Good Earls Don't Lie

by Michelle Willingham

  The boy seemed to sense the shift in his mood and said nothing. He also stopped struggling on the horse.

  “What is your name?” Iain asked. “And you’d best be telling me the truth because Lady Penford’s servants will know who you are, won’t they?”

  The boy hesitated, but admitted, “My name is Beau.” The lad didn’t offer anything further, but Iain was convinced that he was a nobleman’s son. Everything from the boy’s speech, to his disdain for authority, spoke of breeding.

  In the countryside, everyone knew everyone. If he caused a stir or demanded justice, they likely would defend their own, for he was the outsider here. But the lad appeared to have little respect for consequences, and it was likely that he had played tricks of this nature before.

  It took only moments to reach the estate, where he found the coachman waiting for him. The man’s face was purple with fury, and other servants had gathered around.

  “What the devil is going on?” the coachman demanded. “First ye go off with one of our—” He paused a moment and inspected the gelding. His expression transformed and some of his anger faded. “This isn’t one of our horses.”

  “No. He’s my horse, Darcy,” Iain said. “And I’ll be taking him back to the stables now.” He dismounted and pulled Beau off the horse, still gripping him by the arm. “This lad stole him from me, along with my clothes.”

  With that, he stripped the boy of the coat. The fabric was torn near the hem, and it was filthy. He glared at Beau, folding the coat under his arm. “He and his friend thought it would be a lark to steal.” An idea sparked suddenly, one that perfectly fit the boy’s crime. “And since he stole my horse, I believe he’ll be spending the afternoon mucking out your stables as punishment.”

  The coachman looked uneasy about the prospect. “Well, I don’t rightly know. Is this true, Master Beauregard?”

  The boy lifted his chin. “I didn’t steal anything. I found them.”

  “I’m certain your parents would be wanting to know of your mischief,” Iain remarked. “You and your friend.”

  “As I’ve said before, my father isn’t here.” His tone held a note of triumph, as if no one could hold him accountable.

  “Sir Lester should return within a day or two,” the coachman remarked.

  Iain realized he’d been right about the boy’s family. Beau was either the son of a knight or a baronet.

  Yet at the mention of his father, the boy grew defensive. “He wouldn’t believe any of you. And if I find out anyone has told him, every last one of you will be dismissed.” He stiffened and shot a glare at all of them, fixing his final stare upon Iain.

  “I cannot be dismissed,” Iain said to the coachman. “Can I?”

  The older man’s mouth twitched. It was clear that he found the boy’s threat irritating. “Nay, you cannot.” Especially since Iain was not employed by the household.

  Before the coachman could say anything further, Iain said, “Then there is no problem with him spending the afternoon shoveling horse droppings, as punishment, is there? I will take it upon myself to see that he does a fine job of it.” Without waiting for a reply, he guided the boy back toward the stables. He caught a glimpse of amusement from the servants, and not one of them voiced their protest. Like as not, this was a rare chance for the boy to face consequences.

  As he glanced behind him one last time, he saw a face pressed up to a window of the house. It was Lady Rose, watching them. Iain sent her a smile and bowed slightly, before he escorted the boy into the stables.

  It was nearly sunset when Rose finally got up the nerve to visit the stables. Calvert wasn’t at all happy about it, but he had no choice in the matter. “It’s too dark to be riding, Lady Rose. I can take you in the morning, if you like.”

  But she wasn’t here to ride. She had waited for Mr. Donovan to leave the stables, fully expecting him to be on his way. Yet hours had passed, and no one seemed surprised that he was still here. It was as if he’d bewitched the servants into believing his tale.

  All she knew was that he’d returned with the horse. It seemed that it had been a misunderstanding of some kind, and somehow Sir Lester’s son, Beauregard, had been involved.

  “I want to know why Mr. Donovan is still here,” she said. Calvert shrugged. Her footman had never been much for conversation, and at the moment, it frustrated her to no end. “Well?”

  “He’s supervising whilst the boy mucks out the stables, so I’ve heard.”

  “Why on earth would they be doing that? I thought he’d left hours ago.”

  The footman seemed at a loss for words. When he couldn’t gather up an explanation, Rose waved her hand in dismissal. “Just take me to the stables, and I’ll find out for myself.”

  The footman grumbled about her orders, but he reluctantly obeyed. He carried her through the gardens, and as he walked, Rose tried to think of what to say to Mr. Donovan. She should ask him to leave again, but curiosity was overruling her common sense. Well, that, and the fact that the man was the most handsome servant she’d ever seen.

  When they reached the stables at last, the door was ajar. The strong odor of horse manure assaulted her nostrils, and she found Donovan standing beside Beauregard. The young boy wore a furious expression, and he was covered in filth. Perspiration had dampened his shirt, and he shoveled another pile of manure while the Irishman watched.

  “Nearly finished, lad. You’ve paid the price for your folly, I’d say. If you’re wanting to tell me where my ring is, you can stop.”

  Beau didn’t respond to the comment, but instead continued shoveling. It was the first time she’d ever seen him engaged in any kind of labor. His face was thunderous, but he had filled a wheelbarrow with droppings. The coachman, Nelson, was busy trimming one of the horse’s hooves near the far end of the stable.

  Mr. Donovan turned when he heard them enter. “Lady Rose, it’s glad I am to see you once again. Although I’m not so very presentable at the moment.” He sent her a rueful grin. She noticed, then, that he was wearing a different coat. It was still dirty and a bit worn, but it did have more of the look of a nobleman than the rags he’d worn earlier.

  “Why is Beauregard working in the stables?” she asked. And why was the Irishman overseeing the boy’s efforts? It wasn’t his place to do so if he had been ordered to leave the estate.

  “This young lad robbed me of my horse and belongings when I arrived here,” Mr. Donovan explained. “He agreed to muck out the stables as punishment for his mischief. And in the morning, he will bring back everything that belongs to me. That is, unless he wishes to clean the stables again.”

  Rose doubted if Beauregard had “agreed” to anything. But strangely, he had completed the task. She studied his face, but the boy refused to meet her gaze. Instead, he shoveled another heap of dung, ignoring both of them.

  “Where is your father, Beauregard?” she asked the boy.

  At that, he turned, and shot her a glare. “He was supposed to return three days ago.”

  Mr. Donovan caught her gaze, and Rose understood his silent nod. She had the feeling that he had also promised not to tell Sir Lester of his son’s misdeeds. For a moment, his green eyes lingered upon hers, and she could almost sense his thoughts: The boy needs his father.

  They all knew it. Beauregard constantly caused trouble, due to his father’s lengthy absences. Most of the folk were thankful when he returned to school after the holidays. Which made her wonder why Beau was here, instead of at Eton. She didn’t voice her suspicions, but instead remarked, “Won’t your family be looking for you, Beau?”

  “There’s naught to be worried about,” Mr. Donovan said. “I sent word to his household that he was paying a call upon you and your sisters and would be back at nightfall.”

  Beauregard shot him a sullen look, and rested his shovel against the stall. “My father will be angry at you for this when he returns. I told you, I wasn’t the one who stole from you.” He grumbled beneath his breath, muttering something about a
horse that had followed him.

  Mr. Donovan ignored the threat and added, “You missed a spot in the corner, lad. Finish it, and then we’ll bring you home. After you’ve washed up, that is.”

  “We?” Rose asked.

  “Aye, a chara. You can accompany us when I take the lad home again. Then we’ll talk, and you can ask me all the questions you’re wanting to.” He strode over to the end of the stables and brought out Molly, one of the older mares. “Bring Calvert as a chaperone, if you’d like.”

  “That would be Mister Calvert to you,” the footman corrected with a glare. Iain only ignored the man.

  But the coachman stepped away from the horse he was tending and intervened. “Lady Rose needn’t go anywhere,” Nelson argued. “Especially with the likes of you.”

  At the sight of the mare, Lady Rose hesitated. “I don’t know. I haven’t been riding in some time, and—” Her words broke away. From the look on her footman’s face, she could tell that he had no desire to go anywhere. Nelson also seemed unwilling to condone it.

  But then, it was her decision, was it not?

  “It’s not so very far, is it, lad?” Though Mr. Donovan directed the words to Beauregard, he never took his gaze from hers. His green eyes held interest, and she felt a prickle of awareness toward the man. His shirt was damp with perspiration, and it outlined rigid muscles. She wondered exactly how strong he was, and a blush stole over her face. Even Lord Burkham had never looked at her in such a way . . . as if he were trying to know her intimately. The thought unnerved her.

  “It’s about three miles,” Rose heard herself answer. Her brain argued that she had no business escorting Beauregard home—not with this man. He was an Irish stranger whose flirtatious demeanor was entirely improper.

  And yet, she’d felt so trapped in the past few weeks, any outing was a welcome opportunity—even if it was only for a chance to leave the estate. She was so weary of being inside, unable to move or go anywhere without the curmudgeonly Calvert.

  “Three miles isn’t a long journey at all. And it is a fine evening, to be sure.” Mr. Donovan reached for one of the saddles and began readying Molly.

  Nelson started to protest, but Lady Rose lifted a hand and shook her head at the coachman. It was not his place to deny her the right to ride.

  Once Mr. Donovan had cinched the saddle, he beckoned to her. “Bring Lady Rose here,” he told the footman, “and you can return to the house if you’ve no wish to go with her.”

  “I won’t be leaving her with the likes of you,” Calvert countered. And while Rose could understand his reasoning, the idea of a ride tempted her. It was a lovely evening, and despite her inner doubts, was there any harm in riding a few miles down the road? She didn’t think so.

  “Put me upon Molly,” she ordered her footman. “I’ll be fine.”

  “But, Lady Rose, you cannot consider this.” Calvert appeared aghast at the idea. “You don’t even know this man.”

  “No,” she agreed. But she did want to know more about him and why he had come to Penford. It would give her the chance to ascertain whether he was telling the truth. “You are welcome to follow on your own mount, if you wish. Or Nelson can accompany me.” The coachman looked uncomfortable at the idea.

  Calvert also appeared uneasy. “I can’t be leaving you alone with the Irishman.”

  “Then come with me.” She pointed toward the mare. “But help me onto Molly first.”

  He brought her over to the horse, looking uneasy about her decision. Rose sent him a pointed look, reminding Calvert that he was in her employ. Eventually, he lifted her onto the mare. She sat sidesaddle and guided the animal to the door. “Thank you. I shall wait outside until you decide whether to attend me yourself or send another servant.”

  The footman sent her a weary look, but nodded. “I know my duty, Lady Rose.” With the greatest of reluctance, he went to fetch his own horse with the help of Nelson.

  Mr. Donovan clapped his arm on Beauregard and followed. “Come, lad. We’ll get you washed up before you go home.”

  Resentment was written all over the boy’s face, but he obeyed. Rose guided the mare out of the stables and toward the path. A moment later, Mr. Donovan led the adolescent boy from the stable toward the water trough, and ordered the boy to strip off his shirt.

  Beau looked disgruntled, but did as he was told, washing his face, arms, and torso. Donovan did the same, splashing water on his face and throat. Droplets of water spilled over his skin, while his hair was wet along his forehead and cheeks. He turned to her, as if he’d sensed her watching, and he sent her the pirate smile again.

  Rose felt her cheeks warm, unsure of why she was so intrigued by this man. There was a sense of rebellion about him, as if he obeyed no rules but his own. But she felt her own mouth respond with an answering smile.

  He’s dangerous, she thought to herself. Her skin tightened, as if by an invisible caress. She followed the trail of a water droplet as it slid down his throat to his chest. Never before had she been so entranced by a man. It was better to avert her gaze, to prevent herself from imagining such wickedness.

  She didn’t understand her own reaction, for she should not be looking at Iain Donovan. He was a visitor, nothing more. Her heart belonged to Thomas, and this was nothing but idle foolishness.

  The mare started to graze as she waited. Beauregard finished washing, while the Irishman helped Calvert saddle up their horses.

  When Mr. Donovan returned, he was riding the black gelding he’d taken earlier, while Nelson led a second horse outside. The coachman helped Beauregard mount the animal, while Calvert followed on his own horse. Then Mr. Donovan drew his gelding beside her mare. Although their horses were of similar size, he was still far taller than she.

  “This is Darcy,” he told her. She leaned over to touch the horse, and the gelding snorted.

  “He’s beautiful.”

  “He’s friendly enough. But I can’t say as he’s the most intelligent horse I’ve ever had.” He sent her a conspiratorial smile. “Frightened of everything, he is.”

  “Then why did you choose him?” Most men would take a spirited stallion instead of this one.

  “Because no one else wanted him.” He gave the horse’s jaw a friendly pat. “He may not have the wits of a field mouse, but he’s a good sort, is Darcy.” With that, he gestured for her to move forward. “Lead on, Lady Rose.”

  She did, and oh, it felt wonderful to be ambulatory, even if it was only on horseback. Rose breathed in the evening air, sighing with thankfulness. For a moment, she pretended that her legs were whole, that she was not dependent upon others. She held fast to the dream, knowing that it would end as soon as Calvert helped her dismount.

  But for now, it was enough.

  She wanted to urge the horse faster, to feel the wind against her hair. That would only end the ride sooner, so she refrained. Instead, she drank in the sight of her surroundings, enjoying the sunlight as the last of the day disappeared. The dirt road meandered over hills and by the river, and she felt the breath of spring upon her face.

  “You look as if you’re starving to be outside,” Mr. Donovan said. “How long has it been?”

  She stiffened in the saddle. “I sit in the garden every day.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve left the estate?” he corrected.

  “Since we arrived in early December.” They had only a few neighbors who dwelled in the country, and when her mother’s mental state had worsened, it had seemed prudent to bring her here, where it was private.

  When Mr. Donovan looked as if he wanted to ply her with more questions, Rose patted the horse and urged the mare into a trot. He countered by bringing his horse alongside hers. “Are you afraid of me, Lady Rose?”

  “Now why should I be afraid of a groom?” she countered. “That is who you are, am I right? You seem to know your way around a stable.”

  “You know that’s not who I am.” He kept his pace even with hers and sent her a dark smile. �
��I told you. I am the Earl of Ashton, and your grandmother invited me here.”

  She still didn’t believe that. There were too many flaws in his story, most notably, the absence of servants. A peer would never arrive at an estate on horseback. And although he claimed that there was a coach accident and that he’d left his servants behind, she could never imagine an earl doing such a thing. For one, it was dangerous. For another, it made no sense at all.

  “My grandmother isn’t here,” she reminded him. “Why would she invite you to come if she was on holiday in Bath?”

  “She told me I was welcome to visit your family anytime this year. I sent word, but apparently my letter didn’t arrive.”

  She glanced at him again, wondering if he might be telling the truth. Letters were frequently missed, so it was indeed conceivable. But she couldn’t bring herself to trust him. At least, not yet.

  “My grandmother is not a fool. If she does not believe your tale of being the Earl of Ashton, she’ll toss you out on your ear.”

  “As you would like to do?” He shrugged. “You’ll see, Lady Rose. She has met me, and your mother and mine were friends.”

  Highly unlikely. “Then why have I never heard of you?”

  His expression grew shielded. “I’ve never been to England before, unlike my older brother.”

  She didn’t miss the hint of pain when he mentioned a brother, but she didn’t inquire about the family death. Yet his claim, that he had never visited England, struck her as preposterous. A younger son would have to visit London from time to time.

  “So your family neglected you in your training to become the earl.”

  His hands tightened upon the reins of his horse. “That was their choice, not mine. And I intend to remedy that immediately.” He glanced behind him at Beauregard. “This lad stole my brother’s signet ring. So he knows I am the earl.”

  The boy let out an exasperated huff of air. “I never saw a ring. He probably is a groom. And I’ll tell Father how he forced me to shovel dung. If you hadn’t come when you did, he might have forced me to eat it.”