ROSALIND: A Regency Romance (Bachelor Brides, Book 1)

by Jenny Hambly

  It was an excellent sketch, his likeness had been caught in those few deft strokes, and if he saw an arrogance which he did not recognise in the tilt of his chin and the challenge in his eyes, he was not one to cavil at such irrelevances. Lifting his eyes from the portrait in front of him, he looked admiringly at her.

  “This is very good, and so quick too. Another surprise. I see I must be careful not to underestimate you.”

  She nodded briefly, accepting her due.

  “But no more surprises tonight, if you please. I have to go out, there is someone I want to see, and I need you to promise you won’t leave your room. This place has many visitors by road and canal, not all of them quality you understand.”

  As much as she resented his orders she could see the sense in them. “I can see no reason for me to go out,” she responded with dignity, rising to her feet. He rose too, picked up her sketch and accompanied her to the door of her chamber, whether from innate good manners, or to make sure she followed his orders she was not quite sure.

  Tired from the day’s travels, she and Lucy retired to bed almost immediately. Lady Rosalind awoke some time later to find the moon shining through the window and slanting across her face. Unable to fall back to sleep, she slipped into her dressing gown, retrieved her pencil and searched through her rather battered portmanteau for her sketchbook.

  Settling herself at the table by the window, she drank in the sight of the moon glinting on the still water, the lock keeper’s cottage gleaming softly white in the distance. Quickly she became absorbed, trying to capture the still, almost otherworldly atmosphere of the scene. As she began to add the cottage to the sketch, she saw the door open and two figures shake hands. Although some distance away, she felt sure one was Lord Atherton and became certain when he began to walk back down the towpath; his long confident stride and something about the upright way he held himself giving him away.

  Her attention shifted as she detected movement on one of the barges near the cottage, as Lord Atherton passed two men stepped ashore, she could make out no more than two dark silhouettes, but felt some alarm as she saw them come up behind Lord Atherton; one raised an arm and unconsciously she cried out, awakening Lucy. She saw Atherton slump, he was caught by one of the men and then dragged back towards the barge. Wasting no more time she started stripping off her dressing gown.

  “Lucy do not ask me any questions, there is no time,” she gasped out. “Lord Atherton is in trouble, get my breeches out of the bottom of my portmanteau, quickly.”

  Lucy grumbled something about breeches and grown men being able to look after themselves but did as she was bidden. In a matter of moments, she was dressed. Grabbing Lucy’s cloak, she made for the back stairs. Hurrying across the humped bridge she ran down the towpath towards the barge, diving swiftly behind a small clump of trees as she heard a creak as the small door of the barge opened and the two dark figures emerged.

  “His Lordship ain’t gonna be none too happy if he hears we left ‘im alone,” said one of them.

  “You worrit too much you young jabberknoll,” laughed his companion. “That was a reet good knock you gave ‘im on his bone box, and even if he do come round, he’d belong in a circus if he can get out o’ them knots.”

  “I s’pose the odd flash of lightnin’ won’t do us no harm,” his partner in crime conceded.

  Lady Rosalind waited patiently for them to disappear before hurrying onto the barge. For a moment she thought she was too late, Lord Atherton lay awkwardly on his side as still as if he were dead. His feet were tied and his hands bound behind his back. She fumbled frantically with the fiendishly tight knots for some moments before finally acknowledging the futility of her attempts. Glancing somewhat wildly around, she noticed the stove and a small cupboard next to it. Yanking it open, she prayed for something sharp; reaching for a wooden handle she pulled out a huge carving knife.

  “My boot,” came a faint, familiar voice behind her.

  “Thank God,” she cried, turning back towards Lord Atherton. “Your boot?” she repeated falling to her knees.

  “Knife,” he murmured, eyeing the fearsome one she wielded with some dismay. “Sharp and small.”

  The effort of talking seemed to have cost him much for he closed his eyes again on the words. She grabbed his leg just below the knee, firmly shutting her mind off from the feel of the strong steel-like muscles she felt there and slipped her small fingers into the top of his boot. It was the work of a few moments to retrieve the slim, deadly-looking blade. It sliced through his bonds with ease and he was soon free if far from well. She helped him into a sitting position.

  “Do you never do as you’re told?” he muttered.

  “Just as well for you I don’t,” she snapped back.

  “I do not mean to be ungrateful, but what if they come back? How will you defend me then?” he challenged, his voice getting stronger by the moment.

  “They won’t, they have disappeared in the general direction of the Navigation Inn to partake in something called a flash of lightning,” she said dryly. “I imagine they will be jug-bitten before too long.”

  Despite the seriousness of their situation and his aching head, a silent laugh shook those broad shoulders. “You have clearly enlarged your vocabulary since you have been in town, but pray try to forget it before we reach Atherton.”

  With a sniff, she helped him to his feet.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, removing her hand from his arm, “but I will do now.”

  The short walk back to The Bull was uneventful until they approached the bridge, then they saw an alarmingly purposeful figure striding towards them. Even as Lady Rosalind shrank back, Lord Atherton surged forwards.

  “Philip,” he greeted his friend.

  “Evening, George, you look sick as a horse, more adventures?” he enquired calmly.

  “Indeed, but if you hoped to share in them, Galahad, you’re too late, I have already been rescued.”

  Sir Philip’s glance moved past Lord Atherton, to the silent figure behind him. His quick eyes widened as they took in the slender form, the cloak’s hood failing to disguise the wide amber eyes that held his own, half defiantly.

  “Lady Rosalind,” he murmured softly.

  “Let’s get inside before the pleasantries,” suggested Lord Atherton.

  They had barely made the top of the back stairs before Lucy was upon them.

  “The righteous is delivered out of trouble,” she declared on a note of relief, casting an experienced eye over Lord Atherton. “You look likely to cast up your accounts and no mistake, my lord,” she surmised. “Back to bed with you, my girl,” she said, turning to Lady Rosalind. “I’ll see His Lordship is made more comfortable.”

  “Lucy, you forget my station,” she murmured, amusement lighting her eyes at the way Lucy spoke to all of them. Before that formidable matron could reply she turned to Lord Atherton. “One thing you probably should know, one of them referred to the fact that ‘His Lordship’ would not be pleased at them leaving you. It would seem you have an enemy after all, my lord.”

  As soon as she had gone, Lucy turned her beagle eyes on Sir Philip. “Although I’m glad enough to see you, sir, you might think to take His Lordship’s arm, it wouldn’t take no more than a feather to send him over.”

  Neither gentleman was proof against Lucy’s managing ways, so it was not until her prophesy had been proved correct and Lord Atherton’s stomach had been relieved of its contents and his head bathed with vinegar, that they were left to themselves.

  “I see you’ve still got your soldier’s nose for trouble,” smiled Lord Atherton.

  “And all my faculties,” he concurred, casting an eye about the room. “And as I have never found you to be untidy, I would suggest your room has been searched. Anything missing?”

  Lord Atherton’s gaze slowly took in the room, finally noticing that a drawer in the desk hung open and his great coat was in a huddle on the floor. His eyes came slowly back to the desk. “There w
as a package on the desk,” he said finally.

  “I assume that is what the hold-up was about? Might I ask if there was anyone who might have had reason to suppose you were carrying something of value, George?”

  His head still thumping, it took Lord Atherton a few moments to piece together the events of the day, and then he started to laugh.

  Sir Philip’s brows shot up. “You think this a laughing matter? George, you could have been killed!”

  “No, I am sure that was not the intention and I am afraid I am somewhat to blame. I er, rather unwittingly baited the trap,” he admitted.

  He related his meeting with Lord Rutley the night before and saw comprehension dawn on his quick friend’s brow.

  “The cad! George, you should call him out for this!”

  “Much as I sympathise with your feelings, Philip, I find I cannot kick a fellow when he’s down. His humiliation is complete. His suit to the heiress has been turned down, which opens him wide to the gossip and ridicule of the ton but more to the point, his creditors will be calling on him in droves. He may be able to fob off his boot maker or his tailor by retiring to his crumbling estate and growing vegetables but his debts of honour are another thing. He will be ostracised if he cannot raise the money.”

  Sir Philip regarded him seriously under frowning brows. “But what about your mother’s jewels?”

  Lord Atherton smiled wolfishly. “Now, my friend, we come to the cream of the jest. Imagine Rutley’s anticipation when he holds that package in his hands, the eagerness with which he will shred the wrapping, only to find if I am not much mistaken, some material for my mother!”

  Although a smile lurked in the back of his astute eyes, Sir Philip was still not quite satisfied. “I’ve a mind to waylay those rogues and beat the truth out of them, I believe I would enjoy it,” he said slowly. “Rutley must have followed you, it would not be difficult to trace your route, your crest is quite memorable. He must have wasted no time in hiring those thugs to put you out of the way whilst another searched your room. My guess is he has gone on to Stony Stratford to await events. He would not risk staying here. I could quite easily track him down and teach him a lesson.”

  “Your feelings do you credit and under other circumstances I might approve,” replied Lord Atherton. “But consider, as you pointed out the other evening, I seem to have already incurred his enmity and my rough treatment tonight was his means of teaching me a lesson. He will in all likelihood leave me alone now. However, if even a rumour of his possibly being related to today’s events, were to get out, his downfall would be complete and he would not be able to show his face at any time in the near future, he would have real cause to hate me then and it would be very tiresome to always be looking over my shoulder. As it stands, I cannot see that he has many choices, he must retire to his mouldering estate or flee the country in the hope that he can turn his fortunes around. I believe the latter event is more likely.”

  After giving it some thought, Sir Philip reluctantly accepted this line of reasoning.

  “And Lady Rosalind?” he probed. “You made no mention of having made her acquaintance or of intending to accompany her to your mother, was it only two nights ago? An enterprising young lady, who has not only shot a supposed highwayman today, but also flew to your rescue this evening, dressed shall we say, somewhat unconventionally?”

  Lord Atherton considered his friend somewhat pensively before answering. “Unconventional, perhaps, and certainly impetuous, but still very much a lady, an innocent if you will and under my protection.” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. “And there, my dear Philip, we will leave the subject of Lady Rosalind.”

  Chapter 5

  Perhaps not surprisingly, there was no sign of the barge in the morning, no doubt the unsuccessful felons had seen the wisdom of neither facing a potential confrontation with their escapee or their naturally disappointed employer. Sir Philip accompanied the small cavalcade, having apparently set himself up as watchdog, but they enjoyed an uneventful day’s travel to Coventry, putting up at the King’s Head. Any wish he might have harboured to further his acquaintance with Lady Rosalind, was somewhat thwarted by the natural reticence of a young lady who had no wish to expand on either the events of her more distant or recent past. This rather pleased Lord Atherton, who had too often watched damsels succumb to the handsome face and undoubted address of his rather dashing friend.

  Atherton Hall was situated some twelve miles from Shrewsbury and although she felt a little anxious at meeting the dowager countess (her imaginings ranging from a stern-faced harridan in a turban to a frail, tear-stricken, inconsolable widow, who was never without her handkerchief), Rosalind looked about her with interest as they turned through a wide gateway with two imposing posts with two lions mounted upon their weathered pier caps. A long neat avenue lined with mature elm trees led through a pleasant parkland, with a lake shimmering to the east in the late afternoon sunshine. Turning a bend, a home wood spread out to the west and the first view of the house was attained. The large Palladian style mansion seemed almost set alight with the sun heating its red brick and reflecting brightly off its many windows. Set towards the back of the imposing structure, two long lower wings spread out, their brick more mellow, softening the look of stern grandeur thrown out by the main house.

  Their arrival may have been unexpected but as they drew up on the gravelled forecourt in front of the elegant portico, they found a butler and two footmen already hovering under a series of classical columns, whose capitals were carved into the shape of acanthus leaves. Everything spoke of taste, symmetry and order. Lady Rosalind felt somewhat daunted, it was a far cry from the shabby, neglected house in which she had been reared.

  Lord Atherton handed the reins to his groom and jumped down swiftly. “Sedgewick,” he smiled at the white-haired butler, “I had no chance to inform you of my coming, or that I was bringing guests! Sir Philip will be staying for a few days and I have brought Lady Rosalind Marlowe to visit my mother, her maid Mrs Prowett will also be staying, though I am not sure for how long.”

  Sedgewick bowed graciously but permitted himself a small smile, the privilege of long standing service allowing him the familiarity. “If I may say so, sir, your arrival will so please Lady Atherton that if you had brought a dozen persons with you I do not think it would trouble her.”

  “Where is she?” he asked in a lowered tone. “I would like to announce our arrival myself.”

  “Of course, I shall make your guests comfortable whilst you go to her. I believe you will find her in the kitchen gardens, my lord.”

  The main gardens at Atherton were as neat and symmetrical as the house, but the kitchen gardens were his mother’s domain, here she created a wonderful riot of nature where flowers, herbs, fruit and vegetable beds intermingled to create a beautiful and fragrant sanctuary. As he passed through the arch into the walled garden, a burst of colour greeted him. Bright yellow black-eyed susans and deep purple delphiniums vied for attention, as he passed further along the path a plethora of scents assailed him, the more subtle, calming smells of rosemary and thyme being overridden by the delicate sweet peas. It was by one of the neat rows of asparagus that he saw his mother kneeling, apparently totally absorbed in her task of removing weeds.

  She looked absurdly youthful for a widow with three grown offspring. A few blonde tresses still untouched by grey had escaped her bonnet but her pretty face, still only home to a few fine lines held a suggestion of melancholy and distraction.

  “Mother,” he said softly.

  Her head shot up, shock and joy swiftly chasing themselves across her face.

  “George, what a lovely surprise,” she smiled, rising swiftly to her feet and stripping off her soiled gloves, before hugging him warmly.

  He held her close for a moment, before putting her gently from him and wiping a smudge of dirt from her brow.

  “I believe we have gardeners enough for this task, Mother,” he frowned. “You look a little tired
, my dear.”

  “How unchivalrous of you to say so,” she laughed. “Jackson, our head gardener, would agree wholeheartedly with you of course, he cannot get used to me insisting on doing this little chore myself but I enjoy it vastly I assure you. The gardeners are welcome to the rest of the gardens, I prefer to put my own touch on this one.”

  She tucked one small hand in his arm and began walking slowly back to the house with him.

  “Out with it, what is it you want to say to me?”

  He looked down into her twinkling grey eyes ruefully. “There is still no getting anything past you is there?”

  “Well, my love, let’s just call it mother’s intuition, but something tells me that this unexpected visit might have a reason behind it?” She suddenly looked a little alarmed. “Belle hasn’t got into a scrape, has she? She did faithfully promise me that she would try to behave, but I can’t say I placed any great reliance on her being able to keep it. If only Hayward would be firmer with her.”

  “It strikes me as slightly unjust to expect Hayward to succeed where all the rest of us have fallen lamentably short. But no, Belle is not in any trouble that I know of,” he reassured her.

  She looked at him shrewdly for a moment before directing him down a side path to a bench placed in front of a sidewall covered with green apricots and gooseberries.

  “What scrape have you fallen into, George?”

  “I have found you a companion,” he plunged in, rushing his fences.

  Lady Atherton’s finely shaped brows shot up and her eyes glittered diamond hard. “Am I to believe that you have gone against my wishes in this matter, George?” she asked softly.

  Lord Atherton felt himself almost reduced to schoolboy status, it was no meek spirit which had held together the Atherton household for the last thirty years. Though a loving spouse and parent, it was not through doting fondness that she had bound together such a diverse set of characters.

  “If you will let me explain,” he began.