The Beauty and the Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  “I always wish to see to my friends’ comfort. I’ll see you at breakfast then?”

  “Of course, old chap. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  He left Richard in his guest suite, and strolled back down the corridor. Before passing Mr. Hamden again, Archie paused. “You advised Miss Hill to remain in her chambers?” he murmured.

  “Indeed, I did, My Lord. She agreed to do so until she hears from you.”

  “I hope she is well stocked with food?”

  “The little maid, Nancy, is seeing to her needs.”

  “Excellent. Carry on, then.”

  Finding no reason for it, Archie felt uneasy as he headed toward his own chambers a floor below. Descending the stairs, he almost turned back, feeling the need to check on Cornelia. Calling himself a dozen different names for fool, he continued on his way to his chambers. Few servants still worked at that hour, thus he encountered only a small number who bowed or curtsied as he passed them.

  In his chambers, Jonas helped him undress as he sipped a tumbler of whiskey. “Will you be seeking your bed soon, My Lord?” Jonas asked.

  “Not for a little while. But you are dismissed for the evening, Jonas. Thank you.”

  Wearing an old pair of trousers and a shirt he couldn’t be bothered to button, Archie sat in his armchair, trying to read a book by the light of a lamp on the table. Thoughts of Cornelia interfered, and he finally closed it and set it aside. Dousing the lamp, he stared out the window into the black of night, wondering what it was that made him feel so uneasy. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “There is nothing wrong.”

  He could not dispel the feeling that there was.

  Pouring himself more whiskey, he stared out his window toward the stables, wondering what it could be that had him so agitated. If Cornelia stayed in her rooms as he requested, she could not accidentally be seen by Richard, and as Richard never spoke to the servants, they would not reveal her presence. Despite his inner lecture to himself, his unease did not go away.

  Torches flared at the stables. Setting his drink on the table, he missed, and it fell to the floor with a crash, sending whiskey splashing everywhere. Archie hardly noticed or cared. Grabbing his boots, he shoved his feet into them, and ran for the door, passing Jonas who roused at the sound of the glass breaking.

  “My Lord?”

  Archie paid him no heed. Dashing down the hall and the stairs, he lunged for the main front doors, and slammed headlong into them. Cursing, he remembered they were locked, took a moment to unbolt them, then ran out onto the lawn. The flaring torches had spread, the grooms running in all directions, spreading out from the structures.

  “What is going on?” he yelled.

  Norris jogged toward him, a torch in his hand. “Bucephalus is missing. No, don’t ask. He did not escape. He was set loose.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  Norris scowled. “The grooms were awakened by the rattling of the chains keeping him in and heard a man’s voice. But by the time they ran down the ladder, both man and stallion were gone.”

  Archie swore. “Could it be those blokes who came here the other night? The friends of the fellow we captured?”

  “I don’t know, m’lord. But we need to find Bucephalus quick. I expect we can’t count on Miss Hill’s keen eyesight this time around.”

  “No, we can’t. Let’s go.”

  As his grooms spread out in a wide circle around the stables and expanded, Archie and Norris trotted their way toward the moors in the possibility that Bucephalus might have gone the same way he had before. As he crested each hill, Archie tried to peer into the dark as Cornelia had done to see a black horse on a dark night. If Bucephalus was out there, Archie could not see him.

  Gunfire broke the night’s stillness.

  Archie instinctively ducked at the same moment Norris grunted. A few strides from Archie, he stumbled and fell, his torch tossed to the ground next to him. “Norris?”

  Rushing the short distance between them, Archie fell to his knees. “Where are you hit?”

  Norris cursed fluently, which Archie thought might be a good sign. “My leg. This bloody hurts.”

  “Show me. I have to stop the bleeding.”

  Norris’s hand seized his and dragged it to his outer thigh. Feeling the blood gush from the wound, he grabbed the fallen torch to see better. Dark red pumped from Norris’s trousers too fast for Archie’s liking. He ripped the sleeve from his shirt and bound Norris’s leg tightly, then added his second sleeve for good measure. Greatly concerned he would attract the shooter’s aim to him, Archie stood, and began to yell. “Up here! We need help! Up here!”

  In the distance, torches that had moved away from the stables now surged toward the hill he and Norris were upon. Grabbing Norris’s dropped torch, his gut clenched in concern that he would be shot next, Archie waved it over his head, still yelling. Below, grooms ran toward the hill and the waving torch, their voices raised in question and worry. Hoping their presence would frighten off whoever shot Norris, Archie knelt again and kept the heel of his hand to the wound to help slow his bleeding.

  “How are you doing?” he asked Norris.

  “Not bad, considering I’ve just been shot.”

  Archie chuckled, and patted his shoulder. “We have the best healer waiting for you.”

  Norris grabbed his arm. “Don’t risk her exposing herself just for me. I feel like Bucephalus was set loose just to get us out here to shoot us.”

  “I got the same feeling.”

  Norris swore under his breath again. “Where is that dratted horse?”

  “We’ll find him, don’t worry.”

  The grooms swarmed up the hill, relieving Archie’s concern that the shooter would take aim at his head before they arrived despite the number of torches illuminating the hilltop. “He’s been shot,” he ordered as the grooms exclaimed and asked questions. “Carry him into the house. Gently now, it’s in his leg. Be careful with him, please.”

  Four grooms picked Norris up, their grips on him causing him to curse fluently again. If his voice is yet that strong, he’ll be all right. “Norris, I’ll be along straight away.”

  “Find Bucephalus, m’lord.”

  With the cluster of grooms surrounding him, Archie ran his hand through his hair, watching as the others carefully carried Norris with them. “Now, let’s see if Bucephalus is around here. Mr. Saxon has already been shot, most likely by whoever set Bucephalus loose. Everyone keep a sharp watch out and if you see anything, yell out.”

  “We’re with you, My Lord,” William stated, his voice angry and his face under his torch set and grim. “An attack on one of us is an attack on all.”

  Grinning, Archie rested his hand on William’s shoulder. “That is exactly right. One of our own has been struck down by a coward in the dark. We will get our revenge for his sake, but right now, we need to find Bucephalus.”

  “My Lord.” William grinned, looking red under the torchlight. “Let me try. I have been trying to teach him to come to my whistle. I was down below, so he may not have heard me. If he’s nearby, he may come.”

  “Then by all means, whistle. If he comes to you, you’ll receive a bonus in your pay this month.”

  William bowed, then whistled a long strident note. He paused, then tried it again. Out in the night, a horse whinnied. Encouraged, William whistled again, and now Archie clearly heard the sound of galloping hooves. Laughing wildly, he clasped William’s shoulder. “You did it!”

  Within moments, Bucephalus’s sleek black shadow trotted up the hill, snorting, his neck arched proudly. Archie stood back and permitted William to praise the stallion and feed him bits of carrot from his pocket, then tie the rope around his head to lead him home. “William, you are a genius,” Archie said, rubbing Bucephalus’s long face as the stallion searched for more carrot. “Please keep practicing this with him. You never know when we might need it again.”

  “He was set loose, My Lord,” William replie
d, leading the stallion on down the hill.

  “Yes, I know. Most likely in order for someone to shoot either me or Mr. Saxon. I just don’t know who was the intended target.”

  Angry grumbles rose from all around him as the grooms displayed their reaction to someone trying to shoot their lord. Archie, pleased that his people cared about him and his safety, glanced around at the tense expressions lit by the red and orange flames.

  “With Mr. Saxon out of action for the time being,” Archie told them as they walked toward the stables, “you all answer to William here. Spread the word to the others not present. Maintain the patrols around the stables and barns. William, you report directly to me. If anyone sees anything suspicious, come get me. We aren’t going to let this bugger get away with hurting one of our own.”

  “All this has to do with Miss Hill, right, My Lord?” called a voice from the outskirts.

  “What of it?” Archie snapped. “You object to her being here? Speak up.”

  “Not at all, My Lord,” the groom replied, not fearing to step toward him and let his face be seen. “Just the opposite. We heard rumors of how she took ole Mr. Hamden down, and we think highly of her. Especially when we learned how much you do. My Lord.”

  Archie nodded. “I won’t make any secret of it, lads. I do care for her very much. And your loyalty toward her is greatly appreciated.”

  William sent him a sly glance. “Might we be invited to the wedding, My Lord?”

  Archie laughed, releasing an inner tension he didn’t know he had until that moment. “Lads, let’s not rush anything, all right? One step at a time. Now I’m headed in to see to Mr. Saxon. Care for Bucephalus now, and report any suspicions to me.”

  “Right, My Lord.”

  As the mass of grooms and the stallion headed toward the stables, Archie walked away from them and strode quickly to the house. With his concern for Norris at the forefront of his mind, he hardly paid any heed to his surroundings. A shadow split apart from the surrounding night, forcing him to stop, the curse that rose to his lips was sent back unspoken. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

  “Just me, old chap.”

  Archie lifted the torch he carried higher, casting its light on Richard’s face. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Wondering what the fuss is all about,” Richard replied, glancing around. “Cannot get a good night’s sleep in this place – torches, people running hither and yon, gunshots. What have you gotten yourself into?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” Archie replied stiffly.

  Richard eyed Archie’s state of near undress with a lifted brow, while he himself was still clad in the clothes he had on at supper. “Indeed. Well, I fear I just remembered a pressing engagement, old chap.”

  “Now? In the middle of the night?”

  “Yes, I know, dreadfully awkward, I fear. I’ll make it up to you, old chap. But I must rush to your stables and fetch my horse. Ta, then.”

  Turning, Archie watched him stride to the now brightly lit stables and vanish through the door where his horse had been housed. Within moments, Richard appeared on his snowy white stallion, and galloped away into the south. Not the west where his estates lay, but to the south where only Barrett’s circus and the road to London was.

  Thoughtful, Archie continued on into the house in search of Norris Saxon.

  Chapter 23

  Woken abruptly by the sound of fists pounding on her door, Cornelia scrambled from the great bed, clutching her dressing gown to her neck. Crossing the sitting room, she pressed her ear against the wood. “Who is it?”

  “Shelton Hampden, Miss. Your services as a medic are greatly needed.”

  Uncaring now about her state of dress, Cornelia fumbled with the newly repaired bolt and flung open the door. “What happened?”

  Mr. Hamden bowed, and behind him stood three stable grooms. “Mr. Saxon has been shot, Miss Hill. He is in a room one floor down. I can take you to him when you are ready.”

  “I am ready now.”

  Her gown billowing behind her, Cornelia strode down the hall behind the grooms, all of whom tried to explain what had happened to Mr. Saxon and where he had been shot while obviously not staring at her dressing gown. “Stop it,” she snapped. “You can see damn well I am clothed. How much blood has he lost?”

  “His Lordship tied his wound quite quickly, Miss,” replied a groom, averting his eyes. “Mr. Saxon is weak, but coherent.”

  “Good. Send for linen as bandages, hot water, needles, and silk. I need to create a satchel of everything I need if I am to be the household physician. Go, damn it.”

  The grooms bolted, leaving only one to guide her to Mr. Saxon while Mr. Hamden followed behind. She glanced at Mr. Hamden over her shoulder. “I trust you have some battlefield surgery experience?”

  “Yes, Miss Hill. I can assist you.”

  “Good. I will need your help.”

  The groom led her to a chamber on the first floor of the house, a small room with a narrow bed, a bureau and little else. Norris Saxon lay on the bed, his left thigh soaked in blood and wrapped in something that resembled a shirt. He rolled his head toward her as she entered, offering Cornelia a small grin.

  “Greetings, Miss,” he murmured. “I apologize for being a nuisance.”

  “Nonsense.” Seizing a chair, Cornelia dragged it to the bed even as Mr. Hamden took a spot beside her. “This is what I have been trained to do. Now tell me what happened.”

  As Mr. Saxon spoke of the loose stallion, hunting him with Archie and the subsequent gunshot, Cornelia unwrapped the blood-soaked wrapping. “Is Lord Rochester safe?” she asked, taking Mr. Hamden’s knife to cut the rest of his trousers from his wound.

  “Yes. He should be along soon.”

  With the bleeding stopped, Cornelia examined the wound closely. “The ball is lodged inside,” she told Mr. Saxon. “I will need to cut it out.”

  Mr. Saxon swallowed hard. “Do so. I am ready.”

  “Not without laudanum first. I will not torment my patients.”

  Spinning toward the groom, Cornelia gestured toward the door. “Fetch me laudanum and whiskey.”

  The man bolted even as the others arrived with the hot water, cloths, linen, and the means to suture Mr. Saxon’s wound closed. As Mr. Hamden cut the trouser leg off in order to further expose the injury, Cornelia wet a cloth and began to clean the caked blood from his leg. Mr. Saxon stiffened under her attentions, but made no sound.

  “You were very lucky,” she murmured, examining the deep hole. “I do not believe it struck the bone. You’ll heal just fine, Mr. Saxon.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  Sweat poured from his face, his jaw clenched, as she continued to clean the area, murmuring consoling words under her breath. Immersed in her task and her patient’s well being, Cornelia was hardly aware when someone else entered the small room. Only when Mr. Hamden stood to bow did she glance up to see Archie looming over her.

  His shirt in tatters, his hair blown into a series of wild tangles, she never thought he looked so handsome, or so vulnerable. She started to rise to curtsy, but he waved her back to her chair. “Norris first,” he said. “How is he?”

  “He will be fine in time,” Cornelia replied. “Once the laudanum and whiskey get here, I will put him to sleep, then cut the shot from his leg.”

  Crossing to the opposite side of the bed, Archie gazed down at his friend. “I’m so very glad to know that you’ll recover.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me so easily, m’lord,” Mr. Saxon replied with a small grin.

  The groom sent on Cornelia’s errand rushed in, dodging his companions, and handed the bottles to her with a bow. “Thank you. Now you all should wait in the corridor, please.”

  Archie ushered the grooms out of the room, then stood once more over Cornelia as she dosed Mr. Saxon with a combination of laudanum and whiskey. He sputtered and choked on the concoction, his expression a mask of disgust. “I don’t know which is worse,”
he muttered, coughing. “The pain or that stuff.”

  “I do believe the taste passes more quickly than the agony of my digging into your wound,” Cornelia informed him dryly. “Now we will wait until you are asleep. Mr. Hamden, are you ready to assist me?”

  “I am, Miss Hill.”

  Within a short time, Mr. Saxon relaxed against his cot, his eyes closed and his breathing slow and even. Taking a sharp knife, Cornelia widened the wound slightly, then used its tip to force the ball of lead from Mr. Saxon’s torn muscle. “The whiskey, please.”

  Mr. Hamden handed the bottle to her. Upending it, Cornelia liberally poured into and around the wound, disinfecting it. “Now the silk and a needle.”