“Why?” Billy had called out, his mouth open in astonishment.
Henry shrugged. “Because Thomas Babcock is a wanker, and Lily Parker deserves better,” he answered with a shrug.
For the first time in two days, Billy smiled. “Aye, my lord,” he murmured in reply. And then he was off to saddle two horses and fetch his bedroll.
Chapter 14
All in a Day’s Work
“I’ll be back in two ... three days at most,” Henry said as he held Hannah against his chest. His news of the trip he and Billy were taking to retrieve Lily was such a surprise to Hannah, she could only stare, open-mouthed, at her husband. “I doubt I’ll be back in time to ... to share your bed tonight,” he stammered, feeling a pang in his gut that surprised him. “But, with luck, we might be back late tomorrow or the following day. They can’t have gone far in a gig,” he reasoned. “And they probably don’t have much money ...”
“She has a ten-pound note,” Hannah stated suddenly, her face displaying the guilt she felt. I should have said something about Lily’s absence, she realized. But she thought the girl had merely left to visit relatives in Witney, which wasn’t so very far away. It wasn’t until Sarah said something about Babcock being a beau that she thought Lily might be gone for good. “My father gave it to her after our wedding – as compensation and ... a sort of ‘thank you’ gift, I think,” she explained, her face suddenly taut with worry.
Henry lowered his head so that his forehead touched hers. “Damn,” he whispered. That kind of money meant they would be able to change out the horse, stay at an inn, eat well. Move faster. “Pray for her. I’ll hurry back,” he whispered, capturing her lips with his own in a kiss that was urgent and heartfelt. He pulled a note from his waistcoat pocket. “As quickly as you can this morning – these instructions must reach Frank Coley, my man in the field. Murphy knows to go with you. Will you see to it they’re delivered?” he asked, his forehead still pressed against hers.
Hannah took the note, her eyes lifting to meet his in question. “Of course, but, wouldn’t your foreman expect your valet to deliver them in your stead?” she wondered.
Henry closed his eyes, his lips thinning. “Frank Coley has no regard for Murphy. He’s a servant. Act as my countess and Coley will regard you, respect you,” he explained quickly. “He ... he values class and holds dear to traditions. Can you do this for me?”
Nodding, Hannah fingered the note. “Of course, my lord,” she answered, a quirk on her lips. “Perhaps I will even stay and watch the men work,” she added with a lifted eyebrow.
“You minx!’ Henry countered, thinking she was teasing. His face took on a serious expression again, though, and he sighed.
“I miss you already,” Hannah whispered, lifting herself on her toes so that she could kiss him again on his lips and cheek. “Be well.”
Henry sighed and nodded. Then he was gone.
Armed with Henry’s instructions for that day’s laborers, Hannah was glad to have something to do besides menus and needlework.
Having managed to dress herself in a riding habit, she hurried out to the stables. A footman helped her saddle a small horse before he prepared a horse for Murphy, claiming the earl would have his head if he allowed her to ride to the western edge of the estate without benefit of a chaperone. Soon, Murphy was seated on a stallion and Hannah was perched on a gray gelding, the note tucked into a pocket. The instructions seemed simple enough, although there was also a drawing and scratches along the side of it that were probably a legend of some kind. Hannah thought to ask Murphy about them, but decided time was more important than understanding her husband’s diagram. They took off for the western border of the earldom just before nine o’clock. It took only fifteen minutes to reach the work crew. Shovels and picks were yielded with a good deal of enthusiasm as the men dug up the loamy soil, the trench already several feet wide where it would connect with the river once that last bit of land was hewn away. Riding as tall in the sidesaddle as she could, Hannah motioned for Murphy to stay back. He rolled his eyes but pulled up, allowing her to move again at a trot as she surveyed the workers. A few looked her way, their gazes suggesting they appreciated what they saw, but most continued to fill their shovels and hoist the dirt onto a series of growing mounds behind them. Hannah made sure to stay out of their way as she pulled the instructions from her pocket and reread them. Now that she was seeing the work being done firsthand, she could better understand Henry’s instructions and the diagram. She also understood the enormity of Henry’s plan. The ditches were wide, and their length was the entire distance from the river to the front edge of the farmlands – the crew doing the digging numbered at least fifty. No wonder they had been able to do the east side trench in a week.
“Ma’am?” a man called out from atop a horse. Dressed in a wool topcoat and doeskin breeches, he looked nothing like the laborers. He spurred his horse and made his way to her side.
“Mr. Coley?” Hannah spoke, keeping her voice steady. She had to admit to feeling out of her element. At the man’s tentative nod, she held out her hand. “Hannah Forster, Countess of Gisborn,” she spoke firmly.
Frank Coley’s eyes widened. “My lady,” he responded, awkwardly taking her hand. Hannah gave his hand two firm shakes, hoping they felt as firm to the foreman as she meant to convey with her handshake.
“The earl asked that I act in his stead today,” Hannah said as she held out the written instructions. “Do you have news or any messages I need to relay to Gisborn?”
The foreman took the note and opened it, studying the cryptic message and drawings. His expression took on a look of appreciation, his brows rising as he considered the note. “May I inquire – have you read this, my lady?” he wondered, his eyes squinting as he faced east, the sun nearly blinding him.
“Of course, Mr. Coley,” Hannah replied with a nod, keeping her expression as impassive as possible. “Did you have a concern? Or a message you wished me to relay to the earl?” she repeated, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions she couldn’t answer.
“No, my lady,” he answered finally. “The earl is quite clear with his instructions,” he said, indicating the note.
Hannah thought to ask if she could stay and watch the progress, but then realized by asking permission she would be putting herself at the mercy of the foreman’s opinion. She was a countess; she could simply stay and watch if it suited her.
It suited her.
She took the reins and guided her horse so it cantered far behind a line of workers on the west side of the trench, her ride taking her almost to the river’s edge. The water line was high here, no doubt due to the spring run-off; the winter had brought more snow than usual, but the river’s movement was slow.
Hannah imagined what would happen when the gates were lifted for the first time. Water would rush into the trench, bouncing in waves as it first hit the west bank, rebounding to splash against the east bank before settling into a smoother flow as it filled the ditch. That meant the sides of the trench closest to the river would be in danger of caving. The middle part of the trench walls would be carved out by the blasts of the water when the gates were raised and the water rushed to fill the ditch, eroding the supports for the edges of the trench. She made a mental note to ask Henry how the trench walls would be reinforced.
“Is there a problem?”
Hannah nearly started at the sound of Murphy’s voice. He had ridden up to join her at the edge of the river.
“Not yet,” Hannah answered with a shake of her head. “I’ll speak with Gisborn about my concerns,” she said, keeping her chin as high as she could.
“Mr. Coley may wish to hear them first, my lady, so he can make corrections,” Murphy countered, realizing he was being impertinent in his suggestion. “I beg forgiveness,” he added then, his lips thinning.
Hannah regarded her husband’s valet, wondering how much he knew of the plans for the irrigation ditches. “I did not take offense.” She glanced back at where the
ditch would intersect with the edge of the river. “I have seen Gisborn’s plan for how the gates will be built, but the drawings did not show this area just beyond the gates. It’s possible he has already specified some kind of reinforcements in the wall of the trenches.”
Murphy’s brow furrowed. “Reinforcements?” he repeated, not understanding why she would think there would need to be any in soil that was mostly clay this close to the river’s edge.
Determined not to show any hesitancy in her reply, Hannah shrugged. “The rush of the water from the river will no doubt be quite strong against that edge,” she pointed to the west side of the trench, “When the gate is opened. Then the water will wave up,” she motioned with her hand, “And strike down hard on the east bank,” her hand curving and arcing to show the motion of the water, “Until the flow evens out. The west bank will suffer erosion and might cause the top edge to eventually collapse inward and create a dam, preventing the water from entering the ditch.”
Murphy stared at her. He blinked. “How is it you know this, my lady?” he wondered, his brows furrowing. Her ladyship talked just like his lordship!
Hannah lifted an eyebrow and regarded her husband’s valet. “Have you never played in the water, Mr. Murphy?” she asked with a hint of amusement. “With your frogs and tadpoles?”
The valet stared at Lady Gisborn, so stunned at her question he blinked again. Frogs? Before he could regain his normally impassive expression, Hannah flicked her reins and directed her horse back along the length of the trench, slowing as she reached the laborers. In the short amount of time she’d been by the river, they had extended the ditch another five feet to the north. The mountain of soil on the west side of the trench continued to grow longer, creating an earthen dam for one side of the trench. Water would then be forced to flood the fields to the east.
“Gisborn will be pleased with your men’s progress,” Hannah said as she pulled alongside the foreman.
Frank Coley regarded her with a bit of wariness. “Thank you, my lady,” he said in acknowledgment.
Raising her voice so it could be heard by several of the workers nearest to them, she said, “Do be sure the men are given a chance to drink water and have a suitable break for elevenses and luncheon,” she said, more as a suggestion than an order. “I’ll leave you to your work. Good day, Mr. Coley.”
Coley’s eyebrows shot up. There was a fraction of a second where he thought to counter her suggestion and instead held his tongue. “Yes, my lady,” he murmured, watching in surprise as the earl’s wife nodded and took her leave of the work crew. Coley had no doubt she would be back, probably at least one more time that day.
Hannah kept her smile reined in until she was past the edge of the field and almost to the stables. She’d never behaved in such a manner before, acting every bit the earl’s wife with her comments to the foreman. Without having actually looked at the men who overheard her suggestion about breaking for lunch, she knew they were surprised, pleasantly surprised. And they would no doubt put in more effort if their thirst was slaked and their hunger staved off. She wondered what kind of treats Mrs. Chambers could bake up in time for an afternoon repast.
Chapter 15
A Rescue of Sorts
For at least the fourth time that day, Billy O’Conlin was sure he saw the back of Lily Parker on a slow-moving gig. And for the fourth time, he felt despair when he discovered it wasn’t her. He and Henry were already past Stow, but it seemed as if the miles were going by too slowly as they made their way north.
“Patience,” Henry spoke from his left. He’d allowed Thunder to catch up to Billy’s mount, knowing the horse liked to be in the lead. Had Henry any interest in raising race horses, Thunder would likely make a good stud. “They have a whole day on us.”
The groom glanced over at his master. “But if Babcock is driving that dog cart he uses to haul wood, and if he’s using the nag he calls a horse, we might have caught up to them by now.”
Henry was wont to agree; it was possible the couple had taken an entirely different route on their way to Scotland, but it wouldn’t make sense to take the lesser traveled roads. The threat of highwaymen or damage to the dog cart wheels dictated they follow the main roads. Discreet inquiries along the way suggested the couple had pulled over near Widford and napped in the cart as the horse drank from a stream. That had been the morning before. Another account had a couple asking about rooms at an inn just south of Stow late last evening. Henry remembered Billy’s tense reaction. The Coley girl had been ruined at an inn much farther up the road. He could only hope for Billy’s sake – and for Lily’s – that Thomas Babcock was holding out until they were too far from Bampton for someone to follow and expect to catch them.
They had just passed through Moreton when Henry spied a lone figure on the side of the road. His brows furrowed as he strained his eyes, not sure if the person was old or young. Billy caught his gaze and followed it. His breath caught as he realized it had to be Lily.
His horse was up for the race with Thunder. Any girl would be frightened to death on seeing two horses speeding in her direction, clearly intent on an intersecting course with where she was trudging along the side of the road. But as they slowed their mounts, Billy barely stopping his own before dismounting, Lily gave no indication she even noticed them.
“Lily!” he called out, running up to her. At first, she gave no indication she recognized him, her steps barely large enough to move her forward. He stared at her, finally reaching out to stop her. “Lily,” he said more softly. Lifting her chin with a finger, he gasped as he saw her chapped lips, the smear of dirt across one cheek interrupted by tear stains. Her eyes were hollow, distant. And then, as if she’d been awakened, her eyes cleared.
“Billy?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Still on his mount, Henry came up alongside the couple and glanced back north, wondering how long Lily had been on foot. Where was the dog cart? Where was Babcock? The girl was still wearing her livery, but the white apron was no longer very white and the black gown was stained with mud. If she had been wearing a bonnet, it was long gone. Her honey brown hair hung loose. “Christ!” Henry murmured. He dismounted and pulled a canteen from a saddlebag. “Lily, drink this,” he ordered, pushing the canteen toward the girl.
Billy took it and held it as Lily took a long gulp and sputtered. “Easy,” he said, pulling it away so she couldn’t drink too much at once. When she finally indicated she’d had enough, she turned to regard the earl. All at once, her eyes filled with tears.
“I .. I think I killed him,” she murmured, a sob interrupting her claim.
Billy stared at her, realizing at once she meant Babcock. “Where?” he asked, stunned by her words. For the past twenty miles, he had wanted to do just that to Thomas Babcock. He’d been so worried for Lily, so angry at Babcock for having arranged her middle-of-the-night disappearance from Gisborn Hall. He heard Gisborn’s hiss and another curse, was aware that the earl had mounted his horse. Seeing her tears, he fished in his pocket for a handkerchief and held it out to her. She seemed surprised by the gesture, and although she took the square of linen from him, she merely stared blankly.
“Stay with her. If you can, get her on your horse and head toward home,” Henry ordered. “I’ll catch up. We’ll get rooms at the White Hart inn in Stow,” he said added before spurring Thunder to head north.
Billy nodded, putting his arm around Lily’s shoulders while he spoke in a soft voice. “It’s alright, Lily. I’m here. And I’m not letting you leave ... ever again,” he murmured quietly. He helped her onto the saddle, leaving her legs hanging off to one side as he mounted and held her against the front of his body. “Hang on,” he urged her, taking one of her limp arms and wrapping it around his waist and back. He placed her head into the small of one shoulder and wrapped an arm around her. Once he was sure she would stay on the horse, he took a quick look north. He wasn’t surprised that the earl and his horse were no longer visible. He was tempted to
follow, tempted to learn the fate of the rake who had taken the girl he loved. Gisborn had said to head south, though, so he flicked the reins and did so, cradling Lily as he set a pace that would keep them both seated.
When Henry hadn’t returned by midnight that night, Hannah finally took to her bed. She clung to the pillow Henry usually ended up on after their nights of lovemaking, his musky scent lingering in the fabric of the covering. She inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the familiar scent. She was bone tired. Worry – about Lily and for Henry out there somewhere on a quest to find the maid – on top of her first active day as a countess, had taken its toll.
The irrigation project was coming along faster than she would have thought possible. At Hannah’s request, Mrs. Chambers had baked dozens of biscuits, filling a basket for Hannah to take to the work site late in the afternoon. The men had been shocked to see her return, and even more stunned when she dismounted and carried the basket to each and every man, holding it out so they could help themselves. Their eyes wary, occasionally glancing toward the foreman, they all gave her deep nods and murmurs of thanks. Once all the laborers had the opportunity to take a biscuit, she offered the basket up to Frank Coley. The foreman nodded to her and helped himself to the last biscuit. “Thank you, my lady,” he said cautiously, his manner quite serious. “If I may speak freely,” he said in a low voice. Without waiting for Hannah to agree, he went on, “If the men are to stop for tea and biscuits, they get less work done.”
Arching an eyebrow at the foreman, Hannah turned her gaze to where the men were lined up along the west edge of the ditch. Most were digging with renewed vigor, several breaking out into song as they filled their shovels and hoisted the dirt behind them. “It looks to me as if they’re getting more done, Mr. Coley,” she countered. “I can only wonder how much more they would get done if there really was tea.” With that she strode back to her horse, remembering only then she didn’t have a mounting block on which to stand. She was about to step into the stirrup and raise herself into the sidesaddle when a burly man was suddenly there, holding out his hands. He’d laced his fingers together into a step. “Why, thank you,” she said as she placed her boot into his hand and allowed him to lift her until she was seated.
The Seduction of an Earl Page 20