His Dark Enchantress (Books We Love Regency Romance)

by Chatham, Victoria

  A short laugh escaped Sir Miles’s lips.

  “Soldiers on the march pick up all sorts of useful things. A bit of Spanish here, French there. Unguarded talk in stables, taverns, houses of ill repute. Enough of the common man’s talk to be able to piece things together. But then Charles was wounded at Badajoz. He feared he might not recover and sent for Emmaline. The code, you see, was something they developed together. Only six when her mother died, Charles played word games with Emmaline. It engaged her mind more than he could ever have imagined for she translated it to Greek.”

  “So this code was really Emmaline’s doing?”

  Sir Miles smiled. “He was so proud of her.”

  “And when he died?”

  The smile faded and Sir Miles shook his head. “I do not know. All I can tell you is that when Emmaline came home, something in her had changed. She wanted nothing more than to stay here, at Baymoor, and keep to herself. But when I began to ail, I insisted she find a husband. That’s why I sent her to London.”

  “So she would still have a home and be cared for,” said Lucius quietly. His thoughts turned to Emmaline. He could not imagine what she must be feeling. She must know she would soon lose the home she loved and that marriage, whether she wanted it or not, must be her only sensible option.

  “I wish it were otherwise.” An echo of regret tinged Sir Miles’s voice. “Baymoor is to be held in trust to be passed to her first born son. If I see Emmaline married I will die happy so you have my consent and my blessings but, my health being what it is, you had best avail yourself of a special licence into the bargain. Go and fetch her for me.”

  The old man’s eyes were guarded as he waited for Lucius’ answer.

  “I will, sir. But I have an engagement in Epsom which may delay me by a day or so.”

  “The Derby?”

  Lucius smiled. “Very astute of you, sir.”

  Sir Miles laughed his wheezy laugh. “Got a horse running?”

  “No.” Lucius shook his head. “I am promised to attend the races with a party of friends.”

  Sir Miles patted his hand. “When you leave, take one of my good mounts. I saw that rack ‘o ribs you rode in on. You can always send my horse back tied to the carrier’s cart.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lucius left Sir Miles settling back in the chair and made his way into the kitchen where Partridge and Peggy were sat sipping tea.

  “Sir Miles?” Peggy asked, starting up.

  “Asleep, and I will take my leave now. Sir Miles kindly suggested I take one of his horses, but did not say which one. Perhaps, Partridge, you will take care of having one saddled?”

  “That I will sir, and my good wife here will put up some bait for you to carry with you.”

  Peggy Partridge got to her feet, set a strong cloth on the table and loaded it with meat, cheese and bread. She tied the cloth corner to corner and handed it to Lucius.

  “I take it I am to wish you happy, my Lord.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Partridge. You are the first to do so.”

  Peggy Partridge smiled at him and followed him out into the yard where Partridge was holding a handsome black horse as Reuben tightened its girth. Struck again by the familiarity of Reuben’s, face, Lucius turned to Mrs. Partridge.

  “Is Reuben perhaps related to Sir Miles?” he asked.

  Mrs. Partridge hesitated for a moment, then bobbed her head in assent.

  “Sir Miles’s nephew, poor lad. He and his brother, Thomas, wanted to fight Bonaparte. ‘Twas all they talked about. First skirmish they was in, Tommy got blown to pieces. Reuben saw it and it turned his mind, so it did. We look after him as best we can, but with Em gone all Reuben wants is to be with the horses.”

  The memory of Mrs. Babbidge telling him that ‘My two both went for soldiering, but didn’t come back’ came into his mind.

  As he mounted the black, Reuben told him its name was Onyx. It was the first time the lad spoke. Lucius took the chestnut horse’s reins and waited while Reuben opened the gate for him.

  He said his goodbyes and set the black horse forward, his mind in a whirl. His offer for Emmaline’s hand had been accepted. Sir Miles wanted him to bring her home and to see her married. He had not yet offered anything to Emmaline except an ill-conceived whisper in a darkened drawing room.

  And then there was his bet at Brooke’s. What if Emmaline got wind of that? If she did, would she see his proposal as a compliment, or refuse to marry him because of it? And if the latter, how would that affect Sir Miles?

  The black horse trotted on. Its long steady stride and comfortable cadence lulled Lucius into a stupor until only two thoughts were left in his head.

  Would Emmaline say yes, or would she say no?

  And whatever her answer, what would he do then?

  CHAPTER 14

  Much to her annoyance, Emmaline felt lost knowing that Lucius was out of town. It infuriated her that she had become so besotted with him. Yes, besotted for it surely could not be love. Love, she thought, should be sweet, gentle and kind. Her emotions were far from that. The depth of her feelings shocked her, angered her because of the foolish yearning for something so out of reach.

  She stalked the house like a caged cat, only thankful that her aunt was still abed. After gauging Emmaline’s mood, Annie scuttled out of her way, careful to not do or say anything to upset her further. Giles kept to his quarters, only emerging when necessary.

  Juliana arrived with Psyche, as promised, but the ride in the park was far from comfortable. People acknowledged Juliana with some restraint and but gave Emmaline the cut direct. Rather than brazen out their hostility, she hid her growing apprehension by avoiding their glances.

  The same happened at Vauxhall, so much so that Emmaline refused to accompany Juliana to the Opera House. Despite her avowals of friendship, Emmaline could not bear the thought that Juliana’s reputation would be ruined simply by continuing to be seen in her company.

  There was also the very real possibility that Lady Darnley might have her arrested. Emmaline shivered. Who knew what tales she might tell or to whom she might tell them?

  And, worst of all, the fragile thread of hope she bore in her heart for securing Lucius’ affection withered and died as surely as autumn leaves. She could not bear the thought of facing him, of disappointing him, of never seeing him again.

  Juliana brought books from the lending library which they read together. They reminisced more on their schooldays, played the pianoforte and sang songs they well remembered. But, when reminiscing was done, little was left to discuss.

  Emmaline tried to concentrate on Juliana’s seemingly endless plans to marry William and remove to India, all of which were purely speculative without her brother’s consent.

  Seeing the glazed look in Emmaline’s eyes after one such discourse on the type of ship on which they might travel, Juliana stopped with a rueful laugh.

  “I do beg pardon. I’m being a frightful bore.”

  Emmaline tried holding her tongue but could not.

  “Yes, you are,” she said, but tempered her words with a grin. “You know I wish you well, but all I can think of right now is for my great-aunt to recover so that I can go home to Baymoor.”

  “Is your aunt no better?” An expression of concern flitted across Juliana’s face.

  “Much better, thank you, but the headache left her feeling nauseous and dizzy so she is keeping to her room.”

  “And she knows nothing of the accusations against you?”

  Emmaline shook her head. “I fear she, too, will suffer the results of Lady Darnley’s poison. As soon as she is recovered I will tell her about it and have warned Annie not to say anything as yet.”

  “And when you have done that, do you plan to leave Town?” Juliana asked. Her look of concern changed to a small frown.

  “I will stay until Lucius gets back, just in case you feel in need of support when you face him,” Emmaline promised.

  “Oh, you are the best of friends!�
� Juliana took her hands and gave them a little shake. “I must go, but I will see you tomorrow.”

  When Juliana left, Emmaline rang for some tea. With precious little to do, having read all she wanted to read and played all the music she cared to play, she wandered to the window and rested her head on the frame.

  Where was Lucius now? What was he doing? Did he think of her as much as she thought of him? Emmaline caught a stray curl and twisted it around her finger. What if it was his finger and not hers teasing her curls? She closed her eyes and hugged herself. What would his arms feel like if he held her really close? What would. .

  The thought that came into her head brought a blush to her cheeks and she quickly admonished herself. How ridiculous. There could be no association between her and Lucius. Heavens, she had already compromised Juliana’s reputation and she felt chilled at the thought she might bring further discredit to their name.

  Annie arrived with the tea and Mrs. Babbidge, who declared herself quite well again and apologized to Emmaline for being such a sad sack.

  “Annie tells me Miss Juliana has been to see you several times,” said Mrs. Babbidge. “Such a nice young lady. And what about his Lordship?”

  Emmaline sat beside her great-aunt and took one of her hands.

  “I have something to tell you,” she said quietly. “Lord Clifton has not called because he is out of Town and, when he returns, he will not be calling.”

  “Why ever not?” Mrs. Babbidge sat up straight. “Have you two had a lover’s tiff, dearie?”

  “It is nothing like that, Aunt.” Emmaline lowered her lashes and bit her lip. “There was some unpleasantness at Lady Darnley’s dinner party. Some gentlemen were invited who had served in Spain, one of whom I attended in the hospital.”

  “And the gentry didn’t like it?”

  “No, they did not. I fear the revelations that evening raised suspicions in Lady Darnley’s mind, for she came here a few days ago and accused me of being a murderess.”

  “She did what?” Mrs. Babbidge bristled with indignation. “How dare she come into my house and accuse you of such a wicked thing?”

  “The thing of it is, there is some truth in her accusation.”

  Mrs. Babbidge’s hand flew to her mouth and her eyes opened wide with shock. “How? When? What did you. . .”

  Emmaline hushed her. “I had hoped that no-one would ever know of this, Aunt. War is ugly, and things happened. I was told of an incident and was then involved in its repercussions.”

  Mrs. Babbidge made to interrupt her but Emmaline shook her head.

  “Please don’t ask me for details, Aunt. I have my reasons for not divulging them. But now the on dits have affected my friendship with Juliana and I suspect will affect how you are received. Lord Clifton is not expected back until Thursday evening. I promised Juliana I would stay until then as she may yet need me. After that I am going home.”

  “But your grandfather will be so disappointed. He wants so badly for you to be married.”

  Emmaline looked up. “I know all the reasons why I should marry but I will not wed anyone under a falsehood.”

  Mrs. Babbidge wiped a tear away from her eye.

  “Oh, my poor, proud girl,” she whispered. “What will become of you?”

  It was a question Emmaline pondered over the next few days. Her original intent to open a school for her grandfather’s tenants and parishioners might meet with his approval, but more likely not. Hiring out as a governess would now be nigh unthinkable, and applying to her old school in Bath for a teaching position would be out of the question.

  No nearer a solution to her problems after having viewed them from every aspect, she made her way to Berkeley Square, intending to say her goodbyes to Juliana. She could not, would not, face Lucius even though the thought of breaking her promise to Juliana almost broke her resolve.

  She arrived to find the house in an uproar.

  Mr. Tubb let her in and she immediately found herself beset by Juliana and the cook, Mrs. Forrest. Jenny, the housemaid, knuckled tears from her eyes whilst Noble, more comfortable with the horses than the household, tried his best to quieten everyone down.

  “Please be quiet!” Emmaline commanded. Her heart missed a beat as a dreadful thought came into her mind. “Has something happened to his Lordship?”

  “No, Miss,” said Noble before Juliana could gather her wits and furnish a reply. “It’s Tocky, he’s hurt bad.”

  “Show me,” Emmaline said firmly.

  They hurried through the house and into the stable yard at the back to find Mr. Tockington, the coachman, lying on the cobbles bleeding profusely from a head wound. The horses, already harnessed to the waiting barouche, stamped and snorted nervously.

  Emmaline wasted no time.

  “Noble, get that team unhitched and away from here.” She knelt beside Tocky and inspected the wound, then looked over her shoulder. “Jenny, stop crying. I need fresh towels and clean water. Hurry. Juliana, does your brother retain a physician?”

  Juliana nodded, her eyes wide.

  “Send for him immediately. Mrs. Forrest, does Tocky have a room here?”

  “Over the stables, Miss.”

  “Then we need to get him there as soon as possible. Here, you two, stop gawping and help.”

  Emmaline ordered the two grooms to lift the coachman by the shoulders and ankles and take him up to his room. Once laid on his bed, she looked at the wound again.

  A flap of skin hung over his left eye, revealing the white bone of his skull beneath. His face was tinged with grey and his breathing shallow. Jenny placed a bowl of water on the night stand and stood, eyes wide with dismay, holding the towels.

  “Get me a needle and thread,” Emmaline said as she took a towel.

  “You surely don’t mean to stitch him up, do you?” Juliana gasped.

  “Yes, I surely do,” Emmaline responded as she dabbed at the edges of the wound. “Better do it while the poor man is unconscious than wait for the doctor. I need a needle threaded with silk, Juliana, and don’t you dare have hysterics.”

  Juliana rebutted her comment with a snort and did as she was told. Emmaline cleaned the wound carefully, lifted the flap of skin and pressed it as gently as she could back in place. After nine neat stitches, the job was done.

  “I think that will do.” Emmaline cut the thread of the last stitch. “I suspect he has concussion and will have a dreadful headache when he comes round.”

  She heard the doctor on the stairs and stepped aside as he came into the bedroom.

  “So what have we here?” The doctor moved in close to the bedside and surveyed Emmaline’s handiwork. “Trying to take my profession over, young lady?”

  “No, doctor, I simply thought it best to do what I could.”

  “And you did it very well, I see. Is he in your care?”

  “No, you should give direction to Mrs. Forrest and Lady Juliana.”

  The doctor turned to Juliana and Emmaline took the opportunity to slip downstairs. She need not be involved in Tocky’s treatment and care, for London would soon be far behind her.

  As soon as she appeared in the stable yard, Noble hurried towards her. She took one look at his white, worried face and smiled encouragingly.

  “He will be fine,” she said. “He has concussion and will need rest, but there is nothing to indicate he will not fully recover.”

  “Thank the good Lord for that,” muttered one of the grooms.

  “And no thanks to that damn Sampson,” the other said.

  Emmaline looked from one to the other, then at Noble.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Noble scratched his head. “His Lordship left instructions to be at Epsom to bring him home from the Derby, and to hitch the Hungarian team. He figured the distance might be a good work out and help get them sorted. But when Tocky went to hitch Sampson in his usual place, up he went on his hind legs and caught poor old Tocky with a fore hoof. Peeled his head just like an egg, he did.”
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  “Where are the horses now?”

  “We turned ‘em loose in the carriage house where his Lordship has a ménage.”

  “I’d like to see.”

  The interior of the carriage house was dim, the air thick with dust stirred up from the tan surface by the restless, perfectly matched chestnuts.

  “That’s Sampson, the off leader, Sateen is the near leader.” Noble pointed each horse out to her. “That there’s Shiloh, he’s the off wheeler and Sahara is the near wheeler.”

  “Has his Lordship tried them in a different order?”

  Noble frowned. “Can’t say that he has, miss.”

  Without a word, Emmaline picked up a coaching whip in one hand, her skirts in the other and stepped into the dusty arena. She walked into the centre and clucked and whistled to the horses, as she trailed the whip’s thong on the ground behind them.

  “I suspect, Mr. Noble, the reason this team has not settled is because they are in the wrong order. Watch them now.”

  The horses pressed together as Emmaline held the whip behind them to move them on. They trotted steadily around her in the small space.

  “Do you see where they are placing themselves?” Emmaline said. “Sampson has run to Shiloh’s left flank and Sahara has moved up with Sateen on his right. Shall we try them in this order?”

  “But they’re not going anywhere, miss,” one of the grooms told her. “Not with Tocky banged up.”

  “Doesn’t his Lordship wish to be brought home from Epsom?” Emmaline asked innocently. The rashness of the scheme that popped into her head already set her pulse racing. Lucius would be appalled, furious. But what did she care? She would be gone.

  “Yes, but. . . “ began Noble, then caught the look in Emmaline’s eyes. The realization of what she intended stunned him. “No, miss, no. I cannot allow it.”

  “It is not for you to allow or disallow, Mr. Noble.” She turned to the grooms. “Catch these horses up, rub them down and harness them in the order I suggested.”