by Julia Donner
A sad memory intruded. The hand that had held hers so tenderly had ridges of scars across the knuckles, calluses from rubbing against metal gantlets. His crazed father had forced his son to train in actual armor, beat him at any sign of reluctance. Everyone in the district knew about the late earl. They had avoided and feared him. It was no wonder to anyone that his wife had run away. The man was cruel, insane, but no one had the courage to stand against him to help the son.
Leticia had attempted to confront the old earl one Mayday at the village fair. She chastised him for mistreating his son. The earl had raised his hand to slap, but her defiance made him pause. Villagers had scattered. Her appalled parents rushed her from the scene and gave her a scold for impertinence.
Geoffrey hadn’t been there. He’d been sent off to school, where he developed his predilection for fighting. His period of education was cut short. It didn’t take long for him to get sent down for his conduct. His joy of fighting, what he’d hated doing as a child, had become habitual during his brief sojourn at school.
Leticia swiveled on the chair seat to watch him with his friends. While they talked, he thoughtlessly pulled a length of wrinkled neckcloth from a pocket and tied it in a careless knot, in contrast to his friends, who wouldn’t have thought it unusual to take an hour to discuss the statement to be made with a specific arrangement. Bainbridge had no vest and no apparent interest in the intricacies of fashion. He looked superior and yet out of place next to his friends, who’d been impeccably turned out by their valets.
In answer to Freddy Bates’s earlier question, Bainbridge jammed a hand into another pocket and came out with a handful of crumpled notes. He handed them to Bates.
Bates unraveled a five-pound note and returned the rest, which got shoved back into the pocket.
“Bainbridge,” Leticia pointed out, “that money is about to spill onto the floor.”
Without a thought, he shoved his hand back into the pocket and handed the crumpled ball to her. She pressed out the notes, finding over thirty pounds. He may not have need of funds but her economical nature had no intention of treating money with so little care.
“It’s decided then,” she heard Bates say as she folded the notes into her dress pocket for safekeeping. “I’ll take Carnall with me to the Asterlys. We’ll see about the license and Carnall can bring the license to you at Sotkebrook, since he has to choose the mare and stud for the foal he plans to buy. You’ll keep Miss Carlton with you and away from the dastardly cousins. You can wed as soon as you have the license in hand.”
Carnall suggested, “It might be wise to place an announcement in the newspapers that you’re to marry. A fait acompli, if you will.”
“What about the cousins?” Bainbridge asked.
Freddy Bates leaped in, “Not the papers here. In London. We’ll have Lady Asterly do that a sennight from today. Something simple and brief, a tidbit to let the world know that our delightful Miss Carlton is no longer on the market. By the time the news gets here, Carnall will have come back with the license. Excellent plan all ‘round. Best of luck to you both, and if you hope to reach shelter before nightfall, you should be on your way and so must we.”
Lord Carnall and Freddy Bates bowed over her hand and extended their best wishes. She watched the door close after their departure and turned to Bainbridge. “Alone at last?”
His grin produced the creases in his lean cheeks that she liked, but he still wouldn’t look her in the eye. She took a deep breath and approached. She started to touch his arm but allowed her hand to drop.
“Bainbridge, you don’t have to follow through with this. Perhaps there is another way. You could agree to hide me until my birthday.”
He shook his head. “It’s bad enough that you’re here in this room with a closed door. If you lived with me for weeks, you’d never be able to return to your home. It’s not what your parents would expect.”
“If they ever return.”
“When they return. Never let go of your hope. I would do anything to have my mother back.”
Leticia pinched her lips together and shook her head. “How utterly silly of me. Of course you would, and you’re quite right. I mustn’t give up. That being decided, what shall we do now?”
“We’ll set a false trail. You’ll be seen getting on your horse and riding out of the village toward Charhill. Get into the forest and meet me at the mill house. We’ll ride over to the fells and leave the gelding in the pasture. You can ride with me to Stokebrook.” Noting her change of expression, he paused to ask, “What is it? Have you decided not to marry me?”
“Oh, it isn’t that I don’t wish it. It’s that this is being done in such haste. I’m concerned that it’s not the right decision for you. Shouldn’t we consider other options?”
“I consider this the best option for both of us. And the laws being what they are, there’s nothing else.”
She looked up and shocked him by suggesting, “There’s one. You could ruin me.”
“What?”
“I mean.., oh, how can I make this clearer without sounding coarse? But you must know what I mean. You’re a man of the world. I’m saying that you could ruin me.” She waved her hand in a circular motion while looking for euphemisms. “Make me unfit for marriage. Oh, dear. I’ve shocked you.”
She watched him swallow with difficulty. He glanced around the room, as if seeking escape, then took a deep breath. “Leticia, that’s not necessary.”
“Forgive me, Bainbridge, I wouldn’t suggest something so decidedly off-putting, but if there were another way to discourage my cousin, I would use it, use anything.”
“He’s interested in your money, not you, and for my part, there’s nothing off-putting about…well, you know. If it’s a convenient marriage you want, Leticia, I’m not your man. Perhaps you haven’t given much thought to the duties of marriage.”
Something about his tone and speaking gaze made her cheeks burn. She’d broached this subject and had no excuse for not carrying it through.
“I fully understand what you’re saying. Heirs will be required. That is to be expected.”
He looked at the wall and said in a congested voice, “I best be clear. You may be fulfilling your duties quite regularly. What I mean by that is, quite often.”
She mentally chewed over that notion and recollected the sight of him without his shirt. At one point, the waistband of his breeches had slipped, exposing a line of white flesh below. She suddenly found herself looking forward to learning about her duties.
“I have no objections to that, and suppose that it will have to be often. I would like a lot of children.”
He made a sound that was part choke and part cough. With a nodding bow, he said as he headed for the door, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get the gelding ready and ride out ahead of you. Until the mill, then. Shall we say, an hour?”
“Not with that gelding,” she called to the closing door. “Two hours at best.”
She doubted he’d heard her. He had fled, as if on fire.
Chapter 6
A yawn followed by rapid blinking kept Leticia awake. It seemed to take forever to reach the mill on the plodding horse. The fells meadow was a mile off to the east. The gelding kept edging that way instead of the direction to the mill. Just when she thought she might not be able to fend off sleep any longer, the rhythmic thumping of an approaching horse sounded in the distance. Her heart leapt into her throat, chasing away sleep. Instead of one of her cousins, a massive, black horse came into view around the bend in the lane. She didn’t have to see Bainbridge to know he’d come looking for her. Everyone in the county knew his Friesians.
Reining in before her, Bainbridge scanned her face. “You’ve had no sleep. Do you feel well enough to ride the rest of the way to Stokebrook?”
Leticia nodded, unhooked her knee from the saddle, and jumped down before Bainbridge could dismount. She started to unbuckle the cinch but her hands were brushed away when he came to her side. He set the sidesa
ddle behind a bush and unbuckled the bridle. “I’ll send someone to fetch these.”
The gelding spit free the bit and turned his head to nuzzle Leticia’s sleeve. She stroked his nose. “Sorry, love. No more carrots.”
“You left a gate open?” Bainbridge asked, draping the bridle over the bush.
“There’s a break in the wall. He can hop over what’s left of the style.”
A slap on the rump sent the gelding plodding away toward his pasture. When Bainbridge gave her arm a guiding touch, she approached his horse, enormous in comparison to the placid gelding. After a murmured command, the horse stepped forward in a stretch, lowering his barrel and the stirrup closer to the ground. Bainbridge lifted her onto the stud’s shoulders before he swung up behind her.
Leticia combed her fingers through the stud’s wavy mane and scratched the heavily muscled neck. The bridle rattled and clinked when the horse shook his head, swinging his thick forelock that reached to the end of his black nose.
Bainbridge felt huge against her back. His voice sounded deeper when he murmured, “Jupiter likes your touch.”
Without warning or permission, Bainbridge slid his fingers under her upper thighs and shifted her into a more secure position. She thought she should feel uncomfortable or embarrassed by the familiarity, but the sudden understanding of his strength overwhelmed. Even though short, she carried a lot of weight. He’d lifted her onto the horse and moved her around as if she weighed no more than a sewing basket.
Bainbridge cleared his throat as he picked up the reins. “If we ride at a fast pace, we’ll be at Stokebrook before nightfall.”
Surrounded by so much man above and powerful horse below, she could only nod and clutch a handful of mane. Jupiter moved along the lane in a rolling canter that sounded loud but felt like floating. The flopping mane whispered over her knuckles and her knees. Evening’s humid air brushed against her face. She felt Bainbridge’s breath in her hair. In time, she came to realize that he’d lowered his head. She resisted the urge to check her pinned-up braids and wished she’d worn a hat.
The sight of Stokebrook took her breath and captured her fascination. She’d lived near it all of her life but had never seen it this close. Due to the late earl’s reputation, no one ventured near it unless summoned or required.
All that was left of the original castle were two towers connected by its centralized Great Hall. The addition of Stokebrook Manor jutted out into the road with the turrets and crenellations of the old castle rising from behind. The combined dwellings rested on well-elevated ground. Circular grooves in the earth showed that there had once been two moats. Wooden bridges arched over both indentations.
She asked over her shoulder, “What happened to the first wall and gatehouse?”
His answered rumbled by her ear. “Cromwell’s cannons made some dents but didn’t do enough damage to bring her down. It was dismantled and used for the manor.”
They rode around the house and western tower to an extensive stable. She noticed the castle and house were in dire need of attention, but the stable and outer areas were beautifully kept.
A shabby looking groom came running to take the blowing horse. Cooler air saturated her back when Bainbridge dismounted and handed off the reins. “Walk him for twenty minutes. No water until then. I’ll brush and wash him down when I return. This is Lady Bainbridge.”
Leticia hid her astonishment. She said nothing as he lifted her down, waiting until they were alone to make a comment. He anticipated her by saying as they walked up to the house, “I thought it better for it to be known that we are already wed. There isn’t much in the way of servants for the house, but I don’t want any misunderstandings.”
“Now that I think about it, it’s a wise plan. What shall we use as an excuse when we have the ceremony in the parish church?”
She waited for his reply. He watched the walkway passing beneath their feet, bringing them ever closer to the house. Servants were beginning to line up outside the doors. He said through stiff lips, “I should’ve thought it through. Having you treated with the respect that is your due was my aim. They know enough to have a care when I’m around, but I don’t want any gossip that would jeopardize your position.”
Head down, she whispered, “Shall we say Gretna Green until the parish ceremony?”
He nodded and halted her in front of the motley group. “This is Lady Bainbridge.” The servants attempted awkward curtsies and bows under their master’s baleful stare. “Have supper brought to my rooms. Rosellyn, assist Lady Bainbridge until her staff arrives. Someone fetch Holcombe.”
“I’m here, my lord.”
A man stepped out of the doors and onto the gravel, dressed neater and more stylishly than his employer. Leticia had always taken for granted that Bainbridge scorned fashion. Unlike gentlemen of his station, he never bothered with a valet. Horses, breeding them, and boxing claimed his attention.
When Holcombe stepped forward to greet them, Bainbridge placed her hand on his arm and led her up the steps before Holcombe could do or say more. The action set off an alarm in her head. Bainbridge didn’t trust him?
She hid her interest in a man she supposed was Bainbridge’s secretary or steward. Holcombe was not unattractive, but there was an unfortunate rodent quality about his features, a long, blunted nose, narrow eyes and a small mouth. His boots looked impossibly shiny in comparison to Bainbridge’s scuffed topboots. She must go through his wardrobe tomorrow. Something about Holcombe presenting a better turn-out than Bainbridge chafed her nerves. She didn’t like the man following them as they walked down ill-lit passageways.
Her concerns about the steward fled as they entered an introductory hall. Heraldry, flags and weapons covered the walls. The flagstones that needed cleaning and everything rimed with a layer of dust didn’t detract from the room’s majesty.
When they stopped at the base of the staircase leading up from the ground floor, Holcombe said, “My lord, I expect that you will want to speak to me regarding nuptial agreements tomorrow. Until then. My best wishes to you, Lady Bainbridge.”
She couldn’t say why she disliked Holcombe’s parting bow, but something about his address implied that he was dismissing them, not the other way around. Her mother had instructed her to pay heed to her instincts and she often did. Even though correct in every way on the surface, she foresaw clashes down the road with this man and was glad she would have little to do with him. It didn’t matter that she and Bainbridge were ill-kempt in comparison. Holcombe was an employee.
As they climbed the steps by dusty portraits, she said, “I did not see a housekeeper among the servants.”
“Probably laid up. Mrs. Graham was old when I was a lad. She’s refused to retire, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that she must.”
“Would you like to leave those problems with me?”
Under her hand, she felt a relaxation of forearm muscle. “I would very much appreciate it if you would. Most of my time is taken up with the stud farm and stable. Here we are.”
He opened a carved-walnut door. The spacious, quite obviously unused room appeared even more cavernous with the shadows of fading light peering through dusty draperies and ominous lumps of furnishings under covers.
“Oh.” She scanned the room, dismayed.
He said, “I’ll get someone up here immediately to make it fit.”
“Your mother’s rooms?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I never think of such things as making a room ready. No one has been in here for years. Sorry.”
She looked up. “Would you mind terribly if I stayed with you?”
“That might be for the better. This is a strange house. Unfamiliar surroundings. It’s no wonder you’re not comfortable.”
He crossed the hall and opened another heavy door. There were candles lit in this room, but it was even larger than the one across the way and full of gloomy Jacobean furnishings. She assumed the closed interior door led to a dressing room.
Bits of
leather and tack littered a refractory table with a single chair. A pair of folded over top boots rested against the chair legs. An immense canopied bed draped in maroon damask saved the bedchamber from looking like a huge, unwelcoming vault.
A servant knocked and Bainbridge ordered the tray brought to the table. He cleared a space with a swipe that pushed everything to one end, saying as he did so, “The countess is staying with me tonight. Send up Rosellyn to assist her.”
The footman scuttled away, leaving the door open. Bainbridge bellowed and the footman returned to close it. With a shake of his head, Bainbridge turned back to the table and lifted the plate covers. “Not much here. Cheese and poultry. There’s an orangery but I haven’t looked inside it yet this year.”
“Anything will do. Would you mind if I send for my housekeeper at Charhill?”
He gazed at her then replied, “If it would please you. This place needs all the help you can give it. Won’t there be suspicions if she receives word from you?”
“She wouldn’t stay at Charhill without me there. Will you address the letter for me? They won’t know your handwriting.”
“Holcombe can do that, but I would suggest having one of the lads deliver it directly into her hands.”
“Why yes, you’re right. And I won’t sign it. Taffy will recognize my hand.”
“Taffy?”
“Mrs. Taffinton. She will require an acceptable wage. Is that an inconvenience?”
“No.” He went to a highboy, withdrew a box from a drawer, and opened it with a key from his breeches pocket. “Come here.”
The box overflowed with a confusion of banknotes. Underneath the paper money hid a layer of every kind of coin. He handed her the small key. “Keep this. Take what you need. I rarely get inside this, so there’ll be plenty.” When she stared up at him with wide eyes, he said, “It’s yours now. You’ll need it for household expenses.”
She set the folded banknotes from her pocket in the box, closed the lid, relocked it, and dropped the key into her pocket. He was at the door when she looked up.