The Captain and the Wallflower

“Thank you for seeing me, sir,” the spindly little fellow said after Jenkins had introduced him. Hat in hand, he stood before the huge oak desk like an errant schoolboy called up for an offense.

“What is this urgent business, Mr. Tinroy?” Caine demanded, the former commander in him responding naturally to the man’s subservient attitude.

“It concerns your betrothal,” the man said with a timid smile. “I should say, the original one made with Miss Thoren-Snipes.”

“Ah, a thing of the past then. What of it?” Caine replied, clasping his hands atop the desk and leaning forward.

“The thing is, she never officially ended it, sir. Her brother has retained me to speak on her behalf and tell you that, as a gentleman, you are obliged to carry through. He mentioned a breach-of-promise-suit if you prove unwilling.”

“So she would sue?” Caine almost groaned at the irony. “How can one be a gentleman, Mr. Tinroy, when he has been quite publicly declared a beast? Please inform your client that unless she wishes a countersuit for defamation of character, the matter is best considered closed.”

“Oh, sir, she meant no harm by her words. You know how young ladies natter on to one another when they are upset. But never did she cry off the engagement!”

No, she had screamed it off as far as Caine was concerned. He sighed, unclasped his hands and stood. “No contract was ever signed, because her brother originally opposed it. Of course, I was not heir to the title at that time. Perhaps that has inspired his sudden inclination to find me an acceptable match?”

Tinroy rolled his hat brim and tried a smile. “Oh, no, sir, not at all! It’s merely that the young lady has realized her foolishness and had a change of heart!”

“So have I,” Caine declared, rounding the desk and towering over the little toad. “Good day to you, Mr. Tinroy.”

He watched the solicitor back out at a near run. Caine felt like dusting his hands and hoped he never heard the name Thoren-Snipes again in his lifetime. Greedy buggers, the lot of them.

After a day fraught with confrontation, he knew he had one more to face before he could rest. Grace. Only, this meeting, of course, was to be more in the nature of an evaluation to see whether Wardfelton’s accusation held any semblance of truth.

He flagged a maid in the hallway and sent her up with a summons for Grace. They might as well meet here in the library. If she were a reader, they could discuss books. There, that was settled. He waited.

Grace appeared within five minutes, almost breathless as she entered the room. Had she taken the stairs at a run? Her hair was pulled back into a rather untidy bun at the nape of her neck and several strands had come undone. She raked them back with an impatient hand. “You wished to see me?” she asked with a nervous laugh.

“Yes, of course. Good evening, Grace,” he replied as he stood and surveyed the change in her. It was not so remarkable. She wore a plain gray long-sleeved dress, not a good color for her, but better than the yellow. It was a bit short and so large it hung rather loosely at the waist. He figured she must have borrowed it from one of the maids. In fact, she looked like a young maid on her first day of work, sans apron and reporting late.

He could not help comparing her looks to the stunning, yet shallow, beauty of Belinda. Somehow, even in her plainness and disarray, Grace did not seem wanting. Surface attraction held little appeal for him, especially now. Grace’s smile was sincere and she seemed honestly happy to see him. Lord, maybe that alone made her unhinged.

He smiled. “How was your day, my dear?”

She cocked her head and studied him for a minute, then seemed to form a conclusion. “Interesting, indeed. How was yours, Captain?”

Caine sensed she was really interested instead of just being polite. “Honestly? I have had better.” He indicated she should take one of the large wingback chairs beside the fire. He sat across from her in the other as he elaborated. “Business matters consumed me, being new to the chore of managing properties. I must have been born to soldier. That was never so difficult for me.”

“Ah, but you love a challenge,” she guessed with a sly grin that lighted her slender features.

“That’s true enough,” he agreed, noting that she had a foxlike manner, watchful, knowing, quick to respond. “Do you?”

She inclined her head and nodded once. “I suppose I do, come to think of it. We certainly took on this one without much hesitation, so it seems we have something in common from the start.”

“Apparently.”

The silence drew out between them. Caine wondered if there were any more to say. He had to think of something. “You seem quite … rested.” Truth was always appropriate. Her eyes were brighter, such a true, clear blue. Like a cloudless sky at its best. “I take it that you slept well?”

She sat back in the chair, perfectly relaxed, though her feet, clad in her soft yellow dancing slippers, didn’t quite touch the floor. She swung them idly as he watched. “Oh, yes, and I haven’t slept much of late, so that was a great relief. And the food here is remarkable!”

Ah, there was that prodigious interest in food again. “I shall commend the cook,” he promised. “Have you already eaten this evening?”

“An hour ago. You were busy and Mrs. Oliver said I shouldn’t wait for you. I understand your aunt takes a tray in the earl’s chambers early in the evening to keep him company.”

“Yes. We seldom dine together at table these days.” Caine felt guilty that she’d had to eat alone. He should have joined her. But she must grow used to his being absent, since he would have little time to entertain her in future.

He grew impatient to end the exchange that was beginning to seem forced. And yet, he needed to evaluate her condition. Nor did he want her to feel dismissed. Or lonely. She had probably had far too much time alone in Wardfelton’s care.

“I look forward to traveling to the country,” she declared with another bright smile. “It has been a while since I have been anywhere at all if one doesn’t count the trip from the manor to the house here in Town.” She leaned forward, her expression animated. “Do tell me about your estate, the one where we are to go.”

“Wildenhurst is not mine yet, though it is where I was born.” Immensely relieved to have a topic he could expand upon, Caine let himself meander back to childhood. “It’s the lesser of two properties owned by Hadley, the grander one being Hadley Grange, his seat near the Eastern Coast.”

“A grand mansion, or perhaps a castle?” Grace asked.

He answered absently, “A country house, quite impressive and easily thrice the size of Wildenhurst.”

“But what is Wildenhurst like? Has it a great history?”

“Well, I suppose it has that. The property was purchased by my great grandfather who had the house built directly over the site of an old monastery destroyed by King Henry. The stones lining the underground floor are still there. The rest is relatively new.”

“You have a dungeon!” she exclaimed. “I love old things and places!”

Caine hated to dash her streak of romanticism. “Not a dungeon at all. It consisted of monk’s cells originally, and with the new structure over it, it became a rabbit warren of storage rooms and a marvelous place for a boy and his imagination.”

“Even better!” She listened avidly and Caine saw yearning for a real home in her faraway look. The place where she had played, laughed and loved now belonged to someone else. Perhaps one day she could think of Wildenhurst as hers.

He continued, “I think of it as home. My father managed it for the earl until his death. As I said, it’s where I first saw light of day, where I lived until I went away to school and then where I took holidays. There are the greenest of hills to ride, a river at the back, trees in abundance and wildlife to watch. Gardens with flowers of every sort you can imagine.”

“I adore flowers,” she said, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “And herbs are a must. Is there an herb garden? Say there is or I shall make one for you.”

Caine searched his memory. “I believe so. Yes, I’m sure of it.” He went on. “The house itself is rather modest, comfortable and not too elegant, but with plenty of rooms. When I retreat to a place of peace in my mind, that is where I go.”

“Oh, I know I shall love it!” she exclaimed. “Your description makes it sound heavenly. Why would anyone ever leave it to come to Town?”

He laughed, quite liking her exuberance and her optimism. Caine could use a dose of both, and hers were infectious. “Well, there is the season, of course. And meetings in the House of Lords, though I’ve yet to experience that and hope I shan’t in the near future. Uncle could not attend this year, but remains in town now to be near his physician.”

“I see. Well, I do hope you may spend some days in the country to restore your sense of peace after your time at war. It would probably do you a world of good,” she said with a succinct nod.

He thought so, too, but did not see it as possible the way things were now. However, he agreed with her anyway. “I expect it would. You know you may take complete charge there if you like. My aunt has declared she will do no more with it. I think she always felt somewhat isolated in the country. For all intents and purposes, other than formally deeding it over, my uncle has consigned the place to me.”

“On condition that you marry,” she guessed with a wry purse of lips.

Caine nodded again. “With that stipulation, yes.” He looked at her. “Grace, I sincerely hope you will be content. And I thank you for accepting my offer. This cannot be easy for you and I do appreciate that.”

She laughed, a merry sound and not at all bitter. “I did admit I welcome a challenge. Here’s proof of it. I hope you will be happy, too. There. We have set our goals—contentment and happiness, each for the other. So be it. Now, if you would excuse me, I believe I shall visit the kitchens, nick some milk and biscuits and retire. I understand tomorrow is to be a busy day.”

Caine stood when she did and reached for her hands. “Good night, Grace. Sleep well.”

“Thank you. I’m very grateful,” she said with all seriousness. “I never thought to have such good fortune again in my life.” She gave his hands a fond squeeze and let go.

Caine watched her leave, wondering how he could have dreaded her company. No one could be less intimidating than Grace. Or less mad. Wardfelton was a bounder and ought to be hanged.

Chapter Five

Mrs. Oliver had managed to find her another more appropriate gown to wear, though gray seemed to be the signature color for the help hereabouts. For a price, one of Lady Hadley’s maids had parted with her Sunday best, a plain gray broadcloth with long fitted sleeves, a simple black pelisse and a close-fitting bonnet to match.

Grace met Morleigh at the earl’s chamber door, where she had been escorted by Mrs. Oliver. He knocked gently as he spoke to Grace. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, smiling. “I think he’s too weak to bite.”

She mustered a smile of her own as he ushered her into the room. “Uncle Hadley, Aunt Hadley,” he said in a formal tone, “May I present Lady Grace Renfair, my fiancée. Grace, Lord and Lady Hadley.”

“Come closer, gel,” the earl demanded just as Grace was in the midst of a deep curtsy. He beckoned clumsily, so she approached his bedside.

His lordship was a white-haired, florid-cheeked old fellow who had trouble breathing. He had a heart problem resulting in dropsy, Grace determined from the swelling in his arms and hands. That looked different from ordinary corpulence. His condition could probably be improved by a small concoction of foxglove. She had seen a number of gents in his fix when she had assisted her father in his practice.

It would be rude to suggest a dose of anything, however, since he had a physician in attendance who would surely take offense. The physician was frowning at her from his position in the corner of the room. Perhaps he wasn’t reading her mind, but only judging her state of health at the moment.

Caine must have noticed the interaction. “Pardon me. Lady Grace, Dr. Ackers, his lordship’s physician.”

The man bowed. “My lady.”

Grace nodded. “A pleasure to meet you, sir. My father shared your profession when we lived in Norfolk.”

“Renfair? Oh, my, yes!” The man’s eyebrows rose and his face livened with recognition. “I believe I knew him. James Renfair? He studied in Edinburgh?”

“Yes, he did!” Grace said, pleased to meet someone who had known her father.

The earl noisily cleared his throat, obviously to direct her attention back to himself. Grace immediately attended to her audience with the family, smiling her apology for the interruption to his lordship.

She did, however, decide on the instant that she would correspond with Dr. Ackers with regard to his knowing her father. And perhaps when they were better acquainted, see whether he would be willing to entertain Dr. Withering of Birmingham’s research papers on treatments of the heart. Her father had found them invaluable.

Her mother had objected to Grace helping her father at first, but Grace had explained how foolish it would be to forego the opportunity to learn as much as she could about healing and tending the sick if she was to run her own household one day. She wondered if she would have the opportunity to treat anyone where she was going or if they would simply think of her as a useless lady.

“How is it you met the boy?” the earl demanded, huffing as he peered up at her from beneath hooded and wrinkled lids.

“At Lord Cavanaugh’s ball, sir. He charmed me instantly.” Grace glanced nervously at the countess, who stood on the opposite side of the earl’s bed, studying her carefully.

The countess looked pleasant enough, not much younger than her husband, at least a stone too heavy but blooming with health. Her hair and eyes were both as dark as a Spaniard’s, though her complexion was very fair. Her mouth formed a little bow faintly lined with wrinkles. She wore a flattering green silk taffeta trimmed in black that was the height of fashion. Quite a beauty in her youth, Grace imagined.

“You are Wardfelton’s child?” she asked Grace.

“His niece, ma’am, though my father held that title before he passed on.”

The earl transferred his attention to his wife, reached for her hand and spoke in a near whisper, “Caine told us of her lineage, remember, my dear?”

“Yes, of course. Where are you staying?” the countess asked.

Grace glanced at Morleigh, wondering what to say. Did the countess not know what had transpired at the Cavanaugh’s and that he had invited her here? Grace thought the events of that evening must be all over London by today.

“She is here with us of late, Aunt,” he said. “However today, she’s going on to Wildenhurst, where we will have the wedding in three weeks.”

“The season must be over,” the countess said, her free hand fiddling with her ear bob as she stared across the room at nothing.

“Almost over, Aunt. Soon we’ll all be breathing the country air,” Morleigh said, sliding an arm around Grace as if to protect her. “We should leave now.”

“I haven’t dismissed you, boy!” the earl exclaimed, shaking a finger in their direction. “What provisions did you make her? What of her dowry and such? Agreeable terms?”

“We are satisfied with the arrangements, Uncle. I’m handling the business matters until your health is restored, so you needn’t worry. Everything’s well in hand.”

“The estates?” the earl asked.

“Thriving, sir. Bills paid, rents collected. Everything is as it should be.”

The earl closed his eyes. “Or will be when you’re wed. She’ll do, then. Got to have a wife to be settled. A helpmate. Eh, m’dear?”

The countess nodded. Her smile was for the earl. They were still holding hands. Grace felt tears threaten at the sweetness of it all. She thought of all the years these two had been together and the bond they obviously had formed.

Morleigh quietly guided her out of the room and closed the door.

“He never dismissed you!” she whispered. “Will he be angry that we left?”

Morleigh patted her back where his hand rested. “No. He only likes to remind me now and then that he’s still in command.”

Grace liked the kind way Morleigh handled the delicate situation with his uncle. Here he was doing all the work of the earl and yet allowing the old gentleman to preserve his dignity.

The earl and countess had not seemed to notice that Morleigh’s future bride looked like a mouse. At least they had not remarked on it. Grace was just happy not to have appeared before them as a molting duck in her old, jaundiced, limp, ruffled frock.

Grace was glad, too, that the audience with Caine’s family had been a short one, so as not to tire his uncle.

She and Caine headed downstairs, since she was to leave immediately for the country. Caine had informed her it was a distance of only eighteen miles to Wildenhurst.

When they were halfway down the stairs, she saw that Lord Trent had arrived and stood speaking to the butler at the open door. He must be a constant fixture in Captain Morleigh’s life. Mrs. Oliver had told her Trent was a born adventurer and a dear friend to Morleigh.

Trent was handsome, a real head-turner, though Grace had scarcely noticed that until now. He was nearly as large as Morleigh, though his features were slightly more refined. He was of fairer complexion and his chestnut-colored hair had a reddish glint. She quite liked his looks, but not the way he assessed her, as if he worried she might harbor some ill intention toward his friend.

She had been told he would bring Madame Latrice, the dressmaker, and a trunk full of fabric lengths for the trousseau.

“Your seamstress and Mrs. Oliver are probably waiting to board the coach,” Caine commented to her as he saw Trent.

“Everything is happening so quickly,” Grace said as they continued to descend.

He had hold of her elbow, a firm but gentle grip. “I know, but in a few hours you’ll be settled and have plenty of time to rest and absorb it all.” He patted her arm with his free hand. “I promise you’ll have nothing to worry your little head about but the cut of your gowns and whether tea is on time.”

Grace decided not to push him down the stairs. He was only a man and they were all taught that women needed coddling. She sighed. “I suppose it’s not your fault, really.”

“What isn’t?” he asked, and she realized she had spoken her thought aloud. Oh, dear!

How could she be so ungrateful? Just because she was feeling renewed strength and boundless energy after deep sleep and a few decent meals was no reason to turn uppity. Captain Morleigh had her best interests at heart and he truly could not deny his ingrained, overprotective nature. She should be kissing his feet!

“Uh, it’s no fault of yours that my shawl was left behind last evening. Is there a blanket in the coach?” And it was not even cool outside this time of year. How ridiculous did she sound?

“Not to worry. I have your shawl. Trent fetched it, so you’ll be warm enough.” He looked so proud, as if he had already procured for her all he promised her last evening.

She stopped, halting their progress for a moment. “About what you said as we danced … and all those things I asked you for?”

“You will have them, Grace. I always keep my promises.”

“No! What I mean to say is that I was merely playing to what I believed was a jest.” She lifted her hand in question. “Now, what would I do with a phaeton and team? And as for diamonds …” She scoffed.

He was smiling at her so fondly. “Then perhaps for the nonce, you’ll accept a purse with pin money. It is a wife’s due.” He pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket and placed it in her hand, folding his around hers.

“I’m not yet a wife,” she reminded him, stunned that he had prepared this just for her. What a thoughtful man he was.

He laughed softly. “So practical. I’ll deduct this from your first quarterly allowance then if you’ll take it now.”

She shrugged. “Very well, if you insist. But I must ask what you want from me, aside from the faithfulness you require and an heir, of course.”

“I never mentioned an heir,” he said, sounding a bit surprised. And confused.

Grace rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s a given, isn’t it? If you’re to be the earl, everyone knows you’ll need at least one. Isn’t that the whole purpose of marrying?”

His gaze dropped to the stairs as he seemed to consider it. Perhaps he dreaded the very thought of doing what it took to get the heir.

Then, without responding to her question, he took her arm again. “You should be on your way so as to arrive before dark. There’ll be plenty of time to address details later.”

Details? An heir was but a detail? “Yes, of course,” she muttered, doubt setting in that she had made a wise choice after all. He had declared his need for a wife and was taking her without a penny to her name. Her looks certainly had not captured his heart.

So why had he married her if not to continue his line? A condition of the will, she supposed. Mrs. Oliver had hinted at something of the sort and he had all but confirmed it when they’d spoken of the ownership of Wildenhurst. But surely that was not reason enough to bind himself to a wife he had no intention of bedding.

She looked up at him, then allowed her searching gaze to travel the length of his body, wondering if perhaps he was incapable of relations due to some unseen injury. Was that why he had chosen her, a woman who would be too grateful to insist on her rights as a wife once the marriage was a done thing? No, she could not imagine him capable of such deceit. She would put that right out of her mind and forget it.

Madame Latrice and Mrs. Oliver had already seated themselves inside the coach when Caine handed her in.

“Goodbye for now, Grace,” he said. “Take care you don’t tax yourself these next few weeks and send word if you need anything.”

Grace nodded and added a simpering smile for good measure. If he wanted a milk-and-water miss who didn’t know bedding from biding, she supposed she could pretend. At least for a while.

What a pity that was all he desired, since she had spent the entirety of yesterday and last night looking forward to her marriage to him and imagining, even dreaming about, what it might entail.

Now that she had escaped Wardfelton’s threat, she would be back to her old self in no time. However, Morleigh had arrived in her life as the answer to her fervent prayers and she would try to be precisely what he wanted whenever he was around.

She could not help but like his straightforwardness and felt quite attracted to him as a man, but he was obviously not interested in her as a woman, despite his playacting last evening. Perfectly understandable.

He had baldly stated that he needed a wife, but apparently wanted one in name only, probably one who would not bother him with her presence. Grace smiled inwardly, imagining herself as the invisible countess. What a role to play, but she certainly preferred it to playing Wardfelton’s clueless prisoner.

The question she had to ask was whether she could keep up the act in future just to accommodate Morleigh. She was grateful to him, of course, but gratitude wasn’t everything, was it?

She had always wanted to have a child, and if she were completely honest with herself, she wanted the man even more. However, she was not yet ready to explore too deeply the reasons for her odd reaction to him. Perhaps it was merely because he presented a challenge.

The coach rumbled over the cobblestone streets as Grace studied her companions. Mrs. Oliver appeared a comfortable grandmotherly type, short and rather rotund, dressed in her sturdy black wool. The ruffles of the mobcap beneath her plain bonnet framed graying hair, bright green eyes and sweetly rounded features. But though surely nearing fifty, the retainer possessed the strength of a man and the iron will of a mule. Nothing intimidated the woman. Grace quite admired her for it.