Devonshire: Richard and Rose, Book 2 Page 8

  The kick found its intended mark in the groin of the man in front of him, I could almost hear the shriek of pain from where I stood behind the plate glass.

  Richard stood over his sword so they couldn’t retrieve it. In the confusion caused by his kick reaching its mark, he swept it up again and stood, twitching the end of the sword, the knife in his left hand once more.

  I could see what he was saying by the movement of his mouth, but I could hear nothing, trapped as I was behind the glass. “Come on, then!” One man held his groin, the other stood back. He said something to his injured colleague.

  I held my breath as they turned, slowly. They began to walk up the long street away from us. They must have decided on discretion, at least for the time being.

  With a cry, I was released from my spell, and forgetting all propriety, all concealment, I ran out the front door and up the street towards him. He caught me around my waist when I reached him. Incredibly, he was laughing, but he stopped when he saw the tears on my face. “What, you thought those two bullies were too much for me? Oh ye of little faith.”

  “Richard, they could have killed you.” I couldn’t stop crying; he pulled me close, giving me his warmth for comfort.

  “Them?” He stared after them, and then turned his head against mine, let me rest on him. I didn’t care who might be watching. “They’re fools and praters. Easy pickings, my love.”

  “I fear you’re right, Miss Golightly,” said Mr. Hoarty heavily. “They may seek revenge. It’s a matter of honour with them that their kind go unmolested.”

  “Unlike this poor devil,” said Richard, as his attention went to the man on the ground.

  Past my worst shock, I released Richard, and knelt in the dirt, to see if I could help the poor man. “He’d be better indoors,” I said, my voice still shaky. “Does anyone know where he lives?”

  I looked up to see a woman, not in her first youth. By the tears pouring down her face, it was obvious the victim belonged to her in some way. Richard dropped his weapons, knelt and lifted the victim without effort, leaving Mr. Hoarty to follow.

  The woman, still in tears, led us to a cottage nearby. I didn’t flinch at the animal stench within, although it turned my stomach with its intensity. Richard followed, and laid the man on the filthy bed, then stood back to let me examine him. He had reason to know I had some knowledge in that area.

  I pulled up the poor man’s shirt to examine his wounds, and examined him in silence, passing my hands over the wounds to feel for broken bones. I became convinced of one thing. “This was a punishment beating. There’ll be no permanent injuries, but he has some nasty bruises and a couple of cracked ribs. He’ll be in pain for a while.”

  “Was it skillfully done?” he asked.

  I nodded. “These men knew what they were about.”

  “Less thugs, more hired help.” Richard rubbed his chin. “I’ll have to do something about this, otherwise I fear Mr. Hoarty may be right. They’ll seek retribution.”

  I got to my feet and repeated my findings to the woman. She mopped up her tears with a filthy handkerchief. “Why would they have done this?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know, miss.” I knew she was lying. The sight of her man brutalised in her presence was enough to ensure her silence. It was obvious to me that we could do nothing more here.

  Richard took his belongings from Mr. Hoarty with a smile of thanks. He sheathed his sword and put on his coat, then he reached into his pocket and brought out a leather scabbard. Mr. Hoarty handed him the knife without comment, but I put out my hand for it, and after a moment’s hesitation, Richard handed it to me.

  It was a plain looking knife, beautifully balanced, with a fine, thin steel blade. “Do you always carry this?”

  “I generally have one or two about me.” He took it back and sheathed it, then returned it to his coat pocket.

  I had a vision, of the time at the Abbey when Steven had attacked me. Richard had hit him with the hilt of his sword, and knocked him out, but then his hand had gone to his pocket. No wonder Gervase had been so quick to catch his arm. Richard must have been going for one of these vicious little knives. It shocked me that a gentleman should carry such an item as a matter of course and that he knew how to fight as street urchins did, although I would never cease to be thankful for it. He might be lying in the street, badly wounded or dead. I’d assumed Richard would fight like a gentleman, surrounded by rules and esoteric skills, but Richard had done what was needed in an economical and efficient way, with none of the showy about it, and none of the elaborate flourishes required of the expert swordsman. He fought like he knew what it was to fight for his life.

  He watched me closely, waiting for my response. I met his stare with a steady one of my own. “More secrets?”

  “Not any longer, I fear.” He broke his scrutiny, and glanced down at his coat with a wry grin. “Carier will not be pleased.” He tried to brush off the worst of the dirt, but knowing his valet, I didn’t think Carier would mind too much, although he might pretend to.

  Richard held out his arm for me to take in an imperious gesture. I couldn’t gainsay him.

  We left the cottage and returned to the large house at the end of the street, where the carriage waited to take us home. From behind the safety of windows, I felt the hard scrutiny of anonymous watchers on my back.

  Mr. Hoarty tried to apologise, but Richard cut him off. “It might be wiser if you saw to your mother. This can’t have been good for her.”

  Mr. Hoarty saw the sense in this, but lingered long enough to say, “Be careful, my lord. It was a brave thing you did today, but perhaps not a wise one. You have made some enemies, I fear.”

  “I’ll add them to the list,” Richard informed him, and handed me into the coach.

  Once inside and past the hidden eyes in the village, I leaned on his shoulder and indulged in a hearty bout of tears, which much relieved my temper. His arms tightened about me. I felt blessedly safe. I knew it was an illusion, but I let myself believe it for now. He was as vulnerable as anyone else. “I thought they would kill you.”

  Busy drying my tears with his own handkerchief, he smiled and drew one finger along my cheek. “When I have so much to live for? They hadn’t a chance.”

  “What is all this? Why do you carry extra weapons? Where did you learn to fight like that?”

  “Shhhhh…” He drew me to rest on his shoulder. I smelled him, and felt content, breathing him in. “Did you think we always fought fair? How do you think the aristocracy got where they did in the first place?” He pressed his lips against my hair. “I learned to fight like that because I wanted to win. I carry extra weapons because a dress sword is of little use, although I do try to carry one of Toledo steel. The rest can wait. I will tell you. I made you a promise, but let that suffice for now.”

  “They’ll come after you,” I said from the safety of the folds of his coat.

  “I’ll do my best to ensure they don’t.”

  When we got back to the Manor, he helped me down, took me upstairs, and gave me into the care of my maid. I partly resented his pampering, as though I were an invalid, and partly appreciated it. I’d never known anything like it before, this cherishing, this care.

  Before I went into my room I heard what he said to Carier, who had appeared silently on the scene, waiting. “I became involved in a fracas with two representatives of the local band of thieves. The name of the leader is Cawnton. Get word to him I’m only here to be married, not to get Thompson’s involved in their affairs.” Carier nodded and left. Richard went to change his coat alone.

  Chapter Seven

  I must have been in shock because I slept until dinnertime. Martha sent word that I must stay upstairs and rest. After a short interval to eat the dinner sent up to me on a tray, I slept well that night, despite my worries.

  I felt much better in the morning. My gown of yesterday had been ruined by its short visit to the mud, but I didn’t care, because today was my first day out o
f mourning. I was glad to give my maid the order to throw away the ruined gown, and to lay out my new blue flowered silk.

  When I looked over the banister on my way downstairs I saw Richard, waiting for me. Lizzie stood in the doorway of the breakfast parlour. She smiled back at me when I smiled my good morning. She looked lovely in a pale yellow striped gown. Richard took my hand, and openly studied at me, and I lowered my gaze, flushing when I saw the warm expression on his face. “So much better,” he said.

  I met his eyes. “You like it?” I turned a little to make my skirts move and heard the rustle of the new silk. For once, I felt equal to his magnificence. He was dressed simply today, but a master had fitted his country coat, and the attention to detail in the waistcoat embroidery, the arrangement of the folds of his neckcloth, spoke of the leader of fashion.

  “Elegance personified.” He kissed my hand. When his mouth brushed my knuckles a shiver passed through me. “Should you like some fresh air?”

  “Yes please.”

  There was a shawl on the window seat by the front door, which Richard picked up and arranged over my shoulders. Even this simple gesture made me feel cherished. I glanced at Lizzie who hadn’t spoken and I saw her smile again. She sighed as I turned away and put my hand on his arm. We walked past her to the garden and Richard bowed his head to her as we passed.

  “I’m so glad to be out of mourning,” I told him.

  “I’m so glad to see you looking better.”

  “I needed the sleep.”

  “You must have done; I don’t think it’s just the blue gown making you look so much better.”

  It was a fine day today; the sky scattered with clouds with no rain in them. The flowers were beginning to come; buds on some early shrubs and the daffodils coming into full bloom. “Does it get better than this?” I said.

  “Oh yes.”

  What I saw in his eyes, the promise of intimacies to come, made me blush. “I’ll make it better for both of us,” he said, twining his hand with mine.

  “I’ll do my best.” Glancing behind to make sure we were unobserved, he drew me to him for a gentle kiss.

  We went back in for breakfast to the usual cacophony of a family breakfast. Martha liked the children to join us for this less formal meal. Out of politeness Richard and Gervase agreed that this custom must continue while they were guests at the Manor, but I feared it might try their patience. They weren’t used to living so close and having the boisterousness of small children intrude upon their daily lives.

  I remembered a promise. “I said I would play the harpsichord for you.”

  “So you did.” I had finished my meal, so he stood and pulled back my chair for me when I got to my feet.

  Martha stared at Lizzie meaningfully. “Can I come?” Lizzie asked. Gervase asked if he could come too, and so our chaperones accompanied us.

  We went upstairs to the music room, and I smiled at Richard. “You’re doing well with the children. They’re still in awe of you, but not as much as when you first arrived.”

  He smiled wryly in return. “I hope to keep a little distance between us.” Richard was not yet comfortable with children. I hoped that one day he would be.

  The music room was on the first floor, one of Martha’s show rooms. Small sofas were spread about in the new informal style, and a large, decorative harp dominated the room. The harpsichord stood behind it. I walked to the instrument, and on my way drew my hand along the strings of the harp. I watched Gervase and Richard’s faces contort in a reaction to the disharmony produced. “Nobody plays it,” I explained. “Lizzie wanted to try, but she gave up after a while.”

  “I thought I would show to advantage, and give Eustacia Terry something to think about,” my sister confessed. “But I couldn’t come to terms with it.”

  Gervase grinned. “Several ladies have taken it up in that spirit. But I’ve rarely heard it played well.”

  Lizzie assumed her most coquettish expression, chin tilted, gazing up at Gervase through her abundant lashes. “Ah, but do they look elegant when they’re playing it?”

  Richard added his mite. “I always thought that the ear and the eye should be pleasured at the same time.”

  I sat at the harpsichord and sorted through the sheet music I kept on top. I chose favourites, so no one would be obliged to act as page-turner. Scarlatti and the German composer, Bach. Gervase saw Lizzie seated, and I watched her dispose her skirts elegantly about her and lay her fan by her side. Richard sat, equally elegantly, on a sofa opposite, and Gervase found himself a seat in the space Lizzie had left. In a presage of spring, sunshine streamed though the large window on to the despised harp, right across the room. I began to play.

  Richard said little, but closed his eyes from time to time. Gervase and Lizzie were equally silent, but it was the harmony of tranquillity. I enjoyed playing, forgot myself in the music, a blessed time.

  Unfortunately we weren’t left alone for long.

  A knock fell on the door and the butler brought in a salver with some ominous pieces of pasteboard resting on it. Visitors, marking the end of our peaceful morning.

  Lizzie took up the cards and I brought the piece I was playing to rest.

  “There’s two groups of guests waiting to see us,” Lizzie told us with a sigh. “Lady Skerrit and Georgiana, and Mrs. and Miss Terry.” She looked up at the butler. “Show them up here, please.”

  “The beauteous Miss Eustacia Terry.” Richard’s voice was suspiciously cool. I gave him a suspicious look.

  “We’re out of mourning now,” Lizzie observed wryly. “Fair game for visitors.”

  Gervase gave a short laugh. “And it looks as though we’re being hunted. Richard, could you possibly behave yourself this time?”

  “I? Whatever can you mean?” Not a trace of guile lurked in Richard’s eyes.

  Gervase threw up his hands in a gesture of submission. “I hear Frederick Brean is coming next week. I can only hope he succeeds in distracting local society. Rose, can’t you prevail on Richard to stop his campaign?”

  I shook my head. “No, but I have made him promise not to take it too far.”

  “That will have to do then.” The door opened and the redoubtable Marsh announced Mrs. Terry and her daughter, with a ceremonious flourish. Mrs. Terry paused on the threshold. I noticed, not for the first time, her sheer size. She was often described by the kinder element as a “comfortable” woman, but the tight lacing she customarily used made her bulge at top and bottom like a generous hour glass. She loaded her person with fashionable ornament, throwing the more simple attire the rest of us affected into the shade. Her daughter was dressed to impress in crimson striped satin and garnets. Perhaps not the best choice of colour for a pale blonde, but expensive items.

  We stood and greeted them. Richard led Miss Terry to a window seat where he sat next to her. They all listened to me play another piece, but I kept this one simple and short.

  I stopped when the servants brought refreshments. I closed the lid of the instrument, and went to sit next to Lizzie. Gervase had moved to occupy the place Richard vacated when he took Miss Terry to the window seat. “You play charmingly, Miss Golightly,” Mrs. Terry said indulgently. She must have known some response was expected, but I suspected the lady of having cloth ears.

  Richard corrected her. “She plays superbly.”

  Mrs. Terry stared at him in exaggerated surprise, her finely plucked brows nearly up in her hairline. She wasn’t used to people correcting her opinions. Mrs. Terry considered herself one of the leaders of fashion in the county, and her opinions were usually accepted without demur. Discussions were not part of her nature. However, this time she evidently decided to let it pass, and smiled kindly at Richard. “I have an excellent ear for music. Miss Golightly’s playing has always been welcome in my house. Do you know Devonshire at all, sir?”

  I noticed the “sir”, and winced a little bit. It was usual to use such forms of address when one knew the recipient for a time, not immediately
after first acquaintance. They were planning to move in. We might see them in London before too long if we spent any time there. I saw myself becoming, “My dearest friend, Lady Strang,” if I wasn’t too careful.

  “I can’t say I do,” Richard replied.

  “No.” Her voice held a pitying tone. “Then perhaps you have heard of my house, Penfold Hall?”

  “Sadly not, ma’am.” He didn’t sound sorry.

  “You really must come and see it.” She addressed Gervase then. “I hear you are interested in old houses, sir.”

  “Only in antiquities. Many people think my interest amounts to an obsession.” Gervase glanced meaningfully at this brother. “But everybody has an interest.”

  “Indeed so, sir,” Mrs. Terry agreed. “My daughter has a great interest in painting, don’t you, my dear?”

  Eustacia started, her mind obviously on other things, but rose to the occasion with aplomb. “I paint in watercolours.” She stole a glance from under her lashes at Richard, who smiled at her. Her mother watched with approval. Martha would have discouraged such flirting from us, especially with a nearly married man.

  The door opened and Martha came in with Lady Skerrit. Remembering my last encounter with the lady, I hoped Lady Skerrit had taken my advice and asked Martha how it was between Richard and me. Lady Skerrit favoured us all with a pleasant smile until she saw Richard sitting next to Miss Terry on the window seat.

  Martha busied herself pouring tea and passing round the various plates of this and that. When we were all hampered with tea dishes and little cakes, she took a seat.

  Mrs. Terry had heard of the previous day’s happenings in the village. “You were involved in an unseemly episode yesterday, my lord.”

  “Sadly, yes,” Richard favoured them with a brief explanation. “Two bullies attacked another man. I made the odds a little more even, that’s all.”