His Duchess in Disguise: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Read online

  The proprietor was a kindly man, with two half-grown daughters of his own. He had the delicacy not to ask Emma about her bedraggled appearance or the large bruise on her cheek. Instead, he paid her a little more than the books were worth since Sense and Sensibility was a trifle foxed from where Emma had left it on the windowsill, and it had gotten wet. Pride and Prejudice, however, was in excellent condition. Copies of it were selling rapidly, and he did not have one come often his way.

  Consequently, Emma left the bookstore with two more pounds and a shilling in her pocket.

  She left the just in time to see a burly stevedore striking at a clearly frightened sorrel mare. Taking no thought at all for her own safety, she flew across the cobblestones, under the man’s uplifted arm, and caught the mare by the cheek strap.

  The man was barely able to hold back his blow, which would have landed on Emma’s shoulder. “What are you doing, you daft wench?” he bellowed, causing the frightened horse to sidle and step some more.

  “Keeping you from hurting this horse!” she said tartly. “Whatever could it have done to deserve being hit so?”

  “She’s refusin’ ta go inta that pen, Miss. M’orders are ta get all these horses in there, then they’s to be sold.”

  “How much?” Emma snapped, continuing to hold onto the headstall.

  “How much what?” the man asked.

  “You are a regular slowcoach, aren’t you?” Emma growled. “How much is the horse?”

  “That ‘un? She isn’t regulation height, a regular runt she is, for all that her dame was a prime ‘un and her sire a racehorse. She’s flighty and only half-trained. She’s no horse for a lady.”

  “Just what I want,” Emma declared, beginning to soothe the little mare by petting her cheek. “Now tell me again, how much? And be quick about it before I send a boy for the Watch.”

  Under Emma’s gentle hands, the little horse steadied, although she continued to tremble. “So, so, my pretty girl,” Emma said to her gently. “So, so, there’s a pretty.” Then she turned to the man, who now had the grace to look a bit ashamed of himself. “Where did you get this lot, good fellow?”

  “I’m just a stevedore, miss. I work for an auctioneer. Some city nob come a-cropper, an’ ‘is goods is gettin’ auctioned off. Soon’s she seed all them other horses, this little lady started throwin’ a fit. Don’t know what come over her.”

  Emma glanced over her shoulder to where several horses were milling about, all in a state of high excitement. One of the mass was zipping about among the others, nipping and kicking. “I think I can guess. So, tell me again: how much?”

  “Tain’t up ta me, miss. I…”

  “What’s going on, Jack?” A dandy, wearing a yellow suit and lavender waistcoat strode up to them.

  “Hello, sir,” the big man replied. “This young lady wants to know how much for the little mare.”

  “I’ve got an offer for the job lot of them,” the dapper man said. “But she’s under-sized and the wrong color to boot. Likely to go for dog food, since she’s not a foal by any means.”

  A tall man, clothed completely in black, approached the group. People were now beginning to gather, wondering what was going on. Shopkeepers were looking out from their doors, and the bookseller had stepped out, and locking his door behind him, came striding over.

  The tall man asked, “Sir Draper, what is going on?”

  “We seem to have a problem, Your Grace,” the dandy, Sir Draper, answered. “Jack was having trouble with this little mare, and then this young lady interfered. She seems to want to buy the horse.”

  The bookseller moved up behind Emma, not quite touching her. Although not a large man, his stance made it plain that he was prepared to protect his young customer.

  “Well,” said the tall man, “I’m buying horses for the army, so I’ve no use for a pony or a child’s pet, which is what it appears that this mare might be. I believe that the goods being auctioned off included some child-sized tack, as well. I’ll take one bob for the lot.”

  “Done,” said Emma, pulling a note out of her pocket. “I will finish my business with the bookseller. You can deliver the tack to his door if you can manage it within a candle mark.” She led the mare by the headstall and tied the reins to the lamppost outside the bookstore. She didn’t notice that the tall man, clad all in black, watched her closely.

  By the time the bookseller had finished totting up her sales, the stevedore had brought the tack for the small mare. It had clearly been for a young boy. The skirts of the saddle were tooled with lions and unicorns as well as stars and moons. It was a rather odd saddle, with a high, knobbed pommel and a rounded cantle in the Spanish style. The kit included a pair of matching saddlebags. There was a pad made of sheepskin with the wool left on and a colorful blanket.

  Emma nodded again, then looked at the tack. “Can I leave her tied here while I go in the clothing store a minute?” she asked the store owner.

  “To be sure,” the bookseller said magnanimously. “I’ll keep an eye on her for you.”

  Leaving Rags to help guard the small horse, Emma was gone only a few minutes, then returned with a small bundle that she tucked into her valise and a larger bundle that she unfurled. It proved to be a worn blanket, which she spread over the distinctive saddle. “Thank you for your help,” she said, extending her hand to the bookseller.

  “You are quite welcome,” he replied, bending over her fingers, and kissing the air just as if he were a gentleman and she a great lady.

  Emma giggled, and hung the valise over the high pommel of the saddle, tying it on with a bit of string. She set Rags on top of the blanket that was flung over the saddle, and taking hold of the mare’s bridle, she paced along beside a farm cart that seemed to know where it was going, letting the dust and the tall cart offer a bit of disguise as she made her way out of London. She had coins in her pocket, and a horse to ride. What could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter 8

  Leo neared the makeshift paddock in Cheapside just in time to witness a young woman affecting a humanitarian rescue of what had probably been a child’s mount. He nearly chuckled as he watched the pint-sized little thing get up in the stevedore’s face. Then he sobered as he realized that she had a large bruise on the side of her face.

  The bruise didn’t seem to be slowing her down, however. She stood her ground, shaking her finger at the man. As a crowd began to gather, the bookseller came to stand behind the girl. Other shopkeepers began to open their doorways as if to enter the street.

  Riots had started over lesser things, so he thought it time to step in and put an end to the spectacle. As he approached the group around the small horse, the girl turned her gaze on him. She was trim and neatly dressed, he noted. The face turned toward him was lightly tanned as if she frequently neglected to wear her bonnet. A dusting of freckles accented her pert nose. The bruise, just the size of a large man’s open palm, was blooming into purple and green. In spite of that, she looked up at him angrily, fully prepared to stand her ground. She didn’t even dicker over the price he named but pulled the banknote from her reticule as if she were accustomed to having plenty of money.

  Next, the young lady, for such he judged her to be, then left the horse in the care of the shopkeeper, along with her valise and a pint-sized mop of hair that might possibly be considered a dog if you were feeling generous.

  In a few minutes, the girl was back with something that she shoved into her valise and a tattered old blanket that she spread over the fancy child’s saddle. Smart. She knows that tack is distinctive and could easily be traced. It also makes her a target for thieves.

  He then watched as she slid to a line of farmers who were clearly heading back out into the countryside. I wonder why she is leaving town? Did she steal the family silver? Or was she turned off from her last position in disgrace? Brave little thing. I hope she manages to get wherever it is she is going.

  The Duke of Menhiransten then turned his attention back to the horse
s that he was purchasing for Captain Arnault.

  Chapter 9

  Emma had no very distinct idea of where she was going, other than out of London and away from Calber. The blow across her face and her father’s willingness to sell her to that rake, Earl of Cleweme, made it completely clear that there was no point in going home.

  She walked beside the farm carts for a while, the dust from them coating her, the horse, and the dog. It helped to disguise the mare’s beautiful sorrel coat and her nearly white mane and tail. When she was far enough out that she did not fear being seen above the farm carts, she halted the mare beside a rail fence and clambered aboard.

  She rode astride rather than risk making her mount nervous. The tooled leather felt pleasant enough beneath her bare thighs, and her skirt and extra petticoats were sufficiently full to cover her modesty.

  After an hour or two, the sun was high in the sky, and the day was beginning to grow warm. Sweat prickled her skin, and the saddle began to rub her skin raw.

  She came to a wide, grassy patch beside the road where stump made a handy mounting block, so she got off the horse. She slipped the bit out of the mare’s mouth and lashed the end of the reins to the stump so the horse could graze. Aware that her meager provisions would have to last a while, she broke off a small piece of bread and a corner of the cheese and gave Rags a piece of dried meat and a hard biscuit. She nibbled the bread and cheese slowly, trying to make them last. Even though she had some money left, she had not counted on buying a horse. She had nothing else to sell and was unlikely to get much for anything other than, perhaps, the horse.

  She contemplated the animal as she placidly cropped grass. “At least I don’t have to worry so much about feeding you,” she said aloud. “I suppose I should name you something. You are very pretty, and I am running away from a beast. I think I shall call you Beauty.”

  The horse flicked one ear and turned her face toward Emma. “Beauty? Was that your name, Beauty?”

  The horses whickered softly, as if in answer, then went back to cropping grass. “Well, that’s what we’ll call her, won’t we, Rags?”

  Emma then checked Beauty’s feet and realized she had a new problem. The mare was not shod for rough country roads and one hoof was starting to swell. Emma knew that she should not ride any horse that had started to go lame.

  Sadly, she tied her provisions to the saddle and began to walk along the road. Rags bounced along at her feet, apparently viewing this as an adventure.

  It seemed as if she had been tramping forever, but it had probably only been an hour or two when a messenger on a bay came pelting down the way. The mail! I forgot about the mail. By now, my father has probably sent messages out from London. I should get off the road, and quickly!

  Emma turned Beauty down the first track that seemed to be going in the general direction she had intended. Rags made little circles around her but did not seem inclined to stray. It is fortunate that Rags is not a young dog who would run off after rabbits or do other foolish things. Just as she was out of sight from the road, she heard a carriage rattling past on the main road. A man perched atop it was blowing a horn, and it was moving very fast. Rags nearly tripped her up, huddling close to her feet.

  Close on the heels of the carriage, there seemed to be a great many horses, all traveling together. The mare lifted her muzzle as if she might call to them, but Emma placed her hand over her nose, and she calmed.

  Once that upset was passed, the going seemed a bit better. The soft earth of the track was easier on Beauty’s feet, and on her own, Emma discovered. Even so, her feet were becoming quite sore. Her worn slippers were fine for stone paving, but the rough overland travel was beginning to wear them very thin.

  After a time, she came to a pond that showed clear evidence that a flock of sheep had been watered there. Emma led Beauty to the upper edge where the bank seemed less roiled and let the horse drink. Rags lapped from the stream beside Beauty.

  Emma’s throat was parched, but she could not bring herself to drink the muddy water. Instead, she took a leaf off the cabbage and sucked on it as they continued to trudge down the track.

  After a little more time, she realized that the track was leading to a farmhouse. Beauty was limping heavily now, and she knew that it would be cruel to continue to force the mare to walk. While she might not have been brave enough to approach the house for her own sake, she could hardly let the horse keep limping on.

  With trepidation, Emma approached the front gate to the farmhouse’s dooryard. She tied Beauty to a post beside the gate, took Rags in her arms, and walked up to the house.

  Just as she was about to knock, a motherly woman came out of the house. “Merciful heavens child, what happened to your face?” she exclaimed.

  Emma let her eyes sweep down, and tears began to course down her cheeks in response to the woman’s sympathy.

  “There now, there, dear. Sit down on the step. Let me get you a drink of milk. You look completely worn out.”

  Emma sat down on the steps, gratefully. While the woman was gone, Emma came up with what she hoped might seem a plausible story.

  When the woman came bustling back out with a fresh crust of bread that was spread with a bit of butter and an earthenware cup of milk, Emma had managed to stop crying.

  “Thank you,” Emma managed to say. She took a bite of the bread, then fed a bit to Rags.

  “Oh, and you have a wee doggie. My dear, whatever happened?”

  Emma decided to malign even-tempered Beauty. “My horse was frightened by the coach and ran away. She slipped and threw me. I fear that I have lost the rest of my party.”

  Emma crossed her fingers and hoped the woman would not spot the lie for the whopper that it was.

  But apparently the woman was simple or else she preferred not to mix in the affairs of the gentry. “Oh, my poor dear,” she crooned. “When my boy comes in from the fields, he can go look for your people.”

  “I really must be getting back,” Emma protested. “But my mare is lame, and I am afraid I will harm her if I keep on riding. If I just had a horse, any horse at all, I could get back to my party and send someone for her. And bring your horse back, naturally.”

  “Well,” said the woman slowly, “I don’t have a horse, but I do have a donkey. He’s a spry young thing and isn’t much troubled by a little traveling. He’s only green broke though. Do you think you can manage?”

  “Of course!” Emma said promptly, even though she had no idea whether she could ride a green-broke donkey.

  The proposed mount turned out to be a shaggy little beast, with long ears, a gray coat, and expressive, intelligent eyes. The farm woman helped Emma transfer Beauty’s tack to the donkey. Fortunately, the two beasts were nearly of a size, so it fit reasonably well.

  Emma gave the woman one of the coins from her reticule, a haypence as it turned out, and apologized for not having more.

  “Don’t you worry, my dear,” the woman said. “You just hurry along and catch up with your people. My boy will groom your horse and see to her. No doubt, all she needs is a little rest.”

  “I do hope so,” Emma replied. “Thank you for your trouble.”

  The donkey was not pleased to have a rider, and for a couple of minutes, Emma feared that he would buck her off. But she tightened her legs, hauled on the reins, and walked him around in a circle. Soon he settled down. He even accepted having Rags on his back equably.

  With a fresh mount, Emma made much better time. First, she headed back toward the road, but when she was out of sight of the farmhouse, she turned off on another track that seemed to be going toward the south.

  The donkey had a rough gait, and soon Emma’s backside was almost as sore as her feet. But the soreness in her face and the memory of her father’s promise that she should be wed to the Earl of Cleweme kept her moving onward.

  It was afternoon by now, so she tried to keep the sun on her right shoulder to ensure that she was continuing to move toward the south, keeping at an angle
to the Bath Road. At first, there were a number of farmhouses along the way. But as she kept traveling, they became fewer. She rode across a well-kept bridge, then onto a dirt road that led out onto a broad expanse of grassland that seemed to go on forever.

  She turned the donkey out onto the trackless grassland. Clouds were beginning to come up in the sky, and the wind tugged at her cloak. Spring wildflowers bloomed here and there in the grass, but the expanse offered little in the way of shelter.

  By now the donkey’s energy, which had seemed quite boundless, was beginning to flag. Still, he went along gamely enough for a time. But as the wind began to whip about her, he suddenly set his feet and refused to go another step.

  “Whatever shall I do with you, you obstinate thing,” Emma fussed at him. She slid off his back and tugged on the reins. But the creature set his hooves and obstinately refused to move.