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,
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Copyright 2012 Shore Road Publishing

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Cover by Straw Hill Designs © 2012

Portrait by Jean Baptiste Grueze

Portrait of a Lady called Sophie Arnould
circa 1773

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.

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.