The Earl's Daughter (2 page)

Peter stepped away from the carriage and went to retrieve his stick. Pushing the carriage had failed again, so he thought it was time to resume his digging.

And Sylvie continued her tirade. “Mr. Tonbridge and I have absolutely nothing in common, as I am sure you can imagine. I have known him since I was a child, which makes it absolutely absurd that he could ever want me as his wife. Would you believe my father called me a spinster? He insists that Robert has no intention to marry me, but I know he is wrong. Robert is very passionate when he speaks to me. He even wrote a poem for me.”

“Did he?” Peter turned toward her and clasped a hand over his heart. “How... moving.”

“You are sarcastic, but there is truth in what you say. I found him to be very romantic, and I was always very moved by his words.”

As Peter prodded at the mud around the carriage wheel, he shook his head and sighed. How could he tell the young lady he had no interest in hearing about her affairs of the heart?

“I am nearly five and twenty.” Sylvie confessed. “Do you think I am a spinster?”

He stared at her for several seconds, then quietly answered, “No.”

A large clump of mud was dislodged by Peter's digging. It flew toward Lady Sylvie, nearly missing her dress. “Oh my!” she exclaimed.

“Sorry, my lady.”

“You needn't apologize. Your hard work is very much appreciated, Hughes. You seem very determined to dig your way out of this predicament. If you would like some assistance, I would be more than happy to--”

“
No.
” His answer came more swiftly than ever.

“Very well. Perhaps your pride will not allow you to accept help from a lady. It is perfectly understandable.” Sylvie sighed, shrugged, and quietly watched him dig. She felt a strange fluttering in her heart when she saw him tug at the collar of his shirt. His tan, sweat-covered neck was glistening in the sunlight. “Are you married, Hughes?”

“No.”

“Ah. I see. Well, I do not find that surprising in the least. You do look very young.”

“I am eight and twenty.”

“Are you? I wouldn't have guessed that. I thought there was every possibility you were younger than me. You have a very boyish face.”

When Peter stopped digging and turned in her direction, one of his dark eyebrows was raised. “Even with the beard?” He dragged a hand across his bristly chin.

“I am afraid so.” Sylvie attempted to console him with a smile. “Do you know what Robert said when he first saw me? He thought I was my youngest sister's mother! I must say, it was more than a bit insulting, and I was very determined to dislike him after that! Of course, he was far too charming to dislike for very long. And my youngest sister is only eight, so I suppose it would be possible for me to be her mother, had I gotten married very young. Do you think I look old, Hughes?”

“Not at all, my lady.”

“Even if I look a bit older than my five and twenty years, my father should not expect me to marry a much older man. It is too cruel. It is--”

Peter interrupted with a sigh. “Lady Sylvie?”

“Yes?”

He lifted his mud-covered stick and playfully jabbed it in her direction. “I do not mean to be rude, but your endless prattle is a bit... distracting.”

“
Prattle
?!” She gasped at the word. “How very offensive!”

“I do not mean to offend,” he assured her, “but I would strongly prefer a quiet companion right now.”

“A quiet companion...” Sylvie repeated his words with a snort. “Now you will have
no
companion, Hughes! See how you prefer that! I shall inflict loneliness on you!”

Sylvie opened the carriage, climbed inside, and slammed the door behind her. When she was gone, Peter drove his stick into the mud and whispered to himself, “I
do
prefer it...”

When the earl's daughter was no longer around to vex him, Peter worked twice as fast. He burrowed around the wheel with renewed vigor and had the carriage freed in less than ten minutes. When he went to tell Sylvie the good news, he was surprised to find her sleeping in the carriage.

“Poor girl,” he whispered to himself. “She must be exhausted. One could almost feel a bit sorry for her.”

Peter noticed her nose was bright red and assumed she was cold, so he went to retrieve his discarded coat and draped it around her shoulders. He watched her for several seconds, shrugged, and then climbed back into the driver's seat.

It was still quite a distance to Nottingham. In Peter's mind, that was a very unfortunate fact.

III

Sylvie hovered in and out of sleep for hours, and when she finally woke, the carriage had halted in front of a rustic inn. When Peter abruptly opened the carriage door, she simultaneously gasped and squealed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Sylvie was determined to ask the first question. “Why have we stopped?”

“The horse needs a rest, and we've a long way to go before we reach Nottingham,” Peter explained. “We should spend the night here and continue the journey tomorrow.”

“I did not realize this journey would be so eventful. And so... prolonged.”

“We should arrive tomorrow,” Peter said. “And it would be helpful if you could stay awake. I don't think I could find your boy Robert's house on my own.”

“
Estate
,” Sylvie corrected his choice of word as politely as she could. “Robert has a very large estate on the outskirts of Sherwood Forest.”

“I hope he's not overtaxed by the Sheriff of Nottingham.” As he made his poorly received quip, Peter extended his right hand toward Sylvie. She stared at his fingers as if they were something vile, until he finally asked, “Would you like me to help you down from the carriage?”

“Must we really stay at this... place?” The inn was situated in a quaint thatched cottage, which she thought was adorable, but her nose was wrinkled nonetheless. “This does not look like the sort of establishment at which a lady would stay.”

“No one will know you, therefore, no one could possibly judge you. Your reputation will be safe, I assure you.”

When Sylvie took his proffered hand, she was surprised to discover it was much softer than she anticipated. She expected the fingers of a working man to be rough and calloused. Peter helped her alight from the carriage, retrieved his coat—which she had discarded as soon as she woke—and headed in the direction of the inn.

Before they reached the inn, a ruddy-faced young boy ran toward them and blocked their path. “Please, sir!” The urchin cried. His face was covered in splotches of dirt, and a dingy brown hat half-hung over his eyes, which were red-rimmed and slightly jaundiced. “Can you me spare some money? Anythin' at all? My mum is sick 'n we got no money to feed the baby.”

Sylvie's eyes were wide, as if she was a bit intimidated by the child standing in front of them. But Peter stayed calm. He reached into the pocket of his breeches, pulled out a shiny coin, and held it out to the boy. “Here, lad. I wish you all the best, and I hope your mother's health improves.”

The boy snatched the coin from Peter's hand so enthusiastically, he practically whooped with joy. “Thank you, sir! That's very kind of you, sir! I'll never forget you, sir!”

The beggar boy waved, bowed, and disappeared as quickly as he came. When Peter met Sylvie's gaze, she looked simultaneously awed and confused. “Was that not one of the coins I just gave you,” she asked, “for taking me to Nottingham?”

“Indeed it was. I figured he had more need of it than I did.”

“That's very generous of you,” Sylvie said. “And perhaps a bit naive. The boy could have been telling a lie.”

“I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. If his story
was
true, his need is greater than mine,” Peter asserted.

“You're actually a very kind person,” Sylvie observed. “More so than I first believed.”

“I appreciate that, my lady.” When they reached the inn, Peter opened the door for her, “In truth, I can empathize with him a bit. I've had to look after my own mum since I was fourteen.”

“Truly? That is very young.” Sylvie tried to smile at him, but her eyes were sad. “And very noble of you.”

“It isn't as if I had a choice, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Sylvie reluctantly followed Peter across the inn's foyer, where a busty woman of indeterminate years was standing behind a dusty counter. When the woman turned in Peter's direction, her two chins waggled. “Ello there, young man.”

“Good day, my fine woman!” Peter exclaimed. He leaned across the counter and flashed his most disarming smile “Might you have a room to spare?”

Sylvie wrinkled her nose when she heard Peter's exceedingly jovial reply. He never sounded half as pleasant when he was speaking to her.

“Aye. I do. You need a room for you and yer wife?”

Sylvie's eyebrows shot up at the ridiculous suggestion. “Oh, I'm not--”

“We were only recently married,” Peter interrupted Sylvie before she could finish. When he slipped an arm around Sylvie's back and pulled her against his hip, Sylvie's eyes flashed with rage. “My Josephine is very shy.”

“I could see that from the moment I laid eyes on her. She has a timid sort of look,” the woman unabashedly—and groundlessly—observed. “Aye, but you do make a lovely couple.”

“
What
are you playing at?!” Sylvie hissed at Peter. “Your
wife
?
Josephine
?”

While the innkeeper busied herself with a set of keys, Peter bent his head toward Sylvie's ear and said, “You're a runaway. It's better this way, so as not to raise any suspicion.”

“I can't believe she would think I was your wife!” Sylvie continued in a whisper. “We are quite obviously not of the same class. I am dressed like a lady, and you are dressed very...” Sylvie raked her gaze over Peter's lean form. She could not think of an appropriate word, one that would not potentially offend him.

“Ere you go, lad,” the lady said. She passed one of the keys to Peter, and he paid for their room with another one of the coins given to him by Sylvie. “I hope the room's to your liking.”

“Good day, Madam.” When Peter bowed to the woman standing in front of them, he almost looked like a gentleman. Then he headed up the adjacent staircase and motioned for Sylvie to follow him.

“
One
room?” Sylvie squawked at him as she ascended the stairs. “
Surely
you cannot expect me to share a room with you!”

“You get the bed.” Peter glanced over his shoulder and smirked at her. “I'll sleep on the floor.”

“I cannot... I will not share a room with you!” Sylvie insisted. “The level of impropriety is unfathomable! Are you trying to ruin my reputation?”

“I imagine your reputation suffered a blow when you decided to run away to Nottingham to meet with your beau.”

“Of course! Robert!” Sylvie exclaimed. “He would not want me to spend the night with another man. You're not even a gentleman! How can I expect you to behave yourself?”

“Believe me, my lady...” As Peter opened the door, it groaned on its hinges. “I'm not tempted to misbehave.”

“Are you saying I do not provide adequate temptation?” Sylvie brushed him aside and forced her way into the room ahead of him. “That is quite cruel!”

“I only wanted to assure you that you have nothing to fear from me.”

“Are you really going to insist that we share this small space?” Sylvie's gaze flickered over the tatty curtains, scuffed floor, and mysterious stain on the wall. “This very, very small space? I should demand a separate room. I would not want to sully Robert's opinion of me.”

“What about your fiance's opinion of you?”

“I care significantly less about Mr. Tonbridge's opinion, as I am sure you are aware.” Sylvie sat at the end of the bed and ran her fingers along the bedsheets, which she assumed would be itchy. “Robert is the man I want to marry. He is the
only
man I shall marry. Of that, I am certain.”

“Mm,” Peter muttered a response as he peered out the window. He was absentmindedly staring into the distance, as if the current topic of conversation was of little interest to him.

“I should not share a room with you before I have shared a room with him! The thought of it makes my skin prickle with disgust!”

“Disgust?” When Peter turned in her direction, one corner of his mouth was raised, as if he was amused.

“Robert is the only man I have ever kissed, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“I can't imagine why you feel the need to tell me that,” Peter said with a chuckle. “It isn't as if sharing a room with me would mean my mouth would suddenly find yours.”

“I know that!” Sylvie gasped. “I-I-I simply wanted to convey how important it is for me to preserve my virtue for Robert.”

“Well, I wouldn't want Robert to agonize over this, would I? I'll concede to your demands and find another room for m'self.”

“I am very grateful to you for that. And I
will
repay you, I assure you!” Sylvie tried to smile at him, but he did not look particularly eager to return the gesture.

“I am eager to see this man. This Robert.”

“Mr. Lytton,” Sylvie corrected him. “You should call him Mr. Lytton. It seems a bit untoward for you to speak of him so informally.”

“My... apologies, my lady.” Peter sneered at Sylvie as he slipped through the doorway. “Good evening to you.”

As soon as the earl's daughter was out of his sight, Peter's shoulders relaxed and he expelled the breath he was holding. Sylvie Stafford was his better in every sense of the word, so he tried to be as polite as possible, but she definitely tested his patience.

He told her he would find another room in the inn, but that was only partially true. After paying for Sylvie's room and aiding the beggar boy, Peter's money was dwindling quickly.

Unfortunately for him, that meant he would be spending the night in the stables.

IV

“Why do you have hay in your hair, Hughes?”

When he heard Sylvie's question, Peter could feel his fist clenching and his jaw twitching. Without a word, he continued to prepare the horse for travel.

“Well...?” Sylvie plucked the errant hay from his hair and casually flicked it aside. “Are you going to answer my question or not?”