A Lady's Favor

by Josi S. Kilpack

  A closer inspection revealed two boots—servant quality—mired in the mud as well. Mathew caught his breath. Bianca must have been here. And Strapshire must have found these same items.

  Mathew heard a horse’s whinny from the cluster of woods and, after tying his own mount to the fence post, he entered the trees, finding Strapshire’s horse tied to a tree limb.

  Mathew turned to take in his immediate surroundings and groaned, low and deep. He had been in these trees before, and the old woodshed—a leftover relic from much earlier times when woodsmen would come out for days on end to gather a winter’s worth of firewood—was nearby. Mathew had feared he would die in that shed—and then a young Miss Bianca Davidson had come upon him.

  Could she have remembered the shed? Would she know how to find the shed in the dark and rain? Might she be there even now?

  Mathew stumbled around for a few minutes, frustrated to not have walked right to the shelter, but he had never wanted to see that shed again after what had happened there. He turned in a slow circle, looking for some indication of his direction, and heard something. Yelling? A woman’s voice?

  Without hesitation, he moved in the direction of the voice, straining to hear it again and watching every tree and shrub for indication of that shed. Previously he and Strapshire had called Bianca’s name as they searched, hoping she would hear them, but he didn’t call for her now. If his suspicions were correct, it would not be her he would alert with his call.

  “ . . . will not,” he heard on the wind and amended his direction slightly. “ . . . gouge your eyes out!” was the next thing he heard. It was a woman’s voice, loud with rage.

  Mathew’s rising anger was tempered only by the remainder that Bianca was no helpless female. He saw the corner of the shed and quickened his pace. When he came around the front, he had only enough time to register Lord Strapshire pressing Bianca against the back of the shed before he lunged forward, grabbed the man’s collar, and pulled him back with the strength of three men, at least.

  Strapshire nearly flew through the doorway of the shed and, in an echo of Friday night’s ballroom brawl, Mathew pulled back his fist and drove it as hard as he could into the other man’s nose. The snap he felt beneath his knuckles was extraordinarily satisfying, as was the squeal that Strapshire made as he fell backward, catching the edge of a tree on his way down.

  Mathew turned immediately to find Bianca frantically trying to put her arms back into the sleeves of her nightdress, which was torn through the shoulder on one side. Mathew wasn’t sure whether to run to her, despite her state of undress, or stay where he was so as not to make things more awkward.

  He settled on asking, “Are you all right?”

  She nodded quickly and finally succeeded in pushing her arms through the sleeves. She tried to right the neckline of her nightgown, then looked at Mathew and narrowed her eyes. “You horrid excuse for a man! I will cut out your tongue for proposing such vile things!”

  Mathew blinked, confused by her verbal attack, then realized Bianca was looking past him. He turned to see Lord Strapshire standing unsteadily on his feet behind him.

  Bianca barreled forward, but Mathew put out an arm and caught her about the waist. She struggled, reaching for Strapshire with her fingers curved like claws, but although Mathew would not mind seeing her gouge the man’s eyes out, he wanted her nowhere near the cur. “You would dishonor me?” she screamed. “Force me to have no choice but you?”

  Mathew pulled Bianca to his chest and held her there. “Stop,” he said in her ear. To his relief, she stopped fighting, though her chest heaved in indignation.

  Strapshire lifted a hand to his nose, but when he pulled his hand back and saw it was covered in blood, he squeaked again before his eyes rolled back. He fell to the ground with a thud.

  “Good heavens,” Mathew said in disgust. He released Bianca and turned her to look at him. She was still breathing hard, but she was also shivering. “Stay here, just a moment.”

  By the time Mathew reached Strapshire, the baron was moaning again. Mathew hadn’t expected his faint to last long with cold rain falling into the man’s face. Mathew put a foot on Strapshire’s chest and waited until Strapshire looked up at him with frightened eyes. He might still be confused from the fall, but he would remember what Mathew said.

  “If you are still in Brookborrow by morning, I will tell the world what you did tonight.”

  “I didn’t do anything!” he defended.

  “You tried!” Bianca said, coming around Mathew’s side. She used both hands to push her wet hair behind her ears. Mathew put out a hand to stop her from coming any closer.

  “If you are still here by morning,” Mathew said to Strapshire again, “I will see you in irons. You will never be welcome in this village again, am I clear?”

  For a moment Strapshire looked as though he might protest, but then he nodded, glaring past Mathew at Bianca. “I’m done with her anyway! The woman’s an ungrateful menace!”

  Bianca harrumphed but did not attempt to lunge at the man again.

  Mathew removed his foot from Strapshire’s chest and guided Bianca several yards away. He pulled off his coat and settled it upon Bianca’s shivering shoulders, pulling the sides together under her chin.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said. “Your mother is worried sick over you.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she looked so scared that he searched his mind for another solution. “But let’s first go to my home, clean you up a bit, and deliver you in better condition than this, yes?”

  She nodded, relieved, and he ushered her away from the woodshed. Strapshire glared at them as they stepped past him, but made no move to interfere.

  When they reached Strapshire’s horse, Mathew untied the reins from the tree limb and slapped the horse hard on the flank, sending it at a run toward town. Strapshire could use the extra time it would take to walk home to think of how he would explain the blood and his missing horse.

  When they reached Mathew’s horse, he lifted Bianca into the saddle before settling himself behind her and pulling her tight against his chest. She laid her head against him, and he skirted the woods behind his home so that they wouldn’t be found.

  “I’m s-s-so s-s-orry,” she said miserably.

  “Shh,” he said, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her closer. “Everything will be all right.”

  They rode in silence, then he felt her take a breath. “Wh-why were you in that shed all those years ago?”

  Every other time Mathew had thought back to that day he had been filled with embarrassment, but suddenly it felt different. Perhaps she only wanted to fill the time, but he would not miss the opportunity to explain, glad to finally have the chance.

  “I had two older cousins,” he began, settling a bit further in the saddle so she could turn her hips a bit more. “They did not like me very much and . . .”

  “Mrs. Collins!” Mathew called when he opened the back door and ushered in a shivering, wet, and a bit less-miserable Bianca inside. He’d managed to make her laugh with his telling of his tale, and finally, after all these years, the matter was at rest between them. Now that they had arrived at his home, however, the seriousness of the situation was pressing upon them again.

  The housekeeper appeared almost immediately, took one look at Bianca, and rushed her toward the kitchen fire.

  “You poor dear!” Mrs. Collins said. She then looked to Mathew for additional information. He had had just enough time between his confession and their arrival to come up with a plan.

  “Help Miss Davidson wash off the worst of the mud, provide her with a clean nightdress and dressing gown from Mama’s things, and return her to the kitchen. I’ll have Ambrose waiting with further instructions.” He took off his hat only long enough to push his hair up before settling it back on his head.

  “You’re n-not stay-ying?” Bianca said through her chattering teeth.

  He stepped toward her and smiled. “I am still part of the searc
h party. It appears that Ambrose found you somewhere safe and dry. You’ll have to take over the story from there, I’ve not thought of an explanation, but Ambrose and my staff will support whatever story you create, and I shall simply be one of the many who will be glad you are safely home. No one needs to know the whole of what’s happened, or that you were alone in my company for so long a time and in such a state.”

  She reached a mud-streaked hand from beneath the coat and took his. “Yo-o-u are doing th-this to p-p-preserve my honor?”

  “You are far more clothed than I was when you preserved mine.”

  She smiled, albeit weakly. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  She had mud in her hair and smelled like moldering vegetation but oh she was lovely! Mathew leaned down and kissed her in reply, soft and gentle.

  Mrs. Collins cleared her throat in disapproval.

  “I feel b-b-better alread-d-dy,” Bianca murmured.

  He pulled back, and she smiled at him as he moved toward the door. “Wait,” she said when he put his hand on the knob. He turned back to see her shrugging out of his coat. “You’ll n-n-eed this.”

  He took it gratefully, swung it over his shoulders, and disappeared back into the dark night with a satisfied smile on his face.

  FOURTEEN

  “You’re sure you’re all right?” Mama asked for the twenty-fifth time, at least.

  “I’m all right,” Bianca said, also for the twenty-fifth time, at least. “I’m not even cold anymore.” It had been two days of hot-water bottles, tea, and constant fires in the grate, but she had not caught a cold and was feeling very much herself. She had even dressed today—in one of the dresses now returned to her wardrobe—and hoped she might go for a walk. The spring storm had passed and the broken tree limbs and damaged buildings were still being remedied.

  “I can’t believe you were in the hayloft all that time,” Mama said, not for the first time. “How had we not found you there?”

  “I fell asleep high in the loft,” Bianca said, feeling only a little bit guilty about the lie though it was getting easier to tell. This interrogation had also been repeated several times over the last two days. “And I’m so sorry, again, for raising all that alarm. I just wanted some space, and to listen to the rain on the barn roof after such a trying day. You know what comfort I took in that hiding place as a child.”

  “I wish you’d chosen the linen cupboard,” Mama said.

  Bianca just smiled.

  Luckily for Bianca, after everything had gone so horribly wrong, things had then gone perfectly right. Relieved by her daughter’s return, Mama had not noticed the unfamiliar dressing gown, and as soon as Bianca was alone, she, with the help of the maid who owed her a favor for tattling about that first visit to Mathew, had changed out of it and stowed the clothes in her closet to be returned later.

  Mama, feeling terrible about how she had acted, was finally humble enough to listen to Bianca’s feelings about Lord Strapshire and marriage in general. “I will make my own choice,” Bianca had said, and her mother, though she looked as though she still wanted to make some argument, had agreed. It helped that Lord Strapshire had disappeared the morning after the storm, just as he promised he would.

  There was a knock at the door, and Mama exchanged a look with Bianca as she rose to her feet. Mama was humbled, but not all together unchanged in her need to manage the details of both their lives. She would intercept the note or visitor before Bianca caught sight of them, as she had done these past two days.

  Bianca turned back to the book in her hands and tried to reread the page she had already read at least three times. She struggled to concentrate but thoughts of Mathew kept overriding everything else in her head. Perhaps it was the warm thoughts of him that were responsible for her recovery. His kiss in the kitchen had not been part of the game nor had protecting her reputation by helping her present herself decently. The thought that his affection might be real filled her with a tingly heat that made her eager to see him again, yet when that would be she could only guess. Mama had forbidden visitors for at least a week, wanting to give Bianca adequate time to recover and to allow the gossip of her escapade to settle.

  Bianca had chosen, this time, not to argue.

  “Bianca.”

  She looked up at her mother’s voice, but froze when she saw who stood behind her. She attempted to stand but forgot that Mama had tucked blankets around her feet. She stumbled forward only to be caught by a pair of strong arms that lifted her to her feet and did not let go. She looked into Mathew’s face, and her fingers curled around the fabric of his sleeves.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her, just as he had after saving her from Lord Strapshire.

  “I am now,” she said.

  He smiled.

  She smiled back.

  Mama cleared her throat.

  “I shall order some tea and join you shortly. There is . . . something I must attend to.”

  Bianca didn’t even watch her mother leave, she was too entranced by the fact that Mathew was holding her up. He stepped back and helped her to sit down again, unwinding the blanket from her feet and draping it over the arm of the couch.

  “I wanted to come sooner,” he said at the same time that she said, “I’ve been hoping you would come.”

  They both laughed, and she waved for him to speak first. “I came by the next day, but your mother refused all visitors. She even turned the vicar away.”

  Bianca shook her head. “And she dares criticize my behavior?”

  Mathew laughed. “And then my parents returned the next day—a few days earlier than I expected. I had a great deal to tell them about what had happened while they were gone.”

  He waved toward his face, and she noticed the lingering bruises for the first time. An ugly green color ringed both eyes, and yet somehow it did not affect how very handsome he was.

  “I hope you told them the version that does not make me look like a complete ninny.”

  “Oh, no, I told them the ninny version. They found it very diverting.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You are joking!”

  He shook his head, grinning wickedly. “I had to explain Mama’s missing dressing gown, and if I hadn’t told her what had happened, the servants would have. But do not worry. They are good, steady people. You’ll like them.”

  Bianca blinked. “I’ll . . . like them?” She already knew them, of course, and liked them well enough despite the distance she always kept from the family, but there was something pointed in what he’d said. As though he meant more than neighborly affection.

  “Or, well, at least I hope you will. It would make things easier if you got on with them as well as I think you will.”

  “Got on with them?”

  “When you move into Renshaw Place,” he said, easy as you please. “I would, of course, like to find a place of our own, but my parents only reside here for a portion of the year and we will have a private apartment.”

  “Apartment? What?” Was she missing bits and pieces of this conversation or was he speaking in riddles? Perhaps she was not as well recovered as she thought she was.

  He cocked his head and looked at her with a knitted brow. “Did I leave out the part about asking you to marry me?”

  Bianca startled but then laughed. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, you left that part out entirely.”

  “Oh, well, forgive me.” He slid from the settee to kneel at her feet. He looked up into her eyes as he took her hand in both of his. “I never thought that the poor girl who ended up with the sorry job of rescuing me from folly all those years ago—”

  “Oh, please let us not talk of that,” she said. “That incident has haunted us both for far too long.”

  “Very good,” he said with a nod. “Especially since I am much more interested in the future than I am in the past.” He paused and smiled widely at her. “Will you marry me, Bianca Davidson? Will you accept my life bound to yours as a final repayment of the favor you extended to me all
those years ago? ”

  She lifted her free hand to his face and rested it against his cheek. “You owe me nothing, Mr. Hensley,” she said. “It is I who have a debt to repay to you.”

  “Then I shall accept your absolute love and devotion as payment in full.”

  She laughed again. “I accept your terms, Mr. Hensley.”

  “Of your own free will?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He rose up, and she prepared herself to be thoroughly kissed. But he stopped a fraction of an inch from her mouth, leaving her hungry. “I love you, Bianca,” he said in a hoarse whisper that warmed her like the sun. “And I look forward to a lifetime of adventure with you by my side.”

  She leaned in, met his lips, and determined that nothing more needed to be said. What had she been thinking to enlist his aid in throwing off that silly old baron?

  What, indeed?

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN