Lord Carnall and Miss Innocent (The Friendhip Series Book 7)

by Julia Donner

  The signpost was at her back. She leaned against it and relaxed. From tramping over fields and pastures to search for fowl, she’d become hardy enough not to tire for a few miles walk. The ache lodged in her chest and the unbearable weight of her bruised spirit tired her more than any trek on foot. If she could make it to the mail coach inn at Tunbridge Wells and could convince them to take her and her dog, she would go to London and find Letty. Emily, now Lady Exton-Hughes, lived in Scotland, but Letty and Bainbridge might be in town for the upcoming Season. If not, she would find their house in town and leave a message. The servants might remember her. It was a plan. A simple one and the only thing she could think of to do. Escaping the notice of those interested in gossip shouldn’t be an issue. Few Londoners knew what she looked like. Applying to Aunt Goring was an idea that could not be borne. Nor did she wish to taint her great aunt with scandal, but dear Letty would hide her. She was clever and had been something of an heiress, which meant Bainbridge was now in possession of her fortune. Perhaps her husband allowed Letty ample pin money. If he did not, then something else could be arranged. She did not doubt that Letty would find a way to come to her aid.

  The cold damp began to seep through her clothes, but her feet stayed warm under Torquil’s lush, silky coat. Night’s silence lulled her mind, now numb from grief and earlier turbulence. She pushed misery aside when it forced its way to the forefront. Later, after getting situated somewhere safe, she would contend with that pain and all she’d lost. Until then, she closed heavy eyelids.

  The clatter of an approaching horse woke her. How long she’d slept, she didn’t know. Torquil had his head up, staring down the dark road. She didn’t want to be seen and got up. She whirled to search for a place to hide as a horse skidded to a stop and reared. Torquil barked a warning and she turned to see Carnall kick free of the stirrups and leap down. He led the lathered horse behind him as he strode toward her. Torquil warned him with a combination of whine and growl when Carnall grabbed her arm.

  “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Too head weary and startled to argue, she asked, “What are you doing here? Has Charlotte taken a turn for the worse?”

  He gave his head an impatient shake and ordered Torquil, “Sit! And take these.”

  Torquil did as he was told and clamped his jaws down on the reins, but he paid no attention to the horse. His focus stayed on her. He gave a muffled woof when Carnall jerked the portmanteau from her hand, tossed it aside, and gathered her close.

  She felt impressed into his chest. The buttons on his driving coat bit through her bodice. His fingers dug into her flesh. He shivered against her, pulled her deeper into his near painful embrace until she could scarcely breathe.

  She wriggled to get enough air and space to speak. “What is wrong, Carnall? My aunts? What has happened?”

  “Be quiet you contrary thing. Your Aunt Honoria, sensible woman that she is, sent Jack to the Grange immediately after she found your note. Have you gone mad to pull such a stunt? Thisbe is inconsolable. Desdemona is threatening to cut off her hair in mourning.”

  “But I thought—”

  He shut her mouth with a hard kiss then stuck out his hand to Torquil. “Give!”

  Torquil used his tongue to push the reins from his mouth, his gaze flicking back and forth between them, not knowing what to do, watching as Carnall snatched up the portmanteau and pulled Ana by the arm to the horse.

  Ana jerked free. “You don’t understand.”

  “What is there to understand? We love each other.” He halted then asked, “You do love me, don’t you?”

  The worry in his question broke her restraint. It was a little thing, but months of anxiety, hurt and exhaustion finally reached its peak. A sob released everything, a flood bursting free of its dam. She choked on the ache as the truth came out in a weeping torrent she could no longer hold in check.

  “You can’t understand! My uncle left Worth Hall to me, Dominic. Me! He did it because he trusted me to take care of it, and I lost it. Mortgaged it to save my stupid brother. No, I’m the stupid one. I gave everything to Jasper. Risked everything. I told myself it was my duty, but I sought his love, Dominic. Why, I don’t know. He isn’t worthy of anything, not my love nor my forgiveness. I gave everything and he never cared!”

  She took the handkerchief offered, covered her face with the linen and sobbed. After the worst had been released, she inhaled a shaky breath and allowed her weary body to sag against his. She hadn’t realized that he’d been holding her. He felt so solid, unbendable, trustworthy. Not like her uncaring father and selfish brother.

  She used the handkerchief a last time and thrust it into a pocket. “I beg your pardon for that outburst.”

  “Apparently you’ve been storing it up for some time.”

  After a weary sigh, she admitted, “I can’t think of what possessed me to act so recklessly for such an unworthy receptacle for my generosity.”

  “Neither can I, but I would be happy to hold him still while you deal your brother a well-deserved slap. Better yet, allow me.”

  She weakly laughed as he smoothed back her hair and kissed her brow. Dazed and limp, she said nothing as Carnall lifted her up on the horse’s shoulders and swung up behind her. He curtly asked, “Can Torquil keep up with a canter?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Very well. We can slow the pace if he tires. Come along, Torquil.”

  Carnall reined with one hand. The other he kept tight around her, and due to the bulk of the portmanteau on her lap, just under her breasts. She didn’t speak until he rode by the turn into the academy.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the Grange. I assured your aunts that I would find you. I must first take you to my sisters. They’re terrified for you, flying off in the middle of the night to God knows where.”

  He slowed the horse to a walk down the winding road to the house. Torquil trotted nearby, dashing off for infrequent detours to investigate smells. Carnall’s hand moved up to close over her right breast.

  Gruff with residual fear and anger, he said against her ear, “You gave me such a scare, anamchara.”

  “Oh, Dominic, I couldn’t bear thinking of what I’d done. So many mistakes. I thought you would forever hold me in disgust from the way Jasper acted like a procurer. I was so humiliated. Your expression…before you left. You looked so revolted.”

  “I was, but not with you! I had to leave before I did serious hurt to your brother. I’m sorry, Tatiana, but he’s a complete idiot. How could he not have noticed that I was ready to pound him into a jelly for the way he felt so utterly entitled to use you?”

  She turned her head to press her cheek against his shoulder. “It was so sordid. I was so mortified. I was sure you would despise me. Never want to see me again, and I couldn’t blame you if you felt that way.”

  “It’s over. We’ll not think of it ever again, but I have to ask that your harpy sister-in-law never gains admittance to visit us.”

  “A request I shall obey with pleasure.” When he softly laughed, she demanded. “What?”

  “You. Obeying.”

  She pursed her lips. “I might. Now and then.” They rode in silence until the lights of the house glowed in the distance. “Dominic, whatever happened to Wrexall? We left him in the woods unconscious.”

  “And I would have left him there to be eaten by the wildlife but I feared he’d poison them.” When she chuckled, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “I sent men from the stable to find him. And they did, staggering down the road. I had considered carrying a complaint to the magistrate, but again, it would involve embarrassment for you and Charlotte. My friends and I made sure he received his punishment in another way. It is done.”

  “Since you are in a confessional mood, what was the duel in Ireland about that nearly took your life.”

  “You must never tell Charlotte this, but it was again about Wrexall. He boasted to someone in the village tavern of what h
e’d done to her. That someone passed along the tale with too much relish and alacrity.”

  “Ah. Is he dead?”

  “Quite.” As the pillars and steps leading up to the portico became distinguishable through the dark he said, “I have done something without your consent, and I should have done it before things came to this.”

  “And that is?”

  “Tomorrow, three housemaids and two footmen will arrive at the school. They are from an agency in London. Hire them if they are acceptable. I also sent a Mrs. Flora Banwich to act as temporary housekeeper. She has experience running a school. Your Aunt Honoria has been informed. She expressed her gratitude. Have I overstepped the boundaries?”

  “Excessively. But that means you are now obligated to appease me.”

  He nipped her earlobe. “And I know exactly how.”

  “That, too, but I am of the opinion my appeasement should come previous to…that.”

  “In what form shall I serve or service you, madam?”

  “With a definition, if you please. What does anamchara mean? I do hope it isn’t a pet name derived from a derogatory word, like vixen.”

  He moved his hand from her breast and around her shoulder to cuddle her closer. His whisper brushed her ear. “It means keeper of my soul. Soul mate.”

  “Ah.”

  She pressed her lips into a taut line to suppress swelling emotions. Tears welled up in eyes she’d assumed had been dried of every drop. She blinked rapidly to stem the flood then relented and let them flow.

  Torquil flushed a hare and chased it down the road. The lazy sway of the horse’s gait rocked them in gentle tandem. After a time, she judged herself recovered enough to speak.

  “Yes, I believe that will do quite nicely in lieu of a proper proposal of marriage.” Lifting her free hand, she placed it alongside his cheek. He leaned his head into her palm, as she whispered back, “Anamchara.”

  Dear Reader:

  If you enjoyed Lord Carnall and Miss Innocent, please consider writing a review. An excerpt from The Barbarian and His Lady follows this list of titles also written by Julia Donner and M.L. Rigdon.

  Thanks for your friendship and continued support of this series.

  Writing Historical Fiction as Julia Donner

  The Friendship series

  THE TIGRESSE AND THE RAVEN

  THE HEIRESS AND THE SPY

  THE RAKE AND THE BISHOP’S DAUGHTER

  THE DUCHESS AND THE DUELIST

  THE EARL AND THE RUNAWAY

  THE DANDY AND THE FLIRT

  LORD CARNALL AND MISS INNOCENT

  THE BARBARIAN AND HIS LADY (Spring 2016)

  Writing as M.L.Rigdon

  Fantasy

  Seasons of Time trilogy

  PROPHECY DENIED

  BEYOND THE DARK MOUNTAINS

  HER QUEST FOR THE LANCE

  Contemporary

  THE ATLANTIS CRYSTAL (A Philadelphia Hafeldt novel)

  SEDUCTIVE MINES (Another Philadelphia Hafeldt adventure)

  NEVER LET ME DIE (Romantic suspense with paranormal elements)

  YA Fantasy

  Songs of Atlantis series

  THE VITAL

  MASTER OF THE DARK

  CANTICLE OF DESTRUCTION (Fall 2015)

  INTO THE EAST (Spring 2016)

  THE BARBARIAN AND HIS LADY

  Friendship Series Book 8

  Chapter 1

  Rolands, Kent, England

  Autumn, 1819

  A commotion downstairs interrupted Alison from completing the letter to Lady Exton-Lloyd, her friend and patroness. The noise on the ground floor escalated, punctuated by muffled shouts. Alison set down the quill and swiveled on the chair seat when a footman burst through the library door.

  “Mrs. Davison, please, ma’am. Will you come down?”

  Since the owner of the house, Sir Harry Collyns and his wife, were absent, she stood. “What is it?”

  “A man, a vagrant was found in the woods. He’s in a very bad way, ma’am. Would you agree to assist him?”

  As they went down the steps, she tried to see through a gaggle of hand-wringing servants loitering in Sir Harry’s excellently appointed vestibule. Many of them were bent over the afflicted man.

  She asked the flustered footman leading the way, “You said he’s in a very bad way. What is the nature of his injury?”

  “Badly beaten. Must have been waylaid on the main road and appears to have crawled up the lane.”

  She had concerns about treating gunshot wounds or broken bones. She rarely had any involvement with men since the loss of dear Albert in the war. Her skills and experience had mainly to do with childbirth, female and children’s aliments. Three months ago, she’d been asked to travel from Scotland to attend the lying in of Sir Harry’s wife, Olivia, to assist with the birth of their daughter. Lady Collyns was also an avid student of medicine and had offered Alison the use of her collection of medical tomes. During the lying-in, they shared an exchange of ideas and Lady Collyns had generously offered the use of her library. While doing so, a devastating fever had swept through the districts surrounding Rolands. Sir Harry, his wife and baby had left the area to protect their infant. Alision had stayed to finish her study and help in the neighborhood.

  The parish surrounding the Exton-Lloyd estate relied on her. Before the recent interruption, she’d been writing to Lady Exton-Lloyd that Sir Harry and Olivia were returning from one of his holdings in the north and that her studies in the Collyns library had come to a point where she would soon return to Scotland.

  Now, this business with a stranger. Rich or poor made no difference to Alison. If someone was ill and she could help, that was what she did without hesitation, and would do so now.

  The footman shoved his way into the servants crowded around the man. “Step back, if you please. Allow Mrs. Davison through.”

  Alison halted to inhale a fortifying breath when she beheld the sight sprawled on the marble floor. Bearded, bloodied and rumpled, a large man had been deposited on his side on the marble floor just inside the entrance doors. A long smear of red showed a path of where he’d been towed from the entrance to the center of the foyer.

  She spoke to the group. “Someone roll him over, carefully, if you please. Why was he brought into the front of the house instead of the servants’ entry?”

  “His clothes, ma’am. They are well-worn but not those of the lower order, and the back way is partially blocked by boxes sent ahead of Sir Harry and Lady Collyns. They’re packed in straw. The master will want to open them himself. There’s not enough space to get this one through.”

  Alison studied the dried blood from a gash below the man’s left ear. Luckily, the attacker had missed the major vessel. “He’s quite obviously been set upon by ruffians. Has his jacket collar been checked for a name?”

  “Nothing sewn anywhere on his clothes to indicate ownership, what can be seen without undressing him,” the second footman answered. “There’s nothing in the pockets, no purse, not even a comb.”

  “That is no surprise, especially if thieves were involved,” she muttered, and sent her fingers searching through the tangled disarray of light brown hair. No bumps or swollen areas. The hair felt clean despite its look of unkempt snarls.

  The knuckles on the man’s right hand showed the scrapes and bruises of a recent fistfight. She couldn’t distinguish any wounds to his face beneath the scraggly beard. His nose had been broken but the injury wasn’t recent.

  Allison knelt to pick up and study the man’s battered hand, calloused and well-shaped with the nails pared short. When she carefully turned the hand to check for injury to the palm, a maid shyly said, “Ma’am, that one’s been at sea for a long time.”

  Alison glanced up at the girl, who explained, “My grandda was a sailor. Fought at Trafalgar. That’s how his hands looked when he came home.”

  Alison spread her fingers on the man’s chest. A strong pulse beat against her palm. He was not well-fed, this condition made mor
e pronounced by his, wide-shouldered, large-boned frame. Standing, this man would have a commanding aspect, but calloused hands meant he’d been a common seaman, not an officer.

  “I cannot attend to him in the men’s dormitory. Is there another room below stairs that would be appropriate quarters, a place where I would not disrupt the staff with my presence?”

  Quiet reigned for a moment, then the second footman replied, “There’s that room we had to set up for the shooting party. Lord Grieves came late and we put his valet there.”

  Alison stood, and when she prompted him with raised eyebrows, the footman continued, “It’s under back stairs, a storage room we cleared for extra space. We had more arrive than was invited and not enough room. Remember, Mr. Betters?”

  Betters nodded. “Yes, that should do nicely. The cot is still there but nothing else, which may be for the best. He’s of a height that his feet will drape over the end. If you permit, Mrs. Davison, we shall carry him down. Will that arrangement suit?”

  “If you will not be discommoded by my intrusion downstairs to attend to him.”

  Betters, who acted as major domo when the butler traveled with the family, bowed. “Very kind of you to consider our privacy, Mrs. Davison. We shall be ready to assist with anything you might need and have him cleaned up and presentable for your ministrations.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Betters. There are supplies in my room that I prefer to fetch myself. I will join you shortly.”

  “No hurry, if you please. We must make him presentable.”

  “Leave the shirt and jacket where I can find them. I will need to check the cloth and wound on his back to match up the fibers. And apply a clean cloth and pressure over anything that bleeds.”