Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  “What are they arguing about?” the coachman asked.

  “I’d rather not say in front of their ladyships, but it has to do with the maids locked in the cellar and iffin’ they should follow Missus Everly’s orders not to touch any.”

  Cecilia gasped.

  “Jenny’s one of those maids,” the coachman said, voice touched with anger.

  “His daughter,” Grace said to Cecilia.

  “We must do something,” Cecilia said. “Were there really only two men, Dodger?”

  “I only seen two.”

  “Saw,” Grace muttered.

  “Any sign of Lord Robert?”

  Dodger shook his head.

  “What about my mother?” Grace asked. “She’s the housekeeper. She looks like me, but with gray in her hair and a bit, well, rounder.”

  Dodger shook his head again. “Only the two rough looking fellows. They said, while they was arguing, that everyone is in the cellar.”

  Cecilia bit her lip. Robert might very well be in the cellar with the others. Even if he wasn’t, they must free his people, Grace’s and the coachman’s loved ones. Unfortunately, though there were only two guards, only Stevens was a grown man. Would she, Grace and Dodger be of any help? It sounded as if the ruffians were rather fierce, and unscrupulous. “Grace, are there any weapons in the house we could get to? Maybe kitchen knives?”

  “We can use this.” Grace dug into her reticule and pulled out a pistol.

  Cecilia’s eyes went wide. “Have you been carrying that around this whole time?”

  Grace frowned at her. “I always carry this around.”

  “I’ve got a pistol under the driver’s seat, as well,” Stevens said. “In case of highwaymen. I’ll fetch it.” He jogged back down the hill through the grass, the stand of pines between him and the manor.

  “The two fellows are in the kitchen,” Dodger said. “I guess from their talk that’s where the cellar door is.”

  Grace nodded, her eyes turned toward the manor, out of sight behind the trees.

  Cecilia tried to peer through the dense trunks. It seemed like hours before Stevens jogged back up the hill. He held a double-barreled pistol low by his side.

  Cecilia drew in a quick breath. “What’s the best way to get into the kitchen?”

  Grace turned to her, expression contemplative. “I think the best way is for you to go to the front door and pound on it. One of them will come, and you can distract him while we enter the kitchen from the back and secure the other. The one out front won’t hear anything from there, so long as we’re quick and quiet. Then, we’ll come get the second one.”

  Cecilia stared at her with wide eyes. “You want me to go up to the front door alone?”

  Grace nodded again. “You look singularly unthreatening and you’re all pretty.” She made a gesture encompassing Cecilia’s diminutive form. “You’re the perfect distraction.”

  Cecilia swallowed. She looked unthreatening because she was. “What will I say?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Tell him the truth, if you like. It’s a long way between the foyer and the kitchen.”

  “What if they both come to the door?” Cecilia asked. She realized she was wringing her hands and stilled the movement.

  “They won’t,” Grace said confidently.

  “She’s probably right,” Dodger added.

  Cecilia looked from face to face. Only Stevens appeared unsure. She swallowed again, convulsively. “All right.”

  “Are you certain, my lady?” Stevens asked.

  Cecilia nodded.

  “Of course, she is,” Grace said. “She’s much braver than she looks.”

  Cecilia gave Grace a watery smile, not sure if that was true. “Should I, uh, go then?”

  Grace shook her head. “We need time to sneak around back. Stay here and count to one hundred. Then, walk up the drive and start pounding on that door. It’s thick wood, so pound hard. Kick it if you need to.”

  Cecilia gave another shaky nod. Grace’s arms came up, wrapping her in a hug. Cecilia tried not to wince as the pistol Grace held bumped against her back. Stevens nodded, expression severe. When Grace stepped away, Dodger stood there. He stared at Cecilia, then he too hugged her, quickly, before turning to hurry off. They departed along the stand of trees, angling away from the drive.

  She watched them go, belatedly remembering to count. By thirty, she was trembling. By fifty, her palms were damp. She scrubbed them against her skirt and kept counting. She cast a quick glance around, possessed of the odd feeling that someone was watching her, but saw no one.

  At seventy-five it felt as if she’d been alone behind the stand of pines for ages, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being spied on. She sent up a prayer that Robert was in the basement with the others and started toward the drive. Her count hit a hundred when she was halfway to the house. Every window seemed to hide an enemy behind diamond panes that reflected the lowering sun. She had to work not to run the remainder of the way.

  When she finally reached the front steps, the door to Robert’s ancestral manor towered over her, making her feel small. The door was carved into a series of panels, each depicting what must be a scene from Solworth history. Most appeared to be bloody battles. Cecilia choose a relatively flat section, a field on which a knight bestrode a rampant horse, and knocked.

  Her fist hardly made a sound. She knocked harder, to little effect. Balling both hands, she pounded. Inside, the sound echoed. She pounded again, on this door that separated her from Robert, from happiness.

  No one came. She pounded harder, putting the full weight of her diminutive frame into the effort. Jaw and fists clenched, she beat on the door.

  Still, no one came. A ragged, desperate feeling began in her gut. What would she do if no ruffian appeared? How would she know what had become of the others if their plan didn’t play out the way Grace said? Cecilia started kicking the door.

  It yanked inward. She leapt back, arms cartwheeling to keep her balance. A grim-faced, giant of a man in Everly livery glared at her across the threshold.

  “Who are you?” the man barked.

  It occurred to Cecilia she should have used some of the time between the others’ departure and now to invent an answer to that question. Instead, she said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m looking for Lord Robert.”

  The man’s eyes darted northward, toward the forest, then returned to glare at her. “There’s no Lord Robert here. This is Lord Edmond Everly’s residence. He is Duke of Solworth.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Cecilia gasped. “That’s impossible.”

  The man was looking her up and down now. A leering smile stretched his face. “You’re welcome to come in, you know, miss.”

  Cecilia took a step back. “I don’t want to.”

  “I may have to insist, miss.” He reached for her.

  She batted his hand away. “I said no.”

  He frowned, then looked past her. His brows drew together, twin lines appearing between them. “How did you get here?”

  “What a foolish question.” She tipped up her chin. “I walked.”

  His eyes narrowed. “From where?”

  “Ah.” Should she say from her carriage? Where she had several large, strong footmen waiting for her to return, who would come looking if she didn’t? Where were Grace, Stevens and Dodger?

  “You better come inside,” the man said, reaching for her again.

  Cecilia dodged back farther.

  His glower rather menacing, the man stepped across the threshold. There came a loud thwacking sound. His eyes rolled up in his head. He sank slowly, until he wavered on his knees on the porch. Grace and Stevens stood behind him. Expression assessing, Grace slammed the iron skillet she held down on the top of the ruffian’s head. He crumpled.

  “Thank you,” Cecilia said.

  “You’re welcome.” Grace offered a cheerful smile.

  Stevens uncocked the pistol he held and pulled free a length of rope that was
draped over his shoulder. “I’ll tie this one up and search him for the key.”

  Grace held out a hand to Cecilia. “Come on. We’ll go see if Dodger’s had any luck with the lock on the cellar door.”

  Cecilia allowed Grace to assist her over the prone form sprawled across the threshold and into a vaulted foyer. Grace led the way down a corridor clad in rose silk and dotted with ornate golden sconces. Above, the ceiling was a warm cream and below, a floor formed of wide, polished planks was covered with a rose-stitched runner.

  “Dodger is working on the lock,” Grace said as they walked. “The first fellow didn’t have the key, and we couldn’t exactly ask him where it is because we hit him over the head. Actually, Stevens did, with the handle of his pistol, which I maintain was very dangerous, as it was cocked, but which he said was perfectly safe. Anyhow, that’s why we used a skillet the second time.”

  Cecilia nodded, though she trailed Grace. Every hall they turned down, each room glimpsed through open doorways, was lovely. Everywhere, she felt the history of this place. Each piece of furniture was formidable, ancient, and impeccably kept. Every gilded sconce was crafted into a sprig of lilies, or a Grecian torso, or a fantastical creature. The Solworth home was stately and substantial, and it reminded her of Robert.

  “The man at the door said Edmond Everly is Duke of Solworth now.”

  Grace’s body jerked. She looked back over her shoulder. “We’ll see about that,” she proclaimed in anger-touched tones.

  When they reached it, the kitchen proved vast, yet so full of stoves, pots, foodstuffs and a terrible mess of dishes as to be cluttered. The white-washed room stood at the back of the house, with wide windows overlooking a garden and a door leading outside. A second door stood open to emit a stream of dusty, owlishly blinking people coming up a set of steps. Dodger stood next to the open door, beaming with pride. Off to one side lay a bound, gagged and apparently unconscious man in Everly livery.

  “Mother,” Grace cried. She rushed forward to embrace a woman who did indeed look like her, except grayer and rounder.

  A gasp came from the crowd of staff. “What have they done to my kitchen?” a woman wailed.

  Grace released her mother and turned toward the woman. “Mother, Cook, everyone, this is Lady Cecilia, Lord Robert’s new wife.”

  That set the crowd to murmuring, but there was an underlying happiness to the sound. Several people bowed. Murmurs of, “My lady,” filled the kitchen.

  Cecilia smoothed her skirt, aware she had no notion how she looked. Not that it mattered. “Is that everyone who was in the cellar? Was Lord Robert with you?”

  Grace’s mother stepped forward, the natural leader of the group. “He was not, but we took turns standing on the top step listening at the door. They took him somewhere, not even an hour past. They said hunting, but then they laughed, all evil like.”

  “Hunting?” Cecilia recalled the dark forest stretching out behind the manor. “What will they do to him? How will we find him?”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady.” A weathered old man pushed through the crowd. “The duke’s hounds will find him. They’ll put us on the path right quick.”

  Hope surged in her. Yes, hounds were precisely what they needed. If Robert was out there, the dogs would find him. She only hoped it would be in time to prevent whatever the Everlys had planned.

  Taking in the ring of expectant faces, Cecilia stood straighter. “Well, then, we’d best let out the hounds.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “What say you of your mother now, Everly?” Robert asked as they rode deeper into the forest.

  Despite the wideness of the track, the budding canopy had long since closed out the sun. Small animals scurried from their passage, occasionally dislodging little showers of debris from above. Somewhere, two rooks argued, their raucous calls dampened by the soft earth beneath the trees. Robert could smell that earth, the rich growing scent of the forest in spring.

  A glance showed Everly’s expression remained conflicted. Robert pressed his point. “Why don’t you ask them what their orders are? I’m sure they’ll tell you.” He could all but feel the concentration of the four guards. Their unease was apparent in the tightness of their shoulders, the way their horses shied from every sound, their darting eyes.

  Everly cleared his throat. He turned to the man who rode to his left. “What are your orders?” he asked, voice overloud in the quiet forest.

  The man exchanged a look with the one to Robert’s right, who shrugged.

  “I command you to tell me,” Everly said, but his words sounded more like a plea.

  The first man turned back to Everly. “We’re to take Lord Robert a sufficient way into the woods and shoot him, then set it up to look like a hunting accident, in case anyone should ever find him. Then we’re to return to the manor and free the staff before escorting you to your mother, who is staying the night at the Kettle and Whistle, on the road to London.”

  Everly gaped. A grim mantle settled over Robert at the calm, matter-of-fact way the footman pronounced his fate. They may as well have been going hunting after all, for all the concern in the man’s tone.

  “But, kill him?” Everly sputtered. “Whatever for? He’s signed everything over to me.”

  “I didn’t ask why, my lord,” the ruffian said.

  Everly turned to Robert. “Why would my mother order such a thing?” he asked, almost beseeching.

  It was a strange feeling to pity the man robbing him of all he had, including his life. “Because she knows the moment I set foot in London, I will deny the legality of the papers I signed. It would become my word to hers. I’d also order both of you arrested.”

  “You would?” Everly demanded. “That’s not very sporting of you.”

  “Everly, you’re taking my dukedom from me. Would you expect me not to fight that?”

  “But, you signed,” Everly protested. “That’s like giving your word.”

  “I signed for the same reason I would refute those very signatures, to protect my people.” Robert wondered if he could drive any modicum of wisdom into Everly’s thick skull. “That’s what being duke means. Maintaining my personal honor is a luxury, one I can’t always have. Would you count the honor of one man worth more than the safety and security of hundreds of others?”

  “Safety and security?” Everly shook his head. “I wouldn’t be that terrible a master to them, Hadler.”

  Robert met Everly’s gaze squarely. “Wouldn’t you?”

  After a moment, Everly looked down. When he looked up again, his face was set. “I order you all to release Lord Robert,” he said, his tone a credible approximation of command.

  The two men flanking them exchanged another look. “We can’t do that, my lord,” the one to the right said.

  “What do you mean, you can’t do that?” Everly demanded.

  “Missus Everly gave us very specific orders,” the man said.

  Everly sat up straighter. “I am the head of my house. My mother only has what money and authority I permit her. I order you to set Lord Robert free.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “I’m also Duke of Solworth,” Everly proclaimed. “As a peer of the realm, I order you to release Lord Robert or I shall see you lose your heads.”

  The men gave no response to Everly’s threat. They rounded a bend in the trail to find the way ahead grew more rugged, the trunks about them denser. The path before them cut a shallow ravine between two hillocks, which rose steeply on either side of the trail. A few yards farther up, the path narrowed to single file and the hill crested to a height just over Robert’s head.

  “I think we’ve come far enough,” the leader said, bringing their little convoy to a halt. He untied Robert’s reins from his saddle.

  Robert watched the strips of leather fall to the ground. If only he could find a way to claim them, he might be able to urge his mount up the low hill along the roadway and into the trees. The lead ruffian drew his horse in a tight
circle, coming around to face Robert. From the direction they’d come, a hound bayed.

  All three ruffians he could see swiveled toward the sound. Their expressions darkened to varying degrees of worry. Behind Robert, the fourth cursed.

  “What was that?” Everly asked.

  “Like as not, some local farmer out with his dogs,” Robert said, but hope surged in his chest. Was someone coming to his aid? Who?

  “Do we shoot him on his horse?” one of the men asked.

  The leader turned back to Robert, expression contemplative. “If we were lucky, it would bolt and he’d fall and break his neck.”

  “If we’re unlucky, it’ll bolt with him on it, and we won’t know for sure if he’s dead, or be able to find him to untie his hands,” the one to the right pointed out. “Can’t look like an accident with him tied up.”

  “See here,” Everly said. “You aren’t going to shoot Lord Robert. I forbid it.”

  The leader of the ruffians leveled a flat stare on Everly. “We’re going to do as ordered, my lord, and it’ll go easier for you if you keep out of our way. We were also ordered to tie and gag you if you cause any trouble.”

  Everly gaped at them.

  “Enjoying being duke?” Robert asked with bitter humor.

  “My mother ordered you to lay hands on me?” Everly asked.

  “Missus Everly always provides instructions for any eventuality.”

  Another bay sounded, nearer, and was answered in kind. Robert’s captors exchanged worried looks. The one behind him cursed again.

  “I say we let the duke live,” the one to his left muttered.

  “You would say that,” the leader snapped. “She doesn’t have evidence that would get you hung.”

  “She has evidence that would get my brother hung, but he deserves hanging more than the duke deserves shooting. Maybe you do, too.”

  The leader aimed a scowl at the man. He pulled out a pistol.

  Robert’s heart lurched. As unobtrusively as he could, he strained against the bonds on his wrists. “Free me and I’ll see what I can do about having your brother banished. It’s a sight better than hanging.”