“Aye, m’lord,” Jamey confessed. “Then I…I just didn’t know what to do…or how I could help them…and I could not talk to you…didn’t know how…and…”
“Enough of that, lad.” The earl’s large hand closed tenderly on Jamey’s arm. “This is not your fault. The man who just ran off…his name is Mickleby. He is the bailiff at Melbury Hall. Reverend Trimble tells me that all who work there are terrified of him. Now I can see why…but we shall see to that soon enough. For now, let us get Israel to Solgrave.”
Jamey wiped at his face. “Does this mean you will not take Israel back to them?”
“Not a chance, lad. Your friend is going back with us…where he can get the care he needs.”
***
“Get out. I shall call you when we are finished with our business.”
Louisa’s maid looked once at the old woman standing in the sitting room Lady Nisdale had taken at the inn, and went out, closing the door behind her.
Louisa stared at Mrs. Stockdale’s serving woman standing uncomfortably in the middle of the floor.
“Did you get a name for me?” she demanded, not getting up from her chair.
The woman looked back at the door before flashing ruined teeth at her. “Aye, mum. Took some doing, but I got the name, I did. Mistress Rebecca went to a household in London, sure…” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “…never to be heard of again.”
“What’s the name?” Louisa snapped irritably, getting up and crossing the floor to the servant.
“’Twill cost ye two gold sovereigns.”
Louisa’s hand lashed out so fast that the old woman didn’t even see it. But a second later, the woman was gasping in pain at the feel of the sharp nails digging into the wrinkled skin of her throat.
“What is the name?”
“H…H…Hartington!” the woman croaked, wide-eyed. “Sir Charles Hartington, Baronet! ‘Twas his household that Miss Neville was sent!”
CHAPTER 27
Jamey galloped ahead of Lord Stanmore, arriving at Solgrave far enough in advance to alert the household. Minutes later, the earl was handing Israel into the waiting arms of Daniel and Philip, and immediately dispatched groom to St. Albans for the doctor.
It seemed to Stanmore that Israel had only just been settled in a room—with Mrs. Trent and Rebecca tending his injuries—when Daniel reappeared, red in the face.
“Squire Wentworth has arrived, m’lord,” the steward announced, crossing the room to where Stanmore sat watching the proceedings.
“We shan’t let him take Israel!” James announced from his perch beside the earl. “Tell him he can just go to the devil.”
The steward nodded approvingly to the lad as Rebecca whirled to look at the three.
“Ahem…indeed. However…” Daniel continued. “The squire has situated himself in your library and demands an audience with you. If you agree with Master James, however, I would be more than happy to fetch several of the grooms and throw the man out.”
“I do not think so, Daniel.” Stanmore pressed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, encouraging him to stay put, and headed for the door himself. “I want that pleasure for myself.”
“Wait!” Rebecca caught up to him as he started down the stairs. “Would you allow me to come with you?”
Stanmore stopped and touched her cheek tenderly. “This is between the squire and myself.”
“He is a horrible man,” she said quietly, casting a killing look in the direction of the library. “I met him this Friday past when I went in search of Millicent. His bailiff is not the only one who is a brute. The squire, I believe, is even worse.”
“I know him quite well, my love.” Stanmore’s words drew Rebecca’s worried gaze away from the stairs and to his face. The turbulent sea of emotion he could see in her stormy blue eyes was a gift from heaven. “Fear not. I have known the man for quite a while. I am very well prepared to handle him.”
She appeared to acquiesce, but only for a moment. As Stanmore started down the stairs again, she clutched at his arm.
“Wait! If the squire mentions anything about stealing…about Israel stealing a handkerchief…or perhaps a scarf that might have belonged to me…you should know that I gave the handkerchief to Israel myself on Friday. Mr. Cunningham was with me when I gave it to him. And Jamey just told me that he gave his friend my scarf at the cottage the day he went swimming by the old mill.”
He laid his hand over hers. “You heard what James said. We shan’t let him take Israel.”
She nodded gratefully, and Stanmore seized her hand, placing a kiss on her palm. “But if you would be so kind as to restrain that angry cub of yours. I do not want him coming to my rescue.”
“I have never seen him so proud of anything or anyone as he is about you, at this moment.”
“I am the one who is feeling quite proud, to tell the truth. That swine of a bailiff is surely ten times the size of the lad, but James showed no fear whatever in attacking the knave in retaliation for what he had done to Israel.” Stanmore reluctantly released her hand. “You have raised a fine lad, Rebecca. I think you should stay at Solgrave…and in London…just to make certain that I do not ruin him in the coming years.”
The mixture of confusion and longing in her eyes was exactly what he’d hoped for.
“I do not ask for an answer now, but I should like it very much if you would consider staying with us…staying with me.”
***
Standing on the landing above them, Sir Nicholas Spencer was more than a little disturbed by the tender exchange he’d just witnessed between Stanmore and Mrs. Ford.
Naturally, he wanted his friend to be happy. Over the past decade, he would have done anything to see Stanmore’s attitude toward women ease somewhat. He himself had tried to interest him in the right sort of woman, but with no success at all.
Nicholas had been through a great deal with Stanmore. He’d seen his friend bow to his father’s wishes in marrying a woman he didn’t love. He’d been with him in Quebec when the news finally reached them that Elizabeth had run off with their two-month-old child. And he’d witnessed his friend’s fierce struggle to overcome his frustration and unhappiness when they returned to England.
But all that seemed to be behind him. Stanmore’s philanthropic causes, his work in Parliament, his efforts here at Solgrave had seemed to succeed in pushing the pain of the past into some small and manageable place within him.
And if he wanted a wife, he could have any woman in England. Heiresses, beauties, women of learning or position—any woman he wanted was his for the choosing. But to pick someone like Rebecca Ford—with her unknown background, her lack of family and fortune! Nicholas feared his friend was about to make another mistake. True, she was extremely pleasing to look at, and tremendously charming in conversation. But why not simply engage her in an affair and leave it at that? Why the devil should he ask for her hand in marriage? Nicholas frowned on the landing, considering carefully what he had overheard. If that wasn’t a proposal of marriage, then the devil take him!
He turned his thoughts to the woman. There was something about her—some hesitancy, some furtiveness—that Nicholas was not certain sat right with him. Perhaps if he were to do a little searching into her background…just for safety’s sake. Certainly her resemblance to Jenny Greene was as good a place to begin as any. And though Mrs. Ford had recovered quickly, she’d nearly jumped out of her skin when he’d mentioned the name.
He turned from the stairs and ran into Philip coming down the hall. “Well, the earl seems to be exceptionally busy this morning.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Would you be kind enough to tell Lord Stanmore that I had totally forgotten about a dinner engagement this evening, and I was forced to ride up to London this morning.”
“I shall tell him, sir.”
“Also, Philip, kindly tell him that I plan to return to Solgrave in a few days, so he shall not be so easily rid of me.”
“I shall rel
ay the bad news, sir.”
With a discreet bow, the older steward headed down the hall again, but Nicholas remained where he was, staring at the man’s back and wondering when Philip had developed a sense of humor.
***
The man’s face might as well have been chiseled out of ice, for there had been no change in his expression at all during the squire’s harangue.
Ready to grab the earl by his well-tailored jacket front, drag him out of his chair, and hammer a fist or two into his frosty face, Wentworth planted his large fists on top of the peer’s desk. “Have you been listening to anything I have been saying? Do you have nothing to say in your own defense? Do you even deny hiding my slave—my property—here at Solgrave? Do you seriously think the beating of my bailiff—for no reason—is not to be considered a serious breach of civility?”
“I deny nothing, Wentworth. Further, I shall not tolerate cruelty to innocent people. Your barbaric practices will stop.” Stanmore’s warning was spoken so coolly that the squire’s anger flared even hotter. “But be advised…my watchmen have been instructed to shoot Mickleby on sight. It is your own choice if you want to keep the brute employed or not. And with regard to Israel…he will remain indefinitely at Solgrave as my guest.”
“You high and mighty ones…you think you are above the law!”
“You are free to charge me with criminal conduct, as you see fit, Wentworth.” Stanmore leaned forward. “But if you do, I shall break you.”
Fury boiled within the squire. He wanted a drink. He knew that as a member of the peerage, Stanmore was answerable only to the House of the Lords—and none of them would side with Wentworth against one of their own.
“You must look at the evidence,” the squire bellowed. “That filthy little bugger is a thief! I have brought the proof of what he stole from you yourself!”
Stanmore glanced at the shawl and the handkerchief Rebecca had warned him about, lying on the chair.
“I have already told you. Those articles were given to Israel by my son and by Mrs. Ford.”
“Your son and Mrs. Ford! Ha!” Wentworth spat out. “A crippled bastard and a whore!”
Stanmore’s fist connected with his jaw with a crack that echoed in the squire’s brain. Before he could shake his stunned head to clear the flashing lights in front of his eyes, though, a second blow to his ear sent him crumpling to one knee.
“If I ever hear you use my family’s or guest’s name in such a manner again, Wentworth, I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.”
Through the continuing haze, Wentworth saw Stanmore open the door of his library and motion for his steward and two footmen to enter.
“Escort our visitor to his horse. And Daniel, return to me immediately, for I will be sending a letter to Sir Oliver in London.” The earl turned to the squire, who was struggling to his feet. “My lawyer will be instructed to settle on a price with you for the purchase of Israel. But just so we are clear…the lad is here to stay.”
“You will pay dearly…”
“I expect to. He is worth it. Now, Daniel, throw this creature out.”
***
Stanmore waited until the congregation had dispersed after the Sunday service before pulling Reverend Trimble and William Cunningham aside and explaining the events of the morning.
“Israel was conscious when we left for the village a couple of hours ago. The doctor thinks the lad has sustained a concussion as well as some broken ribs.”
“I saw him on Friday,” the schoolmaster put in, shaking his head. “He was already bruised then. He must be a mess now.”
“His face looks like a side of mutton,” Stanmore said grimly.
“Poor fellow.” Reverend Trimble shook his head.
“We cannot risk angering the squire any more than I already have. William, I want you to stay away from Melbury Hall for a few days.” He turned to the minister. “And you, too. I want to make certain the tempers are cool—especially Wentworth’s—before anyone who has any association with me crosses the squire’s path.”
“But the people there have come to expect our visits,” Cunningham protested.
“I understand that! But I also understand that these same people would prefer to have you alive rather than dead.”
Reverend Trimble looked gravely into the earl’s face. “Do you believe it is that bad, m’lord?”
“It is, today.” Seeing the frown on the schoolmaster’s face, though, he shook his head. “You shall start again soon enough. But when you do, you shall go with one of my grooms as an escort.”
“But, m’lord…!”
“Accept my wishes in this, William. I do not need your blood on my hands.”
The young man nodded solemnly. “As you wish, m’lord.”
After few more general inquiries about the village and the school, Stanmore walked toward the phaeton, where Rebecca was speaking quietly with Mrs. Trimble.
With all that was going on, he could have lingered here all day, just to admire the way she looked and spoke in the company of the villagers. But this afternoon Stanmore wanted Rebecca Neville all for himself. Having heard the doctor’s report about Israel and knowing that the lad was in good hands with James looking on, she’d reluctantly agreed to come with him to the Sunday service, and this gave Stanmore great encouragement.
Moments later, they were following a road that wound alongside the river.
“True, this is not the most direct route back to Solgrave, but I want to hear no objections from you,” he growled teasingly. “Daniel and Philip are prepared to defend the manor house. The doctor and Mrs. Trent have everything under control with Israel. James is at the lad’s bedside, as well.” He looked over at her. “You can take an hour for yourself.”
Her blue eyes warmed with affection. “Do you truly believe you can keep Israel at Solgrave?”
“I can and I will!” he said confidently, taking the phaeton expertly across a ford where the river widened. “Wentworth knows he cannot force me to give back the lad, so he’ll come up with an outrageous price for him.”
“And you will pay it?”
“Of course! Happily.”
A tear rolled down her flawless cheek, and she pressed her head affectionately against his shoulder. “You are the most honorable man to have walked on English soil, m’lord.” Her voice was a broken whisper.
“You would not think me honorable at all,” he whispered in her ear, “if you knew exactly what is going through my head right now.”
Her face lifted and a pretty blush crept into her cheeks. “What is it…exactly…”
He leaned down and captured her mouth in a kiss. Her lips instantly parted, and Stanmore’s tongue rubbed against hers in a seductive dance. Hearing her soft moan, he moved the reins to one hand and let the other brush against her breast and move down to tease the inside of her thigh through the layers of her dress. When he pulled back, a deep blush had her cheeks burning and her blue eyes were clouded with passion.
“Have I fallen in your assessment, yet?”
She shook her head. “Not a whit!”
“Then you leave me no choice but to convince you otherwise.”
Ten minutes later, the phaeton topped a hill and the old mill came into view, with the shining waters of the lake visible beyond. Reining in the sprightly pair, Stanmore helped Rebecca down and removed a blanket from the seat. After directing his groom to return the carriage to the stables, the earl turned to her.
“You wouldn’t mind if we walked back from here.”
“Of course not,” she said with a smile.
As the phaeton disappeared toward Solgrave, Stanmore watched Rebecca lifting her face to the sun and closing her eyes, savoring the feel of it.
Today she had dressed in a blue gown and hat that were roughly the same color of her eyes. The white lace detailing the conservative neckline, the long sleeves, the fall of the skirts—all drew his gaze in turn. But it was just the ornamentation of perfection. He wanted her, body and soul.
He hungered for what he knew lay beneath the layers of clothing. He saw in his mind the long and slender limbs, the full breasts and pink tips that so easily came to life at the touch of his lips. He longed for her—naked and unadorned—radiant in her natural state, exposed to his gaze, and wanting him, too.
Stanmore clenched his jaw, forcing down such thoughts. The passion she induced in him was staggering. And last night, as much as he’d wanted to have her, the thought of her walking out of his life had held him back. But now…
Miss Rebecca Neville would have thought him a most dishonorable man if she had any inkling of his thoughts and plans.
Stanmore spread the blanket on the grassy meadow near the stone wall of the mill before walking slowly toward her. Her eyes widened at his approach.
She put her hands behind her back. “Do you believe I might have offended your friend, Sir Nicholas, last night?”
He came to a stop so near her that he could smell her scent of lavender.
“Nicholas is never offended by women.” His hands lifted to her chin, and he undid the ribbons of the hat, dropping it on the grass. He pulled the pins out of her hair and watched the ringlets of gold and fire make a mockery of sun’s brilliance.
“Then…why did he leave so soon and so unexpectedly?”
His fingers played with her hair, threading into the silky locks and pulling it over one shoulder until her ivory neck was exposed to his heated gaze.
“That is Nicholas,” he said vaguely. “He plans nothing. He comes and goes as he pleases.”
Her fingers moved up to his jacket, slowly working their way beneath the cloth. “Does that mean…that he can drop in on us…here…now?”
“I am afraid I would have to kill anyone who would interfere with what I have conspired to do to you this afternoon.” His lips pressed against her throat, and he felt the shivers run through her body.
The Promise Page 30
