Knight For A Lady (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 3) Page 13

  Edith was sorry for the young men detailed to watch out for her safety, obliged to stand about in the wet. Although she noted Niall had organised a system of turnabouts among the four. It apparently allowed for each man to be relieved for an hour at a time, which inevitably took them to the tavern across the green.

  There was at least one visible throughout the night, too, as Edith had seen last night when, sleepless with her churning thoughts, she’d got up out of her bed and gone down to the kitchen for a glass of milk, warming it in a pot on the range whose coals retained heat from the long day’s burning. Edith had caught a glimpse of a man on patrol through the kitchen window.

  At first she gasped with fright, backing from the window in the instant apprehension that her Nemesis had come for her. But the man turned and walked back the way he had come for some twenty paces and then turned again.

  Letting her breath go, Edith went back to the range, her thoughts flying to Niall and his military background. Of course he would not leave her vulnerable in the long night hours when Kilshaw could come like a thief to snatch her out of the contrived cocoon of the vicarage.

  The thought sent her imagination roving with images: unheard creeping feet entering her bedchamber; hands seizing her while she slept; the hated oiling voice whispering his intentions into her unwilling ear.

  Shuddering, Edith pulled her dressing-gown more tightly about her body. A faint sizzling told her the milk was ready. With shaking hands, she poured it into the waiting glass, spilling a few drops. Muttering imprecations, she found a cloth and dabbed at the spill on the flagstones.

  Then she hurried back upstairs and into the muffling curtained interior of her bed, sitting up against the banked pillows to sip her milk and wishing Niall were in there with her.

  The bold notion sent a flush through her body and Edith shivered with a sensation other than cold.

  Stop it, Edith Westacott! What, was she so wanton? The protest rose up without warning. Not wanton, no. She’d thought of Niall from the notion of needing comfort in his presence, that was all. To be able to lean into him and feel his arms come about her, holding her safe. He would keep her so. Oh, he would. One only had to look at him to know how readily he could repel any threat. Then why, idiot woman, did she not accept his offer?

  Edith sighed and sipped her milk. As if she need ask herself such a question. Was it not obvious? How to accept him when his proposal sprang out of her danger? A spontaneous scheme to protect her from Lord Kilshaw’s villainous one. And when Niall could have no certainty of whether or not he’d lied?

  A sneaking voice in the back of her mind urged her to tell Niall the full tale, but Edith shrank from doing so. If she married him, she would have to. Indeed, she could never marry him without. What, live always with the niggle of doubt standing between them? It could not be done. Rather would she risk losing him.

  She tipped her glass once more against her lips and found it empty. She’d drunk all the milk without being aware of it. Yet she was no nearer sleep.

  Setting the glass aside, she snuggled down, drawing her feet away from the cold at the bottom end of the sheets. And there was another thing. If Niall was in her bed, he’d keep her warm too. Hugging her arms about her, Edith turned on her side and tried to conquer her all too vivid imagination.

  She slipped into sleep at last and woke in the morning little refreshed, but with an unprecedented sense of optimism.

  Lord Kilshaw had stayed away. It might be he’d been put off by the weather. The rain had likely left at least the country roads muddy and pitted with ruts, which would slow down a carriage. Or had her Nemesis merely discovered how well she was guarded? She would have surely heard if he’d been into the village, but he might have sent a servant to scout for him. Edith indulged the hope he’d been thwarted.

  She recalled her lurid imaginings of the night and chided herself. Truly she was being absurd. Yes, he was determined. But common sense must dictate how difficult it would be to carry her off in the circumstances. Aside from her screaming — and she would scream with all the power of her lungs — any such attempt must create a stir in the village. And the village was alerted to expect something unusual, even if it was not known why Niall’s men patrolled strategic points of the environment.

  She’d faced the fear alone before, but now she had both Niall and her uncle, along with her guards. She went down to breakfast in a much less apprehensive frame of mind.

  She found her uncle sitting at the table in the dining parlour, partaking of his customary morning meal of ham, eggs and several slices from a fresh baked loaf of bread. He looked up as Edith entered, glancing over his spectacles and waving an unfolded sheet of paper at her.

  “We are bidden to dine at Lowrie Court, my dear Ede. Lord Hetherington says it is high time you were allowed out of seclusion.”

  A tiny flutter ran through Edith’s veins. “Today?”

  “This afternoon, my dear. Eddows brought the note and he will come to escort us.”

  “Mr Eddows? Good heavens, does Niall — I mean, his lordship — suppose I might be in danger upon the journey?”

  Her uncle consulted the note. “He is taking no chances, my dear. Both Mark and Owen have been detailed to ride alongside the carriage as well.”

  “Well, I defy even Lord Kilshaw to snatch me from such a comprehensive entourage.”

  Her uncle surveyed her with a lurking twinkle. “You appear to be in spirits, my dear Ede. It gives me great pleasure to see you so much more yourself.”

  She selected a portion of ham from the covered dishes left by Mrs Tuffin. “I do feel much less hunted, Uncle Lionel.”

  “I am glad of that, my dear. Let us hope that fellow will realise his error and depart. Indeed, I cannot imagine why he has not already done so.”

  “Perhaps he has.”

  Although Edith could not quite believe he might have gone. Was he biding his time?

  “I have given Mrs Tuffin leave to go to her sister’s after breakfast, my dear, since we won’t need her services. Of course she refused to go without leaving a cold collation that young Sally may serve us at need.”

  “I hardly think we will need it.”

  “No, my dear, but you know what she is, the good woman.”

  Edith was well aware that the housekeeper cosseted the vicar in every possible way, as she had done since Edith’s mother died, leaving her uncle more distressed than she had been herself. Edith had often wondered if he’d cherished an unnaturally deep affection for his brother’s wife. He’d certainly taken Edith to his heart as if she was his own daughter.

  Her glance idled to the window and she noted the grey skies.

  “I hope it may not be raining this afternoon. We’ll be obliged to hold umbrellas in the gig.”

  Her uncle waved his fork in the air. “Did I not say, my dear? His lordship is sending his coach for us, so the rain is of no consequence.”

  Warmth leapt into Edith’s bosom. “What it is to have a soldier at one’s back. He thinks of everything.”

  The vicar nodded, speaking only when he’d swallowed down a mouthful of ham. “He is an excellent fellow. His tenants are beginning to realise his worth. Not that Roland Lowrie was wanting. A good sort of a man he was, and his wife a most pleasant woman. But I do believe this present Lord Hetherington may prove more energetic in his approach to his responsibilities.”

  Recalling Niall’s true attitude towards those same responsibilities, Edith was conscious of a wash of compassion for him. Having had experience of the trap of circumstance, aside from the interference of Lord Kilshaw, she could enter into his sentiments. And he need not have taken up the challenge in the way he had. Many men in his position might well choose to let the tenants go hang, and squeeze out every ounce of profit for themselves. But not Niall.

  “He has a well-developed sense of duty,” she said aloud.

  “We may put that down to his military background, my dear Ede. When it is do or die, I dare say a man learns to act a
s he must.”

  Yes, but it was not wholly that, Edith was persuaded. It was not in his character to ignore the needs of others. Look how he had taken her safety under his control. He was under no obligation to do so, although his feelings for her must have swayed him. Indeed, a more selfish man would have left her to her fate once she rejected him. But Niall would never do that, whether she married him or no. In fact, she was almost certain he would come to her rescue if the worst should happen.

  Realisation struck her. No wonder she no longer walked with fear stalking her mind. It was less a matter of guards than the belief that Niall would go to any lengths to keep her safe.

  The day dragged as a bubble of anticipation built in Edith’s breast. Her mind presented her with images of Niall’s mobile face in a variety of expressions, every one endearing. The prospect of seeing him made her want to break into song and an unprecedented energy made her wish the time away to the dinner hour.

  She changed her everyday muslin for one less proclaiming the schoolmistress, and for the first time in years felt dissatisfied with her wardrobe. Really she had nothing suitable to the occasion. And there was no time to refurbish the spotted muslin chemise gown with new green ribands to the sleeves or a lace ruff. Instead she adorned the plaiting around the neckline with her mother’s pearl brooch, touching the delicate beads with a careful finger.

  “Ede, are you ready?”

  Her uncle’s voice calling up the stairs set Edith’s heart aflutter. It was time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “All the arrangements are in hand, my lord.”

  His butler’s assurance failed to quiet the knot of anxiety in Niall’s breast.

  “I must suppose Mrs Radway is equal to the task.”

  “Indeed, my lord, she has managed far more complex entertainments than this.”

  The indulgent note was not lost on Niall. He refrained from cursing the man. God knew he had little enough experience! His batman had been capable of producing a decent meal from the most meagre rations for a coterie of fellow officers, but this was an entirely different situation. He did not care to set an inferior repast before Edith, even if the dinner was a ploy to interest her in becoming the mistress of Lowrie Court.

  Reflecting that he was spared having to include the party from the Manor, who were still absent from the district, Niall dismissed the butler, turning to the mirror over the fireplace to check his cravat was presentable and his disreputable hair at least under control. He could not flatter himself his appearance was of the sort to attract females to him. Miss Burloyne’s interest had been purely in his title, he was certain. But Edith was another matter altogether.

  She had not the least interest in his coronet. She’d shown scant sign of finding anything in his person to attract her. And she’d refused his offer even in the worst extremity of need.

  Although he’d felt an almost irresistible urge to go back to the vicarage time and again, he’d held off. Niall hardly knew himself whether it was in the light of a strategic withdrawal or because he dreaded further rejection, but his thoughts were never far from Edith.

  The sound of a carriage alerted him to the arrival of his guests and he cast a critical eye about the drawing room. The mirror over the mantel had been dusted, the somewhat faded straw-coloured cushions turned, the wood on the Chippendale sofa polished and the patterned rug newly swept. The wall-sconces and two candelabra had fresh candles awaiting the dusk and two extra chairs had been brought in and strategically placed. Satisfied, he moved forward to greet Edith and the vicar as his butler announced them.

  In the flurry of arrival, he had time only to notice that Edith looked in better bloom than when he’d seen her last. She seemed composed and her smile gave him hope. Was there a trace of intimacy in it?

  His agent had entered behind them and Niall, pausing only to usher Edith into a seat beside the small fire he’d caused to be set in the grate, took the opportunity to put in one aspect of his campaign.

  “Eddows tells me, Reverend, that you are fond of chess?”

  Mr Westacott beamed up at him. “I am indeed, my lord, though I seldom find the opportunity to indulge. There are so few opponents hereabouts.”

  “Yet Eddows informs me he is itching to take his revenge upon you for your last bout with him.”

  The vicar’s hearty laughter sounded and he looked round at the agent. “Fiend that you are, Eddows! You know very well I had not beaten you for some time. I have been basking in my triumph.”

  His agent gave the prim smile Niall had come to know well. “Ah, but you will allow, sir, that you have the edge if we are counting.”

  “Counting? All these years?” Mr Westacott’s finger wagged at him. “I know you, my dear Eddows. I dare say you have been keeping score in that pocket book of yours.”

  “I have,” grinned his opponent.

  “Then I must beg you to take advantage after dinner,” said Niall. “I have unearthed a most delightful set of chessmen, exquisitely carved. I believe they must have come from India, for I have seen similar sets there.”

  His agent’s eyes lit. “You don’t mean it, my lord? Good heavens, I have not played with that set since the old lord died. The late Lord Hetherington had no fondness for the game.”

  Both antagonists were clearly delighted at the prospect and Niall was able to congratulate himself on the success of his tactics. They began at once to discuss their last game and he was able to turn his attention to Edith.

  “Masterly, my lord,” she said as he reached her, the alluring twinkle in her eye.

  He dropped into the chair opposite, feeling the colour creep into his cheeks. “Damnation! I should have guessed you would see through me.” He gave her a deprecating look. “Don’t fear I am planning to renew my persuasions. It’s just that we haven’t met for several days and I would welcome the opportunity to discover how you are faring.”

  “A deal better than I was, thanks to you.”

  “It is worth the effort, if you feel a little less at risk.”

  Her voice dropped to a level less likely to be overheard. “A great deal less, though I cannot be altogether sanguine. I can’t believe he has abandoned his purpose.”

  “Nor I.” A flitter of something passed across her face, and he was sorry he’d been as blunt. He put out a quick hand, matching her low tone. “Don’t fret, Edith. We will not relax our vigilance until we know for certain he is defeated.” He saw her breast rise and fall in a rapid manner that showed her agitation, and spoke with deliberate lightness. “Let us forget him for this once and talk only of ourselves. Is it agreed?”

  She eyed him in a way he could not interpret for a moment. Then the teasing look appeared. “You assume we may find ourselves a sufficient distraction? Alas, my lord, I fear the tale of my dull life will afford you scant entertainment. We had much better talk of you.”

  “You are incorrigible. You must know I am keen to discover everything about you.”

  “Good heavens! Should you not keep me shrouded in mystery? Gentlemen, I am reliably informed — by my students, you must know — lose all interest the moment they are permitted to see behind the public mask.”

  He chuckled. “Is it so indeed?”

  “I assure you. My girls were intent upon cultivating as much mystery as they could and made great use of their fans in this regard. I caught them practising many a time in their parlour.”

  Niall regarded her with a lurking smile. “I have yet to see you flirting with a fan.”

  Upon which, she immediately took her fan from her lap and treated him to a display of the most ridiculously overplayed flirtation, making him laugh immoderately.

  “Oh, Edith, a man might spend a lifetime in your company and never be bored!”

  The fan closed with a snap and she dropped it into her lap, colour rising to her face.

  Niall cursed himself and sought in vain for a way to gloss over the moment. He’d not meant to refer to his proposal, even in so oblique a fashion. But hav
ing recalled it to his own mind, he could think of nothing else than his ardent desire to marry her.

  His butler saved the day, coming in at this moment to announce dinner. Niall was able to resume his duties as host and his consciousness faded.

  He stole a look at Edith as she took his arm, and found her customary composure had returned. But her voice was cool.

  “I’ve not been in this house since I was a child, my lord. It looks a great deal less imposing than I remember.”

  He replied with more ease than he felt. “A trick of the mind.”

  “Indeed, yes.”

  They crossed into the dining parlour, which had been thoroughly cleaned and polished for the occasion by the trio of maids he’d had Eddows bring in to help Mrs Radway, despite the lack of funds. They were all village girls, glad of the employment, even though lacking in experience. They made up for it with a show of industry, and Mrs Radway had confided to him that she was inclined to believe they would do. Praise of high order, according to his butler.

  Edith was seated at Niall’s left hand, the vicar to his right, with Eddows flanking Edith. Niall divided his attention between the two principal guests, but could not prevent himself keeping a surreptitious eye out when his agent took opportunity, as courtesy dictated, to talk with Edith.

  He could not help imagining how it would be to have Edith at the lower end of the table in the place for his hostess — his wife. The word sent a flitter through his veins and he had to take refuge in his wine.

  The first course, of roast fowls, baked salmon, asparagus and a white mushroom fricassee, together with a dish of buttered crab, was well cooked and sustaining, if lacking in the sort of frivolous extra dishes provided at the Manor. The vicar was a good trencherman and Eddows did justice to the Cook. But Edith, to Niall’s combined concern and dismay, seemed merely to pick at the food.

  In a lull, he picked up the nearest dish to hand and proffered it. “Can I tempt you to a little more buttered crab, Miss Westacott? The fowl does not look to be much to your liking.”