The Beauty and the Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  “I will be the death of that girl’s reputation yet,” Archie groaned.

  “Since when do you care what society thinks?” Norris asked, his brows hiked and a smile playing around his lips. “It would seem she doesn’t either. And I don’t see any writers for London’s scandal sheets anywhere about. Do you?”

  “All it takes is one whisper of impropriety to get to the wrong ears and that girl’s name is ruined.”

  “I believe you are worrying too much,” Norris advised, dismissing the grooms with a gesture. He pointed toward them as the pair hurried away. “Do you think they care a whit about society? Perhaps Benjamin Anders is writing a letter to the London ton about the commoner seen in the presence of Lord Rochester without a chaperone. Will they send someone out to Northumberland to be scandalized? Hmm?”

  “That’s enough,” Archie snapped. “You’ve made your point.”

  “I hope so. While I do enjoy seeing you so worried about the girl’s honor, you are driving me mad with it.”

  “I’m driving myself mad. I just – like her.”

  “There is much to like.” Norris waved Archie toward the door. “I will be up and about all night, keeping an eye on things. Get yourself on back and have a whiskey or some such. I have everything in hand.”

  Archie nodded. “Wake me if anything goes amiss.”

  “You know I will.”

  * * *

  Cornelia definitely found the guest quarters to be far more spacious and opulent than she was either used to or comfortable with. Mrs. Cates escorted her inside, and Cornelia took one look and tried to escape. “No, please, this is too much.”

  “His Lordship’s orders.”

  Taking her firmly by the arm, Mrs. Cates marched her inside and showed her the huge bed with its silver and green coverlet, the pale green silk hangings, the fur rug beside it. “That is where you will sleep, or face the consequences.”

  “What consequences? Surely they will be easier to deal with than that monstrosity. I just know I will climb in and it will devour me whole.”

  Mrs. Cates laughed. “Come now. It’s not that terrible.”

  “The Earl of Whitstone needs it more.”

  “There is another equally nice for him, so cease your nonsense. What His Lordship wants, he gets.”

  Wandering about the rooms, examining the tapestries and the paintings on the walls, the carpets and rugs on the polished slate floor, Cornelia half wondered what the Lord’s chambers would look like. Twice as big and with twice the richness. “I feel like such a fraud,” she admitted, her hand on the polished wood of the bed post. “I don’t belong here.”

  Mrs. Cates furrowed her brow. “And just where do you belong? A glass case on exhibit?”

  “Quite honestly, yes.”

  “While I adore you, Miss Hill, you are a foolish one at times. Now, the seamstress will be here at nine o’clock in the morning, and the apothecary will arrive at noon to begin your lessons.” Striding toward the door, she said over her shoulder, “Meet me an hour before dawn at the kitchen, dear, and do not forget to bring the pistol. There’s wine on the sideboard there, help yourself. Sleep well.”

  She closed the door behind her, leaving Cornelia to stare at it, bemused. Pacing around the bedroom and vast sitting room, she explored her new chambers, feeling no little guilt that the other servants in the household slept on narrow beds in small rooms while she had a bed equal to the size of their chambers. “What His Lordship wants, he gets,” she said with a chuckle.

  Having had wine only once before in her life, she poured herself a small amount into a glass, then took it with her to stare out the window into the darkness. No torches or lanterns were lit in the stables or barns, and of course she could not see the patrols at this distance from inside the house. Yet, somehow she knew the manor was being watched. All too familiar to her was the sensation of eyes on her, staring; she knew someone was out there. Whether it was Barrett’s people or the buyer’s, it did not matter.

  Her fingers pressed against the comforting presence of the pistol in her pocket. Cornelia did not yet know how to fire it, did not even know if it was loaded, but it still made her feel better, more confident in her abilities to protect herself. Due to the invader earlier, she had missed her combat instructions with Mr. North, but would begin afresh the following evening. Life under Barrett was safe, predictable, but I would not change this one for it. I can never go back to being a freak in a glass case.

  Mrs. Cates stood outside the doors to the kitchen at the appointed time wearing a plain grey gown and carrying a small satchel. Cornelia had seen no one as she traversed the huge house to meet her, feeling its ancient weight like huge boulder hanging on a thread over her. “Follow me,” Mrs. Cates whispered, pointing toward the kitchen doors. “The staff will be starting breakfast any minute.”

  Mrs. Cates slipped out of the house with a grace and silence that belied her middle years, Cornelia behind her. Into the deep darkness with no moon overhead and the stars fading, Mrs. Cates led her past the garden and toward the hills to the west. Under a grove of apple trees, she paused, and with a gesture indicated Cornelia was to duck behind a thicket. Sure enough, a pair of silent footmen ambled past, and passed them by without noticing their presence.

  After they had gone, Mrs. Cates strode quickly up the hill, once again amazing Cornelia at her quick athleticism. “How old are you?” Cornelia asked, knowing the question was terribly rude.

  Mrs. Cates tossed a rapid smile over her shoulder. “I’m a bit younger than I look, dear. Four and thirty.”

  “A youth of seventeen would have difficulty keeping up with you.”

  “You are sweet, dear.”

  Reaching the grove of trees Mrs. Cates had spoken about, Cornelia gazed around speculatively. “Are you certain the shots cannot be heard at the house?”

  “Quite sure. We are nearly a mile from anyone listening. But we will wait until first light, as the patrols will have gone inside by then. Meanwhile, I will teach you how to load the pistol. It’s also called a dragon.”

  Mrs. Cates’s ability to see in the dark nearly equaled Cornelia’s, for she showed her how to drop the ball inside, then pack it with gunpowder. “When you are ready to fire it,” she explained, “pull the hammer back like so, and pull the trigger.”

  Sunlight crept on silent paws over the moors, the sky turning first dark grey to light. Mrs. Cates pointed the weapon at a thick oak trunk a short distance away, and fired. A neat round hole appeared in the tree even as smoke drifted upward from the pistol.

  Mrs. Cates handed it to her. “Now load, aim, and shoot.”

  Tentative, nibbling her lip in concentration, Cornelia loaded the pistol, then raised it in her right hand. Taking aim at the same tree, she fired. The small dragon bucked in her hand, and her shot missed the tree completely. Mrs. Cates nodded with satisfaction. “Very good. Now try again.”

  By her fifth shot, Cornelia had grown used to the recoil, and started hitting the tree. By her tenth, she struck it consistently near Mrs. Cate’s original mark. “You are a natural,” Mrs. Cates praised. “Now there is enough ammunition and powder in the satchel to permit you some practice time whenever you can arrange it. Keep it loaded and with you at all times.”

  Cornelia chuckled, placing the freshly loaded dragon in her pocket once more, then picked up the satchel. “Now I am beginning to feel invincible.”

  “One thing my husband, God rest his soul, told me was to never believe we are. An enemy can potentially disarm you, shoot you before you can shoot him, or catch you from behind.”

  Leading the way back up the hill, Mrs. Cates went on. “The dragon is a tool, much like your knowledge on how to defend yourself. Do not ever believe you need nothing else, for nothing in this world is ever predictable. Or safe.”

  “Your husband taught you well.”

  “We lived in a very dangerous place at the time, dear. Many criminals stalked the streets, and neither the constables nor the Bow Street Runners
could catch them all. Honest citizens were forced to protect themselves.”

  Cresting the hill, Mrs. Cates paused to gaze around for witnesses, then led Cornelia toward the left and down toward the walled garden. “We must make it look like we were having a conversation in the garden,” Mrs. Cates explained. “If we are seen.”

  They were. By Lord Rochester himself.

  Slipping into the foliage amid the tall shrubbery through a side gate, the two strolled more openly toward the house and came face to face with Archie. He eyed them with surprise as Cornelia and Mrs. Cates swept into swift curtsies, Cornelia hoping her guilt at keeping a secret from him did not show in her face. Schooling her expression into one with a pleasant smile, she rose and said, “Good morning, My Lord.”

  “And to you ladies,” he replied, returning her smile. “Out enjoying the pleasant air?”

  “Indeed, yes, My Lord,” Mrs. Cates replied warmly, and Cornelia wondered how such an honest person could lie so easily. “Having a little chat with Miss Hill before the morning sun becomes a torment for her.”

  “It is nice to see you in the sunlight, Miss Hill,” Archie replied, his dark eyes showing such admiration that Cornelia felt a blush heat her face. “I fear I have a busy day, what with Richard arriving, and may not see much of you.”

  “And I myself have much to keep me occupied, My Lord. But while I have this opportunity, I must tell you something important.”

  Archie’s brows lowered and his smile faded. “Go on.”

  “The property is being watched,” she said, including Mrs. Cates in her glance. “Last night I went to the window to look out. I can feel eyes on the place, on me.”

  “You can feel that?” Archie’s eyes widened. “Even from inside the house?”

  “Indeed. With being stared at all my life, my instincts for it are quite sharp.”

  “That is good to know, Miss Hill. Thank you for telling me. I will notify Mr. North and Mr. Saxon to be aware of it, also.”

  “By your leave, My Lord,” Mrs. Cates said with a quick dip. “Miss Hill must get her breakfast before the seamstress arrives.”

  “Of course. Do not let me detain you.”

  Mrs. Cates took Cornelia by the arm and hustled her into the house. “Dear, you frightened me silly,” she muttered under her breath. “For a moment I thought you were about to confess to the pistol.”

  “No, I gave you my word. Someone is out there, Mrs. Cates. I fear that someone is quite dangerous.”

  “Yet another weapon in your arsenal,” Mrs. Cates answered, giving her a sharp look. “If ever you feel that in other places, never keep that a secret. We will need all the help we can get to keep you safe.”

  Chapter 11

  Archie watched them go, frowning. While he suspected Mrs. Cates had not told him the entire truth as to what they were doing in the garden so early, he also trusted her completely. Cornelia’s expression held a faint tinge of guilt in spite of her smile, yet that did not worry him overmuch. Whatever they are up to, I expect I’ll know soon enough.

  Richard’s letter did not express what time he would arrive, thus Archie rose early to dress and eat his breakfast before he did so. The Whitstone estates were about a dozen miles east of his own past the village, and if Richard left shortly after daylight in a carriage, he could arrive within an hour or two. Ambling his way back into the house, he passed the kitchen, and glanced inside.

  Cornelia and Mrs. Cates sat at a table with their own meal, talking in low tones. Leaving them to their secrets, Archie continued on down the hallway to find Latham. Already in his office preparing his weekly reports for Archie’s perusal later, he stood and bowed as Archie entered. Waving him back to his chair, Archie took one opposite his steward.

  “I need you to do something for me,” he began.

  “Of course.”

  “Send a footman to Berwick-upon-Tweed,” Archie told him, reaching into his inner jacket to remove an envelope, “with this letter. He is to locate a man named Charles Mowbray. Mr. Mowbray is an investigator, and I wish for him to find out all he can regarding Miss Hill. My father once used his services.”

  Archie slid the envelope across the desk to Latham, who picked it up with a question in his eyes, his brows up. “Do you doubt Miss Hill?” he asked.

  “No, of course not. I wish to know who her parents were and why she was abandoned to Barrett Hill’s circus. She believes her people did not want her, and I would like to know why. Call it an insatiable curiosity.”

  Latham grinned. “I will send the footman on his way immediately.”

  “Thank you. Miss Hill believes the estate is being watched, claims she can feel their eyes.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “Yes. I want you to discreetly send out men in drab clothing, to better conceal themselves, to find where these watchers are. They are not to interfere with them at this point, just locate them and report back.”

  “With your permission,” Latham said with a quick dip of his chin, “I will trust this errand to no one. I will go myself.”

  Archie grinned. “Reminiscent of your days during the war?”

  “I believe I am the most qualified to find these spies without being seen. Once I locate them, I will report to you privately.”

  “Good. I also wish Miss Hill’s presence here kept from the Earl of Whitstone. I fear he will belittle her, given his penchant for looking down his nose at commoners. And while I trust his integrity, he may still let it be known that she is here simply by gossiping with others.”

  Latham nodded slowly. “And as he does not speak with your staff, he will not learn it from them. Will you ask her to remain out of sight?”

  “I suppose I should.” Archie sighed. “What a muddle, eh? I will send word to her through Mrs. Cates to avoid open areas of the house while Richard is visiting.”

  “Very good.”

  “Also, Latham,” Archie went on. “I ordered the circus off my property. Please send a message to Isaac Caine that I need him to keep an eye on them. I want to make sure Hill packs up and leaves today.”

  “I will indeed, My Lord.”

  Archie found both Cornelia and Mrs. Cates exiting the kitchen after leaving Latham’s office. “Ah,” he said, “I’m glad to have another quick word with you, Miss Hill.”

  “Is something wrong, My Lord?” she asked, her pale violet eyes wide with concern.

  “Not really.” Archie took a deep breath, wondering how to say this without demeaning or insulting her. “As you already realize, my friend Richard can be quite vocal in his prejudices. He is also a bit of a gossip.”

  Cornelia smiled. “You wish me to remain out of sight.”

  “I apologize. I wish you no insult, but it’s just wiser at this time that he have no knowledge of your presence here, Miss Hill.”

  “I do not view your request as an insult, My Lord,” she replied, her eyes dancing with amusement. “I agree, and I will avoid being seen by your friend.”

  Entranced by her smile, Archie’s heart beat faster, and he quashed a sudden urge to bend toward her and kiss her on her soft lips. “I will make this up to you,” he said, his chest tight.

  Her smile widened. “I will look forward to it.”

  If I don’t leave right now, I will kiss her. Offering them both a tiny bow, Archie turned on his heel and strode swiftly toward the main doors, feeling as though he just ran away from her. “She is just too beautiful for my own good,” he muttered as he crossed the lawns to the stable blocks.

  Norris bowed as Archie entered the stables, and glanced around at the grooms feeding and watering the inmates, mucking stalls, sweeping the cobblestone aisles. “All quiet last night after our visitor, m’lord,” Norris informed him as the two strolled down the aisle.

  “Excellent. Do not spread this among the grooms,” Archie said, his tone low. “But we have a watcher somewhere. Latham is going to sneak about and find out where.”

  Norris scratched his chin. “How did you come by t
his information?”

  “Miss Hill. Her instincts are telling her we are under surveillance.”

  “I believe her. That girl is a sharp one.”

  Leaving the mares’ building, Archie and Norris ambled companionably over to the stallions’ barn. William, busy cleaning Bucephalus’s stall, bowed as they approached.

  “He can’t seem to figure out how to open his door, My Lord,” William said with a grin. “He does try, though.”

  Archie chuckled, watching the young stallion eat, pretending the humans were not there and watching him. “When is Big John planning to saddle him up and work him?”