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

by Hanna Hamilton

  When he had departed, Mr. McElroy said, “Believe I’ll take a turn up and down the hall a few times to get the padding on my new leg settled in. That Mr. Whitley is a real artist. If my new leg wasn’t the color of a pine branch, you could almost swear it was real. He’s got it set up so’s I can even put a shoe on it if I wish.”

  Evelyn smiled at him. “That is wonderful. I hope it is easy to walk on.”

  “That’s what I’m about to go find out,” Mr. McElroy replied. Then he stumped out, swinging the prosthetic a little awkwardly, but clearly well pleased with his new limb.

  When the door closed behind him, Evelyn turned back to Mayson. “How are you, Mayson?”

  “Truly better, I think. My chest does not feel so tight, and I am growing heartily tired of garlic. If I never see another mustard plaster in my life, I think it will be too soon. But better.”

  “You sound better.” Evelyn sat down beside the bed, and took one of his hands in both of hers. “I spoke with Mr. Wilson. He will ask the vicar to visit in the morning and to speak with both of us. It seems that Mr. Wilson has some reservations about the haste with which we are making arrangements.”

  “I will own I have a few reservations myself,” Mayson replied. “I worry that this might be something that you will regret.”

  “Are you thinking of jilting me, Mayson?”

  “Jilting? Oh, no! Not at all. I consider myself the luckiest fellow alive that you would even consider me. But I would be remiss if I did not point out to you that a man who is flat of his back, with what feels like an ocean of liquid sloshing around in his chest, is scarcely a prize.”

  “We are going to get rid of that ocean, and everything will then be wonderful,” Evelyn declared.

  Mayson ran a finger along the veins on the back of her hand. “Such a tiny hand, to hold my fate. But, Evelyn, try as I may, I am not perfect.”

  “I know that. Neither am I. But Mayson, I feel alive when I am with you. It is even better than reading books and chatting about current events with the Duchess, who is one of the most stimulating conversationalists I have ever met.”

  “But what if I become old and stodgy?”

  “What if I become hagged and shrewish?” Evelyn countered.

  “Not possible,” Mayson returned. “You will always be beautiful. You will be one of those grandmothers everyone talks about who only get better with age.”

  “Grandmother.” Evelyn looked off into the distance. “Mayson, John and I did not have any children, and it was not for lack of trying. What if we have none?”

  “Then we will take in orphans,” he returned promptly. “Goodness knows, London is teaming with them, poor little mites. How many do you think we could foster?”

  “Oh, at least twelve times twelve,” Evelyn said lightly.

  “A gross of orphans?” Mayson burst out laughing, then started to cough. He reached for a clay bowl and spat into it. “Dr. Alton says he wants to see what comes up,” he commented. “I cannot think why.”

  “I can,” Evelyn said, helping him set the bowl back out of the way. His sputum was still thick but not as green, she noticed, and there were no flecks of blood in it. “By looking at it, he can tell how your lungs are doing. Oh, Mayson, yesterday I feared I would lose you!” She pulled his hand to her, kissing the knuckles.

  He turned it over so that he could cradle her cheek in his palm. “No. The only way you will lose me is if you want to be rid of me. “

  “Oh, Mayson…” Evelyn started to say.

  But her reply was lost as the Duke opened the door and glared at them. “Is this what you do when you are being paid to take care of my mother? The Duchess is ready for you now, Mrs. Swinton. Come along, now!”

  Out in the hall, the Duke glared at her. “Quite a common little thing, are you not? You’ll not be a Duke’s mistress, but you will take up with a cook.”

  “Mr. Rudge has offered me marriage, Your Grace.”

  “Well! You could hardly expect me to do that. I promise my arrangements for you would be quite comfortable. You would never want.”

  “I do not expect you to do anything at all, Your Grace. I am sure your arrangements would be generous. But I love Mr. Rudge, and he loves me.”

  “While I go to a loveless marriage for duty’s sake. Have you no pity for me at all, Mrs. Swinton?”

  “A great deal, Your Grace. I hold you in respect for your care of your mother, and it is plain that you do not hold Miss Notley in contempt. A lesser man might have cast her off in her illness.”

  The Duke’s face softened, the thunderclouds of anger that Evelyn could visualize as swarming around his head perhaps thinning a little. “I will always hold Blanche in some degree of affection. We grew up together, almost like brother and sister. Shall I be like the Egyptians of old who were said to marry their own siblings?”

  “There is no consanguinity between you. Should not those married to each other feel as close as brother and sister?”

  The Duke slumped back against the wall. “I do not know. I feel so confused. You are confident, self-possessed, vibrant. Even with the changes in her dress and diet, Blanche is wan, listless. I am a man, Mrs. Swinton, with a man’s needs. Can you not take pity on me?”

  Evelyn slipped past him, moving on toward the Duchess’ chambers. “I feel pity for you, Your Grace. But my duty is to the Duchess. Since you are in quite a mood now, I feel I should go to her. You quarreled?”

  The Duke nodded. “We did. Over those two cooks, of all the foolish starts. Those were not under cooks. They were the primary cooks for my household. They can cook roasts of magnificence, and I love their steak and kidney pie.”

  Evelyn clapped on hand over her mouth, to stifle a laugh.

  “Did I say something funny, Mrs. Swinton?” The Duke put a little menace in his voice.

  “Oh, dear. I am not laughing at your upset, Your Grace. But the Duchess detests steak and kidney pie. She and I had toasted bread, cheese, and apples roasted on her hearth that night.”

  “Really?”

  “Really, Your Grace. I think it would go a long way toward soothing your cooks if you went home and requested your favorite dish. There is no doubt that they are feeling slighted. But I should go to your mother, for if you are any barometer to go by, she is in a great taking.”

  The Duke wilted further. “I suppose she is. Go to her, Mrs. Swinton. Make apologies for me if you will. However angry she makes me, I do love my mother.”

  “That, Your Grace, I will gladly do,” Evelyn said, and quickly escaped into the Duchess’ chambers.

  Chapter 42

  The following morning, the Duchess was still fuming. “His best cooks. His best cooks! Mrs. Swinton, it is a wonder he has not turned into a wraith, floating on the wind.”

  “It is a miracle, Your Grace. But when he spoke to me in the hall, he did tender his apologies.”

  “Be as that may, Mrs. Swinton, he should have had better sense. All those heavy foods, and the complaints about their behavior with the rest of the staff. It is beyond bearing.”

  “Perhaps gentlemen prefer different foods. Did you not say that your dear departed enjoyed a kidney pie now and then?”

  “I suppose I did say that, and it is true. But, oh, Mrs. Swinton, I could scarcely bear the scent of it! The cook we had then always made a fish pie for me on those days. He never expected me to eat the nasty organ meats.”

  “What a blessing that you do not like them, since Dr. Alton has said that they will aggravate your gout should you eat them. Apparently they do something to the humours of the blood, a sort of thickening that is harmful.”

  “I will own that the baked apple you prepared was much more appealing,” the Duchess averred. “So, what shall you do today?”

  Evelyn felt her face heat up.

  “Aha! Something to do with Mr. Rudge, is it not so?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. The vicar is coming up from the village to discuss the possibility that we might wed.”

  “Oh, y
ou sly boots! Well, I cannot think of a finer man or finer cook. Will you continue on here at the Dower House?”

  “First, we will get Mayson well,” Evelyn said. “Then we shall see. If you have no objection to our marriage, I cannot think why we might not continue on for a time. But we have discussed going abroad to start a new life.”

  “I can see the appeal of that. Forging a different world, wresting your living from the wilderness. But Mrs. Swinton, what will I do without you?”

  “That is the one reason we might continue on, Your Grace. Both of us have grown fond of you. But Mr. Rudge has been training Jemmy. How did you find your breakfast?”

  “Excellent! The scones were perfection, the tea brewed just as I like. Betty did a good job serving it. But, my dear child, she is not you.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Your Grace. Perhaps we could send to the agency and start training another companion.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” the Duchess said sadly. “But no matter how competent she might be, a new companion will not be you.”

  “I know,” Evelyn said, sitting down on the ottoman so she could face the Duchess. “But if I have the training of her, at least I will know that I am leaving you in good hands. I would not have you worried by another companion who is more concerned with setting her cap for the Duke than with your care.”

  “Well, well.” The Duchess pulled a long face. “Young people all eventually go off on their own, it is the way of things. Will you at least write to me?”

  “Oh, most assuredly, Your Grace! I would be honored to correspond with you. I do hope you will write back.”

  “Of that you may be certain, Mrs. Swinton. Although, I suppose you will be Mrs. Rudge by then.”

  Evelyn gave a little laugh. “I certainly hope to be. But we are not yet wed, Your Grace. Today’s visit from the vicar will only be a discussion of when and where. Mr. Rudge and I are in agreement as to joining our fates, but we have not yet determined when.”

  “Do let me know your plans, as soon as you have them firmly in mind, Mrs. Swinton. There is nothing more delightful than planning a wedding. I do hope you will let me help?”

  “To be sure, Your Grace. I can think of nothing I would like better.”

  “Then do go directly, and bring in those books of wedding gown pictures. Oh, and all the broadside sheets, as well. We cannot have you poorly turned out.”

  “Keep in mind, Your Grace, that I am not a lady, with limitless funds.”

  “To be sure you are not, my dear. But with my help, we can put together an attractive and practical trousseau, as well as a gown suitable for a widow embarking upon her second marriage. I am not so lost to practicality as to not recognize that a gown suitable for, oh, say Blanche, would not be a good choice for you at all. But there is no reason why we cannot have an enjoyable time looking over the patterns.”

  “Indeed, it would be a pleasant way to pass the time, Your Grace.”

  “And a practical one, Mrs. Swinton. If you are to head out into the wilderness, I think you shall need some gear other than that suitable to be worn about this modest establishment.”

  Evelyn laughed. “Oh, Your Grace! You are the most complete hand! I can promise you that I have clothing that could be worn as a frontier wife.”

  “That is good to know. But I shall see to it that you start your new life well provided with a modest trousseau, and perhaps some household goods besides.”

  Seeing that there was no dissuading the Duchess, Evelyn cheerfully went to the library and brought back a stack of pattern books, as well as two or three travelogues recounting travels in the wilderness.

  They were cheerfully engaged in reading one of the travelogues, when Mr. Wilson politely tapped at the door. “There are several gentlemen here to see Mrs. Swinton,” he said. “They include Dr. Alton, Constable Morris, the vicar, and two gentlemen who came with the constable.”

  “Goodness! You certainly should go see them, Mrs. Swinton!” the Duchess exclaimed. “I shall look over these woodcuts, and I will be here when you return.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Evelyn said. “I will try to be as quick as I may.”

  Evelyn hurried downstairs in the butler’s wake, and was astonished to see that the small drawing room located just off the dining room was quite full of masculine persons.

  “Mrs. Evelyn Swinton,” Mr. Wilson announced her. Then added formally, “Mrs. Swinton, I believe you already know Dr. Alton and Constable Morris. This is Vicar Talverton. But I am not acquainted with the other two gentlemen.”

  “This is Mr. Smith, and that is Mr. Martin,” Constable Morris explained. They have been sent down from London by the magistrate Mr. Rudge wrote to about a certain confidential matter. Their faces are known to me, so I am able to vouch for them, but they also carry letters of introduction for Mr. Rudge and for the Duchess.”

  “Thank you, Constable Morris,” Mr. Wilson said. “Those letters should go up to the Duchess forthwith. Meanwhile, I will send for tea. Mrs. Swinton, will you take the letters up to the Duchess? If the rest of you would be so good as to wait?”

  “Yes, Mr. Wilson,” Evelyn replied at once. The gentlemen in the room all nodded, and settled themselves on various chairs and on the sofa. Evelyn could hear the rumble of male voices as she hurried back up the stairs to the Duchess, carrying the letters of introduction that were addressed to her.

  “What news, Mrs. Swinton?” the Duchess asked, setting to book of woodcut pictures aside, and looking at Evelyn expectantly.

  “I do not think I have ever seen the downstairs drawing room so full!” Evelyn replied. “The vicar, the constable, the physician, and two gentlemen from London, all packed into one small room like a box of dried herring!”

  “That must be quite a sight,” the Duchess said, a smile playing around her lips. “So why are you back up here?”

  “The gentlemen from London have letters of introduction to you, and I have been sent upstairs to bring the letters to you. Constable Morris says that he knows them by sight, so we can be sure that they are not imposters.”

  “Was there a question?” the Duchess asked, breaking the seals on the letters. “To Her Grace, blah, blah, blah…” the Duchess made skimming through titles noises, “And now to the meat of the matter: Introducing to you Mr. Reginald Smith and Mr. Thomas Martin, who are being sent to you to act as bodyguards for the gentleman known as Mr. Mayson Rudge.” She looked up from the letter. “Known as… is there some question of Mr. Rudge’s identity?”

  “I’m sure that is just a manner of speaking,” Evelyn said hastily. “I believe Constable Morris was concerned for Mr. Rudge’s safety, and sent for these gentlemen.”

  “Is that so?” the Duchess said, a little skeptically. “Well, I shall let it stand for the now. Since their credentials are in order, I scarcely need to see them. Go back, and have Mr. Wilson get them settled in and shown to their duty. I will own, that having someone responsible for Mr. Rudge’s safety until he is back on his feet would be a great relief.”

  “Just so, Your Grace,” Evelyn replied, with a deep curtsey. “I will go back and tell him at once.”

  “Thank you, my dear. Go, take care of our excellent cook. We have had enough of these dreadful doings. Perhaps with their help, the Constable will be able to get to the bottom of all these things.”

  Evelyn gave another deep curtsey, and hastened out the door and back downstairs. “The Duchess says to go ahead and get them settled at their post,” she announced without ceremony.

  “Excellent!” Mr. Wilson remarked. “There are too many of us to all fit into Mr. Rudge’s small chamber, so I shall take Constable Morris and his two companions up first, if you do not mind, Mrs. Swinton, Dr. Alton.”

  Evelyn was impatient to see Mayson, even though she had looked in on him at breakfast. But she assented to Mr. Wilson’s suggestion, and remained in the drawing room with Dr. Alton and Vicar Talverton. She crossed the room, holding her hand out to the vicar. “It is so kind of
you to come to us while Mayson is ill.”

  “I have seen both of you at a distance,” the vicar replied. “I believe you have been coming to Sunday morning services?”

  “Yes, we have,” Evelyn replied. “And I recognize you, although I have not heard your name until today. Everyone just speaks of ‘the young vicar’ when they speak of you.”

  Vicar Talverton made a slight face. “I fear I shall be the ‘young vicar’ for at least the next ten years. It takes a good, long while for country folk to let go of a favored personality.”