Romancing a Wallflower

by Anna St. Claire

“Lilian…” he started to speak but stopped. Changing his mind, instead Harlow kneeled down in front of her and took her hand, looking up into her face.

  She was not sure what had prompted her efforts to walk, but Lilian had not expected this. Her throat constricted with emotion as she beheld John’s tear-stained face. She at once felt elated, captivated and cherished as a myriad of implausible emotions washed over her.

  “Lady Lilian DeLacey, I beg you, make me the happiest of men and say you will become my Countess. Having almost lost you, I have realized I cannot live without you. I love you.” Harlow whispered the last words to her, barely getting the last word out before she heard low murmurs coming from the doorway. Overcome, she glanced up.

  Her sister, Viscount Yarstone, Lord Worsley, her parents, Clara, Winston and Chambers stood crowded in the doorway, smiles filling their faces. Cooper squeezed beneath their legs and came into the room. Lying down in front of her, he gazed up at her face.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, John Andrews, Earl of Harlow, I will marry you—on the condition that I be allowed to walk down the aisle to your arms.” She shook her curls. “Since nothing about this engagement appears to be fashionable standards, I think I should like to do it this way.”

  “This is where you all are! There was no one at the door to take my coat and I thought something had happened.” The group parted, and her brother joined them.

  “You have missed nothing, Jonathan, except our sister’s engagement,” Lydia said, giving him a hug.

  “Your attention, please, everyone,” Father spoke up. “Lilian and Lord Harlow are now engaged, and it is permissible to allow them a few minutes alone. What do you say we all go to the dining room and break our fast together?”

  “Thank you, sir. All except one, I believe. Viscount Yarstone, please stay a moment longer. I have something to ask you,” Harlow said quietly. When the others had left, he turned to Yarstone. “Max read out to me a bet in White’s—the substance of which no longer upsets me. However, I need to know the truth. Did you place it there?”

  Yarstone paled. “I…I apologize. It was a foolish whim. ’Twas a ridiculous pierce of jealousy. Can you ever forgive me…?”

  “Say no more. I believe I now understand. I just wanted to know. It drove me crack-brained.” He winked and patted Yarstone on the back. “To make amends, I ask that you consider allowing us to have a double wedding. What say you?”

  “I say, yes indeed and well done! A double wedding it is, providing the family is in agreement,” Yarstone answered.

  “I think Mama and Father will be happy with it—more than happy, in fact. They will love it!” Lilian agreed at once.

  “If that is all, I shall join them for breakfast.” Bowing, Yarstone left quickly and, followed by Cooper, pulled the door closed.”

  Lilian looked up into the eyes of the man in front of her. She had found her Prince Charming.

  “I think I am the happiest of people and the very luckiest.”

  He pulled her from the couch and held her, brushing her lips with his softly and then covering her mouth with his and hugging her to his chest.

  Lilian found his kisses and caresses exciting, and melted into them, enraptured with his hunger and need of her.

  “I think our lives together shall never be dull.”

  Lilian looked into his eyes, her own overflowing with tears. “John, you are the prince my sister promised I would find. You are all I could have imagined—all I have ever imagined. I love you.” She pulled his lips to her own and kissed him with all the emotion she possessed. This morning she had awoken afraid of her nightmare, only to realize it was the true beginning to her life and all her wishes were about to come true.

  Afterword

  Please note: This book is written using historic British English spellings and grammar to better reflect the time period of the story. For example, favour is used instead of favor, parlour is used instead of parlor, marvellous instead of marvelous, colour instead of color, wheel-chair instead of wheelchair. These are correct spellings.

  The Earl She Left Behind Chapter 1

  Maidstone, Kent, England

  October 1815

  Thunder boomed above him. A second later, a sharp crack of lightning lit up the dark sky. Gripping the reins of his horse, Maxwell Wilde, Earl of Worsley, fought to stay seated as his mare reared and struggled. The lightning illuminated a woman lying in the road just ahead. Had the lightning not struck, he most certainly would not have seen her.

  The scant light showed a small-framed woman curled into a fetal position, wearing a soiled blue dress. A small shaggy white dog pawed her arm, whimpering and licking her face. Large drops of rain pelted both of them but did not affect the dog’s loyal persistence.

  “Whoa, Willow.” Max slid from his mount and walked over to the woman. At his approach, the dog at once became protective, giving a guttural growl. It forced Max to stop and rethink his goal.

  “Easy, boy.” He lowered his hand to the dog and allowed him to sniff it. The dog stopped growling and eased himself down, curling his furry white body next to the woman’s head—protecting her—still whimpering and licking her face. Max took a deep breath, careful not to anger the dog and not wanting to injure it. The dog was unmistakably attached to the woman. Feeling more confident the dog would not attack him, he lowered himself onto his haunches to get a better look at the woman.

  Gently, he swept wet, muddied blonde tresses from her face. Recognition was swift and tumultuous. “Bloody hell! Meg, what happened? Why are you out in this storm, of all places? Why are you here?” Questions flooded his brain. He fought the gut-wrenching impulse to pull her close. When she did not answer, he picked up a limp hand and noticed rope burns around her left wrist, anger registering. “You are bleeding.” He moved her damp blonde hair away from her forehead, revealing a deep gash from which blood still oozed. Fear gripped him. He stared at her motionless body until he saw her chest barely move. Good. She was breathing. “Thank goodness you are still alive.”

  Her eyes opened and closed. Her throat worked, but she did not speak. She needed a doctor. Max needed to get her to safety and leave before she engaged his heart yet again.

  He had washed his hands of Maggie Winters when she ran away and abruptly married the Earl of Tipton three years past—when she and Max were planning to wed. Anger churned in his gut as he thought about the day he found out, and it renewed his confusion, pain, and anger. She had disappeared without a word—merely a scribbled note delivered to him. Without thinking, he reached inside this waistcoat pocket and touched the folded missive. No one had heard from Maggie in years. It was strange, but word of her marriage had cleared it up for him. He squashed the now-familiar feeling of dread.

  “No, no, no! Leave him alone! Please…do not harm him.” Her voice was hoarse and barely audible. She rolled her head from left to right and moved her hands about herself in defense—defending against what, he did not understand. Was she speaking about the small dog? With one eye on Max, the dog was furiously licking her face. He was trying to calm her. Amazing.

  The small animal gave a sharp bark, trying to gain her attention. “Rrrr…uff.”

  Unsure of the dog’s reaction to his presence, he increased the space between them. He had no wish to have an animal of any size bite him. But the bark itself triggered an awareness. He vaguely recalled having met this animal. But when? He narrowed his eyes, attempting to remember. It had been a while since he had seen Meg. She could have gained a pet without his notice. It had been three years since he had last laid eyes on her.

  The heaviness in his heart was returning. Max had tried to forget her. He wanted to forget her. The last thing he needed was to be in her presence now. But Meg’s condition terrified him. Ignoring her was not an option. He smoothed the wet hair away from the sides of her face.

  Lifting her, he placed her on his saddle. Her body slumped. He leaned in close, holding her against his shoulder, then put his left foot in the stirrup and
hoisted himself up behind her. He held her gently in case there was any other injury he had not seen. The touch of her sent his pulse racing, but Max did his best to hold on to Meg and the reins. The dog started barking and jumping, almost bouncing, desperate to gain access to his mistress. Willow twisted and bared her teeth at the dog, as if to tell him to stop, but the small animal was unfazed. He would have to bring the dog.

  This dog means something to Meg. Recognition almost knocked him out of his seat. This bedraggled white dog was the same grubby puppy they had saved moments before an out-of-control wagon and its horses would have ended its life, only weeks before Meg had disappeared from his. His heart sped with excitement that she had kept it all this time. “I know you!” He looked down at the dog. “It is coming back to me now.” Excited, he leaned into Meg. “I recognize Shep. You kept the dog!” he whispered, realizing she would not hear him but needing to speak. Overwhelmed, he pulled her tight to his chest and breathed in her essence. Lilacs. His favorite. He loved that she always smelled of lilacs. Once upon a time, she told him it was her preferred flower.

  The dog waited. Its demeanor communicated the anticipation of accommodation. “I will not leave you. Give me a moment to think.” He was speaking almost to himself. It was a difficult position. Thinking rapidly, he reached behind him for his saddlebag and emptied its contents. Nothing of importance was in there. Once satisfied with the space, he carefully slid off his horse, keeping one hand holding onto Meg. She did not move. Hurriedly, he gathered the small dog into the satchel. Shep gave no resistance. Max hoisted the bags over his shoulder to allow the small dog to ride, and once again mounted Willow.

  “Shep,” she murmured, barely conscious. Her voice was weak. “Shep, where are you?” She tried to open her eyes, but they fluttered closed again.

  A lighter bark registered under his arm. He could not believe his ears. The dog had answered her. It understood her.

  Willow turned into Max’s estate and stopped at the front. It had been six months since his last visit home. Still securing Meg with one hand, he slid from his horse, and lowered his saddlebag, allowing the dog to leave it. Then he turned back and gently helped Meg down.

  “Follow me.” He nodded at the dog, confident the pooch understood him. Holding Meg in his arms, he and the bedraggled pup made it up the steps to the portico and pushed open the door.

  The slow but pronounced footfalls of his butler sounded a welcome.

  “Your lordship, you have returned. We had not expected you this evening.” The tall, greying man drew closer and peered down at the drenched woman in his arms. “I apologize for ogling, my lord, but that is Miss Maggie…pardon, Lady Maggie…” He looked up at Max. “Lady Tipton.” Max noted the shock and concern in the old man’s eyes. “She appears injured. What happened, my lord?” Before Max could answer, the older man noticed the small dog standing at Max’s feet and scowled. “Shoo! Out the door with you.”

  Shep sprung into the air, jumping vertically toward his mistress and barking his high-pitched bark. The energy the dog still had despite the frigid conditions he had endured astonished Max. “It’s okay, Cabot. Lady...” He paused, grappling for words. “Lady Tipton needs the dog as much as he needs her. He stays.”

  “As you wish, my lord. I will send for the doctor.” His displeasure clear, Cabot left the room, but not before giving a quick glare toward the dog.

  “Thank you, Cabot," he responded under his breath to the man’s back. Louder, he added, “Send for Mrs. Andrews and have her meet me upstairs. I shall put Lady…Tipton in Lady Angela’s room.” Uttering her married name renewed the ache in his chest. He needed to get her help and then distance himself. Angela, his sister, would not mind Meg using her room while she visited her best friend in London. Angela would be gone for at least two more weeks.

  It would not be easy to forget Meg’s marriage status with three years past, but he had to for his sanity. And he needed to stop calling her Meg. That had been his nickname for her. She was Lady Maggie Tipton now. Even as he told himself this, he knew it would be impossible—she would always be Meg to him.

  Meg’s body quaked, probably from the chill. Responding on impulse, Max pulled her closer, hoping to share his body warmth in the only way he knew. She was lighter than he recalled. Her lilac scent rushed his senses and reminded him sharply of his loss. Weirdly, he recalled a time or two he had carried her. Rapt in the past, he missed a step, barely catching himself before he lost his balance.

  “Woof!” The dog ran past him up the stairs and stopped at the top. He watched Max the rest of the way up, his expression one of mistrust.

  “I promise not to hurt her.” No, I will be the one in pain here, Max reflected. “It is just ahead, Shep.” Good God! He was talking to a dog. Shaking off the realization, he nodded toward the hall. Shep started in behind him, following him into the room. Once inside, Max laid Meg on the pink velvet-covered bed.

  Shep jumped up and sniffed at her face, assuring himself she was still alive. Once satisfied, he inspected each of the four large posters before curling up next to her side. Not close enough, his little body edged toward her until it touched her.

  “Shep, you have come back,” she uttered, weakly placing her hand on his folded front paws with a loud sigh.

  Was that relief? His gaze shifted to the burns on her wrists, and he knew he could not dismiss her again from his life so quickly. I need to know what happened to her. The burns on Meg’s wrists bothered him as much as her tortured state of mind. Was she running from someone…or maybe to something? Whatever it was, the dog had a part in it. He had found her in front of her family’s estate. Wyndham was almost a mile from his own property.

  He had planned to ask for her hand, but a carriage accident claimed the lives of both of her parents the very day he had planned to see her father. Everyone had expected them to marry—he had made his feelings about Maggie clear. He loved her and thought the feeling was mutual. But two days after the funeral for her parents, Maggie Winters had disappeared, leaving only the note.

  Her uncle, Silas Winters, had become her guardian, inheriting her father’s title of viscount and his entitled properties. Max knew Silas for his gambling and questionable business dealings. Meg had been most unhappy to learn he was to be her guardian until she turned one and twenty.

  Wyndham had been her mother’s childhood home, but the Winters family had lived there most of the time. Following the death of his brother, Viscount Silas Winters had boarded up the property, never sending a soul to care for it. Max’s mother had written that recent sightings of a woman in white staring from the attic window had renewed the rumor that the estate was haunted.

  He took a deep breath and gazed at the sleeping woman in front of him. Three years had passed. Max had buried her memory, pushing it to the back of his mind, but seeing her tonight, holding her, and smelling her essence brought painful memories of his loss to the forefront. He had met with her uncle to ask for her hand, and the contracts were being drawn up when Maggie Winters had left town, suddenly marrying a much older Fergus Anders, Earl of Tipton. She had left Max’s life with no explanation. Cornered, her uncle would only say he had signed a contract. Nothing more. Max felt he would never know the truth, only the note she left him. The rumors, which were hard to believe, only added salt to his wounded heart.

  The gossip was that Meg’s uncle had married her to Tipton to settle a gambling loss. Both were notorious gamblers, and the thought that Meg had been taken away unwillingly only added deeper angst. Max had never been sure of what had happened, but he could not reach her, despite his best efforts. With no contract signed, he had no chance of winning her back—if that had even been what had happened. He had heard nothing from her. The loss had decimated Max’s heart. He had sworn to never love again, but now he realized he had never stopped loving her. He left town shortly after she did, not willing or able to endure the pity of being jilted by the one person he loved more than life itself.

  I can never let
her know my feelings.

  Max shook his head, hoping to pull himself from his misery. She is Tipton’s wife, yet she is here. Why? He pulled up one of his sister’s pink velvet slipper chairs and sat next to her. “Meg, why are you here now? What happened to you?” The dog opened his eyes and stared at him, never lifting his head. A low, guttural growl erupted.

  “I will not hurt her.” Max reached tentatively and stroked the cotton-soft hair on the dog’s head. Shep allowed it and sniffed his hand. A slight wag of his tail replaced the growl. Good. He recognizes me. “Good boy.”

  Meg’s quick wit and sense of adventure had been something he always enjoyed. They got along better together than his school friends, and he had continually enjoyed coming home to her. There was always one scrape or another, and he was always rescuing her—until he could not.

  Female voices and the swishing of skirts drew his attention to the door as his mother entered.

  “My dear, Cabot mentioned that you had brought Lady Tipton in from an accident. I quickly allowed my guests to leave and came to help.” She looked at the prone form in her daughter’s bed. “I had to see for myself.”

  “Mother, thank you. I had not realized you would be here. I thought you were in London for the Season. I am sorry about your guests, but…” He glanced down at Meg. “I found her like this on my way home. She was in front of her parents’ gate. With the dog.” He nodded at Shep. “That is the dog Meg and I found shortly before…” He took a deep breath. “Shortly before we were to be wed.”

  “I recall that incident. You could have both died saving the rascal.” She smiled at that dog. “I rarely allow dogs in my home, but he seems harmless. I will plan for a bath and some food for him.” She sniffed in Shep’s direction. “Immediately.”

  “Lord Worsley, the doctor should be here in a few minutes. Cabot sent the footman for him straightaway.” Mrs. Andrews tapped him lightly on the arm.