Read Her Favoured Captain Online
Authors: Francine Howarth
With the letter thrust in to his hand her
father plied its seal open and read the contents. His face suddenly drained of
blood, as he said, “Dear Lord . . . Damnable news. Could have been worse,
though, much worse.” Something in his expression proclaimed whatever had
befallen Julian was bad. Her mother’s hand flew to mouth, and her own stomach
heaved. He read on and then relayed her brother’s news. “Julian is coming
home.” Her father faltered in posture, stepped back and slumped into his chair.
“Good Lord. All this time and not a word . . . He lost the use of his left arm
at Waterloo. It’s since been amputated.”
Her mother promptly fainted and with luck
and slight of hand it was easy to guide her into the vacant chair. Sense of
loss pervaded the room and the gentle rhythmic tick-click, tick-click of the
mantel clock a reminder of a once happy and carefree childhood.
Julian, the elder, and her twin brother the
antagonist, had often indulged in running battles throughout the house, and on
one particular day both had ended up in the library fists flying. Hence
tick-click of the clock, which at one time had had a defined tick-tock sound.
Tears brimmed. She fought them back, for Julian was alive. He was one of the
lucky soldiers, and coming home.
Her father spoke, then. “This will break
him, Christina, break him. He’s a light dragoon to the very core and all that
that entails.”
“But he’s coming home with two legs,” she
said, whilst fanning her mother’s face with rapidly acquired fan from
occasional table. “We must be thankful for small mercies.”
“You are right, dear girl,” he said,
regaining upright posture, “and no doubt the young blighter will be riding to
hounds before Christ’s mass.”
Her mother finally rallied. Blinked her eyes
and said, “Oh dear, oh dear. Did I disgrace myself?”
“Not in the least, dearest,” said father, a
sly wink. “What with the shock of it all, my backside met with seat quicker
than anticipated.”
“Oh Christina, what are we to do. What shall
we say to him?”
Her mother looked
helplessly to her father. “Giles, I fear I will not, will not be able to face
his loss.”
“You must, Anne,” intoned her father, face
grave, “and be brave for his sake.”
The front door opened and almost immediately
slammed shut again.
“That will be James returned from his ride,”
she said, as each looked one to the other: manly voices drifting their way.
Her father once again rose from his seat. “I
shall have a quiet word,” he said, and made toward the door.
It was but a moment before James appeared in
the doorway, Simon Hathaway, Earl of Kilder at his elbow. “Bad news, indeed,
mother,” he said, expression unreadable.
Surely he could not be delighting in
Julian’s misfortune, yet she sensed nuance of triumph, for never again would
Julian wrestle him to the ground as he had many times in the past. She studied
James dark blue eyes, unruly dark collar length hair, his defiant stance and
wiry frame. Alike enough to be noted as brother and sister, save her hair waist
length when it lay across her shoulder undressed. Twins were supposed to be
able to connect. Alas, she had never fully understood him, never understood why
they were so very different in thoughts and actions.
Simon eased past James, bowed and said, “My
condolences Mrs. Napier. I shall take my leave. You will have much to discuss.”
He turned, and with polite nod, said, “Miss Napier,” and the way that he said
it chilled her to the bone.
He was playing to her mother, playing on her
mother’s fanciful romantic leanings. No doubt James had informed him he was
thought of as a suitable suitor and future son-in-law.
Mother, always enamoured by the earl’s
flattery, stole the moment. “Dearest Earl, do not leave on account of our
misfortune. You are most welcome to stay, and your presence will cheer
Christina no end. We are about to take afternoon tea.” She smiled sweetly. “And
it’s crumpet day.”
“How could I possibly refuse one of your
tempting treats, dear lady.”
How dare her mother throw her only daughter
at the earl in that shocking manner? And how dare his chestnut eyes glitter in
that way whilst appraising her as he might a mare, and right in front of her
mother. Her mother giggled, of all things, giggled, and then hurried on her
way. James, too, standing there as though nothing had happened. How could they
so lightly allow news of Julian’s injury to pass as though a mere inconvenience
to their cosy every day life, such as it was at Erdley Grange.
James slapped the earl’s shoulder, said,
“Refuse a Napier crumpet? Not a chance.” He chuckled, his eyes as always
mocking her when in company with the earl. “Come dear fellow, take a seat ‘til
the tea bell summons.”
This was her worst nightmare: her brother
and the Earl of Kilder in the same room and no means of ready escape. The earl
smiled, a captivating smile, which she imagined most young ladies would be
quite taken with. He was, after all, a man of good taste in clothing,
incredibly handsome of face, and of decent height desired by most women. He
was, though, equally as immoral as her twin.
She knew them to be well acquainted with
gambling dens, and more than familiar with ladies of some reputation. Yet her
parents remained seemingly ignorant or purposefully blind to their wild ways.
To all intents and purposes the pair were as cunning as the foxes they hunted,
with exception of their boasting once too often. She had, though not with due
intention, overheard an account of a particular exploit involving a woman of
some notoriety, their laughter and description of what had occurred quite
sickening.
No, she could never entertain the idea of
her and the earl as a couple. Her mother could think it possible all she liked,
but if ever it was suggested she marry the earl she would call on her father’s
moral standpoint to win the day for her. He would never sanction a betrothal
once the earl’s bawdy lifestyle made mention of and therefore exposed.
“You look somewhat disapproving, sister,”
said James, hands held open to meagre flame from the coals. “What tales of our
exploits have you keened this time?”
“I never listen to idle gossip, you know
that,” too readily slipped her lips, and more akin to terrier at a fox’ hole
than a well-bred young lady. She so wished she had not risen to his baited
remark.
The earl glanced over his shoulder, hands
likewise held to warm before the fire and the log now flaming as though the
Devil involved in its blazing glory.
Having
refrained from taking her father’s seat and instead down on one knee, the earl
promptly rubbed his hands together in vigorous manner then regained his feet.
“Miss Napier, please . . .do come and sit
beside the fire.
You’ve had a severe
shock, and standing in the draft from that window will do you more ill than
good.”
He gestured for her to take her
father’s seat. “Please, I beg of you, do not take ill on my account.”
Luckily the tea bell sounded and she thanked
the earl’s gesture with slight bow of head, and secretly thanked Mollie the
maid. She was so glad to escape the draft at her back and the compromising
situation of proposed ménage by the fireside.
“Tea is served, but why in the morning room
is one of mother’s peculiarities,” said James to his feet. His hands went
directly to the bottom of his silk waistcoat and a quick tug deployed to
straighten any creases occurred when hands previous to the fire. He was,
without doubt, quite the dandy as was his companion. “Why not take tea here?
I’ve asked her that, time and time again. It’s less formal and more amenable to
intimate chatter. But no . . . Mother insists we sit in a circle and every one
of us forced to engage with the oldies.”
The earl held out his arm
for her to link with him, and it pained her to accept his civil gesture for it
was all part of his way in winning her mother’s overt approval as the right
suitor for her hand in marriage. She knew it, he knew it, and James
purposefully orchestrated proceedings with the skill of artistic director to
one of Shakespeare’s plays.
But Julian
would be home soon, and Julian would see through these two as she had. With a
little encouragement he would no doubt make the earl’s reputation known to
mother. Her own desperate avoidance of marriage to Simon Hathaway Earl of
Kilder, hopefully then resolved for good.
~
~
By Loyalty
Divided
.
~
A scandalous seduction set against the backdrop of the English Civil
War 1642-1649.
~
Orphaned at
royal court and gypsy at heart, Anna Lady Maitcliffe has embraced freedom from
courtly restraint whilst residing at Axebury Hall Estate. Now grown to
womanhood, illful and impulsive she wins hearts with ease, but the one she
loves above all others is seemingly immune to her charms.
Morton
Viscount Axebury, duly smitten with Anna, nonetheless rejects her during a
brief moment of intimacy, for Civil War is marching across England, and he
knows by loyalty divided they will be torn apart.
His refusal to
swear alliegence to the King sees him banished from his family seat, though a
small price to pay in return for his life. But when news of Anna’s sudden
betrothal reaches his ears, short of taking war to Axebury Hall with a regiment
of horse, how else can he wrest her from the clutches of his father: her
betrothed? In secret and alone he ventures to Axebury Hall, perchance his fate
in Anna’s hands. For should she declare his presence, there will be no escape!
What toll then must be levied for undying love?
~
~
Chapter One
~
Axebury Hall
Estate 1644: Royalist Household.
~
How dare he say that to
her? She unhitched her knee from upper horn and leapt from the saddle. Was he
blind or plain insensible? Skirts raised and petticoats frothing she ran after
him, but Morton was fleeing at great speed across the meadow toward the river.
Hair like golden wings, silk smock rippling, he hauled it over his head and
cast it aside. Still he ran, and at two yards two inches tall he could leap
clumps of thistles with ease. All the while her skirts, alas, snagged no matter
how she tried to dodge the beastly prickles.
She thought him for sure about to dive in
the river wearing breeches and boots, but all of a sudden he faltered, his knee
crumpled and he fell. In her mad rush to reach him she almost tripped over his
out-stretched leg: his cornflower blue eyes sparkling with mischievous intent.
No serious injury had befallen him, for he heartily laughed and exclaimed,
“Accursed rabbit hole.” He then let fall his head to pillowed grass; a smile to
his face the like she had not seen in days.
Seizing her chance she fell upon him legs
straddling his torso to prevent any attempt at escape. Her gown billowed about
her in primrose yellow haze, and her dark ringlets annoyingly cascaded forth to
brush his face as she pinned his shoulders to the ground.
Expecting fierce resistance she was stunned
that he would surrender so readily, though tinge of irony in voice. “Sweet,
sweet Anna, you have the advantage in a most unladylike way and I at your mercy.”
She laughed, because this was the first
time she had caught him in a running race: albeit thanks to a rabbit dig. “The
advantage indeed, and I shall have you apologise for accusing me of having a
fancy for Thomas Thornton, when it is you who hankers for a Thornton.”
“Apologize?” he stormed, eyes glaring in
defiance, though a remarkably feeble attempt to roll her off and away from him.
“It’s written all over your face, and has been for weeks now. Who else but
Thomas has stolen your heart?”
She resisted his every effort to discard
her, despite the muscles of his bare chest tense in readiness for another
attempt to impede her commanding position. “You’ll not get me off, Morton
Gantry, Viscount Axebury,” she said, emphasising his title for good measure of
her commanding position. “Not until you apologise.”
A flicker of something indefinable gleamed
in his eyes, his tone mocking in wont to tease. “I shall not be making apology
any time soon,” he said, a throaty chuckle, “for I know you harbour secret desires,
and sooner or later it will become clear who the devil it is your affections
are set on.”
“And what of Catherine Thornton?”
“What of her?” he snapped, air of defence
about him.
She relented in her grasp upon his shoulders
and knelt upright. “Are you not in love with her?
Despite his face a mask of innocence she was
convinced he was guilty of flirting with the one person who despised Anna Lady
Maitcliffe with a vengeance. Why else would he be constant in attendance at
Loxton House, if Catherine was not his heart’s desire?