The Lord’s Blooming Wallflower (Preview)

Chapter One

The estate had seen better days, and Nathaniel was acutely aware of it. He stood on the rugged green lawn watching the sea in the distance, crashing up against the rocks far below him. The house was at his back, for he did not like to look at the peeling paint and scattered shuttered windows.

It was a stark reminder of his failings as a duke, as the head of a household and manager of an estate. The disrepair that his house hung in, the overgrown meadows and dilapidated cottages on the outlying lands, all of it was shameful, yet there was little he had managed to do about any of it, despite his trying.

There was simply no money left, and so Nathaniel tried to push it all out of his mind a few times a day, just watching the sea from his lofty vantage point atop the cliffs of Cornwall.

“Your Grace!” he heard one of his footmen calling out to him from behind, his voice cutting over the strong seaside wind.

Nathaniel turned slowly, raising a skeptical eyebrow as the wind tugged at his loose locks of hair.

“What is it, Thomas?” he called back.

“Lady Fenmore is calling for you, Your Grace,” Thomas said, catching his breath a little after calling out over the high winds.

“Yes,” Nathaniel said with a drawn-out sigh. “I suspected as much. Tell her I am right along, then.”

Thomas nodded, squinting through the coastal wind, and turned back to the house. Nathaniel watched him go for a moment, then looked back to the sea. The water churned and stormed against the broken coastline, frothing between the smooth, worn rocks.

“So be it,” he muttered to himself. “Let us get this over with.”

Nathaniel let out another long breath, savoring the salt air for one minute longer, then turned and begrudgingly began marching back towards the house.

His aunt was waiting for him on the front steps, fidgeting with her closed parasol. Augusta Fenmore was a middle-aged women with taught cheeks and sharp eyes, but carried a youthful ambience around her shoulders like a shawl.

“There you are!” she called out, waving him over. “Whatever took you so long?”

“I was just watching the sea,” Nathaniel replied, meandering over to the bottom of the steps.

“That is not an answer,” she scoffed.

“How do you mean?” he asked with a wry smile. “You asked, I answered.”

“Oh, enough out of you,” she said with a dismissive wave. “You have kept our coach waiting.”

“Have I?” Nathaniel said, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Forgive me, then.”

Augusta smirked at his dry humor. “Save your wit for society,” she said. “It is wasted on me.”

“As you say,” Nathaniel said, smiling. The coach rolled around from the nearby carriage house, and he looked up at the horses that trotted down the lane. They were there to take him to London, and while he dreaded it, he was resigned to the inevitability of the journey.

“You ought to smile more,” Augusta said. “It suits you.”

“Does it?” he remarked, cocking his head. “I shall try to remember that.”

“Now you go too far,” Augusta scolded lightly. “Come, help me up.”

Nathaniel took her hand and helped her ascend the short steps of the coach, and they settled into the cushioned interior, opening the curtains so that they might catch another passing glimpse of the sea before the road cut into England’s interior. Nathaniel knocked on the ceiling to signal the driver, and they began their departure.

As they rolled down the lengthy estate lane, Nathaniel watched his grand old house growing smaller on the horizon. From a distance, it didn’t look so bad; the repairs needed and overgrown grounds were barely visible. It looked instead like the thing he imagined it to be – a grand symbol of his noble house – instead of what it was; an aging manor in a state of disarray that lacked the funds for repair.

“I am proud of you, you know,” Augusta said, peering up at him over the top of her knitting needles. “It is a good thing to face one’s duty, especially with your head held high.”

“I am courting purses,” Nathaniel said with a frown. “It does not feel like a just cause.”

“Come now, everyone is courting purses,” Augusta said. “That is simply the way of things.”

“Yes, but few need it as badly as I,” he grumbled. “It feels desperate.”

“We are desperate,” Augusta said flatly. “Your father’s coffers are empty.”

“People will see through me,” he said with a shake of his head. “How can I make a serious offer?”

“You are charming and handsome,” Augusta said, “That is more than most of these women will get, that alone is enough.”

“Handsome, at least,” he joked, unable to resist a slight smile. “The charm has yet to be proven.”

“Come now, you mustn’t be so dreary,” Augusta said, dropping her knitting into her lap. “We are allowed to have fun on this little venture, you know.”

“Fun?” he laughed.

“We are off to London to find you a wife,” Augusta began. “A rich wife at that.” Nathaniel chuckled at her. “It will be all parties and balls and beautiful women, surely you can see the fun in that. Imagine the fine wine and the food, at the very least. Dinner parties upon dinner parties. And the music!”

“Yes,” he said, his laughter subsiding. “I suppose there is a thing or two I can look forward to.”

“The music, dear,” Augusta repeated emphatically. “And the wine!”

“You make your point well,” he said, grinning. “And to think, at one time, I imagined I would marry for love!”

They both burst out into laughter as the house slipped behind the top of the hill behind them. They were good friends, all told, sharing a sense of humor and social awareness. Throughout the years, they had learned they had to laugh, otherwise the strain of the estate was almost too much to bear.

“Better me than Clara,” he said softly, their laughter finally dying out. He would do anything for his sister, and if he married for family wealth, she wouldn’t have to.

“You are a good man, Nathaniel,” she said, matching his tone. “But she is still young, even if we could find a good match for her, it will be too late, we will be flat broke. So don’t dwell on that business too much.”

She was trying to cheer him up, but he had slipped into the realm of serious thought, from where it was often difficult for him to climb back out of. The weight of his responsibility was immense; the ultimate ruin of his family estate was at risk, and he took that incredibly seriously. Losing the house and the grounds forever was not an option he was capable of, so he would do what he had to, on that matter he had already made up his mind.

But London was daunting. It had been a while since he had frequented the social scene, and a part of him dreaded all the talking and pretending to be cheerful. He knew he was charming enough to talk his way through anything, but he begrudged the whole endeavor, for he knew everyone else was doing the same thing. They would play nice to one’s face, then snicker about them behind their back, and he knew that his family’s financial status would surely be at the center of some of that snickering.

Though, Augusta was right; it wasn’t going to be all bad. The food and the wine were certainly a selling point, and the music wouldn’t hurt anything. The grand estates and ballrooms he could live without, as he did not look forward to inevitably comparing them to his own crumbling home. Still, that was something he could survive. Perhaps he would see some fresh art; he liked the idea of that.

It took them most of the day to reach the outskirts of the city, and when they finally crested a rise that afforded them a view, Nathaniel leaned over to look at the skyline.

The city was a massive sprawl, lit up in the glittering sunset from the west. The chimneys churned out endless trails of smoke, blowing out towards the sea down the river. He noted that the buildings seemed shorter than he remembered, but they still towered over the landscape.

“Here we are,” he muttered. “Let us see what the city has cooked up for us.”

“They have prepared stuffed pheasants, I believe,” Augusta said.

“Pardon?” Nathaniel shot her a quizzical look.

“Tonight,” she said. “We’re having a party.”

“Tonight?” Nathaniel balked. “We are travel worn! We will certainly be late.”

“We have time, but that would not necessarily be a bad thing,” she said slyly. “It adds to your mysterious reputation.”

“I am mysterious?” he laughed back.

“Why not?” she answered.

“What am I to do?” he asked lightly, shaking his head. “You have everything arranged, I suppose?”

“Of course,” she said flippantly.

“As I feared,” he mumbled, leaning back against his seat as the carriage bounced and jostled over the rough London road. “We ought to sell our lodgings in London, it is worth a good bit of money.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chuckled. “How else would we throw a good London party?”

“Ridiculous,” he chuckled. “Of course.”

Chapter Two

Amelia sat opposite her sister in their coach, her posture poised as correctly as it could possibly be against the rough and tumbling of the worn, cracked cobblestones. She was an average woman in many respects, with brown hair and like eyes, standing at a typical height with a small nose and a casual resting smile.

But when seated beside her sister Sofia, she was always second rate. Sofia had everything that ladies wished they had, at least around that time of year. She was outgoing, blonde, and beautiful, with busting features that her gown did little to hide. While any proper lady would have professed a thinner frame more appealing, the men circling her orbit seemed to pay that opinion little attention.

That evening she was all smiles and flutters as they rode towards their destination, and Amelia tried her best not to bring the mood down, but her contemplative face was not doing a good job of covering her lack of excitement.

“You ought to smile, girl,” their mother interjected with a light jab. Catherine was a classically sensible lady of her time, done up in her finest outing garments with jewels to match. Her older face carried years of wisdom and social banter, but her tone was sharp and prodding. “You do want to impress these men, don’t you?”

“Of course, mother,” Amelia said dryly, folding her hands in her lap.

“I only ask because sometimes I am not convinced,” Catherine said with an exasperated sigh.

“And he is a lord in Cornwall?” Sofia asked with large, pondering eyes, ignoring the snipes between her sister and mother. “This Fenmore?”

“They say he has money troubles,” Catherine went on. “So do not get yourself too excited.”

“But he has land,” Sofia went on, trying to do the make-believe math in her head.

“Yes, dear, lots of land,” Catherine said. “Handsome though, I have heard.”

“Handsome with money problems,” Amelia remarked. “Why is it that the old ugly ones seem to always have all the wealth?”

“Enough of that talk!” Catherine snapped. “Where have your manners gone?”

“It was only a joke,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes.

“Handsome is more important,” Sofia mused, ignoring their squabble. “They can always make more money, right? They cannot grow less ugly.”

“Whatever have you two been reading,” Catherine lamented, tossing up her hands. “I shall never find you a good match if you keep this up.”

“That would be well enough with me,” Amelia thought aloud, and Catherine let out another huff.

“I am not concerned,” Sofia said, looking back towards the window. “At the very least I shall get to dance with someone handsome.”

“It is a dinner party, not a ball,” Amelia said, and Sofia looked briefly confused.

“Won’t we dance after dinner?”

“Not always,” Catherine begrudgingly agreed with Amelia.

“Oh,” Sofia said, her face falling. She knew full well that dancing was one of her strongest points, and she always looked forward to dazzling the crowd.

“You will still impress, no doubt,” Amelia said, and though her comment was rooted in sarcasm, her sister did not pick up on it.

“Stop it,” Catherine said, not as oblivious as her daughter. “Are you so determined to be a bore?”

“I am not determined to be much of anything at all,” Amelia replied. “Save myself.”

“Well, you ought to work on yourself, dear,” Catherine said, rolling her eyes. It was a typical sparing match between them, with the beautiful and oblivious Sofia standing by. “For this current version lacks attraction.”

“As you say,” Amelia said, turning away from her mother. Her energy for the fight had run its course, and she retreated to her tiny corner of the coach for the remainder of the ride.

Catherine was telling Sofia about the young lords coming to London that year, laying out her slate of prospects. They were Amelia’s prospects as well, but she could not be bothered to care. Their eyes were unlikely to even make it past Sofia’s dreamlike frame, so what chance did she have of winning any of them over? Did she even want to find a husband?

She had not entirely decided the answer to that question. Images flickered through her mind from time to time of a happy future. She could imagine a man, a family, children, but they were always obscured by some veil of self doubt and sadness. What she wanted was love, and the idea of everything else without that was dreadful.

Her mind wandered back to her youth – though at present she was by no means old – when things were simpler. When she had frolicked about town and rolled in the grass with a village boy named Oliver, and savored every second with him. He was long gone now, off somewhere or another, and they had grown apart, but it was the feeling of that spark they had, that was what she missed, and that was what she craved. Perhaps one day she could feel it again, though she feared it was unlikely.

The coach gave a sudden jolt as they rounded a particularly rough patch of road and turned the corner onto their desired lane. The park and the tower could be seen to one side, while towering noble lodgings dominated the other. It was the center of social influence for the year, the concentration of nobility and wealth flocking to London for the season’s festivities.

Already she could see hats and fine clothes adorning the street goers, as people began to arrive at their evening event of choice, and she felt a small pang of anxiety. It was the same carousel that they rode every year since her father had passed, and every year they took that ride she felt a bit further away from everyone else, ever receding into her younger sister’s shadow.

“We have arrived,” Catherine said, peering up out of her window at the front steps of the Fenmore’s London house.

“So, we have,” Amelia murmured, and she braced herself for the first of many evenings that season that she would have to put on a nice face and play her part. That she could do, even if she disliked it.

Chapter Three

Nathaniel watched as they rolled onto their street and took note of all the people out and about on that fine London evening. It was busy, busy as usual perhaps, but it was a sharp change from the serene seaside setting they had left that morning.

“They are not all coming to our house, are they?” he asked hesitantly as they drew ever closer to their front door.

“Some of them, to be sure,” Augusta said, scrunching her nose. “Do not tell me you are getting cold feet.”

“No, I just…” he trailed off, feeling a sudden spike of anxiety. It was all happening; reality was crashing down upon him. He had managed to make light of the journey and their banter, but now that they were there, and all of high society was beginning to swirl around him, he doubted his own resolve. “I need a moment.”

“A moment?” Augusta laughed. “Whatever does that mean?”

He leaned over and thumped the side of the coach to issue a stop, and Augusta’s eyes widened as she realized that he was about to disembark early.

“Not that sort of moment!” she hissed. “Don’t you dare run off on me now!”

“I will return shortly,” he said, flashing her an apologetic look. “Do not feel the need to wait for me.”

“Oh I will not be the one waiting,” she huffed, powerless to stop him clambering down from the carriage.

Nathaniel hit the pavement and clapped the door shut behind him, taking in a long breath of the city air. It was fouler than he remembered, perhaps on account of all the population growth, but the sprawl of the park accented it with the hint of roses and violets. It was just enough pleasantry to make the scene bearable.

He strolled slowly along the side of the park for a moment, eyeing the tower and the palace in the distance. They were impressive, he had to admit it.

Their house was further along the block, planted nicely in the center of things, a sign of his family’s late prestige. There was a time that they were highly respected in the city; perhaps that was why it seemed like there were so many people arriving at the front steps.

“Bother,” he muttered, watching a cluster of people disembarking their respective coach and making their way to the steps.

He walked around the block a few more times, prolonging his shred of freedom. It was terribly improper for him to not even to be present when guests were arriving, and he wondered how long he could pull it off before people took serious issue. It wasn’t worth Augusta’s wrath, he ultimately decided. The guests he couldn’t care less about, but he would hate to let her down too terribly.

Nathaniel slipped into one of the side alleys that ran up the rear of the houses on their street, mostly used for garbage collection and disposal, though some people kept chickens and woodpiles in their short backyards.

He passed a number of servants taking a moment of air, and he waved them fond hellos as he passed by, much to their surprise. When he finally drew to his own back steps, he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Alright then, m’lord?” one of the house staff was out by the cellar entrance, obscured by the gathering darkness, and he jumped in surprise.

“You have caught me,” he said abashedly, “I had hoped to slip in unnoticed.”

“I ain’t seen anything, m’lord,” the man said with a grin, bending over to haul open the cellar. “Though it got busy in there, I ‘ought to say.”

“Busy,” he said with a frown. “So, it is.”

He crept up the back steps and peered in through the slim window beside the door. Servants were bustling back and forth, and he timed his entrance so as to minimize the eyes that might see him.

The moment he opened the door into the kitchens; he was hit with a wall of sound that nearly knocked him off his feet. The pots and pans clanged as a dozen hands whisked and chopped and stirred, and he ducked his head as he scurried past the chaos of the cooking.

One or two heads turned, one laughed and another gasped as he slunk quickly past, then tucked his head into the hallway, eyeing the passageway to the rear stairs on the other side. He had only to go upstairs where he could dress properly. Sensing a lull in the foot traffic, he seized his chance and launched across the hall.

“Oh!” a woman exclaimed a few feet to his left, and he found himself frozen halfway to the stairs. He turned to her in a whirl, trying to mask his surprise. She was about his height with fresh brown hair, and she held herself in a graceful way with her hands clasped before her waist. Her eyes were equally wide with surprise, but her lips were pursed in a mischievous smile.

They shared a brief point of eye contact, sizing up each other’s astonishment, and then he broke the moment with a quick wink and a grin, disappearing up the stairs.

He laughed to himself at the whole thing as he pranced up to his chambers and quickly donned a dinner jacket and straightened his hair. He glanced briefly at his wigs, waiting on their stands, but he decided against it. They were awfully uncomfortable, after all, and they were fast falling out of fashion.

He stood for a short time in front of his mirror, not looking so much at himself as he was staring off into space. They were all down there, his guests, and they were waiting for him. It was his duty, and he would go do it, but it saddened something deep inside him.’Then he thought of the woman in the hallway. She seemed kind, even just from their brief interaction. It was in her eyes. If they were all like her, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad of a time.

“There you are!” Augusta exclaimed, barging into the room behind him.

“Have you ever heard of privacy?” he asked, breaking his trance and adjusting his collar.

“I was worried you had run off for the entire evening,” she scolded. “Never do that to me again.”

“I walked along the park, that is all,” he said, finishing his cufflinks.

“Well, you are being asked after,” she said. “I have seated you beside a lovely young lady. Sofia Whitcombe, have you heard of her?”

“You know full well that I have not,” he said.

“Her father died, he left her an absolutely massive dowry, she lives with her cousin. Good a match as any. Her sister too, I suppose, but she is rumored to be a bore. Twenty-six and unmarried, something must be wrong.”

“I am only twenty-nine,” he replied.

“You are a man,” Augusta scoffed. “It is different, you know this. Stop toying with me.”

“Seated beside her, is that proper?” he asked. “My place is at the head of the table.”

“That is the beauty of a round table, dear,” she said. “Anybody can sit anywhere.”

“You’ve replaced the table? With what money?” he balked.

“Put it all from your mind,” she said with a wave of her hands. “Just go charm Lady Whitcombe before she learns how much debt you truly carry.”

“As you say,” he grumbled, turning away from the mirror. He left the room and stood at the top of the stairs for a second, gathering his breath. Then he put on his mask, smiled broadly, threw his shoulders back, and waltzed down to dinner.

He made his rounds and introductions like a professional, and everybody was glad to see him. There must have been an odd dozen pairs of guests, mainly husbands and wives of varying stature that were all just happy to be there, but Augusta’s intentions soon revealed themselves as they gathered around the round dining table.

“My daughter Sofia,” Catherine said, presenting the young, cheerful and bubbly lady that took the seat to his right. “I am sure you two will get along.”

“A pleasure,” he said, smiling. Sofia batted her eyelashes as he gave her gloved hand a quick kiss. “Please,” and he pulled out her chair beside his.

“Such a gentleman,” Sofia gushed overtly, and he resisted the urge to flinch. “Oh! My sister, Amelia,” she said, gesturing to his left. He turned around and was surprised to see the woman from his chance hallway encounter.

“My lady,” he said slyly, trying to gauge her reaction.

“A pleasure,” she said shortly, flashing him a polite smile, and he felt relieved that she did not mention his tardy entrance.

As dinner began to progress, Nathaniel found himself terribly bored with Sofia’s predictable conversational arc. It was the same crowd work that he practiced himself, but coming from her it did not seem terribly charming.

“And you have a house by the sea, in Cornwall, I hear,” she said sweetly. “What is there to do in Cornwall? How do you spend your days?”

“A bit of this, a bit of that,” he said, trying to think of a better answer while he pushed his spoon around his soup. “Really, it is terribly boring, I am afraid.”

“Certainly not,” she laughed. “Come now I am sure there is something you enjoy doing.”

“I suppose,” he mused. “Though I am afraid it is rather silly.”

“No, come now, tell me, I must know,” she went on.

“I shouldn’t,” he said, building the false suspense.

“You must,” she said softly, her eyes wide with interest. Whether it was real or genuine was anybody’s guess.

He leaned in a touch closer to her, and in a low voice said, “I like to look at the sea.”

Amelia gave a short laugh to his left, and Sofia looked puzzled by the exaggerated secret.

“Well, that’s nice, I suppose,” she said, trying to work out some kind of secret meaning in her head.

“Terribly boring indeed,” Amelia said, and Nathaniel turned to her, interested.

“I have never claimed otherwise,” he said jovially, and Amelia cracked the smallest chuckle. Then he leaned closer to her, leaving Sofia in her state of pondering, and said quietly, “Thank you for letting me slip past earlier.”

“I haven’t any idea what you are referring to,” she said plainly, her laughter subsiding.

“Ah,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Right you are. I don’t know what I am talking about.”

“Does that happen often?” she asked.

“A shocking amount,” he replied, grinning in earnest. Something about her intrigued him; though she did not have her sister’s figure, she had easily ten times the wit. There was a calculated charm behind her soft eyes, something tugging at the edges of his mind.

“You ought to have that seen to,” she said. “I have heard it could be a symptom of syphilis.”

Nathaniel burst out in a snort of laughter, unable to contain himself at her crude joke’s dry delivery. “That would be unfortunate.”

“For you and your wife,” she teased, finally letting another smile creep onto her lips.

“Have you not heard? I am in the market for one of those, as it were. Do you happen to know of a good one?”

“I am afraid not,” she answered. “Though I do wish you well in your endeavors.”

“Well, that is thoughtful of you,” he said, continuing the charade much to his delight. He was feeling more at home the longer he spoke with her, and he caught his gaze wandering down the nape of her neck briefly. He had forgotten, it seemed, how much fun it could be to spend time with women.

“So,” she said as they took the soups away and began bringing on the main course. “Looking at the sea.”

“It is my favorite pastime,” he said with a shrug.

“Is that because there is nothing else to do?”

“Perhaps,” he laughed. “It calms me down.”

“Are you calm now?”

“Calmer than earlier,” he chuckled.

“I shudder to imagine you wound up then,” she said.

“Why imagine?” he asked. “We can take a jog along the riverbank. A little brisk post-meal exercise.”

“It has been some time since you were in London, then?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the river is not fit to walk besides,” she replied. “Nor has it been.”

“Well, now you are just spoiling the fun,” he said, eyeing up the platter of roasted meats that was laid out in front of him.

“There is still plenty of fun to be had,” she said softly. “The season is just beginning.”

Nathaniel let out a long sigh at her words, and he noticed that she seemed to share his reluctance to embrace the season.

“Let us hope it is not too long this year,” he said, raising his glass to meet hers, which seemed to take her by surprise, but she smiled softly as the glasses clinked.

“I can drink to that,” she said, and they proceeded to eat their dinner.