Lilith and the Stable Hand: Bluestocking Brides Read online

After some time, the sobs dissipated, turning into little hiccups of noise. There was a snuffle and she lifted her head to look at him. “I am so sorry,” she said mournfully.

  She made no attempt to leave his embrace so he smiled down at her and pressed a thumb across her cheeks to rub away the tears. He swiftly realized his mistake when he saw the dirty marks he’d left. The fact he’d forgotten that his hands were dirty was another reason for him not to be spending time with a lady in such an intimate situation.

  “What’s this all about then?” he asked, fishing in a pocket for a handkerchief while he continued to rub his hand up and down her back. Lilith sniffed and took the handkerchief. He grinned when she blew her nose noisily in it and shook his head as she offered it back. “Keep it.”

  “The n-newspapers.” She grimaced. “T-they wrote about me.”

  “About you?” It was hard to imagine having your life written about, but the gossip columns loved to devote inches to the rich and titled. It had not occurred to him they might write about Lilith, but she was a young, eligible lady with an increasingly powerful brother.

  She nodded and stared at the handkerchief in her hands. “I was a disaster and they wrote about it.”

  “A disaster?”

  “My debut.” She lifted her head and eyed him. “You know how horribly clumsy I am.”

  Harry didn’t say anything. Lilith had a reputation for being somewhat clumsy and he had even witnessed as much occasionally when she had come to the stables. Once she had put her foot in a bucket and nearly toppled into a cart of dirty straw. Had it not been for his quick actions in catching her, she would have had quite the disaster.

  “I-it seems I am the talk of the town. And not for the right reasons.”

  Harry grimaced to himself. As little as he knew of Society, he understood how judgmental and ruthless it could be. Sweet, naïve Lilith did not seem to fit in with that. He’d always considered her pretty with raven black hair that shone even when it hung in messy curls around her face and perfect, soft skin with wide-eyes surrounded by dark lashes, but simply being pretty was not enough for people like that. Her spectacles and curved figure likely did her no favors in amongst the ton.

  But it couldn’t be that bad, could it? Hell, she was the daughter of a marquis, and now the sister to one. Lord Thornefield was making a name for himself in breeding circles and there was talk of the Prince Regent wanting to buy a horse from him. There had to have been plenty of men fighting for her hand, surely? Harry couldn’t care one jot about connections and money and he thought she was the finest lass he knew.

  “I am sure it was not so bad,” he soothed.

  “It was. Oh, Harry, it was awful. At my first ball, I trod on Lord Bainbridge’s toes so bad that he had to sit out for the next few dances. And I spilled wine all over the Countess of Highbridge’s cleavage.”

  By some miracle he managed not to snort at that. “I image that must have been a sight,” he said, his mouth straight.

  “It was simply terrible. I am too clumsy and awful for society and now the newspapers are writing about it. No one shall go near me again.”

  He shook his head as she gazed up at him, those wide gray eyes shimmering with tears and eating a hole into his chest. If he could, he’d fix it all for her. “If they do not, they’re bloody fools.”

  She gave a soft smile. “Or they are right about me. I do not belong in Society.” She lowered her chin. “Oh goodness, what if they write about me again? It shall never be forgotten, and I do not think I can face another season.”

  His chest panged mercilessly. Lilith had told him many times how excited she was to have her debut as Harry saddled her horse or greeted her in the morning when she walked with the marchioness. She’d wanted nothing more than to step onto that ballroom floor and be swept away by a handsome, rich lord.

  And she deserved no less. A woman like Lady Lilith was a rare gem. Utterly unaffected by her wealth and completely unspoilt. She always took the time for charity and talked to everyone as her equal—including him, a rough, uneducated stable-hand.

  “It will be forgotten soon enough. And if it is not, I’ll march into those bloody newspaper offices and demand they stop.”

  A weak laugh escaped her. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Of course. They’re damned vultures they are, preying on the likes of you. What grown man makes gossip of a young lady? I’d like to tan their hides if I could.”

  “Now that is something I’d like to see.”

  He peered down at her. “And that is something I do like to see.” He flicked a finger under her chin. “That smile.”

  The smile in question broadened and reminded him how lovely her lips were.

  “Thank you, Harry,” she said, her voice husky.

  “For what?”

  “For listening to my silly woes. I know it must sound ridiculous.”

  He shook his head. “There is nothing silly about them. We all have our problems and they can all seem great indeed to us.”

  “You sound like a philosopher.”

  He chuckled and eased his arm from around her. “I sound like a fool, that’s what. I shouldn’t pretend to be good with words.”

  “Nonsense. There’s no pretending with you. That’s what I like about you.” She giggled. “Oh, you should have seen some of them, Harry. Faces powdered, their calves stuffed. Some even had hairpieces.”

  “See? I’d wager there were many other people to gossip about. They shall be gracing the newspapers tomorrow, no doubt, and all will be forgotten.”

  “I hope so.”

  She eased away from him and he grimaced. There were streaks of dirt from his hands on her fine gown, so dark the even he could see them in the limited light of the hayloft. “I’ve dirtied you, my lady.”

  She wagged a finger at him. “I’ve told you not to call me that.”

  “I could lose my job if I’m caught calling you anything but.”

  “My brother might be a stickler for the rules, but he is not so bad. Besides, I wouldn’t let it happen.”

  Harry pushed a hand through his hair. “He’d definitely have my hide if he knew I was the one to put those dirty marks on you, lass.”

  “I shall simply say I was clumsy again. They will definitely believe that.”

  There was a creak from downstairs and Harry put a finger to his lips to shush Lilith. He wasn’t lying when he said the marquis would have his hide if he was caught alone with her. In truth, he’d more than likely have to move again to find work and no gentleman would trust him around their young, well-bred daughters.

  “Harry,” Johnson, the elderly head groom called up. “Where the bloody hell are you?”

  Harry winced at the language, aware he’d used the same coarse language with Lilith. “I had better go,” he whispered.

  Lilith touched his arm. “Thank you,” she whispered back.

  He gave her a wink. “Any time, my lady.”

  Chapter Three

  “You are much bigger than I was,” Emma said to Julia.

  Lilith eyed Julia’s belly but didn’t say anything. The used-to-be-Chadwick sisters were often bickering despite all being well-married women and mothers. Lilith had known some of them in her childhood when she had lived with her father but had come to know them all so much better since Thorney had brought her back to Hampshire. Of course, the fact that her brother married one of them meant they were now family, much to Lilith’s delight. She had an older sister and an older brother as well as Thorney but Nancy was kept busy by her husband and three children and Felton preferred to remain in London all year round. It always thrilled Lilith to spend time with all these redheaded sisters. They were so much more fun and exciting than all those staid, stiff, self-important people of high-society.

  It still hurt that she was talked of by those self-important people, though. It should not, but it did. The truth was, her debut had not only been a spectacular disaster, but it had been disappointing too. Her limited introduction to t
itled ladies and gentlemen by way of these women had not prepared her for the dullness of London society. During her younger years, her mother had kept her isolated, mostly to protect her from the gossip surrounding her father who had not been a good man at all. Lilith had been naïve in believing her mother had kept her from something exciting and wonderful, and had hardly been able to wait until her introduction.

  She disguised a sigh and put on a smile. Hopefully Harry was right—it would all be forgotten soon enough, and some other gossip would become more interesting than a silly girl who could not dance well and threw drinks over important women’s sizable bosoms. He had to be right. How could a man like him not be? Goodness, she could still feel that strong chest against her cheek and the way his thick arms banded about her.

  “I’m hardly pregnant,” Julia declared, breaking through Lilith’s thoughts. “This baby will be a giant, I’m sure.” She rubbed her belly fondly.

  Her sister Amelia leaned over and touched the growing bump. “It could be twins,” she mused.

  Julia’s eyes widened, and she reached for a cup of tea. “Oh goodness.”

  They had all gathered in the orangery at Harburgh House, which was Julia’s home. The Duke of Westholm had moved here with his brother some time ago and, according to Catherine, after marrying Julia, he had set about making improvements to the stately home. The orangery was one of them. The large building, lined with long windows made the most of the sun to ensure the growth of many exotic plants. Lilith half-hoped her brother might build one soon so that they could have fresh lemons and other fruits.

  Julia lowered her cup. “I hardly feel ready for one baby, let alone two. Do you really think so?”

  “You will be fine,” assured Amelia, who was the oldest of the sisters and tended to act a little like a mother figure to them all, including Lilith. “It is surprising how quickly you get used to it.” She scooped up Nicholas who made a grab for his mother’s skirts. “Is that not right, my love?” she said to the baby, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

  “Do you remember Daisy Chesterfield? She had twins. She was huge!” said Catherine with a grin as she paused rocking Emma’s baby boy who was now several months old and almost crawling but had tired of exploring the room and had opted for snoozing in his aunt’s arms.

  “Oh dear,” groaned Julia.

  “You shall be the size of a house, I bet.” Catherine’s smile turned wicked. “We shall have to put you in a wheelbarrow to cart you about.”

  “Catherine,” scolded Amelia.

  Julia shrugged. “I already feel like a beast. Guy says he likes my new curves, but it is hard to get used to when one is used to being scrawny.”

  Lilith shook her head. “I’d rather be scrawny than lumpy and bumpy like me.”

  “Nonsense.” Catherine tutted. “No one likes scrawny. And you are far from lumpy and bumpy.”

  Lilith didn’t argue with her sister-in-law. She was far curvier than any of the redheaded and long-limbed sisters. As much as she adored all these ladies, it was hard sometimes to sit next to them and feel like a big, clumsy oaf.

  “Ooh, if you are expecting twins, maybe we shall finally get girls.” Emma clapped her hands together. “I can knit something in a nice, feminine color. Yellow perhaps.”

  “Perhaps you should wait until the babies are born,” suggested Amelia.

  “Or never,” murmured Catherine.

  Unfortunately, Emma thought herself quite the knitter and had even gifted Lilith a scarf and some mittens for winter, but they were the ugliest things she had ever owned and were entirely out of proportion. Catherine had confided that everyone received such gifts from Emma and they were all equally ugly.

  Julia rubbed her tummy. “They will be boys, anyway, I just know it. One generation of Chadwick girls is enough for the world, I think.”

  “Oh, so now you do think you are having twins.” Catherine chuckled.

  Julia grinned. “I imagine once they start kicking, we will know for certain.”

  “Anyway, enough twin talk.” Emma waved a hand. “We need to discuss preparations for this ball. If the Prince Regent attends, we have plenty of work to do.”

  Just the thought of all those people attending made Lilith’s stomach flutter. The ball that Julia and her husband Guy intended to hold would be one of the grandest social occasions outside of London. Everyone who was anyone would attend, especially if the Prince Regent intended to show his face. And why would he not? The duke was a powerful man indeed.

  “I probably should not attend,” muttered Lilith. “I shall ruin it all.”

  She had not really intended for anyone to hear but apparently everyone did, particularly as this was the moment Nicholas decided to stop his squalling and fall asleep in his mother’s arms.

  “Nonsense. If anyone will ruin it, it’s likely to be Catherine.” Julia arched an eyebrow at the sister in question.

  “Not at all.” Catherine straightened. “I’m a model marchioness.” A smile teased her lips.

  “Were you being a model marchioness when Mr. B. came to visit?” Lilith asked.

  Catherine rolled her eyes. “Oh do not mention that insufferable man. Thorne was only polite to him because he had no idea what the horrible man did and quite how dull and tedious he is.”

  “What exactly did he do?” Lilith asked. “You never did say.”

  Catherine slung a glance at Emma, whose cheeks grew rosy.

  “What did you do to him, Catherine?” Lilith pressed.

  “I kicked him out on his behind of course. As soon as I saw him sitting down to tea with Thorne, I slung him out. I was not going to have him drinking my tea or eating my cakes after what he did.”

  “Yes, but what did he do?” pressed Lilith.

  Julia leaned in. “Did you kick him?”

  “No, but I wanted to.” Catherine’s grin turned smug. “I have not kicked a man since accidentally kicking Thorne.”

  Lilith had heard the tale of her brother’s first meeting with Catherine and how he had come away with bruised shins after he had startled her. Though small, Catherine could be quite fierce. Lilith envied her friend’s courage at times. How Lilith wished she could kick those awful newspaper writers in the shins or…or elsewhere.

  Lilith turned her attention to Emma. “What did Mr. B. do?” The way they were talking, it sounded as though he must have done something terrible indeed.

  Emma shook her head. “It was nothing really.”

  “It was not nothing,” Amelia insisted. “Even I could not disagree with how Morgan reacted.”

  “But what did he do?” asked Lilith, unable to keep the exasperation from her voice.

  Catherine chuckled. “After Emma and Morgan married, Mr. B. developed quite the admiration for Emma. He tried to get her to have an affair and Morgan punched him.”

  “Goodness.” Lilith pressed a hand to her chest. “I miss out on all the fun.”

  “It was not fun,” said Emma. “It was all quite embarrassing.”

  “I think I’d be rather excited if a man punched someone for me,” Lilith mused. “It sounds awfully heroic.”

  “We were at a summer party and Mr. B. is hardly a threat. There was nothing heroic to it.” Emma’s slightly dreamy expression belied her words, however.

  Lilith could not help but think back to Harry’s threats. He was the sort of man who would call someone out for harming her and he was certainly hero material. From wide shoulders to thick thighs, and strong, capable hands. Her cheeks warmed simply thinking about the way his rough fingertips brushed across her face. Yes, Harry would punch someone for her, and the idea left her a little breathless.

  “So you see,” said Catherine, “if anyone is likely to make a show, it would be any one of us. You have nothing to worry about.”

  Julia nodded. “Think of this as another chance to dazzle everyone. No doubt your brother will buy you a beautiful gown and we shall be sure to only invite the best gentlemen. You will have your pick!”

&nb
sp; “Yes,” agreed Lilith vaguely.

  It was odd. For so long she had dreamed of being whirled around the ballroom by men in their cravats and evening wear while chandeliers shimmered above, and polished floors gleamed beneath. Now she longed for the crunch of hay beneath her and the touch of rough cotton underneath her fingertips.

  “Now, back to this ball,” declared Julia. “We have so much to organize. I made some notes somewhere.” She patted the chair and frowned. “Blast, where are they?”

  Noah, Emma’s baby, began to squall, forcing Catherine stand and rock the baby as it’s cries grew louder. The noise woke Nicholas who squirmed in his mother’s arms until she was forced to put him down and let him do a little crawling.

  Catherine winced when the screaming grew louder, and the baby dug his chubby fingers into her gown. “I think he’s hungry,” she called over the din.

  Emma shook her head. “He cannot be. He only fed an hour ago. He must be tired.”

  “But he just slept,” Catherine protested.

  Julia grimaced. “If I do have twins, I shall never survive.”

  “Of course you will,” said Amelia, who was forced to chase after Nicholas when he pulled himself up and began digging out the dirt from one of the plant pots and stuffing it in his mouth.

  “I really must find my notes.” Julia frowned. “I had menus written out and a dance list.”

  The front doors to the orangery burst open and a blur of golden fur darted in between the plant pots. The duke’s dog paused briefly to lift his leg against one of the pots and Julia jumped up as quickly as she could to shoo him away. “No, Roo. Bad.”

  The dog ignored his mistress and plodded around the pots, giving each one a sniff before coming in between the chairs and knocking a cup with his wagging tail.

  “Roo!” exclaimed Julia, snatching the cup away before it was knocked to the floor.

  The din increased when Nicholas began crying because he was not allowed to eat dirt and Noah’s cries had seemed to reach new heights. Each mother tried to shush the babies, but they were having none of it. Lilith opted for helping to shoo the dog out of the orangery before the large animal did any proper damage, but he darted away any time either she or Julia came near.