by Diana Ballew
Lisbeth pushed her way through the two young lords, anxious to see that Bella was truly all right. “Oh, Bella, dearest.”
Isabella felt wonderfully safe in her butler’s muscular embrace, but pulled back to look at her friend. Her smile felt watery. “I’m fine, now.” She looked up at the man holding her so tenderly. “Thank you, Easton.” He had actually hit Richard, and for her sake! How very gallant.
“You’re quite welcome, my dear.”
Isabella looked down at the body again and grimaced. “Would someone please remove that?”
Mr Easton brushed a tear from her cheek, released her and stood, calling out the names of several of the more burly servants. Finally, he looked at his road-weary friends. Cousin Alex appeared dumbfounded as he stared at her.
“Good God, Bella,” Alex said, looking her over from the top of her head to toe of her slippers peeking out from the hem of her gown.
“Oh dear, Alex. I know I’m quite a mess.” She patted at her tresses, now a bit the worse for the wear. “If you’d come when you were supposed to, you’d not have had to witness this absurd spectacle I’ve caused.”
The three men laughed.
“Leave it to a woman to apologize and blame the men in the same breath,” the one named Whit chimed in. “I believe Alex was only taken aback by your beauty, my lady, not your mussed hair.” He chuckled. “Lord Stapleton has been so worried about his ‘plain’ cousin, you see. And well, here you are, presiding like Guinevere while men are slain at your feet.” He snickered and pointed at her butler. “Your knight!”
Mr Easton gave his friend a warning look, which of course, was ignored as the other man continued to chuckle. The servants arrived and looked to him for direction. “Remove this bloody sod, and none too gently, lads. He has abused our dear lady.”
The men looked at their mistress, eyes darting from the torn bodice to her tear-stained face. They scowled down at Mr. Dalton. In a manner not even remotely gentle, they picked him up, nodded to their lady, then hauled him out. The sound of the body hitting the cobbled drive was quite clear.
“Easton, your shoe.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
“Good God, Rafe, what’s been happening here?” Cousin Alex fairly shouted.
Lisbeth, seated beside her friend, squeaked in surprise.
“Don’t fret, dear lady,” Whit smiled at the pretty blonde, “he’s just a very loud bear, not a vicious one.”
“’Rafe,’ Easton?”
“A nickname, my lady.”
“An odd one, Easton.”
“Not at all. One of my names is Raefiel.”
“Still odd, but better than Woodrow, I suppose.”
“Thank you so much, my lady. I am relieved you deign it sufficient,” he said. “Back to the practical little general, I see. Now,” he scowled seriously, “did the blighter hurt you?”
Isabella blushed and shook her head. “He may have bruised me, just a bit, he was holding me so tightly.” She frowned. “I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. It was quite unnerving.”
“Are you sure you’re not hurt? Should we call for the doctor?”
“Goodness, no!” Isabella jumped. “He’s Mr. Dalton’s father!”
Whit started to laugh again.
“I just want to know one bloody thing!” Cousin Alex bellowed. “Have you compromised me little cousin!” And with that he grabbed a fistful of Rafe’s shirtfront.
Chapter 9
A short while later, they were all calmly seated at the dining table, a feast of cold fare spread before them. Cousin Alex was placid now, finally believing Isabella’s assertions that she had not been compromised by anyone. While Whit and Alex ate, the others filled them in on the scene they had come upon.
“It really was my fault for behaving so silly,” Isabella confessed. She glanced sideways at Easton, who was now being called ‘Rafe’ by everyone, including Lisbeth, and being treated quite like a peer. “I was attempting to flirt. It wasn’t well done of me, I admit.” She could feel the blush burning her cheeks.
“Nonsense, me dear,” Alex said around a mouth full of chilled roast beef. “No matter how much a lady flirts, a gentleman doesn’t attack her in her own bloody drawing room.”
Whit and Rafe both raised a brow at him.
“What? Oh, I do mean attack, me lads, not finesse.”
Isabella watched how easy the three were together. It said much. Rafe was certainly no commoner. No, he was somehow closely related to the peerage. He was too comfortable, too relaxed, sitting here and supping with them all. His manners and comportment were refined, even surpassing the other two gentlemen. Could he be related to royalty?
“You’re not a butler, so why did Alex send you to North Bindlefork, Rafe?” She liked the sound of his new name. It was somehow dark and dangerously attractive, just as he was.
The three men exchanged looks.
“Oh, come now, I’m not a ninny. I’ve realized for some days you are not a servant.”
They still wouldn’t answer her.
“You’re a bastard, then.”
“Really, cousin! No need to get nasty.”
“No, I mean he’s actually the baseborn offspring of a lord. Goodness, Alex!” Isabella threw a roll at her relative, who deftly caught it. She couldn’t help but grin at his surprised expression.
“Ah, well then, yes he is.”
While the two young ladies exchanged a look that declared triumph, Rafe punched his friend in the arm. Alex shrugged in response, looking confused.
“Oh, goodness!” Lisbeth’s small white hand fluttered to the base of her throat. “My poor father! I quite forgot about him. He expected me home some time ago. He shall be worried sick.”
Isabella frowned. “It is too late to travel back home. You shall have to stay here.”
Isabella found herself immediately looking to him, seeking his counsel.
Smiling, he turned his gaze to the blonde. “I’ve already sent him a message, Miss Lisbeth. I said you would be staying the night, to help sooth Lady Bella’s nerves.”
“My nerves are quite fine, thank you.”
“Well, then,” Whit wiggled his light brown eyebrows suggestively at Lisbeth, “perhaps she can sooth me? My nerves are terribly frayed.”
“Really!” Lisbeth smiled coyly, then giggled.
“Oh! I just thought of something else.” Isabella jumped up from the table and ran out of the room, leaving everyone staring after her. She was back in a few moments, smiling and shaking her head. Her eyes locked with Rafe’s.
“I just had the most fun!”
“What did you do now?” he asked dryly.
“I just got to tell Mrs. Combs you were now our guest and would need to be moved to a better room!”
“Why the hell couldn’t you have told her the truth?”
“What? And have me father here by next nightfall demanding you marry her? Don’t be daft, man.” Alex looked at Rafe as if he’d taken leave of all of his senses. “And, don’t doubt he would, once he heard that the Duke of Devonshire had just spent a fortnight alone with his niece. He knows you too well to think any female as lovely as that chit has become is safe from your wicked ways.” He snorted. “Why, she don’t even have a butler to protect her. Ha!”
Whit laughed along with him. Rafe, however, was not amused. What he was was frustrated.
It was well into morning, they all having slept in because of the late hour they had retired. Rafe had been apprised of the ‘Melanie Situation,’ as Alex called it, last night over their brandies after the ladies had gone up to bed. After much flattery and trinkets, Melanie confessed she had never meant it to get beyond Madam Rose about their affair, and that it hadn’t. She apparently realized how scandalous their liaison could be. Lyle had returned and found all as it was before he had left. Whit and Alex had quite enjoyed their mission, but were anxious to retrieve their comrade from ‘hell and beyond North Bindlefork,’ as Whit had put it. They had departed London the
next day and rode as quickly as they could, deciding to press on last evening rather than spend an additional night on the road.
Now the three were arguing over how long to remain in the countryside as they descended the stairs to the main floor. Alex was of the opinion they should return immediately.
“There are fisticuffs to attend, damn me, and races to wager on. Not to forget all the lovelies needing our attentions.”
“You know, there are a few lovelies right here, old man.”
“You’d better not be inferring me cousin.”
“No, no,” Whit was quick to dissuade the glowering man. He glanced at Rafe, who was relieved, himself. “Your cousin is quite safe from me. I was referring to the adorable little blonde. Now, she’d be fun to dally with.”
Alex snorted. “I can’t seem to get past them two in plaits, puppy.”
“I certainly didn’t see a braid last night.”
“She’s a terrible flirt, you know.” Rafe smiled at Whit. “She’ll break your heart, then go dancing off without a care.”
Whit laughed. “I love that in a girl!”
The three entered the dining room, a place Rafe had begun to develop a love-hate association with, actually, to see the buffet loaded, places set. The air was heavy with the scents of freshly baked bread, sweet pork, and eggs. Rafe’s mouth watered.
“Me country cousin does me proud.”
They each helped themselves, then took their seats.
“She really does, Alex.” Rafe dug into the warm eggs, subtly flavored with nutmeg and cinnamon. “She’s been running this place rather well for several years now.” He couldn’t hide the pride in his own voice.
“Well, of course, she’s got a good steward, to be sure.” The burly man cut into a thick slab of fried pork with zeal.
“No, she hasn’t. She handles matters all by herself.”
Alex looked at him like he’d grown horns. “That’s preposterous, old sport. She’s having you on.”
“No, really. It’s common knowledge that her father taught her to be self-sufficient, what with her drab beginnings. He was determined what she lacked in her physical appearance could be overcome in other ways, so she could still have hopes of making a decent match one day. I would think you, as her closest relative, would know of this.”
“Who told you all this?”
“Why, the servants. Oh, by the by, you don’t happen to know just what it is they put in the grog in these parts, do you?”
“Amazing. Uncle Ian was serious about teaching her to run things. I thought he was pulling me leg!” Alex grinned. “Ha! The Bindlefork Brew quite did you in, did it? They’d never tell me. Cook keeps that secret to himself, don’t he though.” He resumed his attack on the pork. “Me uncle knew. I think he and Cook concocted it together one night when they were young lads.”
“God, I’ve never had a head like that before.” Rafe grimaced at the memory. And then he grinned at another recollection, much sweeter and smelling of roses.
Cook paid Rafe a short visit later that day as he was leaving his new room.
“It’s me laird, ain’t it?” The squatty older man gave him the once-over, his full face quite red. “Och, I had a feelin’ aboot ye. And soon ye’ll go off wot wi’ them other dandies, leavin’ pur wee Lady behind tae pine o’er ye.”
Rafe was stunned and it took him a moment to realize Alex’s warning was coming back to haunt him.
Cook shook his meaty fist at Rafe. “Ye had ye’re bit o’ fun, is tha’ it, then? We ken ye been at her.”
Rafe was quite taken aback at the angry assault. He rather liked the man and it rankled that his opinion of Rafe had sunk so low so quickly. What had happened to the camaraderie of the other evening?
“Is that really what you think?”
The servant deflated before his eyes. “I ken no’. Boot wot’s tae be, then? Ye’ll be marryin’ her?”
Rafe was speechless for a moment. Marry Isabella? Bloody hell! “She’d not have me, I’m sure. It’s best I leave and she find some placid country gentleman to settle with.” The repellent image of Dalton came to mind. “Look, I really am very fond of Lady Isabella, but it cannot work between us. After all, I’m a -” No, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t actually tell someone he was a bastard. “In the long run, we just would not suit.”
“Ye’re a coward, then me fine young laird.” And with that, Cook left him.
Rafe scowled after the man. How dare he! He was no coward. He just didn’t think he’d marry for a good while yet. And then, it would have to be a sophisticated London lady, who understood his need for mistresses and would be content to leave him be to lead his life as he saw fit. His future duchess and he would go about their business, only occasionally meeting at the dinner or breakfast table and often in the bedchamber. It was what was expected and what he knew to be proper. Isabella would never agree to such an existence.
She was a rarity, a woman who would demand fidelity, if only because it was honorable. Perhaps if she had been raised among the avarice of London she would have become jaded and hedonistic like the women he was used to. No, integrity and honesty seemed to be a significant part of her personality. It was part of her appeal, part of what drew him to her.
But to have only one woman for the rest of his life? He simply couldn’t imagine it would be possible for him. She was incredibly beautiful, granted, and smart as the devil, but marry the proud, independent girl and forsake all others? Just because they had an intense attraction between them? It was bloody nonsense. Maybe Alex was right, maybe they shouldn’t remain too long at Kirkwood Manor, after all.
“What am I too do, Lisbeth?” Isabella fell back across her bed, her arms flung wide.
“Well, at least he’s not a butler anymore. That’s something.” The usually perky blonde seemed steeped in melancholy, along with her.
The situation seemed impossible.
Isabella snorted. “Yes, he’s a bastard, that is just so much better, thank you.”
“Don’t get snippy, Bella.”
“I’m sorry.” She sighed, raising herself up on her elbows. “I want him so much, Beth. He just has to look at me that way and I tremble.” She slammed her hands down, then bounced up off the bed. “I can’t stand this. I’d make a horrid fickle lady. I have to do something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” She began pacing, kicking her skirt out of her way with each sharp turn. “There’s still something that doesn’t seem right about all this. I have to find out whose bastard he is. And just why he came here of all places, pretending to be a butler.”
“How are you going to do that?”
She stopped in mid-stride, an idea coming to mind. “You, Lisbeth.”
The blonde instantly looked wary.
“Me what?”
“Lord Langley thinks you’re very pretty.”
“You want me to wheedle, don’t you?”
Isabella only smiled.
“Oh, Bella! He’s certainly handsome, but I don’t want to get myself in any trouble and that young man is far better at the game than I.”
“Bah! You could have him wrapped around your little finger in a thrice.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis.
Lisbeth rolled her eyes. “There is no hope for it, I see.”
As it turned out, the only information Lisbeth had managed to gain was that Rafe was connected to the Earl of Easton, somehow. The two ladies sat in the drawing room, waiting for the gentlemen, discussing the situation.
“I’m sorry, Bella.” She had taken a ride before dinner with the young man and had been kissed thoroughly, she confessed, but beyond that the things she had learned were meager.
“Well, it’s a start.”
“A start to what? Or, should I say, a start to where?” Alex sauntered into the room, his huge self immaculately attired, as usual. His jacket was a deep rust color, his vest dark blue and his trousers black as night. Whit followed, wearing muted shades of green and tan,
while Rafe brought up the rear, the top of his head visible over Whit’s.
“Oh, nothing, really.” She caught sight of Rafe – goodness, he was too much in evening clothes! The form-hugging cut of his stark black and white attire only accentuated his perfect form. And she had thought him handsome in his butler’s uniform? Oh, dear, she was done in, for sure. How would she ever find someone who could top him?
“Good evening, my lady.” Rafe grinned and bowed to her.
“You’re no longer my Easton, are you?” she asked sadly. They could never go back to the way things had been between them. Everything had changed now. It was no longer just the two of them.
“Do tell us about this lovely party, Miss Lisbeth,” Whit offered into the strained silence. “You were mentioning it earlier to me.” He grinned as Isabella’s friend blushed tellingly.
“Oh, it was lovely. We only have a few every year, way out here. There aren’t that many local gentry who reside year round, you see. Only those that have an interest in overseeing their land, like my father and Isabella.”
The others listened while Lisbeth told them amusing stories of the attendees, and the humorous things that had happened that night. She told them how old Mr. Fryer, the former vicar who was very nearly blind, had unknowingly told Lady Hillengard how Lord Hillengard had been seen sneaking off with the widow Brooks, and hadn’t Lady Hillengard flown into quite a state! And then, there was young Mr. Cook, who had been publicly dressed down by Mr. Dooley, husband of Sheila who had been Isabella’s chaperone previously, for attempting to steal a kiss from the newly married lady. Young Mr. Cook, inebriated on his first taste of champagne punch, had promptly collapsed at the offended party’s feet.
“Oh, dear,” Isabella chimed in. “Mr. Dalton trod on my feet numerous times. I should have taken it as a sign.”
Isabella quite enjoyed the evening, despite the gloom that lingered at the thought of never seeing Rafe again. She had never had such handsome and entertaining company. Yes, Lord Langley was an extremely amusing man, telling them tales of outrageous things the Ton had done and her cousin was fun to reminisce with. But it was only when her gaze locked with Rafe’s that she felt a surge of hopeless longing that shook her to her core.