by Julia Donner
The Dark Earl and His Runaway
by Julia Donner
Friendship Series Book 5
The Dark Earl and His Runaway Copyright © 2015 M.L.Rigdon (Julia Donner) All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means without the permission of the author.
Cover Design and Illustration by Stephen D Case [email protected]
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 Dark Earl and His Runaway
An excerpt from Book 6 in the Friendship Series, The Dandy and the Flirt is included.
Dedicated to Barbara Ann Myers. Thanks Babs for your friendship, encouragement, and enthusiastic support. Keep on singing and see you at the cinema.
Summer, 1819
Charhill Fells, Cornwall
Chapter 1
Fifteen days—that’s all she needed. In fifteen days, she would not have charge of her fortune, but she would have control of her person. It had been that many hours since she’d overheard a discussion that changed the course of her life and caused her to flee. That conversation forced her to take the hottest, most humid night of the year to escape a fate worse than spinsterhood.
Leticia released stiffened fingers from her grip on the bulky sack she’d dragged across the fells. Fog hovered over the meadow below, lit an eerie blue by the nearly full moon. Night’s lack of color intensified the smells of forest and fields, the sharp tang of turf and the richer scent of moist earth. From the moon’s low-slung position, she judged the time as a few hours before dawn.
After setting down the bundle of items tied up in a cloak, she sat on a low, stone fence. The style meandered its way down the hillside to the fog-blanketed sheep pasture below. She withdrew a damp handkerchief from inside her left cuff and dabbed at the tickling beads of moisture making their way down her temple. Her dress felt damp and itchy, the skirt’s hem saturated from dew. After a deep inhale of the fragrant air, she smiled at the quiet.
Some people feared the dark. She found its mystery comforting, restful. It would be hours before anyone realized she’d left. Who would imagine that a young lady of her position would leave her home and walk out alone into the night? She wished it could have been the dark of the moon, but since it wasn’t, she looked up at the almost-sphere glowing against a black sky studded with stars. Then the reason for her escape and memory of the conversation she’d overheard removed the smile of contentment.
Henry Caudill, cousin and guardian, had arranged for a marriage. His usual attention to detail didn’t find a home with her. His utter lack of caring for a family member weighed down her heart more than the disgraceful agreement she’d discovered that morning.
If only her parents hadn’t disappeared. She’d never stopped yearning for them. They’d left her at school and sailed off to Canada. It had been decided that she must have a proper education in England. After her studies, Leticia could decide if she would join them, stay for a proper come-out, or make her home in Canada, if her father continued his sojourn there as a diplomat.
Years had come and gone. She passed the age for a come-out and no response to her letters. Solicitors suggested things she didn’t want to hear. She refused to give up hope.
Cousin Henry had been given control in their absence. Cautious and parsimonious by nature, he doled out her pin money every quarter, warning her to have a care how she spent it. Leticia had everything she needed, and there were so many people who had so little. Two days before, she’d given most of what remained of her stipend to Widow Jones. That impulsive and necessary gifting left her with only a few coins for her journey.
She had no idea where she was going or what she was to do when she got there. Her one, definite decision had been to immediately remove herself from the vicinity of her cousins, Henry and Joseph Caudill. Outrage erased the initial fear of what they plotted, but in fifteen days, she’d turn twenty-one.
Disaster arrived with Cousin Joseph, who had unexpectedly shown up the day before, fresh from his travails with the East India Company. Some men made their fortune in the East. Servant gossip whispered that Cousin Joseph lost everything and accrued debt. She scarcely knew the man, having briefly met him before being sent off to school. Her grief for the departure of her parents clouded her memory of the occasion.
Yesterday afternoon, she’d been called from the stillroom, where she’d been labeling jam pots. Cousin Henry scolded her about her unkempt appearance, but nonetheless drove her from her tasks. She followed Cousin Henry down passageways to the best receiving room to bid her Cousin Joseph welcome.
Leticia curtsied, wishing she’d taken time to tidy her hair and put on a fresh day dress. Cousin Joseph was the sort who liked to cut a dash. She remembered him as tall, slender and sallow-skinned. He wore clothes well, but not their colors, due to his unfortunate skin tone. Rotund Henry sported a constant flush and clothes that never fit. The brothers shared no sibling resemblance whatsoever.
Henry was as round as he was tall, with fat, greasy lips and sausage-shaped fingers. His clothes never encompassed all of his girth that strained buttons. He insisted on wearing an out-dated wig to hide hair, scraggly and mouse brown.
Joseph possessed no coarseness of appearance, other than his unfortunate complexion. He had a natural, easy manner, but his tenor hinted derisiveness. Where Joseph was smooth and calculating, Henry acted nervous and too focused on whatever he had on his mind.
“Cousin Letty,” Henry began, “you remember Joseph, do you not?”
Leticia dipped another curtsey. “Of course. It is good to have you safely arrived from your travels, sir.”
Joseph looked her up and down and hummed an indistinct reply. To his brother he said, “She hasn’t improved much, but she’ll suit.”
Leticia stared at Cousin Joseph and covered her dismay at what that remark might mean. He had changed a great deal. His skin had become more sallow and his frame thinner. He continued to wear his clothes with perfection and style, but something had changed about his eyes. Almond-shaped and watery green, he now had a squint that made him look as if he smelled something unpleasant. She well-remembered his complete disinterest in her, which allowed the dismissal of a comment that would have otherwise made her think he considered something as preposterous as marriage to her. She cast aside the notion and tallied the tasks she’d left behind in the stillroom.
Cousin Henry interrupted her thoughts. “Letty, you may go. Joseph and I have matters to discuss. We will talk more at dinner.”
Relieved, Leticia bobbed a curtsey and headed back to her work interrupted. Partway down the hall, the enormity of their brief discussion penetrated. They were actually considering marrying her off. Apprehension and disbelief turned her back to confront them. Instinct slowed her pace and made her pause by the partially open door.
“She’s still regrettably freckled, Henry, and that carrot hair, a fright.”
Cousin Henry cajoled, “Now-now, Joseph, that is neither here nor there. Once you have her money, hair color will have no meaning. Leave her here in the country. You’ll have funds aplenty for city entertainments.”
“God’s blood, of course she’ll stay in the country. I’d never be seen in public with that lump. She’s positively bovine. The girl’s fortunate to have so grand a fortune, for it’s the only way a man would consider her. But you’ re quite right, Henry. As plump in pocket as she is, there will be more than enough for us both.”
&
nbsp; Ever cautious, Henry warned, “You must keep in mind that this house is entailed and untouchable, since we’re still in search of her parents.”
“I’m not interested in this house,” said Cousin Joseph, sounding bored. “What is her worth?”
“She has an income of two thousand a year from the funds, in addition to the fells rents, and a large holding over in Wales. The house and property there is rented at present, but when sold, will clear you of all debts with plenty left over for a share for me. And the fells are sought after by everyone. Prime grazing land, you know.”
Cousin Joseph sounded smug and satisfied when he said, “Yes, they’ll most certainly fetch a tidy fortune.”
Leticia didn’t wait to hear more. She hurried back to the stillroom, where she shivered in the aftermath of what they had planned for her. Pacing wore away the trembling. Then came the outrage, cold and relentless. She could do nothing to stop their plans until she reached majority. After that, she could refuse the marriage and investigate how to end Cousin Henry’s control of her fortune. Once she’d made a decision, determination took hold.
So here she sat in the quiet of night, wondering where to go and what to do when she got there. One thing she did know was that she had walked to this meadow for the retired gelding grazing below. Obscured by the fog, the old sorrel hadn’t been ridden or driven in the last year. He might balk at the notion of working again, but she had come prepared for resistance. She’d brought along carrots and hauled a well-used sidesaddle with an extended girth.
The calm of determination gathered inside her chest. Every female wanted their own home to manage, a family and children, but not with a husband who thought of his wife as a “lump” to be tolerated. Not to a man who’d sell off her beloved fells.
She untied the sack and withdrew the bridle she’d selected in the stable, draping it over the rock wall. Next came the rope to lead the horse back to the style for tacking up and mounting, if she could catch him. After brushing off the two carrots she’d yanked up from the vegetable garden, she headed down to the meadow. Her heart lifted when the gelding raised his head and whickered a greeting.
Chapter 2
Dawn bloomed pink and gold on the horizon by the time she rode the sorrel to the road leading to the village. People knew her there, but would tell her cousin nothing. Cousin Henry had made no friends in the district. He would remain a stranger no matter how long he’d lived in her parents’ house.
The gelding’s plodding gait meant the duration of the ride was the same as if she’d walked. It was nearing midday when she approached the first cottage. The villagers had known her since she was in leading strings and still spoke kindly of memories about her parents. A visit to the posting inn’s back door would provide food and drink. She could also inquire as to how far the coins would take her. If not far, she would keep the gelding instead of selling him.
The sun beat down directly overhead when she heard the shouting, men calling out encouragement and insults. A clot of them had gathered at the front of the inn. As she neared the crowd, she could see that a mill was in progress.
She used a mounting block to get off the horse. Standing on it allowed her to see two men in a bruising fistfight. Sunlight glistened on a broad-shouldered, tanned back where heavy muscles tensed and rippled. His opponent, the village blacksmith, who faced in her direction, was equal in height and bulk, but he carried a large part of his weight in a protruding belly.
Brutal punches, fists meeting flesh, could be heard through the shouting. Exclamations of appreciation rose when a squishy splat sounded the breaking of facial cartilage. A whoop went up from the crowd when the blacksmith fell.
Then there was silence, until one of the onlookers said, “E’s not movin’. Is the bloke dead?”
Another said, “Looks like he might be breathing.”
A man on the fringe of the crowd called out, “There’s Miss Carlton. She’ll look at the poor devil.”
A moment later, Leticia felt herself lifted down from the block and hurried between two men to the unconscious brawler. The smells of ale, gin, and sweat filled the inner circle.
She pulled off a glove, knelt, and placed her fingers on his neck. A strong pulse throbbed against her fingertips. “He’s merely unconscious. Could someone bring water?”
Hands slid under her armpits. She was scooped up off her feet and swung out of the way by the winner, in time not to be splashed by the bucket of water tossed over the blacksmith. The man gasped, coughed, and sat up in the mud. Everyone cheered even though the man’s eyes were wobbling in the sockets.
Behind her, a deep, rich voice asked, “Miss Leticia? Never thought that the next time I saw you it would be at a mill.”
Placed on her feet, she had to tip her head all the way back to see the speaker’s face, a friend she hadn’t seen in over a year. Smears of mud and blood couldn’t hide the high cheekbones and pronounced, square jaw. When he used the back of his forearm to wipe away the sweat dripping into his eyes, she squinted and asked, “Bainbridge? Is that you under all that muck?”
Before he could answer, a young man in scruffy servant garb and wearing an ear-to-ear grin handed Bainbridge a sopping cloth. “You landed a right wistycaster, m’lor.”
“Thanks, Will,” m’lor replied.
The wet towel removed what was left of mud, blood, and perspiration. A swipe over a dense swatch of dark hair that gleamed auburn in the sunlight revealed that he was indeed the Earl of Bainbridge.
Leticia shook her head, disgusted. “Is this all you ever do, Bainbridge? I vow, the last time we met, you’d just finished flooring George Beckwith at the Horse and Hound.”
“No. That was three years ago when you came home for hols. And Beckwith spoke disparagingly about Jupiter. Couldn’t let that pass.”
“A feeble excuse for a fight, Bainbridge. Your horse is better bred than most of us. Bend down here. You have a cut on your eyebrow, and from the look of you, still in want of a valet. You’re also in need of a shave.”
In his typically blunt manner, he said, “Didn’t know I’d be seeing you.” Before complying, Bainbridge said to a gentleman standing at the edge of the crowd. “Freddy, my shirt.”
Muscles lengthened and bunched as Bainbridge pulled a voluminous blouse over his head. Decently covered, he leaned his face down to hers. “I am obliged, Miss Leticia.”
She gently touched the edges of the split dissecting his left eyebrow, his only apparent injury. Mahogany-colored hairs felt smooth and slick under her fingertips. A pleasant tingle scampered up her arm. His smoke-blue eyes searched her face.
Smiling, she asked, “Do you want that sewn?”
For such a physically intimidating man, Bainbridge looked oddly shy as he straightened up and avoided her gaze. “No, miss. My thanks. Trupp is more in need of your attention.”
Leticia heard a wet plop and looked over her shoulder. Bainbridge’s opponent had passed out again, landing on his back in the mud. She said to no one in particular in the surrounding crowd, “Step back, if you please. Some of you carry this man into the inn. One of the tables in the taproom should do nicely.”
She placed a restraining hand on Bainbridge when he moved to lift the man from the mud. “He’s too stout for one man to lift.” When he looked at her strangely, she added, “Allow the bystanders to do something useful.”
Of two finely dressed gentlemen, the one known as Freddy stepped back, obviously wanting no part of dealing with the filth-smeared Trupp. With a gesture of his head, Bainbridge said to the gentlemen, “Go inside. Make arrangements for Miss Leticia.”
Freddy, the black-haired one with piercing blue eyes, said, “You might introduce us to the young lady.”
Bainbridge snarled. “Not now. Not out here. Inside.”
Unimpressed by the abrupt order, Freddy hooked his arm through that of the taller man by his side and nodded a bow to Leticia, “Until then, madam.”
Bainbridge watched them go into the inn, his eyes narrowed.
“Be careful of that one, Miss Leticia.”
She laughed and gestured at her rumpled frock. “I am scarcely in any state of dress to impress anyone.”
His eyes looked colorless in the harsh sunlight as his gaze swept over her face and body. For a moment, she suffered the oddest feeling, as if she wore nothing at all. Coming back to her direct gaze, he murmured in his deep, rolling baritone, “You don’t need fancy dress with hair as pretty as yours.”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, ruddy color suffused his tanned face. “Sorry, miss. That was too forward. Shall we go inside?”
She took the hand he awkwardly held out. Her plump fingers looked tiny and pale in his broad palm. “Sir, it’s too late to take back those words, and so I will gladly express my thanks. Not many compliments come my way. Lead me to the poor, defeated Trupp. His face doesn’t appear that damaged. You must have dealt his considerable girth some terrible blows.”
The onlookers in the taproom had crowded around a table. They fell back from a glance from Bainbridge. Someone had wiped off the unconscious man’s face. Unfortunately, she had to lean close to study Trupp, who now indoors, reeked a stench of old sweat so pervasive it smothered the tavern’s smell of stale liquor and rancid grease. She had a stout stomach but the combinations began to make its contents roil. All eyes were on her, awaiting her verdict.
“I believe he struck his head on a rock submerged in the mud. There’s a knot on the back, and Bainbridge is not the sort to deliver a blow so dishonorable. Roll him on his left side so he breathes easier. If he doesn’t reawaken soon, send for a physician.”
A miner tugged off his cap. “Cor, miss, tis Sunday. He’ll be drunk as lor—” his glance skimmed over to Bainbridge, “er, a sow. There be nothin’ you can do?”
“Find his family and cart him home. Send for Mrs. Cooper. She’s far more capable than I.”
The men in the taproom resettled their caps and hats as she left. Bainbridge escorted her into the foyer. A maid curtsied and said, “The gentlemen await in the private parlor at the end of the passage. I’ve had your belongings placed there.”
