“Quite,” Eliza answered with a shy smile.
“Right. Hold the reins thus,” he demonstrated with the reins from his own horse, a beautiful black steed much like that in his father’s painting. Eliza wondered if it was the same one. “When you wish to go forward, just give her a gentle nudge with your heels, and she will do the rest.”
“Thank you,” Eliza replied.
The children rode up beside them. “Shall we?” the Duke asked. Gabriel and Charlotte responded by enthusiastically nudging their mounts forward.
The ride was exhilarating. Eliza had never felt anything like it before. They rode for some time until they came to an old croft with various outbuildings and fences dotting the landscape.
A man emerged from the croft to greet them. “Good morning, Mr. Murphy!” the Duke called out.
“Good morning, Your Grace!” the man called back.
“We have come to see the new batch of piglets,” the Duke informed him.
“They are doing well. You will be pleased, Your Grace. We had a new arrival last night, an ewe dropped a lamb in the wee hours.” The man took the reins of their horses as they dismounted.
“Splendid! We must look in on the little fellow,” the Duke replied.
The Duke led Eliza and the children around the side of the croft to one of the outbuildings. As they rounded the structure, Eliza could make out the sound of snorting. A sow came into sight and grunted a warning. “We will not harm your little ones, Ruby girl,” the Duke reassured the new mother. “We have just come to admire them.”
Gabriel and Charlotte crowded up close to the fence and giggled as the tiny piglets fought for space to suckle at their mother’s teats. The runt of the group was continuously shoved out of the way, but he would shake it off and dive right back in burrowing to make room for himself. “A determined little fellow, is he not?” she observed aloud.
“Indeed.” The Duke grinned in humor at the sight before them. “Shall we go see the new lamb?”
“Yes,” the children chorused and followed after their brother as he led the way to a paddock where the new mother was being held with her newborn.
“He is beautiful,” Charlotte breathed in appreciation. The lamb baaed in reply and twitched its tail as it ran and frolicked around the open space.
“That he is,” the Duke agreed, ruffling his sister’s hair affectionately. “Would you like to pet him?”
“Oh, yes, please,” the twins answered jumping up and down with excitement.
Eliza laughed in the joy of their delight. Their little adventure was the first time they had shown any sign of happiness since her arrival the day before. It gave her hope that perhaps everything would work out. They each took a turn petting the lamb. Then they walked around, admired the other animals, then mounted up and headed back to the stables.
Upon entering the drive in front of the manor house, they were greeted by the sight of a man in a long coat and tall hat with grey hair, a mustache, and beady amber colored eyes. The way he looked at them made Eliza’s skin crawl. Something about the man just did not sit right with her.
“Denlington,” the Duke greeted the man with a definite hint of displeasure in his voice.
Apparently, he does not like the look of the man either. Eliza moved closer to the twins unsure of what to do if there was an unpleasant encounter.
“What do you want?” the Duke demanded to know.
“Are you not going to introduce me to this delightful creature, Arthur?” the man asked.
“Miss Bolton, this is Ludlow Finch, Marquess of Denlington and a former associate of my late father. Marquess, this is Miss Eliza Bolton. She is the children’s new governess,” the Duke begrudgingly made the introductions.
“A pleasure, Miss Bolton,” the Marquess replied tipping his hat.
Eliza simply nodded in acknowledgement. “Children let us proceed to the stables and allow His Grace to attend the Marquess in private.” She did not wish to stay in the man’s presence any longer than necessary.
“Go ahead. I will meet you there in a moment,” the Duke instructed the twins to obey.
Eliza led them to dismount and hand over their steeds to the waiting groomsmen. “Would you like to help brush them down?” one of the stable hands asked Gabriel.
“Yes, please,” Gabriel replied, and Charlotte offered to help as well.
Eliza took a seat on a pile of straw and watched over her charges.
The Duke, true to his word, entered the stables and joined her upon the straw. “May I?” he asked before taking a seat.
“Of course, Your Grace. It is your straw after all,” she answered.
“That it is,” he answered with a smile at her cheekiness. The Duke lowered himself down to sit beside her. His hand briefly brushed against hers causing ripples of sensation to travel up her arm and throughout her body.
Eliza blushed and averted her eyes. What is wrong with me? Am I flirting? Surely not. Deep down she knew she was, a little. The Duke was a kind and handsome man. It was hard not to take note and react. Aloud she said, “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I couldn’t help notice that you are not over fond of your guest, the Marquess.”
“No, I am not. He was my father’s friend and now my mother’s, not mine.” The Duke frowned at the mention of the man.
“My apologies for bringing up an unpleasant topic of discussion,” Eliza offered.
“Think nothing of it. You may say and ask what you wish, Miss Bolton,” he instructed.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Eliza replied shyly.
“It will be nice to have another person to talk with on a daily basis,” he admitted. “You are good with the twins. It is clear that you care about people and their wellbeing.”
“I grew up in a house full of siblings. It simply comes naturally to me. I am glad that I can be of service to you and your family,” Eliza replied. “The children are a delight.”
“I am glad you think so. Perhaps this arrangement will work out after all,” he stated.
“I apologize for last night,” Eliza said, afraid that her nocturnal screams had given him a negative opinion of her.
“You have my sympathies for your loss. I knew your father. He was my tutor for a time when I was quite young,” the Duke informed her. “He was a good man.”
“Yes, he was. I miss him and mother every day. I saw them die. I was only six years old when it happened. I have had night terrors from that day to this. I promise I will get the screaming under control. I do not usually do so on a nightly basis,” she reassured him.
“I understand. You have no reason to fear reprimand from me about it,” he comforted her.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Eliza replied with relief.
“Would you and the children like to go out with me to check on the animals again tomorrow?” he invited.
“It would be our pleasure,” Eliza accepted.
“Wonderful. I must leave you now to attend to some business, but I will be up this evening to bid Gabriel and Charlotte goodnight,” the Duke promised. Rising from the straw, he gave Eliza one last smile, waved to the children, then left the stables.
* * *
Arthur entered the house and found the Marquess of Denlington waiting for him in the library. “Arthur,” Denlington began.
“I do not want to hear it, Denlington” Arthur raised his hand in a gesture of silence, but was ignored.
“You know it is what your father wanted, and it is what I want as well. Come join me, be my business partner as your father was. There is nothing we could not accomplish together,” Denlington urged him.
“A million times no. I will never stoop to the level of my father’s innumerable misdeeds and atrocities, no matter how many times you petition me to do so,” Arthur flatly refused. He had heard it all before and had no desire to relive his father’s sins. He spent his nights attempting to make up for those sins by giving back what was taken.
“One day I will change your mind, and you will see the
error of your ways,” the Marquess predicted.
“That day will never come,” Arthur assured him.
“We shall see. For now, I am off to see your mother. Think on my offer, Arthur. It is your legacy. I would think very carefully before refusing me again.” Denlington exited the room leaving Arthur to consider his offer in silence, the veiled threat hanging between them.
Never, Arthur silently promised to his retreating back.
Chapter 5
That night Arthur went out on another mission of redemption.
He had felt tainted by Lord Denlington’s visit and wished to wash his familial conscience clean by making amends for his father’s wrongdoing. He did not usually go out again so soon to avoid notice, but he had been unable to sleep and needed a reprieve from the torment of his father’s ghost.
I do not understand how my mother can tolerate such associations as the Marquess and yet cannot bear to lay eyes upon her own children. It baffles the mind. If it were truly our father’s memory she wishes to avoid, then would she not avoid a scoundrel such as his business associate?
He did not have a satisfactory answer for himself.
Arthur rode quietly through the streets of the town with nothing but his thoughts and horse for company. He enjoyed these quiet moments to himself in spite of the solemn errand. Righting his father’s wrongs had awakened him to aspects of himself he had hitherto been unaware of. He found that he enjoyed the night, the anonymity a disguise afforded, and the people he had met along the way.
He would much rather spend his time with the dregs of society, as his father had called them, than the upper echelons of the elite class. The only periods of true joy he had ever had as a child were with the household staff and the estate’s tenant farmers. His father and the Marquess’ misconduct had caused him to distrust all other men of title. The one exception to the rule was his dearest friend, Duncan Colborne, Duke of Durton.
Other than Mrs. Philips, Duncan was the only other person who knew of Arthur’s nighttime excursions. Duncan did not approve of Arthur putting himself in harm’s way and frequently urged caution. ‘You will not eradicate your father’s past so easily my friend,’ he had warned.
Arthur knew he was right but could not sit by and do nothing while people starved, and his family grew fat off the backs of another’s labors.
A sharp pain pierced his side dragging him abruptly out of his reverie. “Maybe next time you will think twice before interfering in the affairs of other men,” a gravelly voice mocked from the darkness beside him. Arthur caught the glint of a blood-soaked knife in the lantern light. He grabbed the site of his pain, and his hand came away stained with crimson.
“You stabbed me,” he answered dazed. He could feel hot blood flowing from his side down his leg. He could make out the sounds of liquid spattering upon the cobblestones and knew the sound came from him. As the man lunged forward once more to finish his attack, Arthur managed to come to his senses enough to kick his horse forward into a gallop.
“Hey!” His attacker shouted in protest from somewhere behind him, but all Arthur could think was to somehow make it home before anyone discovered him dead or unconscious upon the road.
Arthur was not quite sure how it happened, but he managed to make his way home and staggered through the servant’s entrance. He knew that Mrs. Philips kept a sewing kit in her office and stumbled his way through the darkened lower level of the house in search of the supplies needed to tend his wound. He grabbed a bottle of brandy from the pantry.
He prayed that nothing vital had been punctured. He could not send for a physician without revealing how he had come to be stabbed in the first place. Above all else, for his efforts at amends to be successful, he must not draw the attention of Denlington and his men. To do so would bring wrath down upon the people he was trying to help.
He could hear Duncan’s words ringing through his head, ‘Is righting your legacy worth dying for?’
“Yes,” Arthur grunted in reply as he forced Mrs. Philips’ office door open.
He found her sewing basket upon the floor and lowered himself down into a chair next to it. He lit a lamp, then removed his coat and shirt to inspect the damage. It was a nasty cut. Arthur uncorked the brandy bottle and poured some of the fiery liquid onto the wound. It felt as if someone had branded him with a hot poker. He sucked in air between his teeth in response to the pain.
Taking several drinks from the bottle to dull the sensation, Arthur extracted the needle and thread from the sewing basket. His hands shook from loss of blood making it nearly impossible to thread the needle, but he finally managed on the sixth attempt. He inserted the needle at one end of the wound just below his ribs and just above his hip. He was fortunate his attacker had not stabbed him in the kidney.
“Hmph,” he grunted with the pain. The needle moving in and out of his flesh felt like a thousand bee stings setting his skin ablaze. He had learned to care for his wounds from an early age. His father’s beatings had often ended in a need for medical attention. Mrs. Philips had cried every time. He was glad she was not awake to see him now, but he would have to explain the state of her office somehow. He had left a trail of blood throughout the house.
Perhaps after some rest, he would be able to come back down and set things right before she awoke. At the moment, his head was spinning from the loss of blood, pain, and brandy. When he had completed closing the wound, he wrapped strips of cloth from the sewing basket around his abdomen and tied it off. Staggering to his feet, Arthur stumbled his way up the stairs to his bedchamber and gently eased himself between the covers where he fell into a brandy-induced sleep.
Come the morning, he awakened to a splitting headache and piercing pain in his side. His valet, Mr. Saunders, was quietly laying out clothes for the day. He had never come out and told his valet about his midnight endeavors, but as the caretaker of Arthur’s clothing, Saunders would have been a fool not to suspect something was wrong. Arthur gingerly sat up to find that the pile of blood-soaked clothes he had unceremoniously thrown upon the floor during the night was gone.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Saunders greeted with a smile as if nothing were amiss.
“Good morning, Saunders,” Arthur replied making sure to hide the bandage around his middle beneath the bedsheets. “I believe I will dress myself this morning if you do not mind.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Saunders bowed, then left the room.
Arthur carefully arose from his bed to dress. He honestly could have used the help to make it a less painful process, but the fewer people who knew about his exploits, the better. Saunders might suspect, but suspecting something was different from knowing. He apparently had not woken in time to clean up his mess below stairs and knew he would have to face Mrs. Philips’ inquisition.
Better to face it now rather than later.
His stomach roiled from the amount of brandy he had been forced to consume to dull the pain, so he skipped breakfast in favor of a mere slice of toasted bread that he snatched from the kitchen before knocking on Mrs. Philips’ office door. Arthur looked down the hallway that he had traversed during the night but did not see evidence of the blood trail he had left in his wake.
Mrs. Philips must have cleaned it up first thing this morning.
“Enter,” the head housekeeper beckoned from within.
Arthur walked into the room expecting to be received with concern or chastisement but instead was greeted with the same smile she had given him every morning of his life. It occurred to him that had she found the bloody mess, she would have been standing over him in his bedchamber this morning, not serenely waiting for him behind a desk. Could she not know?
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Philips. Is all well below stairs? Nothing amiss?” Arthur was not about to make her worry more than she already did. If she did not yet know about the bloody mess he had left behind, then he was not going to concern her needlessly.
“Yes, Your Gra
ce. All is well. Nothing out of order. Can I be of service in any way?”
“No, thank you. I simply wished to bid you a good morn,” Arthur lied.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I have taken the twins their breakfast and reminded Miss Bolton of your desire to take the children out riding again today.”
Arthur’s side twinged with pain reminding him that riding on horseback probably was not the best idea. “There has been a slight change of plans. I will be taking the carriage to Durton today.”
“Very well, Your Grace. I will have one of the footmen inform the stables.”
With a nod of approval, Arthur left the room and headed for the nursery to inform the children and governess of the change in schedule. He knew the twins would be disappointed, but he felt a strong need to discuss the night’s events with his friend, the Duke of Durton. He needed to make arrangements if something should befall him. He did not wish to leave his siblings unprotected.
The Defiant Governess of Rosenhill Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 6