The Wrong Bride Read online

  “Tut, tut, my boy, you mustn’t be so modest.” He grinned broadly.

  “It isn’t modesty so much as…as that I don’t remember a great deal of the war.”

  “Indeed? But surely you can recall that specific event that led to our being elevated to the baronetcy.”

  Winnie could see that Lance was perplexed, unhappy even, his mouth tightening as his smile evaporated. He flicked another quick look at Winnie, frozen in place, her eyes signaling her consternation for him. She cleared her throat, and the noise was loud enough to cause people to swing their gazes to her. “I’m sorry,” she said meekly, “we’ve agreed not to discuss the war. It’s in the past, you see, and Sir Lance only wants to move ahead. I’m afraid some of it is of so coarse a nature that the ladies might find it appalling, especially so soon after eating.”

  Lord Blackwater was clearly annoyed by the woman’s butting into what was essentially a man’s area of discussion. Winnie felt herself wilt at his dismissive glance.

  “There are several things to consider here,” Lance said brusquely. “First of all, I was tricked into service and was too stupid to realize my real predicament until it was too late. Secondly, it wasn’t for a single event, but for the life of my service and no different from what so many others did in the war. In the third place, the title has nearly lost all significance, since it has become possible to purchase it.” With that, he calmly took the last bite of mutton stew, though Winnie noticed his hand shaking a little. It stirred her to realize how deeply Lance felt the intrusion of Blackwater’s question. But how proud she had been of Lance’s quick recovery and honest response.

  “Oh, ho, ho! But perhaps you won’t always be a baronet,” Blackwater said, his eyes narrowing to slits and his face taking on a sly expression. “You have at least one very esteemed relation, and there is always the chance…”

  Lance’s quick burst of laughter broke off Blackwater’s train of speech as everyone leaned forward to hear of this new development with obvious eagerness. “Uncle Harry? Pshaw! I’m so far down the roster there’s little likelihood to be found in that avenue of thought, that I might inherit his holdings and titles.”

  “But you can’t be sure, can you?”

  Lance’s face turned solemn. “One can never be sure of much of anything any longer, don’t you know?” The question was the mildest of rebukes, and he glanced at Winnie another time. Her face was as grave as his. Between their glances was unspoken agreement about the uncertainty of life. They could both attest to that surely. Suddenly Winnie felt the chill of the room on her skin. Blackwater was not self-indulgent with his use of fuel, most of the house being cold most of the time, but Winnie couldn’t fail to notice the perspiration on Lance’s forehead. For the first time in her life, she felt deeply sorry for him. She turned away from Lance to the woman seated next to him, Lady Caroline Blackwater, whose dark eyes were unreadable. Just a moment before she had ben batting her eyelashes at Lance and laughing at nearly every one of his comments before this latterly more serious business had cropped up when she sat straighter in her seat and become more attentive. After these last exchanges, the woman looked under her lids at each of the assembly in turn to see if they watched her. Only Winnie’s curious eyes met hers. The other guests’ glances were studiously avoiding Lady Caroline’s.

  Lord Blackwater’s frowning gaze swung Winnie’s way. “My daughter tells me you entertained the women last evening with a small musical presentation. Said you were quite good, in fact. Would you be willing to repeat the performance?”

  Oh, yes! Anything to relieve this uncomfortable atmosphere that Winnie couldn’t figure out. Lance’s head lifted and his brown eyes were curious. “Of course, I shan’t mind, Lord Blackwater. Though,” she smiled, “I must plead that it has been a long time since I’ve played and so you must excuse mistakes.” The beefy, red face grinned and nodded, and the company arose. Lance was the last to leave his seat.

  When Winnie approached the piano, she appreciated that its shining surface reflected it had been thoroughly dusted. Before she sat, Winnie turned and asked if there were any requests. There were none. Everyone looked at her with stolid expressions, some frowning, trying, she thought, to come up with a familiar tune but failing. She turned and sat down quietly to begin playing, beginning with familiar light pieces. After the next few ballads learned early on, she played ‘Moonlight Sonata’, and from that point was more of Beethoven, then the short, fast pieces of Mozart. Somewhere in the playing she lost herself and the music took over. Somewhere in the middle, unaware of her surroundings she looked up to see Lance standing at the piano, watching, an enigmatic expression on his face, hard eyes piercing hers, his face rigid. Winnie almost faltered but finished the piece, then stood in the eerie silence of the room, turning to her small audience. “I would be happy to play songs of the season, or carols, should anyone wish to sing. I cannot simply monopolize the instrument, however. Would someone else like to play?” Her throat dry, her voice was husky. Some glances passed around the gathering, but there were no takers. It hadn’t been her idea to take over the piano, and Winnie felt guilty. But it had been so long ago that she had played, and the pleasure was now so thorough.

  Lady Caroline rose first and came to stand by Lance, quickly followed by Lady Windermere and two more. Winnie took her seat again and began playing, her eyes rising to watch Lance, to hear his clear baritone joined by the sopranos of both Lady Windermere and Lady Caroline, with the others in the room joining in. It was late when Winnie begged off, and the men left to assemble in the smoking room. The ladies began to drift away after thanking Winnie, who had the beginning of a dreadful headache and begged off to have a lie-down. Nearly time for bed, anyway, Winnie was grateful for the few voices of sympathy. But what was she to make of the way Lance had looked at her during the performance?

  More than anything, Winnie was longing to return home. Except it wasn’t home, was it? It belonged to someone else, and she would have to leave it one day. Where would she go? What would she do? She sighed once Cherry left the room after helping Winnie to bed.

  She would be at the Blackwater residence two more days. The first was when the men all went out hunting. The day was mild, and Winnie was restless. The rest of the women were content to stay indoors, but Winnie would have liked to walk about outside and enjoy the brisk but invigorating weather. She found the library, which reminded her of Lance’s before she stepped in to organize the thing, and Lord Blackwater had an odd collection of volumes. At least it wasn’t dirty, though it could use a caring hand to straighten it. Winnie perused the shelves, chanced on a book she hadn’t yet read, and sat on a chair in the chilled room to have a look-through to see if she might like it. “Take it with you when you go.”

  Winnie couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped her mouth. “Oh, goodness, you startled me.”

  Lady Caroline smiled. “I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. I have a tendency to shut out all else when reading.”

  “And when playing the piano.”

  “Yes, I’m guilty of that as well.”

  Another lovely smile was produced. “You play extremely well, Lady Brevard.”

  It sounded strange to Winnie’s ears, especially coming from this young woman who had been addressed formally as a lady most of her life. “Please call me Winnie. I’m not used to the title yet.” And perhaps that’s a good thing, she thought to herself. “Thank you. May I ask if you play?”

  “A little. Certainly I cannot produce anything as good as you do.” Winnie felt her cheeks warm while an awkward silence descended between the two women. “We’re about to have tea. Would you like to come?”

  “Thank you. Yes, I am a bit thirsty. Is it so late then?”

  “It’s nearly four o’clock. It won’t be long until we’ll have to change for supper.”

  So soon? The news was depressing, though it would make another day gone through. She liked the plain, fine blue wool day dress she wore, warming i
n the chilly house. She chanced to look through the only window in the room, and night would come early with the gray cloud cover thick overhead. “Yes, now I see it’s late. I will join you, then, and yes, I should like to borrow your book, since you’ve been kind enough to allow it.”

  The men returned from a disappointed hunt, and before Winnie knew it, everyone was sitting around the table again. She looked across to see Lance’s handsome face paler than usual. It worried her. Barnaby had once told her that Lance hated the sound of gunfire, and she had heard the muted sounds of gunfire coming from woods around the house. Winnie bent her head to pick at the piece of beef with her fork. What if he had one of his episodes? Good Heavens! What would it portend if someone found him wandering around at night, unresponsive, half-asleep, in whatever temporary illness or situation it was he fell into? What if he was confronted with a servant during one of his nighttime sojourns, a girl, and began stroking her hair? Or even, her head came up with a jerk, even Lady Windermere, or Lady Caroline? A little moan escaped her in a sudden moment of quiet around the table with everyone turning their heads toward her.

  “What is it, Winnie?” Lance asked as silence continued around the room. Winnie glanced around the table, wanting to sink down in her chair in embarrassment.

  “Oh, dear, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I bit…it’s my tooth, Sir Lance. My mouth’s a little sore, that’s all. Please excuse me,” she said meekly around the table.

  “I’ve some laudanum,” Lady Blackwater offered in a rare moment of speech.

  “Thank you,” Winnie said, “but it’s truly minor. I have only to be careful.” Laudanum was the last thing Winnie should want. Deeply worried about Lance, she would stay up all night. It would ruin him if something untoward were to happen before his condition went away. She bent her head slightly to take the small piece of beef speared on her fork, closed her mouth and began chewing slowly. Winnie looked across the table to see Lance staring at her oddly. She smiled helplessly and he nodded before eating again.

  Tucked warmly in bed after Cherry had left, Winnie counted slowly to one hundred, then slipped from under cover and opened her door cautiously. Good. The hall was lit with a single sconce, the rest having been shut down, but enough to see by. She pulled a rickety, small chair to the door with only a crack remaining and settled down to watch for Lance. As soon as he’d come to bed with the rest, she would wait an hour, by which time he would be solidly asleep. Then, she would simply slip back into bed for the rest of the night. The other incidents had happened apparently after he’d been asleep for a short time. Winnie yawned again. The women had stayed up late, gossiping again, and it was becoming harder to disguise the yawns. Finally, she found it necessary to beg off, and the other women seemed relieved; they were ready, too. Winnie waited, a blanket from the bed wrapped around here shoulders, lids heavy. Winnie waited. And waited more, but no Lance came.

  “Lady Brevard!” Winnie sighed and turned in bed toward the annoying voice. It felt as if she’d only just fallen asleep.

  “Yes?”

  “Yer husband is waitin’ fer ye to dress. I’ll help.”

  Wait a minute. I’m in bed, Winnie thought. Lance must have come and gone to bed, though I remember nothing of it. “What does he want of me?” Winnie asked, suppressing another yawn.

  Where was he again? He couldn’t remember the name of the last town they’d slogged through. He shook his head, trying hard to call up the name, but it wouldn’t come. There were so many, one after another, the names became mixed in the head. But, yes, he must still be in Spain, miserable, stinking Spain. If ever I get out of this mess, I’ll never leave home again, never long to see a city again. No, nothing is as good as home. But here? Burning heat one day, wretched, freezing cold the next. Where is Jaren, the damned fool? I told him to stick close to me, said we’d be safer together with two heads, two bodies, both of us bearing weapons, together, rather than separated. But, you think Jaren listened? No, he’s the same as always, looking for the closest female or the nearest tavern. That’s another thing, at home there’d be real beer, not this rotten, watered down stuff served in dirty little excuses for taverns. Makes one almost think of giving up drink. Hmm. Maybe that’s going a mite too far. Sometimes I wonder if that isn’t the only thing keeping us all going.

  Lance waved at the fog in the air, but it did no good. It hung on and on, swirling around the head and making the way forward unclear. If only I could see the way ahead, he thought, but it does no use to wave my hands about. Just have to be careful, that’s all. Wouldn’t want to slip and fall into one of these endless, deep ravines that would take our body to another world and not give it back, or just as bad, fall into one of these swift, raging streams that swept one away without a care, not even a second look given. I know, I’ve seen it happen. Yes, if I make my way back home, anywhere but this desolate, wretched place, I’ll be like one of the trees, planted deep in the ground and enjoying the soft breeze of summer. He sighed.

  His hand slid along the smooth rock wall. It would anchor him while he walked until he could at least see where he was going. Terrible, being alone out here. Maybe some of the fellows would come looking for him. Not that I’m afraid, he said to himself. Hell, I’ve been scared to death ever since I became sober, scared every day, even every hour most of the time. Whoever the hell thought war was romantic was quite mad, had never placed a foot on the battlefield. In th worst heat of summer when you could barely breath, the dust of the road mixed with sweat, yet another hundred miles was there to slog through without benefit of a bath, and even then, the best he could hope for was that the next stream wouldn’t be so fouled by man or beast that he couldn’t take a dip in it, couldn’t even wash his hands and face clean. Dust ended up in his eyes and mouth, and the only water around to wash it away was that in the canteen, tepid at best. Everything anywhere is like the stuff of a nightmare that visits day after day. No wonder some of the fellows go crazy, or run after the nearest skirt, or fall into the first tavern to try to lighten the burdens, or steal, or rape, or worse, take out frustrations on anyone trying to stop him taking what he wanted, needed to get through the day. And that was just among those who survive. He’d seen the wounded, heard the mournful sounds of those who cried out to comrades not to abandon, not to leave them behind to careless fate to wreak whatever cruelty came to hand.

  Hello. What’s this? A break in the wall. Lance peeked in the cracked opening. What he saw was not to be believed. Lowering his head to have a closer look, it was a girl’s face only inches away. Couldn’t see all that well, the vision wasn’t working perfectly in the fog, but honest to God, a girl was sitting on a chair beyond the opening. A slow smile widened his mouth and his chest grew at the sight, heartwarming and rare. He pressed carefully on the door to have a good look and the vision began to tilt forward. “Ah,” he said softly, catching the young thing before she fell to the ground. Gingerly, so as not to startle the poor lass, who appeared to be asleep, he lifted her ever so gently, easing and turning her into his arms, the load as light as a wee bird. He carried her across the room, trailing behind a blanket. Yes, it was exceeding cold in this place, wherever it was, and the little miss’s blanket had slid away, leaving the girl’s soft skin chilled like his. A light fragrance touched his nostrils, widening them, a fragrance mindful of the flowers of his mother’s rose garden, and a thrill went through his body. In dim light, he could just make out the small bed across the room and made his way there, laying the girl down on her side. He knew a way to warm them both, and, settling the girl gently, he went back for the blanket, struggling to find it in the fog, then returned to the bed, climbed in, too, pulling the covers over them, his movements slow and deliberate. Ah, yes, much better. Their bodies began to heat each other quickly, and he wasn’t cold anymore.

  “Lady Brevard!” Winnie sighed and turned in bed toward the annoying voice. It couldn’t be morning already; she’d only just gone to bed, hadn’t she?

  “Yer husband is waitin’ fer
ye to dress, I say. I’ll help.”

  “What?”

  “He’s taking ye home. It’s the best place fer ye, he says. Ye’ve a fever,” she said under her breath. “The rest of the house is sleepin’.”

  “What? I’ve a fever?” She felt her brow. It was warm but certainly not feverish. Winnie sighed.

  “He left a note fer the rest. Worried about ye, he is.”

  “You don’t say. Alright, very well. But…but I’ve things to pack.”

  Cherry shook her head. “All done.”

  “Oh, Cherry, thank you. What a help and blessing to me you’ve been.”

  As Cherry was dressing her, Winnie fumbled for and managed to press a coin into Cherry’s plump palm. Lance was already at the door waiting anxiously for her to follow.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Is anything wrong, Lance? Why are we leaving in such a hurry?” Still barely awake, Winnie was picked up in Lance’s arms and hustled to the carriage. “So cold,” she murmured. “Do Barnaby and Jem have covers?”

  “Yes, they’ve blankets. I’m sorry, Winnie, but I felt the time to leave had come. I’ll explain later.” He heard Winnie’s weary sigh and hurried for the waiting carriage and deposited her on a seat, then stood back and signaled to Barnaby. He nearly jumped inside the carriage and shut the door. Winnie was shivering. Quickly Lance reached under the seats and brought forth a blanket for each of them, then sat beside Winnie as he wrapped them up. It wasn’t long before Winnie’s head was resting on his shoulder, and though it was bumpy, the sun only just now creeping slowly up the horizon turning pink, Winnie fell asleep.

  Lance was exhausted, too, unable to account for where he found himself in the wee hours of the morning. Shocked, not knowing how he’d come to be in Winnie’s room, cuddling with her with her breathing steadily in deep sleep, he roused himself, found the room shared with a number of now snoring men and quickly dressed in the dark, went to wake Barnaby and a sleepy Jem, who rubbed his hand across his eyes but was up quick and ready to go with Barnaby. Lance blamed Winnie, didn’t know what else to do, and had to pack his clothes in the dark and leave.