What a Lady Demands (16 page)

“Demonstrations?”

“Yes. I show representations of famous battles.”

“Oh.” Good heavens, was there anything the paragon of all governesses hadn’t thought of? “Then come right in and tell me what you require. I believe you’ll have a most avid audience, just as soon as he’s finished his breakfast.”

An hour later, Smithers summoned Cecelia and Jeremy down to one of the unused sitting rooms. Jeremy approached a table where heavy paper cutouts representing soldiers stood, battle-ready, on a map. Leaning in, he squinted at the deployment.

“Welcome, my good sir, welcome.” Professor Treacher smiled and bowed. “I wonder if you know what you’re looking at.”

“A field full of soldiers.” Faced with a stranger, Jeremy had reverted to his terse replies.

“Professor Treacher has come to show us how the Waterloo campaign played out,” Cecelia said.

“Yes, and I’ve set up the two armies in their initial positions. The English are in red, encamped along the road to Brussels, which they were defending from the French. Do you know who their commander was?”

Jeremy eyed him. “Everyone knows that. It was the Duke of Wel-Welling-Wel
lington.”

“Very good, very good.” The professor beamed. “Perhaps you can tell me who the enemy forces were, then.”

“The French. And it wasn’t just the English fighting them. There were Dutch forces in the field against Nap-Napoleon.”

Professor Treacher eyed the boy. “I see we have a regular little military scholar here.”

“My father fought in this battle.” Holding on to the side of the table, Jeremy circled the display. “Where were the Grenadier Guards placed?”

“Oh, along about here, I imagine.” The professor gestured vaguely.

The line of Jeremy’s brow settled into a scowl. “You mean you don’t know?”

“When we consider such a large-scale battle from this perspective, we cannot reproduce conditions with complete accuracy.” Professor Treacher swept an arm in a broad gesture. “I’d need my map to cover this entire room to break things down to that point. The best we can do is look at the general positions of the armies relative to one another and study how they advanced and retreated over the course of the final days.”

“What the man’s saying is, he doesn’t really know.” Lind shuffled into the sitting room, leaning on his walking stick and looking at the map with distaste.

The professor’s face turned red, and he spluttered, “Oh, I say.”

“You’ve got the French position off.” He raised his stick and nudged the blue cutouts over slightly. “They skirmished with us all morning, but the real action didn’t start until midafternoon, when they attacked. And the Prussians were over here a bit more.”

The professor’s fleshy cheeks turned red. If he’d been wearing a uniform, they might have matched his coat. “And I suppose you were there.”

“As a matter of fact, I was.” He clapped a hand to the side of his thigh. “You see this? I injured it in action. I was right about here at the time.” He slammed his walking stick into the middle of the map, scattering troops and artillery alike.

Professor Treacher backed up a pace or two. “Your pardon, my good sir.”

“This sort of thing wouldn’t be so bad if you actually put in an effort to get your facts straight. Were you there? For that matter, were you ever in the military?”

Treacher retreated another step. “No, my lord, I’m afraid I wasn’t.”

Lind’s knuckles whitened about his walking stick, and he lifted it partway.

Before Lind could act on that thought, Cecelia crossed to him, reaching out before she could think better of the action. Just in time, she curled her fingers into a loose fist. Whatever attraction they’d acted on privately, she had no business making a public spectacle of it.

“Why don’t you tell us what it was like?” she asked quietly before she could lose her nerve. In this mood, he might act without thinking.

He whirled on her, chest expanding, nostrils flaring, and she braced herself for a verbal thrashing.

“Are you certain you want to know?” His voice was deceptively quiet, so much so that he might as well have shouted. The emotion behind the question echoed in her ears, all the same.

“Don’t you think the truth of your experience would be more instructive?”

“Truth? You want the truth? The dirt, the grit? The blood?” He swept his walking stick at a line of cardboard soldiers lying on the floor. “Something like
this
makes it all seem so clean, doesn’t it? You can trick people who don’t know any better into believing there’s glory to be found in all that death. You can pretend a cannon blast won’t blow cardboard men into anything but smaller bits of paper. They can’t bleed if they lose a limb. They can’t scream when their bodies are torn apart. They don’t have wives and children back home waiting for them, waiting for a letter or a rumor, and, at worst, poring over the casualty reports every day.”

For the duration of his speech, he kept his gaze riveted on her, while his breath became ragged and his face reddened. When he was finished, he tore himself away. “Pasteboard doesn’t feel pain. And in the end, it doesn’t matter how you line it up, because it can never replace the reality.”

She couldn’t stop herself now. She laid a hand on his forearm. The muscle beneath the fine wool of his topcoat tensed and trembled. She made herself look him full in the face, made herself witness the pain that lay raw and unmasked in his expression. “Your pardon, my lord.”

His expression shifted to betray confusion. “Why should you ask my pardon?”

“Because I allowed this into the house. I made you relive—”

“You didn’t make me relive a thing. Do you think something like that is so easy to set aside? I relive it whether or not somebody flings it in my face. I’ve permanent reminders of all I went through.” His gaze shifted to a point just past her and about waist-high.

She turned. Gracious. Jeremy. The boy stared at Lind, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open.

She’d forgotten Jeremy was here, and the professor, as well. She stepped back from Lind, her hand brushing along the length of his arm as she pulled it away. Their fingers made fleeting contact, and for a moment, he grasped for her. She wasn’t certain, but she might have felt the briefest of squeezes.

He held her gaze for another moment, but as she watched, his eyes shuttered. The pain dipped behind the mask of indifference he usually wore. And then the moment was gone. He turned to the instructor and inclined his head. “Your pardon for the interruption and my apologies for ruining your demonstration.”

“Not at all…” Before Professor Treacher could tack on his usual
my good sir,
Lind had left the sitting room.

Cecelia’s jaw dropped. Goodness, had this arrogant man actually tendered an apology? She cast a nervous glance toward the window, half afraid she might see a bolt of lightning fall from the clear, blue sky.

Marriage to Lind—or any other man—was the last thing Cecelia ought to consider. And yet, she stood in the middle of the stable yard, attempting to sort her muddled thoughts while watching Jeremy’s first riding lesson.

His pony plodded in a placid circle at the end of a long line, Regan holding the other extremity. Jeremy sat rigidly straight in the saddle, one white-knuckled hand twisted into the beast’s mane—an attempt at a brave face if she ever saw one. But his fear would work itself out as the lessons progressed and his confidence grew.

“This fellow is as sure-footed as they come,” Regan had commented when he first set Jeremy in the saddle. “Horses and riders, it’s all about trust, see? He won’t let you fall. You just have to believe it.”

At the moment, the pony didn’t look likely to move at any swifter gait than a dull amble, which was just as well. Jeremy had many years ahead of him to develop a seat steady enough to carry him galloping over hedges.

And Cecelia could be present to witness such an event. All she had to do was accept Lind’s offer. What the boy needed most in his life was some form of stability, along with affection. If she didn’t remain as governess, then serving as a mother she could offer him that—one constant woman to survey passing years until he reached adulthood.

But was that reason enough to go through with a wedding? For that matter, was she the person best suited to take on the role of Jeremy’s mother? As a girl, naturally Cecelia had dreamed of catching the attention of some young man at a ball, of being courted, of running her own household with children grasping at her skirts. After Eversham finished with her, she’d never expected another man would want her as more than his mistress. Now Lind was offering her a chance at a dream she’d long thought packed away with her innocence.

All she had to do was accept Lind as he was—with the shadow of the past between them—and hope that, someday, she might teach him to be happy. He needed her affection just as much as Jeremy. Was she worthy of giving it to either of them after all Eversham had put her through? Yet because of Eversham, she needed the protection.

A flurry of activity from the direction of the stables pulled her from her thoughts. Several grooms mounted on horseback trotted into the yard. Behind them, Lind led his big chestnut by the reins. He spotted her watching, and even from across the expanse, she could see the green glitter of his eyes. The sun seemed suddenly to beat on her bonnet.

Holding her gaze, he limped toward her.

“How is he taking to his pony?” Lind nodded in Jeremy’s direction.

“Who? Jeremy?” she needled. If Lind could say the boy’s name in his sleep, he could learn to pronounce it when awake. At least he was asking, though. For Lind, it was a start. “It’s only his first lesson, but I think he’ll get there eventually, especially faced with the promise of accompanying you on your rounds.”

She half expected him to head toward the mounting block, but he remained on the spot. “Have you given any thought to what we discussed last night?”

“Hmm.” She made a show of reaching up to stroke his gelding’s velvety nose. Now was not the time to betray any anxiety over his proposal. If he was asking so soon, that could only mean one thing. Her answer mattered. She shoved the thought aside, lest it tip her decision in his favor. “If you expect such a quick decision, I daresay you’re not nearly as acquainted with feminine thought processes as you like to believe.”

“I’d imagined it a simple matter of weighing the advantages against the disadvantages. You need the protection of my name, for one. And I reckoned most young ladies wouldn’t set a title at naught.”

She shot a glance at him. Could her acceptance really be this important to him? “Nevertheless, I should still like some time to consider.” Because if he stood here and hounded her—while contemplating her with such intense fire—she might well agree and to the devil with her doubts. Time to divert the conversation. “Are you certain you want to spend the afternoon in the saddle after…”

She waved her hand, and Lind’s great beast of a horse tossed its head.

He twisted the reins about his fist. “After last night’s activities?”

“Yes.” She studied his shoulder rather than meet his gaze. What if she saw nothing but judgment there?

Lind leaned close enough that his face filled the funnel formed by her bonnet. His breath ghosted across her cheek. “Perhaps I ought to let you do the riding in the future.”

She blushed, hot and red and flaming. She never blushed. Not anymore. But his quiet words sent her instantly back to his bedchamber and every last frisson of pleasure he’d wrung from her last night.

A low chuckle rumbled from the depths of his chest. “I think you’re leaning toward accepting my offer.”

She snapped her gaze to his. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

“Telling me not to ride out is exactly the kind of proprietary admonition a wife would make.”

He was teasing her, dash it all. Giving as good as he got. “Why do you feel it necessary to make your rounds yet again?”

“I thought you’d work that out on your own. Eversham. I’d best make certain he heeded my request to remove his person from my lands,” he said in the sort of tone one might use to answer a polite inquiry into the health of his feeble aunt. Yet she discerned a threat behind the words. Lord help Alistair Eversham if Lind ever caught up to him.

She’d have smiled at the thought of Lind beating the scoundrel bloody with his walking stick, except she knew from experience that a twisted part of Eversham would enjoy the pain. “What makes you think he isn’t long gone by now?”

“He won’t be. For one thing, he hasn’t acquired what he wants. For another, he’s expecting I’ve thrown you out. He wants to see you crawl.”

Or worse—but neither one of them needed to say that aloud.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled her attention away from Lind. One of the grooms sat astride a bay mare. “We’d be about ready to go, m’lord.”

“Yes, yes.” Unlike Cecelia, Lind did not allow the newcomer to distract him. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

She caught her breath. What more could he want?

She never found out the answer to that question. Across the yard, a horse danced sideways, knocking into another one. In the next instant, several more were rearing, and a big black gelding broke away from the pack, headed straight for the center of the yard. Straight at—

“Jeremy!” Cecelia ran toward the white-faced boy.

“Whoa!” Regan’s shout rose above the thundering hooves.

The runaway swerved. The pony shied. With a cry, Jeremy toppled from the saddle.

“Jeremy, are you all right?” Overlooking the stable yard dust, Cecelia knelt beside the boy and brushed sweaty strands of his hair off his forehead.

He blinked, lower lip trembling. “I…I…” His voice wobbled.

She suppressed an urge to gather him close. Not before she’d determined the extent of his injuries. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

“My…my…” He sat up and rubbed his backside.

Her lips quivered on a smile, as relief flooded her. “I imagine it does.”

“Suspect he had a good scare.” Regan had dispensed with the runaway and approached. “Isn’t a one of us learns to ride without our fair share of falls. And you’ve got one out of the way early.”

“He needs to get back into the saddle.” Good heavens, where had Lind come from? Given his injured leg and his feelings toward the boy, she’d half expected him to remain on the sidelines, aloof as ever. But somehow he’d dropped Judas’s reins, made his way over to Jeremy, and collected the pony in a trice. “It’s the best thing for him.”

He stood over them, the lines of his face settling into something that might have been concern. But that couldn’t be right. Not when Lind preferred to ignore Jeremy as much as possible.

Jeremy scrambled to his feet and dashed his hands over his cheeks. He cast a dubious glance at the pony before staring, wide-eyed, up at Lind. “Did you fall off when you first learned to ride?”

Lind opened his mouth, but a tension settled around his shoulders and his gaze clouded. A tell, if Cecelia had ever seen one. “The first time I got on. I fell so hard, the wind was knocked out of me.”

“But you got back on,” Jeremy persisted. “You weren’t scared.”

Lind paused, long enough for Cecelia to wonder just where he was embroidering the tale. Perhaps some grain of truth lingered at its base. “Terrified,” he said at last. “But I mounted again, and I learned to ride.”

Jeremy gave a firm jerk of his head, and his fists clenched. “I’ll get back on.”

Cecelia reached out. “Are you certain—”

A hand on her shoulder cut her off. “Now’s not the time to coddle him,” Lind said. “He has something to prove.”

Then he stalked off to collect his horse and join the others. Cecelia gaped in his wake, not quite able to fathom what she’d just witnessed, but whatever it was, it gave her hope. Lind was not yet a lost cause.
He needs me as much as Jeremy does.

Which meant if she was to do any good here, she must accept his proposal. It was that or leave. And above everything else, to leave was to admit defeat.

After the lesson, while Regan removed the saddle and bridle from the pony, Cecelia led Jeremy toward one of the flower borders. “We need to have a serious talk.”

“Are…are you going to make me stop having riding lessons? I’m not scared now. Honest.” Heavens, what he wouldn’t do for Lind, or at least Lind’s favorable attention.

“No, this isn’t about the lessons, although I’m happy you’re not scared.” She took a breath. “I cannot continue as your governess.”

He stopped short, and his face fell. In the next instant, a wash of red covered his cheeks. “I
knew
it. Ev-every—” Another pause, and his expression solidified to a mask, all but his lower lip, which poked out and trembled. He crossed his arms. “Goodbye.”

And they were back to one-word replies. “No. I’m sorry. I’ve taken up the subject very badly. I’m not leaving. What I mean to say is, your…” Well, she had to refer to Lind as Jeremy’s father, didn’t she? “Your father has made me an offer of marriage, and I’ve…”

Deciding was one thing, voicing the decision aloud quite another. Once she said the words, they’d be permanent. She might be able to take back her assent to Lind, but Jeremy would never understand. “I’m going to accept his offer. Once I do, I’ll no longer be your governess.”

He cocked his head and eyed her sideways, plainly unable to believe what he was hearing. “Then what will you be?”

“I suppose…” She knelt and brushed the dust from the front of his jacket. “…if you want, that would make me your mama, in a way. Would you like that?”

His smile was a ray of sun breaking through a pall of clouds just before he launched himself into her arms. “Yes.”

“I don’t expect I want to know the real reason behind your change of heart.”

Lind took a sip of his brandy to avoid having to reply immediately. The alcohol burned a path to his stomach, but not as much as Sanford’s question.

Two freshly signed names glistened at the bottom of his marriage settlement. For all Cecelia’s claims that her brother was in financial straits, he’d managed a decent dowry. Not that Lind needed it. At least Cecelia had agreed to his proposal, if conditionally.

“If I’m to accept your offer, I have a stipulation,” she’d said.

“You believe you’re in a position to make demands?” He’d addressed her in as severe a tone as he’d ever turned on any of his troops, but part of him was curious as to what she might require.

Yet another part of him admired the pluck behind her bold reply. “You’re not to eat in front of the staff while they make their reports.”

“It’s efficient.”

“It’s rude.” Then she’d laid a hand on his forearm. “Besides, if you want company during your meals, I’m happy to oblige.”

Minx.
He’d nearly said it aloud.

Bloody hell, the spot where her hand had alighted was still warm. The part of him that admired her spirit could scarcely believe she
had
agreed to this venture, but damn it, she needed his protection. He’d returned from a fruitless search of his estate and the nearby villages to her reply.

He ought to be relieved, but the trouble was he felt more than relief. At her acceptance, a tingle had taken up residence in the general region of his heart, the sensation very much akin to the prickling after one’s leg has fallen asleep. A piece of him he’d buried deep was awakening, stretching, breathing fresh air, and rejoicing in a new day.

And still another part insisted that very feeling was a betrayal to Lydia.

Lind shook off the thought. Sanford was waiting for a reply. “As I recall, this marriage was your idea. Why would you question it at this juncture?”

“Perhaps I ought to be grateful.” Sanford looked like he wanted to say more but instead raised his glass to his lips. “Still, one has to wonder what has changed.”

Damn the insinuation behind Sanford’s tone—even if that insinuation was perfectly true. But one didn’t admit such things to one’s future brother-in-law without risking a dawn appointment. Besides, as local justice of the peace, it was Lind’s responsibility to uphold the law, and dueling was illegal. “Does the name Alistair Eversham mean anything to you?”

Sanford studied the ceiling beams for a moment, no doubt wracking his brains. “No. Should it?”

“As I suspected. I didn’t recall him from our school days, either.”

“Nor our other pursuits when we were younger,” Sanford said tightly. “But what has this got to do with Cecelia?”

“It seems this Eversham is a scoundrel of the highest order, and he ensnared your sister when she was too innocent to realize what she was getting into. He’s surfaced and begun making all manner of baseless accusations. But no matter. In giving Cecelia my name, I take her under my protection.”

“Good God.” Sanford downed his portion of brandy in one go. “My aunt hinted at something scandalous occurring while I was in India, and I never could get more out of her. As for Cecelia…” He placed his empty glass on the desk with a decided thud. “She looked me straight in the eye and said it was nothing.”