Winning Lord West Read Free Page B

stage and enjoy some
Western luxury. We might make headway without his royal
interference.
    This is a strange, beautiful, stirring,
half-barbaric country, for all its wealth. I’d love to bring you
here one day. I think your untamed spirit would feel at home. As I
ride out every dawn, I imagine you galloping at my side, the way we
galloped at Richmond half a world away.
    I hear Silas and Caro are more wrapped up in
each other than ever. He really should marry the girl. And Fenella
has a thousand admirers, but doesn’t give a fig for any of them. I
also hear you and Lord Pascal have been seen together several times
at the opera. I know he’s handsome, my darling, but the fellow will
bore you to death once you’ve stopped looking at him and started
listening to him. You need a man to keep you on your toes. A man
undaunted by your magnificent brain.
    There’s a much more suitable lover available,
although he’s currently occupied abroad on international
affairs.
    I hope when you sleep, you dream of me.
     
    Your fervent admirer
    West
     
    P.S. When it comes time to put Artemis to
stud, allow me to suggest my stallion Perseus. They will have
beautiful, spirited offspring.
    ***
     
    Cranham, Wiltshire, 10 th October
1820
     
    Sir,
    Despite repeated requests to refrain, still
you pester me with unwanted confidences and reflections. Again I
tell you they—like you—are of no interest. It seems cursed unfair
that you are much more annoying at a distance than you ever were in
London. The Russian doxies mustn’t keep you as amused as our local
variety always has. I hesitate to recommend sin, but, my lord, you
need to fill those long Russian nights with something other than
the cold ashes of an old dalliance. If sin has palled through
overfamiliarity, permit me to suggest that you take up
knitting.
    Again, I insist that you cease this stupid
game and leave me in peace.
     
    Hopefully for the last time.
    Lady Crewe
     
    P.S. Artemis remains your horse, even if
she’s been eating her head off in my stables for the last six
months. I begin to think you sent her to me as an economy measure.
The arrangements for breeding her are none of my concern.
    ***
     
    London, 1 st December 1820
     
    West, old chum!
    Congratulate the happiest man in England.
Nay, the world. My glorious Caro has agreed to become my wife, and
I’m ten miles high in the sky as a result.
    Can you tear yourself away from the bears and
the balalaikas and the Cossacks long enough to come home and stand
up with me? Our plan is to have a quiet wedding at Woodley Park on
Valentine’s Day. Forgive the sentimental choice of date, but I’ve
become disgustingly sap-headed since my beloved consented to marry
me. Then a short honeymoon before Caro and I leave with the
Horticultural Society’s expedition to China.
    The dates are fairly set in stone, so I’ll
understand if noblesse obliges you to stay shivering in the snow
and ice, running the Tsar’s errands.
    But given you’ve been my best friend since I
could walk, I’ll be dashed sorry if you can’t make it to
Leicestershire to raise a glass in my honor and make an
embarrassing speech at the wedding breakfast.
    Anyway, let me know when you can. There’s
nobody I’d rather have at my side when I pledge my life to the
woman I love.
     
    Yours, etc.
    Stone

 
     
The Wooing
     

Chapter One
     
    Woodley Park, Leicestershire, February
1821
     
    Helena strolled out of her childhood home
into a perfect winter morning. The air was cold enough to make her
lungs ache, but the sky was pure blue and the light so clear that
everything looked new minted. She stopped in the empty stable yard
and sucked in a deep breath. The worries and stresses of city life
drained away.
    She was a countrywoman at heart. Always had
been.
    Instead of living in London most of the year,
she should spend more time on her estate, Cranham. Especially with
Caro and Silas traveling, and Fenella planning her wedding to
Anthony Townsend.
    How she’d