A Lord to Love, page 1
A Lord to Love
By Sara Dobie Bauer
A Lord to Love © 2019 Sara Dobie Bauer
ISBN (ebook) 978-1-948272-14-8
All rights reserved.
Published 2019 by Carnation Books
CarnationBooks.com
contact@carnationbooks.com
San Jose, CA, USA
Cover design © 2019 Lodestar Author Services
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
To my friends on AO3. Your enthusiastic, half-hysterical support keeps me going.
Contents
A Lord to Love
About the Author
About Carnation Books
A Lord to Love
By Sara Dobie Bauer
~~~
This is not the way I ever hoped things would happen between us, but it’s now the only way. I stand in the grand meeting room of the Price estate and see Harrison is still beautiful, even in grief. His shoulders stoop under the weight of his father’s recent death—and the weight of being named the new Lord Price, to the chagrin of his older brother.
Unfortunate, too, that I, Lord John Morgan, am the reason for what promises to be an intense legal debate—and that Harrison Price is only nineteen—but I made up my mind as soon as I walked in an hour ago, as soon as I saw him again.
I will go through with this, no matter what Russell says.
I want to make the young Lord Price’s eyes brighten. I want to relax those pursed lips and put a stop to the tense, agitated way he moves. He fits perfectly into this setting, though, surrounded by luxury: high ceilings, dark wooden furniture, and wide windows that showcase the lush greenery of Price land. He’s a work of art himself, with his black hair, silver eyes, and pale skin.
I haven’t seen him in months, and that was only from across a crowded ballroom. We’ve never really spoken. The ongoing feud between Harrison’s father and myself kept us sequestered to different social circles. Now, though, the old man is dead, and he left everything—title included—to his youngest, this nineteen-year-old boy, barely a man, in an expensive suit. I try not to stare at his delicate hands. Musician’s hands.
“Looks nothing like his father,” Russell says at my side.
“No, he looks like his mother.”
Russell sips coffee. “Did you know her?”
“I met her once. A few years ago.” I will never forget that fateful Christmas Eve.
“Before everything went tits up with Lord Price, the elder?” he snickers.
I glance at my legal advisor with his graying hair and shrewd, dark eyes. I’ve always trusted this man with everything, but in these proceedings, he’ll have to trust me.
I clear my throat and try to stop looking at Harrison. “I won’t miss the man.”
“No, neither me. But it looks like his son will.” He gestures toward the object of my obsession.
The weight of grief rests like a visible fog in the room, and Harrison is its source. I’ve heard he was close to his father—much closer than the elder son, Thomas, if inheritance is any indication. Thomas received nothing but a measly monthly allowance in the old man’s will. Harrison, practically a child, has gained everything.
But not the family graveyard. That is why I’m really here, isn’t it?
Due to a boundary debate that’s been raging for the past two years, the dead Lord Price and I had been at war. Thanks to some hundred-year-old mistake, discovered by Russell, I own much more land than I once realized, including the Price family cemetery and all the bodies within—including Harrison’s mother, who died not long after that auspicious Christmas party three years ago.
Now, young Harrison wants the land back. He wants to bury his father, visit his mother. Although I’d once laid out financial terms that would return the land to the Price family, Harrison’s father refused. Ever since, I’ve kept the entire family away with the help of armed sentries who wander the edges of my land.
Unlike his father, Harrison will not refuse me. He’s trying to seem strong, stand tall, but I can see he is desperate to put flowers on his mother’s grave. He’s desperate to lay his dear father to rest. He will agree to my terms.
I didn’t want it to happen like this, but maybe this has been my only option all along.
~~~
Seated down both lengths of a long, wooden table, all members of the Price and Morgan parties spend the afternoon debating the little details of the legal agreement that will put an end to the feud that has raged.
I let Russell do most of the talking, mostly to Thomas, who is the spitting image of his dead father. Thomas has that same long nose, receding hairline, and somber expression. It’s hard to see any resemblance between him and Harrison, who wanders the edges of the debate, focused and listening. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. The intelligence obvious in his gaze misses nothing, understands everything.
I heard he spent the last year in Cambridge, studying chemistry.
I do catch the young Lord Price gazing at me every so often. I wonder if he knew who I was at all those society functions in London, wonder if he felt me watching. No matter; he knows who I am now. He looks to me and looks away. Each time he does it, I sit up a bit straighter.
As the day runs late, we agree to adjourn until the morning, although I, along with my legal counsel, am invited to stay for dinner. I accept, if only for an excuse to spend more time in the same space as Harrison, but he doesn’t join us.
Thomas makes stuttering apologies. “My brother is still overtaken by grief.”
His smile is forced. He should be the new Lord Price, and he knows it. Everyone knows it. The pronouncement of Harrison’s title was a shockwave felt down the valley and all the way into the city.
Russell, a bit drunk on brandy, reminisces about law school with a Price representative, so I sneak away. I try to picture the room where I first saw Harrison, but all I can remember is him—younger, smaller, but just as imposing.
I follow the sound of a crackling fire and find a cozy study. Someone sits in a tall chair facing the flames, one hand on the arm. I would recognize Harrison’s hands anywhere. I don’t think twice before walking inside and sitting in the chair opposite.
He looks up when I enter but doesn’t move to welcome me. “Oh. Lord Morgan.”
“Lord Price.” I cross one leg over the other.
“Apologies for not joining you at dinner.” His voice is much deeper than I expected. A fair descriptor of the young man would be “pretty,” and yet, his voice rumbles like an ocean wave.
“No need to apologize. I wouldn’t want a group of strangers in my home right now, either.”
He sips what looks to be scotch. “Did you hate my father?”
Despite the hostility of his words, I fold my hands in my lap to appear neutral, unbothered. “No. We just didn’t agree on things. I’m sorry for your loss. You’re very young for all this responsibility.”
He chuckles, mirthless. “And you’re very old to be petty about a graveyard.”
I laugh. “Fair enough. You don’t seem nineteen.”
He finishes his glass and holds the tumbler, empty, between his long fingers. “How do I seem?”
“Older. A force to be reckoned with.”
“I grew up quite quickly when I lost my mother.”
I want to reach for him but do not. “My mother also died when I was young.”
He sighs. “Do you miss her, Lord Morgan? Do you perchance visit her grave?”
It’s a direct assault, but I ignore it. “You can call me John.”
“No, I don’t think so.” He hasn’t looked at me since I sat down. “I didn’t think my father would…” He licks his bottom lip. His forehead wrinkles. “I thought I would have him for much longer. Now, he is gone, and…”
I wonder how much he’s had to drink.
“How do you keep going, Lord Morgan? What fills your days?”
I want to tell him the truth. I want to say, Thoughts of you. I have never forgotten he lives next door. The only reason I ever went to society parties was to catch a glimpse of him. I used to have nightmares that I would eventually find him betrothed to some stodgy French duke and I would be too late. Instead, here we sit, alone together, and he looks at me now, waiting.
I lean forward in my seat. “The pain will get better.”
He glares at me. “Why aren’t you married?”
The force of his suspicion, his ire, makes me wonder if he has indeed spent the past few years watching me watching him. I pull away from the light of the fire and disappear into the shadows of my chair. “I’m sorry?”
Harrison closes his eyes, shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I…” He stands, and so do I. “I should retire for the night. I am not good company.”
Again, the longing to touch him wars within my very soul. Surely, a hand on his arm wouldn’t be too much? I run my palm from his shoulder to his elbow. “You’re fine company, Lord Price.”
He studies me. Despite the alcohol in his system, I feel he sees right through me. I let him see. I watch him and wait, but he doesn’t back away or start shouting, so I assume he hasn’t guessed my true intentions. He nods and says, “Until tomorrow, Lord Morgan.”
I return the nod and watch him walk away. Despite the alcohol, he is elegance and grace as he crosses the room and disappears down the hall. I know he plays music—God, do I ever know—but I have never seen him dance. I presume he would be a natural.
On the way back to my estate, I tell Russell about the addendum I need him to add to the Morgan-Price legal agreement. At first, he just laughs. When he realizes I’m serious, he starts shouting. He calls me “bloody insane,” but I hear none of it. I made up my mind as soon as I saw Harrison, now bowed beneath the burden of pain. I have waited long enough.
~~~
The next morning, we are back in the grand meeting room with its wide windows and suffocating grief. Thomas sits at the head of the table as if he has any right to be there. Harrison, in a bespoke black suit, stares outside. Unlike many of my contemporaries, he does not wear breeches, but trousers that go all the way to the floor. It’s a style that is all the rage with young intellectuals. I look at him; he doesn’t look back, but he listens. I can tell he hears everything in the way his brows occasionally lift or lower, in the way he tilts his head as though working out a melody.
Russell clears his throat and tosses me one final simmering glare before he sighs.
This is it. Bombs are about to blow.
“There is one slight change to the final agreement, at Lord Morgan’s request.” My friend tugs at his shirt collar. “If you’ll look to the bottom of page eight…”
Papers flutter like bird wings. Then, there is silence as the rich men around the table read. Thomas apparently finishes first, because he says, calmly, “Absolutely not.”
I gift him a close-lipped smile. “It’s not your place to say.”
“What is it?” Harrison now stands with his hands in his pockets across the table from me. He asks the room, but those discerning eyes look only at me.
“It is utter madness!” Thomas shouts. The calm veneer is cracking. Other members of the Price party nod in agreement.
Madness? No. I want to tell them to look at him. Look at Harrison Price. Look at how brilliant and beautiful he is and tell me it’s madness.
Instead, I sit in silence, as does Russell.
Harrison asks, “What does it say?” Somehow, I feel he already knows.
Thomas holds the contract up in the air as if he might throw it. “It’s bloody preposterous! Our family land in exchange for your hand in marriage!”
And there it is: the most unromantic marriage proposal in history, and I am responsible.
Harrison stares at me. His eyes widen a bit. His lips part on a breath, but he doesn’t stomp like a child or call me a filthy old man. There are murmurings up and down the table. I’m sure Thomas is the shade of a ripe tomato, but I see nothing but the young Lord Price and the lack of emotion on his face.
It’s not as though men of our station don’t marry each other. Ever since the king’s favorite brother admitted to his homosexual inclinations, it happens with some regularity. Heirs are adopted, chosen, or—in special cases—a man takes a wife, as well. I have no interest in a wife. For three years, there has been no one but this beguiling creature before me.
Perhaps the general shock comes particularly due to our age difference… or the fact that we are nearly strangers, but neither fact worries me. I will never bore of Harrison, never. Even if the man were mute, I could spend years staring at him.
But now, he stares at me and looks to be the calmest person in the room. “Out,” he says suddenly, in that powerful voice of his. “Everyone out. Lord Morgan, you will remain.”
“Brother—” Thomas starts.
“I said out.”
Men move with haste, and I wonder if the young lad has a fiery side I don’t know about—yet. I hope to know everything about Harrison soon. Thomas mutters something to him as he walks by, but Lord Price does not respond.
Far away, the heavy wooden doors close, and we are alone. Harrison returns to his place near the window. The gray light of England highlights his flawless skin.
“Why?” he asks.
I round the table and walk toward him, stopping within an arm’s distance. “Why what?”
“Why would you want to marry me?” He turns on his heels and glares. He’s a full six inches taller than me, but he’s too young to make me feel small. “It’s not for money. You have no need for money.”
I smile. “How do you know?”
“I spied on your accountant.”
I chuckle. “Of course you did.” Might as well tell the truth. The brilliant boy is bound to figure it out anyway. I point at one of his hands, curled into a fist by his side. “May I?” I reach forward. When I touch his hand, his fingers relax but his shoulders tense. I cup his hand in mine and admire its elegance. “We met years ago, although I doubt you remember.”
I hear him swallow. “I remember.”
“Do you now?”
“I was sixteen.”
I nod. “The Christmas before your mother passed, before all this business about a graveyard, your father threw a party. He made you play violin. At first, I thought you hated to play, but then I realized you were just shy.”
His fingers move on my palm, just lightly. “I don’t like playing for other people. I do it to help me think.”
“Well, you played beautifully.” When I move a little closer, he doesn’t move back. “It was your hands that first did it. You have exquisite hands.” I lean down and kiss one of his knuckles. When I look up at him, he seems utterly lost, as though I am a difficult chemical formula at Cambridge. “I couldn’t stop looking at you that night.” I smile at my own desperation. “I still can’t.”
“You stare at me at society parties.”
“So you have been paying attention. It was hard to imagine you’d keep getting better looking.”
“No.” He shakes his head and pulls his hand away. “This is preposterous. I would be a terrible husband.”
“I can’t believe that’s true.”
He talks to the window as though scared to look at me. “I daily mourn my parents. I ache with their loss. I don’t want to run a household, let alone an entire estate. I…” He keeps shaking his head. “I am a chemistry student. I find comfort in science and order, not… this.” He gestures to me. “Whatever this is, whatever you’re doing.”
“Harrison—”
“I did not give you permission to call me that.”
“All right.” I hold my hands up in front of me. If he were a cat, his back would be arched, nails out.
“I know what I look like, but I have gone to great lengths to deter advances. Why should I allow you near? What right do you have to me?”
“None.”
His eyes burn now, on fire. “And yet you would expect me to marry you?”
“Not expect. Hope.” I don’t know what else to do, so I go down on one knee in front of him. “I have thought of no one but you for three years. I have been haunted by the fear of you marrying someone else. You asked last night why I have not married. Frankly, no one caught my attention the way you did, playing that violin. And you still hold it, three years later. I could watch you read a newspaper and be entertained.”
Thank God, he laughs a little at that, but I can see his eyes are red. He turns away from me and lets out a shaky breath. He’s only growing more agitated, and I think I’m seeing something strange and precious. From what I’ve observed, Lord Price does not seem like a young man comfortable with emotion.
I stand and lightly take hold of his arms. I urge him to face me. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He barks out a chuckle like the mirthless one from last night.
“Look at this from a business perspective. We both have more money than we know what to do with.”
He sighs at this, nods, although he still averts his gaze.
“We pool our funds. We could do some good in the local village and even in London. I’ve always wanted to open a hospital for the destitute, and you could continue your education.”
Finally, his silver eyes land on me, and although red around the edges, I see they’re not really silver at all, but pools of ever-changing watercolor in vivid blue, green, and gold. “You would let me go back to school?”
I squeeze his arms and smile up at him. “You’re an adult. You are free to do as you choose.”
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. Finally, a tear falls and lands on the edge of his cheekbone before tumbling down the side of his face. “Why should I trust you?”
