by Claudy Conn
The late squire had left his estate to his nephew because he had no choice. It was an ancient codicil of the will that the family estate be passed on to the next male in line.
The new Squire Samuel Horwich had little affection for his late relative and even less concern for the land. He saw Horwich House as a roof over his head, its lands were naught but a minor source of income, and he had absolutely no ambition to improve the property.
His wife, Mary Horwich, eyed her husband as he moved across the sitting room and poured himself another shot of brandy. She wondered what had happened to the man she married. The man she thought he was.
He had become a slovenly bully of a man. His indistinct brown eyes were always bloodshot, his gray hair unkempt, and his belly resembled a barrel.
“Mary, damn you!” he shouted across the room as though she were in another part of the house. “This bottle is nearly done and there isn’t another on the sideboard. Haven’t I told you to keep more within my reach? Go on, woman, and fetch me another from the cellar!”
She put down her sewing, avoided meeting his eyes, and quietly withdrew from the room. It was easier to just do his bidding than to get into a battle of words. She did not want to provoke him. Her late cousin’s ward, the American named Exerilla, was due to arrive. He had been pleasant enough about this when she had told him she would like to invite the child. When he looked at her, his smile was the one she remembered from another time when he said, “Aye then Mary, you need a companion. I know it hasn’t been easy for you. Go ahead then; tell them she can come here.”
Those moments never lasted long. Now, all she could hope for was that the drink would not send him off into a tirade the moment the child arrived.
She felt a wave of guilt as she wished he might drink himself into a stupor and not be heard of for the rest of the evening.
The Fates are wicked creatures forever playing games. He was still very much awake when she returned to the sitting room, but she smiled. She found that her grown son, David had arrived. David turned as he heard her enter the room.
David had been the light of her life. She adored him, but he was turning into his father. There didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it.
She sighed as she regarded her tall, nice looking son. He was only four and twenty with soft gray eyes and neatly cropped dark blond curls. She had recognized that he was spoiled beyond repair. He, also like his father had a propensity for hard drinking, hard living, and secrets.
David smiled warmly as he welcomed his mother. If he had one redeeming quality in his spoiled dark nature, it was his open and sincere affection for her. His father’s behavior had not been able to crush that.
“There you are!” David greeted jovially. “Father and I were just wondering what was keeping you.” He moved forward and relieved her of the four bottles she was carrying. He set them on the sideboard, put an arm about her shoulders, and gave her an affectionate squeeze.
As the squire grumbled a complaint, David poured his father a drink, effectively silencing him.
Mary marveled at her son’s ability to avoid ever taking sides. She returned to her chair to continue her sewing.
“Where is your late cousin’s ward?” David asked curiously as he moved to take up a chair near the low fire in the grate. “This is a very late time of night to be arriving, I would think. How is she getting here? Papa said that Michaels returned here an hour ago, saying that the stagecoach had not yet arrived.”
“Yes, well I wish we had not told Michaels to stable the carriage and go to bed. What an awful thing for her to arrive with no one there to greet her and bring her here.”
“Hmm, she probably won’t arrive till morning,” David suggested.
“No. Michaels said the coach depot man said that he had no idea what was keeping them,” Mary answered as she clasped her hands.
“Don’t fidget woman!” her husband commanded.
She looked away. “It can’t be the child’s fault as your father would have it. I mean if the stage is late, it is late.” She eyed her son. “I don’t suppose you feel up to taking a quick trip into town and looking into the situation?”
He took immediate umbrage. “The devil I will! Why should I? She can hire something to bring her out here when the stagecoach arrives.”
Mary bit her tongue.
* * *
Exerilla’s green eyes were open wide as the coach came to a full stop. She was in Dover in the year 1815. Fascinating.
The coach pulled up to a row of two story buildings. One with a long awning, a panoramic window, and a sign denoting it as Dover Coach. She could see the closed sign in the window, illuminated by the newly installed gas street lamp.
Exerilla heard the coachman grumbling that he still had quite a bit to do, as he climbed down and went about his business.
She watched him slip his paperwork through the slot in the door, before he turned back to the coach and removed her luggage from the boot.
She turned and watched as Jake who had climbed out of the coach said at the open door, “Will someone from Horwich House be meeting you?” She shook her head. “I don’t see anyone…”
She saw by the grim look on her new friend’s face that he was certainly concerned about this.
She lowered her head. “No, I don’t suppose they bothered to wait—it is late.” She had no idea what the Horwich family was like. Mrs. Kingston spoke highly of her cousin, Mary Horwich, but had little to say about the squire. She knew she shouldn’t whine. This was just one more situation she would have to deal with until she could leave. She couldn’t help wishing for the hundredth time, that she could just find a little cottage all by herself in which to hide away till Samhain. She had made up her mind that if all else failed, that was what she would do. Perhaps she could conjure up enough money without emitting too much residue.
“Look then, Exerilla, stay here in the coach and I’ll go see what we can come up with. Don’t worry yourself about it. We shall get you to Horwich House,” Jacob said going off into the dark.
The door at the opposite side of the coach opened, startling Exerilla. She had been wondering where Jerry Swit and his lordship had gone off to. Here was one of them with his bright eyes alive with amusement. Even in the dim light of the street lamp, she could see his lordship’s glittering blue eyes. He said, “Well then, lass, I thought I would join ye while Jacob wasn’t looking and steal a parting kiss.” He climbed into the coach and sat down right beside her.
She put up a hand. “Is that what you thought?” She managed to control herself and said merely, “Think again.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Aye, on second thought I must have two kisses. What say ye?” He made no move on her, but merely regarded her quizzically.
“Arrogant blade,” she said remembering the term from a historical romance she had once read. “No doubt you think I should swoon for a kiss from you.”
“At the very least, I expect ye sweet lass, to breathe hard and let me bring ye in a little closer.” His voice was husky but the tease was in his eyes.
Exerilla’s mind once again turned to mush. He had taken all the standards she had thought about what she wanted in a man and had bombarded them in her, turning those patterns inside out and then setting them upside down.
He was a flirt, like none she had ever known. He tickled her sense of humor as well, making him lethal to her libido.
She knew that he was only passing the time with her, but his charm was most compelling. She looked away from him as she gathered the strength to rebuff him. She was in the wrong era and he was the wrong man. She wasn’t about to get caught up in a romantic mess here in jolly old England in 1815. So Xie girl, get it together, she told herself.
Jacob came into view. She could see he would soon be at the door and she would be saying so long to the hunk beside her. A fleeting sense of disappointment rushed through her. She had to admit to herself that she had enjoyed her time with this arrogant blade. It had been i
n the end, a harmless adventure.
He wasn’t harmless though, not to her. She was way too attracted to the hot hunk and it would take some doing to forget him.
She said with a sigh, “Okay then, here is Jake.”
“Jake is it?” His dark brow arched. “My, my. Ye two have become friendly,” he said on a low questioning note. “Has our young Jacob taken on the role of a knight in shining armor, lass?”
“There is no gainsaying, my lord.” She paused, proud that she could pull up a nineteenth century term. “That if ever I needed a knight, I needed one on this trip to Dover.” Her eyes twinkled appreciatively.
Her attention was momentarily diverted by Jerry Swit who had crossed the avenue and intercepted Jacob. She watched the two as their hands flew about their heads and they obvious argued with one another. Jerry Swit poked Jacob in the chest and Exerilla frowned as she was mildly worried. Jerry Swit was a wild card not to be trusted.
Suddenly Swit threw back his head and laughed, but to her ears it was an ugly sound. He shrugged young Jacob off with a wave of his hand and walked off toward the Tavern across the way. She was able to sigh with relief and realized she had been concerned for Jake’s safety.
Exerilla turned and found his lordship’s watchful blue eyes scanning her face. Sir Jacob opened the door wide. He frowned and said, “Are you here, Hunter?”
“Apparently so, lad.”
“What are ye doing? We don’t want to delay Miss Radley any further.”
“I’m simply bidding the lovely lass a fond farewell.” His lordship returned smoothly.
“Then bid it and have done,” Jacob answered immediately. “Miss Radley is tired and wishes no more of us, I am sure.”
“Uh-ho, young Jacob. Tread warily when issuing orders in my direction.” His lordship’s voice was low and quiet.
Sir Jacob looked away and ignored this remark. He offered his hand to Exerilla and said quietly, “Miss Radley, I have a carriage and driver waiting to take you to Horwich House. I must apologize, for it is an open carriage. With any good luck the rain will hold off until you reach your destination. I don’t think it is more than a ten minute journey.”
His lordship was out of the coach and standing beside Exerilla. She felt him at her back, bending toward her ear, and touching a stray length of hair as he whispered, “Exerilla, lass…”
She turned to look at him and once again tried not to let his good looks get to her. She said softly, “I did not give you leave to use my given name, my lord.”
“Then do so love, for I mean to use it from now on. If ye must flash those green eyes of yers at me, do it. I would love to see their fire one more time this evening,” he answered on a husky note.
She knew this was daring for the time she was in. She had never heard a man from her time flirt so well. She arched a brow at him. “Hopefully, we shall not meet again and therefore the problem will not arise.”
“More a fool ye be, lass if ye think that,” he said with that forever playfulness in his voice.
Jacob took her elbow. “Never mind him. Miss Radley. Your carriage awaits and I do want to get you off before it rains.”
Exerilla looked up into the darkly overcast sky. She couldn’t make out any stars, although some moonlight peeped through as the dark clouds scudded by. Sighing, she turned toward the open carriage and hoped she wouldn’t get caught in the rain.
She slumped into place beside the short stout driver, who appeared a friendly but quiet older man. He handed her a blanket for her lap before clucking his horses forward. She wondered if she ever would see his lordships’s blue eyes again.
They hadn’t gone more than a few moments when the first drop fell.
This was just how her luck was going lately. There wasn’t anything she could do without using magic to help herself.
~ Seven ~
ANNE WAS THE Horwich housekeeper, though she often thought of herself as the Horwich slave.
It felt as though she was the only one forever being set at tasks that were not part of her job. She had been hired as a housekeeper, but because she was one of the few live-ins, she found herself being called on more than she thought was fair. She was fond of Mrs. Horwich and as of yet, had no wish to leave.
She had just finished the last of her daily chores. She was about to return to the kitchen and have spot of tea with the two lads who were finishing up the last of their evening meal when the front door knocker sounded loudly.
Rubbing her hands on her soiled apron, she rolled her eyes. She grumbled to herself about the quantity of work she was forever given and ambled down the dark corridor to the oversized front door.
She opened it a crack and then wider. What met her eyes was a young woman, whose small straw bonnet sagged beneath the weight of rain water, and dark hair hung in ragged wet lengths.
The young woman clutched a satchel in her hand. Anne saw and took note of the trunk on the marble stoop at the young woman’s side.
Anne was a soft-hearted woman whose age had been the subject of conjecture amongst her intimates, but whose motherly nature could not be questioned. She saw the expression of resignation on the young woman’s face and began making clucking sounds as she ushered her within the central hall.
“There, there, look at ye! Lord bless me. Ye must be the young lady they have been expecting all afternoon.” She went out onto the stoop and bent to grab the leather handle of the large trunk. The young woman at the other end was pushing it along and smiled to herself as she objected, “Ye don’t have to do that, I can get it, miss.”
“I am sure you can,” Exerilla said as she put a bit of muscle into it and got the heavy trunk inside.
Anne closed the door at their back and stretched backwards, “Whew, well now, I best be taking ye upstairs where ye can change out of yer wet clothes. Ye don’t want to catch a chill.” She stepped toward the wide staircase in the center of the sizeable central hall, and turned back to look at Exerilla who had hung back, “Well, then, come on.” She made a grumbling sound, “Don’t know why that lazy blackguard Jeremy Baker brought ye out here in an open carriage. He could have attached the surrey, but he is too blasted lazy.”
Ignoring this, Exerilla looked around and asked tentatively, “Do you think we should let the squire and Mrs. Horwich know I have arrived before I go up?”
“Whot and let them see ye like this?” Anne shook her head, “Oi’ll be taking ye to yer room first, oi will, and while ye dry yerself and manage yer hair, oi’ll let them know, ye are here and will be down shortly.”
Exerilla turned and looked at her trunk and then at the wide staircase and Anne laughed, to say, “No, we won’t be dragging that up a flight of stairs. I have two sturdy boys in the kitchen, taking their time over their dinner. Oi’ll fetch them to bring it up to ye.”
“Oh, thank you…er…”
“Anne,” she said simply.
Exerilla smiled warmly, “I’m Exerilla Radley.”
“Right, now come along.” Anne pulled the wet cloak off Exerilla, making little sounds with her tongue and grimacing over the trail of small puddles the cloak had made. She dropped the offending garment to the floor and said, “Oi’ll see to getting that dried in the kitchen after oi get ye upstairs.”
“I am so sorry I am late, the coach was delayed along the road, you must be so very tired…” Exerilla offered quietly.
“That’s a good girl, some things can’t be helped,” Anne pronounced and ushered her up the staircase.
* * *
Exerilla closed her eyes briefly and whispered a quick spell to dry her wet boots before she took the carpeted stairs.
She was sure that her father could not trace this simple form of magic back to her. It was an ordinary spell and did not have her signature and would not leave enough of a residue.
Anne opened the door into a small room that was sparsely furnished. It had a corner hearth and she said with a satisfied grunt, “Oi lit that fer ye earlier, oi did, glad oi am that it still
be burning. Oi’ll jest add a few coals,” she moved over and did just that, stirring them until the coals burned red hot. “There, come over and dry yer hair as best ye can and oi’ll have yer trunk brought to ye and let them know downstairs ye have arrived.”
Exerilla smiled at her, “Thanks Anne.”
“Humph, oi never heard an American speak before, very odd,” she clucked her tongue once again, as she left Exerilla to herself.
X surveyed her room. There were no hangings on the window, and the bed was no more than a cot. It would have to do. She walked over to the mirror and sighed as she surveyed her bedraggled self. A day’s traveling, and then getting nearly soaked through had not helped.
What she needed was magic.
It wasn’t fair that what she had been using all her life, what she had been trained to perfect was no longer available to her.
She wrinkled her nose and smiled mischievously and once again, and without the use of her wand, she closed her eyes and in the flash of a moment, she was dry. She looked at herself in the long mirror on the wall beside the oak wardrobe, and smoothed her gown of blue. She blinked and her long black glistening locks of hair were piled stylishly at the top of her head with several long swirls dangling about her ears.
She pinched and flattened the white lace collar and the matching cuffs, and smiled to herself. Well, that was better.
She grimaced as she remembered that her mother had selected all the clothes she had with her, which meant sturdy and prim. She would have to do something about that. She couldn’t imagine herself being sturdy and prim in any century.
A saucy smile flickered over her face as she bent to pour a bit of water from the pitcher into the bowl and dampened her hanky to wash her face. That’s right Mom, too old for prim and proper. The cold water made her shiver.
She definitely missed hot running water.
A few moments later, two boys (whom she guessed were in their early teens), dropped her trunk in her room with a heavy plop and with open wide and toothy grins, warmly greeted her.