Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  “Perhaps they are trading with the French,” Evelyn suggested. “I understand that some parts of the colonies supported Napoleon, and that they bought land from France.”

  “How odd,” Mayson commented. “I suppose that is how they obtained funds to continue their end of the war. What a relief that it is over.”

  “Is it over?” Evelyn asked.

  “For all intents and purposes,” Mayson replied.

  “I think that there has always been conflict raging across the English Channel,” Evelyn said slowly. “The tutor who instructed the children in my neighborhood would become quite incensed by what he called ‘Frankish nonsense.’ I wonder what ever became of him?”

  “Would you like to go back to your old neighborhood and inquire?” Mayson asked.

  “I am not sure. I think I would like to remember it as it was, not as it has probably become.”

  “I understand,” Mayson said, putting the last finishing touches on the tea tray. “Would you like for me to carry this up for you?”

  “You are so busy,” Evelyn replied. “I would hesitate to ask it of you. I can manage today, no more than is on it. I do not want to take you away from planning dinner for the Duchess’ guests.”

  “If you are sure.” Mayson gazed longingly at her. He had seen so little of Evelyn in the last few weeks, between her being mostly confined to the upper chambers with a cast on her foot, then with the flurry of activity that centered around training a young cook and keeping an eye on Mr. McElroy.

  “I can manage. Do not fret, Mayson. There will be time for us when the harvest is over.”

  “I hope so. I miss our half-days.”

  “As do I.” Evelyn sighed. “Sometimes I think we should simply run away together, but that would be shirking our responsibilities. How is Jemmy coming along as under cook?”

  “Quite well, actually. He did a complete baking of bread this last week, and had mastered roasting and frying long ago, thanks to Mr. Sparks lack of diligence.”

  “How fortunate that something good came of that. Well, I must get this tray up the stairs before the tea grows cold. Perhaps we will find some time to talk after the Duchess’ dinner party.”

  “I do hope so,” Mayson said.

  He watched for a moment as she picked up the tray, its weight causing the muscles in her back to emphasize her slender waist. Then, he chided himself for being a dolt, and hurried to hold the door open for her.

  Mayson gave a sigh of his own as he returned to assembling vegetables in the baking dish. It was not an imaginative preparation, but with a little meat broth and fat for seasoning, some spices and a crust, it would do well enough as a side dish.

  Would it not be wonderful to run away with Evelyn?

  Mayson imagined the two of them planting a small garden and cooking a meal of some wild-caught thing over an open fire. He tried to think what they might hear or see, but his imagination only served up the sounds of an English forest.

  He tugged his mind back to what he was doing before despair overtook him. Sometimes it seemed to him as if he were caught in a trap of his own devising and would never find his way out. He could not, in good conscience, leave the Duchess without a competent cook. Even though he had visited with his magistrate friend, and started the process of proving his identity, it would be some time before he could return to Hillsworth as its master.

  What a tangle. I ran to preserve my life, but how it has complicated everything. Why did I not go to my friend in the first place? But then, I would have never met Evelyn. She makes all the rest worthwhile, even trying to make turnips, carrots, and onions into a dish fit to serve to a Duchess.

  Little did he know that the quiet tenor of his life was about to change, and not necessarily for the better.

  Chapter 30

  Evelyn trudged up the steps to the Duchess’ chambers, her mind spinning fanciful air castles about a future that would include Mayson. In her heart, she knew that they had no foundations. He was already making inquiries through his magistrate friend about taking back his inheritance.

  But I can dream, can I not? It harms no one, and it makes me feel good for a moment or two.

  Deftly, she entered the Duchess’ chamber without even making the tea service rattle on the tray and set it down on the tea table. “Look, Your Grace, Mr. Rudge has prepared some special biscuits and some fortifying black tea.”

  “Just the thing,” the Duchess exclaimed. “Oh, my... pink tulips. I do adore tulips. Some people think they are too stiff and formal to be pretty, but that is just why I like them.” She bit into one of the biscuits, then stared at it in puzzlement. “An odd flavor.”

  “Mr. Rudge is working with the last bits of last year’s supplies. It is my understanding that the new harvest will be here in a day or two, and we shall be feasting.”

  “Oh, of course. I always forget that this is how it is each year. Has he had the cellars whitewashed yet?”

  “I think most of them, Your Grace. There are still one or two root cellars to go, I believe.”

  The Duchess’ eyes crinkled up at the corners. “Beet juice for coloring?”

  “Oh, you are too good, Your Grace. Yes, I think so.”

  “Well, it is a better way to use it up than to try to make it into a drink. I seem to remember Mr. Sparks having tried to ferment beet juice one year. The results were explosive. The old cook we had at that time nearly had him turned off then and there.”

  “Mr. Sparks has something of a history, then?”

  “Oh, my, yes. He was but a lad when he came to us, and he has grown up and grown old in that kitchen. It seems odd that he should be pensioned off now. But then, it seems odder still not to be able to walk beyond the end of the garden without wheezing like a bellow.”

  “I think I know how you feel,” Evelyn said. “Some years, it seems as if nothing stands still and remains the same. Sometimes I wish...” she paused, then shook her head. “No, everything happens for a reason. I must believe that.”

  “I would like to think so,” the Duchess reassured her. “There are times when one wonders just what that purpose could possibly be, but I suppose that is why the churchmen all say that ‘Life is a Mystery.’” She made her voice deep and pretentious, as if she were a member of the clergy addressing an ignorant crowd.

  Evelyn giggled, just as the Duchess had probably meant for her to do.

  “That is better, my dear. Focus on the here and now. These biscuits are very pretty, even if they do taste a little odd. Perhaps we could feed them to the birds, and Mr. Rudge would be none the wiser. He so rarely makes a dish that is not delicious, I would scarcely wish to hurt his feelings.”

  “Oh, Your Grace, I do not think he would be hurt. He commented while I was below-stairs that he was having a difficult time inventing dishes that would use up the last of the old supplies so that we could make way for the new.”

  “Tell him to donate the rest of it somewhere, Mrs. Swinton. There is no need for him to torture himself with trying to use up every jot and tittle before the new harvest arrives. I, for one, am quite looking forward to fresh fruit and crispy greens.”

  “What kinds of fruit is there, usually?” Evelyn asked.

  “That is right. You have not yet been here a whole year,” the Duchess commented. “Apples, of course, and pears. Late plums. The cherries are already gone by now, of course, and so are the strawberries, blueberries and melons. Soon it will be winter, and we will only have preserved fruit or the fruits that keep well in the cellars. How I do detest winter fruit.”

  Evelyn sighed. She knew too well exactly what the Duchess meant. Fruit that was brought in from the orchards was crisp and tart, but by midwinter it began to shrivel and the inside was mealy. Toward spring, sorting was a constant chore, picking out the apples that had spots so they could be quickly cooked up before they went bad.

  “I have heard that there are some parts of the world where you can pick fresh fruits all year round,” Evelyn said. “Would it not be a
marvelous thing?”

  “Beyond all doubt.” The Duchess took a bite of one of the tulip-shaped biscuits. “Perhaps it is not too bad. The flavor seems to improve with custom. Perhaps with a few spices added, so that it tasted a bit like pickled…”

  “Mrs. Swinton!” Betty appeared at the doorway. “Oh, Mrs. Swinton. Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but she is needed at once. Mr. Rudge took a tumble down the cellar stairs, and hit his head. He is asking for Mrs. Swinton.”

  “You must go at once!” the Duchess exclaimed. “I shall do well enough. Oh, mercy sakes, whatever shall we do?”

  “I’ll send word back as quickly as I can,” Evelyn said, already hastening toward the door.

  Jemmy and Mr. McElroy met her at the bottom of the kitchen stair.

  “Oh, Lor’, Mrs. Swinton. I’m that glad to see you,” Jemmy cried out, wringing his hands together. “He’s hollerin’ out about scars, and marks, and I don’ know w’at all.”

  “I think he believes he is in France,” Mr. McElroy put in. “If I’m not mistaken, he has twisted an ankle, maybe broken it, and he hit his head.”

  Mr. McElroy then beckoned for Evelyn to come closer. When she was a little nearer he bent his head so that his mouth was close to her ear. “I think someone greased the steps. Those old stone pavers don’t take much to make ‘em slick. Mr. Rudge has been runnin’ up an’ down ‘em all day, so’s it would not take much to guess that he would be going that way.”

  “Do you truly think so?” Evelyn’s cheeks felt cold as a frisson of alarm shot through her.

  “I would not say so if I did not think it,” Mr. McElroy affirmed. “But who would do such a thing? Mr. Rudge is good to everyone.”

  “I have no idea,” Evelyn considered for a moment. “The only person I can think of who might have a grudge of any kind would be Mr. Sparks. But he was sent to live with his daughter. The Duke is paying for his keep, and giving him a small allowance to boot.”

  “One might think that should be enough,” Mr. McElroy pondered the thought. “But you never know how folks will take a thing. Could it have been that he resented being pensioned off?”

  “I have no idea,” Evelyn said. “Please, take me to Mr. Rudge. Has someone sent for Dr. Alton?”

  “Sent the fastest footman just now, Mrs. Swinton. He should be back with him directly. But what is to be done about dinner?” Mr. McElroy wrinkled his brow with worry.

  Evelyn felt a momentary flash of rage, then she remembered. The Duchess was expecting guests. Of course dinner would be of prime importance.

  “I’ll see to it,” Jemmy said bravely. “Mr. Rudge already has most of it ready, so all that needs to happen is the last touches. You go on and see to Mr. Rudge, Mrs. Swinton. He’s frettin’ somethin’ fierce.”

  Indeed, when Evelyn entered Mayson’s small room, Mayson was turning his head from side to side, and pushing Molly Sue away.

  “No! Stay away from me!” he protested in a harsh tone.

  “Oh, thank goodness!” Molly Sue greeted Evelyn. “I think he has injured his brain somehow.”

  Evelyn hastened across the few steps from the door to Mayson’s bed, and sank to her knees, bringing her face near his head where it lay on the pillow.

  “Mayson, Mayson, I’m here. It is Evelyn.”

  “Evelyn?” Mayson fixed his eyes on her.

  “I’m here Mayson.”

  “Ah,” It was a sigh of profound relief. “My head aches, Evelyn.”

  “No wonder! You have a great purple bruise forming on the side of your head. Molly Sue, is there any ice left in the ice house?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Swinton, I don’t believe there is. Would cold cloths soaked in the spring house be all right?”

  “Better than nothing,” Evelyn said. “Can you...?”

  “At once!” Molly Sue hurried away.

  Mayson turned his face toward Evelyn. “I am not thinking properly,” he said.

  “No wonder! But Dr. Alton will be here soon. He will know what to do.”

  “Don’t let anyone else see me!” Mayson clutched at her. “Don’t give me to the butchers.”

  “Dr. Alton. No one else. It will be all right.” She placed her hand against his cheek.

  “You are here,” he said again, leaning into her hand. “I feel safe now.”

  “You are, Mayson. I am here. We are all here for you.”

  “Dinner!” he started up from his pillow.

  “Will be fine,” Evelyn, gently pressed him back down. “Jemmy will finish it. He says you already had it well on the way, and that he can finish it.”

  “Jemmy isn’t ready, Evelyn. He is not ready for a full meal.”

  “He has help, Mayson. Mrs. Henshaw, Mr. Wilson, and even Mr. McElroy will help him.”

  “Are you sure he can do it?”

  “Yes, he can do it, it will be fine, Mayson.”

  Just then Dr. Alton entered, and the room was suddenly far too small. Evelyn stood, pressing herself into the corner to make room.

  “Well, now, what has happened to my favorite cook?” Dr. Alton asked heartily.

  “I fell down the cellar stairs,” Mayson said, sounding almost like a hurt child.

  “So I see,” Dr. Alton said. He took up the lighted candle from the bedside table. Gently, he helped Mayson sit up. He held the candle in front of his face, and moved it back and forth

  “Good. I do not think you are concussed, but you are going to have one magnificent bruise. Ah, cool cloths. Just the thing. Mrs. Swinton, can you stay with him? Keep changing out the cloths. We will try to get that swelling down.”

  “Of course I can,” Evelyn replied.

  Molly Sue peered in from the door. “What about the Duchess? What about dinner?”

  “The Duchess knows where I am. She will send for me if she needs me.”

  “Well, are not you the privileged princess, shop-keeper’s daughter,” Molly Sue bristled.

  Dr. Alton set the candle down firmly on the bedside table, turned Molly Sue around, and pushed her out the door.

  “It will be all right,” Evelyn comforted Mayson. “Everything will be fine.”

  It is going to be fine because I will make it fine. I will take care of him. He will get well.

  Chapter 31

  Darrius expected to find his mother’s household in a high state of expectation for the upcoming dinner party. Wilson met him at the front door punctiliously and said, “Your Grace, the Duchess requests your presence in her chambers. Dinner will be ready shortly, but there might be some delay.”

  Delay? What could possibly occasion a delay? Mother has been looking forward to this dinner party for weeks, ever since Lady Carletane resumed communication with her.

  When he entered his mother’s drawing room, he found her attended by Betty instead of Mrs. Swinton.

  Betty was looking anxious and distraught, as well she might, for she was not trained as a lady’s maid nor as a companion. But the young maid was making a valiant effort to arrange the Duchess’ hair in its customary tower.

  “Mother? What has happened?” Darrius asked.

  “Mr. Rudge has fallen down the cellar stairs, and I have dispatched Mrs. Swinton to see to him. The undercook is having to finish dinner, and Molly Sue is having to do double-duty since I have pressed Betty into service as my handmaiden for the evening.”

  “Will she sit at table in Mrs. Swinton’s place?” Darrius asked, curious at this turn of events.

  “Goodness, no!” the Duchess looked shocked. “No, she will go down and sit with Mr. Rudge while Mrs. Swinton does her duty in that regard. I’m afraid I cannot spare her from my side for so long as that.”

  “Why is she not with him now?”

  “Because Dr. Alton is here and I am depending upon Mrs. Swinton to give me a full report, not only upon Mr. Rudge’s condition, but also upon the state of the kitchen. She has enough household knowledge to make an accurate assessment of the state of dinner, and whether we should send out for something.”
r />   “If you had apprised me of the event, I could have brought my cook from the Main House,” Darrius reproved gently.

  “Indeed, this has all occurred so quickly and so close to dinner, that there was no time to send for you. That is why I asked that you attend me immediately.”

  “What of Mrs. Henshaw? Can she not help?”

  “Rest assured that she is,” the Duchess affirmed. “What ever would I do without her? But even as able as she is, she is but one person. Wilson has mobilized the footmen to assist, and reports that Mr. McElroy is an able cook’s helper.”