Lady Mary and Her Rakish Count: A Clean Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Revelstoke Legacy Book 3) Read online

  Lady Mary and Her Rakish Count

  The Revelstoke Legacy

  By Lynda Hurst

  Copyright © 2019 by Lynda Hurst & Bon Ton Books

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

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  Prologue

  Donnesbury, England, Fourteen Years Earlier

  After a rousing afternoon of roaming through the countryside with her favorite people, little twelve-year-old Mary Ellesmere could no longer ignore the belly cramps that had been plaguing her. She had decidedly ignored them for fear that Jackson, her twin brother, would notice and tease her about devouring all of the tea cakes earlier that day. Since he had eaten the other half, and was clearly not experiencing the same degree of distress as she, she knew the cramps were a result of a different nature of the feminine sort.

  Jackson and their mutual dearest friend, Faith Revelstoke, were chatting merrily ahead of her in the lane leading towards Faith’s home. The dinner bell was expected to sound soon, which would signal the time for the trio to part ways to their own respective homes. Faith, on to Revelstoke Place, and the twins, towards Ellesmere Park. Knowing the terrorizing ways of Faith’s overbearing father, the Earl of Revelstoke, Jackson and Mary were accustomed to bringing Faith home much earlier than she was expected and were grateful that he wasn’t awaiting them at the front door.

  Once Faith was safely tucked inside the house, Mary whirled on her brother, but doubled over when a vicious cramp seized her belly, and exclaimed, “I need to see Kit! Take me to her now!”

  Alarmed at the urgency in her voice and at the pain in her hazel eyes, Jackson, being taller than his sister, wrapped a supporting arm around her shoulders for her to lean into him. As swiftly as he could, he steered them both down a lesser traveled lane that led to Kit’s house. “Lean into me, Mary, and I’ll get you there,” he said.

  Gallantly as he possibly could, he half-carried, half-propelled Mary towards the old woman’s house, hoping that once they arrived, Kit would have the remedy for whatever it was that ailed his sister. Grateful that Kit’s house stood halfway between Faith’s house and their own, Jackson didn’t think Mary would survive a longer distance by the pained grimace on her young face.

  Still supporting her with one arm, the siblings awkwardly made their way through a copse of oak trees that partially hid a narrow dirt path, leading towards the parish’s lone wise woman’s cottage. Hidden as it was from the main road, the natural vegetation and towering trees ensured the woman her privacy, keeping prying eyes from delving into her little corner of the world.

  However, those who sought her aid have often traversed the beaten path, but usually in secret, and not in the bright light of day, just as the twins were doing. To be seen walking the path to her cottage was to invite open scorn for consorting with the ‘Witch of Donnesbury’. Despite the seeming end of persecution of so-called witches in this age, there were those still among the parishioners who would not hesitate to accuse one of witchcraft.

  The twins reached an old crofter’s cottage, whose exterior mirrored that of the various other cottages scattered about Donnesbury. The little yard was well-kept and tidy, where an herb garden flourished under the obvious care and two kid goats stared back at them from behind their small pen.

  Arriving at the doorstep, Jackson raised his free arm to form a fist and knocked heavily. Straining to hear past the closed door, neither Jackson nor Mary could hear any sounds from within the house, but they knew that the smoke billowing from the chimney must mean that someone must be inside tending to its cause.

  Mary’s belly chose that moment to produce a fresh wave of pain from a vicious cramp, and she groaned aloud at its onset. Alarmed, Jackson raised his hand once more to pound even more urgently on the door, but he was startled out of his intended motion by a voice demanding, “What do you want?”

  Both children jumped, having been startled not just by the cackling quality of the voice, but by the unexpected direction the voice hailed from. Around the corner of the house stood an elderly woman, dressed in a simple shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a woolen skirt. A stained apron tied around her waist suggested she was at work, from which the twins must have drawn her away. Her hair, not quite as gray as the children first expected, but instead, had streaks of silver here and there in the uptwist of her hair bun.

  Jackson quickly recovered from surprise at her sudden appearance, and burst out with urgency, “My sister needs your help. She’s in terrible pain, and we’re too far from home to fetch the doctor. Would you help her please?”

  He had recognized the local wise woman from her infrequent visits to Ellesmere Park; she delivered Cook’s special kitchen herbs when the supply was low. Overhearing Cook call the woman ‘Kit’ on more than one occasion, Jackson decided that the local ‘Witch of Donnesbury’ could not be all that bad. If anyone could help Mary with her mysterious pain, it was Kit.

  Instead of answering his question the way he expected, she asked, “Who are you? It’s unusual for me to cater to the demands of a stranger until the proper introductions have been made.”

  Taken aback at the reminder of having forgotten his manners, Jackson was struck speechless for a moment. Groaning aloud, half from exasperation and the other half from pain, Mary cried, “I am Mary, and this is my brother, Jackson. We are very sorry for intruding, but you were the first person I thought of who could help me.”

  Grinning widely, the woman chuckled, “And I am Mistress Katherine, otherwise known as Kit to those who know me well. You can use either name, and I will respond to both. But I already knew who you were on sight, with those same eyes of shifting color and russet hair. Being twins and obviously well-born, the two of you could not be anyone else but the Earl of Ellesmere’s children.”

  Already made further impatient by what he thought of as inane babble, Jackson decided he had enough of this roundabout and unusual introduction. He cried, “If you knew who we were, then why bother with everything that was said from the moment you saw us till now? We stand here chittering away while my sister desperately needs a healer.”

  Frowning at Jackson, Kit merely said, “Just this once, I will forgive your lack of manners for the measure of concern you show your sister. The next time your rudeness is apparent, I will not be so lenient. Am I understood?”

  Brought low, Jackson muttered, “Yes, Mistress Katherine.”

  �
�Good,” she said and swiftly turned her focus on Mary, while summarily dismissing Jackson altogether. “Now, have you received a blow? Is that the source of your pain?”

  Mary blushed profusely and seemed at a loss to answer the simple question. Kit noted the girl’s high color and clucked her tongue, already having guessed the heart of the matter.

  “I think I know how I may help. Come with me,” Kit motioned to Mary. “But your brother will have to remain here.” Expecting the boy to protest the separation from his sister, Kit continued, “We won’t be long, and I can’t have a male such as yourself observing female matters.”

  Mary followed her around to the back of the house where the tree line shaded the tiny yard. Here, there were more herbs growing in yet another garden, but it was much cooler behind the house, being sheltered from the waning sun’s rays.

  “Inside with you now,” Kit prodded. “I’ll examine you first, and then we will see what I am able to do.” Mary hesitated, having heard the rumors of Kit being a witch, but Kit only laughed and said, “I won’t harm you despite what you may have heard about me. Like you’ve said, I am someone who can help.”

  Sheepish at having believed the rumors in the first place, Mary quickly followed her into a large shed which spread as far as the width of the house. A small wood stove stood in the corner, a fire already lit within. Various herbs were drying in mesh baskets on the long worktable while others hung from the exposed rafters above her. Open cupboards contained numerous covered glass jars, with their mysterious contents on display, their properties Mary could only guess at.

  “You’re a healer, not a witch,” Mary proclaimed aloud as she surveyed the room. A throaty chuckle from Kit made Mary turn towards the sound, and Kit replied, “Of course not. My skills were taught to me by the abbess who raised me. Hers, in turn, were learned from that book over there.”

  Mary followed the invisible line from Kit’s pointed finger to the worktable, and she spied an open-faced book whose pages were painstakingly inscribed by a careful hand. A closer look proved the book weathered and yellowed from age and use; its current page revealed drawings of various plants native to the area, of which Mary recognized.

  After glancing through the descriptions accompanying the drawings, Mary looked up and chattered excitedly, “Oh! I had no idea that the mallow grown around here was useful. Or that the weeds in our garden were good for more than just throwing away.”

  Surprised, Kit asked, “You have an interest in plants, then? That book there will tell you all you need to know about the many uses for them. But first, I need you to lie down on that cot for me to examine you.”

  Having almost forgotten her pain at the moment, Mary complied swiftly, and Kit began her ministrations by pressing gently on Mary’s belly. “How long has it been since you first started your courses?”

  Blushing, Mary replied, “My first time was only two months ago, but this is only my second. I had no idea that there would be this much pain, even when my nurse warned me about it.”

  “I see,” Kit said, and turned away to look through her collection of dried herbs in the cupboard. “Everyone has a different experience, but there are things that can help with the pain. Like this herb here: Angelica sinensis, given to me by a merchant trading in the East. With its regular use, it will also help with regulating the frequency of your courses while replenishing your supply of blood.”

  Continuing, Kit said, “I’ll send you home with the sliced root for you to brew your own tonic, but for now, I’ll let you drink some willow bark tea I have steeping in my kettle for your pain.”

  Sitting up, Mary accepted the proffered mug from Kit’s weathered, capable hands and sipped lightly at it. “How should the herb be prepared? When should it be used?”

  In answer, Kit supplied, “Have your cook make it into a soup with or without meat for about four hours. She will know how to prepare it to your tastes. But you must wait until your courses have finished to drink the tonic to be effective. Drink it once a month to prevent any further discomfort for the next time your menses arrives. You can also take some white willow bark home to steep as a tea for the pain in the meantime.”

  Amazed at the wealth of knowledge Kit had displayed, Mary found she was hungry to know everything the wise woman knew. Faith had her stories and songs; Jackson had his intriguing course of studies with his new tutor; and she had her love of plants and their uses. Ellesmere Park’s gardens were Mary’s own schoolroom, where the head gardener had personally taught Mary everything horticultural. Herbology was another chapter for Mary to discover in her education; however, she knew that a lady’s education did not include something so commonplace.

  Her desire to learn so ancient a knowledge far outweighed the need to adhere to society’s dictates for a young lady’s education. She tentatively asked, “Kit, if it wouldn’t be any trouble, would you mind teaching me what is in your herbal book?”

  Kit raised a brow at the young girl and said, “You wish to learn from me? Why?”

  Swallowing, Mary carefully said, “Everything I’ve been taught this far has only been good for being a proper wife to a lord of the realm. I believe I could be something more, someone who could help others with useful skills such as yours.”

  Kit’s features softened at Mary’s mature reasoning, and kindly said, “As a healer, you must promise never to harm and do only good. However, wouldn’t your mother and father have something to say about learning such skills?”

  “I don’t believe either of them would be happy with my alternative education, but they have both stressed the importance of doing charitable works for those in need. If my skills include that of a healer, it would only benefit those to whom I’m ministering,” Mary reasoned.

  Kit asked, “I take it that we will be keeping your lessons with me a secret?”

  “Yes, if the thought of such secrecy offends you, then I will be sure to tell my parents.”

  “All right, I begin to see the dilemma here. After all, you have your family name to uphold, and it wouldn’t do for an earl’s daughter to be seen with the ‘Witch of Donnesbury’.”

  Mary cried, “Oh, no, Kit! I suggested secrecy only to protect you! I know what some of the smaller-minded parishioners think of you, and if they ever find out you’ve been teaching me, you might get hurt.”

  “And you wouldn’t be at risk either? They would call you a witch as well if they find out. Very well, we will keep this between us. Your cook usually comes early during the day to purchase some of my herbs, so you may come after she’s gone. What do you say?”

  “Thank you, Kit. I’ll come when no one will miss me,” Mary said, smiling widely, then remembered the mug of birch tea in her hands. She drank it down and stood to offer the empty mug back to Kit. Taking it, Kit exchanged it for the wrapped herbs for Mary to take home with her.

  “Remember my instructions,” Kit called after her, as Mary hurried out the door.

  Jackson had remained where they had left him, eyeing the young goats who returned his stare with their unnerving, steady gaze. Spying Mary, he hurried to her side, and asked, “Is everything all right now?” He looked down at her hands, noticed the small wrapped bundle she held, and nodded, “I see she’s given you some of her concoctions. I imagine she has worked her white magic on you to remedy whatever it was that ailed you.” Walking abreast of each other, they made their way home.

  Mary scoffed, “There is no such thing as magic, white or otherwise. These are just simple herbs to make into a tonic, which will help prevent the cramping from happening for the next time.”

  Jackson teased, “I was right about those tea cakes, wasn’t I?” Elbowing him in the ribs, Jackson laughed at her feeble attempt to unman him. As close as they were, the two of them were known for their incessant teasing the other, to the point of wildly elaborate practical jokes being played against the other. Clever as their pranks were, their mother despaired that they would successfully reach adulthood if this trend continued; her threats of d
rowning them falling on deaf ears each time one of those pranks had frightened her.

  Then he turned to face his sister, dramatically waved his hands around, and said, “I, too, know some magic. Watch.”

  Mary stood still to carefully observe Jackson’s flapping hands. First, he showed her his empty palms and then overturned them to show her the back of his hands, formed into fists. Flipping them back to show her his palms, his outstretched hands now contained an acorn in one hand and a posy in the other.

  Delighted at the trick, she laughed and said, “That was amazing! You must teach me!”

  “Of course, but only if you share what went on in that cottage. I’m curious to hear if Kit is indeed a real witch.”

  Frowning at her brother, she admonished, “She is not a witch, only a skilled healer taught by an abbess. But you must not tell a soul about what I’m about to tell you.”

  “Cross my heart, and all that,” Jackson agreed.

  On their slow walk home, Mary regaled him with every detail she could recall of the past ten minutes she had spent with Kit. As her twin, Jackson swore to keep her secret, understanding her need to pursue her interest in herbal lore and healing. He didn’t think it was necessary for Mary to keep her lessons a secret, but Mary was right about the some of the parishioners: there were those who would not hesitate to cry “witch” and condemn her for it. For both of their sakes, he would keep their secret.