The Beauty and the Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  * * *

  Although Archie knew what to expect, her pale skin and hair, her stunning beauty, those magnificent violet eyes, took him aback once again. She seemed angelic, too pure to be of this earth, as if she had been sent down from heaven by God himself. When those eyes met his, he felt again the weird shock, that connection between them.

  He smiled as she gawked at him, staring into his eyes, her full lips parted. “I see you recognize me,” he said, rising from his chair to pace toward her. “And once again, I welcome you here.”

  “T – thank you, My Lord.”

  He made an airy gesture, drawing her attention to the person standing behind her. Miss Hill half turned to look. “In order to maintain your virtuous reputation, Miss Hill, I have asked my head housekeeper to join us and act as your chaperone.”

  The young woman bobbed a quick curtsy, and Archie recognized the awkwardness of it. She never had to curtsy to anyone before, and it showed. But he liked her sweet respectfulness, even as she stared at him as though he were a creature she’d never seen before. Just as I stared at her yesterday. “This is Mrs. Cates, and she will also teach you your new duties. Mrs. Cates, meet Miss Hill.”

  Smiling, Mrs. Cates stepped forward and took Miss Hill by the hand. “Glad to have you here, Miss Hill. Be welcome. His Lordship explained to me that you need to remain indoors and away from the sun. I will show you to your room shortly.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Cates. That is kind of you.”

  Archie cleared his throat, bringing the attention of both women back on him. “Mrs. Cates,” he said, his hands behind his back. “While I understand people have their prejudices and fears, I do not wish for Miss Hill to be the object of scorn or ridicule. I think she has had enough of that in her life. Let it be known that anyone who mistreats Miss Hill due to her white complexion will be dealt with harshly.”

  “Of course, My Lord,” Mrs. Cates said, glancing back at Miss Hill. “I will not permit it, either. I think, however, that you will find people here to be kind in the face of such matters.”

  Miss Hill smiled. “I hope so, but I am used to it. Please understand, it’s all right. I know I’m different.”

  “That no excuse to be disrespectful,” Mrs. Cates replied evenly. “I expect you to report any discourtesies to me immediately.”

  Miss Hill lowered her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Noah arrived with Archie’s afternoon tea and biscuits on a tray, and for a moment, Archie wished to invite the fascinating girl to have tea with him. He decided against it, as it was her first day and she had a great deal to assimilate under his roof. “Miss Hill, thank you for coming,” he said as Noah placed the tray on the table nearest him and bowed. “Please know you are under my protection, and no one will take you from here without my permission.”

  Miss Hill’s smile and curtsy of respect held more grace this time. “I am in your debt, My Lord.”

  He watched her leave with Mrs. Cates and Isaac, again filled with regret. “I should have asked her to tea,” he muttered, returning to his chair.

  “What was that, My Lord?” Noah asked, arranging the cups, plates of biscuits, and the tea on the tray.

  “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

  Sitting down at the table for his tea and the book he had been reading, Archie discovered he could no longer focus on the pages. While sipping his tea and occasionally taking a bite of his biscuit, he thought of Miss Hill. Now that she was free of the glass case and actually smiling and talking, Miss Hill seemed more exotic than ever. Her low voice with an odd lilt to it fascinated him, and her eyes on his – Archie liked the way she looked at him.

  “Yes, I am lonely,” he admitted, sitting back in his chair and gazing at the shelves of books. “This was your favorite place, Howie. You should be here and ruling, not me.”

  With a sigh, he set aside his unfinished biscuit, his tea growing cold, and rose to pace to the window. It looked out on the fields to the north, and the small distant lake where he and Howard had fished when they were boys. “I miss you, Howie,” he muttered. “More than Father or Mother.”

  Returning to his armchair, he tried to focus on his reading. Miss Hill’s eyes crept between his own and the words on the page, and he found himself staring at the shelves again. “This is ridiculous,” he snapped to himself, getting up. “I’m sitting here talking to the dead and I can’t stop thinking of that girl.”

  Throwing open the door, he startled a maid who had come to take his tea tray. “Sorry,” he muttered, stalking past her and toward the front doors of the house. Supper was still a few hours away, and even then he would be, as usual, dining alone in the vast hall that many times over the centuries held more than a hundred guests. Archie hated eating a sumptuous meal at the head of a vast table that held the place settings for guests that were not there.

  The stables had been his only solace since Howie died. Striding across the green lawns, Archie paused to watch the grooms exercise the pregnant mares by walking them up and down the yard. The dams who had delivered were also walked, their babies bouncing and kicking at their flanks. His cares instantly lifted, he grinned at the sight of the new colt trying to rear, only to fall over backwards.

  “That’ll teach him, m’lord,” Norris said, arriving at his side.

  “We can hope. How is Bucephalus?”

  “Happily munching his hay and acting as innocent as that babe.”

  “I want to try my hand riding him tomorrow,” Archie said, still watching the line of big-bellied horses pacing slowly up and down. He caught Norris’s concerned eye. “If Big John is worried, he can work him down before I try. You gentlemen seem to forget I was riding at the ripe old age of two.”

  “We know,” Norris replied, his arms folded across his chest. “But you’re the master, m’lord. Anything happens to you, we’re all for the workhouses.”

  Archie laughed. “Your fears for my safety overwhelm me. I’ve seen Bucephalus work. He hasn’t a vicious streak in him anywhere.”

  “Perhaps not,” Norris replied. “But he is young, very green, and unpredictable. If I had my way, you wouldn’t be up on him until Big John has him completely broken to the saddle.”

  “I’m touched.”

  “You have no heirs.”

  “I believe there is a distant cousin in the woodwork somewhere in England.”

  “I’d much rather see you married with little ones running about.”

  Archie shook his head. “I have no desire to pursue eligible heiresses who are more eager to marry my title than me. Norris, before Howie died, I was happy, and carefree without the damn responsibilities to tenants and staff and this cursed title.”

  “I know.” Norris gazed at the ambling mares. “I was your friend, remember? But you will adjust to your title, as heavy as it is, and one day you’ll get lonely enough for a wife to find one.”

  “I doubt that. A Countess who is obsessed with parties, and London, and the ton? No, thank you. I think I prefer the loneliness.”

  “Your choice, of course,” Norris answered with a sharp glance at him. “But it is your duty to beget an heir. You owe your brother and father that much.”

  The image of the beautiful Miss Hill formed in his mind, and Archie smiled. “Perhaps I can find a lovely wife who isn’t interested in London society, and wouldn’t want to throw any parties.”

  “That’s an even better choice,” Norris replied with an easy grin. “Naturally, you’ll be the hot topic on the scandal sheets, but that never stopped you before.”

  “That’s because of how little I care about my fellow peers,” Archie snapped. “That was one of the perks of being second in line – I never had to worry about what people thought.”

  “You still don’t have to.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what are you arguing about?”

  Laughing, Archie slapped Norris on the shoulder. “I’m going to pay a call on the stallions.”

  “I’ll be along shortly, m’lord,
after I see these ladies back inside.”

  “Take your time.”

  Archie strode around the edge of the yard to avoid forcing the grooms to halt the mares and permit him to pass among them, then strolled around the corner of the mares’ barn. He heard the sound of hooves striking wood resonating from within the stallions’ barn, and instantly bolted through the stable doors and into the interior.

  “Bucephalus, if you –”

  He got no further. The unconscious or dead body of Bucephalus’s groom lay on the cobble floor of the stable, blood from his brow soaking the collar of his livery. Another groom knelt beside him, his expression wracked with worry as he tried to wake the groom up. Bucephalus himself, ears flattened and teeth bared, kicked the wooden walls of his stall while also lunging forward in an attempt to bite another groom in the aisle who held a pitch fork defensively in his hands.

  “Put that down now,” Archie bellowed, racing forward.

  Bucephalus lunged again, seeking to hurl himself over his wall to attack his perceived enemy, but struck Archie on the side of his head with his hoof. Pain lanced through Archie’s head and neck, and he knew he was going down. The cobbles rose to meet his face, and slammed into him with enough force to rattle his neck and down his spine.

  Groaning, Archie tried to get up, his head swimming, his open eyes seeing nothing but black. In the distance, he heard more shouts, listened to Bucephalus continue to hammer his walls with his steel shod feet. He fell back, the pain and noise and commotion receding until he felt and heard nothing at all.

  Chapter 5

  Barrett stared at Mortimer, aghast. “Cornelia did what?”

  “She ran off, boss. I told you three times now. I warned you she would play you false. I warned you, time and again, I said –”

  “Shut up!”

  Mortimer shut his mouth, then pouted, his lower lip thrusting out. “You don’t have to yell,” he snapped, sulking.

  Pacing in his tent, Barrett sweated, his stomach in knots. “The buyer’s man will be here at any moment to pick her up. I’ve already been paid, handsomely, yes, quite handsomely for her. He will not be pleased.”

  “So? Pay the man back and inform him the deal is off.”

  Spinning, Barrett pounced on the little hunchback and threw him out of his chair. “I don’t have the money anymore,” he roared. “I spent it paying off my gambling creditors.”

  Picking himself up off the rug, Mortimer scowled darkly. He straightened his clothing, and slowly dusted himself off. “Then I suppose you have a serious problem, boss,” he said, his voice low. “The buyer’s man will demand one or the other. If you can’t provide either, well, that don’t look very good.”

  Barrett hardly listened. Pacing again, sweating, he fought to control his panic, his fear. “I’ll tell him she’s ill. Something contagious. Give me time to find her. She can’t be far. No one will take her in. I’ll get every hand looking for her. I’ll find her in a day or two. Yes, that’s it. I’ll tell him she’s too ill to be moved. He’ll be forced to wait. Then I’ll find her.”

  Mortimer studied the dirt under his nails. “So sure about that, are you? What if she’s found herself a little foxhole to crawl into? Rather difficult digging her out, wouldn’t you say?”

  “What? Hmm?”

  Felix stuck his head inside the tent. “Boss, there’s a man here. Says he has an appointment.”

  For a brief instant, it crossed Barrett’s mind to order Felix to kill him. Kill him, bury his body deep, and tell the buyer his man never came for the girl. Gain himself a few days’ time to find that damn Cornelia before the buyer gets the word that she escaped. Felix had murdered for him before. And will again.

  Barrett feared the buyer more than he had ever feared any man in his life. If the man found out the girl ran away, that Barrett spent his money, and killed his servant, there would be no place on earth Barrett could possibly hide from him. No, killing the servant was not the answer. Telling him the girl was ill was his best bet. No one wants a sick, contagious freak in their home.

  “Send him in.”

  Barrett seized his handkerchief from the pocket of his robes, and mopped his sweating face with it. Dragging in a lungful of air, he calmed himself, forcing an expression of mild surprise onto his expression. He ignored Mortimer’s sardonic mien as he took his place at Barrett’s right hand. Felix opened the tent’s flap and a man stepped through.

  He was clearly a gentleman, perhaps of noble birth himself. Young and tall, his handsome face held the hint of a sneer as he glanced from Barrett to Mortimer and back again. He wore a black jacket and black trousers with a white ruffled shirt under a light grey waistcoat. He carried a walking stick, but Barrett knew the man wasn’t lame. “Mr. Hill,” he began.

  “That’s Baron Barrett Hill, sir,” Barrett intoned coldly, hoping intimidation might work. “My Lord will suffice.”

  The man’s lips quirked upward for a moment. “Mr. Hill, my name is Thomas. I am here on behalf of my master. He has paid you the sum of two thousand quid for one exotic, white woman with light lavender eyes. You will fetch her for me this instant.”

  “I fear that isn’t possible.” Barrett clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, giving the posture of one who has few concerns.

  The man’s graceful brow rose. “Pray tell why you are withholding my master’s goods from him.”

  “She has taken ill, of course,” Barrett responded cordially. “Quite contagious, in fact. She will most certainly die if she is moved.”

  The arched brow slowly lowered and the man’s expression tightened. “Is she indeed?”

  “Yes. I have her quarantined, kept well away from my other employees. If it is the plague, which I fear it may be, then, why, disaster will strike. I will be wiped out. And your master will lose his precious goods.”

  Lifting his walking stick, the elegant man took two steps toward Barrett, the threat in his eyes quite clear. Instantly, Felix planted his heavy hand on the man’s shoulder, forcing him to turn. While Thomas may have had murderous intentions toward Barrett, the icy stare from Felix’s eyes stopped him cold. He brushed Felix’s hand from his shoulder as he might an obnoxious insect, and glared at Barrett.

  “You have two days, Hill,” he snarled, brandishing his walking stick. “Two days to produce the girl. If she is not waiting here for me in that time, you will come to wish you had never taken my master’s money.”

  Barrett examined his cuticles. “I am already regretting it, dear boy.”

  “Have a care, sir. My master has the power and the authority to wipe out your paltry circus and hang you, and your cohorts, for the crime of fraud.”

  “What fraud would that be? Hmm? Isn’t it illegal to buy a human being in England? Slavery is not tolerated here, dear boy. So perhaps your master might want to rethink his strategy.”

  For a moment, Barrett was sure Thomas planned to slam his cane into the side of Felix’s head, dropping him to the ground, then lay into Barrett himself until he passed out or begged for mercy. Mortimer might have thought that as well, for from his pocket he brought out a pistol and casually pointed it into the gentleman’s direction.

  “I will see you in two days’ time,” Barrett said, his tone bland. “Goodbye, sir. And next time, please bring your respect for the upper class with you.”

  The buyer’s henchman lifted his upper lip in a snarl, much like an angry mongrel, then slammed his way out the tent flap. Watching him depart, furious and impotent, both warmed Barrett’s greedy heart and alarmed him. “He will have his revenge,” he muttered.

  “He might,” Mortimer replied, replacing his pistol in his pocket. “So you bought yourself two days, boss. How will you find her?”

  “The show is shut down temporarily,” Barrett snapped, pouring whiskey into a glass from a decanter on the table. “Put up signs – closed due to illness. Gather all the men, none of the women, they are useless. Get them into the village, that’s where Cornelia might have g
one to for help. Knock on every door, search every hut and hovel. She can’t have gone far. She is noticeable. She will be remembered.”

  * * *

  He dared not fail.

  Storming from the circus grounds, passing performers, workmen, exotic animals and a bear that roared at him from where it paced at the length of its chain, he strode quickly to where he had tied his horse. Mounting, he reined the gelding around and lashed its neck with the reins. The animal burst into a gallop across the fallow fields, but Thomas dared not return to his master. Not yet. Not until he had solid proof that Hill had blatantly cheated his master by taking his money, and kept the girl.

  “He will kill me as easily as he will kill that fat fool,” he muttered in fear, sweat sliding down his cheeks. “I must be careful.”