by Cheryl Bolen
“Good morning to you, my lord.”
Max tipped his hat at the greeting. He knew none of the greeters, yet they seemed to know him, which made him feel a tug of shame. But in all honesty, he did not spend a great deal of time in Neathern on the rare occasion that he was in residence at Limley Hall. He usually had estate business to attend to. At least that aspect of his life had not fallen off as a result of his dissolute ways; he still ran his estates and finances with a steady hand, although Limley was in need of work. The stable roof and northern boundary fence could do with replacing.
“Tis a fine day for a ride, Lord Caruthers.”
“Indeed, it is,” Max replied to the man who raised his hat in acknowledgement.
Riding slowly through the village, he followed the road out and then found a sign with the freshly painted words, Bratton House. Turning up the rutted track, he followed the path to where a large old stone building sat. It was nestled in trees on three sides. The front lawn was covered in snow, as was the driveway. He suspected the only tracks he saw were made by Hero Appleby’s cart. Making his way round the back, he found several outbuildings and urged his mount inside the one that stood open. Locking him in a stall next to what he guessed was the sturdy animal that towed Miss Appleby’s cart around, he then made his way through the snow to the front door.
After knocking on the door, he stood back to wait. Several minutes later, he knocked again. Deciding it was too cold to wait a minute longer, Max turned the handle and walked inside.
“Who are you?”
Max shut the door behind him so as not to let out the warm air, although, strangely, it felt colder in here than out there. Perhaps he should leave it open. Looking down, he saw a thin little freckly face under a mass of white curls. The boy had on a thick woollen jumper and a scarf wrapped nearly to his ears. There was a fierce scowl on his face.
“Who are you?” Max questioned back as he looked around him for someone over five feet tall. It wasn’t that he didn’t like children; he just didn’t understand how they worked, never having known any.
“I asked you first.”
“Lord Caruthers,” he said, because he wasn't about to get into a battle of words with the boy. Stamping his feet on the mat to try and dislodge the snow and get the circulation moving, he looked around him. The big, bare entranceway led to a huge staircase that Max imagined had been very grand in its day. He wondered where Miss Appleby was and why an adult had not come to see who was knocking on the door.
“I'm Owen. Do you know the king?”
The boy now had a section of Max’s overcoat in his grubby mitten and was tugging it.
“Actually, yes, I do, and please release my coat at once.”
“Have you spoke to him?”
“Spoken to him,” Max corrected, wondering what his next step should be. “Can you take me to Miss Appleby?” he decided to ask the boy who still held his coat firmly in one hand.
“I can show you where she is but I’m not allowed to climb the ladder.”
The boy turned and because he was still holding his coat, Max was obliged to follow as he began to walk up the stairs. Children were unpredictable—that much he knew—and if he removed his coat, then the chances were Owen would start complaining. He'd seen children have things taken from them and it was never pretty. There were usually tantrums and waving fists involved.
“Why is Miss Appleby up a ladder, Owen?”
“Cus she gots to fix the roof.”
Owen said it as if it was something every lord’s daughter did.
“Fixing the roof sounds a dangerous occupation for a lady,” Max said, biting back the need to further correct the boy's vocabulary.
The stairs creaked beneath his feet as they climbed and he saw that several wall holes had been summarily patched over with wood. Testing the railing, he was relieved to note it was sturdy, as surely any child would regularly try to slide down it.
“Not for Hero.”
By the way Owen had said Miss Appleby’s name, Max gathered she was a hero to him in more ways than one.
“She can do fings almost better than a man.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that, Owen. Women are beginning to believe they’re our equals.”
The boy made a snuffling sound that Max thought could have been a laugh or a snort.
“Taint true, though, my lord. Me da says men are far superior and a woman should know that right off.”
Looking down into the pale, freckled face of the boy with solemn blue eyes, Max felt a very strange sensation—a tugging at his chest he was sure he should ignore.
“Your, uh, father—he's passed on, Owen?”
Something Max believed was fear flickered across the boy's face briefly as he nodded his head silently.
“It’s always best to treat woman with kindness, Owen. Makes for a happier life.” Max hadn't always followed this edict himself but felt it was the appropriate thing to say to the boy.
Nodding, the boy looked serious as he took a firmer grip on his coat and led him up the final step.
“Tis foolish to be up there, Miss Appleby. You’re a lady!”
Owen tugged Max into a room in time to hear an older woman shouting these words out an open door. Curious he moved closer and looked over the heads of several children to the small balcony, where he noted a ladder.
“This ‘ere is Lord Caruthers and he knows the king.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Miss Appleby, what in God’s name are you doing up there?”
The sound of a deep male voice startled Hero. Shrieking, she dropped the hammer, she'd been using to fix tiles to the roof, and lost her footing. She heard a loud curse and then braced herself for the impact as she plummeted towards the hard wooden deck below.
“It’s all right—I have you.”
Hero had closed her eyes as she readied herself for the pain but they sprang open as she landed in a pair of strong arms.
“Lord Caruthers!”
He held her against his chest as he stumbled back a few steps and came to a halt as he collided with the railings. She felt the solid planes of his chest and the strength in his body briefly before he lowered her to her feet and then bent at the waist to grab his foot.
Hero watched as he rubbed the leather-clad appendage and cursed softly beneath his breath. His dark hair was ruffled and his charcoal overcoat strained across his broad shoulders.
“Are you hurt, my lord?”
“Your hammer landed on my foot, Miss Appleby.”
“Oh, dear, did it? I was startled when you spoke and the fright caused me to drop it. Please allow me to apologize, Lord Caruthers.”
She looked to where the children all watched eagerly through the glass and hoped they had not heard his curses. They tended to pick up any bad word but studiously refused to remember the good ones.
“Why is that man looking at your toes, Miss Appleby?”
“He’s not looking at my toes, Emmaline, he’s looking at his.” Hero shot the little girl a look before returning it to Lord Caruthers, who was still bent over.
“Is he crying?”
“Course not, silly, he’s tying his shoes.”
“They don’t have laces, so he must be polishing them.”
From experience, Hero knew the discussion would soon escalate into an argument and then the pushing and shoving would start and end in the inevitable tears.
“That will do, children. Perhaps you could make Lord Caruthers a fortifying cup of tea, Mrs. Bonny?” Hero added. Looking through the doors, Hero saw the intrigued looks on the faces of her children. They rarely saw adults, especially not ones with such lofty titles.
“Emmaline, you and Sarah go and help Mrs. Bonny.”
The two girls didn’t look pleased by the request but went, nonetheless. Hero had singled them out, as they usually threw the first punches.
“Come inside, my lord, out of the cold, and take a seat.” Hero noted he was once again upright and now looking at her,
his moss green eyes appearing darker today, now they were not bloodshot. She walked inside knowing he would follow, quite simply because he had nowhere else to go.
“Lord Caruthers has met the king, Hero.”
“Has he, Owen? What an important man he must be.” Hero pulled a chair closer to the fire after removing various pieces of clothing draped over the seat.
“Take a seat, Lord Caruthers. I’m sure you must be quite chilled after your journey here.”
“My home is not even a mile away, Miss Appleby. I assure you the journey was not overly taxing.”
She could see he was vexed at her words and was confused as to why.
“I merely meant that it is cold outside, my lord. I should imagine even you would be chilled.”
“I assure you I have been out in the cold before, Miss Appleby.”
She didn’t add anything further because she thought that perhaps his toes were still throbbing and this was making him angry. Hero watched as he shrugged out of his coat and handed it to Owen, who, with the help of Colin, reverently laid it over the back of another chair. He then took the seat she pointed him to.
Hero did not often feel intimidated by men. In fact, until today, she could name only one other who could unsettle her and he was her cousin. Her father had been ignorant and foolish and his friends were little better so she had never feared them, and had spent most of her time avoiding them, which wasn't hard, considering they were not overly intelligent. It was fair to say that her experience over the years with noblemen had not allowed Hero to form a flattering picture.
Looking at the man seated across from her, Hero realized there was something intimidating about Lord Caruthers, even though he wasn't threatening her in any way. In fact, he sat with a pleasant expression on his face, hands resting on the arms of the chair. Yet her skin felt prickly with him so close. She was flustered and Hero didn’t get flustered. She was a sensible woman; there was neither the time nor inclination in her life to get flustered around a man. He shifted slightly and then resettled and his large frame seemed to fill the entire seat. His big thighs were encased in fawn breeches, and his shirt was so white, it matched his teeth. He wore a pale grey waistcoat with a fine emerald stripe and a black jacket. The man was far too disturbing this close. Even his scent was distracting, clean and fresh and so very male.
“Is the king fat?”
“Owen, leave Lord Caruthers alone,” Hero said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder as he moved closer to look at the peer. Ignoring the tension under her fingers, she kept it there. Owen didn’t like to be touched but she hoped with time and patience that would change.
“I wants to ask him some fings about the king.”
“Want and thing, Owen,” Hero corrected, as she did several hundred times a day. “Remember your pronunciation.”
The little boy didn’t quite roll his eyes but she knew he wanted to.
“Now, you children run along to the kitchen and have Mrs. Bonny make you something to eat while I talk with Lord Caruthers and then when I’m finished, we’ll have story time here in front of the fire.”
“But is he fat?”
“Owen!”
To Hero’s surprise, Lord Caruthers emitted a deep, rumbling laugh that actually reached his eyes and produced a few lines at the side of his mouth. The smile made him appear younger and more approachable.
“Yes, he is, Owen, but that will be our secret, as I’m sure the king would not like to hear that one of his subjects thinks he’s fat.”
Owen had the most intense stare Hero had ever encountered, and it was now levelled on Lord Caruthers, who seemed to be taking it in his stride. He was a solemn, serious boy, for the most part, and she had always believed that deep inside him there were memories so painful, they stopped him from being happy. Hero had tried to make him feel safe here, yet he was always tense, waiting, watching for something— she had no idea what—to happen.
“Am I a subject?” Owen asked.
Lord Caruthers still smiled and now that the pain in his foot had apparently dissipated, he seemed almost relaxed as he sat back in the chair. Rather like a large resting lion who, with one prod, would pounce.
“You certainly are, as are Miss Appleby and I.”
“And me!”
Charlotte, Owen’s sister and the youngest of the children, pushed her way in front of her brother. She, like her brother, had thick, white curls but unlike her brother, she knew how to smile.
“And you,” Lord Caruthers said solemnly.
“Well, it’s a shame the king don’t pay a bit more mind to his bleedin’ subjects, if that be the case.”
“Owen!” Hero tried to sound stern but it was hard when she was fighting back a smile. “Go now, and take Charlotte with you.”
With a final look at Lord Caruthers, who was also trying not to laugh, Owen took his sister’s hand and dragged her from the room, slamming the door behind them.
Hero’s laughter soon faded as she realized she was now alone with a man whom yesterday she had not been very nice to.
“I am not comfortable sitting whilst you are standing, Miss Appleby.”
“Oh, of course.” Hero found another chair and pulled it closer, then sat.
His eyes held hers steady for several seconds and Hero found she had no idea what to say suddenly. In fact, her head had emptied of everything.
“You knew I was suffering from an over indulgence of spirits yesterday, Miss Appleby, didn’t you?”
Heat flooded her face as she nodded.
“I thought the festering boil comment a particular stroke of genius, considering I was only just managing to keep down what little I still had left in my stomach.”
His eyes still looked like they were laughing but one never knew with noblemen; they were a particularly sensitive bunch. She needed to apologize and quickly if she was to have any hope of getting funding from him, and that, after all, was what this was about—securing a better life for her children.
“Forgive me for my behavior, Lord Caruthers. It was merely desperation that was forcing my hand.”
“Desperation forced you to aid me in emptying my stomach?”
One would be very foolish to believe this man was not awake on all fronts, Hero realized. She saw the intelligence in his eyes and there was no doubting that, unlike yesterday, today he was in complete control of his faculties and would not let her get away with anything like what she had previously.
Smoothing her skirts, which, she noted, had oatmeal on them as well as another sticky, unidentifiable substance, she attempted to steer the conversation to where she wanted it. “My lord, the reason I came to see you yesterday was because I have written to you endlessly and received no response.”
His dark brows drew together. “I have received no letter from you, Miss Appleby.”
Hero felt her temper rise. She would not be fobbed off with lies. “I assure you I sent them and did not receive one reply, my lord.”
“And I will state again that I did not receive them, Miss Appleby.”
Stay calm, Hero.
“Lord Caruthers, I fail to see why you have journeyed here today-”
“I gave you my word that I would come, Miss Appleby. That is why I am here,” he said, interrupting her.
“That's as may be.” Hero waved a hand. “But if you have no wish to help my cause and are determined to misrepresent the truth in regards to my attempts to correspond with you, then there is surely nothing further to say on the matter.” Not a wise move, Hero, she thought as his green eyes narrowed.
“Are you suggesting I am a liar, Miss Appleby?”
Feeling it prudent to retreat slightly, Hero said. “Perhaps lying is a strong word, my lord. Did you misplace the letters or forget about them, perchance?”
He was silent for several seconds, his eyes so intent that she wanted to lower hers, but she didn't because Hero had learnt from experience to always watch someone like Lord Caruthers closely and be ready to retreat, should he pose
a threat.
“I am neither old nor addled, Miss Appleby. I do not lose things, especially not things I have never laid eyes on.”
“I find excessive alcohol can sometimes lead to memory loss. My father-”
Suddenly he was on his feet and had slapped both hands on the arm of her chair, forcing Hero back in the seat. His face was now inches from her own.
“One would think if you were trying to gain my financial support, you would not want to raise my ire. In fact, one would think you would be doing everything possible to turn me up sweet.”
The words had been softly spoken but Hero heard the menace behind them. She’d never known when to shut her mouth; her father had said her biggest failing was her ability to speak without giving a thought to what poured from her lips.
“Miss Appleby, do you got dutht in your eye?”
*
Max looked to his left at the grave face of a little girl. Standing once again, he gave the lovely Miss Appleby one more look before he returned to his seat. She had taken him by surprise when he’d looked at her for the first time. Her skin was soft and tinged pink from the cold and her eyes were the color of roasted chestnuts. Deep and dark and fringed with long, curling lashes, they drew a man in and made him wonder what secrets their owner was hiding.
“I did have, Emmaline, but Lord Caruthers was able to get it out.”
He watched the sweet curve of her bottom lip as she smiled at the little girl. She wore a hideous, ill-fitting dress and her fair hair was scraped back from her face, yet she was beautiful—exquisite, actually—and he wondered how the men of Neathern had left her alone for so long. His hangover had obviously obliterated his ability to see. Had he really noticed the late Lord Appleby’s daughter, he would probably not have let her leave his house yesterday. For the brief seconds he’d held her earlier, he’d felt every lush curve of her body.
“Hereth your tea, my lord, and I’ve put two sugars in there and hereth some cake, because Mrs. Bonny said you’d need sweetening up if Miss Appleby is to change your nip fathering ways.” The little girl with the large, red bow in her black curls approached, carrying a cup.