“Take it up with The Beau. His authority greatly surpasses mine.”
Devon laughed. “The Duke of Wellington’s authority surpasses everyone but His Majesty Himself, and I’m sure there’s a whole host of powerful men ‘twixt him and me. We won’t step o’er the line without permission, m’lord. Promise ya that. But our mission’s to see Lady Locke stays safe night and day.”
“Thank you, friends,” Locke said. Saluting them, he walked Polly, looking more like an old nag with his mussed mane and tail, mud-caked sides, and rickety saddle, out the back door of the stable. The animal no longer belonged to Locke, but to Locke’s fictitious “master.”
“No moon tonight,” Dimity whispered. “Take care. No one will likely witness your leavin’, but you know it makes the roads treacherous.”
“And you know well how it works,” Locke reassured the older man, who never ceased to worry. “I won’t go far tonight. I leave late to avoid the curious eyes of neighbors, passersby, and in this case my visitors. I camp a couple of hours down the road and set off just before dawn. You also know how to send me word in an emergency. I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“Yessir, m’lord. And the same for you. May the Good Lord watch o’er ya.”
“Likewise, for you and everyone here at Moorewood. Especially Lady Locke.”
“‘Specially her, sir.”
* * *
“Can’t imagine Locke set off hours ago,” Scarbreigh grumbled, his back to the Hannaford carriage’s open door. “How in the world can he stand the glare of such blue skies and green grass so early in the morning?”
The twins laughed and Lord Mathew pushed him hard enough he almost fell into the carriage. “He doesn’t stay up until three o’clock in the morning,” he said, and to the women added, “Au revoir, Ladies. We’ll visit again before the end of summer.”
“Sooner, if you can,” Bethany urged, her unease mounting at being left to face the invisible threat that hung over her.
Lord Matthew took her hands, his face growing serious. “Locke’s servants are on the alert, my lady. Believe it or not, you’re safer here than almost anywhere else in England outside of Windsor Castle, with or without us.”
“And I promise to visit you both again at my earliest convenience,” Scarbreigh said. “But in future, I’ll bring my own rig. Then I shan’t be forced from my bed before I’m ready.”
The twins snorted, slid inside the carriage after Scarbreigh, and slammed the door shut. Bethany and Lady Camille, chuckling, waved their good byes as the carriage pulled away.
Lady Camille sighed, her smile drooping. “I hate to see them go.”
“Not half so much as I.”
“Forgive me, dear. I’m thinking too much of myself, aren’t I? You miss Lord Locke already, don’t you?”
“I’ll miss all of them and can’t stand the idea of sitting around thinking about it. Will you ride with me?”
* * *
In short order they were off, with Hugh their day’s armed escort. Unfortunately, the warm, muggy day was threatened by a storm. They returned to the manor sooner than they’d planned, only to find a carriage, two wagons, and dozens of men in the drive waiting for them.
“Oh, look, Lady Camille!” Bethany exclaimed. “Mr. Taylor-Ward has arrived.”
The women hurried to greet the man, as spindly and mustached as ever, while Mr. Treadwell, Dimity and Seaworth inspected the workers’ credentials. Reassured of their documents before they entered the manor, Bethany reviewed the plans and gave her final approval to the fabrics, paints, and trims she and Lady Camille had selected.
Bethany had little opportunity to miss her departed houseguests. Madness replaced their companionship. In a rush, the workers removed what was left of the old furnishings from the ground floor and transported their equipment and supplies inside before it rained. From that moment on, the air was rife with the racket of shouted orders and bellowed replies, rasping saws, creaking ladders, and the constant pounding of hammers. Old, drafty windows, worn cabinetry and shelving, and chipped and outdated wainscoting and moulding would soon be replaced with new.
To lessen the inconvenience to Moorewood’s residents, the work began with the top floor and the ground floor simultaneously, except for the kitchen. That left the cooking area and the middle floor for last, which included Lord Locke’s, Lady Bethany’s and Lady Camille’s chambers, the bedchambers the twins and Lord Scarbreigh had used, the green and blue salons, the library, and a few other bedrooms still in serviceable condition—and several that weren’t so serviceable.
The young women escaped the din at every opportunity. On this first day, they interred themselves in the green salon, with the door closed, and the sounds of raindrops drumming against the windows drowning out all else. They took turns with their needlework, happy conversation, and reading aloud from Pride and Prejudice.
Wednesday dawned with brilliant sunshine and a bedewed countryside, a perfect palette for strolling and later riding. Then on Thursday, Josh accompanied the women on a relaxing outing across the meadows.
* * *
Thankfully, as the work on the manor gained momentum, the demands of the tenants waned. Bethany responded quickly when needs arose but mostly trusted them to manage their own affairs.
Jason delivered Shadow to Moorewood one quiet afternoon. The gentle animal seemed fit enough, but the scar from his stabbing grieved Bethany. She’d decided beforehand that if he had so much as a hint of lameness, he’d spend the rest of his days at pasture.
The stately home began to take on a new face. Mullioned windows and both fashionable paints and wallpapers dispelled the dark corners and brightened the lackluster surroundings. Refurbished flooring, and new rugs, woodwork and draperies gave it fresh character; and, at last, the new furnishings and decor began to arrive, transforming it, piece by piece, into a new home. The kitchen’s repair was troublesome, but both Bethany and Mrs. Ford deemed it worth the inconvenience when they set eyes on the new amenities.
Bethany loved the scent of the new carpentry and fabrics whenever she strolled through the manor to keep a watchful eye on the progress. Mostly it filled her with pride to see her and Lady Camille’s creativity, and the many useful suggestions Mrs. Callen provided them, coming to life.
* * *
Lady Camille was often plagued with headaches in the hotter months and resorted to afternoon naps to relieve them, which brought Bethany an unexpected opportunity. She carried out a methodical search of her belongings, assessing every item with care. What, she begged Providence, could her father have possibly given her that lawless men were willing to hurt her to acquire?
Try as she might, she could unearth nothing.
So passed the month of July, marked by all of these things and the arrival of a number of new foals, lambs and calves. It was a warmer-than-normal year, temperatures rising to sweltering on too many days, yet afternoons spent in the shade near the pond, or riding to the river that ran through Locke’s property to swim, made it pleasant enough.
Near the end of July, Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas visited for a week, and then Lord Scarbreigh followed them, brightening their days if only briefly. Bethany heard nothing from Lord Locke. She’d known he wouldn’t write and wasn’t supposed to care, but her heart wished he would.
With no further threat against Bethany, her fears faded. She wanted to believe she was safe. Nevertheless, Moorewood’s staff remained nearby, Mr. Treadwell particularly attentive and conciliating, and Mrs. Callen as motherly as a hen. This affirmed Bethany’s suspicions that despite the servants watching everyone who came and went from the property, they still feared an assailant could find his way past the safeguards.
At the end of the first week of August, Lady Camille admitted to a bout of homesickness. Bethany believed that more than anything, her cousin wanted to be closer to London and therefore Lord Scarbreigh. The marquess had sent at least three to four missives a week to Lady Camille since leaving Moorewood with the twins, and L
ady Camille had dispatched that many or more to him and grown more starry-eyed with each one.
Thus, on the tenth of August, a month since Lord Locke’s leaving, the Camerfield carriage transported Lady Camille home, leaving Bethany to manage without her.
CHAPTER 14
It wasn’t so bad on her own, Bethany scolded herself, realizing that she could now do as she pleased. She could ride to her heart’s content, all day if she wanted, and on as many of her horses as she liked. Or on her husband’s horses, for that matter. Locke had welcomed her to them.
Motivated by the thought, she took a quick trip to her room and changed into her favorite riding clothes, a simple cotton blouse and thigh high boots tugged over riding breeches. She wanted to work Raven like she used to, and skirts were hot, in the way, and uncomfortable. They were also ridiculous when she straddled the saddle, and she refused to use a sidesaddle for serious work, regardless of whatever fashion dictated. She was in the country, at her own home, and riding alone, for heaven’s sake.
Donning a skirt to hide the breeches for now, she intended to remove it before boarding Raven. Tying on her straw bonnet, she headed downstairs.
When she arrived, however, neither Mr. Treadwell nor the stablehand assigned to accompany her that day were present, and only two of the workers were working there. At first annoyed, she shrugged it off, tired of the whole affair. She wasn’t even leaving the immediate grounds, for heaven’s sake.
With no stablehands in the stallions’ stable either, she groomed and saddled Raven herself. Lady Katherine would have scolded her, but Bethany didn’t mind. It soothed her to care for her own mounts, and she swore they knew and performed better for her because of it.
In exploring Moorewood’s grounds, Bethany had discovered a small stone paddock to the rear of the stables. Dimity used it for training and exercising the horses, a perfect place with few distractions and containment for the horse if it got loose from its handler. Bethany led Raven inside, latched the wooden gate behind them, removed her skirt, draped it over the top rail of the gate, and climbed aboard, pleased by the ease of doing so without the encumbrances of petticoats and yards of irksome fabric.
Raven’s coat shown blue-black in the late morning sunlight, his dark eyes bright, his thick neck arched and tail held high. He could hardly wait to stretch his legs. He carried her briskly around the paddock in his warm-up paces. From a swift walk, Bethany sent him into a jog then finally a collected canter.
From her early childhood and despite being a girl, Bethany’s father had taught her dressage, the maneuvers used on horses trained at the Imperial Spanish Riding School of Vienna. A cue to double-back had Raven repeating his actions in the opposite direction, executing figure eights with flawless changes of leads. His pirouettes, side-passes, and serpentines were near-perfect, and though Bethany considered some of her own cues clumsy, the stallion interpreted them correctly. He moved into the piaffe with a single prompt, and performed the passage as if he’d read her thoughts. Such incredible grace and power had Bethany feeling on top of the world.
It was difficult work, leaving both of them slick with sweat and breathing hard. Bethany praised Raven, patting his lathered shoulder and stroking his neck, and then cooled off both of them in a comfortable walk. She wished she could take the stallion into the meadows to ride, but dressed as she was and without an escort, she dared do no such thing. She already dreaded any repercussions of breaking her agreement with Lord Locke to this degree. Inhaling lungsful of Moorewood’s clean, fresh air, she dismounted and gave the stallion a hug. Raven snorted and bobbed his head, leaning into Bethany with affection.
Suddenly the stallion started and huffed, nostrils flared and ears perked towards the stables. Then the paddock gate swung wide and Bethany’s mouth fell open when Lord Locke stepped inside.
He did not look at all pleased.
“M—my lord,” she stammered. “You’re home.”
Locke nodded, clasping his hands behind him and raising his brows. “And you’re out riding. Alone.” The way his eyes roamed over her, from head to toe, set her cheeks on fire.
Bethany gulped. “I couldn’t find any of the servants when I came to the manor’s entryway, just as no one was here to groom and tack Raven for me. I did it myself. I don’t mind, really. In fact, I enjoy it.”
“You understand why I’m not pleased with your decision, do you not?”
Her excuses died on her lips. If Lord Locke could surprise her, assassins or kidnappers could have done the same. Besides, she rued the disappointment she heard in his voice.
“I promise I won’t take the risk again. I won’t leave my room without a guardian at my side, if you wish.” After all, blackguards and murderers would prefer she made a mistake.
“My goal is your safety not imprisonment, my lady, and only requires everyone’s compliance. Just remember, if your full attention is on your mount, where it should be, you could get caught off-guard. I hear Lady Camille went home a couple of hours ago.”
Bethany blinked at the change of topics. “She plans to return in a week or so. She was a bit homesick.”
“She was a riding companion.”
Bethany’s heart fell and she bowed her head at this additional admonition.
Locke pointed at the window in the stallion barn at the loft level. “I was up there, in Dimity’s work room, in conference with a homely lot of stablehands, when one of them gasped in shock. An audience gathered at the window, myself included.
“I didn’t see your entire performance but observed enough to know you are a superb horsewoman. Skirts and sidesaddles must certainly get in your way.” Another perusal of her figure made her wish to crawl under a rock. “But I imagined you exaggerated when you said you preferred riding barefoot and in breeches. It appears I was wrong. Not only was your performance breathtaking, but so was your wardrobe. I daresay you nearly gave old Seaworth a heart attack, but I cannot say the same about the estate’s younger men.”
He pulled her riding skirt from the gate and handed it to her. She quickly donned it and smoothed the folds into place. Bethany was hardly unaware of all the reasons she oughtn’t to defy convention, but she never would have thought the possibility of disgracing her husband would matter so much.
“Josh!” Locke shouted, making her start. When the man came running from the stables, Lord Locke waved at the stallion.
“Who was supposed to escort Lady Locke this morning?”
“Oh, uh, Carter, I believe, m’lord.”
“He wasn’t at our meeting. I need to know where he was if not accompanying Lady Locke. Take the stallion and have someone groom him and put him away. Bring me word.”
“Yes, m’lord,” the young man replied, leading off Raven.
“Now, how goes the renovation?” Locke asked Bethany.
“You’ve not seen it yet?”
“All I saw and heard was bedlam, men and equipment everywhere.”
Bethany dared offer a rueful smile. “As it has been since just after you left.”
Bethany heard Josh before she saw him jog around the corner.
“Pardon, m’lord. Spoke to Carter m’self. He’s dreadful sick, said he took a drink at the ‘ouse, started feelin’ bilious not much after. Told Mr. Treadwell he was hurryin’ for the jacks, sure he was goin' t’ lose his breakfast. Thought Mr. Treadwell would send for a replacement.”
Locke’s face creased with concern. He nodded and excused Josh to take word he would be out to see Carter shortly.
“What’s wrong, my lord?” Bethany asked
“I spoke with Mr. Treadwell before coming to the stables, but he didn’t mention Carter’s taking ill.” He ruminated a moment, then offered his arm and said, “I’d like to see the progress on the house.”
They’d not gone more than a few feet, however, when Bethany realized Locke was limping.
“You’re hurt! What happened?”
Locke shrugged. “Just took a spill and twisted an ankle. I’m fine.”
>
“I trust you at least dodged mud puddles this time,” she said, disconcerted. “Do you have accidents often?”
“More than I like,” he admitted, looking away.
Lady Bethany wondered what secrets he harbored now. “Perhaps you shouldn’t climb the stairs.”
“It’s a minor injury. I really am fine, Lady Bethany. Let’s see the house.”
* * *
Evading ladders, piles of equipment, and clusters of men, Lord and Lady Locke journeyed arm in arm through the manor. The changes in the place amazed the earl. He missed everything that reminded him of his boyhood, but his lady’s inspiration was already giving his home a lovelier face. It plucked a cord inside him that made him truly sorry he could neither stay here longer nor come more often. As it was, he’d frequented Moorewood more this summer than he had in the last few years put together, and mostly because of Lady Bethany.
An interminable trip upstairs, on an ankle that reminded Locke of the close call he’d taken on his journey, revealed a work in various stages of progress. The ground floor and dozens of guest bedchambers on the top floor were now finished and decorated, while the work on the second level had begun days ago in the library—which was now completed—and the blue parlor. The green parlor was slated next.
They’d barely entered the library when a thundering of footsteps spun Lady Bethany around. Locke looked behind him, frowning when Melissa ran past the library’s doorway towards the stairs. He heard her skidding to a stop and then she returned to stare at them with eyes rounded with shock and her face as white as bleached muslin.
“Lord Locke! My lady! Gore, ya won’t believe it—I mean, pardon me, but somethin’ terrible’s happened. I went to tidy your room and lay out your day dress, my lady, and, oh, what I found! It’s dreadful.”
Feeling the rush of adrenaline, Locke pushed the girl towards the hallway. Lady Bethany ran alongside him—in his case he limped quickly—until Melissa stopped at his countess’s open door, arms wrapped about herself as master and mistress walked into the room.
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