“I am.”
“May I sit?” she asked in a quiet voice. It was not an everyday occurrence that a pretty woman asked to sit at his table. In fact, it was rather unusual, to say the least, even in establishments such as this. For a moment, Harry considered the possibility that the woman was a Cyprian. After eyeing her once more, he dismissed the thought as unlikely.
He’d made their acquaintance on occasion and could usually tell one from a distance. This one was in much too poor a state of dress to pass for a Cyprian. She was pretty, certainly, but no man would spend his hard-earned coin on a woman who could not even maintain her dress in proper fashion.
Still, he was intrigued as to who she was and what she wanted. He looked her over and nodded at her to take a seat.
“Thank you, good sir.” She pulled out a chair beside him and sat on the edge, as if she were ready to jump up again at any moment.
“Would you care for a drink, Miss?”
She blinked and then looked him in the eye.
“Isabella Thornton. And no, I do not.”
He shrugged, “Suit yourself.” He turned back to the old man behind the bar. “Innkeeper! I am awaiting my ale.”
The man waved him off in a manner Harry found offensive, but he chose to let it go.
“Good Sir, I was in hopes that you may be able to assist me. I would like to arrange to meet with your brother, the Duke. I have sought out Mr. Preston, the estate steward, but I am told he is ill. When I go to the manor, I am told that—”
Harry raised his hand, irritated at the flow of words.
“Mr. Preston is ill, and His Grace is unavailable.”
The woman sighed heavily. “That is what the butler told me. But I have been there three times and I am told each time that His Grace is not available. I must speak to him. It is urgent. Please, can you not assist me in setting a meeting?”
Harry removed his feet from the table and sat up straight. The ale had put him in a merry mood earlier, but that slowly dissipated now. He’d enjoyed the buzzy feeling and motioned for the Innkeeper to hurry up with his drink.
“His Grace has been called away to London and I am uncertain when he will return. It may be weeks.”
Or never, he thought to himself.
The woman’s face fell. “What am I to do?”
Harry blinked and sighed, suddenly encouraged by the possibility of exacting his influence. “You may speak to me. I am handling the Duke’s affairs in his absence.” He motioned for her to speak but she sat, quietly, scanning his face as if considering her options. At last, she exhaled in resignation.
“Very well. I am…that is…I require an extension on our rent. I am not able to pay and…I will be able to pay all, and even pay ahead once I receive payment for some embroidery that I did for—”
Harry raised his hand and shook his head.
“His Grace is not in the habit of granting extensions of any kind, to anyone.”
“But your father always did. He—”
Harry shrugged. “My Brother is not my Father. We do not give extensions.”
The woman lowered her eyes and shook her head. Beside him, a bar maid placed another jug of ale on the table and he quickly grabbed it with both hands, taking several gulps as he looked at the woman over the rim.
“I had heard rumors of other farmers losing their homes. I had heard that…but certainly…I could not believe it. I met you brother. He was so kind, so gentle. I was certain——”
Harry bit his lip, feeling a sense of sorrow as he looked at the woman. She could be no more than thirty years old.
“Thornton, you said is your name?”
She nodded, blinking at him.
“What happened to your husband?”
She licked her lips and swallowed.
“The war,” she said quietly. “I lost him in the war.”
Harry nodded. He’d considered joining in the war. In fact, he’d gone to enlist, only to be told that he was not desirable for military service. Not that he would tell anyone of this. Suddenly, his mother’s words once again haunted him. Her question on why he did not carve out a career of his own. Her certainty that he would not be able to have an heir if he were to become Duke. That no woman would want him.
The rage rose inside of him.
I will prove her wrong. I will. I am capable of so much more than she knows.
He turned to the woman and leaned forward.
“Dear Mrs. Thornton. I feel for you. I really do. And believe me, if I were Duke, I would gladly give you an extension. Alas, I am not. However, I do wield a certain amount of influence over my brother and perhaps, just perhaps, I could hold off on evicting you.”
Her eyes brightened at once.
“Mr. Keswick, you are an angel. Thank you so much I—”
He placed a finger on her lips. “Shh. Doing so will certainly cost me. Cost me dearly. My brother is sure to be furious with me.”
“I am sorry to put you into such a position. I would not ask if it were not an emergency.”
He nodded and attempted his best to place a benevolent expression on his face.
“I know. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement, you and I. A way for you to repay me for my assistance in the matter.”
Her face fell and she recoiled. “Payment? I cannot pay. I have no money—”
“Money is not the only form of payment,” Harry said. He already regretted the path he had allowed this conversation to take. He was better than this. Yet, he could not stop himself. He needed to find validation, affection. From anyone. Even if he had to stoop so low as to solicit it in such a manner.
Before him, the woman’s lips quivered. “I am sorry. I cannot…I…Please—”
Harry swallowed, feeling dirty and worse than he had before.
Perhaps my Mother is right. If a woman does not even want me if it means saving her farm, then perhaps I could never have an heir.
The rage inside of him boiled over.
“Get out then,” he hissed at the woman.
“Excuse me?”
“Get. Out.” His voice was still now, but the words harsher than before.
Her eyes grew wide and she pushed the chair back, although not fast enough for Harry.
“I said get out, you harlot!” He jumped up, his chair falling over with such a noise that the eyes of everyone in the Inn turned to him. The room turned as he stood, and the woman seemed to sway before his eyes. The woman got up and walked backward toward the door, bumping into a table as she went.
“I am no harlot. You should be ashamed of yourself, you wheyface”
Overcome with anger, Harry raised his cup and got ready to hurl it at the woman when suddenly, he felt his hand gripped from behind.
“Harry Keswick, set the cup down and let her go at once!”
The voice that rang through the fog made his inebriated mind sober and his blood run cold. It was so familiar and yet so alien. It was a voice he thought he’d never hear again. Lysander...
Chapter 18
Oliver paced in front of the stable yard, the afternoon sun beating down on him. It had been hours since the Duke had gone out on the fox hunt with Lord Alderbridge and he had yet to find occasion to lay his eyes on the man.
That morning, after Fornsham had fetched the Duke, the Marquess as well as two other high-ranking members, Oliver had waited for them to collect their horses.
This, Oliver had concluded, would have been the perfect time to catch the eye of Lord Alderbridge. To his disappointment, he’d found himself called away to the paddock where a pony had escaped. By the time the errant animal had been caught and returned to its box, the Duke and his guests had come and gone.
He knew the Marquess was to join the family on a stroll that afternoon. Fornsham had already departed to collect them. All he had to do was wait. Wait for the party to return or wait for Seraphina to find a way to bring Oliver and Lord Alderbridge together.
Where is Seraphina? I have not seen her at all since she
grew so upset at the mention of Alderbridge.
Had she changed her mind? Grown angry at his gift of the flowers? He wondered what happened when she’d confronted her father about the proposed arrangement between her and Lord Alderbridge. Had it gone badly, preventing her from coming to the stables?
Oliver found his hands growing sweaty with nerves as much as with the heat. From behind him, he heard the sounds of horses neighing and turned.
His heart sank. Authority and the horses that had taken part in the hunt were returning, without their noble riders. And beyond them, the barouche that was to return the Duke and his family was empty.
“Fornsham, where is His Grace?” Oliver asked as soon as the man stopped the vehicle. “I thought he was to return here with the horses and then proceed to take a stroll with the family and the Marquess.”
Fornsham’s old face was haggard and long as he nodded gruffly. “That was the plan. I was at the Castle to collect them and the ladies when…things didn't go as planned.”
Oliver frowned. “So, His Grace is not coming? Nor is Lord Alderbridge?”
Fornsham let out an alarming chuckle. “I would not be surprised if we have seen the last of Lord Alderbridge, at least for a good long while.”
Oliver’s heart sank once more. Seen the last of him? But how? The man might well be his salvation and now he was…never to be seen here again?
“I do not know what you mean. What happened?”
The old man handed the reins to the carriage to the stable boys who led the horses and the vehicle back to the storage area.
“Ollie, will ya take Authority to his box and give him a rub down?” One of the other stable hands called out to him.
He nodded in the man’s directions but then turned his attention back to Fornsham. “Fornsham? What happened?”
The man shrugged. “I supposed there was a bit of a kerfuffle between the Duchess and her daughters and something was said that highly offended Lord Alderbridge. His Grace is currently trying to make amends but—”
“Ollie! I ain’t got all day,” the stable hand hollered at him. He excused himself, taking the reins of the horse and led him back into his box.
Removing the saddle, reins and harness took some time, during which Oliver found himself ever more anxious about the events at the Castle.
The Duchess had fought with her daughters? Which daughters? And why? He was busy brushing Authority down with a grooming brush when he heard footsteps behind him. Ignoring the sound, there were a great many stable hands walking back and forth with the horses used during the hunt, he continued brushing the horse.
Except then, the footsteps stopped, directly behind him. He felt the eyes boring into the back of his head before he’d even turned around. When he did, he took a step back in surprise, bumping into the horse’s hindquarters.
“George?” What was he doing here? The groom had planned to spend the morning fishing, taking some rare time for himself. The old man stood with a grim expression on his face and glanced around as if wanting to make sure nobody saw them speaking. Satisfied nobody was paying attention, he stepped into the box.
“Ye had best come on with me, laddie.”
Oliver frowned. “With you?”
“Aye. Are ye deaf? Come.” He nodded with his head toward the exit in the back and Oliver did just what he’d asked. Glancing around he saw that the stable yard was still full of activity. Men were running hither and yon, attending to the horses.
“What happened?” he asked again, only to be shushed by George.
“Haud yer wheesht,” he hissed at him, the agitation palpable in his voice. “Ye’ll see inna moment.”
George snuck through the saddle room and opened a door that led out into the back. He pointed to a small shed a few steps away that Oliver had not even seen before.
“She’s in there,” he said as he opened the door.
“She? She who?” Oliver scratched the side of his head and followed George through the door.
The inside of the shed was dark, lit only by a tallow candle that sat on a rickety table in the corner. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light and then—
“Seraphina?” He could not believe his eyes. The young woman was sitting on the floor in the hay, her arms wrapped around her legs and her head buried between her knees. A floral crown on her head, crooked and with many flowers missing, caught his eye. He recognized the flowers as those he’d gotten for her the day before. Despite the strange circumstance, he found himself relieved that she was not offended by his gift.
However, her current state alarmed him.
He bent down before her and attempted to glance at her face, but it was obscured by her hair. Gentle sobs came from her and her body gave a shake every now and then.
“Found the poor lass in the woods. I was on me way to the pond for some fishin’ when I found her. Running through the woods she was and then fell down and cried. It’s been tears ever since.” He shrugged, the worry deep on his face.
“Could you fetch a wet cloth?” Oliver asked without looking back. The groom grunted but did not protest and a moment later he disappeared.
Now that they were alone, Oliver inched further toward her, gently placing his hand on her ankle. She flinched at the touch and raised her head.
He was so taken aback by her appearance he did not know what to say for a moment. Her eyes were red from crying and her cheeks wet. She looked utterly miserable.
“What has happened, Sera?” He recovered his voice, speaking quietly as not to startle her.
“Faith, Oliver. I have made a mess of it all. I let my temper rule me again and made it a mess for everyone. I am sorry. I am so sorry.” Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and he felt himself overcome with an urge to help her, to take this pain from her.
Unable to think of anything else to do, he placed his hand on her cheek, cupping it gently. To his relief, the gesture seemed to soothe her and she was at last able to meet his eyes.
“Seraphina, please, tell me what has upset you so.”
She shook her head and blinked, her wet eyelashes brushing against his hand.
“I lost my temper. I said things to my mother, I insulted Lord Alderbridge. He…I lost you the chance to see him and to maybe reveal who you are. I have ruined your only chance. And my mother, she—” She swallowed, her dark eyes wide with bewilderment at her own state.
“Please, if the thought of having lost me the chance to meet the man vexes you then let me reassure you: I will make my own meeting with him. Nothing is lost. It is simply a little more complicated.”
She bit her bottom lip which flushed dark red when she released it from between her pearly white teeth.
“Are you sure?”
He was, in fact, not sure at all. He did not even know where Lord Alderbridge lived, nor how to arrange a meeting. But he did not care. Right in this moment, he only cared about her and her wellbeing. He let go of her cheek and instead sat beside her, pulling his legs up to his chin the way she had done. He placed his head on his knee, so they were face to face, eye to eye.
Just then, George stepped into the shed again, a wet cloth in his hand. He paused when he saw the two sitting so close, side by side, and shook his head before approaching.
“Here ye go, laddie.” He pouted and glanced down at Seraphina. After a moment’s hesitation, he squatted and peered at her tear-stained face.
“Ye best coon down, My Lady. Nothin’ as bad as all that.”
For the first time that afternoon, Oliver saw her smile. It was a sad, small smile, but it lit her face, nonetheless.
“Yes, George, and thank you.”
“I might take the air. Right outside the shed is good. Nice view of the cuddies on the paddock.” He nodded and got up. Oliver nodded at him, knowing he would stand guard to allow Seraphina the time to recover.
“You take care of her now, ye here? Or ye answer to me.”
Oliver knew he intended to sound grumpy and harsh, but there was c
oncern in his voice. And if Oliver hadn’t heard it, he certainly would have seen it in the man’s eyes.
After a moment, George stepped out of the shed, leaving the two of them alone.
They sat side by side without speaking for some time as Oliver used the cool cloth to wipe the tears from her face. Then, he gently placed it on her neck, to help relieve her from the heat of the afternoon.
When she had calmed herself somewhat, he gently continued his inquiry. “It was a bad argument you had, with your family?”
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