The Beauty and the Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  From the moment he walked into that tent with the big gorilla behind him, he knew he was in trouble. The fat man denied him his master’s goods, the girl bought and paid for. He knew Hill lied – he saw it in his eyes, smelled it on his sweat. The white girl had somehow escaped, run away, and Hill had no idea where she was. “Damn him,” Thomas muttered in his throat. “Damn him to hell. He should have expected that and kept her close.”

  Reining in his mount, he wheeled back toward the distant Arcana, gazing at the tents from a distance. He would watch and wait. No doubt, the girl found some village peasant to take her in, and the fat man would find her within hours. Then he, Thomas, would ride in and demand his master’s rights.

  Reining his horse and kicking it into a trot, he skirted the circus to ride back to the village. He had stayed the previous night at a decent inn there, and would wait for Hill to locate the girl and drag her back. Even as he rode, he observed a troop of workmen striding in the direction of the village, and smiled to himself. “All I have to do is wait, you fat fool, and take her the moment your men drag her from hiding.”

  Chapter 6

  The distant murmur of voices drifted into his hearing even as the hammering in his head increased. Wincing, Archie swore under his breath, lifting his hand to his aching head.

  “Lie still, My Lord.”

  The low, almost sultry voice seemed familiar, yet he couldn’t place it. The others hushed, as though realizing he was awake. Blinking, he recognized his own room with a lamp lit on the table to push away the darkness. Another lamp in his sitting room revealed Norris, Mrs. Cates, and his valet, Jonas, near the doorway and watching him. Someone rested a cool wet cloth on his brow, and he turned his head.

  Miss Hill sat in a chair beside him, a basin of water on the table beside her. Upon meeting her eyes, she smiled. “You received a bit of a knock,” she told him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Even with a head that ached from a hoof strike, her exceptional coloring and beauty fascinated him. She wore her hair down over her shoulders and bosom like a shawl, and the white gown that covered her gave her an almost ethereal appearance.

  “Miss Hill.” Archie’s mouth felt as dry as desert sand. “May I have a drink of water?”

  “Certainly.”

  Miss Hill rose gracefully to stride across the room to a sideboard and pour water from a pitcher into a glass. Returning with it, she sat once more beside him, and helped hold his head up so he might drink it. Her hand behind his sore head felt soft, yet strong. Gulping the water down, he hadn’t realized until that moment how thirsty he was. “Thank you,” he murmured, handing the glass to her.

  Miss Hill gazed down at him. “I see the question in your eyes.” She folded her hands in her lap again. “I was taught some healing skills from a man who worked for Barrett. When he retired, I took over as the circus healer.” Miss Hill smiled. “As you can imagine, there are many injuries that befall the performers and workers.”

  “I can certainly see that.” Archie returned her smile. “Thank you for looking after me.”

  “Mrs. Cates is acting as a chaperone again,” Miss Hill told him, her graceful hand gesturing toward the housekeeper. “And Mr. Saxon is quite anxious to speak with you.”

  Rolling his head on the pillow, Archie beckoned Norris. “What happened? Is the groom all right?”

  Norris stepped close to the bed and bowed. “Yes, m’lord, the groom sustained a nasty hit to his head, just like you, but he will recover. Understand, it wasn’t Bucephalus’s fault. He was provoked.”

  Anger roared through Archie. He sat up despite the fierce pain in his head the action incited, and Miss Hill rose to set pillows behind his back to lean against. “How?” he demanded.

  “A new groom,” Norris explained, his own tone cold. “He is unused to being around stallions, much less young ones. William, Bucephalus’s groom, went to assist with another stallion, leaving the new fellow with Bucephalus. The colt, being himself from what I am told, kicked the wall, and the groom overreacted.”

  “What did he do?” Archie growled, his rage making his head pound worse.

  “A witness to the event said he yelled and charged at the stall, spooking Bucephalus. With nowhere to flee to, the colt decided to fight. The groom seized the pitchfork and jabbed him in the neck and chest. From there, Bucephalus went mad, and tried to climb over the wall. William ran to stop him, and got hit in the head, just as you did.”

  “And my colt?”

  “Unharmed, m’lord,” Norris replied. “The others managed to get him calmed, and both of you cared for. The prongs of the pitchfork only frightened Bucephalus further, but did not actually penetrate his skin.”

  Archie closed his eyes, drawing in deep breaths to calm himself. “That new groom is to be discharged immediately,” he snapped. “I want him off my estates. He will not be employed anywhere on them.”

  “I will see to it.”

  “Damn hell,” Archie swore, forgetting there were women around. “What the hell was that idiot thinking?”

  “I do not believe he was,” Norris answered easily. “I didn’t bother to ask him, just ordered him to stay away from the stallions until I spoke to you.”

  Opening his eyes, Archie sighed. “No permanent harm done, I suppose.”

  “The new groom will be off the property immediately, m’lord,” Norris told him. “By your leave?”

  Archie nodded. Norris bowed and left the room, leaving him to glance between Mrs. Cates and Miss Hill. Jonas apparently returned to his duties in the other room, for Archie did not see him. He smiled wryly at Miss Hill. “I apologize for my language.”

  “No need, My Lord,” she said with an inclination of her head. “I fear to say I am quite used to it. The workmen under Barrett can be rather coarse in their language. If you are hungry, I can bring your supper to you.”

  Mrs. Cates strode further into the room. “You should eat, My Lord,” she informed him in her bossy manner. “You must keep your strength up.”

  Archie grinned. “It would appear I have little choice in the matter. Yes, I would appreciate a little food.”

  Miss Hill rose from her chair. “I will go to the kitchen then.”

  With a graceful curtsy, she strode out the door, Mrs. Cates on her heels. Archie watched her go, enjoying the sight of her slender form in her white gown, and then breathed deeply. “Her first day here and she’s taking care of me. What does that mean?”

  Whatever it meant, he had no immediate answers for it. Still, he recognized his attraction to her, and knew he enjoyed her looking after him while he recovered. Settling back into his pillows, he stared up at the canopy over his head, contemplating what keeping her near him might do for his loneliness. “I like her,” he murmured. “Does she like me?”

  * * *

  “I never knew my birth parents,” Cornelia said, walking in the garden under the light of the moon with Lord Rochester. “All my life, I had been told that they abandoned me because of my skin color, fearing they had given birth to a witch.”

  “I find that difficult to believe,” Lord Rochester replied, ambling easily beside her as they strolled amid the shrubs and tall hedges, the flowering fruit trees giving off a sweet odor that tickled her nose. “Parents should love their child no matter what.”

  Cornelia quirked her lips upward, trying not to give him the impression she was bitter, yet she had never quite rid herself of that feeling she had had since she grew old enough to understand she had been abandoned, rejected, by those who created her. “That is true, My Lord. A mother should love her child. But you know as well as I do that is not always the case.”

  “I do know it, Miss Hill.” He paced with his hands behind his back, occasionally glancing at her face. “It is an unfortunate occurrence in this world that those who love and care for us don’t always live up to our expectations. Even so, I would expect your uniqueness might bring you love and joy, not a glass case.”

  Cornelia glanced behind them, observing Mrs.
Cates striding behind just out of earshot, giving them privacy while still protecting Cornelia’s reputation. “Why am I here?” she asked.

  Lord Rochester paused, gazing down at her, his brow arched. “I offered you my protection from Baron Barrett, remember?”

  Chuckling, Cornelia shook her head. “No. Why am I here in the garden with you, My Lord? I would think there are more desirable companions you could ask to accompany you this evening.”

  “Who might those be?” He turned, waving his hand toward Mrs. Cates. “My housekeeper? I will admit she’s a fine woman, trustworthy and loyal. But not someone whose company I crave. Do you know of another pleasant young woman I might invite to walk in the garden? If so, please give me her name.”

  Cornelia felt heat rush to her face, and she lowered it, mortified. “I did not mean to offend you,” she said, her voice soft. “Just understand I am a commoner and you are of the gentry. I simply did not expect special treatment, or your attentions.”

  Lord Rochester’s gentle finger under her chin raised her face toward his. “I am not offended.” He dropped his hand from her face, gazing at her with his dark eyes in shadow. “I asked you to walk with me because I will confess I have been lonely since my brother died. And because I like your company.”

  “That surprises me,” she admitted, feeling shy suddenly, and shunting her eyes from his. “No one has ever liked my presence before. Well, except for Peggy.”

  “Who is Peggy?”

  “My best and only friend,” Cornelia replied, walking on, Lord Rochester pacing beside her. “She is an acrobat in Barrett’s circus. We grew up together.”

  “I’m glad you have a friend,” he commented. “Friends are gifts we give ourselves, you know.”

  “Do you have friends, My Lord?”

  “A few. Norris Saxon is one. As a second son of an Earl, I was given more freedom to run wild and reckless. We became friends as boys, as his father worked for mine. He and I both had a passion for horses, and often rode free over the moors.”

  “That sounds like a wonderful life.”

  “I also have Richard,” Lord Rochester went on, and even in the mild light Cornelia saw him smile. “We went to school together, he, Howie, and I. When Howie grew ill and passed away, Richard and I grew closer than ever.”

  “Is he the one who was with you the day you came to the circus? I remember the name.”

  “Yes, indeed.” His Lordship chuckled. “I feel I must apologize on his behalf for his comments. He can be a bit crude at times, but he has a good heart.”

  “Then he must be a good friend.”

  “That he is.”

  “When did your brother die? If I may ask.”

  “Almost six months ago. No one really knows what caused his illness, but he was sick for weeks before he passed on. Now I have no one.”

  Cornelia gazed up at the stars. “Nor do I. Blood family can be almost as important as having friends.”

  “I agree.”

  Falling silent for a time, Cornelia ambled among the shrubs and hedges with His Lordship beside her, pondering the circumstances that brought her to this place. “I like you, My Lord, if that is not too bold to admit. Does that make us friends?”

  His grin flashed in the darkness. “I hope so. One cannot have too many friends, eh?”

  “Perhaps not. You make me feel special. No one has ever made me feel special before.”

  “But you are, Miss Hill,” Lord Rochester told her, pausing in his stride to gaze down at her. “And not just because of your unique coloring, but also because of your sweet and empathetic nature. It is also your kindness toward others when the world has not been kind to you.”

  He hesitated, glancing out over the garden. Cornelia watched his face, observed the warmth in it, his handsome profile. “I make you feel special?” he asked softly. “That may be because you make me feel it, as well.”

  Wishing she could reach out and take his hand, Cornelia clasped her own in front of her, feeling an odd sort of excitement fill her. “Truly? That pleases me, My Lord.”

  Lord Rochester laughed lightly. “If we’re to be friends, may I call you Cornelia? And as I never cared much for the higher classes, and never expected to wear a title, would you address me as Archie?”

  “Archie.” Cornelia rolled the name around on her tongue. “I like that name.”

  “Short for Archibald,” he replied, still laughing. “I always hated that title, too.”

  “Archie fits you,” Cornelia said, grinning. “Some call me Corny, but I never liked it.”

  He eyed her. “No, Cornelia suits you. Corny is the name you’d give a barn cat.”

  Cornelia laughed. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “I suppose in public we should still address each other more formally,” Archie said as they walked on, with Cornelia still itching to hold his hand. “And I’ve been thinking about what position to place you in here at the manor.”

  “Oh? I expect to work as perhaps a maid,” she said. “Mrs. Cates began teaching me those duties when you got hurt.”

  “That’s not what I had in mind, Cornelia,” he went on. “You’re too good for that. I’d like you to be the household physician, as it were. Your empathic nature and skills would make the role perfect for you.”

  Cornelia stopped dead, staring. “You mean that?”

  “I can be sarcastic from time to time,” Archie replied with a grin, “but I usually mean what I say. It makes communicating much easier.”

  “But I don’t know everything.”

  “Who does? That’s what books are for. Spend time in the library reading the medical books in there. If you wish, I will send for the village apothecary to come to the manor and give you lessons on medicines and herbs.”

  Forgetting her resolve not to hold his hand, Cornelia rushed into his arms and hugged him until he squeaked. “Archie, this is an incredible opportunity for me. How can I repay you?”

  “By taking care of my people when they are sick or injured,” he said, grinning. “Of course, the position comes with a salary. Quite possibly more than what you earned standing in a case with people gawking at you.”

  “And I can move around,” she gushed with a breathy laugh. “Almost as important as money.”

  “I’d go stark raving mad if I was forced to stand in a box, day in and day out, year after year.” Archie shook his head. “I don’t understand how you did it.”

  “Until the other day,” Cornelia answered, walking on, “I never knew anything different.”

  “And the people you helped through illness or injury?” he asked, “Did they change their minds about you?”

  “Oh, no. They still despised me afterwards.”

  “I truly hope my people are more accepting to you.”

  “Thus far, I have been stared at,” Cornelia informed him with a smile. “But no rude remarks, no accusations of being a witch, and I even received a few smiles.”

  “That’s excellent. Perhaps there is hope for humanity after all.”

  The sound of running feet lifted Cornelia’s head toward the garden entrance. Archie, in an odd move, stepped in front of her, as though he expected a threat on its way to harm her. As the man trotted into the moonlight, Cornelia recognized Norris Saxon, the stud manager.

  “M’lord,” he gasped, sounding both annoyed and scared. “He’s escaped again. But this time he’s loose on the moors.”

  Chapter 7

  Archie swore under his breath. “I am going to lock him away so far from the sun, he’ll forget what daylight is. Rouse the grooms, Norris, we’ll have to hunt him down.”

  “Begging your pardon, m’lord, but he could be anywhere. Finding a black horse at night will not be easy. And you know how he loves to run.”

  “I don’t care,” Archie snapped, growing worried about Bucephalus’s safety as well as what Norris said. “He’s too valuable to lose.”

  “Who is loose?” Cornelia asked.

  Archie raked his hands
through his hair, frustrated. “One of my stallions. Bucephalus. In fact, the one who hit me in the head the other day. He is very skilled at getting out of his stall, but he’s never been out on the moors before.”

  “I can help you find him.”

  “Thank you, but you shouldn’t be out on the moors with a group of men.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she replied, her voice tart. “I see quite well in the dark.”

  Archie, starting to turn away, spun back toward her. “You can?”