The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (37 page)

Jared shot him a look which would make most men head for the nearest door, then jumped up to resume his pacing. "What the devil are they doing up there? It must be hours since they threw us out."

Kevin pulled out his watch and checked the time. "Oh, yes, indeed. Hours and hours. As a matter of fact, dear boy, it has been precisely twenty minutes. You know, it's a jolly good thing I went for the good doctor here, for I think you need him. I say, worthy sawbones, do you have something in your little bag for my friend here? He's acting dashed queer."

"You'd be the same if it were your wife up there," Jared shot back at him.

"Doubt that highly, friend, since I don't have the foggiest wish to put my head in a noose if it means ending like you. You ain't no fun anymore, dash it all. And once you have your heir you'll probably be staying at Storm Haven and building up the estate for the squalling brat. Bloody bore if you ask me."

"Nobody did. Shut up, Kevin, would you? Just shut up."

The sound of Jared's measured pacing was the only one in the room for some time—until a cry was heard from above them. "Amanda!" Jared yelled, and took off up the stairs before Kevin could stop him.

"Let me in! Amanda? Are you all right?" He pounded on the door like a man demented until he heard another cry and realized it must have been the child that he heard. By this time Kevin, Harrow, Tom, Peter, and even the now slightly tipsy doctor had joined him, making a small crowd on the narrow landing. It wasn't too many minutes before a broadly-smiling Lady Chezwick opened the door a crack to stick her head out at the waiting men.

"My wife, Aggie. How is my wife?" Jared managed to get out.

"The little dear is just fine, Nephew. Slightly fatigued of course, but what a fine—no, better than that,
splendid
—job she has done. Simply first-rate. I don't know when I have enjoyed anything more. A real experience it was."

Jared pushed a hand through his already mussed hair. "I'm gratified we could all entertain you, Aunt. Now let me pass through to see Amanda." His relief had made him magnanimous, but not that much. He wanted to see Amanda for himself.

Lady Chezwick blocked the door. "Nanny says we are not receiving yet. We must have all nice and pretty, and then only the doctor may come in."

Shortly Nanny could be heard to call for the doctor, who smiled the smile of the extraordinarily privileged before sliding in through the slight opening Lady Chezwick made for him. Both Jared and Kevin craned their necks for a look inside but Lady Chezwick closed the door heavily in their faces.

"Stubborn old dragon, your aunt," Kevin remarked. "By the way, Jared, what is it?"

Jared dragged a hand across his moist eyes. "What is what?"

"The child, you idiot, the
child
. What is it?"

Jared's face went blank. "I forgot to ask," he said dumbly. "A boy, I suppose."

Kevin shook his head in disgust. "Well if that doesn't beat everything. You get the poor little girl into all this trouble and then don't even bother to find out if you picked a winner. And they call Bo a slowtop. Ha!"

Tom giggled aloud, then howled as Harrow boxed his ears. The three servants withdrew to the landing, where they all congratulated each other as if they were personally responsible for the successful conclusion of the night's events, before turning as one man at a sound from the bedchamber.

The door opened slightly again and Lady Chezwick poked out her head to say, "Be quiet out here, you fools. The doctor can barely hear himself think." She tried to close the door again but Jared stuck his foot in the opening and demanded to be told the sex of his child.

A smile of unholy glee lit Lady Chezwick's tired face. "Which one?" she quipped, and quickly shut the door on Jared's slack-jawed face.

#

A half-hour and two mugs of mead later the new father was finally allowed in to see his family. He tiptoed into the room rather sheepishly and saw Amanda reclining against a great heap of pillows. She was now dressed in a pretty yellow nightgown and a wide lemon-colored ribbon held her black tresses away from her face. If she had been lovely before she was radiant now, and Jared felt near to bursting with love for her.

Belatedly he noticed each of her arms was cradled around a small blanket-wrapped bundle. Jared swallowed heavily and approached the bed. "Mandy?" he whispered.

She smiled warmly at her husband. "How tired you look, dearest. I'm sorry we couldn't be quicker, but with two it takes a bit longer. Do you wish to see your children?"

Jared nodded, not trusting his voice as Amanda uncovered first one and then the other white bundle. Two small heads covered in coal-black fuzz greeted his astonished gaze. He saw two sets of eyes, one set closed and the other open, so he could observe that they were a startling shade of blue.

He saw two sets of little hands, closed into tight fists and looking no bigger than walnuts. "Aren't they both beautiful?" Amanda demanded.

He looked again at the two beet-red faces that reminded him greatly of the aged Archbishop of Canterbury, and tried to show his delight. "Beautiful."

Amanda indicated the child on her left and said, "This one is your son. I think I would like to call him Beau, but we shall spell it like Mr. Brummell does because no one ever calls Bo 'Buford,' and I really think Buford a horrid name anyway."

Jared mutely nodded his agreement. So he had a son! It was the first he knew of it. He looked again into the deep blue eyes and decided that, once the redness was gone, the child might just be handsome. "Beau? Yes, I would like that, and Bo will be most flattered. I wonder if George Brummell will demand to be a godfather, or give us the cut direct for pirating his coveted title. Beau Delaney, Eighth Lord Storm. Very good."

"And this," Amanda was openly preening now, "this is your daughter."

Jared peered down at the sleeping child, but then jumped back as the almond-shaped eyes suddenly opened. As they did so he saw two slate-grey orbs looking up at him—well, almost up at him—as one eye was aimed straight ahead while the other suddenly looked off in quite another direction. "Dear God, what is she doing? "

Amanda laughed and explained that Nanny had told her that many babies did that particular trick until they were awake enough to know they were really alive. "Watch for a moment and they'll straighten again." They did, and Jared breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Nanny says my eyes were gray when I was born. She thinks Anne will be a lot like me."

"Anne?" Jared felt a warmth spreading deep inside him and his voice was thick as he whispered, "A fitting tribute to two dear and beloved friends, and at last a way to make amends for the terrible fright they suffered in our names. Very good, infant. You have tied up all our loose ends quite nicely." He smiled then and held out his hand to stroke his wife's cheek.

"That will be enough of that, young man," came a voice from the doorway. Lady Chezwick bustled into the room with Nanny fairly nipping at her heels, and they each scooped up a tiny bundle and headed for the padded bench under the dormer.

"I've made up some sugar treats for the little ones, Miss Mandy, until you can help us out yourself. Lady Chezwick here and I have been talking, and we've figured out that between the two of us we should be able to handle these two young darlings until we can return to Storm Haven."

Lady Chezwick beamed as she pressed a kiss on Beau's—or was it Anne's?—forehead. "Nanny, I do believe they should have extra blankets. It's a bit chilly in this corner."

"Nonsense, my dear Lady Chezwick, it is perfectly fine in here. I've taken care of more babies than you've had hot dinners, and if I may say..."

Amanda and Jared were no longer listening. Jared had taken the opportunity of having his wife at least partially alone, and had gathered her into his arms for a gentle embrace. For several minutes they were in their own secret world, all cares forgotten, exchanging words of love and other silliness that had nothing to do with the unexceptional behavior expected of conventional parents. Tomorrow was time enough to think of mundane considerations such as transporting his new family to Storm Haven or explaining Amanda's rather bizarre choice of a miller's cottage for her lying-in.

As the heat of the battle now going on over the proper method of swaddling a baby drifted to their ears, Jared whispered to his wife, "You are the cleverest of women, imp. If you hadn't the sense to produce
two
Delaney's, we would have needed the wisdom of Solomon to keep peace in the house."

Amanda just smiled sleepily and kissed her husband on the tip of his aristocratic nose. "I believe you may have had some little bit to do with it, my lord, if my memory serves."

"Impudent puss," Jared teased, "will you never learn to hold your tongue?"

"Never," Amanda replied, as she curled up like a contented kitten for a well-deserved nap.

The Spring Season of 1812 was about to officially begin with the first Wednesday evening gathering of the
haut ton
at Almacks.

Lady Sally Jersey hid a shiver of unladylike delight as she recalled the scandal Lord Storm and his outrageous bride had created in this very room only one short year ago. She thanked her lucky stars, as a respectable a Patroness of the Assembly should do, that there was no possibility of a repetition of any such flagrant impropriety.

Still, her more daring self wickedly reminded her, it certainly would serve to liven things up just a tad. In truth, she was beginning to think the Marchioness of Gurney had silently passed on to her Maker, she had been sitting still as a waxwork or so long; and only the slight undulating movements of the purple two-foot-high ostrich plume stuck in the good woman's turban persuaded the Patroness that the lady still breathed.

There were some absences less lamented by the peeress—the most notable of these being that of the so-encroaching Lady Blanche Wade. That lady had caused a momentary flutter by eloping with a long-time admirer, followed by the couple's precipitant departure for India and the bridegroom's post with the East India Company.

Lady Wade's new mate, charmed by his bride but surely more besotted by the thought of the late Lord Wade's fortune (now sadly depleted, as was known to anyone with even a ha'porth of brains, which the groom evidently did not possess), had probably refrained from divulging to her that he had just days earlier been disinherited by a family tired of his many indiscretions, and so had not two farthings to rub together.

Theirs was a marriage, so said a titillated Society, of equally-deserving parties, and not a few persons voiced the desire to be a fly on the wall when the lovebirds got around to discussing their mutual finances. And it only served to prove, Lady Jersey had said more than once, that there was someone for everyone in this world.

Meanwhile, the perpetrators of Lady Jersey's fondly-remembered
faux pas
, completely unaware of the auspiciousness or perhaps infamy of this anniversary date, were at that same moment busily engaged in bidding their two tiny offspring a fond good night before turning in early themselves, a practice that was fast becoming a most enjoyable habit.

And so it happened that just as Lord Storm and his Lady were entering the huge master apartments at Storm Haven, to indulge in a comfortable coze—and perhaps one or two other less wordy but still highly pleasant diversions—Almacks' musicians were striking up a lively tune that, if nothing more laudatory could be said concerning it, at least served to startle the napping Marchioness from her near-comatose state.

Lady Jersey seized upon this moment to sweep into one of the side card rooms to ferret out any malingering bachelors whom she would bully into standing up with one of the plethora of wallflowers that seemed even thicker on the ground this year than last.

It was too bad for the enterprising Lady Jersey, but this badly-timed exit from the main rooms lost her the opportunity of witnessing Kevin Rawlings, newly-named Earl of Lockport, in the act of allowing a footman to relieve him of his high-crowned ebony silk hat, midnight-blue velvet evening cape (lined with sable, of course), pristine white kid dress gloves, and decorative malacca cane.

Stepping to a nearby enormous gilt mirror to assure himself of the perfection of his appearance, the Earl then lazily sauntered to the fringe of the dance floor, a hunting field he had scorned for the past decade. Ignoring the startled gasps and buzz of whispers that greeted his unexpected presence, and not bothering to hide the expression of pained boredom that marred his otherwise handsome face, he shifted his pale eyes about the room with the air of someone in search of something already out of reach.

But life had a strange way of forcing a man down paths he had sworn never to trod, and the title of earl brought with it, along with its varied benefits, the responsibility of setting up his nursery with the minimum of delay.

He felt as if he were on a hunt for mare's nests—looking for what did not exist—reminding himself yet again that the chances of discovering another jewel as precious as Amanda in the whole of England, let alone within the so-insipid ranks of the
ton
, were less than heartening. Suppressing a self-pitying sigh, he straightened his satin encased shoulders and prepared to set his so-recently titled, wealthy, and therefore highly eligible and sought after self up as fair game for all the husband hunting ladies present tonight. Drat Jared and Bo anyway, deserting their friend in his hour of need!

As Lady Jersey, her eyes alight with unconcealed glee, descended upon the near-to-cringing Earl with this Season's dough-faced Chatsworth debutante in tow, Kevin wondered wildly if the eventual prize, no matter how suitable, could possibly be worth the struggle.

But, alas, that's another story ...

The End

. . .