British Brides Collection

by Hake, Kelly Eileen

  “I see. So you traveled from Spain by invitation to become a companion to your cousin?”

  “Yes. Three years ago.” Her shoulders wilted. “Oh, but why do I tell you this? Marian is right to say I’m gauche.”

  “Nonsense. I see nothing amiss in your manner, but then, having lived in India for six years, I’m accustomed to a more straightforward approach in conversation than that which is employed here in England.”

  “Then you were with the marquis? You are his valet?”

  Edward hesitated. “Yes, I was with him. And now, dear lady, I have matters to which I must attend. Fear not; I shall keep your family secret. Nor will I reveal your little masquerade.” He chuckled, thinking how her predicament mirrored his own trial to a degree. “Indeed, I believe the Dowager Viscountess is correct. You should be treated as a lady. And so, I hope you’ll not deny me the pleasure of addressing you as such during the remainder of your stay.” He stopped short of taking her hand, instead giving her a deferential nod. “If there’s any way in which I can be of service, anything you require, you have only to ask.”

  “I’m already indebted to you, sir.”

  “Edward, please. And it would be my pleasure.”

  “Edward, then.”

  The image of her smile stayed with him long after he entered the marquis’ chambers.

  Chapter 5

  The ten-course evening meal proved to be a formal affair. Served à la russe with footmen in constant but discreet attendance at the guest’s elbows, everyone was given their choice of whatever dish was at hand.

  On Letitia’s right, a rotund man with a mole dotting his nose spoke with a French accent so thick Letitia struggled to understand him. Feigning interest, she nodded at times that seemed appropriate but had little idea what was said. To her left, a gentleman with a bulldog jaw seemed more interested in tippling his glass of claret and viewing the lovely flaxen-haired dinner guest across the table than in trying to partake of conversation, though he did manage a few amiable words. In between continual nods toward the talkative French count and a brief response on the rare occasions the other gentleman spoke, Letitia managed to swallow her serving of lamb cutlets and buttered asparagus with peas.

  Once dinner ended, the gentlemen left for the smoking room, the women for the drawing room. A piano sat near closed curtains. At the ladies’ urging, the duchess’s daughter, Lady Eleanor, went to it and claimed the seat. Letitia found a chair near the open door, which was removed from the others. While listening to Lady Eleanor play, she was alerted to the noise of men talking in the corridor.

  “His lordship requests our presence.” The low words came with swift contempt.

  “Now?” His companion sounded no happier. “Why now?”

  “Ours is not to question, but to obey. Has he not told us that often enough?”

  “Huh! Let him issue orders for the present. One day we shall exact vengeance.”

  The first man agreed, and Letitia heard their footsteps depart but could scarcely think.

  Those voices … she’d heard one of those men before. When he’d ordered her to hand over her jewels.

  Capturing a deep breath, she slipped out of her seat as quietly as her wide crinoline skirt would allow and hastened to the corridor—to find it empty.

  She pondered her dilemma. She must find Edward. He would know what to do.

  A servant stood in front of the doors to the men’s smoking chamber, and she moved toward him. “I must speak with Edward. Can you tell me where to find him?”

  The man’s snow-white brows hitched upward. “Edward, m’lady?”

  “The marquis’ servant.”

  He motioned with his white-gloved hand down the corridor’s left.

  “Thank you.” Letitia moved that direction, her hip again aching, and soon found herself faced with three scrolled doors. Two were closed, one stood ajar. She chose the latter.

  The room lay in darkness save for branched candelabra flickering on a table against an opposite wall. Birdsong lilted to her ears. A partition of the two-story outside wall had been removed and replaced with a hexagon of glass, against which a light rain pattered. Inside the aviary, trees grew to the ceiling, their trunks rail-thin. Lush foliage dotted with multicolored birds decorated the somber room with color. Flutterings of wings filled her ears as she exhaled in wonder and moved forward.

  “You dare mock me?” came a booming voice from a shadowed corner.

  Letitia spun in surprise. Her leg went out from beneath her. She grabbed the back of a curved settee to curb her fall. “Sir! You gave me a fright.” Her heart slowed its frantic pace. “Why should you accuse me of such a thing? I don’t even know you.”

  Her eyes now accustomed to the scant light, she noticed a bearded gentleman reclined in a wing chair, one leg outstretched and resting on a low stool. With his walking stick, he pointed to his bandaged foot. “Can you not see? Are you blind as well as impertinent?”

  “Are you always so rude?”

  “What?” he sputtered.

  Letitia drew herself up, despising the tears that threatened. With Marian, she’d resigned herself to take the abuse and not strike back. Otherwise, she might be sent home to Spain, which would surely cause her parents distress. Yet she refused to bear anyone else’s cruelty.

  “To answer your query, sir, I could not see when I first entered the room. But I assure you, I would never make sport of anyone with an infirmity.” Shaken, Letitia turned to make her escape but trembled so that she could barely walk.

  “Stay, girl,” he said gruffly. “I meant no harm. ’Tis this accursed gout that sharpens my tongue.” When Letitia made no move toward the settee, he barked, “Sit down, I say!”

  Although she wanted nothing more to do with the rude guest, she found herself doing as he said. Three years she’d been in servitude; following orders came naturally.

  He peered at her beneath thick winged brows. “You say you’re not mocking me, so I presume you’ve injured yourself in some manner?” When she didn’t answer, he bellowed, “Well, speak up! I know you’ve a tongue in your head.”

  Letitia dug her nails into her palms to prevent herself from responding in kind. “My limp is due to an affliction I suffered as a child.”

  “Indeed? And does your limb pain you? You walk with great difficulty.”

  “Only during foul weather or when I’ve walked overly much.”

  “How did you come by it?”

  His questions hinged on boorishness, but an air of authority cloaked him, making it impossible to deny his request. “When I was a child, I was given a horse by my uncle, one he no longer wanted. My father farms for him. In Spain.”

  She ignored his raised brow and continued. “It wasn’t an extraordinary horse by any means, but it was mine. One day, I raced her and tried to take a low fence but failed. My hip was injured due to my fall.”

  “I see,” he said thoughtfully, then grimaced as he shifted and jarred his foot. “You say you’re the daughter of a laborer. Yet you speak as one well educated.”

  Letitia thought about not answering his pointed statement but sensed he would bully it out of her if she remained silent. She chose to tell him as little as possible. “What my mamá did not teach me, I learned alongside my cousin.”

  “Indeed?” he raised his brows. “And your cousin is …?”

  “Lady Marian Ackers.”

  “Then your mother must be Lady Kathryn Bellamy.”

  “She was.”

  Further conversation halted as Edward entered the room. “I must speak with you … Your Grace.” His last words came vaguely when he caught sight of Letitia.

  Blood froze in her veins. If the color of her face could be seen in the dim lighting, it must be the cast of death. Your Grace? Oh, let the floor rip open and swallow her whole! The rude stranger with gout was the Duke of Steffordshire. Her host.

  Letitia opened her mouth but remained mute. Should she rise to her feet and attempt a curtsy, or should she apologize
for her former argumentative behavior?

  Edward seemed to discern the cause of her discomfort. His glance was sympathetic before he turned to the duke. “The marquis wishes to speak with you on a matter most urgent.”

  “Oh, he does, does he?” The duke gave Edward a measuring look. “Very well, you may inform my son that I shall see him presently. First I wish you to assist this young woman to her room. Have one of the servants give her something for the pain. Perhaps some of that laudanum the physician left on one of his infernal visits.”

  Edward swung his gaze to Letitia. “You’re injured?”

  “No. Please, Y–your Grace.” She stumbled over the title. “I need no special favors.”

  “You’ll do as I say, Edward. You may both go.” The duke glanced her way, a gleam in his eye. “At present, my condition leaves me in a most foul temperament, and I’m not fit company. Depicted as rude even.”

  Humiliated by the entire episode, Letitia felt the need to redeem herself in whatever small way possible. “I would presume to say, Your Grace, that such is the trial of everyone at one time or another. At times, I’ve been described to have a most horrid temperament. Grandmama Ackers has taught me to count silently before I speak.”

  “Indeed?” His lips twitched.

  She clamped her mouth shut, aware she was allowing her tongue to outrun her thoughts again. Thankfully, the warmth of Edward’s touch as he helped her to stand reassured her, sending pleasant tingles through her arm as he solicitously moved his hand to her elbow and assisted her to the door.

  “Gracias,” she said a little breathlessly once they were in the corridor. “I can manage.”

  “Perhaps, my lady. But I’ve been given my orders. I’ll locate a servant to help you to your room where you can rest.”

  “Really—no. ’Tis only a trivial discomfort. I don’t wish to return to my room.”

  “Then I shall find you a comfortable location in one of the sitting rooms.”

  She agreed and walked with him to a room decorated in yellows and greens. Gold drapes of damask were partially drawn, exposing the cold drizzle, but a fire in the grate welcomed her.

  “This is the duchess’s favorite room,” Edward said.

  “Will she mind me being here?”

  His countenance gentled. “She has expressed her desire that all rooms on the ground floor be open to the guests.”

  He settled Letitia comfortably on a plump brocade sofa, propped a tasseled pillow behind her back, and went in search of a servant to make a medicinal tea. She felt ridiculous but had to acknowledge her pleasure at being waited on for a change. She would be dishonest if she didn’t admit to enjoying this bit of pampering and the concerned attention Edward gave her. Settling her head against the cushion, she listened to the soothing crackle of flames.

  Soon Edward returned with a dark brew of bitters and made Letitia drink every sour drop. Once she handed him the empty glass, she remembered her reason for leaving the drawing room.

  “The highwaymen—they’ve come,” she said.

  He started, taken aback. “What?”

  “The highwaymen who accosted us. They’ve come to Heppelwith Manor. While I was listening to Lady Eleanor play, I heard two of them converse in the corridor and attempted to follow.”

  A black thundercloud crossed his face as he sank to the edge of the cushion beside her and gripped the curved back of the settee. “And is it they who harmed you?”

  “N–no.” She blinked, astonished at the change that came over him, grateful she wasn’t the recipient of his ire. “No one harmed me. The injury is an old one.”

  The stony tautness left his features, but his eyes remained grave. “You were right to inform me of the matter. Be assured, I will tend to this. However you must tell no one what you’ve told me. If you’re correct, and these are the men who waylaid you, you could be in grave danger if they suspect your knowledge of their presence here.”

  She stared.

  “Do you understand, Letitia?”

  Her name on his lips was enough to startle her into a nod. “Sí. I—I understand.”

  His shoulders relaxed. He studied her a moment, the look in his eyes indefinable, before rising to his feet. “I must leave you now and carry out the directive His Grace has given me.”

  Hand pressed to her bosom, she watched him go. It wasn’t fear that caused her heart to race within her breast; from the little she knew of Edward, she sensed he would never strike a woman. Rather, it was the sense of believing she’d always known him. The strength of his manner, the warmth of his tone, the gentleness of his eyes …

  Her breath caught as a pebble of truth smashed into her mental assessment of his character.

  From a distance, his eyes appeared darker, but up close in the yellow light of the lamps, his eyes were blue-gray. And now she understood why they’d seemed so familiar.

  They were the eyes that belonged to the leader of the highwaymen.

  Chapter 6

  Perhaps she was mistaken; she must be mistaken. No two men could be one person.

  Seeking solace, her mind a cacophony of conflicting thoughts Letitia strolled through the maze of tall yew hedges angling off in intricate bends and scrolls in the center of the garden. She mulled over her encounters with both the marquis and Edward the previous day. Each time, she had thought she was looking into the eyes of the highwayman. Now she realized such a concept was absurd. Likely, the strain of these past two days had led her to believe things that didn’t exist.

  Inhaling deeply, she pulled her mantle further about her shoulders and lifted her face to the brisk air, just washed with morning freshness. Whatever tea Edward gave her yesterday had helped, and this morning a servant girl had brought more of the same, along with a salve of goose grease melted with horseradish juice, turpentine, and mustard. Dreadfully odorous, but it had relieved the ache in her bone to a great degree.

  A ladies’ tea had been scheduled for the afternoon, but Marian forbade Letitia to attend. The intended punishment for yesterday’s unexpected encounter with the marquis was actually a reprieve. Letitia didn’t wish to sit among strangers in a stuffy room, sipping weak tea, eating iced cakes, and listening to gossip.

  Coming upon a wall of yew, she rounded the corner and almost barreled into the marquis.

  “Oh!” She stepped back, putting her hand to the bush to maintain balance.

  He also started in surprise, then smiled, though it seemed a trifle forced.

  “My dear Lady Letitia Laslos.” He took her free hand and bowed over it. “This is indeed a pleasure.”

  Ill at ease, she pulled her hand away and used it to smooth the flounces of her skirt. “I thought to take a walk through the maze.”

  “You need not explain; you may go wherever you like.” Instead of allowing her to pass, however, he took her elbow and turned her around the way she’d come. “However, areas toward the center are slippery with mud, and I wouldn’t wish you to fall. Allow me to escort you back to the manor.”

  Letitia had no say in the matter as he moved with her toward the entrance. She thought she heard rustling from within the maze and wondered if he had been alone, but no one followed. Likely the stirring of bushes had come from a bird or small animal.

  He asked personal questions, and though Letitia was not as forthcoming as she’d been with Edward and the duke, he learned of her love of horses.

  “You must ride with me,” he said. “I happen to know of a gentle mare that would suit you well.”

  “No, Lord Dalworth, I cannot—”

  “And you must call me by my given name, William.”

  “Again I must decline. Surely you realize that doing so would cast an aspersion on my character if someone were to overhear?” Even if that weren’t the case, she didn’t feel comfortable enough in his company to comply.

  “Blasted nobility and its rules,” he ground out before his face resumed a pleasant cast. “Nevertheless, I insist you ride with me. I’ll not take no for an an
swer.”

  Letitia was flummoxed. She dared not further exasperate the marquis by refusing, yet at the same time she feared Marian might find out. But oh, to ride again …

  Marian tolerated the sport only when social functions demanded it. Letitia hadn’t been seated on a horse in months. Desire won out over wisdom, and she nodded.

  She was hard-pressed to keep up with him as he accompanied her to the stable, his hand at her elbow as though he thought she might change her mind. Brain in a muddle, she forced her legs to move. This was madness! Apparently he wasn’t going to give her opportunity to change into her riding habit. What if someone should see?

  A short time later with the cold wind whisking her face, making her feel wholly alive, and the strength of the galloping mare’s muscles bunched beneath her, Letitia forgot her former worries. Laughing, she agreed to his challenge of a race, and both horses flew across the waving fronds of a wide meadow. The hood of her mantle flew back, her hair bounced free from its loose chignon, but she didn’t pause or care. Her horse reached the thicket first, and she gaily laughed her victory as she turned the mare’s head around and reached down to pat its glossy neck.

  “You’re an accomplished horsewoman.” Approval tinged the marquis’ tone.

  “I’ve not ridden much.”

  “Perhaps. But some are born to the saddle and need few lessons. I presume you are one of those gifted few. You must ride with me again.”

  His words knocked the exultant breath from her, and she shook her head. “I cannot, but I’ve enjoyed our outing. I must return before the ladies finish their tea.”

  In her delight to ride again, Letitia had lost track of time. She could see by the sun’s position that afternoon was upon them.