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

by Elizabeth Bailey

  “How Tom would scold me if he knew! He forbade me to speak of it to you, and see what has come of my disobedience. I am so very sorry, Miss Westacott.”

  Edith could not but be mollified. She invited them to sit down and went to the bell pull. Even as she put her hand on it, the housekeeper appeared in the doorway with a loaded tray.

  “Ah, you’ve anticipated our need. Thank you, Mrs Tuffin.”

  The necessity to pour gave Edith time to compose herself. The housekeeper had chosen to break into her precious supply of tea rather than the customary coffee. No doubt in honour of the status of the guests. By the time she had offered the ratafia cakes, Edith was able to speak with a semblance of her usual calm.

  “I thought you did not mean to return so soon, Lady Tazewell. We were not expecting you to arrive in time for the Fair.”

  The youthful woman brightened. “But that is precisely what brought us home, Miss Westacott. Tom would have remained with his parents longer, but I pleaded with him to come back in time. I was not here for it last year, of course, and I do so love a fair.”

  “She’s dying to see the battle of the villagers,” cut in her friend with an amused look.

  “I am not! How can you say so, Delia?”

  “Don’t sit there and pretend you are not eager to watch young men having at each other with their fists, Jocasta, because I know very well you are.”

  “Oh, I shall throw my tea all over you in a minute, you wretch,” cried Lady Tazewell, breaking into laughter. She turned her once more sparkling eyes upon Edith. “It is true, alas. You will think it shocking in me, I dare say, and my mama would shriek, though Justin would only laugh. He is my brother and the most delightful creature.”

  “You would get short shrift from Marianne too,” observed her friend.

  “Oh, she would not mind. Marianne is my sister-in-law, Miss Westacott, and no one could better understand the horrid restrictions of being female. One is not permitted to do anything remotely exciting. Do not you find it a great bore too?”

  Edith was finding the nonsensical chatter oddly soothing, as if the possibility of an ordinary life had not been turned upside down. She felt as if she dwelled in a twilight world somewhere between normality and the nightmare that still threatened. She answered in a voice that did not seem to belong to her.

  “There are disadvantages certainly.”

  Lady Tazewell eyed her in a way that made Edith feel acutely assailable. Was she wondering whether to ask again about what had been happening here? A quick glance at Delia was enough to show Edith both girls were big with curiosity, though neither had the temerity to bring up the subject again.

  She took a sip of her tea and set the cup down in a decided fashion, looking from one to the other. “Well? How much do you already know?”

  The tart tone had the effect of bringing colour into Lady Tazewell’s cheek, and Delia’s gaze dropped to her cup. Edith sighed. “Let me give you a round tale, for I feel sure the gossip has given you a false impression.”

  Lady Tazewell gave a relieved little sigh. “Oh, I wish you would. It is dreadful to be gossiping with the servants, I know, and Tom became quite cross with me and he never does so as a rule.”

  Delia threw her a quelling glance. “All we know, Edith, is that several sturdy young men have been patrolling the village under Lord Hetherington’s direction. There’s talk of a break-in and attempted murder.”

  “Murder! Heavens above, is that what they think?”

  Lady Tazewell’s eyes were round. “Yes, Edith, and — oh, I beg your pardon!”

  “You need not. Pray use my name if you wish.”

  “Oh, I will then. And you must call me Jocasta. But is it true you are betrothed to Lord Hetherington?”

  “No!” Warmth flooded Edith’s face. “At least, not yet.”

  Delia’s eyes widened. “Not yet?”

  Edith put a hand to her head, beginning to feel perfectly disoriented. It was two days since the fateful race, and she had seen Niall but once when he was fully taken up with allaying her uncle’s alarms.

  The vicar’s distress on hearing of Kilshaw’s latest antics had been unbounded, and he was ready to leave his duties and take Edith away somewhere, if that would secure her safety. It had taken both patience and argument to persuade him that it were better to face the threat while it was in full sight and ensure it was routed, rather than to take flight and never know when it might return. Uncle Lionel had agreed in the end, but he could hardly bear to let Edith out of his sight.

  A circumstance which had effectively barred her from allowing her thoughts to become preoccupied with recollection of Niall’s reaction to her revelation in the phaeton that day. Was she churlish to have insisted upon waiting? And here were the Manor ladies ready to marry her off regardless.

  “There is a man,” she said aloud, “who won’t take no for an answer. He … he is desirous of…” She faded out, unable to put the threat into words that might be acceptable to be spoken in front of these two. The matter was taken out of her hands.

  “A suitor?” Jocasta looked bewildered. “But if you are attached to Lord Hetherington, surely he can’t expect you to marry him?”

  “He is already married.”

  It came out flat and hard, and the effect on her auditors might, in other circumstances, have made her laugh. Jocasta’s jaw dropped, her eyes popping, and Delia threw her hands to her mouth, looking over them at Edith in evident alarm.

  “Shocking, is it not?”

  Delia found her tongue first. “It is worse than shocking, Edith. How perfectly dreadful for you.”

  “Yes, indeed,” broke from Jocasta in a trembling tone. “I can hardly believe it. Is it your position in that school? Does he suppose you are not genteel?”

  “He knows just what I am and he does not care. But I pray you say nothing of this. Let the villagers retain their lurid imaginings. The truth is so much more disrespectful, to say the least.”

  “Disrespectful? It is disgraceful, Edith!” Sparks of anger shone in Jocasta’s eyes. “How dare he? Who is he?”

  Delia leaned forward. “Never mind that. How may we help you?”

  “Yes, pray tell us. We will do anything we can, I assure you.”

  Touched, Edith gave the first genuine smile since the girls had arrived. “I doubt there is anything you can do.” Then a thought occurred. “Stay! Yes, there is. Could you remain close to me at the Fair? Niall — I mean, Lord Hetherington — is fretting that he must be otherwise engaged and cannot stay by my side throughout.”

  Both ladies instantly proclaimed their willingness to stand guard with her, and Edith was able to contemplate the coming event with a little less apprehension.

  “From what your uncle has told me, it is precisely the sort of occasion to provide Kilshaw with a chance at you,” Niall had said. “What with the place teeming with people, any stranger must pass unnoticed.”

  When Saturday dawned, however, Edith found he had detailed her guardians to take turns in remaining near. Edith was a little on the fidgets, for nothing had been seen or heard of Lord Kilshaw for several days and she could not but anticipate some movement from him at such a promising venue. She was by no means lulled into a false sense of security, and would certainly be on her guard, but she could not help a twinge of guilt on behalf of the youths who must trail around after her.

  “It is hard if the lads are excluded from enjoying the day, Niall. They get scant opportunity for holidays as it is.”

  “Precisely why I’ve ordered them to take an hour at a time.”

  When she told him the two Manor ladies had the intention of remaining at her side, Niall was sceptical. “I cannot think it a sufficient deterrent. And if Kilshaw were to make a touch at you, neither of them could prevent him. No, you will have a man with you at all times.”

  She was glad to submit, and he left her to her breakfast, which he had interrupted, and went off with her uncle to confer with the Parish Clerk and the Churchwarde
ns who were the organisers of the day. She began to appreciate his reasoning as the green filled with makeshift booths and trestles put up by travelling traders to display their wares. Its situation on the edge of the green opened the vicarage to the sound of rumbling wheels, shouts and hammerings, all the noise of preparation for a fair, albeit a small one.

  Through the window in the dining parlour, Edith could already see enough strange persons to provide cover for twenty Kilshaws.

  Niall was right. He was likely to be occupied all day, and it was doubtful she would catch more than a glimpse of him. Her uncle likewise had his hands full, and Mrs Tuffin would soon be off to man her stall of muffins and scones she’d been baking from the early hours.

  The ladies from the Manor duly arrived, both prettily attired in figured muslins, Delia with a tippet, her friend sporting a purple handkerchief crossed about her bosom, and both with straw bonnets and parasols to protect their complexions from the sun. Lady Tazewell was in a high state of excitement, bubbling with eager anticipation.

  “I declare, I have not been this much delighted since my dearest Tom proposed! It is the drollest thing. Have you been out yet, Miss Westacott? Oh, I am being formal again. Edith! But have you seen what diversions we have in store?”

  Delia Burloyne shook her head at her friend. “Edith won’t have gone out, henwit! She was waiting for our escort.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot. And you need not fret, Edith, for Tom insisted upon our having Monkton at our heels. He said he must do what he may to guide Lord Hetherington, for you must know he has presided over these affairs for years and years.”

  Edith stemmed the flow. “I have no doubt Lord Hetherington will be glad of his guidance. And we shall be glad of your footman, for Niall insisted upon one of my stout guardians remaining with me too, so we should all of us be safe.”

  She spoke in an easy tone, but she did in fact feel a weight lift. It must pose a severe problem to any plans Lord Kilshaw might cherish. Even he could scarcely imagine he might snatch her if she was surrounded by a coterie of persons. In broad daylight too. She began to entertain some hope of being able to enjoy the amusements of the day.

  Jocasta being impatient to set off, Edith made haste to don a bonnet and lay a light shawl across her elbows, though the day proved warm. They left by the back door, and Edith popped the key into a receptacle attached to the chain she had chosen to wear about her neck, feeling it to be safer than a reticule which might readily be snatched by one of the thieves inevitably to be found at such a gathering.

  Urging her companions to hurry, Jocasta set a smart pace, which sent her footman scurrying after her. Edith could not but be amused at Delia’s look of exasperation. It became evident, as the younger girl exclaimed at a stall of colourful scarves and darted to another with a selection of cheap shiny brooches on display, that Delia Burloyne had taken Edith’s advice to heart. She no longer emulated Jocasta’s bubbling enthusiasm, although she stopped to rummage in a collection of embroidery silks, setting aside several hanks for purchase. Her appreciation was couched in a much less bubbling fashion than that of her friend, and Edith suspected this was the real Delia, rather than the puppet she had first encountered. And a deal more attractive she was too, acting like a sensible woman instead of a giddy girl.

  Although Edith derived a good deal of entertainment from Jocasta’s antics. She was like a child, flitting from one toy to another, unable to decide with which to play. She soon dissipated her supply of funds, loading up the fellow Monkton with small packages as she went.

  “Oh, I have run out of coin! We must find Tom at once.”

  Fortunately, since the prospect of winding through the press of humanity to locate Lord Tazewell looked to Edith to be singularly unmanageable, her husband himself appeared, cutting a path through the throng.

  “Here he is!” Jocasta hurried up to him. “Oh, Tom, I am so glad to see you for I was just coming to find you. I hope you have some money on you, for I have spent all mine.”

  He received her outstretched hands in his, smiling in an indulgent fashion. “Run out already, my love? I thought you would.” Disengaging one hand, he dove into a pocket and produced a handful of silver. “Here you are.”

  “Oh, you are the best of husbands, Tom,” declared his lady as he allowed the coins to fall from his fingers to fill the empty purse she was holding open. “I have bought all manner of useless fairings, I’m afraid, but pray don’t scold.”

  He grinned, chucking her under the chin. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  Edith watched Jocasta’s pretty features break into mischief. “Oh, enormously! I was never so diverted. I am so happy you brought me back. Thank you a thousand times!”

  “I’m glad it’s giving you pleasure,” said her spouse, regarding her with doting fondness.

  Edith felt a pang of jealousy. Would fate permit her a like happiness? She had no opportunity to pursue this thought, Lord Tazewell turning to extend a greeting to her, asking in his punctilious fashion if she found herself recovered now from her recent illness.

  “The effects scarcely trouble me, sir, I thank you.”

  He returned a bland answer, neither by word nor look showing his awareness of what had transpired in his absence. Edith was relieved, for Jocasta’s artless outpourings had told her he was au fait with the rumours at least.

  “Don’t tire yourself out, Jocasta!”

  “Oh no, Tom, I am perfectly well, I assure you. I promise I will rest if I grow tired.”

  This assurance appeared to content Lord Tazewell, who left them to themselves, saying he had given his word to Lord Hetherington to aid him in judging the sheep and pigs presented in competition. The moment he was out of earshot, Jocasta closed with Edith, addressing her in an excited whisper.

  “Tom is a little anxious, for we think I may be enceinte, only the doctor says we must wait a few weeks to be sure.”

  This piece of news naturally invited congratulation and Edith did her duty, resolving to insist upon the ladies taking a break at the vicarage in due time. For which she had a ready excuse.

  “Mrs Tuffin has left a cold collation in the dining parlour, and she will be offended if we do not partake of it.”

  As it chanced, even Jocasta became decidedly weary after several hours wandering along the booths and she made no objection, declaring she was hungry despite having eaten a bun and a toffee apple purchased along the way. Since it was after two in the afternoon, Edith found this unsurprising.

  Accordingly, she led her charges — as she had begun to feel them rather than the other way about — towards the break in the wall that ran alongside the lane. They were obliged to negotiate a line of carts in which traders had brought their wares, one of which had been left standing right by the vicarage wall. A fellow in rough clothes and a slouch hat was engaged in shifting a load of some kind within the cart, while a village lad, likely earning himself a penny or two, held the horse’s head.

  Owen, who was on duty behind her, slipped forward and went up to the cart.

  “Move un forward, if yer can. I’ve to get the leddies through gate and this here cart be blockin’ us.”

  The man looked up, casting a glance at Edith, as she thought. Her pulses kicked and she drew back a step, putting out a hand to stop Jocasta beside her. Was she being needlessly nervous? His manner was not threatening, though he looked a trifle surly at being asked to move his cart. Emitting a grunt, which might have been of assent, he jumped down and went round to take his horse’s rein. The cart rumbled forward for several yards and stopped again.

  Its owner threw a look at Owen. “Far enough for yer?”

  Edith did not wait for Owen’s response, but hurried across the road and through the gate, extracting the back door key from the receptacle on her chain with fingers that fumbled a little. Even with the cart out of sight, she could not settle the apprehension that had risen in her breast.

  It was a relief to be back inside the relative safety of the house. Not that
she’d felt exposed in the Fair. Indeed, she had not been as relaxed for some time. But whether it was the situation of the cart or its unfriendly owner, the little episode had brought the menace back into her mind. In all probability, the fellow’s presence was completely innocent, but the suspicion, however unfounded, would not be suppressed.

  It sunk a little under the soothing chatter of the Manor ladies as they partook of the viands, pasties and tarts presented for their delectation under the covered dishes in the dining parlour. Delia seemed bent upon deprecating most of Jocasta’s purchases, which the latter defended with a vigour that belied her condition, if she was indeed pregnant. She certainly cherished no notion of abandoning the Fair, as was made clear when Delia suggested they had seen all there was to be seen.

  “Oh, no, how can you say such a thing? Why, there are the races and the man who juggles with fire. And I am determined to visit the gypsy too.”

  “What, and have some ridiculous future outlined for you? I can’t think what you could be wishing for in any event. You have already found your fortune in marrying Lord Tazewell.”

  “The very thing!” Jocasta pointed her knife at her friend. “You should visit the gypsy. She might see your future husband in a crystal ball.”

  Delia snorted. “I thank you, but I prefer to remain ignorant of what is likely at best to be a middle-aged widower in need of a stepmother for his children.”

  A laugh escaped Edith, despite her inward alarms. “I should highly doubt that to be a likely fate for you, Delia.”

  “No,” agreed Jocasta, “and only think if the gypsy should prophesy an exciting adventure.”

  “I should not believe a word of it if she did.”

  “I declare, you have become decidedly unambitious all of a sudden. Don’t you wish to find a husband any more?”

  Edith caught a wry glance from Delia and felt compelled to intervene. “Do you know, Jocasta, I feel sure she is much more likely to find him if she stops looking. It never does to appear too anxious. It only makes gentlemen wary.”