Knight For A Lady (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 3)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  Young Peter broke into an embarrassed laugh and his colour deepened. “I remember you too, Miss Westacott. We all thought you were too grown up to notice us.”

  Edith released his hand. “Well, I have the advantage of you by a few years, I dare say. But you must let me thank you. I gather his lordship assigned you to what must have been a somewhat tedious duty on my behalf.”

  His colour much heightened again, the lad disclaimed. “It was no trouble, miss — ma’am —” changing his address at an admonishing look from his father “— and I’m only sorry that —”

  “No, pray don’t be. A misjudgement only. I doubt you will hang for it. You have not broken even one of the commandments, has he, Uncle Lionel?” She turned a pleading look upon the vicar, who responded at once with a cheery smile.

  “Heavens, no! A most understandable lapse, my dear boy, and no harm done.”

  To his credit, Peter refused to accept this. “Yes, but there is, Reverend, for now his lordship has no means of knowing that fellow’s movements.”

  Edith saw a measure of approval enter his father’s countenance, and hoped her intervention might lighten the harshness of the scold he was undoubtedly storing up. She was glad when Niall backed her up.

  “Don’t torture yourself over it, lad. If he intends to make a move, we will know it soon enough. We could hardly expect him to kick his heels indefinitely.”

  The boy looked gratified, but the episode had broken the comfort of the evening. Her uncle turned to Eddows senior, waving a hand at the abandoned chessboard.

  “I fear we must leave this bout unsettled, my dear fellow.”

  “Ah, an excellent excuse, sir, since I have you on the run.”

  Her uncle gave his opponent a hearty slap on the back. “You will get your revenge in due course, I don’t doubt.”

  Niall settled the matter. “I shall instruct the servants to leave the pieces intact, gentlemen. You may resume your game upon another occasion.”

  Her uncle waved his hands. “No, no, my dear fellow, don’t do that. You will only give this fiend the opportunity to sneak a look when my back is turned and plan his next move.”

  This caused a general laugh and the party broke up. Niall called for the carriages and himself set Edith’s cloak about her shoulders. He escorted her downstairs to the hall, the others following behind.

  “That was a kindly gesture of yours, Edith,” he murmured under cover of the conversation continuing between the chess players.

  She caught the inference and spoke in the same low tone. “The poor boy was quite overcome, and I could see Mr Eddows was perfectly furious with him.”

  “So also was I for a moment. But he judged himself more harshly, I agree.”

  “In my experience, young people place far more importance than is necessary on the errors they make.”

  “The wisdom of a school teacher?”

  “If you had been obliged to soothe as many broken hearts as I, you might say the same.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Speaking of broken hearts, Miss Westacott…”

  “Oh, stop!” Her pulse kicked. “I wish you won’t harp on it. Especially now.”

  “Why now so particularly?”

  “Because … well, because … you said yourself we cannot be sure he has really gone.”

  A sober look entered his countenance. “So I am to wait upon his convenience? Very well, Miss Westacott, I will possess my soul in what patience I can muster.”

  Edith’s heartbeat speeded up. “I wish you won’t be so absurd! It is not as if I don’t…” She faded out, shocked to realise she had been on the verge of committing herself. On the whole, she was glad the butler chose this moment to open the front door and announce that the coach was waiting.

  Although Niall handed her up, his farewell held no special meaning and Edith regretted her sharp dismissal. Yet what could she do? Without a resolution, and until he knew the truth, she dared not give her heart into Niall’s keeping.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The heat was stifling. Edith had left her bed-curtains open, unable to tolerate the confinement. It was too reminiscent of the days of waiting for Lord Kilshaw to make a move while he was still at the Fox and Goose, like a spider plotting in the middle of his web.

  Despite Niall’s warning, Edith felt freer than she had in days. He had made time to visit the vicarage since the fateful dinner three nights ago, sitting with Edith in the front parlour for an hour and heroically partaking of the scones pressed upon him by Mrs Tuffin. He had behaved impeccably. No mention was made of his desires or his feelings towards Edith.

  Indeed, she had felt a trifle piqued. She had no right to and she chided herself for her perversity. She had been the one to demand his silence. She should not be offended when he complied with her wishes.

  Although, she reflected, as she gazed into the gathering dark of the late summer night, Niall’s reticence had allowed her feelings to flower. She could no longer deceive herself. She cared for him. Loved him. Too deeply to be willing to give herself to him while trammelled with the taint of the past. He did not deserve that. He had been more than kind, taking up the gauntlet for her even before his interest was fixed. A true knight errant.

  She contemplated the inner vision of his countenance, changing to his moods, and caught her breath on a swelling within as the image widened to encompass his manly figure. How well his buckskins encased those muscled legs. Even beneath the cloth of his frockcoat, one could see the power of his arm, the sinews honed, she must suppose, with wielding a sword.

  She had not before recognised the pull of her body towards his, yearning to be held in that potent embrace. Edith groaned, turning over in the bed to bury her face in the pillows and pummel the mattress with both feet and hands. Sighing, she relaxed again, throwing her arms up to hold the mound of her pillows, squeezing them as her mind presented her with the broad chest she would fling her arms about if she could.

  Frustrated with herself, she turned again, beating her fists beside her on the bed. Stop it, Edith Westacott! Torturing herself would only make it worse.

  She took a deep breath and tried to relax, commanding herself to go to sleep. Yet no sooner did she allow her thoughts to drift than back Niall came, invading her mind and smiling in that lopsided fashion which could not but melt her heart all over again.

  Giving up all pretence, Edith got up out of her bed, threw a cotton shawl across her shoulders and went to her window. She’d left the drapes only partially drawn and the casement slightly open. Edith threw it wide, breathing of the cooler air and gazing up at the pinpricks of tiny stars just beginning to appear.

  Her window overlooked the back garden and a movement drew her eye. She looked down and her heart stopped. Lord Kilshaw was standing there, bold as brass. His face was turned up and he was staring directly at her.

  Perforce, Edith met his gaze, uncertain in the fading light if she saw his eyes beyond a glitter in the pale oval of his face.

  She was beyond thought, mesmerised, a ball of terror suspended in her chest, freezing her to the spot.

  He was here! He had come! He had come for her!

  He lifted a hand as if to wave and the spell broke.

  With a gasping sob, Edith shunted back from the window, shutting out the sight. Riding on instinct, she turned for the door and sped across the gallery to her uncle’s room.

  Her fists rose, beating on the door as she cried out. “Uncle Lionel! Uncle Lionel! Wake up, Uncle Lionel!”

  With shaking hands, she found the handle and turned it. Even as she shoved it inward, she heard her uncle’s voice.

  “What’s to do? Ede, is that you? What in the world —?”

  His head appeared through the curtains, blinking in an owlish fashion, and Edith ran towards the bed.

  “Uncle, he has come! He’s in the garden! I saw him, standing there and staring up at me.”

  “Lord Kilshaw? Good heavens, child, you don’t mean it?”

  The curtains rat
tled on the rail as he threw them aside, pushing himself out from under the bedcovers.

  Distraught, Edith threw up her hands. “He’s here, I tell you! I saw him!”

  Her uncle was up at last, bouncing towards the door. “Stay here, Ede!”

  She stood trembling by the bed, hearing his rapid steps crossing the gallery and pattering into her room. A moment passed while her knees went weak and she sank down onto his bed, feeling the heavy curtains fall about her. Edith thrust them aside.

  She heard the slam of the window, footsteps, and a moment later her uncle reappeared.

  “No sign of anyone in the garden, my dear.”

  Edith leapt to her feet. “But he was there! I swear to you I saw him as clear as day!”

  “Yes, yes, I don’t doubt you, my dear.”

  They were interrupted.

  “What’s the matter, sir? What’s happened?”

  “Ah, Mrs Tuffin, excellent!” Her uncle snatched up his spectacles from his bedside table, crammed them onto his face and waved at the housekeeper as he groped behind the door for his dressing-gown. “Stay with Ede while I investigate, dear lady. She thought she saw Lord Kilshaw in the garden.”

  “I didn’t think,” Edith almost screamed. “I did see him!”

  “What’s this, Miss Ede? Now sit you down and calm yourself, do.”

  “I’m going down.”

  “Be careful, sir!”

  “Don’t worry your head, Mrs Tuffin. I intend to arm myself.”

  Her uncle vanished through the doorway, his dressing-gown thrown over his nightshirt.

  Edith was thrust into a chair, the housekeeper, a voluminous shawl half-covering her night attire, tutting over her. Looking up into the concerned plump features, framed in an all-encompassing white cap tied in a bow under the chin, Edith felt a little of the terror giving way to protest.

  “I did not imagine it, Mrs Tuffin! I couldn’t sleep for the heat and I went to the window, and there he was.”

  “Well, I don’t know how he got into the garden with all them guards my lord Hetherington has set about the place.”

  “Neither do I, but the fact remains that he did.”

  Edith discovered her fingers were quivering and she gripped them together, wishing Niall was there. Idiot woman that she was. She’d had the chance to ally herself to him, to make it all but impossible for her Nemesis to menace her, and she’d thrown it away. But as the fear subsided, doubt crept in. Had she imagined it after all? What had her uncle found, if anything?

  Impatience claimed her and she got up. “I’m going down.”

  “Reverend said to stay here!”

  Edith brushed past Mrs Tuffin, ignoring the hand put out to stay her. “I don’t care. I can’t bear the suspense.”

  She went through the open door, still in her bare feet, and ran down the stairs, Mrs Tuffin lumbering after her, still voicing objections.

  “Hot at hand you are, Miss Ede. Always were.”

  She did not trouble to refute the accusation, only making for the back door, which, to her horror, her uncle had left open. Breaking into a run, she reached it and slammed it shut, turning as Mrs Tuffin came puffing up.

  “He might already have sneaked in! We must search the house!”

  Gripped by panic, Edith ran from room to room, flinging open one door after another and sweeping a terrified glance about each shadow-filled room, peering into corners as if she thought to find Lord Kilshaw crouching there.

  Someone seized her from behind. Edith screamed. An irate voice sounded.

  “Heavens to Betsy, don’t do that!”

  Her heart pounding, she sagged again. “Oh, it’s you, Mrs Tuffin! I wish you wouldn’t give me such a fright.”

  “And I wish as you’d stop driving yourself and me into a frenzy, rushing about like one demented!”

  Edith leaned against the panelled wall in the hallway. “I thought he might have got in while Uncle was in the garden.”

  “Well, he hasn’t, for I’ve looked as well as you, if not better. Now come to the kitchen, Miss Ede, and I’ll rustle you up a glass of warm milk.”

  Feeling singularly foolish and trembling in every limb, Edith allowed herself to be hustled into the kitchen and pushed down into a chair. She peered out of the kitchen window, trying to see what her uncle was doing, but it was now too dark to see much beyond shadows.

  Mrs Tuffin turned up the lamp she always left burning in the kitchen and lit a couple of single candles, using a spill which took fire when she put it to the embers in the range.

  The access of light made the gardens utterly dark and Edith turned her eyes from the window, finding it impossible to see anything at all. She watched Mrs Tuffin bustle about with milk and a pot and tried to settle her mind. Presently the door to the garden was heard to open and close and Edith’s nerves lost their edge as she heard the thump of the bolt.

  Mrs Tuffin went to the door. “In here, Reverend!”

  Her uncle came into the kitchen, and Edith’s overwrought senses found relief in a burst of laughter. “Oh, Uncle, you look the veriest tiger!”

  He grinned under the nightcap askew on his head, glancing down at his unconventional attire and waving like a baton the stout walking stick with which he had armed himself.

  “I am ready to face all comers, my dear Ede.” He came to pat her shoulder in the comforting way he had. “Are you feeling a little more the thing, my dear?”

  Edith sighed out a heavy breath. “If by that you mean, have I recovered my common sense, the answer is more or less. I take it you found nothing?”

  Her uncle shook a regretful head. “No sign of the wretch. Nor anyone. I ventured to go to the back gate to seek out Lord Hetherington’s fellow and could not discover him either.”

  Edith stared at his face, paler than normal in the candlelight. “You mean he left his post? Dear Lord, Niall will be furious!”

  Her uncle’s eyes widened and Mrs Tuffin turned her head from her work at the range to look at her. Edith blinked at them both.

  “But what have I said?”

  The vicar cleared his throat. “I had not guessed you were on such terms with his lordship, my dear Ede, as to be making free with his given name.”

  Heat crept into Edith’s cheeks and she berated herself in her mind. Idiot! What in the world was she to say now? There was little point in concealment.

  “Well, we are a little more friendly than you supposed, Uncle.”

  “So it would seem.” His brows were raised and he was clearly looking for more.

  “Nothing is settled, sir,” Edith told him, trying not to sound repressive. “And it is just as well, since it is clear Lord Kilshaw has by no means abandoned his purpose.”

  The vicar lowered his voice. “I will not press you, my dear, but I must beg you to trust me if there is something I ought to know.”

  She remained silent, hoping the housekeeper’s presence would induce him to let the matter rest. To her chagrin, Mrs Tuffin intervened, turning with arms akimbo and addressing herself to the vicar.

  “Well, it’s a wonder you haven’t guessed it, Reverend! What is a body to think when two people go about smelling of April and May? I’ve ears on two sides of my head and my wits about me like anyone else.”

  To Edith’s relief, her uncle came to her rescue, patting the woman’s shoulder. “You have indeed, my dear Mrs Tuffin, and I understand you very well. Now, what is it you have there, milk?” He smiled at Edith as the housekeeper sniffed and turned back to the pot on the range. “What do you say we put a drop of brandy in it, my dear Ede? I could do with a tot myself and I think it would do you the world of good.”

  Setting aside his stick and without waiting for her agreement, he trotted out of the kitchen, presumably to his study where Edith knew he kept a store of liquor. He was a mild toper himself, but liked to serve worthy visitors.

  Mrs Tuffin turned from the range, pot in hand, and poured it into the glass she had ready on the kitchen table.

 
; “If I were you, Miss Ede, I’d settle with his lordship quick,” she said in a confiding way as she set the glass before Edith. With a glance over her shoulder, as if to check they were still alone, she leaned in to whisper. “Much more my notion of a manly man than that other finicking smooth-tongued rascal. Just you grab him up before he gets the chance to shab off!”

  Astonished and thoroughly ruffled, Edith could not think what to reply.

  Fortunately her uncle re-entered the kitchen at this moment, brandishing a small decanter and a couple of glasses. Pulling out the stopper, he held it over Edith’s milk.

  “Just a drop, Uncle.”

  “A good dose, my dear Ede. It will help you to sleep.”

  He poured in a generous measure and Mrs Tuffin leapt forward with a spoon to stir it in. Her uncle poured a tot into each of the glasses he had brought with him and held one out to the housekeeper.

  “Here we are, my dear old friend.”

  The plump cheeks flew colour and she looked gratified. “Well, I don’t mind if I do, Reverend, just this once.”

  Her uncle’s eyes twinkled beneath the spectacles. “As if I would leave you out, Mrs Tuffin.”

  Taking the glass, the housekeeper cleared her throat. “I’ve been saying, Reverend, as Miss Ede ought to send to his lordship first thing.”

  “Heavens, yes! I shall write him a note and send it round by one of his fellows. If I can find one of them.” He sipped his brandy and wagged a finger. “I cannot understand it. Those boys have been most conscientious up to now.”

  Edith could not resist. “Perhaps he was lured away by a siren, like poor Peter Eddows.”

  “I trust not, my dear, for I doubt his lordship would be as forgiving, if that terrible man was indeed in the garden tonight.”

  Which, reflected Edith with an inward shiver as she sipped the brew made up for her relief, did not augur well. Would Niall also doubt what she’d seen?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Livid at first, Niall was obliged to hold off ringing a peal over the unfortunate derelict to his given post when he learned the truth.