Page 2 of All Roads Lead To Earls (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #2)

Chapter Two

H omesickness sapped the strength of Patrick Belconnen, the Earl of Tullamore, as his driver navigated the shockingly bad roads through the north of Wales.

Each bruising bump grew bigger with every worsening mile.

The countryside itself was beautiful, in direct contrast to the quality of the roads.

The land fell away precipitously at one point.

He pulled the curtains shut and leaned hard the other way, praying a little more that they’d make it around the bend alive.

Every pot hole on one side of the carriage matched with a bump on the other. Just as things developed a rhythm, they would break with a series of ruts and rapid shudders. It would be a wonder if he wasn’t twisted like wet, knotty string by the time they reached Bangor.

Bangor was his next destination, but after that, he and the driver had a perilous boat journey across the Menai Strait and a day’s travel before he reached Holyhead on the other side of Angelsey Island.

There, they’d take a steam packet from Holyhead to Dublin.

He’d send on a letter to his family - the carriage shuddered as the left wheel dropped into rut - from Dublin and, if fortune smiled upon him, he’d be home the day after.

Crack.

That did not sound safe.

John Coachman slowed the horses down. They’d be lucky to make Bangor at all at this rate. The days were so short and the sun had sunk low already, it must be almost four in the afternoon.

The carriage stopped, then the timbers creaked ominously as the driver stepped down. Patrick began to pray for his safety in earnest. It groaned some more and he could have sworn the coachman was unhitching the horses. A knock at the door quickly followed, so he opened it.

The driver stood there with his hand stretched out to him, face pale as milk. “Take my hand immediately sir, the carriage is about to collapse.”

Taking him at his word, Patrick grabbed his hand as a whooshing sound filled his ears.

The carriage tipped and swayed backwards just as he stepped out. Suddenly there wasn’t a step to put his foot on any more. The driver grabbed him bodily and set him down onto the ground.

Patrick turned in time to see the carriage tumble sideways as the axel broke and a wheel shattered.

The shock quite drew his breath away, and nearly loosened his bowels at the same time.

“I’m in your debt, good man,” Patrick eventually said when his senses returned from the fright.

The horses, as he’d guessed, were not attached to the carriage, so they were unharmed. Again, thanks to his coachman’s quick thinking. Carriages could be replaced, horses were so much more valuable.

“There’s an Inn up ahead, I hope that means we’ve reached Bangor,” Patrick said.

With no option but to leave the carriage where it fell, they each took hold of a horse and walked into the small town. They found an inn and handed over the horses to a stable hand. The sign above the door said, “Llandygai,” but was it the name of the town or the establishment itself?

Finding the innkeeper, they exchanged details of their ordeal, and learned that Bangor was only another two miles down the road.

The innkeeper was devastated that he had no private rooms, “for a man of such quality,” but then quickly added, “The Rosstrevors are at the Big House in Bangor, they’d be delighted to offer assistance. I’ll get you a fresh horse.”

Exhausted but relieved, Patrick arrived at a grand country seat, well-lit with torchlights along the driveway to guide him to the main door at the portico.

The Marquess was in attendance and quickly understood his predicament.

With a few words, he set his staff to securing him a room and filling a bath.

“Was just reading about the how bad the road is the other day,” the Marquess said as he guided Patrick to a retiring room with a roaring fire and comfortable chairs.

How utterly heavenly!

A footman arrived with an offer of whisky and he gladly accepted. “I can tell you from first-hand experience,” Patrick said, “that road is in shocking condition. If not for the quick actions of my coachman, I’d have lost my life this very day.”

Patrick’s aching bones melted into the comfortable furniture. If he wasn’t careful, he’d fall asleep in this very spot.

“Agreed,” his host said, “Work will start soon, of that I’ve no doubt.”

The Dowager Marchioness came in to, “inform his lordship that his bath is ready.”

That was fast, Patrick thought, quickly followed by another thought; why wasn’t a footman telling him this?

The answer to that became readily apparent as the dowager asked him a terribly impertinent question, artfully disguised as politeness.

“Will the Countess Tullamore be joining us soon? I shall prepare rooms for her.”

He nodded at hearing the question, then tilted his head in a little suspicion. “I am a bachelor, my good lady. No countess as yet, though it pains my mother so.”

“In that case, you must join us for a dinner party this evening.”

“You do not need to entertain on my account,” he said. A hot bath awaited him, he was looking forward to a long soak, followed by a good night’s rest.

They reached the base of the stairs. The dowager was intent on leading him to his rooms instead of handing him over to staff.

Oh well, if this was how people did things in north Wales, he wasn’t going to argue.

“Dinner will be at seven, so plenty of time. It’s more a supper, really, nothing formal. ”

“My lady, you needn’t trouble yourself, honestly. I’d be more than happy to take a light repast in my rooms.”

“We are at cross purposes,” the dowager said with a gentle smile, “Although you are more than welcome to attend. This is not a dinner in your honor, although I would be delighted to organize such an event if you are to stay for the week. This is one of our regular diversions we have every two weeks or so. What with so many people new to the area, on account of the road and bridge planning, it’s an entertainment to have ladies and gentlemen attend. ”

That explained why the driveway to Rosstrevor Hall was so well lit when he’d arrived! “Oh! Thank goodness,” he said, as they reached the landing and she guided him towards a suite of room. “I’m really not one for formal dinner parties, you see.”

The dowager tilted her head in thought. Then she grinned a little wickedly. “Perhaps that’s why there is no countess, and your mother is in such pains?”

“Touché!”

He was beginning to enjoy the company of this playful woman. She and his mother would get along famously.

“Here are your rooms, pull the bell when you’re ready and a footman will bring you to dinner.”

She really wanted him at the table rather than eating in his rooms. Oh well, when in Wales .

Hannah Jones had been ‘at liberty’ most of the day as the marquess and his lovely wife had taken to their rooms barely an hour ago and were not to be disturbed. With little to occupy her time, she helped the maids as they placed beeswax candles into the polished silver holders.

The dowager marchioness approached with an approving smile and a glint in her eyes. “There you are,” she said with a knowing grin. “I take it my daughter-in-law doesn’t require you?”

Hannah blushed deeply in confirmation that the marchioness was enjoying private time with her husband. She bobbed a curtsey and said with an air of hope, “Are we lopsided for dinner again?”

The dowager did enjoy creating regular events for the newcomers to the region. A great many of the men were unmarried, and Lady Mary had taken that as an opportunity.

“You read my mind,” the lady handed over a small pot of lotion. “This will remove the smell of the silver polish from your hands.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hannah took the pot and inhaled the lemon scent.

Excitement bubbled within and she followed Lady Mary to her dressing rooms. They were at the opposite wing of the house to where her son resided.

A selection of the dowager’s dresses were set aside for these occasions.

Hannah arrived at Lady Mary’s dressing room to find two other maids, Sarah and Anne, already helping each other into borrowed finery.

“Three of us needed tonight?” Sarah asked as Hannah and Lady Mary walked in.

“Yes, we have an unexpected guest staying the night, and I have extended an invitation for him to join us. However, he may choose to take his meal in his rooms.” She muttered something under her breath about him being a bachelor as she rummaged through her dresses and selected an emerald ensemble.

“This will match beautifully with your eyes, Hannah dear.”

It was made of layers of rich material, magnificently bunched around the shoulders in matching puffs. The design was tighter just under her bust and fell in great drifts of flowing green shades to the floor.

“Now, my dears, let us go through the rules,” Lady Mary suggested:

“Smile,” Anne said, “and be sweet.”

Lady Mary nodded.

Sarah added; “Talk as little as possible.”

Another nod from Lady Mary.

Hannah remembered the third rule, “Be polite. They are here to interact with eligible ladies, not staff.”

“That’s right,” Lady Mary said. “And if the topic we do not talk about arises anyway?”

All three said in a chorus, “Tell them the truth, that we have no fortune. When the ladies retire, we may return to our rooms.”

Lady Mary clapped her hands. “Excellent!”

Hannah beamed at how well she’d learned this particular set of instructions. “I did hear a whisper that we have an actual earl under the roof tonight.”

Anne’s brown eyes rounded with surprise. “An earl?”

“Yes,” Hannah confirmed.

In a flash, Anne snatched up a silk scarf and wadded it between her chemise and her stays to push her breasts higher.

“You do make me laugh,” Hannah said as adjusted the puffs on her shoulders.

“Well?” Anne’s eye were agog. “Is it true, Lady Mary?”

The lady eventually nodded.

Hannah tried hard not to swoon.

Lady Mary added, “He may not have much fortune himself. He arrived alone on a horse. His carriage was damaged on the road.”

Hannah spoke rapidly, “If he has no carriage, the repair might take so long he might be stuck here for several nights!”

Sarah and Anne squealed in excitement, then Anne reached for a second scarf and began stuffing it into her stays.

“Now, now,” Lady Mary rubbed her temple, as if to ward off potential pain. “Very best behavior, please, girls.”

Sarah tied the laces at Hanna’s back and then patted her shoulder. “All done. Would you mind fixing my hair? You’re so good at it.”

“Of course!”

The three shared the lemon hand balm and primped and preened a little longer. Then Lady Mary clicked her tongue and directed them to the receiving room, where they sat quietly waiting for the evening’s guests to arrive.

The dowager’s instructions echoed in Hannah’s head:

Smile, be sweet, talk as little as possible.

You are here to balance out the sexes at the dinner table.

The gentlemen are here to interact with eligible ladies, not staff.

If they make a mistake and engage in conversation with you, be polite.

If the topic arises, tell them the truth, that you have no fortune.

Later, when the ladies retire, you may return to your rooms.

This would be Hannah’s fourth dinner. She’d been exceptionally sweet and smiled at the gentlemen and other ladies at each of the previous three.

None of the gentlemen had initiated conversations of any great import with her.

The eligible ladies who had come for dinner had more or less ignored her.

Hannah had taken no offence at all, as her role on these evenings was to be more or less invisible.

She believed tonight would be no different.

Or at least, it should have been no different, until the most handsome man she’d ever seen stepped into the room and stole the very air from her lungs!