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

by Elizabeth Bailey

  “…when did I ever say you had a choice? … the challenge is irresistible…”

  The sound of rapid footsteps behind her penetrated. Edith glanced back and saw the figure of a man. A sob escaped her and panic took her. She began to run, crashing off the path and into the trees, heedless of the twigs that caught at her clothing.

  “Edith, stop! It’s I, Hetherington!”

  The voice snapped in her attention and she stumbled to a halt, breathing hard, a hand to her bosom, tears trickling down her cheeks.

  Next moment, she was held by two strong hands that kept her steady and she looked up into the swarthy countenance. So different from the other! So much less handsome! And so much more welcome to her eyes.

  “Miss Westacott — Edith!”

  She gasped in a sobbing breath, and out of her mouth fell the most non sequitur thing she might have said. “I don’t even know your name.”

  A grin split his face. “It’s Niall.”

  “Niall.” She met his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “For what? Giving you a fright?”

  “For being you and not him.”

  His face changed. “I knew it! You don’t care for him, do you?”

  Edith shuddered. “I hate him!”

  “Then why in God’s name did you encourage his advances?”

  She felt as if a bucket of water had been thrown in her face. She stepped back, out of his hold, dashing a hand across her wet cheeks to wipe away the trace of tears. All desire to weep had left her, replaced by a sensation of hurt that went deeper than her indignation.

  “You take too much for granted, sir.”

  Niall’s features went taut. “Do I? Then tell me your side of it.”

  Shock swept through her. “My side?” Realisation hit. “He’s been talking to you!”

  “To some purpose.”

  The grim note echoed in her core and she went cold inside. What had he been told? Instinct urged her to demand to know, but a horrid feeling of betrayal made her clamp down upon the question. Her legs trembled under her and she glanced about for somewhere to sit down.

  Niall must have realised, for he grasped her again, setting a hand about her shoulders.

  “Steady!”

  Edith wanted to throw him off but she needed his support. She allowed him to guide her to a fallen trunk and sank down upon it. He stood over her for a moment and Edith felt unaccountably menaced. She could not prevent an irascible note from creeping into her voice. “Pray don’t stand there like a hawk! It’s too reminiscent of what I’ve been through today.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  His tone was stiff, but he threw one leg over the trunk and perched a short distance away from her, close enough to touch if she reached out. He did not speak and Edith welcomed the silence, closing her eyes and letting the gradual infiltration of woodland sounds soothe her lacerated nerves: an intermittent bird, a rustle in the undergrowth and the pleasant hush of leaves as the wind brushed through the trees.

  Presently she opened her eyes and found Niall watching her. The exigencies of her situation came back, coupled with a sense of humiliation.

  “Why did you follow me?”

  She heard the bitter note in her own voice with dismay, but there was no recalling it now.

  Niall answered in that same grim tone. “Because I don’t want to believe what that fellow saw fit to reveal.”

  Edith raised her eyes to look across at him. “But you can’t dismiss it, can you?”

  His lips compressed and he looked away. A hole opened up somewhere in the region of Edith’s heart, and the thread of hope she hadn’t even known was there slithered away. Somehow she secured control of her voice, adopting the light manner that served to keep the world away.

  “Then you are well served for indulging in the sin of curiosity, sir.”

  It was not entirely successful and she hoped he did not detect the underlying tremor.

  “You won’t drive me away by that means, Miss Westacott. I’m a soldier. Reverses are part of life. One ties a knot and goes on.”

  Edith knew not what to make of this. She could not look at him without feeling the comparison between the two men. Impulse caught her tongue. “How unlucky it is that I did not meet you first!”

  An odd lopsided smile twisted his mouth. “Why should that make a difference?”

  She drew a quick breath and let it go. “I don’t know. I spoke without thinking.” She sighed. “I regret I am far from rational at the moment.”

  “I don’t wonder at it.”

  Edith wanted to weep. “I wish you will not be so understanding. It only makes it worse.”

  A laugh escaped him and she heard exasperation within it.

  “What must I do, Miss Westacott? No, Edith. I know you to be both afraid and distressed, and now I’ve met your — what shall I call him? — your —”

  “He is not my anything, sir! What he wishes to be is another matter, but I will not endure him to be coupled with me in any way.”

  “Yet he will have it you have already coupled with him, if I may be so crude.”

  Shock stopped her tongue. Had she not guessed the villain had traduced her? And Niall could not think her innocent without denial on her part. She passed from shock to fury in a second, pushing herself up from the fallen log to confront him.

  “Oh, how like a man! Is this your knight errantry, sir? You offer me protection and fall at the first hurdle?”

  He was on his feet, matching her for anger. “Have I walked away? Have I refused my help?”

  “I don’t want your help! Your mind is already poisoned against me.”

  “Edith, stop this!”

  He made to grasp her shoulders, but she flung off his hands.

  “Don’t touch me! Have I not had enough to bear without you bullying me in addition to him?”

  He threw his hands in the air in a gesture of submission. “I’m not threatening you. I’m trying to help.”

  “Then don’t!”

  “I’m not leaving you to tackle that monster alone, so don’t think it.”

  The fury left her as suddenly as it had come. “Forgive me. He has set me all on end.”

  She put her hands to her face and found her cheeks wet. She wiped them in an absent manner, half aware of the softening in Niall’s face. He did not speak and Edith found his silence oppressive.

  “At least you recognise him for what he is.” Niall’s mouth compressed again and a horrid notion sprang into her mind. “What are you not saying? What did he tell you?”

  He shook his head. “I won’t repeat it. Suffice to say that I have every idea of the danger in which you stand and you may count on my support.”

  It was generous and Edith knew it. But somehow lacking. Whether or not he believed ill of her, he was ready to stand her knight. She ought to be grateful for so much, but a niggle in her breast wanted more and she did not understand why. It behoved her to answer him nevertheless.

  “Thank you. I’m not sure if there is anything you can do.”

  “Whatever you want of me, Edith. Whatever will keep you safe. You have only to name it.”

  She was touched, but she could not withstand the urge to levity. “Well, you can hardly stand guard outside my bedchamber.”

  His lips twisted in amusement. “No, I concede that.”

  The faint light in her died. “I don’t know, Niall. He plans to ask my uncle for a longer time with me.”

  “Then refuse.”

  “I cannot, unless I tell Uncle Lionel the truth. And don’t ask me to do that for I doubt I could summon either the courage or the words.”

  His brows drew together. “Edith, you have to stand firm.”

  “Oh, I’ve tried. He will brook no denial, no refusal. He is determined to have me, by whatever means. Don’t ask me why, for I don’t know. The more I rebel, the more ruthless he becomes. There is no moving him, Niall. You can have no notion of the lengths…”

  Her voice died as she real
ised what she’d been about to reveal. The shame and humiliation revived as she remembered to whom she was speaking. Had the villain turned even that episode against her? It would be hard to prove otherwise if he had.

  “Was there a time when you favoured him?”

  There was an edge to the words and Edith looked up, startled and all at once certain Niall’s interest went deeper than mere attraction. Her pulse kicked in her veins. It became vital to give him the truth.

  “At first. But briefly. He turned my head with flattery. He has address when he chooses … or he had.” She faltered, the words coming in jerks and stutters as she forced them out. “I didn’t encourage him — I tried to remain aloof. It wasn’t … appropriate. A teacher at the school and the father of two of the girls. Oh, he was persuasive. Plausible. And then…”

  She drew in a breath as the memory hit her, the raw cut of disillusionment and realisation.

  “And then?”

  The prompt was gentle enough but the edge still underneath spoke of anger. Edith glanced at Niall’s face, wondering if it was directed at her or at her Nemesis.

  “I found out his wife is alive. Ailing, but alive. He’d lied — by implication more than words. His girls, in innocence, let fall the truth.” The humiliation pricked all over again and the underlying rage spilled out. “I should have known. I should not have let myself be led to suppose a man of his stature in Society would deign to think of marriage with a female in my situation. I should have guessed his intention towards me.”

  “Why should you?” The harsh tone brought her up short. “You may be a schoolmistress but you’re of genteel birth.”

  She gave a hysterical laugh. “Do you suppose he cared for that?”

  “I know he did not and does not now, but you need not berate yourself for being taken in.”

  She drew a shuddering breath. “But I do. For the moment I told him I knew — and I did not spare my tongue, you may be sure — he laughed in my face. As if I cherished aspirations above my station. Oh, you cannot imagine the depths of my humiliation. From then, I must suppose, it became a game with him, an obsession that cost me my health and my livelihood.”

  She stopped with a gasp. She had not meant to say as much. Feeling abruptly weak at the knees, she moved back to the fallen trunk and sat down heavily upon it.

  Niall was silent so long, she felt compelled to look up, to discover his thoughts. His expression gave little away. Beyond a certain tautness at the line of his jaw and a heavy frown, Edith could not judge his mood.

  The frown cleared as he caught her gaze. “I see now why you shied away from even the mildest compliment. You have reason enough to be wary.”

  She eyed him. What precisely had Lord Kilshaw told him? That he had led him to believe her a fallen woman she could not doubt. There was no condemnation in Niall’s features, but what of that? He was a kind enough man to feel for her in this predicament, but that did not mean he could overlook it if he believed she was, in vulgar parlance, damaged goods.

  Without knowing why, Edith felt it to be of vital importance that Niall should believe in her innocence without requiring her to protest it. The doubt would stand between them, destroying any chance of…

  The thought died before she could give it room in her mind. Enough, Edith. That road could lead nowhere.

  Besides, until — if — she could rid herself of her Nemesis once and for all, she had no hope of any sort of future than to do away with herself. A sinful notion, but what else was left if he succeeded?

  “What do you mean to do, Edith?”

  They were back to that. As if she knew! “I have no notion. What can I do?”

  “Tell your uncle the truth.” He threw up a hand. “I don’t mean you should expose yourself to his censure by revealing all. But you can at least tell him that the fellow is married already.”

  Yes, she could. Why had she not thought of that? But the sudden light of hope was succeeded by immediate recollection.

  “It won’t serve. If my uncle refuses permission for him to see me again, he will find means to abduct me.”

  “Then we must guard you.”

  Despair gripped her. “How, Niall? Am I to remain a prisoner in the house? Skulking in my room in fear every time I hear a step outside?”

  He was frowning down at her. “No, that won’t do. And I can’t be always at hand. I’ll have to post guards in the village.”

  “Dear God, it’s like a siege!”

  “Something like. Leave it to me. I’ll escort you home now. Tell your uncle as much as you can bear to speak of and I will cogitate and come up with a plan of campaign.”

  A faint rise of hope entered her breast. He was a soldier, capable and strong. If anyone could save her, Niall could. She took the hand he was holding out and gave him one of her teasing smiles, at last able to feel genuine amusement.

  “My true knight errant! Thank you.”

  He grinned. “You are welcome, my damsel in distress.”

  The doomed feeling in Edith’s heart lifted a little.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Reverend Westacott’s normally cheery features registered shock and dismay. Edith had bearded him in his little library, disturbing his afternoon’s work. He had a bible open on his desk, along with a couple of the erudite tomes which he was wont to use when writing his sermons. He was fond, she knew, of pointing the morality of the Church with apt poetry or the satirical works of Addison, Swift and Pope. It went down better, he claimed, if given a literary turn.

  He poised, pen in hand, and looked up when she came into the room and Edith’s distracted eyes took in the sheet before him, covered in jottings.

  “I see you are busy, Uncle Lionel. I am sorry to interrupt you, but this cannot wait.”

  She had nerved herself to come, and dared not put off the dread moment for fear she could not again summon the courage.

  “My dear Ede, whatever is the matter?”

  Relieved he’d taken in her condition at once, Edith had blurted out the fell tidings. Her uncle sat unmoving for a long moment. Then he laid aside his pen.

  “Not a widower? Are you sure, Ede?”

  “I could not be more so, sir. His daughters prattled of their mother as of the present. You may be sure I questioned them closely, for I was as shocked as you are now.”

  “But if Lord Kilshaw’s wife is living, how should he be seeking another? It cannot be so.”

  Edith swallowed painfully. “It is so, sir, for I taxed him with it.”

  “You did? When, my dear?”

  Her uncle’s bewilderment was evident.

  “As soon as I understood that his wife was alive. He — he did not deny it. He told me she has been ailing for some time. I understand she is little short of bedridden and — and not expected to survive for many years.”

  “But this is monstrous!” Her uncle’s tone became severe and he rose in his wrath. “To be seeking a replacement when his wife is not even in the grave?”

  Edith drew a breath and looked him boldly in the face. “He is not seeking a replacement, sir. The role he intends for me is quite otherwise.”

  She was both gratified and dismayed to see how his jaw dropped, his eyes fairly popping beneath the spectacles. Oh, she had known how it would be!

  “Forgive me, Uncle Lionel. I did not wish to distress you with this, but I had no choice.”

  “Distress me?” He came around the desk and seized her hands, holding them in a sustaining grip. “My dear, dearest Ede, you should have told me at once. That he should dare insult you so! I am shocked. More, I am distressed for you, my dear. Is this why you left your post?”

  It was worse than he knew, but seeing how badly he took even this piece of news, Edith hoped she need not say it all. “Not entirely, sir, though it was certainly a contributory factor.”

  The vicar released her hands and threw up his own. “And he actually followed you here? Had the gall to allow me to think him a genuine suitor? Good heavens!”

&n
bsp; If that were all. Worse was to come. Her uncle paced away and then swung back on her.

  “Are you certain his wife has not died? Is that perhaps why he came? It is reprehensible, for he should be still in mourning, but if his fondness for you overcame his judgement perhaps?”

  A fairy tale! He was clutching at straws. Edith was obliged to quash any such hope.

  “No, sir. He makes no secret of his intentions. He reminded me that he has a — a house all ready for me, and intimated he would be generous.”

  Her uncle’s ruddy cheeks suffused with a deeper colour. “Monstrous! Disgraceful!”

  “Yes, Uncle, but what am I to do?”

  “Do, my dear? You need do nothing. You will not see him again, be sure. I shall send the fellow packing.”

  Edith had an instant image of her jolly little uncle wagging a finger in the face of the formidable Lord Kilshaw and felt an insane desire to laugh. But a greater danger must be averted.

  “Uncle Lionel!”

  He came across to her, once more taking her hands and squeezing them, looking into her face with an expression of deep concern.

  “My poor Ede! I wish I had not consented to your going out as a schoolmistress. I never liked the notion, as you know, but I confess I hardly expected such an outcome.”

  Edith disengaged one hand and closed it over his, holding it between both her own. “You’ve been more than a father to me, sir, and this is no moment for regret. Pray listen to me!”

  His eyes clouded. “There is more?”

  “Yes — I mean, no. It is only that I fear Lord Kilshaw may well lead you to think he has — oh, lord, how I hate to be obliged to say this! — that he has already succeeded with me.”

  For the second time, her uncle’s jaw dropped. He stared at her for a moment, his hand limp in her grasp. Edith released it and the vicar drew himself up and removed his spectacles. She saw a flash at his eyes.

  “You wound me to the heart, Ede. Do you imagine I would believe such a thing of you?”

  “He is very persuasive, sir.”

  “He might be the smoothest tongued orator in the world, my child, but never would I countenance so base a slander. I brought you up and I know your principles are fixed. Nothing — nothing! — could make me believe ill of you, my dearest Ede.”