The Rebel

by C. J. Archer

  "A wife then."

  He laughed and shook his head. "I doubt it."

  "Why? Men your age are almost always married. Particularly gentlemen's sons."

  "Speaking from experience?"

  "My oldest brother has just married, and my parents are hoping to have Henry betrothed by Christmas. There are few families of our acquaintance that Father wants to be linked to, otherwise he'd be wed by now."

  "And you?" Nick said quietly. "Are you betrothed, Lucy?"

  "I… " Her face heated. Damnation and curses. Her complexion was the worst!

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Forget I said anything." Before she could decide how much she wanted to tell him, he said, "As far as I know, at the age of eighteen, Father has yet to arrange a bride for me."

  She crossed her arms and sat back in the chair. "Perhaps we've just struck upon the reason you are in Hampshire and not Kent."

  "I don't understand."

  "You're married."

  "I am?"

  "You married a Hampshire girl and moved here. Since your brother will inherit Coleclough, there's nothing to keep you in Kent, so your father must have found you a suitable girl here."

  "Then why I am I traveling without my wife, and on foot? I should be on horseback."

  He should also be dressed like a gentleman and not like a journeyman. Perhaps he'd somehow lost his money and wound up a pauper who needed to travel from village to village to earn a few coins. Lucy hoped he didn't have a wife if that were the case. It would be a hard life for her.

  He sighed. "Unless I can remember, I will never know what happened, or where I'm supposed to be. Lucy, what if my memory never returns?"

  She touched his hand and he curled his fingers around hers, as if he needed to hold onto another human being. "We'll take you home to Kent and find Coleclough Hall. All will be well when you see your family again."

  She wasn't sure when she'd shifted from letting Nick find his own way home to driving him, but she knew that it was right. As soon as his head had mended enough to travel, she would have some of the servants accompany her if her brother couldn't free himself from the farm.

  "Now, tell me more about your childhood in Kent," she said. "It may jog more recent memories. If it's not too hard for you, may I ask how your mother died?"

  "Of course you may. I was only a babe, and I don't remember her at all. She died from a weak heart, Father said."

  "Was her likeness ever painted?"

  "No, unfortunately. I would have liked to have seen her. Our housekeeper is the only servant still at Coleclough Hall from my mother's time, and she says I look very much like her. Thomas is fair like our father, but I'm dark. Mother was the daughter of a merchant from Florence."

  "How interesting. That certainly explains your complexion and black hair. I've never seen hair so… " Beautiful. "… dark." She coughed and looked away, but the more she tried to hide her warm cheeks, the hotter they got.

  Nick chuckled. "Your freckles become brighter when you blush."

  So bright they felt like they would combust. "I, uh, tell me about… " What? Brutus wandered in and sat at Lucy's feet, tongue out, tail wagging, waiting for a pat. "Dogs. Do you have dogs at Coleclough Hall?" Good lord—dogs? She concentrated on stroking Brutus and hoped Nick didn't think her question quite as pathetic as she did. Brutus certainly didn't. His tail thumped the rush matting in a rhythmic beat.

  "Several." He put his hand down, and Brutus got up to lick the fingers. Nick smiled. "What's his name?"

  "Brutus."

  "Is he a good hunter?"

  "Not in the least. That's why Father gave him to me. Brutus shows no inclination to chase other creatures. He'd rather play with them. He's much too gentle for his own good."

  He smiled. "There's no such thing. I never liked hunting myself, but Father insisted we both participate." He scratched Brutus's ears, and the dog rested his chin on the bed and stared adoringly at Nick.

  "Supper's ready, mistress," said a maid from the doorway, balancing a tray on one hand.

  Matilda woke up with a start, blinked at Lucy and Nick, then wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth. "I was just, er, finking."

  "Thinking, Matilda, not finking." Lucy had been trying to teach the maid her letters since their arrival at Cowdrey Farm, in addition to helping her to speak properly too. The previous mistress had not cared a whit for that sort of thing. Indeed, she'd been neglectful at best, and cruel at worst. Henry had decided to keep all the staff to ensure a smooth transition between owners, and Lucy was rather glad. According to the senior servants, the previous mistress used to beat the maids, and the master would pretend not to notice. None of the staff had been sorry to see them go, particularly once they realized Henry and Lucy were not like their cousins.

  "I brought up Mr. Coleclough's supper," said the maid. "Yours is in the small parlor, mistress, as usual. Mr. Cowdrey says he'll join you soon."

  Lucy cleared the table near the bed, and the maid set the tray on it. "Will there be anything else, mistress?"

  "No, that's all for now. Mr. Coleclough?"

  Nick stifled a yawn with his hand. "I have everything I need, thank you. You've been most kind."

  "Then I'll bid you goodnight. You need your rest, and Matilda will be wanting her supper too. I'll see you in the morning."

  "Goodnight."

  ***

  Lucy awoke with a start. Her bedchamber was dark. The crescent moon cast little light through the window, just enough to illuminate the shapes of the furniture but none of the detail. She sat up. Listened.

  There it was again. A sound coming from somewhere in the house nearby. Low voices? It was difficult to tell.

  She slipped out of bed and crept to the door. The rush mat was rough against the soles of her bare feet and the night air warm enough that she didn't need slippers or a housecoat over her nightshift.

  She put her ear to the door and heard the same sound that had woken her. A voice, too muffled to make out the words. Then, "No. NO!"

  Nick!

  CHAPTER 5

  "Henry! Wake up!" Lucy banged on his door. He was a heavy sleeper, but he couldn't fail to be woken by her knocking.

  The door opened almost immediately, and Henry, dressed in a shirt that reached to his knees, blinked sleepily back at her. "What is it?"

  "It's Nick. I think someone might be in his bedchamber." She ran back through the rooms, Henry at her heels. "I should have gone straight there. Something's wrong."

  "You did the right thing," he said. "If someone is in there, you won't be able to match them."

  They reached Nick's door and for some reason, Henry hesitated.

  Nick's voice came clear through the heavy wood. "Stop! Please."

  "Bloody hell." Henry barged in, but stopped suddenly in the entrance. Lucy slammed into his back.

  "What is it?" She pushed Henry aside. "Nick?"

  It was difficult to make out much in the dull light, but it was clear that Nick was sitting up on the bed, staring at them. Alone.

  "I, uh… " He rubbed both hands down his face. "Is something wrong?"

  "I heard shouting," Lucy said, approaching the bed slowly. "I thought someone was in here… "

  "Shouting?" he echoed.

  "Are you all right?" Henry strode around the room, checking the shadows.

  "Yes," Nick said.

  "There doesn't appear to be anyone else in here."

  "There isn't. I–I was having a vivid dream."

  Two of the male servants appeared at the door, feet bare and daggers in hand. Henry sent them away with assurances that nothing was amiss.

  Lucy sat on his bed. Now that she was closer, she could see Nick’s hand shaking and the sheen on his brow. He gave her a weak smile that did nothing to ease her mind.

  "I'm sorry I woke you," he said.

  "It's all right." She took his hand and squeezed. "I'm just relived you're unharmed. It sounded… well, it sounded awful. D
o you often have nightmares?" He shrugged and she realized her mistake. "Oh, of course. You don't remember."

  "No."

  "What was it about?"

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing? How can it be nothing?"

  "I mean I don't remember."

  "Lucy," Henry growled, "it's none of your business. Leave him be."

  She bit her tongue to stop herself arguing with him. She could do that later. For now, she needed to care for her patient. "Can I get you anything to help settle you back to sleep?" she asked Nick.

  "No, thank you. You've already done enough."

  "Come, Lucy," Henry said. "Let's go."

  "Are you sure I can't get you anything, Nick? Does your head pain you? Do you need a tonic?"

  "I'm fine. Don't worry about me." He squeezed her hands as she had done his, then let go and folded them over his naked chest.

  "Just let the man rest," Henry said.

  She joined him outside on the landing and shut the door. "Did you have to be so ill-mannered in there? The poor man had a nightmare, the least we could do is offer him comfort."

  He drew her away toward the door leading to her own rooms. "Lucy, I'm tired. I don't like to be dragged from my bed in the middle of the night to offer a grown man comfort."

  "You need to remember that he thinks he's eighteen, barely a man."

  "Eighteen is certainly man enough."

  "Ordinarily, yes, but he's wide-eyed and innocent in many ways, not at all like any youth I've met of that age."

  "He is not a child, Lucy."

  "But he is my patient until he recovers. And don't worry, I am very aware that he's not a child."

  Henry must have been exhausted because ordinarily such sarcasm would trigger a lecture on not putting herself in a position to be taken advantage of by men. It was something she'd endured more and more after the sorry affair with Edmund Mallam came to light. Indeed, her brothers had been worse than her parents in that regard. Simon had even told her she shouldn't be allowed to be alone with a man ever again, but fortunately her father hadn't been quite so draconian. Lucy suspected her mother's influence there.

  "What do you suppose he was dreaming about?" she said. "Something quite awful if all that shouting is anything to go by."

  Henry sighed. "Right now, I don't care. I'm going back to bed. If it happens again, just ignore him. He'll stop eventually."

  She rolled her eyes, but it was too dark for him to have seen.

  ***

  Henry was just as ill-tempered the following morning before he headed out to the barn. Lucy hailed him from the henhouse and trotted over to meet him.

  "I wanted to talk to you about Nick," she said, holding an egg in each hand.

  "What now?"

  "Do you think you could pretend to be in a jovial mood? Your behavior is becoming more boorish every day."

  He blew out a breath and looked Heavenward. "I apologize. I'm tired, and it looks like it'll be another hot day, which means we'll probably achieve less than we should."

  "Oh, Henry, I'm sorry. Go."

  He put an arm around her shoulder and kissed the cap on the top of her head. "I apologize. Tell me what troubles you."

  "It can wait until later."

  "Are you sure?"

  She gave him a gentle shove. "Go. The men are waiting." She nodded in the direction of a cluster of farm hands chatting to the grooms near the barn as they prepared the horses and cart.

  "I won't be back until the end of the day, but we can talk then." He began to walk off, but stopped. "You'll keep Matilda with you at all times when you're with Coleclough."

  "I will." If possible.

  She watched him join his men at the barn then placed the eggs in the basket near the henhouse and searched for more. By the time her basket was full, she was starving.

  She decided to wait until after breakfast to see Nick, but he surprised her by being in the kitchen when she brought in the basket of eggs.

  "Good morning," he said. There was no sign on his handsome, smiling face that he'd had a poor night's sleep, or indeed that he'd had a nightmare at all.

  "You shouldn't be out of bed yet," she said, handing the basket to one of the kitchen maids.

  "I feel better, and I can't stay in bed all day." He gazed longingly at the eggs that the cook was systematically cracking and emptying into a large pan.

  "Hungry?" the cook asked.

  "Starving."

  "Shall I serve your breakfasts in the small parlor today, mistress?" Matilda asked.

  "An excellent idea," Lucy said.

  She led Nick into the smaller of the two parlors at the front of the house. He stopped just inside the doorway, and she thought his gaze had fixed on the table near the window, but on closer inspection, he was actually taking in his surroundings. His gaze, half-hidden beneath those thick lashes, flicked around the room.

  "It's all right," she said. "You can look around as much as you want."

  "Pardon?"

  "You're trying not to let me see you looking. It doesn't embarrass me. This room is my favorite in the whole house. Or it is now, after I changed the furniture and hung the tapestries on the walls."

  "My apologies, I didn't realize I was doing it so furtively." He pulled out the chair for her at the table and she sat. "I like this room too."

  Her cousins had divided the old great hall into a series of rooms in the modern style, each with its own fireplace and chimney. The smaller of the two new parlors was the coziest in the mornings and had the best outlook with views over the front garden, the orchard, and the woods in the distance. Lucy liked to eat her breakfast alone there and plan what needed doing. This part of Hampshire was extraordinarily pretty, and now that the roses were in bloom, the garden didn't look quite as sparse as it had when she first arrived. It still needed a lot of attention, but with some of the male servants to do the digging and heavy work, it would be done in no time. She'd mapped out an entire year's worth of planting from that small parlor, not to mention drawn up the plan for the new front entrance to the house.

  "How is your head today?" she asked.

  "It feels enormous with this bandage."

  "You have to keep wearing it for now. At least until Widow Dawson can inspect it."

  "Widow Dawson?"

  "The wise woman of Sutton Grange."

  He pulled a face. "I've never held much stock with wise women."

  "Never? Is this coming from Nicholas Coleclough the youth or the man?"

  One side of his mouth kicked up. "Youth."

  "Ah."

  "Ah? Does that have another meaning in Hampshire, or does it mean the same as it does in Kent? You don't believe me."

  "I believe you. But I think your view is colored by your father's, since he appears to be the biggest influence in your eighteen-year-old life."

  He lifted one shoulder and winced. "I suppose you're right. If you say your Widow Dawson is good, then I'll believe it."

  "Does the bruise on your shoulder still hurt? You cringed just now."

  "I hoped you hadn't seen that."

  "You are my patient, Nick. Now is not the time to be all manly and brave."

  He chuckled. "Yes, madam."

  "What about the other bruises?"

  "Those hurt too, although less than yesterday. That ointment must be working." He was wearing the clean shirt that had been in his pack, the old one having gone to one of the maids to wash. He hadn't limped into the parlor, so it seemed he was unharmed from the waist down after all. That was a relief, perhaps more so for him than her.

  "Why are you smiling?" he asked, folding his arms on the table and leaning closer.

  "I'm not!"

  "You were. Now you're blushing too."

  "And you are incorrigible."

  His smile turned wicked. "I've been called worse."

  Was he flirting with her? She wasn't sure whether to be alarmed, flattered or disturbed.

  Matilda entered with a tray laden with bread, butter, poac
hed and boiled eggs, and cheese. Another maid followed behind with a jug and two cups, trenchers and knives.

  "Shall I stay, mistress?" asked Matilda, setting the trenchers of food on the table.

  "Have you eaten?" Lucy asked.

  "Aye."

  "Then I'm afraid you have to. Henry's orders."

  "I don't mind. I'll just sit over there and close me eyes while I fink. Think."

  Perhaps Lucy should set some writing tasks for Matilda to practice while she chaperoned. If Nick was going to be with them for a while, it seemed a shame to waste valuable time. Like all of the servants, Matilda worked hard, and the time she had left for learning was limited, but she was quite determined to succeed. It's why Lucy was happy to persist.

  "You're very good to let her sleep," Nick said when it was clear from Matilda's snoring that she'd nodded off.

  "I don't mind. She's a good worker when she's not chaperoning me."

  "You're not worried I'll do something… ungentlemanly while she sleeps?"

  She grinned. "No. One shout from me, and she'll wake up and other servants will come running."

  "Henry is worried."

  "Henry is my only male relative here. He thinks it his duty to protect me from strange men who get beaten up in his meadow and lose their memories."

  He stabbed a piece of bacon with his knife. "Happen a lot, does it?"

  "Enough to make him anxious."

  "You seem very close. As close as Thomas and me, without the wrestling and tossing each other in the duck pond part."

  "We used to wrestle when we were younger. I was quite good until he began to grow and decided Simon was more interesting to play with."

  He chewed, thoughtful, then swallowed and said, "So what did you do after Henry stopped playing with you? Who did you spend time with? Your mother?"

  "Only when she was teaching me to stitch or play the virginals. Sometimes we paid calls on our neighbors or the village women who had daughters my age. Actually, we did that a lot. It was great fun, and I made some lovely friends. I miss them now, but we write often."

  He paused with a chunk of bread halfway to his mouth. "You had friends outside your own family?"

  "Of course. Family aren't friends, they're… family."