by Aubrey Wynne
“Lady Pendleton did not always appreciate my input. She also didn’t like you rubbing elbows with the villagers or being guided by a commoner.” He tore off a hunk of the crusty bread and popped it in his mouth. “Fortunately, she didn’t have much choice. I stayed on for practically nothing and no able body with good references would have been interested in working for a pittance with an outcast family.”
“Your service and loyalty will never be forgotten. Not many men would have stood by their word to a drunk and a spoiled boy.”
“I have been repaid thrice-fold, my lord. I originally did it for your father and then…” Maxwell smiled, embarrassment reddening his face. “I’m as proud of you as if you were my own son. It’s been a long road, but the properties are thriving, and your investments have doubled. That should help your sister along when Lady Pendleton takes her to London next season.”
“Speaking of seasons, Mother is hinting I go to town with them and look for a wife. She made it sound like I’m buying a horse at Tattersall’s. The mandatory heir, I suppose.” Nate shrugged. “Am I ready for leg-shackles?”
“You will have your hands full with Mistress Hannah. She’s a diamond of the first water, she is.” He took a huge bite of mutton then waved his fork as he continued. “But you are coming to an age for a wife. Twenty and five is a good time to begin looking. Do the pretty, just don’t be in a hurry.”
The barmaid sashayed past them, a smile turning up her rosebud lips and an invitation in her eyes. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Maxwell.”
“How was business in Durham?” Lady Pendleton tapped her violet hand-painted fan. It thumped softly against the arm of the forest green brocade chair. “Shall we consider another investment in cloth?”
Nate grinned, his back to his mother as he poured a snifter of brandy. He swirled the amber liquid, watching it cling and sparkle against the beveled crystal while he considered his response. She should have been a born a man. Her mind was quick, and she had a head for numbers. He remembered the first time they opened the accounts after his father died. Such unladylike language coming from this stiff and proper viscountess.
“I think not. Glasgow and Manchester have a stronghold on the weaving industry at this point. But the rugs are turning quite a profit. Everyone wants an Axminster or one that resembles it. I’ll increase the investment there and see what happens.” He turned to find her staring out the window, her mind obviously somewhere else. Very uncharacteristic. “Or we could import some elephants from India. I hear they plow a field faster than oxen but they eat more.”
“Yes, of course.” Her folded fan now made a steady beat against her knee. “I’m sure that will be fine.”
“Mother, what is it?” He sat down across from her and laid a hand on hers, stilling the soft tap of the fan’s blonde horn sticks against her thin muslin. “It’s not like you to be distracted.”
“It’s Hannah. I’m worried about finding an appropriate match in London next year. Will his escapades be remembered? What if—”
“Now you sound like my sister. What if, what if, what if? What if Napoleon rises again, invades England, and we must all learn French?” He sighed and sat back against the lush velvet of the loveseat. “No good will come from worrying over things we have no control over. My sister is lovely and educated with a generous dowry. I cannot see her being a wallflower. Besides, there have been dozens of scandals in the last dozen years. No one cares anymore.”
“Yes. Yes, you are right. I was remembering my introduction into society.” Her gaze strayed to the window again. “Such a wonderful and hopeful time for me but I remember one girl who was the object of scandal. I started to befriend her but Mama insisted I keep my distance. And then I was swept away…”
“Mother,” he said, taking both her hands in his, “I will make sure whoever marries Hannah is beyond reproach. She will not fall to the same fate as you. I promise.”
Lady Pendleton closed her eyes, a wistful smile on her face, and pushed a thin hand through her ash-blonde hair. The afternoon sun slanted across the room, emphasizing the emerging lines forming around her eyes and mouth. When she looked at him, tears shone in her intelligent brown eyes. “What life might have been like if your father had not battled the bottle.”
Nate shrugged. It didn’t matter. “It’s water under the bridge now. We must look to the future, and it appears bright. Can we not be happy with that?”
“Of course,” she agreed, one knuckle dabbing at the corner of her eye. “Pour me some claret, would you?”
He went to the side table and filled a glass with the deep red wine. “Gideon arrives this week. It will be good to see him again.”
“Will he stay long?” She accepted the small cordial glass. “Now if he were to take an interest in Hannah, we would not need a season. We could avoid London all together.”
Nathaniel chuckled. Gideon had been a close companion since university. It had been his suggestion to invest in cloth. His father, the Earl of Stanfeld, owned a weaving factory in Glasgow. He owed his friend a great deal since those investments had brought the first profits to the account books. Shoving his sister at a man who was avoiding marriage would not be considered proper gratitude. “Let’s not scare him off as soon as he crosses our threshold, hmm? Besides, he’s as fond of her as a sister. I don’t see that changing.”
Supper was announced and he extended his arm to his mother. Her pale skin emphasized the dark circles under eyes. Her usually erect shoulders drooped slightly, suggesting weariness. It could be just the progressing years but he doubted it. Perhaps he’d invite the physician for a visit when Gideon arrived. He’d been a good friend of the family since before his father had passed. Dr. Goodman could discreetly observe Lady Pendleton and request an examination if he felt it necessary. It would put Nate’s mind at ease.
Nathaniel and Gideon galloped the horses across the meadow, jumped the hedge, and pulled up along the edge of a steep slope. They could see for miles at this vantage point, and the smell of freshly turned soil and pine wafted in the breeze. There hadn’t been a moment of silence since his friend had arrived that morning. His mother and Hannah had commandeered poor Gideon before he’d wiped the dust off his boots.
Their friendship was a perfect example of opposites attracting. Nate’s friendly, outgoing personality had opened up the serious and quiet nature of his friend. Gideon was dark with intense sapphire blue eyes. Nathaniel had his father’s dark blond hair streaked by the sun and brown eyes flecked with gold. Together, they had accumulated a string of conquests. Both men enjoyed any outdoor activity, though again, Gideon preferred horses and fencing where Nathaniel had a reputation as a boxer and an excellent shot.
Both men dismounted, looking over the vibrant green fields dotted with white fluffy sheep. The horses quietly munched on spring grass, occasionally pricking their ears at an errant bah from below. Nate removed a small flask from his saddlebag, took a long pull, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He offered it to his friend, who did the same.
“I saw your hesitation when Mother asked about the earl. I know what you told them, but I know you too well. His condition has not improved, has it?”
Gideon shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. He’s bedridden at this point, and there doesn’t seem much hope for recovery. But what is the point in worrying the women?”
“I’m deuced sorry to hear that. How are your mother and sisters?” Nate had always liked Lady Stanfeld. He’d always considered the Scottish beauty and the stodgy earl an odd couple. Yet they were devoted to each other.
“She is optimistic as always and refuses to believe he will die. Says he’s too stubborn to give up, and the reaper would only send him back. Truth be told, I’m more concerned about her than of Father. He has suffered for months, and his breathing is more labored with each week. He told me the other day he was ready for death to come collect what was left of him.” He let out a sigh in a loud rush. “I didn’t have the heart to tell Mama.”
> Nate noticed the additional creases around his friend’s mouth and deep blue eyes. It was hard to lose a parent at any age, especially if father and son were close. The vague recollections of his own father included much laughter, riding behind him on a great stallion to visit Maxwell, and playing Battledore and Shuttlecock on the lawn. These did not seem to fit the description of the man Mother had found so lacking.
“Now that I’ve taken over the duties of the earldom, I understand why you are so busy.” Gideon took another swig from the flask and handed it across his saddle.
“Being in charge is not all bank notes and balls.”
“No, indeed. So Pendleton, I was wondering…” Gideon ran a hand through his raven hair. He looked up to see the offered whiskey and took a drink before continuing. “My youngest sister has caused quite the scandal. Have the on-dits made it this far north?”
“Ha! As a matter of fact, yes, but I didn’t want to bring it up. She’s run off with some bastard of an Irish duke?”
His friend nodded. “The news revived my father for a bit. He found the energy to bluster and grumble. Wanted to hire a mercenary or two to go after her, but Mama convinced him otherwise. He seems a good enough fellow, though, and is able to support her in proper style.”
“Your youngest sister was always a little hoyden—and my favorite, of course.”
“Of course.”
“On the subject of sisters, I should warn you. Mother may try to push Hannah in your path. I advised her against it but… Well, you know Lady Pendleton.” Nate grinned. “Not that my sister would have a bracket-faced ne’er-do-well as yourself.”
“Good God, she’d have my head on a pike the first time I tried to order her about. Much too independent for my taste. She’ll be coming to market next year?” Gideon gave a snort. “I don’t envy you that task. I’ve been through it with three sisters, and I’m thankful it’s over.”
“How long will you stay? Maxwell will want to have a bumper with you.”
“Still mingling with the common folk? You really should try to distance yourself. Making friends with the villagers makes it that much harder if they can’t pay their rent or hold out a hand for a charitable coin.”
“They are people like you and me. And there is a difference between mingling and having some compassion. I make better decisions if I understand my tenants’ positions. They don’t take advantage of me, and I don’t let them starve.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “It’s economics, my friend. I’d think you’d understand that.”
“Spoken as a true prodigy of Ezra Maxwell. Call it what you like but watch yourself. It’s always better if they know their place. However, I do like your steward. He’s a great gun and done well by you.”
Nate scanned the outlying pastures and the one road leading through the countryside and into the village. An old woman hobbled along with a tall walking stick, a cloth bag slung over her shoulder. Even from this distance, he guessed it to be the old healer Mrs. Stanley collecting herbs. He gave her a quarterly allowance to tend to the poorer families in the village. The others paid her by coin or goods. Some of the tenants didn’t like her coal-black eyes and thought her more a witch than a healer, but the closest physician was fifty miles away.
“How long did you say you were staying?” he asked, looking away from the road.
“A few days at the most. I’m on a business errand and headed to the weaving mill in Glasgow. My cousin wants to add cotton to the wool and flax production.” Gideon waved a hand toward the sheep. “My father says we have the raw materials we need and importing cotton will be less profit and more risk. I’m going in his stead to get the details and make a decision.”
“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for advising on that investment in the cloth factory. It was the beginning of our family’s return to society.” If he were a demonstrative man, Nate would give this man a bear hug. “Anything I can do to in return, remember I am always here.”
“Stop! It’s called friendship. I consider you one of the few men I can trust. Now, shall we go see what drink Maxwell has stored in the cupboard?” Gideon tossed the reins over his black gelding’s neck. “If we are very lucky, his wife will have some fresh bread butter pudding. That woman can do miracles in that tiny kitchen.”
“I’ll race you to the top of the hill just above the village.” Nate put a foot in the stirrup and then cursed as Gideon spurred his horse and took off. “You whey-faced scoundrel. Do you cheat at the tables too?” he yelled, jumping into the saddle and kicking his bay.
Nate gained on Gideon, who applied the crop to his horse and pulled ahead once again. Both men broke a sweat along with their mounts as they crested the hill. A black coach, pulled by two pairs of grays, trotted along the road below. The village of Pendle did not get many visitors, especially in a fine carriage. It carried no crest and wasn’t the mail, so it poked Nate’s curiosity. Were they lost? Or were they heading to Pendle Place?
Ahead of the unidentified coach, Old Mrs. Stanley was still making her way slowly home. As she approached a patch of woods, two young men emerged and approached her. Nate’s eyes narrowed as he studied the duo. “Those two lads don’t look familiar.”
Mrs. Stanley flapped her hands at the newcomers and shook her head. The two males assumed a crouched position with their arms out at their sides and circled their prey, preventing escape. One man tried to grab her bag, and the feisty healer hit him in the head with her walking stick.
“Why those bloody footpads!” Nate dug his spurs into the gelding’s flanks and tore down the hill, Gideon close on his heels.
As they galloped down the hill, the carriage pulled to a stop. One of the assailants fled while the other turned his attention to the new arrivals and pulled a pistol. A woman in a deep blue velvet cape and bonnet emerged from the coach. A shot rang out and the driver grabbed his shoulder, dropping his whip. The woman snatched it from the ground, picked up her skirts, and ran toward the ruffians. To his shock, the slight female raised her arm and flicked the whip, slashing the scoundrel until he dropped his weapon. The driver of the coach must have been in shock also for he sat frozen in his high seat.
“By Christ, an avenging angel,” shouted Gideon from behind. “Who the devil is she?”
Nathaniel had no idea, but by God he would find out. He only hoped she didn’t turn the whip on him.
Chapter Four
Just outside Durham, Northern England
Eliza stroked her daughter’s dark curls. Althea’s lips were pursed and moving in her sleep, a bit of spittle spreading a small dark stain on her mother’s knee. The coach hit a rut, bumping its passengers into the air and back down on the cushioned bench.
“My lady, I really must know where we are bound. While it is exciting, stealing away at dawn like a spy, no one will know where to find me.” Mrs. Watkins smiled but one hand gripped the leather strap dangling by her head, knuckles showing white. Her brown traveling dress and matching pelisse were dusty from days on minor country roads. She pushed a frizzy, fading auburn strand back under her bonnet and fanned her heaving chest with her other hand.
“I thought you had no family, which is one reason you were hired.” Eliza heard the tone in her own voice, sharp and suspicious, and hated it. She was not a deceptive person by nature, nor did she appreciate adventure. But Falsbury had insisted that their destination be concealed. Besides, the woman would find out soon enough.
“I-It’s not a family member, you see, only a friend. I don’t want her to worry.” This time her smile was genuine, making her blue eyes crinkle. “She has been very kind to me since I was a young lass.”
Oh, botheration! The poor woman was a spinster with no living family, and she’d dragged her away from her companion. It didn’t matter the situation was dire, Eliza did not need to be rude. It also occurred to her that she’d had no idea
“I do apologize, Mrs. Watkins. Lord Falsbury has us both at sixes and sevens. If you must correspond with anyone, please do not giv
e our direction. Only let them know that you are in fine trim.” She leaned across the carriage and squeezed the governess’s hand. “It is imperative in order to keep Lady Althea safe.”
The older woman covered her mouth, eyes large. “Oh, my lady, you know I would never do anything to harm my sweet Thea. It’s not important at all, don’t you fret about it.”
“I hope to explain everything soon, and we can laugh about this covert escapade. But in the meantime, secrecy is of the utmost importance. There are very few people that know. Very few people the marquess or I trust.”
Mrs. Watkins’s chin shot up and a hand to her bosom. “And I am one of those trusted employees?”
Eliza nodded, hiding the smile teasing her lips.
“I’ll guard the little one with my life, I will. Nothing more need be said.” The governess tipped her head and watched Althea sleeping. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt such an angel as herself.”
Eliza nodded again, leaned her head back against the stuffed velvet, and closed her eyes. Exhausted, she tried to empty her mind. They would reach Sunderland Castle today. The trip had been long since they avoided the major roads and tolls. After multiple nights at small out-of-the-way inns, she was ready for a comfortable bed with layers of ticks, filled with feathers and down. Last night, there had only been three mattresses—the first two stuffed with straw and the top one with flock. The rope across the frame had not been tightened in quite a while, and the whole bed sagged. Her back ached, her eyes burned from crying and lack of sleep, and her head pounded from multiple days in a jarring vehicle. The crunch of the wheels against the road and the sway of the coach finally lulled her to sleep.
* * *
It was so dark. She ran toward the tiny pinprick of light and the sound of wailing. Eliza ran and ran but her mother’s voice never seemed any closer. “Where are you? I’m coming.”
“You can’t help her now. I’ve done her in, and this whining little chit is next.”
