“When Miss Burcott comes down to breakfast, please inform her I wish to see her as soon as she has finished her meal. It is a somewhat delicate matter, so I would prefer it if you would deliver the message personally…” He paused before adding, “…and with your usual discretion.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Mr. Stebbins retraced his steps, the library door closed and presently Hugo’s tall frame came into view. She sent him a look of fond exasperation. She might have known he would be up early, being a military man. Oblivious, he walked across to the breakfast parlour and disappeared inside. Her heart doing the rat-a-tat-tat of a drummer marching time for the red-coated infantrymen, she waited, counting the seconds with the mellow-toned clock. No other sounds interrupted the stillness, until she lowered one foot to the ‘T’, only for something to be dropped with a clang in the nether regions. She jumped back with a tiny squeak and would have put her hands to her chest, had they been free. Chiding herself for a ninny-hammer, she took several deep breaths and at last crept down the stairs.
Nothing occurred to cause further alarm as she crossed the hall in swift strides on the balls of her feet and she eased open the front door with huge relief, coupled with an equal amount of poignant regret. With a last, fleeting glance at the breakfast parlour door and a mental goodbye to the man within, she slipped through the narrow gap and pulled the front door closed behind her. Still in her stocking feet, she hurried down the stone steps and around the corner. Taking cover among some bushes, she pulled on her boots and then set off as fast as she was able through the shrubbery to join the rear drive which led from the stables.
She paused at the walled archway to set down her valise for a moment, tucked an annoying, stray wisp of hair back under her straw bonnet and swapped hands before cautiously walking on again. All seemed quiet in the stable yard, although she could hear one of the grooms whistling as he worked. Glad to have evaded discovery, she stepped out of the shadow of the wall beside the carriage entrance, her eyes on the other side of the archway. A few strides and she would be clear of habitation until she reached the farm which lay at the end of the lane.
No sooner had she left the shelter of the wall, something small and solid hurtled into her, knocking the breath from her lungs. She dropped her valise with a clatter and almost overbalanced, managing to save herself by flailing her arms wildly.
“Oh!” she gasped, grabbing hold of the cannonball in self-defence and further anchorage.
“Let me go!” shrieked a small voice she knew well.
“Edmund!” she exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing out here at such an hour?”
“He’s gone! He’s gone! I cannot find Pirate, he has disappeared!” he sobbed, knuckling his eyes.
Amelia held his shoulders and looked him directly in his tearstained face. “Did your uncle not tell you? He was to sleep in the kitchen because the other dogs attacked him.”
“He is not there, either,” he wailed. “I want him! Where is he?”
“I cannot tell you, for I do not know,” she replied in a gentle tone, “but I am sure he will not be far away.”
“Will you help me look?” Edmund’s tear-streaked face suddenly brightened as he stared hopefully up at her.
Panic rose in her chest and she looked wildly around, hoping against hope that the lurcher might suddenly appear, or an under-groom who could be conscripted in her stead. Nothing moved except for a lonely sparrow, which was pecking in the dust at the edge of the gravelled drive. Amelia’s heart sank and she was forced to quash a frustrated sigh. All hopes of leaving without having to face Hugo fluttered away on the wings of the sparrow as it took off for a nearby hawthorn. She could not refuse to help Edmund any more than she could leave him to fend for himself.
“I expect he is curled up in a corner somewhere in the house and you overlooked him,” she said, conjuring a bright smile. “Help me carry my bag and we will go and see.”
Edmund’s gaze was unwavering and eerily knowing. “Why do you have your bag with you? Are you going somewhere?”
“No. Not just now.”
He continued to stare at her, his head on one side. “I do not want you to go. You are much better than the last governess. She smelled of boiled cabbage.”
“Edmund!”
“Uncle Hugo likes you too,” he continued, unabashed, as they started to walk back towards the house. “Are you going to marry him?”
She did not need to feign her shock. “No, indeed! What a notion. Whatever made you think that, for goodness’ sake? Your uncle is the Earl of Raftesbury. He will marry a fine young lady one day. I am just a governess. Earls do not marry governesses.”
“If you married him, you would be our aunt.” He reminded her of a terrier worrying a rat; clearly he was not going to allow the subject to drop without some distraction. “That is the next best thing to being our mother.”
Amelia’s feet came to an abrupt halt. “Oh, Edmund!” she whispered through a veil of gathering tears. Allowing the valise to fall to the ground with a thump, she pulled him to her in a fierce hug. “I would be your mama if I could.” Putting him from her again, she tousled his already unruly tangle of yellow curls. “Now, we cannot be shilly-shallying here! We must discover what mischief has tempted Pirate from his bed.”
Trying to ignore the sense of dread rising from the pit of her stomach, she once more picked up her portmanteau and strode briskly back the way she had come, Edmund trotting determinedly at her side.
“Do you know,” she said brightly, “I am sure he must be somewhere in the house, because all the doors would have been bolted.”
“Do you really think so?” The little boy looked up at her with hope shining in his blue eyes, but a moment later his face crumpled. “But the scullery door was open. Billy the Boots had been out to water the lilies—”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That is what he said! He said it was our secret and I was not to…” He paused, screwing up his eyes, clearly trying to recall the exact words. “…not to breathe a word of it or he would be in for it from Mr. Stebbins. You will not tell anyone I told you, will you?”
Pressing her lips firmly together on an appreciative giggle, surmising that Billy had over-indulged at the village hostelry the night before and had needed to relieve himself, she gravely shook her head.
“Did Billy see Pirate go out?”
“No, he said he was asleep in his bed, but Florrie says I must take no notice of him because he doesn’t always tell the truth.”
“Well, I am sure that if any of the servants had seen he was missing, they would have said so,” she said in a soothing voice. “If we cannot find him there, then we shall have to ask your uncle if we might get up a search party.”
They entered the house via the basement steps. Amelia put her portmanteau in a corner of the scullery and Edmund showed her the empty sacking on the floor where Pirate should have been.
“I be sorry, Miss Burcott, but I’ve been too busy preparing breakfast for them upstairs to worry about any flea-ridden mongrel, begging your pardon, Master Edmund. Mayhap his lordship fetched him. Have you seen Master Edmund’s dog, Margery?” answered Cook in response to Amelia’s query. Her round face was already pink and moisture dotted her forehead.
“No, Cook. Not this mawning, I ain’t,” the scullery maid replied in a broad accent. “Mr. Stebbins be in his pantry. Does ye want me to arsk him?”
“No, girl! You get on with pumping water for the copper. His lordship will be wanting his shaving water ere long.”
Margery pulled a face when Cook was not looking and reluctantly returned to her duties. Thanking the matriarchal ruler of the kitchen, Amelia led Edmund along the narrow passage to the main part of the house. Mr. Stebbins was no longer in his pantry, so could not be consulted, but he came through the door from the entrance hall as they approached.
“There you are, Master Edmund! Florence has been searching for you all over the house. You are to go upstairs at on
ce and get washed and ready for breakfast.”
“Oh, but Pirate is missing, Mr. Stebbins! I have to find him first.”
“I believe the dog is with his lordship, Master Edmund. Off you go, if you please.”
“Oh, but—”
“No buts, please, Edmund,” Amelia corrected him gently. “You see, there was no need for alarm after all. I am sure you will see Pirate after breakfast. Your uncle will not wish to sit at table with you looking like a ragamuffin.”
Edmund scowled but did as he was bid and went slowly up the stairs, dragging his feet in a mutinous fashion until Amelia said tartly:
“If you do not spring ’em, Edmund, you will have no breakfast at all!”
Obviously unsure whether to giggle at her use of a cant expression, or take her threat seriously, he scuttled away to the upper floors. Amelia chuckled, but the butler’s face remained grave.
“His lordship asked me to inform you that he wishes to speak with you in the library, directly you have partaken of breakfast, Miss Burcott.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stebbins. I will go at once.”
There was no point in trying to prolong the inevitable, she thought. She would not be able to eat a morsel, in any case. She might just as well receive her dismissal with a good grace and trust in his sense of honour to do the deed cleanly and unemotionally.
Her soft boots making no sound on the smooth flagstones, she paused outside the library door to shake out her brown travelling dress and remove her bonnet, which she placed on the carved chest nearby. The door had been imperfectly closed and from within she could hear Hugo’s voice. Thinking that he had company or was discussing something with his secretary, she had half turned to leave when she heard a whine.
“Patience, you ungrateful mutt, I am coming to that,” Hugo said.
Unable to quell her curiosity, she cast a swift glance about the hall to make sure she was not being observed and stepped into the tiny gap formed by the open door and its casing.
“‘When the Lieutenant’s sloop boarded the other, Captain Teach’s men threw in sev… several new… fashioned sort of Gren… Gren-ad-oes, viz. case bottles filled with pow-der, and small shot, slugs and pieces of lead or iron, with a quick match in the mouth of it, which being lig-lighted without side, presently runs in-to the bottle to the powder…’ This is far easier for you than it is for me, so kindly cease scratching in that ill-bred manner. I must practice. I want Amelia to be proud of me.”
Outside the door, Amelia’s heart stuttered, then raced on again. With another quick look over her shoulder at the empty hall, she edged open the door an inch and cautiously peered around it. Hugo was sitting in his accustomed place and Pirate was lying on the floor at his feet, narrow head resting across Hugo’s crossed ankles. The lurcher gazed adoringly up at his master, his black ‘eye patch’ giving him a raffish air. He fitted the bill, she thought, of a corsair’s faithful companion. Unaware of her presence, Hugo read on.
“‘As it is instantly thrown on board, gen-er-ally does great ex… ex-ee-cut… execution, besides putting all the crew into a con… confusion; but by good Prov-id-ence, they had not that eff… effect here; the men being in the Hold, and Blackbeard feeling few or no hands aboard, told his men, that they were all knock’d on the head, except three or four; and therefore, says he, let’s jump on board, and cut them to pieces.’ Hmm, it is bloodthirsty stuff, is it not, my piratical friend? Do you think Amelia would care to hear about the lady pirates and Calico Jack?” He chuckled, the sound making her skin tingle. “Has no-one ever informed you that it is the height of bad manners to look away when you are being addressed? What is it? Is someone there?”
Amelia tried to flatten herself against the door as she frantically scanned the wide hall. There was nowhere to hide and then there was no time to do anything… The door suddenly opened and she almost fell into Hugo’s arms. His hand flew to support her and their eyes met for an instant before she broke the connection.
Hugo recovered first. “Miss Burcott,” he said, with what she considered remarkable aplomb, “do, please, come in.”
He bowed as she walked past him into the room. Pirate gave an excited bark and wagged his tail, whilst doing his best to bound in front of her. It was a rather comical display, having a marked resemblance to a waddling duck, but on this occasion she felt no desire to laugh.
Hugo closed the door. “Please sit down.”
She perched on the edge of a tapestry-covered chair and folded her hands in her lap, gripping her fingers to keep them from trembling.
“My lord, I—”
“Miss Burcott – dash it, Amelia – you cannot leave me!”
Startled, she looked at him. “What – how—”
“I might have trouble reading, but I am not a fool, my dear. I know I made a mull of things again yesterday. I will admit I was stunned at first – not because of what you had done, but how your parents had abandoned you to make your own way in the world. Nevertheless, you must accept some of the blame, for you did not give me a chance to recover before you ran away.” He came towards her and bending down, captured her hands, encouraging her to her feet. “You really cannot be so selfish, you know.”
“I beg your pardon, sir!” she was betrayed into saying, an element of haughtiness creeping into her tone.
“Not only are you the first governess since their parents died to make the children attend to you, they all adore you…” He paused, looking down at his feet. A vague reddish hue tinged his cheeks. “…As do I,” he finished in little more than a mumble. “I did not think you would be so cruel.”
“I?”
He raised his eyes again. “I need you, Amelia, as I have never needed anyone in my life before. Stay with me, please. I cannot make poetic speeches; I cannot charm you with pretty words and phrases. I am but a rough soldier, more at home in the saddle than the ballroom. I should like to tell you your eyes are finer to behold than a fire on a cold winter’s day, and that your hair is softer than goose down, but I cannot because I shall stumble over my words like some addle-pated country bumpkin. All I can do is offer you my heart and beg you to take pity on my suffering.” He kissed her hands, then stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me, my dearest Amelia. I know we have known each other only a short time, but—”
Throwing one arm around his neck, Amelia pressed the palm of the other hand over his mouth.
“For a man who claims not to be poetic, your tongue seems suddenly to be running away with you, my lord! It is my belief you know just what you are about when it comes to making a pretty speech, for indeed, dear Hugo, you just did.”
Without warning, he snatched her up and fastened his lips to hers. The kiss was such as she had not known before; a devastating blend of fire and honey, melting her bones with the sweet taste of desire.
“Would it be the wrong thing to say if I told you that you make my timbers shiver and my mainsail set into your wind?” he murmured, nuzzling her hair. “You have captured my cargo, sweet Amelia and made a prisoner of my heart.”
“Oh, Hugo,” she sighed, rubbing her face against his chest, “never could such sentiments be wrong. Do you recall the tale you told me in the shrubbery? It is too early yet to be sure, but I believe I may have found my pirate captain.”
With a gentle hand, he tilted her head back and caressed her lips with his own. It was tender and cherishing, yet she could feel the passion he held in check. It was a powerful sensation; one which thrilled her and secretly begged for more.
“I will learn to woo you with fine words and compliments, my adorable teacher, and one day you will be my pirate queen. We will sail beyond the horizon and find a treasure beyond words.”
About the Author
Heather King has made up stories since she was a small child. History lessons at school were rarely dull and the discovery of Georgette Heyer’s Regency novels in her early teens set her on a lifelong love of that era. A confessed romantic and book
worm, writing gives her a chance to indulge all these passions – and call it work!
She has her own voice, but likes to follow traditional Regency precepts and pen uplifting stories with witty dialogue, engaging characters and bags of emotion. Her debut novel was 'A Sense of the Ridiculous'.
Visiting her Dark Side as Vandalia Black, she writes Vampire and Paranormal romance. She is the author of 'Vampires Don’t Drink Coffee and Other Stories' which includes a novella set in the English Civil War.
When not looking after her two hairy ponies, three cats and boisterous Staffie X, or frowning over keypad or notebook, she likes nothing better than to curl up with a good book.
Please connect with me at:
Blog: http://regencywriter-hking.blogspot.co.uk
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/heather.king.author
https://www.facebook.com/ARegencyRepository
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/goodreadscomheatherkinguk
Information about my books can be found at the above links or on my Blog, A Regency Reticule:
http://regencywriter-hking.blogspot.co.uk
The Earl's Beloved Match
Bess McBride
Copyright © 2015 by:
Bess McBride
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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Sweet Summer Kisses Page 48
