Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Hannah kept her smile reined in until she was past the edge of the field and almost to the stables. She had never behaved in such a manner before, acting every bit the earl’s wife with her comments to the foreman. Without having actu­ally looked at the men who overheard her suggestion about breaking for lunch, she knew they were surprised, pleasantly surprised. And they would no doubt put in more effort if their thirst was slaked and their hunger staved off. She wondered what kind of treats Mrs. Chambers could bake up in time for an afternoon repast.

  Chapter 15

  A Rescue of Sorts

  For at least the fourth time that day, Billy O’Conlin was sure he saw the back of Lily Parker on a slow-moving gig. And for the fourth time, he felt despair when he discovered it wasn’t her. He and Henry were already past Stow, but it seemed as if the miles were going by too slowly as they made their way north.

  “Patience,” Henry spoke from his left. He had allowed Thunder to catch up to Billy’s mount, knowing the horse liked to be in the lead. Had Henry any interest in raising race horses, Thunder would likely make a good stud. “They have a whole day on us.”

  The groom glanced over at his master. “But if Babcock is driving that dog cart he uses to haul wood, and if he’s using the nag he calls a horse, we might have caught up to them by now.”

  Henry was wont to agree; it was possible the couple had taken an entirely different route on their way to Scotland, but it wouldn’t make sense to take the lesser traveled roads. The threat of highwaymen or damage to the dog cart wheels dic­tated they follow the main roads. Discreet inquiries along the way suggested the couple had pulled over near Widford and napped in the cart as the horse drank from a stream. That had been the morning before. Another account had a couple ask­ing about rooms at an inn just south of Stow late last evening. Henry remembered Billy’s tense reaction. The Coley girl had been ruined at an inn much farther up the road. He could only hope for Billy’s sake—and for Lily’s—that Thomas Babcock was holding out until they were too far from Bampton for someone to follow and expect to catch them.

  They had just passed through Moreton when Henry spied a lone figure on the side of the road. His brows furrowed as he strained his eyes, not sure if the person was old or young. Billy caught his gaze and followed it. His breath caught as he real­ized it had to be Lily.

  His horse was up for the race with Thunder. Any girl would be frightened to death on seeing two horses speeding in her direction, clearly intent on an intersecting course with where she was trudging along the side of the road. But as they slowed their mounts, Billy barely stopping his own before dis­mounting, Lily gave no indication she even noticed them.

  “Lily!” he called out, running up to her. At first, she gave no indication she recognized him, her steps barely large enough to move her forward. He stared at her, finally reach­ing out to stop her. “Lily,” he said more softly. Lifting her chin with a finger, he gasped as he saw her chapped lips, the smear of dirt across one cheek interrupted by tear stains. Her eyes were hollow, distant. And then, as if she had been awakened, her eyes cleared.

  “Billy?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

  Still on his mount, Henry came up alongside the couple and glanced back north, wondering how long Lily had been on foot. Where was the dog cart? Where was Babcock? The girl was still wearing her livery, but the white apron was no longer very white and the black gown was stained with mud. If she had been wearing a bonnet, it was long gone. Her honey brown hair hung loose. “Christ!” Henry murmured. He dis­mounted and pulled a canteen from a saddlebag. “Lily, drink this,” he ordered, pushing the canteen toward the girl.

  Billy took it and held it as Lily took a long gulp and sput­tered. “Easy,” he said, pulling it away so she couldn’t drink too much at once. When she finally indicated she’d had enough, she turned to regard the earl. All at once, her eyes filled with tears.

  “I … I think I killed him,” she murmured, a sob interrupt­ing her claim.

  Billy stared at her, realizing at once she meant Babcock. “Where?” he asked, stunned by her words. For the past twenty miles, he had wanted to do just that to Thomas Babcock. He had been so worried for Lily, so angry at Babcock for having arranged her middle-of-the-night disappearance from Gis­born Hall. He heard Gisborn’s hiss and another curse, was aware that the earl had mounted his horse. Seeing her tears, he fished in his pocket for a handkerchief and held it out to her. She seemed surprised by the gesture, and although she took the square of linen from him, she merely stared blankly.

  “Stay with her. If you can, get her on your horse and head toward home,” Henry ordered. “I’ll catch up. We’ll get rooms at the White Hart inn in Stow,” he said added before spurring Thunder to head north.

  Billy nodded, putting his arm around Lily’s shoulders while he spoke in a soft voice. “It’s all right, Lily. I’m here. And I’m not letting you leave … ever again,” he murmured qui­etly. He helped her onto the saddle, leaving her legs hanging off to one side as he mounted and held her against the front of his body. “Hang on,” he urged her, taking one of her limp arms and wrapping it around his waist and back. He placed her head into the small of one shoulder and wrapped an arm around her. Once he was sure she would stay on the horse, he took a quick look north. He wasn’t surprised that the earl and his horse were no longer visible. He was tempted to follow, tempted to learn the fate of the rake who had taken the girl he loved. Gisborn had said to head south, though, so Billy flicked the reins and did so, cradling Lily as he set a pace that would keep them both seated.

  When Henry hadn’t returned by midnight that night, Hannah finally took to her bed. She clung to the pillow

  Henry usually ended up on after their nights of lovemaking, his musky scent lingering in the fabric of the covering. She inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the smell. She was bone tired. Worry—about Lily and for Henry out there somewhere on a quest to find the maid—on top of her first active day as a countess, had taken its toll.

  The irrigation project was coming along faster than she would have thought possible. At Hannah’s request, Mrs. Cham­bers had baked dozens of biscuits, filling a basket for Hannah to take to the work site late in the afternoon. The men had been shocked to see her return, and even more stunned when she dismounted and carried the basket to each and every man, holding it out so they could help themselves. Their eyes wary, occasionally glancing toward the foreman, they all gave her deep nods and murmurs of thanks. Once all the laborers had the opportunity to take a biscuit, she offered the basket up to Frank Coley. The foreman nodded to her and helped himself to the last biscuit. “Thank you, my lady,” he said cautiously, his manner quite serious. “If I may speak freely,” he said in a low voice. Without waiting for Hannah to agree, he went on, “If the men are to stop for tea and biscuits, they get less work done.”

  Arching an eyebrow at the foreman, Hannah turned her gaze to where the men were lined up along the west edge of the ditch. Most were digging with renewed vigor, several breaking out into song as they filled their shovels and hoisted the dirt behind them. “It looks to me as if they’re getting more done, Mr. Coley,” she countered. “I can only wonder how much more they would get done if there really was tea.” With that she strode back to her horse, remembering only then she didn’t have a mounting block on which to stand. She was about to step into the stirrup and raise herself into the sidesaddle when a burly man was suddenly there, holding out his hands. He had laced his fingers together into a step. “Why, thank you,” she said as she placed her boot into his hand and allowed him to lift her until she was seated.

  “My pleasure, Lady Gisborn,” the man said. He tipped his hat and bowed before taking up his shovel and returning to work.

  That last act by an overworked man had her nearly in tears as she made her way back to the stables. And now, she found her nerves were raw. She had spent far too much time wonder­ing about Lily, worrying about Henry, chastising herself over not having mentioned the maid’s disapp
earance. Had she done so when she first realized Lily was gone, Henry might have sent a footman or Billy after her and not gone himself.

  Because Henry had gone after Lily, Hannah realized he wasn’t doing it because she had asked him to—he obviously thought Lily was in some kind of danger from the Babcock boy. Hannah wondered what he knew. What had Thomas Babcock done in the past to make Henry go after the couple? Would Mrs. Batey know? If not, Mrs. Chambers would cer­tainly know. The cook seemed to know the village gossip, and she seemed willing to share it when it was asked of her. Too late to seek her out tonight, Hannah decided she would pay a visit to the kitchen first thing in the morning. She planned to, anyway, to be sure the cook had enough stock on hand to bake another round of biscuits for the laborers. It was the last coherent thought she had before collapsing into the bed lin­ens. “Harold, up,” she murmured.

  The dog lumbered to the side of the bed and pushed him­self onto it, settling himself into a curled mass on the side of the bed where Henry usually slept. With Harold’s weight in the bed, Hannah was quick to fall asleep.

  Henry rode at least another mile before coming up to an abandoned dog cart, one wheel broken and the horse gone. Dismounting, he led Thunder around the cart as he surveyed the damage. Lily’s valise was still in the back. Glancing around, he dared a peek inside. Once he confirmed it was merely filled with ladies things—clothing, mostly,—he hoisted it from the cart and attached it to the saddlebags on Thunder. Then he was off again, heading north.

  Had he allowed Thunder full rein as the horse seemed to suddenly want, having been fed some grain and an apple, Henry would have missed the body sprawled in the grass along the side of the road. Instead, he was almost past it before steer­ing Thunder to stand next to it. Henry knew even before he dismounted that the boy was still alive; there was a steady rise and fall of his upper body as he breathed. In the field beyond, an old horse with a pronounced swayback stood regarding him. As if he were being summoned, the horse began making its way to the road, finally stopping as Henry bent to turn over Babcock’s body.

  There was a mournful moan as the boy’s face appeared in the growing twilight. His nose bloodied and a purpling bruise shown around one eye, it looked as if Thomas Babcock had taken several punches to the face, and the way a hand went to his chest made Henry think he might have been kicked as well. “Can you stand?” Henry wondered as he regarded the boy.

  Frowning and finally making the effort to raise himself on one arm, Babcock sat up.

  “Forster?” the boy managed to get out, a drop of blood forming where his lip was split. He reached up with the back of his hand to wipe it away.

  Henry stiffened. “That would be Lord Gisborn to you,” he countered, allowing some annoyance to color his voice. “Where’s Lily Parker?” he demanded, wondering if the rake would admit what had happened. If Billy had followed his orders, the groom and maid might be in Stow by now. He had said they would spend the night at the White Hart; with any luck, Billy would be able to secure rooms before Henry arrived. The horses needed to rest, and he knew Lily needed a bath and a comfortable bed.

  Babcock stared up at him, a look of astonishment on his battered face. “I … I don’t know. She … she left,” he stammered, his eyes darting about as if he was surprised she wasn’t nearby.

  “She left?” Henry repeated, his manner becoming more impatient. “Did you … did you ruin her?” he asked, his ire increasing as he stared down at the boy.

  “No!” Babcock answered, his brows furrowing. “No,” said again, his voice quieter. “She wouldn’t let me near her,” he added, his eyes lowering. He had pulled one knee up and had an arm resting on it. There were scratches across his forearm.

  Henry regarded Babcock for several seconds, wondering if the rake would admit anything. “And why was that?” he prod­ded, wondering if Babcock would tell him what happened.

  “I didn’t have enough blunt for the trip,” Babcock hissed. “I thought she had some, but she claimed she didn’t, and when I told her we’d have to stop and earn some, she … she got angry.”

  Biting his lip in an attempt to stifle his growing impa­tience, Henry inhaled. “And just how did you expect to earn money, Babcock?” he countered. A moment before, he had felt pity for the boy, thinking to aid him in mounting the old nag that stood grazing nearby. Now, he felt such contempt for Bab­cock, he wasn’t about to see to his welfare.

  The anger in Henry’s voice had been impossible to ignore. Babcock braced himself. “When we got to Moreton, I sug­gested she offer herself to a gentleman in the pub where we ate dinner,” he explained, his voice becoming stronger as he relayed the details. “Seeing as how she was going to be giv­ing up her virtue to me in a few days anyhow, I thought she could make a pretty penny—men like virgins. She could earn enough to get us to Scotland …”

  The back of Henry’s hand struck Babcock so hard across the jaw, it sent the boy reeling backwards. The boy’s howl pierced the growing gloom of night. When the sound faded, Henry took another deep breath. “If you ever so much as touch another girl from my earldom or from even Witney, I will have you drawn and quartered in the public square,” he vowed, hav­ing a hard time keeping his voice even, “And I’ll allow Lily Parker to do the honors,” he added, wiping the blood from the back of hand with his handkerchief. He took satisfaction at the look of fright that filled Babcock’s eyes, the nod the boy gave from his position on the ground.

  With that, Henry mounted Thunder and sent the horse flying south toward Stow.

  Chapter 16

  Billy Declares His Intentions

  As Lily slept against the front of his body, Billy couldn’t help but wonder what she had done to make her believe she had killed Thomas Babcock. The lifeless look of her eyes when he had first found her haunted him. It was as if her soul had left her body.

  On the way to Stow, she had regained consciousness a few times, one of those times asking if she could turn around in the saddle and ride the opposite direction. Billy had quickly reined in his mount, helping her to turn around and get as comfortable as she could. She clung to him as he increased their pace, her head resting against his shoulder. Not want­ing to be caught traveling after dark, Billy was relieved when lights appeared ahead. Once he was in front of the White Hart, he managed to dismount as a stable hand rushed out to greet them. Billy helped the maid down, holding her up when her legs refused to do so at first.

  “The Earl of Gisborn will be along shortly,” Billy said to the stable boy. “Are there two rooms available?” he wondered. He fished a coin from his pocket, one Henry had given him the day before when he had brought his horse back from the fields. “Until then, here’s all I’ve got.”

  The stable boy pocketed the coin and gave him a nod. “Go on in and see Mr. Fisher.”

  “Thanks,” Billy replied. He led Lily up to the entrance, hoping the innkeeper wouldn’t ask too many questions. The man was quick to meet them at the door, his face showing dis­pleasure when he took in the sight of a weary traveler and a girl who looked as if she had been spirited away from a gentle­man’s household. “The Earl of Gisborn is on his way. This here is one of the maids from Gisborn Hall. She was kidnapped,” he claimed before the man had a chance to ask. “We need two rooms please, and a bath for the lady.”

  “Oh, my,” Mr. Fisher replied as he turned to call out to another employee. “And just who are you?” he asked as he returned his attention to Billy.

  “Billy O’Conlin. I’m a groom at Gisborn Hall. This is Lily Parker. She’s the new countess’ maid. Wasn’t even in residence two days before she was taken,” he said with a shake of his head. Although Lily seemed wide awake, she didn’t offer addi­tional information nor refute what he was telling Mr. Fisher. Tiredness overwhelmed Billy. “I’m sure she could use some tea and … something to eat,” he added, his own stomach growling at the thought of eating a decent meal.

  The innkeeper must have noticed. He finally took action, leading them to a room on the seco
nd floor. A servant carry­ing a can of steaming water entered the room ahead of them, pouring the water into a beat-up copper tub in front of the hearth. A fire was already set and warming the room. Another servant followed, pouring more water into the tub while the innkeeper’s wife appeared with flannels, linens, and a ball of soap. “Is it true we’re to have an earl stay with us this evening?” she wondered, her eyes alight with excitement.

  Billy gave her a slight grin and a nod. “Henry Forster, Earl of Gisborn,” he acknowledged. “He should be here any moment. He had … business just north of Moreton. He said he would meet us here at the White Hart.”

  Mrs. Fisher beamed. “I’ll get my best room ready right away,” she offered, taking her leave of the room. “And dinner will be ready in an hour.” The servants exited and the inn­keeper gave him one last suspicious look before he, too, left the room.

  Lily seemed to lose any strength she had, slumping against him. “Bath,” she sighed.

  Taking her meaning, Billy realized she wasn’t going to be able to undress herself if she was half asleep. Glancing around, he moved her to the edge of the bed and got to work undo­ing the fastenings of her apron and gown. He knelt before her and removed her shoes, noting the holes in the bottom of both soles, wondering how long they had been there. Sliding his hands up her calves, careful not to lift her skirts too high, he set to undoing the garter ties. Then he began rolling her stock­ings down her legs, trying to ignore the feel of her skin as he did so. Standing her up so her back was to his front, he pulled off her apron and peeled the bodice of her dress down her body, trying to seem nonchalant about removing her clothing. She wore no corset, just a chemise. He stifled a gasp at the sight of her body in the translucent garment. Through the fabric, he struggled with the fastening of her drawers while trying to avert his eyes. If his gaze lingered too long, Lily would think he was ogling her, and he didn’t want her thinking he was trying to take advantage, especially after her ordeal. Her fingers soon replaced his, and the drawers slid to the floor.