A Regency Baron's Bride: To Catch a Husband... / The Wicked Baron

She clasped her hands together. Mama had never taught her how to deal with rough, wild-looking gentlemen like the one now sitting opposite her. The only men she had met before had either been the young boys of the village or fatherly types like the Squire or Mr Midgley. In all her nineteen years she had never met anyone who had made her feel so ill at ease. She stole a glance across the carriage at Daniel Blackwood. He had removed his hat and was leaning back against the leather squabs, his eyes closed, his head moving gently with the swaying motion of the carriage. If, as Mr Midgley said, he had been travelling all night that would explain his wild, unkempt appearance. But it was clear that he did not favour a powdered wig, for he wore his own dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck and that, together with his heavy dark brows and straight nose, gave him a rather hawkish appearance. With his greatcoat hanging open she could see the broad width of his chest straining beneath his brown riding jacket and the outline of his muscled thighs encased within the buckskin breeches. He exuded strength and power. She thought back to their first meeting on the edge of the moors above Halifax: that, she realised, was the perfect setting for such a wild, vigorous creature. He was not a man to be crossed, but it occurred to her that he would be a good man to have as a friend.

At that moment Mr Blackwood opened his eyes and Kitty found herself once more staring into their coal-black depths. She had the oddest feeling that he was looking into her very soul and reading her thoughts. Blushing, she forced herself to turn away. She fixed her gaze on the window again. Really, the man was insufferable. She hoped they would be reaching Hestonroyd very soon, so that they would be free of his unsettling presence.

The carriage lurched and bumped as their route wound down through a steep wooded valley. The rain had stopped, but the leaves and the ground glistened in the watery sunlight, while tumbling streams ran down the hillside, creating frothy waterfalls between the trees. The carriage slowed and came to a stand. Mr Midgley let down the window and put out his head to direct an enquiry to his coachman. Kitty could not hear the man’s reply, but it caused his master to climb out of the carriage, closely followed by Mr Blackwood. Kitty leaned across to look out of the open doorway. They had reached the valley bottom where a new cobbled road had been laid to take vehicles through the ford. Now, however, the stream was swollen by the recent rains and it rushed and tumbled across their path. Mr Midgley came back to speak to them.

‘Roberts doesn’t want to drive across the ford with you ladies inside,’ he told them. ‘He is afraid of what might happen to you if the carriage should be overturned by the fast-flowing waters. You can see that it would not be unprecedented.’ He nodded towards the far bank of the stream, where the remains of a farm cart protruded from the water. ‘Roberts thinks it would be safer for us to use the bridge yonder.’

He pointed upstream, where an ancient stone bridge arched across the waters. It was wide enough for a single horse, but it was clear that it would not accommodate a carriage.

‘Is it quite safe?’ enquired Mrs Midgley, eyeing the bridge with some misgiving.

‘Oh, aye, ma’am, the bridge is sound enough,’ said the coachman cheerfully. ‘It’s not much used now we have the new road, but the pack-horses still cross by it.’

Kitty gave a little shrug. ‘And so must we, it seems. Let us go to it.’

She followed Mrs Midgley out of the carriage and the party stood and watched as the coachman slowly drove across the ford. The water surged between the horses’ legs and frothed around the wheels of the carriage, splashing up over the coach body and making it sway alarmingly, but at last the berline was drawn up safely out of the water on the far side.

‘Excellent,’ declared Mr Midgley, ‘Well done, Roberts.’ He held his hand out to his wife. ‘Come along then, ladies. It is our turn!’

He set off towards the little bridge. The track was wet and overgrown and the ladies were obliged to hold up their skirts to keep them out of the mud. Kitty did her best to ignore Daniel Blackwood, who fell into step beside her but did not offer her his arm. The bridge was soon reached and they paused for a moment on the apex to gaze over the low parapet at the turgid water.

‘I should not like to fall in there today,’ remarked Mrs Midgley. ‘The rains have swollen the stream so much it is in danger of overflowing its banks.’

‘It has certainly flooded on this side,’ said her husband, who had walked to the edge of the bridge and was prodding the grass with his cane. ‘The ground is sodden here.’

Mrs Midgley followed her husband to where the cobbles of the bridge ended and the grassy track began.

‘Well, we have to get across,’ she said prosaically.

She laid her hand on her husband’s arm and put one foot on the track. Immediately she sank ankle-deep into the mud.

‘Oh, good heavens!’ cried Mrs Midgley, picking up her skirts and stepping quickly back on to the cobbles. ‘The ground is a quagmire. We cannot walk on that!’

‘I am afraid we have no choice, my dear,’ cried her spouse.

They watched as he strode purposefully forwards to the carriage, his feet sinking into the ground until the mud came halfway up his top-boots. When he finally reached the road he turned and looked back rather helplessly.

‘Well, what else are we to do, my love? The carriage is on this side now, so we must cross somehow.’ Daniel Blackwood stepped forward. ‘Allow me, mistress.’ In one easy movement he scooped Mrs Midgley into his arms and carried her across the muddy stretch, setting her gently on her feet beside her husband, where she stood, a little red-cheeked and flustered by such cavalier treatment.

‘Oh, well done, my boy!’ cried Mr Midgley, clapping his hands. ‘Now if you will do the same by Miss Wythenshawe we will be on our way.’

Kitty’s throat tightened in alarm. That big brute of a man was bearing down upon her, a look of unholy enjoyment in his eyes. She looked at the mud and wondered if she dared run through it, but the thought of ruining her new half-boots and very likely muddying both her walking dress and her petticoats was too horrific to bear. Her dark tormentor stood before her, grinning.

‘Well, Miss Wythenshawe, if tha’s ready?’

She bit her lip and nodded. The sensation of being swept off her feet left Kitty feeling giddy and very helpless. She was held tightly against the man’s chest, her face only inches from his jaw, so close that she could see the black stubble on his cheek and smell the damp wool of his greatcoat. As he turned his feet slipped a little on the cobbles and her hands flew up around his neck. His arms tightened even more. He held her firmly but he was not crushing her, yet for some reason she found it difficult to breathe. Her heart was pounding erratically, thudding against her ribs as if trying to escape her body. She had a sudden and inexplicable desire to lean her head against the man’s shoulder. She had to admit it looked very inviting, and reassuringly wide. She realised that this was a situation she had dreamed of, a chivalrous knight coming to the rescue of a beautiful maiden. Only in her dreams her hero was a fair, handsome young knight, one deserving of his reward, not a big, brutish oaf with no manners. She peeped up at the strong, rather hawkish face of her rescuer, noting the long black lashes around his eyes, his straight nose and the smooth curve of his lips. Suddenly, surprisingly, Kitty found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

He glanced down at that moment and she found herself staring into those dark eyes, unable to look away. For one alarming moment she thought he had read her mind and that he would actually kiss her. She was in his arms and completely at his mercy. Her heart raced. A moment’s heady excitement was followed quickly by panic. To cover her confusion she said crossly, ‘Pray do not hold me so tightly. You are crushing my dress.’

He chuckled.

His amusement only served to increase her discomfiture. She said angrily, ‘I vow I cannot breathe! Loosen your hold, you oaf!’

The black brows snapped together and a dangerous gleam flared in his eyes. He released his grip on her legs and she gave a little cry as her feet touched the sodden ground.

‘Ee, lass, seems I lost my grip on thee.’ Her tormentor still had an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him. She managed to free one hand and brought it up to his grinning face with a slap.

‘How dare you do that to a lady?’

He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. Then, very deliberately, he let her go. She gave a shriek, her arms tightening around his neck as she tried to lift her feet from the mud. Calmly he reached up and pulled her hands away and she was obliged to stand, the cold muddy water oozing around her ankles and into her boots.

‘If that wants trettin’ like a lady,’ he growled, ‘then that mun act like one.’

And with that he turned and walked to the carriage.

Kitty lifted her sodden skirts and pulled one foot clear of the sticky, cloying mud. With slow, unsteady steps she made her way to the road, biting her lip in rage and mortification. She had been very rude, to be sure, but how dare he drop her in the water? She looked down at her feet. Her new boots were ruined and instead of a jaunty yellow decoration around the hem of her walking dress, the bottom six inches of her skirts glistened with slick brown mud.

When Kitty reached the road she was too upset to speak and after scraping the worst of the mud from her boots and stockings she climbed silently into the carriage, biting her lip while Mrs Midgley clucked and fidgeted around her like a mother hen.

Daniel looked down at his legs. His topboots were almost completely covered in mud and it had splashed up over his buckskins. He walked to the edge of the ford to wash the worst of the dirt away before climbing back into the carriage. Mr Midgley gave the word and they set off again. The atmosphere inside the carriage was distinctly uncomfortable. Daniel looked at the young woman huddled in the corner: she was staring out of the window, her jaw set hard. He saw her blink rapidly and guessed that she was trying not to cry.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said quietly. ‘Miss Wythenshawe, I—’

‘Now, now, my boy, you did your best,’ put in Mr Midgley. ‘I did not see quite what happened, as I was helping my wife into the coach, but I am sure it could not be helped. We must be thankful that one of our ladies at least was carried safely across the mud. I have no doubt Miss Wythenshawe is most grateful for your efforts, isn’t that so, my dear?’

Daniel saw the little chin tremble. Miss Wythenshawe averted her face but he could not mistake the bitterness in her voice when she replied.

‘Mr Blackwood’s efforts will not be forgotten.’

‘There, now, all’s well, you see.’ Mr Midgley beamed around the carriage. ‘Once the mud has dried, we can clean it off and your boots and your gown will be as good as new!’

Daniel sat back, closing his lips against further comment. Mrs Midgley did not look convinced by her husband’s cheerful assurances and as for Miss Wythenshawe, she kept her gaze fixed firmly upon the passing landscape. He leaned forwards, his hand going out to her.

‘Perhaps you will allow me to—’

‘Pray do not touch me!’ she said icily. ‘I think you have done quite enough damage today!’

Daniel drew back immediately. He had been about to offer to pay for a new gown, but it was quite clear the young woman wanted nothing further to do with him. Stifling a sigh of exasperation, Daniel turned to stare out of the window beside him, praying that his nightmare journey would soon be over.

Chapter Two

The carriage slowed to negotiate a winding village street and Daniel sat up, relieved to recognise the familiar buildings.

‘Hestonroyd.’ He turned to Mr Midgley. ‘This will do for me, sir, if you would direct your driver to stop.’

Mr Midgley pulled the check-string and Daniel jumped down. He bowed and offered his thanks to Mr and Mrs Midgley but when he touched his hat to Miss Wythenshawe she merely hunched her shoulder and looked away. With a shrug he waited until the carriage had moved off then walked briskly along the street until he arrived at the gates to the Holme, an imposing new house set back from the road. As he strode up the drive, the front door flew open and a young lady ran out.

‘Daniel, at last!’

He caught her up in his arms, swinging her around and laughing.

‘Have you been looking out for me, Bella?’

He set her back on her feet.

‘Since daybreak. But what have you been doing, brother dearest? You are covered in mud.’

He grinned.

‘That is a very long story. Let us go indoors. I need to clean myself up.’

‘You must be quick, then, for Mama is waiting in the drawing room for you. Papa is at the mill, but he said we were to send word as soon as you arrived.’ She twinkled up at him. ‘He would not say so, of course, but he has missed you, and was mightily disappointed when you did not come home last night.’

Daniel put his arm around her shoulders.

‘Well, you can send him a message now to tell him I am safe, and inform Mama that I will be with her as soon as I am presentable!’

The clock in the hall had chimed two more quarters before Daniel finally made his way downstairs to the drawing room. It was a large well-proportioned chamber, comfortably furnished, everything of the finest quality, and it had a quiet elegance that Daniel found very restful. His mother was seated at her new writing desk, her dark hair neatly confined beneath a lace cap.

‘Well, Mama, I am home at last.’

She looked up, a smile lighting her face.

‘Daniel, my love.’ She rose to greet him, hugging him tightly. She would never admit it but he suspected she had spent a restless night worrying over his safety. He held her away from him.

‘You are looking very well, Mama, and that is a very fetching coat. Is it new?’

‘It is a pet-en-l’air,’ she told him, smoothing her hands over the grey velvet of the loose jacket she wore over her morning gown. ‘They are not so fashionable now, I’m afraid, but just the thing for these chill spring days.’ She gestured to him to sit down with her. ‘Bella tells me you have had an eventful journey.’

‘Yes, Marnie is lame; we took a fall coming back from Barrowford. No, no, I suffered no injury,’ he added quickly when he saw the alarm in her face. ‘I was obliged to leave Marnie in Halifax but was fortunate to meet Mr Midgley and his lady on their way to London and they took me up. They send their regards, Mama, but would not stop.’

‘That was very kind of them, but are you sure you are not hurt? No doubt you were cutting across the moors again. I wish you had kept to the roads, my son.’

‘I wish I had done so, this time,’ Daniel responded with a rueful grin. ‘You will say I was well served, Mama, for I had to spend the night sleeping on the heather.’

‘He was covered in mud,’ added Bella, following him into the room. ‘Up to his knees!’

‘Not from my sojourn on the moor,’ Daniel was quick to reassure his mother. ‘The stream was in full spate across the ford and Midgley deemed it safer for us to walk across the bridge.’

‘Heavens, if it was that muddy what did poor Mrs Midgley do?’ asked Bella, eyeing the scalloped hem of her own gown.

‘I carried her, since her husband could not.’

‘Oh, famous!’ Mrs Blackwood clapped her hands, laughing. ‘A veritable hero! I have no doubt the lady was very pleased to have you with them.’

‘She was, perhaps,’ remarked Daniel, his brow darkening, ‘but not her companion. Too high in the step for me. A right top-lofty piece …’

‘Daniel!’

‘I beg your pardon, Mama, but you know how I dislike it when people put on airs that don’t become them! And this young miss, hah! Far too high and mighty she was! She took one look at me and wrote me off as a mere nothing.’

‘I have no doubt she mistook you for a common labourer if she saw you in all your dirt,’ remarked Bella sagely. ‘I am sure she soon realised her mistake when she knew who you were.’

‘Nay,’ drawled Daniel, ‘I weren’t about to put ‘er right.’

Mrs Blackwood frowned at his sudden lapse.

‘My dear, I trust you were not uncouth.’

Daniel hesitated, thinking back over the events of the morning. He had behaved very badly by Miss Wythenshawe, he knew that, but it was too late to do anything about it now. He gave his mother an apologetic smile.

‘Alas, Mama, I fear I was very uncouth.’

A deep, amused voice was heard from the doorway.

‘What is this? Is my son up to his tricks?’

‘Papa!’ With a shriek Bella flew across the room and flung herself into the arms of the gentleman who had just entered.

‘Father.’ Daniel rose. ‘I beg your pardon, I sent a message to assure you I was safe. I did not mean you to leave the mill early—’

His father smiled across the room at him.

‘It was no hardship. ‘Tis a poor manager I would be if my manufactories could not function without my presence! But what has been occurring, my son, to bring that black scowl to your face?’

‘A minor irritation, sir, too trivial to bore you with.’

‘Good manners are never trivial, my son,’ put in Mrs Blackwood, a troubled look in her eyes. ‘I had hoped your education had taught you how to mix with your fellow man, from humble labourer to the highest in the land. But I know that temper of yours: you will act rashly if your will is crossed.’

‘Oh?’ Mr Samuel Blackwood raised his dark brows at his son. ‘And who has had the temerity to cross you, my boy?’

‘A young lady,’ put in Bella before Daniel could reply. ‘She saw Dan in all his dirt and mistook him for a rough, coarse fellow.’

‘And is my son so lax in his manners that he is judged solely upon appearance?’ asked Mr Blackwood gently.

A dull flush mantled Dan’s cheek.

‘Not generally, sir, I assure you.’

‘I am very glad to hear it,’ returned his father, smiling a little. ‘Because your manners are going to be sorely tested, I fear.’

Daniel looked up.

‘Sir?’

‘Yes, my son, I have some matters of business for you to attend to.’ Mr Blackwood reached into his pocket and took out his snuff box. ‘I am sending you to London!’

Dearest Mama. You will know from my previous correspondence that I think Lady Leaconham the kindest, most generous godmother in the world! She delights in showering gifts upon me and will not hear of my spending the money you gave me upon anything other than little luxuries for myself—pin money, she calls it—and every time I remonstrate with her she merely laughs and says what else is she to spend her money upon, if it is not her goddaughter?

Kitty put down her pen. She had been in Portman Square for four weeks now, and already Lady Leaconham had spent more money upon her than Mama and Aunt Jane earned in a year. Letitia Leaconham had been a widow for a long time. Her husband had left her with a comfortable income that allowed her to hire a house in London for several months each year and entertain her acquaintances in lavish style. She had one son, Garston, but since attaining his majority four years ago he had set up his own bachelor establishment, leaving his mama to yawn over her morning chocolate and bemoan the fact that she had no daughter to comfort her in her twilight years. She was therefore delighted to welcome her goddaughter into her house and even more delighted when she discovered Kitty to be an attractive young lady with very pretty manners. She began immediately to make plans to introduce her goddaughter to her friends, and wrote to Mrs Wythenshawe to assure her that, despite Kitty’s complete lack of fortune, she had no doubt she would be able to secure for her a very advantageous marriage.

Since this was her sole reason for coming to London, Kitty could only be grateful that her godmother entered so fully into her concerns and therefore she stifled her misgivings and threw herself into her new life. Kitty had to be honest; it was not difficult to enjoy all the amusements that London had to offer. Lady Leaconham took her to the theatre, they attended concerts, and spent hours browsing in shops that carried such a wide variety of merchandise Kitty’s eyes grew round in amazement. It was also very pleasant wearing modish gowns and having my lady’s coiffeuse coax her soft dark hair into fashionable ringlets. It had not taken Kitty long to realise that Lady Leaconham was a wealthy woman with very little to do, and she looked upon her goddaughter very much as a novelty, an amusement—a doll to be dressed and petted and exhibited to her friends. For the first week or so Kitty had found the experience deliciously exhilarating, but a life dedicated to nothing but pleasure was not something she could wholly approve. Her father had been a very religious man with a strong moral code. He had died before Kitty was twelve years old but by then she had been inculcated with his principles and a strong sense of social justice. She believed that the advantages of wealth and rank carried with them responsibility for those less fortunate, a belief that did not seem to be shared by many of the fashionable ladies she had met since arriving in Town. She took up her pen again.

Pray be assured that I carry out such errands as Godmama will allow and take her little dog for his daily exercise, but this is small recompense for her generosity.

Kitty paused. She did not think Mama would quite approve of the number of times Lady Leaconham had taken her shopping, positively showering her with purchases until Kitty’s room was overflowing with hats, bonnets, cloaks, pelisses, dancing slippers and half-boots as well as more day dresses, morning and evening gowns and walking dresses than Kitty could ever imagine having time to wear. She broke off from her reverie as the door opened and Lady Leaconham came in.

‘Ah, so there you are, Kitty my love,’ she greeted her with a smile as she drew off her gloves. ‘Now, what are you about, here all alone in the morning room?’

‘I am writing to Mama. I beg your pardon, Godmama: is there something you would like me to do for you?’

‘No, no, child, you work far too hard as it is—no one should be writing letters so early in the day!’ Kitty laughed.

‘This is not work, Godmama!’

‘Perhaps not for you,’ returned my lady, casting a dubious eye at the sheet of paper with its closely written lines. ‘I have noticed that you like to read a great deal, too.’ She looked at Kitty, a slight frown creasing her brow. ‘My dear, I do hope you are not bookish, and pray tell me you do not wish me to get you an invitation to my neighbour Mrs Montagu’s blue-stocking parties! Nothing would be more fatal to your chances of making a good match, you know.’

Kitty hastily disclaimed and Lady Leaconham gave a very visible sigh of relief.

‘Very well, my love, put away your letter now, if you please: you may finish it later. I have just come from Bond Street where I saw the prettiest pair of sandals! I just had to buy them for you. I thought they would go very well with your yellow muslin. I had Meakin put them in your room so perhaps you would run upstairs and try them on. I am expecting my sister Lady Harworth to call shortly and thought you might like to change your gown for her visit.’ Kitty looked down at her closed robe: it was one of the gowns Mama had made for her. As if reading her thoughts, Lady Leaconham said quickly, ‘I know how hard your dear mama and your aunt worked, making all those lovely gowns for you, and while they are perfectly suitable for quiet days at home, I do believe you should wear something a little more … stylish when we are entertaining guests such as Lady Harworth. And I do so want you to make a good impression upon her.’