Chapter Fourteen #2
“I think I will go up and freshen my clothes,” he told Thompson, “and then I have several letters to address.” However, before he could make his exit, Lady Annalise rose to claim his arm and tugged him to where she sat upon a settee.
“You cannot escape,” Her Ladyship declared as he seated her and joined her there.
“I thought the smell of horseflesh would affect your composure,” Aaran said obediently.
“Oh, no, I am generally over that period,” she replied with a gentle smile, while she absentmindedly stroked the growing curve of her midsection, “though the scent of vanilla still does crazy things to my poise.” She grinned again.
Aaran relaxed just a fraction. “You only say that because you know vanilla is Theodora’s favorite scent,” he accused.
“Really?” she asked with a playful swat of his arm. “I had not noticed such was true.”
“Will you ever forgive Dora for taking credit in discovering Alexander had a second infection?” Aaran asked softly.
“I finally told Alexander when we fought before he and Theodora departed for Derbyshire and left me in London, alone and in a city I did not know. Remember, that was when Mrs. Sable and Mr. Stark kidnapped me before Orson’s house.
Neither Alexander nor Theodora has offered an apology or even an excuse for abandoning me, especially after Alexander swore we would never part again,” she confided.
“I know I should forget it, but, until the slight is addressed and resolved, I remain disappointed in each. I do not like myself for my pettiness, though the importance of the moment cannot be easily set aside.”
“I understand,” he said softly. “Though everyone says my mother’s life was terrible, after my father’s ill treatment of her and open cruelty directed upon her, I cannot forgive her abandonment.
Supposedly, she meant well when she offered me to the Lessier family, and she did not mean to drop me and cause an injury to my leg, but everyone also says she did not look back, instead, racing away to be one of the first aboard the departing ship and leaving her only child to find his way in the world.
The people in one’s family should not cause a person harm, whether it is a physical injury or one of trust.”
He had snuck out of the gathering a quarter hour later and retreated to his room to freshen his clothes and reset his resolve to avoid Lady Freya.
“Just a few more days and then she will be out of your mind.” He smiled ruefully.
“Likely never out of your mind.” With a sigh of resignation, he opened the door to find Lady Freya coming towards him on her way to the main staircase.
“I may kill all my brothers’ wives,” he murmured under his breath.
They had purposely placed the woman in the same wing of the house as was he.
The lady presented him a quick curtsy and said, “Do not look so miserable, my lord.” Her chin lifted higher. “I shan’t ask for or accept your necessary offer of your arm.”
“Why would you think I would offer my arm?” he retorted. “Perhaps you should be offering me your arm. Your step is surely steadier than mine.”
“Should I play you a sad tune on the harp this evening, my lord?” she countered. “One in which we all sing about our own weaknesses.”
“Did you just insinuate that I am a hypocrite?” Aaran accused.
Quivering silence hung between them for a handful of seconds. He wondered if she would attempt to wriggle out of the tension between them. Most women would, but not Lady Freya Cunningham. Her chin notched a fraction higher. “After careful consideration, I believe I did.”
He attempted to analyze the emotions streaming through his blood as he studied her lovely features.
Admiration, assuredly, for she had not buckled under to his challenge.
Loving this particular woman would never be boring.
She possessed the temerity of every Scottish lass who ever lived.
He knew anger, for her words had hit their target in the manner of striking his self-confidence.
Courage, for she had not blinked an eye while calling him a hypocrite.
Sexual awareness, for her stance and the manner in which she looked upon him with a mix of desire and abhorrence had foolishly brought his member to life with a desire to find out if he could kindle the same longing in her as she did in him.
Aaran wanted to persuade her that she had erred in her estimation of him—to convince her he wanted nothing more than to cherish her—to protect her—to love her.
Unfortunately, before he could decide, a door along the hallway opened, and Hartley stepped out, followed closely by James Kepper. “Oh, pardon me, my lord. My lady. I did not realize you were also… Are you going down?”
Aaran swallowed his desire before saying, “You three go ahead. I forgot my watch.”
“We could wait, my lord,” Hartley offered.
“Nonsense,” Aaran insisted. He assuredly must convince Lady Freya that he would never offer for her. “No sense in delaying your descent on my account. The house is full of friends and possibilities and Thompson’s love for Miss Whitchurch. Go ahead and enjoy the festivities. I will follow shortly.”
Ten minutes later, when he joined the others in the sitting room, both Hartley and Kepper were conversing with Lady Freya. “Someone needs to find a heavy stick and beat you about the head,” Lady Annalise declared when Aaran joined the Beauforts.
“Pardon?” he asked.
“You permitted Mr. Hartley to escort Lady Freya this evening,” Lady Annalise hissed.
“I have repeatedly said,” he insisted, “that it would not be fair to the lady to pursue her.”
Lady Annalise rolled her eyes. “I believe Orson said something similar regarding Emma, and Alexander nearly created an aria in his denial of Theodora, and do not make me repeat my dear Beaufort’s maddening denials.”
“Do not place me in the middle of your maneuverings,” Beaufort teased. “In fact, I believe I require another brandy. I will leave you to the most caring hands I know. Aaran, listen to Her Ladyship. She has a heart of gold and wants only the best for you.”
Beaufort walked away, and Lady Annalise slid her hand about the crook of Aaran’s arm. “Let us find a place to sit. This child had become quite active of late. I believe he or she thinks my insides are a set of drums.”
“Are you well?” Aaran asked in concern. He knew if something happened to this child or this woman, Navan Beaufort would never forgive himself, though only God knew the future for each of them.
“We have all been so busy in assisting our Victoria, I may have taken on too much,” she admitted as Aaran seated her on a settee and joined her. “Yet, it is only two more days until Miss Whitchurch and Thompson find their own happiness.”
“Do you regret the simplicity of your wedding?” he asked.
“I only regret that Navan and I carried our insecurities with us on our journey to, first, your home, and then, to his grandmother’s estate. Both of us feared the other could not truly know love. Being one’s own worst enemy is not a way to begin a lifetime,” she said with a knowing look.
“Might we speak of something I can control?” he pleaded, purposely keeping his gaze turned from where Hartley and Kepper had made Lady Freya laugh.
Beaufort returned with a drink for himself and Aaran, while Mr. Boone carried tea for Lady Annalise. “Have you finished berating our dear Graham for his inaction, my dear, or must I wander off again?”
Her Ladyship was not to answer, for her face screwed up in an emotion Aaran did not recognize. “Is our young Irish lad kicking up his heels again?” Beaufort quickly handed his drink to Aaran and then knelt before his wife, took up her hand, and kissed it.
“What if this is an Irish lass?” Lady Annalise said as she breathed more easily.
“I will cherish her as much as I do her mother,” Beaufort declared with such love and devotion for his wife in his eyes that Aaran knew difficulty in swallowing his jealousy.
“Permit me to relinquish my seat.” Aaran rose and handed Beaufort’s drink back to his brother. “Sit with your wife, Beaufort, and count your blessings.” He walked away before either of the Beauforts could protest his leaving.
After supper, they all gathered in the music room where the ladies took turns at the pianoforte, including the bride-to-be, whose performance greatly outshone the others.
When praised, she reminded them all, “I taught music at the girl’s school in Bath.
” When everyone continued to praise her, Miss Whitchurch blushed prettily, and Thompson stood proudly beside his betrothed.
Next, Theodora took over the music duties, performing several familiar tunes until Duncan begged for a favorite Scottish ballad. “Papa,” Theodora pleaded, “that song is so sad.”
“It was your mother’s favorite,” Duncan reminded them all.
Theodora sighed heavily in resignation. “I do not have the voice to give the ballad credit.”
The rest of their party looked to each other until Lady Freya asked, “Which ballad?”
Aaran’s interest instantly piqued, for he knew which song Duncan would request. Aaran sat straighter. He wondered if Lady Freya had the voice for the song.
Meanwhile, Duncan responded, “‘Lord Thomas and Lady Ellender.’”
Lady Freya glanced around the room. The emotions crossing her features said she was having second thoughts. Then her shoulders shifted slightly and she nodded her agreement. “Might I return to the harp?” she asked.
“Of course,” Duncan said with a nod of approval.
Theodora rose, as if to abandon the pianoforte, but Lady Freya asked, “If you would accompany me, my lady, I would be deeply grateful.”
Theodora said, “I would be honored,” and both ladies played the first few notes until they agreed upon how to begin.