Claiming the Forbidden Bride (12 page)

After the fittings, Reggie had insisted on taking him home for tea. His wife, he assured Rhys, would be more than delighted to make his acquaintance.

‘She doesn't believe half the stories I tell her of what we got up to over there. I'll be forever in your debt if you convince her I ain't lying about the rooster and that priest.'

Rhys had almost forgotten the story, but the mere reminder of it had them laughing all the way to the Estes front door. Despite their hilarity on arrival, Reggie's wife Charlotte did seem pleased to meet him.

Once Rhys had been ensconced in the most comfortable chair in the sitting room—the one nearest the fire, of course—she had bustled about, making sure the blaze wasn't too warm or his tea too weak. And in spite of the somewhat delicate nature of the story, Charlotte had covered her mouth with her handkerchief, laughing and blushing prettily when Rhys verified Reggie's version of the affair of the Spanish rooster, leading him to decide that his friend had chosen very wisely indeed.

Actually, the afternoon passed so pleasantly that Rhys had begun to envy Reggie, who'd sold out almost two years earlier due to the untimely death of his father. As heir and now head of a family that included several much-younger brothers and sisters, it had been clear to everyone that Reggie was needed more desperately at home, despite Napoleon's continued perfidy.

It was only after the tea things had been cleared away that Charlotte sent to the nursery for the new baron's daughter. The child, held in the capable arms of her nurse, displayed a head of hair the same unfortunate colour as her father's. Luckily, its texture was like that of her mother's, so that instead of sticking straight up, it formed a halo of adorable copper ringlets around her chubby face. Her eyes, bright blue—also a mirror of her mother's—stared unblinkingly at Rhys.

Suddenly she held out her arms to him. Both her parents and the nurse made appropriate cooing sounds, leaving him no choice but to take her.

The little girl immediately snuggled against him, as if she believed he knew what he was doing. And due to the hours he'd carried Angel, Rhys realized he did.

‘I think she likes you,' Reggie said admiringly. ‘Of course, Rhys always did have a way with women,' he confided to his wife. ‘A regular Don Juan, with those eyes and that hair. The senoritas loved the contrast to their own dark Romeos.'

‘Unlike his tale about the rooster, ma'am, that is, I can assure you, the veriest falsehood.'

‘I'm certain my husband would never lie to me, Major Morgan. And I promise you, my darling,' she said to Reggie, ‘that not every young lady prefers chestnut curls to something more…colourful. And so very interesting,' the young baroness finished with a smile.

‘You should get yourself one of those,' Reggie said, bringing Rhys's gaze up from the tiny fingers that were examining his stickpin.

‘A wife? If I could find one half as charming as your Charlotte, believe me, I would.'

‘I was referring to Isabella. You appear to have cast your spell over my daughter, just as you did all those…ahem…older ladies we encountered.'

Looking down into the wide blue eyes of Reggie's little girl, Rhys felt something shift in his chest. They reminded him too forcibly of those of another child, one who had looked up at him with this same trust. Something the very privileged child he was holding had known from the hour of her birth.

‘I must say, Major Morgan, you look as if you've had some experience with children.'

Rhys raised his eyes to meet those of his friend's wife. ‘My brother has three—grown or away at school now. And all boys, I'm afraid.'

‘Oh, and are you partial to girls?'

‘I believe I might be,' Rhys admitted, looking down again into the baby's face.

‘Told you,' Reggie said snugly. ‘Nothing but a ladies' man, Char. And if you ask me, that's a sad, sad commentary on the current state of our military.'

S
ince Keddinton was engaged that night, Rhys had no reason to hurry back to his godfather's mansion. Charlotte had been pleased to have him stay for dinner and pleased to leave the two men alone afterwards.

The evening had been spent in laughter and good memories shared between the old friends. Through some unspoken agreement, neither of them had mentioned the other kind of memories.

‘So it's back to Balford for you?' Reggie asked finally.

The bottle they shared was almost empty, and the fire in the grate had, by mutual consent, not been fed in the last half hour. Although it was past time for him to leave, Rhys had no desire to return to that splendid and sterile establishment Keddinton maintained in St. James's Square.

‘I suppose so. My godfather feels that's the best thing.'

‘Not his decision, I should think.' Reggie's speech had begun to slur slightly, but Rhys knew that would be the only sign of his friend's intoxication.

‘No, but without his help, what I had hoped to accomplish in London seems impossible. As I understand it, there
are too many of us “broken-down, half-pay officers” loitering about, all apparently seeking some position in the government.'

‘He's right about that. Town was full of 'em all spring and summer. A shame you weren't up to par then. Most of the Light Horse was here at one time or another.'

Only those who'd survived,
Rhys thought. He quickly banished that reminder. It didn't fit with the pleasant mood of the day. Something he was attempting not to lose.

‘I wish I could have been here.'

‘Next Season. Come up and snatch a rich wife for yourself. Then you won't have to worry about your godfather doing the right thing by you.'

‘Is that what you did, Reggie? Scouted for a rich wife?'

‘I fell in love with the first blue-eyed beauty who batted her lashes at me. That was such a novelty after those years spent among the doe-eyed senoritas.'

His gaze on the dying fire, Rhys had a brief mental image of another pair of dark eyes. Because of them, he knew that no matter how much time he spent in London during the coming Season, he wouldn't fall prey to a blue-eyed beauty.

‘Whatever your method of choosing a bride,' he said aloud, ‘marriage seems to agree with you.'

‘Char's a good girl. Got her head set on straight. No silly fits of the vapours. And she ain't constantly nagging me to take her to balls and such. We spend most of our evenings at home, just as quietly as this one. And with Bella, that's been even more enjoyable. I highly recommend falling in love, my lad. With the right woman, of course.'

‘And what if one falls in love with the wrong woman?' Rhys asked softly.

For a long time there was no sound in the room but the
hiss and pop of the dying fire. Then Reggie bestirred himself to pour the last few drops left in the bottle into his glass.

‘Care to tell me about her?'

‘What?' Lost in his thoughts, Rhys was almost unaware his friend had taken up his last statement.

‘The wrong woman. Is she married?'

‘No.'

‘Poor as a church mouse, then?'

‘Probably.'

‘But you don't care.'

He didn't, Rhys realized. For a man without any prospects except his brother's charity, that was a hell of an admission.

‘It seems that I don't,' he confessed.

‘Then…what's the impediment?'

Rhys's laugh was a breath of sound born out of all the impediments society would very quickly point out if he dared bring Nadya into their midst. Even good friends like Reggie would be appalled.

They would think it strange if he dared to take the Gypsy as his mistress. To even consider making her his wife…

‘Can't think of one?' Reggie teased. ‘Then decide which pair of your new britches will most readily bend at the knee. Without detriment to their fit, of course.'

Rhys shook his head, lifting his own glass in an effort to break the pall of melancholia that had fallen over his spirits. He hadn't allowed himself to think about Nadya in those terms before. Now, having acknowledged the barriers that loomed around such a notion, he couldn't get it out of his head.

‘Shall we broach another bottle?' Reggie asked as he struggled out of the depths of his chair. ‘Can't believe I've let a friend's cup run dry.'

‘Not for me,' Rhys said. ‘It's obvious by the direction this conversation has taken that I've had quite enough.'

‘So what
is
the problem?' Reggie stooped to stir the embers. When they flared up, he put his hands before them, his back to Rhys. ‘Is she a light skirt? Afraid you'll introduce her to a friend one day only to discover they are already…a little too well acquainted?'

‘I don't believe that's a possibility.'

Not for
his
friends. And he realized that the number of men with whom Nadya might be ‘well acquainted' was something he couldn't bear to consider.

‘Cross-eyed? Buck-toothed?' Reggie asked straightening away from the grate. ‘No, you're too accustomed to diamonds of the first water falling all over you to consider any lesser level of pulchritude. You don't care if she's poor, and you don't think she's a whore. What's left?'

Rhys shook his head, lowering his eyes again to his glass.

‘You can't bring her up, old boy, and then make a state secret of why she's unacceptable. And I'm far too drunk to think up any more reasonable guesses.'

‘If those are your
reasonable
guesses—'

‘Reasonable in that they'd keep most of us from proposing marriage. Clearly they aren't your reasons. We've been friends a long time, Rhys. Endured situations together I wouldn't live through again for anything in this world. So if you choose not to tell me why the woman you love is unacceptable…' Reggie shrugged and turned back to the fire.

‘She's Romany.'

The word fell into the room like a stone tossed into a still pond. He could sense its effect on his listener, although Reggie didn't move. Not immediately.

When he did turn, his brows were raised. ‘A Gypsy?'

Rhys nodded, searching his friend's face for any sign of disgust or disbelief.

‘How the hell did you meet a Gypsy?'

‘It's a long story. And that really doesn't matter. I only told you so that you'd understand why…' He stopped, realizing the trap he'd fallen into.

Why I can't marry her? Why society wouldn't accept her if I did? Why my family and friends would never speak to me again?

‘Never met one myself,' Reggie said. ‘A looker?'

Rhys hesitated, unsure how to convey to his friend the beauty he found in Nadya's slightly alien features. Especially in light of Reggie's earlier confession about having fallen in love with Charlotte after only one look at her very conventional English charms.

‘Much like the women we met in Spain, I suppose. But…different as well.' Although inadequate, the adjective was accurate.

‘You can't marry her,' Reggie said bluntly. ‘Not the thing. Not done, you know.'

‘Why should it matter? Any more than Harry Smith marrying his Juana.'

‘You ain't Smith, Rhys. And this isn't enemy territory. Men do strange things when they're at war.'

‘I don't think that had anything to do with Smith's decision.'

‘Maybe not. I don't know and I don't care why he did what he did. I'm just telling you that you can't bring a Gypsy into Society. You have to know that. Besides, your family wouldn't stand for it.'

‘I know.'

It felt like a betrayal of his feelings for Nadya to admit it, but Edward would be appalled. And furious. Whatever
warmth had grown between them in the last few months would be totally and irreparably destroyed.

‘Nothing but thieves and liars, the lot of them.'

‘That's not true, Reggie. They're no better or worse than the rest of us. The ones I encountered seemed decent enough.'

‘Tell that to the Carlows. See what they say to you.'

‘The Carlows? Do you mean Hal's family?'

‘Damn Gypsies put a curse on them. Years ago, of course, but some of the bastards are still causing them trouble.'

‘If Hal told you that, he's having you on.'

‘I didn't hear it from Hal. To be honest, I can't remember where I heard it, but my ears pricked up because of who was involved. Something about the family having been tied in with a traitor. He murdered some nobleman, who'd taken a Gypsy mistress. She cursed everyone involved. And their descendents. Can't remember what happened to the families, but the Carlows seem to think there's something to the tale.'

‘The Rom I met were interested in nothing but making an honest living. Hardly the stuff of curses.'

‘Make fun if you will, but what I'm telling you is the truth. How'd you feel about introducing your Gypsy to Hal's family under the circumstances?'

‘I'm not introducing her to anyone. Frankly, I'm sorry I mentioned her. I had thought the two of us could talk about this with some semblance of sanity.'

‘About you marrying a Rom? Is that what you call sanity? I doubt your brother will think so. Or the Carlows.'

‘I'm sure you're right.' Rhys got to his feet, putting his glass down at the table by his chair. ‘Thank you for a pleasant evening, Reggie. Please convey my gratitude as well as my compliments to your wife.'

‘Now don't go all stiff-necked on me, Rhys. We've been friends too long for that.'

‘Just not long enough to listen to one another with civility.'

‘I'll be as civil as you damn well please, but I can't stand by and watch you ruin your life. No one you know would receive her. You'd be an outcast as surely as if you were a traitor. And in a way—' Reggie stopped, his flushed face revealing the depth of his emotions.

‘And in a way…?' Rhys prodded softly.

‘In a way, you would be. To your family. Your class. You know that as well as I do. You just don't want to admit it.'

There was nothing to say in response to that claim. Rhys did know how they'd react.

‘Have her if you want. We've all felt that burn in our blood for someone unsuitable. Be discreet about it, and no one will be the wiser. Lapses in judgement, even of the sexual sort, tend to follow a man, if you know what I mean.' Reggie reached out to touch Rhys's shoulder in much the same way that he had on the street today.

His friend had spoken honestly, his view a reflection of that most of their acquaintances would express, but the sense of camaraderie Rhys had felt earlier was gone. He and Reggie had fought side-by-side on more occasions that he could count. He'd once ridden off the battlefield behind Reggie after his own animal had been shot from beneath him. They had been friends for years. And they would remain friends. Those ties went too deep to be totally severed.

Besides, Reggie had spoken out of love and concern, not vindictiveness. He'd never even met Nadya. With his generosity of his spirit, he would probably treat her with respect if he did. And yet, having acknowledged all those things, Rhys knew he would never again feel about Reggie Estes as he once had.

 

Rhys remained in London only a couple of days after the uncomfortable ending to the evening he'd spent with his friend. Seeming preoccupied, Keddinton hadn't prevailed upon him to prolong his visit. His godfather had instead reiterated his advice that Rhys should return to his brother's home and content himself with the life of a country gentleman.

Rhys had said all that was polite, hiding his disappointment about the viscount's refusal to help him. Keddinton had children of his own, as well as several other godchildren, and he was presently involved in the attempt to find a diplomatic solution to the havoc Napoleon had wrought on the map of Europe. Why should he be concerned with the affairs of another ‘broken-down half-pay officer,' despite whatever long-ago friendship he'd shared with his father?

Rhys prevailed on Weston to complete one of the coats he'd ordered and then arranged for the rest of his purchases to be sent on to Balford Manor. They seemed too fashionable for the life he should lead there, but given their quality, they would undoubtedly last for years. Perhaps even until country fashions caught up with those of the town.

He considered visiting Reggie again to say goodbye, but couldn't bring himself to do it. His friend might have told him only what anyone else would have if they'd known about his feelings for Nadya, but in Rhys's head those uncomfortable truths would always be associated with his former comrade-in-arms. And after all, Reggie hadn't seen fit to call on him either.

As he looked out of Keddinton's carriage, Rhys's mood matched the bleakness of the rain-washed October landscape they were passing through. He was returning to the
comfortable cocoon of his brother's home, an existence he'd left with such high hopes only a fortnight before.

Like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.

The analogy might be apt, but it also smacked of self-pity, something he had thus far managed to avoid. He'd survived a wound that by all rights should have killed him. He still had the use of an arm the field surgeons had been determined to amputate. And he possessed a family who would welcome his return. What the hell did he have to feel sorry for himself about?

He allowed the curtain to fall over the glazed window and leaned back against the comfortable leather seat. No, he would do exactly what he had always done. Make the best of the situation in which he found himself. Undertake whatever task he was given and do it to the best of his abilities. And be grateful for the many things with which he had been blessed.

Eventually, he would succumb to Abigail's matchmaking and establish his own household. He would have children, and he would raise them to value the same precepts he'd been taught. Courage. Honour. Loyalty. The latter included, of course, loyalty to his family, his friends, and as Reggie had pointed out, even to his class.