Most Rebellious Debutante (8 page)

‘To bring me some morsel of food, I suppose. Well, I don’t need charity!’ Lord Rockhaven snapped. ‘If I had a need of anything, I would send Staines to buy it … and I told you not to tell anyone I am here! I suppose your employer is now busybodying about the village, telling everybody she meets. Good God, woman! I know I made it seem like a game to the children but it’s no game, believe you me. My very life might be now in danger thanks to you and your meddling!’

His hands dropped to the large wheels at the side of his chair and, with a snort of fury, he began to reverse into the cottage.

‘I have told no one!’ Lucy snapped back. ‘Neither have the children. Speaking of whom, they have better manners than you and would be showing some gratitude for a neighbourly visit!’

Her words halted him. ‘Ha! A neighbourly visit, is it? Trespassing more like! Don’t think I don’t know you bring those children to play in my wood every day, vandalizing my trees.’

‘It isn’t
your
wood and we have done no vandalizing. We were building a pirates’ den there. Oh!’ Her free hand flew to cover her mouth. ‘I’m sorry! I didn’t mean …’ She paused, suddenly aware that he was probably self-conscious of his disfigurement and might take offence at the children’s assumption that he was a pirate, even though he had gone along with the idea the day they met.

A look of exasperation swept across Lord Rockhaven’s face and he slumped back into his chair. When he spoke, it was in a more conciliatory tone. He waved a hand towards her vaguely.

‘Your words do not hurt me. I’m sorry … it is I who should be apologizing. You are right: my behaviour is appalling. It’s just that it’s true I am playing no game. I have enemies and, as you see, I am at somewhat of a disadvantage if they track me down.’

In spite of the bitterness of the last few words, Lucy was aware of stirrings deep within her; stirrings she didn’t fully understand because those parts of her body were never mentioned, but they were part of her and she wondered why this bantering conversation should affect her body in a similar way to when she had been briefly held in his arms a year earlier. It certainly wasn’t physical attraction. His scarred face was pale and thin and his one visible eye glared at her with reproof.

Yet, she knew he hadn’t ceased to invade her thoughts since their recent encounter and, in her mind’s eye, he was brutishly handsome and still had the power to melt her insides to a molten heat. She felt the impulse to reach out and touch his cheek and smooth away the vivid scar, and run her fingers through his dark hair, which, seated as he was in the wheelchair, was tantalizingly close!

Alarmed by the intensity of her longings, she thrust her free hand behind her and stepped back.

Lord Rockhaven’s eyebrow rose fractionally at her sudden movement. ‘I won’t bite you,’ he said drily, as if he could read her thoughts and was amused by them.

Her cheeks flushed. ‘I didn’t suppose you would,’ she said
primly. ‘I just … didn’t want to crowd you.’ Good heavens, even in a wheelchair this man affected her more than any of the handsome bucks and dandies in London.

No, all she felt for him was pity for his unfortunate vulnerable state. She just wanted to help him to sort himself out – to, quite literally, help him to get back on his feet. Wouldn’t anyone who had known the vigorous young man of former years feel that same? Except she knew she was lying to herself; she wanted him back on his feet so that he could hold her in his arms again and kiss the life out of her.

With a start, she realized Lord Rockhaven was speaking and pushed her errant thoughts away, though she knew she would savour them later.

‘And you have told no one, you say? No one else knows I am here?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘No. Your secret is safe. I don’t understand, though. You are a lord … an earl, even. You must have influence. If you have enemies, cannot you bring a charge against them? Cannot the authorities act on your behalf? Why do you have to go into hiding? You said you have done nothing wrong, or was that just to appease the children?’

‘No. I spoke the truth: I have done nothing wrong, but I have no proof of what my … enemy … has done against me. I just know he will not leave it at this.’ He indicated his person and Lucy assumed he meant his disability. ‘He will try again and I don’t intend to make it easy for him, but I need time.’

‘Time for what?’ Lucy asked.

‘To get better, of course! I won’t be shot in the back again. Next time, he will have to face me man to man.’

Lucy stared at him. ‘Someone tried to kill you
deliberately
? I thought you had been wounded in battle – at least, that is what everyone says – that you were both injured and that your brother … died.’

Her voice faltered as she recollected what else Marissa had said. She felt embarrassed that her sister should have repeated slanderous gossip and her discomfort was made worse when Lord Rockhaven himself spoke aloud her inner reflection.

‘Huh! And no doubt these know-alls embellished the truth with innuendoes of us leaving the battle whilst it was still in progress, labelling us as deserters!’

Lucy touched his arm in compassion for his distress. ‘People will always relish a touch of scandal. It is best to ignore their gossip and get on with life. It must have been a dreadful time for you, especially since you are …’ Again, her voice faltered to a standstill. What was it about this man that made her senses fly off in all directions?

‘A cripple? Don’t let your fine feelings stop you from saying the word, Miss—’ He broke off, as if not knowing her name was a further indication of his crippled state. His shoulders sagged momentarily, then he banged the heel of his right hand against the armrest of his wheelchair. ‘It should have been
me
who was killed! Con saw him take aim and leaped to push me aside, taking the bullet meant for
me
. He spoke his name as I stooped to lift him over my shoulder. The next bullet passed through him and got me also. I lived … but Con didn’t. I failed him. It should have been me! It was
my
lot in life to die young, not
his
!’

‘Huh! Because of the so-called
curse?
’ Lucy exclaimed, sensing that a soothing reply would inflame his morose
state. ‘How ridiculous! You are an intelligent man, how can you believe such nonsense?’

Lord Rockhaven’s face flushed at her tone. ‘What do
you
know about it? My ancestors have died by the
nonsense
! I always knew how it would end, but not the manner of it. But it should have been me. Not Con.
I
am the elder son.’

‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself,’ Lucy retorted, realizing that he felt guilty to have survived whilst his brother had not. ‘Would Conrad have felt any better if he were the survivor? I suspect not. You have lost a dearly beloved brother, but it was not your fault! Stop blaming yourself and get on with living. I am sure that is what your brother would have wanted you to do.’

‘You call
this
living?’ Lord Rockhaven demanded angrily, banging both his fists down on the arms of his wheelchair. ‘It is worse than death, I can tell you!’

Lucy could think of nothing to say that would not sound condescending or patronizing and, after a pause, Lord Rockhaven spoke in a more even tone. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, gossiping over my threshold will get me nowhere. I have things to do.’ He waved a deprecatory hand towards her basket. ‘Take your offerings to more deserving cases.’

It was a clear dismissal and although it hurt her pride to turn away and retrace her steps through the wood, she did so with as much poise as she could muster. He didn’t even wait until she was out of sight before he returned indoors. She heard the fall of the latch when she was no more that six paces from his door.

He was insufferable and deserved to be abandoned to his fate!

T
HEO’S CHIN SANK
on to his chest within the dim cottage. That was all he needed: well-meaning females with nothing better to do than to be on his doorstep with delicacies to tempt his appetite. His eyes narrowed as he speculated on their two confrontations. She knew who
he
was, but who was
she
? She certainly wasn’t anyone he had met socially … he would have remembered her. She was pretty and vivacious and would have caused a quickening of his blood if he had met her before his incapacitating injury. Not that anything serious could have come of it, of course, but he was sure he could have come to a suitable arrangement with her. Her lips looked decidedly kissable and she had a degree of spirit. He grinned as he recalled her lively banter, then swiftly sobered. She had
too much
spirit, he corrected himself, recalling her outspoken reproof of him.

What did
she
know of suffering? Nothing! It was obvious that she had never experienced any severe
disappointments
in life. A bit of suffering would do her good, he decided morosely.

Was that why he had taken some perverse pleasure in knocking back her well-meaning act of kindness towards
him? A little unchivalrous of him perhaps, but it had certainly wiped the condescending smile from her face.

He slapped his hand against the armrest of his chair and grimaced in self-disgust. He knew he wasn’t being fair to her. She hadn’t been condescending at all, but he had felt himself at a severe disadvantage. Wouldn’t any man without the use of his legs feel thus if a pretty young woman came calling on him? What else other than pity could any female feel towards him in his present state? And he didn’t want pity from
anyone,
let alone an attractive girl who gave him longings he had thought himself incapable of experiencing again!

A vision of her face flashed before him. Ringlets of deep russet caught up on her head, with a few wayward curls falling beside her cheeks … cheeks that were a shade too rosy by social standards of the day, no doubt due to her freedom of the outdoors. No, she wasn’t anyone from his own level in society, he was sure of that.

Yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt he ought to know her. Felt he
did
know her! A fleeting wisp of an elusive image once again hovered on the fringe of his memory, but it melted away like the early morning mist evaporates in the heat of the sun. Ponder as much as he might, he couldn’t remember having met her until that unfortunate spillage from his chair.

Perversely, he couldn’t let it go. Was she the parson’s daughter? Her demeanour, her voice and choice of language spoke of a genteel education. But no, the parson’s daughters were older – unless a new parson had been appointed in his absence – and if that were the case, he hadn’t met his daughters. Maybe she was a village girl who had been in employment at Montcliffe Hall? His mother would have
given encouragement to any servant who showed signs of promise and might have taken her under her wing. That would explain her knowledge of his family and of the curse that hung over them.

A fresh surge of indignation flowed over him. How dare she belittle it so! It had dominated his life for as long as he could remember. Only his grandmother had spoken of it dismissively, blaming, instead, the excesses of his ancestors on his father’s side of the family. Had they felt as he did? That if they were to die young they might as well enjoy life to the full whilst they could?

Well, there was no enjoyment in life now, was there?

A renewed frenzy of barking from the dogs and the rumble of cartwheels on the cobbled yard dragged him out of his reverie. Good. Staines was back with more stores. It was time for his daily exercise. In anticipation, he slowly lifted each foot in turn, flexed his ankle and then lifted and straightened each leg. It took some effort and concentration but at least he was making some progress now. All he needed was more time.

 Lucy’s mind was also engrossed in thinking about the confrontation. Much as she determined to forget about him, she couldn’t help being intrigued by the man and his predicament, but he had made it very clear that he didn’t want any sort of help or sympathy from her or anybody else. For all she knew, he might be romanticizing what had happened to him and his brother on the battlefield. Why would someone from his own ranks shoot at him and Conrad? Someone whom they knew by name? If it were true, why hadn’t he denounced the person?

She sighed sadly. Maybe it was simply that he was unable to face the reality of what had happened? That he had been so terrified by the horrors of frenzied slaughter that surrounded him that he and his brother had made an attempt to flee the scene of battle and had been shot as deserters by a superior officer? And what sane and rational person could hold him and his brother in condemnation? Who knew how they or anyone else would behave in the horrific trauma of the battlefield?

Yet, somehow, that thought didn’t rest easily upon her. Theodore Rockhaven, Earl of Montcliffe was made of sterner stuff than that. He was no coward. He would face adversity head-on even if he was physically unfit to do so.

And that worried her.

Life without the constraints of her sister and her family did not entirely live up to the life of freedom that Lucy had imagined. To her chagrin, she discovered that even the servants had certain expectations of her behaviour and every step outside those expectations drew censorious raising of eyebrows and even mild reproofs from the older ones – her solitary outing in the wood being the first of many such condemned activities. Not that Lucy intended to repeat
that
exercise, so Cook’s admonition was an
unnecessary
rebuke.

She tried to convince herself that she was indifferent to the young earl, whatever his predicament, but, deep in her heart, she knew that wasn’t true and she couldn’t stop thinking about him, acknowledging a reluctant admiration for his determination to restore his fitness, even if his driving reason for doing so might hinge on a misapprehension of
what had actually happened on the battlefield. She also had to acknowledge that something deep within her stirred with longing in spite of her declared intention never to trust a man again. It puzzled her. Why, despite his abrupt rudeness towards her, did she long to further their acquaintance?

Determined to push her thoughts of Lord Rockhaven out of her mind, Lucy flung herself into other activities to fill her days. In the mornings, she rode around the nearby countryside accompanied by a groom determinedly keeping away from Montcliffe land, and in the afternoons, when the sun was at its hottest, she followed more leisurely pursuits, played her favourite pieces on the piano, did some stitch work or arranged flowers she had picked from the garden.

Those genteel activities palled after a few days and, desperate for something more to do, she volunteered to take some food parcels to the local villagers. Cook readily agreed as she had plenty of other tasks for her kitchen staff in the absence of the family; tasks that could only be done in their absence, such as thoroughly cleaning the upstairs rooms and sorting out the store cupboards.

So, at ten to two in the afternoon, the gig was harnessed to an amiable pony named Maud and brought around to the front of the house by a red-faced stable lad, who willingly handed over the reins to the charming sister of his mistress when she declared that she would drive the gig herself.

‘I will be quite safe in the village by myself, Higgins,’ she confidently assured him when he made to climb up on the rear step, ‘and I am sure there is plenty of other work for you to be doing.’

Higgins tipped his cap and returned to the stable yard,
unsure if he were happy to be relieved of the duty, or
disappointed
to have been refused the opportunity of an outing.

Lucy smiled happily as she flicked the reins, relishing in the freedom of being unaccompanied. She was determined to make the most of it in Marissa’s absence. Maud happily trotted along the country lanes to the nearby village and could probably have done so without Lucy’s hand upon the reins. She could be goaded into a smarter pace by a gentle flick of the whip above her head and snorted her
appreciation
of the reward of an apple when they arrived at the village, where Lucy tethered the pony by the village green.

As she walked from cottage to cottage, she smiled and bade, ‘Good afternoon,’ to anyone she met and, the next time she went, made sure she had a bag of Cook’s homemade confectioneries to dole out to the children she encountered playing around the green or in their homes.

Lucy’s unaffected friendliness quickly changed any initial distrust from the villagers into a mutual cordiality. Her pleasure as she delved into her basket and her
exclamations
of delight over Cook’s selections melted away any resentment they might have felt and before the week was over she was warmly welcomed into the humble cottages.

It amazed her that whole families could live in such small dwellings. Why, there was hardly more than a single room that served as kitchen, dining room and an extension to the sleeping area that was partitioned off by a piece of old sailcloth – if the bundle of what seemed to be bedding in the corner was indeed what she supposed it to be. Where did they wash or have any degree of privacy?

The cottages varied in degree of cleanliness and in what passed as furniture. Clothes and possessions were minimal
and Lucy was astute enough to realize that their simple lifestyle was, in reality, a struggle to survive. She was glad that her sister had a social conscience and that she tried to help them. So would
she
, if she were ever in a position to do so, she resolved.

‘You’m a real treasure, my dear,’ one mother declared a few days later, when a chicken pie was placed upon her table followed by a bread and butter pudding.

Lucy popped a piece of butter fudge into the mouths of the four young children who clung wide-eyed to their mother’s skirt.

‘It’s a pleasure, Mrs Boulton,’ she murmured, smiling at the children as traces of fudge oozed from the corners of their mouths.

‘It do help my Georgie keep body and soul together,
especially
since the ’all was closed down,’ the woman continued. ‘Eh, I knows the family has had its tragedies but we do miss her ladyship. We ’as our ’opes that she may come back some day. No one seems to know what has become of his lordship – that’s what I told the gentleman only this morning. No, I sez, and if her ladyship herself don’t know where he is, then how can you expect the likes of us to know?’

Lucy’s heart immediately leaped in alarm. ‘Someone was here, asking about Lord Rockhaven?’ she asked sharply. Her heart was beating faster as she spoke his name. ‘Did he say who he was?’

‘Eeh, no, miss. He had no needs to declare himself to the likes o’ me. A bit high an’ mighty, he was, too. I was glad not to be able to help him.’

‘What did he look like? Was he young? Or old?’

A surge of excitement leaped within her as she realized
that she now had a genuine reason for contacting Lord Rockhaven again and that she might be of some use to him.

‘Well, he weren’t old, miss – that is, he was older than you, but not as old as me.’ She screwed up her face as she sought to recollect the man’s features. ‘He was dark-haired and dark-skinned, like a lot o’ these wounded soldiers we see traipsing the country. And his man looked much the same.’

‘His man? He wasn’t on his own, then?’

‘Eeh, no, miss. No one of ’is class trying to impress would travel on his own. But he didn’t impress me none. Dressed fit to kill, he was. A right clown! And him with as
rough-looking
a fellow as I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t like to meet ’
im
on a dark night on me own.’ She shuddered and clasped her hands over her ample bosom, before continuing in a
confidential
manner, ‘Thinking of the upper-class one, I suppose I shouldn’t say this, but he had a look of the late earl. The same long nose, though nowhere near as handsome, and he looked at
me
as if I were something he’d trodden in. That weren’t like the late earl at all. He was a real gentleman, he was … though a wild and reckless one. His sons took after him, God bless their souls, if his young lordship’s dead, that is. D’you think you might know him, miss?’

‘No, no, I just wondered, that’s all.’

But she felt the man seemed to fit in with Lord Rockhaven’s fears that someone who had been fighting on the Peninsular might have a motive in tracking him down. He could be genuine, of course. Someone making enquiries on behalf of Lady Montcliffe. Maybe even a relative, if Mrs Boulton’s recognition of a family resemblance were correct. But, surely, he would have declared his name if that were
the case. No, his questioning was being done in a secretive way and it was best to take no chances. After all, Mrs Boulton hadn’t taken to him, had she?

So she enquired, ‘Is he still in these parts, do you know?’

Mrs Boulton nodded her head. ‘It’s said he’s staying at the Eagle and Child and that he’ll pay well for any
information
, but he won’t get nowhere with his questions round hereabouts. Besides, no one has seen his lordship since he was here a year or so ago. They do say, though, that
someone
is living in old Quilter’s cottage – that’s the old gamekeeper, miss. I doubt you’d remember him. Been gone a few years, he ’as. The lads ’ave seen signs of someone there – not his lordship, o’ course – someone more like an ex-soldier who’s been pensioned off, but I don’t know the truth o’ that. Eeh, the lads won’t get into trouble for being on his lordship’s land, will they? They don’t mean no ’arm; they just catch the odd rabbit or suchlike to fill their families’ bellies.’

‘No, of course not,’ Lucy hastened to assure her, hoping she spoke the truth. ‘Er, the man who was making enquiries, did you tell him about the ex-soldier living in Quilter’s cottage?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Eh, no, miss. He got no more out o’ me than he deserved, and that was nowt! But I can’t speak for everyone else, o’ course. Especially once they have some ale in them.’