A Timeless Romance Anthology: Sarah M. Eden British Isles Collection

by Sarah M. Eden

  “Even though I’m only a lowly stable master?”

  She shook her head. “I am only a governess.”

  The difference in their positions— his claiming nothing more exalted than being a lower servant and her hailing from the upper classes— truly didn’t bother her. With only one exception, he’d never before met an English person who felt that way.

  “A friendship between us might be difficult,” he warned. “You, after all, are not permitted to come to the stables.”

  A palpable relief settled on her. Relief, of all things. She truly wanted to be his friend. She, an Englishwoman of the upper class, wished to associate with him, a man inarguably beneath her. How very… refreshing. “I am permitted to come to the garden, though. Perhaps if you have an evening to yourself, you might come here. We could walk the paths for a time and talk. The garden is public enough to not cause any scandal.”

  He stood and joined her at the fountain. “I’m free most evenings other than Sunday. Perhaps you might make your way here to the fountain tomorrow after supper.”

  She smiled at him, and at the sight, something decidedly odd happened: his heart, an organ he’d managed to ignore for a great many years, lurched. Warmth trickled over him even as a smile of his own threatened to break free. His breath caught in his lungs, and anticipation tiptoed over every inch of him.

  He’d spent evenings in the company of friends before, but had never once looked forward to the experience with such eagerness. Miss Pemberton had asked for his friendship, but Dermot suspected he had already begun to feel a bit more than that for her.

  Chapter Four

  “I grew up about an hour from here, closer to Ben Lomond.” Dermot hadn’t spoken much about himself over the week they’d spent walking through the garden in the evenings. Sophia was pleased he was finally doing so. “Aiden, who’s my right hand in the stables, and I have known each other since we were children.”

  “Did he follow you here, or did you follow him?”

  “I came first.” Dermot plucked a flower from an obliging bush and gave it to her.

  Sophia did her utmost to hide the surge of excitement the off-hand gesture created. The more she knew him, the more she liked him. Though she wished for more than merely his friendship, she was not willing to lose that by revealing the depth of her feelings for him.

  “Did you always want to be a stable master?” she asked, carefully holding the delicate flower.

  “No. My mother had hoped for greater things, though I think she’s learned to be proud of how I’m living my life.”

  “How could she not be?” Sophia couldn’t imagine any mother not being inordinately proud of a son who was good and kind and hardworking.

  “You’ll puff me up if you’re not careful with your compliments.”

  He set his hand on her back to guide her around a puddle in their path. Moments such as these, his mannerisms resembled those of a gentleman more than a servant. He was a wonderfully intriguing contradiction.

  “I’ve learned much of you this past week,” he said. “What do I not know yet?”

  She pulled her shawl over her shoulder once more. “You are good at asking questions. I can’t imagine anything about me you haven’t discovered yet.”

  His dark-eyed gaze narrowed on her. “There is one topic you have neatly avoided every time we’ve inched near it.”

  A lump formed in her throat. “What topic is that?”

  He stopped and turned to face her. His expression wasn’t frustrated or commanding. He was, without a doubt, concerned. “Why are you afraid of Mr. Haddington?”

  “I never— I didn’t say I was afraid of him.”

  Dermot took her hand in his, still watching her closely. “You didn’t have to say it, Sophia. His name surfaces now and then, and every time, you grow as rigid as a tree and as pale as a snowy owl. How is it he scares you so much? Has he done something he ought not to have?”

  She shook her head no. “He makes me uncomfortable, yes. But he hasn’t done anything in particular. Not really. He simply—” How could she explain her reaction to Mr. Haddington when she hadn’t solid reasons for it? “Something in his eyes worries me.”

  “Promise me this, my friend,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “Do not ever hesitate to come to me if that ‘something in his eyes’ ever proves to be too much for you, if it ever becomes something more.”

  She nodded.

  “I need to hear you say it. I need to know that you know you can come to me if you’re ever worried or afraid.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  His smile sent shivers from her head to her feet. “Now, you’d best hurry along. I’ve seen a face looking down from the window a time or two. I’d wager you’re needed somewhere.”

  It was far more likely someone was looking down in disapproval. She was forever earning someone’s disdain. “Will you come back to the garden tomorrow?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’ll be away all day.”

  “Monday, then?”

  “I’d not miss it for the world.”

  Her breath caught a moment. “Do you mean that?”

  “You’ll find, Sophia Pemberton, that I do not say anything I don’t mean.”

  “You are not paying attention.” Ella’s shrill voice cut into Sophia’s distraction. “Mother will not like that you are woolgathering during our lessons.”

  “Imagine how she would feel if she were to discover that you have woolgathered so much that you are still unable to locate Prussia on the map of Europe,” Sophia replied.

  Ella’s nostrils flared. “That is your fault. You are supposed to be teaching me geography.”

  Sophia refused to be cowed by the petulant child. “Joseph has managed to learn his maps. Clearly this is not a matter of my neglecting lessons.” If she had for one moment believed Ella’s lack of knowledge was the result of anything other than the girl’s own laziness, Sophia would not have pressed the issue. But Ella, despite being bright, refused to apply herself to learning anything.

  “Yes, well—” Ella sputtered a moment, clearly struggling to find a way to make this Sophia’s fault. “I do not wish to learn geography today. I want to study French.”

  Ella had a natural aptitude for French. If only the girl would put in a bit of effort, she could become remarkably proficient. Effort, it seemed, was entirely out of the question when the subject matter was the countries of the world.

  “We will study French tomorrow,” Sophia said. “Return to your maps.”

  No sooner had Ella bent over her paper than a voice broke the silence, a voice that set Sophia’s skin crawling. “Miss Sophia. A moment of your time.”

  She turned toward the nursery doorway. She dipped her head to indicate she was listening.

  Mr. Haddington’s smile of amusement was anything but pleasant. “In private,” he clarified.

  Sophia had no intention of ever being fully “in private” with Mr. Haddington. She followed him out as far as the corridor, then stopped. “What was it you needed?”

  “We can speak in the library.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t be away from the children any longer than necessary. We are in the midst of geography lessons.”

  “Geography can wait.” Mr. Haddington moved swiftly toward her, forcing her to step backward. A wall impeded her escape. “Why is it you never come to the library during the children’s riding lessons?”

  Because I know you did not offer the invitation out of concern for my literacy. She couldn’t say that, however. She knew too well the precariousness of her situation. “Their lessons were nearly the only time I was out of doors. I mean to continue spending it that way.”

  One of his eyebrows arched, and the side of his mouth turned upward. “You needed only tell me that, Miss Sophia. I didn’t know where you were.”

  That had been the point, really.

  Mr. Haddington set his hand on the wall near her face. He leaned in close. “But
now I know where to find you.”

  She tried to move the other direction. He set his other hand on the other side of her, stopping her.

  His gaze slid over her in an unnervingly possessive manner. “Playing coy has its appeal, but I’ve grown weary of this game. Do not pretend to be innocent in the ways of the world. I have seen you making up sweet to Buchanan. You are no delicate flower, and he is not the only one looking for nectar.”

  He stepped closer, all but pressing her against the wall.

  “I would ask you to keep a proper distance, sir.”

  “I am master of this house.” He touched her face with the tips of his fingers. She flinched. “Any distance I choose is ‘proper.’”

  She ducked away, trying to slip around the side of him. “I must return to my duties.”

  He took firm hold of her wrist. “We are speaking of your duties, Sophia.”

  Her lungs and heart froze, petrified. Mr. Haddington expected this of her. Demanded it.

  “I came here to be a governess. Nothing else.” She attempted to pull free, but his grip tightened.

  “I can make life exceedingly difficult for you.”

  She yanked her arm once more, but his grip was firm. “Release me, sir.”

  His other arm slipped around her waist. This was escalating quickly. She had to get away. Far away. She couldn’t break his grip with her own strength; she needed another way to force him to loosen it. Sophia could think of only one way.

  She slammed her boot onto the top of his foot. The surprise sent him backward a step. Sophia jerked her knee upward with all the strength she had.

  He doubled over, moaning in pain. But he’d released her wrist. Sophia waited not even a moment. She ran, not slowing her pace all the way down the stairs and to the back corridor. She pushed open the doors to the terrace and ran the length of the topiary path. Her lungs burned with the effort. The weight of her full skirts pulled heavy on her.

  Where am I to go? She had no money, no possessions, no family to turn to. But she had a friend, one who had only two days earlier made her promise to turn to him in precisely this scenario.

  The paddock was as busy as ever. The staff were putting a few of the horses through their paces. Sophia didn’t see Dermot. He was likely inside.

  She hurried around the side of the paddock, continually glancing back to make certain Mr. Haddington hadn’t come after her. A stable hand led a horse out, momentarily blocking the stable doorway. Sophia tried to glance around, hoping to catch sight of Dermot.

  She slipped inside, behind the exiting horse and into the warm, damp air of the stable. The smell of horses and hay washed over her. Dermot kept his stable mucked and cleaned, so the other less-pleasant smells weren’t nearly as strong as they might have been. Stable hands filled every imaginable space. Horses nickered and moved about their stalls. Where was Dermot? The business of a working stable didn’t usually bother her, but in that moment, she felt trapped.

  She stopped halfway to the back of the row of stalls, then turned around to see if she’d missed him. Again and again she spun, hoping for a glimpse. Into her thoughts, unbidden, came Mr. Haddington, his humiliating and infuriating expectations, his clawing closeness, his painful, possessive touch. Her wrist still throbbed.

  She needed to get away from Haddington House. The view no longer held any pleasure. The land she’d fallen in love with had betrayed her.

  She took a shaky, thick breath. The threat of emotion squeezed every drop of air from her lungs.

  “Miss?” Aiden stepped into her blurry line of sight. “Are you unwell, miss?”

  She didn’t know how to answer. “Where is Dermot?” The question broke as she spoke it.

  His expression changed from curious to concerned. “This way, miss.”

  She followed him back outside and around the side of the long, stone building. “I’m sorry to pull you away from your work.”

  Aiden shook his head. “Dermot’d have m’ neck if I’d left you there looking about, ready to cry.”

  They came around the back side of the stable to a small, enclosed paddock. Dermot was inside with a young filly, leading it around and talking softly. Some of Sophia’s panic eased simply at the sight of him. She felt less alone.

  When Aiden called his name, Dermot turned. His gaze moved quickly to her. She felt her chin quiver, so she firmed her resolve to remain strong and collected. He led the young horse to the paddock gate.

  “Aiden, walk the filly about for a few minutes more.”

  He and Aiden switched places, Dermot’s gaze not leaving Sophia for more than a moment. “What’s happened?”

  “Mr. Haddington—” She managed nothing more than that. Fear, humiliation, exhaustion, all conspired against her. The weight was nearly crushing.

  Dermot set his hand on her back and led her to the far side of the small paddock, out of view of the house and stables. Sophia focused on walking and breathing, and not thinking about all that had just happened and, worse still, might have happened if she hadn’t escaped.

  They stopped behind the stables, and Dermot turned to face her fully once more. “Now tell me what’s happened. Did he hurt you?”

  “My wrist.”

  He took careful hold of her hand and inched back the cuff of her sleeve. “He’s left marks.” Dermot looked up at her once more.

  “He held it so tight. I couldn’t break free. He—” She pushed out a tight breath, attempting to fully calm herself. “He said that you weren’t the only one who ought to be permitted a taste of my ‘nectar.’”

  Dermot’s expression hardened. “He said that to you?”

  “I knew what he wanted, and that he’d insist upon it. I kicked him and struck him with my knee.” The enormity of what she’d done slowly washed over her. “He may very well be coming for me or sending the squire to drag me back. No one would ever believe I was defending myself, not if he says otherwise.”

  “I believe you,” Dermot said.

  She’d known he would. “I don’t— I don’t know what to do. I have nowhere to go.”

  “Well, then, it’s a fortunate thing for you that I know most everyone for miles around.”

  He would help. Relief inched over her. “I likely shouldn’t allow you to be bothered with this.”

  He held her hand between his two large ones. “How many times do I have to tell you, woman? I’m not one to be made to do something I’d rather not.”

  “And you’d rather help me?”

  He nodded firmly. “I’d very much rather.”

  Sophia did not know why, but his eager assistance undid what little control she’d gained over her emotions. A tear dropped from the corner of her eye more quickly than she could wipe it away.

  “Don’t cry, Sophia. You’re not alone in this. We’ll find a place for you to lay your head.”

  She swiped at a second tear, hoping it would be the last. “I would happily live in a cave so long as I need not return to that house.”

  “You need never go back there again. And further, you need not live in a cave.”

  “A hole in the ground, then?” The attempt at humor might not have been expertly managed, but making the effort lifted her spirits a little.

  “Or a mud bank,” he answered. “Whichever is handier.”

  She took her first steady breath in thirty minutes.

  “We’ve a fair distance to travel,” Dermot said. “We’d best get started.”

  He kept her hand in his as he walked, urging her along with him toward the front of the stables once more.

  “Am I permitted to know where we’re going?”

  He nodded. “I’m taking you to stay with someone.”

  “Someone you know?”

  Another nod.

  They stepped into the stable. Dermot pulled one of the stable hands aside. “Hitch my horse up to the cart. When Aiden returns with the new filly, tell him I’ve put him in charge for the remainder of the day.”

  The stable hand gave a quic
k, deferential bow. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “I’m takin’ Miss Pemberton to meet the queen.”

  “You are acquainted with Queen Victoria?” Sophia asked, not believing it for a moment.

  The stable hand answered before Dermot did. “Not that queen.”

  “Do we have another?”

  Dermot pulled a knapsack from a hook near the back. “Mary, Queen of Scots. Heard of that one?”

  Sophia had come to adore Dermot’s sense of humor the past week or more. “I hadn’t realized Queen Mary was still wandering about. She must be quite ancient by now.”

  He tossed her a smile over his shoulder. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that.”

  “You refer to your mother as Queen Mary?”

  “You’ll meet her soon enough. Then you’ll understand.”

  Chapter Five

  ’Twas a very good thing for Mr. Haddington that Dermot was occupied with driving Sophia to his mother’s house, elsewise he’d likely have tracked the man down and beaten him to a bloodied mess. He’d long suspected Haddington was a blackguard of the worst sort, but hearing the proof of it from Sophia’s lips and seeing the fear in her eyes had ended all doubts.

  Though Sophia had worked hard to hide it, she cried off and on during their drive. The tears had only fully stopped when she had fallen asleep.

  Haddington had made her cry. That, Dermot could not forgive.

  She sat tucked up beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. It was a position of such utter trust. A number of women had thrown themselves at him. Those who knew him as the stable master generally saw little beyond a handsome face and strong build. Those acquainted with his life away from the stables were far more intrigued by his holdings and connections. None of them ever bothered to see the man he was.

  But this woman, this high-born lady with her impeccable manners and precise civility, had seen him. More than that, she liked the him she had seen. What would she think when she realized how much of his life he’d kept secret from her?