Page 7 of A Wicked Earl's Widow
“I’m deuced sorry to hear that. How are your mother and sisters?” Nate had always liked Lady Stanfeld. He’d always considered the Scottish beauty and the stodgy earl an odd couple. Yet they were devoted to each other.
“She is optimistic as always and refuses to believe he will die. Says he’s too stubborn to give up, and the reaper would only send him back. Truth be told, I’m more concerned about her than of Father. He has suffered for months, and his breathing is more labored with each week. He told me the other day he was ready for death to come collect what was left of him.” He let out a sigh in a loud rush. “I didn’t have the heart to tell Mama.”
Nate noticed the additional creases around his friend’s mouth and deep blue eyes. It was hard to lose a parent at any age, especially if father and son were close. The vague recollections of his own father included much laughter, riding behind him on a great stallion to visit Maxwell, and playing Battledore and Shuttlecock on the lawn. These did not seem to fit the description of the man Mother had found so lacking.
“Now that I’ve taken over the duties of the earldom, I understand why you are so busy.” Gideon took another swig from the flask and handed it across his saddle.
“Being in charge is not all bank notes and balls.”
“No, indeed. So Pendleton, I was wondering…” Gideon ran a hand through his raven hair. He looked up to see the offered whiskey and took a drink before continuing. “My youngest sister has caused quite the scandal. Have the on-dits made it this far north?”
“Ha! As a matter of fact, yes, but I didn’t want to bring it up. She’s run off with some bastard of an Irish duke?”
His friend nodded. “The news revived my father for a bit. He found the energy to bluster and grumble. Wanted to hire a mercenary or two to go after her, but Mama convinced him otherwise. He seems a good enough fellow, though, and is able to support her in proper style.”
“Your youngest sister was always a little hoyden—and my favorite, of course.”
“Of course.”
“On the subject of sisters, I should warn you. Mother may try to push Hannah in your path. I advised her against it but… Well, you know Lady Pendleton.” Nate grinned. “Not that my sister would have a bracket-faced ne’er-do-well as yourself.”
“Good God, she’d have my head on a pike the first time I tried to order her about. Much too independent for my taste. She’ll be coming to market next year?” Gideon gave a snort. “I don’t envy you that task. I’ve been through it with three sisters, and I’m thankful it’s over.”
“How long will you stay? Maxwell will want to have a bumper with you.”
“Still mingling with the common folk? You really should try to distance yourself. Making friends with the villagers makes it that much harder if they can’t pay their rent or hold out a hand for a charitable coin.”
“They are people like you and me. And thereisa difference between mingling and having some compassion. I make better decisions if I understand my tenants’ positions. They don’t take advantage of me, and I don’t let them starve.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “It’s economics, my friend. I’d think you’d understand that.”
“Spoken as a true prodigy of Ezra Maxwell. Call it what you like but watch yourself. It’s always better if they know their place. However, I do like your steward. He’s a great gun and done well by you.”
Nate scanned the outlying pastures and the one road leading through the countryside and into the village. An old woman hobbled along with a tall walking stick, a cloth bag slung over her shoulder. Even from this distance, he guessed it to be the old healer Mrs. Stanley collecting herbs. He gave her a quarterly allowance to tend to the poorer families in the village. The others paid her by coin or goods. Some of the tenants didn’t like her coal-black eyes and thought her more a witch than a healer, but the closest physician was fifty miles away.
“How long did you say you were staying?” he asked, looking away from the road.
“A few days at the most. I’m on a business errand and headed to the weaving mill in Glasgow. My cousin wants to add cotton to the wool and flax production.” Gideon waved a hand toward the sheep. “My father says we have the raw materials we need and importing cotton will be less profit and more risk. I’m going in his stead to get the details and make a decision.”
“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for advising on that investment in the cloth factory. It was the beginning of our family’s return to society.” If he were a demonstrative man, Nate would give this man a bear hug. “Anything I can do to in return, remember I am always here.”
“Stop! It’s called friendship. I consider you one of the few men I can trust. Now, shall we go see what drink Maxwell has stored in the cupboard?” Gideon tossed the reins over his black gelding’s neck. “If we are very lucky, his wife will have some fresh bread butter pudding. That woman can do miracles in that tiny kitchen.”
“I’ll race you to the top of the hill just above the village.” Nate put a foot in the stirrup and then cursed as Gideon spurred his horse and took off. “You whey-faced scoundrel. Do you cheat at the tables too?” he yelled, jumping into the saddle and kicking his bay.
Nate gained on Gideon, who applied the crop to his horse and pulled ahead once again. Both men broke a sweat along with their mounts as they crested the hill. A black coach, pulled by two pairs of grays, trotted along the road below. The village of Pendle did not get many visitors, especially in a fine carriage. It carried no crest and wasn’t the mail, so it poked Nate’s curiosity. Were they lost? Or were they heading to Pendle Place?
Ahead of the unidentified coach, Old Mrs. Stanley was still making her way slowly home. As she approached a patch of woods, two young men emerged and approached her. Nate’s eyes narrowed as he studied the duo. “Those two lads don’t look familiar.”
Mrs. Stanley flapped her hands at the newcomers and shook her head. The two males assumed a crouched position with their arms out at their sides and circled their prey, preventing escape. One man tried to grab her bag, and the feisty healer hit him in the head with her walking stick.
“Why those bloody footpads!” Nate dug his spurs into the gelding’s flanks and tore down the hill, Gideon close on his heels.
As they galloped down the hill, the carriage pulled to a stop. One of the assailants fled while the other turned his attention to the new arrivals and pulled a pistol. A woman in a deep blue velvet cape and bonnet emerged from the coach. A shot rang out and the driver grabbed his shoulder, dropping his whip. The woman snatched it from the ground, picked up her skirts, and ran toward the ruffians. To his shock, the slight female raised her arm and flicked the whip, slashing the scoundrel until he dropped his weapon. The driver of the coach must have been in shock also for he sat frozen in his high seat.
“By Christ, an avenging angel,” shouted Gideon from behind. “Who the devil is she?”
Nathaniel had no idea, but by God he would find out. He only hoped she didn’t turn the whip on him.
Chapter Four
