An Inconvenient Engagement Read online

  An Inconvenient Engagement

  A Regency Historical Romance

  By

  Grace Colline

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, character, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Colleen Baxter

  ISBN:

  Cover Design: Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  Edited by Shelley Justice

  All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First publication 2021

  Bad Kitty Publications

  gracecolline.com

  Dedicated to Julie Martin,

  an amazing and beautiful lady

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Sir William Strathom was surprisingly calm. Surely, he thought, a man should be a mass of nerves when contemplating an engagement. He waited in the parlor, as he had on several occasions. Miss Maria Lockley, of the Shropshire Lockleys, would soon join him. Well, not soon if his limited experience with her predicted. Certainly, he would have ample time to drum up a palpitation or two.

  At 28, he had succeeded his father to the newly granted barontecy and stepped into his shoes at a recently purchased estate. The grandeur of this house, however, was enough to strike awe into the heart of any suitor. Every inch of the parlor bespoke history and status, from the generations of portraits gazing placidly down to the ornate cornices, painted ceiling, and elegant furniture that was so uncomfortable to sit and wait upon. He stood, to spare himself and to be ready.

  “Miss Maria Lockley.” The butler announced and stood aside. The lady herself entered, floated more like, in white gauze muslin with tiny rosebuds embroidered about the bodice and hem. She wore a small garnet cross on a plain chain about her pale, perfect neck. The slippers he caught brief sight of as he knelt were adorned with silk roses as well.

  She curtseyed, “Sir William.”

  He glanced up at the harsh sound of her voice. Telltale redness about her eyes and a hoarseness to her voice that belied recent strong emotion, or perhaps it was merely ague. Whatever it was, he could not allow it to sway him from his purpose. He reached for her hand which was already waiting, “Miss Lockley,” he said. “I am hoping to persuade you to honor me by becoming my wife…”

  “I accept, Sir William.”

  He blinked. In none of the scenarios he had rehearsed in his head had he thought it would be so easy. He had been encouraged, but so had other young men – one in particular he thought. Still taken aback, he stood. “Well, that is excellent. Perhaps you will excuse me while I go to speak with your father.”

  He paused a moment, in case she was suddenly overcome with emotion. She was not, but she did ring the bell to call a servant for him.

  He was led by a servant to the study of the Twelfth Earl of Lockley, a matter that took several minutes in the large manor house. The Earl stood with his back to the room, staring out a window onto Grosvenor Street and appeared to be waiting. Again, the discussion he had dreaded seemed but a matter of course. The business was soon done, confirmation of her dowry achieved and permission to set a date obtained. It was almost as though the Lockleys had solicited Sir William for Maria’s hand rather than the other way ‘round.

  Within half an hour, William sat in his carriage contemplating his achievement. “Father, I have done it. As you asked. I have won the hand of a girl of unimpeachable character and long family line.” He paused, a sudden notion occurring to him. “I had expected to feel something of a more elated nature upon attaining this goal.” Surely, he thought, a man would be happy to have won the girl of his dreams?

  Chapter One

  Warm days gave way to cooler nights in the Yorkshire countryside. Hidden among the drystone-walled fields and woods was a cottage on the outskirts of a village. The door opened, and Eliza tied her brown bonnet on before drawing her shawl around her shoulders. Stepping out into the cool breeze she took a deep breath and savored the earthy smells of soil, decaying leaves, and the last flowers of summer. The sky was becoming overcast, making all the greens stand out vividly against the growing browns of coming fall.

  She looked to the right along the road toward the town of Lytchley - a moderately sized village with a general store, post office, haberdashers (Dimmits), two pubs, the apothecary, and the usual bakers and butchers. Same darling village, same comfortable life, same predictable future. She sighed.

  Turning away, she followed the old Bank Road off away from town until it turned into little more than a dirty lane shaded on one side by trees. There was a ditch and then fields to her left, trees and the occasional house or cottage to her right. She quickened her pace past the abandoned cottage said to be haunted, then broke into a full run. She spread her arms wide and let her shawl flap behind her in the wind. For a moment, she felt like a bird about to take flight. Then, a sharp gust snatched it free and flung it along the lane until it snagged on a lower limb of an old elm tree.

  “Oh, la!” She turned to walk back, only to discover that she was being watched.

  A man on a horse sat there, watching her.

  Eliza watched his large horse pull up nearby. He appeared taller than perhaps he was astride his horse. He wore a top hat and a superbly cut mossy green coat that set off his deep hazel eyes. Rather heavy brows made him look moody, but he was good-looking without being prettily handsome. She thought he was smiling, although it was difficult to see through eyes stung by the wind.

  Without a word he reached up and freed the shawl with a gentle tug. She stretched out her hand to take it from him, but instead he dismounted and held it out to her. She neared him, but instead of giving it to her, he wrapped it securely around her shoulders himself. “There, the little bird has its wings.”

  She blushed at that – so he had seen! She shuffled her heavy, scuffed boots so that they were hidden behind the hem of her dress. “Thank you, Sir.” She smiled and gratefully gripped it securely about her bare arms. Their eyes met – dark brown and deep hazel. She felt her pulse quicken, as though something dormant had come alive within.

  “I am at a disadvantage,” he said. “There is no one here to introduce us.”

  “Well, I am Eliza Denham.” She curtseyed.

  “William Stratham, at your service.” He bowed.

  Her face drained of color. “Sir William. Oh, my Lord, I am sorry.”

  His head cocked to one side. “For what?”

  “I…I don’t actually know!” She laughed then, and his smile deepened. “I guess for everything…and nothing.”

  Oh very good, she berated herself silently. Her hands smoothed her apron and then strayed to her bonnet ribbons. “I live just down this lane,” she said as she backed away slightly and began to walk in the direction of home. Sir Wil
liam held his horse’s reins and fell in to walk sedately beside her.

  “Do you often walk about the countryside alone?” he asked.

  “I often walk, and alone if I can possibly help it. It soothes my soul.”

  “And I have intruded. I apologize.”

  “Nonsense! I don’t often get escorted by baronets on horseback.” She smiled up at him.

  “I have not seen you around town before,” he said.

  “No, I believe you came here while I was away at school.”

  “Yes. Father bought the estate two or three years ago. He died last year.”

  “I heard. I am so sorry.”

  “As am I. He left a difficult void to fill.”

  They walked in comfortable silence for a moment or two and then Eliza asked, “I understand you have a brother.”

  “Yes. George. He is several years younger.”

  “I would have liked to have a brother or sister.”

  “You are alone?” He cocked his head to one side as he looked down at her.

  “I have Uncle, but yes, alone.”

  “Your parents?”

  “Father died when I was very young, and mother passed some years ago. Aunt and Uncle Enger came to care for me here in Little Cottage, but my aunt passed shortly after. So now it is just me and Uncle.”

  They were passing the abandoned cottage, and he glanced up at the overgrown walls. “It seems strange to see an empty home so close to the village.”

  “There is a sad story associated with it.”

  “Can you tell me?” He asked quickly, eager to keep her talking.

  “I believe it belonged to an older family – the Havertons, who all died and left the small estate to a young man – I forget his name. He loved a girl and married her. But he went away on some business and, while he was gone, she died.”

  “So, he abandoned it?”

  “Yes. The day of the funeral he sent the servants off, locked the door and never returned. You can imagine how the boys hereabouts have vandalized it.”

  “When did all this happen?” They had stopped in front of the cottage and were both looking up at its staring windows.

  “Oh, these fifty years at least,” she said.

  He looked down at her, tilting his head to see past her bonnet. She was looking up at the cottage with an expression he could not read. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  She blinked and half-smiled at him. “Just that it is a sad monument to love. I cannot think that his wife’s memory is at all honored by this cottage wasting away in dereliction and decay. I wonder who, or what, he was punishing.”

  “Perhaps he just acted out of pain. People do…”

  “Yes. But after all this time, surely he could let it go to someone who might love it and restore it to some measure of glory.”

  “So, there is still some part of the story left untold.”

  “Yes! And must remain so, I fear.” She glanced up at him.

  He was gazing so intently at her that she wondered if he was still thinking about the cottage. A whole minute passed before she realized they had stopped walking and were simply staring at each other.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but a sharp yelping rose into an agonized cry from the wild fields around the empty cottage. His horse shied slightly as the sound shot through them. The howling rose wildly and without thinking, she raced off in the direction, Sir William trotting carefully beside her. She skirted the side of the cottage and followed an old garden path into the field far behind it. The sound escalated and was accompanied by thrashing as she drew near. She had to search through the bracken and undergrowth, but finally found the source of the agonized cries.

  There, writhing on the ground, foot caught in the rusted teeth of an ancient trap was Ol’ Gower’s dog Ben. Eliza knelt carefully beside the dog which was snarling in pain and terror. William was instantly beside her, his horse standing alertly nearby. He cast around for a stick, and gently maneuvered it to press the pan and release the teeth. Eliza tore a strip from her apron and tied it securely around the leg as it was released, holding the broken bones still as William held the dog still in a steely grip. He then lifted the dog which struggled less but continued to whine. She wrapped the leg securely as he held the dog firmly. The skin had been broken and was bleeding freely. The bones held together, though the leg was bent from the trap’s teeth. It straightened as she held it, and the dog yelped again. It took her several minutes to finish stabilizing the leg. She then wrapped another bandage more lightly around it to capture the blood seeping through.

  “Which way to his owner’s home?”

  She had to think…just over that hill behind the cottage? “This way, I think.”

  “I will carry him, if you will lead my horse.”

  She hesitated but picked up the dropped reins and led the way over the hill. The dog had stopped his screaming, but his whines would escalate at times. The ground was uneven, broken and difficult to traverse. The wind kept snatching at her shawl, and to keep it from flying in the horse’s eyes she had rolled it underneath her free arm.

  They crested the low hill, and she cast about for a moment, then motioned off to the right. They plunged down the hill into the shallow hollow, and after a couple of false turns they stood in the yard of the shepherd’s little home. “Gower!” Eliza called. “Gower?”

  A wiry, bent figure started then stood in the field beyond. His grizzled form paused for a moment, as though trying to make sense of the odd tableau of the young lord holding the dog, the large black horse, and Eliza with her bloodied and torn clothing. He broke into a stunted run and arrived, panting.

  “Wha’ ‘appened?”

  Eliza’s hand was on the dog to help calm him. “It’s Ben. He was in a trap – I’ve set the bone as best I can and secured it.”

  Gower stopped in the process of taking his dog gently into his own arms. Ben licked at the old man’s hands even as he whined in pain and greeting. “’Ow did this ‘appen?”

  “The old cottage – there must have been a poacher’s trap left. It looked quite old,” Eliza said.

  The old man’s voice was suspiciously rough as he cradled his dog to him. “Thank ‘ee, Lass. Sir. Thank ‘ee.” He adjusted his grip on the dog and turned to carry him ever so gently toward his home.

  Eliza watched him disappear into the little house and turned to walk up the path toward town. William followed beside her, leading his horse. She removed what was left of her apron and rolled it up. Her dress had a couple tears and a smear or two of blood and she quickly draped her shawl around her to cover some of the mess. She looked up at Sir William. “Thank you for your help with Ben,” she said. “He is ‘Ol Gower’s world.”

  “I can see that.” He appeared deeply touched by the old man’s obvious attachment to the dog.

  “Truthfully, Gower relies completely on Ben with the sheep. I don’t know what he will do until Ben is recovered. I suppose Jamie’s dogs will have to do it all…” She bit her lip as she thought about her cousin.

  It was a reality he had not considered. As fond as he was of his mare, he had other horses he could rely on if needed. He saw her shiver slightly in the breeze and burst out. “Why do women wear such flimsy clothes!”

  “I think it is only the shock, Sir. Besides, these skirts and sleeves are the fashion, and we are somewhat constrained by it. You can thank Empress Josephine!” She did not want to add that she had only one pelisse, and it was far too nice for such walks. Thank goodness, she thought, or it would have been ruined today.

  “Odd that we bow to the fashion whims of a country we are at war with,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.

  “Indeed. Society is quite a complicated business.” She absently pushed at the muddied blood on her dress, and the movement seemed to catch his eye. He paused, inscrutable, the lightness gone in an instant.

  Society….and he had been walking with an unaccompanied girl along an abandoned country lane. A girl now covered in torn a
nd bloody clothing.

  After a moment, he broke the silence, “Well, I will leave you now. Good day.” He mounted in one fluid motion and reined his horse off and spurred her over the fields leaving Eliza suddenly quite alone.

  “Well. Good day then.” She watched until he was gone from view, then looked ruefully down. Her afternoon dress was torn and smeared with blood. There was dirt covering the hem of her dress, and scuffed boots showing from underneath the hem. “I don’t suppose I would want to be seen with me, either.”

  It took much less time to walk home. She had no sooner crossed the threshold when Bessie accosted her. Large and square and motherly, the sole servant to their household was fiercely protective. “Miss Eliza whatever happened? Is that blood—are you injured?” The noise attracted the attention of her Uncle, who added his own concerns. Quickly, she explained then excused herself to change.

  When she was done, she inspected the damage to her dress. The apron would be relegated to the rags, but the dress could be salvaged with some clever needlework. She sighed, and for not the first time wondered what it was like to be a real lady like Henrietta Darrow with trunks and wardrobes overflowing with dresses and no need to hide numerous repairs in the hopes of salvaging a day dress for a little while longer.

  But then, she thought as she looked out the window, straining to catch a glimpse of Tredwell Abbey hidden by Lytchley and the fields and moors between. Henrietta would never have been free to go walking about the country, and just happen to meet a handsome, warm-hearted baronet on his beautiful steed. She smiled.

  Perhaps, she thought, she had the better end of that particular stick.

  Chapter Two

  Sir William pulled his horse up short as he crested the hill. From his vantage he could see both the small village of Lytchley and his own manor of Tredwell Abbey. His mind was a whirl of scattered thoughts and emotions. The sight of his home caused all of that to go still. Within a few months, he would be married and permanently settled as lord of his own manor in this small hamlet.