A Mistress for Penndrake

by Tammy L. Bailey

  Humiliated, she’d limped back to the house, only to learn the fate of her future.

  The white-haired doctor, two towns away, had given her mother something for the swelling and pain and expressed to her parents emphatically, “For her own safety, she is to never play anything that requires coordination again.”

  “But…what about dancing?” her mother had asked in a frantic voice. “She needs to know how to dance.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “Go!” Jonathan yelled, spurring Kate into the present and sprinting in a sideways rush away from her. She stood stunned for a moment, horrified at the group of taggers descending upon her at a mad rush.

  “Run,” Jonathan shouted. Her forehead soaking with sweat, Kate picked up her skirts and scurried after him.

  “We need to get to the oak tree,” he directed, not one bit out of breath.

  With the wind at her back, Kate dashed to the destination point, a bubble of laughter and a rush of adrenaline beginning to course through her.

  Like a huntsman, she focused on the large oak tree ahead. Fifty feet, then forty, then thirty.

  Almost there, she cheered to herself while concentrating on keeping her feet from coming in contact with each other.

  The determined crowd closed in as she stretched her legs out as wide as her day dress would allow. She pumped her arms, her body aching from their lack of permissible exercise.

  “Run faster, Miss Holden! Lord Wesley is right behind you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Lord Wesley?” Kate tossed her head back, the hair she’d spent pinning up this morning threatening to spill out at any moment. No, I can’t let him get me, she thought frantically.

  His jacket shed, his white sleeves exposed, he ran at a somewhat leisurely pace, his steps still sounding loud and threatening. Her heart pounded hard, more from the thought of being caught than from her labor.

  Desperate to touch the tree, she extended her arm and stepped out farther than she thought safe. Frantic, her fingertips scraped across the rippled bark.

  “Home.” She gasped, the word coming out in a whoosh as Lord Wesley’s capable arms wrapped around her waist to draw her against his front.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispered, causing a thrilling shiver to run down her spine.

  “No, no, no!” Jonathan yelled, his springy legs jumping up and down, excitement shaking in his little voice. “She’s safe. She touched the tree. I saw her.”

  Kate twisted around, her gaze falling on Lord Wesley, unsure how he’d handle being beaten, especially by a woman and in front of so many witnesses. The twinkle in his eyes said he didn’t seem to care. Her stomach lifted and fluttered, enjoying this carefree side of him.

  He let go of her, placing her to his side, yet close enough for her to still feel the heat radiating from his exerted body.

  With his hands placed firmly on his hips, he said in an authoritative tone, “I am certain this lady, though quite fetching and rather agile, did not beat me to this tree.”

  Jonathan, unaware of Lord Wesley’s lightheartedness, continued to argue about what he saw. “She did, my lord. She did. Look in her hand and see.”

  The crowd appeared to triple in size, wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, gathering to discover what they’d missed.

  As if an actor on a stage, the marquess twisted around and thrust his finger into the air.

  “Since I am certain I am right, I say, if this lady holds any evidence to reaching the tree first, then I shall repair every roof of every house in the village. If she does not, then every man who stands here today owes me two pounds.”

  Kate squeezed her hands into tight fists. What was Lord Wesley doing? No nobility gambled his labor, especially when he knew he’d lost.

  Both baffled and intrigued, she could only stare. His gaze bore into hers until he nodded, unnoticed to anyone but her.

  “Show us, my lady, what you hold in your palm.”

  With her gaze never leaving his, Kate brought her hand up and slowly opened her fingers, showing to everyone who’d drawn close to see, a chunk of crumpled tree bark.

  The congregation erupted into merriment and relief. Jonathan, upon seeing his father, ran to him to report, in breathless detail, the last five minutes.

  As the celebratory gathering dispersed, Kate glanced up at Lord Wesley, taken aback by what he’d done.

  “How did you know I held the bark?”

  Lord Wesley shrugged and smirked. “I wasn’t that far behind you.”

  She smiled and then asked him another question. “Why?” her voice barely above a whisper this time.

  His arched eyebrows pinched together under wisps of damp, raven hair. He inhaled deeply and set his feet apart before speaking.

  “For one, I’m the son of a gambler. It’s in my blood.” He lifted his right hand to spread across his chest. “And second, my father left this place in ruins. It is my responsibility to set things right.”

  She followed his critical gaze. For the first time, she noticed the run-down dwellings. Threadbare thatched roofs lay above Tudor houses, the stone structures riddled with cracks as wide as her arm and longer than a horseman’s whip.

  What little she knew regarding carpentry, common sense told her the villagers needed more than what they earned to fix their problems. They needed a lord who cared.

  “I had to do something. These people, these farmers, are my responsibility. I cannot afford for them to leave. If they do, so do I.” He sucked the air into his lungs, seeming to recall something so unpleasant it took his breath away. “I will not give up what is rightfully mine.”

  A blanket of fierceness overtook him, so swift Kate retreated half a step back. She wanted to ask about the room she’d found at Penndrake. The room that was so far in disrepair, she wondered if she’d dreamed the entire place. Instead, however, she diverted her question to the current topic. “But why not hire people to repair the roofs and the stone?”

  The ferociousness of his features softened, the harshness disappearing as quick as a blink.

  “What? Do you not think these hands are capable of pounding a hammer?” He held out his hands, palms up, for her to see.

  She gazed at those hands, strong and powerful, soothing and seductive. How they’d spread across her midsection and caressed the nape of her neck on more than one occasion. Her body shivered from the memory, something she prayed he did not see.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said on an exhale. “You have demonstrated them to be quite capable indeed.”

  He straightened to her bold truthfulness. With his shoulders pulled back and his eyes flitting with understanding, she smiled.

  “We should return to the others.” His tone never wavered.

  She turned away, allowing enough distance between them to not draw attention. Around her, the villagers, some dressed in costumes, others in simple clothes that their income would allow, curtsied in respect, their grins even deeper than before.

  “Ah, Miss Holden, I hear my dear son has enlisted you as his lifelong tag partner.”

  Powerless not to, Kate dropped her gaze to Mrs. Bartram’s confinement, both fascinated and uncertain on what to say, if she should say anything at all.

  “I’m not due for another month,” the woman said, proceeding to massage the top of her belly with a gentle and loving stroke.

  “Have you…decided on any names?” Kate winced, unsure if she had asked an impermissible or awkward question. Perhaps it was less impertinent to ask after the health of the mother first.

  The vicar’s wife threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, it has been much fun playing around with names. I have my husband convinced I wish Theomena for a girl and Carlian for a boy.”

  Kate smiled. “Those are rather unusual names.”

  “Hmmm. However, I do tend to believe I’m carrying another boy, always kicking me and strong as an ox going about it, I dare say.”

  Kate joined the woman’s jovial mood until she witnessed
how Mrs. Bartram’s face twisted into an agonizing pose.

  “Are you well?” Kate asked, placing her hand on the woman’s belly and feeling a rather robust thump against her palm.

  “Oh!” Kate jerked her hand back, the thrill of such a moment, cascading over her. “Was that…his foot?” she asked.

  Mrs. Bartram patted her stomach and beamed. “Foot or hand or head, I can never tell these days. They seem to be all over the place.”

  Kate set her fingers to where the baby had kicked and tried to shake the maternal awakening inside her.

  “Oh, there you are, wife. His lordship was kind enough to secure a blanket so that we may dine.”

  Sensing Lord Wesley’s presence, Kate threw her arms down to her side and tried to quell the anxiousness at seeing him again.

  “Shall we?” he asked, close to Kate’s ear, the murmur spurring a rush of forbidden pleasure. She nodded, unable to voice anything but an embarrassing whimper.

  To her surprise, Jonathan scampered to her vacant side, his little hand curling inside hers, so small and unpretentious. She lost her footing and stumbled.

  Lord Wesley caught her, apologizing for, perhaps traveling too fast across the green.

  “Truly, it is not your fault, my lord.”

  He smiled down at her before lifting his head to divert his attention to a man in a jester costume juggling fruit.

  “Have you seen my cousin?” she thought to ask after it dawned on her how Deidra had been missing since they arrived.

  Lord Wesley nodded toward the central water fountain. “It appears your cousin has found an acquaintance among the merriment.”

  It took Kate no less than a second to recognize the handsome face of Mr. Darlington. “Oh.” It took her even less to wonder if his sister stood nearby.

  “Lord Wesley!”

  Oh bother.

  Miss Vivian appeared in a low-cut gold-and-beige gown and was escorted by a pretty lady in a simple olive green dress. Their attire left little doubt of who was the maid and who was the servant.

  “Miss Vivian,” Lord Wesley said as he bowed, his tone pleasant but cautious. “You do remember Miss Holden?”

  The woman lowered her gaze over Kate before snapping her head back to smile at his lordship. “Yes, but I came to ask if you’d care to join me for a round of croquet.”

  Too rude to decline her offer, Lord Wesley sent Miss Vivian a curt nod. “One game.”

  She giggled, accepted his arm, and walked to the grassy area where the game was already set up to play. He glanced back once, however, Kate feigned indifference by bending down and pretending to fix the lace on her boot.

  At least he left her with the Bartrams. With them, the time slid along at a fantastical pace with heartwarming laughter and quiet acceptance.

  “So, would it be impolite for me to ask how you and his lordship met, Miss Holden?”

  Kate dipped her chin to her chest, unsure if any part of their time together was innocent enough to tell the wife of a vicar.

  “I believe she was chasing after a hat.”

  Kate’s heart leaped into her throat, not expecting to see Lord Wesley for the rest of the day.

  “May I?” he asked, pointing to where Mrs. Bartram and she sat on a quilt under a shady oak tree.

  “Of course, my lord,” Mrs. Bartram said, pointing to a place close to Kate. “There is plenty of room beside Miss Holden.”

  He grinned and sank down, reaching over Kate to grasp an apple from the basket the Bartrams brought with them. He smelled like warmed spice, and Kate wondered if Miss Vivian had noticed the same thing. Did she, during their innocent game of croquet, whisper her intentions of one day becoming the mistress of Penndrake?

  “You’re awfully quiet, madam.”

  Kate thought for a moment. “Forgive me. I was thinking.”

  “Of what?” His question was stern.

  Kate’s mouth hung open. Should she tell the truth or make up some lie to keep him from believing she cared whom he married? “Did you have a pleasant time with Miss Vivian?”

  One side of his mouth quirked upward, and she knew he’d read her mind. “The lady has the aim of a bat in the middle of the day, so no.”

  Mrs. Bartram laughed before injecting her opinion. “You are one of the most critical men I know, my lord. Surely, you enjoyed her company?”

  He bobbed his head before answering. “Oh yes. There was a definite highlight of the afternoon.”

  Kate’s stomach flipped upside down. To hear he enjoyed that woman’s company over hers sent her into emotional turmoil.

  “What is that Lord Wesley?” Miss Bartram prodded.

  “Seeing her get chased by a bee.”

  Kate smacked her hand over her mouth to keep from bursting out with laughter and relief. Lord Wesley sent her a coy smile. The rest of the late afternoon and early evening was a joyous blur. She knew it couldn’t last long.

  “It has been a delight meeting you, Miss Holden,” Mrs. Bartram said, setting her hand on Kate’s arm. “Oh, you must bring her back to town very soon.”

  “We shall see,” Lord Wesley said, his comment indifferent, as if he’d slid back into his apathetic character. Unable to turn off her feelings like he so easily did, her heart wrenched with disappointment.

  “Your friends are lovely,” Kate said after deliberating too long. With Deidra asleep and resting her head on Kate’s shoulder, the carriage rolled on, the crunching of a dirt road filling the silence between them. She waited as he contemplated how much information to give up about his close acquaintances.

  “At eighteen, I was disillusioned to believe every place was like Penndrake, safe and beautiful. Unfortunately, I learned all too quickly that gambling fostered the most ruthless of characters, willing to kill first and take later.”

  Kate lifted her hand to her lips, unsure why Lord Wesley was telling something so intimate.

  “Bartram saved my life, and I owe him until the day I die. He is a good man who wants to save the world from sin, rescuing souls just as he rescued me,” he continued.

  “Then I am very grateful for Mr. Bartram,” Kate said.

  Lord Wesley narrowed his gaze, staring for a long moment, without blinking, without saying a word. Then he shook his head as if to clear a thought he cared not to share.

  “Yes, we all are. He sees the good in everyone and believes all of us can earn our way into heaven.” Lord Wesley then lifted an arched eyebrow and spoke in a quieter tone. “What do you think, Miss Holden? Does heaven hold a place for me?”

  “I…” Had she not called the man the devil himself, not so long ago?

  The carriage shifted and so did Deidra. She snored like a child, and Kate knew her cousin would be impossible to awake once they made it back to Penndrake. For now, in the darkening space, Lord Wesley’s silhouette, strong and assured, shifted closer to her. She flattened her back against the leather seat, unsure of what she wanted to happen next.

  “I asked, do you think my soul is worth saving?”

  His warm breath fell across her lips.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  The carriage turned right, permitting the moonlight to pour through the open window. His face, rugged and grave, tore into her very soul.

  Her hand, shaky and timid lifted to his cheek. His skin, a little stubbly from a day’s worth of growth, pricked her palm.

  “I can see the good in you.”

  As if her words stabbed at him, he jerked back and landed firmly against the seat opposite her.

  “Do be careful, Miss Holden. When you’re not looking, I may choose to take you down with me.”

  Rattled by his words or maybe a mere confession, Kate sat silent the rest of the way to Penndrake. His warning echoed like a gunshot past her temple, jolting her resolve to believe anything different from what he professed.

  He carried a sleeping Deidra into the great hall and gave her to a ready footman with instructions to take her to her room, escorted, of course.

  D
ownstairs, neither he nor Kate exchanged a word or a glance until confronted by the Garretts and Mr. Rourke outside the drawing room.

  “Kathryn Holden! Where on earth have you been?” This came from her aunt, whose red face and shaking jaw showed a venomous fury.

  “The Autumn Festival, Aunt,” Kate answered matter-of-factly.

  Her aunt inhaled, loud and exaggerated. “I know quite well where you’ve been. But did it enter that little mind of yours to consider the consequences of being there, unescorted?”

  “Lady Sophia,” Lord Wesley spoke up, his teeth clamped down, his jaw locked. Kate always wondered how a person managed a coherent word with such physical animosity. In his case, however, there remained no doubt of what he said or the emphatic way of how he said it.

  “If you remember, your daughter was there. As well, Miss Holden remained in the company of Reverend Bartram and his wife the entire time. Her virtue is safe, I assure you.”

  “Well, I…never intended to insinuate…”

  Kate jumped as Lord Wesley placed a secretive and possessive hand upon her back.

  “Of course you didn’t,” he said to Lady Sophia.

  Everyone present, including Arthur Rourke, shifted their gazes from one to the other. After a long moment, Arthur cleared his throat and stepped out of the circle toward Kate.

  “I was so looking forward to sharing the day with you, Miss Holden.”

  Kate sent him a tiring smile.

  “I thought about joining you,” he continued, “but it took me quite some time to compose Miss Garrett after she saw the…mouse this morning.”

  Kate’s heart dropped to her belly as she sliced a glance at her cousin. Hidden by Arthur and two of her sisters, Claire stood in the background, her lips smashed shut, her eyes diverted to the ground, and her pretty face washed rouge with mortification.

  I say, if tonight Miss Garrett sneaks to my bedchamber and proves you wrong, you are indebted to me until I say you are not.