Major Westhaven's Unwilling Ward

His eyes met hers, and she saw a flash of tightly controlled anger in their stony depths. Lily raised her chin. She was not some pup of a soldier, his to discipline on the field. She was a lady who had been treated very shoddily by a stranger who seemed to think his looks alone were enough to get by in the drawing rooms of the ton.

He said nothing, only bowed and turned away.

He was not quite out of earshot when she turned to Denham, furious. ‘What an awful man!’ She cared not whether he heard—and, sure enough, her heated retort must have reached his ears, for she saw his shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly. Triumphant, she fixed the amused-looking dandy before her with a dazzling smile.

‘Come, Lord Denham, let us dance.’

Lily danced until her annoyance at Major Westhaven faded, swept away on a tide of smiling faces and soothing music. At last, feet aching but temper much improved, she sought refuge on a well-padded chaise longue, placed beside the open French windows where a gentle breeze from the terrace cooled her wonderfully.

The smell of cigar smoke reached her as she reclined, mingling with low male voices outside. Glancing out past the gently blowing lace curtains that hid her from their view, Lily saw the boyishly good-looking face of Charlie Denham, hair ruffled from dancing, looking pleased with himself as he always did at such events and—in fact—in general. His companions, a group of five or so men, were similarly dishevelled. All but one—tall, devilishly handsome and still immaculately turned out, Major Westhaven was leaning nonchalantly against the stone balustrade. With a twist of annoyance at the sight of him, Lily was about to rise to her feet and seek rest elsewhere when she heard her name. Instinctively, she drew further back behind the curtain, its sheer folds allowing her to see the men while shielding her from their view. Not that they were concerned with anything but their conversation—of which she was the topic, it seemed.

‘Miss Pevensey is lovely tonight,’ Denham was saying, in tones of appreciation that made Lily’s flesh creep. ‘As always.’

There were several murmurs of agreement, but nothing from the Major, gazing out across the gardens as if such a topic did not interest him. Denham smiled. ‘You were unimpressed by the beautiful Liliana, Major?’

Laconically, the older man turned his attention back to the group. ‘Not at all. She is indeed lovely.’ Blue plumes rose from his cigar into the night air as Daniel Westhaven arched a wry eyebrow. ‘Have your eye on her, do you, Denham?’

Charlie laughed, and to Lily’s ears he sounded a little uncomfortable. Surely the Major must know that he would never seriously court any but a rich woman? ‘Would not any man? She’s penniless, of course, but she’s from good stock.’

Something must have been betrayed in the Major’s face at closer quarters than Lily could see for, sounding amused, Charles asked, ‘Not your type, eh? You want a woman who’ll what—converse with you? Is that what you learned fighting the rebels, Major? Personally, I’d thank the Lord for a wife like Liliana Pevensey to keep my house, warm my bed and host my parties. When I want conversation I’ll go to my club.’

Major Westhaven smiled tightly, irritation sketched in the clean lines of his stance. He did not take kindly, it seemed, to the subtle mockery of his peers. ‘It appears I am in the minority. Apparently beautiful and vacant is what the men of the ton want these days, for she seems to have all of you enthralled.’

Lily, frozen to the spot, felt the colour rise in her cheeks. She could see only his profile now, looking out towards the garden.

Beautiful and vacant.

Had she imagined that? A little shudder passed through her. Beautiful she had been called before—men said it to her all the time—Major Westhaven himself had said it not two hours ago! But it was usually accompanied by sparkling, or gay, or even effervescent…

But vacant?

Humiliation burned up her spine, making her shiver all over again, bringing tears to her eyes. Vacant could not be flattering, not by anyone’s standards. And the other men had hardly tripped over themselves to defend her there.

She tried hard to swallow and found she could not quite manage it.

Desperately she tried to talk some sense into herself, to redress the damage those words had done, sinking into her flesh like so many barbs.

After her parents died, her life had been filled with misery and loneliness, especially when Robbie had left for his faraway war, and she had never felt at home anywhere since. She had wanted nothing more than to hide from the world, immersed in the comforting routines of running her aunt’s house—keeping her mind off the uncertainty of her future, trusting always that her brother would return. But he had not—and she had come to realise that no one would take care of her if she did not take care of herself.

She had been unable—and unwilling—to make her début when planned, due to the mourning that followed Robbie’s death. But she had finally come out last Season, at her aunt’s urging. As a débutante last year, she had assumed that other girls received more attention than herself because she was somewhat older; but she had soon come to see that the others made themselves alluring to men by dampening their own wits—by simpering, giggling and flirting their way into the affections of men like Charles Denham.

So at the start of this Season, by now quite alone in the world but determined not to be beaten, she had made a choice.

She needed to marry or become destitute, so she had determined that she, too, could find a husband this way. She had transformed herself—become lovely, carefree Liliana Pevensey, her slender waist, golden curls, graceful carriage and elegant neck the subject of many a compliment by various gentlemen who barely remembered making her acquaintance the year before. She had laughed and danced as if she lived for nothing else, and tried desperately to forget how her heart bled beneath her homemade gowns.

A year ago the very idea of playing such a role would have been abhorrent to her; she knew that her brother would not recognise her if he saw her this way—would very likely despise what she had become.

But he was dead, and this was how she must survive. She was careful to always be chatty at parties, eager to flirt and converse—and, true enough, more attention was paid to her. She had survived by telling herself that, once they were married, her husband would not want her to remain for ever the living doll he had married. They could, in time, become equals.

But now…was she not fooling herself? In her mind she heard Denham’s words once more: ‘When I want conversation I’ll go to my club.’ There had been murmurs of agreement from his friends. Was this what she had to look forward to in marriage? He had defended her beauty staunchly enough—but not her wits. How could he—when he had no idea she could do anything other than sparkle like an expensive bauble? When he did not care, and neither did his peers?

Lily clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to hold in the despair that gripped her. She knew she was not vacant. Was she to care what this…this…warembittered hermit said? And yet she knew precisely why such damage had been done by mere words from a selfrighteous stranger.

Because deep within her, Lily knew that Major Westhaven was right.

She knew, in her heart, that many thought what he did of women who behaved as she had. This flippant, frivolous character she portrayed was what men wanted—but must she play this role for the rest of her life when the consequences were to be called…vacant?

Lily rose to her feet, a tear spilling down her cheek before she could stop it. Wiping it away, she frowned defiantly. Who was this man, who seemed to think he could say what he pleased with no repercussions?

She did not want a husband—necessity required that she find one. She had a mind, and knew how to use it—and mere words could not make it otherwise! She must hold fast to that, believe against her mounting doubts that she could still marry one of these men without losing herself.

Daniel Westhaven was nothing to her—she would not let him spoil her evening or her plans. He had money, after all—he did not know what it was to fear bankruptcy!

Lifting her chin, she stood up to rejoin the party.

She would sparkle, be vibrant and lovely, without a care, as if it was true of her wounded soul. And no one would ever know otherwise.

Chapter Three

Lily was amazed when the sound of the heavy brass front door-knocker echoed through the house the next afternoon. Hastening to the window, she saw the upright figure of Major Westhaven on Jo’s immaculately polished steps.

‘He has come!’

‘Good thing I made some scones, then.’ Jo grinned at her surprise. ‘He did say he would come, did he not? You said so last night.’

‘Well…yes…but…’ In truth, awakening this morning with her mind full of all there was to be done, she had quite forgotten all about the promised visit. She had not told her maid about what had passed between herself and the Major, or the things she had overheard—it was too humiliating. She was truly surprised to see that he had actually come, after he had clearly found her so distasteful.

But he was here, so she supposed she must entertain him.

‘Very well. Please show him in.’ She looked around her at the shabby sitting room. ‘On second thoughts, show him into the garden. I don’t want him looking down his nose at everything.’

With Jo dispatched to the door, Lily hastily smoothed down her hair and dress, seized the first book she saw and fled through the house and out into the sunny walled garden that she tended so diligently. Vines trailed up the walls, flowers stood in tubs, perfuming the air with their heady fragrance, and there was an apple tree at the end of the garden. The sight of her haven immediately served to relax her, and Lily was able to take a couple of deep breaths and calm herself.

Whatever this arrogant boor of a man wanted, all she had to do was sit, be polite, and eventually he would leave. She could manage that.

She seated herself at the wrought-iron table and chairs that stood on the carefully tended grass, and attempted to look as if she had been there, absorbed in her novel, for some time.

Almost immediately, footsteps heralded his arrival, and when she looked up Major Westhaven was filling the doorway.

She rose, laying her book aside. She had forgotten quite how tall he was. His looks were just as arresting here, in daylight, as under the twinkling lights of the ball. But he looked, if possible, even more serious, with not the barest hint of a smile to soften his finely wrought features.

‘Good morning, Miss Pevensey.’

‘My lord.’ Automatically, she held out her hand. He took it, his own much larger palm enveloping hers. At his touch she felt again the uncertainty of last night, the tension like an invisible rope, stretched between them. She stepped away. ‘Please, be seated.’ As they sat, she attempted a smile for both of them. ‘Will you take tea?’

‘No, thank you.’

Jo, just appearing in the doorway with the tea tray, grimaced at her mistress behind their visitor’s back and took it away again.

Lily smoothed her hair. ‘I trust I find you well?’

He inclined his head. ‘Very. Thank you. Yourself?’

‘Of course. As always.’

He nodded. He looked slightly quizzical, she thought, and wondered if he was asking himself why she was not fluttering her eyelashes at him as she had last night. Lily did not care. She did not have the energy this morning, and goodness knew there was nothing about this man that she wanted to impress.

She sat, composed, through the brief silence that followed. He looked down at his hands, then back at her. ‘Miss Pevensey, I regret this is not a social call.’

Lily pursed her lips. ‘Evidently.’ She knew he had seen her exasperation at his formal manner, but she did not care. ‘Might I ask then, my lord, what brings you here?’ She smiled tightly, trying to soften her initial reaction.

Just for a moment, he hesitated. ‘It is a topic of some…delicacy. There is a matter of great import that I must discuss with you.’

He looked at her so seriously that Lily felt her smile dying. ‘Concerning myself, my lord?’

‘Concerning your brother,’ he said quietly.

Lily felt herself stiffen. Whatever she had expected, it had not been this. ‘Robbie?’ she said faintly, voice not quite steady.

He nodded. ‘We were in the 63rd Regiment together. He served under me.’

‘I see.’ Forcing herself to remain still, Lily fought back the wave of grief that broke over her.

It was this way whenever, without warning, she was made to think of her brother: golden, smiling, heading bravely off to war with ideals of heroism and victory for king and country. Instead the war had been for nothing, the colony lost and Robbie with it, his body buried far from home, broken like his hopes for the future—and those of his sister.

Pushing her emotions deep within her, she raised her chin and hoped the pallor she knew had taken her over was not too evident.

The Major’s eyes were on her face. ‘I must tell you, Miss Pevensey, he was among the best—’

‘How well did you know my brother, Major Westhaven?’ she interrupted desperately, hands buried in her skirts and balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she willed her eyes not to fill with the tears that came whenever she allowed herself to think of Robbie.

Grey-blue eyes met hers. ‘He was my second-in-command. And my friend. I was with him when he died.’

Lily, shocked, nodded stiltedly. She had expected to be generically told what a good man her brother had been by someone who vaguely knew him…not this. She could not think about it, could not speak of it with this tall, forbidding stranger who had seen her beloved brother at the very moment of his death. She did not want to hear about Robbie’s last hours—not now. Perhaps not ever. But she must not weep—she must retain her composure before this man, who seemed so unlike someone her brother would call his friend.

‘So you have come to describe his death to me?’ she said stiffly. ‘You feel it is something I should hear?’

‘That is not why I am here.’ Major Westhaven was watching her closely. ‘You have been receiving money every month, have you not?’

‘Money?’ Thrown by his change of tack, she was momentarily nonplussed. ‘Well, yes, but I do not see…’ Trailing off, she blinked. ‘It was…from you?’

He nodded.

‘Oh!’ This was so far from what she had been expecting that it took Lily several seconds to compose her face into a look of graceful gratitude. ‘I have often longed to meet my benefactor, sir. I must thank you…but…’ Unable to stop herself, she continued, ‘May I ask…why you have done this for me?’

‘Because he asked me to look after you.’

‘He asked you?’

His jaw tightened—he had not missed the disbelief in her voice. ‘Perhaps you should read what he has to say for yourself.’ He handed her an envelope of thick, white paper. ‘He gave me this to deliver to you some months before he died, when he first asked if I would be responsible for your well-being in the event of his death.’

She stared at it. Her name was written on the front in a scrawl she knew as well as her own, neater script. ‘This is from Robbie?’

He nodded.

Dropping her eyes to her lap so he would not see the sudden tears that threatened, she took a couple of deep breaths. ‘Thank you. I will read it later.’

He frowned. ‘I really think—’

‘If that is all…’ She rose to her feet. ‘I am sorry, I feel a headache coming on…I think I should lie down for a while.’

‘That is not all.’ He pushed himself up off the chair and stood, looking down at her from his much greater height. ‘Miss Pevensey, your brother has seen fit to make me your guardian.’

For a long moment, she stared at him. ‘My…what?’

‘It was planned out in advance—but was also his last wish,’ he said quietly, voice betraying no emotion. ‘He wanted you to be provided for. I visited your solicitor this morning and I have taken charge of your financial affairs. You will come to live with me, or you may live in my house in Richmond, whichever you choose. I will provide for you until you are married.’

Lily, openmouthed, was shaking her head. Truly, the man was insane. He had taken charge of her affairs? He wanted her to live with him? He had planned her future, just like that, without so much as informing her in advance?

‘By what authority have you done this, sir?’ she demanded, stunned almost into laughter by the ridiculousness of such a situation.

‘Captain Pevensey put everything in place before he died, as I have said.’ He handed her another piece of paper. ‘This was what he gave me to make it official, and he instructed his lawyers also. I am assured it is legal—I am your guardian.’

Hand shaking, Lily took the paper, and her knees gave way when she saw her brother’s unmistakable handwriting on this unbelievable document. She sat down with a thud, eyes fixed on the words. Robbie’s signature. Major Westhaven’s signature. It was official.

It was true.

Her brother had signed her over to this cold, cheerless man, as if she was no more than a favourite horse. And he had done it without so much as hinting to her that one day she would be sitting in her garden, trying desperately not to weep before the stranger who was to be responsible for her well-being. How could he do such a thing?

Very slowly, she looked up, willing all trace of emotion from her voice. ‘I thank you for your interest, my lord,’ she said carefully. ‘But it is not needed. I have no need of your…guardianship. I have a home, and sufficient money.’

He took the paper as she handed it back, but did not put it away. ‘Forgive me, but I know that is not true. You are almost penniless, and your home is about to be sold.’

‘How do you know that?’ She stared at him, incredulous. ‘When I myself found out only yesterday?’

‘Your solicitor entrusted me with the knowledge, knowing I would use it in your best interest.’ He left her a moment to digest this in stunned silence, then added, ‘Even if your home were not to be sold, you cannot live here as a young woman alone. It is not appropriate.’

‘Appropriate?’ Lily was amazed. ‘And living with you would be appropriate?’

‘As I have said,’ he told her, with maddening patience, ‘you need not live with me if you do not choose. I have a home in Richmond.’

‘So you will closet me away in the country, to rot?’

Major Westhaven got to his feet. ‘I can see you will need a little time to get used to the idea, Miss Pevensey. I will leave you to think on it.’

‘I do not need to think on it! I know I will not leave my home to live with a stranger!’

‘Visit me in Richmond,’ he said. ‘You will like Oakridge.’

‘Do not tell me what I will like!’ Lily was dangerously close to tears now. ‘I do not need you, sir, or your platitudes!’

He stood for a moment, just looking at her. Then, quietly, but with great authority, he said, ‘Miss Pevensey, you do not have a choice. This is what your brother has decided for you, and it is for the best.’

‘Then why do you look as if you go to the gallows?’ she spat at him. ‘You are all too obviously less than thrilled at having to fulfil such a task! Why do we not just agree to forget the matter?’

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Drawing himself up, he bowed stiffly. ‘I shall leave you to read your letter.’

Helpless, Lily turned away as he left, unable to protest lest she lose what little control she had left. Hastily, she tore open the letter in her hand, desperate for an explanation. A single sheet of paper lay inside, the writing achingly familiar.

Taking a deep breath, she focused on the words.

Lily,

If you are reading this then I am glad I wrote it, for it seems I have left you alone in the world. Forgive me—all I wanted was to come back to you.

I thought long about what to do in the event of my death, and this was the solution I found. Daniel Westhaven is a good friend, the best man I have ever met. He is a man of honour and integrity, and if I had to entrust you into anyone’s keeping, it would be his. If you are reading this—and it seems you are, dear sister—then it means I have plucked up the courage to ask him this greatest of all favours, and that he has agreed, and kept his word by finding you. Trust him, as I do—he will not fail us.

All that remains is to say goodbye, my beloved Lily. I will see you when we meet again. Until then, be happy.

Robbie

By the time Lily had finished reading, tears were coursing down her cheeks. It was as if she had heard him speaking to her, so typical was this letter of her brother’s cheerful rhetoric. And yet, how could he have so misjudged his commanding officer?

Major Westhaven was a man grudgingly fulfilling a promise he obviously regretted making, involving himself with a woman he appeared not to like in the slightest. He had not pretended otherwise, or attempted to consider Lily’s feelings.

How could Robbie have done such a thing?

Weeping now, Lily dropped the letter and buried her head in her hands. This message from her brother was precious, but in such circumstances…

‘Miss Lily?’ Jo was standing before her. ‘Major Westhaven’s just bolted out of the house like the devil was after him. He said I should go to you.’

‘Did he now?’ Lily raised a tear-streaked face to her maid. ‘He has started fulfilling his duties already, then! And as to the devil being after him, I dare say it is no more than the truth!’

‘I’m not sure I follow…’ Jo picked up the letter and frowned at it. ‘May I?’ When Lily nodded she read its contents, slowly, brow furrowed to ensure she was making sense of things.

‘But, miss, he’s saved you.’

Lily shook her head. ‘He thought he had. But apparently he has no grasp of what manner of man Major Westhaven is!’

‘What makes you say that?’

Lily stared at her maid in disbelief. ‘Did you see him? The man can barely exchange pleasantries—and Robbie says that is honour and integrity?’ And he had spoken of her at the ball so rudely—as if she was his to judge. Perhaps he considered that she was.

Jo bit her lip. ‘True, he is a little rough around the edges. But he has been out of society a long time, Miss Lily. Perhaps he has forgotten how to deal with ladies.’

Lily was wiping her eyes in a vain attempt to stop crying. ‘He wants me to visit his home in Richmond. He says I can live there if I do not wish to live with him. But how can I go—it will look as if I am agreeing!’

Jo took her hands. ‘Miss Lily. May I give you some advice?’

Lily nodded, helpless.

‘Trust your brother. You need not trust the Major, you don’t know him from Adam, after all. But give Robbie a chance, at least.’

Very still, Lily stared at her. ‘I have always trusted Robbie.’

‘Then don’t stop now.’ Jo smiled wryly. ‘Besides, this house is to be sold out from under you, and you’ve no money. What choice do you have, really?’

Lily frowned.

‘Just visit him, at least.’

‘But then I am as good as accepting his ridiculous proposal!’

‘It is not his ridiculous proposal,’ said Jo gently. ‘It’s Robbie’s. What was that you were just saying about trust?’

Lily took the letter from Jo and read her brother’s bold scrawl again. This was the last wish he had, Major Westhaven said, that she would be looked after. The last thoughts he had on earth had been regarding her, and her safety. Did that not merit something?

She sighed. ‘Very well. I will visit him, and see if he can at least be civil. But that is all.’

Jo smiled, and squeezed her arm. ‘It’s a start, Miss Lily. It’s a start.’