The Regency Romances of Mira Stables: Part One

by Mira Stables

  The hedge would have defeated anyone less desperate, for it was thick and sturdy, but blessedly it was of beech instead of the more common hawthorn. She flung herself at it like a diver and clawed and wriggled her way across until finally she fell over on the other side into an overgrown and very muddy ditch, from which she emerged scratched and breathless, the skirt of her habit in ribbons, and, for a moment, not quite sure which way to turn. Then she remembered that she had seen no sign of a stream or a mill pool as she rode up the lane. It must lie downhill, beyond the village. She ran on again, flagging a little now and stumbling on the rough road, with a stitch in her side that made breathing difficult.

  But here at last was the mill yard, the high iron-spiked gates standing open as the Earl must have left them, for not even Brigadier could have cleared such an obstacle. Now she must pick her way carefully, for the cobblestones were slippery with grease and there were bits of machinery lying about as traps for unwary feet. But the small gate across the yard was open and through it she could see the gleam of water, glass-still in the moonlight. That must be the mill pool, and at least the dam was still intact.

  She had never seen a mill dam at close quarters and was amazed at the extent of the sheet of water that had built up behind this one. As John had said, it was almost a lake. She was surprised, too, to find quite a sizeable stream flowing from the foot of the retaining wall, not knowing that the sluices were open. But there was no time now to think of anything but the drama that was being enacted before her frightened eyes. A black silhouette in the moonlight, the Earl was standing on top of the wall close to the other side of the pool talking to a man who was kneeling among the stones that bordered the stream below him. The noise of the running water prevented her from hearing the words, but she assumed correctly that the kneeling figure must be the mysterious Garrett engaged upon his destructive business, and that the Earl was trying to persuade him to listen to reason. She had understood enough of Hanson’s tale to know that the man was totally deranged, and guessed the Earl’s task to be impossible achievement. Even as she watched Garrett turned his face up to the man above him, shouting something that she could not catch and hammering with his bare fist on the rock beside him. It did not need words to make plain the defiance in voice and bearing. She saw him fumble in the breast of his jacket and realised that he was trying to kindle a light. There was a spark and a tiny glow, and at the same moment the dark figure poised on the slimy wall crouched low and sprang, not for the kneeling man but for the creeping line of fire that led towards the charges he had laid, landed sprawling and rolled on it. Garrett leapt towards him, fists flailing, but the Earl managed somehow to twist himself away from the furious assault and regain his feet. There was a brief confused struggle on the moss-grown stones beside the beck, and then the Earl was down, and Garrett was scrambling up the opposite bank, disappearing among the trees as Elizabeth, not daring to trust herself to the slippery wall, started down the steep descent to the stream bed.

  Chapter Twenty

  She splashed through the water, regardless of the treachery of the deep pools, floundering and gasping as she missed her footing, but somehow struggling across to the other side, to the dark shape which was sprawled on the stones, so ominously still and quiet. Sobbing for breath, she fell on her knees beside him and tore open coat and shirt to lay shaking fingers over his heart. For a moment she could scarcely accept the message that frightened fingers conveyed to anxious brain. Then, in the wild exhilaration of relief, she flung herself face down across his body, covering the quiet face with passionate kisses and gathering the beloved head to her breast as she crooned foolish love words that fortunately there was no one to hear.

  Then anxiety sprang up again. Even though he was alive, he might yet have sustained dreadful injury. A swift examination showed that, as far as her rudimentary knowledge went, there were no broken bones. But perhaps there were internal injuries, for surely it was not natural for a man to lie so long unconscious if he had only been stunned? There might even—a terrifying thought—be head injuries. Carefully, lightly, her fingers explored the shape of his head, and finding no obvious damage to account for his state laid open his shirt again to assure herself that his heart really was beating as strongly as she had first thought.

  A calm deep voice spoke gently in her ear. “Quite unnecessary, my darling. Indeed I would willingly have reassured you sooner, since you seemed to be suffering a degree of anxiety quite disproportionate to my injuries. But one should never interrupt a lady, you know, and to speak truth I found your—er—remarks so absorbingly interesting that I should have been exceedingly loath to do so.”

  She had sprung back, startled and disconcerted, but at this point the inert figure came suddenly and fiercely to life. In one lithe movement he was on his feet and pulling her to hers, to catch her in his arms and return with interest the kisses she had bestowed upon him. For a moment, instinctively, she strained away, but on a soft little breath of laughter he only pulled her closer into his hold, and this time, in full realisation, she came willingly, holding up her mouth for his kiss with an innocent confidence that he found wholly enchanting.

  After a little while he raised his head to look down at her. “The last time that we held private converse together,” he said thoughtfully, “you refused my offer of marriage, and I promised not to pester you with repeated pleas. Well—I will not do so. It is no longer in question that you will marry me. You made that abundantly clear when you supposed me hurt or dying, and your kiss just now did nothing to counter the impression I had gained that for some unexplained reason you find me necessary to your happiness.” And as she hid her face in his breast, overwhelmed with confusion that he should have heard her very explicit self-betrayal, he went on, with the note of laughter in his voice that she so loved to hear, “And don’t try to fob me off with assurances that your affection is purely filial, for if it is, you outmatch even the oddities of Greek literature.”

  She glanced up enquiringly, puzzled at the reference, but he was looking over her shoulder at a group of people who were approaching the far bank of the stream and he went on cheerfully, “Furthermore, you no longer have any choice in the matter, for here comes about half my household, despite my strict orders, too, to discover us in this extremely compromising situation—and both of us in a state of undress that can only be described as most improper.” He chuckled at her exclamation of dismay and would not permit her to release herself or make any attempt to tidy her person, assuring her that she would do very well as she was despite his teasing, and that the splash of mud on her left cheek was really so becoming that it was quite a pity that patches were no longer in fashion.

  That made her laugh and look up at him with adoring, fascinated eyes. She had not guessed him capable of such light-hearted nonsense. The firm lips were curved in boyish mischief as he glanced over her head at the group of men who were now picking their way across the stream towards them. “Now, my girl,” he said briskly, still holding her close to his side with an arm about her waist, “here’s where we steal young Timothy’s thunder.”

  Elizabeth looked at him blankly, never dreaming what he intended. The leaders of the rescue party halted uneasily a few paces away, uncertain as to whether they ought to intrude on so intimate a scene. The Earl raised his free hand in friendly welcome. “Here we are,” he announced cheerfully, “both of us perfectly safe and no harm done. Some of you had best set to work to remove this gunpowder, and perhaps you, Burrows, would organise a search party for Garrett. He made off through the woods in the direction of Coldstone. Thanks to Miss Kirkley’s warning, his scheme came to naught.” He said nothing of his own part in the affair, listening gravely to his steward, who was suggesting that he should leave his horse for Miss Kirkley so that his lordship might ride Brigadier.

  “Not a bit of it,” said the Earl. “If you have to chase poor Garrett all the way to Coldstone, you’ll need your horse. Brigadier shall carry double tonight if Mr Christison can f
ind a saddle to fit him. Miss Kirkley and I will tidy ourselves a little at the Mill House and then make for home.” He raised his voice slightly to make sure that his final sentence should carry to every member of his little audience. “I am in haste to tell my sister the good news that Miss Kirkley has done me the honour of consenting to marry me.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Then someone at the back of the little group—Elizabeth’s young groom, Jacky—raised an irrepressible cheer in which the rest joined with gusto. There were wide grins on the moonlit faces and a babble of talk broke out. It seemed to be a matter of some doubt whether the urgent need to hurry back and tell one’s wife or sweetheart the exciting news would not take precedence over more serious matters. After all—it would take a vast quantity of gunpowder to produce a more earth-shaking result! Discipline prevailed however, and only the steward came forward to offer his felicitations as the rest of the group dispersed to their various tasks.

  “And now get out of that if you dare, my girl,” said the Earl blandly, swinging his ragamuffin bride-to-be into his arms and making for the footbridge which crossed the stream some distance below the dam, and rejecting her protest that she was perfectly well able to walk with a cool assurance that he was perfectly well aware of it but preferred to carry her just the same. “No need to wait for the Gazette or the Morning Post. The news of our betrothal will be clear across the county before morning. Back out now, and you brand yourself a shameless jilt.”

  “Oh dear!” sighed Elizabeth, snuggling closer into his hold, “What will Lady Hester say? She was so cross about Timothy’s behaviour.”

  “Never a word of dispraise,” promised the Earl smugly, all conscious virtue. “For one thing she will be told the news before we send any announcement to the papers. And in her letter to me on the subject of Timothy’s betrothal she strongly urged the case for my early marriage. What is more, my love, she made it pretty clear just who she had in mind as my bride. She can scarcely raise any objection if I fulfil her wishes with a celerity that surprises her as much as it delights me.”

  They had reached the Mill House now, with kind Mr Christison fussing about them, offering every form of help and hospitality to the heroine who had done him such signal service, so there was no time for further private talk. His was a bachelor household, but he had already summoned his housekeeper, who surveyed Elizabeth’s bedraggled appearance with horror and hurried her off to be dried and cleaned with sundry little clucks of sympathy and goodwill.

  The habit was ruined beyond redemption, and since Mrs Mostyn was both shorter and stouter than Elizabeth, her kindly offers of a gown from her wardrobe were not very practicable. Eventually Elizabeth accepted the loan of a serviceable grey frieze cloak which covered the worst rents in the damp velvet and gave her a sober Quakerish air. With the mud washed from her face and hands and her hair neatly braided into a coronet she came down to join the Earl and Mr Christison, to be put to shame at once by her lover’s extremely point-de-vice appearance. He had the advantage of her, of course, in that he had plenty of spare clothes available at the Mill House, and had changed his scorched and moss-stained pantaloons and soaked jacket for immaculate leathers and riding coat.

  “I know, my love, I know,” he said defensively, coming to meet her and taking her hand to lead her to the fire. “But one of us at least ought to make an effort to keep up appearances.” And as Mrs Mostyn withdrew curtsying, to bring the sherry and the Madeira that Mr Christison had called for upon her entry, he added wickedly in her ear, “And that rig-out of yours will be just the thing for prison visiting.”

  There was no chance to retort as he deserved. Her host was enveloping her slender fingers in his huge paw and expressing his delight in the news which his young friend had just confided to him. He only regretted that it must snatch them away so soon, for of course Lady Hester must be told at once, but he pledged their future cheerfully in a bumper of Madeira and hoped that he might soon be permitted to welcome them to his house with all the proper formalities.

  It all seemed dreamlike to Elizabeth, sipping her sherry while her still damp habit steamed before the rosy log fire. Warmth and the wine on top of her recent exertions were lulling her to drowsiness. But presently their goodbyes were said and the Earl was swinging easily into the well-worn saddle that someone had unearthed for Brigadier. Obediently she set her foot on his as instructed, and helpful hands tossed her up to him. Mr Christison called farewells, concealing his amusement at a state of mind which had caused his sober, hard-bitten friend to refuse all offers of a comfortable carriage in favour of carrying off his willing captive across his saddle bow, and they were trotting gently down the drive towards the lane.

  It was tempting to yield to the bliss that enfolded her and lie content in the curve of his arm. But something still had to be done. She could not be truly happy until she had confessed her grievous fault; and it would be easier now, alone in the quiet dark. She struggled to raise herself a little and was instantly supported.

  “What is it, my darling?” he said softly.

  She sought for words. “My lord, there is something I must tell you. Something I have to confess,” she brought out at last.

  “The name is Richard, beloved, as well you know. And whatever your confession—from murder to high treason—I will not have you call me ‘my lord’.”

  “Richard,” she said, softly, lovingly, as she had murmured it against his closed eyelids in the shadow of Millthorpe dam.

  He drew her closer, settling the top of her head beneath his chin, and said quietly, “And this terrible confession? What is it, then?”

  That was not so easy. She thought about it carefully. Then—“Not murder—but high treason—yes.”

  His voice was warm and kind and faintly amused as he said, “High treason against whom, sweetheart?”

  “Against you, my l— Richard,” she said humbly.

  “How very shocking! Would you like to set out the charge in detail?” invited the velvety voice in the darkness.

  He had to wait a long time for the answer, but presently, timidly, for somewhere in the region of his heart, a meek voice said, “I thought you were Mally’s father.”

  Perhaps on any other occasion the Earl would have been as shocked and hurt as she had feared. But her confession came when he was at the very zenith of happiness. The past week had been utterly wretched. Each morning had brought only the prospect of a lonely future, filled with the familiar duties and responsibilities that made up his life, and bereft of the hopes that had lately tantalised him with the promise of warm happiness. Then Elizabeth had come, riding out of the night, and there had been danger and the need for swift action, and now she was here in his arms, his to hold and cherish. Nor was he in any doubt that he had won her heart. It was not the Earl of Anderley that she had consented to marry, else she had never refused him the first time, but the man himself whom she had found indispensable to her happiness. And this realisation transformed his world. He seemed to recapture the lightheartedness of youth. The most serious matters developed an unexpected comic twist, and he had suddenly made the surprising discovery that there was something good and lovable about every single member of the human race.

  He was, he hoped, a reasonably modest man, but he could not help being aware that most of his elders held him up as a positive pattern card of moral rectitude, which somewhat reasonably caused the younger and more frivolous members of local society to judge him as virtuous to the point of starchiness. It took his innocent, adorable Elizabeth to cast him for the rôle of a roué so heartless that he had introduced his intended wife to his cast-off mistress and permitted her to nurse their base-born child.

  It was too fantastic to be anything but funny. He tried hard to control his unseemly mirth, knowing that the poor little scrap in his arms—she was five foot seven in her stockinged feet—was awaiting his judgement in genuine anxiety, but it was too much for him. His head went back and he emitted such a hoot of laughter that even Br
igadier’s ears twitched backward as though he wished to share the joke.

  “Oh no, my darling! No!” he gasped at last, still shaking with laughter. “If you regarded me as your father—or pretended to”—with an admonitory little shake for past folly—“poor Lucy thinks me her grandfather at least, with a touch of patron saint thrown in, though certainly more patron than saint.” By a truly heroic effort he managed to suppress the rising tide of laughter, and went on more soberly, “I gather that you now know the truth, so I will say only that I have tried as best I could to help the poor child out of her difficulties. But what in the world gave you such a very peculiar notion?”

  A shamefaced Elizabeth explained how it had all come about. “And you will forgive me?” The voice was so very low that he had to bend his head to catch the words, and seized the opportunity to kiss the tip of her ear, trusting cheerfully to Brigadier’s good sense.

  “No forgiveness needed,” he said teasingly. “I can only be grateful to the mischievous Gods. Just consider! However strong the evidence, never again will you dare to think ill of me! Under such auspicious circumstances our married life should indeed be blissfully happy!”

  The reins fell slack on Brigadier’s neck as gentle fingers tilted Elizabeth’s chin so that she might be adequately forgiven, but that wise animal trotted on cheerfully. He was heading for home. What matter the folly of the human creatures on his back?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They were all gathered under the great cedar. As the Earl had foreseen, the news had spread like wildfire, but, since there was as yet no formal announcement, they were spared the formal visits of congratulation. That had not, of course, prevented Ann and Hugh from riding over immediately after breakfast, the news having reached them the previous night. Ann, vowing that she had predicted the eventual outcome weeks back, announced that she had come to assert her claims to being bridesmaid, while Hugh was quite overset when the Earl asked if he would be his groomsman; seeing which, the Earl took pity on him and explained that he had only thought of requisitioning his services because he was so conveniently to hand, and so they would be able to brush through the whole business more expeditiously, a courteous explanation which set Hugh quite at his ease. He grinned, and aimed a playful punch at his friend’s ribs, the Earl covering up promptly and begging him to desist, since that was just the spot where Garrett had landed the punch that had winded him the night before.