The Baron’s Betrothal: An On-Again, Off-Again, On-Again Regency Romance (The Horsemen of the Apocalypse Series) by Miranda Davis Page B
Authors: Miranda Davis
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anywhere,” he said and swept a hand to encompass the entire horizon before he let it fall to his side.
“Still, it will turn up, I’m certain of it.”
“Then you are a greater fool than I, Lady Elizabeth. It’s gone.”
“Optimism doesn’t make me foolish and it won’t lessen the chances of finding your ring.”
“Nor will it improve them, but the expectation of finding it worsens one’s disappointment when it fails to turn up.”
“But,” she argued, “if it does turn up, it justifies one’s hope. That cannot be a bad thing.” He stared at her as if she were simple-minded. “We must do as our disparate natures dictate, sir. I shall expect to find your lost ring with luck and enough looking whereas you shall find nothing because you refuse to look for fear of greater disappointment.”
The man glowered at her as if she were talking nonsense, which she knew perfectly well she was not.
“Don’t you glare at me.” She thrust an accusatory finger at his nose. “You are the one who makes no sense.”
His black brows shot up and he blinked. “Well. I’ll be off then. Might as well search the meadow.”
“Would you like some help?”
“No need to waste your time, too. Good day.”
“I’ll find it, Mr. Tyler, I will.”
He merely bowed to her and hoisted himself into the saddle. Without another word, he rode away.
She searched the cottage yard on hands and knees, combing slowly through the tall grass. She looked inside the cottage. Outside again, she paced, head down, slowly around the stump where he chopped wood for her. She removed more firewood from the pile. Around the base of the yew where he’d looked cursorily, she made a minute examination. Nothing. She widened her search.
It had to be somewhere.
After hours on her hands and knees, she turned up nothing but partridge bones.
Chapter 5
In which other hopes are dashed.
Carreg Castle, Wales. 11
“I’ m tempted not to pay you for failure but I want you gone back to Ludlow without a fuss,” Lady Clun said without emotion to the four rough characters standing before her in the castle’s great hall.
“Yes, y’ladyship,” the leader of the loutish foursome said. “Didn’t get a name. It’s for sure she’s no local girl. That’s a fact.”
“Oh? And how did you deduce this?” Lady Clun asked. The man’s face blanked so she closed her eyes, inhaled slowly to count to five and rephrased the question, “How do you know she isn’t local?”
“She don’t know anyone in the village and no one knows her. Just appeared one day not long ago. A bit out of the ordinary, you might say.” He refrained from mentioning they’d not only asked around about the girl at Lady Clun’s behest but also robbed her. It was an impetuous act inspired by the sight of a particularly fine engraved gold locket hanging around her neck and a pair of lustrous pearls dangling from her ears. Jewelry like that just didn’t come along in Clun Forest. Or Ludlow for that matter. The man added, “Her brother threatened us wi’ harm so we made ourselves scarce. Thought you should know she’s not alone and seems like to stay.”
“Is she pretty?”
“I’d say so. Folks say she’s queer in the head and steer clear o’ her, ma’am. They knew her brother in the village, though. Big man, he. Didn’t like us, er, snooping about her,” he fibbed.
“Strange,” the baroness hissed, eyes narrowing as she considered the likelihood of a local man with an unknown sibling. She dismissed it. Next she considered who in the vicinity would confront four men to help an unfamiliar girl. Two came to mind. One was steward of The Graces, the other had been in Bath and was expected in London the last she’d heard. She fingered the Staffordshire china dog on the table beside her. It cost three times what she would pay these ineffectual fools.
“What did this big man look like?” The baroness demanded.
“Tall, big, black hair. Didn’t
“Still, it will turn up, I’m certain of it.”
“Then you are a greater fool than I, Lady Elizabeth. It’s gone.”
“Optimism doesn’t make me foolish and it won’t lessen the chances of finding your ring.”
“Nor will it improve them, but the expectation of finding it worsens one’s disappointment when it fails to turn up.”
“But,” she argued, “if it does turn up, it justifies one’s hope. That cannot be a bad thing.” He stared at her as if she were simple-minded. “We must do as our disparate natures dictate, sir. I shall expect to find your lost ring with luck and enough looking whereas you shall find nothing because you refuse to look for fear of greater disappointment.”
The man glowered at her as if she were talking nonsense, which she knew perfectly well she was not.
“Don’t you glare at me.” She thrust an accusatory finger at his nose. “You are the one who makes no sense.”
His black brows shot up and he blinked. “Well. I’ll be off then. Might as well search the meadow.”
“Would you like some help?”
“No need to waste your time, too. Good day.”
“I’ll find it, Mr. Tyler, I will.”
He merely bowed to her and hoisted himself into the saddle. Without another word, he rode away.
She searched the cottage yard on hands and knees, combing slowly through the tall grass. She looked inside the cottage. Outside again, she paced, head down, slowly around the stump where he chopped wood for her. She removed more firewood from the pile. Around the base of the yew where he’d looked cursorily, she made a minute examination. Nothing. She widened her search.
It had to be somewhere.
After hours on her hands and knees, she turned up nothing but partridge bones.
Chapter 5
In which other hopes are dashed.
Carreg Castle, Wales. 11
“I’ m tempted not to pay you for failure but I want you gone back to Ludlow without a fuss,” Lady Clun said without emotion to the four rough characters standing before her in the castle’s great hall.
“Yes, y’ladyship,” the leader of the loutish foursome said. “Didn’t get a name. It’s for sure she’s no local girl. That’s a fact.”
“Oh? And how did you deduce this?” Lady Clun asked. The man’s face blanked so she closed her eyes, inhaled slowly to count to five and rephrased the question, “How do you know she isn’t local?”
“She don’t know anyone in the village and no one knows her. Just appeared one day not long ago. A bit out of the ordinary, you might say.” He refrained from mentioning they’d not only asked around about the girl at Lady Clun’s behest but also robbed her. It was an impetuous act inspired by the sight of a particularly fine engraved gold locket hanging around her neck and a pair of lustrous pearls dangling from her ears. Jewelry like that just didn’t come along in Clun Forest. Or Ludlow for that matter. The man added, “Her brother threatened us wi’ harm so we made ourselves scarce. Thought you should know she’s not alone and seems like to stay.”
“Is she pretty?”
“I’d say so. Folks say she’s queer in the head and steer clear o’ her, ma’am. They knew her brother in the village, though. Big man, he. Didn’t like us, er, snooping about her,” he fibbed.
“Strange,” the baroness hissed, eyes narrowing as she considered the likelihood of a local man with an unknown sibling. She dismissed it. Next she considered who in the vicinity would confront four men to help an unfamiliar girl. Two came to mind. One was steward of The Graces, the other had been in Bath and was expected in London the last she’d heard. She fingered the Staffordshire china dog on the table beside her. It cost three times what she would pay these ineffectual fools.
“What did this big man look like?” The baroness demanded.
“Tall, big, black hair. Didn’t
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