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

by Elizabeth Bailey

  Niall caught the landlord’s eye and gave him a gimlet stare. The man began to fidget and the ruddy colour in his cheeks deepened. He sniffed and changed his tone.

  “Bain’t no gennelman staying here, yer honour.”

  “You’ve not seen one either? A tall man, extremely well looking and elegant in his dress, with black hair and dark eyes. Goes by the name of Kilshaw.”

  The landlord shook his bull-like head. “None like it, yer honour.”

  A movement in the periphery of Niall’s vision made him jerk his head round. A man he’d not before noticed was sitting in a corner of the inglenook, half-concealed by the prevailing smoke. He’d leaned forward suddenly, catching Niall’s attention.

  There was time only to take in an odd look upon a face that to Niall was vaguely familiar, before the fellow pulled back into the gloom.

  “What the devil —?”

  Only half aware he’d muttered aloud, Niall peered towards the man, trying to see him better. The face was unclear and he took a step or two in the fellow’s direction.

  To his astonishment, the man leapt up and, pushing his way past the two elderly fellows on the bench, made for the door. Niall plunged after him, making a grab at the man’s shoulder. But his quarry evaded him and was out of the door in a trice.

  Without hesitation, Niall followed him into the hall, but the place was empty. Hesitating only an instant as he got his bearings, he went swiftly down the hall and flung open a door at the back. A short corridor and a strong smell of onions led him to an overheated kitchen, where a red-faced woman of ample proportions turned from the fire with a skillet in her hand to stare at him. A slovenly girl, peeling vegetables at the table, ceased her labours and gaped.

  Niall cast a glance at the back door. The man could not have come this way. With a brief nod to the women, he returned to the hall by way of the corridor and found the landlord waiting for him, arms akimbo.

  “What be yer wanting with that ’un?”

  “He left in something of a hurry.”

  Niall pushed past him to the front door as he spoke. He opened it and went out into the yard. His horse was standing quietly where he’d left it, much to his relief. At least the fellow wasn’t a thief. There was no sign of him, and Niall came to the conclusion he was long gone. Unless he’d taken the stairs?

  The doorway was blocked by the landlord’s bulk.

  “Who was that fellow, do you know?”

  The man shook his head slowly, moving back into the hall and allowing Niall access. “Never see him afore. Bain’t from these parts. He come early and took a plate of ham and eggs for his breakfast. Sat there since. A-waitin’ or summat.”

  Niall pictured the man in his mind’s eye and was struck by the fellow’s dress. Shag breeches topped with a blue frockcoat with decorative frogs, over a waistcoat adorned with pewter buttons, and sporting a slouch hat and top boots. A groom? Niall was certain he’d seen him before, but he could not think where. Still, there was no reason to suppose he had anything to do with Kilshaw. Except for his rushing out in that fashion, Niall would have thought nothing of it. More likely he was one of his tenants, and did not wish Niall to think he’d been lingering in an alehouse instead of pursuing his labours. Though he was unknown to the landlord here. But then this was Tazewell’s land.

  He slipped the landlord a shilling, tempted to ask him to send word if the man should call again. But what was the point? He’d do better to keep up the search for a few more miles.

  Yet the episode niggled at the back of his mind as he rode on, and was still there when at last he called a halt. He’d passed through several villages and tried each of the inns he encountered, with no result. Either Kilshaw was staying farther afield or he’d holed up somewhere out of the way. One could hardly search every village for miles roundabout. But at least he had established that the fellow was not in the immediate vicinity.

  It was late by the time he rode back into Itchington Bishops. He’d taken advantage of one of the better class of inns he visited and downed a glass of ale and eaten a sandwich. But his horse was in need of rest and a feed, and he knew Eddows would be waiting for him at home. Besides, by this time he must be rank with sweat and the stink of horse and the Lord knew what else. He could scarcely present himself before Edith in this condition.

  He was obliged to forgo another visit to the vicarage, only pausing to leave a brief message for the vicar with one of his lads. Jonny was on duty near the church, covering the road that led to Long Itchington and Lowrie Court.

  “When you exchange, Jonny, pray go to the vicar and tell him I’ve had no success and will see him tomorrow.”

  He trusted the message would be conveyed to Edith, and she would take it to herself. He could scarcely address it directly to her, even though he could not doubt his predilection for her society was well-known in the village.

  He rode home in a mood of disquiet, the nag of the odd occurrence in that wayside inn never far from his mind.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The night had dragged. Edith slept but fitfully, waking several times and fidgeting until she dropped off again. The bedclothes became tangled, and discomfort was added to the dreams that plagued her asleep and the disturbances of her mind awake.

  Strangely, the traitorous letter figured less than the cryptic message Niall had sent by Jonny. Try as she would, Edith could not shake off her dismay that he’d not called in to give it in person. She could think of a hundred reasons why he might not, and only one why he might. Because he could not endure to pass the vicarage without coming in to see how she did.

  Only he had not come in. And what did that mean? Was he offended by the little contretemps between them earlier in the day? Offended, no. Not Niall. Hurt? Or had the smart of thinking her impure, having raised its ugly head in his mind, settled there to erode his regard?

  There. She’d given it voice in her head. This was the truth of it. Her distrust was rooted in the fear Niall would cease to love her. Suspicion, even though she told him all, could so readily poison his mind against her. And here she was, merely because he could not, for whatever reason, attend her as he’d said he would after hunting for where Kilshaw might be staying, convinced he did not come because his heart was hardened against her.

  Oh, stop it, Edith Westacott! This was nonsense and she knew it. Yet the notion persisted, jumping into her head the moment she woke, the dream fading from her mind. Which was as well, or she would be seeking meaning in that too. A waste of time. She was bound to have troubled dreams at such a time. She’d been obliged to soothe many a young mind after a bad night. Always it had its origin in some upset of the day.

  She was restless again, unable to breathe in the enforced confinement of the vicarage. She felt as if she would never be free of the menace. Her state of mind was as bad as it had been in those early days, when she’d been driven to walk in the woods and collapsed in her debilitated state.

  She could not avoid contrasting that day, when she’d first met Niall and had only Kilshaw to worry about, with this one when both men had become tigers in her mind. For different reasons, but tigers just the same, ready to bite and scratch at her life and heart.

  No, stop it at once! How could she think of Niall in that way, when he thought only of her interests? It was mean-spirited. Yet, even as she went down to breakfast, greeting her uncle with a semblance of calm, she felt Niall as an ogre in the background of her mind, his own poisoned against her. Almost she dreaded his coming, though she hoped for it. Longed for it.

  She ate without tasting the food, mechanically buttering a roll and forking scrambled egg into her mouth. Only the coffee made itself felt, at least providing a modicum of comfort.

  “Do you mean to continue copying today, my dear?”

  Her uncle’s voice startled her into tipping her cup. A little of the coffee spilled onto the edge of her platter and over it, staining the cloth and ruining the remains of egg.

  With a muttered expletive, she da
bbed at it with her napkin.

  “My dear Ede, whatever is the matter?”

  She looked round to find the vicar regarding her with a frowning brow.

  “I was miles away, Uncle, I’m sorry.”

  “This is not like you, my dear. Are you still troubled by that letter?”

  She seized the excuse. “A little. I can’t get it out of my mind.” A prevarication, but better than having to speak of her dealings with Niall.

  Her uncle tutted, setting down his own cup. “Oh, dear, and I must do my rounds today. I have been sadly neglectful.”

  Edith’s conscience pricked. “Which is my fault. I wish —”

  “Now do not be foolish, my dear Ede. There can be nothing of more importance to me than your safety. No one has died and those in need have sought me here, so do not be thinking you have kept me from my duty.”

  “Yes, but I have, sir. You’ve just said you’ve neglected it.”

  He got up, shaking his head at her. “I meant no reproach to you, Ede. Only to myself. I could very well have left you in Mrs Tuffin’s care, so let us have no more of that.”

  Edith saw it was of no use to pursue the matter. But she might at least be of some use to him. “I’m behind with the copying, I’m afraid. I ruined a sheet yesterday and had to redo it. Have you another piece you wish me to do for you?”

  “Only my correspondence, my dear. I wrote a somewhat lengthy letter to the Archbishop yesterday, and he insists I should keep a copy of everything I send, in case it should go astray. But if you are behind —”

  “No, give it to me, sir, and I will do that first.”

  He agreed to it, and Edith felt some degree of relief to have a task which might keep her from brooding. It did not entirely succeed in this, but while she concentrated she was able to put her megrims aside. She had just completed the copy of the letter and was carefully blotting it when the front doorbell rang.

  At once her nerves went awry. Was it Niall?

  The guardian in the hall had been detailed to answer the door by Mrs Tuffin, who’d told him he might as well make himself useful. Edith recognised his step and her heart sank. Niall had not come.

  A knock on the open door of the back family room where she was working brought her head round. Owen was standing there with a note in his hand.

  Edith’s pulse leapt into high gear. Not another one. Had Kilshaw written again? A thumping started up in her chest, and she wanted more than anything in the world to leap out of the window and run as far away as she could.

  She got up, and her feet took her to the door as if they carried an automaton.

  “A letter for you, miss.”

  Yes, that much she’d gathered. Holding out a shaking hand, aware of the lad’s regard, she took the folded sheet without looking at it. “Thank you.”

  With deliberation, she closed the door, forcing the lad to retreat. She waited until his steps had gone back to the hall, and then turned and sank into the nearest chair.

  Gathering her courage, she at last looked at the letter and her mind froze. The same black writing. The same plain inscription of her name.

  Edith gazed at it for a timeless moment, every instinct urging her to tear it to pieces without reading it. At last, her fingers fumbling with the violence of the tremors that shook them, she broke the seal and spread open the single sheet. One short sentence was set in the middle of the page, its message springing to her eyes.

  “I am coming for you.”

  Her ears were buzzing, her head thick as cotton wool. Spots danced in her vision. The letter slipped from her hand to the floor as blackness claimed her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Edith’s head swam. Voices sounded somewhere far above her.

  “How long has she been like this?”

  “I don’t know, my lord. I found her only a moment ago.”

  “Stand aside.”

  She felt herself lifted and hung helpless in the arms that held her. Then she was set down on a soft surface, her head coming to rest on a bank of cushions. The whirling sensation started to recede and her stomach, which had threatened a revolt, began to settle.

  “Will you fetch a glass of water, Mrs Tuffin, if you please?”

  Recognition filtered into her head and Edith opened her eyes, trying to focus.

  “Niall?”

  “Stay still, Edith. You’ve been in a swoon.”

  His face was above her, and she felt her hand taken in a warm clasp. Remembrance crept back and she uttered a faint cry. “The letter!”

  Grimness entered his features. “I have it. No need to ask why you fainted.”

  Edith’s breath felt tight, and all the misery of the night came back to haunt her. “I can’t stay here.”

  Niall moved to pull up a chair beside the sofa, and dropped into it. “We’ll discuss that when you are recovered. Lie quiet for now, Ede.”

  Her senses were returning, though she still felt weak and half inclined to burst into tears. Without thinking, she groped for his hand and it closed about hers again. “You didn’t come yesterday.” She hadn’t meant to reproach him, but the words escaped her without will.

  “I wished to, but it was late and I was in no fit state to visit, if you want the truth.”

  Her eyes sought his. “No fit state?”

  The lopsided grin appeared. “Sweat-ridden and stinking of my horse. There are penalties to knight errantry, you know.”

  Amusement briefly lightened the darkness. “I would not have minded.”

  “But I would.”

  “Chivalrous as ever.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and then released it as Mrs Tuffin’s voice was heard.

  “I’ve made tea, my lord. Here’s the water. But tea will revive her more.”

  Edith was bidden to sit up. Her head swam a little again and then steadied. She drank a measure of the water at Niall’s peremptory command, and was at last able to swing her legs to the floor. She gave a wavering smile to the hovering housekeeper.

  “Tea will be welcome, Mrs Tuffin.”

  A cup and saucer was placed into her hands, but Niall took it from her, and handed the glass back to the housekeeper. He lifted the cup and held it to her lips. Aware of the knowing expression in Mrs Tuffin’s face, Edith brought wavering hands up and took possession of the cup.

  “I can manage, sir.”

  Niall allowed her to take it, nevertheless keeping a slight pressure on the bottom with one finger. A precaution she’d employed herself on occasion. A chuckle escaped her.

  “I never thought to rival my pupils in needing a nursemaid merely to drink a cup of tea.”

  Niall’s finger came away, and his mouth slipped sideways with the smile in the way she had come to love. “You need not become accustomed. This coddling is merely temporary, I assure you.”

  “Oh? Do you mean to ring a peal over me when I am better?”

  “By no means.” He turned to Mrs Tuffin. “She’ll do now.”

  It was a clear dismissal and Edith glanced at the housekeeper, expecting to see her pokering up. Instead, she found a look of complacence in the older woman’s face, and she was at once assailed by an echo of her troubled thoughts of the night. If Mrs Tuffin supposed all was in train for a bridal, she might find herself disappointed.

  She took refuge in her tea, which had indeed a revivifying effect upon her senses.

  Niall did not speak until the housekeeper had bustled out. “When you are quite recovered, I’m going to take you for a drive.”

  Startled, Edith looked up. “A drive?”

  “You’ve been cooped up here too long, and I’ve no doubt it’s making this whole affair prey upon your mind.”

  A flood of gratitude washed through Edith. “Niall! You could not have hit upon anything more like to lift my spirits.”

  “Drink your tea.”

  She lifted the cup again, but could not resist a sally. “You are excessively masterful this morning. Am I being treated to the
officer in command, or is this the true Niall? If so, I have been grossly deceived.”

  His brows rose, but his lips twitched. “How so?”

  “Well, when you have been a veray parfit gentil knight up to now.”

  His laughter warmed her. “A lesson for you, Miss Schoolmistress.”

  She smiled her acknowledgement and subsided, addressing herself to the remainder of the sweetened tea, to which Mrs Tuffin had added a dollop of cream. An effective remedy, for she was feeling much more like herself.

  The remembrance of why she had fainted crept into her mind, and she set the empty cup down into the saucer Niall was still holding. She watched him lay it aside.

  “Niall.” He turned with an instant frown, and Edith half regretted the portent that must have sounded in her voice. She hastened to explain. “I don’t mean to harp on about it, but do you suppose he means it?”

  “Kilshaw’s letter? All he means is to keep you on tenterhooks so that you will be off your guard.”

  “Surely it must have the opposite effect? I can scarce look towards a window without expecting to see him. How should he take me off guard?”

  Niall picked up one of the hands resting in her lap and enfolded it within his own.

  “You swooned merely at sight of the letter. If he should appear with no one by to assist you, shock is likely to freeze you. Kilshaw could take you before you had a chance to gather your wits.”

  His tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of feeling, but his hand tightened on hers. She drew a breath and sighed it out. “You are right. I must toughen myself against it. I should not allow it to overwhelm me.”

  He released her fingers. “It is natural you would react as you have done, but to know your enemy is to be armed against him.”

  “Another lesson? I am privileged indeed.”

  Niall’s features softened into amusement. “And that is precisely the sort of remark to remind me why I fell in love with you.”