Someone to Wed

“I should go back up and see how Captain Westcott is doing,” she said regretfully when he lifted his head. “Perhaps there is something I can do to help.”

“Captain?” He got to his feet and offered his hand.

“That is what he said when Mr. Lifford called him Lieutenant Westcott,” she said.

“Impressive,” he said. “You do not need to tend him, you know. There are other—”

“Yes,” she said, interrupting him, “I do know.”

Thirteen

Alexander moved back into the house. The physician gave it as his opinion that there was no need for Harry to be nursed around the clock, but Alexander nevertheless had a truckle bed made up for himself in the dressing room leading off Harry’s bedchamber so that he would be within calling distance if he was needed. Netherby approved. Harry grumbled.

Alexander’s mother and Elizabeth were relieved to have a supportive male presence, especially because Harry’s fever had not yet abated when they returned home and went up to see him. He asked if they were visiting his mother and then frowned and corrected himself.

Miss Heyden was with Alexander in Harry’s room that evening, bathing his face with cool cloths, when Cousin Eugenia, the Dowager Countess of Riverdale, Harry’s grandmother, called to see him, inevitably bringing Cousin Matilda, her eldest daughter, with her. Their attention was focused entirely upon Harry for some time, as was to be expected. But after a few minutes, Cousin Matilda noticed Miss Heyden, who had moved back to stand by the window, and gazed at her with what looked like fascinated horror.

“My dear young lady,” she said, “whatever happened to your face? I must beg leave to recommend some ointment that would clear it up in no time.”

“Don’t be a fool, Matilda,” her mother commanded. “It looks to me like a permanent blemish.”

“It is, ma’am,” Miss Heyden said, and Alexander, meeting her eyes, grimaced slightly. She favored him with a fleeting smile.

“Miss Heyden is my betrothed,” he explained, and made the introductions.

“Well, of course she is,” Cousin Matilda said. “Who else would she be? A veil might make you less self-conscious, Miss Heyden.”

Alexander closed his eyes.

“It does,” Miss Heyden said. “But I believe it is important that Lord Riverdale’s relatives see me as I am.”

“And why would she wear one at all, Matilda?” the dowager said, sounding irritated, as she often did with that particular daughter. “She is remarkably handsome apart from those purple marks, which I imagine one does not even notice after a while. Alexander has shown great good sense in not allowing such a trivial detail to influence his choice. It is time he married and started to fill his nursery. There is an alarming dearth of heirs in this family.”

Alexander wondered if his prospective bride would after all bolt for the country tomorrow morning. But she was half smiling at the old lady.

Harry, ignored for the moment, laughed weakly. “I cannot help in that department. I am sorry, Grandmama,” he said. “I am a bastard. Why is Mama not here? Everyone else is.”

“Your mind is wandering again,” his grandmother told him bluntly, “as apparently it was when you arrived this afternoon. It is a good thing Miss Heyden had the presence of mind to cool your face with cold cloths. You need to rest and then get some fat on your bones. Your mother and Abigail are quite possibly coming here for Alexander’s wedding. Althea is this very minute writing another letter to urge them to come on your account.”

“Alex’s wedding,” he said, draping his uninjured arm across his eyes. “Well, at least no one is hounding me to marry and produce heirs. That is one advantage of being a bastard.”

“You ought not to use that word in the presence of your grandmother, Harry,” Cousin Matilda said, and he laughed again.

“I am not going to apologize again,” Alexander said quietly when the dowager and Cousin Matilda had gone downstairs and Harry had dropped off into a doze. “Doubtless you would consider me a bore.”

“Doubtless I would,” she agreed. “There is going to be no one new left for me to meet on my wedding day.”

“Do not forget my mother’s family,” he said.

“I am not likely to,” she told him, pulling a face.

“You ought not to be doing this,” he said after she had straightened the bedcovers without waking Harry and rung to have the bowl and cloths taken away and fresh ones brought.

“Why not?” she asked. “Your mother needed to write to Harry’s mother on the chance that she has decided not to come for our wedding, and Lizzie did not feel she could easily get out of the private birthday dinner to which she had been invited. Why not me? I will be a full-fledged member of the family in three days’ time.”

And she was being drawn into the family, it seemed, whether she fully realized it or not.

“Harry enlisted as a private soldier the day after that ghastly meeting we all had with his solicitor,” Alexander told her. “He disappeared, and when Netherby finally found him, he had already taken the king’s shilling. How Netherby got him out of it remains a mystery, but he did. He purchased a commission instead, but Harry insisted upon a foot regiment and upon earning his own promotions without any further help from Avery’s purse.”

“Then you were right about him,” she said. “He is a young man of sturdy character who will do well with his life and be strengthened by what has happened to him. Though he is obviously deeply hurt by it all. It will not be easy.”

“No,” he said.

“But you are not to blame yourself,” she said even more softly. “That is what you must learn from all of this.”

Harry opened his eyes. “I say,” he said, looking at Miss Heyden. “You are going to be my second cousin-in-law. I have just worked it out. Though you may not want to claim me even at that distant relationship.” He gave her the ghost of his old charming, boyish smile. “It’s not a comfortable thing to have a bastard in your family, is it? Or to be one in someone else’s. Ask Mama. Ask Cam. Ask Abby.”

“Captain Westcott,” she said, leaning slightly toward him and checking the heat in his cheeks with the backs of her fingers. “Family ties are too precious to be thrown away for such a slight cause.”

“Slight?” He laughed.

“Yes, slight,” she repeated. “It is obvious you are loved by your family despite the transgressions of your father. And calling yourself a bastard, you know, hurts them as much as it hurts you. Perhaps more.”

He stared at her with a mix of confusion and awe, and then said, “Yes, ma’am.” He then promptly drifted off to sleep again.

Alexander gazed at her as she spread a cloth soaked with the freshly brought water across his forehead. Family ties are too precious to be thrown away for such a slight cause. What the devil had happened to her family? He did not even know her childhood name, did he? Heyden was the name of the man her aunt had married. And Wren? Was it her baptismal name? Good God, he did not even know her name. In three days’ time they were going to be married, yet he was still plagued by one basic question.

Who the devil was this woman he was about to marry?

A letter arrived from Viola Kingsley, the former Countess of Riverdale, the following morning. She and her daughter were coming for the wedding. It was too late now to send the letter that had been written to tell her of the arrival of her son.