A Midnight Clear
The Lost Lords
A Novella
Chasity Bowlin
Copyright © 2019 by Chasity Bowlin
Kindle Edition
Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc
All rights 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 or reviews.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Books from Dragonblade Publishing
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
The carriage lurched roughly, the wheels sliding on the muddy road. Lady Sarah Middlethorp, Dowager Viscountess of Vale, gripped the edge of the seat as she struggled to avoid being dislodged from it entirely.
The storm had come up unexpectedly, beginning with heavy rain which quickly gave way to ice and now snow. There were miles still to go before she would reach Midford Abbey, the Middlethorp family seat. It would be the first Christmas since her son had been returned to her. Happily married now to her former companion, Elizabeth, they were expecting their first child in just shy of a month. It was that which had necessitated her leaving Bath and traveling to them for the holidays. She would not miss spending such a special day with her son, even if it meant descending upon them during Elizabeth’s confinement.
Thinking of all the lonely holidays she’d spent, wondering if Benedict was alive, if he was well and warm and cared for, Sarah shuddered. From that fateful night so many years ago when
he’d been torn from her arms and absconded with by the villains her own husband had brought into their lives with his perfidy and greed, her life had been focused on one thing only. Getting him back, no matter the cost. And finally she had. She would not miss another Christmas with him.
Even as she thought it, the carriage slowed, the horses’ hooves slipping on the mud and ice. “Why are we stopping? We’re in the middle of nowhere!” she called to the driver.
“I’m sorry, my lady! There’s a tree fallen across the road. We’ll have to go back and take the other road.”
It would take all night, assuming they could even go that direction as it was a more narrow and less well-traveled road. “How far are we from Midford, Travers?”
“We’re still two miles out, my lady!”
She could walk two miles. Even in the worst of conditions, she should be able to manage that. After all, had she not dressed for travel in a warm, woolen gown and sturdy boots? And if she cut cross country and got off the road, the distance would surely be even less.
“Help me down, Travers. You’ll turn and go back to the inn in the village. I can walk the remainder of the way.”
She heard him gasp even from inside the coach. When the door opened, he stood there gaping at her as if she’d lost her mind. “My lady! No. It’s much too dangerous.”
“It will be fine, Travers. There is a small cart path that cuts through the woods past the dower house and it will reduce the distance by half at least. I have my cloak and my boots,” she insisted. Whether she was trying to convince him or herself remained to be seen. Regardless, she needed to reach Midford and Benedict. It wasn’t just that she wanted to be near her son, for she did, terribly. It was also that she was terribly lonely. There had been no need to replace her companion after Elizabeth had married Benedict because her days of investigating every mystic in all of England had come to an end. She’d found precisely what she wished to, after all.
“It’s too dangerous, my lady,” the man insisted. “It’s more ice than rain at this point and if you fall, there will be no one to help you.”
“I am going, Travers. I will make it to Midford even if I have to crawl. Nothing will stop me from spending Christmas with my son,” she said fiercely, even as she dug a few coins from her bag. Extending them toward him, she pressed them into his palm. “Nothing. Now, help me down, then get back to the inn, obtain lodgings for yourself and see to the horses.”
“I can’t do that, my lady!”
“Travers, I am still your employer. There is no room for negotiations in this matter,” she snapped. “Now, for the last time, help me down!”
The man was clearly displeased but, short of restraining her inside the carriage, he had no other option. When he took her hand and helped her from the vehicle, she planted her feet on the road and realized just how truthfully he’d spoken. Everything was coated in a thin sheen of ice. The world glinted with it, as if everything had been draped in diamonds or crystals. A moment of apprehension seized her, but she quickly tamped it down. Her fear did not alter the situation, after all. She still needed to reach Midford. She would reach Midford, she determined.
Clutching her cloak more firmly about her, she gave Travers a nod that reflected far more confidence than she actually felt, and headed the few yards down the road to the turn off for the small dirt-packed path that the tenant farmers used when taking their crops and livestock to market. It had been ages since she’d been there, but it had always been one of her favorite country walks. Of course, those walks had been taken in much milder conditions.
Making her way gingerly along the road, holding onto tree branches and the low stone walls that banked it whenever possible, Sarah held fast to her determination and the need to reach her family.
*
Branson Middlethorp cursed the abominable weather as he made his way back to the small dower house on the grounds of Midford Abbey. The rain that had fallen was freezing on contact to everything it touched and what continued to fall was quickly giving way to snow. He had exiled himself there so that the servants would not feel divided in their allegiance between himself and his nephew who had only recently taken up the title and the running of the estate. The truth was, he would happily depart Midford Abbey and leave Benedict to it, but the boy was not ready. Man. Benedict was not a boy, but a man fully grown, with a wife at his side and a solid head on his shoulders. Thinking of him as a boy was less a reflection on Benedict than it was a reflection of Branson’s own encroaching dotage. Still, he had not been raised to tend an estate. While his business acumen was sound, he needed guidance on things such as land usage, when to plant, when to leave fallow. Those were not things to be learned overnight, but Branson was no longer certain he was the man to teach him. A restlessness had overtaken him of late. No longer fettered by responsibilities to the Middlethorp estates and a viscountcy that had never been intended for him, the prospect of freedom loomed ahead of him.
The wind howled again and shifted abruptly. The rain had given up altogether and heavy, white flakes were falling from the sky, turning the entire world white. It had turned into a blizzard, coming in sideways and penetrating even the heavy layer of his cloak. He’d take the shortcut, he decided, using the dirt lane that the farmers used. As he neared it, he saw the carriage and cursed again.
“What the devil are you doing out here?” he shouted.
“Mr. Middlethorp, sir? Is that you?”
Even through the wind and rain he recognized that voice. Travers. The Dowager Viscountess’ driver. “Is she in there?” Branson snapped. He could wring her blasted neck for putting herself in danger. She should have arrived already and been safely settled at Midford Abbey.
“No, sir. She struck out on foot almost a quarter-hour ago, taking the shortcut to the house. I’ve been trying to get the carriage turned so I could get back to the inn in the village but the horses keep sliding.”
“There’s a farm just a hundred yards behind you. It belongs to a Mr. Pace. Tell him you’re the dowager’s coachman and that you’ve been stuck by bad weather. They’ll give you lodgings for the night. Leave the carriage. Unhitch the horses and walk them in. They’ll be less likely to injure themselves that way. In the morning, he’s to hitch them to his sleigh and come to the dower house. I’m going after Lady Vale. And Travers, it’ll be on your head if she’s managed to do injury to herself!” Branson snapped and then made for the lane. The ice was growing heavier on the branches. As fierce as the wind was, those branches would soon begin to snap. He had to get to her and he had to do it quickly.
Turning down the lane, urging his horse as fast as it could safely travel on the slippery path, Branson alternately prayed and cursed her hardheadedness. Ever since his brother had passed away, looking after Sarah had been his first priority. But she had never made it easy. During the course of Benedict’s long absence and the uncertainty of his fate, she’d put herself in the path of every charlatan and criminal imaginable, despite his best efforts to curb her recklessness. Contrary to what she believed, it had never been the money or even a need to control her as she had often asserted. He would gladly have sacrificed every bit of the Middlethorp fortune, his own personal funds, and the coffers of the entailed Vale estates if it might have offered her peace. She had despised him for his interference, thinking him as controlling and hateful as his brother had been. That could not have been further from the truth. All he’d wanted then, all he wanted still, was her happiness and for her to be safe.
Branson had not gone far when he spotted her. She was not quite a quarter of a mile from where the lane began. She was still a good three-quarters of a mile from where the lane ended on the grounds of Midford Abbey. But she’d never make it that far. Even if she did, they’d never make it up the steep incline that awaited her in order to reach the main house.
“Sarah!” he called out.
She glanced over her shoulder, but did not halt. Instead, she picked up her pace as if she didn’t know it was him at a
ll. Or perhaps she did, he thought, and her wish to avoid him was greater than her own sense of self-preservation. No sooner had the thought occurred to him than he heard her scream as she slipped in the mud and ice. His heart stopped as he saw how utterly still she was. Heedless of his own safety, Branson raced forward, terror clawing at him.
Chapter Two
Sarah’s temper had flared at the mere sound of his voice. Even now, with her son home where he belonged and Branson no longer the trustee over the estate—and her—he dogged her footsteps. But her anger had come on the heels of another feeling. Relief. Despite all her resistance to his managing and highhanded ways, the instant she’d heard him call her name, she’d had but one thought. Branson would know what to do. He always did. There had never been a time in her life, not since her husband’s death, when Branson had not been there to see to things, to manage things, to prevent her from falling in with those who would have exploited her grief for their own gains.
It had been those complicated and warring feelings that had spurred her on, making her careless in her haste. Lying there in the mud, rain splashing all around her—she was dazed, winded, and uncertain of how injured she might be. Her ankle throbbed and her shoulder ached where it had struck a stone that had fallen from the fence.
By the time she’d managed to shake off enough of her disorientation and wounded pride from having literally fallen on her backside, he had nearly reached her.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded as he drew nearer. Her tone was sullen and sharp. Despite knowing that, she did not feel it was in her power to correct it. He sparked her temper like no other man ever had.
“I saw the carriage on the road and set out to find you,” he said, dismounting. “Are you hurt?”
“Not seriously,” she answered churlishly. Other than having him witness more of her indignity. She felt foolish enough in his presence without being covered head to toe in mud and muck.
“It’s too dangerous to walk much further and the horse cannot possibly maintain his balance with both of us on his back.”
“We cannot just stay here!” she snapped.
“In point of fact, Sarah, we can. The gate to the dower house is only a few yards ahead. It’s where I’ve been staying since Benedict and Elizabeth took up residence at Midford,” he replied. “Come along.”