Free Midnight Bride by Barbara Allister

friend's brother. Charles had promised David Ashcroft he would keep an eye on his younger brother while the older was away on the Peninsula. Today he wished the brat at Jericho, Stephen insisted on gambling too deeply, drinking too much, and now he wanted to stay and see how Dunstan liked "losing to an innocent." Charles promised to keep him informed. "It won't be the same," Stephen complained. But finally when a friend suggested a little wager on who would reach London in the fastest time, he laughed and dashed out. "Catch me if you can," he told the others, accepting their wagers.
    Within a short time the five young men had eaten a meal of bread and cheese, ordered their clothing packed, their horses saddled, and headed out toward London. Charles, who had gotten out of the race by reminding them of his obligations, gave the command to begin. As the five raced down the long road away from the manor, he longed to dash carelessly after them, his responsibilities forgotten. It was a state of mind in which he often lost himself.
    A clock chimed somewhere in the background, and Charles looked up, appalled, "it's twelve."
    "We've plenty of time for a game before luncheon," Hartley assured him, certain that he would have more of the Beckworth money in his pocket before the meal.
    "Not now. You go ahead," Charles said quietly. "I have someone I must see immediately." He turned and walked quickly toward the stables. Hartley stood staring after him, an unpleasant look on his face. Then he turned and walked back into the house.
    Charles continued on his way until he was out of sight. Then he quickly changed direction, heading for the back entrance to the kitchen.
    "Jeffries," he called as he entered the kitchen, frightening the youngest maid so much that she dropped the meat pie she had been carrying. She burst into tears. "Tell her to stop immediately," Charles said, his voice harsher than he intended.
    "Silly girl, be quiet," an older maid said and cuffed her on her head.
    "No! You are not to hit her again," Charles commanded, holding the older girl's arm in a tight grip. She turned pale, fearing that he would hurt her. His grip on her arm was tight.
    The younger girl stopped crying and ran to her friend's protection. "Oh, sir, she didn't mean anything by it. Cook will wallop me when she discovers what I have done," she explained.
    "Do you mean my servants are beaten?" Charles demanded. Totally ignoring the two girls' protests, he yelled, "Jeffries."
    "Yes, Mr. Beckworth ," Jeffries said quietly, coming up behind him.
    "Glad he don't look at us that way," the older kitchen maid said to the younger. The other girl nodded.
    "Jeffries, that girl said Cook will beat her when she discovers that she dropped a meat pie. Is that true?" Charles drew himself up to his full height, an inch or so above six feet, and looked down at the butler, his face impassive.
    "I didn't say she would beat me, sir," the young maid tried to explain to Jeffries. "He"—she pointed to Charles—"wouldn't let me explain. Besides 'twas our meat pie, for our dinner." Her face was mournful.
    Jeffries did not say anything for a moment. He simply looked from the maids to his master. "You girls, find something to clean up this mess," he said quietly. "We will discuss it later." Hastily they made their escape. "I thought you would be in the library, sir. I sent someone to find you only minutes ago."
    "Won't do, Jeffries. You may have gotten around me for the moment, but I want an answer. Are maids beaten in my household?" From the time he and Elizabeth had been old enough they had made free use of the kitchen and lower regions of the house. As a result they knew of the rules his mother had laid down. No one was to be beaten; their wages could be docked, but no one was to suffer physical harm. Charles blushed as he realized he had allowed one of his guests to violate one of his mother's major edicts. He had allowed one of his servants to be taken advantage of; worse, he