After The Storm (28 page)

“And it is not becoming to marry a man I have never
seen!” Cherry was now desperately wringing her hands. Her mama was
talking absurdities, and she found it all incredible.

“His lordship is an exceptional man. He is handsome.
He is wealthy beyond imagination, with a family name that dates
back to—”

“What do I care for that? Mama, you are asking me to
marry a man I have never met!” Cherry, now pacing frantically,
screeched.

“Yes, dear, but often those matches turn out very
comfortably.”

“I don’t want comfort!” Cherry snapped. “I want
love … passion …”

“That may come as well. When your dear father
proposed to me, I scarcely knew him … but after we were
married, all those things came—”

“No, Mama … I want those things first!”

“Cheryl, you know nothing—”

“I know I won’t do this,” she snorted.

“You will meet him, and this will be done. Darling, I
rather think you will even like him immediately. He is most
charming and has experience enough to—”

“Ah! No doubt he is ancient.”

“Not quite ancient.” Lady Elton’s tone was dry.
“Eight and twenty, and you, my dear, are one and twenty …
nearly past your prime. You are certainly past your first bloom and
still on the town. It is, considering your exquisite looks and
dowry, most odd.”

“Odd? It is what I want, and I am very willing to
remain single forever. Mama, this is completely ridiculous.”

“No, darling, it is not ridiculous. I don’t know
exactly what prompted him to offer for you, for quite honestly, he
has never seen you either … but offer he has, and I have
accepted.”

Cherry’s mouth dropped, and it took a moment for her
to recoup for the attack. “Indeed!”

“Dearest daughter, don’t you know that I fell in love
with you even before I did with your father? I want the best for
you, and believe me, this is. Some of the best marriages are
created in this fashion.”

“And some of the worst. Marriage of convenience—for
me? Never, Mama … never.”

“No? Well, I am afraid you are out there, my love.
His lordship will be by tomorrow morning to present himself to you,
and, darling, mark me, you will marry him.”

“I won’t.” Cherry stomped her foot and felt a terror
fill her mind. What was happening to her world? It was all falling
around her ears. Could her stepmother force her to the altar? “This
is monstrous of you!”

“I know you think that, but, darling, it is not what
you imagine. He will treat you with respect. He is wise enough to
handle you gently, tenderly. Why, you will hunt with him in the
North, where he has a hunting box, and you will—”

“Mama!” Cheryl interrupted sharply. “I can’t believe
you are doing this to me. You have always stood my friend.
Now … before my eyes, you have turned into a stranger. Worse,
you are nothing more than a … a stepmother from some horrid
fairytale.” And so saying, Cherry fled the room.

~ Two ~

SKYLER WESTBROOKE STOOD at his bow window, the cozy
warmth of his richly appointed study at this broad back. He turned
and regarded himself in the mirror, staring into his own deep blue
eyes. What was he doing?

He turned again and looked out onto the quiet London
street. His right hand had formed a fist at his lips, for he was in
deep concentration. His left hand unconsciously rubbed his muscular
thigh where he had sustained a minor injury the day before.

He was consumed with agitation. The time had come to
make his decision final. He had asked for the hand of Miss Cheryl
Elton, and he would go through with it. He would wed the unknown
chit and be done.

It was his only logical choice. At least one could
not fault her heritage, her upbringing, her family connections.
Hers was a fine, aristocratic line. Her father had been in
politics; he had been a Whig like himself, and this was a plus.
Miss Elton was reputed to be a lovely creature—in fact, his good
friend had told him she was exquisite, though there was talk about
her ‘too high spirits’, but he would curb that. Marriage would
bring her in tow.

She was already one and twenty, so he wasn’t robbing
the cradle. It was a good age, beyond schoolgirl notions, old
enough to mother his young brothers and sisters. He had been told
she had a good head on her shoulders, which was well, for she would
need it when she found herself with such a large ready-made family.
And Miss Elton would understand what it was to lose one’s parents,
having lost both herself.

There it was; though he had never met her, he had
thought it all out and chosen her to carry on his name and his
household. As to the ‘love’ he had always looked for … it just
wasn’t meant to be.

The one woman he had thought he loved had turned out
to be a faithless, money-hungry, man-eating—
never mind
. He
flicked it out of his head. The year had given him perspective.
Love was not in the cards for him. He would be a good husband, and
if a pretty ankle turned his head, he would be discreet …

He walked over to his Regency writing desk, where an
impressive collection of miniatures reposed in ornate silver
frames. One was a portrait of his mother. On either side was framed
a portrait of a man, the one on the left his father and the one on
the right his stepfather. Then in order of their ages were one of
each of his siblings—two half-brothers and two-half sisters. First
was Freddy, seventeen and away at Eton. Next was Mary, fourteen and
also away at school. The twins, Felix and Francine, were eight and
totally wild. They had managed between them to dispose of one
governess after another, three in the last year. Damn, but they
needed a woman’s hand. They needed someone who was young enough to
take them in tow … and hopefully grow to love them as he
did.

Marry he would, and his bride would be Cheryl Elton,
for her spirit was just what he needed to run his wayward
household.

It was logical …

~ Three ~

GETTING OUT OF London was not as easy as Cherry had
anticipated. She’d encountered several setbacks, though none had
taken place as she stole out of the house. That, at least, had gone
smoothly—too smoothly, for she had breathed a sigh of relief after
exiting through the rear door and immediately assumed a far too
cocky frame of mind.

She had reached the stables where her stepmother kept
their horses housed and was met by a sleepy groom who eyed her with
a touch of disapproval.

“Lookee … why … it’s Miss Cheryl,” he
exclaimed in some surprise. His gray-brown eyebrows moved with
great expression as he pulled at his lower lip. “Whot is it,
miss … trouble?”

“In a manner of speaking. I need my horse as quickly
as you can … no need for any real brushing or grooming,
John … please,” she whispered, hoping he would not create any
more of a stir than he had already done. She could see another
stable-hand moving out of the recesses of the barn and curiously
looking their way.

“Now, whot can ye be at, miss?” John shook his head.
“Her ladyship wouldn’t loike ye rambling about on yer horse at
night, miss … no she would not. She would ’ave me ’ead, she
would, if oi was to saddle yer Bessy and let ye go.”

“Right then. Never mind. I’ll saddle Bessy up
myself,” Cheryl said, quite willing to be reasonable. She didn’t
want anyone to incur her stepmother’s wrath on her account.

John shook his head, for this did not make any sense
to him. Thing was, he could see trouble ahead. “She’ll ’ave me run
through, she will, and nobbut could blame ’er. Oi jest can’t let ye
go off at this time of night. Miss Cheryl, forgive ol’ John, but,
jest can’t.” He was pleading with her now.

“Can’t you?” Cheryl’s brow was up. “How do you mean
to stop me?” She was already moving toward the tack room. He
followed her hurriedly, and his voice had changed to a whine.

“Aw now, ’ave pity, do. Whot is it? Do ye want me
turned off?”

Cheryl turned around with her saddle in her arms as
she faced him. “John, you have been with us such a very long time
and must know that my stepmother would never turn you off. And
besides, she knows me—she will understand that you are not to blame
in this.”

By now she had put the blanket on her mare’s back,
hoisted the saddle on and was cinching it in place. Bessy snorted,
and Cheryl released a short laugh. “Yes, girl … I know, but
you didn’t have any work today, so you shouldn’t mind a nice easy
night’s walk.”

She turned her attention back to John, who was
gawking at her and pointing at her saddle. She realized she had not
tacked up Bessy with the accepted ladies’ sidesaddle and laughed
softly. “No, I know, John, but who is to see at such an hour? And I
do love riding astride so much better.”

“Aye, but not in London, miss. Maybe in the
country … but—”

“Who is to see me? I will have my hood slung low over
my head, no one will know me, and then I shall be much more
comfortable when I get out of the city,” she said, smiling
brightly. “Don’t fret it, John. I know what I am doing.”

“Do ye indeed!” he snapped. “Oi’ve ’eard ye say that
to me countless times and land yerself in the pudding.”

She laughed, “Well, here is hoping that I shan’t land
myself in the pudding this night.” She slipped the bridle in place
and hooked the last of the leathers. She sighed heavily then as it
flashed through her mind just what she was doing. “Never mind,
John. You will tell my stepmother in the morning, for she shan’t
notice I am gone until then, that I simply took my horse and left
before you could do anything about it. You had no choice in the
matter, so you can’t be blamed.”

“Oi can’t let it go loike that, miss Cheryl. Oi’ve
got to go to the ’ouse now and tell her ladyship that you’ve taken
off alone. ’Tis me duty.” He was shaking his head sadly, obviously
hating the position he found himself in.

Cheryl reached out and touched his shoulder. “Of
course, John. You do just what you think right.” So saying, she led
her horse to the mounting block outdoors and hoisted herself into
the saddle, situated her riding skirt in place, yanked down its
matching blue jacket, and tugged her black velvet cloak overall.
She situated her hood so that it hung low over her face, turned to
John, and added, “I’m afraid you won’t find her at home, John. Her
friends picked her up an hour ago, and they are all at the theater.
Won’t be home for hours.” She smiled to herself, well pleased.

At his expression, she sighed. “Don’t worry, John. I
have my pistol with me, plenty of the ready, and I shall do just
fine. You may tell my stepmother that I shall write her after I am
established and have forgiven her …” Her voice trailed off on
this last. Forgiven her? Could she ever forgive her this awful
betrayal? She had always believed her stepmother loved her, but if
she did, how could she ship her off to a stranger—marry her to a
stranger?

To Cherry Elton, this was an act that was beyond
forgiveness or understanding.

* * *

Lord Sky Westbrooke gave his present situation a
great deal of serious contemplation and concluded that he was a
young man greatly to be pitied. Depression weighed him down until
there was only one thing that he could do—drink himself into
oblivion!

He reasoned with his better sense; he
was
sacrificing his life, wasn’t he? He was being totally unselfish and
giving the remainder of his years over to a strange woman for the
sake of his family.
Egad!
He would soon be a husband,
perhaps a father. All joy would soon be out of his reach …
gone forever …

Damnation. Life, in fact, as he had known and enjoyed
it, was certainly quite at an end. There was nothing for it: he
would go to his friends, and they would all become royally
inebriated together. This decision was taken on with great zeal and
enthusiasm as his intimates toasted him and the end of his
bachelorhood at White’s Club.

Usually Sky found he was able to drink most men under
the table before he began to show signs of being foxed. He was,
however, certainly in his cups when he rose suddenly from the
table, called for his coach to be sent for, and announced his
intentions of departing the club for home.

“What’s that you say?” Sir William attempted to sit
up, for he had been resting his head on his bent arm, which was
laid on the card table. “You leaving, Sky …?”

“Must, Billy-boy. Have to present myself to my future
bride in the morning. Don’t want to scare the chit with bloodshot
eyes and a haggard face …”

Sir William grinned broadly. “Too late, lovey.” He
slid back against his chair and surveyed his closest friend through
half closed lids. “Don’t do this, Sky. You’re not ready, and you
don’t even know her. You will be tied for life, and that is hard
enough when two people like each other. What if you hate her?”

His lordship’s hand found Sir Williams’ gold, silky
hair and ruffled it affectionately. “’Tis done … I have
already offered. Can’t be undone. Never mind—you will be following
my lead soon enough, and then we will muddle through marriage
together.”

“Blister the words—damn if ever I will marry!” Billy
retorted caustically.

His lordship laughed, bade everyone good night, and
made his way outdoors. His driver and coach stood waiting, but Sky
signaled his intention to walk, for he wanted the night air to
clear his head.

While his conveyance followed at a discreet distance,
he took a long drag of the strong, cool breeze, but it in no way
cleared the fog through which he was unsteadily walking . This was
ascribable in part to the very excellent brandy he had managed to
imbibe and in part to the heavy, gray fog that had indeed descended
upon London. He turned a corner, frowning over the fact that he
could scarcely see more than ten feet in front of him, when
something startled him into a sharp, uncharacteristically awkward
movement.