The Christmas Promise: Regency Romance (Rogues and Laces)

by Regina Darcy

  The other gentleman suddenly frowned. “You won’t…?”

  Lord Faversham lifted an eyebrow. “She’s got to learn to respect me first, St James. I’ll have her as my wife, and she’ll welcome me to her bed. No, I’ll wait until we’re wed, but she’s going to have to learn not to put up a fight.” A crooked grin crossed his unhandsome face, his eyes darting towards the top of the stairs. “I won’t have a disobedient wife, and the sooner she learns that, the better.”

  The other gentleman, the one Charles had heard called St James, nodded, every trace of unease wiped from his face at once. “Very good,” he said with a quick shrug. “You know best, Faversham. After all, she is to be your wife!” He slapped one hand down on Lord Faversham’s shoulder. “And all the best to you. I’m just glad to have her taken off my hands!”

  Lord Faversham grinned and said something under his breath that Charles could not hear, although the lewd expression on the gentleman’s face had his anger burning all the brighter. He watched Lord Faversham closely as St James took his leave, wondering what the gentleman intended to do to the lady in order to make her compliant.

  He did not have to wonder for long.

  “Miss Julianna is waiting for you, my lord.”

  One of the footmen who had escorted the young lady up the staircase now returned, looking a little dishevelled.

  “Is that so?” Lord Faversham murmured, his eyes burning with an evil delight. “Waiting for me, is she?”

  The footman appeared a little uncertain, clearing his throat as he inclined his head. “She is a little upset, my lord.”

  “As I expected her to be,” Lord Faversham replied drolly. “Now, where is my riding whip?”

  Charles’s breath caught in his chest, his eyes suddenly catching onto those of the maid, who was staring at him with horror in her expression. He did not know why she was looking at him, why she appeared to be silently begging him for help, and yet he could not look away. The thought of Lord Faversham taking his whip to the young lady who had been forced up the stairs sent a wave of nausea all through him, his stomach roiling with disgust.

  Lord Faversham chuckled again, finding the riding whip on his person, and then with something of a flourish, began to climb the stairs towards the hapless young lady. Charles forced himself to remain in his seat, telling himself repeatedly that this was nothing to do with him. It was not any of his business, for he was not acquainted with any of these people who had only just now come into the inn.

  And yet still the young maid was staring at him, her grey eyes boring into his.

  Lord Faversham bellowed something loudly, and Charles heard a faint scream echo down the staircase towards them. The taproom quieted for a moment before bursting back into life again. It did not seem to matter to anyone what occurred in the rooms above, for they had all decided that such matters were naught to do with them, and therefore, they were more than able to ignore it.

  “Which is just what I must do,” Charles told himself, digging his fork back into the stew and lifting it to his mouth. The food, which had tasted so wonderful only a few minutes before, now turned to ash in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed hard, throwing back his whisky in an attempt to clear his mind of the troubling thoughts.

  “Sir?”

  He looked up to see the little maid standing before him, her hands clutched in front of her. “Yes?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he watched her.

  “You…” She trailed off, looking terribly confused, as though she did not know how to say whatever was on her mind.

  Charles allowed himself to study her, seeing the tracks of tears still evident on her face.

  “You saw my mistress?” she asked eventually, her eyes not quite managing to rest on his.

  “I did,” he admitted quietly.

  Her hands grew white as she tensed. “Might I beg for your help on her behalf?” she whispered, her eyes wide with fright as she threw a glance over her shoulder, as though expecting Lord Faversham to appear at any moment. “My mistress, Miss Julianna Wade, is without a single soul to assist her, and I cannot simply leave her to her fate.”

  Charles took another mouthful of stew and chewed slowly.

  “It is not my business,” he stated firmly, despite the clamouring of his heart. “I am truly sorry for the struggle she is enduring, but I–”

  “She has no one!”

  The maid’s interjection startled Charles, and he set down his fork to study the girl a little more closely. The maid’s dedication to her mistress was to be admired.

  “Her father is presumed dead, her mother gone before him, and despite her own wishes, her uncle has engaged her to that… that… despicable cad Lord Faversham!” This had evidently taken some courage to say aloud, for the maid flushed dark, although her chin rose slightly.

  “Miss Wade has refused him on many occasions, has tried her best to ignore her uncle’s demands, and so they have forced her to comply. She was given laudanum so that they might bundle her into a carriage. They knew that no man of God in England would accept such a marriage when the lady is so obviously reluctant, and so they have brought her here. I believe Lord Faversham has friends in France that he intends to stay with once he is wed to Miss Julianna. But you can see, sir – can you not? – that Lord Faversham is a cruel and unjust man! He is not a good man for my mistress.”

  Charles considered all of this for a moment or two before shaking his head. “As much as I find myself conflicted by your mistress’s difficulties and the trouble that is being caused by Lord Faversham, I find that I am quite unable to help,” he stated firmly. “She is not my concern. Besides which, what is it that you think I can do?”

  The maid dropped her head, her expression one of despair. “I don’t know, sir,” she admitted softly. “I saw you watching my mistress and then Lord Faversham, and I thought… I thought you might be able to help.” Her voice trembled as she added, “Please forgive me. I am quite desperate. My mistress is an innocent!”

  Shaking his head and ignoring his attack of conscience, Charles put on a tight smile.

  “I am sorry,” he said firmly. “But I cannot involve myself. This is naught to do with me.”

  The maid looked utterly distraught, but Charles dismissed her with a quick wave of his hand. He could not let his heart overrule his head. He was here to play cards and to win as much money as he could. A young lady in trouble, despite his awareness of her upset, was nothing whatsoever to do with him. He had to simply forget that he had ever seen her.

  THREE

  Thwack.

  The dull thud told Charles that the person being beaten in such a disgraceful manner had, he believed, fallen to the floor. His stomach turned over itself as he tried to focus on the cards in his hand, ignoring the fact that he knew the person in trouble to be none other than a certain Miss Wade.

  “A good hand, sir?”

  A ripple of laughter went around the group as Charles looked up from his cards, aware that he had not played his turn for some time.

  “A very good hand,” he bluffed, putting an easy smile on his face. “In fact, it is getting rather difficult to know what to throw away!” he tried to fix his mind back onto the game, tried to ignore the stifled cries he could hear coming from upstairs and the distressed look that the maid was sending him from across the room.

  He did not know why the servant had come to him in order to seek aid for her mistress. Perhaps it was as she had said, simply because of how he had appeared when he had overheard Lord Faversham. Whatever the reason, she had not stopped sending despairing glances in his direction for the two hours she had sat waiting.

  Forcing himself to ignore the sounds of Miss Wade’s cries, Charles threw out a card, only to realise too late that he had picked the wrong one entirely. Groaning inwardly, he settled a look of contentment on his face as though this was what he had intended to do all the time. Some of the gentlemen shot him a sharp look, whilst others grinned behind their hands.

  The inn was n
ot particularly busy, although he had not expected it to be, given that the town of Bagnoles-de-l’Orne was not all that large. However, he could tell that those within the inn were fully aware of what was going on upstairs, for the cries of Miss Wade had brought furrows of concern to a few of the men’s faces.

  The innkeeper’s wife, or so he presumed the woman to be, was whispering furiously into her husband’s ear, although he continued to bat her away impatiently. It was, of course, not their business what their patrons got up to in any of the rooms, although Charles knew the lady was not at all pleased to hear the beating.

  Closing his eyes, Charles battled with his mind yet again. The young lady had evidently been in some distress even entering the inn, and if what the maid said was true, then she had no one to turn to.

  But that does not mean you have to involve yourself.

  “Gentlemen,” he said suddenly, rising from the table. “Might I call for a short respite?”

  The other men at the table all looked a little surprised, with one or two frowning rather heavily.

  “I shall, of course, buy the next round,” Charles added, seeing the frowns disappear almost immediately. “I confess that I am rather parched.”

  There were sounds of agreement almost at once. The men gladly got to their feet, setting their cards down carefully. Charles was relieved that the mere mention of a drink had allowed them to take a short break in their game, for he was quite certain that, should he continue as he was, then he would lose a good deal of money. For whatever reason, he could not remove Miss Wade from his mind.

  “A whisky, my good man!”

  Charles’s skin crawled as Lord Faversham appeared on the stairs, slowly making his way down as the stairs creaked noisily under his weight.

  “In fact, just give me the bottle,” Lord Faversham laughed, shoving his way through the other patrons towards the counter. “I have had a very pleasant evening thus far, and I intend to make the most of it!”

  Charles saw the maid shrink back in her seat, her eyes wide with fright as Lord Faversham threw back his first glass of whisky before serving himself another generous measure. Her eyes darted towards the staircase, but still she did not move. To go to her mistress now, when Lord Faversham had not permitted it, was only going to bring her punishment.

  His heart lurched in his chest as Lord Faversham pulled the riding whip from somewhere within his massive girth and set it down on the counter with a slap. Perhaps it was just the candlelight playing tricks on his eyes, but Charles was quite certain he could see the tinge of blood around the whip itself. His eyes closed of their own accord, fighting down the urge to beat Lord Faversham to a pulp.

  “Stupid woman,” Lord Faversham muttered darkly to no one in particular. “She’ll know not to defy me again.”

  Before he knew what he was doing, Charles stepped forward.

  “I hear you are to be wed, sir,” he commented, putting as bright a smile on his face as he could. “My many congratulations.” He bowed low and thrust a coin in the innkeeper’s face. “Your best brandy for this gentleman.”

  Lord Faversham looked a little surprised but then grinned, evidently accepting Charles’s congratulations to be genuine. Charles took the man in, seeing the way his jowls wobbled with every word that escaped from his lips, the spittle that sprang from his tongue as he spoke. Lord Faversham was not a handsome gentleman, with his bald, shining head, his thick, ungainly fingers, and his large, protruding nose that seemed to be attempting to escape from the rest of his face.

  Yet it was not his appearance that made him unhandsome but rather the cruelty that was so evident in his features. His eyes were small and dark, his lips tending to pull into a thin line. There was no happiness in his eyes when he smiled, just an increasing sense of darkness. His hands were cold and grasping, even as they threw back another mouthful of whisky, his words lewd and filled with malicious intent. It was all Charles could do to remain still and simply listen.

  He had a plan, and enduring Lord Faversham’s conversation for a short time was a part of it. Calling for more brandy, Charles watched with a growing satisfaction as the man threw back yet more liquor, becoming more addled by the minute.

  Excellent. This was just as he needed Lord Faversham to be.

  ***

  The coals were glowing low in the grate by the time Charles began to enact the rest of his plan. The other patrons had either gone to bed or were snoring where they sat or, in Lord Faversham’s case, lay across the table. Charles had encouraged the gentleman to join their game and delighted in taking everything he could from the fellow, although he had ensured that Lord Faversham was plied with as much alcohol as he would take.

  The resulting victory had been momentous. Not only had Charles taken a good deal of money from the despicable fellow, but he had also ensured that the gentleman would not wake for some time.

  Slowly he moved towards the maid who was, he thought, still awake in the corner of the room. She had not moved whilst Lord Faversham had been about the taproom, staring at him with terrified eyes.

  “What is your name, girl?” he whispered, watching as she jerked violently in her seat.

  “Florence,” she whispered back, staring at him with wide eyes full of hope. “What is it you plan to do, sir?”

  Charles drew in a breath and cranked his neck. “Something extremely foolish,” he replied with a wistful grin. “I have a carriage,” he continued. “The best I can offer is to take your mistress far from this place. I do not know what to do thereafter, but to secure her safety from Lord Faversham is the first matter to be dealt with. After all, she is not yet wed to him and therefore is still safe from his demands.”

  The maid nodded, quickly getting out of her chair as Charles lit a taper from the glowing coals to light a candle.

  “Quickly,” he said, handing it to her. “We must go with all swiftness. I do not know what state she will be in, but we must get her from the room to my carriage before anyone is aware of it.”

  “The door,” the maid whispered, shaking her head. “It will be locked.”

  Charles smiled, grateful that the innkeeper’s wife had been so willing to do as he had asked. “You need not worry, Florence. On the pretence of ordering more drinks, I asked the innkeeper’s lady to ensure that door was open for us. She did not take much persuading.” His lips curved all the more as he recalled how the lady had accepted the money from him but had muttered something under her breath about how gentlemen should be punished for treating their ladies with such cruelty. He was quite sure that the lady was angry over Lord Faversham’s behaviour.

  The maid goggled at him for a moment and then, without another word, hurried towards the staircase, scurrying up it as quietly as she could. Charles followed, wincing with each creak and groan that emitted from the wood as he did so. Below him, no one stirred, and he could still hear Lord Faversham’s snores clearly.

  It did not take long to find the door that led to Miss Wade’s room. The door was slightly ajar, which begged the question why Miss Wade had not escaped herself as yet. The question was not on his mind for long, for pushing open the door, he was horrified to see the young lady lying on the floor by a cold, dead fire, the back of her dress ripped and bloodied.

  The room was freezing, given that it was the dead of winter, and for a moment, Charles was afraid that she might have succumbed to the cold. The maid had dropped to her knees by her mistress’s prone form and was smoothing back the lady’s hair, tears falling from her eyes. Charles remained where he was, frozen in horror, as though he were too afraid to touch her.

  Then a small groan whispered up from the lady, and Charles’s heart leapt up into his throat. His blood roared to life, forcing him to move. Seeing the small, wooden bed in the corner, he grabbed the threadbare blanket and rushed to drop it over Miss Wade’s bruised back.

  “I must clean her wounds,” Florence sobbed, looking up at him with ravaged eyes. “She is… she is…”

  “There is no tim
e,” he insisted as gently as he could. “We must get her to the carriage. I have already sent the servant boy out to prepare everything. Once we are safe away, we will find someone to take care of her. I promise you.”

  Somehow, they managed to get Miss Wade up into his arms, although the agony etched across her face as he put one arm under her shoulders and around her back made him wince inwardly.

  “I am sorry,” he murmured quietly. “I should have come to your aid sooner.”

  Regret poured into his soul as he carried the young girl down the staircase, aware that not a single person moved as he did so. Lord Faversham was still snoring, the embers in the grate now so low that only shadows could be seen. The maid opened the front door for him, the cold air rushing into the room and wrapping about his shoulders.

  “I have her belongings,” Florence whispered, a bag in her hand. “But I have no other gowns or the like.”

  He shook his head, his feet crunching across the frosty ground as he made his way towards the waiting carriage that was lit up by the moonlight. “It matters not,” he said, as the carriage door was held open by the waiting servant boy.

  “I have money enough to buy her whatever she needs. All we need do now is remove ourselves from this dreadful place.”

  Glad that he had not unpacked any of his things, and that, in fact, they were still aboard his carriage, Charles carefully and gingerly placed Miss Wade across the seats of the carriage. The maid came to sit on the floor of the carriage by her mistress’s head. He sat down carefully opposite the lady and gratefully accepted the blankets handed to him by his driver.

  “As quickly as you can, my good man,” he muttered, handing the blankets to Florence. “Towards the coast, if you please. I intend to return us all to England.”

  The carriage rolled away soon after, allowing Charles a small modicum of relief. Instructing Florence not to neglect herself, he ensured that she had a blanket of her own, as well as ensuring that Miss Wade was warm and snug as she lay across the seats. His heart ached with his own neglect, his own foolishness in deciding that a young lady such as Miss Wade did not require his help. He had seen the riding crop, had he not? He had known precisely what Lord Faversham had intended to do, and yet he had decided to remain downstairs, telling himself that it was none of his concern.