by Jen Yates
But no lad ever appreciated what he didn’t have to work for.
Charles decided he was the curmudgeonly old bastard everyone called him, because he was not going to do a thing about it.
The lad was still talking.
‘My father left me the stables and a small inheritance. I've had two years’ experience at the Wolfenden stud in Berkshire and I wish to start my own stud—with the money Da left me. I would purchase two or three brood mares and I reckon I could strike a deal with Lord Wolfenden for the use of a stallion, but I need grazing land so I can gradually expand—’
Charles cut him off with a chop of his hand. Excitement simmered through him with the deepest realization of all.
He was probably the only person in the whole of Stannesford—barring the boy’s mother—who was not surprised by Arthur Longfellow’s will.
‘Lady Liberty Davencourt? Stannesford’s eldest daughter?’
‘Yes.’
Charles tried to control the crafty smirk he knew would be touching his lips. Nothing would give him more pleasure than making the man pay for the title he'd inherited from Charles’s older brother.
As the second son of an earl, Charles had only ever had the courtesy title Lord Davencourt, and never the status and power that went with the earldom.
And Henry didn't deserve the title in Charles's view. The man was not quite right in the head, obsessed as he was with butterflies—and his witch of a wife—as beautiful as a butterfly—one that got away—
‘I’ll lease you all the eastern fields of the home park.’
Then he named a peppercorn rent that made Longfellow sit up and glare across the desk at him. The lad was likely as bright as his father had been and Charles needed to tread carefully or he might become suspicious.
‘That's—very generous, my Lord. I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth but—may I know why?’
Charles chewed on that for a moment.
‘No,’ he snapped. ‘Take it or leave it. And you can use my stallion to cover your mares in the first instance. He’s registered and should throw some handsome progeny. The stud fee will be my choice of foal from the year's crop.’
Those painfully familiar blue eyes raked his. Charles could almost see his mind working.
Weighing.
Questioning.
From the expression on young Longfellow’s face, Charles thought he meant to argue, and he realized it was likely because some innate sense of honor prompted him to protest an agreement weighted heavily in his own favor.
It was.
Charles was looking forward to seeing Henry and Helena’s firstborn and beautiful daughter wed to the miller's son.
Perfect.
***
May 1807
Liberty tried to ease her backside on the unforgiving seat of the coach, leant her head against the window frame to stare blindly out at the passing Oxfordshire countryside and tuned out the excited chatter of her travelling companions.
Her younger sister, Charity, and their neighbors, Lady Lucinda Wolfenden and Lady Raquelle Adderley, were bubbling with anticipation and becoming more animated and restless the closer they came to home.
At two years older this was the last time Liberty would make this journey. She was eighteen and ‘Marriage’ was the heading on the next chapter of her life.
An uncomfortable shimmer, like icy water drops, slithered down her spine. Her version of that chapter and her father’s were likely to bear little resemblance to each other.
Surreptitiously she squared her shoulders. She’d never been one to give in meekly when her heart was involved.
Papa had to be made to see her choice was not negotiable.
She would not allow herself to become the victim of fate—or parental manipulation as Caroline had.
They were travelling past the great iron gates of Danvers Court, home of Lord Danvers and the uncomfortable shimmer became an outright shudder of jumbled anger, disgust, and horror.
A year had taught Liberty nothing about life could be taken for granted. Her dearest friend, Lady Caroline Weatherby, no longer existed as far as anyone could be allowed to know. Her circumstances had changed dramatically and cruelly in the space of a day back in September, the day she’d received the last letter from her father.
He'd lost everything, he’d informed Caroline, including her, to Lord Danvers of Danvers Court. By the time she’d received the letter her papa had taken his own life, leaving her a destitute orphan. He’d written to apologize to his only child for the mess he’d made of his life—and hers.
And he’d begged her to make it impossible for Danvers to find her, for he would most certainly be coming to collect his winnings.
In Lord Winstanley’s view the man was a monster.
With Lady Bessborough’s help, Lady Caroline Weatherby with her golden curls had vanished from the school. At about the same time a new dark-haired teacher known as Miss Carly Silverton arrived. When Danvers came searching for his winnings, Lady Bessborough complained bitterly she’d run away owing the school a lot of money—and was he going to pay for that?
Lady B had taken great delight in recounting to Caroline his haughty repudiation of all responsibility for any debt and the fury with which he’d quit her office. All of which meant the only home Caroline had now was her small teacher’s room at the school.
To keep from worrying about her own situation, Liberty had spent the journey trying to devise ways to help Caroline even though her friend had said she preferred to remain hidden away at the school.
It was safer.
Liberty tried to join in the chatter with her travelling companions. Lucy's grandfather had sent his huge old travelling coach for them and the younger ladies were excited to be going home and attending the fair. This year Lucy was to be the May Queen.
Liberty gave up trying to focus on the vista of Stannesford Brook meandering along parallel to the road and allowed herself to be distracted from her rabbiting thoughts by Raquelle Adderley’s wistful observation.
‘I can't wait to see the gown Mama has organized for you, Lucy. You will be a beautiful May Queen. She’ll struggle to make me look beautiful next year.’
‘She’ll be struggling this year, Quelle. Who ever heard of a May Queen almost six foot tall and with hair like a bonfire?’ Lucy countered.
‘I love your hair,’ Raquelle muttered. ‘It looks alive. Not like my straw. And I'm even taller than you. I'll look like a giraffe on that throne next year. But I don't care. I’ll get to be Queen for a Day and everyone will have to bow and pay homage to me.’
‘I'll be an old maid before I get to be the May Queen,’ Charity pouted.
Liberty tuned them out. Had she been that excited?
That young and naive?
Only last year?
‘St. Anne's Ford, we’re nearly home,’ Raquelle cried, hanging out the window as the coach wheels rumbled through the shallow stony ford across upper Stannesford Brook below the ruins of the old chapel. ‘It'll still be just light enough to go for a ride on Phantom. I’ve missed him so.’
‘It’ll be dark by the time I get home,’ Lucy sighed. ‘I’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Could we all meet at the ruins in the morning? Libby?’
‘Oh absolutely,’ Liberty gushed before she could rein in the leaping excitement that overtook all other considerations as they approached Stannesford Village.
Home. Levi. One and the same.
Would he be around as they passed the mill?
Mama had written that his father had died quite suddenly in February but it had been Verity who’d told her Levi had returned to the village and taken over the stables.
She’d have ridden out tonight—at least as far as the lightning tree—if she’d thought Papa would not notice.
Unfortunately Papa was far too observant, while giving the impression of being totally unaware.
How she was going to see Levi was the most pressing issue on her mind and she knew Papa would not trust
her to ride anywhere alone if Levi was home. Certainly not anywhere she would be likely to meet him.
He was sure to be at the fair.
But what chance would she have to speak alone with him while accompanied by this gaggle of friends—and no doubt all their younger sisters as well?
She would grasp whatever opportunity offered.
For, passing him a note just might be possible. To that end, she would be prepared.
***
Summer 1807
Liberty Lou was home.
Levi tried, and failed miserably, to rein in the festering anxiety wearing at the fabric of his mind. In all things he could be resilient, forbearing, imperturbable even—except when it came to Lady Liberty Davencourt.
He’d heard his mother and his granny speculating last night as to how long it would be before Lord Henry found a husband for her—and where. For a London Season wasn’t likely since Lady Stannesford never left the Hall.
They had no idea what damage their idle gossiping had done to his heart, like they’d carved into it, laid it open, a pulsing, bloody mess.
He couldn’t afford to wait any longer.
It was time to challenge the ‘Boor of Stannesford’ in his own demesne. Levi was no longer the young lad banished from daily visits to the Hall with his mother, or even the raw stripling meekly accepting the lordly decree he absent himself from Stannesford altogether for two years.
He was a man grown, with dreams already moving towards realization.
A man of substance.
A man with prospects.
Hope lodged huge in his throat as he rode up the winding elm-lined drive to Stannesford Hall. It was eight years since he’d last entered Liberty’s home.
He'd been just a kid of twelve who’d dared to kiss the daughter of the house—while swimming naked in the lake.
That had been the day he'd known she was his and no other would do. He’d not been totally celibate since reaching maturity. He was a healthy young man after all and the lasses seemed to appreciate what they saw when their eyes fell on him.
But he’d quickly discovered he simply wanted every one of them to be Lou.
They never were—and it was never enough.
Today he was taking a step he hoped would bring him closer to his goal. He knew it was bold, brash perhaps, and even risky, but he could no longer go on hoping and watching and wishing something would miraculously happen to manifest his dream.
His prospects were finally something he could be certain of, proud of, bargain with.
Nothing had changed at Stannesford—except he was approaching the front entrance as a caller on Lord Stannesford, rather than the back door as one of the children the governess brought with her to the school room each day. His little sister, Rose, still came daily with their mother, but his older sister, Edith, now worked here as Cook’s assistant.
That last probably wouldn't help his cause but the success of the visit he'd made in doubt and trepidation to Lord Charles Davencourt had bolstered his belief in possibilities and positive outcomes. He'd been given a gift beyond price as a result of his daring that day. There was no reason to believe the outcome of today's interview would be any less rewarding.
Of course, first he had to actually succeed in penetrating the fastness of Stannesford Hall as far as the study of Lord Stannesford himself.
He’d not let one doubt give him pause, he decided, as he handed Black Lightning’s reins to a groom at the stables and walked around to the front of the house.
‘Young Levi! Perhaps—you should come around the back—’
‘Good morning, Sherman. Mr. Longfellow to see Lord Stannesford.’
He would not beg—or even ask—and he'd not linger on the doorstep as prune faced Sherman clearly expected he would, waiting to be turned away with a barely polite dismissal.
Right on the old butler’s disapproving heels, he waited only long enough to ensure his lordship was actually present before stepping around the servant and into the room he vividly recalled from the last time he'd stood in it shaking in his young boots from realizing he and Liberty had finally gone too far in their mischief and pursuit of fun.
It was the last day he’d darkened these halls. It was not an auspicious memory and not conducive to the positivity he was determined to hang onto now.
He might not have a title or be able to call himself a gentleman, but he’d dressed as one—with great care—even to the careful tying of a properly starched neck cloth—and he had very good prospects.
‘Young Longfellow,’ Sherman began. Then as Levi stepped around him, blustered, ‘I'm sorry, my lord—but I tried—’
Lord Stannesford rose to his full height behind the desk. An impressively built man who still carried himself well, the earl could project intimidation without even trying.
His dark blue eyes were almost black with something Levi was relatively certain was anger at being disturbed in his private sanctum. He would not let that deter him. He was no longer the sniveling kid who knew he deserved whatever chastisement his lordship deemed appropriate to the occasion.
He would do whatever was required to get his audience with Lord Stannesford and try to achieve his purpose by fair means.
By fair means or foul? God, he hoped it didn't come to that.
‘Thank you, Sherman,’ Lord Stannesford said tersely. ‘I'll handle it.’ Then he waited for the door to click shut behind the butler before barking, ‘This had better be important.’
‘It is, my lord,’ Levi quickly averred, ‘and I would apologize for the manner of my entry, but I was reasonably certain I’d have been turned summarily away else.’
Black brows bristling, the earl’s fierce gaze swept him from head to foot but he refused to be discomfited. He'd come with a very important purpose and having got this far he needed to be judicious with how he used his advantage.
‘I wish to apprise you of some facts regarding my situation, my lord.’ Rather than wait for the nod to proceed he was reasonably sure Stannesford was not going to offer, he continued. ‘I now own Stannesford Livery Stables outright, which is a solid business on its own and I have started a stud with money my father left me. Currently I have three mares in foal and three more yearlings who will go to the stud next season—and I intend to keep building my asset. I aim to have a herd of twenty mares in five years and own my own stallion.’
Stannesford's gaze had narrowed and Levi decided it might be a good point at which to stay silent and let the man digest what he'd heard—and wonder.
‘And why do you think this would interest me?’
The question was delivered in the flat, expressionless tones he was known for and with a visage devoid of all emotion. The Earl of Stannesford had a formidable presence many found intimidating.
But Levi had known him in lighter moods, teaching them all to ride, showing them the beauties in his butterfly house. The man did have a human side though he kept it very private.
Levi stood a little straighter. He’d not been invited to sit.
He’d just focus on what he’d come to say.
No point in staying silent now.
‘I love Liberty and she loves me and I’m asking for your permission to marry her. I have renovated the loft above the stables to make a comfortable home and—in time—I would build a proper house—’
The earl’s expression had not changed. Indeed his face was frozen, as if he listened intently to all Levi had to say, as if he might actually be considering Levi's proposal.
Then his body jerked forward and he slammed his fists on the desk as if he’d like to have smashed them into Levi’s face.
‘You bloody young upstart! You, the spawn of the miller and the governess, dare to crawl out of that slum you call a loft and expect me to entertain your suit—with my daughter?’
Stannesford was leaning across the desk and yelling at him. He’d not been listening or considering.
More like momentarily speechless with rage and horror.
&nbs
p; ‘My father is the miller but my mother—’
‘Works for me.’
An unbridgeable, societal gap.
Clearly, the upright, successful man Levi saw in his mirror each day was not what Lord Stannesford had seen with his merciless perusal earlier.
Even more clearly the man was no longer speechless.
‘The short answer to your request? Never! I made a vow to my wife at our marriage that I would protect her and our family from scandal always. My daughter marrying the son of the miller is the kind of scandal I’ve spent my life guarding against. And if I find you anywhere near my daughter in future I’ll not be responsible for my actions. Is that clear?’
Too late Levi realized he should’ve remembered Lord Stannesford was not as other men. Mama had always said he was peculiarly cold, to everyone except his wife. With her he was almost unhealthily obsessed, but his mama was also of the opinion that was just how Lady Stannesford liked it. She was a woman who needed the gilded cage her husband provided.
So how was he to set Liberty free from that goddamned cage?
***
Mama’s private parlor was a delightful room with tall glass doors opening onto a walled garden that rioted with color all year round. Often they took their hand-work or books out to the benches beneath the fragrant rambling rose arbor. Once mama came downstairs she was always to be found either in the parlor or the garden beyond.
Papa frequently likened her to a butterfly in the garden, but then Papa was obsessed with things of fragile beauty.
Like mama and her little sister, Verity.
Beside them, Liberty felt decidedly—ponderous, and about as fragile and graceful as a bumblebee.
She was feeling particularly out of sorts with the world this afternoon for other than church last Sunday, she’d only seen Levi in the distance at the fair.
With Verity and Charity and their other friends never far from her side and Papa watching her every move, neither of them had dared moving closer. Since coming home she'd not been able to get away to the lightning tree without her little sister, who at thirteen was far too knowing to risk anywhere near a secret rendezvous.