by Buck, Gayle
The Fleeing Heiress
Gayle Buck
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2014 © Gayle Buck
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Chapter One
The darkening day was cold, an omen of the swift approach of winter. It had been overcast since morning and now a freezing mist had begun to fall, as Lord Cardiff saw when he stepped down from the chaise. He pulled his beaver closer over his eyes to discourage the damp from striking his face. Casting a knowledgeable glance upwards at the leaden sky, he shook his head.
His lordship’s valet also descended, and while Lord Cardiff spoke to his coachman and groom, the manservant crossed the damp inn yard to disappear through the recessed entrance of the inn. When Lord Cardiff had finished giving instructions to his coachman and groom concerning his matched team of thoroughbred horses, he strode rapidly over the bare ground towards the door of the small inn. Before he had reached it, the stout innkeeper himself emerged onto the worn stone stoop.
“If m’lord will step this way, I’ve a parlor abovestairs with a fine fire already lit,” said the innkeeper, bowing respectfully. The expression on his broad-browed countenance was ingratiating. “It is the best room in the house, m’lord.”
“Lead on, mine host,” said Lord Cardiff cheerfully.
The innkeeper bowed again, deeper still, and ushered Lord Cardiff inside. At once warmth and the heavy odors of ale, food and smoke struck Lord Cardiff in the face and he breathed deeply. It was a familiar smell. The innkeeper continued to bow as they made their way through the common taproom. A blazing fire burned on the wide hearth, and a small number of customers were partaking of mugs of ale or blowing a companionable cloud. A few incurious glances were cast in the newcomer’s direction.
“This way, m’lord.”
With the innkeeper bowing and scraping before him, Lord Cardiff mounted the turn of the narrow, dimly lighted stairs. Emerging into the upper hall, the innkeeper led him towards the back of the inn, stopping at last before the open door of a parlor.
The innkeeper bowed and stepped aside, gesturing obsequiously towards the doorway.
Lord Cardiff stepped across the wide threshold and entered. A swift glance around told him that the innkeeper had spoken truly. The room was obviously the best that the small inn could possibly boast. The private parlor was evenly proportioned, with a door on the opposite side of the room that obviously led to an adjoining bedroom. Simply furnished with a well-scrubbed plank table, a couple of wing chairs and a few other miscellaneous pieces, the room had been recently dusted and the smooth plank floor swept.
The warmth of the cheerful, crackling flames on the hearth was welcome after the long drive. The dreary day had chafed him with its inactivity, and Lord Cardiff was glad to see an end to it. He crossed to the hearth and held out one gleaming boot towards the fire.
Already his lordship’s valet had made an impact on the impersonal room. A wing chair was drawn close to the hearth and an occasional table with a deep scratch across its marble top had been positioned close to hand. A wine decanter and glasses were set on the table.
The worn drapes were drawn across the mullioned windows, shutting out the gathering dusk, while several bunches of lighted candles had been strategically placed about the parlor to cast a soft golden glow.
The valet emerged from the adjoining room. “My lord, I trust it is to your satisfaction?”
Lord Cardiff nodded. He set his foot down on the floor and straightened. “This is much better than bivouac, Potter,” he said appreciatively, beginning to draw off his tan kid gloves.
“Indeed, my lord,” said the valet, advancing to help Lord Cardiff off with his greatcoat and relieve him of the voluminous outer garment, as well as his lordship’s soft beaver and gloves. He carefully laid the greatcoat over his forearm. “I have taken the liberty of bespeaking a repast which I do not think will be found to be contemptible, my lord. Also, I have inspected the bedchambers and, pending your approval, my lord, have reserved the one adjoining this parlor for your lordship’s use.”
“Are we remaining the night, then, Potter?” asked Lord Cardiff with a slight grin. He rotated his right shoulder, easing the uncomfortable stiffness out of it. He did not give much thought to what he was doing. The wound was healing nicely but still bothered him at times.
“As your lordship wishes,” said the valet respectfully.
“You have rightly anticipated me, Potter. I doubt we could find a better place to stop for the night,” said Lord Cardiff, throwing himself casually into a wing chair. He decanted the wine and poured himself a good measure. “We wouldn’t be able to drive for much longer, in any event. What with the clouds obscuring the sky tonight, we would not have any moonlight to see by. I have already discussed the matter with John Coachman.”
The valet nodded imperiously to the innkeeper, who had stood hovering in the open doorway awaiting his orders. At once the innkeeper bowed himself out, promising dinner to be served within the hour and fresh sheets put to the bed for his lordship.
The door closed behind the innkeeper Lord Cardiff glanced around with amusement at his manservant. “You have overawed the poor fellow, Potter. I thought he would never stop bowing.”
“Your lordship’s position is deserving of the utmost respect, my lord,” said the valet. “I merely informed the man of his good fortune in serving such an exalted personage as yourself.”
“Lord, I believe your pride is stiffer even than my own!” said Cardiff, surveying his valet with open amusement.
“I do not undervalue you, my lord,” said the valet with a small smile.
“I must admit that it has been pleasant to be accorded such attentions since coming back to England. I fear it must eventually all go to my head and I shall be full of pomposity before ever I rejoin the regiment,” said Lord Cardiff, the glimmer of a grin touching his tanned face.
The valet permitted himself another prim smile. “I doubt it, my lord.”
Lord Cardiff laughed. While he slowly savored his wine, he was aware that his man had quietly retreated to the adjoining bedchamber and was moving around. He could hear sounds of drawers being opened and closed and knew that Potter was already seeing to it that he would have a comfortable night.
Lord Cardiff grinned to himself. It was very different being in England again. This time last year he had slept on the ground wrapped in his greatcoat inside a canvas tent and thought himself handsomely housed.
He moved his right shoulder again, testing its strength. He felt a twinge of dull pain. He frowned, a hint of impatience and irritation in his expression. If it had not been for that bit of shrapnel finding him, he would not have been forced to take wounded leave. He would still be in Spain, acting as one of Wellington’s trusted aides-de-camp.
Lord Cardiff swirled the dark red wine in his glass, the shade of his smile returning a little. Though it had been a nuisance, his wound had led to his being chosen to help lay a successful trap for a vicious French spy. It had been the perfect explanation for his being included at the last minute in the house party at Chester, where the spy had been carefully lured with the cooperation and knowledge of Lord Henry Cummings.
Lord Cardiff had left Chester with mixed feelings.
He had forged an enduring friendship with Lord Henry and, to a lesser extent, with others of the house party. The grim game that was played out against the backdrop of a traditional English house party had appealed to his adventuresome spirit. There had been a certain magic about those several weeks. Lord Cardiff admitted to himself that not the least part of that magic had been due to his hostess, Miss Chastity Cummings.
Lord Cardiff smiled again, a curious mixture of tenderness and regret reflected in his eyes. He thought he would recall Miss Cummings’s face, the lively intelligence in every flicker of her expressive eyes, for some time. Something had stirred within him; yet he had been wise enough to recognize that it was but a fleeting thing. Miss Cummings, also, had realized that what lay between them was more friendship than passion. Their parting had been amicable, with much left unspoken because it was better to leave it thus. And yet, he thought again, it would be long before he forgot any part of that memorable house party.
The parlor door opened and the innkeeper reentered, followed by two retainers. All three carried laden serving trays. Interesting aromas wafted through the air, and Lord Cardiff sniffed appreciatively. The valet emerged from the bedchamber as if on cue to direct the laying of the covers and the proper serving of his lordship’s dinner.
Setting aside the wineglass, Lord Cardiff stood up. He stretched, experimentally flexing his stiff shoulder, before seating himself at the head of the table. The valet positioned himself just behind Lord Cardiff’s shoulder to give a nod of approval for each dish proffered by the innkeeper before his lordship was served.
An hour later Lord Cardiff had finished an excellent repast of dried-pea soup, braised mutton, flounder and chicken with scallops, with several side dishes. The valet ordered the covers removed and himself poured Lord Cardiff’s after-dinner port.
“Thank you, Potter. You are too good to me,” murmured Lord Cardiff with a contented sigh.
“Is there anything else I may do for you, my lord?” asked the valet.
Cardiff shook his head. “No, nothing, Potter. See to yourself and go seek your own dinner. And Potter, you need not see me to bed.”
The valet’s gaze came to rest pointedly on Lord Cardiff’s right shoulder. “No, my lord?”
Lord Cardiff correctly interpreted the valet’s glance as one of concern. “What a fellow you are. It is just a bit stiff now. I can shrug out of my coat well enough,” he said with a smile.
“I have no doubt of it, my lord. However, I would rest easier if you would permit me-”
“No, Potter. I must exercise it to regain full use of the muscles. I cannot do that if I allow you to coddle me to your full bent,” said Lord Cardiff with a shake of his head. He was still smiling but there was a hint of steel in his voice.
The valet recognized it and said mendaciously, “In that case, my lord, I shall leave you with a clear conscience.”
“I am happy to hear it,” retorted Lord Cardiff, well aware of his valet’s true feelings. He and his manservant had been through too many tight places together not to have a fair understanding of one another.
The valet permitted himself the slightest of smiles and exited the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Alone, Lord Cardiff settled himself more comfortably in the wide chair and poured another glass of wine. He contemplated the heavy port for a moment before tossing it back. It was no intention of his to get drunk, of course. He never allowed himself to become so castaway that he did not retain his wits. As a soldier he had learned by experience that anticipation of the unexpected could make the difference between survival and sudden death, and a man stone-drunk could anticipate nothing. Nevertheless, it was pleasant to relax in the warm room after a decent dinner with a good glass of port.
His thoughts idled here and there. On the morrow he would continue his journey to London to make his personal report at Whitehall concerning the business of the preceding weeks. He had naturally sent a succinct summary of the denouement by messenger before he left Chester, but he intended to deliver a fuller report in person and had informed his superiors of it, as well as the date of his anticipated arrival in the metropolis.
As for what he would do once his duty had been discharged, Lord Cardiff felt himself to be somewhat at a loss. His relations, especially his father, his grace the Duke of Armouth, would naturally be glad to see him again during the remainder of his wounded leave. However, Lord Cardiff was of strong opinion that he would be heartily bored before the time had passed, and his relations, who were nearly all elderly, would be both mystified and exhausted by his natural inability to remain idle or sit still.
“I would drive them all to Bedlam before the month was out,” he said aloud on a chuckle.
The more he thought about it, the more Lord Cardiff leaned to the opinion that it would be best to make only an abbreviated visit before cutting short the remainder of his leave and returning to duty in Spain. His shoulder was nearly sound again, and if it had not been for that desperate fight in the dark at Chester when the spy’s accomplice had thrown him hard against the wall, he felt it would have been even further along. The shoulder had been soundly wrenched on that occasion, but Cardiff was optimistic that with luck and no further such awkward tumbles, he would be pronounced fit for duty once he got back to Spain and the army’s winter bivouac.
Lost in his thoughts, Lord Cardiff did not immediately become aware that he heard raised voices. When he did take notice, and the meaning of the argument became clear, he cocked his head to listen more intently.
At a particularly telling statement made by one of the parties, he stared with narrowed eyes at the parlor door. The door, closed so softly by his valet, had failed to catch properly so that it was a poor barrier to the neighboring disagreement.
The woman’s voice was young and trembled slightly, but it was devastatingly clear. “I tell you, I will not! You would do far better to return me to my home than to persist in this folly!”
“You’ve no choice, my dear. You’ll wed me without any more screeching, I’ll warrant, once morning’s light breaks.”
There was the distinct sound of a scuffle, a hard blow, and an angry bellow of pain. Lord Cardiff shoved back his chair, tumbling it loudly to the floor. Unheeding, he swiftly crossed to the parlor door.
“Touch me again and I’ll scream!”
There came a man’s derisive laughter. “Go ahead, by all means, Miss High-and-Mighty! No one will care, I assure you! No one will come!”
Lord Cardiff yanked open the parlor door and with two long strides had crossed the darkened hall. A strange light danced in his eyes as he thrust open the plank door opposite his own parlor. “On the contrary, sir! I have come!”
Chapter Two
The two occupants of the room were stunned by the unexpected intrusion. The lady stared past her unwelcome companion, meeting Lord Cardiff’s gaze. Her large eyes were dark and fearful. As she met his lordship’s steady eyes, hope shot into her expression. Her lips parted as though she were about to speak.
The man gaped stupidly at Lord Cardiff over his heavy shoulder. Suddenly his expression set. He wheeled swiftly to come completely about, an oath exploding from his lips. His heavy hands bunched into fists at his sides.
Cardiff shook his head, saying reprovingly, “That is not fit language for a lady’s presence, sir.”
“Be hanged to you! What business is it of yours?” exclaimed the man wrathfully, his florid face flushed with anger.
Cardiff advanced a couple of steps into the room. He gave a swift glance around, marking the location of the furniture in his memory. Coolly, he said, “Gallantry impels me to disagree, sir.”
“This is a private parlor! Get out!”
Cardiff ignored the man’s blustering command. He directed his gaze to the lady once more. “Ma’am, I could not but overhear a little. Are you being abducted against your will?”
“Yes, I am!” exclaimed the lady, her large eyes flashing. She eased herself around her companion. �
�For reasons I find quite despicable, Mr. Quarles has spirited me away from my home and taken flight with me to Gretna Green.”
Mr. Quarles cast the young lady a look of dislike and snarled, “Be quiet, if you know what is good for you, Thea! As for you, whoever you are, get out! This matter does not concern you!”
“On the contrary. I have made it my concern,” said Lord Cardiff suavely. The trace of a smile touched his lips as he regarded the antagonistic gentleman. He was tautly coiled, adrenaline racing through him with a heightened heartbeat. It was the familiar feeling he had always had before a battle.
Still belligerent, Mr. Quarles nevertheless regarded the intruder uncertainly. There was something about the shorter man that made him hesitate to bully forward as he was inclined to do.
With the slightest of smiles, Lord Cardiff held out his hand towards the lady. “If you wish, ma’am, I shall constitute myself your protector and endeavor to restore you safely to your family.”
“With my good will, sir,” said the lady promptly, stepping swiftly to his side. Her hand found his and Lord Cardiff warmly clasped her gloved fingers in reassurance. He was still smiling down at her when Mr. Quarles bellowed and charged.
Dropping the lady’s hand, Lord Cardiff swiftly pivoted, blocking the man’s wild blow with his forearm, and smashed a hard fist into his opponent’s flaccid midsection. Mr. Quarles staggered, the wind rushing out of him. A sickly, shocked expression came to his face. Lord Cardiff followed up quickly with a bruising uppercut to the angle of the jaw. Mr. Quarles’s eyes rolled back in his head as he stood up on his toes, before he dropped heavily to the floor. He lay sprawled in an awkward heap.
“Oh, well done, sir! I have wanted to do that for hours!” exclaimed the lady. The dark clouds had disappeared from her eyes, leaving them shining with admiration.
Lord Cardiff gave a laugh, his breath coming slightly faster from the few seconds of exertion. Unobtrusively he rotated his right shoulder. The blows he had thrown had been hard ones and inevitably he had felt it. Without showing any sign of the dull ache settled into his shoulder, Lord Cardiff twitched his coat sleeve cuffs into place. “Perhaps it would be wise to collect whatever belongings you have with you and remove to my private parlor across the hall. I shall call for the innkeeper and see that this gentleman is taken care of properly.” He moved to the bell rope and gave the cord a vigorous tug.
