by Martha Keyes
Eleanor
A Regency Romance
Martha Keyes
Eleanor: A Regency Romance © 2019 by Martha Keyes. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover design by Martha Keyes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Martha Keyes
http://www.marthakeyes.com
First Printing: May 2019
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Wyndcross: A Regency Romance
Also by Martha Keyes
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To Brandon, Micah, and Jonah. You have helped me grow up in so many wonderful and important ways.
Chapter 1
Lawrence Debenham set down his tankard with a small clank on the taproom table of The White Horse. He would only return home with three bottles of brandy—far less than he had intended to have from the innkeeper.
Had he known he would be returning home with barely half a crate full, he would have ridden his horse rather than bringing the carriage. He should have anticipated that Mr. Jeffers would be loath to part with his spirits when the area was filled to the brim with sporting men awaiting the start of the races.
The sound of raised voices outside the taproom met Lawrence’s ears.
“But she is used to sleeping next to me,” cried the insistent voice of a young boy. “She will have nightmares if she doesn't.”
“Not on my property.” The familiar voice of the innkeeper, Mr. Jeffers, was raised, as it so often was, and held a note of finality in it.
“Sir, if you please,” the third voice belonged to a young woman, reasonable yet imploring, “I understand your hesitation. But she is very well-behaved. You shan’t even know she’s here. My brother is only five and cannot sleep without her, so I beg you to reconsider.”
Lawrence’s forehead wrinkled. Who was this “she” they spoke of? And why was she not permitted to stay in the inn?
“I have no rooms left to let,” said Mr. Jeffers. “Perhaps you could try The Black Boar down the street. They are accustomed to accepting travelers of your caliber.” His voice was laced with contempt.
Lawrence scoffed. A child and a lady putting up at The Black Boar? The man was intolerable. The innkeeper at The Black Boar was much more pleasant a fellow, but it was no place for anyone calling himself respectable. Definitely no place for a young woman or child.
“But I only just heard you tell a servant of an available room,” the young woman said in exasperation.
“It has since been let,” Mr. Jeffers said.
“What? In the two minutes since you said it? I am sure that we present a strange picture—my maid was sent on ahead of us a few days since—but I assure you that we are well able to afford a room.”
Mr. Jeffers let out a derisive noise. “A likely story. Room or no, the three of you are not welcome at The White Horse.”
“Humph!” said the boy. “Well, you are a very disagreeable man, and I don't like you.”
“John,” the scandalized voice of the young lady cried out.
Even through the door which was slightly ajar, Lawrence heard the boy let out a dramatic sigh.
“Fine,” he said grudgingly, “I don't like you—sir.” The last word was emphasized and drawn out.
Lawrence laughed aloud. Gad if the boy hadn't said what anyone had been wishing to say for ages. The innkeeper was disliked by everyone who frequented his inn. If he hadn’t had such a fine collection of wines and spirits, Lawrence wouldn't have troubled himself with the place at all.
But the supply at Holywell House had dwindled, and Lawrence only trusted his own discriminating tastes to procure the best Jeffers had to offer. If Jeffers would only give up his supplier’s name, Lawrence could be rid of the innkeeper, but the man guarded his secret devilish close—no doubt to ensure the continuing patronage of people who would otherwise have nothing to do with him.
“Please forgive him, sir,” said the young woman in a mortified voice. “He is tired from travel—I’m sure you can understand. But he will apologize.” The last words were terse, and Lawrence could imagine the fiery look that accompanied them.
“I insist that you leave,” Mr. Jeffers said abruptly.
“Please, sir,” said the young woman, her voice desperate. “It’s getting late, and we have nowhere else to go.”
“Clowes!” Mr. Jeffers’ voice rang out, calling for one of the servants. Rushed footsteps sounded. “Come escort these young persons off the property.”
A slight scuffle ensued, and Lawrence, appalled at what he was hearing, stood and rushed to the door.
He looked at the scene before him, swiftly taking in the gangly form of Clowes, the ruddy-cheeked Mr. Jeffers, a young woman with her hand on the shoulder of the small boy next to her, and an enormous, long-haired black dog who panted happily with its tongue out. Lawrence stifled a smile at the realization that this dog was the “she” who Mr. Jeffers would not allow to sleep on the property.
Clowes’s hand grasped the arm of the young lady, and she stepped back, disbelief and outrage written on her bonnet-framed face. Her angry eyes sparkled in a way Lawrence had never seen. He wondered if he should step in or if perhaps he would only cause offense in doing so.
“How dare you?” she cried, ripping her arm from Clowes’s grasp and picking up the two leather portmanteaux at her feet. “We do not require an escort. Come, John.”
She nudged her brother forward. He patted his thigh, bringing the dog to his side, then stuck out his tongue at the innkeeper—a gesture ignored by his sister—and the three of them walked out the door.
Mr. Jeffers brushed his hands off, his mouth turned down in contempt and turned to walk toward the rear of the inn. Clowes stood in his way, though, and Mr. Jeffers was obliged to say, “Well? Don't you have things to attend to?”
Clowes scrambled to make way for his master then followed behind him.
Lawrence shook his head, wishing he could speak his mind to Mr. Jeffers as freely as the little boy John had done. What would the travelers do? Would they continue on to the next inn? There wouldn’t be a room to be had for miles. Not with the races starting in a few days.
Lawrence stepped through the front door and into the carriage yard, hoping to warn them against The Black Boar and inform them that they would meet with similar news anywhere within 15 miles. There was no carriage in the yard, but the young woman, her brother, and the dog stood together, dimly illuminated by the sconces outside the inn.
“I was only being honest,” said John defensively, “like you always tell me I must be.”
His sister patted his shoulder. “I know, John.” Her voice carried evidence of patience wearing down. “And in most cases, it is indeed best to be as honest as one can be, but surely you see how your honesty has put us in a bind? You heard Abrams—it
will be a full two days before the wheel is fixed, and now we have nowhere to stay.”
The boy sniffed, wiping a tear from his eye with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”
She squatted down and put a hand on his little cheek. “Oh, John, don’t be sorry. It is I who should be apologizing. I am sorry for being cross with you. We will come about somehow.”
She stood up, looking across the road where the hedge-lined fields of gold-tinged green wheat were shrouded in darkness. Her shoulders slumped as she let out a large sigh.
Lawrence chewed the inside of his lip for a moment then straightened himself.
“Excuse me,” he said, walking toward them. The dog barked twice, and Lawrence stooped down to pet her, his hand disappearing in her thick, black fur. He looked up toward the young woman.
Her face was made visible by the light of the inn, and she was regarding him with a look both guarded and scrutinizing. From the front, Lawrence could see the honey-colored ringlets which framed her face beneath a chip straw bonnet. She was dressed tastefully but practically for travel, and it was obvious to Lawrence that she and her brother came from a family of decent means. She carried herself with a confidence he found foreign among his female acquaintances—it was sure without being arrogant.
“Don't mind Jeffers.” He signaled behind him toward the inn. “He's just as abominable toward me, and I've known him for some time now.”
John had been watching him with his head tilted to the side, and he stepped forward to join Lawrence in petting the dog, though his eyes stayed fixed on Lawrence.
“Do you have somewhere we can sleep?” John asked in a curious voice.
“John!” cried his older sister. “For heaven’s sake!” She looked at Lawrence, her color heightened as she shook her head. “I apologize.”
Lawrence laughed, pulling his hand from the depths of the dog’s fur and looking John square in the eye. “I understand you’re in a bit of a fix?”
John nodded. “We’ve nowhere to sleep because I was too honest.”
Lawrence shot an amused glance at the young woman before responding. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Ah, honesty is a tricky thing, isn’t it? And Mr. Jeffers dislikes it above anything. Perhaps it’s for the best that you won’t be staying here.” He leaned in closer to John and whispered loudly, “He is a very stuffy man. Much too high in the instep.”
The young woman stepped forward, her hands clasped in front of her as her thumbs twiddled. “He mentioned The Black Boar nearby?”
Lawrence stood up, shaking his head decidedly. “A fiendish suggestion. The Black Boar is nowhere you would care to set foot.”
Her mouth twisted to the side. “I see.”
He saw the anxious pull of her brow. “I would offer my carriage to take you to the next closest inn, but the devil’s in it that you’ve happened upon the area just before the summer races at Newmarket. There’s not a room to be had for miles. Where are you heading?”
The crease of her forehead deepened as she said, “To Attleborough. My father is there—only recently moved there.”
Lawrence drew in a breath and shook his head. “That is a ways off, isn’t it?”
“Well where are you staying?” John asked, his head tilted to the side again.
The young lady shot Lawrence an apologetic look, but he ruffled the boy’s hair with a hand and said, “I live not far from here.” He squatted down next to John and pointed north. “Just a couple of miles that way.”
John leaned his head forward and squinted his eyes before shaking his head. “I can’t see it.”
Lawrence clapped him on the back as he stood. “That’s all right. There’s not much to see.”
John humphed and turned toward Lawrence. “Well can’t we stay with you?”
Lawrence’s jaw slackened, and his eyes darted to the young woman.
Her eyes were wide in mortification. “Of course not!”
Lawrence looked down at the boy. He was looking up at him with wide, innocent, blue eyes. He liked the young fellow. But even more importantly, the two of them—or the three of them, if one counted the dog, which by all accounts one should since it was twice as large as John—were in a predicament with no apparent solution. He wondered if he would regret this.
“I think that’s a brilliant notion,” he said. “I only wish I had thought of it myself.” He looked to John’s older sister.
She was wringing her hands, her face conflicted. “It is very kind of you,” she said slowly, “but we could not trouble you so. It would all be highly irregular.”
Lawrence’s brows went up, and he shrugged. “It is indeed irregular, but your situation is highly irregular, is it not? Did I correctly gather that you are awaiting the repair of a carriage wheel? In addition to having a massive dog which no landlord is likely to tolerate even if there were a room to be had in the vicinity which, I can assure you, there is not.”
“Don’t be a ninny,” said John to his sister as he brought a hand to cover a large yawn. He motioned for the dog to get up and looked to Lawrence. “Where is your carriage?”
Lawrence’s mouth twitched, and he looked at the young woman. She was watching John with a worried expression as he stifled yet another yawn. She bit her lip.
“There is room and to spare at my estate,” Lawrence said, hoping to allay her fears. “It would be no trouble at all, I assure you. I was just about to leave, myself. And my carriage would be at your disposal, should you care to return to town in the morning.”
John’s voice piped in. “You won’t make Anne sleep outside, will you?” Slight suspicion was written on his face.
Lawrence’s eyes shifted toward the young woman.
“Anne is the dog,” she explained.
“Ah,” he said with a slow nod and a half-smile. “Perhaps to avoid any further confusion, we should introduce ourselves? I am Lawrence Debenham, at your service.” He tipped his hat.
She opened her mouth but was cut off by John.
“My name,” he said, pushing out his chest, and speaking with fierce pride, “is Johnathan Michael Renwick. But you can call me John. And this is my sister, Eleanor. But we just call her Nell.”
Mr. Debenham nodded formally, though his mouth twitched. “Delighted to make your acquaintance.” He reached down to the dog and shook its paw. “And yours, Anne.” He looked back up to Miss Renwick. “I understand your hesitation, Miss Renwick, and if I thought there were another, more suitable option for you, I assure you I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you of it. But I hope you will allow me to be of help to you in your unfortunate situation.”
Miss Renwick was looking at the dog and drew in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “It is very kind in you,” she said, rubbing her lips together, her hands still clasped nervously in front of her. “We would be very grateful for your assistance and will do our best not to be a burden upon you.”
Lawrence glanced at John who was engaged in practicing a handshake with the dog, instructing her with a stern voice on the proper method. Lawrence flashed a grin at the young woman. “A burden? Rather a welcome distraction, I think.”
Chapter 2
Eleanor Renwick sat in the carriage with her arms folded, a finger tapping nervously as she waited for the gentleman to return from the inn so that they could start their journey. He had been kind enough to offer to leave a message with the innkeeper so that the coachman would know where to find them once the repairs were done. John sat next to her, staring out the carriage window with lids that were beginning to droop. The large Newfoundland dog lay contentedly at John’s feet, taking up almost the entirety of the carriage floor.
Eleanor had grave doubts about the wisdom of the course they were taking, but what other choice did they have? She had done everything she could think of to prepare for the journey to their new home—planning out their stops with meticulous care, ensuring that the majority of their belongings left with her maid a few days before.
But she had neve
r considered the possibility of a broken carriage wheel, nor had she realized that they would be traveling into a region at one of the few times of year when it was overrun with sporting men. Sending the maid on before them now seemed a reckless choice rather than a prudent way of helping reduce her father’s burden.
She was grateful to Mr. Debenham. He had spared them from the prospect of sleeping out of doors or, equally mortifying, going from door to door in the unknown village requesting pity and a room for two nights as they awaited the mending of their carriage wheel.
She had sensed by his genuine smile and kind eyes that he was trustworthy, and his kindness to John had given her a needed boost of confidence in his character. Knowing that Anne would protect them if she sensed the need had given Eleanor the final reassurance she needed to accept Mr. Debenham’s help.
But his generosity did not change the fact that they would be lodging with a stranger, one who seemed by all accounts to be a bachelor. That he was more handsome than any gentleman of Eleanor’s acquaintance did nothing to allay her qualms. Her reputation was at stake, she knew. She could only hope that the brevity of their stay and the low probability of ever crossing paths with anyone in the town would protect her from potential problems.
She was relieved that at least she would not be obliged to write her father to inform him of the mishap. She had given him a range of likely days for their arrival, and a delay of two days would put them within that range—on the tail end, but within it, all the same. Anything she could do to relieve some of his burden, she would do gladly. He had been through enough trying to ready the house for their arrival—he didn’t need an extra reason to worry.
She hoped that the novelty of the home was shaping up to be the blank slate he so desperately needed and that the arrival of her two siblings from their respective schools would distract him from his troubles. Roger and Henry had a way of raising their father’s spirits with nothing but their company.