Being Lady Harriet's Hero: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 4)

by Arietta Richmond

  Leaving his brandy on the side table, he went to his desk and quickly dashed off a reply, accepting the invitation with pleasure. Once his note of acceptance was sanded and sealed, he rang for Barnstable and settled back into his chair. The door opened rapidly and Barnstable came into the room at a rate that belied his appearance of great age.

  “Yes, My Lord?”

  “Please have Peterson deliver this letter to Pendholm Hall immediately.”

  Barnstable took the letter, bowed, and left the room.

  Staring into the flames, and sipping his brandy, Lord Geoffrey contemplated his progress with his mission. Digging into the secrets of the house had become more of a pleasure for him than he had expected. For, as he did, he discovered fascinating things about the building, and he was, as well, making it his own. He had not quite realised, until he came to Witherwood Chase, how soul destroying it had been to live in his brother’s house, dependent upon him. The gift of Witherwood Chase may have come with a mission which was frustrating and slow, but it had been a gift without price as far as its impact on his state of mind.

  He was beginning to realise just how deeply blue-devilled he had become after his return from war. Working for Setford had begun to turn that around, but the simple fact of having his own place had been the biggest factor in shifting his view of the world. He still had days when it all seemed pointless (usually after digging through yet another few rooms of the house, and finding nothing more thrilling than mouse droppings and tasteless paintings), but they were less now.

  He was, however, beginning to be annoyed. Setford was so certain that there was something here to find, yet he had been singularly unsuccessful, to date, in finding any trace of either papers, or possible hiding places. But, he reminded himself, he had barely begun.

  He had searched, in detail, barely more than a quarter of the house so far – he could not expect this to be easy, or Setford’s men would have found everything when the treasonous previous owner was captured. The house was old – at least 500 years old - and had been extended many times. There was a warren of cellars and a tangle of tiny attic rooms, as well as the large quantity of rooms on the main floors. Add to that all of the outbuildings, and the scope for potential hiding places was extensive.

  He had the feeling that some of the staff knew more about the house, and the events here before the conspirators had been caught, than they were telling him – he would simply have to find a way to get them to talk of it. He wondered, not for the first time, if the house had hidden passages and rooms. It was old enough to have been here at a time when hidden rooms, priest holes or secret passages and tunnels might have been needed, to escape the ravages of civil war. But if those things were there, he had yet to see any sign of them.

  Perhaps, tomorrow, he would take a different approach. Leaving the rooms in the main part of the house for later, he would start with the attics, and see what interesting things he found there, then work his way from there down, a floor at a time, until he reached the deepest cellars. Attics in houses this old often contained items stored generations ago, so, if nothing else, he might actually have fun discovering items from bygone eras. And, should they include further truly ugly paintings, at least he could sell the damn things, to recoup some of the costs of putting the place back in order!

  Having a plan made him feel more cheerful about it all.

  Leaning back, he eyed the faded tapestry on the wall in front of him and sighed – another thing needing cleaning and care. Now that the drapes on the windows to the side of it had been replaced, the sad state of the tapestry was very obvious. Oh well, it could wait for now. Right now, as he sipped the last of his brandy, food was the most pressing thing on his mind.

  Barnstable, as if he had heard the thought, chose that moment to appear at the door, announcing that dinner was served in the dining room. Lord Geoffrey rose and followed him from the room.

  The following day Lord Geoffrey took himself up to the attics, much to Barnstable’s horror.

  “My Lord! The attics are full of… um… a… rather historic… collection of… things… Not to mention dust, dirt, and probably rodents! Surely a gentleman like yourself doesn’t wish to dig about in all that!”

  “Oh, what fustian, Barnstable, stop fussing. I will, eventually, stick my nose into every nook and cranny this rather curious construction of a house has to offer. A little dust and dirt never hurt anyone. I might even find something of value – at least I can hope. If nothing else, I can ascertain whether the roof is leaking anywhere!”

  Barnstable managed to look both offended and dignified at once (rather an achievement, Geoffrey thought) and, bowing stiffly, took himself out of the room. Geoffrey followed. As he entered the hallway, he saw one of the footmen moving hurriedly in the direction of the servant’s stairs. Idly, he wondered what the rush was.

  Putting that from his mind, he made his way up a rather impressive number of stairs, finally arriving at the door into the attics. It was a rather small door, and Lord Geoffrey, being a rather large man, squeezed through it carefully. He noted, with amusement, that Barnstable was right – he had already acquired smears of dust and dirt on his clothing – and that by just going through the door.

  The attics proved to be a warren of rooms, spread across the under roof space of all of the main part of the house and the wings, sometimes in multiple levels, with small flights of stairs between them. To start with, all he did was wander from room to room, trying to get a feel for the scale of it. He found a section with a large rainwater cistern – no doubt responsible for the luxury of running water which was present in parts of the house, and a multitude of rooms full of stored furniture, paintings, and God knows what else, all covered in dust sheets.

  Mid-afternoon, just as he was contemplating returning downstairs in search of luncheon, Lord Geoffrey opened another door. All thought of food left him instantly. This room, unlike the others, was ordered. Its walls were covered in carefully structured racks, stands and display cases were placed neatly about the space, and, on every rack, in every case, on every stand, were weapons and armour.

  This one room was a museum collection of weaponry from centuries past and times recent. It was, in one room, more weapons that Geoffrey had ever seen before – including the armoury tent in their field camps during the war!

  For a man whose distinguishing ability was consummate skill with weapons, this was the ultimate find. He felt rather like a small child presented with a room full of toys.

  The swords, in particular, called to him. The light of his lantern reached into shadowy corners, drawing sparkling glints from sharpened metal. Even through the light layer of dust, he could see that they had been well cared for – as if someone, until very recently, had come here often, dusted, polished and oiled everything, to keep it in the best of condition. He wondered who. It did not matter.

  The next few hours disappeared into a haze of delighted exploration, as he opened cases, lifted weapons down from the wall, and generally did an inventory of the contents of the room. This was certainly not what Setford wanted him to find, but, for himself, this alone was reward enough for all of the tedious time he had spent, and would spend, searching for the blasted treasonous papers.

  “My Lord! My Lord?? Where are you?” Barnstable’s voice came to him, distantly echoing through the attic rooms.

  “Here Barnstable – in the north-west wing, I think.”

  Footsteps approached after a few minutes, and Barnstable peered through the door.

  “Oh my!”

  Barnstable’s shock was obviously not feigned, as he stared in some awe at the contents of the room.

  “I gather that you were not aware of this collection?”

  “No, my Lord, not at all. It is… impressive, isn’t it?”

  “Quite. Even if I find nothing else of interest in the entire house, this is worth any amount of dust dirt and poking about. Now, what was it you came to tell me?”

  “My Lord, it is nearly five
– I believe that you are due at Pendholm Hall at seven, for dinner?”

  “Is it? I quite lost track of time up here, with no light but my lantern. I’d best hurry then. Thank you.”

  Lord Geoffrey turned, and, with a last longing look at the beautiful collection of weaponry, closed the door and followed Barnstable out of the attics.

  ~~~~~

  Lady Harriet was fidgeting. She had tried to read, and found herself unable to concentrate, even on the new novel that had just arrived. She had considered embroidery, and instantly discarded the notion – she did not do it well at the best of times. So now, she was wandering about the family parlour, randomly picking up the various small statues and items on the mantle and shelves, fiddling with them a few moments, then replacing them, just to keep herself busy. For sitting still was an impossibility, when, at any moment, Lord Geoffrey might arrive.

  Had they been in the morning room, she might have sat at the pianoforte, and allowed herself to release her tensions into the music. That always worked. But, alas, this room did not contain an instrument, so she was left to fidgeting beneath her mother’s amused and tolerant gaze.

  Lady Sylvia observed her daughter with interest. Harriet had, it seemed, put more effort into her appearance this evening than usual, even allowing for the fact that they were expecting a guest. That would be because of who the guest was, she surmised. She was still quite uncertain about Harriet’s obsession with Lord Geoffrey – he seemed to be of a temperament rather more quiet than Harriet’s bright volatility. Perhaps that was part of why he appealed to her? But, for a man like that, would Harriet seem appealing, or merely childishly annoying?

  For now, given that Lord Geoffrey’s behaviour had always been utterly correct and polite, and that he was a man to whom she owed her life, as well as being one of Charlton’s closest friends, she was willing to simply let things proceed as they would. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door knocker, followed by the measured tread of the butler’s feet on the marble foyer floor.

  At those sounds, Harriet froze, arrested in mid motion as her hand reached for yet another trinket, and she stood a moment, a flush rising to her cheeks, and her heart beating hard, as she composed herself, ready to greet Lord Geoffrey when he was shown into the room. Then, with a deep breath, she moved again – turning to face the door just as it opened.

  Lord Geoffrey was, as always, immaculately presented. The dark blue superfine of his perfectly cut coat displayed his powerful shoulders in a manner that quite stole Harriet’s breath. It was ever so – no matter how much she prepared herself for his presence, each time the impact was just as great. Her breath stalled, her heart beat harder, and her ability to think became alarmingly dimmed.

  He advanced into the room, bowing over her mother’s hand, then hers. Somehow, she stammered a greeting in response to his. He turned to greet her brother. Her eyes drank him in as he spoke with Charlton, who was laughing at some comment Lord Geoffrey had made.

  They all settled into the comfortable seats around the fireplace, and conversation flowed freely. As the initial effects of his presence wore off, Harriet regained her ability to think, and found that she had missed, apparently, quite a bit of conversation – it seemed that Charlton and Lord Geoffrey were discussing the events of the last year.

  “It seems so surreal to me, Charlton, that it is, this week, a year since we returned from the war. So much has changed! Then, we were exhausted, heartsick from years of war, and unsure of how to go about life again, here. Now, we are all so much more settled, Hunter is married, you will be married in little more than a month, Raphael is off travelling and actually enjoying life, Gerry has been given a title – deservedly so – and Bart thinks he’s found the perfect place to breed his horses. And as for me – I am finding that Witherwood Chase is far more interesting than I had expected. Having a place of my own has its challenges, but it is infinitely better than living on Alfred’s sufferance.”

  Lord Geoffrey’s rich, deep voice flowed over her, and she had to agree with his sentiments – it had been a remarkable year. It seemed that Charlton also agreed.

  “Indeed, Geoff, it is hard to believe that Christmas is almost upon us. I will be glad to see the others at Meltonbrook Chase for twelfth night, although it seems that Raphael will not return in time – he will be sorely missed!”

  “I have to assume that there is some great profit to be had from this venture, for it to have dragged him away for so long. We will simply have to wait to find out though – he’s been remarkably close about it all. It’s bad timing from my point of view – being purely selfish – Witherwood Chase, it turns out, is full of a great hoard of things that have been shoved away in its attics, rooms and cellars forever – perhaps centuries! Including the largest collection of ugly paintings that I have ever seen. I will be selling them, with Raphael’s help, I hope. With a bit of luck, our canny merchant can help me actually make the place pay for all of the repairs I’ve done since I got here!”

  “The previous occupant had bad taste then?” Lady Sylvia’s voice was amused. “I never met the man, even though we were close neighbours. He never seemed to be here when we were. The villagers did sometimes remark on the state of his tenant’s cottages though – it seems that he was not a good manager at all, and certainly not popular with his tenants, or anyone else in the district.”

  “That is very much true my Lady, this month has been one long tale of woe as far as the condition of the cottages, and of the house and outbuildings. I don’t think the man had spent a penny on maintenance in the last few years at all. The tenant farmers are beginning to at least talk to me, now that I’ve had their cottages repaired in time for the worst of winter. How they survived last winter I’ve no idea, some of those cottages were so run down.”

  “I’m glad to hear that you’re making progress – no-one deserves to go through winter without adequate shelter.” Charlton spoke emphatically.

  For both Charlton and Geoffrey, the memory of nights on cold winter ground, and peasant cottages ravaged by war, was close to the surface at that moment. Each knew, without words, what the other was thinking. After a moment’s silence, Lord Geoffrey chose to turn the conversation to lighter things.

  “Witherwood Chase has turned up some things rather more interesting than ugly paintings, disintegrating drapes and mouse droppings.”

  “Oh?” Charlton raised an eyebrow and waited for Lord Geoffrey to continue.

  “Yes. Today, I decided to explore the attics – well, to start on that, at least – they are enormous, with rooms full of the discarded possessions of centuries of inhabitants. I found yet more ugly paintings – I can only assume that generations of that family had matching poor taste! But, late in the day, I found something quite wondrous.” His voiced conveyed a sense of excitement that Lady Harriet had never heard in it before, and she gazed at him in some astonishment, suddenly desperate to hear more.

  “There is a room up there which might best be described as a museum. A museum of perfectly cared for, neatly stored and displayed weaponry! Enough weaponry to outfit a regiment or more. I could spend weeks exploring the possibilities of what’s in that room.”

  A boyish enthusiasm lit up Lord Geoffrey’s face. Charlton smiled, caught up in the energy emanating from him.

  “Well – it’s yours now – you’ve got weeks to play with your new toys.” Charlton grinned, and Lord Geoffrey laughed at his teasing.

  “If only that was all I had to do! I’ve barely touched on the place, even though I’ve been digging into it for over a month now. I’ve made it my mission to explore every inch of it before I allow myself to indulge too much – God knows what the place has hidden in its crevices!”

  As he spoke, his eyes were on Charlton’s, and there was a slight emphasis on the words ‘mission’ and ‘hidden’ – an emphasis that Charlton did not miss. Unfortunately for Lord Geoffrey, Lady Harriet did not miss it either, as her adoring eyes were soaking in his every move. Sh
e found herself, when in his presence, unable to look away for too long – her eyes simply found their way back to him, as if that was the only natural place for them to rest.

  She decided that there was more going on here than the apparent. And a puzzle was not something that she could leave alone. Nor was a secret. The idea of things hidden in Lord Geoffrey’s house, of a potential treasure trove to be discovered, took her right back to her not-so-long-ago childhood. Before she could stop herself, words were falling from her mouth.

  “Oh! I love digging through old things and finding treasures! Can I help? I am sure that Miss Carpenter would love to help too. If the house is that big and full of old things, surely more people going through them will get it done faster – and give you more time to explore those weapons.” Harriet understood the value of bribery… surely he would agree to let her help, if it got him what he wanted, faster?

  Lady Sylvia watched, fighting an urge to burst out laughing. The moment of what was almost terror in Lord Geoffrey’s eyes did not escape her.

  “Err, I… I am sure that you don’t really want to get covered in dust and spider webs?” Lord Geoffrey spoke hopefully, having, for a moment, obviously forgotten that Lady Harriet was not your ordinary genteel young Lady.

  Harriet laughed.

  “Oh I don’t mind dust and spider webs – it’s no worse than I’ve found in the stables and the garden outbuildings, and I’ve been poking around in those all my life. I especially don’t mind if there’s something interesting to find!”

  Lord Geoffrey glanced at Charlton, then at Lady Sylvia. When it was obvious that neither of them intended to rescue him, he took a deep breath, silently promising Charlton retribution for this later, and spoke.

  “Well, umm…, in that case, I errr… I will be glad of your assistance, when you can spare the time. But you must be certain to bring Miss Carpenter – you must have a suitable chaperone with you, after all.”