Wellchester Triplets Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set

by Laura Locke

Eliza could not help herself from speaking up. “You are doing such a fine job, Richard,” she complimented him.

  The squire’s eyebrows rose, as he had heard the tone of her voice and wondered at her continued interference. Eliza had never concerned herself with his employees or any aspect of maintaining the outlying parts of the estate. He made a mental note to discuss this with her once they returned to the main house.

  Richard held out two steaming mugs of tea and motioned toward the bench that hugged the table he had built. The squire seemed anxious to be on his way, but accepted the hot liquid and drank it quickly, but not before pulling a flask from his back pocket and adding some of its contents to the steaming mug. “Eliza, young Wellchester is a busy man. Do not linger for chitchat for we must be on our way.”

  Eliza heard her father with only one ear, watching Richard’s face as the squire spoke. She saw the shadow of disappointment darken his eyes, just as she had hoped. He was not discouraged by her father’s bombastic attitude, but, in fact, seemed to feel himself on equal footing. This pleased her very much.

  “Come along now, Eliza,” the squire spoke up, getting to his feet and heading toward the door. “Good day, Wellchester.”

  Eliza was obviously in a lesser hurry to leave, but knew that her father’s patience was not to be tried. His tone of voice was one step short of a command and she had long learned to heed that tone. She curtsied slightly toward Richard, although it was not her station to do so. “Thank you most kindly for the refreshments, Richard. I do hope to see you again soon and that you may visit us when you one day pass by.”

  The squire rolled his eyes at that invitation and grasped her elbow, pulling her from the cottage. Richard followed them and quickly retrieved their horses from the barn, helping Eliza to mount before her father could intercept him. He liked the way her hair filled his nostrils with its scent and the way his hands encircled her tiny waist without a strain. He stepped back and nodded toward her as the squire clucked to his mount and began a trot out of Richard’s barnyard.

  Once Eliza and the squire had reached the main house, the squire was in a high agitation. “Why did you behave thusly, daughter?” He asked her as they went inside. “Young Wellchester, while he might be a good man, is of no interest to you, is that clear? You understand that your future will be with a suitable match, someone of my choosing.”

  She nodded as she pulled her gloves slowly from her hands. “Yes, Father, I understand what you are saying.” She did not elaborate on that and left him standing in the foyer as she ascended the staircase to her room. The squire had the distinct impression that she had just defied him, although it was subtle and femininely executed. He cursed beneath his breath and sought the sanctity of this study where he might smoke a cigar and have a brandy to calm himself.

  Richard held a horse’s hoof in his aproned lap, filing down the raw edges of the newly applied shoe. The animal became restless, snorting and trying to move away—a reliable sign that something had upset it.

  “There, now,” he calmed the animal and stepped away long enough to look out the barn’s door. There, seated upon their horses, were Rufus and his trusty group of associates.

  “Live ye in the barn now, do ye?” Rufus greeted him as he dismounted. He walked his horse over to the watering trough, punched his ham-like fist through the thin covering of ice and tied up the steed so it could drink at its leisure. Rufus signaled the others, who likewise tied up their own animals as he strode toward Richard, his hand outstretched.

  “Rufus,” acknowledged Richard, shaking his hand and then stiffening perceptively as Rufus wrapped his huge arms around Richard in a familiar hug.

  “Ye’ve become a handy stop-over, my boy,” Rufus blustered, slapping Richard on the back. “Look what ye’ve been up to,” he added, sweeping his arm to indicate the garden and the barnyard’s improved state. “I suppose next ye’ll become your own squire,” he teased.

  “I’ve no ale to offer you, Rufus, but you and the men are welcomed to come into the cottage and warm yourselves by the fire. I can offer you tea.”

  Rufus’ huge head swiveled as he surveyed the cottage. “Are ye daft? I would have to bend in half to fit in there. No, my boy, we’re on our way to the village pub and stopped to invite you along.”

  Richard shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, as much as I’d like to join you and the others, I have work to do.”

  “Ye cannot take a wee break?”

  Richard shook his head again. “There are no breaks when you are trying to win over new customers.”

  “Aye, ye’ll be a rich man yet,” Rufus affirmed. “Now ye’ll need a lassie.”

  Richard said nothing but the look on his face told Rufus all he needed to know.

  “Ah, so there is someone ye’re sweet on, eh? Her name?”

  Richard bent to pick up a stone and threw it overhand into the distance in an act of defiance. “I’m afraid she is not interested in the likes of me. Well, to be truthful, she may be but her father, the squire, stands in the way.”

  “Ye can only be referring to Squire Barrington.”

  Richard looked up, startled. He hadn’t meant to disclose everything. “How did you know?”

  Rufus pointed his finger at Richard’s face. “Ye take me for a fool, I see. Ye’re standing on his land and there’s only one squire hereabouts with a daughter bonny enough for the likes of you, I’m thinking.” Richard flushed with embarrassment. “I’m thinking the squire put a quick end to that?”

  Richard shrugged—a certain sign of admission.

  “So I thought,” Rufus surmised, striding over to where his horse was tied. “Well, we only stopped to pay our respects. We have a date with a mug of ale and if ye’ll not join us, then we must be on our way,” he concluded. He mounted the monstrous horse and gave a short wave of his hand as he and the others trotted out of the barnyard and down the road toward Leister, steam billowing from their horses’ nostrils in the frigid air.

  Rufus and his men approached Leister and slowed to a walk so as not to attract undue attention. They were wanted by the crown, so the order of the day was always to lie low and blend in with the locals. They tied up their horses at the hitching post outside the pub and stretched their legs, deciding whether to go inside or poke around the village first. It was always a good idea to gather a little information about a place before you entered a dark pub filled with brew-afflicted men.

  Their caution was rewarded as the lovely Eliza emerged from her father’s mercantile, her father’s housekeeper following closely behind. Eliza was bound for the carriage waiting nearby but before she could cross the street, out leapt a suitor in the person of Alexander Horris. Alexander was the son of a prosperous, albeit lowly placed, fourth son of an Earl who had lost favor at the palace and had taken up gambling, women and farming, in that order. Alexander was still consumed with a high opinion of himself and considered the sought-after Eliza easy pickings for himself, should he so choose.

  “Good day to you, Mistress Eliza Barrington,” he burst out, approaching her.

  Eliza recoiled almost visibly. Not only was she under her father’s orders not to socialize with any of the local young men, but she personally did not care for the arrogant and unprincipled Mr. Horris. Eliza pretended not to hear him and quickly swung about, looking for the support of her housekeeper. “Come, Mrs. Smythe, Father told me to hurry home.”

  “Can you not return my greeting?” the mischievous Alexander plagued her. “I was hoping you might linger a bit and join me for tea?”

  A few of the townspeople had begun to walk more slowly, giving themselves ample time overhear the conversation. Rufus, his instincts always sharp, motioned outward with his arm to his men to hang back, knowing that some sort of confrontation was about to take place. His sharp hearing had caught the young lady’s name and he made the association to Richard instantly.

  “I am most obliged, Mr. Horris, but have no time to linger, I’m afraid. My father, the squire, is expecting m
e back directly.” She turned again and gave the housekeeper a desperate look. The poor woman hurried toward the carriage, catching her toe in her skirts and falling forward, her face landing in the mud.

  “Oh!” exclaimed Eliza, hurrying to the woman’s aid as the driver leapt from the carriage and helped her to her feet. As she brushed her skirts, Eliza handed her a handkerchief for her face. She was flushed bright red and many people laughed. The squire was not popular with everyone in the village. Many saw him as pompous and demanding. They welcomed any event that would reflect poorly on him.

  Rufus watched quietly from the shadows, chewing upon a stub of straw. He motioned to his men to precede him to the pub, but hung back to watch.

  Alexander Horris stood his ground, uncaring about the housekeeper’s dilemma. His attention was focused on Eliza and he eventually took it upon himself to seize her elbow, as though she, too, were in danger of falling.

  “Let go of me, Mr. Horris!” she exclaimed, jerking away.

  “I was only trying to help you from falling,” he taunted her.

  “You presume far too much, Mr. Horris,” Eliza said, turning her back to him and joining the housekeeper who was now safely installed in the carriage. The driver climbed aboard and snapped the reins. He beat a hasty retreat from the village center, fearful that the squire would most likely blame him for the events just taken place.

  Alexander Horris laughed—a sadistic, arrogant sound that suggested he’d had some part in the housekeeper’s indignity. He turned and headed into the pub. Rufus followed slowly behind and saw his comrades occupying one entire table along the wall, the chair at its head waiting for him. Rufus took his seat, his back to that wall, as was his wary habit. He brushed imaginary dust from his tweed cravat and resisted pinching the bar keep’s waitress as she brought him a clean mug and poured his first from the pitcher she’d earlier delivered to his table.

  Alexander Horris was in high spirits, loudly replaying the incident outside, but altering the details to make himself appear considerably more popular and heroic than he’d been. He even suggested that Eliza had approached him, flirtatious and inviting his attentions. Rufus chuckled to himself; recognizing the arrogant Horris for the fool he was. He turned to Malik, who was seated next to him.

  “Ye cannot have a lass such as the squire’s daughter around young men without an elephant’s ass of trouble,” he joked.

  Sure enough, seconds later, another young man in common clothes but of a hefty build stood and faced the boasting Horris. “I say you are a liar, Mr. Horris. A boasting, self-serving liar! The Mistress Eliza would never have anything to do with the likes of you,” he challenged.

  A hush fell over the room as everyone jockeyed for a position from which to oversee what they knew was about to explode.

  Horris stopped his oration and turned to face his accuser. “Mr. Wells, am I to believe that you doubt my word?”

  Mortimer Wells swallowed hard, but he was considerably larger than Horris and unafraid, despite his action. “I do, indeed. Mistress Eliza is a kind, but very highly-respected young woman of impeccable breeding. She would never have anything to do with the likes of you, and most certainly did not for a moment entertain the thought of joining you here in the pub for a mug. Those are your words and were never uttered from her lips.” His eyes blazed in defense of the lovely Eliza as his hand reached for the dagger in its pouch that hung from his waist.

  Horris slowly set his mug down upon the table next to him, his face turning angry as the titters about him echoed Mortimer’s accusation. Horris’ arrogance was only exceeded by his fear of his father should he not present himself the better man in public. The family’s reputation had suffered greatly the previous years and that fact stung. “I will not suffer being called a liar, Wells. I suggest we take this outside?”

  Mortimer swallowed hard again but he nodded and a path to the door suddenly appeared as the occupants of the pub moved out of the way and then followed Mortimer into the street to watch. Horris awaited him.

  “Shall we say ten paces, Mr. Wells? I don’t believe there is the need for a second as we seem to have plenty of witnesses.”

  “I have no pistol.” Mortimer’s words were barely spoken when Rufus emerged from the pub and handed his loaded weapon in Mortimer’s direction.

  “Take him on, laddie,” he said, urging Wells into the duel. “We’ve got yer back as I heard the liar myself,” he added and heard the sound of pistols being cocked behind himself by his own men.

  Mortimer’s eyes were huge, but there was no way out of the situation with honor at that point. He nodded and accepted the pistol from Rufus. It was a small weapon, not even capable of killing a human, but Wells was a novice and did not recognize this.

  Solemnly, he took up position, his back against Horris and Rufus stepped forward, pulling his cloak around himself. The villagers had gathered and were doing likewise as a cold wind had begun to descend from the north—in keeping with the impending doom of the tableau before them. Rufus held up his left hand to silence the gathering crowd and his imposing stature brooked no interference. His deep bass voice began the count.

  “Ten paces, gentlemen…I begin. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten!” Both men, having paced the distance between them, turned and fired. A cry went up from the crowd as Alexander Horris crumpled into the frosty dirt, but Wells remained standing. Wells dropped the pistol and Malik quickly retrieved it, but not before noting that it remained unfired, its trigger jammed with a tiny piece of a stick.

  Rufus took several steps back as the villagers began to rush in and encircle the lifeless body of Alexander Horris. He swiftly, but evenly, retreated into the shadows of a building as his men brought up the horses. Someone cried out that they were off to bring in Alexander’s father, but Rufus and his men slowly made their way out of the village square. No one took notice of them, or of the hole in Rufus’ cloak, through which he’d shot Alexander Horris dead.

  Chapter 12

  Richard heard Dog’s growl even as he let the hammer fall to his anvil. He emerged from the barn to see Rufus and his men riding up once again.

  “Hello again, young Wellchester.”

  “I must say, I am surprised,” said Richard. “I would’ve expected you to stay the night at the pub,” he teased good-naturedly.

  “It is a different journey we have to make, Richard. I wonder if you would take a look at Malik’s steed. The animal seems to be limping.”

  Richard immediately advanced toward the horse, taking about the reins and Patty on the flanks. “Of course, Malik if you would bring him inside the barn, I’ll have a look. All of you, it’s much warmer in there.”

  “We won’t be staying long,” said Rufus mysteriously. Richard ignored it and opened the barn doors widely enough that Malik could walk his horse inside. Richard took the reins from Malik’s hand and tied the horse up, gently patting its flank to keep him calm as he circled around. “Which hoof is it that bothers him?”

  Malik looked to Rufus who quickly put in, “The rear, on the right,” he rolled the r’s in his Scottish brogue.

  Richard nodded and continued to pat the horse as he circled around behind it. He lifted the horse’s leg, pulling a pick from his pocket to examine the hoof. Shortly thereafter, he set it down and went around to the left rear hoof. Finally, he shook his head and came to face Rufus. “I don’t see a thing wrong. Perhaps it picked up a stone which has since come dislodged?”

  “Mayhap.” Rufus looked to Malik who nodded and withdrew his horse from the barn to join the others where they waited outside. Rufus turned to Richard. “Can ye listen to what I am about to say without asking questions?”

  Richard shrugged. “I guess so?”

  “Then I suggest that ye get yourself together and call upon the mistress Barrington without delay,” he said smoothly. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “I may have taken a small hand in removing some of your competition.”

  Richard opened his mouth but re
membered he’d given his word. He wanted him to know what part Rufus had played and what had transpired. He simply nodded, and Rufus nodded in return. He gave a quick wave of his hand and left the barn, leaving Richard standing inside, his mouth partially open with unasked questions as he heard Rufus and the others ride away.

  The next day Richard arose and washed himself in the frigid water he brought inside the night before with his new pail. “Next time, remind me to heat it over the fire, first,” he muttered to Dog. Finishing his dressing, he quickly ate a heel from the loaf of bread that was quickly growing stale upon a table, followed that with a mug of fresh milk and moments later, was riding into the village.

  There seemed to be more villagers about than usual, gathered in small groups and exchanging conversation while hunched in conspiratorial postures. Richard roade slowly through the center of the village and then headed toward the boardinghouse. There, he inquired whether Sarah was available for visitors and was soon ushered into the parlor where she was about to take tea.

  “Oh, my boy, I am so happy to see you. You cannot imagine what has happened. I feel as though I shall have a breakdown.” Then, remembering her good manners, Sarah gestured toward Richard usual chair and she poured tea into the extra cup that always seemed to be waiting.

  Richard gave her a few moments to collect yourself and mentally compose the tale she was about to relate. He knew Sarah well enough to know that it would be dramatic, however truthful. He waited patiently and soon she was ready.

  “You simply will not believe how the Squire’s fortune have turned in the space of an afternoon.”

  “Oh?” His ears were instantly alerted at the squire’s name. In his mind, the squire and Eliza were one and the same, sharing a common future for the moment. “What on earth has happened?”

  Sarah drew a handkerchief from a deep pocket in her skirt and dabbed at her eyes, although they were void of tears, he had to admit it was a dramatic gesture. “Mistress Eliza is ruined, simply ruined.”