A Lady by Chance (Historical Regency Romance) (27 page)

She nodded but refused to meet her husband's gaze. "I can no longer live in England."

Haverstock swallowed hard. "Even if I vow to accord you the love and honor you deserve?"

Now she met his gaze, her eyes brimming with tears and an unbearable sadness on her lovely face. "It would make no difference, Charles."

Grief as acute as death numbed him. Drawing his lips into a tight line, Haverstock said, "It seems I've come here for nothing." He swept into a bow. "Good evening, madam."

Chapter
30

"I can't believe it, even if I did hear her with my very own ears." Lydia strode through the overgrown grass. "I tell you, Charles, Anna's madly in love with you."

"And she loathes Vinson," Morgie added.

"We did hear her, and she made her wishes quite clear," Haverstock said bitterly.

He followed Lydia, his thoughts incoherent. Anna had been the stars in his heaven, and now there was only utter darkness.

For a second back at the chateau he had thought she loved him. Was it not a painful heart that bespoke her fidelity? But then her duplicity twisted her words into barbed dejection.

Lydia veered from the direction of the path which would have taken them back to the lane.

"Where are you going, Lyddie?" Morgie asked.

"To the mews."

"And why might that be?"

"Because we have to see if the hired chaise is here. We did promise the coachman's wife we would find out about her husband."

"So we did," Morgie said, trotting off after Lydia, with the brothers following him.

In the stables, they found a traveling chaise, then woke the coachman, who slept in a small room overhead.

He immediately set about a recitation of the indignities he had suffered at the hands of the arrogant Englishman. Why, he had not received a single franc from the man, yet. And while the Englishman kept saying they would be going to Paris, the coachman was losing many fares in the meantime. And he didn't for one minute believe that woman was the Englishman's wife. True, she did want to run away from the insufferable man. He felt ashamed of himself for watching idly as the poor woman's hands were tied behind her. That was no way to treat a lady. Especially one as beautiful as the mademoiselle.

On hearing this, a raw, bitter anger boiled within Haverstock. He grabbed the man by his shirt and spoke through clenched teeth. "When did this happen?"

"Two nights ago. When they left the ship in Calais. The mademoiselle, she tried to run away, but the miserable Englishman caught her and dragged her to the coach. And when they arrived here at the chateau, her hands were bound."

"I'll kill him!" Haverstock vowed, shoving the coachman and stalking off toward the house.

As he approached the chateau, the drawing room now lay in darkness. His gaze swept to the second floor where light spilled onto an upper balcony. He could reach the balcony by climbing a huge oak. He took off his jacket and began to climb. He straddled a branch which extended to the balcony and feared it would not bear his weight. But it did. He leapt down to the balcony and looked through the window.

It was Anna's room. She lay weeping on the bed. The sight tore at his heart.

He opened the window and stepped into her room.

She jerked into an upright position, clutching her lace handkerchief to her eyes. "Charles!"

He stopped short of the bed. "I'm taking you home, Anna."

"But. . ." Her voice faltered. "But I'll only hurt you. There. . .there is a letter."

"There's only one way to hurt me, Anna." He stepped closer to her. "That's by leaving me. I find I cannot seem to live without you."

She hurled herself into his arms. "Oh, Charles, I do love you so!"

He gathered her into his chest. Her arms circled his waist, her face cradled in the hollow of his chest. He reveled in the exquisite feel of her. His wife. His love.

"When you went away," she said, "he told me you had been arrested. I thought to clear you by writing a confession – which, of course, he is using against me now. It will ruin you."

He laughed and pulled her even closer. "There you are wrong. If I have you, I have everything." He lifted her face with a gentle finger. "Besides, your confession can hardly be terribly incriminating. You are guilty of nothing more than having my own groom follow me. Hardly the material for your death warrant."

The chamber door snapped open, and Haverstock looked up to see Sir Henry standing there, leveling a pistol at them. "I thought I heard voices."

Haverstock pushed Anna aside and stepped in front of her.

"I was afraid you'd come back for her," Sir Henry said, kicking the door shut behind him. "But I must insist on keeping her. I need her more than you do, Haverstock. You derive a great deal of satisfaction from your work. My lifeline has always been the glitter of society. And I'm not a young man any more. I need Anna's beauty and talent to assure my place at the best houses in Paris."

"You will not be welcomed in Paris, Vinson," Haverstock said ruthlessly. "Does the name Thomas Brouget mean anything to you?"

Sir Henry's eyes widened. "So that's why he's never shown up here."

"He never left London. You will get no reward from Boney. In fact, I daresay Monsieur Hebert has a hefty price on your head as we speak. Going to Paris is out of the question for you."

"Why, you..." Sir Henry raised the pistol.

The French window burst open. James poised on the threshold, his drawn sword gleaming under the light of the torchieries. "Here, Vinson," he called in an effort to detract Sir Henry's attentions from his unarmed brother.

Sir Henry threw a panicked glance at James. In less than a heartbeat, Sir Henry aimed his pistol at James and fired.

The smell of gun powder, the hiss of his brother's gasp, the patch of blood on James' sleeve spurred Haverstock into motion. He dived at Sir Henry, but not before the older man flung the smoking pistol to the floor and grabbed a knife from his waistcoat. Haverstock lunged and pinned him against the cracked plaster wall, grasping his knife hand.

Haverstock's huge hand covered Sir Henry's bony wrist and repeatedly slammed it into the wall.

Though he cried out in pain, Sir Henry would not let go of the knife.

Haverstock next sent his fist crashing into Sir Henry's face. But still Sir Henry held the knife firmly, even as the two men fell to the floor. They rolled like a lopsided windmill. Haverstock wound up on top his adversary. He watched as the blood pooled around Sir Henry's head, and the life stilled from his ashen face. The knife, still in his hand, had sliced Sir Henry's throat.

Haverstock sprang to his feet and turned sharply toward his brother. "James?"

James let the sword drop to the floor as his fingers spread across his wound. Blood oozed down his arm. "Nothing but a scratch."

Lydia leaped onto the balcony, took one look at James, who had fallen back through the open French doors, and she swooned.

Morgie sprang to the balcony next, took one look at Lydia and fell to her side, taking her hand in his. "Oh, my poor Lyddie. I'll never forgive myself if something's happened to you."

"Nothing's happened to her," Haverstock said, walking to the balcony where the rapid pounding of hooves below drew his attention. Four horsemen hurriedly rode off from the direction of the mews down the main road to the gatehouse. "Despite my sister's propensity for controlling most situations, she seems not to be able to tolerate the sight of blood." Still watching the lane, Haverstock added, "It seems the Frenchmen who were here have no desire for a fight."

He turned to Anna. "My dearest, how do you tolerate the sight of blood? Will you be able to give me a hand with my brother?"

Anna, flinching from Sir Henry's grim death scene, directed her gaze to James. "This is James?"

James made a half bow. "Your most obedient servant, my lady."

"Oh, but you're hurt. This is too terrible. Charles! Help me get his coat off," Anna cried.

Haverstock removed his brother's coat and determined James had not been far from the mark when he said he only sustained a scratch. The bullet singed his coat but entered only the fleshy part of his arm. They wrapped it in strips of lawn from Anna's undergarments.

Turning her attention to Lydia, Anna fetched vinaigrette from her reticule and held it under Lydia's nose until she stirred. Morgie helped lift her upper torso.

"Gave me the fright of my life, Lyddie," he said. "Thought you'd been shot."

She turned the most wistful smile on him. "You cared, then?"

"Of course I cared. You're like a sister."

"I already have two brothers, Morgie. I do not need another."

"Well, you certainly don't need a fiancé, either, since you've already got one of those, too."

"A pity," she said.

"Why is it a pity?"

"If you were. . .well, there is something so romantic about the idea of marrying in France."

Her words rendered him speechless for a full minute. Then he said, "As you've pointed out, my French is very poor. I might not understand the clergyman."

"Can you say yes?" she asked.

He squeezed her hand. "
Oui
."

"It's about time you two realized you belong together," Haverstock said.

"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black," Lydia said, looking affectionately at Haverstock.

He smiled at his sister, then walked to Anna and took both her hands in his and dropped to one knee. "If I had been in possession of half a brain those months ago I took you for my wife, I would have begged for your hand and told you there was no other woman on earth I would rather have."

A troubled look crossed her face. "But I've done such terrible things."

He stood and gently set his palms on her cheeks. "Like cheating at cards?"

"You knew?" she asked, her eyes widening.

"Of course. It was the luckiest night of my life."

"You don't think I'm awful?"

"You're not awful, except when you leave me. You are actually quite wonderful, Lady Haverstock."

She threw her arms around him, melting into him. "And to think, we both thought we were sacrificing ourselves for England."

He held her tightly against him, dropping a soft kiss on top her head. "Ah, sweet sacrifice."

Chapter
31

Haymore, three months later

Divesting themselves of their pelisses and bonnets, Anna and Lydia entered Haymore through the French windows that faced the terrace.

Standing in the salon, Haverstock met his wife and took her pelisse, handing it to the butler. "I do not like you wandering about the countryside in your condition," he told her, hooking an arm around her and gently patting her stomach. "We mustn't endanger the little earl."

She stood on her toes to brush her lips across his. "I keep telling you our baby could very well be a she."

"A pity. I suppose I would have to force myself to continue trying for a son."

Lydia swept past her brother and kissed Morgie on the cheek. "Did you two succeed in arranging Mother's portraits to suit her at the dowager house?"

Morgie threw a questioning glance at Haverstock.

Haverstock closed the doors. "Morgie has yet to understand that Mother is never quite satisfied with anything," Haverstock said.

Lydia smiled. "At least she won't admit it when she is. Like with Anna. Morgie and I positively begged her to live with us, but she insisted on moving to the dowager house at Haymore, saying she had to assure the future marquess was brought up correctly. When, of course, we all know how much she has come to regard Anna."

Haverstock looked at Anna with pride. "Mother can't bring herself to admit how pleased she is to be here, nor how fine a wife Anna is."

"How was your outing?" Morgie asked his bride as they strolled across the broad room.

"Oh, Morgie, the most wonderful thing! Mr. Archer has died and his heir has decided to sell the abbey."

"What's wonderful about the fellow dying?" he asked.

"You could buy the abbey, and we could be neighbors with Charles and Anna."

He came to a halt, turned to his wife and scowled. "Won't live so close to that damned squire."

She lovingly stroked the thin planes of his face. "You goose. Haven't we told you the squire plans to wed the vicar's widow?"

His face brightened. "Don't see how he could have gotten over you that quickly."

"Because I am persuaded he realized how utterly unsuited we were." She linked her arm through his. "With his deep sense of propriety, he must count himself fortunate to be rid of a woman who had no more sensibilities than to elope – and on foreign soil at that."

"Then he's the fool I've always said he was."

"He's a fine man, really, Morgie," Haverstock interjected. "By the way, I received a letter today from Captain Smythe. From The Peninsula. He apologized for not coming up to scratch with Cynthia. Said he wanted nothing more than to make her his wife, but with his future so uncertain he had no desire to make her a widow."

"How sad," Anna said. "It sounds as if both of them are now miserable."

"I respect him for it. It would hardly be fair to bring a child into the world, then not be there for
him
," Haverstock said, giving Anna a mischievous sideways glance.

"Or her," Anna countered with mock defiance.

"I believe Cynthia will wait for the captain," Lydia said.

Anna frowned. "Would that Kate's love were that constant."

"Kate never loved Reeves," Haverstock said, pausing at the doorway. "The news of her London
affairs
comes as no surprise."

"A pity everyone cannot be as happy as the four of us," Lydia said.

"Charlotte and Hogart appear to be," Morgie added. He opened the door and led Lydia into the expansive marble hallway.

"As well they ought with your fortune behind the sewing school and their other ministries," Lydia said.

Anna addressed Morgie. "Speaking of your fortune, I really do think you should buy the abbey for Lydia."