by Julia Donner
The Rake and the Bishop’s Daughter
by Julia Donner
Friendship Series Book 3
The Rake and the Bishop’s Daughter copyright © 2014 by M.L.Rigdon (Julia Donner) All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Cover design and illustration by Stephen D Case [email protected]
The Friendship Series
The Tigresse and the Raven
The Heiress and the Spy
The Rake and the Bishop’s Daughter
An excerpt from the next book in the series, The Duchess and the Duelist is included in this volume.
For the blessing of friends, who are always there, always understand, and accept who we are.
And thanks to Barbara Hernandez, MLT (aka Solveig Sigulfsdottir, SCA)
Cavendish Square, London, England
Early Summer 1819
Chapter 1
“I wish you wouldn’t run away, Harry.”
Lying on his back on a blanket spread across the grass on a soft summer day, Sir Harry Collyns looked up at Lady Asterly, who reclined on a nearby chaise lounge wearing a lavender tulle frock and a scowl.
“Nothing else for it, Lizzie.”
Sunlight peaked through the leaves of the towering oak. Bright dots flickered over her disgruntled moue, which made him laugh. It sounded forced, mainly because he didn’t want to talk about why he needed to leave. Disappointment and concern clouded her expressive hazel eyes. He didn’t much like it when she did that. It hurt as much as it made him feel guilty.
In an attempt to change the prickly subject, he said, “It’s been two years and I’m still trying to figure out how my brother managed to catch you. You’re too rich and intelligent for him. The only sensible conclusion is that you would’ve been much better off marrying me.”
“Stuff and nonsense! You know compliments won’t work with me, and I’ll not let you use them to avoid this issue. Fleeing at the height of this scandal will only make matters worse. Especially since it comes so quickly on the heels of the last one.”
“Set it down to the price of popularity. Let’s find a happier subject.”
“Harry, everyone knows she’s a liar, just as everyone knows your only associations are with widows.”
“You mean affairs,” he teased, hoping to dislodge her from the subject.
“My point is that you’d never jilt a girl.”
He looked at the terrace doors. “Where are my little devils? You promised to let me see them before I left.”
As if in answer to his demand, the garden door opened. A jolly-faced nurse and a freckled maid carried two, chubby toddlers. Harry hoisted himself up onto an elbow. The twins noticed him. One started squealing and the other unplugged two fingers from her mouth and chortled. Mirror images of each other, the babes had to be identified when clothed. The girl’s lacy lawn dress had a pink sash and leading strings. The boy’s were black.
The toddlers nearly sprang from the women’s arms into Harry’s. They crawled over him, drooling, giggling and pulling his hair. He fell back on the blanket, his arms full of babies, his cheeks wet from slobbery kisses.
Lady Asterly dryly remarked, “I guess that proves the extent of my worth when you’re around.” She leaned over to untie the leading strings and extended the long ribbons to the servants. “He won’t want these.”
“My lady,” the nurse began in a warning tone, “they’re in a bit of a mood today.”
Lady Asterly smiled. “They are always in a mood to make mischief. Please, you and Ethel have your luncheon.”
The nurse handed over a serviette folded around lumpy contents. “Very good, my lady. Here’s something to keep them occupied.”
After the pair of women curtsied and went inside, Lady Asterly said, “Scandal never bothered you before. You’ve always seemed to revel in the commotions made about you.”
“All part of being an arbiter, Sis. Gossip is bound to happen.”
“Harry,” she repressively began, “it would help if you didn’t flaunt three mistresses and delight in tricking yourself out in the most outrageous clothes. This morning’s newspaper said you catapulted your reputation to new heights when you walked into the Humersley ball. Two females fainted instead of the usual one.”
“I can’t bring myself to understand how anyone could actually faint from merely the sight of a person. Ow! I say, Harriet, you little fiend, stop that.”
He pried his niece’s fingers from the grip she had on his hair. Her fingers came away with golden strands. He tickle-chewed Harriet’s pudgy palm, which made her shriek with laughter. Her twin brother, Harald, also his namesake, plopped his bottom on Harry’s booted ankle, clutched the Hessian’s tassel, and bounced up and down, demanding a ride.
Harry reached down with his free hand and grabbed a handful of the back of Harald’s gown. Lifting him close, he growled into the toddler’s neck. The boy squealed with joy and shoved away to throw his arms around his sister. Harry rolled to his side, tumbling the pair across the blanket.
Propping his head on his cupped palm, Harry watched them wrestle and babble a language only they understood. “Lud, but I love the sweet way babies smell.”
“Then get married and have some of your own,” Lady Asterly tartly suggested. She unfolded the cloth and handed each child a hard biscuit. Pacified, the twins chewed in silence.
Harry grabbed a biscuit before she set the bundle aside. He rolled onto his back and looked up through the tree leaves while savoring the loud, crunch noises inside his head. If only life could be as simple as lying on the grass, savoring the snap of a ginger biscuit and the peace of a lovely day.
“Harry, why did you do it? Why pose for that woman? And what were you thinking to do it without clothes?”
“I wasn’t in the altogether. Just in my smalls. She made up the rest.”
Lady Asterly’s complexion turned rosy. “Harry! You’re incorrigible!”
“Of course I am. That’s why you love me and desperately need me for balance. Must be tedious, being hitched to a stodgy fellow like my brother.”
“He isn’t the least bit stodgy!”
Sending her a naughty grin, Harry said, “Isn’t he? That’s reassuring news.”
“Stop behaving dreadfully on purpose. Perhaps you’d change your mind about leaving if I told you that the statue will no longer be on exhibition.”
“Why, Lizzie, you sound rather feline and satisfied. Bought it, did you? I thought Johanna refused all offers.”
Looking smug, Lady Asterly replied, “Most people have a price. I am sure she instigated the commotion at the exhibit to increase its value.”
“So you’re saying that the only reason you bought it was to quiet the mob?”
“Harry, it was indeed a mob. Lines went on for blocks to pay the admission. There were scuffles and arguments amongst those queued up waiting to enter. It had to stop.”
He popped the last bite into his mouth and spoke around the morsel. “So you bought it.”
“I did, and now there is no reason for you to flee, unless you would like to come with us. We leave for Far Reach Wednesday week.”
Harry sat up and brushed crumbs from his fingertips. “Perhaps later in the month, since I’ll be in that neighborhood. Some properties up that way need my attention, but I do need to get down to Kent. I’ve been away from Rolands too long.”
“And us! You’ve only been returned from the Caribbean for a week. I never asked, but have you decided to keep those properties?”
Harriet crawled onto his lap and rubbed her messy mouth on his coat sleeve. He smiled down at her snarled, blond curls, as Lady Asterly softly asked, “Why do you do the outrageous things you do, Harry? It really isn’t you. Not really. I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them the famous Handsome Harry rolled on the ground with my children and let my daughter clean her face on his coat.”
The children made grumpy noises when he stood. After kissing Lizzie on the cheek, he said, “Why spoil their fun? Let the hoi polloi think what they like. I’ve never cared, and that’s the only reason they’re fascinated.”
He looked down into her troubled gaze. She started to say something, then stopped the words with a shake of her head. He tapped the end of her nose and smiled down at her worried gaze.
“Don’t fret, love. I’m fine. I just need to get away and rethink things.”
“You are so much more than what you allow the world to see, Harry.”
“And I love you for saying that and your concern, but you have children who deserve your attention more than I do.”
“You’re a wretch and I’m putting clothes on that statue before I hide it in the attic.”
Harry flicked her disgust-wrinkled nose. “There you have it. Cover my moment of glory. I’ll have a banyan sent over in green, your favorite color. On my way out, I’ll tell Crimm to send someone to help you with my little devils. Feed them biscuits until the second wave arrives to hold back our tiny horde.”
“Drive with care for once, Harry!” she begged as he strode toward the garden door.
“Always do, love. See you in a few weeks.”
As he drove north, he revisited the reasons why he felt eager to leave London. The last while he’d felt more disillusioned than usual. So much fuss over a piece of carved stone. There was statuary galore showing more of a man’s business than the chunk of marble Lizzie bought. And how could anyone believe he’d get involved with a schoolgirl? He’d always preferred older females. They knew more and allowed more. Girls, as pleasant as they were to look at, had heads full of trivialities.
It was fortunate he hadn’t babbled to his sister-in-law that he’d be driving a pair of half-trained chestnuts. Expecting trouble from the headstrong team, he’d sent his valet ahead in the chaise with his luggage. Hours were wasted negotiating with the tollgate stops and starts, a task that never should have been attempted while on a timetable and driving green horses. Every village byway he passed, the team had to be turned off the toll road and down a country lane for more schooling.
On top of everything else, he’d neglected to tell the grooms not to feed the young geldings oats for a few days prior to the trip. Had he been thinking straight, he’d have sent this rowdy pair to a posting house for the last leg of the journey and used a well-behaved team for the toll road’s busyness, stops and starts.
That’s what comes from allowing distractions to take over one’s life. Again, the gnawing question of purpose. Closing in on middle age, he’d begun to regret the waste of his life. What earthly good had come from acting the fool and making a game out of the manipulation of those not worth his time? How long could one keep up the pretense of happiness?
After the horses had lost some of their feistiness with a gallop down a narrow lane, he directed them back to the main road and held them to a collected trot that allowed faster moving conveyances to pass. The team showed him they didn’t like it by tossing their heads and leaned into the bits when they couldn’t give chase.
In retaliation for being held in check, the horses tried to shy at a sedate couple walking their mounts. He couldn’t be sure, because his eyes were strained and blurring, but he thought he’d passed them earlier, riding from the other direction. Harry acknowledged them with a nod as he passed and resolved to do what could be done with his deteriorating eyesight—yet another sign of how quickly time passed. Hard to believe he was on the downhill slide to forty, eyes going and patience shredding. Next, he’d be in a bath chair. Still, he couldn’t imagine giving up driving. He’d have a team hitched to the blasted chair when he reached that point.
Lowering the reins a bit, he allowed the horses into what he hoped would be a sedate canter, but at the same moment, a gust of wind bounced an object across the road. Both horses tried to bolt from the fluttering ribbons of a lady’s hat, which unexpectedly sprang up and struck the most fractious of the pair directly in the face. The gelding reared while the other lunged in the opposite direction.
A loud snap sounded the break of something vital the instant before he went airborne, sailing through the air. He landed in a hedgerow, tumbling down to land on his side and crack his head on a stone. The last thing he heard was a woman’s voice calming the horses. Fear for her rushed through him at the thought of the physical damage a slashing hoof could do. A dense blanket of black smothered the thought and the world went dark.
Chapter 2
Olivia St. Clair had set down her basket to retie her bonnet when the rising wind caught it just so, whisking it from her hands. She chased it down the lane toward the main road when another gust picked it up and flung it into the face of a suddenly appearing team. She halted and stared, appalled, at what her daydreaming moment had wrought.
The gleaming coats of perfectly matched chestnuts flashed when the horses lunged and twisted. Their gyrations flipped the curricle, sending the driver flying through the air. He landed in a thorny hedgerow and fell to the ground. She choked on a gasp when flailing horses readied to back the damaged curricle directly over him.
Holding her skirts in one hand, she walked swiftly across the road. She dodged a hoof and grabbed for the nearest horse’s head. Gripping each side of the headstall with all of her strength, she lifted her feet off the ground. Her body weight pulled the horse’s head down. As expected, the gelding planted his weight on all fours for balance, tugging the other horse to a standstill. Both horses snorted, while the one not held fought the tangled lines.
She spoke in a calming tone, while trying not to panic. The man on the ground had to be horribly injured. His face was covered in blood. When he rolled onto his back, she could see that he’d landed on a stone. He could have punctured a rib, perhaps suffered a serious head injury.
There was also the problem of a pair of riders coming at the gallop, having seen the accident from a distance. Before she was forced to shout at them, they slowed to a walk. The woman held the man’s horse when he leaped off his mount and strode toward her. She recognized a neighbor.
As quietly as she could, Olivia called, “Mr. Gladdins, the lines are tangled. Do you have a knife to cut them free?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see to the team. Best see to the driver. He looks in a bad way. You, boy, don’t come any closer.”
So engrossed in the task of keeping the horses from backing the curricle over the driver, she hadn’t noticed the boy, one of the Logan family’s brood of nine. He had a collie with him that immediately obeyed when commanded to lie down. Since the problem of the dangerously tangled and wild-eyed team was under control, Olivia went around the back of the curricle to the injured man. A portmanteau had been flung out onto the verge. She quickly opened it and searched for something to staunch the blood. His face had been gashed open in three places. The laceration from temple to cheek was particularly worrisome. She pressed a clean shirt to the wound, attempting to close and apply pressure at the same time.
Mr. Gladdins’s companion stopped at the edge of the road. She held his horse by the reins. Leaning slightly forward in the saddle, she asked, “How may I help?”
“We need to get this man and his team out of the road before the mail coach comes through. It travels at a wicked pace and will create havoc.”
The lady nodded. “I’ll ride back the way we came to intercept the mail coach. I doubt very much they’d wait until
all this is cleared away.”
Olivia pressed the cloth tighter on the oozing wounds. “An excellent idea.”
Mr. Gladdins, who had both horses freed of the snarled harness, called out, “Jane, bring my horse over here. I’ll lead this pair into the village and get help.”
She lifted an edge of the cloth and quickly reapplied pressure. “No, he’s bleeding too profusely. Moving him that far will only make matters worse. Beechgate Cottage is closer.” She called to the boy watching with wide-eyed wonder. “Eddie, you know my caretakers. Get Mr. Hoskins and tell him we’ll need something for carrying this man. Mr. Gladdins, when you get to the village, if you’d be so good as to ask for Dr. Wentworth to attend us at Beechgate? And some men to help carry.”
“Certainly. I’ve leave his cattle at the posting inn.”
Olivia focused on maintaining the pressure on the wound and scarcely noticed them leave. It wasn’t long before she heard the distant sound of the mail coach. She exhaled a sigh of relief when the approaching rattle slowed. The clop and jangle of horses and harness became louder. Olivia ignored the gaping passengers as the heavy vehicle approached at a slow trot instead of a thunderous canter. Fortunately, the curricle had been backed up enough that the coach could pass by.
She used the back of her wrist to quickly swipe back the damp curls from her brow and placed her hand on the man’s chest. His heartbeat felt strong and steady but he remained unconscious. Gently feeling his blood-soaked head, she discovered a smooth lump but the skin of his scalp felt intact. The shirt compress was soaked through. Stretching, she grabbed the edge of the portmanteau and pulled it closer. A folded stack of neck cloths would work perfectly. The idea was to swiftly replace the saturated cloth with fresh, but when she lifted the compress away, she stilled from the sight of the man’s face, no longer veiled in blood.
Her mouth fell open. “Oh! It’s Harry.”