Loving Tales of Lords and Ladies

by Abigail Agar

  The young lady’s eyes came up suddenly, and Jules was caught in his admiration. The colour of her cheeks and the dipping of her gaze spoke of a fetching shyness about the young lady that her boldness had not wholly prepared Jules for. He looked away to let her maintain her modesty. He was not a rake after all.

  “Thank you for the food,” Jules said. He just made it over to the bed before he collapsed down onto the mattress with a heaving sigh.

  The young lady frowned at him. “Are you in much pain?”

  Jules laughed and winced at the pain of it. “Just a little,” Jules said as he tried to keep his voice light.

  For his effort, Jules was rewarded with a smile from the young lady. It was worth the burning in his ribs, Jules decided. The servant cleared her throat as Jules pulled the covers up over himself. “We should leave His Grace to eat,” the servant suggested ever so patiently.

  To Jules’ amusement, the young lady seemed to completely ignore the servant. “Do you know where you are or how you got here?”

  “No and no,” Jules said. He also noted then that the servant referred to him properly, the young lady did not. That too amused Jules. She simply spoke to him, no pretence or titles. “You look familiar. Did you come to my aid last night?”

  The young lady dipped her head and said, “My mother and I were there when you stumbled out of the alley and collapsed. We brought you here and called the doctor to tend you.”

  “And where is here, exactly,” Jules asked as he reached for the tray that held his breakfast. Jules winced, and the young lady was swiftly over to sit the tray closer to him on the bed. Once he could breathe through the pain again, he said, “Thank you.”

  The young lady gave him a small smile while the servant stood awkwardly to one side watching her mistress with a frown. “Forgive me for not saying so sooner, but I am Lady Withersfield, daughter of the Marquis of Winchester, and you are in our Season home.”

  Jules regarded the girl curiously. That was probably why she looked familiar to him. He vaguely knew the Lord and Lady Winchester, but he was almost certain that he had never met their daughter. When she saw that Jules was not going to speak, Lady Withersfield spoke again, “The doctor treated your wounds and bandaged them. Although you lost a good bit of blood, he seemed confident that your wounds would not kill you.”

  “I do appear not to be dead yet,” Jules agreed with humour.

  Lady Withersfield cleared her throat and smiled. “So, I am curious.”

  “About?” Jules asked as he carefully lifted the teacup and drank a sip. The liquid felt heavenly on his throat.

  Lady Withersfield continued, “Mostly about why you were attacked and what you were doing in the alley, to begin with?”

  Jules eyed the young woman. As innocent and sweet as she appeared, the girl had a quick and curious mind. Unfortunately, that was a thing that could get her hurt around a man like Jules. He frowned. “That is none of your business,” Jules said in as harsh a tone as he could muster to use against the angelic young woman.

  While Jules could admit that he found the young woman attractive, he most certainly did not need to become affection-ridden for her. Jules had questions to answer that might very well make enemies, and that would put anyone close to him at odds. Her voice though sounded so familiar like he had heard it before. Perhaps she had spoken to him while they rescued him.

  Jules recalled the female voice that spoke to him of being cold. He eyed the woman and looked at her. Could that have been her? The look on her face did not leave room for that conversation right at this moment.

  She raised her chin, and he had no doubt that she would have continued interrogating him had the door not opened at that moment. Lord Winchester strode into the room. Jules watched the man take in the situation and waited for his reaction.

  Lord Winchester’s face screwed up with such indignation that Jules thought he might just toss him out onto the street at that very moment, injuries or not. Jules would not mind that so much, but he saw the man’s eyes go to Lady Withersfield. The man’s gaze caused the servant to cower, but Lady Withersfield stared back at her father unaffected by the man’s glare.

  “What are you doing in here with this man half-dressed?” Lord Winchester demanded of his daughter.

  Lady Withersfield said, “He is injured. I would hardly expect him to be wearing a coat and hat, Father.”

  “You know very well what I mean, Penelope,” Lord Winchester said in a low voice.

  Lady Withersfield waved at the female servant behind her. “I am not in here alone. This is perfectly chaste. Besides, we came to bring him breakfast and did not know he would be awake.”

  Lord Winchester seemed to give up trying to talk sense into his daughter as he turned towards Jules. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I was so taken aback by my daughter’s presence that I forgot my business here for a moment.” Jules raised his eyebrows curiously at the odd man. Yes, he remembered Lord Winchester now. Lord Winchester continued, “I just wanted to thank you for coming to my wife and daughter’s aid last night. If you had not been there protecting them from that rogue, I fear to think what might have transpired.”

  Jules frowned slightly, and his eyes went over to Lady Withersfield who gave him a smile. “There is no need for thanks,” Jules said with perfect honesty.

  “Your Grace, you are too generous,” Lord Winchester said. “Please, let us offer you dinner and a place to sleep while you recuperate. You will need your strength.”

  Jules could hardly stand the thought of riding at the moment, so he nodded. “That is most kind of you,” Jules said.

  “Members of society have to look out for one another,” Lord Winchester said humbly. “I would not make the same offer, mind you, for just anyone.”

  Lady Withersfield’s eyes seemed to be trying to roll back into her head, and Jules bit down on a smile. “Of course,” Jules said as he cleared his throat.

  “Come, Penelope, let us go and leave His Grace to rest,” Lord Winchester said as he held his hand out to his daughter.

  Lady Withersfield ignored her father’s outstretched hand and said, “Father, I have not yet thanked His Grace properly for saving me. Gretchen can stay here with me to assure that decorum is maintained.”

  Jules looked between the father and daughter. Lord Winchester seemed to be considering his options before the man relented. “Do not tarry long.”

  “Of course not,” Lady Withersfield said as if scandalised by the very notion.

  Lord Winchester shook his head and made his way out of the room as if befuddled by his daughter. Jules could definitely understand the man’s expression, even having just met the young lady. Lady Withersfield certainly seemed determined not to stand for any foolishness from the men around her.

  As soon as the door closed behind the Marquis of Winchester, Jules asked, “Why did you lie?”

  Chapter 5

  The Duke’s question was a fair one, but it was one that Penelope could not answer in their present company. Gretchen was a good enough maid, but the woman was absolutely terrified of Penelope’s father. As it were she could not be trusted with anything that needed to the guarded closely.

  “Gretchen, can you give the Duke and me just a moment. You can wait just the other side of the door. I assure you that you will hear me scream, and my father will never hear of this,” Penelope said reasonably to the older woman who eyed Penelope with the sort of dread that Penelope thought more fitting for torture. “I promise a portion of my allowance to aid in finding your mother the best doctor in London. You told Gina that she was ailing lately, and if you do this small thing for me, then I will gladly help you in the future.”

  As so often was the case with people, Penelope saw Gretchen soften to the idea of Penelope’s tiny favour at the promise of something to be gained. Gretchen nodded, even if a bit reluctantly. “That would be most kind of you, Miss. I shall be right outside the door. Just one peep, and I shall be right back.”

  “Of course,”
Penelope said. She watched the woman hesitate before she turned and went to the door. Gretchen gave Penelope one last glance before she slipped out the door. Penelope sighed and turned back to the Duke of Richmond.

  The Duke’s eyes watched her curiously. Penelope spoke quietly to the man. “We had to lie or my father would never have allowed you to stay, Your Grace. To be fair, I lied, and my mother just merely held her peace. She is not as bold as I am.”

  “I dare say that there are not many as bold as you, Lady Withersfield,” the Duke said with that amused smile that made Penelope’s heart forget itself for a few scattered beats.

  The man was entirely unlike the men she knew. He was clever and not afraid to show his wit, but not in a way that beat down on those around him. No, the Duke of Richmond seemed a very singular and enigmatic man. His dark eyes seemed to be searching her face, and Penelope realised that she had just been staring at him for some minutes. She felt her cheeks colour as she looked down at her hands which she clasped together as a shield in front of her.

  “Odd that you would want to help a murderer enough to lie for him,” the Duke said as he shifted back against his pillows.

  Penelope rushed forward to offer the man aid, only to remember how inappropriate that would be about the time she grasped the man’s barely clad shoulder. She whipped her hand away and took a few steps back, rubbing her hand as if it had been burned. She could still feel the warmth of his skin on her palm. Penelope had never come so close to touching a man’s bare skin as that.

  Penelope said quickly, “I do not believe you a murderer.”

  “But you have heard the rumours, have you not?” the Duke asked, his eyes intense and staring Penelope down.

  Penelope had to look away from the intensity of the man’s gaze. There was something altogether unsettling about the Duke, but it was not the sort of thing that made a lady run in fright. No, Penelope wagered that the Duke’s intensity was just the sort of thing that got ladies into scandals and ruined reputations. Oh, how dangerous this Duke could be, her mind whispered.

  Penelope nodded slowly. “My mother told me some of the rumour, yes. With a face like yours, there can be nothing so vile as murder in your soul.”

  “My face?” the Duke asked. He chuckled. “What does my face have to do with having the temperament of a killer?”

  Without thinking, Penelope said, “My time painting has made me a good judge of people. It is easy to see the harshness in people. They wear it like a badge of honour creased into their skin. But your face is soft and kind.”

  They both stared at each other for a moment. The Duke cleared his throat. “I do not know if I would picture myself as kind. Perhaps I am just too young for the creases to show yet.” The man folded his arms across the covers in front of him and asked curiously, “So you saved me because you did not think I had the face of a murderer?”

  “No,” Penelope said. “I simply did not want you to die. Is having mercy going to be a sore point with you as it is my father?”

  The Duke chuckled. “I am not against mercy,” he said as his dark eyes studied her in far more detail than Penelope was comfortable with. The man’s hair was long, and although it was quite dishevelled from all he had been through, it still framed his face in a way that made Penelope feel a strange weakness in her knees. “It was still a foolish thing to do. All you knew of me was that your mother heard gossip that I had blood on my hands. The people who did this to me could have easily overtaken you and your mother had they not have fled so quickly.”

  “You are scolding me for helping you,” Penelope said in astonishment.

  The Duke winced as he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. Penelope decided that his pain was rightly deserved. Just who did the man think he was to be scolding her? The Duke said, “I can see you bristling, and I assure you Lady Withersfield that I meant what I said with concern and not whatever horrible thing you clearly think that I was implying.”

  “Do not think you can know my mind so easily,” Penelope said as she lifted her chin. There was something about the man that set her blood to boil, and he seemed wholly unaware of it as he chuckled.

  The man raised his hands as if Penelope might attack him. “My debt to you is great but not great enough for me to risk my life. I have seen that meekness is not a quality that you possess, Lady Withersfield.”

  “And you are a strange nobleman, Your Grace,” Penelope said with honesty.

  The Duke frowned. “Is it just that you found me in an alley bleeding to death that makes me strange, or is it the murder?”

  “It is neither,” Penelope said at the man’s obvious attempt at making her uncomfortable. Penelope lifted one of her shoulders in a slight shrug. “I simply find you fascinating.” She immediately regretted the words as soon as she had said it, but once said words were very hard to retract. The look on the Duke’s face told Penelope that he did not much care for her words either, although she had no idea why such a sentiment would offend the man.

  The Duke shook his head. “I see,” he said simply, which did not aid in clarifying anything for Penelope.

  Penelope ventured, “You see what exactly?”

  He shifted a bit as if to get comfortable on the bed. “The party that you found me near at the Earl of Havenshire’s residence was a party for the Season. A party like that is often full of women and men looking for potential partners. I thought I recognised you from somewhere. You were at the party, were you not?”

  “Yes,” Penelope admitted a bit confused. “My mother and I attended the party.”

  The Duke nodded. “I am afraid that I have too much on my plate at present to even consider marriage. So, if you are looking for someone to fall for you, Lady Withersfield, I would suggest that you look elsewhere,” he said with such restraint in his voice that he sounded as if he was strangling out any hope that might seep through his words.

  Penelope coloured red with embarrassment and indignation. “You think mightily of yourself or very poorly of me,” Penelope said. The Duke’s mouth opened as if to speak, but she cut him off with her own words. “I would never assume love would be a reward for kindness. Being a good person is reward enough, but then most men do not seek kindness for its sake. I shall forgive you the flaw of your gender, just this once, Your Grace.”

  Her hands shook from the fire that welled up inside of her. She felt as if she might just shake apart if she did not hold her hands together tightly. The Duke eyed her with those dark eyes of his. The intensity behind his stare made Penelope wonder just what sort of man he truly was. How could a man with such a flame in his eyes profess to be so cold?

  “You attended the same party, Your Grace,” Penelope said. Her voice, despite the shaking of her hands was as steady and calm as it had ever been in her life. Penelope marvelled at that for a moment before she continued, “If you were not in search of a partner for marriage, then what were you doing there?”

  The Duke’s eyes peered into her for a long moment. Penelope wagered that eyes like that could see into her soul, but she did not falter as she returned his gaze. Let him look deeply and see her soul was pure. Whatever it is that the man was looking for, Penelope could not say whether he found it or not. As quickly as she had been locked in his gaze, the man looked away from her.

  The absence of the dark-haired man’s eyes on her left Penelope feeling adrift. She felt the fire in her belly die down to embers. She sucked in a breath trying to re-ignite it, but the flames just faded to glowing husks inside her.

  The Duke said softly, “That is none of your business.”

  His words may have been soft, but there was iron laced behind them. Penelope could see the latticework of iron bars that the man laced around himself almost as if it were a thing made of tangible metal. He is like my father, her mind whispered.