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

by Emma Linfield

  “I can imagine,” he gave a friendly smile. It seemed after another pause that he did not know what to say next. Leah appreciated that he sat silently instead of saying words that meant nothing and thought for a moment about how to proceed.

  At least he doesn't talk too much. Perhaps I will be safe with him, at least for tonight.

  She gingerly touched the cut on her lip and winced. It was time to change tactics. I should take full advantage of this opportunity.

  “May I know your name or title, sir? I would like to properly thank you for saving my life, for upon consideration I find myself completely in your debt,” she spoke suddenly with a composure that surely shocked him. It was likely that he, like every other noble, thought her incapable of reading. The use of elevated language was a disarming tactic she employed often with the rich.

  “Certainly,” he sat back, raising his eyebrows. “My name is Kenneth Wilson, Duke of Worthington.” There was a note of regret in his voice. He more than likely assumed she would hate him on principle; strange thoughts were often swirling about in the brains of the highborn. Leah didn’t hate his kind, she simply treated them as they had treated her – an untrustworthy stranger.

  She didn’t understand their world, so she was indifferent to most of it. One thing she had a proper handle on was housekeeping; it was how she earned her living. Not actually cleaning the houses but robbing them disguised as a house servant. Beyond that, she was near clueless about the upper class.

  “Thank you for saving me life, Your Grace,” she said. “I cannot imagine the tarnish upon your status that your actions have caused, but I will find a way to repay you for your kindness,” she uttered, attempting to sit correctly, but still she was bruising, and her left eye had begun to blacken.

  He seemed pleased by her efforts and offered her a kind smile, saying, “There is no need to pretend. Take rest.”

  Leah looked down at her appearance and for the first time in her life, she was ashamed. Wearing a dingy old chemise tucked into muck-covered trousers, a bloke’s patchwork jacket with tears in the side, and shoes that were too big for her feet, beneath all of which was a body so beaten that she could not breathe without some pain, Leah felt the cruelty of her reality.

  Chapter 3

  Kenneth watched as a flush of color touched Miss Benson’s cheeks. He imagined she was resisting the temptation to fidget with her hair or pick at the threads of her clothing. Apparently, she was anxious, but hiding it well, and where he had first been excited, he was now nervous. He did not know where to proceed from here.

  He had rescued this woman from street thugs, in part because of his personal code of chivalry, and in part because he felt a rush in the strange events that were such a welcome break from the monotony of his life. Something inside him had hoped for an adventure, nay, assumed one of this battered woman. He felt a slight flare of disappointment.

  Clearly, Miss Benson was no different from everyone else in his life. A person with the same base desires and emotions, nervous in an unfamiliar setting, and reeling from a recent physical assault.

  He remembered the Marquess' blunt words upon his departure. ‘Intent on robbing you when you least expect it.’ What nonsense!

  For once, he wished others would not worry about perception of wealth or image. Anyone else would have left her on the street. They would not have followed into the alleyway.

  Kenneth accepted that his role in this woman's story was a limited one, and realized he had to be content with what little adventure he had gleaned from her thus far. It had been ages since he had been in a fist fight, after all.

  “It was my duty and honor to assist you, Miss Benson,” he said, tipping his hat.

  “Leah,” she corrected boldly.

  “Beg pardon?” he blinked twice.

  “My name is Leah. I’m not a lady with a title of my own; I’m just someone down on her luck, is all. I know you’re guessing me as a vagabond or a thief, but that’s not who I am,” Miss Benson switched back to her normal, informal dialect, slouching down into a comfortable position on the bench. She chewed her nails nervously.

  She glanced down at her hands and winced at the dried blood and dirt that covered them. Seeing her distress over the blood, Kenneth handed her a crinkled-up cravat from his pocket. She accepted the offer and wiped her hands before folding them neatly in her lap.

  “I always like them to be neat,” she said absently, admiring the folded cloth. Miss Benson appeared to be lost in her thoughts momentarily. She then asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you save me? I mean no insult but not many of your position would do such a thing, not that I’ve seen anyways. They will give you proper gossip for it too.”

  “Yes, well,” Kenneth cleared his throat against the strong language. “I have a proposition for you. Let us cast aside any prejudiced opinions of one another and simply exchange in polite conversation. If you wish to inquire upon the societal standards of the high society, I will not indulge in your curiosity, for I find it one of the dullest subjects there could ever be. However, if you wish to speak to me of the joys and wonders of life, then I would be happy to share my own experiences with you.”

  Kenneth took a deep breath before he continued, “I shall only speak honestly. It is the least you deserve. There is no profound reason as to why I intruded upon your encounter with those men. I saved you because firstly it was the right thing to do, and secondly because it was thrilling.”

  Miss Benson avoided his penetrating stare as he spoke with sincerity he assumed she was not accustomed to. She continued to glance out the window as if the rain could summon the words she needed. Unfortunately, at that moment, it switched off once again.

  “Were you injured on my account, Your Grace?” she asked, wincing as the carriage went over a series of bumps.

  “Nothing I am unequipped to handle, Miss Benson,” he replied gallantly.

  “Leah,” she corrected once again.

  “Of course. So, you’ve stated.” Kenneth smiled playfully in her direction, hoping to put her mind at ease. He watched as she studied his profile and found himself becoming uncharacteristically self-conscious. “I was in the army for some time.”

  She stroked her fingers against the bench like a painter creating something beautiful on a canvas.

  “Fightin' old Bony?” she croaked coyly. Despite her wit and charisma, she was still injured.

  “And the Americans.” he indulged, popping his eyebrows. It seemed that her spirit was lifting a bit.

  She chuckled softly, playing along, “Bloody rebels.”

  “Quite.” he answered, adjusting his hat with the hilt of his cane. He found himself smiling, even blushing a bit perhaps. It had been some time since he had found even an extended conversation with a woman at all enjoyable.

  Kenneth was aware that he caught the attention of many young ladies despite being nearly thirty years of age. His skin was pale, and his eyes were dark. He lived quickly, and with passion, and made it clear for all to see. There was power in that image, and he wielded it as a great suit of armor against the world. Yet here it seemed this woman could see through him, like some sort of mystic of old. He was disarmed but pleasantly surprised. Miss Benson had a warm complexion and the brightest green eyes he’d ever seen. How do I proceed? I know not how to speak with her, it seems.

  “Do you enjoy being a Duke?”

  Kenneth was taken aback by her inquiry. No one had ever asked him if he enjoyed his position. He had assumed, like everyone else, it was an unspoken duty to the crown. Of course, he was aware of his privileges, but he did not mind too much to go without them. It never occurred to him that he could be anything different or if he would want to be anything else.

  “I suppose, like everything else in life.” He handled his palm and thought about it. “There are good sides and bad sides to what I do –

  “Am,” she interrupted him. “It's more of an 'am' than 'do' sort of life, isn't it?” Her eyes shone with bravery and the fe
arless young woman before him leveled her stare with his. Kenneth shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of her gaze, but he maintained the eye contact she had established.

  “I suppose you are correct.” he uttered, idly stroking the ruffles at the sleeves of his shirt. He gave no indication of his thoughts. She rose to the challenge and asked, “What are the good sides?”

  “I would like to think that what I do matters, that I am part of something larger. It is good to feel important, valued, and to know that I have some power, what little there is, in making things better.”

  “What things?”

  Kenneth knew that making big changes was complicated. There were always two sides to change: the ones who wanted it and the ones who didn’t. It’s much easier to talk about change than it is to go about making it happen. His father had spoken about change many times, but the only ones who’d benefited were those who didn’t need it. The wealthy often flourished at the expense of the poor, but this had been a repeating cycle for thousands and thousands of years; it was not likely to be uprooted.

  “Life, I suppose. Crime, for one thing.” His eyes looked pointedly at her bruises and cracked lips.

  “Good luck to you.” she snorted, but it brought her great pain from her middle and she winced.

  “What about you, Miss Benson? I'm sorry, Leah. What is it you want most in the world?” Kenneth asked, having sensed her thoughts turning dark once more. He would have to be careful and tread lightly. Her trust would not be won in the space of a single carriage ride.

  She sucked in her breath a bit, contemplating, and puffed out her cheeks in thought. Then after a time she delivered a manicured reply.

  “I want to live in a cottage somewhere out in the French country, so I can finish my paintings and garden. A village would do, I suppose, but I would prefer my own farm. Chickens and cows, most likely, though I do love a good goat. They'll eat anything. I want to visit the sea in the winter, and watch the sea slam the sand, eat iced cream, laugh about whatever I please, and never think about the boroughs again.” She thought for a second longer and added, “And I'd like to never need money again. Not as if I were rich, but as if people didn't need money. They all just sorted themselves out nice and like.”

  Kenneth was struck by the wistfulness in her voice, as if she believed those things could only be accomplished in dreams. He was saddened to think that she was without redemption. Surely no burden she carried could kill her spirit so easily, for he’d seen passion within her as she fought for her life.

  No woman, who held such bravery in her heart, would let the cruelty of the world best her. She is a true survivor. I remember what they look like.

  Kenneth unbuttoned and shrugged out of his greatcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders. She was startled by the gesture but did not deny him. “I hope you are rewarded with such fortune, Miss Benson.”

  “I wish you the same, Excellency.” She cocked her head a bit and adjusted to the coat. “Whatever fortunes you desire lest they be undesirable.”

  “Ha!” Kenneth laughed out at her wit. “It's Your Grace, by the way, you had it right before.”

  “What?”

  “I am a Duke, so you refer to me as Your Grace, not Excellency.”

  “Oh.” She stared at him through her one good eye.

  “No, no, come, it is no matter.” Kenneth felt ashamed for correcting her despite how she had corrected him multiple times.

  Suddenly her eyes seemed to grow wide, and she looked to him worriedly. “You have been to France?” she asked him urgently after sheltering beneath the greatcoat.

  “I have, twice in fact.”

  “So, it's real?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “France. It's a real place, isn't it? I mean you can go there, you can go to Paris. It's real isn't it?” she was pressing, working herself up into some sort of minor panic attack.

  “Yes.” Kenneth said, startled. “It is real. Why ever wouldn't it be?”

  Perhaps it is her injury. I have seen worse hallucinations.

  “Sometimes…” Leah began to calm down, and after a few breaths she shrugged, slinking further into the folds of the coat. “Sometimes I look out at the water and think that's where the world ends, and that they just made everything else up to keep people from killing one another, and there isn’t even a real place to get away from here.” Leah rested her head on the window and looked distantly outwards.

  “I – ” but Kenneth had no words to respond.

  How full she must be of despair. It wracked at him, slicing inwards. She was wounded, deeply, both outside and in. Eventually he mustered up, “The world does not end there.”

  “Where are we?” she asked, turning her head back from the window. “It is pitch black out there.”

  “Somewhere between London and my estate.” Kenneth answered honestly. “I had thought that you might recover there, as before you woke, I had no inclination of when that would occur. Please, forgive me if I have overstepped. Will my estate be suitable grounds for your recovery? I believe several of your ribs to be broken, that requires rest, and much of it. I swear you will be accommodated with privacy and whatever you require.”

  “Estate…” She chuckled a bit. “Don't hear that every day, do you?” Her pursuant sense of humor amazed him, and even forced him to smile.

  “No, I suppose you don't.” Kenneth laughed. “Will that be acceptable to you, Miss Benson?”

  “My name is Leah.” she retorted, and pulled the great coat further about her. She nodded her thanks to his offer and curled up on the bench shamelessly. Kenneth couldn’t imagine the physical pain she was experiencing. She had been struck many times, and if he knew anything about bruises, he knew she would feel each of the blows on the morrow. Kenneth had been there before, and so, he sympathized with her wounds. How strong she must be to endure such brutality. I should have been quicker! I could have had those brigands in custody.

  Kenneth watched as she folded in on herself as if that were all the protection she needed. As if she were an alpine fox, tucking itself in for a storm. Her lashes trembled. She fought the sleep that threatened to consume her, but curiosity won the battle in the end and she passed into a deep slumber, letting loose a healthy snore that caused Kenneth to sit back, chuckling.

  “What will become of all this?” he wondered aloud, resting his head back on the jostling window. The mystery had taken hold of him, and he had no way of knowing how far it would take him.

  Chapter 4

  The manor which Kenneth called home was a grand building by all accounts. The ceilings were high, the floors three, and the windows works of art. The furnishings were elegant, yet tasteful, having been identified over the years by Juliet's watchful eyes.

  All the walls were adorned with fine paintings of value, and in spaces absent art, the wallpaper shone through with exquisite rarity.

  Juliet was Kenneth's mother, a Duchess, and an avid collector of antiques. She had worked tirelessly to perfect the house, combing through the furniture and draperies until everything was just right. She took great pride in her home and had finally reached a point at which she was satisfied with its interior.

  She had instructed the house staff with a strict regimen for the dusting and cleaning of furniture, and often she joined in to ensure everything was done properly. The house she kept in place of her husband, who had passed away just two years before. For Juliet, the house was something she could control, manipulate, mold, and ensure never diminished. It was her jewel, her hobby, and her sanctuary.

  On that particular evening, Juliet had taken her supper alone. When she ate alone, she always made short work of the food, as to be done with the task as fast as possible. Once finished, she would take down one glass of brandy in a swift salute to her late husband, and then retire by the fire to read. That was precisely where she found herself when her housekeeper entered, causing her to look up from the pages of her novel.

  “Your Grace, I am sorry to disturb you.”<
br />
  “What is it, Mrs. Redford?” she asked over the top of the binding.

  “There's a coach that can be seen coming up the drive.” the housekeeper replied, wiping her palms on her apron to be sure they were clean in case she had to touch anything.

  “A coach?” Juliet inquired, closed the book. “What is the hour?” She turned her head to look at the clock behind her. “Five past ten, good heavens, a coach you say. It is fortunate I am still awake.” She set the book down and lifted her graceful frame out of the comfortable sofa.

  “It must be Kenneth back from London, but at such an odd hour? I did not expect him until Tuesday.” Juliet pondered, draping her shawl about her. Then a seed of worry took hold of her. “Oh dear, I do hope nothing has happened to him.”

  “I am sure he is fine, Your Grace.” Mrs. Redford offered.

  “Go and find Beatrice, have her ready in case he requires food.” Juliet dismissed her and left the cozy study, making her way through the massive hallways of the mansion. She came finally to the parlor, and from its grand passageway she went into the ever-clean mud room. “Open it up.” she waved at the footman, who hurried to swing the heavy mahogany doors apart.

  Juliet could see the coach coming into view, rattling towards the house. From there she could see the moonlit outline of Daniel, Kenneth's manservant, who sat beside the driver. She held her hand aloft and waved and saw him wave back.

  If it were bad news, he would not have waved to me. The coach rolled to a stop before the grand entryway of the manor beneath the tiled overhang. “Is everything alright, Daniel?” she called from the stairs as the manservant hopped down from his bench.

  “It is a woman, Your Grace.” he answered, removing his rain-soaked gloves and opening the carriage door.

  “A woman?” Juliet repeated to herself, unsure of what to expect. What was he talking about? What could he mean by that?