The Making 0f Baron Haversmere (HQR Historical)

by Carol Arens

  It seemed that words were not going to convince him to step to the side.

  A weapon was what she needed. Glancing about, she spotted a twig, a grey feather and a tuft of newly sprouted grass.

  Her shoe it must be, although the toe was rounded more than pointed. The heel might do, being a small block of wood.

  Reaching down, she plucked it off, waved it in front of his nose. The shoe would not disable him, but perhaps it would dissuade him. No gentleman would want to return to the ballroom with his face scratched. Questions would be asked.

  ‘My dear, dear lady.’ He caught her wrist, squeezed hard until she dropped the shoe. ‘You need not disrobe for what I have in mind.’

  She struggled against his mean grip. She ought to scream. She truly ought to, but she had faced so much shame already she could not bear any more.

  If people believed she was assaulted in the garden, there would be no end to the pitying looks.

  She kicked his shin. He snared her waist, trying to drag her while she dug her feet into the gravel path.

  Something pierced her heel. She yelped because it stung like the dickens.

  To her everlasting astonishment, a fist ploughed over her shoulder from behind, then slammed into Waverly’s nose.

  She spun about, gazing straight into the enraged face of her—Victor’s, rather—cowboy. She was only vaguely aware of Lord Waverly swaying on his knees and clutching his bleeding nose.

  Chapter Four

  ‘My dear, dear lady, you need not disrobe for what I have in mind,’ Joe heard a voice say the instant before he rounded a corner of the garden path.

  He stopped, wondering how to best retreat without intruding upon the couple.

  Then he heard the scrape and scramble of feet, a man’s low, predatory laugh.

  He dashed around the bend, saw a woman being dragged towards an alcove.

  Red haze flashed in his brain. He did not consider consequence, only the need to act. He curled his fist, reached over the woman’s shoulder and gave the villain a solid punch in the face.

  With his free arm, he tucked the lady behind him, even while the blow crunched bone.

  The fellow went down on his knees, grasping his nose. Blood spurted through his fingers and dripped on his fancy shirt. It sounded as though he might be choking back a sob. He made no move to rise and defend himself.

  Coward. He’d seen men like this. All huff and blow to women, but they ran tail-tucked from a fair fight with a man.

  Since the scoundrel no longer seemed a threat, Joe shifted his attention to the lady.

  ‘Have you been harmed, ma’am?’ For the first time his mind registered more than seeing a threatened female. He sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Mrs Shaw?’

  She shook her head while tucking strands of hair back into the strict-looking bun they had fallen loose from.

  ‘I’m cursing myself for a fool. I knew Lord Waverly was in attendance, but I walked out alone in spite of it.’ Her wide blue eyes blinked—she seemed to be looking for something on the ground. ‘Things would have become quite ugly had you not happened by. I thank you, Mr Steton. It seems I am in your debt once again.’

  While the fellow on the ground did seem deflated, Joe thought it best to put several steps between him and Mrs Shaw.

  ‘I reckon a lady ought to be able to take a walk without being set upon.’

  ‘Are all cowboys so noble-minded?’ she asked while still looking for something on the ground.

  He shrugged one shoulder. ‘We are men like any other.’

  She looked up from whatever she was searching for, gazing intently at him.

  ‘I wonder,’ was all she said.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  Far in the distance he heard a dog barking. Could be it sensed what had happened and was distressed over it. If the animal was anything like Sir Bristle, it could smell trouble from half a mile out.

  ‘My shoe. I meant to hit him with it.’

  Mrs Shaw’s words sounded as brave as any he’d ever heard a lady in peril speak. The nearly imperceptible shiver of her fingers said she was putting on a courageous face.

  He greatly admired her for it.

  A flash of blue caught the moonlight. He strode halfway back to the man, snatched up the satin slipper, then came back and handed it to her.

  The dog’s barking sounded louder and more urgent—a mite closer, too. Joe figured it must have got out of its yard and was being chased by its owners.

  Mrs Shaw slid the delicate-looking shoe over her foot, but uttered a muffled ‘ouch’.

  The cad behind them was slowly coming to his feet.

  ‘Are you injured?’ The furrow between her brows said so. The way she pressed her lips together confirmed it.

  ‘A splinter in my heel, that’s all.’

  ‘I hope your husband won’t mind, but I’m going to carry you back to the house.’

  He swept her up before she had time to say no. She circled her arms about his neck for balance, but it was obvious she was reluctant to do so.

  That was something to admire as well. Who did not adore a virtuous woman who recognised necessity without putting on maidenly airs of protest?

  ‘My husband will not care a whit. I’m a widow.’

  ‘Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear it.’

  He wasn’t though, not completely.

  ‘Don’t fret over it, Mr Steton. I’m far better off without him.’

  Blame it, he should not be toe-tapping in his boots to hear it. He was going home as soon as he was able. The last thing he was going to do was tangle with a pretty widow.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, too.’

  It was the truth in spite of his immediate reaction. A fine woman like her ought to have been appreciated.

  ‘Wolf!’ a voice from inside the house screamed.

  Screeches and the crash of breaking glass spilled out into the garden.

  He started to curse, but sucked the word back because of the lady in his arms.

  ‘You have a wolf, do you not, Mr Steton?’

  ‘Sir Bristle is only a quarter-wolf. The rest is just dog.’

  Men shouted. It sounded as if items were being hurled, clattering off walls.

  ‘But he does appear to be a wolf. There is a very good chance he belongs to you.’

  ‘Is it too much to hope there is an actual wolf prowling Mayfair?’

  ‘A bit much, yes.’

  In an explosion of fur and barking, Sir Bristle burst upon the terrace. Roselina ran behind him, waving her arms and shouting at him to sit.

  The dog rushed past him and Mrs Shaw, who clung suddenly tighter to his neck. Although congenial at heart, the dog could look fierce when the need arose.

  This was clearly one of those times.

  Lord Waverly had not quite made his feet when Sir Bristle knocked him flat again.

  The dog growled, baring his long teeth. Waverly covered his face with his arms...and whined?

  ‘Come,’ Joe stated. The wolf-dog gave a soft huff in the villain’s face, then trotted over to sit at Joe’s side and sniff Mrs Shaw’s skirt. ‘Good boy.’

  ‘You wouldn’t say so...’ Roselina stood in front of him, grasping her middle, breathless from the chase ‘...if you saw the ballroom. Who is that?’

  ‘Fellow called Waverly.’ Joe cast a scowl at him. ‘As far as anyone is to know, Sir Bristle knocked him over and he hit his nose on a stone.’

  Roselina glanced about at the shrubbery. She walked to a camellia, then reached under and came up with a good-sized rock.

  ‘This one?’ She tossed it at Waverly’s feet.

  Joe nodded, grinned. ‘That very one.’

  ‘Would it not be best if you set the lady down before everyone comes outside?’

  ‘She has a splinter in h
er foot.’

  ‘Lend her your arm, then.’ Roselina petted Sir Bristle’s head without having to lean down to do it. ‘It’s more seemly.’

  Blame it if she wasn’t right. He did set Mrs Shaw down, but felt some reluctance in doing so. The woman had intrigued him from the start.

  For some reason she was staring slant eyed at Roselina.

  Perhaps because they had not been properly introduced?

  Mrs Shaw’s feet touched the path only an instant before the Duchess and a crowd burst on to the terrace. One fellow carried a rifle at the ready.

  Joe supported Mrs Shaw with a hand under her elbow.

  Roselina stood in front of Sir Bristle, spreading her skirt. The dog was at least partially hidden from view.

  With a sidelong glance, Roselina smiled at Mrs Shaw. ‘Hello, I’m Roselina.’

  ‘Mrs Shaw,’ he said while watching the agitated, chattering group on the terrace surge forward, ‘may I present my sister, Miss Steton?’

  * * *

  Sister?

  Not a fledgling mistress?

  With everything that had transpired within the past moments, this was the one that riveted her attention?

  Not the Marquess on the ground. Not a supposed wolf invasion. But the discovery that Mr Steton was not keeping the girl.

  It was nearly impossible to determine whether she was relieved or distressed. It was very likely that she was both.

  Add to that feeling miserably guilty. For someone who was striving to be a more amiable person she had failed completely—once again she’d been a judgemental shrew. What she had witnessed between Joe and his sister in the garden had been sweet and tender. She was the one to have made it lurid.

  She would simply have to strive to be better.

  ‘I can scarce believe my debut has come to this,’ said Mr Steton’s sister Roselina, with a great, resigned sigh. ‘No man will want to court me now.’

  The child was so fresh, so blooming with hope. Olivia had to fight the urge to warn her to be cautious.

  She might as well advise herself of the same thing, standing beside Mr Steton, leaning against his strong arm, her emotions off kilter. On the one hand her stomach had the pleasant sensation of small butterflies flapping about. On the other hand she was quite irritated that it did.

  Well, she would sort out the confusion later tonight in the quiet of her bed.

  In the moment she must decide how best to navigate away from scandal.

  Nelson Waverly might go along with the story of hitting his nose on a stone. He would hardly want it known what he had really been about and that he had been thwarted by a common cowboy.

  But no—hardly common—she knew this even if she did not want to admit that she did. Not only was the man Victor’s hero, but he had acted her champion—twice.

  If only he had indeed kept a mistress, she would not be so flustered. He would be just one more unreliable male. As it was, well—she had best focus on the Duke and Duchess who were presently charging forward at the head of their guests.

  Somehow this must all play out for the good of Mr Steton’s sister. Way back in a corner of Olivia’s mind, she remembered how it felt to be a debutante, the magic and the thrill.

  Of course it was all a very long time ago.

  The crowd halted a prudent distance away from Sir Bristle, who decided to stand to greet them. The fact that his tail was wagging failed to keep most of the lords and ladies from looking agitated.

  ‘Is this your beast?’ demanded the Duke with a severe glare at Mr Steton.

  It was as much a surprise to see the Duke at the ball as it was the wolf. Ordinarily he shunned social gatherings.

  ‘I beg your pardon for the disturbance,’ Mr Steton said.

  ‘Sir Bristle is not accustomed to being away from the ranch,’ Roselina explained while she knelt beside the beast, her arm draped over his shoulders. ‘He really is the sweetest creature.’

  ‘This is very irregular.’ The Duke looked at his wife, his brows lifted as if asking for direction in the matter.

  ‘It is not unheard of for an animal to create havoc at a ball.’ Olivia was grateful to see the Duchess smiling, but she was the only one to be doing so. ‘Do you not recall when we attended a ball in Derbyshire? Oh, how many years ago was that?’

  ‘I do not recall the event.’

  ‘As well you might not, my dear. It was rather a long time ago. Lord Dalton was quite into his cups and took it into his head to charge into the ballroom on his great beast of a horse while singing “God Save the Queen”. Everyone was scattering and screaming. It was very much like tonight.’

  ‘I ought to recall that.’ The Duke blinked as if trying to summon the memory.

  ‘Do not fret over it, my dear. It really was so long ago.’ She patted the Duke’s arm. ‘No one has been harmed except perhaps Lord Waverly. Would you kindly explain to us how you find yourself thus?’

  Olivia turned to look at the lecher. He seemed about to speak, so she did it first.

  ‘I was walking in the garden, Your Grace. I saw what happened.’

  ‘Please enlighten us.’

  ‘The dog bounded to Lord Waverly, to lick his face in greeting, but the Marquess was terrified. He tried to run, but he tripped over his feet. When he fell he hit his nose on a stone.’

  ‘I see...’ Olivia was quite certain that the canny woman knew very well the story was a fabrication. She would not reveal her suspicion since she would not want the scandal to taint her gathering, or Olivia. Much better to have the party enlivened by a supposed wolf. ‘I imagine encountering a predator in the garden would be distressing. Shall I have your carriage summoned, my lord? No doubt you will recover from the ordeal more easily at home, with your wife to console you.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ Lord Waverly muttered while dabbing his nose on his sleeve. ‘You are most thoughtful.’

  ‘May I touch your beast, Mr Steton?’ the Duchess said, skilfully turning everyone’s attention away from the villainy of the evening. ‘I adore dogs and I have never seen one so large.’

  ‘Certainly, and he’s only a quarter-wolf. The other three-quarters is pure lovable dog. Same as every other one, he wants attention however he can get it.’

  ‘Well, Sir Bristle, you quite resemble your name. I’ve no doubt your appearance here tonight will be spoken of for years.’

  ‘I’ll take him home. And again, I apologise.’

  ‘Do let him stay.’ Then in a quieter tone she added, ‘It’s always a boon to have a noble beast flush predators out of the garden.’

  * * *

  Joe’s admiration for Her Grace was immense. He’d never met anyone who could twist a situation and make it come out to her liking the way the Duchess could.

  The way things had unfolded in her garden made him think of a herd of stampeding cattle running for a precipice. Then there was Her Grace, neatly swirling a rope and lassoing the beasts, bringing them to order.

  He was certain she suspected the truth concerning Waverly. She’d said as much and dismissed him without openly revealing anything.

  Unless Waverly was a dimwit, he had to feel chastised.

  By sugar, the lady could match wits with any lawyer and best him. If that had not been enough to earn Joe’s eternal respect, she had shown the courage to touch the beast who had wreaked havoc through her home.

  And havoc he had wreaked.

  Trailing the other guests back inside the ballroom, Joe winced seeing half-a-dozen broken vases, flowers splayed across the floor and puddles of water pooling everywhere. There was an overturned sofa and probably more ruin than that, but the servants had already set to work righting things.

  Still, had the dog not come charging in, there would have been no easy way to explain away what had happened to Waverly’s nose and Mrs Shaw had made it plain that she did
not care to have it made known.

  ‘Come, all three of you.’ The Duchess swept her hand in a gesture which left no doubt that this was an order and not a request. ‘There are matters to be resolved.’

  ‘I’ll pay for every bit of damage,’ Joe promised, following the Duchess down a long elegant hallway with gas sconces casting golden light on the rug.

  ‘Indeed you will, my boy.’

  About halfway towards a set of backstairs the Duchess opened a door and indicated they should follow her.

  Joe was nearly taken aback at the elegance of the library. It was huge, having hundreds of volumes displayed on shelves. Rich wood and a snapping fire made it a place one would want to linger in, to take down every volume of poetry and take all night reading it.

  ‘Pay no mind to the Duke. He sleeps like a stone.’

  Sure seemed so. The fellow lay sprawled on a big stuffed chair with his feet on a footstool. His hands were crossed over his comfortably sized belly. If Joe was not mistaken, his face reflected a pleasant dream.

  Being able to fall asleep so deeply and quickly was something to be envied, in Joe’s opinion. It had been only moments since they had come in from the garden.

  The Duchess indicated that Joe, Roselina and Mrs Shaw should sit on a divan. She sat across from them in a chair that was a match to her husband’s.

  As promised, the fellow was no more aware of their presence than a rock was of the lizard lounging upon it.

  Her Grace’s attention settled first on Mrs Shaw. ‘I regret what happened to you, my dear. I can promise it will not happen again. I hope you were not hurt.’

  ‘Just a splinter, my lady.’ She still hadn’t put her shoe on. The injury must still be causing her pain. ‘It might have been worse had Mr Steton not come to my aid.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The Duchess’s glance back and forth between them was interesting—speculative—he thought.

  Joe wondered when she would come to the point of telling him how much he owed for the damage done by Sir Bristle.

  ‘And you, my poor girl!’ The Duchess fixed her attention on Roselina. ‘To have your evening end in such a way! However, it started rather ominously, did it not?’