Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “Damned dog!” he shouted suddenly. He had turned,

  Hannah thought perhaps to kick Harold, but the dog had made a hasty retreat to the end of the hall and sat with his head hung low.

  “Henry!” Hannah admonished him, her eyes wide with shock at what she considered a minor offense on the part of Harold.

  “Damn it, Hannah! That dog will be the death of me,” Henry cursed again, his ire quite apparent.

  Reeling back at the shout as if she had been slapped across the face, Hannah stared back at her husband. He rarely called her ‘Hannah’—almost always said ‘my lady’ when he addressed her—and yet he cursed quite easily using her given name. She had to force herself not to breathe, not to allow the tears that suddenly pricked at the corners of her eyes to form into drops and stream down her face. “I’ll be certain he is never in your way again, my lord,” she hissed, before turning and making her way through the kitchen, grabbing the basket as she sailed through the back door. Despite her sudden anger, she felt a wave of relief when she realized Mrs. Chambers wasn’t in the kitchen but perched on a stool just outside the back door plucking feathers from a chicken.

  “Hannah!” Henry called after her, stunned at her rebuke. He dared a glance back at Harold and could swear the dog was shaking his head at him, as if to say he had made a big mistake and he’s better do whatever he could to set things right.

  Leaning up against the hall wall, he took two deep breaths before calmly making his way out the back door and to the stables. Hannah’s horse was already saddled; she was on the mounting block and placing her feet in the stirrups when he motioned for the stable boy to get his horse.

  “My lady,” he said as he rounded the mounting block and stood to one side of her horse’s head. “I wish to apologize and ask that you please forgive me for my outburst back there,” he said in a very quiet voice.

  Sitting as high as she could in the saddle, her attention on the basket she was positioning for the ride to the west irri­gation ditch, Hannah struggled to keep the tears at bay. She finally looked over at him, stunned to find that, even though she was mounted on a horse, he was nearly on level with her. Then she realized he had climbed one of the steps of the mounting block.

  “Oh, Henry,” she whispered, still struggling to keep the tears from forming. “You cursed me,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “I did not curse you, Hannah,” Henry replied, a bit too quickly. “I cursed the dog.” Even as he made the clarification, he remembered the dog shaking his head from side to side and wished he hadn’t just made the comment. Christ, was the dog becoming his conscience now? Hannah’s expression had not changed one iota. In fact, he was quite sure she was going to burst into tears.

  “That dog loves me, Henry. Until I bear a child, he is the only … being on this planet besides my father who does!”

  Hannah’s words were like a slap across Henry’s face. He stared at her, his brows furrowing in a combination of shock and shame. “I beg your forgiveness, Hannah,” he said in a very quiet, very controlled voice, his mouth mere inches from her ear. “I may love another, but …” He shook his head, his lips pressed together as if he feared what he might say. “I do feel … affection for you, my lady,” he whispered. Reaching over as far as he dared given his precarious perch on the mounting block, he kissed her on the cheek. “I thought of you to distraction whilst on this trip. I missed you terribly.”

  Hannah’s breath caught. She dared not look at him at that moment for fear she would become a watering pot and slide off the sidesaddle and into his arms. Given his precarious perch on the mounting block, she was sure they would go tumbling down onto the ground right in front of Mrs. Chambers.

  Then he would no doubt curse again.

  She would be in his arms, but she decided the display of affection wasn’t worth the aftermath.

  “I promise I will never again curse Harold. Nor you,” he whispered urgently. “Tell me … tell me what I can do to make it up to you,” he offered, the memory of Harold shaking his head at him suddenly in his mind’s eye. He watched as Han­nah seemed to give a great deal of thought to his offer, and he began to worry. Should I offer a diamond pendant? Or a necklace and matching earbobs set with sapphires? Perhaps he should have put a limit to what he was willing to do, what he was willing to spend …

  “Bed me, and only me, every night for another three weeks,” she whispered, aware that the stable boy had just brought Thunder out of the barn.

  Henry blinked. He blinked again, not quite sure he had heard his wife correctly. “You do realize that I don’t consider bedding you to be a form of … punishment?” he countered, his head shaking just a bit.

  Hannah’s gaze met his just then, and she bit her lower lip. If he was in her bed, then he wasn’t in Sarah’s. That’s all she could think of—that’s what she had thought of every day for the past week and would probably think for the next week, for she had only extracted a promise of two weeks from him that afternoon in the coach on the way to Gisborn Hall. And the longer she kept him out of Sarah’s bed, the more likely it was Sarah would have time to accept an offer of marriage and Henry would never be welcomed in her bed again. “Then, you agree?” she asked, her lower lip trembling just a bit.

  Blinking again, Henry leaned over and kissed her cheek. He had hurt her with the curse, he knew that. And he knew Harold was important to her. So he thought she was letting him off a bit too easily. What was he to do but agree? “God, yes,” he whispered. “I promise.” With that, he bounded down from the mounting block and quickly climbed onto Thunder, knowing she watched him as he did so. When he caught her gaze again, she was giving him a brilliant smile.

  “You minx!” he called out as he watched her take off toward the west, her bearing on the small horse making it very apparent she was a countess—my countess.

  Thunder closed the gap between them long before they reached the western border and the group of men who were shoveling to the rhythm of a work song. He drew his horse up next to Frank Coley’s mount as Hannah continued her ride to the group of men farthest away. He watched in awe as she dis­mounted and carried her basket to the rows of men, holding it out so each man could help himself to a biscuit. They bowed and smiled as if she was the single brightest spot of their day, returning to work with renewed vigor.

  “I have to admit, she knows what she’s doing,” Mr. Coley offered when Henry didn’t say anything by way of a greeting.

  Henry shook his head. “I assure you I was not happy about the situation when she first explained it to me,” he countered, hearing a new song break out amongst the workers that had taken biscuits. One man called out the words while the oth­ers repeated them back. He could make out something about ‘four o’clock’ and ‘biscuits’ and ‘the Countess of Gisborn’ and ‘the fairest in the land’, but not much else. Once each man had helped himself, Henry watched as Hannah made her way back to her horse. Two men had hurried up to her horse, one of them with his hands laced together to form a step while the other held onto the reins. When she was seated, the men bowed and hurried back to their shovels.

  “Christ! They love her,” Henry murmured, not quite sure how he felt about his wife garnering such attention from the group of laborers. He watched in silence as she made her way toward him, her basket again perched atop the pommel in front of her.

  “The way to a man’s heart,” Mr. Coley said with a shake of head. And then Hannah was there offering him one of the last biscuits before her mount cantered back around to Henry’s side. She held out the basket for him. One biscuit remained at the bottom.

  “Thank you, my lady,” he said as he dipped his head and helped himself to the biscuit. The thought of something to eat reminded him it had been far too long since his last meal at the inn in Stow. “May I inquire as to what’s for dinner this evening?” he wondered then, keeping his voice low enough so only Hannah could hear.

  A bit of panic flashed through Hannah. She didn’t know if dinner had been planned since
the earl wasn’t sure he would be back from his trip. But she remembered Mrs. Chambers plucking a chicken outside the back door as they had made their way to the stables. “We’re having chicken, my lord,” she answered, giving him a look that suggested all was well between the two of them.

  Henry’s eyes widened. “My favorite!” he replied happily.

  Hannah smile faltered. Didn’t he say that about every din­ner? She gave him a nod and then she was off again, surveying the east side of the trench for the entire distance back to the river before turning and cantering back toward the work crew. Henry watched as she stayed well away from the opening, her eyes taking in all that had been accomplished since she was last out there this morning. When she reached the end of the trench, she waved to the work crew and headed back over the fields to the stables.

  Henry watched her go, a bit of pride rising in his chest. Hannah was turning out to be the perfect countess, a good wife, and a very willing bed mate.

  He would have to send a note to Charlotte Bingham Wain­wright, the Duchess of Chichester, letting her know how happy he was with her recommendation.

  Chapter 17

  Nathan Plays Pirate

  “Come with me!” Nathan’s plaintive wail sounded again. “We can pretend our ship is moored at the dock and we’re loading new treasure!”

  Andrew rolled his eyes and glanced around his yard, his impatience with his best friend growing. Nathan had shown up more than ten minutes before, Harold at his heels, claiming it was time to go to the river. “I tell you, I can’t! My father wants me to help with stacking firewood. If I’m not here when he gets back, I’ll be feeling it on my backside for the next week!”

  The sky was almost cloudless, it had actually warmed up to be a comfortable spring day, his tutor had excused him early because he had to be in Bampton for a meeting, and Nathan had decided This Was The Day. His father had said he could go to the river as long as someone was with him. Andrew certainly counted as someone.

  “Well, how long will that take?” Nathan wondered, one hand going to his hip. He had seen his father strike a similar pose to great effect, although he had to admit, it was more effective on a body that wasn’t wearing short pants.

  Andrew waved to the wagon parked in the drive in front of the barn. It was loaded with cut wood that lay every which way. From the looks of it, Andrew and his father would be stacking wood until the dinner bell chimed.

  “Oh,” Nathan said dejectedly. “All right. Well, I’m going to my father’s then,” he said, making his way back to the road. Harold followed. The dog had taken to spending his days with Nathan, a constant companion as the boy attended his lessons with his tutor and played with Andrew until his mother’s call reminded him it was time for dinner.

  The two had made it to the edge of the Gisborn estate, just past the dowager house, when an idea began to form. Har­old was someone. He was, in fact, larger than most someones. And he was certainly willing and able to join Nathan on his quest to see the river. Taking a quick detour, Nathan headed for the path the workers had created while digging the east irrigation ditch. All he had to do was follow the path. It was a straight shot to the river. “Come on, Harold,” he urged the dog, who seemed to hesitate before finally relenting and following Nathan. “We’re going to the river!”

  Harold gave a quick ‘woof ’ and followed his master’s son.

  Nathan hadn’t expected the distance to the river to be so great. He could see the stand of trees that lined the fast-moving River Isis from where the path began. In what seemed like for­ever (but was probably only thirty minutes), Nathan and Har­old loped along until they were finally stepping up and over a hillock. At the top, Nathan yelped happily. Just below him, the river rushed over rocks and downed trees, the sound so loud he could barely hear himself shout. Harold let out a ‘woof ’ and made his way down to the river’s edge, his front paws sinking into the muddy banks as he dipped his head to the water. He was soon lapping up water as if he hadn’t had a drink all day. Which, Nathan realized belatedly, was probably the case.

  The boy followed the dog to the edge of the water, not pay­ing attention to the way his boots sank into the mud. He knelt next to the dog, dangling his hand into the freezing water. Shards of ice still clung to some of the downed trees, but water could be seen rushing beneath the translucent layers.

  Nathan was soon busy exploring the hollowed log that extended over part of the water, its branches keeping it sus­pended over the water where it ended in the middle of the river. Scrambling onto one of the roots, he climbed up and onto it until he was standing several feet above Harold. “I’m a pirate and this is my ship!” Nathan yelled out happily, his arms outstretched.

  Harold lifted his head from the water, his attention sud­denly on the boy. He barked and jumped forward, his paws landing in squishy mud.

  “I am the captain of this ship and you are my …” He strug­gled to think of what Harold could be on his ship. The dog was certainly too big to be his parrot. And he couldn’t talk. “My first mate! Aye, matey!” he called out in triumph. He turned and ran out onto the log, barely aware that his impul­sive behavior had Harold in fits. The dog bounded to the end of the log, his front paws lifting his body so he stood against the side of the log as he continued to bark at the boy. “Take the wheel while I check out the gangplank !” Nathan cried, his face full of joy as he turned and spread his arms again.

  Harold stilled himself, watching the boy intently. Nathan stared back at him, his face turning serious. “Bad dog,” he said suddenly. “You’re supposed to take the wheel and keep my ship from the enemy.” And then Nathan turned and, holding his arms out on either side of his body, began to walk farther out onto the log. Water rushed below the rotting trunk, its force causing the log to waver and shift beneath him. Nathan continued to hoot and holler in delight as he made his way to where a branch stuck straight up out of the log. “The mast is in danger of breaking,” he called out, his hand grasping the branch as he attempted to step around its base.

  The sudden change in his weight on the log caused the entire tree to twist, and within seconds, it had shifted so Nathan was suspended over the frigid water, one hand still gripping the branch while the other flailed in the air. Neither of his feet could reach the log. “The mast has broken, matey!” he yelled, his voice still indicating joy.

  But the emotion was quickly replaced with horror as he realized what was beneath him.

  “Harold!” he called out. “Help!” He managed to get his other hand up and around the branch so that he hung sus­pended over the fast-moving water. “Help! Father!” he called out, the sound of his voice swallowed up by the roar of the rushing water.

  Harold pushed off of the log and bounded into the water, his massive body well above the surface of the water for several steps. He stood staring at Nathan for a few seconds, as if he were wondering if he should head into the water. Nathan let out a cry of pure panic as one hand lost its grip on the branch. Harold surged into the current, swimming with giant, lurch­ing motions until he was under the boy.

  “Help!” Nathan cried out one more time before he lost his hold completely and fell into the bracing water. The air rushed out of his lungs at the impact with the cold water. The last thing he heard before he was covered by the icy blanket was Harold barking.

  Harold’s mouth clamped onto Nathan’s coat and held tight as he tried to negotiate the swift current. Paddling with all his might, he found solid ground, but not before they had trav­eled some distance from the downed tree, and only because the current had slowed due to another series of fallen trees. It was in the eddy created by that dam that Harold was able to swim to the edge of the water and pull Nathan’s body to the edge. Panting as he grasped the boy’s coat sleeve with his teeth, Harold tugged until the boy was entirely out of the water. When Nathan didn’t respond to his inquisitive nose nor his tongue, Harold stood over him and barked. He pulled at the boy’s soaked clothing, pulling him farther onto the muddy bank, b
arking between pants. Still, Nathan lay prone and unresponsive.

  Harold hurried up the bank, through the trees and over the hillock that fronted the river, racing through the newly plowed field toward Gisborn Hall. In the late afternoon light, his body might have appeared as a large rabbit as he hopped the furrows, his barks unheard by anyone near the house. Too old to keep up the pace, he lessened his run, panting hard as he finally made it to the stables.

  His mistress was greeting the earl. Billy had just taken the reins of his horse and was leading it to the stables when Harold increased his pace and lunged toward the couple.

  “What brings you out here at this time of the day?” Henry asked as he joined Hannah where she stood near the stables.

  “You, of course,” she answered with an embarrassed grin. A pink flush was blooming on her face. “I was hoping you might join me for tea.”

  “Woof!”

  The earl turned in the direction of the sound he had just heard. “An invitation I am most willing to accept, my lady,” he answered, his brows furrowing.

  Noticing his concern, Hannah turned in the direction of the sound to see her dog limping toward them. “Harold?” she spoke, her voice registering alarm.

  Harold hurried to Henry. He barked and then jumped in the direction from whence he came. “What is it?” Henry asked Hannah.

  Hannah crossed her arms. “It’s not time to play, Harold,” she admonished the dog, recognizing the familiar advance and dodge technique he used when he wanted to play. After what had happened the last time Harold annoyed Henry, Han­nah wanted to ensure her dog never again bothered the earl.

  Harold stood and barked several times. He ran up to Henry and nipped at his boot. Then he ran off in the opposite direction.

  “Harold MacDuff!” Hannah cried out, startled at her dog’s behavior.

  “Damned dog!” Henry said under his breath as he held out his boot, careful to be sure Hannah couldn’t hear him curse the dog. There was no sign of damage, but the dog had clearly gotten his teeth around most of it. Harold turned around and ran in circles, barking incessantly.