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An Excerpt From: AT LOVE’S COMMAND
Copyright © SAMANTHA KANE, 2007
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.
Ian
Witherspoon was rather amazed at how calm he was considering he had just
left his lover to go meet his bride. For all that he’d been betrothed to
her for nearly twelve years, he couldn’t recall having seen her since that
long-ago day. She’d been a mousy little thing of ten years then, thin and
blandly brown—hair, eyes and clothes. He had been a very immature eighteen,
reluctantly agreeing to the future marriage in order to stay in his
father’s good graces.
Then
the war, and Derek, had come along and he’d forgotten about little brown
Sophia Middleton. Ah yes, Derek. His lover was less than thrilled at Ian’s
upcoming nuptials. Ian had tried everything to make Derek understand why he
was doing this. But Derek refused to listen, he
refused to talk about the past or the future. Derek wanted to live in the
present, with no thought to causes or consequences. Ian couldn’t blame him,
really. He’d seen too much of consequences in his short life. Hadn’t they
all? But his stubborn refusal to even discuss the situation had Ian
tremendously frustrated.
As he
walked up the stairs to the drawing room Ian thought about their friends Jason
Randall, Tony Richards and their wife Kate, Lady Randall. Jason and Tony
had fought beside Ian and Derek on the Peninsula,
and they had suffered in the same way Ian and Derek had from the war. Yet
they had found happiness with Kate. Why couldn’t Derek see it was that
elusive happiness that Ian sought for both of them with Miss Middleton?
Ian
put Derek and their problems firmly from his mind. Right now the neglected
Miss Middleton was awaiting him with her papa in the salon. Not only had
she been kept waiting this morning, but she’d been cooling her heels here
at his London townhouse for over a week, awaiting his return from the Lake
District where he had gone to help a friend in need.
Ian
stopped long enough to check his cravat in the hall mirror. Assured that
his cravat, indeed his entire person, was suitably groomed to beg Miss
Middleton’s pardon, Ian stepped purposely down the hall to the drawing
room. A footman opened the door for him, so he didn’t even need to break
his stride as he entered the room. The two occupants turned to the door
expectantly and Ian stopped to bestow a polite smile on them.
“Good
morning, Sir Middleton, Miss Middleton,” he offered. He had decided not to
be too contrite before them. A small amount of sheepishly apologetic behavior
was required, of course, but for the most part he thought he ought to
behave as he felt—sorry they’d been kept waiting but not sorry he’d gone to
see his friend Jonathan Overton through a rough patch. As it was he worried
that they’d left Jonathan too soon.
Ian
saw that Sir Isaac Middleton was unabashedly sizing him up. Sir Middleton
had been knighted for making an obscene amount of money in trade. Oh, they
claimed it was for some terribly important service he’d done for the crown
of course, but everyone knew it was the money. That’s why Ian had been
betrothed to his daughter. Ian’s father was Lord Thomas Witherspoon, the
youngest son of the Earl of Wilchester. Granted,
Ian did not have a title himself and was rather out of the running for Earl
seeing as his cousins were amazingly prolific, but
he was connected. Lord Thomas Witherspoon needed a large loan, and
Sir Middleton wanted an entrée into society. Thus Sophia and Ian were
matched and the two proud papas were happy.
Ian
had been miserable about it at the time. He’d been picturing himself
dazzling some diamond of the first water when and if he decided to settle
down. He had arrogantly assumed his dashing good looks would overcome his
complete lack of income. That lack of income had enabled his father to
successfully threaten to cut off his meager allowance unless he betrothed
himself to the girl. Little brown Sophia had done nothing to ameliorate
Ian’s displeasure. The only consolation was that he would not have to wed
her for at least eight years. He’d made sure that provision was in the
marriage contract, and in return Sophia received a very large marriage
settlement. Everyone ignored the fact that the money would almost certainly
come from her own dowry.
Over
the years Ian had forgotten about her. When he asked his father to buy him
a commission in the army, Ian had been surprised when the old man had asked
him, “What about Miss Middleton?” He had nearly replied, “Miss Who?” In his
own defense he hadn’t thought he’d be at war longer than a year or two, and
as Miss Middleton was only sixteen at the time he assumed it would work out
well.
He’d
been at war for four years. And when he came back he had Derek with him and
a whole host of demons at his heels. Rushing to Sophia Middleton’s side for
a lavish wedding did not appeal. He didn’t think she cared too much; he’d
written to tell her of his commission and hadn’t heard a thing from her,
not in four years. She’d known where he was, she could have contacted him.
And she hadn’t sought him out in the two years he’d been back, either.
Ian
thought back on why he’d finally decided to marry her. It had nothing to do
with her charms—he honestly didn’t know if she had any. What he wanted was
a new beginning. He had love with Derek, but it hadn’t made either one of them
truly happy. They were too mired in the past, in a war they rarely talked
about. Even more than Ian, Derek was haunted by the war. Ian wanted them to
have a new start with someone not associated with the war and all that
happened there. Sophia Middleton was the way to do that, he just knew it.
Finally they could put the past behind them and live fully in the present,
planning for a future. Ian wanted a family. He wanted children. And he
wanted to give those things to Derek, too.
Since
he’d decided he wished to marry, Ian logically concluded that the wife he’d
had waiting in the wings for twelve years would do as well as any other. He
thought after twelve years he at least owed her a wedding.
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