She stroked his hair back. “You have a gift for thinking ahead.”
“I’ve been blessed with a great deal to look forward to,” he said. “Watching the hospital rise from the ground, for instance. Discovering what modern medical ideas and principles can and cannot achieve. The possibilities. The limitations.” He shook his head. “It amazes me how much I’ve learned about medicine in these last weeks, and how interesting it turns out to be. It even has a sort of poetry to it, and its own logic and riddles, like any intellectual pursuit. And there is the same wonderful feeling of discovery as mysteries are solved. I felt that today, when Eversham explained where your notes had led you.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”
“You should be proud of yourself,” she said. “You did not put obstacles in my way, though you wanted to—to protect me from myself. Instead, you tried every possible way to help me solve my riddle—by writing to Borson and sending for Eversham.”
“Eversham is not like any other doctor I’ve encountered,” he said. “He certainly does have his own ideas. While you were washing your face, I asked him why he had accepted you as a colleague. He told me that in olden times, women were the healers in many communities. But their arts, to ignorant folk, seemed like magic, which was associated with the Devil. And so they were reviled and persecuted as witches.” He chuckled. “And so I realized I had been right from the first. I had wed a witch. And he was right, too, for you are a healer. You’ve healed my heart. That was the part that was ailing.”
She curled her fingers round his neck. “You’ve healed me, too, Cat. You made the doctor part and the woman part fit together.”
“Because I love both parts,” he said softly. “All your parts. All of you.”
She smiled, the sweet everlasting smile, and weaving her fingers into his hair, drew him down and kissed him, slowly, deeply, lingeringly.
While he lingered with her in the warm forever of that moment, the narrow red arc of the sun sank behind the glowing hill. A faint thread of light glimmered on the horizon. The night mists stole into the hollows and crevices of the moors, and the shadows swelled and lengthened, shrouding the winding byways in darkness.
The sharpening breeze made him lift his head. “A beautiful Dartmoor night,” he murmured. “At moments like this, it is easy to believe in magic.” He met her soft gaze. “You’re magic to me, Gwen.”
“Because I’m your witch, and you are my devoted familiar.”
“So I am.” He smiled down at her. “Let’s make a spell, sorceress.”
She frowned her endearing medical frown.
“Very well. But first you must help me find some eye of newt.”
He laughed. Then, cradling his bride in his arms, the Earl of Rawnsley rose, and carried her into the house.
* See Lord of Scoundrels by Loretta Chase, published by Avon Books.
Promises
Lisa Kleypas
To Kirsten with love—
the best maid of honor ever!
1
England
January, 1820
“You’re thinking about Chance again,” came Elizabeth’s exasperated voice. “You’re letting the memory of that scoundrel ruin every opportunity of making a good match! It’s time to forget him and consider your future.”
Lidian Acland turned with a smile and looked into the face so similar to her own. Her mother, Lady Elizabeth Acland, was still beautiful at forty-five, although the loss of her husband a few years before had left an indelible trace of sadness in her soft brown eyes.
“I’ve thought about my future very carefully,” Lidian replied calmly. “I intend to wait for Chance to come back to me, no matter how long it takes.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Ever since Chance left a year ago, I’ve seen you standing alone at balls like this one, acting like a wallflower when you should be dancing and laughing with other young men.”
“I don’t want any of them.” Lidian reached out to her mother and touched her arm placatingly.
“I don’t understand your stubbornness,” Elizabeth said softly. “I’ve always known you so well, Lidian, and this isn’t like you.” They had always been close, especially in the four years since Lidian’s father, John, had died of a weak heart. They even looked alike, both of them small and dark-haired, with sherry-brown eyes. They shared the same temperament, practical and sensible. But I’m not exactly the same as you, Mama, Lidian thought silently. Even Elizabeth didn’t understand the romantic core that harbored the hope, pain, and broken dreams left by Chance Spencer.
Standing together the two women watched the familiar scene before them: couples moving in a sprightly country quadrille, polite young men approaching blushing girls, dowagers and chaperons keeping a watchful eye on their charges. Once Lidian had taken part in the festivities, making eyes at handsome rakes, flirting, waltzing…she had loved to dance until her skirts had whirled around her ankles. And then she had met Chance, and her heart had been lost for good. He was the only man she had ever wanted.
“Mama,” she murmured, “you must accept that I know what is best for me.”
“But you’ve been buried in the country for most of your life. How can you know what is best? You’re making decisions now that will affect the rest of your life. Every young man you turn away might be the one who could make you truly happy.”
“I could never be happy marrying a man I didn’t love.”
“There are other things just as important as love. Kindness, affection, security…all the things I had with your father. Passion and romance fade, but friendship wears quite well over a lifetime.”
“I’ll have all of that when Chance returns.”
“I’d like him to return,” Elizabeth replied darkly, “so I could tell him what I think of him.” She smiled as she spoke, so that it appeared to the other guests at the Torringtons’ ball that they were having a light conversation. “Leaving you dangling by your heartstrings for years while he gallivants around the continent—”
“Mama, please…we’ve had this conversation a hundred times before.”
Elizabeth reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You know I’m speaking out of concern for you, darling. I don’t think you really believe Chance will come back. But you’re too stubborn to admit it, even to yourself. You’re afraid of being hurt again, and you’ve decided not to trust any man because Chance Spencer played you false. And it’s all my fault that you gave your heart to a scoundrel like him.”
“Your fault?” Lidian repeated in surprise.
“Yes. Ever since John died, I’ve depended on you to help me manage the estate and tenants. When the other girls were dancing and flirting, you sacrificed your best years, sitting behind piles of account ledgers, trying to squeeze shillings from our budget in order to make ends meet—”
“I wanted to help you.” Lidian slid an arm around her mother’s waist. “If you and I had lost the estate, I would never have forgiven myself. And we’ve managed very well, I think.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said, looking troubled. “Unfortunately, you’re more naive than most girls your age, Lidian. Forgive me for saying it, but it’s true. You have such high ideals…you’ve been sheltered from experiences that might have made you more worldly-wise. Chance saw that, and he took advantage of you. What I don’t understand is why you insist on remaining loyal to him.”
Having no easy answer to that, Lidian sighed and glanced around the room. The ball was being hosted by the Torringtons in honor of their daughter’s seventeenth birthday. Word had been spread that there would be a bountiful supply of bachelors in attendance, and so excited parents from all over Berkshire and its surrounding counties had brought their daughters. However, the Honorable Chauncey Spencer wasn’t there, and as far as Lidian was concerned, he was the only man she would ever want.
Was it only a year ago that Chance had courted her so ardently, so tenderly? He had won her heart, and then he had left her. He wanted to experience more of life, he ha
d said. Before he committed himself to the responsibilities of marriage, a wife, and children, he wanted to go on a tour of the continent—but then he would come back to her. He had asked her to understand, and Lidian had pretended that she did. He had asked her to wait for him, and she had agreed. She had been too unsure of herself, too dazzled by him, to protest.
Perhaps her mother was right. Lidian couldn’t let herself believe that Chance would never return for her. The problem was, she couldn’t seem to forget him, or to go on with her life. No other man had his wicked charm…no one else held any interest for her.
“Look over there, Lidian,” came her mother’s voice. “Do you see the tall gentleman by the door?”
Lidian focused on the stranger, a man in his twenties. Only an avid sportsman would have such an athletic build and sun-bronzed skin. His tawny golden hair had been neatly brushed, but it was already falling over his forehead, above a pair of bright, heavily lashed eyes. Very handsome indeed…but he lacked the dark allure of Chance Spencer. He stood with his hand at the waist of a young blond girl, guiding her protectively through the crowd.
“Who is he?” Lidian asked idly.
“I’m certain he is Lord Eric De Gray. I haven’t seen him for years—but he’s the exact image of his father, Edgar! And the girl with him must be his sister Dorothy.” Noticing that her daughter’s gaze had fixed on the stranger, Elizabeth warmed to the subject. “I was closely acquainted with the De Grays while your father was still alive. We’ve gone our separate ways since then, but I still hold them in great affection. Their eldest child Edward died not long ago in a riding accident…a great pity. But my, how Eric has matured! I must find a way to introduce you—”
“Mama, no,” Lidian said firmly. “I have no interest in meeting anyone. I agreed to attend the ball only because you insisted on it.”
“But darling—”
Shaking her head, Lidian glided away to the refreshment table, keeping to an unobtrusive path along the side of the room.
Lord Eric De Gray kept an arm around his sister Dollie as he guided her through the crowd, deftly fielding greetings and eager questions. They made their way toward the refreshment table, through a sea of smiling faces. He ignored all of them, indifferent to the glances cast in his direction.
“My goodness, Eric,” his sister exclaimed breathlessly, “I had no idea you were so sought-after. I just heard one woman say that you are the catch of the season!”
“I wonder why,” he said cynically, although they both knew. The family had just been showered with titles that had once belonged to them decades ago. The titles—and a great deal of property—had been revoked when a De Gray ancestor had been accused of treason in the English civil war. Now that it had recently been proven by a respected historian that the accused man had been innocent, Parliament had granted the De Grays a full restitution of all that had been taken from them.
In the past year they had gone from being poorly landed to considerably wealthy, and reactions from everyone had been the same. The desire to marry a De Gray was at a fever pitch. If his older brother Edward were still alive, Eric would have been free to continue with a relatively normal life. But Edward had died two years ago, and now Eric was the oldest surviving son, first in line to inherit his father’s title. It meant nothing to him. He would have given anything to have his brother back. All the status and attention should have been Edward’s…and he would have handled it with his usual steady wisdom. Instead, Eric was left to assume a position of influence he had never expected or wanted.
Mothers who once dreaded that Eric might take an interest in their daughters now frantically tried to attract his interest in them. Young ladies who had rebuffed him were now all too ready to flirt and bat their lashes at him and agree to anything he wanted. Once he would have been flattered by their attention, but now he took a cynical pleasure in their ardent pursuit. He was determined not to court any of them. He wanted someone who would overlook the De Grays’ newfound wealth and see only him, and he wanted the same for Dollie. To protect his sister from fortune-seekers, Eric accompanied her to balls and soirees and social engagements. He kept a watchful eye on her, lending his protection and advice whenever she required them.
“Now you can marry any woman you want,” Dollie remarked.
“I have no desire to marry,” Eric said. “Not for a long time.”
Three young men besieged Dollie, causing her to blush to the roots of her pale blond hair. Eagerly they vied for her notice, procuring glasses of punch and plates of tidbits for her to enjoy. As Eric pulled at the edge of his cravat, which seemed to be cutting into his throat, he caught a glimpse of a girl making her way toward the refreshments. He stared at her, his attention suddenly absorbed.
Her black hair was pulled back in a smooth sweep, away from skin that seemed impossibly pure and polished. Her figure was slim, with half-bared shoulders that gleamed enticingly in the light of the chandeliers. It was a pity she wore such a vacuous look, her face as lifeless as a mask. Pretty as she was, no man would approach a girl who seemed so utterly disinterested in the scene around her. He had met women like her before, beautiful shells with nothing inside. But this one was so striking, with her porcelain skin and glowing dark hair, that he didn’t want to believe she was like the others.
“De Gray!” came the voice of his old friend George Seaforth. A short man with cropped red curls and abundant freckles, George had attended school with him when they were boys. Following the path of Eric’s gaze, George saw the dark-haired girl and shook his head. “That’s Miss Lidian Acland,” he said. “Daughter of the late Sir John Acland. Don’t waste your time with her, De Gray.”
“Why not?”
“She’s pining after someone. Apparently she has been for a long time. The rumor is, she’s in love with a good-for-naught named Chance Spencer, and she has no interest in any other man. Besides that, she has no dowry to speak of. Since the father died, the family coffers have been dry.”
Eric showed no reaction to the statement, aside from an ironic smile. Two years before, the same thing had been said about him. He had been the second son, with only modest prospects. He would certainly be the last to reject a woman based on the size of her dowry. His gaze returned to Miss Lidian Acland, and he wondered what was behind her beautiful, secretive face.
Just as Lidian reached the refreshment table, she became aware of a disturbance nearby. A slender blond—Lady De Gray, if she wasn’t mistaken—had been jostled while holding her punch. The strawberry-colored liquid had splashed on her white silk gown. Close to tears, the girl gazed helplessly at the stain, while the three men around her burst into effusive apologies.
Immediately Lidian moved past the dismayed men and pulled the girl to a corner, away from everyone’s view. She blotted the stain with a clean napkin. “If’s just a little splash,” she said cheerfully, smiling into the girl’s distraught face. “Don’t worry, we’ll cover it with something. No one will notice.”
The girl was scarlet with embarrassment. “They was pressing so close—my elbow was jarred—”
“It happens to everyone,” Lidian replied comfortingly. “I’ve seen it dozens of times. Once I dropped a bit of iced cake on my front and left a smear right on my—well, you can just imagine.” She reached for the pink orchid pinned to her own bodice, the only ornament she had been able to afford for herself. Carefully she pinned it to the girl’s waist, concealing the punch stain. “There, the flower looks perfect.”
“But your gown is so plain without it,” the girl exclaimed, and then flushed even deeper. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” Lidian said, stifling a laugh. “Really. My name is Lidian, by the way. Lidian Acland.”
The girl gestured to herself. “Dorothy De Gray. But you must call me Dollie, as my family and friends do.” Managing to recover from her acute embarrassment, Dollie smiled back at her. “You’re very kind.”
“Not at all—” Lidian began, but her words caught
in her throat as a man approached them. Eric De Gray, merely handsome from a distance, was awe-inspiring up close. Except for a small scar on the side of his chin, his features were perfect. Lidian was mesmerized by his eyes, the cool green-gray of a Scottish lake. The irises were rimmed with charcoal, the dark edge distinct against the bright, smoke-touched green. His gaze made her uncomfortable. She looked away with great effort, feeling hot color rise from her throat.
Eric stared at the wary young woman before him. The remote mask had settled back on her face…but it was too late. He had seen the way she had smiled at Dollie, a flash of unexpected and dazzling warmth. She had given away her only ornament to save his sister embarrassment—and she could ill afford the loss. Without the orchid, there were no distractions from the fact that her gown was cheaply made and slightly yellowed with age. She intrigued him as no woman had in a long time. He wanted her to smile again…he wanted to hold her and pull her dark hair loose from its pins.
Dollie introduced them with practiced ease, and Eric bowed politely. “It appears that you’ve come to my sister’s rescue, Miss Acland.”
She began to edge away, making it clear she had no wish to converse with him. “It was no trouble at all, my lord. If you will excuse me—”
He gestured to the crowded floor. “Is this dance taken, Miss Acland?”
She hesitated and made a show of fumbling with her dance card, separating the thin silver covers to examine the translucent ivory pages. They were all blank. “Actually no, but I don’t—”
“Please do me the honor.” He extended an arm in a gesture too insistent to refuse.
Smiling in delight, Dollie took the soiled napkin from Lidian. “Go on,” she urged. “You’ll enjoy waltzing with my brother—he’s very good.” She winked at De Gray. “I’ll go make conversation with the dowagers in the corner.”