His Impassioned Proposal (The Bridgethorpe Brides)
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Authors: Aileen Fish
HIS IMPASSIONED PROPOSAL
Aileen Fish
Copyright © 2013 Aileen Fish
All rights reserved.
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This book is a work of fiction. With the exception of historical figures, any resemblance it bears to reality is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
October 1809
Cheshire, England
Stephen Lumley sat in the blessed darkness of the library at Bridgethorpe Manor, a snifter in one hand, the empty brandy decanter in the other. His uncle, the Earl of Bridgethorpe, would complain about the waste of good liquor when he discovered it—or he would if he were of a mind to notice. But the earl was no longer the man he was when Stephen had last visited, and was unlikely to notice the empty vessel before Dankworth, his butler, refilled it on the morrow.
After swallowing the last of the liquid in his glass, Stephen contemplated switching to whiskey. He wasn’t yet drunk enough. He could tell, because he was still all too aware of his circumstances. His left eye saw the same blackness with or without the eye patch, and his left ear still rang loud enough to wake an entire cemetery. The burned, scarred skin on his cheek still felt as though someone were tearing it in two.
And his parents were undeniably dead.
Yes, another bottle was called for. He pushed back the chair from the massive desk. As he rose, he caught the toe of his boot on the chair leg and stumbled, falling against the glass doors of the bookshelf behind him. “Steady, man. Best foot forward.”
He righted himself and swayed, then the room took a turn and he grabbed the back of the chair. Drawing in a deep breath, he lurched toward the liquor cabinet. Since he’d failed to light a candle, only the moon glow from the window helped him navigate.
Earlier when the maid entered the room to light the fire, he’d scared her off. Warm, cozy and cheerful—that’s what a fire was. The farthest thing from how Stephen felt, and how he wanted to continue to feel—cold, lost, and empty. He raised his empty glass in mock salute. “Welcome home, Captain Lumley.”
The two remaining cut-crystal decanters danced in front of him, taunting him to choose. Port? Whiskey? If the blasted bottles would stand still long enough, he could tell which was which by the shape. Deciding he didn’t really care, he grabbed the first one his fist closed around.
The doorknob rattled and the door opened, spilling in the sounds of the assembly abovestairs, and just as quickly it closed. Stephen spun, the bottle slipping from his grip and crashing to the floor.
A woman gasped. “Who is there?”
“No one,” he answered. “No one of any con…sequence.” His tongue wasn’t following orders.
“Captain? Is that you?”
He recognized Miss Jane Marwick’s sweet, musical voice. His Jane. At least, she’d been thus in his heart these six years he’d been away. “Has so much changed, then? I used to be Stephen.”
“You’re drunk.”
“In a manner of speaking.” He waved a hand to indicate the glass at his feet. “But not as drunk as I planned to be.”
“Let me call Dankworth. He’ll have someone clean that up.”
“Don’t bother. It’s all soaked into the carpet by now. ’Sides, he’s busy with the houseguests in the large parlor, which is where you should be.”
Jane glided slowly into the room, her steps soundless. “Better the carpet is soaked than your stomach. Perhaps you should go to your chamber and lie down. Shall I help you or would you prefer a footman?”
“I would prefer to keep drinking. If you’ll leave me, I shall get back to it.”
She stood so close he could just make out the worry line between her brows. He should have known she’d be at the party tonight. Her father’s property abutted Bridgethorpe’s estate and the families were close.
Had he known his aunt and uncle had a houseful of guests, he wouldn’t have stopped here on his way home. He’d have gone straight to see his parents. But the fates must have been looking kindly on him to guide him here, since he had no parents to return to.
Jane moved away from the glass. “At least come sit.”
How he’d missed her voice. Her laughter, even more. He followed her to the two upholstered chairs placed in front of the cold fireplace. “Yes, I shall sit. And tell you tales to make you laugh. I need your laughter, dearest Jane.”
“You need a good night’s sleep, more like. But if you won’t go abovestairs, I would feel safer if you were sitting.” She helped him into the first chair and tried to step back.
He kept his grip on her hand and tugged, pulling her quite ungracefully onto his lap. She squawked, but didn’t seem to fight him. After rearranging her slender form on his lap, he wrapped his arms around her and inhaled deeply of her honeysuckle scent, his nose buried in her upswept hair. “My sweet, sweet, Jane.”
“I shouldn’t be sitting thusly,” she whispered, and leaned away with a shiver.
“You shouldn’t be in this room with a drunken soldier, either.”
“I thought I was with a dear man who has suffered too much pain to bear, but perhaps I was mistaken.”
“Too much pain? What do you know of the pain I bear?” His voice sounded angrier than he meant it to.
“Hannah told me of your wounds, even before I saw you this afternoon. I didn’t expect you to take part in the festivities, after the loss of your parents. It was all quite untoward, your aunt and uncle moving forward with the house party, but what could they do? Some of the guests had already begun their journeys here by the time Bridgethorpe heard the news about your father. It was far too late—“
“Jane?”
“Yes?”
“Be still.” His fumbling fingers found her small, pointed chin and turned her face so he could capture her lips. He heard her feminine gasp and slight whimper just as he felt the warmth of her lips against his, so soft, so pliable. He groaned, and in spite of the alcohol, knew he must stop.
Squeezing her tightly to his chest, he rested his forehead against her high pile of curls. “Oh, Jane. Nothing has gone as I planned. I wanted so much for us. I was going to make you the perfect husband. Find us a cottage near our families. Make you so happy. But the fates had other ideas. I shall be no woman’s husband, make no woman happy.”
She pushed at his chest. “Please don’t speak this way. It isn’t proper for me to be in here. Perhaps one of your cousins could help you find your bedchamber. Allow me to go find David or Knightwick.”
He snorted loudly, then shook his head. “What do I need of my cousins, when the fates have taken care of all my needs? I needed a house; my father died, and I am his heir. Of course, the house burned down around him so there is still that problem.”
Stephen waved his hand in the vague direction of Spain. “I grew tired of the war, and some bloody French blackguard aimed a mortar at me.” He felt her flinch, and grimaced. “Apologies, dear Jane. Some ill-mannered Frenchman, I meant to say.”
Jane jumped to her feet and backed away until she reached the mantel. “You oaf, it wasn’t your language that disturbed me. I’ve heard worse.”
Hands on her slender hips, she paused, then shook her head and paced again before he could reply. Her hands waved wildly as she continued. “Why is it men think we women do not feel deeply the pain of those we care about? I hurt for you, Stephen. I was sick with fear when Hannah told me you’d been injured. That bloody Frog could have killed you!”
Stephen frowned and tilted his head so he could better hear her. Did she just call the Frenchman a bloody frog? A grin tugged at his lips, but he feared angering her more. How much time had she spent with his cousins while he was away? She was no longer the meek girl who’d followed them around.
Jane stood with her back to him, her arms folded across her chest as if hugging herself. He wanted to take her in his arms, but feared losing control if he did so. When she spoke again, her tones were the well-modulated voice of a young lady. “Injuries or no, many women would be glad of an offer from the man I knew. You were kind, and witty, and caring, all good qualities in a husband.”
Many women
…was this her way of giving him his congee? But, no, they didn’t have the sort of relationship one might end that way. She’d be better off, though, if she believed she were free of any obligation toward him. If only he could bring himself to say the words, tell her she’d be better off without him. “I’ll not be marrying.”
Her voice rang with tension. “Those are the harsh words of a man in pain. Allow yourself time to heal before making such statements.”
“There are some things that will never heal.” He tugged at the eye patch string. His scalp itched where it lay, yet he couldn’t scratch without making a mess of his hair. He needed a haircut, but the string would probably still bother him.
Jane peered over her shoulder. “Do you mean…are you unable to have children?”
“What? Who spoke of children?”
“If you were trying to imply you couldn’t perform your…marital relations, I understand. But that shouldn’t prevent most women from seeing you as a good husband.”
She looked so innocent when she practically whispered
marital relations
, he struggled not to laugh. Wiping away the threatening grin, he assured her, “My wife would have no complaints in the intimacy of our marriage.”
Her eyes widened, the whites reflecting the moonlight. Her hand flattened over her heart. “Well, that is good to know. For your future wife, that is. And you are speaking of your wife. You don’t believe your denial, either. You see, you do still wish to marry.”
“No, I do not see, even with my good eye. I will never be a good husband to any young lady.”
“Oooh, of course you don’t see. Not only are you in your cups, you are a foolish man. The most ridiculous man of my acquaintance, at this moment.”
“Ridiculous, pitiful, useless. All are fitting words for Captain Lumley,” he agreed.
“Stop wallowing in your pity. Do not even speak to me again until you are sober. You know not what you say.”
“Do you deny what I’ve said is the truth? My parents are truly dead and buried. My body broken beyond repair. These things are true.”
“If you were sober, I would argue the bit about beyond repair. But it’s the other things of which I speak.”
He shook his head, sending the room in a quick spin. When it slowed, he said softly, “I cannot marry. I have nothing to offer. I have no title, and I am not fit to work. My father’s living won’t provide for a family, not in the manner to which you are accustomed. And the Smart Money the king paid me for my injuries simply proves my decision not to leave the army a year ago wasn’t very smart, indeed.”
Jane took a step closer, but stopped. “Where is the man I loved? He was there the last time we spoke.”
Stephen sighed, his throat closing in pain. “That was two and a half years ago. He is gone. Was laid to rest on the battlefield. They discharged this empty shell to carry on in his place.”
A faint sniffle escaped her. “I am glad you are home.”
How could she be, when he was not? There was not a glad bone in his body. The war wasn’t won, and he wouldn’t be there to finish it. He’d failed at the only mission he’d had in life, aside from that of marrying Jane. He’d needed to accomplish the first, he felt, to earn the right to the second. To be a man worthy of her love. Why would she be glad he was home, unless it was to marry him?
And why would she want to marry a man such as him, unless she pitied him? A bitter taste built in his mouth at the thought. He swung his arm out, his voice rising in anger. “Enough, woman! I don’t want your pity.”
Jane stepped back as if he’d struck her. “Forgive my intrusion. You are not the man I once thought I’d marry.” She strode to the door.
He jumped up, almost pitching himself head first into the marble framing the fireplace. “Ha, I was correct. No woman would want to marry a penniless, broken soldier.”
Spinning to face him, she said harshly, “I would never turn away from the man I loved.”
“Then you will? Marry me, Jane?”
Her jaw went lax. She blinked, and frowned. Then burst into tears. “How could you?”
Her turnabout sent him reeling. Grasping her arms, he pulled her into a hug. “What did I do?”