His Heart's Delight (27 page)

Sir Howard did not keep them waiting. When he
came into the room, Christiana wondered if he was leaning more
heavily on his stick than he used to. Was his face more lined?
After conventional greetings, she took a deep breath, though her
voice came out little more than a whisper. “Sir Howard, I am come
to tell you how very sorry I am to hear of Richard’s death.”

He bowed and took her hand. His shook a
little, but it was the only emotion he showed. “I know you must
feel it as sorely as we do, Christiana.”

She nodded and bit her lip to still the
trembling.

“We all know that he died in happy
anticipation of your engagement.”

She nodded again, not trusting her voice. “I
am glad that gives you comfort, sir.” She felt so false but knew it
would not ease his fatherly grief if he knew the truth.

“He will be buried where he fell, but I have
commissioned a marker for the cemetery here, near his mother, I
think.”

He walked over to a desk, picked up a paper,
and handed it to her. The plan was for a small obelisk, not much
taller than a rosebush with Richard’s name, rank, regiment, and
dates of birth and death. The words “loyal soldier” were crossed
out, and another word added that she could not read through her
tears. She stared at the paper until her eyes were no longer full
and then handed it back to Sir Howard. “Lovely. I know it will
serve his memory well.”

The visit was over a few moments later. She
and Papa rode away in a strained silence, Sir Howard’s last
confidence echoing in her head. They reached the end of the drive
before she had to vent her anger.

“He died so stupidly, Papa! A horse race. He
died trying to win a bet!”

“Awful.”

“Oh, Papa, ‘awful’ is a nice word for it.
There is nothing noble or worthwhile about the kind of accident
that happens on the road to London almost every day.”

“Not every day, Christy.”

“Well, then it happens more often than it
should. Awful is much too generous. Stupid, foolish, useless,
ridiculous. And even worse, Richard died because he was trying to
win money to pay off his gambling debts.”

“Sir Howard seemed to think that made it more
honorable.”

Papa was not any more convinced of that than
she was.

“Even Joanna could beat him at whist.” All at
once her anger evaporated and she sank back onto the seat. “Why
would he even try to win at cards? Why was he not saving for our
future?”

“I can understand that. He wanted to fit
in.”

“It makes me so angry!”

“It angers us all, Christy. It seems such a
waste.”

She nodded and then turned to her father.
“Papa, please, I will walk from here.”

Without complaint he knocked and the coach
stopped. Christiana climbed down, watched the chaise move on, and
then set off across the field toward the copse of trees that was
the boundary of the two properties.

The grass was long, a deep rich green. It was
dry underfoot and she walked quickly at first and then slowed as
her outrage faded.

How foolish of Richard to try so hard to be
something he was not. A soldier he might have been, but never a
gambler. She stopped suddenly and looked blindly back toward the
woods that had been a favorite meeting spot. Had Richard been any
more foolish than she had been to build a fantasy of a childhood
friendship into true love?

Oh, surely Richard was more foolish, for his
game had cost him his life. Her game had only cost her heart.

Where was Lord Morgan? What was he doing?
What had his brother done when he found out that there would be no
engagement?

M
organ tossed off
his fourth attempt at a letter when the door opened with a singular
command and his brother came into the room.

“James!” He stood up and tried to summon some
vestige of welcome, but the gods knew that this was the least
wanted arrival in a fortnight.

“Yes, Morgan. Your brother James stands
before you, eager to hear every detail of your pending
engagement.”

“You must be eager. There is plenty of water
if you want to change and wash the smell of horse off you.”

“Later.” He walked over to the table that
held any number of bottles and poured a drink. He offered the glass
to Morgan and when he declined, James tossed back the liquor and
then poured more.

Not like James, Morgan thought. He watched
his brother with narrowed eyes and a little worry.

“Sorry to disappoint you and Father, but I
still have four months. You did say I must be married ‘by the end
of the year.’”

“Did I?” The uncertainty was compounded by
the way James rubbed his hand along his brow.

“Yes, you did. More than once.” Morgan spoke
with conviction but was growing more distracted by James’s
distress. He was doing his best to hide it, but it was unlike James
to be less than subtle. “James, you must at least give me credit
for knowing the terms of anything that smacks of a bet.”

With an oath, James turned back to the
brandy. “Then give me something, anything, to take back to the
marquis.”

“Are you here at his request?” If so, then
his irritation made sense. Certainly he had more pressing affairs
than humoring a sick man’s whims.

“Request? If the ranting tantrum he threw
could be considered a request. Parkner had to dose him with
laudanum to get him to quiet. I came as much to escape as to honor
his wish.”

Morgan considered the revelation. He was not
the only one being pushed. It must be hell having two autocrats
under one roof. The gods well understood that even Mount Olympus
was big enough for only one Zeus.

Morgan walked over to James, took the glass
from his hand, and urged him to a seat. “Sit down, let me order
some food for you—”

James swung at Morgan’s hand, pushing him
away. “I have no time for London. My usually sensible land steward
has taken it into his head to marry and is away for a fortnight.
Morgan, just tell me what I want to hear and I will be away.”

“All the more reason to order up some
food.”

“All right. All right.” He brushed a hand
through his hair again. “Maybe it will get rid of this confounded
headache.”

Cook was a genius and there was a cold
collation before them both in less time than it took for James to
disappear and clean up. He sat down and made serious inroads into
the food, talking with his mouth full. “Is it Miss Christiana
Lambert?”

Oh, how he wished it was. How he wished he
could say a truthful, unequivocal yes and send James home happy.
Even more, how he wished it were true.

“Yes, yes, it is. Or it will be.”

“What, your charm did not persuade her within
a sennight?”

“My kiss frightened her away.” Now why had he
admitted that? Because he was desperate for advice from anyone and
because it made James laugh.

“Dear God, tell me you have found a virgin
and have spent so long with your mistress you forgot to treat her
like a lady.”

“No, James, I made the mistake of letting too
many of my feelings show, much too soon.”
Before even I fully
understood them.

The confession silenced his brother’s
laughter.

“I have been trying to write to her for days
now.” He gestured to the pile of crumpled paper.

“Letters never were your strong point. Why
not call on her.”

“She has gone home.”

“That does not bode well.”

“I appreciate your sympathy.”

“I am sympathetic, Morgan. The urgency comes
from the marquis. It obsesses him, but at least I can go back and
report that you are indeed on the verge of a proposal.”

“That optimism suits Rhys more than you.”

“I trust you will make it the truth.” James
stood up and nodded firmly. “Make it work, Morgan. Find her and
make it work.”

His brother left the room as abruptly as he
had entered. The door clicked quietly behind him and silence filled
the room as completely as James’s presence had.

Most any other time Morgan would have tried
to puzzle out exactly what was upsetting his brother. Certainly
more than the unsettled state of his supposed courtship.

Morgan walked back to the desk, well aware
that his plate was already filled with confused emotions that he
desperately needed to understand. Not his own. He knew his heart as
surely as the gods knew man’s every failing.

No, it was the confusion of Christiana’s
emotions that he longed to understand. He picked up the pen,
wondering what he could say to her that would convey his heartfelt
remorse and his desperate longing, and wondering, too, if it
mattered to her at all.

~ ~ ~

Light filtered through the thin gauze
curtains her mother favored in the summer months. The morning room
was Christiana’s favorite this time of year and she sat with her
sister in companionable silence.

“Have you had any word from Lord Morgan?”

Joanna’s question was so unexpected that
Christiana set her teacup down with an audible rattle.

“Letters you mean? No. He never called on me
while we were still in London, why should he send a letter
now?”

“He did call. More than once.”

This time Christiana did spill her tea. She
brushed at the spot on her skirt with some annoyance. “He did?”

“Yes, but Mama would not let him be
announced. At the time I thought it was the right thing to do, you
were so distraught and not thinking clearly. So I did not try to
convince her otherwise.”

“I told him that I never wanted to see him
again and I meant it.”

“You do not. Perhaps then you did, but only
because you did not know your own mind. You have had time to grieve
now and I can not believe that he is not foremost in your
thoughts.”

“Do you think that I am so shallow that I can
overcome my sorrow in a month and move on to my next conquest? Or
is that since you are engaged you think you can read my heart
too.”

“No, I could do that before I was engaged.”
Joanna spoke with a complacent confidence that was mildly
infuriating. “Before I was engaged and understood true happiness I
was willing to wait until you understood your heart for yourself.
Now, Richard’s death has complicated everything and I think I must
take firmer action.”

“I do not want to hear this, Joanna.” She
stood up to leave the room and was halfway across it when Joanna
spoke again.

“You never loved Richard.”

If Joanna had hit her with a cane, it could
not have hurt more. She whirled around. “I did love Richard.”

“Christy, be honest. You told me yourself
that you were not going to marry him. Now, because you feel guilty
for not realising it sooner, you are willing to marry his
memory.”

“I did love Richard, Joanna.” Her voice was
wooden. “Just not enough.”

“Oh, please, Christy. You loved him as much
as he would let you. You know as well as I do that he was selfish
and self-righteous and once you saw a little more of the world you
realized that there were other matches that would suit you
infinitely better.”

It might be true. It was true, but the
callous assessment of her feelings pinched her heart. She expected
more sympathy from Joanna.

“I suppose you are an expert on courtship now
that Lord Monksford of the thinning hair and middle years has
proposed. Is he your heart’s delight?”

Joanna was shocked at first, then angry.
“Never ever belittle him again, Christiana.” Joanna’s eyes filled
with tears. “I have not spoken to you of him because—because I did
not want my happiness to make your pain worse, but now I am angry
enough not to care.”

Joanna walked over to Christiana and led her
back to the sofa. “Life goes on, Christy. Sit down.” Christiana did
as she was told, already regretting her meanness. Joanna did not
sit but began to pace in front of the sofa.

“First, Lord Monksford is only thirty-two
years old.” She took an angry breath and expelled it, managing to
calm her voice. “He has two dear daughters who need a mother and
hopes to have a son one day. He has a wonderful estate not more
than a day’s journey from here and it very much needs a lady’s
hand. He is wealthy and does not bet on horses or keep a mistress.
He is everything that is good.”

The anger disappeared completely with the
last phrase.

“But I am not marrying him for his house, his
children, or his wealth.” Joanna stopped pacing and came back to
sit down beside her sister.

“Christy, he actually listens to me when I
talk. He never scans the room for someone more important or
prettier to talk to or dance with.

“He brings me nosegays because he has found
out that they are my favorite sort of flowers. While we were
visiting, he had his cook prepare my favorite dishes. He actually
knows what they are. I am not sure Mama knows what they are.”

She leaned closer. “Christy, he does not know
the color of my eyes. I love him for that alone. He is looking for
someone to share his life and not someone to adorn it. Yes,
Christy, he is my heart’s delight. I cannot imagine happiness
without him.”

They were both crying now. That lasted all of
a moment before Joanna brushed at her eyes. “And this crying has to
stop! It is ruining our complexions.”

“Very generous of you, Joanna, but I am the
only one who is a watering pot these days.”

“Perhaps, but look at the frown lines I am
getting from worry over you.”

Christiana did look and could see nothing but
happiness beneath the tears. “I am so sorry, Joanna.”

“Yes, I know you are. Now you can prove it by
not letting it happen again. John Monksford is the world to me and
I want you two to love each other as sister and brother.”

Christiana nodded. “Of course I will. How
could I not, when he has made you so happy?”

“There is one more grace I will ask of you,
dearest.” Joanna pulled a letter from her pocket and handed it to
her. “I am going to consult with Mama about dinner.”