The Beauty and the Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  At length, her shivering stopped, but Archie continued to hold her, to croon in her ear, loving her, loving the rightness of her slender body in his arms. “Nothing will happen to you, my angel,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her sweet-smelling hair.

  At last, Cornelia lifted her wan face from his chest, smiling faintly. “Please make sure nothing happens to you, Archie,” she murmured. “He will not hesitate to harm you as well. You have no bodyguard.”

  Arching his brow, he grinned. “Me? Why, I am invincible.” She withered him with a single look. “Oh, all right, I’ll have Latham watch me as often as possible. Happy?”

  “No. But I do feel better.”

  “Good. Now I’d like your company at supper tonight, angel. I am presuming your gowns are finished?”

  A slow smile crossed Cornelia’s face. “Yes, they are. Now I have an excuse to wear the lavender one. I had been saving it for a nice occasion.”

  “You have just such an excuse. Mrs. Cates, have her friend, you know the one, act as her maid for the time being. Seven o’clock sharp, angel.”

  Chapter 21

  Wincing, Edgar drank his pain numbing whiskey as James cleaned and rewrapped the neat round hole in his upper right arm where Rochester’s ball hit him. It had gone straight through, but had torn muscle and clipped his bone as it passed, leaving his strong right arm almost useless. Seated in his small chamber at the village’s only inn, Edgar pondered what the master would have to say about this current debacle.

  “He will not be pleased,” Edgar muttered, taking another drink straight from the bottle.

  “Not with Ralph captured and you hurt,” James replied, tying a firm knot in the bandage. “It won’t be long before Rochester learns who Ralph is.”

  “I know. Those bleeding constables are out asking questions with his picture.” Edgar swallowed another gulp, sweating lightly at the thought of what his employer might do. “If that wench isn’t found soon, we’re in trouble.”

  “We already are.” Taking the bottle from Edgar’s fingers, James sat down on the edge of the bed and took a swallow. “Maybe we should leave while we can, Edgar. Get out of here.”

  Edgar examined the bandage, already growing dark with his blood, and shook his head. “We can’t. We’re in too deep. He’ll find us and kill us.”

  Handing the bottle back, James rested his face in his hands. “This was supposed to be an easy job,” he groused. “Keep the fat man in line, find one misplaced wench, take our money, and move on. Now we’ll be lucky to survive.”

  “We’ll find her, James,” Edgar said, but without much conviction. How are we supposed to do it now? Rochester will have turned that manor into a fortress, expecting us to try again. “We can still sneak in and grab her.”

  “Are you daft?” James eyed him with near contempt. “Rochester knew we were coming. He was waiting for us. How could he have known? After the other night, he’ll be on his guard more than ever.”

  “Would you rather be shot?” Edgar snapped, growing angry. He always got angry when he was scared, and right now he was very scared. “If we’re careful, we can get past his servants. In and out.”

  “How?” James demanded. “He’ll have secured his doors, no doubt he has people inside as well as outside watching for us.”

  “I can pick locks,” Edgar replied, taking a long drink, then handing the bottle back. “Dead easy. But I can’t get her out without you. Not with my wing busted up. Don’t give up on me, James. Not now.”

  “Any chance of getting Ralph out, too?” James asked. “It seems wrong to leave him behind.”

  “Not likely, lad. We’ll be lucky to get the wench and ourselves out in one piece.”

  James stood up and paced the tiny room, obviously restless, while sipping from the bottle. “That’s a very big house to search, Edgar. Just how can we find her without being discovered?”

  “I don’t believe we’ll have to search the entire house. Rochester is going to a great deal of effort to protect her. Why?”

  James shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “He likes her, see? He’s protecting her with everything he has, which means she is dear to him.”

  “So? How does that help us?”

  Edgar grinned. “He won’t have turned her into a housemaid, thus she won’t be sleeping among the common servants. I’ll wager you he has given her a nice guest room.”

  “And if he has? There are how many guest rooms there, Edgar? Too many to count.”

  “We can at least narrow the search down, James. Get into the tunnels as we first planned. Listen and learn.”

  James shook his head. “There’s still a terrible risk of being caught, Edgar. Simple enough if Rochester weren’t on his guard, but he is.”

  “Life is a risk,” Edgar replied, extending his hand for the whiskey. “Look at it this way – if we’re in Rochester’s house, we sure aren’t where our employer can find and kill us.”

  * * *

  Barrett glared at Mortimer. “So he never admitted Cornelia was in his house?”

  Lounging indolently in a chair outside Barrett’s tent, Mortimer returned his glower. “He did not. Just threatened to kill me.”

  “Is that all?”

  “It’s enough. I’m not going back there, Barrett. Next time, send one of them.”

  Mortimer jerked his thumb at Felix and Maurice standing nearby, cudgels thrust through their belts. Barrett had ordered them to arm themselves after the buyer’s thugs knocked them out cold and beat Barrett within an inch of his life. His face was still swollen and bruised; he had lost two teeth and could not move without wincing. “You’re useless, Mortimer,” Barrett growled. “You should have brought her back with you.”

  “Not with a pistol pointed at my head. Perhaps you should try next time. I’d like to see what sort of welcome you receive.”

  Barrett eyed Felix and Maurice speculatively. “Not me. Them. Perhaps they should persuade the good Earl to release Cornelia into my custody. They can be most persuasive, I believe.”

  Mortimer’s lip curled in derision. “Of course. They can just walk into his home and beat him until he surrenders Cornelia. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Barrett scowled. “Rochester is a noble like any other. He comes out to inspect his property, does he not? He rides out to hunt as we already knew. They will watch and wait, and catch His Lordship alone, and use their unique talents to ask him to hand Cornelia over.”

  “That may take time,” Mortimer commented. “Meanwhile, you have an appointment this evening with the buyer’s thugs. How will you deal with them without your bodyguards?”

  “I won’t be here,” Barrett replied with a chuckle. “They cannot harm what they cannot find.”

  * * *

  “You are so pretty,” Nancy declared, brushing Cornelia’s long pale locks.

  “That is so sweet of you to say.”

  Cornelia gazed at her reflection in the looking glass, observing how the light-colored lavender gown accented her eyes. Her whitish skin did not contrast well with darker colors, she thought, a reason she preferred light tones that accented her flesh better. “I hope His Lordship will be pleased.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he will, Cornelia,” Nancy said, her tone eager. “How can he not be?”

  As Nancy had no idea how to put Cornelia’s hair up into an attractive coif, she planned to wear it down with a few tidy ringlets falling from her temple. Rising from the chair, she gazed down at the gown, a simple affair with full sleeves and a bodice sewn with lace. “I expect we should be going then,” she said. “It is almost seven.”

  Nancy gave her a quick hug. “Enjoy yourself.”

  Cornelia smiled. “It is almost like a courtship, is it not?”

  Nancy sighed happily. “Think of it. You married to His Lordship and becoming our Lady.”

  Laughing, Cornelia strode toward the door. “We shall see. Come then, Nancy.”

  Leaving the guest suite, Cornelia’s smile faded
as she glanced at Mr. Hamden standing at a footman’s stiff attention outside her door. In the days since Archie assigned him her bodyguard, she had not quite come to terms with his presence. Though he was strictly polite, respectful, and kind, she could not yet get past the memory of his tight expression as he advanced on her the day they fought, or his fist swinging toward her head.

  “Mr. Hamden.” Cornelia inclined her head politely as she passed him.

  “Miss Hill.”

  Aware of his powerful presence behind herself and Nancy, Cornelia strode toward the stairs and down them, wishing once again that Archie had assigned anyone else except him as her guard. On her way to the dining hall, she passed several maids and footmen, all who offered her smiles and quick bows or curtsies. While she enjoyed her acceptance among them, the displays of respect they offered made her uncomfortable.

  “I am one of them, not above them,” she murmured to herself as she made her way across the tiled entryway toward the big dining room doors. “I should not be bowed to.”

  “What did you say?” Nancy asked.

  “Just talking to myself.”

  Archie awaited her just outside the vast hall, wearing a formal black jacket, blue silk cravat and waistcoat, with a white shirt under them. He had tied his hair neatly behind his head, and his special smile for her melted her heart. Bowing, Archie lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles.

  “You stun me with your beauty,” he murmured, his deep, almost sleepy, brown eyes gazing into her own.

  Blushing, Cornelia lowered her face, smiling at his compliment. “You flatter me, My Lord.”

  “The simple truth isn’t just flattery,” he replied, his hand on hers, guiding her into the formal hall and its wealth of candelabra, china, cut crystal glasses, and silver flatware. Noah Sanders stood by ready to serve them; he helped Cornelia into a chair and bowed Archie into his. As her chaperone, Nancy stood to one side of the door, her back as straight as the footmen’s.

  As Mr. Sanders served them both with red wine, Cornelia feeling self conscious, said, “I do not know to behave in such a setting, Archie.”

  He twirled the stem of his wine glass. “I can understand that,” he replied, a small grin hovering over his lips. “I did not ask you here to make you uncomfortable. I enjoy your company, and dislike my own.”

  Aware of the presence of several household staff, whom she knew to be avid gossips, Cornelia dared not ask the question that was foremost in her mind – did Archie intend to formally court her? She knew that he cared deeply for her, and knew she had fallen in love with him. Could a peer of the realm truly fall in love with a commoner?

  Archie seemed to read her thoughts. “I do like you very much, Cornelia,” he said, his tone soft.

  “And I like you, Archie.”

  But where do we go from here?

  As the first course of soup was served to them by Mr. Sanders, Cornelia asked Archie a few questions about his parents, his brother, and his life as a second son. “I never believed I’d own all this, carry the title,” he said, spooning soup into his mouth. “My brother, Howard, turned the horse breeding aspects of the estates over to me, and he told me I could stay under his roof for as long as I wanted. Marry, even, raise my family here.”

  “Is that not common among the nobility?”

  “Not always. Usually second or third sons leave to make their own way in the world, join the royal navy or army, become merchants. When he died, I was devastated.” Archie chuckled. “Still am. Howie and I were very close.”

  “I wish I had had a sibling,” Cornelia admitted. “Perhaps I do, somewhere, if my parents had other children.”

  “Have you ever considered that perhaps your parents did not abandon you?” Archie asked.

  Startled by the question, Cornelia shook her head. “Then how did I come to be in a box in a circus?”

  “Perhaps you were stolen from them.”

  “By Barrett? I hardly think so.”

  “Stolen by someone, then perhaps you were either sold to or given to Barrett. It’s not beyond possible, Cornelia.”

  “Then I wonder how easy it might be to find out for certain,” Cornelia replied slowly. “How might I discover the truth?”

  Archie hesitated, then said, “There may be ways. Let me think on it.”

  “I have always dreamed of meeting my parents,” Cornelia told him with a shy smile. “Hear them say they loved me, regretted losing me. But I always fear the answer will be they abandoned me because they believed me to be evil.”

  “I suppose it’s easier on you emotionally to believe they did indeed abandon you,” Archie stated, “as that would be the reason they never came looking for you. Perhaps we will one day know the truth.”

  Chapter 22

  Archie stared in dismay at Richard standing in his entryway. He had just left the library and Cornelia to greet his old friend, who had come by on one of his unannounced visits. “Hello, Richard,” Archie said, extending his hand. “How are you?”

  “Feeling the need to apologize, old chap,” Richard replied with his flashy smile, shaking his hand. “I feel terrible for decamping the way I did.”

  “Well, let us retire to the drawing room,” Archie said, leading the way. “We’ll have drinks.”

  “No, no,” Richard protested. “The library is fine, and it’s right here.”

  Alarm bolted like lightning through Archie. He still wanted Cornelia’s presence kept a secret, for there was still a chance her pursuers might be fooled into thinking she had never been there. “Richard.”

  Nonetheless, Richard strolled down the corridor. Mr. Hamden was still faithfully standing outside the library in his footman’s livery. He bowed to Richard, who ignored him as he threw open the door and walked into the library. Bracing himself for the outrage to follow, Archie oddly heard nothing at all. Peeking into the room, he found Richard pouring himself a sherry.

  There was no one else inside.

  Leaning toward Mr. Hamden, Archie whispered, “Where is she?”

  “She went to consult with Mr. North, My Lord,” his voice also low. “Just down the hall.”

  Archie gripped his arm. “Escort her to her chambers and let her know she must remain out of sight.”

  Mr. Hamden bowed. “I will.”

  Entering the library, feigning bonhomie, Archie smiled brightly at his guest. “Well, it is certainly good to see you again, Richard.”

  Seated in an armchair, Richard lifted his glass. “Again, my apologies for the harsh words and for decamping, old chap. I hope it is accepted. I certainly do not wish for hard feelings between us.”

  “Of course.” Archie poured a whiskey for himself, and sat in another chair, concealing the open books and notes on the desk. “No hard feelings.”

  “Did you ever find out who those men were?” Richard asked.

  “No, I’m afraid not. None of my people saw them again, although I sent my steward to search.”

  “A pity. I would have liked to have pressed charges.”

  “Me, as well.”

  “Though we did not achieve our stag,” Richard said with a smile, “am I invited for supper?”

  “You are.”

  “I thank you for your sincere hospitality, old chap.”

  For the first time in a long while, Archie enjoyed his time with Richard, as his friend refrained from many of his usual snobbish comments about the lower classes and never mentioned Cornelia at all. They strolled about the stables with Richard admiring the foals and stallions, and laughed over Bucephalus’s continued attempts to escape his confines.

  Later that evening, Archie escorted Richard to his guest suite, yet Richard paused beside the chambers Cornelia occupied. Mr. Hamden, still in the same livery as every other footman, stood several doors down from them, his back to the wall, staring blankly ahead of him. “Is this not where I usually stay, old chap?’ Richard asked.

  “Yes, indeed they are,” Archie replied smoothly. “However, they are not habitable at the moment.
One of my cleaning staff poured an excess amount of cleaning soap on the floor. They are still working to finish bringing it all up.”

  “Oh. How clumsy of them.”

  Archie opened the door to a suite of rooms further down. “These chambers are probably nicer, Richard. More suited to your station.”

  Richard walked in, glancing around. “Of course they are. I do so appreciate your kindness in seeing to my needs yourself.”