Page 11 of A Wicked Earl's Widow
“Of course, she is more than welcome.”
“We need to stop and drop off the, er, damaged luggage in the back,” he added as he handed Mrs. Stanley into the coach.
“And I hope that devil’s son rots in hell after they hang ’im,” the elderly woman added and spat at the vagabond. “Now, let me take a look at you, my lady.”
“Really, I’m fine. You took the beating, not me.”
“I admit I’m still a bit shaky. It takes a lot to ruffle my feathers, but those louts managed it.” She sank onto the plush cushion and sighed.
“Well now, just sit back and catch your breath. Such courage you showed,” said Mrs. Watkins in an awestruck tone. “I’d have handed over whatever the rascals wanted. Except my little mistress, here.”
“As my husband used to say, every storm brings a rainbow. I haven’t ridden in a fine carriage since I helped deliver Lord Pendleton and his sister.” Mrs. Stanley winked at Lady Sunderland. “His father always sent the family coach, and I’d assist until the physician arrived.” She shook her head. “You just never know what tomorrow will bring, now do ye?”
Nathaniel chuckled at the villager’s philosophy. Fate definitely had a sense of humor. And if today was any indication, tomorrow promised to be quite another adventure.
Chapter Five
Pendle Place
Pish and perdition!Eliza pushed her back against the door.What must they think of me?Her throat thickened with mortification. The dream, the footpads, the whipping… Images of her father. The complete and resolute decision to fight back. What had come over her?
Fear. Yet fear made her cower, not take the lead against a man who could easily have overpowered her. It had been the surprise, of course. What male would expect a female of gentle birth to act like a derived banshee? Perhaps she had tendencies like her father.
No. Never. A smile played around the corners of Eliza’s mouth. Had she said those things out loud? The thoughts spinning in her mind like a vortex while she took her anger out on that scoundrel? Mrs. Watkins had rambled on and on how she had flown to the old woman’s rescue, grabbed the whip when the coachman was shot, and saved the day. Saved the day! She was no heroine, by any stretch of the imagination. Even now they were running from danger.
If Lord Pendleton had not intervened, Eliza might have… No, she couldn’t think about it now. A lady’s maid had set out one of her evening dresses, and a tub sat in front of the hearth, steam rising from the heated water. Yes, a good soak would help her think clearly. Althea was safe with Mrs. Watkins in the adjoining room. She could hear her daughter’s high-pitched voice and the sound of splashing water.
Eliza peeled off her clothes and left them in a trail behind her. Stepping into the tub, she lowered herself with an audible sigh. How fortunate to come across friends of Grace. Lady Pendleton had insisted they stay the night. Her wish for a decent bed had been granted by a twist of fate. She’d heard so much about Grace’s neighbors and Pendle Place over the years, and now she was here.
As a girl, she and her mother had visited Boldon Estate once a year. It was always an escape that ended too soon. Then Lord Boldon had loaned her father a substantial sum. Lady Boldon, with the permission of Lord Boldon, had used the transaction to make a bargain with her brother-in-law and finagle more time with her sister and niece. The debt would be considered paid in full under one condition. Eliza and her mother were allowed two visits a year to Boldon and added an annual trip to London. This provided the women an opportunity to shop, see the sights, and introduce Eliza to the city and society ways.
The heat of the bath worked its wonders, and she was relaxed enough to take in her surroundings. The room was tastefully decorated with pastels of peach and green silk paper covering the walls. The huge bed had ornately carved rails of walnut and fringed peach curtains hung from a brass ring in the ceiling, forming a luxurious tent over the frame. A green counterpane with tiny ivory and peach roses embroidered along the edges covered the mattresses. Eliza knew the second she lay upon the mountain of down and feathers, sleep would claim her.
Instead, she soaked the tension from her muscles, the scent of lavender easing her lids closed. The image of her rescuer floated before her. A handsome man, so different from her husband. Lord Pendleton’s frame was shorter, more muscular and sturdy than Carson’s slight but taller build. He had taken off his riding jacket to cushion her head. His strong arms had strained through the thin material of his shirt. But his eyes had claimed her attention. Such kindness in those soft brandy-colored eyes, the afternoon light adding glints of gold that had quite taken her breath away.
She wasn’t nervous around this man, though he made butterflies take flight in her stomach. Grace’s description of him had not included how handsome he was or how charitable. He had been her cousin’s best friend next to her. She remembered Grace’s letter, telling of the viscount’s death, and how Nathaniel had leaned on her. Then the tables had turned when Grace’s mother had died. Her “beloved Nate” she had called him. He had swooped in to lift her spirits each time she was at her wit’s end caring for an infant brother and a bereaved father. After Grace’s mother died, the trips to London had stopped but the visits to Boldon Estate had mercifully continued.
Eliza rose and dried herself off. Life at Landonshire Manor had made her quite adept at taking care of her daily toilette. The marquess had not appreciated witnesses to his temper, and a lady’s maid had been hard to keep. Instead, she and her mother had assisted each other when necessary and could easily attend themselves unless formal evening dress was demanded. Those occasions had been rare. She’d only attended one ball before going to London to meet her betrothed. One couldn’t really call that a season since her marriage had already been arranged.
She remembered her mother’s joy at the wedding. Had it been the glitter of the wedding celebration or the reprieve from her husband’s temper? Either way, it had been two weeks of bliss for both of them. Lunches in their honor, dances in the evenings, all culminating to the marriage ceremony. Eliza had seen what other girls’ lives were like, carefree with constant activity. She remembered their whines and complaints of the doldrums when they were forced to sit through another afternoon visit with their mothers. Oh, to have had a life of boredom instead of constant angst and punishment.
Self-pity achieves nothing. Make yourself presentable and prove to the Pendletons that you are not a heathen.Donning a pale rose muslin gown with an overlay of ivory lace, she combed her hair and deftly arranged it high on her head. She pulled several strands out to fall against her neck then used her finger to wrap the locks into an illusion of curls. The delicate waves of gold brushed her cheeks as she slipped on her ivory kid slippers, the points sticking out just beneath her scalloped hem. She would check on Althea and then go down to properly meet her hosts.
Next door, the adjoining room looked as if a storm had hit. Althea’s clothes had been pulled from her trunk and strewn about the furniture. The rug in front of the hearth was wet, and a towel hung from the mantel, drying in front of the burning coals. A small head, eyes closed and damp curls clinging to her face and neck, lay on the wrong end of the couch. A blanket had been pulled over her narrow shoulders, and she slept with the abandon of one who had nothing to fear.
Eliza meant to keep it that way.
She took a deep breath. This child was her life. To see her so peaceful, with no worries except finding her favorite toy, filled Eliza’s heart with happiness and relief. Her daughter’s life would be different.
“Oh, Lady Sunderland, my apologies,” said Mrs. Watkins as she hurried around the room collecting the clothes. “She needed to run after being cooped up so long. We played a game—”
“No need to explain, I know my daughter.” Eliza smiled to reassure the governess. “I’ve plucked you from your bed to a coach, forced you to swear secrecy on our whereabouts, and subjected you to bully ruffians who might have killed us. You are a saint, Mrs. Watkins, and my saving grace. Please accept my sincerest gratitude.”
The woman blushed, her dimples deepening. “Why thank you, my lady. We were in the suds today, weren’t we? But it does my heart good to hear such words of praise from a fine lady as yourself.”
“And I thankyoufor being so patient and understanding.”
Mrs. Watkins flapped a plump hand at her. “It’s just my way. Now you go downstairs, forget all about this afternoon’s hubble bubble, and enjoy a fine evening. That Lord Pendleton is a fine-looking gentleman”—she winked at her mistress—“and he’ll take your mind off your troubles if you let him.”
