Grenville 02 - Lord John's Dilemma (17 page)

One evening, after listening to a particularly dry sermon, Clarissa’s aunt said, “I have heard that Lord John has returned to Grenville Manor this afternoon. His disappearance is not being explained, but it is certainly being discussed. You are a friend of the family. Tell a curious old woman you know something about it!”

“But I know nothing,” she said. “I am as much in the dark as anyone. Lady Grenville does not confide in me.”

“I think there is something very havey-cavey about the whole incident,” Mrs. Scott said.

“I am only glad that he is home safely. He is not injured in any way, is he?”

“No. Apparently he is fine as five pence.”

Delia cast the lady a wicked glance. “Perhaps if you send him a note, he will pay you a visit. Then you can ask him about it all yourself.”

She harumphed. “You can tease all you want, but I mean to find out the truth somehow.”

That evening, Mr. Aldershott asked her to join him in his library after dinner. Delia preceded him through the door in some anxiety, having an idea what the conversation would consist of.

She was wrong.

“Miss Haverley, I have made inquiries regarding your family. You will no doubt not be surprised to learn that there is no family such as you described among the gentle folk of Kent. I have formed a favorable opinion of your character, however, and do not think that you are deceiving the people in this neighborhood for a deleterious reason.”

Delia was filled with dismay. Looking down at her lap, away from the man’s suddenly harsh countenance, she could not think of a single thing to say.

He went on. “For reasons of my own, I should wish you to tell me the truth concerning your identity. Believe me, it shall go no further.”

Delia’s eyes grew large and, despite her efforts at control, filled with tears. “I did not take this masquerade on a whim,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “If you should betray me, it is possible that I may come to harm, Mr. Aldershott.”

His face relaxed into gentleness. In a low, fervent voice, he replied, “Believe me, it is my intention that you should never come to any harm again.”

“Everything I told you about my family is true. It is only my name and rank that are different. I am Lady Cordelia Frensham. I grew up in Dorset.”

He nodded. “And your father’s name?”

“He was Gerald Frensham, eighth Earl of Sudbury,” Delia said, holding up her head with pride.

“Ah! The renowned Whig gentleman. I know nothing but good of him.”

“He was a very fine man.”

“He and your mother were killed in a carriage accident, as I recall. You have my condolences, Lady Cordelia.”

“Please do not call me that. Miss Haverley will do adequately.”

“As you wish. Now, will you please confide the reason for your deception?”

For a moment, she battled inside herself. Then, raising her chin, she said, “It is something I wish to keep private. Now that you know my true identity, you can decide whether to dismiss me. But you should know that my reasons for deceiving you will not result in harm to anyone.”

This reply obviously did not sit well with Mr. Aldershott. He frowned and tapped his fingers on the desk before him. “Tell me this: Do your reasons involve anything criminal?”

“Certainly not!” she replied, sitting as tall as possible in her chair.

“Very well,” he said. “I suppose I must be satisfied.”

“Please do not undertake any investigations in this matter, sir. If my location is revealed, my circumstances could become dire.” She did not want to imagine her uncle in a fury. In spite of herself, she shrank back in her chair.

“You are in trouble. I would not be a gentleman if I did not seek to assist you.”

“There is not a thing you can do, Mr. Aldershott, believe me.”

“Not even to offer you marriage?”

Though Delia had halfway expected this development, the timing surprised her. Her hand went to her throat. “That, I am afraid, is impossible at present.”

Leaning across his desk, he fixed her with a penetrating gaze. “Are you already married, Miss—or should I call you ma’am?”

Startled, she sat back but lifted her chin. “Certainly not!”

“Then what exactly is the nature of your problem?”

“
My guardian has made other arrangements for my marriage and will not give his consent to a marriage with anyone else.”

“This is the reason you do not want him to know where you are? Why you are living under an assumed name?”

“Partly, yes. When I am five and twenty, his guardianship will come to an end, but I do not expect any man to wait that long to marry me.”

“And marriage to your uncle’s choice is disagreeable to you?”

“Infinitely,” she said.

Drumming his fingers on the desk, Mr. Aldershott said, “I see. And you would not let me write to your uncle and request his permission for your hand?”

Alarm raced through her. “No, Mr. Aldershott! Please, no. He would not consent, and he must not know where I am!”

The man’s eyes softened. “He used you cruelly? He tried to force you into this distasteful marriage?”

She bowed her head, clutching her hands together and closing her eyes. “Yes.”

This would never do. He must not perceive her as a victim. Summoning courage from somewhere in her depths, she rose from her chair and stood as tall as she could. “I would ask you, as a gentleman, to honor my confidence.”

“I must tell you,” he said, rising also, “as a gentleman, I would not want to bring harm upon you. Indeed, I would do anything in my power to help you.”

She swallowed and looked up at him. “Your employment is the very greatest thing you can do to help me. You are exceedingly kind. Now if you will excuse me, I will go to Mrs. Scott for my evening visit.”

“You are excused.”

{ 21 }

W
hen John regained consciousness, he did not recognize his surroundings. All the drapes were pulled closed, a low fire burned in the grate, and his bed was large and comfortable. This was no wayside inn.

He pulled himself up on his elbows and it was then that he realized there was a figure sitting in the corner.

“I will call the doctor, your lordship,” said the man dressed in servant’s garb. “Meanwhile, perhaps you will take some water.”

He indicated the pitcher and glass arranged on the bedside table. John was suddenly aware of ravaging thirst. He drank down a glass immediately. Slowly, it dawned on him that he was in Alan’s house. His memory of his arrival was very hazy.

In a moment, his brother-in-law was beside him. “Are there bandits on your heels?” he asked. “What is all this about, John?”

“Not bandits,” John said, exhausted. “Devils. Why are you not at the clinic?”

“It is the middle of the night.”

“Oh.”

“Is something wrong with Anabella? With the children?”

“No. Sorry if you thought that. It is me. I am ashamed to tell you this, but it is nothing but a fit of melancholia. I find the one thing that helps is to ride.”

“You must drink plenty of water. You arrived here in a fever. And melancholia is no little thing. I only wish I had a solution for it.”

“So do I. Believe me.”

“How long have you suffered?”

“These last four years,” John said, slumping back on the pillows. “I believe it to have been brought on by the aftermath of battle.”

“And this time?”

He squirmed. “I’d rather not discuss it. It was nothing as horrific as battle.”

“It must have been something major, to have set off such an episode.”

“I’ll get over it.” He pulled back the covers and started to leave the bed. “I have no idea how long I’ve been gone. Alex and Felicity must be beside themselves with worry.”

“I’ll send a note off to them in the morning, post haste. Meanwhile, you must rest, John. At the moment, you are exhausted and still a bit feverish. How is the melancholia? Do you wish to discuss it?”

“No. I have climbed out of it. It is just a bad memory.”

“I wish we knew more about these things,” Alan said. “But I am glad you ended up here.”

“It was Odysseus. I don’t have much memory of the ride.”

“I think on some level, you must have guided him. Now, for practical matters. I will go write my letter and you must bathe and have a shave. Do you have fresh clothing in your saddlebag?”

“No.”

“I will lend you clean clothes. I think you will feel better when you have bathed and dressed.”

In the days that transpired before Alex and Felicity arrived, John was left much to his own devices. He shunned the club but spent a lot of time walking in Green and Hyde Parks. In the evenings, he played chess with Alan. The doctor did not pry. He did not even ask about his wife once his curiosity and concerns about his children were allayed.

John did a thorough check of Odysseus and determined that the horse had not come to any harm during the frantic race through the countryside. He felt rather like a small child as he considered Alex and Felicity’s insistence that they come to London to bring him home in the carriage.

As the horror of the melancholy faded, he considered the trigger that had brought it about. The loss of that bright spot in his life. What was he to do about his feelings for Miss Haverley?

From what he had gathered, Aldershott was a dull sort. He could not imagine that she would be happy with him. But then, he did not know anything of her true circumstances. Maybe the precariousness of her situation dictated that she marry the first person who asked her.

And he asked himself again whether she would want to be tied to someone with his obvious limitations. The fact was, however, that she definitely ameliorated his melancholia. And she was familiar with it, since her father suffered.

From his powerful reaction to seeing her on Aldershott’s arm, he had no choice but to admit to himself that he had tender feelings for her. Could he be in love? He hardly knew her. How did one know if one was in love? John felt strongly protective feelings for Miss Haverley. And thinking of her married to and living with another man was insupportable. The fact was, his world looked seriously grim without her in it. She was not averse to him, he was almost certain. There had been a physical bond between them as they danced, had there not? Or was he the only one who had felt it?

He longed to take some sort of action, but what could he do? He paced the bedroom allotted to him like a lion deprived of his mate.

A letter. Perhaps a letter would do.

Sitting down at the writing desk beneath the window in his bedroom, he took up the quill and some paper from the drawer, shot his cuffs, and began.

Willows

London

My dear Miss Haverley,

What in heaven’s name should he say? Before he could censor himself, he simply plunged in: It cannot have escaped your notice that I hold you in high esteem and deepest affection. You make my world bright.

You are correct about my suffering from melancholia, but what you perhaps do not understand is that you possess the power to drive it from me. When I am in your presence, I feel that the world is not lost to darkness.

I sincerely hope that you are not yet promised to Mr. Aldershott. I should like the chance to prove to you that I can offer you a happy life.

I feel that we share many of the same desires for the future.

Yours truly,

Lord John Lambeth

Folding the letter, he affixed a wafer and then walked with it to Brooks’ in order to find one of the noblemen of his acquaintance to frank it for him.

He met Stowell there, in company with his brother-in-law, the Earl of Worth.

“I say, Lambeth, you look as though you’ve been ill,” his friend said. “I didn’t expect to see you in London again so soon.”

John thought quickly. “I am well. Just here on family business.” He bowed his head slightly toward the earl and they shook hands. “Good to see you, Worth. May I trouble you for a frank? I must get an important letter off home today.”

“Of course.” The earl took the letter from him and placed it in his pocket.

With that taken care of, John sat down to luncheon with the brothers, during which they discussed the progress of the countess’s charity. John reported on his favorable visit to Nottinghamshire, and all in all, the exchange had the effect of calming him. Afterward, they played two rubbers of whist, and then John cited evening plans as a reason for returning to Willows.

His mission accomplished, John resumed his pacing. What would Miss Haverley—Delia—think when she received such an impassioned letter? They had only spoken on a handful of occasions, after all.

Jealousy could certainly reveal a man’s mind to himself.

That night, he was sleeping heavily, as was his wont after a melancholic episode. He was awakened by a cool hand on his forehead.

When he opened his eyes, it was to see a woman still wearing her travel bonnet. For a moment he stared, not recognizing her in the light of her candle.

It was Felicity. “John, dearest, forgive me for awakening you, but I had to make certain you were really here. We’ve been so horribly worried about you.”

“Felicity… I am well.” He struggled to sit up against his pillows. “You must have broken all speed records getting here.”

“That was Alex. He drove the carriage himself. He only has one brother, you know.”

“I am sorry for giving you such a terrible turn. Alan will have told you I was not myself.”

“Did this happen often during the war?” she asked.

“Occasionally. But do not worry. I have been much better since I have been back.”

“Do you know what caused this episode?”

He shifted uneasily and looked away from her candle into the dark room, lit only by embers in the fireplace. “I think so. But my reaction was all out of proportion to the event. I think the further I get from the war, the more I will settle. Please do not worry, Felicity. You, Alex, and the children are my best medicine.” He took her hand in his.

“Then why did you ride away?” Her face was still puckered with concern.

“I know it does not make a bit of sense, but when one of these episodes is upon me, and when it is severe, I ride as though the devil is at my heels, trying to distance myself from it. Eventually exhaustion overtakes me…”