The Lord’s Desperate Pledge

by Archer, Kate

  In the evening, they had lively dinners. Cards were attempted one night in the drawing room, but were quickly cast aside as nobody would consent to play against Lily and her husband. The days passed by in a dream of happiness, though in the back of Lily’s mind was always the inevitable trip to Somerset to meet her husband’s parents. Despite his assurances, she could not be certain of her reception. They were a duke and duchess after all, and may have had much higher aspirations for their son.

  They had finally set off, with a happy goodbye from her parents and a tearful one from her sisters. It would be an easy journey in five stages, and it had at first seemed as if their arrival was a long time away. Until, that was, they came to the very gates.

  Though Lily had known what the house looked like from a sketch, there was nothing that might have prepared her for the enormity of the estate. They passed through a gatehouse of grey stone, a man tipping his hat, and a boy jumping on a horse and setting off ahead to announce their arrival.

  Then, they traveled some miles on a lane bordered by old oaks. Beyond the oaks, they passed apple orchards, sheep and cows grazing, and broad fields of wheat just coming up. As the road dipped and turned, Lily caught glimpses of the stone behemoth ahead.

  They’d come around a final bend and the carriage trotted through another gatehouse and into a vast courtyard. Dembly Castle loomed over her, its towers reaching for the sky and topped with arrow slits. Lily swallowed as she saw the occupants of the house lined up on the drive. She could not count the number of footmen and maids, there were too many and, in any case, her eyes were riveted on the duke and duchess. He was all smiles, though she appeared decidedly austere.

  As the carriage rolled to a stop, Lily’s husband whispered, “To the breach, my love.”

  The introduction to the duke and duchess had been formal, as if she were being presented at court. Lily had thought they would be given time to change and then proceed to the drawing room, but the duchess had other plans. She’d sent her son off with her husband to look at a new horse, though neither seemed the least interested in it. Then she’d assured Lily that she must want tea before being shown to her room.

  Now, Lily sat alone with the duchess in a drawing room that might have comfortably sat a hundred as her grace poured tea. Though those elusive hundred might have sat comfortably, Lily did not. The duchess had not smiled since her arrival.

  “I must say,” her grace said, handing Lily her cup, “I was surprised to hear that my son had engaged himself. And then, to marry so hastily with no pomp and ceremony? One would have thought of St. George’s at least.”

  Lily had been afraid the duchess would not be pleased. Still, her grace could not undo what had been done and Lily refused to be unhappy over another’s opinion. Even if it was her husband’s own mother’s.

  “Surprise aside,” her grace went on, “my son wrote a compelling letter on the subject. He believes you are well-suited. Therefore, I think I may happily resign myself to the union if a few conditions are met.”

  Conditions? How could there be conditions now? They were already married.

  “Foremost,” her grace said, “I would wish you to promise that you will exert every effort to make my son happy.”

  Lily smiled, vastly relieved to hear of that condition. “That is easily promised, your grace.”

  “And two, whenever you are in this house, you must commit to being my whist partner. I hear you are very good at cards and I have the notion of trouncing those two gentlemen who wander the stables just now. We might even play for significant stakes.”

  Lily suppressed her laughter. Whatever further conditions she had thought the duchess might demand, being a whist partner had not been among them.

  “I should be happy to oblige, Your Grace,” Lily said.

  The duchess waved her hands in a dismissive fashion. “You are in the family now, you had better call me Delilah.”

  As it would turn out, the duchess was not particularly good at whist. That mattered not, however, as the duke showed himself to be a thousand times worse. No matter how hard his son attempted to prop him up with hints and looks, the duke would make terrible judgments and ghastly moves. It eventually became a tradition that they would have a tournament at Christmas time, with the winnings going to a local charity. That charity thought the duchess and Lady Ashworth very generous.

  Departing Dembly Castle after a fortnight, Lord and Lady Ashworth made their way to the Continent for their wedding trip. They perfected their game of whist on the journey. Piquet was all well and good for those who played alone, but they were husband and wife now and it no longer suited.

  That they would cut a swath through Europe, from the Alps to Italy, collecting wagers as they went, was a rather foregone conclusion. They left a trail of disconcerted players in their wake and came back a deal richer. Lily’s sisters’ dowries had been secured.

  In the hours that they did not play, there were long and luxurious mornings in one sunny bedchamber after the next, as no gambler worth anything rose too early. Those mornings often ran into the afternoon, as there might be a debate about going to a museum and then somehow never getting out the door. There were sumptuous dinners, as no gambler began a night hungry—it would only serve to distract.

  At a card table, they would look at each other once their hands had been dealt, Lily understanding her husband’s every expression. He still gave away those subtle signs that nobody but Lily would note. It might have worked to his detriment in piquet, but it was very much an advantage in whist.

  Their pockets were filled, and then overflowing. As far as Lily and Hayes were concerned, though, they had become richer in far more than money.

  The End

  About the Author

  By the time I was eleven, my Irish Nana and I had formed a book club of sorts. On a timetable only known to herself, Nana would grab her blackthorn walking stick and steam down to the local Woolworth’s. There, she would buy the latest Barbara Cartland romance, hurry home to read it accompanied by viciously strong wine, (Wild Irish Rose, if you’re wondering) and then pass the book on to me. Though I was not particularly interested in real boys yet, I was very interested in the gentlemen in those stories—daring, bold, and often enraging and unaccountable. After my Barbara Cartland phase, I went on to Georgette Heyer, Jane Austen and so many other gifted authors blessed with the ability to bring the Georgian and Regency eras to life.

  I would like nothing more than to time travel back to the Regency (and time travel back to my twenties as long as we’re going somewhere) to take my chances at a ball. Who would take the first? Who would escort me into supper? What sort of meaningful looks would be exchanged? I would hope, having made the trip, to encounter a gentleman who would give me a very hard time. He ought to be vexatious in the extreme, and worth every vexation, to make the journey worthwhile.

  I most likely won’t be able to work out the time travel gambit, so I will content myself with writing stories of adventure and romance in my beloved time period. There are lives to be created, marvelous gowns to wear, jewels to don, instant attractions that inevitably come with a difficulty, and hearts to break before putting them back together again. In traditional Regency fashion, my stories are clean—the action happens in a drawing room, rather than a bedroom.

  As I muse over what will happen next to my H and h, and wish I were there with them, I will occasionally remind myself that it’s also nice to have a microwave, Netflix, cheese popcorn, and steaming hot showers.

  Come see me on Facebook! @KateArcherAuthor

 

 

 
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