Page 6 of A Wallflower's Wassail Punch
“She’s made a good match, Aggie,” he said to the portrait above the hearth.A young Agnes smiled down at him, her blonde hair upswept, the amber eyes as bright as the day they’d met.“With our Phoebe leaving, I’ve been thinking about being alone.”
With a sigh, he strolled to the side table and poured himself a brandy.As he settled in one of the fine leather chairs, his gleaming boots propped before the fire, he swirled the amber liquid in the cut crystal glass.“I’m lonely, Aggie.What we had was… irreplaceable, but I’m no good on my own.”
Andrew peered up at his wife, as if she would agree with him or give him permission.“I’m not looking for another love.Companionship, though, would be nice in my doddering years.”He chuckled.“Not that I’m old yet, but I need to look to the future.How will I deal with grandchildren without a woman by my side?You know how awkward I can be with youngsters.”
He took another sip of the liquor and leaned his head back.A dowager countess in London had warmed his bed for the past ten years but had made it perfectly clear she had no intention of marrying again.And the time between his trips to Town was getting lengthier.His visits with the countess satisfied his physical needs, but he left feeling empty, and that emptiness was growing.
“Funny thing, I don’t feel old.When the deuce did I make forty years?With a daughter grown?And how did I manage it without you?”Andrew ran a hand through his thick hair and blew out a breath.“But where does a man of my age find a wife who isn’t ancient or still half-child?”
Closing his eyes, he let his mind go blank.He wouldn’t worry about it tonight.
Life has a way of providing what one needs.You only have to pay attention and not let it slip through your fingers.
How many times had Aggie said that?Good advice.He would pay attention and wait for…her.
* * *
20 December1820
Beecham Manor, Suffolk
Andrew glanced over his shoulder at the cumbersome coach.He was glad he’d decided to bring his new gelding.The horse had been auctioned for almost nothing because of his weight and dull coat.But Drew had seen the gleam in the animal’s eye and knew there was potential.He’d taken the beast home, fattened him up, and began a daily exercise routine, naming him Fortunate.
Patting the horse’s gleaming neck, he squeezed its sides with his calves and moved him forward through the small copse.Evergreens rustled in the chill breeze, sending a light spray of snow into the air.There was barely a dusting on the ground.Enough to brighten the landscape but not hinder transportation.
When he reached the manor, he paused at the iron gates and studied the long drive to the manor.It was quite a sprawling piece of architecture, made of limestone with multiple gables and four stories.Anxious to see his old friend again, he kicked the horse lightly and trotted until he reached the portico.He slid from the saddle and found a lad waiting for him before his boots touched the gravel.
“G’day, my lord,” said the blond lad, reaching to take the rein.“Is the carriage far behind?”
“It will be here shortly.”Andrew stomped his boots to send the blood through his limbs.The large doors opened, and a butler bowed to him as he climbed the steps.“Lord Weston,” he announced himself.
“Yes, sir,” answered the rotund, immaculately dressed man as he took Andrew’s hat and gloves.He looked over Andrew’s shoulder and announced the arrival of the coach.“I’ll have your trunk sent to your rooms.”
It had been years since he’d been here.A strapping lad of eighteen?The large entrance hall held the same large mirror, tapestry, and portraits on the wall.There was a drawing room on the right, and past that began the large circular staircase that led to a balcony.As he gazed up, he saw a woman with deep-brown hair and brilliant emerald eyes watching him.
His heart thumped a little harder when their eyes met, and she smiled.Lovely.No, more than lovely.She was stunning, and his heart thumped again.A rusty, odd feeling in his chest.Attraction?Possibly.Nerves because he’d been thinking of taking another wife?
“Hello,” she said in a rich, honied tone, interrupting his thoughts.“You must be here for the party.”
“Yes, this is Lord Weston,” informed the butler just as the door opened again and footmen came in carrying a trunk and a traveling bag.He turned back to Andrew.“This is Lady Annette.”
That sounded familiar.Annette, Annette?—
An invisible pitcher of icy water doused him, and he blinked.Demmit, she was Beecham’s daughter?He needed to get hold of himself, then, because he was no lecherous old man.But she was deuced lovely.
“Which room, Mr.Gibbs?”
“The green room, my lady.”
“I’ll show him the way.”With a smile, she beckoned him to join her.
Without hesitation, he took the stairs and bowed when he stood before her.A day dress of light-rose muslin clung to her curves and showed off her ivory skin.He deliberately avoided her neckline as she held out a hand.A bare hand.His lips brushed the top.Yet a vaguely familiar heat sizzled through him.
He straightened, and she smiled again.A brilliance of white filled the shadowy hall.Her eyes sparkled, making him smile in return.Now that he was closer, he noted the tiny creases around those green orbs and realized she wasn’t quite as young as he’d assumed.Perhaps she was even married already.
“You have your father’s eyes,” he said, attempting a sane conversation.
“So I’ve been told.”She glanced over her shoulder, leading him farther down the hall.They climbed another flight of stairs, stopping at the second room on the right with a green door and a tiny brass knocker.“Here we are.”Lady Annette turned the knob and stepped aside.
