The Gentleman's Daughter

by Bianca M. Schwarz

  She sat there for a while, pondering how to go about things. Eliza was in London, William had told her. Eliza didn’t care that she was illegitimate; high society didn’t approve of her either. Eliza would take her in. It might end up being a grand adventure for them both, and Papa could come visit her. Grossmama, of course, wouldn’t be happy, but everyone would know she was safe, and Aunt Hortense would be ecstatic to see the back of her. There would be no grand marriage for Emily, but with the ton full of people like the baroness and her aunt, what chance did she have anyway? She might as well go and stay with Eliza till Papa saw reason and gave her the estate she was to have for her portion. Then she could raise horses, or maybe she would become a concert pianist. But first things first, she needed to write some notes.

  Propelled by the optimism of youth, Emily pulled herself up and went through the connecting door into the study.

  ISABELLA RAN UPSTAIRS, THREW HERSELF onto her bed, and gave herself up to a good cry. She cried for herself and for Henry, for the family she would never have and the companionship she would miss, and finally she cried herself to sleep. Sally heard the crying, and knowing it was best to just leave her mistress be when she felt like this, waited an hour before she came back upstairs with tea. She noticed a letter addressed to Isabella on the hall table, so she added it to the tray in the hope it might cheer her.

  Placing the tea tray on the bedside table as Isabella woke from her nap, Sally poured her puffy-eyed mistress a steaming cup. “Here, that will make you feel better.”

  Isabella doubted it, but there was no point in wallowing in self-pity any longer. She’d made her choice and she’d had her cry; time to get on with the business of life. She sat up and took the cup, and seeing the letter, broke the seal and read.

  Dear Isabella,

  I accidentally overheard your conversation with Papa, and knowing you love each other, I cannot let myself be the obstacle to your happiness. Please don’t concern yourself for me, I will stay with friends in London, and as soon as my father and Grossmama realize I’ve completely ruined my reputation with this action, they will give up on wanting to bring me out in society. You will no longer be faced with the embarrassment of having to play mother to Sir Henry’s bastard, and your family will no longer have any reason to object to your marriage to my papa.

  I hope we can remain friends, away from the eyes of the ton, of course. I do want to be able to see my father, but I will be quite beyond the pale.

  Sincerely,

  Emily

  Isabella had to read the missive a second time to understand all the implications of what Emily communicated, but once she fully understood, she jumped off the bed with a most unladylike scowl on her face. “Sally, go to Miss Emily’s room and see if she’s there. If not, check if she’s with the dowager. Then come find me in the stables.”

  She slipped her feet into her walking shoes, then thought better of it. “Hand me my riding boots first, and you better get my habit ready, and a cloak.”

  Sally handed her the boots and looked at her with some worry. “Whatever’s the matter, miss?”

  Isabella pulled her boots on and headed to the door. “Miss Emily misunderstood something, and I have to stop her from doing something she’ll regret. Go make sure she isn’t still here. And if you see Sir Henry or William anywhere, send them to the stables.” With that she pulled the door open and headed for the stairs without bothering to close it.

  Sally stared after her in consternation for a second, then rushed to do her mistress’s bidding.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ISABELLA CROSSED THE STABLE YARD, JUST AS A horse-drawn cart rambled along the drive toward them, but in her haste she ignored it completely. Henry’s head groom was coming down the outside stairs from his room above the stable.

  “Roberts, have you seen Miss Emily?”

  Roberts looked at her with curiosity. “No, miss, it’s me afternoon off.”

  “Who is in charge then? Who would know?” Isabella did her best to remain calm and rational. She itched to throw herself onto the next horse and chase after the dear, stupid girl, but there was little sense in doing that until she knew Emily had actually left.

  Roberts pointed to a lanky youth pulling a water bucket up from the well. “Eddie over there should know.”

  Isabella turned to address Eddie. “Has Miss Emily taken any of the horses out this afternoon?”

  “Why yes, miss.” The youth scratched his head under his cap, then remembered himself and pulled the cap off. “Harnessed the grays for her about an hour ago. Said she was going to the village to get buns, she did. She wanted to go all by herself, but we told her how Sir Henry wouldn’t like it, so she took Tim along.”

  Isabella felt her agitation rise. Emily had an hour’s head start and she was driving a team of horses not likely to tire anytime soon. The only bit of good news was that she wasn’t alone, although the boy in question was no more than fifteen himself. “I need a fast horse saddled. Have you seen Sir Henry, by chance?”

  The groom obviously liked the attention he was getting. “Sure did, miss. He took the white hunter for a ride along the cliffs. Looked like a storm cloud, he did.”

  Isabella cursed herself inwardly. The storm cloud on Henry’s face was her fault too. “Saddle the other hunter for me.” She turned to go don her riding habit, but was blocked by the cart she had seen earlier and a concerned Roberts.

  “Anything wrong, miss?”

  Isabella was weighing whether to tell Roberts what had occurred when William came rushing out of the house.

  “Sally sent me to tell you Miss Emily is neither in her room nor with her grandmother, and she has your riding habit ready. Now what is this all about?” He then acknowledged the man in the driver’s seat of the cart with a familiar nod. “Thomas.”

  Thomas jumped down and planted himself next to William, facing Isabella. “What’s this about Miss Emily?”

  William saw the hesitation in Isabella’s face and indicated his friend. “You can trust Thomas, he’s one of us.”

  Isabella took a brief look at the young man beside William and concluded he must be the one bringing Sir Henry’s mail. He was tall and muscular, had more than average good looks, and was remarkably neat for someone who had just traveled from London. Seeing concern in his hazel eyes, she pulled Emily’s letter from her sleeve and handed it to William. “She took Sir Henry’s grays about an hour ago. Tim the stable boy is with her, but I have to go after her and tell her she has it all wrong, that she is doing this for nothing and needs to come back before anyone finds out.”

  William read through the note quickly, Thomas reading over his shoulder. “Miss, you stay here; Thomas will go after her, and if he can’t persuade her, he will take her safely to London. In the meantime, I’ll go find Sir Henry.”

  Both men started toward the stables, but Isabella put her hand on Thomas’s arm. “I’m coming with you. She is doing this because of me. I have to tell her why I did what I did, or she will find some other way to ruin her reputation. And she will need a woman with her to make the journey respectable.”

  Aware the young man was taking her measure, Isabella held his gaze. Finally he nodded. “We leave in ten minutes.”

  TIME WAS OF THE ESSENCE; they both knew it, and neither of them wasted any of it on the unnecessary. Thomas was already mounted on the hunter when Isabella got back to the yard. She was boosted into the saddle of a sprightly gray, and off they went. But not to the road, as Isabella had thought: Thomas led them out the back of the stable yard and directly north through the fields.

  “We’re taking a shortcut to the London road.”

  Isabella only nodded and followed Thomas across fields and over a couple of sheep walls. They rode up the little vale where she had painted earlier. Trotting alongside the young man, all thoughts of Henry and his kiss banished for the time being, she urged her horse into a gallop whenever the terrain allowed.

  Their path took them through a narrow pass f
rom which Isabella could see the road snake around a large hill to the west; she assumed the village lay on the other side of it. They made excellent time and joined the road just where it finally turned north into flatter terrain. They kept the horses to a steady light gallop, both well aware of the speed and endurance Henry’s grays were capable of. The afternoon turned into evening, and although the long summer days would allow them to carry on for a good three hours yet, they hoped hunger and concern for the grays would prompt Emily to stop soon.

  Passing through several hamlets before they encountered the first inn, they stopped only long enough to water the horses and make inquiries. Emily, too, had stopped there, and the groom had taken care of the horses while she had used the facilities. According to the innkeeper, they’d come through about half an hour ago, giving Isabella hope they would be able to catch up before nightfall. It was imperative for Emily’s reputation she wasn’t observed frequenting an inn alone by members of the ton traveling between London and Brighton.

  Back on the road, Isabella turned to Thomas. “If we catch up with Miss Emily at an inn, I’m going to say I’m her stepmother and that her father will be arriving shortly. I’ll go inside and talk to her. You wait for Sir Henry and tell him the plan.”

  Thomas thought about it and then nodded. “Simple and believable. We will use that as our cover story. And we got separated because she challenged you to a race.” He chuckled. “No one who knows her will doubt she did.”

  The thought of Emily challenging her to a race did coax a little smile onto Isabella’s face. “It’s not very ladylike behavior, but she is young enough and we are remote enough from London to get away with it. Certainly better than the truth.” With that she urged her horse back into a gallop.

  The road merged with one coming from the southeast, and traffic got heavier. With an inn in every hamlet and village now, they had to be mindful not to overshoot their target, so they stopped wherever a weary traveler might rest himself and his horses. It seemed they were gaining steadily, despite their frequent stops.

  Around seven o’clock in the evening, they turned into the busy stable yard of a postal inn and finally got some good news. The ostler attending them reported he had just put up the grays, and the miss had gone into the taproom to order her evening meal. He also related her groom had gone into the inn with her, despite her objections. This piece of information prompted Thomas to mutter “good man” under his breath, and the ostler to nod wisely. Isabella slid off her horse and made her way into the inn as fast as she could without breaking into a run.

  The inn’s combined taproom and dining room occupied most of the ground floor. The wooden bar ran the entire length of the room to the right, while a large fireplace dominated the opposite wall. A staircase to the upper floors was at the back. The room was filled with smoke and surprisingly enticing food smells, prompting Isabella’s stomach to growl. But before she could think about food, she had to find Henry’s daughter and clear up this misunderstanding, and she had to do it without causing a scene. Isabella let her eyes travel over the guests in the room, noting the locals seemed to be grouped around the bar while the travelers occupied the tables filling the rest of the room. Emily wasn’t amongst either group.

  Just then, a rotund woman in a starched pinafore bustled into the room with a large tray full of steaming goodness. She distributed the fare to a group of men sitting around a table by the large front window and then stepped toward Isabella standing in the door. “Can I help you, ma’am? We got a nice bit of lamb, chicken pot pie, beef stew, and lentil and pork soup.”

  Isabella smiled at the woman’s enthusiasm for her food. “Oh, chicken pot pie sounds lovely, but I should find my stepdaughter first. She beat me fair and square to your doorstep, but she didn’t wait for me to arrive as we agreed. I better find her before my husband gets here or he will be most upset. She is blond, pretty, young, and just a little shorter than me.”

  The woman made a grimace as if to apologize. “Dearie, you better brace yourself. Your husband is here and none too pleased. He marched your stepdaughter upstairs as soon as he saw her. She looked worried, so me husband tried to calm him down, but he told him to mind his own business, and the little miss didn’t say nothing, just looked a bit scared. But I’m glad you are here and can help her explain.” She winked at Isabella and pointed to the stairs. “Top of the stairs, third door to the left.”

  Isabella didn’t know what to make of the story, but it was possible Henry had known an even better shortcut and reached the inn ahead of them. No matter; it was her mess, and she had to tell Emily the truth. She headed for the stairs, a sense of foreboding quickening her step.

  GEORGE STOPPED AT THE INN on the recommendation of a friend and found the food every bit as palatable as promised. He was about to order his team be hitched up again when Ostley entered the taproom, and on a hunch, George stayed where he was in his shadowy corner. Before long Sir Henry’s pretty young daughter arrived and was forced upstairs by the baron. Aware of the Earl of Warthon’s ultimate plans for Sir Henry’s daughter, George contemplated going upstairs to take the girl off the baron’s hands and deliver her to Warthon himself, when Isabella entered the scene, and George’s plans changed abruptly.

  Here was his chance. He wouldn’t even have to go into Brighton and announce his presence to all and sundry; he could snatch her right here and now, and before anyone knew what had happened, she would be his wife.

  ISABELLA SCANNED THE ROOM FROM the stairs one more time to see if she could locate the stable boy, to no avail. Something was definitely wrong. Following the landlady’s directions, she quickly found the room the good woman had indicated and stopped for a moment to listen, in case the man in the room with Emily was Henry. She didn’t want to intrude on a heart-to-heart between father and daughter. But the angry male voice from within did not belong to Henry, and as soon as she comprehended that fact, Isabella threw open the door and rushed inside. The sight greeting her made her exceedingly glad she still held her riding crop.

  Emily had been thrown onto the bed and an older, greasy-haired man in an ill-fitting brown suit stood over her. He was wiry and menacing, and had his hand pressed over her mouth. Emily did her best to fight him, but he’d tied her wrists with a leather strap and was securing her to one of the bedposts with it. He took his hand off her mouth for a moment to backhand her and shouted right in her face.

  “That’s what you get for scratching, you trollop! You’ll learn to treat your betters with some civility.” The man spoke with a clipped upper-class accent, and his voice dripped with entitlement. He smacked Emily again, unaware there was another person in the room. “Doesn’t matter where you were brought up, you are still a bastard, and since your fine father saw fit to take my wife, I’ll have you in payment.”

  Old fears crept up Isabella’s spine, threatening to paralyze her with memories she had done her utmost to lock away. But fury at the cretin mistreating her young friend, and the knowledge she was the only one present to prevent worse, gave her strength. She rushed forward, the riding crop raised high. “Get away from her, you fiend!”

  Emily’s attacker turned, his overgenerous lips set in a cruel smile, as her riding crop connected rather harmlessly with his cloth-covered arm. “Ah, Sir Henry’s new bint. Don’t worry, I have enough for both of you, so wait your turn.”

  Isabella’s next strike found its target, instantly raising an angry red welt on the man’s cheek and filling her with a satisfaction she had never known before. She raised the crop again, and again found her mark. Astonished by her own savagery, but also empowered, Isabella raised her arm once more. Every wrong she had ever been done and had never dared tell anyone about seemed to flow out through her hand, and the crop, to paint the man’s face in red.

  With the man busy fighting off Isabella, Emily scurried to the other side of the bed and screamed for help at the top of her lungs. Unfortunately, the man soon got over his surprise at Isabella’s attack. Hatred burned in his
eyes, and his fist slammed into her stomach, doubling her over.

  “You fucking bitch! I’ll teach you to strike a man with a crop.” His voice just added to the dull roar in Isabella’s ears. But when he threw her over the side of the bed and placed a knee in the small of her back to hold her down, there was no way she could stop the panic from rising. Isabella thrashed as hard as she could, but couldn’t dislodge the knee in her back, and then his hand connected painfully with her behind. But despite the sting, it was a relief: he couldn’t spank her and force himself on her at the same time. She stilled and tried her best to breathe through the pain. She had to think of a way to get both Emily and herself away from this madman. As the man continued to thrash her bottom, Isabella’s vision blurred with helpless tears. And then, through the haze of pain, panic, and fury she heard an unfamiliar voice.

  “Ostley, cease!”

  The command went unheeded, and after some shuffling a terse voice instructed, “Out of the way, miss.”

  There was an almighty crash, water splashing all over Isabella, and then the full weight of her attacker slumped onto her. Panic engulfed her, but before she could lose all sense of reality, her attacker was pulled off her and unceremoniously dumped on the floor. Isabella scrambled off the bed, compulsively pulling on her skirts, and retreated to the corner behind the door. Her impulse to run was almost overwhelming, but even amidst the panic, she was still aware she couldn’t leave Emily alone with yet another man, even one who had just come to their rescue, so she slumped against the wall and tried her best to collect herself.

  EMILY STARED AT THE GOLDEN god who had just smashed the water jug over the odious creature’s head. Thanks to him, the disgusting vermin was now crumpled in a heap on the floor. She still didn’t quite understand how she’d come to be in the room with the horrible man. He had cornered her in the taproom and told her her father would suffer if she didn’t come quietly. Then he had knocked out poor Tim, who’d tried to stop him in the corridor, dragged her into this horrible little room, and railed against her and her mother. He’d even had the audacity to tell her this was only fair, considering her father had stolen her mother from him.