The Lady Series, Two Books for the Price of One

by Denise Domning

  “There's nothing here to use,” Ned complained. “Hell take me, but the wedding plans grind steadily forward as if this were the happiest of matches not a union forced down the throats of a hostile bride and groom.”

  Dick's gaze narrowed, just a little. “It'd be best for our futures if you stopped panicking.”

  Ned jerked at the reminder. Unlike that which bound other men to their servants, there was no loyalty in this relationship; Dick’s only connection to him was in their shared desire to rise to the pinnacle of their respective classes. Two years ago it had seemed a fair bargain. Dick’s skill with fashion combined with Ned's native charm had resulted in him catching his queen's eye and reaping royal favor's benefits at a very young age. Now that same ambition meant Dick would be the first man to abandon him if Ned were banished from Elizabeth's presence.

  His servant strode to the oriel and threw open the window. The sounds of the castle's servantry gathered in the yard below flowed up into their chambers. “Ah, the lady is already in the yard,” he called over his shoulder. “Just as you thought, she’s brought Mistress Atwater with her.”

  Turning, he offered his master a small smile. “I can’t imagine why you fret over failure when success lies within your grasp even as we speak. You want to search the steward's office? Ask Mistress Atwater. That saucy bit would betray anyone and anything if you offered her a kiss.”

  Anger roared through Ned. How dare this servant speak so about Brigit! Surprise replaced anger. Lord save him, but when had he become fond of the governess?

  With this discovery everything became that much more complex. How was he supposed to use a woman he cared for, knowing that what he asked her to do would destroy her? Then again, what choice had he?

  Dressed in her everyday attire, a set of pale blue skirts and a bodice of darker blue with a gray cap upon her head, Belle sat just outside Graceton's garden. A canvas canopy had been raised to shade her, and Peg and Brigit along with her, from the day's uncertain sun. They were supposed to be making love knots, twists of ribbon that would decorate Belle's best attire on her wedding day. Not a length of ribbon had been tied these last minutes. Instead, they all watched Lucy.

  Belle’s precious child was wearing her brown traveling attire, renamed her riding habit, and was perched atop the smallest mare in Squire Hollier's stable. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the reins. A frown of fierce concentration creased her brow as she listened to her instructions.

  Master James, dressed in the sleeveless brown doublet and black breeches that Belle now recognized as his daily attire, stood alongside Lucy's horse. Despite scudding clouds that made the day blink from dark to light, his hair gleamed a burnished bronze. The fine crinkles around his eyes told her he was pleased by the effort Lucy was making.

  A tiny flame woke in a hidden corner of her heart. She should have known it would be Graceton's steward who fulfilled her daughter's dearest dream. That flame grew until it consumed her. May the Lord forgive her, but she couldn’t help it. She loved Master James for it, just as she loved him for not allowing her to take blame for their kiss.

  Just as she loved him for all the times he'd rescued her and shielded her from hurt.

  Not that Squire Hollier hadn't been caring. Belle looked up at the gallery windows. The squire sat in the oriel nearest the hall, swathed in a thick robe, his face hidden beneath his mask. He'd come to watch her daughter’s lesson. According to Watt and John, it was the first time in their memory that Graceton's master had been out of his chamber during daylight hours.

  Although Belle was grateful for the way Squire Hollier had taken Lucy into his heart, no love stirred in her for him. Her gaze returned to Master James. His steward, on the other hand, did want her. She knew because he'd told her so both with words and his body on that night they’d kissed.

  “Lead her out to the center of the yard, Old Will,” Master James said.

  Gray-haired, his back bent with his years, the groom led the plodding mare across the grass. Whistles and calls of encouragement rose from the kitchen wall. A goodly number of servants were gathered there, no doubt come to see their reclusive squire.

  “Now Mistress Lucy,” Master James called, “make her walk.”

  Lucy's little heels struck the horse’s sides. With a snort of complaint the mare managed to lift her hooves into a slow walk. The lass squealed in exhilaration.

  “Look at me! I’m riding by myself!” she shouted to all and sundry then waved to her stepfather in the window. He raised a gloved hand in response.

  Beside Belle, Brigit drew a sharp breath. “Lord, keep her safe in Your heart,” she murmured.

  Again, Belle hid her smile. Brigit didn’t care much for horses. Belle, on the other hand, hadn’t forgotten the wondrous rush of freedom that came from pounding through the woods atop a massive beast. Indeed, it was only while riding that she ever felt truly strong and in control.

  Lucy completed several circles. “I think you’ve mastered that direction,” Master James told her. “Can you turn her and go the other way?”

  Belle's hands closed around imaginary reins. Moving them as if she were guiding the horse, she willed Lucy to do the same. In the yard, the mare snorted and turned, now bearing toward them.

  With a laugh, Belle clapped her approval. “You’ve done it, love,” she called.

  Lucy beamed then looked beyond her mother. “Watch me, Sir Edward!” she shouted.

  Startled, Belle shifted on her stool and looked toward the gatehouse. Both the knight and his manservant stood there, observing the lesson. Today Sir Edward wore a tawny doublet trimmed with ribbons, each tied in a meticulous bow.

  The knight grinned then lifted a hand in a friendly wave. “I see you, little one,” he called back. “You’re doing well indeed.”

  Belle straightened in surprise. She’d assumed the knight's dislike for her extended to her child. At his show of kindness toward her daughter Belle considered there might be more to the man than a single-minded determination to ruin her life.

  “A little faster,” Master James called.

  “Oh nay,” Brigit cried softly, her fists clenched in her sewing project. “She shouldn’t go faster, she's too small. What if she falls?” Turning on her stool, she looked at Belle. “Please, my lady, I cannot bear to watch. Might I walk in the garden until this is finished?”

  Belle swallowed her laughter. “Aye, go,” she said, then turned her gaze back to Lucy as her daughter kicked the old mare into a trot.

  Not but ten revolutions later Richard appeared beside Belle, a worrisome tension in his shoulders.

  “What is it, Richard?” Belle asked.

  “My lady, I beg your pardon for intruding,” he said, then paused. His mouth opened and closed several times as if in speech, but nothing passed his lips. Sadness shot through his gaze followed by a flash of some darker emotion then he cleared his throat. “I thought I should tell you Sir Edward followed Mistress Atwater into the garden.”

  Hot color scorched his cheeks. “What am I doing?” he murmured to himself then began to back away from her. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I’ve misspoken when it's none of my concern.”

  “Nay Richard,” Belle commanded gently, even though he was right about it being none of his concern. Had it been any other man speaking to her about any other situation, she’d have roundly scolded him for his boldness. But this was Richard, the man who'd not only seen her safely to this place but bolstered her confidence every step of the way. It was a substantial debt she owed him.

  “Thank you for your warning,” she said, coming to her feet and putting a hand on Peg's shoulder. “Trust us. We'll see no harm comes to her.”

  “That’s all I intended,” he whispered as if to assure himself of his motives.

  Whirling, he strode rapidly away. Belle watched him go. For Richard to overstep the bounds of propriety he so strictly observed, he must truly be aching over watching the woman he adored as she gave her heart to another. For the first time s
ince their arrival Belle gave thanks the footman hadn’t rank enough to dine with them in the parlor. It spared him from witnessing the many coy looks and circumspect smiles Brigit sent the knight.

  Content to leave her precious child in Master James's hands, Belle waved Peg to her feet. Her maid shot her a worried look as they strode for the garden's gate.

  “There’s no doubting our Brigit's lost her heart to the knight,” Peg said, “but surely she's not so far gone she'd let him have his way with her. Would she?” she finished uncertainly.

  “Of course not.” Belle put more assurance in her voice than she felt.

  It would be all her fault if Brigit had given way. Belle’s warning to the governess about the knight had been received with sweet assurances that it would be heeded. Rather than press to be certain that Brigit’s intention to obey was well fixed, Belle had let the matter lay. A better mistress would have known how to deliver her lessons so they had at least some impact.

  They entered the garden. With tall walls to baffle sound a deep stillness claimed this place, unbroken save for the distant gurgle of a fountain and the chirp of birds. The square keep tower loomed over them, its ancient stones wearing ivy like a leafy cloak. There was no sign of Brigit.

  Belle glanced down the path that led strollers, maze-like, spiraling round and up the tower’s mound to the keep’s door. On the way it passed planting beds and cut through hedges taller than any man. Not only did these thick banks of green offer walkers a bit of shade, there was a certain intimacy to be found in their dark recesses.

  “Nay, I cannot.” Brigit's voice rose from behind the nearest hedge.

  Belle’s heart quirked. She looked at Peg. Her hand pressed to her bodice, the maid met her lady's gaze, the same concern Belle knew reflected in her eyes. Lifting her skirts, Belle started swiftly in the direction of the hedge, Peg following at her heels.

  “Then do not,” came Sir Edward's gentle reply, “and know I'll respect you all the more for refusing me.”

  Relief tore through Belle. It seemed the knight meant to act the gentleman with a woman he could have forced. Stepping quietly through the arched opening cut into that line of bushes, she stopped.

  The pair stood face-to-face. Brigit's hands rested upon the knight's chest, Sir Edward's hands atop hers, as if to keep her fingers against him. All Belle had ever seen in his expression was arrogant zeal or frantic loathing. It was a warm affection that softened his handsome features now.

  She opened her mouth to announce herself then caught back the words. They were doing no wrong. Turning, hoping to leave unnoticed, she ran into Peg, who huffed to a halt with a loud scrape of gravel.

  Brigit glanced toward the sound then gasped and sprang back from the knight as if singed, bright color staining her face. “My lady, we were only speaking,” she cried out, not realizing her guilty reaction suggested that what she was doing and what she longed to do weren’t quite synonymous.

  In the hopes of finally driving home her message Belle cocked a chiding brow. “I saw what you were doing,” she said, offering an accusation of nothing since she'd seen nothing.

  Brigit blanched then desperation filled her gaze. Belle's heart ached for her. Here was the price a woman paid for being both pretty and poor. It was a love match the governess hoped to make with the knight, something a plain woman in her situation would never dream possible.

  “Perhaps it would be best if you returned to the house,” Belle said more gently this time.

  Brigit's head bowed. “As you will, my lady.” Without so much as a fare-thee-well to her lover, she lifted her skirts and nearly ran toward the garden gate.

  Belle looked at Peg. “Go with her, remembering it's comfort she needs just now,” she warned, knowing from long experience how well the maid liked to lecture.

  “Aye, my lady,” Peg replied and hurried after the governess.

  It wasn't until her maid disappeared that concern started through Belle. Well here she was, right where she didn’t wish to be: alone with Sir Edward. She looked at the knight. His arms were crossed, his jaw tensed and his gaze hard. Anger and dislike nigh on wafted from him.

  The urge to run filled Belle. For Brigit's sake she quelled it.

  “No wrong was done,” he snarled.

  Belle drew herself to her tallest, masking worry behind a calm expression. “I didn’t think for a moment that it had been,” she lied softly, wanting to repay his respect for Brigit with her own. “You have ever treated Brigit like the gentlewoman she is.”

  Surprise dashed through his gaze then his eyes narrowed once more. “You say that, yet you send her away as if she was unworthy of your trust.”

  Belle gave a gentle shake of her head. “You mistake me. I send her away because of what lies in her heart for you. It's a place for you she's made there, Sir Edward. It's marriage she hopes you’ll offer, despite her lack of dowry,” Belle continued bluntly. “Has she misinterpreted your intentions?”

  At his pained expression Belle sighed. As much as he cared for Brigit, his ambition would never allow him to marry a woman without connections or wealth.

  “I think it would be best if you saw her no more in private,” she said.

  “How dare you!” he nearly shouted. “Do you never tire of disparaging my character, my lady? I'm an honorable man with no intention of misusing her. What wrong can there be in the two of us enjoying each other’s company?”

  “No wrong at all.” She shrugged. “That is, if you plan to break her heart.”

  “I don’t understand you,” he snapped.

  “Then I shall say it plain,” she replied. “Sir Edward, she's not yet twenty. She still clings to the notion that love will out. Against that, I fear she'll forget all propriety and ask you to wed her. If you refuse her as it seems you must,” she continued, “her pride will shatter. Since her pride is all she owns in the world I pray you, do not take it from her.”

  His own caring for the governess killed the resistance that flared briefly in his hazel eyes. In its passing, the shadow of a decent man appeared in his gaze. Releasing a harsh breath, his arms opened, palms upturned.

  “Not for the world would I hurt her,” he said, his voice flat. “Were this year the last, I’d offer for her, her poverty be damned. I would,” he repeated as if it were a vow, then his shoulders sagged. “But now, now I have nothing left to offer.” His voice trailed away into an aching silence.

  “Then you’ll make no more attempt to see her in private,” Belle said, to see him set firmly in the course he must take.

  “It would be for the best,” he agreed, his lips twisting into a facsimile of a smile. “Will you explain to her that we talked, you and I, and tell her what was said?” he asked.

  “I will, giving you all the credit your behavior deserves,” she said.

  A bitter laugh left him. “You give me more credit than I think I’m due. I never thought I'd say this to you my lady, but you have my heartfelt thanks.” He turned and walked deeper into the garden.

  Leaving him to his pain, she started toward the garden’s exit, only to discover that Master James stood there. As he saw her appear through the hedge worry eased from his face. Belle's heart leapt at this proof of his caring for her. Would that there was someone to correct her, the way she must Brigit.

  She came to a stop beside him. “Master Wyatt?”

  His brows rose in question. “I beg your pardon my lady, but Mistress Atwater ran from the garden, followed by Mistress Hythereve. Is something amiss?”

  “Nothing that time won't heal,” she replied, managing a smile. That was true enough.

  “Ah,” he said, instead of the questions he was too polite to ask.

  Together, they returned to the yard. Everyone was gone, save for Lucy and the elderly groom. As Old Will led the mare toward the gatehouse Lucy raced toward the hall door.

  “The lesson is done, then?” Belle asked as she and Master James made their way far more slowly after Lucy.

  “Aye,” the
steward nodded. “It was necessarily short after yesterday's exertion.”

  On the previous day, Lucy had tried to teach her stepfather to dance. “The squire's lungs have had no strength since-” He fell into an abrupt silence.

  Curiosity tingled in Belle. Lucy had told them the tale of Squire Hollier's tumble into the flames as a lad. It still startled Belle that so old an event seemed so current to all of Graceton's residents. Few of the servants would even speak about the incident while those who did always referred to it as The Accident, as if no other person in the world had ever experienced a life-shattering event.

  “Your daughter's a quick study,” Master James said in a brusque change of subject.

  Still pondering Graceton’s strange protectiveness of its squire, Belle offered an absent reply. “You’re kind to say so.”

  The steward stopped. Belle halted too, looking up to see what was the matter. Wry amusement curved Master James’ lips and glowed in his blue eyes.

  “Once again you call me kind when it’s not kindness I offer but the truth. Listen now and I shall tell you a fact,” he teased. “Mistress Lucy will make a fine rider if for no other reason than her determination to master the art.”

  That made Belle laugh. “Determined. Now that’s a good word for my sweetheart. However I think there are other words that fit her better. Stubborn. Persistent, of a certainty. And utterly unbearable when she chooses to be.”

  Master James’ smile widened, the warmth in his face meant only for her. She caught her breath in wonder. How could it be that so exquisite a man might find her attractive?

  “Why am I not surprised at your description?” he laughed as a footman approached.

  The man came to a halt beside him, offering a brief bow in Belle's direction. “Pardon, Master James,” he said holding out a fold of paper. “A passing merchant delivered this for the lady.”

  “For me?” Belle cried in excitement. It’d been a rare day indeed when she’d received a letter at the Purfoy manor, and she’d not written to one of her acquaintances since Sir William's death.