Pirate's Golden Promise (2 page)

“What a beauty you are, Lady Wynter!” Maddie Larkin clapped her hands in delight at the silver-and-blue vision twirling before her. “You'll be the envy of every lady at your birthday ball tonight, and all the young swains will dote on you.”

Wynter stopped twirling, coming to rest beside the huge four-poster bed with the rose-and-gold coverlet that matched the drapes on the two mullioned windows of her room. She flitted to the golden-edged mirror above the fireplace like a shimmering butterfly in the morning sun and touched her cheeks. “Perhaps I should use some ceruse, Maddie. My cheeks are much too pink.”

“Bah!” Maddie exclaimed. “The good Lord knew what he was doing when he gave you rosy cheeks. You're a bonny-looking girl, and you want to cover yourself with that white paste and look like a ghost. Ceruse may be fine for Lady Lucy who's ashamed of her freckles, but your complexion is like the finest ivory and soft to the touch. A man likes a woman who doesn't hide her natural beauty. Take old Maddie's word on that.”

Wynter couldn't repress a smile at the woman who had been more of a mother to her than her own. Maddie was far from old, probably no more than 35, but the years hadn't been kind to her. Wrinkles gathered around her eyes and mouth, and she was rather plump. Wynter loved her and knew she had her best interests at heart.

If Maddie hadn't been there for her when she was growing up, she'd have had no one to pour out her heart about her mother. Debra seemed to hate her, and though she sensed her father knew this, he ignored the situation. Always when Debra snapped at Wynter, he'd scowl but say nothing. Then off he'd go to the stables and order a horse saddled. It was as if he couldn't tolerate Debra's tongue lashings but couldn't stop them either. Of course, Wynter knew her father loved her very much. He constantly called her “my pet” and on occasion had taken her and Lucy to London with him. He declared he loved both of his daughters equally, but Wynter suspected that she was his favorite child.

Wynter turned from her reflection. “Do you think Lord Somerset will ever propose?”

Maddie shrugged. “Depends on whether he offers you a decent or an indecent one.”

“Why, indecent, of course.” Wynter appeared serious, then burst out laughing at Maddie's dropped jaw. “I'm teasing. I wish to become the bride of Lord Adam Somerset.”

“Just be certain he puts a ring on your finger before he tumbles with you.”

Wynter barely pondered Maddie's remark. She was used to hearing it, but Maddie had asked a question which preyed on her mind for a long time. “Would it be so terrible if I let him bed me first?”

“It would!” Maddie's white cap bobbed. “I know you think you love him, but Lord Somerset has a bad reputation with the gaming tables … and the ladies. He may be your mother's second cousin, and inherited the title from your late grandfather last year, but I say you can do better. You listen to me, girl. The fellow is a bad one.”

“Oh, Maddie, don't be absurd,” Wynter declared, though she wondered if Maddie might be right. Never had the woman steered her wrong before. But Wynter thought she loved the handsome Earl of Somerset. He was quite a good catch. Any woman would be proud to be his wife, and though he had paid court to Lucy twice already, his sly looks told Wynter that she was the one he wanted. Adam intrigued her, because he was the finest-looking and wealthiest man in the Cotswolds, after her father, of course. His reputation as a rogue had preceded him, but Wynter loved a challenge; especially the challenge of bringing the handsome man to heel by making him fall in love with her. She had no experience where men were concerned, just the romantic delusions of a young girl who ached to discover what physical love was all about. However, the yearnings that were only beginning to awaken in her young body frightened her. Adam had never kissed her, and though she longed for him to, she was afraid she wouldn't care for it. Something about Adam distressed her. Perhaps it was the way he surveyed her as if she were his property and would one day be able to do with her as he liked. But like all young girls who know little about love, she dismissed his proprietary looks and concentrated on catching the largest fish in the sea. She wanted Adam as her husband and was bound and determined to have him.

“I promise to wed him first,” Wynter said in an attempt to put Maddie's mind at ease.

Maddie passed a thin hand through her graying hair. “That's good, my lady. Now run along. Your guests are arriving. And have a jolly time. It isn't every day you celebrate your seventeenth birthday.”

“I must see Fletch first. He has a gift for me.”

Wynter pulled on a short, blue velvet cape and raced from the bedroom, nearly knocking down Lucy, who was dressed in an expensive pink gown made of imported Flemish lace.

“Where are you off to?” Lucy asked suspiciously.

“To see Fletch.”

“Goodness, Wynter! He's a servant. Mother will be quite vexed when she learns about it.”

“And I assume you'll be the one to tell her. Well, I don't care if you do.” Wynter shrugged her shoulders.

“If you behaved in a civilized manner and didn't always wander off to carouse with the help, she'd be kinder to you.”

“If I have to act in a certain way to win her acceptance, then I'd rather not have it.” Wynter found her sister's condemning posture not to her liking.

“Then I suppose that's the best you'll get, little sister.”

“I shall accept what is extended to me, Lucy.”

Wynter turned and hurried to the back stairs, then across the yard to the stables. She thought Lucy was a snob and often cruel to Fletcher. He might be a servant, but Fletch was the only true friend she'd ever had. She felt free to race across the fields with him on her father's horses, free to cry in front of him when Debra or Lucy were unkind to her. Both Fletcher and Wynter dreamed of seeing distant places, and they'd talk for hours about how Paris must look, or the Far East. She knew Fletcher wanted more from life than a stable boy's existence, and if anyone could achieve his dream, it was Fletcher Larkin, with steely determination gleaming in his green eyes.

When she entered the stables, Fletcher looked up from the horse he was shoeing. The small wall lantern cast an amber glow across her hair, hair that hung in dark brown ringlets down her back and highlighted the copper strands that intermingled with the brown. Maddie had twined silver and blue ribbons through her curls. The ribbons matched the tight low bodice of the blue velvet gown, shot through with silver threads that peaked into a point at the waist. Long hours had been spent in sewing the matching full sleeves of the gown, caught up with silver clasps and complementing the satin underskirt over which a fine layer of deep blue velvet dusted the floor. Tiny silver-clad feet peeped from beneath the hemline, and Fletcher sucked in his breath at the vision before him.

“Well, Fletcher Larkin, if you don't say anything soon, I shall catch my death in this frigid weather.” Wynter broke her demure pose by placing her hands on her hips and tapping her foot in exasperation.

Fletcher straightened his coat-swathed frame. “You're beautiful. All the men will be begging a dance from you.”

She held out her hands to him, a ready smile lighting her face. “Dance with me, Fletch!”

“What! T'aint no music, and I don't know how to dance.”

“Pooh! We can make our own music and make up our own dance.” She grabbed his arm and twirled under it as she hummed a tune until he burst out laughing and caught her rhythm. Finally they both stopped when laughter convulsed them. “What a sight we must be!” she cried.

Fletcher reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a silver satin ribbon. “My mother helped me pick it out at market last week,” he said. “Happy birthday greetings.”

“How lovely,” Wynter breathed. Impulsively she kissed his cheek and found it felt soft like peach fuzz with that day's growth of hair. Dazzling him with a smile of gratitude, she allowed him to tie the ribbon around her wrist. “I'll treasure it always. Now wish me good luck for I've already made my birthday wish and hope it comes to pass.”

Fletcher didn't have to ask what wish she had made. He knew she had dressed to please Lord Adam Somerset, not him. He wanted to warn her about Somerset, to let her know that more than one servant girl had been heavy with his bastard, but he didn't. Fletch knew his position well. For all their friendship, he and Wynter were not equals.

“Luck to you,” he retorted more sharply than he intended.

Wynter looked wounded. “Fletch, what's wrong?”

“Nothing. Have a grand time tonight.”

When it seemed he had nothing else to say, she started to leave the stables, but he grabbed her arm. “If you ever have need of me, let me know.”

“You're the best friend in the world to me.” Wynter shot him a smile, pleased that he no longer frowned but not realizing how much in love he was with her.

Wynter hurried away from him into the cold of the Cotswold evening. The sun had slipped behind the hills, enclosing the area in a grayish-purple haze. But Wynter halted her hurried gait and stopped a distance from the house, appraising it, almost as one who had never fully appreciated its gray stone beauty. She realized with a start that McChesney Manor, snuggled in the sweeping hills and gazing out at the vast panoramic expanse of greenish-gold fields and grazing sheep, was the most awesome sight she'd ever seen in her life. Not that her life was filled with awe-inspiring sights. Something about the many mullioned windows, blazing with lights and sparkling like gold dust in the dark encroachment of night, nearly moved her to tears.

A lump formed in her throat, and suddenly she understood her father's love for this place. She hadn't fully understood his pride in his ancestors, his home, before now. Always he professed a love for them, and tried to instill this in her. “You're a true McChesney,” he had told her many times. And by God, she was! At that moment, as Wynter gazed at the house, crowned with triangular-shaped pediments on all four sides of its Tudor exterior, she felt a sense of belonging.

The house had been built during the reign of Henry VIII by Sir Neville McChesney to house his wife and three children while he sought the arms of his mistress at court. Despite his indiscretion, his wife insisted that he be buried in the detached chapel some 400 yards from the house. Wynter had grown up hearing tales about the wayward knight of whom she didn't approve, but a sadness overtook her when she thought that one day she would leave McChesney Manor forever.

A huge tear rolled down her cheek. Wynter brushed it aside and ran the rest of the way to the house. When she reached her room, where Maddie waited in a dither, Wynter warmed her hands before the fireplace, then removed her cape.

“You shouldn't have run off for so long,” Maddie scolded her. “Your father has been pacing the hallway, waiting to escort you downstairs.”

“I've looked everywhere for you,” Walter said, pretending displeasure when she met him in the passageway moments later. But his face glowed with love, and Wynter knew he wasn't angry with her.

Hooking her arm through his, she felt the red velvet of his doublet warming her skin. She smiled up into his still handsome face, framed by the curly, black periwig that hid his silver hair. The warmth from his gaze caused her to wonder for the thousandth time how he had come to marry a guarded woman like her mother, who seemed only to show affection for Lucy. Many times Wynter was envious as the two sat conspiratorially together. She possessed her father's love and approval, and this caused her not to miss a mother's affections very much.

“I visited Fletch,” she said and showed him the silver ribbon attached to her slim wrist. “He gave me a birthday remembrance.”

Walter studied her for a moment before speaking. “Fletch is a good enough fellow, but I've grander plans for my daughter than a stable boy.”

“Oh, Papa, Fletch is my friend. I'd never consider him in any other way.”

“Still, you must discourage his gifts to you. My daughter shall marry a wealthy man, a man who will bring honor to our family.”

“Have you picked the man for me, Papa?”

“I have.”

Wynter faltered a bit. Suppose he had chosen some doddering old man for a husband, or someone young and ugly but with a large purse? “Who?” she asked through white lips.

Walter smiled, seeming to enjoy her momentary discomfort which he knew he'd soon end. “Your mother has pined all these years because your grandfather left his assets and home to Lord Somerset. My dream is to attain Somerset House by marriage. The young man has already spoken to me about you, and if you will have him, I will approve the union.”

“Papa!” Wynter squealed, causing guests to lift inquiring eyebrows as they made their way down the oak staircase. “He asked to wed me, truly?”

“He did. I had thought Lucy his choice, but he insists he loves you. I don't believe in thwarting true love, so marry your young man with my blessing, if that is your desire.”

“It is!” Impetuously she kissed his cheek and walked the last remaining steps into the drawing room as if on a cloud. She scanned the many smiling faces but didn't see Adam. Would he never arrive? she wondered, eager to accept his proposal, which she felt sure would be made that night.

Debra walked over to them, a sour expression on her long, pointed face. “Your bodice is scandalously low, miss.”

“This is the fashion, Mother.”

“You like men's eyes upon you. I had thought you might grow up differently, but you're not a whit better than she was. You resemble a trollop!”

“Mother!” Wynter exclaimed, and Walter took Debra's arm in a ropelike grip.

“My dear, you're unwell,” he said smoothly, not wishing to draw attention to them.

“I am not ill,” she ground out through even teeth.