“Why are you crying, little one?” she asked quietly. The child said nothing but instead buried her face in her mother’s skirts.
“I was working for the kind Mr. Harding,” the woman replied instead, “but his estate is now in ruin, the money all but gone. We were forced to leave, as were the other servants.”
“Mr. Harding? I am afraid I do not know him.”
“I imagine you wouldn’t, Miss,” the woman said. “His estate is located in Reading.”
“Reading? As in Berkshire?” That was over a hundred miles away.
“Yes, Miss. And we’ve been on the road ever since. We were lucky enough at times when a farmer allowed us to travel in the back of his buggy, but mostly we had to walk.”
“You have been traveling for quite some time, I take it.” The woman nodded and Jane saw the weariness in the woman’s face underneath the dust and dirt of the road. “And where are you heading now?”
“My sister’s place between here and Highbridge. Do you know it?”
Jane nodded. The road that led to the small village was just ahead and then another twenty miles beyond. They were so close now. She looked at the young woman and the babe beside her and made a quick decision. Turning and going to the driver of the carriage she called up to him. “Excuse me. I ask a favor to implore your mercy.” The driver shook his head, but Jane would not allow the man to decline. “Please, it is not for me, but the woman and her young daughter.”
The driver leaned over and looked from Jane to the woman and back again. “I ain’t got no money,” he said firmly.
“No, I ask for no money,” Jane replied. “Take them to Highbridge. They have been on the road for quite some time now and are near starving. They are so close to their destination, I see no reason to force them to make these last miles on foot.” The driver seemed hesitant. “Please. I will beg if need be.”
“And what about you? The Countess’ll grow suspicious if I’m late.”
Jane looked down the road from where they stood. Anne’s house was another ten miles in the opposite direction from Highbridge, but she could stand to walk ten miles, especially after how far this woman had traveled. “I will retrieve my things and walk the remainder of the way. This will free you to take this woman to Highbridge. We need not inform the Countess of the small detour and, in the end, you will have done a good deed.”
The man signed and then nodded. Jane hurried back to the carriage, grabbed her single bag, and then turned to the woman. “Rest your feet,” she said with a smile. “The driver will take you to Highbridge.” She walked over and picked up the small bundle from the ground beside them and placed it under the seat of the carriage. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the few coins she carried. Her savings were pitiful, but someone else was in greater need than she, so she pressed them into the woman’s hand. “May good fortune come your way.”
The woman stared down at the coins and gasped. “Oh, thank you, Miss,” she said, a tear running down her face. “I think it already has.”
Jane helped the woman and signaled to the driver with a nod. He shook his head in wonderment before giving the reins a quick flick. The carriage moved forward and the young girl poked her head out the window to give Jane a shy wave and a wide smile. Jane waved back and let out a sigh as the carriage moved forward and was soon lost in the crowd.
As she began her trek, Jane wondered if good fortune would come to the woman and her daughter. They sorely needed it, and Jane hoped her part in helping them today was indeed the start of it. And hopefully, like them, her own luck would change, as well.
***
With bag in hand, Jane made her way down the dirt path that led to the small cottage belonging to her cousin Anne and her husband David. Washing hung from a cord strung between the house and a tall post, and a small garden sat just behind, several types of vegetables growing in straight lines in the well-weeded soil.
The door opened and Anne walked out, her blond hair tied back at the nape of her neck, several strands flying loose around her face. When she saw Jane, a smile crossed her face. “I thought I’d have heard the carriage,” she said as she set the empty basket on the ground and looked past Jane. “Where is it?” She had always been one to get right to the point.
“It is a long story,” Jane explained tiredly. “I have walked from Bridgewater, though, and my feet hurt, as does my back. Do you mind terribly if we go inside so I might put up my feet?”
Anne laughed. “The same Jane,” she said, “always complaining.” Although her words had bite, they were said with great affection, and she gave Jane a hug. “But you’re still as lovely as ever.” The woman was of the same age as Jane, that being two and twenty, and was most often found in good humor. However, that was where their similarities ended. Where Jane had darker hair, Anne’s was light, almost blond, and her eyes were a distinct blue that would catch any man’s eye. Anne was a true beauty, though Jane was not jealous of the woman. She had no cause to envy a person simply because of how they were created.
“You are too kind,” Jane said.
“That I am, Love,” Anne chuckled as she reached for Jane’s bag. “Come inside and let’s have you rest those feet.”
The two-room cottage was small with a large room that included a living area, a counter that served as a kitchen, a large fireplace, two chairs with cushions in front of the fire and a small square table with two stools. A small pallet had been set up in the corner for Jane, and though not as comfortable as the tiny bed she had slept in during her time at Poplar Estate, it much better than sleeping directly on the floor. It would be more than adequate for her hopefully short stay.
“David has gone to Glasgow on business for Mr. Larkin,” Anne explained as she hung a kettle on the hook over the fireplace. “He’s inquiring about some wool or some such things I know nothing about.”
“How wonderful,” Jane replied as she took a seat on one of the stools at the table. “It seems Mr. Larkin has put some trust in your husband.”
“That he has. He has made me proud, that man.” The tone of her voice and the smile on her face expressed the love and admiration she had for her husband, and Jane was happy for her cousin. Perhaps a few men could make decent husbands after all.
Anne crinkled her brow. “You seem down,” she said. “I thought you were ready to leave that…man.”
Jane looked down at the floor and felt a flood of anger and humiliation rush through her. “I was, but this morning, he actually put his hands on me.” Jane had written to Anne, telling her of the advances Lord Clarkson had been making, so the woman did not seem surprised when Jane explained what had transpired just before she left, including the boldness of the man to kiss her and the threat heaped upon her by the Countess. By the time she finished, exhaustion filled Jane, and it had nothing to do with her walk from Bridgewater.
“Thus, I will look for some sort of new position in the meantime,” Jane explained. “I will not stay longer than is absolutely necessary; I would not wish to intrude on you and your husband.”
Anne clicked her tongue. “You’re welcome in my home for as long as you need,” Anne assured her. “And don’t worry about finding work immediately. You’re far too smart to take any ole job, so you wait for the right one to come along.” Her face softened and she placed a hand over Jane’s. “Luck will come your way, Love; I can feel it.”
“Do you think so?” Jane asked with no little skepticism.
Anne rose from her seat and grabbed her basket once again. “I’m sure of it,” she said as she led Jane out the door. They headed to the line of clothes that swayed in the light breeze. “You’ll just have to be ready to take it when it comes.”
Jane laughed. “That will not be a problem,” she said as she took the basket from Anne and held it as Anne removed the pegs from one of the dresses hanging on the line. “I’m ready for anything that comes my way.”
Chapter Two
No sound could be heard in the long hallway, with the except
ion of his own footsteps, as Michael Blackstone, Fourth Duke of Hayfield, made his way to the dining room. No longer did he notice the fine tapestries that lined the walls of his Exeter estate, nor the delicate vases filled with fresh flowers that adorned the lacquered tables. None of the finery that surrounded him mattered anymore.
As he passed a large oak-framed mirror, he glanced at his reflection but a few seconds, long enough to see the waffling of scars which covered the right side of his face. They no longer surprised him, yet he continued to avoid looking at them if he did not have to. Not for the first time, the need to take down the mirror rushed through him, but just as the other wall hangings, Michael refused to remove it. Elizabeth had chosen that mirror to be placed in that specific place on the wall. Who was he to have it relocated to another place in the house? No, it would remain where it was, and he would simply have to do his best to either accept what fate had given him in the way of scars on his face, or avoid even the smallest glances at his reflection.
In all honesty, if the mirror had not already been in place when he and Samuel had taken up permanent residence in the house, it would have been removed first thing. However, Michael loathed the idea of making any changes in case Samuel took note, for it had been the boy’s mother who had overseen the placing of the décor, and when it came to his son, he would do whatever it took to protect the boy from anything that would cause him heartache.
The subject of his thoughts was already seated, and although the boy had grown by leaps and bounds over the past few years, his body appeared small beside the massive table.
“Good morning, Samuel,” Michael said as he took his seat at the head of the table.
“Good morning, Father,” came Samuel’s reply.
Michael did not miss the look of guilt that radiated from the boy’s face. “What have you put in your pocket?” he asked, not unkindly. Michael remembered when he was a young boy of eight years and the sort of mischief into which he put himself.
The boy reluctantly pulled an apple tart, already flattened and falling to crumbs in his tiny hands, from his pocket. “I only wished to have something to snack on later,” he said in a quiet voice.
Michael smiled at his son. “Have you ever been denied a tart?”
Samuel’s eyes widened. “Yes, Father. Mrs. Curtis became angry when she caught me taking one from the kitchen just last month.”
Michael had to hold back a chuckle. “Do you believe she punished you because you wished to eat a tart and not because you took it without asking first?”
Samuel sat considering this for several moments before a smile crossed his face. “I suppose so. I don’t know for certain.”
“Could it be she thought of it as stealing?”
This made Samuel gasp. “Stealing? I do not steal.” His voice held an adamant tone, and Michael had to hold back a laugh.
“Of course you do not. You are a good boy who has respect for what is not his. However, if you have taken anything—even something that seems as insignificant as a tart—without permission, you are assuredly stealing. Now, I will have Mrs. Curtis save a tart for you for after your midday meal, that way you can have it as a treat. What do you say?”
The smile Samuel gave warmed Michael’s heart. “Yes, I’d like that. Thank you, Father.”
A footman set a plate of food in front of Michael, which contained the same fare the Duke ate every morning: a pickled herring and a roll with butter and preserves, today of which was strawberry. The footman returned only moments later with a pot of tea, which he poured for his Master.
“May I be excused?” Samuel asked politely. Though his hands were still, his feet swung under his chair, the need to be outside running building up inside him.
“Yes,” Michael replied. “However, I expect you to keep out of trouble. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” Samuel replied happily before making his way toward the back of the house, more than likely off to entertain himself in the gardens in some form or another. The boy could spend hours exploring the grounds in search of insects or other treasures for which most boys his age craved.
Michael, unfortunately, had no time for adventure, for work awaited him in the study. Once he finished his morning meal, he took a seat at his desk, ready to pen a letter to a man concerning an import of silks from India. Once that was completed, he would take up his ledger. At one point, a bookkeeper had done such work; however, Michael preferred knowing where he stood financially without the need to call in another person to explain. It made him a better businessman, of that he was certain.
Sometime later, the sound of giggling caught his attention, and he walked to the window to peer into the gardens. The boy had grown at such a rate, he would be a man before Michael knew it. The thought of his one and only child one day leaving him brought a sadness to his heart, but knowing the great man his child would become, even before he inherited Michael’s title, quickly dissolved the sorrow.
Michael glanced at his desk and decided that he had completed enough work for the time being. His son would be a child for only a short time, and if Michael did not take advantage of the time he had with the boy, he would live to regret it later in life.
The sun shone brightly on the grounds, its warmth pleasing as Michael made his way down the path. He found Samuel down on all fours rooting around with a stick in the soil of a flower bed, leaving behind broken stems and flower petals in his wake.
Michael sat on his haunches. “What are you in search of?” he asked, making the poor boy jump in startlement. He had attempted to keep his voice quiet, but Samuel was so engaged and so focused on his task, he had apparently not heard his father’s approach. Furthermore, more than likely the boy thought it was Barnard rather than his father who had caught him in the act of destroying the flower bed.
When the boy turned, he smiled. “Creatures,” he replied to the question Michael had asked, as if his father should know what his son was doing. “I have not found any yet, but I do hope I can.” Then his face took on a serious look, as did the tone in his voice.” I will not hurt them, Father,” he promised. “I only wish to see what they are doing.”
Michael smiled at his son, amazed at how much the boy resembled his mother. Granted, Samuel had inherited his father’s dark, unruly hair, but his blue eyes looked so much like his mother’s, Michael could almost imagine her living behind them. “Do not worry, my son. I know you would not hurt them in any way, but perhaps it would be best if you let them be so they can continue their work. What think you?”
Samuel pursed his lips in thought for a moment and then gave a quick nod. “Yes, that would be best.” He filled in the hole he had made with the stick and did his best to replant the now broken plants into the ground. “There. I will come back tomorrow to see if any creatures come out to take in the sun. Do you think they take in the sun like us, Father?”
Michael laughed. “I suspect some do,” he replied as he helped Samuel stand. “Come, let us get you cleaned up. You do not want to displease Mrs. Fredericks now, do you?”
Samuel shook his head and took Michael’s hand. “Father?” he said as they made their way down the path toward the house. “Will I be getting a new governess?”
“Yes, eventually.”
“When?” the boy asked and then quickly added, “Not that I believe I still need a governess, but…” he looked up at his father with sad eyes, “I miss Miss Hester already.”
“Yes, I know you do,” Michael replied. “But sometimes things happen in life that make people move on.”
Samuel nodded wisely. “You know, if I could help Miss Hester, I would,” he said firmly.
Michael smiled again. “I know you would. You have a kind heart.”
“Like my mother?”
The innocent question tore at Michael’s heart. “Yes, like your mother,” he replied quietly.
The two continued their trek to the house, passing one of the gardeners, who was busy tending to a bed of roses. Michael spared no expe
nse when it came to the gardens, for it had been a favorite place for his late wife.
“Would you tell me a story about her?” Samuel asked as they came to a stop near a bench that had been set under one of the larger trees beside a side gate. He did not need to ask to know Samuel meant his mother.
Michael smiled at the boy as he sat on the bench. His son’s eagerness was evident by the wide grin he held. “Very well,” Michael replied, patting the empty space beside him on the bench. He reached into a pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. “Do you see this?” he asked the boy, pointing to an embroidered leaf.
“Yes,” Samuel replied.
“Your mother made this handkerchief,” Michael explained. “Did you know that your mother was the best embroiderer in all of England?”
Samuel’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “She was?” he asked.
“Indeed. However, she knew her gift was not meant only for us but to be shared with everyone.”
Samuel ran his finger across the stitching lovingly. “She wanted you to let everyone see it?” he asked.
Michael chuckled. “Not exactly. What she wanted to do was embroider enough of these to give to every orphan in England. That way, those without much could at least have something beautiful. Do you understand why she would do such a thing?”
The look Samuel gave could only be described as one of pride and awe. “Because she was a nice person?”
“Yes, that is part of it,” Michael said. “However, your mother also believed, as do I, that there are those who need hope in life. Many people are not as fortunate as we, so giving them something, even a handkerchief, might make them happy.” He placed the handkerchief into his son’s hand. “Now, today, I give you this. Keep it close to you as a reminder of what good looks like.”
Samuel gazed down at the piece of cloth as if Michael had offered him the most precious of gifts. “Thank you, Father,” he said in a voice filled with awe. “I will keep it with me always.”
The Duke of Fire: Regency Hearts Book 1 Page 2
