The Beauty and the Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  Three men suddenly stepped into the path of his cantering horse. Horror leaped down Thomas’s throat, his gut clenched as he recognized them. His gelding halted of its own accord, with the men blocking his forward motion and having received no instruction from its rider. Before Thomas thought to rein around and kick the horse out of range, one of them seized the bridle.

  “Hullo, Thomas.”

  Thomas forced his tongue to move. “Hello, Edgar. What brings you lads here?”

  “Master’s orders.”

  Edgar, tall and as blocky as a castle’s foundation stone, strolled casually toward Thomas’s saddle while James whipped his gelding’s reins from his fingers. Ralph edged his way around to Thomas’s right, gazing up at him from a face riddled with scars. Thomas felt his breath leave his lungs and not come back. I’m trying to get the girl, doesn’t he understand I’m going to find the girl?

  “Please,” Thomas said, his voice shaking. “I’m doing everything I can to find the master’s property. It’s not my fault Hill let her escape.”

  Edgar nodded sagely. “He knows that Thomas. Hill letting the girl run away will be on his head, not yours. We will be paying a call on him quite soon, in fact.”

  Letting out his breath in a sharp gust, Thomas felt relief course through him. “So he does not blame me?”

  Edgar shook his head slowly from side to side, his muddy eyes on Thomas’s. “I did not say that, Thomas. I said the girl’s vanishing is on Hill. The master still holds you accountable, however.”

  “For what?” Thomas half-screamed. “I have been trying to find her.”

  Pressing his fingertips against his chest, Edgar’s harsh voice still managed to convey sympathy. “I know that, lad. Lord knows I wish I didn’t have to come here like this, I really don’t want to see you punished for someone else’s misdeeds. But the master has insisted. He believes you should have reported the problem to him sooner.”

  “Had I been able to find the wench, there would be no problem.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re to merely punish you a bit. We’re not to kill you, Thomas, for which I am glad. I do like you, I want you to know that.”

  From his right, Thomas was yanked from his saddle and dumped ignominiously in the dirt. Panic raced through him as he realized what was about to happen. Ralph jerked him up by his collar and held him by the arms as James slammed his fist into his midsection. With his breath gone, and pain coursing through his belly in horrid waves, Thomas knew that despite Edgar’s words, the trio would indeed kill him.

  A punch to his ribs dropped him to his knees; he began coughing, hardly able to get any breath into his starved lungs. “Master says to leave his face alone,” Edgar said, stepping around the gelding to watch. “Don’t hurt him too bad, lads. He’s a good enough sort.”

  Not certain what would have happened if Edgar hadn’t liked him, Thomas endured the pummeling to his gut and ribs from James’s fist, his head swimming from lack of air and pain. At long last, he lay on his face, coughing and wheezing in the soil. Through blurry eyes, Thomas observed Edgar crouch down in front of him.

  “You’ll be all right in a few minutes, Thomas,” he said, his voice not unkind even for its roughness. “Master said we’re to take over from here, and you’re to return to him. All is forgiven now, eh? We’ll leave you your horse.”

  After a few minutes, Edgar helped him to sit up, then stand, letting Thomas lean against him for support as he learned to breathe again. “The master isn’t all bad, eh?” Edgar said with a lopsided smile. “He was angry, he was, almost insisted we kill you. But he saw reason in the end, and says that once you’re punished, it’s all over. You need help getting on your mount?”

  Thomas shook his head. “I’m all right,” he wheezed, still trying to get his wind back. “Thank you for not hurting me too bad.”

  “I told the lads not to break any ribs or cause permanent damage,” Edgar replied, steering Thomas to his saddle. “You didn’t deserve this, but you know the master.”

  “I do.”

  Ralph handed him his reins, and Thomas fumbled for his stirrup to mount. It was awkward and painful, but Thomas managed it, and sat for a moment breathing hard. He knew he had gotten off very lucky indeed, for his master could easily have demanded his life. He glanced into Edgar’s eyes with a slight smile.

  “Do me a favor, Edgar?” he asked.

  “Of course. What?”

  “Don’t go easy on the fat bastard.”

  Edgar nodded gravely. “Master wants him punished hard, Thomas. I’ll throw in a few extra for your sake.”

  Leaning down, Thomas offered him his hand. Edgar shook it gravely. “Goodbye, Edgar.”

  “Goodbye, Thomas.”

  Chapter 13

  Archie could not recall ever hurting this badly before. Not even when he and Norris raced over the moors as youngsters, laughing wildly, and Archie’s horse fell. Thrown into a pile of rock, he broke a couple of his ribs, his right arm, and his ankle. Compared to this, that previous nasty fall was the equivalent of a catching a cold.

  A blanket from the stable was brought for him. Norris, Big John, and the rest of the grooms carefully set him into it, then carried him slowly toward the house. Richard paced at his side, occasionally offering an encouraging comment or two.

  “Bucephalus,” Archie muttered. “How is he?”

  “He’s fine, m’lord,” Norris assured him. “A bit shaken, but no harm done.”

  “Good.”

  Archie wished he would pass out, but such luck was not with him. He remained awake for every agonizing moment as he was conveyed across the grounds to the house. Servants scrambled to make way for him and his entourage as he was slowly carried into the house and up the stairs. Mrs. Cates hollered for hot water, bandages, and laudanum, and anxiously followed behind to his chambers.

  Richard stood, his expression sympathetic, at the foot of his bed as Norris and the others gently placed him on his bed. “You look pasty white, old chap,” he commented dryly. “You can give that wench from the circus a run for her money.”

  Archie wished fervently that Richard would go home, as he desperately needed that wench from the circus. He dared not bring her in to care for him, not with Richard hanging about. Though he trusted his friend’s integrity, despite his haughty attitude, something deep inside him warned him not to let Richard know she was there.

  Shooing the grooms out of his chambers, Mrs. Cates returned with a small army of servants carrying the items she needed. Keeping a maid with her as both chaperone and assistant, she and Norris carefully helped Archie out of his jacket, waistcoat, cravat, and shirt. All the while, Richard watched with what Archie thought to be disdainful boredom in his superior expression.

  As Norris poked and prodded his chest, inspecting him for broken ribs or evidence of damaged internal organs, he murmured a few questions. “How do your legs feel?”

  “Sore.”

  “Can you move them?”

  “Yes.”

  Archie showed him by flexing his ankles. “I feel like I’ve been squashed.”

  Norris chuckled. “You were. Bucephalus rolled on you, but I think the majority of his weight missed crushing you fully. You’re badly bruised, m’lord, but I do believe you were very lucky.”

  Past Norris’s shoulder, Richard yawned. “I don’t suppose I might partake of your kitchen’s services, old chap. I am a bit famished.”

  “Of course not. Mrs. Cates, escort him to the dining room and see to it the staff take care of him.”

  “Of course, My Lord. This way, My Lord.”

  As the housekeeper hurried Richard out the door, Norris met Archie’s eyes with a wry smile. “I know you’d like Miss Hill here. I’ll fetch her for you.”

  “No.” Archie gasped for breath as a sharp stab of pain coursed from his belly to his chest. “I can’t risk her being seen.”

  “Oh, she won’t be. I’ll take her through the passageways inside the walls.”

  Archie
had forgotten about them, even though he, Norris, and Howie often explored them as boys, or played games that involved secret treasure and pirates. He grinned. “Thank you.”

  Norris sent him a quick wink. “Be back shortly.”

  Trying to relax and rest, Archie closed his eyes, wondering if he might persuade the maid in the corner watching him with wide fearful eyes to pour him a dollop of laudanum. Deciding against it, he suspected Cornelia might need him awake while she performed her own examination of him. Mrs. Cates returned, and sat on a chair beside his bed.

  “Should I summon Miss Hill?” she asked, biting her lower lip with anxiety. She, too, knew Cornelia’s presence must remain a secret, yet was obviously torn between keeping it and making it known to Richard for Archie’s sake.

  “She’s on her way.”

  “But –”

  Just then, the panel in the wall to his left slid back. Mrs. Cates spun around while the maid gave a small startled shriek. Norris emerged with a grin and held the concealing tapestry back to permit not just Cornelia, but the village apothecary to stride into his private bedchamber. Archie waved them over as Norris slid the panel closed again.

  “Welcome, ladies. Mrs. Clovis, thank you for being here when you are sorely needed.”

  Both Cornelia and Mrs. Clovis, a middle-aged woman with hair still as black as night, curtsied before approaching the bed. Her face filled with anxiety, Cornelia lifted each of his eyelids to peer into his eyes as Mrs. Clovis said, “My Lord, what have you done to yourself this time?”

  “A wee bit of foolishness.”

  Norris and Mrs. Cates stood back from the bed as both Cornelia and Mrs. Clovis began their own examination of his torso, hips, still clad in his trousers, and his legs. As though he weren’t there at all, they discussed him as they might a favorite dog. They manipulated his neck and arms, spoke of various roots and teas, poked his ribs and belly, talking of the benefits of bleeding him at this time.

  “Bleeding will not help him,” Cornelia said firmly. “None of his internal organs appear damaged, and his bones are sound.”

  Mrs. Clovis nodded. “What if he catches a fever?”

  “Feverfew.”

  “Right. Now we have laudanum right here. A spoonful of that in wine will assist him to sleep, most likely until tomorrow.”

  “Ladies,” Archie began, humorous. “I am right here.”

  Cornelia and Mrs. Clovis glanced at him for a moment, as though the pillow had spoken, then continued their conversation regarding his care. Norris leaned forward after casting them an amused glance.

  “I must return to the stables,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Take good care of Bucephalus. This was not his fault.”

  “I will, m’lord.”

  Mrs. Cates offered Archie a quick curtsy, then walked with Norris out of his rooms, taking the maid with them. Jonas, his valet, let them pass by, then returned to his vigil at the entrance to his bedchamber. Turning their attention back to him, Cornelia and Mrs. Clovis finally agreed that there was little to do save give him laudanum for his pain, and permit him to rest.

  Cornelia mixed the potion, and held it to his lips to drink, her hand behind his aching head cool and soft. The concoction made him grimace at its vile flavor, but he drank it down, wanting its pain-killing and sleepy effects desperately. Mrs. Clovis watched with approval as Cornelia took the glass away, and let his head rest on the pillow.

  “I will stay with you,” Cornelia said softly. “Mrs. Clovis will be here as well.”

  Archie nodded, beginning to feel its effects. “Cornelia.”

  She leaned over him, her light colored eyes gazing deeply into his own. “Archie,” she breathed. “What can I do?”

  “Kiss me.”

  He half expected her to draw away, startled, perhaps even offended. He liked her. He enjoyed having her near him, he never wanted her to leave his side. Still, he had no way of knowing if she felt the same. Her enigmatic expressions told him little, concealed her feelings most thoroughly. Even now, he could not read her expression as she gazed into his eyes.

  Cornelia leaned over him, and gently, tenderly, brushed her lips over his. As he expected, they were soft, and she tasted sweet, like honey, yet had a flavor that was Cornelia’s own. His head spun, and he knew it was not just the laudanum that made it so. Lifting her face, Cornelia rested her cheek against his.

  “Sleep,” she murmured, her lips pressing briefly against his skin. “I’ll be here when you awaken.”

  * * *

  Half-expecting a scornful or disdainful expression on Mrs. Clovis’s face when she finally lifted her own from Archie, she found the apothecary gazing in the opposite direction as though to give them privacy. Archie’s valet no longer loomed in the doorway. Returning to his chair at his bedside, she watched him sleep, and knew she could watch him sleep for the rest of her days and be content.

  “He’s a good man,” Mrs. Clovis said at last, offering her a wan smile. “Just like his father was before him. A good lord, understanding what us common folk need, what we deserve, or do not deserve.”

  “You have no objections then?”

  Mrs. Clovis knew exactly what Cornelia meant. “Not me, child. Nor will you find such among the tenants, the villagers. If the master wishes to court a commoner, who are we to dissuade him?”

  Cornelia smiled, gazing down at her folded hands. “I didn’t mean just that. I meant my color.”

  Mrs. Clovis waved her hand with a disgusted noise. “Child, you are not the first with your color I have encountered. When I was young and living south of here, a child was born as white as you are to normal parents.”

  Eager, Cornelia asked, “What happened to her?”

  “Him. A lad. He grew up, often was ostracized, but endured it until he was finally accepted by the village. He married, had three normal children. I believe he still lives there, in peace with his neighbors.”

  “Then if there are more like me,” Cornelia ventured. “Why was I treated so? Put on display like a two-headed cow?”

  “Child, I cannot say. I know not your history, but I do know your condition is rare. Very rare. If more people like you were born milky white, it would be commonplace, like being born with a clubfoot. But most people do not realize that there are others like you in the world.”

  “Perhaps if my parents had not abandoned me, I might have grown up with more acceptance. With love.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Clovis nodded. “Of course you would. Do not judge them too harshly, child. You do not know the circumstances or your birth and abandonment, nor their motivations.”

  “I try not to. But it is difficult to forgive them.”

  Cornelia gazed at Archie’s sleeping face, the stark bruise on his brow and cheekbone, unable to stop thinking of her birth parents. Had they not given her up, she might not ever have grown the inner strength to endure hardship, nor would she have met him. “I’m falling in love with him.”

  “I for one will not argue with love, child,” Mrs. Clovis said. “But I do know that if you persevere, you will gain acceptance of your peers.”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  “Yes, you do. We all do. We all crave the welcome of the people around us, to know that we have a place among them.”

  Smiling, Cornelia glanced at her. “You are very wise, Mrs. Clovis.”

  “Please. I am Effie, Cornelia.”

  “Effie, then. Thank you.”

  The valet stuck his head in the doorway. “Ladies, His Lordship, the Earl of Whitstone is at the outer door wishing to see Lord Rochester. I might suggest you withdraw for a time into the inner walls.”

  Cornelia nodded. “We will. Thank you.”

  The valet vanished as Cornelia and Effie hurried back to the tapestry and opened the panel. Gliding into the depths of the tunnel that brought them to Archie’s rooms, Cornelia slid the panel back into place. Crouching beside Effie, she listened, and discovered she could hear everything
that went on inside the room beyond the thin wall.

  Heavy boots approached, then scuffed the floor. “Will he be all right?” a deep male voice asked.

  “Yes, My Lord,” the voice of the valet, Jonas, replied. “He has been given laudanum for his pain, and is expected to sleep through the night.”