The Regency Romances of Mira Stables: Part One

by Mira Stables

  Pelly had sunk into a semi-stupor, muttering and groaning from time to time, but obviously unaware of his surroundings. By the look of him it seemed improbable that he would survive to face the hangman. Discussion between the two cousins as to which of them should remain at the cottage and which should summon the doctor and the forces of the law, in the person of Constable Trudgeon, to deal with the untidy remnants of the business, reduced Will to a pallid silence once more. Piers addressed him with brusque kindness. “Best be off home, Overing, before we call the constable. I’m told you were good to Miss Longden, so far as you dared, so I’ve no quarrel with you, and my cousin here is uncommon blind when it suits him. See that you choose your masters more wisely in future.”

  The remark, intended only to terminate an awkward interview on a mildly humorous note, produced an unexpected result. Will dropped clumsily to his knees. “Yes, Sir,” he said worshipfully. “I’ll serve you, Sir, an you’ll take me. You’ll be able to use me some ways, in those queer outlandish parts where you’re a-going, and I swear I’ll be faithful and hard working. I’ve learned my lesson. Try me, Sir.”

  Giles protested that the youngster had done nothing to show himself worthy of trust, but Piers, in his own relief and thankfulness at the safe outcome of the affair, was in more generous mood. Perhaps he did not put a great deal of faith in Will’s protestations, but he nodded acceptance, and with that gesture, had he but known it, bound the lad to him in unfaltering loyalty. In years to come, Will Overing was to display two faded strips of silk ribbon to his grandchildren and weave wondrous tales of how the buying of those ribbons had changed the whole course of his life. But for the moment Piers was too intent on rejoining Clemency and relieving her anxiety to pay more than impatient attention to Will’s fervent thanks.

  “Off you go then, lad. Your uncle will be pleased to see you home, I know. Now, Giles, if you’ll stay here till Trudgeon relieves you of your charges, I’ll get back to the Manor as soon as I’ve informed that honest fellow of the harvest awaiting his collection here,” and scarcely waiting on his cousin’s assent he was swinging into the saddle — for Giles had brought the horses in while his cousin and Overing dealt with the prisoners — and waving a gay farewell was off at a dangerously headlong pace.

  Chapter Twenty

  LADY ELEANOR was adamant. The child had taken her bath and was tucked up in bed with a glass of hot milk for sustenance and her sister to bear her company. Yes, of course she would take up a message at once, for both girls were desperately anxious, but she could not possibly permit him to see Clemency tonight. Not his best efforts at cajolery could soften her determination, and eventually he had to admit defeat and wend his way home, pausing in the stables for a word with Giles who had just come in.

  But it was no more than ten next morning when he presented himself at the Manor. For once he had taken particular pains with his appearance, and was wearing a beautifully cut coat of dark green superfine with the dove-grey pantaloons that made him look taller than ever. Having endured some ribald comment on this unusual magnificence from his affectionate cousin, he was allowed to ascend to the breakfast room where his aunt and Pru were dawdling over the coffee cups, in what Aunt Eleanor described as disgraceful laziness, after the strain of the past week. Clemency had been ordered to take breakfast in bed, although both ladies admitted that she seemed little the worse for her ordeal, and was, in fact, in tearing spirits.

  “I suppose you will wish to see her alone,” said Lady Eleanor indulgently. “Well — you may do so in the little parlour at the turn of the stairs. I will send her to you as soon as she is ready.”

  But when Piers pushed open the parlour door, the room was already occupied. Having appointed this secluded little room as a suitable meeting place for lovers, Lady Eleanor had caused a fire to be kindled there, and kneeling on the hearth was Clemency, combing long silken tresses still damp and rosemary scented from their recent washing. Lady Eleanor had forbidden her to wash her hair the previous evening. “Enough to give you your death,” she had declared. “Quite out of the question. Why, it must take hours to dry such a quantity properly.”

  But this morning, left to her own devices, she had only toyed with the tempting breakfast that Pru had brought her. She was too excited to be hungry, for Piers would be coming soon, she knew. And not for worlds would she have him see her with her hair in this lank and dismal state. She had coaxed Mattie into helping her to comb out the tangles and then to wash it. Now at last she felt cleansed of the contamination of Pelly’s touch. It was Mattie who had suggested that after a vigorous towelling she should dry the gleaming mass before the parlour fire.

  Absorbed in her rhythmic combing and lost in a private dream, she did not hear the door open and was unaware of Piers’s presence until a teasing voice behind her said softly, “Clean enough now for kisses?”

  She jumped, and cried out at him for startling her so, but he paid little heed to the pretended scolding, his hands catching hers to lift her to her feet and then sliding up to her shoulders to draw her close.

  “A mermaiden weaving her spells,” he said softly into the silky curtain that hung about her. “Am I not already fast in your toils? A helpless but very willing prisoner.”

  That made her laugh and look up at him, as he had intended, and he stooped swiftly to kiss her mouth, gently at first, and then, as he felt her snuggle contentedly into his hold, more possessively.

  Clemency had dreamed of those kisses, had clung for comfort in her captivity to that strangely sweet memory of their first encounter. It was no demure simpering miss that he held in his arms, but a warm vital young creature, deeply in love. Her arms went up about his neck and she returned his embrace with a mingled eagerness and shyness that he found enchanting. But presently slim fingers tugged gently at his hair, and he raised his head to look down at her questioningly. There was a tiny pucker on her brow.

  “What is it, my sweet?”

  She took his hand and held it lovingly against her cheek. “It was just something Lady Eleanor once said — that you had told Giles you meant never to marry — that Australia was no place for a woman. Not that I care for that, of course, for there’s nothing I would like better than to travel the world with you. But are you quite sure you really want to marry me?”

  “Little doubter,” he mocked, and made to pull her close again, but she held him off with a quaint air of determination, and he waited for what more she would say.

  Her colour had risen and he could see a tiny pulse throbbing in her throat. “I wanted to be sure —” and now her eyes were anywhere but on his face — “that you were not offering for me out of some antiquated notion of chivalry. I mean — I do realise the awkwardness of my situation. No one knows where I have been these past five days. And even if the truth were known my reputation must still be sadly blown upon.”

  She was perfectly serious. He had not thought it possible to love her more, but the funny mixture of innocence and dignity, the determination not to take advantage of him, made him ache with protective tenderness.

  “You rate my notions of chivalry too high, my little love. I’m a hard-bitten ogre — remember? Or had you forgot that I’m not versed in the code of behaviour proper to a gentleman? No, my girl. I’m going to marry you because I can’t help myself. And as for Australia not being a fit place for a woman — well — you’ve given me ample proof that you’re not safe, even in Yorkshire. In the three months since I’ve known you I’ve seen you try to starve yourself to death, so that there’s no more than one sweet mouthful left for your ogre to gobble up; you’ve been kidnapped and held to ransom; and as if that weren’t enough to turn a man’s hair white” — he shook that silver streaked head at her menacingly — “I cannot help recalling the outrageously improper way in which you approach perfectly strange men! Why! Claiming you in marriage is the only way I can hope to get any peace of mind! I’ll have you in safe keeping — mine — where I can deal adequately with your crazy starts. At our very f
irst meeting I was aware that you stood in dire need of a masterful hand. It was only because, on such short acquaintance, I could not spank you, that I kissed you — and see where that has brought us!” and he demonstrated, to her great content.

  And then yielding to irresistible temptation, he lifted a strand of the shining hair to his lips, his eyes meeting hers in dancing mischief above it, as he said, “Your hair is very beautiful, my darling. I wish that you might always wear it so — unbound and uncovered — but to the end of my days I shall never cease to cherish the memory of that absurd, adorable bonnet.”

  *

  THE END

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