The Sullen Seamstress of Horenwall Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  “One plumper after another, eh? I’d bet me own nutmeg you ain’t got no job in the works, nor no papers in your bosom,” Nash spat a fat glob onto the pavement, and it washed away in the resumed downpour. “After the stunt you pulled, you be lucky Rip didn’t come for you himself. Real bad sight that'd be, eh? You know how he be when he gets emotional. Thought you could just pack up and run without Rip sendin’ us to find you out?”

  Leah attempted to pry a loose brick out of the wall behind her back, working at the grout with her fingernails, scrapping the skin from her fingertips. Nash saw this and slammed her back against the brick, forcing her arms outward, and restrained them above her head. “Naughty, naughty, little Leah! Still tryn'a get away!” His breath was hot and rancid. “I promised me mum I weren’t ever gon’ hit a girl. But you ain’t no girl, is you? You're a right spitting image of a man!” He drove his knee hard into her stomach, taking the air clean from her.

  Leah gasped, collapsing to her knees in the rain, clutching at her stomach, trying to breath. The thugs around them chuckled at her pain. The rain began again.

  “No, I won’t be killin’ you, little Leah. I want to see the fire leave your eyes first, like the bleedin' spitfire you are, so me and the boys is gon’ have us some fun before takin’ you back to Rip, ain't that right lads?”

  Nash pressed his rusted blade to the sun-kissed column of Leah’s neck while the thugs picked her up and again pinned her to the wall. One of them gave her another blow to the stomach while she was held there, and she wheezed in pain.

  Nash licked his lips like a salamander and smiled wickedly, showing off a rotted set of teeth that hung haphazardly about his gums. Leah started to realize that she wasn't getting out of this one. She was pinned, immobile, outnumbered, and there was a knife at her throat. The only thing she had left was defiance.

  “Big word for you, ain't it? Emotional,” she sneered back into Nash's haunting face. “Wa’ the devil you been readin', Nash?”

  “Shut it!” Nash pushed the knife against the old, crooked scar running down Leah's cheek, angling the edge into it. A thin line of blood sprouted and dripped slowly down the blade. “Should we open this up? See what daddy left us?”

  Leah spit in Nash’s face, and one of the thugs must have struck her, for pain exploded suddenly through her jaw, vibrating up into her skull. The arms that were holding her in place gave way and she fell. Time seemed so slow to her then, and she gracefully slumped to the cobblestones as blood trickled from her mouth and cheek. Then it began.

  The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as they encircled her, striking out with their boots, again and again. She jerked back and forth with the blows, the rain pelting ever downward.

  “You fight like a chambermaid,” she taunted, rolling over onto her back. Leah laughed upwards to Nash's face, challenging him with a twinkle of resistant fire in her eyes. She lay in a swelling puddle, and her vision danced back and forth as another kick came across her brow. “Poor little Nash,” she cackled against the pain as shock began to overpower it.,

  “Shut up!” he screamed down at her, kicking again.

  “Where's your wife, Nash?” She laughed up at him. It seemed to her she would die as his boot stuck her. Something changed then, with that strike. This had gone from a beating to a killing, and she could feel the difference in her ribs. “Run off with your brother, hasn't she?” she croaked up through her split lips. If she was going to die, at least she would haunt the bastard in his dreams.

  “Time to die, cit!” Nash raised the rusty blade.

  “Go to Hell, Nash,” Leah looked up at his raging face. It was a horrible last thing to look at.

  “Stop! You there!” It was a man's voice that caused them to turn together. A voice that belonged to nobody in the group. A voice that meant their cover had been blown, a voice that brought with it a witness, and thus the murder could not take place.

  A thug who had been minding the end of the alley stepped up to challenge the newcomer. Leah could not be sure of what she was seeing as another set of blows rained down on her, but from what she could tell the man cast the thug aside as if he were merely a sack of flour with a snap from his elbow.

  “Split!” one of the thugs shouted, and they were everywhere at once, barreling away from the silhouette at the end of the alleyway.

  “Hold there!” the voice challenged, and the man began running towards them. “Give pause, bastards!” he called, charging on ahead.

  Nash spat down, gave Leah one final kick, and dashed off. The final blow sent her reeling, jarring her back against the wall, and everything swam circles in her head. It was a bright, warm feeling, radiating from the back of her head that enveloped her then. A great lightness, as if she were among the clouds and free as a bird. She moved to stand, but she could not, and she collapsed into a heap.

  The shouts of Nash and the other men drifted off into the distance. The warmness overtook her, washing white the slate of her vision. For a moment, she thought she saw the glimmer of finely-polished shoes enter her line of sight.

  What a fine buckle that is, and then darkness consumed her.

  Chapter 2

  Kenneth smashed the thug in front of him hard with his elbow and moved past the collapsing man towards the woman. She lay in a crumpled ball, being whaled upon by these animals, and he was set on saving her.

  “Split!” one of them shouted, and they began to scurry about.

  “Bugger off,” the one identified as Nash turned, and snapped at him. “She belongs to us!”

  Kenneth sprinted the distance to Nash with speed that shocked everyone present and threw him against the same wall he had pinned the young woman to. The force of the movement caused Nash to drop his blade, and it spun off into a puddle.

  For a brief moment, Kenneth was able to take proper stock of the man. Scars crisscrossing his right shoulder seemed to tally the innocent people who’d lost their lives, and their fortunes to this man. There was a deep-set hatred in his eyes, one that could be directed towards whatever or whoever caused him ill. Kenneth knew this type well; Nash represented exactly what he was working towards eliminating in England.

  “There be lots more pain comin’ her way ‘cause of you. No one to protect her when you leave, puppy. You may as well gut her yourself,” Nash cackled into Kenneth's face, spitting beads into his cheeks. “You don't know who you're dealing with.”

  “I could say the same to you,” Kenneth said through his teeth, holding fast on Nash's shirt. “You will answer for this!”

  Then one of the thugs struck Kenneth across his back, and he was forced to release Nash with a grunt. Kenneth whirled about and struck the man responsible hard in the abdomen, forcing him to double over. When he spun back, Nash was gone.

  Kenneth looked down the alley to see the criminal disappearing around the corner. Turning around once more revealed that the man who had just struck him was gone as well out the other end of the alleyway. Even the one he had struck in the nose had vanished.

  All was suddenly silent, and Kenneth turned towards the wounded woman on the ground. She was badly beaten, he could clearly see. Her face was terribly swollen, and she curled in a way that indicated broken ribs and terrible pain. Kenneth had seen plenty of injuries, and he knew within a few moments of looking at her that she would live. She would be terribly sore for weeks, but she would live.

  Kenneth knelt beside the girl and brushed aside a lock of silken, chestnut hair from her battered forehead. His breath caught at the sight of her bloodied lips and bruised cheeks. He had not seen injuries of this magnitude since his time in the army. Beneath her right eye, his attention was caught by a long, pale scar that ran down her face.

  Although the scar was a blatant feature of her face, it did not detract from her somewhat angelic appearance. Her cheek bones rested gently around her thin lips. She looked to be at the age of consent to marry, which begged the question of her guardian’s whereabouts; however, as Kenneth observed the young woman
’s appearance, he noticed the dirt beneath her fingernails and the calloused palms of a hard worker. Those factors, coupled with her beaten body, indicated a curious set of circumstances.

  She wore ill-fitted gentleman’s clothing and her body was covered in more dirt than the ground beneath her, but there was no mistaking her for anything other than female. Kenneth checked her over for any severe injuries but kept his eyes and ears sharp in case the gang decided to return.

  There was no doubt in his mind that she was meddling in something dangerous and drowning in more danger than she was capable of handling, but something within compelled him to lift her from the wet ground. He brushed his fingers gently across her soft, honeyed complexion. Her small frame was so different in comparison to his solid build, and he marveled at her ability to withstand the gang's assault.

  Kenneth removed his hand from her face as she began to stir, the shame of touching her lingered in his mind. She blinked open vivid emerald eyes with impossibly long lashes. Like a painting of an enchanting pagan goddess, she honored him with a phantom smile as her mouth barely curled at the edges despite the swelling and bruising about her face.

  “Anybody there?” he called out into the rain. “Somebody, help!” but no one seemed to hear him. The square seemed so far away, like a distant portal.

  Kenneth considered the consequences. If he left this woman here in the rain, she would likely die. If he carried her back to his coach, as was his first inclination, he could be inviting a whole world into his life which he had not intended.

  Her head twitched in his arms and she stifled a sound. Kenneth looked down to her as one of her eyes moved over him, the other one fluttering shut.

  “My apologies, good sir.” she croaked out. “I mean no inconvenience.”

  “Come now, it is none at all.” Kenneth reassured her, bracing her against the wall.

  “You’d think I’d have learned not to bait a man when he’s drunk as a wheelbarrow.” the woman feinted a laugh. “I can walk, set me down.” Kenneth could tell that she was trying to push him away.

  “That's all that was, eh?” he asked, helping her to stand on her own. She could not support herself, and he gave her his arm to lean upon.

  “It is nothing.” she mumbled, shaking her head, likely dizzy from the beating.

  Kenneth watched as her lip began to tremble. Her emotions fought against her pride to keep the tears at bay, a sign of a girl who had learned long ago to be wary of the world. He pulled the cravat around his neck until the knot gave way. Kenneth used the cloth to dry the dampness on her face and sop up some of the blood on her cheek.

  The night was coming on in full now. In the faint light from a nearby window, he could just make out the hollows of her cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. The poor girl was exhausted. There was no telling how long she’d been running from those men.

  “What is your name?” he asked gently.

  “Leah,” she managed, reaching out vaguely for the wall in front of her. “Leah Benson. Release me now, really, I am fine,” she released a shuddered breath, stepping blindly forward, and she once again fell unconscious.

  Kenneth positioned his arms carefully and lifted her from against the wall where he had steadied her. Her head lolled to the side and came to rest on the breadth of his shoulder. He felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility for this mysterious woman as he cradled her, marching back to the street. It was a strange feeling; Kenneth had preached the good of the common folk for some years now, but beyond that he had never taken personal action such as this.

  In this, he was directly responsible for someone other than himself and his estate, and that thought was a forgotten one that he would have rather left behind. I must get her to the carriage. One thought at a time.

  Footsteps sounded through the night, accompanied by voices calling out his name. Kenneth took inspiration from Miss Benson and maintained a firm grasp on his pride, not caring what lingering stares or hushed whispers he would face as he stepped from the darkness with her in his arms.

  “I am here.” he called out. “Bring the coach, quickly!”

  The male members of the search party met him near St. James’s Street while the ladies kept their respectable distance. His rushing off from the Assembly Rooms had apparently attracted quite the crowd of onlookers, despite the off-again, on-again rainfall.

  Several of the ladies present gasped with indignation at the sight of him being so familiar with a member of their gender, and then gasped even more when they could see the state of the poor girl.

  Some mentioned the unconscious woman as if she were a novelty, although he very much doubted their irate nature was due to the fact that she was unaccompanied by a guardian or husband, but more so to do with the telltale signs of poverty she wore.

  Practice what you preach.

  The disdain in the atmosphere was hard for him to tolerate, and for some reason there was a slight hint of embarrassment at the back of his mind.

  “Daniel,” he addressed one of his footmen. “Bring the coach about and ensure that Miss Benson is comfortable for the ride home.”

  “Right away, Your Grace.” Daniel took Miss Benson from his arms, supported by another servant, and made quick work of his tasks.

  “Worthington,” the Marquess huffed, approaching Kenneth from the crowd. “You have given us quite the show.”

  “So, it seems.” Kenneth replied. “Although apparently it has been made an unnecessary spectacle.” he addressed the crowd that had amassed with his last line. He was glad that no one had seen the fight in the alleyway. There would be talk enough of this. Plenty already thought him too rambunctious, and it had impacted his ability to find a wife.

  The Marquess was unenthusiastic about Kenneth's display of valor and made it known, “Whoever this woman may be, she should not be trusted so readily. This ‘Miss Benson’ you speak of is likely a criminal intent on robbing you when you least expect it, Duke. You are always fast to act, 'tis true, but you must be sure you act in the proper manner. The drink hour has been spoiled now.”

  Kenneth was unwilling to neither explain himself nor feed into the chatter already surrounding the evening.

  Let them make their own ideas.

  He was eager to return to Miss Benson and see that her needs were attended to.

  “I bid you all a grand evening,” he said as he placed his top hat upon his head and climbed into the back of the approaching coach.

  Miss Benson had been placed gently across the bench, covered with the footman’s tailcoat. Kenneth sat beside her and covered her more carefully. He stuffed himself into the corner to ensure no part of him was making contact with her body, lest she wake and think the worst of him. He resolved not to bother her; she had been through enough for one night.

  Kenneth had strove for many years to avoid the repute of a libertine. Although moralities were changing with each passing year, Kenneth wished to uphold at least a few facades of modesty, especially when in public. While he tended to go against the grain of nobility, there were some things that were still imparted, and he took seriously. The first of which, being his family name.

  Leah awoke to the scent of wet horses and the sounds of clattering wheels.

  I am in a coach.

  She peeked beneath the lashes of her eye that would open at the man who rode across from her on the cushioned bench. He had short, mahogany hair that was gently dusted with flecks of silver. Despite the day’s worth of stubble cropping up on his jaw, his features were generally handsome, which was more than could be said of most men at the time.

  He wore a grim expression on his face as he searched through the rain for unseen enemies lurking in the shadows. He seemed at ease, yet restless all the same; his shoulders caged, waiting to spring open like a Bengal of India. They were an odd pairing of contradictions that intrigued her more than she thought they should.

  He struck her as a man who cared for others more than his own well-being – possibly too much. She ha
d known her share of people like that. They always meant well, but they always botched things up. The furrow in his brow was evidence that he worried quite often, but the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes spoke of a man who smiled often, or at least used to.

  Leah was content with observing him as the sounds of trickling water calmed a place in her heart, which otherwise screamed for her to run. She moved her eye about for the doorknob. This man had shown her kindness, but she could not afford to owe a debt to a man of his evident wealth and status. Leah refused to be controlled by anyone other than herself any longer, this rich man included, kind as he may be.

  She looked around the confines of the remarkable transport. Having only stolen a coach for Riphook, she’d never had the privilege of riding in one, especially one this fine. Leah felt tiny raindrops splash her face. She’d always loved the rain. It washed away the dirt and grime that stained her skin and soul. For Leah, it was redemption, freedom, and grace all rolled into one.

  The wonder on her face drew the attention of her companion, who moved his gaze idly from the window. Leah was unprepared for the depth of his articulated, raspy voice as he spoke, “You are awake,” he sounded surprised. “Sooner than I might have expected.”

  “This is your coach?” she asked, struggling to bring herself to a sitting position.

  “It is,” he said softly. “How are you faring, Miss Benson? It has been a difficult evening for you, it would appear.”

  She cleared her throat, praying the silence would return. She could handle silence; it was the talking that made her uneasy. Talking revealed too much about a person, and Leah wasn’t interested in baring her soul to anyone, much less the man beside her. He looked at her expectantly but remained patient in his waiting. The city streets slowly faded into muddy country roads.

  “Seen better days,” she finally answered abrasively. She was thankful that the man hadn’t tried to assist her in sitting up. Her body could withstand many beatings, but her ego could take no more.