Page 18 of My Lord, My Rogue
“Do you dream of mysterious women?” Benjamin queried, playfully.
“Ha! Not that I could admit, my lord. Should I utter her name, m’ wife would have m’ head.” Whistling, the groomsman left to retrieve the mare. “
Benjamin waited until Danny moved from sight and walked to the edge of the pasture, where Danny thought he had seen the woman. Reaching down, he picked up a small, shiny box. It appeared to be something that belonged to a lady. He opened it and found a piece of paper with his initials on it. As he opened it, a pair of sapphire eyes caught his attention. It was the woman Danny had described. Roughly ten feet in front of him, she barely edged her horse from the wooded area. Shewasa beautiful woman—long dark hair about her shoulders, sapphire eyes. Danny was right.
“Lord Willington. I am glad to put a face with the name. I used that box as a distraction to draw you out. I am Jess, your contact. Meet me tomorrow at the mercantile in town at eight o’clock. I shall be in the back by the kitchen tools and utensils.”
“In the morning?” he questioned, already dreading Stephens’ morning wake-up call. Lancaster had probably been correct. She looked like a woman the queen would choose to attend her.
He nodded and the dark beauty dipped her head. Her horse edged back into the brush and trees and disappeared. Danny was right. The damn horse was too quiet. Footsteps behind him on the gravel announced Danny had spotted him. He stuffed the silver case into his pocket before turning.
“My lord? Did you find any sign of ’er?”
“I did not. The . . . er . . . shiny object was mica. Nothing of value,” Benjamin added.
“Dash it all! Me missus is always telling me that I needed to make m’self fall asleep earlier and not have a drink before bed,” he said, pulling off his hat and wiping his brow. “Reckon, I should try it.”
“Ha! Well, if you dream of beautiful, mysterious women on dark horses, please let me know and I may start going to bed later, too. Of course, I want to know your choice of drink, as well!” he bantered.
Danny laughed. “That’s a deal, my lord!” He looked at Dover. “I re-shoed her fer you and rested her good. She should enjoy a good run today with no trouble.”
Benjamin gave a curt nod and hoisted himself into the saddle, patting the pocket holding the silver case. It was still there. Luckily, the woman had not put any incriminating notations in the case, in the eventuality her plan to connect with him had not worked today. A professional—maybe someonenew. One thing was certain, he had never seen the woman before.
A stiff wind blew, forcing him to pull together the collar of his greatcoat as he passed the spot where he and Lancaster had caught sight of Lady Aster on horseback. A mixture of feelings washed over him. The sight of her had shocked him to his core. To the world, this woman had died. Yet, she and her aunt had pulled off a ruse that had convinced everyone, including Aster’s family, that she had perished in the angry waves of the Channel? Yet, his heart thrummed that she lived.
She had grievously forsaken her betrothal to Lancaster and married Aster. Everyone had believed her dead. No one had questioned it or even searched for her body. The two or three clothing items had sufficed. Based on Aster’s unsavory reputation among women, they easily assumed Aster had had something to do with her death—an outcome that might surely have occurred had they remained married. Yet she was alive . . . and here in Bath . . . with him.
The brutality she had recounted having suffered at the hand of Aster, both emotionally and physically, had shaken him as much as thinking she was a ghost. He realized faking her death had been her only recourse.
He gave thought to that. Laws in England protected men, not women and children. Male children were the only ones given deference, and Aster would probably never have released her had he known the child was a boy. His would have denied him that choice. Beyond that, gaining a divorce was exceedingly rare, and without the clout to back her, Lady Aster would not have prevailed. Oliver would have been declared a bastard and she would have brought shame upon herself, her child, and her family. As he considered these options, he realized the cleverness of her plan. Still, the thought of the brutality she had suffered at Aster’s hands sickened him. Benjamin vowed that if he were given the chance, he would erase those memories of pain.
Brook Hall was up ahead, and he found himself eager to see her. Honora had eyes that haunted you long after you closed your own. The girl he had fallen for years ago was daring and enjoyed life. Lancaster’s family was extremely close to his wife’s, and Benjamin had, as a boy, always enjoyed seeing them and Lancaster when he visited the estate. He remembered one particular time when he and his friend had gone swimming in the pond. They had left their clothing on the ground behind a bush. When they had emerged from the pond they looked around for their clothing and found it hanging from a nearby tree, forcing them to climb in the clothing God had given them in order to retrieve it. While they could not see the girls, their distant giggles had betrayed them. He laughed out loud at the memory, realizing that debt had never been repaid. The girls had never mentioned the escapade.Thatwas the Honora he looked forward to seeing again.Thatwas the Honora he had missed all these years.
Noticing two horses saddled and waiting in front of the manor, he realized Honora planned to bring her maid. Perhaps he should have thought of an outing less cumbersome for all involved, he thought as he handed Dover’s leads to the ostler and thanked him for watching her before sprinting up the marble steps.
Chapter 8
She would soon spend time with Benjamin!Her heart beat recklessly in her chest from a combination of fear and excitement. The popping sound and the warmth of the fireplace helped soothe her nerves. A week past, she would never have envisioned riding across the pasture lands with Lord Willington. Never. Here she was getting dressed to do just that. Dabbing rosewater behind her ears and on her wrists, she turned and glanced at her riding habit, neatly laid across her bed. Bridget would be here soon to help her dress. A feeling of anticipation shot through her and she fought against it.Something will go wrong. I just know it.
A tap on her door announced Bridget, who walked in carrying a small tray with a mug of hot tea and a piece of dry toast. “Ye hardly touched yer breakfast and ye dunnae want your stomach speaking louder than ye. The tea is hardly usual in a mug. But I thought this would calm and warm ye. The weather appears nice, m’lady, but ’tis bracing. I helped one maid milk the cow, Norma, this morn. We near both froze,” she said, setting the tray down on the table next to Honora’s bed.
That brought a smile to Honora’s lips. “That was thoughtful. I would appreciate the hot tea. She reached down and picked up the mug in both hands, indulging in its warmth. After taking a small sip, she set it down and smiled. “Cook is going crazy with the lemons Mama and Papa brought with them. I hope we have an endless supply! I find the taste in my tea very pleasing.”
“Cook said you would enjoy that. She made lemon biscuits for Oliver this morning, and he has already enjoyed one—which he shared with his new puppy!” Bridget shook her head, smiling.
“Speaking of Oliver, where is he? I thought to tell him where I would be.” Just whatexactlyhad she planned to say? He knew very little of his father. She made it a practice not to say anything, if she could help it. The less that man intruded into her life, the better—even now that he was dead. He had had no interaction with other children, so his ideas of family had certainly been narrow. There was nothing for it. She could see nothing coming of one short picnic with Lord Willington. Surely all of this was born of curiosity—’twas all. Once his inquisitiveness was satisfied, she would never see him again, as there was nothing left to recommend her after the destruction she had inflicted on her reputation.
Male voices sounded in the hallway. “Bridget, I think he is here.”
“Be calm, m’lady,” the maid breathed, stepping behind her. “Let me add a pin or two to these braids. One is already slipping from the coronet I fixed earlier. Two more pins and done.” Surely you do not want your hair flopping around your face.”
“Thank you, Bridget. I have had my hands touching it and probably caused that myself. I have been so used to wearing it down these past few years.” She really preferred her hair down while riding but could not acknowledge it. She picked up the handheld looking glass and turned, holding it at an angle like Bridget had shown her. She could see the back of her head reflected from her vanity’s looking glass. That almost seemed magical. The braided coronet appealed to her, framing her head almost regally with small wisps of curls allowed to escape here and there. “You have outdone yourself, Bridget,” she said, still looking at the image.
“Ye look just like a princess, m’lady,” the maid said, stepping back, pleased with her work. “I believe he is here. We should go.”
Honora reached for her warm mug of tea and took the last sip. “That was delicious. Thank you for your thoughtfulness. Please relay my sentiments to Cook.”
“I will, m’lady. You had better get on your way.”
