Tibby’s writing was like herself, he thought; small, elegant, firm, and resolute. No fancy flourishes or unnecessary curls, every letter precise and crystal clear and not a blot or a scratching out in sight.
Lord, whatever must she think of his own letters? Even after getting the vicar to correct his spelling, Ethan made mistakes on the fair copy he made.
And when he read over his own letters—for he kept the ones the vicar had written on to check on what he’d told her and to get the correct spelling of some words—he was embarrassed at how clumsy they sounded.
But he couldn’t stop himself from trying. Ethan dipped his quill in the ink again and labored on . . .
I have bort a four room cottage on the western edge of the estate. Three bedrooms so tis biger than you myte think. To big for one single man like meself but I have someone in mynde to joyne me there Im hopeful she will anyway. I been whitewashing the walls and tidying it up and its coming up a treat.
He looked at the letter and sighed. He could describe the cottage so easy if he was talking; the words were in his head, fine and bright and shiny. But when it came to writing those same words down and wrestling with pen and ink and the spelling getting in the way, in the end his words came out all scratchy and wooden and dead.
There was a pencil in the box with the pens and ink, so Ethan picked it up. He’d heard people say a picture was worth a thousand words. He didn’t know about that, but it would take him forever to find words he could spell that would describe the cottage, but he could draw it in a minute.
He’d always been good at drawing, from the time he was a small boy, scratching out a picture in the dirt or with a piece of charcoal. The more he drew, the better he got. In the army he’d been able to draw quick, neat maps and drawings of fortresses and had been promoted as a result. Nobody ever realized he couldn’t read. Ethan was very good at finding ways around any reading he had to do.
And nobody dreamed that a man who was so quick with a pencil could be such a dunce with a pen.
With access to paper, pencils, and charcoal he’d done a few drawings of some of his mates and their surroundings. Word spread and Ethan was soon in demand for small sketches to send home to sweethearts or mothers. They even paid him to do it. A picture was better than a letter when folks couldn’t read.
And every little bit earned added to Ethan’s nest egg. He’d been determined that if he survived the war, he’d make something of himself.
And look where he’d ended up, a partner in a solid horse-breeding enterprise with a fine gentleman like Harry Morant, who was also his friend. And now Ethan had a house of his own.
Pretty good for a man born in a mud-floored hut who’d grown up with hunger gnawing at his belly.
All he needed now was to educate himself to a level where a fine, educated lady like Tibby might consider wedding him, despite his lowly background.
It was like baying at the moon, he sometimes felt. But despite their differences, despite the fact that many in society would disapprove of such an unequal match, Tibby was the lady he’d set his heart on.
He glanced at the sketchbook that sat on the table beside him. It was open to a full-page sketch of Tibby as he remembered her. He hadn’t fallen for her straightaway . . .
He grinned, remembering the way she’d glared at him when he’d been so slow at responding to her silent message that she was being held hostage. What a big stupid he’d sounded like, and how cross she was.
But when he’d snatched her away and galloped off with her . . . thinking she’d go all female and hysterical on him, she’d been thrilled. What was that name she’d called him. Loch-in-something. Scottish, not Irish. Lochinvar, that’s who.
And then after he’d carried her to safety, what must she do but come back to help him, armed with a spade.
That’s when it had started for him. Such a little bit of a thing she was: her eyes spitting defiance, her cheeks all pink, and her hair coming out of its neat little bun. Ready to defend him—a man twice her size—against the very men who’d held her hostage. A wee lion of a lady. She’d stormed into his heart that day, sure enough, spade and all. And stayed there.
He must find out about that Lochinvar fellow someday. But first he’d finish this sketch.
He quickly drew the cottage he was getting ready for her, with the windows all cleared of ivy and a couple of roses flowering at the door. He hesitated, then with a few quick lines drew the shape of a woman standing looking out, one arm lifted to shade her eyes.
The roses were just sticks now, but come summer, he hoped they’d be blooming. And come summer, he hoped Tibby would be standing there, shading her eyes and waiting for Ethan to come home.
He’d be off to Zindaria in spring to pick out his next seven horses, and he’d pop the question to her then. In the meantime, his letters had to do the courting . . .
He picked up the pen and wrote the final words:
I’m hoping the lady I’m corting wont think it a terible cheek when I ask her but she’s so fine and educated she myte not look at a clod like me but a man can only dream.
Respectfuly yours, Ethan Delaney
Nine
Nell was woken by a soft knock on the door. Good heavens, she really had slept. She’d lain on the bed because there was nothing else to do—and besides, she needed to think about all that had happened this morning—and somehow, she’d drifted off.
She stretched, sat up, and called, “Come in.”
A young maidservant entered, carrying a can of steaming water. She set it down and bobbed a curtsy. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady Helen, but I’m Cooper. Mr. Sprotton and Miss Bragge sent me to assist you. And Mr. Sprotton says to tell you luncheon will be served in half an hour.”
“Assist me?”
“Yes, my lady. To dress you and help with your hair and so on, you not having brought your own maid with you.”
“Thank you, Cooper, but I don’t need a maid,” Nell told her as she poured some of the hot water into a bowl. She hadn’t had a personal maid for years. Not since her come out.
The girl’s face fell. “Oh. Very well, m’lady.” She bobbed another curtsy and turned to leave.
Nell frowned thoughtfully. “Cooper,” she said as the girl reached the door.
“Yes, m’lady?”
“What are your normal duties?”
“Cleaning, dusting, polishing silver, whatever Mr. Sprotton tells me to do, m’lady.”
Nell understood immediately. Her short stint as a paid companion had given her a new understanding of the nuances of life as a servant. Helping Nell, even for a short time, was a step up for Cooper. If she sent the girl back it would reflect negatively on her. “Are you any good with hair?”
Cooper brightened. “Oh yes, m’lady. Me and my sisters, we used to do each other’s hair all the time.” She glanced at Nell’s hair. “I could make you look real pretty, m’lady, honest.”
Nell glanced in the mirror and laughed. “Then I’d be delighted if you’d try. It looks a sight at the moment. I knotted it neatly in a bun this morning but I lost my hat, and the bun fell out on the way here.”
The girl’s face went suddenly blank. “Indeed, m’lady?” she said with careful politeness.
Nell was amused. “Mr. Sprotton instructed you not to mention the way I arrived, didn’t he?”
“Yes, m’la—” Cooper clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified. “Sorry, m’lady.”
Nell laughed again. “Don’t worry, I’m certain the whole of Bath knows by now.” She washed her face and hands, dried them on the towel that Cooper passed her, then sat down in front of the dresser.
She pushed back the mop of hair spilling down around her shoulders. “Being tossed over a man’s shoulder doesn’t do a great deal for one’s hairstyle, does it?”
“No, m’lady,” Cooper said and began to brush out Nell’s hair. “But it’s ever so romantic, isn’t it?”
“Romantic?” Nell hadn’t thought of it like that. She�
�d been furious at the time. Not to mention uncomfortable.
“Oh yes.” Cooper gave a wistful sigh. “Mr. Harry carrying off his lady love in front of all the town, so strong and so handsome, and not caring what anyone thought. Some of the girls below stairs nearly swooned when they heard about it.”
“Really?” Nell was bemused. Mr. Harry carrying off his lady love? Is that how they saw it?
She recalled Mr. Harry’s own words: it’s not love’s young dream I’m offering you but it makes sense.
Cooper smiled mistily into the mirror. “Everyone’s just thrilled for you, m’lady. And Lady Gosforth says it will be a big London wedding. And all new clothes for you, m’lady.” She sighed again.
Nell sighed, too. She hated shopping for new clothes. She’d been thoroughly miserable in the lead-up to her come out. And during it. The vain attempt to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.
Her thoughts were miles away as Cooper brushed and combed and pinned and twisted.
“There, m’lady, how do you like that?”
Nell glanced in the looking glass and her brows rose. Cooper had braided Nell’s hair around her head and twisted a green and white ribbon through it. A few tendrils had been freed, which softened the effect.
Nell twisted and turned her head, staring at her reflection. The style really suited her and yet it was quite simple and very practical for a long coach journey. “It’s amazing. I look like a young girl,” she exclaimed.
Cooper beamed at her reflection. “No, m’lady, you look like a bride-to-be.”
A bride-to-be. Nell glanced again in the looking glass. Hardly the blushing bride, she decided, but she did look better than she’d looked as a young girl. Papa was in funds at the time of her come out and he’d employed a very intimidating dresser, who came highly recommended. Her taste, and Papa’s, ran to ornate and fussy styles: bunches of ringlets, curls, twists, and all kinds of things pinned on her head.
This simple style with a touch of whimsy suited her much better.
“Cooper,” she said on impulse. “Would you like to come to London with me?”
Cooper’s eyes bulged. “Me, m’lady?”
“Yes, with Lady Gosforth’s permission, I’d like you to dress me for my wedding.”
“Your wedding, m’lady?” Cooper stared, slack-jawed, then burst into tears.
“But if you don’t want to, of course—” Nell began, horrified. “You probably don’t want to leave your family—”
“No, no, miss, I mean, m’lady, they’ll be right pleased for me, they will.” Cooper wiped her face with the corner of her apron. “Sorry for the waterworks, m’lady, ’tis just that it’s always been me dream, to work for a fine lady and go to London and I never expected it could happen.”
“Lady Gosforth will have to give permission first,” Nell warned her.
“She’ll give it,” Cooper said confidently. “She’s that thrilled about you, she’d give you anything you asked for, m’lady. Says you’re just what Mr. Harry needs. Oh, wait till the girls below stairs hear about this. They’ll be that jealous.”
little dazed at this surprising view of her marriage, Nell went downstairs to luncheon.
As she entered the dining room, Harry jerked to his feet and stood there, staring at her from across the room. His smoky gaze was like a touch. A caress.
She put a hand to her hair self-consciously.
“You look very elegant, my dear,” Lady Gosforth said. “No doubt my nephew will seat you in his own good time.”
Startled out of his reverie, Harry moved to hold a chair for Nell to sit down. She thought she felt the brush of fingers at her nape as she sat, but he said nothing and moved to sit opposite her.
A light repast was already laid out on the table. Lady Gosforth said a quick grace, then invited them to eat. “It’s very light and plain fare,” she told them. “Just the thing for people about to be jolted about in a carriage for hours. Eat up, my dear.”
Nell helped herself to some sliced ham, a little chicken, and some bread and butter. She ate very self-consciously. Harry Morant didn’t seem to take his eyes off her. It was rather like sitting down to dine with a ravenous wolf, except that he managed to demolish several slices of egg and bacon pie, a venison pasty, and some jam tarts.
“Who did your hair?” Lady Gosforth asked. “It’s very good.”
“Cooper,” Nell told her. “In fact I wondered if you would let her come to London with me. Of course, if you need her here—”
“She’ll come,” Harry said.
His aunt looked at him with raised eyebrows.
He frowned. “What?” He glanced from his aunt to Nell and back again. “Nell wants her to come,” he told his aunt, as if that were a clincher.
Lady Gosforth’s brows rose higher. “My nephew has spoken.”
Nell was embarrassed. “Not if your aunt needs her,” she told him firmly.
Lady Gosforth laughed. “No, no, my dear, it’s perfectly all right. You can have the girl as long as you like.”
She glanced at Harry, who was crunching through an apple with white, even teeth, then reached out and patted Nell’s hand. “I am going to enjoy this.”
Shortly after their repast, the carriages trundled up the street. It was rather a cavalcade; Harry had hired a yellow bounder for himself and Nell; a bright yellow post chaise and four, driven by two postilions. Lady Gosforth and Bragge, her dresser, rode in her traveling chaise, and several vehicles followed, transporting a number of other servants and a mound of luggage. Finally a groom on horseback brought up in the rear, leading Harry’s horse, Sabre.
“Why do you need a separate carriage, Harry?” his aunt demanded. “There’s plenty of room in mine.”
“Because I want to travel with my betrothed,” he answered.
“It’s not proper for the two of you to travel alone and unchaperoned,” his aunt insisted.
“What rot, we’re going to be married,” Harry told her and lifted Nell into the carriage. “And I want to talk to her.”
Nell hesitated and was about to jump down—the last thing she wanted to do was to make trouble between Harry and his aunt. Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be interrogated by her betrothed when she was stuck in a carriage and couldn’t escape.
Lady Gosforth saw her dilemma and said with a twinkle, “Go on, my dear. I can’t resist tweaking my nephew’s tail from time to time. If he does anything improper, scream.” Chuckling, she allowed Harry to help her into her own carriage and in minutes the cavalcade set off.
The postilion gave a shout and the post chaise set off with a jerk. “Alone at last,” Harry said.
“Yes.” She gave him a bright, nervous smile. She peered with great concentration out of the window. “Such a fascinating sight, Bath, from this angle.”
“Fascinating.” He sat back, folded his arms, and watched her. He knew better than to rush his fences.
She pointed out interesting sight after interesting sight, never pausing for a moment, leaving no space for any questions he might have. A great many beautiful, interesting, quaint, ugly, or impressive buildings were commented on in detail as the horses labored up steep hill after steep hill. And as buildings gave way to farmland, she rapturized on the beauties of nature.
Harry smiled. She wasn’t a natural chatterbox, but she produced a continuous flow of words even his aunt might envy.
But her tactics could only delay matters. She would soon run out of things to exclaim over, Harry thought, crossing his outstretched legs more comfortably and settling back against the padded back. He didn’t mind. He could watch her face and listen to that low-pitched, lovely voice for hours and never be bored.
They passed through Bath-Easton, then the village of Box, which she thought very pretty, as was all the countryside in between. He suspected she would have made a fair fist of keeping up the flow of words all the way to Chippenham, except that an edge of desperation had slipped into her voice.
Taking matters into his
own hands, he leaned across and kissed her in midsentence. Firmly and possessively. Capturing her mouth with his and stopping the flow of words.
Nell blinked at him as he returned to his seat. “Wh-what was that for?”
“I had to stop you somehow and that seemed as good a way as any.”
“Stop me from what?”
She knew perfectly well what. “Putting off the moment. Come on, bite the bullet, sweetheart. You know you’re going to have to tell me all about it sometime. It might as well be now, rather than have it hanging over your head. You’ll feel better for it, I’m sure.”
She sagged against the seat, silently acknowledging he was right. “All right, what do you want to know?”
“Everything you didn’t tell me this morning.”
“There’s not much to tell,” she said in a wooden voice. “I fell pregnant. When he found out, Papa took me to a house in another county to give birth in secret so that no one would know and my reputation would not be ruined. Three weeks after my daughter was born, he took her away while I slept, mistakenly believing that was what I wanted. And then he died before I could find out where he took her. That’s it.” She spread her hands. “End of story.”
“Not quite and you know it.” There were a lot of gaps in her tale and Harry needed to have them filled.
She tried to stare him down, but failed.
“Who is Torie’s father?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
He smashed his fist against the back of his seat, making her jump. “Of course it damn well matters! Who is the blackguard and where the hell is he? Why didn’t he marry you? And why the devil did he leave you to cope with all this on your own?”
She set her jaw and looked away. But not before he saw a glimpse of something in her eyes that made him want to kick himself. Shame. She was ashamed. Of course. And he was riding roughshod over her like a brute.
He forced himself to calm down. He leaned forward and said gently. “You must see that it matters who the father of this child is. I need to know.”
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