Love Finds Lord Davingdale Read online

  LOVE FINDS LORD DAVINGDALE

  Anne Gallagher

  Copyright 2012 by Anne Gallagher

  Published by Shore Road Publishing at Smashwords 2012

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2012 Shore Road Publishing

  All rights reserved

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  Cover by Straw Hill Designs © 2012

  Portrait by Jean Baptiste Grueze

  Portrait of a Lady called Sophie Arnould circa 1773

  Chapter One

  St. John’s Wood

  30 November 1811

  Thomas Merrit, the Earl of Davingdale ran his right hand over the flank of the chestnut mare. “I think she will be very well within a few weeks, Will, but just the same, I believe I would like to keep her out of the weather.” He caressed her withers, while inspecting her cannon and pastern with a critical eye.

  “Those were my sentiments exactly,” William Smith, the Duke of Caymore, agreed.

  Thomas rubbed the mare’s muzzle. “You’re a strong girl, are you not, dearest? Come, Lovely, let us see about getting you fed.” He tugged on her lead, and led the horse through the damp grass toward the barn.

  William followed, chuckling. “Damn, if nothing has changed in all these years. Still finding the company of horses far outweighs the company of women.”

  Thomas flicked a glance over his shoulder at his former regimental commander. “I find the breed of women highly inflexible. You wish to move left, they dart right. You wish for silence, they chatter like birds. Give me a darling girl, like Lovely here, any day.” He led the horse to her stall, removed her halter and lead, and closed the door. Dumping a tuft of hay in her feed bin, he gazed affectionately at his latest project. “She smells a damn sight better than half the chits in Society as well.”

  William laughed. “I certainly agree with you on that score for some.” He turned and sauntered toward the tack room. “I have been thinking of moving them down to Westerly before the storms move in. We have been lucky this year the snow has held off for as long as it has.”

  “Yes, but that only indicates we shall be walloped later in the season. I wager by Twelfth Night gales will be blowing inland.”

  William smiled. “I swear, Thomas, you could make a decent living predicting the weather.” They reached the makeshift office and each took a seat by the small wood stove.

  Thomas rubbed his left arm, which trembled at his side. “’Tis the only good thing that came of the fighting,” he said with a trace of bitterness.

  “I noticed you using it this morning with Lovely.” William nodded to the arm in question. “Is it gaining?”

  “Aye, some, but ‘tis scattered at best. Some days, it will be well, other’s I could nary pick up a stick.” Thomas leaned back in his chair, thrusting his worn boots to the bottom of the stove.

  “Have you seen the surgeon recently?” William’s question rang with curiosity and hope.

  “A fortnight ago Tuesday.” Thomas slumped lower in his chair.

  “And?” William leaned forward.

  “Said he was still hopeful, as am I, but it is in God’s hands now. He said the tingling in my fingers shows every indication that it may come to rights, but I will never regain its full capacity. The bullet tore through too much of the serratus anterior. However, he does think I may achieve partial motility. And for that I am grateful.”

  “As am I,” William said. “What would I do without you?”

  Thomas smiled. “Be up to your arse in horse dung and having your lady wife run from you as soon as you enter the house.”

  William laughed. “Now there is where you are wrong, my friend. My wife loves the smell of horse dung.”

  “Yes, I do forget what an unusual woman Lady Pen is. If I could but find a woman to put up with my equine passions.”

  “I am afraid I found the only one,” William said. “Surely, there must be another chit who has caught your eye?” He snapped his fingers. “What about the bird from Devonshire? Catalane? Catrain? What was her name? You know, the one who fawned over you at Robert’s dinner party last month.”

  “Her?” Thomas snorted. “Lady Dorcas Cadoret, the most boring woman in the Empire. I do not know how your wife convinced Lady Fiona to invite her, but I dare say Lady Dorcas did nothing for me. Pen would have been much better off to introduce her to one of her other eccentricities.”

  William feigned surprise. “Do not say you did not find the woman captivating.”

  “Captivating from across the room, yes, I will grant you that. ‘Twas nothing but tedium when introduced. Has a penchant for cats and told me all about her Persian or Alsace or some other such nonsense.” He gave a slight shiver. “Could never abide the creatures. The only reason God made them is to catch mice in the barn.”

  “Come now, Thomas. Lady Dorcas was not that disappointing, was she?”

  Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Will, I have known you how many years? First at school, then with the regiment, which makes nearly twenty at least, am I right?” He didn’t bother to wait for William’s reply. “As my friend, a very good friend I might add, can I not implore you to please keep your wife from trying to find me a bride? I do enjoy Lady Pen’s company, by all accounts, she is a delight, and a good bloke to boot, but this matchmaking must stop. I am not ready for a wife at this particular juncture. I must say, if she persists, I’m afraid I will have to forego any more invitations.”

  “Now, Thomas, you know Penny. She is just trying to help. There is nothing but goodness in her heart. She feels everyone should be married, especially bachelors too long in the tooth.” William stirred the embers in the dying fire. “I will explain to her your feelings on the matter, but I cannot promise you anything. She is like her aunt in that regard, seems to know what is right for other people.”

  “Spare me from the Dragon.” Thomas rolled his eyes. “That woman is a nuisance. Why does Pen have such a predilection for behaving like her wretched aunt?”

  “Love, my boy. ‘Tis love. Penny loves her aunt with all the fervor of a thunderstorm, and will do anything for her, even to the exclusion of all else. Emulation is the highest form of flattery, or so I’m told, so it seems my wife will naturally follow in Lady Olivia’s footsteps.”

  “Well, the matchmaking must stop, or I declare, I will never step in a house where your wife is present.” He smiled weakly at his friend, for they both knew he would never act on the threat.

  “I will present your case to her,” William said. “But mind, I cannot promise anything.” He paused. “It would behoove you to find your own wife, and then Penny would stop.”

  Thomas sighed. His ex-fiancé, Lavinia had soured him on the state of matrimony
. She believed him wealthy, he believed her to be in love. When he found she had cuckolded him, and demanded to know why, he’d been devastated by her chilling response. “Why would I marry a cripple like you otherwise, if not for your money?” He looked at women now with a disdainful eye.

  “You know I cannot. Not like this.” Thomas tried to move his left arm. It didn’t budge.

  “All women do not see you as broken. I’m sure there is a woman out there who would overlook your disability.”

  “Yes, although not one in Society. I have been that route and do not wish to travel it again.” Thomas stood. Finished with the conversation, he had work to do. “When do you wish to begin moving the animals?”

  William stirred the fire once more and stood. “I should think by the end of the week. I would like to get them well and settled before the ball. You will attend will you not?”

  “Of course, but I swear to you by all I hold Holy, if your wife….”

  “I will make it clear to Penny she is under no circumstances to match make in any way.”

  “Good.” Thomas strode to the door. “Thank you, Will. I shall see you on the morrow then.”

  Walking to the stalls, Thomas knew Lady Pen would have at least five women in attendance with whom she wished to introduce him. He smiled. It would do her no good, for he was not in want of a wife.

  Chapter Two

  St. John’s Wood

  Thursday Next

  Thomas brushed the straw from his coat. His tatty clothes hung loose on his frame, but he didn’t care. The villagers had seen him thus many times. Still, he supposed the Earl of Davingdale should make a somewhat presentable appearance, so he washed his hands, and wiped the mud and muck from his face. The foal had not come easy, but she had survived and was now standing in clean straw with her mother, Iona. William would be pleased he had another female to add to his stable. He looked down at his gory boots, took the bucket of wash water, and dumped it over them, erasing most of the morning’s work.

  The last few years hadn’t been easy with only the minimal use of one arm, but Thomas loved his new profession. Most had said he was a fool to work for a living instead of investing his capital to become a part of Society again, but he’d long ago stopped listening to what people said about him. His years in the regiment hardened him to the censure of other’s opinions.

  His military career had not been as illustrious as William’s had, nor had he any of the support, like a batman, two horses, and a rich duke for a father, but Thomas moved steadily up the ranks, and when he was awarded captain’s bars for meritorious service, he had reached his own little pinnacle of success. Wanting nothing more than to survive the latest campaign so he could resign, the shot that felled him came as a surprise. William was the one who dragged him off the field and for that, Thomas owed him his life.

  Less than a sennight later, tragedy struck William in the form of several bullets to his leg, and the two men spent many days in the hospital ward in fervent prayer hoping to make it out alive. Infections were rampant, men were dying from the inhospitable conditions more so than their wounds, and others were losing limbs to the butcher of a surgeon. Thomas and William had to find a way to endure intact.

  Upon his release from hospital, Thomas immediately sold his commission and rented a small house, where he brought William to recover away from the madness. A brief enquiry in the tiny town, brought the only medical personnel he could find, a midwife, a witch some said, but she brought William’s raging fever down and the abscesses from his leg. Within a month, William was ready to travel and they, along with their horses and William’s man, made the long journey home.

  However, when they arrived on the shores of England, Lieutenant-Colonel William Smith did not go home to the bosom of his family or his hero’s welcome. Instead, he sold his commission, retreated to his estate at Westerly, and began the hard road of learning how to walk properly, and then ride again. He kept Thomas by his side, for the two men shared a love of horses, and William’s greatest desire had always been to raise thoroughbred champions. William would have no other in the endeavor and asked Thomas to be his equerry. Over the course of a year, both men made strategic investments dealing in horseflesh, and Thomas, although not quite as flush as his commanding officer, was solvent at last.

  When William finally returned to London, Thomas returned to Merrit Manor in St. John’s Wood. Most of his money had gone to repair the crumbling stone and timber structure where he and his great uncle, Harry, his only living relative, resided. He led a sparse life, with nothing extra for extravagance. It was all he could do to keep them in food once the repairs began on the manor. The Davingdale title was virtually penniless. His father had spent it all before he died, although Thomas never let on how destitute he and Harry actually were. He had his pride.

  As part of their new venture, William kept several mares for breeding, and because Westerly was so far away, they both agreed Thomas would keep them in St. John’s Wood for nominal rent. William paid for the oats and hay, while Thomas worked them. They attended Tattersall’s regularly, and with his conscientious eye and William’s money, they became known throughout London as up and coming horse traders. William’s stables were turning out beautiful creatures, and a handsome profit. Thomas could not have been more pleased, as his new vocation began to take shape. He finally felt he could be proud of his title once more.

  Riding into the village proper that morning on his favorite gelding, Helios, Thomas could not help smiling. The foal had come at last and she was a beauty. Black as midnight, a tiny star emblazoned her forehead, and two white socks climbed from her front hooves. She was a fighter, and Thomas was sure, she would do them proud in a few more years.

  Dismounting in front of the blacksmith, Thomas went in to enquire about having Lovely re-shod before he brought her up to Westerly. The injury she had suffered at the hands of her last owner had healed nicely, and Thomas had worked tirelessly the last few weeks, gaining her trust and calming her fears. William’s cousin, the Marchioness of Emmons, wanted a small enough creature for her daughter in the spring. Lovely would make a nice little companion for the ten year old.

  Finished with the blacksmith, Thomas strode down the boardwalk in front of the shops. He raised his hand in greeting to a friend across the street. Thinking he should join the old codger for a pint when he finished his business in town, he made the sign of a cup. Still walking, he bumped into something soft, which landed in a heap at his feet. Looking down, a woman sat on the ground on her backside. Good Lord, what had he done!

  “Oh, do forgive me,” he said awash with embarrassment. How could he have been so careless? “I am so terribly sorry. Are you all right?” He held out his good hand to help her up and was surprised her grip was so strong. “I’m afraid I was lost in my own thoughts. Pray are you well?”

  She stared at him, a small ‘o’ forming on her lips, but said nothing. She straightened her skewed spectacles, and righted her bonnet. He thought her particularly handsome, and liked the way her swan-like neck curved as she turned to brush her hand across the back of her coat.

  Thomas picked up her package, which had ripped and found its way into a puddle. “Please forgive me,” he said as he handed it to her. “By all means allow me to pay for the cleaning.” He bent to retrieve the contents of her reticule. Holding the small purse against his hip with his bad arm, he recovered her few items and shoved them in the bag.

  “That is not necessary, sir,” she said quietly as he handed her the reticule.

  The look she gave him was one he hadn’t seen recently on a woman’s face – kind regard.

  “No, I must insist,” he said. “Is this where you purchased it?” He pointed to the dressmaker’s shop.

  “Yes.”

  “Then please, allow me.” Thomas led her back into the shop, explained what had transpired to the proprietor, and asked if she could clean the item. He slipped his card from his jacket and passed it along the counter. “Send the bill to this
address. And could you have the garment sent round to….” He looked to the young woman at his side.

  “Cummings Hall,” she said.

  “Cummings Hall,” Thomas said to the little round dressmaker and winked.

  The seamstress beamed. “Of course, I shall clean it and have it sent round this afternoon.”

  “Thank you.” Davingdale took the young woman’s elbow, and steered her out to the street once again.

  “I should hardly know how to thank you, sir,” she said. “You did not have to go to such lengths. ‘Twas an accident after all.”

  “Nonsense, it was the least I could do. Are you sure you are well? Nothing broken, nothing sprained?” He inspected her as he would a lame horse, and then his gaze met hers.

  “No.” She smiled. “Only my pride.”

  Lord, she was a pretty thing. “May I escort you to your next destination, perhaps?” Thomas proffered his good arm.

  “No, thank you. I am only waiting for my cousin’s carriage. The driver is walking the old horse so not to cramp in the weather.”

  “Good man,” he said. “You mentioned Cummings Hall. Out on the west side of St. John’s Wood?” He knew the house, but not its inhabitant.

  “Yes, I am staying with my cousin, Lady Josephine. I have an invitation to a lovely ball the day after tomorrow. Unfortunately, I am in sore need of a few things to wear, which is why I’m in town today shopping.”

  “And I’ve spoiled your new cape,” he said charmed by the rosy hue that crept up her cheeks as if she had divulged too much information.

  “No, ‘tis only a smudge. It should come fine with a simple scrub. No harm done.” She pointed to an old landaulet driven by an old man and pulled by an equally old horse. “Ah, here he comes.”