linus as well. “I love you too, Uncle Linus.”

  “Will you come back and visit me again, Oliver?” he asked.

  His little nephew nodded.

  Linus looked to Persephone. “Will you?”

  “Of course. And we hope to see you at the Castle for Christmas and Twelfth Night.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Adam stepped inside, eyeing them all with his customary impatience. “Where is Artemis? I’ll leave without her if I must.”

  “You aren’t leaving her here.” Linus pretended to be horrified at the possibility.

  “If she’s not in the carriage in five minutes, I am.”

  Linus turned a grin on Persephone but found she did not share his amusement. “He is in earnest?”

  She nodded. “If you don’t want to keep her, you’d best find her and send her down.”

  He sketched a brief bow, ruffled Oliver’s hair, and hurried around the corner and up the stairs. The house was small. Finding his s
ister would not be difficult. Indeed, he needed only to follow the sound of her voice directly to the master’s bedchamber.

  Why was she visiting Charlie? Had she decided to kill him before leaving for Northumberland?

  Linus peeked inside the room. Charlie was sitting up, pillows tucked behind him. The dowager sat nearby. Artemis stood at the foot of the bed.

  “Mrs. Tuttle’s sister-in-law’s father was a thatcher,” she said. “He tied himself to the chimney when working on roofs. If you mean to go up on another roof, you might consider a good, sturdy rope.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you didn’t actually want me to fall to my death.”

  Artemis shook her head, a few loose ringlets bouncing about as she did. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m only worried about Linus. If you are tied to the chimney, he’s more likely to be as well.”

  Charlie laughed. “I don’t think Linus or I will be on another roof anytime soon.”

  “Good.” She tipped her chin upward. “It’s dangerous.”

  “We’ll climb the Cliffs of Dover instead.”

  Linus looked at the dowager in the exact moment she looked at him. She appeared on the verge of laughter.

  “That was a joke, was it?” Artemis did not sound impressed.

  “Not a very good one, apparently.” Bless him, Charlie was being very patient.

  Linus stepped inside. “Adam is threatening to leave you here, Artemis.”

  She turned to face him. “He is always irritable before a journey.”

  “He also does not make idle threats,” Linus reminded her.

  She nodded her understanding. “It has been a pleasure to spend time with you these past days, Lady Lampton.”

  “A mutual pleasure,” the dowager replied.

  Artemis faced Charlie once more. “It has been a . . . trial to spend time with you these past days, Mr. Jonquil.”

  “A mutual trial,” Charlie said.

  Artemis turned a dry look on Linus, even rolled her eyes. “We had best not keep Adam waiting.”

  Linus offered his sister his arm. They stepped out into the corridor and toward the stairs.

  “Are you certain you won’t come with us?” Artemis asked.

  “This is my home,” he said. “I need to stay and take care of it.”

  “Won’t you be lonely?”

  His sister did not need to know the extent of the loneliness he anticipated. “Charlie will not be able to travel for weeks yet. The dowager won’t leave without him. I’ll have plenty of company.”

  “And Miss Hampton won’t leave without the two of them, but Dr. Scorseby isn’t likely to leave until she does.” Artemis eyed him sidelong. “That might be one too many people for your taste.”

  “Especially since we have a doctor in the neighborhood already.”

  Artemis laughed and bumped him with her shoulder. “I do not think you object to that redundancy.”

  “Oh, you don’t, do you?”

  She embraced his arm as they descended the stairs. “I like Miss Hampton. I like the way she looks at you.”

  “How does—how does she look at me?”

  “Like you being in a room makes it her favorite room in all the world.” Artemis sighed. “And you look at her like you’d do anything at all to see her happy.”

  “Are you matchmaking? I think I had quite enough of that in Notting-

  hamshire.”

  Artemis set her head on his shoulder. She’d done precisely that during the carriage ride from London and a few times while they’d both been in Town. In those moments, she almost felt like little Artemis again, the loving and tiny sister he’d left behind so many years earlier.

  “Do you really need me to matchmake, Linus? It seems to me you’ve made your mind up already.”

  There was a great deal of truth to that. “My heart made that decision weeks ago.”

  “Do not let her slip away,” Artemis said. “You are happier when she is with you, and you deserve to be happy.”

  They’d reached the entryway, now empty, the rest of the family outside climbing into the carriage.

  Linus pulled Artemis into a true embrace. “You deserve to be happy as well. Do not settle for anything less than that.”

  She pulled back and grinned mischievously. “I don’t intend to.”

  Artemis waved as she walked through the door and out to the carriage. Only a moment later, Linus’s family drove away, leaving him behind.

  You deserve to be happy. Arabella deserved happiness far more than he did. How could he show her that they could find that happiness together?

  The question remained heavy on his mind as he wandered inside once more. He stepped into the sitting room and found the dowager there. He offered a quick smile of apology and made as though to leave.

  “Sit with me, Mr. Lancaster,” she said. “I intend to ask you a few prying questions.” No sooner had he taken the seat near hers, than she launched into her inquiries. “When did you last see Arabella?”

  That was innocuous enough. “Yesterday when the Nappers were here.”

  “I have seen her since then,” the dowager said. “And I am worried.”

  The military man in him jumped into action. “What’s happened?”

  “She spent four hours yesterday walking around the grounds of your estate. She is doing so again now.”

  He knew perfectly well what extensive walking meant for Arabella Hampton. What misery was she fleeing now?

  “My husband used to find her, as a tiny girl, walking miles from her uncle’s home, tears running down her face, broken by her unhappiness. It tore at his heart. She was running, surviving, but at such a cost. She was so often alone and so often hopeless.”

  “Your husband cared about her.”

  “Immensely,” the dowager said. “He adored her, in fact. ‘Such a sweet little dear.’ He referred to her that way more times than I can remember. If he had been alive to witness the new Mrs. Hampton’s treatment of her and Mr. Hampton’s indifference to her suffering, he would not have minced words, I assure you. And if he had seen her return to her desperate walking these past twenty-four hours, he would be heartbroken.”

  “What precisely do you think has sent her fleeing this time?”

  “Honestly,” the dowager said. “You.”

  That was not at all what he’d wanted to hear, yet he didn’t find it surprising.

  “I believe you have laid claim to a bit of her heart.”

  Hope swelled, though with it came a growing confusion. “Why has that sent her out on her walks again? Is she afraid of me?” Heaven, he hoped not.

  The dowager shook her head. “I would wager she is uncertain, nervous. Such attachments do not always end well, especially when a significant difference in station is involved.”

  “You make us sound like a master of the estate and a chambermaid, rather than a gentleman and a gentleman’s daughter.”

  She smiled kindly. “I am well aware that yours is not a difference as wholly insurmountable as a lord and a servant. She, however, was brought up in a household where she was treated as an unwanted, unworthy hanger-on. While I do not think she truly believes that of herself, it is not difficult to understand why she might worry that others do. You, after all, have two titled sisters and are kin to the Duke of Kielder.”

  “She is fleeing because she thinks other people will consider her a ladder-climber?”

  “I believe she is worried that you will not return her regard and that she is foolish to hope you might.”

  That was decidedly lowering. “Then she believes I consider her beneath me.”

  “I can see I am not doing a very good job of explaining this.” She thought a moment. Linus kept his peace and allowed her to ponder. If she had an explanation that didn’t reflect so poorly on him, he would happily wa
it for it. “I know with utmost certainty that you have never, nor could you ever view her as being unworthy of regard. I further am certain that you have never treated her in a way that would give her reason to believe otherwise. But a few weeks of kindness and acceptance does not undo years of rejection. Her uncle, who ought to have cared for her and treated her well, never did. His late wife did not either. His current wife certainly doesn’t. She has known very little kindness in her life. That would make even the most optimistic of people wary in the face of hope. And in light of the Nappers’ visit . . .”

  “The Nappers?”

  “You played your lyre for Miss Napper,” she said.

  Linus shook his head. “I didn’t play for her.”

  The dowager eyed him doubtfully. “Didn’t you?”

  Did she truly think he had? “Were you under that impression?” Nothing could be further from the truth.

  “A little. Arabella certainly was.”

  Shock tied his tongue a moment. “Miss Napper was welcome to listen, but I chose songs Arabella would enjoy. I thought only of her.”

  “That is not quite the impression you gave.”

  The lyre had been Linus of old’s downfall. It seemed destined to be his as well.

  “Arabella has known great heartache in her life,” the dowager said. “She worries that those she loves will hurt her.”

  That made a good deal of sense. “If not for your husband, she likely would have no reason to hope for anything else. She has spoken often of his kindness toward her.”

  The dowager nodded. “I doubt even she realized the depth of his attachment to her.”

  “Likely not, considering she thinks of herself as something resembling a servant in your household.”

  Sadness touched her expression. “I have wanted to talk to her about him, to tell her how he felt. I can’t seem to manage it. Even after more than a decade, I often struggle to speak of him.”

  He patted her hand. “My brother died eleven years ago. I don’t speak of him often either.”

  She sighed. “Grief can remain surprisingly raw.”