Rock Hard Baby Daddy: A Billionaire Cowboy Romance

by Rye Hart

  There was a pause and then Tyler emitted a laugh. It was a short, dry rasp of humor, as if he had not found anything to laugh about in a very long time. “That’s a prayer I’ll render,” Tyler said. “Though I don’t know as the vicar would share it with me.”

  They were deep in a discussion of the damnation of the French when Laverly heard the approach of steps. “Grandfather, I didn’t know you had visitors.”

  “Will, lad, His Lordship has been meeting his tenants now that he’s back home. Your Lordship, this be Will Pargetter.”

  “Harold tells me you were wounded at Salamanca,” Laverly said. “Good fighting there.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “We left thousands of them dead,” Laverly said.

  “Damnation to them all,” Tyler spoke up.

  “A worthy toast,” Laverly said, “now that we’ve gone from praying to toasting.”

  Tyler laughed again, the sound a little less like a rusty hinge this time.

  “I was wounded at Waterloo,” Laverly said.

  “Wellington,” the boy said as if he were repeating an incantation. “He carried the day.”

  “He did indeed. Harold and your grandfather tell me that you’re a fine man with horses.”

  “I was, sir,” the boy said.

  “Yes, before your wound. I understand that you still have the skills, and I’m in need of someone. My stables don’t exist at the moment, but I shall need to buy horses and I’ll need someone to tend them. Are you up for the job?”

  “Sir, I haven’t been on a horse in a long time,” Will said honestly. It was plain, from the tone of his voice, that he regretted the truth. “I do believe that I could still tend them and keep them for Your Lordship, but my racing days are done.”

  “I had no intention of asking you to race,” Laverly said.

  Tyler began to laugh and Harold took it up. The boy laughed to be polite, but said nothing, as if he did not share their humor.

  “He’s asking you to work, boy, not to frolic about with his horses,” Tyler bawled. “Now what’s with you? Are you going to do what you’re nature-bound to do or are you going to carry on in the fields, where you don’t want to be?”

  After a brief moment of though, Will answered. “I’d like to try it, sir.”

  “You’ll do more than try, boy,” Tyler said. “You’ll be the best stable hand His Lordship has ever had the pleasure to have known, or I’ll disown you.”

  Laverly could tell that, despite the rough words, Tyler’s feeling for his grandson was clearly one of affection and pride. Perhaps his anger was for the war that had robbed the boy of his leg and his livelihood. Laverly wasn’t sure of the boy’s age: old enough to have served in war but young enough to respect his grandfather’s authority. So Laverly offered the terms and wages to Will while his grandfather was there to speak up if he chose to.

  “When can you start?” Laverly asked.

  “He can start right now. Harvest is in, he was just clearing and he can do that on his half-day,” Tyler answered for him.

  “Grandfather, are you sure?”

  The chair creaked as Tyler rose. “Sure? Of what? I can manage my own crops, I reckon. I’ve just been idle because you’ve needed something to do. Best tell your ma first; she’s still at the Knollys girl’s. You’ll not be calling there, Your Lordship, unless you want to get in the way of a passel of women going about a woman’s business.”

  “I appreciate the warning. Will, I will expect you tomorrow morning,” Dennison said.

  “Aye sir, I’ll be there. What time?”

  What time indeed. He had no idea. “There are no horses in the stables at present, but there’s a lot of work to be done before I can purchase any. The former servants were, I regret, ill-suited for the work. The stalls haven’t been cleaned since horses were last stabled.”

  “I’ll tend to it, sir, early tomorrow morning.”

  “Excellent,” Laverly said, standing up. “Will, I look forward to having you in my service. Mr. Tyler, no doubt we shall again share another one of our theological discussions on the French.”

  Tyler chuckled. “You’re welcome to worship with me any time, m’lord.”

  “I’d offer to raise a toast to the burning in hell of the French, but the miscreants who left the Hall in such piteous shape helped themselves to my wine cellar.”

  “Bloody sots,” Tyler said with feeling. “They ought to be stretched for that.”

  “Do you know anything about them?” Laverly asked. “They seem to have taken over the Hall after Her Ladyship died. It’s very peculiar. I don’t believe my father ever had trouble with the servants.”

  “Sir, I did hear that after Her Ladyship died, a new man showed up to help, so he said,” Will said. “Talk was that he was a rough sort; people in the village were fearful of him. He had mates who showed up, and folk did say that they were staying in the Hall. But no one knew for sure and there was no one to ask. Finally Hy Bartram went up with some of the lads and I reckon they scared off the lot.”

  “I owe Bartram my thanks.”

  “He’s in the forest most days, now that winter is coming upon us, chopping firewood for the widows. If you’re going to call upon the tenants, you’ll not find him inside on days when he can be outside working,” Harold said.

  “Good of him.”

  “Hy is a good man,” Harold said. “There’s many a widow and old grandmother who would have a cold winter if not for him.”

  “Aye,” Tyler spoke up. Laverly doubted if Tyler offered praise often; that he did so for Bartram indicated that the man deserved it. Laverly had the feeling, as he and Harold left, that perhaps the old man’s opinion of him might have reformed a bit during the conversation. Laverly wondered what his father had thought of Tyler and how the two of them had gotten on. He also wondered if his father would have been pleased to see his son and the tenant in conversation. Not that, as the Duke, Laverly was obliged to get along with the tenants, particularly a cranky one, but his father had been respected by men such as Tyler. Laverly realized that this was not necessarily a given in village life.

  Chapter Four

  Harold thought that they had time for one more call before returning to the Hall where lunch would be waiting for them. But before they arrived at the next residence, he pulled the wagon to the side of the path.

  “Why have we stopped?”

  “Our next call. I want to explain-“ Harold sounded ill at ease. “Sir, I think you should meet Bella Dart.”

  “Is she a tenant?”

  “She lives with her father; he’s your tenant.”

  “Then we’ll meet them both,” Laverly said.

  “Aye, but I wanted to let you know first that Bella is someone who could help you.”

  “As a cook? Parlor maid?”

  “No, sir,” Harold said, unsure of how to continue.

  “Out with it man,” Laverly ordered, wondering if Bella were the village strumpet and Harold thought he was in need of her services. “What of this paragon? Is she indeed bella?”

  Harold didn’t know Italian. “She were born Isabella,” he explained.

  It was pointless to explain. Laverly’s good mood of earlier had faded and he was tired of tenants and chatter. He wanted to return to the Hall where he’d enjoy lunch, courtesy of Lucy, and a glass of something that Harold assured him they’d brought with them. Perhaps many glasses, or at least enough to deliver him into blissful oblivion.

  “Her father went blind,” Harold said. “Had a fever and of a sudden, he couldn’t see. Bella helped him.”

  “Are you suggesting that I may become less blind because of the ministrations of a woman who went to her father’s aid when he lost his sight?” Laverly demanded. Harold was being presumptuous, forgetting that he was not a doctor nor an advisor, and certainly not an equal offering advice. He was an innkeeper providing a service, no more.

  “Sir, I mean no harm, but she’s a clever girl and she helped her father. Now he rides and f
arms and does what he did before. Not everything, no, and not the same, but he’s---“

  “How can he possibly ride?” Laverly demanded. “He’s gammoning you. He’s feigning blindness. I tell you, I’m an officer, or I was, and I was used to be accounted a fair whip, but I haven’t been on the back of a horse since. It’s simply not possible.”

  “Bella trained the horse for him. The horse is gentle. No, won’t be riding at Newmarket, but he can get around in the village because the horse knows the way. And he’s learned to do things he didn’t think he could do. He plants his crops, sir. With help, there’s no lie to it. But he’s not feeling like he can’t do what he needs to. He says he’s learned to do without his eyes, sir.”

  “How the devil can anyone do without his eyes? If I hadn’t a title and my lands, I’d be begging in the street to earn my bread.”

  “All I’m tryin’ to say, sir, is that Bella could help, I know she could. You’re still young and the estate needs a Laverly to run things.

  It was no use saying that this particular Laverly was of no use to anyone and that as soon as he could manage it, he intended to drink himself into a death comprised of Madeira, port, and ale.

  “I don’t need some chit of a girl to tell me how I can be a gentleman again. Harold, I appreciate greatly what you and your family are doing for me but no one can give me back my sight. And my sight is all I want. You cannot possibly understand what hell this is, Harold, you simply cannot.”

  “That’s why I thought of Bella. She can understand.”

  It was foolish to argue with Harold, who clearly had his mind made up. “We’ll call upon her and her father because they are my tenants,” Laverly decided. “That’s the extent of it.”

  A mile or so down the road, Harold turned the wagon in to a trim little cottage that, although it was November, still boasted flowers blooming along the walls. “The Darts keep everything looking nice, sir,” Harold said. “Bella has a hand for it, and she learned from her father; he looked after Her Ladyship’s gardens before the fever took his sight.”

  Her gardens had been a point of pride for his mother, Laverly remembered. The house was always brightened with bowls of them when he was growing up. “If he’s so skilled, why doesn’t he do so again,” Laverly asked acidly.

  “I reckon he would if someone gave permission,” Harold said quietly. “My boys will be clearing away the weeds and overgrowth. Come spring, if you want flowers, Larkin Dart is the one to go to.”

  Dennison sat back for a moment before letting out a sigh. “My apologies,” Laverly said. “I had no cause to be insolent to you.”

  “Didn’t sound like insolence, Your Lordship. Sounded like a man who’s had enough of his life for one day.”

  For a lifetime, Laverly thought, saying nothing.

  A man was standing by his cottage when they pulled in. “I thought I heard horses,” he called. “Who’s there?”

  “Harold Griffin. His Lordship has been calling on his tenants, now that he’s home from the war.”

  “Your Lordship,” Dart said. “Welcome. Will you come in?”

  Dart, a spare man with thick dark hair liberally sprinkled with white, was well known to Harold, who had descended from the wagon to assist Laverly. Laverly, impatient to get the visit out of the way, stepped out of the wagon as he had at the previous cottage and jumped down. But the wagon had come to rest on a sloped part of ground that did not support Laverly as he descended. Laverly felt himself fall, heard Harold’s shout, and was sprawled in the dirt before he could grab onto the sides of the wagon.

  “Here, sir, lean on my shoulder and we’ll get you up in a trice.”

  Laverly felt Harold’s presence on his right, but he was confused. There was another man on his left. He felt a lean hand grip his shoulder, and the next thing he knew, the voice that belonged to Larkin Dart said, “On three, Harold?” and Laverly felt himself lifted to his feet.

  “How did you do that?” he demanded.

  “Do what, Your Lordship?”

  “Know how to support me and how to raise me up? I was told you are blind.”

  “So I am. But I’m not crippled nor deaf,” said Dart in a tranquil voice that robbed his words of any sting.

  “I couldn’t do what you just did. If someone falls, he’ll have to scramble to his feet; I can be of no assistance.”

  “Sir, that’s simply not so,” Dart answered him.

  “How did you do it?” Dennison asked again, eager to know the man’s secret.

  “What are you out here chattering away for when I’ve got—oh, beg pardon, I didn’t know,” the female voice, lively and amused, faded away to silence.

  “Bella, my dear, this is His Lordship, the Duke, home from the wars. We’re coming inside for some of that tasty walnut cake of yours and some ale, if His Lordship will honor us?”

  “I’d honor Lucifer himself with my presence if he could tell me how to do what you’ve done,” Laverly said. “I am blind.” He said this bitterly, angrily, tossing the three words out from his lips as if he were spitting out an offensive taste.

  “Come inside,” Dart said. “Bella can explain more than I can. I owe what I am to her.”

  “Perhaps to my walnut cake,” Bella murmured in a resonant voice that carried well while still managing to sound as if it were confiding wonderful secrets. Laverly wondered what she looked like; she sounded rather fetching. Not a well-bred beauty, certainly; she was a country girl who baked cakes and tended to flowers, not someone he would have flirted with at Almack’s. But there was spirit there. He’d always liked spirit in his women; he’d liked it as much as beauty and wit. Not that it mattered much He could like as much as he wanted, but a blind man, even a Duke, was not a prize on the marriage market.

  The cottage smelled of lavender. He could see nothing, but he had a sense of hominess. He suspected that Miss Bella Dart was a vigorous housekeeper, despite that casual speech pattern that invoked mirth and tranquility.

  They sat down at the table. Laverly could hear Bella as she moved about the room, pouring ale and cutting slices of cake.

  “I used to be a schoolmaster,” Dart began. “My wife, my children and I formerly lived in Scotland. But I developed a lung complaint and we thought it best to move back here to where my wife was from and where she had family that could help her if something happened to me. Unfortunately, my wife fell ill and died seven years ago, when Bella was just a young girl.”

  “As opposed to the decrepit crone I am now,” Bella called out from across the room.

  There was a smile in Dart’s voice. “As opposed to the strong-minded young lass you are now,” he corrected, then went on with his tale. “I came down with a fever three years ago, in the spring. When the fever was gone, so was my eyesight.”

  “Doubtless you have some bit of it remaining? Perhaps you can discern shapes or the outlines of forms, light and dark, that sort of thing,” Laverly asserted.

  “No,” Dart said simply. “Nothing. When I came round and realized that my sight was gone, I felt ruined. I couldn’t see anything. All that I knew, all that anyone knows, is based upon what we see. Things that we don’t even realize. The look of the flowers that come up in the spring, time was, I could tell the time of year by what was blooming in my wife’s garden. The clouds that foretell rain, the expressions on people’s faces. Our eyes are our books to life, sir, and speaking as one who loved his books in another time, I was bitter. I had left a profession that I loved because of my health. To have my eyesight robbed from me because of a fever seemed as if God were using me for a roll of the dice. I do not pretend that I took this change with the accepting spirit of a righteous Christian.”

  “Quite understandable,” Laverly agreed.

  He heard the sound of food being placed in front of him; the clatter of the plate as it met the table, the sloshing of the ale in the glass as it joined its companion.

  “Thank you, Bella,” said Harold.

  “You’re welcome, Harold. Tell
me what you think. I let father do a bit of seasoning on a whim and I think it tastes rather better for our notions. Can you guess what’s in it?”

  As an innkeeper, Harold was well used to the diverse ingredients that made up a menu. “Flour and sugar and walnuts,” he said promptly.

  Bella laughed. “You’d have known that before tasting it. Milk, too, and eggs. But what else? My lord, have you any idea?”

  “It’s very good,” Laverly said. It was indeed tasty. The cake was dense and flavorful, with the walnuts giving it an appealing texture.

  “Can you not guess what else I put in it?”

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Dart, but I am not accounted a cook, rather an appreciator of the cook’s offerings, and I appreciate this.”

  “Cinnamon,” Harold guessed.

  “No,” she replied, laughing.

  “Bella, I doubt if they are acquainted with your experiments. You must divulge.”

  “Very well. I soaked the walnuts in maple syrup. Then my father added nutmeg to the batter before I baked the cake. He added just the right measure to mix with the nuts.”

  “Very tasty,” Laverly conceded.

  “Not all of our experiments have been so successful,” Dart chuckled. “But we’ll spare you our mishaps. When Bella first decided that she would not leave me to be a miserable, cantankerous wallower in self-pity, she determined that I would simply have to use my other senses to make up for what I no longer had in sight.”

  “A premise more easily adopted by one who has not lost her sight,” said Laverly.

  “Oh, but you don’t know my Bella. She covered her eyes with a handkerchief to discover what I could no longer see. She determined the structure of the house and the placement of the furniture. We spent a solid week bumping into one another. She did no cooking; we only ate what we could eat cold. When she had contrived to understand the inside of the house, she went outside, tumbling into the dirt as often as not. But when she was finished with her experiment, she had devised a way to teach me to see with my other senses.”

  “Most ingenious,” Laverly said in neutral tones. It sounded preposterous to him.