Love Finds Lord Davingdale Read online

  “Well,” Thomas said. “Do not let me detain you any further. And again, let me apologize for smashing you to the ground.”

  She smiled. “Apology accepted, Mr. ….”

  “Merrit. Thomas Merrit, at your service.” He bowed slightly.

  “Thank you again, Mr. Merrit. It was unnecessary to have the garment cleaned, but I am grateful nonetheless.”

  The carriage pulled up, Thomas brought down the step, and handed her in. “Have fun at your ball,” he said as he closed the door. The carriage pulled away and he stood there mentally kicking himself. He never asked for her name. And although it was not proper, he did not think such an unassuming woman to wait on etiquette to be introduced.

  He stepped back in to the dressmaker’s shop.

  The woman smiled at him adoringly. “Yes, my lord, how may I help you now?”

  “The woman whose clothes I ruined. What is her name?”

  She flustered. “Oh, I’m sorry, I do not know. She came by the recommendation of her cousin, Lady Cummings. I did not think to ask her name.”

  “Thank you,” Thomas said and hurried out of the shop. He stood on the boardwalk and looked for her carriage, but it was nowhere in sight.

  He sighed. For the first time in forever, it seemed, he’d met a woman he liked the look of. Tall and slender, her spectacles lent her a dignified air. She appeared older than five-and-twenty and that pleased him. He was sick to death of the little debutants Lady Pen had been foisting on him of late. Her manner was gentle, her smile genuine, and her countenance attractive. Damn, he wished he had gotten her name.

  Perhaps he could ride out to Cummings Hall and present himself. He glanced down at his attire. Oh, Good God! What must she think of him? He looked like a beggar. No wonder she insisted he not pay for her cleaning. Well, he would remedy that on the morrow.

  Chapter Three

  The day broke cold and a storm loomed in the air. Thomas slept fitfully, the ache in his shoulder kept him tossing. Unsure if the weather or his overuse of it the day before caused his pain, Thomas rubbed his muscles unthinking. Washed, he stood before his armoire in only his brown breeches and stockings and checked his jackets for moth holes. He desperately needed to have new clothes made. His blacks were the only things not worn through. Deciding on a green waistcoat and dark brown jacket, he stuffed his feet into his old Hessians and sauntered down to the kitchen.

  Agnes, his housekeeper, looked up from her bread making. “And where might you be headed on such an awful day? Must be important as you’re dressed.” Her gap-toothed smile warmed him.

  “If you must know, I intend to call on a new acquaintance.” He could not help the joviality in his tone and walked to the counter to fix a cup of tea.

  “A female acquaintance, then?”

  “Yes, a female acquaintance.” He paused. “Tell me, Aggie, do you know Lady Cummings?”

  “Aye.” She gave him another grin. “Do you not think she might be a little old for you?”

  “Not Lady Cummings, Aggie. Her cousin. Do you know anything about her?”

  “I only heard the lady has one staying with her. Come for a ball at some swell’s house in London. Only here for three days or so.” She pounded the dough with her fist. “I should hurry up then and meet her. She might be gone afore you know it.”

  Thomas fixed his tea while pondering this information. That is what she said yesterday. His mind raced back to their conversation. What had she said? ‘I’ve been invited to a lovely ball…’ However, he couldn’t remember if she’d said when. Turning to another matter he asked, “Have you seen Harry this morning? Is he about downstairs?”

  “Aye, holed up in the library.”

  Her tone suggested his great uncle didn’t wish to be disturbed. Too bad, Thomas needed his help.

  In the library, Thomas approached slowly. Startling the old man would lead to remonstrations he didn’t need. He waited by the long table, and watched Harry make notations on three different papers. Strewn across the eight-foot planks were open books and papers laying beneath them. Uncle Harry’s great love was the book he had been writing for two decades. A Comprehensive Guide to the Morals and Lives of the Greek Gods and Goddesses. Thomas couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to read it, but it made the naming of his horses easier.

  Harry dipped his quill in ink, made one more notation, and sat back in his chair. He smiled to himself.

  Thomas shuffled his foot against the threadbare carpet.

  Harry looked up. “There you are,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Waiting for me? Whatever for?” he asked. Although, Thomas knew it would have to do with going into London. The only time Harry left the house was to browse the bookstores.

  “I need to dash into Town. Crowling has written, a new book has just come in, thinks I would find it useful.” Harry stood. “You know how I feel about Graves and his galloping gurdy driving.”

  Thomas nodded. His uncle did not like his stableman, thought he drove too fast. At nearly eighty, even a sedate walk was too fast for the elderly duff.

  “I’m afraid I have something of import to attend right now,” Thomas said. He would not be kept from Cummings Hall.

  “What could possibly be of import to you besides your foolish cattle?” Harry’s tone hinted at Thomas’s impertinence.

  “There is a call I wish to pay on a new acquaintance.” Thomas looked down at the floor.

  Harry eyed him suspiciously. “Who?”

  “I cannot say. I did not get her name. She is staying with Lady Cummings on the western edge of the wood.”

  “A girl, Thomas?” Harry smiled. “Well, well. Then, I shall forgive you for ruining my morning. However, I would like to attend the matter most directly upon your return.”

  “Yes, of course,” Thomas said. “Harry, may I ask you something?”

  “Ask away.” His uncle sat back down in his chair.

  “Is this action too forward of me? I do not wish to seem inappropriate.”

  “How did you meet?” Harry leaned forward.

  “I ran her down on the boardwalk.” Thomas shot him a sheepish grin.

  “You what?”

  “I accidentally bumped into her yesterday, and knocked her down.” Thomas explained the events of yesterday morning. When finished he said, “And I thought I would present myself to her. And so I ask, is that too presumptuous of me?”

  Harry thought a minute. “No, I do not believe so. However, I would present my card first.”

  “I do not wish to do that. I’m afraid my appearance yesterday may have misled her to believe my station was lower than it is. I do not wish to disavow her of that impression just yet.”

  Harry nodded. “Wise choice. Considering your past history.”

  Thomas sighed. Would he never be able to forget his mistakes?

  “Be off with you then,” Harry said. “The calling hour draws near.”

  Thomas glanced at the clock. Half-ten. “Thank you, Harry. I shall see you soon, and then I will take you into Town.”

  He and Graves hitched up his team to the newly refurbished coach. It had taken the better part of the summer to refit and condition the old carriage, and Thomas had painstakingly done the work himself, partly to gain the strength back in his arm, but more so for Harry. The old man deserved a little comfort when he went about. Thomas had removed the Davingdale crest from the door, and remained in a quandary whether to put it back. That crest had belonged to his forebears and he wanted a new crest that would belong exclusively to him. After all he had done to repair the damage his father wrought, Thomas felt he had every right to begin anew. He also liked the anonymity. No one knew who he was. They couldn’t judge him.

  A light rain had begun to fall by the time they reached Cummings Hall. His stomach did a flip-flop when Graves stopped the coach. He opened the door and looked at the manor house. Almost in as bad shape as his had been.

  Walking through the gate, Thomas rehearsed his words. He tugg
ed on the bell-pull and waited. And waited. They must have gone out. Damn. Thomas turned away and headed back toward the coach.

  “Yes?”

  He whirled around to find a housekeeper dressed in simple clothes and a mobcap.

  “Could you tell me if the young lady is home? My name is Thomas Merrit. We met yesterday in the village. I wished to enquire if she received her parcel from the dressmaker.” He drew in a deep breath.

  “Oh, Mr. Merrit. Yes, she did receive the package and was most pleased, but I’m afraid she’s gone back to the village. I’m sure she would have waited if she knew you would call, only she wanted to try and beat the storm.”

  At that moment, a bolt of lightning flashed overhead and an explosion of thunder filled the sky.

  “I’m sure if you hurry, you might catch them. They departed but a quarter hour hence.”

  Thomas dipped his hat. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  He raced back to his carriage. A steady rain now pelted his face. “To the village, Graves,” he shouted.

  Sitting against the squabs, Thomas smiled. It wouldn’t be too hard to find them. In this weather, nary a soul would be about.

  The carriage slowed not halfway to their destination, and then it stopped. Looking out the window, Thomas saw they had pulled alongside an overturned landaulet. Oh no! It was hers!

  He jumped out, and the old driver ran up to him, hands flailing, mud soaked from boots to hips. “Oh, thank God. Could you help, sir? ‘Tis Miss Ophelia. She has taken a hard fall.”

  Ophelia! Thomas raced around to the side of the vehicle and peered in the open door. The poor girl lay on the side of the carriage, which was now on the ground, her glasses twisted on her nose, her face pale.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, surprised she was not hysterical.

  “I am well, Mr. Merrit. Thank you for stopping.” Ophelia maneuvered her body against the roof, which was now the wall.

  “I was headed this way,” he said as he climbed up on the box. He slithered down into the confines of the overturned equipage. “I must admit, I was hoping to run into you again, but not quite like this.” He reached for her hand and helped her to stand.

  With barely enough room for the two of them to fit in the carriage doorway, he found himself pressed close to her body. Her face lifted to his and he saw pain in her eyes. He wondered how badly she was hurt. An uncontrollable urge to wrap his arms around her overtook him.

  “Shall we see about getting you out?” he asked and kneeled. “If you would place your foot upon my leg, here.” He patted his thigh. “I believe that will give you enough clearance to be able to sit upon the frame. Then you shall be able to swing your legs over the side and my man will help you down.”

  She did as told, and as soon as she sat, Thomas stood. The rain had become a torrent and Thomas held onto her waist as she slipped over the side into Graves’ waiting arms. Thomas climbed through the door and jumped to land beside her.

  “Thank you for the rescue, Mr. Merrit,” Ophelia said. “I am ever so obliged.” Her pale face blanched further and she leaned into the underside of the carriage.

  “Come,” Thomas said. “We must get you to Cummings before you catch your death.” Without a thought, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to his waiting coach. Placing her inside, he took off his greatcoat, and wrapped her in it.

  “Rest here for two minutes together while I see about your carriage and then I shall set you home.” He smiled, touched her face with a gentle hand, and closed the door.

  Graves and the old driver had managed to get the landaulet leveraged with two sturdy branches and the three of them pushed it upright.

  “I am going to drive Miss Cummings back to the Hall,” Thomas said to Graves. “She is soaked through and has had a terrible fright. Can you and the old man get this back? Is anything broken?”

  “Luckily, just the springs and the window,” Graves said. “Nothing that will deter us.”

  “Very well, I’m off.” Thomas sprinted for his carriage, jumped on the box, and flicked the reins. The horses took off with a leap. He prayed Ophelia was not badly hurt. The look on her face before she nearly fainted worried him. He flicked the reins again, urging the horses faster and the realization struck – his left arm had moved. He flexed it. It obeyed.

  He had learned through previous incidents not to get too far ahead of himself where his damaged limb was concerned, but he had lifted Ophelia in his arms without dropping her. Perhaps it was healed at last. Perhaps he would no longer have to bear the looks of censure from Society. Perhaps Ophelia was his lucky charm.

  Chapter Four

  Arriving at Cummings Hall, Thomas jumped down before the horses had even stopped. He ran to the front door and pulled the bell several times, then went to the carriage and lifted Ophelia from the seat. Ready to kick open the door to the manor, it swung wide, and the house woman stood there with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. Upon the sight of Ophelia in his arms, she screamed, “Lady Josephine! Lady Josephine! Come quickly.”

  “Where is her room?” Thomas asked. “You must get her out of these wet clothes. The carriage overturned and I believe she has sustained an injury to her head.”

  “The top of the stairs, first door on the right.”

  An elderly woman ran from the hall. “Maisie, what is it?”

  “’Tis Miss Ophelia,” the housekeeper said as she followed Thomas up the stairs. “There has been an accident.”

  Thomas reached the room and laid Ophelia gently on the bed. He took his wet coat off her, and then strode to the fireplace and fanned the embers. Adding kindling and logs, he waited until the blaze roared before he turned to the two women who were undoing buttons and untying bootlaces.

  “I shall acquire the apothecary.” Thomas raced out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the storm again.

  Twenty minutes later, Thomas returned with Mr. Winters. He paced while he waited downstairs. The elderly woman soon joined him.

  “Forgive me, I am Lady Cummings. You are Mr. Merrit are you not?”

  “I am. How is she?”

  “Mr. Winters reassures me she is not concussed, but she has sustained bruising along her shoulder from the fall. Nothing time will not heal. How can I ever repay your kindness, Mr. Merrit? What you have done for us today is beyond words.”

  “Tell me, why was she out in the storm? Is nothing so important in the village it could not have waited?” Angry Ophelia had taken such a foolish ride, he realized his chastisement was unnecessary. “Forgive me, Lady Cummings. I am overset. It is not every day one must rescue a damsel in distress.” He smiled meekly.

  “Oh, no, Mr. Merrit. I understand completely. The poor girl only wanted to pick up her slippers for the ball tomorrow night. While in town yesterday, the cobbler did not have any in her size and said he would make them up ready for her today. Ophelia wanted to try to beat the storm so poor Jackson would not be wet.” Lady Cummings turned away from him and brought a handkerchief to her eye. “And now the poor thing will not be able to attend at all. Jackson said the carriage was in complete disrepair. Oh, and she so looked forward to it. ‘Twas her first invitation.”

  “Lady Cummings, do not fret so. I will send my own carriage and driver for her tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, Mr. Merrit, that is too considerate. But no, we mustn’t prevail upon your kindness any longer. You have done so much for us already.”

  “I insist, Lady Cummings. I have no need of it. It would be my pleasure.”

  “You are generosity itself.” Lady Cummings brought the handkerchief to her eye once more.

  The apothecary starting down the stairs caught his attention.

  “I will take my leave of you now. Have you a notion where my man is?”

  “Oh, yes, he is in the barn with Jackson looking at the carriage. Please, Mr. Merrit, forgive my manners, may I offer you something? A cup of tea, brandy perhaps? You are soaked through as well.”

  Thomas n
odded. “Thank you, but I must decline. I need to return Mr. Winters to the village and have several things to attend before I head to London on business.” Harry would be in a snit if he did not bring him to London today, storm or no.

  “Very well, I thank you again for your service to my dear Ophelia.” She turned to Mr. Winters, and Thomas let himself out.

  Finding Graves and the old man, Jackson, looking over the carriage, Thomas was gratified he had the forethought to offer his own for tomorrow night. He didn’t think, either the old groom, or the horse would have made it the fifteen miles to Town in the weather.

  They brought Winters back to the village, and then Thomas made his way to the cobbler and pressed the man to deliver the slippers. For a brief second, he wondered which ball Ophelia was to attend. There were several, he had invitations for three, but he would only be at the most important. Lady Pen would never forgive him if didn’t show.

  True to form, Harry was in a state when Thomas arrived back at Merrit Manor.

  “Where have you been?” his uncle demanded. “I have been waiting nearly two hours.”

  “I came upon a carriage accident, Uncle. As a matter of fact, it involved the woman I went to meet.” Thomas flung his greatcoat over the back of the chair by the fireplace and headed toward the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a sizeable glass of brandy and took a large pull. The fiery amber burned away the chill from his insides. He set down his glass and shook off his sopping jacket.

  “Is she unharmed?” Harry asked.

  “Took a nasty tumble, poor girl. I came upon them just as it happened. I drove her back to Cummings and then fetched the apothecary. I could not very well leave Winters with no ride, so I had to bring him back. I came home straight away.” He sat in the chair in front of the fire and pulled off his wet boots.

  Harry took the chair opposite him. “So, did you find out who she is?”

  Thomas smiled. “Her name is Ophelia. I’m afraid she fainted before I could speak to her. The only thing I do know for sure is she is invited to a ball tomorrow night.” Thomas unloosed the buttons from his waistcoat and slipped it off. “I did, however, have the pleasure of conversing with her cousin, the Lady Josephine.” He smiled at his uncle. “Now there’s a bird for you, Harry. Not a day under five-and-sixty, and pleasingly proportioned in all the right places.”