Lord Waring's Quest

By Constance Hussey

Tasked with finding his late cousin's missing child, Lord Waring encounters a mysterious Spanish beauty who is determined to thwart his every move. Yet locked beneath her elusive, frosty exterior Waring senses a fiery passion that draws him ever closer. Discovering the the key to unlock the heart of the bewitching young widow McClain is a difficult quest but he is determined to prevail and heal her wounded soul with the power of his love.

 

Scarred by years of war and turmoil, Jessica McClain flees Spain for the peace of England with her orphaned nephew. There she can honor her vow to hide the boy from his father's powerful family. Cloaked with an icy control, Jessica's resolve to protect him, and her battered heart, is unwavering--no matter how tempted she is to trust the dangerously attractive lord who comes searching. 

 

Now, tied by the silken threads of duty and love, they must find a path that frees them from the bonds of the past. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Constance Hussey
• Release date: Jun 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201605698

Constance Hussey

From the moment I stepped into my first school library I became enthralled with the idea that wonderful stories resided in all those books. The enchantment never faded. Amazing worlds full of adventure and history were mine for the reading. The imaginary characters living in my imagination were nothing unusual—obviously a great many people lived with stories in their heads and were kind enough to share them. That I could also share my tales and actually write a book wasn’t something I considered until quite recently, but I finally began writing seriously about six years ago. The first books were written in collaboration with my sister, Diana. (“Lord Waring’s Quest” and “An Angel for St. Clair”). Our interests have diverged at present and I now write independently under my own name. Married for many years to my own personal hero, a doting grandmother and fond parent, when not writing I enjoy puttering in my garden, cooking, and relaxing on the back porch of our Florida home—with a good book, of course!

Book preview

To Mom, who never lost faith.

Previously published as A Deceitful Widow by Diana Hussey, 2011

Lord Waring’s Quest

Copyright 2016

All Rights Reserved

Cover Art ® 2016 by Cover Art by Sheri

Additional Books by the Author

A Love Laid Bare

Trusting Lord Summerton

A Cornish Connection

Lydia, a Tale of Love and Courage

An Angel for St. Clair

An Inconvenient Wife

The Lady of Hurling Bay

http://www.constancehussey.com

Chapter One

London, 1815

Dear Lord Waring,

I have arranged for you to call on Mrs. McClain Tuesday next at two in the afternoon. The widow being of a reclusive nature, I sincerely advise you to make every attempt to accommodate my client. The direction to Rose Cottage is enclosed. Please let me know if I may provide any other service to you.

Yours respectfully,

Albert Wardwell, Esq.

****

Wiltshire, 1815

Lord Waring braced one booted foot on a tree stump and studied the house below. It was time for his appointment, but since he had little expectation of finding any answers here, he was in no hurry to face yet another dead-end in this fruitless quest to find his cousin’s widow. In fact, he was tempted to linger on the pleasant hillside. Jenny had certainly earned the chance to nibble at the grass after the long ride from London. Waring ran a hand along the mare’s neck. Damp, but she would soon dry in the warm breeze and in another hour or so be snug in a stall with a bag of oats. If only he could be as easily satisfied.

But it would take the appearance of this probably nonexistent child to do that, and since I doubt this widow will be of any help to us, God knows when I can get back to my life, Waring grumbled softly to Jenny, whose only response was a flick of her ears. Not interested, eh? Can’t say I blame you. He chuckled at his nonsense and gathered up the reins. Come, my sweet Jenny, enough snacking. It’s time to meet the elusive Widow McClain. He swung into the saddle and rode down the hill.

A lavish display of flowers filled the entire front yard. Roses climbed the portico, adding a burst of colour that softened the hard, solid lines of the stone cottage. Someone here was a skillful gardener, Waring decided as he approached the house. A suitable pastime for a widow of uncertain age,

The appearance of a sandy haired, freckled-faced boy brought him from his thoughts and Waring dismounted and handed him Jenny’s reins. The lad looked at the mare with frank admiration, gave him a wide smile and a fervent promise to ‘take good care of her’, and led her away. Amused, Waring smiled as he unlatched the gate. Jenny did have that effect on a person. The mare was a very pretty horse.

He walked up the path to the front door, knocked, and turned to watch the antics of the bees feasting on the fragrant blooms. Almost immediately, however, the door opened to reveal a stern-faced woman of middle age. She stared at him as if he was an apparition and he wondered with some bewilderment what there was about his appearance to garner so odd a reaction.

Good day. I believe Mrs. McClain is expecting me. Lucas March, Lord Waring. We have an appointment this afternoon. She took his proffered card without so much as a glance at it, stared intently at him a moment longer, then nodded as if she had made up her mind about something. A slight smile lightened her stony expression and she stepped back.

Well, come in, Lord Waring, so the door can be closed before we have a house full of bees. I am Martha Barnes. Mrs. McClain is in the parlour. It’s right along here. She took his hat and gloves and set them with his card on a small, ornately carved table that gleamed with the patina of age and polish. The entryway’s white painted walls were unadorned, with the exception of a portrait of a bewhiskered gentleman in uniform. Curious, Waring moved to examine the likeness more closely, but the impatient click clack of the woman’s shoes as she crossed the hallway did not encourage lingering. Mrs. Barnes opened a door at the end of the hall and waited just inside until he stood close behind her.

Lord Waring, ma’am, she said so loudly he started. Perhaps the widow was hard of hearing? The idea had hardly entered his mind when Mrs. Barnes turned abruptly, gave him another odd look he couldn’t interpret, and walked away without another word. Unusual behavior, indeed.

Waring stood on the threshold and examined the room. Here the walls were also white, but unlike the stark entry, several colourful fans mounted on one wall enlivened the area. A small desk sat by the window; a settee, chair and the table between them made up the other furnishings; nothing out of the ordinary, other than being somewhat sparse.

All thought of the room and its contents disappeared at the silent approach of a slender, black clad woman so astonishingly lovely that his breath hitched in his throat. She had to be one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and he’d known his share. Long lashes framed a pair of silvery-grey eyes that studied him gravely. Her dark hair, drawn back into a knot at the base of her neck, was a sharp contrast to the creamy skin on her almost too-perfect face. Add in a full, lush mouth and slim, straight nose and it was not surprising he felt as dazed as a schoolboy. Woman of uncertain age indeed! She couldn’t be more than a few years above twenty. Waring stifled the unexpected and ungentlemanly desire to see that hair tumbled around her breasts, her lips moist and rosy with his kiss, and stepped forward and bowed.

Mrs. McClain?

Please come in, Lord Waring." She offered the briefest of curtsies, her expression unreadable, but he swore he’d seen a flash of surprise in her eyes, very like Mrs. Barnes’ reaction. Now what was it about him to startle these women?

It is kind of you to see me. Mr. Wardwell said you seldom receive visitors. I hope my coming isn’t too inconvenient. Waring smiled at her and wished suddenly they were meeting under different circumstances.

Not at all. She gestured toward the chair and took a place on the settee. Please be seated and tell me in what way I might be of help to you.

If the cool, patient expression on her face was any indication, the widow was supremely indifferent to his reason for approaching her. Waring took the offered seat and stared at the beautiful, expressionless face. Could she really be as cold as she appeared? It seemed almost unnatural, yet the air of fragility about her was oddly appealing.

A family matter, Mrs. McClain. Waring heard the chilly note in his voice and paused. It would not do to offend the woman. Not, at least, until he had his answers, but he had seldom felt so entirely unwelcome. Her manner bordered on rudeness. Suppressing the impulse to respond in kind, Waring moderated his voice. I am looking for a woman named Luisa Foster Sinclair. Your solicitor suggested that you might be able to provide me with some information about her.

May I ask why you are interested in Luisa, Lord Waring?

For the first time she looked directly at him, a faint hint of interest in her eyes. He had not missed the familiar manner in which she spoke the missing woman’s name, and he tamped down a flare of excitement.

Recently my family learned that my cousin, Andrew Sinclair, was married to a Luisa Foster prior to his death in Spain. Andrew’s grandfather, the current Viscount Linden, who is also my great-uncle, wants to meet Luisa, make sure she is not in need. He leaned forward in an effort to convey how important this was to them. "Lord Linden very much wants...needs...to hear something of Andrew."

She searched his face, her hands clenched in her lap, and he withstood the scrutiny with barely checked impatience as he waited for her to reply.

Then I am sorry to tell you that Luisa Sinclair died of the fever less than a year after Andrew’s death, she said finally, the faintly accented voice husky with emotion. She was my younger sister.

She looked away. Waring rose and walked to the window. The urge he had to take this stranger into his arms and comfort her was a surprising impulse given his irritation at her chill manner—not to mention being a presumption which would likely earn him a well deserved set-down.

I am sorry, Mrs. McClain. I feared as much, Waring said into the uncomfortable silence. It seemed the only explanation of why Andrew’s wife never tried to contact any of the family. He turned to face her. But one does always hope otherwise, of course. This will be a huge disappointment to my great-uncle. Ever since we learned of Luisa’s existence he has looked forward to welcoming her.

There was an instance of distaste in the cool grey eyes and he hesitated. Surely this sense of animosity was his imagination. It must be her unnatural stillness that had him on edge. The woman seemed hardly to breathe, so little did she move. What would it take to disturb that studied calm? Clap his hands? Shout ‘fire’?

Ignoring his absurd fancies, Waring resumed his seat and summoned a smile. If you do not find the subject too painful, will you tell me a little of Andrew and Luisa’s life together? It would please Lord Linden very much, I know.

Another intense and irritating scrutiny, but one with a more pleasant result, for she surprised him with a faint smile and a graceful wave of her hands.

I’m not sure how you learned of my sister, my lord. I was not aware that Andrew’s family knew of their marriage.

We did not, but not long ago a letter written by Luisa to Andrew came into our possession. Along with Luisa’s letter, there was a brief note from a Major Foster and we applied to the War Office for information. Then, thanks to the sleuthing abilities of my secretary, we located Mr. Wardwell. Some of the tension eased from Waring’s shoulders and he smiled. You have a very loyal solicitor, Mrs. McClain.

Mr. Wardwell has been a good friend for many years, she said lightly.

Was that relief in her voice? Waring murmured something unintelligible and cursed his overactive imagination, but then it seemed every bit of his good sense had vanished in the past half-hour. He put on an encouraging expression, leaned back, and waited for her to continue.

Hands folded loosely in her lap, she met his gaze, her head tilted in question. Do you know any of our family history?

Waring shook his head.

She took a deep breath and continued. "My mother was Spanish. She and Father met at the Spanish Embassy in London and after they married, they lived here for a few years. When Father transferred to Europe, we went with him, and whenever it was not possible to follow Father, we stayed at Mother’s family home, the Hacienda del Sol. After she died, Father judged it wise for us to remain there, rather than accompany him around Europe." She paused to stare down at her now tightly twisted fingers for a moment, her expression unreadable.

Waring swallowed his questions, too fascinated by the husky, seductive voice to risk interruption. The reward for his patience was a faint smile and a quick, intent glance before she continued.

Andrew and my father served together in Spain and when Father was mortally wounded at Bussaco, Andrew promised to make sure all was well with us. She hesitated briefly, a question in her eyes, and then went on. You are aware, I suppose, that Andrew often acted as an intelligence officer and a liaison to some of the guerilla groups.

Waring nodded. In truth, he had only the vaguest knowledge of his cousin’s duties, but he had no wish to interrupt the widow, and seeming to take his agreement at face value, she went on.

My cousin’s guerilla band was such a group and one of the reasons Andrew was able to visit us more often than one would expect. A smile, so fleeting he thought perhaps he had imagined it, touched her lips. It may seem somewhat unusual in the middle of a war for two people to fall in love, but the attraction between Luisa and Andrew was immediate. Even though Luisa was only seventeen, neither wanted to wait, and they married just a few months after they met. As it turned out, the decision was a wise one, for they had little more than a year together and much of that apart. She averted her face, but not quickly enough to hide the sheen of moisture in her eyes. You must excuse me, sir, for even though almost four years have passed I cannot speak of this easily.

Then do not, Waring said. It is I who beg forgiveness for intruding on your memories. Disturbed by her obvious distress, he stood and walked over to examine the fans on the wall.

These are lovely and quite unique. Are they very old? He had not the slightest interest in the fans, striking as they were, but anything to change the subject and defuse the emotionally charged atmosphere.

Yes, quite old and made especially for my grandmother. They were one of the few things I brought from Spain. She hesitated, and he heard the rustle of her skirts as she rose and walked over to stand beside him.

Waring glanced sideways at her. She was staring at one of the fans, a remote expression on her face. The faintest scent of roses seemed to surround her and his pulse quickened.

Lord Waring, she said softly. Please tell your uncle Andrew considered the time he and Luisa had together the happiest of his life. Perhaps that may bring some comfort to him.

She moved away before he could react. Waring turned to watch her cross the room and stand by the desk. Her face again wore that bland, patient look that made him feel she wished him to disappear, and quickly. Perversely he ignored the unspoken thought and stepped closer, quite aware he disturbed her by his proximity. Never had he felt such an affinity for a woman. And given that this particular female appeared to hold him in dislike, it was doubly disturbing. Her demeanor was unnerving and again he wondered what it would take to ruffle her cold façade.

Thank you. Knowing Andrew was able to find some happiness with your sister will be of comfort to us all. Deliberately he kept his gaze intent upon her face and was unsurprised to see her give him a fleeting look of instantly veiled hostility. Not surprised, but infinitely curious. The urge to probe further was irresistible.

It must have been difficult for you, to lose both your father and sister. Did you then return to England?

She stepped back with a wave of her hand and edged toward the door. Not at once. Travel was complicated and several months passed before I was able to obtain adequate transportation. It isn’t a journey I’d care to repeat.

No, I suppose not. Traveling under the best of conditions can be quite tedious, Waring agreed, never taking his eyes from her face. He wanted to say something outrageous to shake her composure but settled for another probing question. He knew he was behaving badly, but dammit, why would she not volunteer any information? You were not alone, I trust.

Her eyes widened in an exaggerated manner and he braced for yet another evasion, but this time he guessed incorrectly.

Not at all. Mrs. Barnes accompanied me, and of course, my son.

The calm words hit him like a blow. She had a son. That explained the mention of a child in Luisa’s letter. Andrew did not leave a son. No wonderful outcome to this mess would be forthcoming and he now faced telling his great-uncle there was no direct heir to the viscountcy as they had so greatly hoped.

I see. That explains the reference to a child, Waring said a little roughly, ridiculously disappointed since his expectations had not been high to start with. We thought perhaps...

She met his gaze squarely and shook her head. No, Lord Waring. Jamie is mine.

Waring heard the note of finality in her voice and searched his mind for something else to say, anything to prolong his visit.

How old is your son, Mrs. McClain? I have two young nephews. They can be a handful.

The only response to his smile was a stiff, He is four. She made a decisive move to the door and Waring’s mouth tightened.

He swallowed his ire and made one more attempt. The twins are almost five, and quite a challenge, as I’m sure my sister would agree. Amy never bargained on two of the little devils.

The widow’s icy countenance softened for a moment. They must be a joy to her. Although I am not certain I could manage two of Jamie. One is handful enough, thank you.

A quick smile lit her face, and he felt the impact to his toes. Gad, she was stunning. Bemused, he followed her into the hall, pausing at the door to pick up his hat and gloves. I appreciate you allowing me to call and trust that I haven’t overly disturbed you. He gazed down at her, willing her to smile again, but the unreadable look was firmly in place once more.

Not at all. Please give my regards to your uncle.

She opened the door, stepped onto the small porch, and waited with poorly concealed impatience for him to leave. Waring stared at that lovely face for a long moment while he drew on his gloves. Good day, Mrs. McClain. Perhaps I will see you again. He heard the sharp note in his voice and for a second thought a hint of apology flickered in her eyes. No, it must be his imagination, for the low voiced answer was no warmer than before.

Perhaps. Good-day and a safe journey to you, sir. Without a backward glance, she walked into the house and closed the door firmly behind her.

Waring frowned, shook his head in disbelief, and stalked out to the gate, where Jenny stood snuffling at the youngster rubbing her neck. He summoned a smile and handed the boy a coin.

Thank you for looking after her.

"Thank you, mister. I walked her some. A nice ’un, she is." The boy smiled shyly and scampered off.

Waring gathered up the reins and swung into the saddle. Well, it appears we aren’t wanted here any longer, Jenny girl. Never were wanted, I suspect, Waring muttered as he rode away. He was no Adonis, but he considered his face and form well enough, and his manner pleasing. At least, most women seemed to like him. What had he done or said to make her take him in instant dislike? Was it the situation or something about him personally? Automatically turning the mare towards the village where he planned to put up for the night, Waring brooded over every word and gesture. What possible reason existed to cause the thinly veiled hostility he had sensed? Damn the woman. She had gotten under his skin and he feared it an itch not easily scratched.

Chapter Two

Dear Mr. Wardwell,

As you advised, I have informed Lord Waring of my relationship to Luisa and something of Luisa and Andrew’s life together. I hope Lord Linden and his family will derive some comfort in knowing Andrew was happy in his marriage and dearly loved.

I fully expect, and completely desire that there will be no further need for any contact with the Sinclair family. While Lord Linden’s wish to provide for Luisa is commendable, obviously such assistance is unnecessary.

Please believe I am most appreciative of your assiduous efforts on our behalf all these years and regret you feel my decision to remain in seclusion is ill advised and unwarranted. This may well be the case, but I simply cannot, in all conscience, break my promise to Luisa.

Yours in affection,

Jessica Foster McClain

****

Jessica put aside her pen and dropped her head in her hands. Never in her life had she been so uncivil to a guest. To not even offer him refreshment, after he had come all the way from London! He must think her rude and unfeeling at best, and he would have every reason. If only his resemblance to Andrew had not been such a shock. It brought back so many memories she thought buried. The familiar mixture of fear and guilt gripped her. Jessica pressed her fingers to her forehead in an attempt to ease the ache behind her eyes. So many secrets and lies, but what choice had she? Even without her vow to Luisa, there was no secret she would not keep, no lie she would not speak, if it were necessary to protect Jamie.

Knowing from experience that only exercise had any chance of keeping the pain from blooming into a crushing headache, Jessica folded and sealed her letter. She had time yet before the evening meal to work in the garden for a little while. At least until Rose, their day maid, brought Jamie home.

Jessica called upstairs to tell Martha of her intention, gathered up gloves and the basket of tools kept handy in the stairwell cubby, and stepped outside. The sight of her lovely flowers never failed to give her pleasure and she took a deep breath of the rose-scented air. She was proud of her pretty garden, especially since she had no practice in growing anything before moving to Rose Cottage. Her Mama would have been horrified at the idea of a young girl grubbing around in the dirt. It was bad enough that she had so often snuck away to ride out with her cousins.

But how could I resist, Sir Robin, with all the hacienda to explore and those marvelous horses to ride? Jessica asked of the bright-eyed bird perched on the fence. The robin cocked his head and ruffled his feathers as if in agreement, and she chuckled and turned to her tasks with a lighter heart. She would not trade a moment of those carefree years with her large and loving family for anything in the world. Not all the horror that came after could take those good memories away from her. Resolutely putting all thoughts of Spain, the war, and the many that had died from her mind, Jessica began cutting some of the most fragrant of the roses to take inside for Martha.

****

The roses are very nice, Jess, and I appreciate the thought. It is not, however, going to excuse you from telling me about your visit with Lord Waring, Martha said as soon as Jamie was abed and they had settled by the fire with a basket of mending between them.

Martha! That isn’t why I gave you the roses, Jessica protested with a laugh, undeceived by the expression of false innocence on her friend’s face. Which you know full well, she chided with mock sternness. Of course I will tell you about it, but I must give fair warning that I was no credit to you, being I was the most rag-mannered of creatures. Jessica laid aside the stocking she had yet to set a needle to and raised her hands to cover her suddenly heated cheeks. Oh, Martha, I was horridly rude to the poor man and what he must think of me I cannot imagine.

Is that why you’ve been as restless as a puppy these last few hours? Martha looked up from her handwork. You are worried about what Lord Waring thinks of you?

Of course not! Jessica gave her companion an indignant glare. I’ll never see the man again so it hardly matters. It is more what I think of me, she admitted, which is not highly at the moment. She jumped up and started pacing. She did care, which was what really bothered her. Why should his opinion matter in the least? The important thing was for him to believe her story.

Well, you know best, my dear, Martha said dryly. Perhaps if you were to tell me the whole, I might agree with you.

Hah. No doubt you will. Noting the twinkle in Martha’s eyes, Jessica gave her a quick smile and walked over to kneel beside her chair. What a bear I am! How you put up with me, I can’t begin to imagine, but I am very glad you do. Thank you for playing housekeeper earlier. I’m sure you would have much rather spent the time with Jamie but the interview might have been even more nerve-racking if he had been home, instead of at the Haywood’s farm with Rose. Jessica gave Martha a hug and