Knight For A Lady (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 3)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  “I was lucky he was by at the time. These military men are so capable, don’t you think?”

  The ploy did not succeed.

  “I rather thought he was amused by your wit, Miss Westacott.” A brittle laugh came. “As were we all, I admit.”

  Not you, it would seem. But Edith did not say as much. She adopted as airy a tone as she could find. “I believe you exaggerate, Miss Burloyne. I was used to employ my wits to counter schoolgirl impertinence. I dare say it has become a habit.”

  The girl had the grace to blush, and Edith hoped she would leave the subject alone. She was able to eat in silence for a space, but it did not last.

  Miss Burloyne adopted a low tone, her gaze fixed upon her plate. “You can have no notion, Miss Westacott, as confident as you are, of the pangs of constant failure.”

  Startled, Edith glanced at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  Miss Burloyne looked round. All trace of the giggling schoolgirl was gone. A vulnerable, unhappy young woman had taken her place.

  Edith’s heart melted and she leaned in, speaking low. “You are mistaken. Contrive to come and see me again. Alone, if you can manage it.”

  The woman did not speak, only eyeing Edith as if she sought to determine whether she might be trusted. Then she gave a bright smile and adopted her erstwhile thin imitation of Lady Tazewell’s vivacity.

  “Jocasta tells me we are to visit Lord Tazewell’s parents shortly, Miss Westacott. Have you met them?”

  Disconcerted by the change, and half wondering if she had imagined the earlier exchange, Edith answered without thinking. “When I was a child, yes, now and then. They were not often here. One of Lord Tazewell’s aunts was in residence at that time.”

  Lord Tazewell, overhearing, remarked upon his aunt’s character and the conversation became general. No further mention was made of Lord Hetherington, but Edith was uncomfortably aware of his image stubbornly persisting in her mind for the remainder of the evening.

  She’d been relieved not to receive a further invitation, and hoped the promised visit to Lord Tazewell’s parents would occur before Miss Burloyne had an opportunity to take her up on that ill-considered invitation of her own. So far there had been no sign of the girl and Edith was relieved. There could be no doubt Miss Burloyne had thought to set her cap at Lord Hetherington. Edith was uncomfortably aware both of dismay and a sneaking suspicion that she had put a bar in the girl’s way, however inadvertently. Although there was no saying Lord Hetherington would succumb to Miss Burloyne’s lures, even if he was hanging out for a wife. One thing was certain. He would not find one in the vicar’s niece.

  The feeling of oppression, never absent for long, returned full force. Edith looked up from the newspaper, which was spread out on the bureau where she sat in the family room at the back of the house, and stared out into the garden.

  How long had she been sitting here pretending to read, her mind far away? It felt an age. The day had dragged and her restlessness refused to be contained.

  She rose from her chair and left the room, heading for the back door. It was open, and Edith saw a shadow fall across the flags of the porch beyond.

  A flurry disturbed her heartbeat and she hesitated. Someone was out there.

  Could it be Mrs Tuffin? No, she was in the kitchen. Besides, it was too long a shadow for the bustling housekeeper. Her uncle kept no manservant, preferring to give employment to the men of the village as needed, just as Mrs Tuffin had girls in to clean and scrub.

  The shadow vanished, and Edith went with cautious steps to the door and peered out. She caught a glimpse of someone slipping around the corner of the house and followed, her heartbeat accelerating.

  By the time she gained that side, whoever it was had gone. Edith half ran to the low wall that enclosed the property and looked across the green. Apart from the usual idlers outside the tavern and the delivery boy from Ash’s shop crossing with a basket, the scene was as peaceful as it ever was, with no sign of a stranger.

  By no means reassured, Edith remained by the wall, leaning one hand on the stone surface, the nightmare resurfacing. Had he come? Had he traced her whereabouts?

  An ugly thought crept into her mind, freezing her blood. While she sat rapt in contemplation, her mind far away, had those predatory eyes been watching her through the window, spying upon her?

  A shiver ran through her and her heart cried out in protest. Would she never be safe? Even here did he dare to pursue her, in the sanctuary of her uncle’s home? Was it not enough that he had ruined her standing with Mrs Vinson and forced her exit from the Academy?

  The fear gave way to anger and Edith strode to the back gate, unlatched it and went with swift steps onto the green, her gaze flicking this way and that. There was no sign of the man she called her Nemesis. Rightly, if he had truly tracked her here.

  If he’d been here, he had successfully hidden himself. Had she imagined it? Was this her overwrought nerves playing her false?

  She drew deep breaths, forcing herself to calm, unable to help a searching regard at as much of the vicarage as she could see from the middle of the green. Her eyes went to the steeple a little way along the lane. Should she try the church?

  No, stop it, Edith Westacott! If it was he and he was determined to hide, she would not find him. And the church at this time of day would be empty. Foolish to put herself in a position where she would be altogether vulnerable.

  She must have been mistaken. An irritation of the nerves. What had she seen after all but a shadow? No sound, no sight of the hated figure, the detested face. She could not even now be sure she’d seen someone slip around the corner of the house. It must be her unnatural fear preying upon her to produce the creeping familiarity of his nearness.

  “Miss Westacott!”

  Her heart leapt with shock and she spun round. A very different man was striding towards her across the green from the direction of the tavern. Edith all but fainted again, the relief was so intense.

  “Lord Hetherington, how you startled me!”

  He was frowning heavily as he reached her. “I appear to have shocked you rather. What is it?”

  Still dazed, she stared at him. “What is what?”

  “I find you out here, without even a hat, staring about you and looking shaken and you can ask that? What has occurred?”

  Too distrait for discretion, Edith blurted it out. “I thought I saw him. In the back garden. I must have been wrong, for I’ve looked and looked and…” Realising where her words were tending, she faded out.

  “Who did you see? What man is this you fear?”

  She took a step back, closing into herself. “I didn’t say I feared him.”

  “You had no need to say so. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Struggling with her inner demons, Edith tried for a lightness she did not feel. “You are imagining things, my lord.”

  His gaze hardened. “Don’t lie to me. If you wish to keep your secrets, so be it, but don’t insult my intelligence.”

  The harsh tone both hurt and angered her. “Then let us say I am suffering from an over-active imagination. I’m sure you would say so did you know how little evidence I have.”

  His brows rose. “I know you to be a woman of common sense, ma’am. If you felt something threatened you, I would be more inclined to search for what it might be than to accuse you of imagining things.”

  Her ruffled feathers smoothed down. “Thank you for that, at least.”

  The crease reappeared between his brows. “Do you feel threatened?”

  She drew a shaky breath. “No more than I have done for some time now.”

  He was silent, regarding her in a manner that made her both conscious and uncomfortably aware of prevaricating. Why she should feel it so was a mystery. She owed no allegiance to the man, nor had he any right to probe into her private affairs.

  He seemed to realise this, for he argued no further, but offered his arm. “Let me escort you back to the house at least. If you stand her
e looking so wildly you will be remarked.”

  That was all too true. Edith set her hand upon his arm and allowed him to lead her back towards the gate. “You have a knack, my lord, of appearing at just the right moment.”

  He looked down as she glanced up and his features relaxed. “That’s better. You begin to sound more like yourself.”

  She was obliged to laugh. “Did I truly seem wild out there?”

  “Very much so.”

  He paused as they reached the gate, setting his hand on hers. Edith felt its warmth and a measure of calm returned. “I will not pry, since you are clearly reluctant to confide in me.” His mouth twisted. “And why should you indeed? But if you are menaced in any way, I wish you will send to me.”

  Edith warmed inside, but she could not let it pass without comment. “My official knight errant, Lord Hetherington?”

  He smiled. “If you like.”

  “Well, it is kind in you, but I trust I will not be obliged to call upon you. I believe I have been guilty of jumping at shadows, which is all it was when all is said and done.” She moved to open the gate but he forestalled her, his hand on the latch.

  “You saw a shadow?”

  She gave in. “On the back porch, yes, as I was coming towards the door.”

  “The door was open?”

  “There is nothing unusual in that, especially in this weather.”

  The day was not overly hot, but July remained clement. Lord Hetherington seemed unimpressed.

  “Then I suggest you keep the door closed in future.”

  He opened the gate and she went through. She waited for him to follow, but he remained on the other side. At the thought of his leaving, Edith felt a cold shiver go through her and acted on instinct.

  “Will you not come in for a space? At least let me offer you coffee.”

  Lord Hetherington looked regretful. “I have business that cannot wait. I would not have stopped at all had I not seen you.”

  She was both touched and warmed to think he’d interrupted his duties to come to her aid. Smiling, she held out her hand. “Then I must count you a true knight errant, and thank you for coming to my rescue a second time.”

  To her surprise, he did not disclaim, but took her hand and held it, curling her fingers into his larger one.

  “Yes, and I have a strong notion it is not the last. Don’t hesitate to call on me. I mean it, Miss Westacott. If this fellow you fear should turn up, send to me at once.” With which, he released her hand and strode off across the green, leaving Edith with a warm sensation inside. She had no intention of calling upon him, but it was comforting to feel that he cared.

  Chapter Seven

  Turning his steps towards the lane that led to the cottages Eddows wanted him to inspect, Niall had little attention to spare for the problems of his tenants. On catching sight of Edith Westacott, he’d left his agent standing with a brief word.

  “Go on, Eddows. I’ll catch you up.”

  It had taken only a glance to realise something was wrong, and he was by no means reassured after having restored her to safety. The reverse, if anything. She had recovered her equilibrium within minutes, but the fear in her was palpable.

  His mind turning on the man who clearly menaced her rather than what she had seen, Niall replayed in his head the times she’d shied from even a mild compliment. Was this to be set at the fellow’s door?

  He reached the other side of the green to find Eddows awaiting him, and inwardly cursed at the necessity to master his thoughts and turn them to more mundane matters.

  “The cottages are just up this lane, my lord. We are fortunate there has been little rain, for in general it turns into a hasty pudding of mud up here.”

  “I can see why,” Niall said, regarding the rutted lane with disfavour. “Set a repair on your urgent list, Eddows.”

  “I will do so, my lord, but you may feel it to be unnecessary if these cottages must be condemned, as I suspect will be the case.”

  With reluctance, Niall consigned Miss Westacott’s affairs to the back of his mind while he concentrated upon his own.

  The cottages were found to be in a parlous state, but since he had at present no means of rehousing the tenants, he directed Eddows to put in the repairs to the rooves at once.

  “If the money proves to be wasted, so be it. But these people must live somewhere while we build anew.”

  By the time Eddows had dragged him to a nearby farm to confer with its disgruntled owner and he had ridden across several fields to inspect the failing drainage, Niall was too preoccupied with how much needed to be done and the lack of funds to do it to allow room for Miss Westacott and her shadows. When he began upon his solitary dinner, however, it crept back and would not leave him.

  He found himself dwelling on the spectre of this unknown man. Why did she fear him? What had he done to her? The obvious answer was so unpalatable Niall wished he might dismiss it. But he could not.

  He knew nothing of the life of a schoolmistress, but he did know how vulnerable an unprotected female could be. True, Bath was not a stricken Indian village decimated by battle-weary soldiers in search of provisions or entertainment. But men were men the world over and Niall knew, perhaps better than some of his pampered fellow peers, of what they were capable when in pursuit of a woman.

  His mind froze on the images leaping in his imagination. He had no means of knowing whether Edith Westacott had been subjected to sensual brutality, and she would not tell him. How should she indeed? Shame, as much as fear, must prevent her speaking of it. He took up his wine glass and sipped, only half aware that he did so. Of one thing he could be certain. Whoever this man was, he was no welcome lover. Edith was terrified.

  Fire leapt in his belly, akin to the feeling he knew before battle, but edged with fury. That anyone should dare to hurt her! Let him come. Niall would know how to answer his insolence.

  A crack sounded and liquid spilled over his hand. Niall’s mind sprang back to the present and he cursed. He’d snapped the stem of his wine glass.

  The butler was already wiping at the stains as he set the broken vessel down, drying the fingers on his napkin. “Beware splinters, my lord.”

  Niall examined his hand. “Bring one of the candles here, will you?”

  Hempsall fetched a silver candelabrum from the centre of the table and set it on the corner nearby. Niall checked his hand in the better light, wondering what had possessed him.

  “I can see no damage, Hempsall. Take it away, if you please. And bring me another glass. You may clear the rest.”

  “Will your lordship not partake of the syllabub?”

  Niall was about to reject it with loathing when duty tapped remindingly on the walls. It formed no part of his plans to be offending the cook. Or any of the remaining domestic staff, none of whom had yet been paid for the quarter.

  “I’ll take a small quantity, thank you. And pray request Mrs Radway to convey my compliments to Cook. An excellent repast, and I must thank her for adhering to my request for simple meals.”

  Quite aside from the expense, Niall was used to making do with whatever was available to the camp. He was a good trencherman, enjoying his meat, but the array of dishes set out in several courses at the Manor he found both wasteful and far more than was needed to keep body and soul together. Until he was obliged to entertain, he would not indulge such extravagant habits in his new home, any more than he would have done in his various billets.

  Having disposed of the syllabub, he allowed himself the indulgence of sitting over his wine and pondering on Miss Edith Westacott.

  She evidently wished it to be understood that illness had driven her from her post at the school in Bath. But today’s episode put a different complexion on the matter. It had not before occurred to Niall, but now it struck him as obvious it could not be that. Why would she leave her means of livelihood and return to her childhood home when common sense dictated she could as well recover where she was? The illness — was it fever? She ha
d never revealed its nature. Yet even if the illness had left her too debilitated to teach, a sojourn at home would be only temporary. Then why would she not say so? No, there was more to it. And this man she feared was involved.

  Not only had he importuned her somehow — Niall prayed it was not in the worst way — but he had been instrumental in her decision to abandon her only means of livelihood. From the little he knew of her, Niall did not suppose she would be content to live at her uncle’s expense. A woman of independence, was Edith Westacott. He admired her for it. He admired her spirit, her courage and her wit. In fact, he admired her a good deal too much. He liked her too much, if truth be told.

  And she? He could not flatter himself she liked him above the ordinary. Recalling her sallies and the shared laughter, Niall allowed himself to think she at least enjoyed his company. But when he’d offered his aid, she’d turned it off with a jest about his knight errantry. He had not won her trust. Then that must be his goal. To which end, recalling their earlier encounters, he could not by any means allow her to see his admiration. The slightest hint at gallantry would cause her to poker up.

  Very well, Miss Westacott. If she had no use for a cavalier, a knight errant it should be.

  Chapter Eight

  Miss Burloyne’s visit was well-timed. Only a short while ago, Edith would have found it irksome to have her ill-thought invitation taken up at all. Now, with her nerves jumping for the last couple of days, she found it a welcome diversion.

  The girl had managed, by a ruse, to escape her hostess’ company.

  “Jocasta is in a pother, supervising the packing, and I do need more threads. Not that Mrs Ash across the way has precisely the shades I am using, but they will do.”

  “Did you buy some, then?”

  “Yes, for Jocasta is bound to wish to see my purchases.”

  Edith had to laugh. “Well, I am glad to see you. When do you go?”

  “Tomorrow. And I will be returning to my own home after that, so it was now or never.”

  Edith guided Miss Burloyne towards the back family room. “Come, we will be more private here. I will ask Mrs Tuffin for coffee. Unless you prefer tea?”