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

by Hanna Hamilton

  “It is to be expected,” Mr. McElroy put in. “Stayin’ up past dawn, then sleepin’ till noon, and then up to have a round of visitin’ an’ dancin’. Work for the great houses in Lunnon town an you see it often. ‘Sides, you would not believe the things gentlewomen put on their faces an’ in their drinks, all in the name o’ bein’ beautiful.”

  “Does it work?” Jemmy asked, fascinated.

  “Not so much as they hope,” Mr. McElroy declared. “Them as was already pretty maybe get a little bit prettier. But them as is squinty-eyed or hatchet-faced, ain’t no amount o’ paint or powder will change it.”

  “Do you not think, then, Mr. McElroy, that beautiful actions will not improve even the most ‘hatchet-faced’ from within?” said Evelyn, hoping to stem the tide of confidences that were pouring out of Mr. McElroy’s mouth.

  “Now as to that, to be sure they can. I’ve seen many a homely woman, or man for that matter, transformed by a genuine smile. So those actions do not even have to be large or extensive.”

  “I am glad that we are of like minds on this topic,” Evelyn said. “Else how should any of us retain any beauty in age?”

  “True enough. And I will give you credit, Mrs. Swinton, for looking upon this miserable countenance,” he gestured toward his face, “without flinching.”

  “Why should I not?” Evelyn asked. “Your suffering was in service to England. Does it pain you?”

  “Now and again, but mostly only my jaw when the weather is wet.”

  “How did it happen?” Jemmy asked with some interest.

  “Some kind of clinging stuff that burned like fury. They rolled me in sand, but I lost the eye. Sawbones said I was lucky not to lose the other.”

  “What happened to your leg?” Jemmy asked, wide-eyed, with a boy’s rampant curiosity.

  “Musket ball. Got hit whilst they were dragging me away, can you imagine? They were firing on the wounded.”

  “Not an uncommon practice,” Mayson said calmly. “Vile, but understandable. A man who leaves the battlefield and gets patched up can perhaps fight another day. If you are defending your homeland and want the, uh,” he glanced at Evelyn, “opposition to go away and stay gone, they don’t usually rise up out of the grave.”

  “Dear me,” Evelyn said. “It is a wonder you survived at all, Mr. McElroy. Did you have any opportunity to see any part of Africa other than the battlefield?” She did not miss the grateful glance from Mayson as she turned the conversation to topics other than the household.

  “I did,” Mr. McElroy replied with a smile that gave the unscarred side of his face a cherubic sweetness while pulling the scars on the other side into a demonic mask. “We were camped near a great plain. There was an amazing lot of wildlife there, and we did not go hungry at that camp, let me tell you! There were herds of grazing animals of all sorts. If you went a short distance, there was a pride of lions that had their territory.”

  “Oh, my! Were you not afraid that they might raid your camp?”

  “With so many tasty wild creatures about? Not likely as long as we left them alone. Me an’ some other men crept up to the top of a little rise an’ watched them one day. The babies play together like a litter of barn kittens. It woulda been cute if we had not known that the parents could bite through a wildebeest’s bones.”

  “You must come up and tell stories to the Duchess one evening,” Evelyn said. “She does not go out much, so stories of faraway places are her favorite amusement.”

  “I would be honored,” Mr. McElroy said, going a little misty-eyed. “If you do not think she would be bored hearing stories from such a rough fellow as I.”

  “The Duchess is a law unto herself. I will ask her, and see what she says. I can assure you that I am finding your accounts of the animals most fascinating.”

  Thus encouraged, Mr. McElroy kept them well entertained with his descriptions of the various wildlife he had seen. He made no further mention of battles or action, nor did he recount the conditions in the healing tents. Evelyn watched Mayson’s face, sensing that he was profoundly relieved that Mr. McElroy was focusing on wildlife, flowers, and plants.

  “There’s these gigantic trees,” the scarred man was saying, “that look like they was turned upside down and stuck in the ground with their roots all up in the air. The parson, who used to be a missionary in those parts, said they had a story something about lightning, thunder, and the gods being so angry they turned the trees upside down.”

  “That is simply amazing,” Evelyn said. “I must leave you, gentlemen, for the Duchess likes to have everything in order when she rises in the mornings. Good night, and a pleasure meeting you, Mr. McElroy.”

  As Evelyn made her way up the stairs, she wondered just how this would all turn out. Certainly, Jemmy was excited to be promoted to under cook, and just as certainly he deserved it. She hoped that Mr. McElroy was as good at washing dishes as he was at telling stories. Even though she was disappointed not to have her usual quiet meal with Mayson, she had to admit that despite his horrific scarring, Mr. McElroy seemed to be a perfectly amiable gentleman, if a little rough around the edges.

  Then, there was that other thing, Mayson’s revelation. She had known from the beginning that he seemed too well-bred, too personable to be a commoner. Not that cooks could not be refined of voice and countenance, but Mayson...

  Mayson is exceptional. He is well-formed and athletic in ways that a working man would not be. His speech, while not pretentious, is meticulously phrased. And his face...

  She let herself dream for just a moment.

  His face was perfectly formed. His blue eyes, framed with thick, dark eyelashes, were like clear pools, deceptively simple yet amazingly deep. She longed to touch his thick, dark brown hair. Even at the end of the day, when it was damp from his work near the hot kitchen fires, and flattened from being confined under a cap, it tried to curl. When it was clean and dry, on their half-day picnics, it had an adorable cowlick at the crown just like that of a little boy.

  If we had only the two of us to consider, running away to the colonies would be the best choice. He could continue to pretend to be dead, and leave the estate to his uncle. A shopkeeper’s daughter can easily marry a cook, but she is unlikely to marry an Earl.

  Evelyn sighed, and punched her pillow, trying to pummel it into some sort of comfortable shape, one that would comfortably support her head.

  But it is not just the two of us. It is the Duchess, the Duke, Miss Notley, and all the people who live at Hillsworth who are being affected by its mismanagement. Why can life not ever be simple?

  Chapter 23

  Mayson missed the late evening tête-à-têtes with Evelyn, but he could scarcely tell Jemmy and Mr. McElroy not to join them at the table. The kitchen was essentially a public area, which was why it raised no eyebrows that Evelyn sat down at table with him for their last meal of the day.

  On the plus side, Evelyn knew a great deal about how to make things easier for a willing man who was not as strong as he had once been, and her example of grace and good table manners was helping both of his kitchen workers improve their social presence.

  Occasionally, they were now joined by one or more of the maids. One evening, even Mrs. Henshaw deigned to enter the kitchen for a cup of golden milk. All of this served to help instruct his undercook and potboy in the necessities of hiring on with one of the great houses.

  This particular evening it was just the three of them setting up the table, putting chairs around it, and sorting through the leftovers from earlier meals for food that needed to be eaten up or thrown into the pail for the estate’s dogs and cats. Evelyn would be coming down the stairs soon, he knew, bringing the Duchess’ last snack tray.

  As if she could hear his thoughts, Evelyn appeared right on schedule. Her smile did not waver when she beheld Jemmy and Mr. McElroy, but her eyes met his for just an instant. He felt a frisson of longing dash through him as their gaze connected, and he tried to make his smile especially welcoming.


  “There you are, Mrs. Swinton,” he said politely. “Let me take that heavy tray. We have a place set for you.”

  “I am not very hungry,” Evelyn replied, “But I will gratefully take an uninterrupted cup of tea.”

  Mayson held out her chair, preparing to push it in for her. But just as her weight descended fully upon the seat, it crumbled out from under her.

  He was just able to catch Evelyn and set her upon her feet, keeping her from being bruised on the stone floor, at the very least. As it was, she limped back from the chair, rubbing one foot against the back of the other.

  “Goodness!” she said. “I know I have gained a little weight since I’ve been eating your good cooking, but surely not so much as all of that!”

  “It must be a weak joint in the chair,” Mr. McElroy put in. “I have a little experience with joinery. I can have a look at it, Mr. Rudge.”

  “I would appreciate it, Mr. McElroy, but it can wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, Mrs. Swinton can have my chair and I will sit on the stool.”

  So saying, he switched the plates rather than the chairs, and pulled over the stool normally reserved for the spit boy, whoever that might be for the day.

  As he did so, he noticed that Mrs. Swinton was favoring her right foot.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “Nothing to signify,” she replied. “Only a bruise from one of the braces on the chair. I am sure that it will be better by tomorrow.”

  But it was not better the next day, and Dr. Alton was sent for.

  He pronounced that one of the small bones in her foot was broken, and wrapped it in a plaster cast.

  “She will not be able to run and fetch things for a fortnight or more,” the physician explained. “Is there someone who could take up that portion of her duties?”

  “Molly Sue or Betty, perhaps?” Evelyn made a question of it, looking toward the Duchess, who was tapping the chair-arm with her lorgnette.

  The Duchess frowned. “It seems to me a very odd thing that a chair which has remained stable for nearly a half century should suddenly fall apart.”

  “Half a century?” Dr. Alton gave forth a hearty chuckle. “That could be your answer right there, Your Grace. But would you like for me to examine the chair before I leave the house?”

  “I would,” she replied. “While I have the greatest faith in Mr. Rudge, and in the abilities of Mr. McElroy by extension, I would like someone else to see the chair.”

  When the physician had stumped off toward the kitchen in company of Wilson, the Duchess turned to Evelyn and asked, “What do you remember happening?”

  “I tucked you up in bed, then took your dishes down to the kitchen. Mr. Rudge has decided that I need fattening up, so he usually has a light snack for me. For both of us, really, and we share it. Of late, we have been joined by others.”

  “Others?” the Duchess frowned slightly.

  “Young Jemmy, Mr. McElroy, Molly Sue, occasionally Betty, and once Mrs. Henshaw.”

  “Not Wilson?”

  “No indeed, Your Grace. Wilson usually retires immediately after the servants’ dinner. It is understandable, for he is usually up before daybreak, checking in on Jemmy and the progress of breakfast.”

  “But Mr. Rudge remains awake.”

  “Until I retire, yes, Your Grace. Our repast is usually the final event of the day.”

  “It used to be just the two of us, but somehow word has gotten around that extra goodies are to be had. It is no more than the serving staff used to save back from the evening meal. Do not think we are running the household out of supplies.”

  “Of that I am assured, my dear. Wilson has nothing but good things to say about the kitchen accounts, and he has long been a high stickler for knowing expenditures down to the last grain of spice. If he was apprehensive of either consumption or behavior, he would have made the effort to stay awake. Of that you may be certain.”

  “I am pleased that we have his confidence, Your Grace. It makes me a great deal easier in my mind.”

  The Duchess reached over to where Evelyn was seated in a wingback chair that had been drawn up next to her own and patted her hand. “You have my every confidence, Mrs. Swinton. I believe you are fond of our young cook, is it not so?”

  Evelyn felt heat rising in her cheeks.

  “I find him to be an exceptionally congenial person. Well-mannered, thoughtful, and kindly toward his fellow beings. While I have never seen him with a horse, the dogs in the kennel and the cats that hang about the kitchen, dairy, and stables all come running when he walks about in the yards between house and out buildings.”

  The Duchess chuckled. “As to the cats, my dear, he has been known to put out scraps, is it not so?”

  Evelyn nodded.

  “That is likely to be the attraction for our local felines. Not that I mind. I prefer cats to mice any day of the week. It has filtered back to me that the hound master and stable master both think well of our cook, as does the gardener. He does not neglect to take care of the people in all parts of the house. But it is the events leading up to the broken chair that interest me, my dear. What happened when you got downstairs with the dishes?”

  “Mr. Rudge, Jemmy, and Mr. McElroy were setting out the last scraps so that we could choose from them. Mr. Rudge had made meat pies of some of the leftover vegetables and broken meats.”

  “Excellent. Go on.”

  “Mr. Rudge addressed me as Mrs. Swinton, since we were in company, handed off the trays to Mr. McElroy, and pulled out my chair for me.”

  “Such a mannerly young man. One does not often see that in the below-stairs serving staff.”

  “Not often, Your Grace, but it is not unknown.”

  “So, he pulled out the chair. Then what occurred?”

  “One of the legs gave, and I would have tumbled to the floor but Mr. Rudge caught me with an arm around my waist. But a brace hit my foot as the chair continued to fall.”

  “Around the waist. A rather intimate hold, would you not say so, Mrs. Swinton?” The Duchess gave her a very direct look.

  “Oh, he set me on my feet and released me almost immediately, Your Grace. He was in no way improper.”

  “I see.” The Duchess gave her a knowing little smile. “I am glad to know that he observed the proprieties while still not allowing you to tumble down. Remarkably quick for a cook, is he not?”

  “He works to maintain his physique, Your Grace. I have interrupted him at his exercises once or twice. His shadow boxing is impressive.”

  “Is it so? Well, this is not Starkey’s, so I shall not request a demonstration. He does have the military background, after all. As does Mr. McElroy, I believe.”

  Evelyn had seen the Duchess play off being the vague elder once or twice, so she was not in the least taken in by this peroration. “Yes, as Your Grace full well knows, because you read through the notes before finalizing hiring him to the position.”

  “But not the same division as Mr. Rudge,” Her Grace mused, completely unfazed by Evelyn’s conversational repost. “Some place down in Africa, was it not?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. And I had been intending to ask you if you would like to invite him up to tea one afternoon, to tell tales about his experiences.”

  “A storyteller, is he?” Her Grace lifted one eyebrow.

  “An excellent one, Your Grace. He tells wonderful stories about strange animals and funny trees and plants.”

  “Perhaps at Christmas time, when we select a Lord of Misrule.”

  “Do you observe that custom, Your Grace?”

  “Oh, yes, and have mummers, too. I know they have fallen out of fashion in the city, but I have always found them amusing. Yes, I think having him tell a tale or two of his travels when the family and staff all dine together would be a marvelous idea. Perhaps we might even have a small supper with staff before then, since you are laid up and will not find it easy to go below stairs.”

  “I can manage...” Evelyn began to say.


  “Nonsense. You shall do no such thing. You can sleep here on the daybed, and Betty will act as maid to wait upon both of us.”

  “Betty?”

  “Yes, Betty. Molly Sue is competent, but she gossips and chatters until I heartily wish her in Jericho.”

  Evelyn contemplated the fabric that covered her bare toes and the end of the strange contrivance of thin sticks and starched fabric that wrapped her ankle. It was unusual for the Duchess to take exception to any of her hand-picked staff. What precisely was it that irritated her about Molly Sue?

  I doubt that it is the gossip, for the Duchess loves a juicy tale. No, there must be something else. Well, Betty will do well enough since I will be able to coach her. All the same, it will be a long fortnight with this dreary weight on my foot.