Falling for the Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 12)

by Arietta Richmond

  “You describe me as a paragon, and set me a high standard to hold to. I am flattered, but, perhaps, a little daunted.”

  “Do not be – I truly have the feeling that, should you set your mind to something, you will achieve it, despite any obstacles you may encounter.”

  Well, that was true. So far in her life, Jane had not let anything stop her. Survival had depended on that stubbornness for far too long.

  “Thank you, Nicholas.”

  They sat and talked, neither paying attention to the passing of time, speaking of simple things, like the book she was reading, and what else each liked to read. She decided that she liked living in this liminal space, where social status did not exist, and common consent let them speak of nothing which might introduce it. Eventually, though, the lowering of the sun cast long shadows from the folly across them, as the afternoon closed in. Even as Nicholas started, looking up and noticing the lateness of the hour, Jane wished desperately to hold back time. She did not wish the afternoon to end. Yet it must.

  “Dear Jane, I fear that we have become so absorbed in this delightful conversation that we have lost track of time. I must return to that world where others hold expectations of me, and where I have cares and woes to deal with. Thank you for this respite from all of that. Perhaps I will see you here, another day?”

  “Yes, Nicholas, I would like that. Should you happen to pass when I am here, let us step again into a suspension of expectations, and enjoy the moment. May whatever challenges you face be easily overcome.”

  “Thank you again. For now, farewell.”

  He bowed over her hand, suddenly the consummate courtier, then turned, and walked away, back along the stream. She did not watch him go. She did not want to know where he went, for that would spoil the magic of the afternoon.

  ~~~~~

  When Nicholas had left Windemere Towers, he’d had no idea where he would go – he simply needed to walk, and let the sensation of movement convince him, for a little while at least, that he was doing something. That it was possible to do something, anything, which might bring him closer to finding Gervaise.

  His son had been missing for six weeks now, and, whilst Nicholas clung to the belief that Gervaise still lived, that he would find him, it was becoming harder every day to sustain that belief. Julian was most sympathetic to his plight, having lost his own son five years earlier, to a pointless duel. For four long years, Julian had not known of his daughter-in-law or his grandson, and, once his wife had died, had felt alone in the world. Now, with a new wife and the heir he had not ever expected to have, he wished such joy for everyone. He had set things in motion to search for Gervaise, even more than Nicholas had already done.

  The problem, Nicholas had come to realise, was that they had absolutely no idea where Gervaise had gone. No hints, beyond what he had told Hattam when he left London. He had planned to stay at Inns along the way, under an assumed name, and to take a winding route to his destination, to ensure that the moneylender’s thugs could not easily find him.

  So the search was spreading, in an ever widening pattern, to either side of the most direct road from London to Percy Charlesworth’s home. And part of that search area extended in this direction.

  He clung to his hope, and distracted himself with riding, and walking, whilst more and more men searched the countryside, looking for Gervaise. His only consolation was the thought that, if he couldn’t find Gervaise, then most likely neither could the moneylender’s thugs.

  All of this was running through his mind as he walked, a never-ending cycle of regrets and self-recrimination. He felt that he had failed. He had been so deep in his own grief when Clara died, that he had not understood how deep Gervaise’s grief was, and how dark a path it had led him down.

  The day was bright, and gently warm with the soft spring sun. The countryside was pretty, the estate well-tended and pleasant. He walked through the gardens, and discovered a stream, so he followed it, with no intent to go anywhere in particular – it was as good a path to follow as any, for a man who simply needed to move, to avoid sitting and thinking.

  When he rounded a bend in the stream, coming out from a copse of trees into a more open, meadowlike area, he was surprised to see, ahead of him, what looked like a folly of some sort. On closer inspection, it was situated at the bottom of a long stretch of well crafted gardens, which extended from a house which he could just see one corner of, past the trees at some distance. He had not expected another house, here.

  Moving forward, he reached the point where he could see past the edge of the folly wall. The path was narrow here, and the pebbles skittered away from his feet, clicking on the larger rocks, and splashing into the fast running stream. The sound broke the silence, and interrupted the birdsong which had been an ever-present background to his walk.

  He stopped, staring. Beyond the folly wall, in the curve of its artfully constructed ‘ruined’ walls, was a stone bench, surrounded by flowers and vines which trailed over the wall and across the ground nearby.

  And on that bench sat a woman. Not just any woman, but the exact woman whom he had nearly trampled on the lane on his way to Windemere Towers. The woman who had so disconcerted him that he had made somewhat of a fool of himself. The woman who he had not been able to get out of his thoughts ever since.

  The early afternoon sun lit her face, and drew glints of gold and silver from her hair. She stared into the distance, as if deep in thought, a book lying forgotten in her lap. Her dress was a shade of pinkish peach, which made her seem all warmth amongst the old stones. The red petals of the flower in her fingers stood out starkly against the softness of the colour of her dress.

  Coherent thought deserted him. There was a beauty to her that was far more than the surface appearance. Yet… he felt that she seemed a little disconsolate – he wondered why.

  He could not stand there, just staring at her. He stepped forward again, kicking pebbles as he did, and spoke, so as not to come upon her entirely unawares. Even as he did, he cursed himself for the inelegance of his words.

  “Ah, we meet again. Still amongst the flowers, but at least you have a seat this time.”

  She seemed, as before, to be unperturbed by that fact. She turned slowly, and raised her hand to shade her eyes.

  He felt her regard as if she had touched him. Her eyes were a rich goldish brown, like dark honey. Somehow, he managed to converse, and soon found himself invited to sit beside her.

  There followed the most remarkable conversation of his life.

  At first, he thought that he had interrupted her solitude in a way that was not appreciated, but soon, she disabused him of that notion. She claimed that he, through his attitude, added to her peace. He was astounded, for somehow, he became a bumbling fool in her presence. It seemed that she did not perceive it that way.

  They agreed to disregard convention, and societal requirements, and to converse for that moment in time, as if none of that existed. To do so was remarkably freeing. He was flattered to be asked to call her by her forename, to address her simply as Jane. And he discovered that the sensation of being simply Nicholas, with no title, no family name, and no social position attached, was rather delightful. It was something he had not been since he was a small child. Just Nicholas.

  He did not know who she was, and she did not know who he was – not in the sense that most of the world cared about, anyway. But Just Jane, and Just Nicholas had a most wonderful and peaceful afternoon, speaking of everything and nothing – everything except the constraints of society and others expectations, that is.

  So lost did they become in conversation, that he did not notice that the afternoon was gone, until the shadows closed in with the fading of the day, stealing the colour from the flowers, and rendering everything into graduated shades of mournful grey.

  Reluctantly, he tore himself away, knowing that he must return to the world where Gervaise was still missing, and where his life was a shattered and empty thing.

  Rashly, he
asked if, perchance, he might see her there again, some day. Instantly, he was filled with the fear that she would say no, and deny him the chance of such respite from the world, again.

  But she said yes, and her eyes lit with what seemed genuine pleasure at the suggestion. He had released the breath he had not known he was holding, and smiling, taken his leave. After the afternoon in her company, his world seemed brighter, and his hope for discovering Gervaise, alive, was renewed.

  ~~~~~

  The following day, Jane walked to the village again. She had no real need to go there, for her servants would purchase anything she needed, and run any errands required, but she chose to go. She chose to keep up the friendships she had made, in many years of living in the village, as one of them. She liked to hear the tales of their lives, and, when she could, to help those who needed help. After all, every single one of them had helped her, at some point in the past. Now that she had wealth, it seemed only the right thing to do, to help when she could.

  As she walked along the lane, she took note of the spot where she had landed on the verge, and paused a moment, sending up silent thanks for that unexpected meeting, for now she had a new acquaintance, and a wholly different outlook on the world.

  She picked a flower from the grass, and twirled it in her fingers as she walked on. In her mind’s eye, she saw Nicholas again, looking at her with that appreciative, open, respectful warmth and, even just in memory, it heated her through, and brought a flush to her cheeks.

  In the village, she visited most of the shops, not so much to buy things as to chat to the shop owners and the patrons. They were happy to regale her with the latest gossip, and she soon knew who was courting who, who had done something scandalous (at least by village standards) and who had new babies. All of that was ordinary, and to be expected.

  What was not ordinary caught her attention. She was sitting at a table in the new tea shop, talking to Mary, the baker’s wife, when she overheard part of the conversation at the next table. It was Mrs Tanner speaking, and what caught Jane’s attention was the mention of ‘the Woodcutter’s invalid’ – a term she remembered from Mrs Tanner’s rambling just the other day. She sipped her tea, waiting for Mary to finish what she was saying, then spoke quietly.

  “Mary, what’s that Mrs Tanner’s talking about? Something about an invalid? I’m sure she said something of the like to me, the other day when I was in her shop, but I was distracted and I’m ashamed to admit that I let her words roll right over me.”

  Mary stifled an inelegant snort of amusement.

  “Wouldn’t be hard to have her words roll over you – there’s enough of them!”

  Jane repressed her own laughter, nodding. It took her a moment to regain enough composure to speak again.

  “Yes… but what is she talking about?”

  “Oh. Seems the Woodcutter and his wife have taken in some man they found injured in the forest. It’s a bit of a mystery. He refuses to tell them who he is. Says it’s better that way. They found him in a terrible state, just near one of the clearings. Broken his leg, he had. Must have fallen from a horse and landed hard on one of those big logs that Joe hadn’t finished cutting up yet. No-one’s found the horse.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Some weeks ago. We only heard about it here when Joe came into town to get supplies – and he only does that every month or so. They’re very self-sufficient out there.”

  “That sounds very odd. Why on earth wouldn’t he tell them who he is?”

  “Who knows? Perhaps the fall gave him a knock on the head, and knocked the sense out of him. But Jess has a soft heart, and so does Joe, really. They couldn’t leave him there, so Joe pulled his leg back into place and bound it up with some timber for supports, then carried him back to the cottage. He’s lucky it was Joe who found him – not so many hereabouts know how to put a leg back in place like that. He’ll likely walk again without much of a limp, but he’ll be some weeks more before he can even think about trying it.”

  “He’s lucky indeed. Do they have enough? Enough to deal with another mouth to feed like that, so close after winter?”

  “Just, I think – I gave them some extra bread, but Joe’s proud – he wouldn’t tell me, even if they did need more.”

  “Perhaps I should go out for a visit, and see if they need anything. I could take Potts with me, so there would be another pair of hands.”

  “That’s very kind of you to think of. I do worry about them, but I suppose the stranger can’t do much harm if he can’t even walk.”

  “I’ll see if I can organise that soon, then. For today, though, I’d best be getting back.”

  Jane took her leave of her friends and, gathering up her parcels, set off back to the Dower House.

  Chapter Five

  Over the next two weeks, Jane saw Nicholas again, every few days, as she sat near the stream, or as she walked along its banks. Each time, they stopped, and sat and talked, careful to never enquire into their separate lives outside the peaceful moments of conversation.

  Each time, she found herself more drawn to him, more comfortable in his presence. And each time, it became harder for her to deny the fact that she found him immensely attractive. She had not considered a man that way for a very long time. Whilst Peter had been dead for more than five years, she had never considered looking for another man, another marriage. Many thought that odd of her, but she had treasured her independence. And, truthfully, she had not met any man who interested her in the slightest, that way.

  Until Nicholas. The sensation of finding a man attractive was confusing – at her age, with a daughter of 25, and a grandchild, she had never expected to feel such a thing again. But she did.

  She was grateful for their agreement to not speak of the rest of their lives – it made things simpler, and allowed her to still enjoy their conversations, without needing to deal with her feelings.

  One afternoon, as they finished a conversation, sitting on the bench at the folly, she found herself disturbed – for Nicholas had seemed sad for the entire afternoon and, whilst he did not speak of it, it was obvious to her that his heart was heavy. Yet she could not ask him about it – and he would not speak of it, for whatever brought the sadness to his eyes was part of the outside world – part of the things that they had banned from these conversations.

  They parted as the light faded from the sky, and she took herself back to the Dower House feeling far less cheerful than she usually did after speaking to him. She settled into the parlour to read, feeling lonely – the house seemed so big around her and, after an afternoon of conversation, the silence wrapped around her, emphasising that emptiness. There was a tap at the door, and Potts came in, bearing the silver correspondence tray. Jane thought the correspondence tray a rather pretentious thing, for one such as her, but her staff insisted.

  “A message, Mrs Canfield.”

  He proffered the tray.

  Jane picked up the message. Julian’s seal. She broke it open. It was a simple invitation to dinner, the following day. Would she ever get used to the formal way that those born into titles did things? Probably not. She went to the small desk, and penned a note of acceptance, handing it to Potts to deliver.

  ~~~~~

  Nicholas paused as he reached the bend in the stream, and looked back, watching as Jane stood, and shook out her skirts, before turning away from the stream, and walking up the hill through the gardens. He wondered where she went, where she lived, then pushed those thoughts from his mind. Their agreement left no space for such wonderings.

  Still, his eyes clung to her slim figure until she passed out of his sight. She was undeniably beautiful, in a completely natural and unaffected way. Each time he saw her, he found her more attractive, and each time he thought of her that way, he was overcome with confusion, with a sense of guilt, of disloyalty to Clara. He had never expected to be attracted to a woman again, for he had loved Clara deeply, and her death had been a terrible blow. He was sure that he coul
d never love like that again, nor did he want to, for with such love came eventual pain, inescapably.

  So why did he find himself wanting to spend more and more time with Jane? Confusion filled him, as did the aching sadness caused by the fact that they seemed no closer to discovering Gervaise’s fate than they had been when he had arrived here. He shook his head, and turned away, walking into the gathering darkness, back towards Windemere Towers.

  ~~~~~

  The following evening, Julian sent his carriage down to collect Jane. She thought it silly, but did not argue.

  After all, Windemere Towers was only a ten-minute walk up the hill from the Dower House. But… ladies were not supposed to get dust on the hems of their evening dresses, and evening slippers were not designed for walking outside. So she sat in the carriage, feeling rather overdressed and out of place, as it travelled the short distance.

  Minutes later, as the butler opened the main doors for her, she still felt utterly out of place. If it were not for the fact that she knew Julian so well, and that she absolutely loved his new Duchess, she would have considered turning and simply going back home. The formality, and the scale of the house, still overwhelmed her.

  All thought of formality was immediately dashed aside when Daniel came rushing out of the parlour door, to hug her around the knees.

  “Hello Daniel! Could you perhaps let me go, so that you do not completely crush my dress? Then I can see how handsome you look tonight.”

  At 5 years old, Daniel was beginning to care about how people perceived him, so this tactic worked well, and Jane found herself able to move. Taking her grandson’s hand in hers, she allowed him to lead her into the parlour.

  Julian came forward to greet her, embracing her as an old friend. She smiled, glad to see him, and beginning to forget all about formality. Then, as he released her, she looked past his shoulder. Her breath caught, and she felt, for a moment, as if her heart had stopped beating.