The Brigadier's Runaway Bride (Dukes of War Book 5) (7 page)

“Mother, has it ever occurred to you that grown, married men might not
wish
to live in their parents’ house?” Bartholomew asked as he trailed her toward the dining room.

“What a foolish thing to think. Only you would say something so inane. Of course children wish to live close to their parents. Why wouldn’t they? If for some reason you prefer privacy over your own parents, young man, there’s no need to go gallivanting all over England to find it. There are no less than half a dozen perfectly suitable homes right here in Maidstone available for purchase or to let. A mile or two is more than far enough to live from one’s family. Don’t you think so, Edmund?”

He opened his mouth.

She waved his words away. “Of course you do. You’re the sensible one. When Bartholomew goes on holiday with his ‘crusading’ wife, you’ll stay right here with us where you belong. Hear me, Bartholomew? Your brother
wants
to stay home. Bachelor men aren’t nearly as persnickety as you married men are.”

Edmund cleared his throat. “As the fates would have it, Mother, I won’t be a bachelor for much longer. Miss Sarah Fairfax and I are to be married.”

“Are you?” His mother clasped her hands together and looked perilously close to swooning anew. “That’s wonderful! You’ll stay here for the length of your engagement—How long are you thinking? Two months? Three?—and that lovely girl can stop by every single week so that I can help her plan the festivities. A June wedding means hydrangea and peonies, I should say, and perhaps a snapdragon or two to help balance the color. Oh, what fun this shall be to plan!”

Edmund glanced at his brother, who simply held up his hands and took a less-than-subtle step back. Bartholomew was here as supporting troops, but Edmund would need to lead the charge.

“Actually…” He cleared his throat. He was just going to have to say it. “I’m afraid it won’t be a long engagement. Sarah is… in a family way, and we must perform the ceremony as soon as possible. The babe will be born within a fortnight.”

His father stared at him. “
When
did you say you got back?”

Edmund was saved from awkward explanations by his mother fainting directly into her husband’s arms.

“Why didn’t she tell us?” his mother wailed from her semi-prone position. “I have been a grandmother for
months
and hadn’t the least idea. How will I ever forgive her?”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Edmund snapped, belatedly realizing the depths of the predicament Sarah had found herself in. “You know as well as I that an unmarried woman cannot be seen to be with child if she ever wishes to present her face to Society again. Worse, she thought I was dead. By confessing her situation to you—or to anyone—she would have destroyed any opportunity to save the baby’s fate.”

His mother wiggled free from her husband’s arms. “But when would you have—”

“Bruges,” he answered. “Just before Waterloo. She joined me for my last day of leave.”

His father arched a brow.

Edmund colored. “During her stay, I asked her to marry me and she acquiesced. I regret that my actions caused her to suffer. My feelings have not changed, but the war disrupted our timeline.”

Disrupted it so badly that Sarah was forced to the altar within scant weeks of her expected delivery. She could not have waited any longer, he realized. She was out of choices and out of time.

“In that case, of course the two of you will live here,” his mother said briskly, her eyes softening. “Trying to avoid scandal in London is like trying to avoid heat in the summertime. Bring her here at once. She’ll feel right at home. We’ll be two peas in a pod, planning a wedding and a christening. Why, I’m happy to set up a nursery in any room that she wants. The chamber between hers and mine will do nicely. I’ve got nothing else to do. I’ll be the most helpful, loving, and attentive grandmother you lovebirds could ever dream of!”

Edmund stared at his well-meaning mother in growing dismay. It was good to be home, but allowing his mother to smother his bride with unceasing attentions was the last thing they needed. The
first
thing they needed was the privacy—and the time—to get to know each other again.

Correction: the first step in the battle was to get married.

Chapter 6

Within hours of having returned from his visit to his parents, Edmund had given enough orders and commissioned enough supplies to feel like the general of an army.
 

His townhouse (long live Bartholomew!) would be the base for Operation Wife and Baby. There wasn’t quite enough money to employ more than a skeletal crew of servants, but how much trouble could a tiny infant be?
 

Once a few investments paid off, they could hire governesses or nannies or wet nurses or whatever the baby needed. Until then, Edmund and Sarah would simply have to be battalion leaders. A team. A solid, united front against the world.
 

Or at least against soiled nappies.

Bearing a folded parchment on a silver tray, Edmund’s manservant entered what had once been Edmund’s study and was now a makeshift nursery. A cradle would arrive within the week, as would a beggaring amount of linens and white cotton baby gowns and suitable toys. And a pair of rocking chairs had been commissioned to match the cradle.

The housekeeper had suggested most of the items, for which Edmund was deeply grateful. He knew nothing about being a husband and even less about being a father to a small child. His own past gave no insight. He and his brother had been nearly eight years old before they could finally slip out from under their mother’s watchful eye to engage in manly pursuits with their father. Hunting. Fishing. Boxing.

Those things would come later. The first year would be the hardest. Or perhaps the most dull. When did babies begin talking and playing? When they were two years of age? Three? Perhaps that was why he and his twin hadn’t engaged their father’s interest until they were much older. They had been boring.

No matter. Even if his child was nothing more than a pretty little doll at first, he would not abandon Sarah to do the rearing herself. Nor should she have to. His fists clenched. If he had more money, she wouldn’t have had to lift a finger—most gentlewomen had little reason to interact with their offspring.
 

But Sarah was not most gentlewomen and Edmund was not a gentleman at all. If he were, he wouldn’t have taken her innocence and left her with child. Nor would he have stolen her out from the arms of a duke, or forced her to live in renovated bachelor apartments while he made rash investments in hopes of a large windfall.

He didn’t wish Sarah to have a comfortable existence. He wished her to have a marvelous one. He wanted to surround her with riches and luxury and pleasure. She had given up her chance at being a duchess… for him. The least he could do was treat her like one.

Edmund had just finished dragging the boxes of old ledgers from his study into the cubby beneath the stairwell when he recalled both the presence of his footman—who would have been more than happy to do the heavy lifting himself—and the missive upon his platter.

Cheeks burning, Edmund snatched the letter up from the tray and tried to feign as though it were not strange at all for him to have automatically thrown himself into servants’ work.
 

Edmund sighed. He would be gossip fodder by nightfall.

When he’d left for war, he doubted he’d ever wondered where items were stored when they were not in use, much less have been aware of the existence of storage areas beneath staircases. Or the best way to lift a heavy crate so that one’s back did not spasm with agony upon the morrow.

He would not think of the past, Edmund reminded himself as he inspected the letter. He would think only of Sarah. And… Ravenwood? Edmund broke the familiar seal and began to read.

Blackpool,

Come to Ravenwood House at once. Urgent matter requires your immediate presence.

Dress nicely.

Ravenwood

Edmund reread the contents a second time before he was certain he’d understood it correctly. When had the letter been delivered? He glanced at the clock upon the mantel. Perhaps a half hour past? If he hadn’t been so busy doing footmen’s work, Edmund could already
be
at Ravenwood House.

Jaw clenched, he strode into his bedchamber to make himself as presentable as possible. Surprisingly, his coxcomb brother had not thought a valet to be an essential part of Edmund’s staff. He had a footman, a cook, and a housekeeper, but no one to tell him whether the waistcoats he’d purchased four years ago were still at the height of fashion—or likely to make him a laughingstock.

There was no time to worry about such things, nor did they warrant his attention. He had decided toward the beginning of the war that anything that wouldn’t matter in a month’s time didn’t deserve to matter at all. That pragmatism had gotten him through the worst of it.

An unfashionable waistcoat was the least of his concerns.

He cleaned and dressed as quickly as he could before descending to the street to flag a hack. Bartholomew had in fact continued paying for the upkeep of Edmund’s old horses, but this morning Edmund had sold everything and split the profit with his brother.
 

Someday, he and Sarah would have the finest steeds and finest carriages in all of London. For the next few months, however, they were unlikely to leave the nursery. That savings was better spent in investments that could double or triple in value over time.

He hoped.

The moment the hack dropped him off at Ravenwood House, the butler was already opening the door to grant him entrance.

Edmund frowned, but did not slow his pace. He assumed the staff would be less than pleased with his interruption of the duke’s plans to take a wife, but they were doing a masterful job at keeping their expressions clear of rancor or judgment.

A footman led Edmund not toward Ravenwood’s study, but toward the billiard room. Rather, toward the back parlor where the duke had tried to wed Edmund’s bride.

His heart quickened as he entered the room. The same people were present. Sarah and Ravenwood, at the altar. The vicar. Edmund’s own brother—this time accompanied by his wife Daphne and… Sarah’s elder brother Anthony?

“What is this?” Edmund demanded, his voice hoarse with fear and fury.

Ravenwood stepped forward. “You’re getting married. I apologize, but there wasn’t enough time to summon your parents up from Kent for the ceremony. The vicar must leave for Derby within the hour, and I know you wish to take care of this matter promptly.”

Edmund blinked, then swung his baffled gaze to Sarah.
 

“He used his influence to have your request for a special license granted,” she murmured low enough so only he could hear. “Considering this vicar witnessed what happened last time… He thought it best to involve the least number of persons as possible.”

Ravenwood
thought it best. Edmund’s teeth clenched behind his frigid smile. He forced his tight muscles to relax.
 

Would it matter a month from now who had helped procure the special license, and how? No, it would not. All that mattered was Sarah. Miraculously, she would be his, at last.

“You may take your seat,” he couldn’t resist ordering Ravenwood, before turning to the vicar. “Please begin as soon as you’re ready.”

The vicar nodded.

Edmund took Sarah’s hands and didn’t let go.
 

She was beautiful. Her eyes were tired and her limbs had swollen and her stomach was large enough to birth a baby elephant…
His
baby elephant. There was nowhere else he’d rather be than by her side, holding her hands in his.

It didn’t matter whether either one of them was ready to marry or to start a family. That was what they’d been given. What they had wanted. If not like this.

The vicar turned to Edmund. “Have you a ring for your bride?”

Sarah’s fingers flinched and grew cold in Edmund’s hands. The room fell silent.

Ravenwood leapt up from his seat. “You are welcome to use the—”

“I have a ring,” Edmund said quietly.
 

He released Sarah’s hands just long enough to reach into his waistcoat pocket and pull out the ring he had purchased in Bruges after Sarah had boarded her passenger ship back to England.