Mr. Caine sat down at the table with a grin. Seeing him more clearly in the light, she discovered him to have shaggy reddish hair and bright blue eyes, with a strong, robust frame. His square jaw was covered in a short cropped beard, and his face was as kindly as she suspected it would be. Matty wore her light brown hair in a bun and wore a dress of a pleasant copper shade. Shorter and stouter than Cornelia, she nonetheless moved with a sure-footed grace as she brought a tray with the tea to the table.
“As we fix our tea,” she said brightly, setting out the cups, “tell us why you ran away, even if you were justified in doing so. Were they hurting you, dear?”
Cornelia shook her head. “The owner, Barrett Hill, sold me to some man. I – I could not let him do that.”
Shocked, Matty stared at her. “Sold you? Like some horse or sheep?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Caine, his own ruddy face now darker with anger, said, “Is he your father, child? You share the same name.”
“No, sir. Barrett took me in when I was a very small child, gave me his name though he is not my blood. He thought my birth parents disposed of me because of my – difference.”
“Is not selling another person against the law, Isaac?” Matty asked, sitting down, her pleasant face hard. “If not, it should be. Selling a young woman to the highest bidder. Humpf.”
“So I ran away,” Cornelia went on. “Maybe you could help me get to a nunnery. Where I can find sanctuary.”
Mr. Caine snorted. “I will speak to His Lordship on the morrow, little girl. He is a good and just man. He may protect you, give you a place within his manor.”
Cornelia breathed in deeply, then smiled. “Thank you. Thank you both.”
“Bah.” Matty waved her thanks away with an airy gesture. “It is our duty and privilege to help you, Cornelia. Seeing you on display like some – well, I cannot say. It is wrong of that man to do such a thing to you. Now, drink your tea. Supper will be ready soon, and you will eat.”
“Our son recently married and left our home to start his own family,” Mr. Caine said, his big hand around his tiny cup of tea. “You can stay in his room until we know His Lordship’s wishes.”
Sipping from her cup, Cornelia then asked, tentative, “Do you really think he will protect me?”
“I have little doubt,” Matty declared.
“But I am not like most people.”
Mr. Caine eyed her up and down. “Hmm. Two eyes, two ears, two hands. Hmm. You appear like most people to me.” With a bland expression, he drank his tea.
Cornelia actually laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“Rest easy, Cornelia,” Matty told her firmly. “Worry not about tomorrow. It will come soon enough, and worrying will not affect anything at all.”
* * *
Archie walked down the impeccable and scrupulously clean aisle of his stable with the stud manager, examining the horses housed within the roomy stalls. His father, the old Earl, had bred the best horses in the north of England, and passed on his passion to his second son. Archie’s older brother, Howard, preferred his books to horses, and seldom rode one.
“When will she foal, you think?” Archie asked, stopping at the stall of a heavily pregnant black mare.
Norris Saxon, the only man Archie trusted to properly care for and manage the breeding aspect of his estate, blew out his breath in a sharp gust. “She’s overdue as it is, m’lord. I’ve been sitting outside her stall of a night for three nights running. Her dam was a late foaler, too, you know.”
“Yes, I seem to remember that.”
The mare perked her ears at them briefly, as though acknowledging their presence, then returned to nibbling on the hay at her feet. “It’s her first foal, also,” Archie went on, studying the mare’s posture and flanks. “You never know what to expect when it’s their first.”
“She’ll do fine. But here, I wanted you to see this little colt.”
Norris led Archie further down the aisle to stand in front of a stall containing a copper colored mare and a pale, reddish-brown foal standing at her side. “He’s a grand one, eh? Born last night.”
Archie grinned, gazing in at the baby, who stared at them with wide, wondering eyes. “That he is, Norris. He’s even better than I had hoped.”
“I think he improved on his sire, m’lord,” Norris commented with his own grin. “That’s saying a lot.”
“It is. I’m certainly not going to geld him when he’s older.” Archie rubbed the side of his nose with his thumb as he leaned on the stall door. “He might just be worth keeping to stand at stud. Of course, I want him handled from the start. Have Dugan start haltering all the babies and teaching them basic manners. He’s jolly good at breaking the youngsters to hand.”
“Right you are. He’s very good at getting them to trust him. The dams, too.”
Regretfully, Archie ceased staring at the newborn and ambled on down the aisle to view other pregnant mares. Before he could ask Norris a question regarding the mare inside the stall, a groom burst through a side door and rushed toward Norris. He came to an abrupt halt seeing Archie, and he knuckled his brow. “My Lord. Mr. Saxon. He’s done it. He’s loose again.”
Archie cursed. “What do we have to do to keep him where he belongs?” he demanded of no one in particular. “Chain him up?”
“That would do precious little good, m’lord,” Norris said, running for the doorway. “He’ll just break them.”
Out in the wide stable yard, grooms rushed to keep the glossy black stallion hemmed in between the buildings while the horse chewed hay from a wagon parked there, then suddenly kicked backward with a squeal and dashed around the inner perimeter of the yard. His head and tail high, he bucked and jumped, charged the line of grooms only to wheel around and gallop back the other way.
Archie, a rope in hand, walked to the center of the yard and stood there, patient. Bucephalus, named for Alexander the Great’s famous beast, eyed him sidelong, then lowered his head and squealed as he kicked out with his rear hooves. Just three years old, Bucephalus hated being confined, and used his curious and inquisitive mind to undo latches and unhook chains or used his massive strength to simply kick his door down.
Knowing full well the young stallion had no meanness at all in him, and simply liked his freedom, Archie could hardly put him in such a heavy stall with an iron door just to prevent him escaping once again. Bucephalus never bit or kicked any of the grooms, and broke free every week or so. The rest of the time, he submitted to his training under the saddle with an easy good nature, and lipped Archie’s fingers while watching him with bright eyes.
“All right, lad,” Archie told him. “Fun time is over. Let’s go.”
Bucephalus reared, his front hooves pawing the air, then he wheeled to trot around the circle, snaking his head. Speeding up into sharp bucks, he sped past Archie toward the far end of the yard, the grooms waving their arms to chase him back, then spun around to gallop the other way.
Archie stepped casually into his path.
Bucephalus slammed his rear hooves into the soft soil of the yard, sliding on his rear end in his valiant effort to come to a halt. Half-rearing, he spun half around to avoid running Archie over, then stood still, his nostrils wide as he snorted. He turned his head, ears up, as his master approached with the rope. Stepping up to his massive shoulder, Archie stroked the stallion’s damp neck.
“You young fool,” Archie murmured, tying the rope into a halter around the horse’s head. “Don’t you realize you can get hurt playing like that? I know you like your fun, old lad, but you have to learn to contain yourself. Don’t make me put you on extra exercise.”
Norris trotted forward. “I’ll take him back, m’lord.”
Archie shook his head with a grin. “I will, Norris. Get the grooms back to work.”
Bucephalus ambled quietly at his shoulder as he led the stallion back to his stall, talking quietly to him all the way. The stallion had once again unlatched what Archie had hoped would
be far too complicated for the horse to figure out. Yet, he grinned. “You are a clever lad, aren’t you? You are a damn nuisance sometimes, but I sure like you.”
Only a chain and a lock might keep the stallion in, but Archie refused to go that far. If a fire broke out, the grooms would have to get the prized animals out quickly, and a lock would take too much time to open. He would not risk Bucephalus’s safety in the event of a fire just to keep him from escaping now and then. Returning the rope where he found it, Archie headed out of the stallion’s stables, still grinning at the horse’s antics.
“My Lord.”
Glancing up, Archie found his gamekeeper, Isaac Caine, striding toward him, his hand up to garner his attention. “Isaac. Good to see you. How is your wife?”
Isaac bowed upon reaching him, smiling, his cloth cap in his hand. “Very good, My Lord. I heard Bucephalus escaped again.”
Archie laughed. “If the damn beast didn’t have such an amiable disposition, I think I’d be forced to cut him. But he hasn’t a mean notion in him, so I expect I’ll put up with his little games.”
“He’s young yet,” Isaac replied with a nod. “He’ll grow out of them one day.”
“I’m almost hoping he does not,” Archie said, still grinning. “He sure keeps this place lively.”
“If you have a moment,” Isaac said, sobering. “I have a matter that requires your attention.”
“Of course. What can I do?”
“It appears we have a delicate situation here on the estate,” Isaac began slowly. “Last night, I found a runaway from that circus a few miles yonder. She is in dire need of help.”
“Why would we not help her and why is this so delicate?” Archie asked with a frown.
“Because she ran away after the owner sold her to someone.”
Archie blinked. “Sold her? Since when is that moral, ethical, or even legal? We do not own slaves, Isaac, even if our former colonies across the sea do.”
“I know, My Lord. But that means the buyer has a claim on her, and if he becomes aware that she is being protected here, he might create issues for you.”
“Bah. I don’t care what he might think, Isaac. I have influence at court and among my fellow Members of Parliament. If I must, I can make her legally my ward. Then no one can stake any claims.”
Isaac nodded, his smile showing his relief. “Thank you. She is at my cottage with Matty.”
“I was just at that place yesterday with Richard of Whitstone,” Archie commented, reflectively. “Which woman is it? Perhaps I remember her.”
“Oh, you would remember her,” Isaac said with a wry smile. “She is pure white. Very unusual.”
Archie felt stunned, his breath gone. The girl I regretted not talking to arrived on my front step needing my protection? Now I see why that fat bastard sold her. She is remarkable. “Of course. I did see her. Isaac, please escort her to the house. I wish to meet her, and I will find her a position within my employees.”
“Very good.” Isaac offered him another short bow. “I’ll bring her directly.”
Watching him go, Archie’s thoughts spun. “Yes, there will be repercussions over this,” he muttered, turning back to pace toward his huge manor house. “Whoever bought her just might kick up a fuss if it’s learned she’s here.”
Despite his awareness of this, he would not change his mind. He meant what he said to Richard – no one deserves to be locked up in a glass box and be put on display. Recalling the strange connection he felt when their eyes met, Archie’s smile returned as he trotted up the veranda steps to enter his house. “My lady,” he murmured. “I cannot wait to meet you.”
Chapter 4
Wrapped from head to toe in linen cloth with a light cotton cloak, the hood pulled low over her face, Cornelia walked at Isaac’s side down the lane. “I am sorry I must be clad like this,” she said to him, blinking at the harsh light even under the hood. “The sun burns me.”
“I can understand that,” he replied. “I am sure His Lordship will realize it as well, and give you duties that keep you inside.”
“You are quite loyal to him.”
Though she didn’t look up, she listened as he chuckled. “You’ll see why, little girl. His Lordship is worthy of loyalty from us. A kind and gracious man, he is.”
In her mind’s eye, Cornelia pictured a grey-haired gentleman with sparkling blue eyes and a wide, kind smile, a man who had ruled over his estates with a gentle hand. A grandfatherly type, she suspected, someone who was the direct opposite of Barrett’s greed and cruelty disguised as love. “How long have you worked for him?” she asked.
“Long enough to know his quality.”
“Are his servants like you?”
Isaac hesitated a fraction. “What do you mean, like me?”
Cornelia paused to look up at him, then instantly lowered her face. The sun was simply too bright for her sensitive eyes. “Accepting. Nonjudgmental. Not going to burn me at the stake for being a witch.”
Laughing, Isaac walked on. “I cannot speak for everyone, of course, little girl, but for the most part, those people His Lordship employs are like him in attitude. Our Earl is not like most of the peerage, you see. And we love him for it.”
“That’s good to know. I think.”
“He will grant you his protection. You’ll do well here.”
Unused to the sunlight, Cornelia felt herself grow hot despite the mild spring temperatures. It burned through the hood and the linen, making her sweat and pant. “Is it very far from here?” she asked, her mouth dry.
“The manor is right there.”
Peeping out of her hood, Cornelia saw the huge house of stone, too many stories tall to count in the rapid glance she gave it before she was forced to duck away from the light. Having never seen the home of an Earl before, she thought it magnificent. “Do all the nobles in the realm live like this?”
“I cannot say,” Isaac replied as they climbed up the steps of the wide veranda. “I’ve only worked for this one.”
The shade gave her blessed relief as she and Isaac entered the huge house, and Cornelia glanced around, blinking her sore eyes. They stood in a grand entryway with a staircase wide enough for four horses to walk up it abreast. Marble statues stood on pedestals, wide beams of a dark, polished wood soared high over her head. Under her feet, slate tiles, also polished to a high gloss, spread all through the entryway and down the three hallways.
A man wearing a black jacket, black trousers and a stiff air ambled to them from nowhere Cornelia saw. “Mr. Caine,” he intoned in a flat voice. “What may I do for you?”
“Mr. Sanders, this is Miss Cornelia Hill. She is here at the behest of His Lordship. He wishes to see her.”
Cornelia found it interesting that Isaac lost his country accent while speaking to this man, whom she suspected was a butler. Mr. Sanders eyed her and the linen wraps with a strict absence of emotion. “Very good, then. You will find His Lordship in the library. I am about to bring him his tea.”
As though he had a steel rod up his spine, Mr. Sanders turned and made his slow, meticulous way across the tiles to vanish down a hallway that led under the stairs. “The kitchen is that way,” Isaac explained. “One of them, anyway. Once you are employed, His Lordship will surely assign someone to show you around.”
“I know I will get lost,” she murmured. “This place is huge.”
“But don’t let it intimidate you, little girl. It’s just a house.”
The library proved to be down the right-hand hall. Isaac stopped in front of a wide door, and rapped his knuckles on the wood. A voice inside called, “Come.”
Offering her a quick wink and a smile, Isaac ushered her into the huge room. From beneath her hood, Cornelia caught a glimpse of rows upon rows of books, highly polished tables, armchairs, breathed in the scent of leather and paper, and even the odor of brandy. Barrett loved brandy as it enabled him to pretend he was a true titled noble, and often drank it while in her company.
At her side, Isaac bowed. Jolted from her examination of the room, Cornelia dropped into a curtsy, hoping it was a proper one. She had never curtsied before.
“Welcome, Miss Hill,” said a richly deep masculine voice. “I am aware of your condition and understand the need for you to hide yourself. But the sun cannot harm you here, and I wish to look upon you.”
Cornelia lifted her hands to the hood and flipped it back, away from her head, and gasped in shock. Not only was he not the aged man she expected, he was not much older than she. Rich, dark eyes smiled from a handsome face, his cheekbones high and his jaw strong. Thick mahogany colored hair fell about his shoulders in a wave, and she recognized him instantly.
It was the young nobleman who spoke kindly of her the previous day.
The Beauty and the Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 3
