The Three Colonels Page 6

  “Colonel Buford! Pardon me, I meant, Sir John! Good evening, sir. Allow me to offer you congratulations on your knighthood. May I introduce you to my friend?”

  “Please,” Buford said politely.

  “This is Miss Bennet, Mrs. Bingley’s sister from Hertfordshire. Mary, this is Colonel Sir John Buford.”

  “Charmed, miss,” he said somewhat distractedly. “Mrs. Hurst, do not be alarmed, but I must suggest that you repair to the library as soon as may be. Miss Bingley has taken ill.”

  Mrs. Hurst blanched. “Oh dear! Sir John, have you seen her?”

  “I only observed her going into the library. She appeared ill,” said Buford as kindly as he could.

  Mrs. Hurst could not misunderstand the meaning of his words. “Oh, no! I knew it, I knew it,” she said under her breath.

  Miss Bennet looked about her, her expression becoming stern. “Beauty and goodness do not always go hand-in-hand, especially in Town.”

  Buford looked at Miss Bennet, revising his opinion of her. “Please, allow me.” With that, he escorted the two ladies across the room to the library.

  As they prepared to enter the room, he said to Mrs. Hurst, “If I may be of assistance to you or Miss Bingley—”

  “No, thank you, sir. You have been too kind.”

  “It was an honor to be of service to the lady.”

  With that, he took his leave of them. Later he would learn that the Bingleys left Almack’s through a private door very early in the evening. He could not help but overhear the sneers over that. Buford was disgusted with the whole business. He had spent the last few years with war and death and waste; the last thing he wanted to see at home was similar ugliness.

  * * *

  “Sir John?”

  He was startled out of his thoughts. “Hmm?”

  It was the vicar. “It is time, sir.”

  “Excellent,” he said as he rose, straightening his jacket. “Well, gentlemen,” he said to his friends, “shall we get to it?”

  Chapter 5

  It was a bright January morning, and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was doing his best not to insult the lady seated to his left at the wedding breakfast, but he was in danger of failing. Miss Halifax was a rather comely maiden who seemed to be quite taken with him. Looks were not everything, however. What set the colonel’s teeth on edge was her insipid conversation, held in a manner and tone of speech she undoubtedly considered cultured but, to Richard’s ears, sounded like the squawking of chickens.

  “Is not everything lovely? Everything is so charming! I do adore weddings! What is your opinion, Colonel?”

  “I like it of all things.”

  “I do believe that our Lord was very wise to invent marriage. Such happiness—and children! Do you like children, Colonel?”

  How blatant can you be, woman? “Of course.”

  “I should love to have children, should I marry. Two, I think. One would show a lack of feeling and three… well, I do so dislike odd numbers. Are not odd numbers so very—odd?” Miss Halifax giggled at her own jest.

  “Indeed.”

  “And more than three—heaven forbid! I cannot see how ladies can have more than three children. It has an air of”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“unseemliness.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

  Someone put me out of my misery. Take a sword and run me through now.

  The Darcys and the Tuckers sat at the table with the pair and regarded Richard’s predicament with amusement. Taking pity on him, Darcy whispered something in his wife’s ear, and she turned to speak to the colonel.

  “Richard!” said Elizabeth. “While you are in Town, you must come by and visit your young cousin. He has grown much since your last visit, I declare.”

  Richard was puzzled—How much could he have grown in two days?—until he recognized the rescue offered him. “Ah, I have been remiss in calling upon young Master Bennet. Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy. Regimental duties, I am afraid. I shall correct my failure at the first opportunity. Fatherhood suits you, Darcy, I think.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded at his cousin. “Indeed it does, as long as one has a wife of sensibility and sense to manage the household.” He touched Elizabeth’s hand, and she rewarded her spouse with a brilliant smile. “’Tis a requirement to deal with the Fitzwilliam Curse.”

  “Curse, Mr. Darcy?” asked Miss Halifax. “What can you mean?”

  “Oh my, do you not know?” asked Elizabeth, eyes growing wide. “Being the wife of a Fitzwilliam or a Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation, that a lady could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine, were it not for the curse. For centuries it has been thus. But the viscountess bears it well, and Mr. Darcy trusts that I shall do likewise.”

  “But, Mrs. Darcy, dare I ask the nature of this curse? Please, I do not wish to offend, but I am full curious!”

  Elizabeth turned her fine eyes to her husband. “Mr. Darcy, shall I?”

  “Very well, madam,” replied her husband grimly. “She should be forewarned. I trust she shall not find it too distressful.”

  Elizabeth looked around the table and leaned forward. “Well, my dear,” she continued to the girl in a low voice, “it seems that the wives of Fitzwilliams—my husband is one on his mother’s side—always have at least three children, and many times more, and always an odd number of them!” Her victim’s eyes grew wide, as did Mary’s, but for a different reason: She knew full well that Mr. Darcy had only one sister. “Oh, the scandal, the unseemliness,” Elizabeth put her hand to her eyes in a dramatic fashion, “but such is my lot in life!”

  “Forgive me, my dear,” consoled Darcy.

  “Do not speak of it, Husband,” she responded, taking his hand in hers for a moment. “I shall endeavor to persevere.”

  Miss Halifax colored. Whether from shock at learning such a horrible secret or the mortification of being the butt of a joke, no one could say, for she chose that moment to excuse herself.

  “Forgive me, I must attend my mother. Umm… good day,” she mumbled and left the table. It was well, because Richard could not contain himself much longer.

  “Fitzwilliam Curse? Oh, that is rich!” he sputtered, trying to contain his laugh.

  “Happy to have been of service, Colonel,” said Elizabeth, an eyebrow arched. “I hope we did not offend.”

  “Oh, I am deeply mortified, madam,” he chuckled, “that I did not conceive it first!” Richard eyed his cousin. “I am fully aware of Mrs. Darcy’s talents, but I did not know you had it in you, sir.”

  “Indeed,” said Mary. “It seems my sister has had an effect on you, Brother.”

  Darcy lifted his wife’s hand to his lips. “All for the better, I can assure you.” Elizabeth blushed at the gesture. “What are your plans, Richard?” he asked.

  “You mean besides attending weddings? Must not neglect Miss Bennet’s, you know. Thank goodness, it is the last one. I am sure Mrs. Bennet is in high spirits.”

  Both Bennet sisters laughed, and both of their husbands gave each other a look. “You can very well say she is beside herself, Cousin!” cried Lizzy. “It is a day to which she has long looked forward.”

  “‘Five daughters married! Oh, Mr. Bennet, I shall go distracted!’” Mary recited in a fair approximation of her mother’s voice, which sparked renewed laughter around the table.

  “Will the earl and countess attend?” asked Darcy when he was able.

  “Aye, if it is warmer. The old goat does not take much to traveling in the cold these days, and Hertfordshire is a bit closer to Matlock than London,” said his son with fondness. “Then, after I report to headquarters, it is off to Rosings.”

  “In February? ’Tis very early,” replied Darcy.

  Since Mr. Darcy’s marriage, it had fallen to Colonel Fitzwilliam to make the pilgrimage to Rosings to both pay court to Lady Catherine and to receive the annual report from the steward, as her ladyship was still not reconciled to Darcy’s choice of wife.


  “All is well, I take it?” Darcy continued with a trace of concern in his voice.

  With only the slightest of pauses, Richard answered, “Oh yes, nothing to worry about.” But the look in his eye, which his cousin did not fail to mark, gave the lie to his statement.

  At that moment, there was a shuffling at the main table, and Mr. Bingley rose to give the farewell toast to the newlyweds.

  * * *

  “Sir John, what are you about? Put me down, sir!” cried Caroline.

  The only answer she got was her husband’s laugh as he carried his bride over the threshold of Buford House. The servants, accustomed to the occasionally strange behavior of their employer, gave every appearance of being made of stone.

  “Lady Buford, welcome home. At least for the next five days.”

  “The servants! Sir John, please.”

  He gave her his most disarming smile. “A kiss first, lass.”

  “What? In front of the servants? Have you lost your senses?”

  Sir John’s face was very close. “No,” he whispered, “just my heart.”

  She looked into his deep blue eyes, and the fluttering started up again. “Close the door at least. All of London can see.”

  He drew even closer. Just before he claimed her lips with his own, Colonel Sir John Buford said, “I care not.”

  Caroline stopped thinking for a while.

  * * *

  Buford lay quietly awake in his wedding bed, his wife sleeping sweetly, curled next to him. Usually after a night of love, he wished for nothing but to fall fast asleep and only sometimes in the same bed as his lover. This time was different; Buford was overwhelmed by a feeling he had never experienced before. Contentment.

  In his previous encounters, no matter how jolly or pleasurable his partner, Buford would become disenchanted in the end. Most times, he would want nothing more than to leave as soon as could be, fleeing back to his own rooms and trying not to feel too disgusted with himself for bedding a willing woman of the ton. He knew as long as he continued in that practice, it would always be so. He finally gave up the business before his last posting to Spain. Buford did not give up women—he was no Papist priest—but he made a solemn vow that, the next time he enjoyed a woman’s favors, it would not be with some other man’s wife but his own.

  It was not long after the incident at Almack’s that he noticed he had begun comparing any eligible lady who was introduced, pointed out, or thrown at him with Caroline Bingley. Buford could not get Caroline out of his mind. From what he knew of her, she met many of the requirements he had for a wife: accomplishment, grace, ease in society, beauty, and a comfortable dowry.

  Her disgrace at the assembly had an interesting effect on Buford. It became apparent to him that Miss Bingley was capable of great depth of feeling and that her nearest friends and family thought enough of her to protect her. Caroline’s apparent break with Annabella Adams and that set relieved Buford’s mind. He was aware of Miss Bingley’s reputation, but her actions showed a desire for improvement, and Colonel Buford wondered if they might be fellow souls, striving for redemption.

  As the summer progressed, his perception was corroborated by the actions of the Darcys—or rather the inactions of that august family. No matter what evils, real or imagined, that Miss Bingley had visited upon Mrs. Darcy in the past, Buford never heard a word against the lady by any member of the Darcy or Fitzwilliam family.

  Buford had hoped to further his acquaintance with the lady, but he was foiled when Caroline removed to Netherfield for the remainder of the year. He did not grieve in silence. Buford continued to enjoy society, but his observations only strengthened his opinions and his resolve. He planned his strategy.

  When Miss Bingley returned to Town the following spring, Buford was ready. With the precision of a military campaign, he courted her and included subtle tests throughout. Caroline passed most of them to his delight. He found that she was experienced in the management of an estate, was better read than he had been led to believe, and that her character seemed much improved. The estrangement with the Darcys was certainly past.

  However, Caroline, who had seemed to enjoy his company, began to distance herself as August came, and to his chagrin, Buford realized that he was so busy trying to ascertain Miss Bingley’s improvements that he had neglected to assure the lady of his desire to change. Such were his worries when Buford came upon a drunken fool pawing Miss Bingley at a ball. Without a thought, Buford sprang to Caroline’s defense, and in so doing, exposed his growing regard for her. Buford declared his intentions, but the timetable for his suit was projected forward by Caroline forcing the issue in September.

  Buford was pleased and contented with his choice. He felt Caroline would be an excellent manager of his house, a charming hostess for his guests, and an asset in his planned future political career. By observing her with her niece, he believed that Caroline would also be an affectionate mother. The only thing that remained was to make her a tolerable lover.

  Buford was an experienced, passionate, and introspective man, and while he had every intention of honoring his marriage vows, he knew he could never be happy unless he had pleasure in all the activities that marriage offered. There was only one thing for it; he had to seduce his wife.

  A new campaign began, culminating with their wedding night—their wedding evening. While Buford had never been with an innocent before, he knew how things could go wrong; one wrong move, any show of impatience or aggression on his part, and much could be lost.

  * * *

  Sir John sat upon Caroline’s bed—their wedding bed—and held his wife’s hands. “My dear,” he said to her, “I do not know what you have been told about this night—how you have been prepared.”

  Caroline became very shy, and her cheeks grew hot. “I… I have been told enough. I know my duties.”

  “No. There is no duty here—only pleasure.” He released her hands to grasp her chin lightly. “Look me in the eyes, Caroline. This night shall be given over only to your pleasure. Do you trust me?”

  Caroline struggled with the concept and then finally surrendered. “I will try.”

  Sir John smiled. “An honest answer.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “I shall now call for Abigail. Will a half hour be sufficient?”

  “Thank you, yes.” Her husband smiled and left the room through the door that connected their suites. Caroline drew breath and made her way into her dressing room. A few moments later, Abigail joined her. Without a word, the girl helped Caroline out of her dress. She is as nervous as I am, thought Caroline. The maid crossed the room to Caroline’s trunk.

  “My lady, you wish to wear… this?” Abigail stuttered.

  The maid’s modesty brought a smile to Caroline’s lips. “Yes.”

  “And the robe?”

  Caroline considered it. “No. Come, girl, see to my hair.”

  After thirty minutes, Sir John entered his wife’s room wearing a robe over his nightshirt. He beheld his bride seated at her dressing table, hair down, and her back to him. He called her name.

  Slowly she rose from the chair. Sir John almost gasped. The ivory negligee she wore was almost transparent, and he could clearly see the outline of her back and buttocks. She turned and he could see that her nipples were distended, evidence of her desire.

  “Beautiful—you are beautiful. Come, my dear.” Sir John held out his hand.

  Caroline could not believe she could blush further, but no one had ever called her beautiful before. She slowly walked towards him. To her it was a dream, and she felt somehow detached as if she were watching someone else.

  Sir John slowly caressed her shoulders and arms while murmuring low tones in her ear and kissing her hair. Finally, he sensed that her reserve had been broken, and she began to relax, to respond. His lips moved to hers while his arms encircled her.

  Caroline melted into the kiss, her body coming in firm contact with his. Not for the first time did she feel the evidence of his desire, but she did no
t flinch. She felt a need that she knew only his body could fulfill.

  Sir John’s hands slid downward to her hips. Caroline’s eyes opened first in surprise before closing in pleasure. Her arms rose first to his shoulders, then around his neck in response. Sir John’s lips moved to her chin, her cheek, her neck. Caroline felt the heat within her grow, and moaned in regret when Sir John suddenly lifted his head and cupped her face. For a moment, blue eyes bore into green. Caroline drew breath and relaxed.

  Sir John stepped back and removed his robe. At first, he seemed to Caroline’s eyes a bit silly in his nightshirt, and the thought acted to relax her further. The top buttons of the garment were undone, and his broad chest peeked from underneath. Unconsciously, she licked her lips. Sir John moved closer again, this time caressing her as his hands drifted down to the small points of her breasts and his fingertips made circles around them.

  Caroline knew she was slim and, therefore, smaller than many ladies of her acquaintance. She had worried that Sir John might be disappointed in her. But his touch vanquished that concern. The feelings he stirred within her were all delightful, and Caroline could not help but give out a small cry of pleasure.

  “Yes, Caro, let me know what pleases you,” he murmured. Sir John smiled as his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs feeling her nipples through the material.

  “What… what did you call me?” she asked, trembling.

  “Caro. You are my Caro—my delight—and I shall call you thus when we are together… thus.”

  Caroline slipped her arms around her husband again. Covering his face with kisses, she barely noticed that Sir John had dropped his hands again, this time to raise the hem of the negligee. He pulled it up, and Caroline lifted her arms to allow her husband to raise it over her head. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the flimsy nothing towards a corner. Sir John reached and lifted his bride in his arms and carried her to their marriage bed.

  He placed her on the sheets. “To pleasure thee is my delight.” He stood up and slowly removed his own garment. Caroline could not tear her eyes away from his manhood.