by Cheryl Bolen
"The quantity of blankets compensated for the room's chill," Louisa said.
Harry coughed.
Louisa picked at her food, and after a few moments turned to Harry. "I've been wondering about something."
"Yes?"
"Where does your coachman sleep and eat while all of our physical needs are being met?"
Harry finished slathering the clotted cream on his scone. "Last night he slept in the barn where there were horses and cattle and a wide assortment of blankets to keep him warm -- which is what he's used to in London. As far as his meals are concerned, he ate in Mrs. Winston's kitchen not half an hour ago."
"What about when we stay at an inn?" she queried.
"I pay for his night's lodgings, same as ours," he said with mock outrage. "Surely you don't expect that I would not make arrangements for his accommodations."
There was indignation in her voice when she answered. "Of course I didn't think you would forget the man."
She took a bite of her scone. "I cannot help but to wonder how the truly unfortunate survive in the cold when they have no roof over their heads."
He lowered his lashes as well as his voice when he replied. "I believe your fears are well founded, madam. Many of them, unfortunately, succumb to the elements."
She pushed away her plate. "I cannot eat when I think of all the suffering that goes on in the world."
Mrs. Winston scurried back to the table with another pot of tea.
"I assure you, my love," he said, "your eating or your not eating will not change the spots on a leopard."
"The Missus isn't eating?" Mrs. Winston asked with disappointment.
"Yes I am, Mrs. Winston," Louisa said. "Everything's delicious."
The matron went back to the kitchen, a satisfied smile on her kindly face.
"My love, indeed," Louisa mocked. "Must you lay it on so thick? I declare, Lord Wycliff, you have missed your calling on the London stage."
"Mustn't disappoint the old girl. After all, Mrs. Winston is convinced that I look at you like a lovesick schoolboy."
"I daresay the woman's vision has gone completely."
He laughed to cover his embarrassment. For Mrs. Winston's observations had not been far from the mark. The longer he was with Louisa, the fonder he became of her. Except for her ridiculous reforming notions, she was everything he'd ever wanted in his countess. She was not only beautiful and intelligent and compassionate, she also had the ability to understand the complex emotions that made him the man he was today. She knew him nearly as well as he knew himself.
A pity she detested the man he was.
"If the bedchamber was as cold as it was," he said to change the subject, "one hates to imagine how cold the coach will be today."
She affected a mock shudder. "It will be easier to bear if we think of poor John Coachman."
Did she always have to think of others? The woman could grow quite tedious.
He assisted the coachman in loading their bags onto the coach, gratefully accepted the basket of food Mrs. Winston gave him for their noon meal, paid her handsomely for sharing her hospitality, and they were once again on their way.
They had to drive through miles and miles of dreary moorland in order to get to the next village. Harry's predictions about the cold in the carriage had, unfortunately, been right on the mark. Though it was not raining, the temperature was below freezing, and the wind howled a lonely wail outside their carriage. Harry was miserable as he watched Louisa wrapped completely in the rug.
Finally she took pity on him. "I suppose if I can share a bed with you, my lord, we can use this rug together." She made an opening for him, and he quickly and gratefully crossed the coach and sat next to her under the rug. As he had been careful to do every night as he lay beside her torturing presence, he made sure he did not touch her.
He was sorry she had reverted to calling him my lord again. The intimacy of calling one another by their Christian names had been a balm to his loneliness of the last decade.
"You know, you took all the covers last night," he said as if he were commenting on the weather.
She gave him an incredulous stare. "I did not! I would surely know it if I had."
"I beg to differ, madam."
"If that is the case, I heartily apologize, my lord. May I hope that you took them back?"
"That would hardly have been gallant."
"Do you mean to tell me that you spent the whole of the night in that freezing room with no blankets covering you?"
"I do."
"Oh, my poor Harr---" She stopped herself, that blush creeping up her face. "I am terribly sorry, my lord."
He had heard enough. A woman who hated him would hardly refer to him as my poor Harry. So she doesn't completely hate me, he thought with satisfaction.
* * *
The terrain between the Winston's farm house and the town of Bodmin was much the same. Barren moorland. It was past noon when they reached Bodmin. Louisa would not have been surprised had she turned completely blue from the cold -- which made her think of the coatless lad she had seen as the left London. Had the poor boy gotten a coat by now? She rather doubted it.
At the local tavern, Louisa fairly leaped at the prospect of warming herself in front of the fire while Harry made inquiries about the lord of these parts. Not only did she crave a hot drink, but she also had a mighty wish to stretch her legs.
Harry desired whiskey to make him warm, while Louisa ordered a glass of warm milk. When the serving woman returned with their drinks, Louisa could barely keep a straight face when Harry, using his most cultured voice, asked, "I say, a chap from my club in London said if ever I was in Bodmin I was to look him up. A Lord Blamey at St. Alban's Abbey. Would you know his direction?"
The serving woman put down the glasses and pointed west. "It's about five miles from town on the Hopping Road."
Harry gave the woman a shilling.
"Oh, thank you ever so much, sir," she said, dropping the coin into her ample bosom before going back to the public rooms.
"We dare not hope Lord Blamey would be coming to town on so cold a day, do we?" Louisa asked hopefully.
Harry shook his head. "No, I think not." Then he took a long drink of whiskey. "I'll be back in a few moments."
His few moments turned into twenty. Louisa had long been finished with her milk and grown impatient when he finally returned.
"I bought a saddle," he boasted upon entering the private parlor.
"That is supposed to make me happy?"
His face fell. "Actually, quite the opposite, I'm afraid." He sat next to her, not across from her as he had done earlier. "I hate terribly to ask it of you," he began, "but since you're the only one who can identify our mysterious lord, you will have to go to his house."
"That much I had already surmised," she said.
"Alone," he added.
She nodded.
"On horseback," he added.
Visions of treading alone through snow came to Louisa, and she did not at all like it.
"We can hardly drive up in a coach and four without attracting undue attention," Harry explained. "So I propose to take you to the hedge nearest to Lord Blamey's house, then saddle one of the horses for you to ride to the front door. Perhaps you won't get so terribly cold since it is just a short ride."
"Why can you not go, my lord?"
He looked contrite. "I honestly wish I could, but I fear that since he's a peer he could quite likely recognize me, which would, of course, spoil our plan."
She nodded. "Yes, I suppose you do know quite a few man of nobility, despite your years away."
He looked offended. "I see that you don't believe me, but I assure you I do know a number of people. I happen to belong to London's most prestigious club. And I've been at Almack's any number of times."
Though she had never been there, she knew Almack's was where all the young maidens searched for respectable husbands. The thought of Harry looking among them for a prospective bride,
quite oddly, disturbed her.
Though she wanted to protest having to go to St. Alban's Abbey by herself, she realized Harry was right in not allowing the lord to see -- and possibly recognize -- him. "Very well," she agreed weakly. "But how on earth shall I explain my presence there alone -- and on so wicked a day?"
Harry ran a finger across his lips. "Good point. We shall think on it all the way to St. Alban's Abbey."
She scowled at him as they left the tavern.
During the next forty minutes they suggested one scenario after another but found objections to all. She couldn't be asking for a job. She couldn't profess a prior acquaintance. She couldn't be friend of his wife/child/brother/sister since she had no idea if he had a wife/child/brother/sister.
Finally they decided to forget about saddling a horse. They would drive up to St. Alban's Abbey in Lord Wycliff's impressive carriage, and Louisa would put her own plan into action.
* * *
The carriage securely in front of St. Alban's Abbey, Louisa bundled herself up into her cloak and muff and scurried up the front path, aware that her knee had greatly improved. The abbey was of an age to have survived the Dissolution. Barely. The east and west wing were in ruins. Only the central area, which must have formerly been a chapel, was in good repair -- though modestly small. For a peer.
Louisa strolled to the timbered door and knocked. A butler answered. Drat. She was hoping for the master himself. "Is your master within?" she asked.
The butler ran a most disapproving eye over her. "Who should I tell him is calling?"
"Miss . . .Miss Augusta Marks. I desire to speak with him on a personal matter."
The balding man raised a bushy eyebrow, turned on his heel, and left her standing in the doorway.
Louisa had no doubt the butler found her a fancy piece. After all, what decent woman would show up like this on a man's doorstep?
As she waited, she grew nervous.
Finally the butler returned, asked her to come in, and showed her to the morning room.
Chapter 15
The longer Lord Blamey kept her waiting, the more nervous Louisa became. She rehearsed what she was going to say over and over, wishing she possessed Harry's gift for ad libbing.
All the while she waited, she forced herself to remember the one time she had seen the lord from Cornwall. That night she had brushed out her hair, gone to bed, and snuffed the candle. Then, with no light to guide her, Louisa had crept from her room and eased her way down the dark hallway, careful to walk as quietly as she could.
She waited for a long while until Godwin himself opened the front door, which only happened when his mysterious visitor came. Then Louisa crept forward to where the light from below reached the landing where she stood, and she stopped and stood at the end of the wall to which the banister was attached. Like a turtle poking its head from the cover of its shell, she moved around the corner and glanced below.
The two men had walked toward the library, the lord nearly a head taller than Godwin, who was no more than five-feet, seven inches. She had been struck by the other man's almost regal posture and the excellent cut of his clothing. There was something distinguished looking about his appearance. She was not surprised that Godwin had addressed him as my lord.
She snapped out of her reverie when the door opened, and she turned to see a man who was far younger than Godwin's benefactor.
Lord Blamey was much the same age as Harry. He sported a thick head of auburn hair and a thick waist he attempted to disguise beneath a striped waistcoat.
His brow elevated, his hand still on the handle of the door he had not shut, Lord Blamey closed the door and walked forward. "I am Lord Blamey," he declared as she stood up to face him.
"Forgive me for interrupting you, my lord," she said nervously. "I fear you will think me rather silly when you find out why I am here."
Lord Blamey gave her another quizzing look, but apparently satisfied from her voice that she was a lady of Quality, asked her to sit down.
Though she sat, he continued to stand as she began her story.
"I've been journeying from London in my traveling coach with only my dog, Cuddles, for company." She gave a little laugh. "As you can imagine, one must stop every so often so the little fellow can. . ."
"Yes, I understand," he said with a chuckle.
"The naughty fellow ran off into the woods not far from here. My coachman and I have looked everywhere but have been unable to find the little pooch. You can imagine how distraught I am."
"Yes, quite, but I assure you I have seen no sign of your dog."
"Allow me to describe him to you," she continued. "He is small." She lowered her hand to less than a foot off the carpeted floor. "He is ginger colored and answers to the name of Cuddles." She fluttered her lashes. "I would be ever so grateful if you and your servants would treat him kindly if you see him." She stood up, "And please send word to the tavern in Bodmin."
Then she peered at him and came to a sudden stop. "Your butler referred to you as Lord Blamey. I'm thinking I may have once met your predecessor in London. A tall, distinguished looking man?" She was prepared to further describe him, but that wasn't necessary.
Lord Blamey chuckled. "That is not my father. I'm afraid I am the image of my late father."
She dropped into a curtsy and walked to the door of the morning room. Just beyond the door stood a well dressed lady -- obviously Lady Blamey -- whose eyes raked over Louisa as if she were a lady of the night.
* * *
Once back in the carriage, Louisa patted the seat next to her for Harry to share, covered them with the rug, then burst out laughing.
After she told him her tale, he broke out laughing too. "I can see the poor bloke running about the park shouting, "Here, Cuddles," Harry said between laughs.
She tried to get serious. "I'm truly sorry, my lord, that we have not found your man."
He stopped laughing. "Are you sorry only because you are hungry to gain my money?"
"That's an unkind thing to say. I truly want you to regain your family's possessions."
"So I can give them to the poor?" he asked.
"No," she said with a pout. "So that you can speak on behalf of the poor in Parliament."
She made him feel bloody wretched. He had told her he would take his seat in Parliament once he settled his affairs. It was just another of his blasted lies that the naive Louisa Phillips had seemed to believe. Which made him feel quite low. But then, he was a rather low person.
"How's the bad arm today?" she asked with concern.
"Somewhat bad, I would say."
Her face turned solemn. "When I said my prayers last night, I asked the Lord to spare your arm."
Bloody hell! Like a bloody Methodist or a Quaker, she was praying for him. Not bloody likely he had any points left with his Creator. Not after all he had done. Nevertheless, he was touched over her concern.
"I thought intellectuals were not believers."
"Then I must be a very poor intellectual, indeed," Louisa said quietly. "You will find I'm not nearly as pious as Hannah More has become."
"Which, I would think, is a good thing."
She laughed at this. "It would not surprise me that you, though you're not an intellectual, have little faith in an almighty power."
He felt uncomfortable. "You already know more about me than I ever wanted a woman to know."
A satisfied smile turned up the corners of her lips. "Then we are in the same boat, my lord, for you know far more about me than I would like for any man to know."
Now he smiled.
"Which brings up the matter of my alter ego. . .You have admitted you read -- and admired -- Mr. Philip Lewis when you thought he was a man. I expect now your opinion will change completely."
He thought for a moment, remembering the essays he'd read in the Edinburgh Review. "Actually, I think not. Sound opinions that are fully supported with examples and logic are most difficult to refute."
"I am glad to
learn that, my lord."
"Stop addressing me as my lord, Louisa.
"I will think on it," she said.
Lopping from side to side by the fierce winds, the carriage churned forward toward the south coast. The barren land gave way to more interesting -- though still sparsely inhabited -- terrain. The closer they came to the coast, the more the landscape became dotted with cottages and people and plump trees. The more, too, the sun shone, and warmth replaced the cold.
Harry pulled out the basket Mrs. Winston had packed for them. He gave Louisa a hard-cooked egg and a thick slice of bread that had been baked that morning. There was good country cheese and a large apple for each of them.
They ate their fill, then followed it with a jug of water fresh from the Winston's well.
Harry sincerely hoped Louisa did not notice how difficult it was for him to move his arm. The last thing he needed was a bloody bluestocking pitying him.
He could tell the swelling was becoming worse in his left arm, while the right one was far better today. At least, since he was right handed, he was glad that if he had to lose an arm, it be the left.
Such reasoning did little to cheer him. If he lost his left arm, he doubted he would be effective at sword fighting. And it would be quite difficult to hold the reins and whip the horse all at the same time. Then there was the matter of placing his arms around a desirable woman. He glanced at Louisa, who was becoming more desirable with each passing day. Excruciatingly so at night when he would lay beside her, tortured with longing to take her in his arms and make her forget that a ruffian like Godwin Phillips had ever made love to her.
The thought of her making love to Godwin Phillips stung painfully.
He slid a glance in her direction. Her head had dropped, and her lashes swept low. A full stomach and the lulling movement of the carriage must be working together to make her sleep.
And he was the freezing one who'd gone without sleep the night before!
If only he could sleep. That would give him some relief from the blasted pain in his arm.
