The Gentleman’s Challenge_A Yorkshire Downs_Love, Hearts and Challenges_A Regency Romance Story

by Jasmine Ashford

  Valeria disliked Matthew, who was bluff, crass and a bully. She could barely exchange three sentences with him. And ever since the grouse incident, Valeria had seen through the simple, basic bluntness to something more sinister. Matthew liked to cause things pain.

  “Oh, well,” Valeria sighed to herself, suddenly returning to the present moment and the view from her window.

  “My lady?”

  “Oh, nothing, 'Tilda,” Valeria said fondly. “I was just lost in thought.”

  Matilda, her maid, gave her a long look. She had known Valeria since they were both thirteen and seemed confused by her sudden restlessness. Valeria, seeing the look, turned away, impatient. Worse than her own sadness was the worry that someone else would see it and judge her for her moments of weakness.

  “Come, then, Matilda,” she said, impatient. “We need to get the curtains down for spring cleaning, and I would like that dress aired, before I wear it today.” She walked, light and briskly, to the hall.

  As she went, she could not help a sense of agitation. Where is Henry? Where is Ernst?

  Those worries dogged her constantly. News from the war in Germany reached them sporadically, often lagging any event by months. Last she had heard, the Allied army were advancing toward Poland, there to join with the forces coming down through Russia to join them. That was two months ago, and so far, they had had no more news.

  “Be safe,” Valeria whispered under her breath, as she did often.

  The day passed briskly, mostly in solitary labor with the needle or over the piano, and it was soon afternoon. The carriage ride to the Drostdy's estate – Matthew’s father was William Drostdy, Earl of Darbyshire – was also silent and solitary, the carriage winding through misty, rain-soaked hills.

  At Newgate Park, Valeria slid out of the carriage and walked briskly up the stairs, ducking the raindrops.

  “Good afternoon, cousin,” she said, curtseying briefly to Matthew, who stood at the door to meet her.

  “Good afternoon,” Matthew said curtly.

  Valeria blinked. Even from Matthew, that was unusually rude. She chose to ignore it. “Where will I find the other guests?” she asked instead.

  “In the drawing room,” he said, shortly, and walked off ahead of her.

  Valeria blinked again. There was no need to talk so dismissively to her! Yes, they had not married, and she had rejected his proposal, but they had always seen past those differences. What was this sudden harshness?

  Distracted, she walked into the drawing-room.

  “Lady Valeria! Good afternoon.”

  “Oh! Good afternoon, Lady Lucinda.” Valeria smiled at the older woman, the Countess of Abermale. With her soft, kind eyes and her gentle face, Lady Lucinda was just the person she wished to see.

  “Come in, dear!” Lady Lucinda smiled. “Sit by me. There you are. My, you are looking pale and thin! Do they not believe in dinner at Wilding?”

  Valeria grinned. “We are not so austere, my lady.”

  “I don't believe you,” she said, with a sidelong glance. “I know Eustace Grey. The devil is less tightfisted.”

  Valeria giggled. She could not help it. The older woman's eyes crinkled with merriment.

  Valeria enjoyed herself so much that she forgot Matthew's rudeness, and it was only much later, when she entered the library to look for a novel Vera Pettigrew recommended, that she saw him again.

  “Matthew!” she said, startled.

  “I saw you come in here,” he answered.

  “Well, I hope you shall leave, then, since you seem to have nothing you wish to say to me,” Valeria replied shortly.

  “I do not speak to traitors,” Matthew said harshly.

  Valeria spun around, shocked, and only then did she notice the look in his eyes that was partly triumph, partly hate. “What?” she breathed.

  “Your brother. Henry. I hesitate to say his name.” Matthew covered his eyes and feigned a shudder.

  Valeria felt her blood boil. She wanted to hit him, as she had wanted to all those years before.

  “What are you trying to say?” she asked stiffly.

  “He is a traitor,” Matthew said, shrugging. “He has been arrested and tried. He will be hanged.”

  “What?” Valeria wanted to scream. All she could do was whisper in shock. Henry, arrested? Henry, the dear boy with whom she had stolen mince pies as a girl, the cheerful, round-cheeked ringleader of their mischief? Henry, who...

  Who believed in equality and liberty. Henry, who was so much more aligned to the French Enlightenment than to British Imperialism. Henry, who was an idealist above all things.

  “Who told you this?” Valeria asked. She could believe it. The very fact that Henry was principled and idealistic could lead him to be arrested in this war. But was it true? Or was Matthew simply trying to stir up dissent? It would suit him well to have Henry removed from the scene.

  “Arthur Merriot told me.”

  Valeria felt all the air leave her lungs. Arthur was Henry's best friend – besides Ernst – and his companion and colleague in the army. Arthur had no reason to lie.

  “Is it true, then?” Valeria breathed.

  “Ask him yourself,” Matthew said, shrugging. He bit into an apple he had brought with him, and crunched it, heedless of the possibility of juice on the earl's valuable books.

  “He is here?” Valeria asked, already walking to the door.

  “Not anymore,” Matthew replied, still crunching his apple. “He left early this morning, to rejoin the patrol.”

  “He was here? Why did he not come to us? To Father?”

  “He came to us because he is a friend of Daniel's,” Matthew said simply. “When he arrived in England, he came here first.”

  “Why is he not staying?”

  “Recalled back to Germany,” Matthew replied, looking through the window, “for the trial.”

  “Trial?” Valeria exploded.

  “For the treasonous soldier,” Matthew shrugged.

  “No.” Valeria covered her face with her hands.

  “They will shoot him,” Matthew said, indifferent.

  “What will Father say?” Valeria breathed.

  “Your father probably already knows,” Matthew said briefly.

  “What? How?”

  “I wrote to him yesterday,” he said. “Thought he might like to hear it first.”

  “You wrote to him? But...but...”

  “He will believe it. I asked Arthur to testify to all the details. He signed it. There is no way this will not stick.”

  “You are...wicked,” Valeria whispered.

  “I am practical.” Matthew shrugged. “I can be Earl of Harwood, if Henry dies.”

  “Not when I marry.”

  “Well, would it not be best to marry me? Or Arthur?”

  “What does Arthur have to do with this?”

  “He is in my debt,” Matthew said smoothly. “Heavily. He could discharge it, just for a part of Wilding.”

  “And if I did marry you?” Valeria demanded. “Would you save Henry?”

  “Probably not,” Matthew sighed. “It would be dashed inconvenient if Henry came back unscathed.”

  “You are a monster.”

  “Perhaps. But only to good purpose.” He smiled. “Life is business. The man who has scruples usually loses everything. The man who has no scruples takes all.”

  Valeria was speechless. She was also scared. Henry could really be killed. Treachery – however noble the motives – was the worst crime. He would at very least be shot by firing squad, if they did not torture him first, to find the names of any co-conspirators. How could she stand by and let this happen? Henry went to Germany only to please their father! Now he was dying for his beliefs.

  “Henry...no...” Her hand at her throat, Valeria stumbled from the room.

  “Send my regards to your father,” Matthew called after her.

  Valeria covered her ears and ran down the hallway. She reached the door and almost bumped into Lady
Lucinda, who was just leaving.

  “My dear?” the older woman asked, concerned. “Are you well?”

  “Yes, Lady Lucinda,” Valeria muttered. “I am well.”

  “My dear Valeria! You do not look well. Do come back with me! I am headed toward Wilding anyhow, and would be pleased of company.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Valeria breathed, relieved. She had to reach Wilding at once. She could not wait for Mr. Clarke, their coachman, to return for her.

  She stumbled blindly down the stairs and to the carriage, Lady Lucinda chatting kindly to her, gentle eyes wide with concern.

  In the carriage, the soft cream velvet warm beneath her, the light filtered in through a tasseled blind across the window, Valeria felt the cold inside her thaw a little.

  “I think I would like to sleep,” she murmured to Lady Lucinda.

  “Oh, of course, my dear! Of course! You sleep. Don't mind me. I shall keep myself amused.”

  Valeria closed her eyes and sank gratefully into the oblivion behind her closed eyelids.

  The journey was a blur, and she alighted at the other side, swaying on her feet, and fainted into the coachman's arms.

  Amidst Lady Lucinda's concerned noises and the worried glances of Mr. Perry and Mr. Clarke, who carried her in, Valeria felt her consciousness waver and blur. All she could think of was Henry.

  “I need to save him,” she whispered.

  At that moment, her mind was made up. She needed to go to Germany.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH

  IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH

  The cell was damp and dark. Henry, looking out through the crudely-boarded windows to the green grass outside, sighed.

  “Hell, Arthur,” he called through the door, “this place is boring. You have cards with you?”

  “I am sorry, old boy.” Arthur's voice, tight with unshed tears, came through the door. “I can't help you. You know that.”

  “I know,” Henry sighed. He was a traitor. The worst thing. None of his companions could associate with him now. They could not risk being tainted with the whiff of treachery.

  “Henry,” Arthur asked through the door. “Why?” His voice wept.

  “Because it seemed like a good idea, old boy. Seemed a good idea.” Henry sighed.

  “Well, it wasn't,” Arthur said gloomily.

  Henry sighed. “Since you aren't the one on this side of the bars, with the obligate funny smell and damp walls, I think you needn't point that out. I have every idea how bad it was.”

  “Well, then.” Arthur sighed.

  “No, not ‘Well, then,’” Henry said, with a touch of anger in his voice. “I would do it again.”

  “You don't know what you are saying,” Arthur said stiffly. “I will choose to believe the damp has affected your thinking.”

  “Believe it, then, by all means,” Henry retorted.

  “Oh, Henry,” Arthur whispered. “Please! You are your own worst enemy. If you only confessed, we could probably get you out of here. The trial is only next month. Heaven alone knows why, but they deferred it.”

  “I will not divulge the names of my colleagues, no matter what the judge offers me,” Henry said stiffly.

  “Well, then.” Arthur said gloomily.

  “Well, then,” Henry said, striving to sound indifferent.

  He knew he would be shot. He was glad they had stopped short at torture. Torturing one of their own, and an officer, even though he was working for the enemy, went too much against the grain for them.

  But still, he would do it all again.

  He heard Arthur's feet retreating, and sighed. He went back to the window and looked out, though he did not see the rain-soaked fields and distant green of the trees. He saw her. Claudia. The woman he had worked for, fought for, and loved. The woman who was waiting for him to come back, and would never see him return.

  “Claudia,” he breathed.

  In her name was all he fought for, all he strove for. She was an embodiment of all he loved, all he believed in.

  Yes, he thought, smiling. He would do it all again. He just wished that, this time, he would get to know her for just a little longer.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CROSSING BORDERS

  CROSSING BORDERS

  “Come on, come on...” Valeria whispered under her breath.

  It was dark, and she was waiting on the edge of a street for the mail coach. She had enough money in her purse to pay for passage to London. There, she would find a ship to take her to Denmark, to Kiel. From there, she would cross into Germany.

  It had been hard enough sneaking out of the house. She had been terrified of every sound, needing beyond anything to escape detection. The flight from the manor to the road, too, had been frightening. If she had been stopped, then, it would have been hard to explain.

  Now that she was in town, and at an inn, she felt marginally safer. The likelihood of anyone from the manor looking for her here was very small, and she had traveled all the way under a false name.

  From here, all she had to do was to catch the mail-coach to London and make her way to the Thames harbor, where she could buy passage to Germany. She knew where the British troops were stationed, thanks to a description from Henry before he left. She spoke German. She was equipped with all the knowledge she needed to find Henry.

  She just prayed that she would not be too late. Army trials were usually swift, with the barest minimum of the required judicial procedure. She did not expect they would delay for long.

  “Come on, come on,” she hissed under her breath.

  It was raining, chill drops falling from a black sky. She huddled in the doorway of the inn, trying not to look like a lady, but at the same time hoping that she would not attract attention. As a woman on her own in Yorkshire, she was incredibly vulnerable.

  She heard wheels approaching, and the mail coach stopped, as she knew it would, when she hailed it down.

  “Passage to London, please, sir!” she shouted up at the driver, against the pouring rain.

  “And why would a missy like you be traveling alone?” the old man asked, eyebrows raised.

  “Never you mind that,” Valeria said haughtily. “I have a gold coin. Will that be enough?”

  The man's eyes were round. A single gold sovereign was the wages of a housemaid for a year. And she was offering it for a passage to London?

  He swallowed. “Miss? I could not accept that. It would be robbery, and I am an honest man. Please.” He was almost frightened of her, clearly having never dealt with gentry – or at least with moneyed women – before. “Get on at once, my dear,” he said, gently. “I'll try not to put too many of those damn ruffians in with you. Sorry, Miss,” he added, on account of his swearing.

  “Forgiven,” Valeria said, and smiled up at him. She swung into the coach and sat there, pleased to be inside out of the cold and damp.

  The carriage set off, and Valeria could not help a smile of excited triumph. She had done it! She was on her way to Germany. The hardest part was over. She was on her way to London. The trip with the mail coach would take two days, and if she could escape detection until they reached the harbor, all she had to do was ask for passage on a military ship.

  “I can do this,” Valeria breathed in wonder.

  She had resources. She had knowledge. She had a gift for languages. And she had a heart of love, a heart that wanted to do this. She could do anything.

  “Go, go!” she whispered under her breath. The carriage rolled briskly over the cobbled roads toward London.

  Two days later, Valeria was in the harbor on the Thames. Frightened by the noise, the crowds and the rough sailors, she had asked the mail-coach driver for assistance. The old man had introduced her to the innkeeper, who had, when he had learned of her need for passage, brought her to the harbor himself.

  She stood with him now, looking nervously about.

  “Your friend takes the soldiers to Kiel?” she asked, by way of conversation.


  “Aye.” The innkeeper, an ex-Navy man himself, nodded briefly. “Thomas is as reliable a man as you could hope to meet. He'll get you there safe, my lady. No fretting.”

  Valeria bridled at his tone. She was not a child, to need reassurance! But she accepted his care for what it was. She was glad to have him with her.

  Eventually, a tall, fair-haired man walked up, surrounded by a group of burly sailors.

  “Hey! Thomas!” the innkeeper hailed him.

  “James!”

  The two men embraced.

  “Tom, I need a favor,” the innkeeper said, voice lowered. He indicated Valeria.

  “Push off, lads!” the captain told the sailors, who grinned lewdly and moved off. Valeria felt as if things crawled on her, seeing their glances, but she pretended to ignore it.

  “Well, then?”

  “This lady here's Mrs Violetta Preston,” he explained. “Wealthy industrialist's wife. She needs to get to Germany. Husband's been wounded. That right, Madam?”

  “Yes,” Valeria agreed briefly, confirming the story she had told him earlier.

  “Right, then,” the captain said, frowning. “'Tis not a safe journey for a lady, mind! I am taking soldiers across, and them's not seen a lady for years. Certainly, not one like you, begging your pardon, Miss.”

  “It's quite all right,” Valeria said tightly.

  “I can only warn you, Miss,” Thomas Milford sighed. “And tell you my price. It will cost five pounds.”

  Valeria swallowed. That was an unbelievable amount of money for a passage on a ship, but she had it. “Very well.”

  “Well, then, James, Miss,” Captain Milford smiled, easily, “you got yourself a deal.”

  “Thank you,” said Valeria and offered her hand.

  Thomas Milford blinked, as if he had never seen a lady offer to shake hands – he probably hadn't, Valeria realized later, and nor had anyone else – but he took it, and they shook on the agreement.

  Valeria passed over her pounds, and then they were underway.

  The sea-journey to Kiel was storm-tossed and dramatic, with two regiments of soldiers vomiting almost in unison over the side when they hit a storm, guns needing to be battened down in the hold to stop them rolling about on the waves, and the ship's cook – a hot-tempered Bavarian – threatening mutiny if they did not keep the rats out of his kitchen.