What A Gentleman Wants (2 page)

But until then, he was David’s keeper. Marcus leaned his head back against the cushion and said a quick prayer that David wouldn’t get into too much trouble in Brighton.

The hamlet of Middleborough included less than two hundred souls all told, and although it boasted both a tailor and a dressmaker, a bootmaker, and two fine taverns, it could not by any stretch be counted a city. Its chief claim to fame, as well as its main source of revenue, was its location. Twenty-five miles of good road to the north lay London, twenty-five miles to the south lay Brighton, and nearly every traveler between the two cities came through Middleborough.

Thus the residents of Middleborough were accustomed to fine carriages and matched teams bowling through their town. Most stopped at either the White Swan or the King’s Arms, but the straight, flat highway inspired more than a few drivers—gentlemen with flashy rigs, mostly—to race each other, at speeds which rendered Middleborough little more than a blur.

It was a fine early spring day when two such carriages appeared on the horizon. Walking along the road, her arms filled with packages, Hannah Preston heaved a sigh. Shifting her armload, she caught hold of her daughter’s hand and pulled her to the side.

Moments later the carriages thundered past in a blur of glossy horses and brightly painted wheels.

“Fools,” muttered Hannah, barely avoiding a muddy puddle. “One of these days, there’s going to be a spectacular accident.”

Her sister-in-law laughed. “You’ll be sure to see it, situated right here at the bend in the road.”

“Then it had better happen soon,” she said. “The new vicar will be arriving in a month.”

“Mama, do you want there to be a crash?” Hannah ignored Sarah’s snicker, guiltily, and rushed to answer her daughter.

“No, Molly. Of course not.”

“Oh.” Molly stared after the departed carriages. “Uncle Jamie bet Uncle Tom a shilling there would be one this week.”

Hannah frowned. “Your uncles should know better than to discuss that around you.”

“Is wagering a sin, Mama?”

Hannah hesitated. Her late husband would have said yes, but as her own brothers were the guilty parties, she could hardly condemn it. “Now, Molly,” said Sarah, “you must know Uncle Jamie and Uncle Tom love to tease. Did they know you were about when they said that?”

Molly pursed her lips and her chin sank almost to her chest. “I listened when they didn’t think I was there. Don’t be angry, Mama.”

“How could I be angry? Is it your fault God gave you such good ears?” A tiny smile crossed Molly’s face, and she shook her head. Hannah wrinkled her nose, making a silly face to encourage the smile. “I see our gate. Shall we race?”

As she hoped, Molly took off, squealing with laughter. Hannah hurried a few steps, then had to stop as a stone slipped through the hole in her boot “Ouch,” she said in exasperation.

“Time for new boots?” Sarah asked.

Hannah sighed. “Time for seeking employment, to buy new boots.”

Sarah said nothing as they trudged the rest of the way down the lane. Hannah pushed open the gate Molly had left swinging. “You’ll always be welcome with us,” Sarah said quietly, but Hannah shook her head.

“You’ve four children of your own, Sarah. And living with Jamie might drive me around the bend.” Sarah smiled sheepishly. Hannah forced herself to smile back. Sarah was trying to help. It wasn’t her fault she had no room to offer. “It’s enough that you helped me carry all this home today,” she added.

“I wish dungs were different, Hannah.”

She avoided her sister-in-law’s gaze. “I do, too, but they aren’t, and it can’t be helped.” She did wish everything was different. She wished the new vicar wasn’t waiting to take possession of the vicarage. She wished she had funds of her own to purchase another cottage. She wished her husband hadn’t died and left her alone.

Molly was sitting on the front step, clapping her hands in glee that she had won the race. Hannah wrinkled her nose at her little girl and laughed. Sarah took the packages back to the kitchen, Molly at her heels, while Hannah took her time scraping her boots.

Dark little footprints down the hall indicating that Molly had forgotten to scrape her shoes clean. Hannah heaved a bittersweet sigh. It was too much to expect a four-year-old to remember such rules, she supposed, and as long as it was Hannah’s own house foot-printed, there was no reason for dismay. In a few weeks, though, that would change. How she would miss this little house.

She sighed again, taking down the rag hanging beside the door and wiping up the footprints. She didn’t want to raise her child as a guest in someone else’s house any more than she wanted to live as a guest in someone else’s house, even if the someone else were her own father, but there was nothing to be done about it. She had nowhere else to go, and would just have to learn to accept it.

Behind her, the gate squeaked. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” called a slurred voice. “D‘ you know where I might find a doctor?”

Hannah turned, squinting to see the stranger with the upper-class accent. Tall, well-dressed, and decidedly drunk, she decided as he swatted at a pestering fly. “What’s happened?”

“There’s been”—he cleared his throat—“a bit of an accident, really.”

“What sort of accident, and where?” The doctor lived on the other side of Middleborough, over a mile away. She hoped there weren’t serious injuries.

The stranger flapped one arm toward town. “Over there, around the bend. Tremendous crater in the road, did you know? Very lucky to have missed it myself.” The momentum of his arm had carried the man off balance, and he lurched into the gatepost.

“What happened?” Hannah asked. The crater had been a rock only a few days ago, when some men from town had dug it out after receiving numerous complaints. They must not have finished filling it in yet.

“Why, he hit it, of course. Flew right out of his rig.”

Hannah nodded. She was accustomed to helping others, and although people flung from passing carriages were rather rare, they were still God’s creatures, and entitled to Christian charity from the vicar’s wife. Vicar’s widow, she remembered with a pang. “I’ll come see what I can do,” she said.

Sarah appeared at the back of the hall, no doubt drawn by the strange voice. “There’s been a carriage accident,” Hannah called. “I’m going to see if I can help. Could you stay a little longer and give Molly her tea?”

“Of course,” said Sarah. Hannah hurried down the path to the gate, where the man was now tilting strongly to one side.

“Is he badly hurt?” she asked, starting off in the direction he had indicated.

“I’ve no idea,” he said, not sounding very concerned. “Should I fetch a doctor?”

“Let’s look at him first. I’m Mrs. Preston, the vicar’s wife, and have seen all sorts of injuries.” She could smell the spirits clinging to him, and suspected his friend would smell the same. In Hannah’s experience, drunks seem to lead charmed lives. Hopefully this one would be so lucky.

Although he was several inches taller, Hannah’s companion seemed to have trouble keeping up with her. She asked a few more questions, but he could offer nothing of interest except the fact that the carriages had been racing. They rounded the bend in the road, and came upon the scene.

The horses seemed unhurt. They still stood in the traces, quivering but otherwise calm. The carriage, a flashy yellow phaeton, was now a one-wheeled vehicle, the axle resting on the ground. Another carriage was parked nearby, the horses tied to a tree branch. There was no sign of anyone else.

“Where is he?” Her guide blinked owlishly.

“Over here.” He led her down a gentle slope, away from the road and toward the field. A pair of legs in blue trousers and tall polished boots protruded from underneath a blueberry bush. “He rolled some way,” explained the man.

“What’s his name?” she asked, picking her way closer.

“Reece. Right. Lord David Reece.” He didn’t appear too lordly right now. Hannah went down on her knees next to the man and pushed aside the branches until she could see a dark head.

“Lord David?” she said loudly. “Can you hear me, Lord David?”

“Wake up, Reece,” called her companion, kicking one of the prone man’s boots. “I’ve brought someone to help.”

“Please don’t kick him, sir. His leg could be broken.” Hannah turned back to the victim, reaching out to shake his shoulder gently. “Lord David, can you—?” As she touched him, he twitched, then erupted from under the bush with a furious bellow.

“God damn, that hurts! Leave me be!” He swung his arm in a wide arc, knocking Hannah breathless and backward. He howled again. “Bloody Christ! What the hell happened to my arm?”

“Sir!” Hannah scrambled to her knees. “I’ve come to help.”

“You’ll go to hell for sure now, Reece,” said the first man, laughing. “You’re swearing at the vicar’s wife.”

“My apologies,” grumbled the injured man, cradling his arm to his body. “Christ, it hurts!”

Hannah ignored that. “Where are you hurt?”

“My arm,” he moaned, hunching over. She put out her hand again, and he flinched. “Don’t touch it, I think it’s broken. This is all your fault, Percy!”

“Well, I like that!” exclaimed his friend. “You wanted to race. I never made you hit the hole in the ground.”

“Sod off,” snarled Lord David, turning a bit green.

“gentlemen!” Hannah glared at both of them. “You may argue later, but for now shall we get out of the road? My cottage is just down the road, so we’ll move you there, and I’ll send for someone from the village.” Lord David nodded weakly, and Hannah hoped he didn’t throw up on her. “All right then. Mr. Percy, would you help him up?”

They got the injured man on his feet, only to have him go suddenly white as a sheet and topple back to the ground in a dead faint. Hannah sighed, directing Mr. Percy to lift him again, wedging herself under Lord David’s side. His long arm dangled over her shoulder, his head hung forward, and Hannah staggered under his weight. There was no way they could lever him up into the surviving carriage, so they would have to walk. Thankfully Percy was as tall as his friend, and was able to take most of the load, but he was still drunk, and their progress was slow.

Finally they reached the cottage and Hannah kicked open the gate. They maneuvered Lord David’s limp body through the garden, and Hannah called out to Sarah as they reached the door.

“In here,” she said to Mr. Percy, indicating the parlor. She wasn’t at all sure the sofa in there would be up to Lord David’s height, but she couldn’t go another step. Her shoulder felt like it had been sheared away. With a great thump, tfiey deposited Lord David on the sofa, and Hannah flopped into a chair in relief.

“Goodness.” Sarah surveyed the scene from the doorway, hands on her hips.

“Is there any tea left?” Hannah knew just was Sarah was thinking: we got to see the spectacular accident! Sarah had a sharp sense of humor. At Hannah’s question, Sarah nodded, her eyes still fastened on the man lying across the sofa. “Will you bring it, please?” asked Hannah with exaggerated politeness. Sarah glanced at her, smirked, and went back to the kitchen.

Hannah turned to her visitor. “Mr. Percy, do sit down. Mrs. Braden, my sister-in-law, will bring some tea. I’ll see if I can help Lord David.” She got up and pulled the curtains all the way open so she could see better.

The light fell upon a strikingly handsome man. Lord David Reece was tall and well built, that much Hannah already knew, but he was also very attractive. Dark hair, almost black, worn long and tied back from his face with a slender leather thong. Sooty eyelashes, a high brow, sculpted cheekbones, wide, firm lips… Hannah couldn’t help being impressed. He was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen, even if he did smell like a distillery.

She turned her attention to his arm. His coat was exquisitely tailored and fit him perfecdy, which made removing it while he was unconscious a near impossibility. She settled for feeling his arm through the cloth, and came across the distorted lump of his shoulder. It was probably out of joint, a relatively mild injury, but not one Hannah knew how to fix herself.

She moved down to his leg. Something about the angle of his foot on the ground had made her think it was broken, and the way he fainted the instant any weight was put on it strengthened that suspicion. His boots, like his coat, were a perfect fit, but had to come off. If the leg swelled inside the boot, it would be difficult even to cut the boot off without further injury. She turned to Mr. Percy.

“I suspect his leg is injured, or perhaps his ankle. I think it would be best if we removed his boot.”

“What? Oh. Right.” Percy rubbed his hands together, going to his friend’s feet.

“No!” Hannah protested, realizing what he intended. “His ankle may be broken. We should cut the boot—”

Mr. Percy looked horrified. “I should say not,” he said indignandy. “These boots are from Hoby. Reece’d never slice them off. I’ll get it off, never fear.”

“No, please, Mr. Percy—” Hannah cringed as he seized the boot and yanked.

“Arggggg!” Lord David came awake with a roar. “God damn son of a bitch, Percy! What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Keeping her from cutting off your boot, Reece.” Mr. Percy dropped the boot on the floor, wobbling on his feet again as he staggered to a chair. Gripping his leg, Lord David turned to glare at her.

“Your leg may be broken,” Hannah said weakly.

“I should bloody well think so! Jesus holy Christ, that hurt!” Hannah pressed her lips together at his language. “Who are you, anyway?” He scowled at her.

“I am Mrs. Preston. This is my cottage.” Hannah looked up to see Sarah watching, a tea tray in her hands, her eyebrows halfway to her hairline. “Thank you, Sarah. Would you like some tea, Lord David?” He grunted and slung his arm over his eyes. Hannah turned to his friend. “Mr. Percy, perhaps you should see to the horses. Mr. MacKenzie at the White Swan or Mr. Edwards at the King’s Arms will be able to stable them for you.”

Percy jerked to his feet, relief washing over his face. He had been looking at the tea tray with a mixture of repugnance and resignation, and Hannah wondered if he had more liquor in his carriage.