Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
She stretched and turned in to him. “But that’s all in the past. I finally know who I am and what I want. I love you, Waldo, with my whole heart.”
He said quizzically, “Will you accept the word of a rake like me when he tells you that he loves you too?”
“A rake? Pooh!” she scoffed. “You got that from Chloë’s column, and you know how she exaggerates. Besides, you hadn’t met me then, and I can assure you, Waldo, there will be no more shady ladies in your life. Only me.”
He let out a shout of laughter and dragged her into a passionate embrace. When he finally lifted his head, he said, “Jo Chesney, you amaze me. Does this mean you will marry me?”
“Of course.” She added provocatively, “I could never give up Eric.”
“Ah, Eric.” He relieved her of his weight and said seriously, “You took him to his father’s grave?”
She nodded. “I don’t want Eric to be ignorant of his real parents. Of course, I was thinking of the Brinsleys. Morden learned the truth about his parents on his twenty-first birthday. Can you imagine how he must have felt? For the first time, I pitied him. We’re not going to do that to Eric. He’s going to know the truth about his parents from the outset.”
He smiled at her vehemence. “What truth is that?”
“That his parents were good people, that they loved him and wanted him, that they would have married except that there was some impediment, so eventually John married me.”
“What impediment?”
“I’ll think of something, or we can say we don’t know. Waldo, a boy should know that his parents wanted and loved him. That’s the only heritage that is worth passing on. And it’s true. They did love him.”
He was amused. “How much of this does Eric understand?”
She heaved a sigh, then smiled. “Not much. Only that his mother and father loved him. But when he starts asking questions, we must know how we’re going to answer him. All I’m saying is that he should know the truth.”
“You don’t need to convince me. I agree. Where is he now?”
“Where do you think?” She shifted to get a clearer look at his face. “He’s here. When he knew I was coming, he made such a fuss, I had to bring him with me. He’s been moping for two weeks, demanding to know when you were coming to Stratford or when we were coming to you. Aunt Daventry and Chloë were glad to see the back of us.”
There was a big smile on his face. “I liked that boy from the moment I set eyes on him.”
Her sigh was soft and a little rueful. “I didn’t. In fact, I didn’t like him at all, and the same goes for you. I knew you were both going to cause me trouble, and I was right. On the other hand, it shows how wrong I was. You and Eric are the best thing that ever happened to me.”
That little speech was rewarded with a slow, hot kiss that was edging close to passion. After a moment, Waldo raised his head. “Sounds to me,” he said, “that you did a great deal of thinking when you were in Stratford.”
“Well, I did, and it was worth it. Now I feel at peace with myself and at peace with the world.” She nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder. “What did you do when I was away?”
“Oh, I thought about you too.”
She looked up at him. “And?”
“And I came to the conclusion that you’re the most perverse, stubborn, exasperating woman I know. I can’t think why I want to marry you.”
She smiled when she saw the laughter in his eyes. “I might say the same about you.”
“And that I’m desperately, hopelessly, helplessly in love with you.”
She wound her arms around his neck. Briefly, her mouth touched his. “How desperate?” she whispered.
“I’ll show you.”
The Journal
, July, 1817 (an extract from London Life)
Lady Tellall takes great pleasure in announcing the marriage of her good friend Mrs. Jolie Chesney to Waldo Frederick Bowman, Esq., at St. Mary Abbots Church, Kensington. Mr. Bowman, his bride, and their adopted son will be making their home in Marylebone. At present, they are in Ireland, visiting the bride’s parents, Sir Vivian and Lady Moore.
Mr. Bowman, who comes from a long line of parliamentarians, is a candidate in the bi-election for West Hockham. Both his wife and his cousin, Thomas Bowman, will be canvassing on his behalf. This should make for interesting if not fiery debate in the family home in Kensington. Mr. Bowman, the elder, is a Tory. The younger is a Whig.
Mr. Bowman, Sr., told me personally that he is very proud of his son and that, though they take their politics seriously, their debates have always been conducted in a spirit of lighthearted banter.
I tried not to betray my skepticism.
Following the church service, there was a reception at Palliser Park. Everybody who is anybody was there, including my dear friend Lady Webberley. Sad to say, her memoirs are not be published after all. The project was dropped when her publisher was threatened with an action for slander. Who made the threat? Lady Webberley, perhaps wisely, refuses to say.
Remember, dear readers, you heard it first from me. More to follow.
About the Author
Best-selling, award-winning author Elizabeth Thornton was born and educated in Scotland, and has lived in Canada with her husband for over thirty years. In her time, she has been a teacher, a lay minister in the Presbyterian Church, and is now a full-time writer, a part-time baby-sitter to her five grandchildren, and dog walker to her two spaniels.
Elizabeth loves hearing from her readers.
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Also by
Elizabeth Thornton
Almost a Princess
The Perfect Princess
Princess Charming
Strangers at Dawn
Whisper His Name
You Only Love Twice
The Bride’s Bodyguard
Dangerous to Hold
Dangerous to Kiss
Dangerous to Love
“Let’s be frank. You’re hardly a matrimonial prize, Mr. Bowman. All the same, innocent young girls and others who should know better are thrilled when you make them the object of your attentions. Each thinks that she will be the one to reform you. They’re all doomed to disappointment.”
“I don’t want to be reformed!”
“Of course you don’t. Bad boys never do. And if those London debutantes and their foolish mothers would only read the Journal, they’d soon come to realize that your case is hopeless.”
She didn’t think he was angry, but something had darkened his eyes, something quick and dangerous. When he snagged her wrist, she sucked in a breath.
“That sounds like a challenge,” he said.
He wasn’t wearing gloves, and the heat of his skin on her bare skin was highly unsettling. With a will of its own, her pulse began to flutter.
He said softly, “If I kiss you, will you write about it in your paper?”
“No,” she managed in a credibly calm tone. “I’ll shoot you.”
He laughed. “A word of advice, Mrs. Chesney. If you want to preserve your good name, don’t take mine in vain.”
SHADY LADY
A Bantam Book / February 2004
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Copyright © 2004 by Mary George
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