Counterfeit Earl

“Oh, how unfortunate,” Beatrice said. She would have gone on, but her groom opened the carriage door and looked in. “Yes, Dorkins? Has there been an accident?”

“I’m afraid so, milady. It means a delay while we help the gentleman to clear the road.”

“Then we may as well get down and stretch our legs,” Olivia said, giving her hand to the groom. “Pray help me out, Dorkins. I need a little exercise.”

They had stopped on a quiet stretch of road, which was quite narrow and hemmed in by a thick wood to either side. One glance at the cumbersome coach ahead, which was tipped drunkenly forward, having lost its front nearside wheel, told Olivia that they would be delayed for several minutes while the grooms of both vehicles combined to move the coach off the road.

Beatrice looked out of the window as Olivia started to wander away. “Where are you going, dearest?”

“Just to stretch my legs. Do not worry. I shall not go far.”

Olivia left the road, entering the wood. Her purpose was an indelicate subject, and one that she was not prepared to discuss in full hearing of the grooms, but she had been waiting to answer the call of nature for some while. She had preferred not to ask coachman to stop, thinking that they would soon reach the posting inn, but now she had determined to seize her chance to relieve herself.

Not for the first time in her life, Olivia found herself wishing she were a man as she gathered the voluminous skirts of her stylish travelling gown and squatted awkwardly behind a bush, which was well out of sight of the road. A few moments later, she emerged feeling more comfortable and began to rearrange her clothing, peering round at the back to make sure she was decent. Reassured, she was about to return to the road when she heard a low growling noise and turned to find her way blocked by a huge black dog. Its top lip was curled back over vicious-looking teeth, and it was snarling, poised as if preparing to leap at her if she dared to try passing it.

Olivia froze, unable to move so much as a finger. Her heart was beating wildly. She was terrified of large dogs. Lord Burton kept a pack of fierce guard dogs at his country estate, and she had once been bitten by one of them. The scar on her arm had almost completely faded, but the mental scar was still there.

“Do not move, ma’am!” a male voice suddenly commanded from behind her. “He has been trained to attack intruders. Hold, Brutus! Lie down, sir!”

The dog seemed to hesitate, then it stopped growling and stretched down on the earth at Olivia’s feet, its head on its paws. She tried to make herself walk past, but found she was quite unable to move.

“He won’t hurt you now. It’s perfectly safe.”

Olivia’s mouth felt dry. “I—I cannot…”

“You need not be afraid,” a voice beside her said, and then she felt the gentle touch of a hand on her arm. “I shall not let him attack you. I give you my word.”

She turned her head to look at the man, her eyes widening in surprise. At first sight, he was a little unnerving himself. His features were long, the chin square, rather thin, as if he had recently lost weight, and his dark eyes were red-rimmed. His hair was longer than was fashionable, very thick, dark and slightly curling, blown by the wind into a tangle about his face. His right temple bore a deep purple scar, which had begun to heal.

“Oh…” Her hand went to her breast as her heart thudded suddenly. He was a very large man, lean, but wiry, and simply dressed. She took him for a gamekeeper. “Forgive me. I…”

“No, forgive us for frightening you,” Jack Denning said, his tone and manner seeming harsh though the words were kindly meant. “Brutus was my grandfather’s dog. Sir Joshua Chambers, the late owner of Briarwood—which is where you are. The dog was trained to keep gypsies from trespassing in the woods. He does not know that you are a lady, only that you are a stranger to him.”

“I—I am afraid I was trespassing,” Olivia said, finding her voice at last. So he was not the gamekeeper, but the grandson of a baronet! “It was very wrong of me.”

Jack smiled, his features losing some of their harshness, becoming more like the man he had once been. “I am Captain Jack Denning,” he said. “My man told me there had been an accident on the road and I was on my way to investigate. Was it perhaps your own carriage, ma’am?”

“I am Miss Olivia Roade Burton.” Her head went up a little as her natural spirit reasserted itself. “I am travelling to Brighton with my sister, Lady Ravensden, and our carriage has been delayed—the coach ahead of us has lost a wheel.”

“Yes, so I understand. I have already directed some of my men to assist in clearing the road. Perhaps by the time you reach your carriage, the way may be open.”

“Thank you. I shall go immediately.”

“You will allow me to accompany you.” Jack frowned. “Although I believe you to be safe enough for the moment, I would not recommend wandering alone in strange woods, Miss Roade Burton. Were the gypsies I spoke of still here, I could not have been certain of your safety. They are wild, fierce creatures…and you are too young and vulnerable to be here alone.”

Olivia did not answer. For some unaccountable reason her heart was racing and she was finding it difficult to get her breath. Captain Denning had been kind enough, but his manner was not encouraging. She sensed that he was not pleased to find her in his woods.

“I…” It was too embarrassing! She could not explain her reason for leaving the road. “I do not usually…”

He made no comment on her loss of words, merely cautioning the dog to stay before turning to lead her back towards the road. Olivia followed behind, feeling foolish.

She had never met anyone quite like him and she did wonder what had made that scar at his temple. He looked as though he might have been very ill quite recently, though she saw by his manner of striding through the woods that he had recovered his strength.

“Here we are, Miss Roade Burton. I believe your carriage is almost ready to leave.”

“Thank you.” Olivia glanced up as they both paused at the roadside, her eyes meeting his for one moment. Something seemed to flicker deep within his and for the briefest time she thought his expression seemed haunted, almost tortured. What could have caused him to look like that? Before she had time to think, the look had gone. “Goodbye, Captain Denning. I thank you for your courtesy.”

“Goodbye, Miss Roade Burton. I wish you a safe journey onwards.”

“That is kind.” She smiled at him. “Perhaps we shall meet if you come to Brighton.”

She blushed, wondering what had made her say such a thing. It would not be remarkable if he were to visit Brighton, since his estate was no more than twenty miles distant, yet her words were rather more familiar than Olivia would usually use in speaking to a stranger.

“I doubt that we shall,” Jack replied. His gaze narrowed, becoming colder to her way of thinking. “I have no plans to visit Brighton at the moment.”

Olivia lowered her eyes. She felt as if he had given her a setdown, and knew that she had deserved it. Perhaps he imagined that she was setting her cap at him! It was her own fault. She had been forward, almost impertinent.

She walked away from him, her back very straight. What did it matter? She was sure she did not care whether he had thought her forward or not!

Beatrice was gazing out of the carriage window, looking anxious. She waved at her as she saw her, clearly relieved.

“Oh, there you are! I was just beginning to wonder if I should send someone to search for you, dearest.”

“I am sorry if I made you anxious. I went into the wood to—to, well, you know. There was a fierce dog. It snarled at me and would not let me pass. I dare not move in case it attacked me. Then a man came and called it off. I imagined at first that he was the gamekeeper, but I believe he may own the estate. He…looked odd.”

“How?” Beatrice stared at her in surprise. “I am not sure what you mean by odd?”

“I am not sure either,” Olivia said and laughed. “Perhaps odd is the wrong word. Yes, interesting might be more appropriate. I think he had been ill. His face looked thin, almost gaunt, and his eyes…” She shook her head. It was his eyes that had affected her most. “What ails thee, pale knight…?”

“What was that you said?” Beatrice asked.

“Oh, I was thinking of a verse I once read,” Olivia said. “It was about a knight wandering in a daze from the field of battle…pale of face and red of eye…”

“Oh, poetry!” Beatrice said and smiled. “What was his name, dearest? This man you met…”

“Denning…Captain Jack Denning.”

“Perhaps he was a soldier,” Beatrice said. “He may have been wounded in the Peninsula, and sent home to recover.”

“Yes…” Olivia was much struck by this. She had been shaken by the incident with the dog, and then a little annoyed with her rescuer for implying that she was foolish to have wandered into the woods alone, and had not given his title much consideration. “Yes, I think you may be right, Beatrice. That would account for his brusque manner. He did not strike me as someone accustomed to mixing in society often.”

“Are you saying he was not a gentleman?”

“No, of course not. He was definitely a gentleman, but his manner was a little harsh…or reserved might be a better word. I think he may well have been a soldier—and if he was wounded out there, it would account for his appearance.”

“Well, as long as he did not insult or harm you?”

“Oh, no,” Olivia said. “Quite the opposite. He seemed most concerned that I was alone in the woods, and insisted on seeing me safe to the road. His dog has been trained to attack gypsies. Apparently they are a nuisance in these woods…”