A Season for Love (4 page)

“How romantically put. I am sure you impressed her immediately when you told her.”

“I have not mentioned marriage yet, only to pay her court. She wants a Season and I intend to let her have it. I will hover in the background and be solicitous enough to let all the ambitious mamas know I am taken.”

“Your future title alone will guarantee they will still all try,” Edward said.

Darian sighed. “You are probably right. Do you know that there were times, fighting alongside Wellington, that I wished I had been the second-born and not the heir?”

Edward looked surprised. “Why?”

“He told me once, that when he had just been Arthur Wellesley, he had the freedom to dream of what he would become.”

“He
became
successful. He was an MP in the Irish parliament before he was of age, entered the military, served in India, moved up the ranks to Major General and then received a handful of titles,  not the least of all being ‘The Iron Duke.’  What more would he want?”

“Sometimes he longed for the peace and quiet of a small country estate.” Darian ran his hand down the satiny smoothness of the mare’s neck as she nuzzled him. “I would be perfectly happy staying here at Stafford, raising horses and children. You are much more suited to the political intrigues and Society bashes of London than I.”

Edward frowned, but before he could say anything, Dewberry came through the stable doors.

“Let us have a look at the stallion you have been wanting to buy for stud, shall we?” the earl said with a cheery grin. “I might even add that mare later as part of Isabella’s dowry. Keep the horses in the family, so to speak.”

The thought of the beautiful mare being added to his stable should have excited him. She had excellent conformation and temperament.

For some reason, though, he wasn’t all that thrilled.

* * * *

The kitchen was engulfed in flames when Edward arrived in the carriage the next morning, Darian riding alongside. Both men hit the ground running, skirting the water brigade of servants that were passing buckets hurriedly along from the well.

Darian found Elizabeth at the head of the line, tossing water onto flames that were still licking their way up the wooden wall. Her hair had come loose, soot covered her face and her morning gown was torn and singed at the hem. She coughed.

He took the next bucket from her. “Get back. Stay out of the smoke.”

“I have to help.”

“Not here.” He tossed the water and grabbed another bucket while Edward did the same. “This is not any place for a woman.”

Her grey eyes grew dark at that. “We need every hand, even a woman’s.”

He realized he’d made her angry, although he didn’t know why. Men were supposed to protect women, damn it, not have them put their lives in danger.

“The full skirt on your dress could catch the flames,” Edward said to her. “We would have an even worse tragedy if you were to get burned.” He reached for another bucket. “If you would be so kind as to go to the well, perhaps you could organize two lines so we could get water more quickly?”

Elizabeth hesitated and then nodded. “I had not thought of that. Of course I will go.”

Darian slanted a look at his brother as they both tossed more water onto the dwindling flames and found him shaking his head.

“You have been on the battlefield too long, brother. Women do not take kindly to orders.”

Dewberry burst through the billowing smoke, holding a cloth over his nose. “I just checked the other rooms. Everyone got out, thank God.”

Buckets of water came faster now that the line had doubled. Stable hands joined them once the horses had been loosed in the pasture behind the barns. Within a few minutes, only smoldering cinders offered up small wisps of smoke.

“Where are Isabella and Muffin?” Edward set down his empty bucket.

Dewberry pointed. “Over by the orchard with their mother.”

Darian glanced in that direction. Several women huddled around Lady Dewberry, clutching small children. Isabella and Julianna stood nearby. From the looks of her tangled hair and dirty clothes, it looked like Julianna had been somewhere in the water brigade, too, but Isabella might just have stepped out her maid’s ministrations. The pale lavender gown she wore was spotless and her hair neatly pulled back. A grubby little girl attached herself to Isabella and she smiled, but it looked forced, even from this distance. She removed the child’s hands, turning her in the direction of the other women.

Darian shook his head and went to find Elizabeth. She was near the well and had her arm around a young woman who was sobbing.

“It will be all right, Anna. Do not take on so. It is not healthy for your babe.”

The servant put a hand over her slightly-rounded stomach and sniffled. “I did not mean to do it. I didn’t. I do not want the earl to send me packing!”

“I am sure he will not do that, Anna,” Elizabeth said as a harried-looking young man ran up to them and pulled Anna into his arms and then led her away.

“What the—what happened here?” Darian asked as he approached.

Elizabeth sighed and sank down to sit on the edge of the well. Darian joined her.

“Anna poured hot grease from the salt pork into a bowl. The straw from the ice block wrapping was still on the floor. When Andy—” she pointed at the young man still holding onto Anna—“surprised her in the kitchen, she turned and knocked over a candle and the bowl. Apparently, she went outside with him and no one else was in the kitchen.”

Darian frowned. “She deserves to be sent packing.”

“She is with child. Andy plans to marry her, but if she goes, he will have to leave too.” Elizabeth sighed again. “Besides, she has no place to go. She is an orphan.”

Just like Elizabeth was. She didn’t need to say it. The look on her face bespoke volumes. Darian took her hands in his and she winced.

Startled, he turned them over. Red, raw blisters covered the otherwise smooth palms, the effect of the rough wooden handles from the buckets. “You are hurt!”

She tried to pull away, but he held fast, careful not to touch the injured areas. “I am taking you back to Stafford House and getting those wounds cleaned before infection sets in. We have ice, too, which will help with the pain.”

Before she could protest, he signaled one of the stable boys to bring his horse. The lad came running back a moment later. Thankfully, his horse hadn’t been unsaddled and he lifted Elizabeth into the saddle and vaulted up behind her.

“It seems you are forever rescuing me.” She tried to smile.

“My pleasure.” He turned the horse around, tapping his heels against the gelding’s flank. Darian wrapped his arm around Elizabeth’s waist, drawing her back against him and hoping she wouldn’t notice the sudden interest his groin was showing in the connection. She was hurt, he reminded himself, as his britches became uncomfortably tight
.
She was injured. Needed medical care. Strands of her hair whipped across his face and he groaned at the faint scent of honeysuckle beneath the smoke
.

   He didn’t even notice Isabella and Edward staring at him as he turned the horse around and urged the gelding into a canter for home.

Chapter Four

Lady Stafford met them at the door as Darian carried Elizabeth up the stairs and into the foyer.
             

“What happened?” the duchess asked. “Is Miss Townsend hurt? Can she not walk?”

Elizabeth blushed. “I can walk, Your Grace.” She looked up at Darian. “It is my hands that are injured, not my feet. You can put me down.”

He ignored that and called for the physician as he continued to carry her up a flight of stairs. His mother trailed behind him and a maid scurried ahead to open the door to a bedchamber. He explained about the fire as he laid Elizabeth on the bed.

“How horrible! Of course, we will expect the earl’s family to dine with us each evening until the kitchen can be rebuilt,” the duchess said as the physician arrived. “I will alert the cook.”

Elizabeth flinched slightly as the physician rinsed her open blisters with alcohol.

“Easy, man,” Darian said.

The doctor looked up. “The wound needs to be cleaned before I put salve on it or it will fester.”

Of course he knew that. He’d had whiskey poured into his own wounds more than once. It stung like the devil’s pitchfork. From the stiffening of her shoulders, he knew Elizabeth was hurting, but she didn’t cry out. Darian admired her strength and at the same time wanted to hold her and soothe away her pain. It was a strange, foreign feeling. Men didn’t coddle women. Women were the nurturers and caregivers. Yet, when the physician smeared the salve on the blisters and a tear slipped out of the corner of Elizabeth’s eye, he pushed the man aside. “I shall finish here.”

  The doctor lifted an eyebrow and then gathered his things as Darian glared at him. “Of course, my lord.” He left quickly.

Darian sat down on the bed next to Elizabeth and picked up a strip of linen. He turned her hand palm up and gently laid the cloth across and then began to wrap her hand. “I am sorry if this hurts, but you do not want it to get infected.”

“It is all right,” Elizabeth said although her lower lip trembled.

For a moment, his hands stilled, his gaze focused there. He wanted nothing more than to catch that lower lip between his and nibble on it softly and then press full, slow kisses on her luscious mouth until she forgot the stinging pain in her hands.

“My lord?” Elizabeth’s voice sounded somewhat husky.

He tore his gaze away and looked into her eyes. They were clouded with pain, their color the grey of a stormy sea. He felt a strong wave of desire to take the pain away wash over him and before he even realized it, he leaned forward and brushed her lips with his.

The door knob turned and they both jerked back as though a puppeteer held their strings. Elizabeth’s eyes were wide and dark, her breathing shallow. Darian forced a deep breath himself and quickly started to bandage the other hand as his mother entered the room.

“It is all settled,” she said cheerfully and then glanced from one of them to the other. A slight frown flinted across her face before she smoothed it away. “I sent a note with the footman to request a change of clothes be brought for you, Miss Townsend. There is no need for you to go home when supper will be in two hours. You can rest here.” She turned to Darian. “I believe your father is in the library awaiting word on what happened.”

“Of course.” Darian stood, his eyes skimming over Elizabeth’s mouth. Then he looked into her eyes and allowed himself a small smile, delighted to see color warm her cheeks. If only his mother hadn’t come in…  He straightened suddenly. What was he thinking? His parents wanted him betrothed to Isabella. He had no right to be toying with Elizabeth. None at all. He bowed stiffly.

“I hope the pain will recede, Miss Townsend. I shall look forward to seeing your family at supper.”

The blush faded from her face and she cast down her eyes. “Of course, my lord.”

“I will see that a bath is sent up.” Lady Stafford looked from one of them to the other again. Then she tugged Darian out of the room and closed the door with a final click.

Chapter Five

Elizabeth tried to keep her eyes focused on the plate in front of her instead of Darian seated directly across from her at the dinner table that evening. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the memory of his near kiss. The softness of his lips brushing ever so lightly against her—muscles deep inside her abdomen contracted. She gave a soft moan at the unusual sensation and then quickly coughed.

“Are you all right, Miss Townsend?” the duchess inquired.

She inhaled slowly. “I am fine. I…caught something in my throat.”

“Here.” Edward, seated to her right, took her hand and placed it around the goblet he held out. “Have some wine.”

“Thank you.” As she raised the glass to her lips, she caught Darian’s blue eyes watching Edward. She turned to him. “That helped.”

He grinned at her. “It is always a pleasure to make a lady feel better.”

“I do believe I would like some more capon.” Isabella gave Darian a brilliant smile.

“Of course.” He tore his gaze from Edward and reached for the silver platter that held the sliced meat. “Shall I select for you?”

Isabella tilted her head slightly. “I would like that, Darian.”

Darian
. Isabella’s familiar use of his first name jolted Elizabeth back to reality. Her uncle—and the duke as well—intended for Lord Bingington to wed Isabella. It was simply a matter of time before the betrothal was announced. Her cousin would take naturally to being a marchioness, hosting
soirees
and balls at the elegant townhouse in Mayfair, attending receptions and private concerts in London. And, as a Marquess, Darian would be expected to be present at court whenever the Prince Regent demanded it. As much as Isabella loved being of the first stare fashion-wise, she would like even more the intrigue and gossip of court life. It would also put her in the prestigious position of having juicy on-dits to share with the rest of the
ton
who held lesser titles. One thing that Elizabeth had learned early after her arrival at Newberry, was that Isabella loved Town. Elizabeth was much more content in the country. As much as she hated to admit it, Isabella would suit Darian very well in fulfilling his peerage duty. And his other duty…to beget an heir. Elizabeth forced her thoughts away from
that
picture—really, she should be shocked for even thinking like a lightskirt—but the memory of Darian’s almost-kiss had ignited a spark within her that simmered even now. She forced herself to focus on the conversation.