Mistletoe and Mayhem: A Regency Holiday Romance Anthology, page 54
“I don’t want to be impolite to our parents’ guests.”
“Perhaps you should be,” Julius said, “or at least correct their misconceptions about you being in the market for a wife.”
Gossips had dubbed last year’s house party ‘Lord and Lady Seabrook’s private marriage mart’, and as was the case with most rumors, it was stitched together with a thread of truth. A cultivated list of guests were invited to spend the holiday at Everly Manor last year to simplify the task of husband hunting for Julius’s twin sisters. The party resulted in a love match for Ammie, who was expecting her first child with her doting major. Now every young miss with stars in her eyes believed Everly Manor was a magical place where love blossomed. Clive, the heir to the marquessate, was the target of their affections.
“I’ve always found honesty to be the best course of action,” Julius said. “Ladies appreciate when a man is direct.”
His brother’s mouth pinched. “Your experience is limited to widows. I’d not expect an innocent to be as resilient when confronted with the truth.”
“Indeed. There could be tears.” Julius shuddered.
Clive smiled for the first time in days. “Speaking of being direct, when are you going to ask Father about using the land for your racecourse?”
“In due time. I hope to enlist another investor before approaching him. Unless I plan for every contingency, it would be a waste of time. Father doesn’t allot any more value to carriage races than he does gambling and drinking. It’s all the same to him, the acts of no-good rabble-rousers.”
“You have an eye for these types of opportunities. Not even Father can deny you have a gift.”
“He allows me to dabble,” Julius said. “Joining the Four Horse Club is not the same as building a track and organizing a carriage racing club.”
Julius had even designed a new carriage for the sport, but the fact that his ideas could save lives held no sway over his father. In Lord Seabrook’s way of thinking, gentlemen shouldn’t get up to such foolishness. Father forgot a drive to conquer flowed through a younger man’s veins.
The greener the man, the stronger the urge.
If one was prohibited from proving himself on the battlefield, he created his own tests of courage. No amount of lecturing stopped youthful folly, but a carriage impervious to tipping could see that more reckless men reached old age.
“Assuming you do not fall heels over arse for Miss Chambers-Wallace or one of the other hopeful young misses,” Julius said, “you should return to London with me after Twelfth Night. I’ve grown bored with the usual faces.”
“You would grow tired of mine soon enough.”
“This old mug?” Julius patted his brother’s cheek. “Who says I’m not already tired of it? After seven and twenty years, who wouldn’t be?”
Clive flashed a rude gesture in response, but he was finally laughing. Julius recognized and loved this version of his brother. With only fourteen months separating them, he and Clive were the best of friends. They’d squabbled at times as children, but always stuck together when faced with a foe.
“Let’s have another ale and forget our troubles.” Julius signaled for the barmaid and sat on the bench once more.
His brother lifted his palm. “I’ve had enough. It is time to return to Everly Manor. Mother is expecting us for supper, and she will wonder what is keeping us.”
The yule candle Clive and Julius had been sent to retrieve from the chandler lay on the table between them.
“You and your sense of duty.” Julius clicked his tongue and shook his head. “There are six days until Christmas and twelve more following. We won’t be missed for one meal.”
Clive braced his hands on the table and pushed to his feet. “You might not care if you earn Mother’s wrath, but I prefer to keep her happy.”
The barmaid plopped two tankards in front of Julius.
“Run along without me if you must. This ale will not drink itself, and you know how I feel about waste.” He cocked an eyebrow to reiterate his earlier argument about not wasting the young ladies’ time. “Be direct; be fair.”
His brother sighed as if weary from defending himself, but damnation—Julius was a good brother. He refused to look the other way while Miss Chambers-Wallace and her sister employed every trick possible to trap Clive in the parson’s noose. Had Julius not intervened earlier that afternoon when the young lady stumbled upon Clive reading alone in the library, his brother might be betrothed already.
He deserved the same love and devotion their sisters had found with their husbands, and what their own parents enjoyed with each other. If the young lady set Clive’s heart afire, he wouldn’t have jumped on the invitation to ride into the village with Julius. Miss Chambers-Wallace was like a powder puff on a lady’s dressing table. Soft and perfumed but on the inside, she lacked substance. Hopefully, Clive would rally the gumption to put her in her place before it was too late. Until death do you part was a hell of long sentence with the wrong woman.
Clive nodded toward the two tankards. “Any number of men would be happy to take those off your hands.”
“I said one more round only, and a man must keep to his word."
“Yes, he must.” Clive grabbed the yule candle and warned Julius not to be too late returning home.
Once alone, Julius sighed and lifted one of the tankards. The men returned to the table before he had a chance to grow lonely. Their jovial mood was infectious. Julius drained both drinks in rapid sequence between belting out a ghastly version of The Twelve Days of Christmas followed by We Wish You a Merry Christmas.
At some point, another tankard was placed in front of him. Or was it two? When the men sang every carol within their repertoire twice and started on folksongs, Julius was ready to go.
He surged to his feet; his head swam. As he left the tavern, the doorway shrank. He rammed into the doorjamb. Rubbing his shoulder, he stumbled into the night. Overindulging and missing supper left Julius good and foxed. His mother would have his head when he arrived home—unless he could slip into Everly Manor without anyone noticing. Congratulating himself on his cleverness, he set off with a wobbly gait to retrieve his horse.
“Gads!” The heels of his new boots were uneven. He’d pointed out the minor difference to the cordwainer in London to no avail. The man had been making boots for Julius’s father for years and was personally affronted by Julius’s observation. Not wanting to cause trouble for his father, he dropped the matter. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Diffuse light from lamps mounted to the weathered Tudor buildings illuminated the dirt lane as he made his way to the mews. Nightfall had come earlier than Julius expected. As he neared at the mews, a northerly gust whipped the tails of his greatcoat. He smashed his hat lower on his head to keep from losing it and greeted the stable master watching over the livestock.
“A storm is coming this way, Lord Julius,” the older man said. “Do you deem it wise to ride for home tonight? The missus would make you a bed if there are no rooms to be had at the inn.”
“Thank you for the kind offer, Hudson, but do you believe a few snowflakes frighten me more than my mother?”
“The marchioness’s a fearsome lady, that she is.” The weathered lines around the stable master’s eyes were magnified when he smiled. “If I let you ride off in this weather, I fear I’ll feel the sting of her sharp tongue following services Christmas morn.”
“After church, indeed. Mother would meet you at the front door.”
“Oof!” The stable master winced and chuckled. He was an affable chap who’d worked at the mews since Julius was a boy and knew his family well.
“Lady Seabrook has a heart of gold,” Hudson said. “Lots of good she does for the village.”
“She is a good mother, too, but like you, I’d rather she not hear I risked life and limb to get home tonight.” Julius tapped a finger against his temple. “I have a plan.”
Hudson, having fulfilled his duty, shook his head and disappeared into the mews. The sweet scent of hay and richness of leather escaped through the opened door. Julius waited. His damned uneven boots made him sway side to side. He glowered at the mud-splattered excuse for footwear and threatened to toss them in the bin at Everly Manor if they didn’t behave.
A moment later the stablehand led Julius’s horse outside to the mounting block. The Welsh Cob’s mahogany coat glimmered in the lantern light, and his pale blond mane lit like a halo. His name was fitting. Torch. If Julius believed riding home posed a danger, he wouldn’t risk an injury to his beloved horse.
Julius pulled a piece of carrot from his greatcoat pocket and spoke lovingly to the gelding. Torch sniffed the offering before gently taking it. The treat wasn’t a bribe but an appreciation of his patience.
“Not much longer until you are back to your warm stall,” Julius murmured. “I promise, a bucket of oats awaits you.”
Hudson cleared his throat; Julius startled. He’d forgotten about his audience. Julius’s brothers always teased him whenever they caught him talking to the horses, but he saw it no different from their sister Ammie chattering to her dogs. If the older man thought the behavior was odd, he never gave a hint of it. Julius dug into his purse for an extra coin to thank him.
“Godspeed, my lord."
As Julius rode away from the village with its glowing lamps and cheerfully lit windows, darkness engulfed him and his horse. A full moon fought to penetrate the inky clouds creeping across the sky, but its valiant efforts were for naught. When Torch wanted to trot on the rutted road, Julius held him back. Anything other than walking was too risky, even if his horse could see better than him.
He couldn’t be certain how far he’d traveled before a vicious gust tore through the bare trees. The first few stinging icy pellets caught him by surprise, but not nearly as much as the flash of blue light that illuminated the sky. A distant rumble followed.
His horse tensed beneath him. Julius leaned forward to pat Torch’s neck and speak soothing words, but another bright flash and clap of thunder caused the gelding toss his head and snort. Torch danced sideways; Julius gripped the horse’s sides to keep his seat. A loud crack of thunder ripped the sky open and frozen rain pelted them. Torch whinnied, on the verge of bolting. Julius managed to hold him at bay then loosened his grip to ease the horse’s sense of feeling trapped.
“Easy, now. Easy. Let’s seek out shelter.”
At Julius’s urging, Torch took a few jittery steps. Lightening struck a tree a hundred feet away.
“Damnation!” The bright blast blinded him. Torch whirled on his hind legs. Julius tightened his hold on the reins a second before his horse shot into the forest. Julius wobbled on the saddle as the gelding wove through trees and dashed under low hanging branches. He ducked before a fir limb unseated him, but it clipped his hat. A white shroud of snow and rain obstructed Julius's view. Icy shards, sharp as needles, struck his face. He closed his eyes to protect them as Torch raced into a culvert. He yelled for the gelding to stop. The horse tensed beneath him and sailed over a creek. Julius’s reflexes were too slow. He bounced on the saddle, becoming airborne. The reins ripped from his grasp.
He hit the frigid shallow water hard. The air was sucked from his lungs. Torch’s hoofbeats grew faint. Julius lay staring into the night sky, waiting to learn if he was still alive.
Chapter Two
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Lady Elisabeth Hadley jumped. “What in the world?"
“Miss Price! Miss Price!” A thunderous commotion came from the corridor as if a herd of wild horses ran loose in her cousin’s country cottage. The young maid burst through the sitting room threshold with the front of her apron gripped in her fists. Her twin brother careened into her when he sprinted into the room. They stumbled but didn’t fall. Their identical chestnut brown eyes were as round as mincemeat pies.
Bess’s cousin frowned. “How many times did Papa tell you not to run in the house?”
Anne, thin cheeks red from exertion, stammered an apology, but Gemma was a stern mistress tonight and wouldn’t allow the transgression to pass. “He would be cross if he were here to witness such carrying on.”
“A man’s out back,” Robbie blurted and pointed in the general direction of the back of the house. “He’s banging on the kitchen door.”
Gemma dropped her needlepoint in the basket at her feet. “Who is he? What does he want?”
“To come inside,” the servants said in unison.
Anne’s chin quivered. “What if he’s come to murder us?”
“Utter nonsense. I will speak with him myself.” Gemma pushed from the plush pink armchair and headed toward the threshold. She stopped long enough to wag her finger at the twins. “And no more scary stories before bed for either of you. I didn’t teach you to read so you could fill your minds with rubbish.”
The adolescents bobbed their heads. “Yes, ma’am.”
Bess popped from her seat. “Gemma, wait.” On a night when the wind howled through the shutters and thunder rolled across the sky, no sane man would dare to venture outdoors. “Let’s go together. We will keep the door barred until we know who it is.”
Bess suggested the servants wait by the fire so they wouldn’t catch a chill and followed Gemma into the corridor. At the bottom of the stairwell, a splintering crack echoed through the cottage. Cursing came from the kitchen followed by a crash that shook the floorboards.
Bess’s heart lodged in her throat. Gemma gripped her arm.
“He’s inside, Bess. What should we do?”
Glass shattered. “B-bollocks!”
A man’s form filled the threshold, not five feet away. His back was to them. Icicles clung to his dark hair, and shivers wracked his body. He stumbled against the doorframe. “D-damnation.”
With a shrug of his shoulders, his greatcoat crumpled at his feet. His jacket followed. When he ripped off his gloves with his teeth and fumbled with his waistcoat, Gemma issued a tiny squeak and pulled Bess into the dark butler’s pantry.
“There is a naked man in my house,” her cousin whispered, on the verge of hysteria.
Bess stole a peek around the doorjamb. The intruder’s waistcoat and cravat had joined the pile. He was tugging his shirt over his head.
Not quite naked yet. Although he would be in a moment unless she acted quickly.
She felt around in the dark for a weapon and grabbed the first item she touched—a large candlestick. Brandishing it like a cricket bat, she murmured, “Stay here.”
Gemma gripped Bess’s waist and shuffled behind her.
“I said stay.” Bess hushed command left no room for argument.
Her cousin released her. “What are you going to do?”
“Shhh.” Bess had no idea, but she would figure it out. When she’d accompanied Gemma to Davensworth Cottage to help her set up house, she hadn’t imagined one of her duties would involve ousting a nude man from the premises. Better her than Gemma, though. As a widow with five years of marriage to her credit, Bess wouldn’t see anything she hadn’t seen before.
When she peeked from her hiding spot once more, he’d disappeared. Another clatter came from the kitchen. She hurried along the corridor with the candlestick raised above her head. Taking a deep breath to shore up her courage, she ran into the kitchen, hollering loud enough to wake the dead.
The man, who was stoking the fire in the kitchen hearth, bolted upright, smacking his head on the mantle. He dropped the iron poker; it landed on his foot. A roar like nothing she’d ever heard ripped from his throat. His nearly black eyes were ablaze when he spun toward her. His muscular chest heaved and fell with mesmerizing regularity.
Bess gaped.
He’d stripped to his drawers, and the garment clung to him like a second skin. Oh, how wrong she’d been. Her previous marriage hadn’t prepared her at all for such a vision. He was a man in his prime, seemingly chiseled from marble with extra attention paid from God himself.
He frowned. “What’s the meaning of this? Screaming like a banshee and scaring a man half to death?” He advanced on her, bobbled a step, and knocked his hip against the butcher’s block. “Hellfire!”
“Y-you—” Bess’s mouth was dry. She moistened her lips. “You are trespassing. Gather your clothing and be gone.”
He crossed his arms, his biceps bulging. A roguish smile eased across his handsome face. “It is cold outside, love. Don’t be inhospitable.” He weaved side to side. His eyelids were heavy over bleary eyes.
“Law, you are foxed,” Bess said.
“Not enough for the night I am having.”
Bess heard a gasp behind her. “Lord Julius, oh my heavens!” Gemma’s hands were over her eyes; the apples of her cheeks were flushed bright pink. “What brings you to Davensworth on such a night?”
“An unfortunate turn of events, miss.” He slurred his words, confirming Bess’s suspicion. “My horse spooked and dumped me in Fairrigan Brook.”
“That cannot be, my lord.” Her cousin carried on as if covering her eyes and conversing with a half naked man in her kitchen happened every day. “Fairrigan Brook is east of the village, toward Everly Manor. You must have fallen into Murkwood.”
“Did I?” He scratched his temple. “Yes, you must be right. I couldn’t have traveled from Fairrigan on foot in such a short time. Must have become turned around.”
Bess propped the candlestick on her shoulder, lowering her guard. “Gemma, how do you know this rogue?”
“Lord Julius Everly at your service, Miss.” With a ridiculous flourish of his hand, he bowed low over his leg. The momentum knocked him off balance, but he braced a hand against the wide-plank floor before he crashed face first. When he righted himself, he winked. “And I am no ordinary rogue. My father is the Marquess of Seabrook.”
“Well, forgive me, my lord. I had no inkling I was in the presence of greatness.”
He laughed and swayed on his feet again. “Do you know this vexing she-devil, Miss Price?”
