The Reluctant Suitor (9 page)

Eager to solidify her lifelong companion as a member of the Wyndham family any way she could, Samantha seized upon the tenuous situation to make her brother aware that Adriana was not only desired by scores of aristocrats but also by ordinary men who struggled against the futility of their aspirations. As much as her friend would’ve dismissed such a suggestion, Samantha had long perceived that Roger was desperate to have her any way he could.

“I fear once again I’ve failed to introduce you to another one of our guests, Colton. Mr. Roger Elston, to be precise.” She took a moment to take care of that formality, and then went on to explain, “Mr. Elston has been acquainted with Adriana for almost a year now. He accompanies us fairly frequently on our rides about the countryside. Under Adriana’s tutorship, he has become an accomplished equestrian, which definitely leaves me feeling ill-suited for a saddle. Fairly soon now, Mr. Elston will be finishing his apprenticeship and will then be assuming the management of his father’s woolen mill, the one that once belonged to Mr. Winter.”

“Mr. Winter?” Colton repeated, unable to recall the name. His irritation with the apprentice still nettled him, and although the muscles in his face felt as rigid as unseasoned leather, he struggled to convey an aplomb that was at best hard won. He flicked his brows upward in an abbreviated shrug. “I’m sorry, I have no recollection of a Mr. Winter from my boyhood days here.”

“Thomas Winter. Years ago, he owned that large mill just beyond the outskirts of Bradford. You probably passed it often, but had no reason to notice it in your youth. Mr. Winter never had any

offspring, and after being widowed, he kept to himself until, about four or five years ago, he wed a very pleasant woman from London. Upon his death some months later, his widow inherited everything. She, in turn, married Edmund Elston, Roger’s father. Poor thing, she took ill not long after that and died. That’s when Mr. Elston became sole proprietor and summoned Roger to Bradford to learn the trade.”

In spite of the brewing abhorrence he had felt toward the man earlier, Colton stretched forth a hand in an offer of goodwill, primarily for the benefit of Adriana and the other guests. “Welcome to Randwulf Manor, Mr. Elston.”

Having nurtured a festering resentment for this particular nobleman well before their introduction, Roger was as unwilling to accept the proffered hand as the man had been reluctant to extend it, but in so doing, he suffered a measurable shock as the long fingers closed about his own hand. They were leaner, stronger, and far more callused than he would have ever supposed of a nobleman. No doubt the wielding of a sword required a firm grip even from a pampered aristocrat.

“Waterloo was an enormous victory for Wellington,” Roger stated stiltedly, eager to convey his knowledge of that event. “Any officer would’ve deemed it a privilege to serve under his leadership.”

“Aye, Mr. Elston,” Colton agreed, just as rigidly. “But let us not forget the contributions of General von Blücher. Without him, ‘tis doubtful the English would’ve fared as well. Together the two men, with their armies, proved a force Napoleon could not long withstand.”

“In spite of what you say, had Wellington been solely in charge, I’m willing to wager the French would’ve been no match for our forces,” Roger boasted.

Colton cocked a querying brow, wondering if the apprentice was deliberately trying to antagonize him

. . . again. Still, he was curious to know how the fellow had arrived at his conclusions. “Excuse me, sir, but were you there to witness our confrontations?”

Roger chose to avoid the marquess’s pointed stare and flicked his fingers across his sleeve, as if to dislodge a tiny fleck from the cloth. “If not for a recurring and ofttimes debilitating malady I’ve suffered since my youth, I would’ve willingly volunteered my services. Indeed, I would’ve enjoyed killing a few of those frogs.”

Colton’s face clouded as he thought of the terrible waste of men’s lives that had taken place, not only at Waterloo, but on other battlefields he had traversed. “ ‘Twas a bloody campaign for everyone,” he stated ruefully. “To my regret, I lost many friends during the course of our struggles against Napoleon.

Considering the legions of French killed at Waterloo, I can only sympathize with the untold numbers of parents, wives, and children left grieving and destitute. ‘Tis unfortunate indeed that wars must be fought because of the ambition of one man.”

Adriana studied the handsome face of the one to whom she had been promised years ago and saw a sadness in the dark gray eyes that had not been there in his youth, making her wonder if his goals had changed much since that memorable day of his departure. It seemed as if a century had passed since she had overheard his vehement protests. Had the agreement met with his approval, they would have been wed soon after her seventeenth birthday, but the idea of that proposal had set him at odds with his father, so much so that he had left home. She really had no wish to be around when he learned that Lord Sedgwick had carried through with his plans and signed documents committing his son to a term of courtship prior to a formal betrothal actually being initiated. If her ears had burned red hot from Colton’s first diatribe, then surely, this time, they’d be singed black from his explosive anger.

“The English were bound to win,” Roger declared loftily, touching a pinch of snuff to his nose, an affectation he had recently acquired in his efforts to emulate wellborn dandies. Yet, as much as he had

thought the practice widespread, he was just beginning to suspect that none of the men presently occupying the great room cared for the habit, for he usually educed an amused smile or two whenever he went through the process of using it. Struggling hard to maintain a dignified mien in spite of an encroaching urge to sneeze, he snapped the small, enameled box shut and forcefully pressed a handkerchief to his left nostril where the sensation was more pronounced. Gaining some relief, he sniffed and, with watery, reddened eyes, offered a succinct smile to the other man. “As they say, my lord, right shall always prevail.”

“I’d like nothing better than to know for certain that that premise would always be the case, Mr. Elston, but I’m afraid it isn’t,” Colton rejoined soberly. “As for the English, I cannot declare with any degree of truth that we’re always right.”

Roger was taken aback. He had never traveled beyond the shores of England, and had been led to believe that all foreign powers were not only inferior but contemptible in comparison. “I say, my lord, that

’s rather unpatriotic of you to doubt our country’s integrity. After all, we’re the greatest nation in the world.”

Smiling rather sadly, Colton offered some insight into observations he had made during his career as an officer. “Far too many Englishmen trusted in the logic that right would prevail, but they were buried where they and their men fell. I know, because a number of them were close acquaintances of mine, and I helped bury them.”

Roger cocked a quizzical brow at the man. For nigh on to a year now, he had repeatedly been subjected to tales of Colton Wyndham’s daring exploits on the battlefield. Although envious of such fame, he had admired the nobleman, yet some months ago genuine hatred for the man had taken deep root when he had learned that the beautiful Adriana had been selected by the late Lord Sedgwick to become the wife of the very one who stood before him now. The inevitability of their meeting had solidified Roger’s aversion well before he had ever laid eyes on the one who would claim the marquessate. After hearing the man voice such feeble inanities, he felt justified for having come to despise him. Colonel Lord Colton may have been considered a hero by the standards of many, but Roger had formed his own opinions as to what made one a champion among men, and it was his belief that his lordship fell far short of that sterling crusader who rode his charger into the thickest of frays and, sparing no quarter, wet his sword time and again with the blood of the enemy.

Curling his lip sardonically, Roger dared to present an inquiry in tones not altogether respectful. “And what fine logic did you take into battle, my lord?”

Unable to ignore what had every element of being a disparaging challenge, Colton made a point of elevating his brow to a skeptical level. Considering the fact the apprentice was more than half a head shorter and probably lighter by as much as two or three stone, he decided the fellow was as impetuous as he was impudent. Or perhaps the little pip had foolishly concluded he was an invalid merely because he required the assistance of a cane.

“Simply put, Mr. Elston, it was either kill or be killed. I trained my men to be ruthless in the midst of our many confrontations with the enemy. It was the only way they were going to stay alive. I, myself, fought with desperation, not only to preserve my life, and the lives of my men, but to defeat the foes of my country. By some strange miracle, I survived, as did most of my regiment, but after considering the bloody aftermath and the staggering number of soldiers lying dead upon the battlefields we trod, my men and I were simply grateful to have fallen under God’s mercy.”

“Come, you two,” Samantha chided, sensing Colton’s growing animosity toward their guest. Perhaps she had misjudged the depth of Roger’s resolve to have Adriana for his own, for he seemed unable to hide

his frustration with the situation in which he found himself. Slipping an arm through her brother’s, she gave it an affectionate squeeze in an attempt to soothe his vexation. “This talk of war and killing will soon bring the brumes of gloom down upon us if you do not soon desist.”

Though still struggling to curb his annoyance, Colton managed a wane smile of reassurance for his sister.

“I’m afraid the war has left its mark on me, my dear. If ever I had a talent for being an entertaining conversationalist, I fear that is no longer the case. I have lived, breathed, and talked of war for so many years that my dialogue has been sharply limited to my experiences. If anything, I’ve become something of a bore.”

“Doubtful,” Samantha countered with a fond chuckle. She had never known her brother to be anything but fascinating. But then, she had to admit she was naturally biased in his favor.

Having witnessed for himself the fire that could light the gray eyes of his host, Roger retreated a discreet distance behind Adriana, having no wish to provoke her by yet another display of jealousy. As persistently as he had tried to establish some claim upon her, he had come to realize underneath that outer layer of softly refined femininity, the lady had a temper that could set him back upon his heels. To rile her again would be complete folly, for she’d likely exile him henceforth from her presence.

Felicity was thankful when manly tempers began to cool, since the easement of tensions allowed her to reclaim the attention of the marquess. She did so, demonstrating a congeniality she hoped would be in marked contrast to Lady Adriana’s rejection of his request for casual addresses, which the man seemed prone to ignore anyway. “My lord, I would deem it a privilege if you’d dispense with the formality and merely call me Felicity.”

Adriana couldn’t resist a surreptitious glance toward the pair. The blonde’s invitation brought back her own rejection of Colton’s plea to use her given name and had been so winsomely requested that she couldn’t imagine
any
man refusing, much less one who, until recently, had been sequestered in the lonely, far-flung camps of the soldiers.

“Miss Felicity,” Colton responded, salting his response with proper formality and a fair measure of his usual persuasive charm as he bestowed a winning smile upon the fair-haired beauty. “However sweet your given name, Miss Felicity, ‘twould seem that Fairchild is far more appropriate, considering how winsome you are to look upon.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, my lord.” Although other young women might have been tempted to gush with pleasure, Felicity smiled demurely as she cast her darkly lashed eyes downward to good advantage.

Endless hours of practice in front of a silvered glass had helped her to perfect a variety of facial expressions. With diligent dedication she had cultivated her manners and nurtured her looks, all with the hope of attracting a titled lord who’d take her to wife, an idea instilled within her by her sire in spite of her mother’s efforts to keep her offspring’s feet firmly on the ground instead of the lofty clouds wherein she was wont to dally in endless daydreams.

Still,
Miss
Felicity was not
quite
the appellation she had desired from his lordship. Something a little more intimate would’ve been her preference since he seemed to use Adriana’s name with casual ease. Just the same, she smiled at the inroads she had thus far made. Of course, she would
now
be required to extend a similar invitation to the two women or chance evoking suppositions that she was throwing herself at the nobleman.

Turning a smile upon Samantha, she spoke with well-contrived humility. “I’m overwhelmed by the kindness you and Lady Sutton have bestowed upon me, Lady Burke. Nothing I can offer could come close to comparing. Just be confident that I’m grateful for your gracious benevolence toward me and

would be pleased if you’d both consider using my given name as well.”

Cognizant of the earlier exchange between her brother and Adriana, Samantha deemed it prudent to answer for her friend as well as for herself. “Lady Adriana and I would be delighted to forego the formality, Miss Felicity. Please, kindly do the same.”

“Thank you, Lady Samantha.” Felicity dipped into a curtsey, mentally congratulating herself. Having grown up entirely in London, she was even more of a stranger to the area and its habitants than Roger Elston, but the warmly sincere geniality of Lady Adriana and Lady Samantha had worked to her advantage when, barely a week ago, the pair had accompanied their mothers on a visit to the bedside of her ailing grandfather, bringing with them a delectable broth, scrumptious pastries, and medicinal herbs purportedly of rare quality. The gifts had been their tribute to Samuel Gladstone, who, over the years, had become not only a wealthy miller but a well-respected patriarch among the citizenry of Bradford on Avon. Proving themselves gracious and warmly congenial young women, Samantha and Adriana had talked glowingly about the area and the people living in it and then had lent sympathetic attention to her diffident complaints about feeling lonely and very much a stranger. That was when the pair had insisted she accompany them on their equestrian outing. If not for her ploy, Felicity knew her chances of visiting Randwulf Manor or, more farfetched, being invited to join aristocrats at their leisure would have been nil.