‘Ben,’ Belinda replied.
She giggled as he rolled his eyes and added, ‘Over, in…’ Belinda punched him in the stomach, and for a woman he admitted she packed quite a punch. If her expression hadn’t signalled her intention he could well have been doubled up instead of just slightly breathless.
‘I think we’d best plot without Ben and Clarissa, just in case.’ The last note to arrive from Macsporran had been disturbing to say the least. It was almost certain Penfold and Howells knew where they were and would arrive within a few days. Rosemary was crowing to anyone who would listen about how Phillip had been fooled but not her.
Phillip intended for them to be prepared. After they had plotted together, he was as certain as he could be that should—or perhaps that ought to be when the men arrived, they would receive no quarter.
Now, as he crossed the stable yard, once more empty of grooms and with the inhabitants bedded down for the night, Phillip remembered the last hours and chuckled. Belinda’s ready wit was more than a match for his own, and her knowledge comparable. Once their plans were as tight as they felt they reasonably could be, they had talked and argued about the Regent, the government, and several bills going through Parliament. Discussed several titbits and scandals brewing in the ton, agreed they both liked pigeon, pheasant and apples, and neither could stomach tripe.
They agreed to disagree on the matter of ladies not travelling abroad alone, and skirted several knotty problems such as poor schools—both in favour but not sure of the correct way to run them—and corporal punishment. Having experienced it himself, Phillip accepted it was part of life for a boy; Belinda said it was cruel and unnecessary, and woe betide anyone who tried to inflict it on any of her children.
The heat of the day had turned to the gentle warmth of dusk as Phillip gained the barn and collected everything together. When he saw the state of the sheet and its semen stain and telltale blood spots he understood why Belinda preferred him to collect it. Of course it would have to go to be laundered, but it needn’t be broadcast to all and sundry that her deflowering, her initiation, had taken place where it did. That was for them alone to know and savour. He put the pillow and blanket onto it, bundled them up and tied the corners together before he flung the lot down the ladder, grabbed the basket and bottle and made his way back down the ladder.
A clatter and a shout outside made him put the basket down on the ground and look cautiously through the window, which looked onto the yard.
Two men on sweating horses circled around impatiently, as they called for a groom. To his annoyance, Phillip recognised them. He’d hoped for a little more grace.
Ah well, at least we can get it over and done with.
‘Bloody hell, groom, where in Hades are you?’
They’d be out of luck if they thought that would bring one. Clarissa had given all the grooms and most of the staff the day off and now dinner was over the only people around were Belinda and himself. Even Benning, the youngest and most able groom, had a tiny cottage several hundred yards away. However, there was a bell, which could be rung in an emergency. Somehow Benning had created something that would alert him to danger in the stables, without waking the neighbourhood. Phillip blessed the fact he’d chatted to Benning it about it that morning when he was filling in time before his wedding. He crossed his fingers and pressed it three times. The signal for come without being seen and don’t show yourself.
He glanced at his clothes. After they’d got back to the house, they had by mutual agreement decided to have a relaxed evening, and dressed down for dinner. Belinda had put on a simple but comfortable smocked gown, and he’d worn pantaloons and a shirt. Before he’d left to attend to the tidy-up of the barn, he’d put on an old pair of Hessians he’d found in his trunk and a leather waistcoat that he reckoned could belong to any one of the servants. But it served its purpose, to whit, keeping the worst of the hay from spoiling yet another shirt. After all he didn’t have an unlimited supply with him.
Now it might just serve anther purpose. He ruffled his hair, dragged a bit of muck across his hands and one cheek, and ambled into the yard.
The more portly of the two men wheeled his horse round and raised his crop. Phillip’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists. Belinda’s father grabbed the other man—Penfold, Phillip realised as he got a good look at him—by the wrist.
‘Enough, no need for that. It’s not this imbecile’s fault we’ve chased her all over the country. Lad, take the horses.’
‘Eh, does my master know he’s got visitors then, ah?’ Phillip drawled the words, happy with his attempt at a local accent. ‘He never said for anyone to be here. I’m not a sure I can manage such powerful and, well, must be top-notch beasts, ah?’
Penfold snorted. ‘Cows they are. Now get you here and take them for us. We have business here.’ He swung down, and threw the reins at Phillip who ducked out of the way. As he hoped his movement startled the horse, who shied, turned almost in a circle and shoved Penfold off balance.
‘Bloody stupid.’ Penfold lifted the crop to the animal. Phillip reacted by taking the reins in such a way the horse’s arse hit Penfold’s arm before he had a chance to do anything.
‘Penfold, enough. Save it for one who needs it.’
The inference sent a haze of red across Phillip’s eyes. He drew in a deep breath, and luckily remembered who he wasn’t supposed to be. He took hold of Lord Howells’ horse and jerked his head towards the stables. ‘I’ll be takin ’em in then, sirs.’
Howells nodded. ‘Don’t get them too bedded down, and saddle another horse. We’ll need it.’
‘Another one? Well my master, he never says he lends his cattle. Sort of prime like. You haven’t brought a one have you, and he’s not said?’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake. Dolt.’ Penfold shoved his face so close to Phillip’s, Phillip could smell the stale ale on his breath and the sweat on his skin. ‘My bloody affianced is here. We’ve come to get her. So saddle another horse.’ He shouted the last words. Spittle missed Phillip by inches.
Phillip held on to his temper, and his cover by the skin of his teeth. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Benning standing in the shadows, waiting for the sign to intervene. He didn’t want him, not yet.
‘Ar? Aff…aff…’ He played up the village idiot role for all he was worth. He wanted them to think he was of no use and even less value.
‘Af-fi-anced. Affianced. The woman I’m betrothed to, you idiot.’ Penfold flung his hands up in the air. ‘Ah, why am I bandying words with an imbecile? Which way to the house if you can remember that?’
Phillip waved in the direction of the house. It was patently obvious.
‘The door, you nincompoop. The way in.’
He’d never heard so many ways of saying stupid in such a short space of time.
‘We…ll. If you’s awanting the front, ’tis around the front. The kitchen now?’ He scratched his head and wondered if he was overdoing it, just a tad. However, it seemed not.
Penrose snorted. ‘Fool.’
‘Well I daresn’t tells you that acos I’d be flayed from here to Thursday for alettin gentry walk through it. Especially in their muck and glory.’ He nodded, sagely, and began to amble towards the stables with the horses. ‘Arounds the front youse need, sirs.’ He didn’t mention there was no butler and Belinda had been admonished that on no account should she answer the door.
Phillip walked steadily onwards and reached the stable.
‘Another horse mind or I’ll thrash one out of you,’ Penfold shouted as he and Lord Howells, muttering loudly at the help found in the sticks, began to make their way towards the house.
Phillip disappeared inside and stared at Benning who took hold of both sets of reins.
‘My lord?’
He tied off the reins with easy competence and had two buckets of water and two hay nets in place almost before Phillip drew breath and gathered his thoughts.
‘What’s happened?’
�
�My wife’s father and the man he was trying to force her to marry. There’s only us here. Fasten the horses and follow me.’
Benning didn’t waste time asking for any more explanations. He nodded and straightened. ‘Ready.’ He looked at the basket, questioningly. Phillip shook head.
‘Leave it I’ll get it later.’
Silently they made their way indoors.
‘My lord, if your wife is in the small sitting room, we can get into the annex next to it via the servant’s corridors. Then we’ll have the element of surprise. If they find her there.’
‘They will. We, ah, shall I say had wondered what might happen and tried to make appropriate plans.’ Though those plans were skimpy in the extreme, and he didn’t hold out a lot of hope of Belinda sticking to them if she thought something would work better.
Nevertheless it was all they had. Phillip checked his pockets and cursed. Then he remembered something his sister had said, and went towards a wide beam that crossed the corner of the stables to help brace the walls. He fumbled along the top, and found what he was looking for. Then he turned to his companion.
‘How are you with a gun, Benning?’
* * *
Belinda stood at the window, wineglass in hand, and sipped the cool golden liquid as she watched until Phillip disappeared behind the wall that signified the end of the formal gardens. It had, she opined, been a perfect day. All of it. Especially the sojourn in the hayloft. She ached in such a good way.
That thought brought a fluttering to her tummy, and she put her hand over it. However hard she tried to be patient, she yearned for her husband to return so she could discover what the night would bring.
My husband. She rolled the words around her mouth, enjoying the feel, the sensuality and the rightness of them. They both knew there would be hard times ahead, and that she may never once more be accepted in the ton, as a member of them, and not just a dressmaker. It bothered neither of them.
For now they would take things day by day.
First, she knew they would have to sort out the problem of her parent, who Phillip was adamant they would not help at all. ‘He is no father; he deserves no help. Well,’ he said and grinned, ‘apart from a passage to the new world. We don’t really want him here like a spectre at the feast, or ready to pop up like a bad apple.’ She agreed wholeheartedly, and regarding her brothers she felt likewise. Phillip and she had decided to deal with all three of them—and Penfold—when the time arose.
Belinda took another sip of wine and pondered just how and when that might be.
A bang, a shout and then a hammering on the front door made her jump and her wine slopped dangerously close to the rim.
‘Belinda, damn you. We know you’re there. Let us in before we break the bloody door down.’
It seems this is the time. She took one more sip of wine and set the glass down carefully. Time to set the scene.
The hammering continued without respite.
‘Girl, answer this door or it will be the worse for you. It won’t be the wood we hammer.’
That was Penfold. Her heart missed two beats, and she picked the glass up again to take a deep swallow. Her father and Penfold there together. That was enough to make her want to down the whole bottle. And follow it up with whisky. She shook her head. If she didn’t take care, she would soon be like the poor women in the stews. That thought made her giggle. There was little chance of that; she was too strong willed to sink into drunkenness.
Someone had changed from hammering the door to what sounded like kicking it.
Damn him, could I not even have a wedding day without him and his evilness trying to spoil it? He will not, for I will not let him. Mind made up, she smiled grimly. She’d show him and Penfold that they couldn’t touch her.
Now to remember all she and Phillip had discussed and do as they had decided.
A creak behind her made her drop her glass and whirl around.
Phillip stood by the door to the servant’s corridor with his finger on his lips. Next to him was Benning, but no longer dressed as a groom. He’d slipped on a footman’s jacket and as long as you didn’t look too closely he would pass as such. He smiled and walked past her, to stand and wait at the sitting room door.
The banging and shouting didn’t stop. If anything it increased in volume.
Phillip pulled her to him and hugged her tightly. ‘Benning will stall them for as long as possible. You need to do the same. To give me a chance to go upstairs and dress as befitting the lord I am. Then we can worst them and move on.’
‘Do you think we can? Truly?’ If he was correct… She daren’t think about it. The spectre of her father had lurked in her life for so long it seemed nigh on impossible to imagine it could be removed for good.
‘I know we can. I need around ten minutes. Can you do that?’
She nodded. ‘Half an hour if it means we are free of him and all he stands for.’
‘Good girl. Do you have your pistol?’
‘Of course, and it is loaded and no I won’t bring it out until I have to, and no he will not wrest it from me.’
‘Excellent.’ Phillip looked towards Benning, and nodded to him. ‘Go as soon as my lady is ready, and stall for as long as it is possible. Ma belle, let the play commence.’ He left the room as silently as he’d entered.
Belinda took a deep breath and smoothed down her gown. Too late now to wish she’d dressed up, but then this gown was more suited to hiding a pistol than was silks and lace.
‘Right, Benning. I’m as ready as I can be.’ She sat in a tall-backed chair, with a many-armed candelabra behind her. It would put her in shadow and the men would have to stare into the glare.
There was the sound of the door slamming and footsteps coming her way. Belinda picked up a piece of tapestry Lacey had left behind and stuck the needle into it. There was a mistake she itched to mend, but dare not. She wasn’t there to sew—she needed to concentrate on her unwelcome visitors, not the tapestry.
The door of the room crashed back on its hinges.
She looked up enquiringly and frowned as two men, overweight and overbearing, strode in. ‘Is that any way to enter a lady’s sitting room?’
Penfold clenched his hands into fists. ‘Lady? What lady?’
He laughed in such a way it sent shivers of the worst kind down Belinda’s spine. She raised one eyebrow. ‘Manners maketh man, you know.’
He ground his teeth, and his fists became white with tension. Behind him her father crossed his arms over his chest.
‘Don’t speak to me like that, you harlot.’ Penfold was building himself up into a fine rage. ‘Now get off your fat arse and come with me.’
Really his crudity was pathetic. It gave Belinda strength. She ignored him and turned to her father, who still hadn’t spoken. ‘To what do I owe this non-pleasure? What brings you here? It’s somewhat out of your comfort zone, I would imagine. No idiots to fleece and no other idiots to fleece you. Well. Almost.’ She plied her needle once more.
‘You.’ Her parent spat the word. ‘To make you do as you’re told.’
Penfold’s heavy breathing and her father’s wheezing annoyance gave her even more strength. How dare they assume such a thing?
‘Really? How foolish. And whom do you suppose is going to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do? You? Not a chance. You forfeited all rights to that years ago. Him?’ She looked at Penfold with such disdain the man took a step back. ‘I think not.’
‘You little…’ Penfold moved forward suddenly, much faster than she would have thought possible for a man of his bulk, grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet. ‘You wait, I’ll soon thrash that insolence out of you.’ He shook her like a rag doll.
It was most unpleasant. Belinda saw red, especially when she realised her father had no intention of intervening. She stamped hand on Penfold’s instep, glad now she’d kept her outdoor shoes on, and twisted out of his grasp. He moved nearer again and she took one step back, pulled out her pistol a
nd pointed it at him.
His eyes widened and he laughed, even as he stopped dead in his tracks. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘You said that once before, and I’ll give you the same answer. Try me,’ she invited. ‘Oh and be warned, if my parent makes a move to disarm me, I’ll just shoot you.’ Belinda was proud of her level tone and the way the pistol never wavered. ‘Of course it won’t be in the heart,’ she said conversationally. ‘Just in the bollocks. To start with.’
‘Howells, do not move,’ Penfold said hoarsely. ‘I don’t trust a woman with a pistol.’
‘Good idea,’ Belinda said in an affable tone. ‘We can be startled so easily and, oh dear, press the trigger without meaning to. Then of course the thing might waver and I might get two, or should that be three for one? Cock and balls.’
‘Ma belle, are you terrorising men again?’
Phillip had entered without anyone noticing.
* * *
His entrance was all he could have expected and more. Valet-less he’d had to do the best he could, and scramble into a decent pair of pantaloons and shirt, and tie a simple knot in his cravat. One of his least tight waistcoats and jackets and ordinary but shining house shoes had to suffice. At least they made no noise as he descended the stairs, and padded soft-footed across the hall to stand outside the sitting room door.
Benning had nodded and winked. All was well so far.
Phillip put his ear to the door, waited outside and listened in growing admiration to Belinda until he thought it time to intervene.
‘Wait here. If I call, come running with your gun drawn,’ he said softly to Benning.
‘Please call, my lord, they are scum,’ Benning said fervently. ‘A little maiming would be too good for them, but it would suffice.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Phillip had replied with a grin and opened the door wide.
Now as he looked from her pistol to each man, frozen in a tableau that under any other circumstances would have amused him greatly, he sighed, very dramatically.
‘How many times have I told you it’s rude to be so antagonistic? Manners, my dear, maketh a lady.’
The Rake's Unveiling of Lady Belle Page 21