To Release an Earl Read online

  To Release an Earl

  by Ilene Withers

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  TO RELEASE AN EARL

  Copyright © 2015 ILENE WITHERS

  ISBN 978-1-62135-395-9

  Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGNS STUDIOS

  I dedicate this book to three magnificent women:

  my daughter, Lena Withers, for encouraging historical accuracy and helping me with plot ideas;

  my mother, June Thompson, for reading my manuscripts and keeping up my self-esteem;

  and Sarah Wernsing, my friend, confidant, and editor.

  Chapter One

  Willa leaned forward in her saddle, relishing the wind in her face as it threatened to lift her velvet riding cap from her hair. The ground rushed by at an exhilarating speed as her horse's hooves flew over the landscape. There was no need to use a crop on her horse. Pirate was as excited about the opportunity to run as she was. A stone fence loomed ahead, and Willa encouraged her steed, "Let's take it, Pirate."

  The distance between them and the fence diminished by the second, and they were soon upon it. As the horse lifted his front quarters from the ground, Willa heard a squawking from beneath them. Pirate jumped to the side as a bird flew from the shadows to hit his soft underbelly. Willa was barely cognizant of what was happening as her saddle left the horse's back. Suddenly sailing through midair, Willa realized she was free of the saddle and falling at an alarming speed toward the ground. Pain lanced through her body for a split second, as she made contact with the earth. Then her head snapped back and blackness enshrouded her.

  ****

  John Herne, Earl of Roydon, dismounted his horse in front of his fiancée’s home and climbed the few steps to the front door. He raised the knocker and greeted Abbott, Viscount Amhearst's aging butler.

  "Abbott, how are you this fine day?" he greeted the man jovially.

  "Fair enough, my lord." Abbott stepped back to allow John to step into the austere entry hall. The hall always struck John as being at complete odds with the family who lived there. He had grown quite fond of his future in-laws and knew them to be warm and genuine people.

  "Is Miss Dutton in this afternoon?"

  "Not at the moment, my lord. She is exercising her horse."

  The butler's answer did not surprise John in the least. His beloved was an avid horsewoman; some might even call her horse mad. Willa had come by it honestly, for her father raised the finest blood stock in all of England.

  A door to the right that John knew to be to the library opened and the viscount stepped into the hall. Yale Dutton hurried forward and extended his hand. "John," he greeted with enthusiasm, "I thought I heard your voice. Come on into the library so I can offer you a small restorative after your ride."

  Before they had moved beyond the hallway, however, shouting made its way through the heavy oak door of the entrance.

  "Help! Help!" It was a male voice, wrought with fear and worry.

  Abbott hurried to the front door and pulled it open as John and Yale both rushed to step out. John felt his heart sink into his stomach when he recognized Brooks, Willa's groom, running his horse neck-or-nothing toward them. "Miss Dutton has had a terrible accident, my lord," the man uttered to the viscount. “The horse bucked her off, saddle and all. She flew over a fence and is lying at an odd angle, unconscious. Please come quick."

  “Is she breathing, Brooks?” John asked, his stomach rolling and his chest feeling as though a giant claw had gripped it.

  "She is, my lord. Her breaths are slow but steady. I draped my coat over her and left her lying, unsure what to do other than to fetch help. She's beyond the fence by the small pond."

  The viscount shouted at his butler, "Have a groom bring me my horse and return the earl's horse. Have the stable hands hitch up a team to a flat wagon. Send someone for the physician with the utmost speed. Warn Lady Amhearst in the kindest way possible that Willa may be seriously injured."

  Abbott hurried to do his master’s bidding, and mere seconds passed before a groom returned with John's horse, having never left the yard before the alert had come. John swung himself onto the horse's back, trembling hands reaching for the reins. "Take me to her, Brooks." He glanced back at the viscount. "I'll hurry on ahead and see you as soon as you can get there." Then he reined his horse in behind the groom and urged the beast into the fastest gallop he could manage. During the short ride, he addressed the groom again. "What happened?"

  "A bird flew up and hit Pirate in the belly just as he started to take the jump. The saddle and Miss Dutton both flew off his back. I don’t know why, as I tightened the girth myself, my lord. I always double check it."

  The groom dismounted at a gate and opened it for John. Once he had cleared the gate, John saw his beloved's crumpled figure. She lay at an odd angle over a slightly exposed tree root, her upper body twisted to the right from her lower body. John dreaded what he would find, but he needed to know. He leapt off his horse, dropping the reins, and hurried to her side.

  John reached two fingers toward her neck, brushing aside the soft brown curls which had escaped her cap. He laid his fingers on her pulse. His hands were so unsteady he had to concentrate on holding them firm. At last he found it - a rhythmic one, two, three. Her pulse was sluggish but strong while her breathing was slow and even. Willa's skin was pale, yet warm to the touch.

  The thundering of hooves announced the viscount's arrival along with another groom. "How is she?" the older man rasped as he slid from his saddle and hurried to his daughter's side. His skin was ashen and a pulsating vein stood out in his neck.

  "She's alive," John replied. "Her pulse and her breathing are slow and steady, but I am worried about her possible injury. I have done a bit of reading on medicine, as you know, and I fear she may have a spinal injury due to the odd angle she is laying at. And when she fell she hit this tree root."

  A sound of grief escaped the other man. "No," he keened, "not my Willa."

  John looked up to see the viscount’s face had contorted into pain. He stood up to grasp the viscount's shoulders as the man began to drop to his knees beside his daughter. "Listen, Yale," he spoke urgently, “from what little I know it is imperative we try not to move her more than necessary. The more forward thinking men of medicine have even stated it might be helpful to restrict the movements of someone who may have a spinal injury." Falling quiet for a few moments, John tried to remember all he had read about this. "I think we should send one of the grooms back to meet the wagon. Have them put together an unyielding stretcher of sorts. Do you have a door they can remove from its hinges?"

  The viscount looked at John as though he were addlepated, before realization struck him. "Ah, I see," he said. "We would lift her carefully onto the door, keeping her spine as straight and immobile as possible to prevent further damage."

  "Correct," John replied. "The wagon must drive as unhurriedly as possible along the smoothest route we can find."

  With those words, the viscount looked at the second groom. “You heard the earl. Rush back to the stables and do whatever is necessary to put this together.” As soon as the groom had galloped off, the viscount dropped down beside his daughter, tucking Brooks’ coat around
her still form with care.

  John paced frantically, his breaths coming in bursts and gasps. He wanted to scream, yet he knew it would do nothing for the woman he loved. Instead, he forced himself to move and search for the saddle. Not seeing it, John realized it must be on the other side of the fence. "I'll be right back," he told the older man. He walked through the nearby gate and found the saddle lying in the tall grasses. As he picked it up, he noticed the leather of the girth had completely separated. After inspecting it, John swore it had been cut almost through from side to side just below the buckle. It was obvious to him from the remnants of frayed leather that the stress of the horse’s movement had finished off the girth.

  A nearby whinny directed his attention to Pirate, who had stayed close despite what must have been a fright for him. Brooks had approached the horse and was running his hands over the animal's legs and flank, inspecting him.

  "Is Pirate injured?" John asked.

  "He doesn't appear to be," the man replied. "He took a jump sideways, but landed alright."

  John walked toward the groom and held out the saddle. "See the girth, Brooks."

  The man rolled the leather over, ran his fingers and hands over it, and then grew pale. "It’s been cut."

  "Yes," John agreed, "but not completely. Just enough that the last bit frayed from the stress when Pirate jumped." John carried the saddle through the gate. Brooks and the horse followed.

  “Yale, take a look at this saddle girth.” John held it out toward the older man as he rose and approached.

  The viscount inspected the saddle himself. "Someone has tampered with this," he said, his voice quiet. “This means someone attempted to and almost succeeded in killing my daughter. Why would anyone do this? And who is responsible?" He lifted his eyes to John’s.

  Before John could answer, the sound of a wagon and team could be heard in the distance. John laid the saddle down and moved back to kneel beside Willa, reaching out to stroke her cheek and once again check her pulse and breathing. His future father-in-law joined him.

  "I hope they brought the door," the viscount said. "I think you are correct. We need to keep her as immobile as possible."

  Both men raised their heads as riders approached followed by a wagon pulled by a team of two. They reined in their steeds and dismounted, soon reaching into the back of the wagon and pulling out a smooth wood door.

  "Will this do, my lord?" a groom asked John and the viscount.

  "That's exactly what I wanted," John praised the man. He then began to direct them. They would pad the door with one of the blankets they had brought along, then move it alongside her body. With as many hands on her as possible, they would gently slide her onto the board. Afterwards, they would use strips torn from another blanket to wrap around the door and Willa, firmly securing her to its ungiving surface.

  John's heart raced and his hands shook despite his attempts to stay calm as all the men, including the viscount, looked to him for directions. It felt like an eternity before Willa laid on her back on the door, secured by narrow strips of wool. As he forced himself to take a deep and calming breath, John ordered the board be lifted in unison. They kept it parallel to the ground and carried it slowly to the back of the wagon without Willa rousing from her unconsciousness.

  The drive back to the viscount's manor was tediously slow. Both John and Lord Amhearst rode next to Willa, wincing at every bump and rut they hit. They finally pulled up in front of the door. Lady Amhearst waited on the front step, pale and staring into the distance. Molly, Willa's maid, stood stalwart beside the viscountess as other household servants hovered nearby. As the wagon stopped, the small gathering surged forward to surround it.

  John raised his head at the sound of an approaching vehicle to see a distinguished looking, middle-aged gentleman in a buggy pulled by a single horse. The viscount had become aware of the sound as well.

  "Dr. Saunders," the older man greeted the newcomer as the buggy came to a halt near the wagon.

  The doctor picked up his bag and jumped out of the vehicle, leaving the horse in the competent hands of a groom. "Tell me what happened, Lord Amhearst," the man ordered.

  As the viscount recounted the unfortunate tale, John noticed the doctor's eyes often flickered toward Willa where she lay unconscious on the wooden door. At the end of the viscount's speech, the doctor approached the wagon. He climbed in and knelt beside Willa, checking her pulse, breathing, and opening each eyelid to look beneath. His hands ran over parts of her body – her legs and arms, hands and fingers. At last, he lifted his head to the people crowded around the wagon.

  "It was wise to strap her to the door. Let's move her up to her room. We'll transfer her onto the bed with the blanket you've placed beneath her."

  John took the lead, having a strong need to have his fiancée's life in his hands rather than someone else's. Abbott cleared the way, and Willa’s mother and maid followed. The trip up the stairs to Willa's room was difficult, as they had to lift the bottom of the door to be even with the top of it. He had never been so thankful for wide stairways and hallways. Upon entering the room, the men found the covers rolled to the foot, leaving plenty of room to place Willa upon it without any impediment.

  The physician hovered nearby, directing the movement of Willa from the door to the bed. When she was settled, the servants removed the door and binding strips from the room, the butler closing the door behind them. John, Molly, and the Amhearsts stayed behind and watched as Saunders unlaced Willa's boots and slid them from her feet. He then glanced at the maid and suggested she remove Willa's stockings. Although he politely averted his eyes as the maid did so, John soon found himself looking back at his beloved again.

  Dr. Saunders opened his case and rummaged through the instruments within it. Extracting one, the physician approached the bed and ran it up Willa's bare foot from heel to toe. The man drew in a breath before speaking to them. "It's the slightest movement, but she moved her right foot a tiny bit. It's far too early to be sure, but most often someone who suffers from permanent paralysis has no reaction in their feet."

  John exhaled, as did everyone in the room. She might not be paralyzed. Perhaps she would walk again, dance again, ride again. He knew just how much each of those activities meant to Willa. In fact, she had a vibrant personality which he feared would not adjust well to any permanent infirmity.

  The doctor looked up at all of them, his eyes meeting each individual in the room. "I suggest you, Mrs. Amhearst, along with several maids, try to dress your daughter in a night rail with the slightest movement possible. All we can do at this point is make her as comfortable as possible and hope and pray for the best." He stepped over to search through his bag and retrieved a small bottle, which he pressed into Molly's hand. "Please alert me as soon as she wakes up and if she has pain give her six drops of this in a glass of water. However, unless she is suffering so much she cannot tolerate it, I would like it if you could hold off on the laudanum until I arrive."

  John watched, his mind filled with too many questions to express, as Dr. Saunders lifted his bag and left the room. Yale Dutton glanced toward him, "Well, son, shall we leave the ladies alone to make Willa comfortable?"

  "Yes," John replied with reluctance. "Would you like us to fetch the housekeeper?" he asked Willa's mother.

  "Please do, John, and ask her to gather several maids to help Molly and me," Blythe Dutton said. She straightened her shoulders, the worry on her face replaced by a look of determination. “Have her bring several pairs of scissors. I believe we will cut the riding habit off to restrict the amount of movements we must make.”

  John and the viscount did not have to look far to locate Mrs. Bailey. She and many of the other servants clustered in the hall. It was Abbott who stepped forward toward his master. "How is she, my lord?"

  The viscount nodded at the butler and then addressed the gathered servants. "We know nothing yet, other than she is unconscious and has a bit of feeling in her right foot. This should give us ho
pe, but only time will tell. Until then, we will appreciate all of your prayers for our daughter. I fear she will need them."

  Murmurs of, "Of course, my lord," "We will pray for her," and "Oh, poor Miss Willa," could be heard up and down the hall. It was John who walked over to the housekeeper, "Mrs. Bailey, could you ask the maids — perhaps at least six — to aid the viscountess, Molly, and yourself with changing Willa out of her clothing and into her night rail?"

  The woman curtsied. "Yes, my lord." John nodded to his future father-in-law and moved toward the stairs. "I could use a drink, Yale."

  Downstairs, the viscount led the way to the library where he poured a finger of scotch into two glasses. He walked across the room and handed one to John who took it with a nod of thanks. John lifted the glass to his lips. After letting the fiery liquid slide down his throat, John spoke to the older man.

  "We have to find out what happened. The girth strap was cut!"

  The viscount’s hand visibly shook as he held the tumbler of liquor to his mouth. "Who would do this? Everyone loves our Willa."

  "Yes, it is inconceivable."

  John paced in front of the hearth, so many thoughts swirling through his mind that he couldn't keep his body still either. The viscount had slumped into a leather chair. Silence filled the room, interrupted only by the ticking of a clock and the occasional snap of an ember from the burning logs in the fireplace.

  Half an hour passed before the door opened and Lady Amhearst appeared. "Willa is in her night rail. I have left her in Molly's care." John watched as the brave look on her face slipped and tears began to stream down her cheeks. The viscount stood and wrapped his strong arms around his wife and pulled her close.

  Feeling de trop, John excused himself and stepped out of the library. In the entrance hall he encountered the butler. "Are my things in my usual room?" he asked Abbott, having stayed at the mansion a few times previously.