Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  “You were in the army?”

  Mayson nodded. “For a while. Once it was discovered that I had a talent for making the scrawny chickens and dried meat that were our main rations actually taste like something edible, I saw very little of the fighting unless our camp was overrun.”

  “Did that happen often?”

  The softly curling eyelashes around the deep green eyes blinked, while she gazed at him steadily, waiting for the answer to her question. A man could get lost in those eyes, drown in them. She was so beautiful. It was no wonder that she had attracted the Duke’s attention.

  Mayson dragged his attention back to their conversation, trying not to act like a complete mooncalf. “Every now and then. Often enough that my batman kept my things packed at all times so’s we could move at a moment’s notice.”

  “You had a batman? I thought only officers had them.” Mrs. Swinton seemed puzzled.

  “In the army, a head cook is an officer. As quartermaster, I was responsible not only for myself, but also for my staff and all the supplies. Sometimes what ran over our camp was not actual army—it was a rabble hoping for food.”

  “How dreadful! What did you do then?”

  “As often as possible, shunted them off. When we could spare it, I would give out bread. Only plain bread. Our men needed the meat. There was not enough to give any of that away.”

  “I am amazed that there was flour enough to make bread. I had heard that it was in short supply.”

  “I will let you in on a little secret. If horses can eat grain, so can the men. I had my lads grind the corn that was given as fodder, and had them gleaning the fields for hay and grass for the horses.”

  “Did your commanding officer know about this?”

  Mayson laughed. “Not a bit of it. He was too busy with his maps, maneuvers, and trying to get gunpowder for the muskets and the cannon. As long as food of some description appeared on his camp table, he did not care where it came from.”

  “Oh, my! So you had free rein?”

  “To some extent. My best kitchen boys kept getting sent off on other duties, so I was frequently retraining. We were all a good bit leaner when peace was declared.”

  “So here you are, cooking for the Duchess. How...”

  “Ah, but that is a tale for another time. I have talked quite enough about me.”

  “Oh, no. I could listen to you talk forever,” Mrs. Swinton said sincerely. “You make the simplest things, like grinding animal fodder for bread, into an interesting story.”

  “I am glad you find it so. I can assure you that I am immeasurably glad of the excellent flour that is delivered to the Dower House.”

  “To be sure. The Duke is immensely generous with his mother. Today was quite unusual. Under most circumstances, he is a complete gentleman.”

  “What made today different, do you think?” Mayson asked. He had heard different stories from the maids, many of whom said it was best to be elsewhere when the Duke was roaming the halls.

  “The Duchess is anxious to see her son wed while she is still young enough to enjoy the grandchildren. She undertook to instruct him in his duties as a married man, including exercises in the bedroom, and she insisted that I help with the instruction. The Duchess can be quite outspoken at times. I believe it stirred his libido.”

  Mayson laughed. “Oh, dear, she did not.”

  “She did. Fortunately, he informed her that the… who did he say? The under-stairs maid, when he was fifteen? I think that was right. Anyway, he bluntly informed his mother that the maid in question had taken care of any necessary instruction in that department.”

  “Oh, my,” Mayson could only shake his head and grin.

  “Ah, but I should not be gossiping about the Dowager and her son. It is rude of me, and not at all discreet.”

  “I promise it will go no further than my ears, Mrs. Swinton. But I do see how such talk might have given the Duke the wrong impression.”

  “Thank you so much for understanding. And for the rescue. It allowed me to get away without making a scene. Moreover, to do it quickly enough to take care of the wine spill before it had a chance to set. Even so, I am not sure that tablecloth or the sheets will ever be quite the same again.”

  “We have an amazingly canny washerwoman. Wine, blood, rancid butter, grass, or ground in dirt, she manages it all.”

  “That is a relief. The Duchess seems to live in mortal fear of offending the housekeeper to such extent that she might leave.”

  “I can readily believe that. Mrs. Henshaw can be a regular dragon. Even I walk warily around her, and so does Mr. Wilson. I fear the entire household would fall apart without her, however. She has been here forever, it seems, and knows exactly what is going on at all times. I am not quite sure how she does it. She is not a large or imposing woman.”

  “Indeed, no,” Mrs. Swinton agreed. “She is dainty and birdlike. But not even Bronwyn, who is a big-boned country lass, offers to stand up to her. The footmen are quite terrified of her, I believe.”

  “She does seem to have a way of making an impression,” Mayson agreed. “How is she with you?”

  “No one could possibly be kinder,” Mrs. Swinton assured him. “She is direct and clear in her instructions, and I have never found fault with them. I am quite impressed. Should I ever be so fortunate as to be hired as a housekeeper, I shall certainly take her as a model.”

  “Indeed?” Mayson was surprised at that.

  “Indeed. You know exactly where you are with her at all times.”

  “So why is the Duchess so intimidated by her?”

  “Her Grace is a wonderful person, but she is a free spirit in every sense of the word. I am not sure that Mrs. Henshaw quite approves of the Duchess. It shows in her manner and in the way she deals with her.”

  “How strange. Amazing that it has not gotten her turned off.”

  “Mrs. Henshaw has a slight advantage there.”

  “How so?” Mayson asked.

  “She used to be the Duchess’ nanny. In fact, she was also the Duke’s head nursemaid, so it was a natural progression from head of the nursery to head of the housekeeping staff.”

  Mayson just shook his head. “You amaze me. I’ve been here for months, and even though the younger staff often confide in me, this is the first I have heard of this.”

  “Her Grace is a very lonely person, Mr. Rudge. You have no idea how much your simple kindness with the special foods and carrying things up from the kitchen for me have meant to her.”

  “I am glad to have been of service,” Mayson said, a little embarrassed.

  Mrs. Swinton finished her drink and said, “This has been lovely. But I must go. I will need to be up before Her Grace to make sure of plans for the day.”

  “Of course. Thank you for sharing my late-night repast. I do not often have the opportunity for extended conversation with anyone.”

  Mayson rose, and politely pulled out Mrs. Swinton’s chair, assisting her to rise. “Mrs. Swinton, this has been so pleasurable. Could I beg a favor?”

  “That depends on what it is,” she returned, warily.

  “Nothing untoward, I assure you. But I believe that we will have the same half day this se’nnight. Could I persuade you to a picnic in the park below the bowling green? I contemplate nothing but sharing food and conversation, I assure you.”

  “I would be delighted, Mr. Rudge. This has been a pleasure. I shall look forward to sharing food and conversation.”

  She offered him her hand, and he took it gently in his. He bowed over it, and politely kissed the air above it, as if she were a lady.

  “Thank you for the kind invitation,” she said, withdrawing her hand politely. “But now I must go lest I oversleep tomorrow.”

  She turned and hurried away, her soft slippers making little shushing sounds on the stone floor.

  Mayson held one hand over the other, savoring the memory of the feel of her hand. He should plan something special for the picnic. Something purchased with hi
s own money, not drawn from stores. In his mind, they were already seated at the stone table near the old willow tree, with the brook rushing nearby. She was beyond extraordinary.

  Chapter 11

  Darrius frowned at the account balance sheet his solicitor was showing him.

  How could it have possibly gotten so low?

  “So you see, Your Grace,” the fellow was saying, “Unless we turn off some of the workers or reduce the kitchen budget, there is not enough money for a new carriage.”

  Darrius sighed. “Well enough. We shall simply have to refurbish the old one.”

  The agent was silent for a few minutes.

  Darrius stared at him. “Let me guess, not enough to refurbish it, either?”

  “Your Grace,” his solicitor said deferentially, “We have just exactly enough to get through spring planting. When the crops begin to yield, then we might be able to refurbish the old carriage.”

  Darrius thought for a few minutes. “Perhaps we could make do with fewer plowmen...”

  “Ill advised, Your Grace. Fewer plowmen mean fewer fields tilled. Fewer fields tilled...”

  “Means reduced crops, which leads to reduced income,” Darrius finished the sentence for him. “What if we were to borrow the money?”

  “Your Grace, you have mortgaged everything to the hilt. Borrowing more is ill advised. As it is, if the crops fail, or the market falls, you will have difficulty paying your notes.”

  “So I must go about looking shabby, advertising to the world that the Duke of Tolware is reduced to wearing last year’s fashions and riding in an elderly carriage that was purchased more than twenty years ago? What happens if an axle breaks?”

  “I am sure I don’t know, Your Grace,” the man said apologetically. “Perhaps,” he added slyly, “You should move up your marriage to Miss Notley. The dowry might go a long way toward staving off creditors and might even extend to a new carriage and perhaps a new suit or two.”

  “Faugh!” Darrius snorted in disgust. “I’ll be doing my duty by that dry stick of a woman soon enough. You would wish me to be doing it sooner?”

  The solicitor kept on a strict poker face. “You never know, Your Grace, she might surprise you with unexpected passions.”

  “Her only passion is fine jewelry. Chances are, instead of improving my fortunes, she will beggar me. You are my business manager. Surely you can manage to extract a little more profit from this estate? What if we should raise the rents?”

  “Your Grace,” the fellow said, “Have you ever seen a peasant revolt?”

  “No,” Darrius said.

  “I have. Harvests have been poor the last two years, what with the strange weather and all. If you raise the rents, the farmers and shop keepers will begin to grow hungry. Hungry people become restless, then they revolt. I can assure you that raising the rents is the last thing you should do. Our people are already paying all they can.”

  “Very well, no new carriage, no added wardrobe. I shall have to trust my man’s genius with starch and needle to get me through the next several months.”

  “It would be the prudent course, Your Grace,” the solicitor said, folding up the account books, and preparing to retire to his office. “If I might be excused?”

  “Go, go!” Darrius flapped a dismissive hand at him. “I do not know why I bothered to speak to you at all. You croak like an old crow.”

  The solicitor wisely said nothing at all, merely folded up his books and went out the door.

  Darrius glowered at the blotter on his desk. His father had always handled all the transactions himself, but Darrius had heard that gentlemen were better served to hire an expert in these matters. Thus far, the only result had been a curtailment of his personal spending allowance.

  “I’ll go over to the Dower House and visit with my mother,” he said out loud to the empty room. “Perhaps I will at least be able to amuse myself by looking at the companion.”

  And perhaps this time I will have better success luring her into one of the bedrooms. What ill fortune that the cook should happen along just at that particular moment. Although, I must admit, she looked more frightened than intrigued.

  He did not voice the latter thought aloud, however. There were some things better left unsaid.

  Darrius shrugged carelessly into his greatcoat without calling for his man. This rumpled the sleeves of his jacket, causing them to bunch and put him in a great deal of discomfort. He tugged down the sleeves, wriggling around to settle the layers of fabric, then jammed his hat upon his head and set off for the Dower House.

  Outside, his mood improved somewhat. The walk from the Main House to the Dower House might not be quite as picturesque as his father’s account of Hillsworth, but it was a respectable panorama. Little bowers with benches were set at intervals along the way. In the distance, the plowmen were hard at work, and the fields were taking orderly shape.

  It was a scene that suggested prosperity and well-being, which soothed his ruffled feelings a great deal. So much so, in fact, that he was in quite a jaunty mood by the time he entered his mother’s house and knocked on her drawing room door.

  “Darrius!” she exclaimed with delight. “What an unexpected pleasure. Do come in and sit down. Mrs. Swinton, be a dear and run down to see what we might have in the way of a special tea.”

  “It will be my pleasure, Your Grace,” Mrs. Swinton replied courteously. So saying, she set aside her sewing and went quickly out the door.

  “I am glad to see you, my dear,” his mother said. “But you look a bit rumpled. How could your man let you out the door looking like that!”

  “I, uh, sort of dodged him,” Darrius replied, feeling like a little boy who has been caught out.

  “Well, never mind. Let Wilson take your coat and hat. He will furbish you up before you step back outside.”

  Darrius resigned himself to allowing the aging butler to help him out of his coat.

  When the fellow had stepped out of the room, the Duchess commanded, “Now tell Mother what has you in such a taking that you dodged your man.”

  “I spoke with my solicitor this morning,” Darrius began.

  “Oh, dear!” The Duchess flung up her hands in horror. She then reached up and tugged on the bellpull. When the butler answered the summons, she said, “Please have a decanter of brandy sent in. My son has had a difficult morning.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” the butler replied, withdrawing.

  Darrius felt a flash of vindication, and a lightening of his mood thanks to his mother’s sympathy. “Thank you for that,” he said. “It was a rather trying session.”

  “What happened to upset you so?”

  “Well, the old carriage is getting rather shabby. I would like to replace it, but the stupid man says that if I do that, there will not be enough money to pay all the workers for the spring planting.”

  “Oh, dear!” the Duchess clicked her tongue, “I can quite sympathize. It is things like that which caused your father to dismiss his man of business and do it all himself. However,” she added judiciously, “I am not at all sure we were the better for it. George was a dear man, but he did not quite have a head for business. He appealed to my father, who was alive at the time, for help.”

  “What happened, Mother?”

  “Well, Darrius, Father loaned us a thousand pounds to get our affairs in order and insisted that we re-hire the solicitor. Then he remarked that he was glad he had tied up my inheritance so that George… um, what was the phrase he used? Oh, yes. Could not make ducks and drakes of it.”

  “Can you lend me the money for a new carriage?” Darrius asked wheedlingly.

  “Oh, darling, you know I would if I could. But my allowance is small. It pays the servants here, and provides victualing and incidentals for the house so that you are spared the burden of it. You could lessen the amount that you add to my household for a few months if you wish. But unless your carriage costs less than forty pounds, I’m afraid a loan is out of the question.”
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br />   Darrius knew very well that a new carriage would cost a great deal more than forty pounds. In fact, the least expensive one he had considered cost nearly four hundred guineas. It was an impossible sum, yet for the want of it, he would be forced to ride about in the old family coach or be reduced to hiring a conveyance to go about town. It simply did not bear thinking on.

  “Do not pull such a long face, my son. The crops will surely be better this year, and at summer’s end you may very well be able to purchase a new coach before the London season. Look, here is Mrs. Swinton and Mr. Rudge with a fine tea for us.”