Happy Father's Day to dads everywhere. Here's hoping you have a fun-filled day.
As my part of the celebrations, I'm including an excerpt from Lord Wastrel, where a rakish man discovers, to his immense surprise, that he is a father. I hope you enjoy!
London, 1811
It wasn’t the night of hard drinking Hugh Longford, Lord Weyson, regretted in that particular moment. Nor was it the fact that the sun blistering his eyes meant night had slipped away without his knowledge, once again.
The cause of his agony, and the source of his sudden wish that he had lived his past few years differently, was standing in front of him, calling him “Papa”.
“What the deuce?”
Hugh blinked, and then rubbed his red-rimmed eyes, but there was no mistaking the little creature gazing up at him. Not with fear, he noticed. Her expression was more of fascination than anything else. The poor mite was probably wondering what kind of father she had—
He gazed at the child's nursemaid with unabashed hopefulness. Surely she had some other sort of explanation, something other than the one he was being asked to accept.
"My lord, Miss Marguerite told me were anythin' ever to happen to her. . ." She coughed as she struggled to regain her composure, and then extracted a letter from her coat.
Even knowing he did not want to see the contents, Lord Weyson found himself reaching for the parchment, unfolding it with trembling hands.
She had never meant to bother him, her letter said. He had been so generous with her, especially when he had given her her congé, but she had become gravely ill recently, and had no one else with whom to entrust their child. . .
"Haselton!" Hugh turned to his unflappable butler, the one person who assured that Weyson House always ran smoothly, despite its owner's well-known excesses.
"Yes, my lord."
Haselton gazed upon the unusual scene without the slightest bit of perturbance, even though he was as unaccustomed to young children standing in the parlor as his master was.
Hugh sighed with relief. "Well, yes, there's—her." He thrust his hand out toward the young child. "And, it says here—that is, I don't know how it could be possible, for I always took every precaution, but I suppose it is not outside the realm of possibility—apparently I—this child is—"
He ran his hand through his hair, quite undone by the morning's unexpected revelations. At this hour, he was more accustomed to stumbling into bed, and generally not his own. Though he had earned the nickname Lord Wastrel for his profligate ways, he most certainly was not used to a fracas of this sort, and not at this hour of the day.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the looking glass over the fireplace. God, he looked wretched. His hair had no semblance of the latest style, his eyes were bleary and bloodshot, his chin darkening with stubble. He had acquired the face of an old reprobate, not the wealthy young London buck that he was. In short, he had become everything he despised.
He growled, his lips turned up in a sneer.
"Are you the debbil?" a small voice asked.
Haselton coughed, turning his head, but Hugh saw the smile he was trying to conceal.
He also saw the little girl trying to hide her uncertainty. His heart softened. Her life had been turned upside down too. He bent down, to keep from towering over her, though it took more effort than he wanted to admit just to keep steady on his pins. The movement also made him feel a bit nauseous of a sudden.
Why not just sit down where he was?
The child giggled when Hugh plopped down onto the floor, putting his face level with hers.
She had the most beautiful blue eyes. He could remember Marguerite, a sweet opera dancer, with just those same eyes. And the child had the same dark-as-night curls that he had, he realized with a scowl. Not to mention features that descended from his branch of the family tree.
"Are you the debbil?" she repeated. She put her fingers up to her head as if they were horns, and wiggled them.
He laughed, throwing back his head, wishing he hadn't when the pain sliced through his skull once more. "Ah, no, but I sure as hell feel like the debbil."
"My lord," Haselton said, "perhaps you could sort everything out with your solicitor."
Hugh knew that was the best advice, but for some reason he resisted it. He didn’t want this responsibility. He wasn’t even sure he should take it on. It wasn’t that he doubted the child was his—one look at her and there could be no doubt of that.
But he was not particularly suited to parenthood. Clearly he was well versed in siring a child, but he hadn't the slightest notion of what was required to actually parent one.
One moment he was carousing and gambling and drinking, forestalling that day when he must settle down to his responsibilities, just like any other young buck in London. The next moment he was changed by the simple discovery that he was a father.
Four years ago his lineage had extended by a generation, and he had most likely been carousing and gambling and drinking, just like any other wealthy young buck in London.
Why did that young man seem so foreign to him now?
He softened as he thought of her first words to him, “Are you the debbil?” He had no doubt he looked like Old Nick in that moment. It was a wonder he hadn't set the poor child to crying, but she was obviously made of sterner stuff. She had gazed at him quite fearlessly, and even with a hint of compassion.
Hugh groaned, dropping his head in his hands. What on earth was he to do?
He felt a light touch on his head, more tender than a wretch such as he deserved. It filled him with a strange sense of peace, one he did not want to lose anytime soon.
He lifted his head. "I cannot have a child in my life right now," he blurted, with more ferocity than he had intended.
The little girl stepped back from him. Her bottom lip quivered, and for the first time she lost her composure. Hugh could feel a wrench in his heart, and even though he resisted the odd emotion, he was powerless against it when tears started pouring from those innocent blue eyes.
His daughter. And he had been the one to finally make her cry.
The lump in his throat nearly choked him. He pulled her onto his lap, holding her protectively, resting his chin on the top of her head while she sobbed. He rocked her back and forth, comforting her, and himself, with the sounds used throughout the ages to ease unbearable heartache.
"What's your name, child?"
"Lucinda," she answered, sniffing and trying to control her tears. Her breath caught. "What's yours?"
"Lord Wast—", he began, but the hopeful expression on her face changed everything. The wretched Lord Wastrel was no more. He had a child to care for—his child. "Lucinda, your father is Hugh Longford, the fifth Earl Weyson."
"Can I call you Papa instead?"
Hugh's heart melted completely, all because of this child he had not known of until moments ago. He quaked at the thought of what it meant to be a Papa. Lord only knew if he was up to the task. He squeezed her a little more tightly, for his own reassurance.
Yet he knew without a doubt she had proved to be his salvation. He could not deny her the fine things in life to which she was entitled, even if she had the misfortune of being born on the wrong side of the blanket. Nor could he permit his profligate past to mar her future.
He stood up, Lucinda wrapped in his arms, and strode towards the stairs.
"Now all we have to do is find you a mother. A perfect, biddable female who will raise you into a proper young lady."
The words fell on deaf ears, for there was only so much excitement a four-year-old could endure before she fell asleep, safe and comforted in her father's arms. Hugh's heart swelled with emotion. His head was filled with visions of what lay ahead of them, only this time he was not frightened. Now that he had been given this opportunity, this redemption, he couldn't wait to get started on his grand plans for their future.
"Haselton," Lord Weyson whispered, so as not to wake Lucinda. "I have need of a wife."
"Indeed, sir," Haselton answered as calmly as if he'd been asked to deliver a tray to the nursery. "And where shall you procure one?"
Hugh waved one hand dismissively. "London is filled with dozens of such females. All I need do is pick a respectable one, marry her, and a perfect life for Lucinda will be set in motion. I'm sure it couldn't be any easier."
Haselton nodded, his expression grave. "One would hope so, my lord. One would hope so."
*snort* Lord Wastrel and Haselton are so going to be disappointed in the wife they find. Fantastic excerpt. Can I read the rest? Now? LOL Looking forward to this story very much.
Posted by: Heather Boyd | June 16, 2013 at 10:52 PM
LOL, how did you know? Yes, the wife is going to be quite different than what they expect. It makes it SO much fun, doesn't it? :) I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm working feverishly to finish it, and of course a prequel novella had to jump in front, and trying to get the characters to cooperate. . .I'm sure you've experienced the same thing! Hopefully I'll have it ready to read soon-ish. :)
Posted by: Donna Cummings | June 17, 2013 at 08:40 AM
I've been looking forward to reading this story for a long time! Something about Lord Wastrel is so darn appealing...I'm not sure if it's the feeling he's been ready for change but doesn't think he deserves anything good (and I'm just so darn happy he gets it) or that it's a change thrust upon him when he is so NOT ready. LOL I also love that Haselton! :)
Posted by: Melissa | June 17, 2013 at 11:52 AM
It HAS been a long wait! I like your analysis of what makes this appealing -- you've really nailed it actually. :) It looks like Haselton is going to turn into a bigger character than he was initially. LOL If only I had more control of my characters. Hah!
Posted by: Donna Cummings | June 17, 2013 at 12:32 PM
Oh my! I've been out of town since last Friday and am only now catching up with all the goodies I missed. What a set-up you've given us. I can't wait for this one. It sounds like so much fun!!
Fantastic excerpt. I hope the whole book is on the near horizon! *crossing fingers*
Posted by: Mae Clair | June 18, 2013 at 09:13 AM
Thanks, Mae! And welcome back -- hope you got to have a nice little vacay. :)
I'm hoping to get this book finished sooner rather than later. LOL If only that novella hadn't decided it needed to start this series! But they'll both be done in the near future. *fingers crossed*
Posted by: Donna Cummings | June 18, 2013 at 10:00 AM
Wow! And I didn't know it was Father's Day. What a lovely surprise. *reading avidly*
Hey it stops before the HEA.
Now I'm hooked, wondering how many candidates Haselton will find!
I recently read Lisa Kleypas's 'Then Came You' where Lily Lawton was stunningly improbable wifely material. She lured her future husband to London so that his fiancée (her sister) could elope with her true love. This involved bashing him on the head and tying him to a bed for the night.
I have a sneaking feeling that Lord Wastrel might suffer a similar fate! LOL
Posted by: Quantum | June 19, 2013 at 04:17 AM
LOL, Quantum -- it's the first chapter, so there's quite a bit more before the HEA arrives. :)
The Lisa Kleypas story sounds delightful! I will have to add it to my TBR pile. I can guarantee Lord Wastrel will have an easier fate, even though he might not think so at the time. LOL
Posted by: Donna Cummings | June 19, 2013 at 02:29 PM