From Waif to Gentleman's Wife

by Julia Justiss

  From the other side of the schoolhouse came a roar that indicated the men had succeeded in breaching the door. Doubtless realising capture was imminent, Barksdale thrust his face and shoulders into the opening, trying to scramble out through the hole Ned had created. With a growl, Ned slammed his boot into the man’s face. Even as Barksdale cried out and brought an arm up to protect himself, to the shouts and cries of the men in the schoolhouse, he was seized from behind and pulled back into the building.

  Ned scrambled up to help Joanna as she staggered to her feet. She’d lost her bonnet, damp earth covered her gown and wisps of hair escaped from her braids straggled on to her dirt-smeared face. ‘Dear Lord in Heaven, tell me you are all right!’ he begged, his anxious eyes scanning her.

  ‘I am now,’ she cried, and threw herself into his arms.

  His heart pounding so hard his head felt dizzy, Ned clung to her fiercely. ‘You are truly all right?’ he asked, resting his cheek against the silken flame of her hair. ‘He didn’t…?’

  ‘No. I’m all right, truly,’ she murmured against his chest.

  Just then Davie came pelting around the building, Tanner and others from the crowd at his heels.

  ‘Mrs Merrill, are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Davie,’ she said, stepping out of Ned’s embrace.

  Every nerve and all his roiling emotions protested against losing her. Despite the audience, he had to grit his teeth to resist the urgent need to pull her back, to burn into his soul the feel of her in his arms and reassure his frantic heart that she was truly free and relatively unharmed.

  ‘Your nails is all broke and your hands bruised,’ Davie said, inspecting her. ‘And look—’ he pointed, his eyes widening ‘—the back of your head is bleeding!’

  While Ned took a pace behind her to inspect the wound, Davie fell to his knees. ‘It’s all my fault, Mr Greaves!’ he cried as he looked up at her, tears tracking down his dirty cheeks. ‘You told me never to leave her! I thought Tanner would be here in a twink. When I got back and saw them shutters closed up and the door locked, I was scareder than I’d ever been in my life!’

  ‘Calm yourself,’ Joanna soothed him. ‘You couldn’t have known Tanner would turn back to join the searchers. Nor would Mr Greaves have been able to free me if you hadn’t managed—with incredible, foolish bravery—to trick Barksdale into giving me time to escape. But for you I might even now still be his hostage, held at gunpoint, all of you helpless to secure my safety without meeting his demands.’

  ‘You done a powerful brave thing, lad,’ Tanner said. ‘Mr Greaves, sir, you shoulda seen him, dancing around them shots!’

  ‘I’d a taken one to get her free,’ Davie told Ned. ‘I know what he’s like, the snake! I’d rather be dead than alive knowing he’d hurt you, ma’am.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Even so, you is all scraped up ’n bleeding! I’m powerful sorry!’ His youth showing through now that the crisis had ended, he put his head into his hands and wept.

  ‘Hush, now,’ Joanna said, stroking the bent head of the boy he still was. ‘All I have are small hurts that will heal quickly. Without your help, it would have gone much worse for me!’

  While she reassured Davie, the villain himself was marched forwards, his cheek bleeding from the kick by Ned’s boot and his hands bound behind him.

  ‘Mr Tanner, I shall want a full account later—and from you other gentlemen as well—but for now, we must take this man to the magistrate,’ Ned said. ‘Mrs Merrill, you should return to the manor and let Mrs Winston tend your head. Will you drive her, Davie?’

  The boy whipped his face up to stare at Ned. ‘You’d trust me now?’

  ‘From what I’ve heard, Mrs Merrill would still be a captive, had it not been for your cleverness. Of course I trust you.’

  Dashing the tears from his eyes, Davie leapt to his feet. ‘Thank you, Mr Greaves. I’ll never let you down again, I promise!’

  ‘I’ll probably need you to testify later,’ Ned added.

  Davie gave Barksdale a look of loathing. ‘Be glad to.’

  Barksdale, who had been standing impassively through these exchanges, suddenly leaned forwards and spat at Davie. ‘That’s for your “bravery”, halfling! As for testifying, we’ll see about that. I’m not done yet, Greaves.’

  That, from a man who had abducted and brutalised an unarmed, innocent lady! Filled with a visceral loathing so strong he had to jam his fisted hands behind his back to keep from taking a swing at Barksdale, Ned barked, ‘Enough! You’ll have your say before the judge. Now, as anything you utter can be used against you in a court of law, I suggest you keep silent. Before one of the gentlemen here decides to silence you for me.’

  Amid mutterings, jeers and offers from the assembled crowd to do just that, Ned turned back to Joanna.

  He didn’t want to send her off with Davie. Not because he didn’t trust the lad, but because he still ached to draw her into his arms and hug her for at least a decade or so, until his heartbeat finally steadied and a soul that had been more paralyzed by fear than ever before in his life finally accepted the fact that she was safe.

  Somehow she’d suffered a head wound, so the sooner she was returned to Mrs Winston’s competent care, the better. Though he wanted nothing more urgently than to drive her slowly, carefully back to the manor himself, to personally inspect, bathe and tend all her wounds and then see her put to bed with a healing compress on her head, he knew his first duty was to ensure that the slippery villain Barksdale made it to gaol in Hazelwick.

  After the events of this morning, fear and anxiety had suppressed his normally simmering lust to the point that he would be fully satisfied—at least for the moment—to return and sit quietly beside her bed, keeping vigil.

  A sense of anguish so acute he felt almost physically ill swept through him once again at the realisation of how close he’d come to losing her before he’d even had a chance to try to win her.

  He’d deal with that later, he told himself, mastering the nausea in his gut. Now to finish the task with Barksdale so he could return to her.

  Given the ugly mood of the crowd, he’d better accomplish the transit quickly. On many of the angry faces, he read a strong desire to carry the captive not to gaol, but to a nearby hedgerow, where they might utilise a convenient rope to terminate the life of the man who had made their lot at Blenhem miserable for years.

  Though he agreed with them that the man was as loathsome as black smut on a fine ear of corn, whatever punishment the villain received must be meted out at the hands of the law. Reluctantly, Ned turned to Davie.

  ‘Make sure you drive slowly, Davie, so that Mrs Merrill is not jostled too much.’ Waving aside Joanna’s protest that her injuries were minor, he continued, ‘Summon Mrs Winston the moment you arrive and turn Mrs Merrill over to her care before you deal with the gig. I’ll be back as soon as this matter—’ he jerked his chin in Barksdale’s direction ‘—is settled.’

  ‘Might I say something?’ Joanna interjected, amused exasperation in her tone. ‘I’ve lost a little blood, not my wits nor my tongue.’

  Though he wanted badly to embrace her again, he limited himself to a simple clasp of her hand. ‘Please, indulge me in this and let them both tend you, ma’am,’ he said softly. ‘I shall not feel easy again until I know you are completely recovered.’

  He gazed intently into her eyes, hoping in his she could read all the emotion he dare not express before this interested crowd.

  After gazing back at him for a long moment, she nodded. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Then I shall see you later. Take her home, Davie,’ he said, giving her hand over to the boy, who took her arm and escorted her away as slowly and carefully as if she were a blown-glass goblet that might shatter at too rough a touch. Once she was seated in the gig, Ned gave them a wave goodbye and turned to the men who held Barksdale.

  ‘Gentlemen, let’s get the prisoner into Tanner’s wagon and into town.’

  It was several hours later
before Ned was finally able to begin his journey back to Blenhem Hill. He’d had to send a man to hunt down the constable, who’d been away from town with another group of searchers, then wait upon the official’s return before he could turn Barksdale over to that representative of the law.Since lashing out at him and Davie at the school, during the transit to town and while they tarried at the gaol, the prisoner had taken his advice and remained silent, ignoring both the taunts of some of the farmers and the angry jeers of the villagers.

  Despite his loathing of the man, Ned had to grudgingly admire the coolness of his exterior. ’Twas apparent he’d been a soldier who’d handled himself well under fire—which made it all the more unfortunate that the man was an out-and-out rogue.

  Impassive though he’d been, Ned suspected that after witnessing the level of hostility directed towards him by the crowd, Barksdale was glad the village gaol had stout stone walls and the constable was an honourable man who’d never stand for lynching.

  Finally the search party had returned, the constable at its head. Tanner related to both him and Ned the story of what had transpired at the school.

  So Barksdale had been posing as the mysterious Hampton! No wonder he’d wanted to have Mrs Merrill speak for him to the crowd. He had to know that, to safeguard the life of a woman highly regarded by the community, his pursuers would probably have agreed to a Mr Hampton’s demands—and taken themselves out of sight while he rode away with her. It would have been much more difficult for him to persuade them to let the hated overseer Barksdale escape.

  Any admiration for Barksdale’s defiant courage before the crowd, however, evaporated in a revival of his anger at the thought of what the man had intended to do to Joanna, what Mary warned him Barksdale would have done, had Davie’s audacious intervention not succeeded.

  Hearing the tale of the lad’s courage and ingenuity made him doubly appreciative of his potential. The boy should be more than just a land agent’s assistant; he should be provided with an education, sponsorship and the opportunity to serve at the highest level.

  After leaving Barksdale safely incarcerated, as Ned crossed the stable yard at the Hart and Hare, a distraught Mary ran out to confront him. Though he quickly assured her that Barksdale had been captured and Mrs Merrill freed unharmed, she fell to her knees, weeping and castigating herself anew for not telling anyone she’d seen the former agent back in the area.

  When the group of men who’d accompanied Ned to the gaol gathered around, questioning her, she rose proudly to her feet. Facing them squarely, she repeated in more detail what she’d revealed to Ned earlier: that several years ago, Barksdale had attacked her in the woods as she walked home from the village. That he’d got her with child, the babe everyone believed had been sired by her soldier sweetheart Jesse Russell. That even after her parents turned her out as a doxy and a kind Peg Kirkbride had taken her in, after she lost the babe and began working in the taproom, she’d kept her secret, for Barksdale continued to threaten that he would evict her family from their farm and sell her little brothers to a factory boss, like he had Davie, if she ever revealed what he’d done.

  Looking up at Ned in the stunned silence after her testimony, she said quietly, ‘I’ll tell it all again to the constable, sir, if you think it might help.’

  ‘Thank you, Mary. I’ll call on you if it’s needful,’ he replied, outraged anew at Barksdale’s depravity and determined if he could to spare Mary the anguish of describing again to that official what had happened to her.

  While his mind skipped to contemplating what else he might do to address the grievous wrongs she had suffered, Jesse Russell, who had been standing unnoticed among the crowd behind Mary, limped over and halted beside her.

  ‘Barksdale was already gone when I came back,’ he said softly. ‘Why did you never tell me the truth?’

  She looked up at him, tears beaded on her lashes. ‘I was too ashamed.’

  ‘Ah, Mary, love.’ He sighed and with his one good arm, pulled her against him. After an instant’s resistance, she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest.

  While the rest of the crowd quietly dispersed, Ned mounted his horse and rode off, the sight of the couple’s tentative reconciliation leaving a glow in his heart. Perhaps the estranged lovers could resolve their differences after all.

  He certainly hoped so. He knew exactly how it felt to fear that you’d lost the love of your life forever.

  Now, all he wanted to do was gaze upon his so he might reassure his still-anxious nerves that she was safe.

  As he directed his tired mount on to the road to Blenhem Hill, though, a new thought occurred, energising him with a surge of hope and excitement.

  If it turned out that Barksdale—whether out of hatred for the landed classes or a simple desire to revenge himself upon the Marquess who’d sacked him—was in fact the secret leader of the Spenceans, the man responsible for the mill fire and the attack on his carriage, Ned might soon be able to resolve all the problems that had required him to assume an alias.

  He could confess his identity to Joanna and come out into the open to court her. And if heaven smiled upon him, he might at last be able to claim her as his wife, to love and keep for the rest of his days.

  Joy flooding his soul at the thought, he spurred his mount to greater speed.

  A short time later he turned his horse on to the drive leading to the manor. Grimy and sweaty from a long day in the saddle, he hadn’t eaten since sunrise, but all that could wait. Proper or not, before he did anything else, he intended to slip into Joanna’s bedchamber and reassure himself that she was bathed, bandaged and safely asleep in her bed.After he’d eaten and cleaned up himself, if residual fear still held desire in check, he might even follow through on his first impulse and return to keep vigil beside her through the night.

  On that happy thought, Ned rode to the stables, turned his horse over to a groom and loped to the house.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A n hour later, a glass of brandy in hand, by the light of a single candle Ned sat reading by Joanna’s bed. Though she had clucked at him and shaken her head when he had first told Mrs Winston he meant to usurp her role and assume watch over her patient, before he needed to remonstrate further, she had hopped up and ceded her place.

  ‘’Tis not proper, I expect, but I know she’ll come to no harm under your care,’ she’d whispered, patting his arm before gathering her knitting and tiptoeing out.As he had eaten a hasty dinner earlier, Mrs Winston had related how she had treated a number of minor cuts and bruises for Mrs Merrill. Except for a knot on the back of her head—sustained when the villain Barksdale had slammed her against the door, that lady related with indignation—the housekeeper thought the hurts insignificant. After keeping her patient awake long enough to determine the head injury wasn’t severe, she’d put Joanna to bed with a soothing compress and a warm draught to help her sleep.

  Abandoning the book, Ned indulged himself in this rare opportunity to unabashedly stare at her. Unbound hair, free of any restraining caps, fell loose over the pillows, the compress Mrs Winston had applied visible at the back of her head. With one hand at her temple, long sooty lashes brushing her cheeks and her face in repose, she appeared to be the girl he’d first thought her the night she’d arrived at Blenhem, dripping, scared and lost.

  She lay now on her side, probably to avoid putting pressure on what must be a very tender head. Ned felt another surge of outrage at the injury Barksdale had done her.

  Maybe lynching wasn’t so bad an idea after all.

  The childlike image was belied, however, by the swell of her breasts outlined by a draping of bedlinen. Visible above the coverlet was the neck and collar of her cotton night rail, an unadorned, business-like affair devoid of ribbons or lace that covered her up to her chin. But as desire gradually broke free of the restraint fear for her welfare had imposed over it, Ned was having increasing difficulty keeping himself from envisioning how her figure might look drape
d instead in a whisper of silk, fine and thin enough to be almost transparent.

  As if co-operating in his fantasy, she turned to her back and sighed, inhaling a deep breath that made her breasts strain against the concealing cotton. In a surge of sensation, Ned felt himself harden, his own member straining uncomfortably against the confines of his breeches.

  Sweat breaking out on his brow, he shifted position. Perhaps, after he remained a bit longer to make sure she’d fallen, not into the deep stupor of the brain-injured, but simply a normal healing slumber, he’d take himself off to his room.

  Before the temptation to rouse her overwhelmed him.

  But as he reached that decision, she stirred again and awoke. After a dazed moment, her eyes focused on him—and she smiled.

  His heart swelling with gladness, Ned felt himself smiling back. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Better. Much better, now that you are here.’

  Savouring her words, without conscious thought, Ned took her hand. A mingling of grief, anger and pain shook him as he looked at the cuts and bruises on her knuckles.

  ‘I’m so sorry you were hurt,’ he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her fingers. ‘Barksdale will pay for it, the blackguard.’

  ‘He’s in gaol, then?’

  ‘Safely locked away—and glad to be there, I think. I believe he realises that without its protection, some of the tenants might try to make off with him—and that would be the last anyone ever saw of one Nate Barksdale.’

  ‘Better to let the law he abused punish him. And speaking of punishment, how are you? You must have nearly as many bruises as I do—and I fear I scratched you when—’ she halted suddenly, swallowing hard, tears trembling on her lashes ‘—wh-when you pulled me free.’

  She squeezed the fingers that held hers. ‘Thank you for coming to rescue me. If you hadn’t arrived just at the moment you did, he would have pulled me back inside. I might even at this minute be with him on the road to London, forced at knife or pistol point to…to do his bidding.’