The Legendary Lord

by Valerie Bowman

  Christian glanced back toward the great room to ensure Mr. Fergus remained asleep. “Mrs. Goatsocks is a grown woman. She made her own choice to come with you.”

  “Only because she knew if I went without a chaperone, I’d no longer be allowed in polite Society.”

  “Still, don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known she would break her ankle.”

  “You heard Mr. Fergus. She may have to stay a month or more. I should write Mother and tell her the truth. Tell her that I’m not coming back for a long while and … Oh, God. No one will believe it. No one will believe me. My reputation is entirely ruined and I have no one to blame for it but myself.”

  Christian crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her. “What if I told you I have an idea?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “An idea?” Sarah whispered, also glancing back toward the great room to ensure they weren’t speaking too loudly.

  “Yes,” Christian replied.

  “Whatever can you mean?”

  “You’ve been helping me. In return, I will do everything in my power to help you reenter Society with as little scandal as possible.”

  Sarah pressed her back against the wall and hung her head. She tried not to remember how close she’d come to kissing this man earlier. In addition to her other sins, she was now well on her way to turning into a shameless hoyden. “How in heaven’s name do you believe you might be able to accomplish such a thing?”

  Christian ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking of ways we could get you back into London, back into Society, without anyone being any the wiser.”

  Her head snapped up, hope undoubtedly pinned to her features. “You’ve thought of something?”

  “No.” Christian chuckled. “I’m not that inventive. But I know someone who has a certain, shall I say, knack for this sort of thing. You haven’t met my friends. They are ladies with sterling reputations and they are both inventive and a bit mad, which is precisely the combination we’re in need of at present if I don’t mistake my guess. If it takes an unmarried young woman to make a bachelor into the catch of the Season, it takes a respectable matron to do away with a potential scandal.”

  Sarah blinked. “Knack? Who has a knack for such things?”

  “Lucy.”

  Sarah’s eyes nearly bugged from her skull. “Your friend Lucy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know. She’d have to be awfully clever to fix this.” She flourished her hand in the air, indicating the cabin.

  “I’m positive she will, and if you’ll just allow me to write to her and tell her the circumstances, I’m certain she’ll come up with something perfect.”

  Sarah contemplated the matter for a moment. “She’s good at this sort of thing?”

  Christian nodded. “Excellent at it. You could say her plots are one of her most accomplished skills. She’s quite remarkable, I assure you.”

  Sarah felt a momentary pang of jealousy. Who was this lady whom Christian obviously thought so highly of? Whom he had even tried to court once, if unsuccessfully?

  “I suppose I have no other choice. I must throw myself on the mercy of your friend,” Sarah said with a resolute nod. “And I thank you for it.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll ride out as soon as I can to get a letter in the post. If the snow lets up, it shouldn’t take longer than a few days to get a letter to Lucy. We’ll meet her back in England.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened with fright. “I can’t leave Mrs. Goatsocks.”

  “We’ll think of something. Once the snow stops, I’ll go to speak to Mrs. Goatsocks.”

  “You said we’ll meet Lucy in England. Surely you don’t mean London?”

  “No. Not London,” he assured her. “Don’t worry. Leave the details to me.”

  She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Thank you for being so kind to me, Christian. You are a very good friend indeed.”

  Friend. The word hung in the air between them. But Christian knew as well as she did, they were both remembering their almost kiss.

  “Good night.” Sarah ducked into the bedchamber and shut the door behind her. She hopped into bed, pulled the quilt over her head, and drifted to sleep imagining what Christian looked like beneath his beard.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The next morning it had stopped snowing, but great amounts of the stuff remained piled high under the bright sun. Christian braved the enormous snow hills to travel into town to post his letter to Lucy Hunt. It had taken a great deal of convincing, however, to keep Sarah from coming with him. She desperately wanted to see her chaperone, but after Christian demonstrated that one of the snowdrifts outside the lodge came up nearly to his waist (and he was much taller than her), she finally relented.

  Christian left Oberon in the barn. He didn’t want to risk the horse hurting himself or becoming stuck in a drift. He tied snowshoes to the bottoms of his boots and trudged down the hill to town. The journey was long and tiring, and Christian spent the entire span trying to forget that he’d spent the better part of the night tossing and turning, thinking of the kiss he’d nearly shared with Sarah. That hadn’t exactly been the action of a friend, had it? But he could already tell, his relationship with Sarah was going to end up the same way all his other relationships with women did. He’d volunteered to help Sarah get back to Society, back to her intended. He mustn’t forget that the lady was spoken for. And he needed to get her back to London safely before he did something they would both regret. Yes. He was turning squarely into Sarah’s friend. And that was exactly as it should be.

  After posting the letter to Lucy, Christian stopped by the doctor’s house to pay a visit to Mrs. Goatsocks.

  It had also taken him no insignificant amount of time this morning to convince Sarah that leaving Mrs. Goatsocks with the doctor and traveling to England with him to meet his friends was, in fact, in Sarah’s best interest. He promised her that he would personally see to it that Mrs. Goatsocks was provided adequate transportation to return to London as soon as she was able. Sarah had agreed on one condition: that he received Mrs. Goatsocks’s blessing. That was just what he intended to do at the doctor’s house.

  Dr. MacTavish ushered Christian into the drawing room, where the patient sat on a sofa with her ankle propped up on a pile of pillows. She was fully dressed in her proper attire, a dark gown, dark stockings, and white collar. She even had a shoe on her good foot. Her back was ramrod straight and her chin was raised a bit. In her fifties, the lady had graying-brown hair, a plump build, and frown lines etched deeply on either side of her mouth. Mrs. Goatsocks stared at Christian so intensely with her dark, penetrating eyes that he wondered if she would indeed bestow her blessing once he informed her of the plan.

  “Who are you?” she asked as soon as Christian stepped into the room, his hat in his hands.

  “This is the viscount, madame,” Dr. MacTavish explained. The thin, balding man seemed to be full of nerves. His eyes darted back and forth anxiously and he appeared to be sweating profusely. Christian suspected he’d never had an English viscount in his drawing room before.

  “The Viscount of what?” Mrs. Goatsocks asked. Christian had the distinct impression that she would have pulled out a quizzing glass to examine him with had she had access to one.

  “Viscount Berkeley,” the doctor explained. “He’s got a hunting lodge nearby.”

  “Master Christian,” Christian added. He immediately saw the chaperone’s eyes flare.

  “I’d like to speak with the viscount alone, if you don’t mind,” Mrs. Goatsocks said to the doctor.

  Dr. MacTavish nodded and bowed and wiped the sweat from his brow. He left the room quickly, no doubt pleased to not have to stay and play host to a viscount and a proper English lady.

  Once they were alone, Mrs. Goatsocks narrowed her eyes on Christian. “I’m certain you’ll understand that the doctor knows nothing of Lady Sarah’s presence in this area, and for reasons that should be obvious, I intend to k
eep it that way. Mr. Fergus was quite accommodating on that score and I hope you will be also.”

  She clearly wasn’t asking. She was telling.

  Christian wasn’t in the habit of taking orders from servants, but for Sarah’s sake, he would suffer this woman’s brusqueness. “Suffice it to say our interests lie in the same direction, and that is what is best for Lady Sarah,” Christian said, bowing to the woman.

  A bit of tension left the corners of her eyes. She looked him up and down. “Berkeley, eh? Mr. Fergus failed to mention you’re a viscount.” She paused and looked up at the ceiling, as if trying to recall something. “Berkeley. Estate in Northumbria. Generous income. Fine if unremarkable reputation. More handsome than I’d expected, but the beard is questionable.”

  “You know your Debrett’s,” Christian said, inclining his head and stepping closer to her.

  She settled her folded hands over her middle. “It’s part of my duty to know Debrett’s.”

  Christian stopped a few paces away from the sofa and braced his feet apart. “Would you be surprised to learn that Lady Sarah didn’t know who I was?”

  Mrs. Goatsocks blinked only once. “Lady Sarah is young and doesn’t pay much attention to things like titles. She’s more interested in whether a person is kind and good than what his title is.”

  “Yes. I’ve learned that about her.”

  “It’s my duty to worry about titles,” the chaperone continued.

  “Like that of the Marquess of Branford?”

  “Precisely.” Her nose lifted higher into the air.

  “And what do you think of the marquess as a match for Lady Sarah?”

  “I think what I am paid to think, which is that the marquess is exactly the match Lady Sarah’s parents had hoped for her.”

  Christian eyed the woman up and down. Like any good servant, she wasn’t about to gossip about her charge or the family that employed her. The lady didn’t move in the slightest. The only clue that she was indeed alive was the occasional blinking of her eyes. He understood why Sarah said she’d never broken a rule. With this formidable matron looking after her, no wonder she was so proper. Which made it all the more interesting that she’d run away and that the venerable chaperone had followed her.

  “Is Sarah well?” Mrs. Goatsocks asked.

  Christian held his hat near his hip. “Yes, and she sends her regrets for the state of your ankle.”

  “It’s not her fault.” Her voice was flat, emotionless.

  “She blames herself,” Christian said.

  “That’s because she’s a kind girl.” Ah, a bit of emotion had sneaked through there. The chaperone obviously admired her charge.

  “But you haven’t come just to tell me that Lady Sarah is in good health, have you?”

  “No.” Christian could already discern that coming out with it was the best way to handle a woman as straightforward as Mrs. Goatsocks seemed to be. “I’ve come to tell you that I intend to help Lady Sarah get back to London with as little incident as possible. I believe it’s in her best interest if she and I leave as soon as possible and not wait for your ankle to heal.”

  The frown lines around Mrs. Goatsocks’s mouth deepened, but her voice was perfectly calm and clear. The lady was obviously not one to display histrionics. “How will it look if she returns to London with no chaperone?”

  “I intend to employ my friends Lucy and Cassandra to help. We’re leaving tomorrow for Northumbria to meet them.”

  Mrs. Goatsocks’s eyebrows arched. “Lucy and Cassandra? Do you mean the Duchess of Claringdon and the Countess of Swifdon?”

  Christian had to smile at that. He’d been right about her. The lady did know her Debrett’s. “Yes, they are my friends. They’ll help and be discreet, I assure you.”

  “You’ve got some illustrious friends, Viscount.”

  Christian inclined his head toward her. Mrs. Goatsocks certainly knew who was who in London Society. This was also the woman who hadn’t allowed an eighteen-year-old to run off alone and instead had risked her own safety and comfort to go with her. And he had a question for her.

  “Why didn’t you talk her out of it?”

  Mrs. Goatsocks’s face remained completely blank. “Talk who out of what?”

  “Talk Lady Sarah out of leaving London?”

  Mrs. Goatsocks’s gaze flickered slightly. It was the only crack in her otherwise impenetrable armor. “How do you know I didn’t try to talk her out of it?”

  “I get the distinct impression that you can be quite stubborn when you set your mind to something, and I doubt greatly that yours wouldn’t be a match for Lady Sarah’s stubbornness.”

  The chaperone pursed her lips. “You can tell that after having spent less than a quarter hour in my presence?”

  Christian inclined his head again. “Am I wrong?”

  A few seconds ticked by before Mrs. Goatsocks said evenly, “You are not.”

  Christian allowed the hint of a smile to touch his lips. He liked this Mrs. Goatsocks. Liked her immensely. “Then I’ll ask again. Why didn’t you talk her out of it?”

  Mrs. Goatsocks flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the waist of her plum-colored gown. “You’re astute, my lord, I’ll give you that. Suffice it to say I didn’t disagree with her reasons for leaving. But I am employed by the Earl of Highfield as a chaperone, and I’d be derelict in my duties if I were to allow his only daughter to run off to Scotland unattended.”

  “Lady Sarah speaks highly of you.”

  “And I, her. She is a special young lady.”

  “I am here to ask for your blessing for my taking Lady Sarah to Northumbria to meet the Duchess of Claringdon. Do you give it?”

  Mrs. Goatsocks lifted her chin a bit higher. “Something tells me that you’ll take her there regardless of whether I give my blessing.”

  Christian scratched the back of his neck. “Lady Sarah values your approval a great deal. She asked me to secure it. She doesn’t want to leave you here.”

  Mrs. Goatsocks straightened her already straight shoulders. She stared across the room into the fireplace. “I am not happy that my charge is no longer my charge. But I am taken ill and cannot adequately perform my duties. Lady Sarah’s reputation is of the utmost importance to me. Knowing that she will be traveling alone with a gentleman concerns me, but if you say your friends are meeting you and they will be tasked with her chaperonage once they arrive, I might be persuaded.…”

  “You have my word,” Christian said.

  “Very well. I see little other choice. I suppose I don’t have to ask you for your discretion in this matter.”

  “Lady Sarah has done me a good turn. I owe her my allegiance.”

  The chaperone merely raised her eyebrows at that. “Very well, then. You have my blessing. You may inform Lady Sarah as much. But first allow me to apprise you of how sorely you will regret it if you do anything untoward or indecent to Her Ladyship. You shall have me to contend with. Do I make myself clear?”

  Christian bowed, hiding his smile. No doubt this woman had made many a young swain cower in his boots. “You have my word as a gentleman on that score as well. She will be treated with nothing but my absolute respect and admiration.”

  “See to it that she is,” Mrs. Goatsocks said imperiously. The effect was a bit ruined, however, by her wincing at the movement of her ankle on the sofa.

  “Depending upon what Lucy Hunt decides is best, we might have to adjust your travel plans later, but for the time being, you’ll remain here. We’ll write to you as soon as we settle on a course of action.”

  “So, the duchess is in charge of this plan, is she?”

  “Do you know her?” Christian asked.

  “Not personally, of course, but I daresay everyone knows of her.”

  Christian hid his smile behind his fist as he raised the back of his hand to his mouth. “Trust me when I tell you she is quite good at such things. If anyone can, Lucy will come up with the best way to attempt to return Sarah to Lon
don with as little scandal and gossip as possible.”

  The chaperone’s face was a mask. He had no idea of her feelings until she said, “I’m trusting you, Viscount. Do not let me down.”

  “I won’t.” Christian turned to leave, but Mrs. Goatsocks’s voice stopped him.

  “How are Mr. Fergus and that dog of his?”

  Christian turned back. “Fergus Two is now the happy owner of two woolen coats and a new toy made for him by Lady Sarah.”

  “Is he?” Mrs. Goatsocks raised both eyebrows.

  If Christian didn’t know any better, he might suspect the matron was smiling. “Yes.”

  “And Mr. Fergus?”

  “He made his way back safely. He was quite worried about Lady Sarah’s well-being.”

  “As he should have been. I’m pleased to hear he’s safe.”

  Christian turned again to leave.

  “How was the stew?”

  He turned back, confusion marring his brow. “The stew?”

  “Did you return in time to partake of the stew Lady Sarah made?”

  Christian put his hat back atop his head and tipped the brim. “Yes. As a matter of fact I did, and it was delicious.”

  A tiny smile made an appearance on Mrs. Goatsocks’s lips. “Please tell Lady Sarah I said … good luck.”

  Christian bowed to her again and took his leave. He paid the doctor handsomely for his trouble, asked the man to send any future bills incurred on Mrs. Goatsocks’s behalf to him, and told him to let him know when she was ready to return to London.

  “Will you stay to luncheon, my lord?” Dr. MacTavish asked, his upper lip already sheened with a fine sweat since returning to Christian’s company.

  “No. Thank you. I cannot stay. I must get back. I’m leaving for Northumbria immediately.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sarah tried not to, but she couldn’t help watching out the window expectantly for any sign of Christian’s return. Had he made it to town safely? Had he managed to get his letter into the post? Had he found Mrs. Goatsocks? Was she well? Was she angry with Sarah? Had she given her blessing for their trip back to England?