The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  She is my cousin… There is to be an attack tomorrow… My father bought Ravencliff from Mr. Price… Alicia should have been the lady of that manor… Mr. Price is not the ringleader; someone else is pulling the strings… Those thoughts thundered in his skull, echoing the thud of the hooves of the horse beneath him. They almost overwhelmed him a number of times, forcing him to delve deep into his resolve in order to keep him on this path.

  I have to know. I have to know. I have to know. He did not know why Alicia would lie to him, which only made the dread and confusion sweep further through his being. Mr. Price had more cause to lie but, again, Jacob did not think Mr. Price would be so foolish. No, there was only one person who could give him the precise, blunt truth, no matter how awful.

  Which was how he found himself striding down the hallway toward the room where he had left the revelers. He burst in, sweat dripping down his face, panting hard and frightening the party that was in full swing within.

  “There you are!” one of them called. “We thought you had abandoned us entirely!”

  Jacob ignored them. “Mother, might I have a word with you?”

  The Duchess laughed stiffly. “Darling, can it wait? I am in the middle of entertaining.”

  “No, it cannot wait,” he replied. The assertive note in his voice rendered the room silent, the revelers casting concerned expressions at one another.

  “My apologies, everyone, it looks as though I am urgently required.” The Duchess chuckled nervously. “I will return anon.”

  Smoothing down the front of her skirts, she rose from her position as the center of attention and followed Jacob out of the room. He did not speak, knowing that once he began, everything would tumble out without him being able to stop it. And so, he held onto his questions as he walked through the hallways and came to a halt in front of his study. He opened the door and ushered his mother in, waiting until they were both seated before he finally began.

  “Jacob? What on earth is the matter with you? You have quite embarrassed me,” his mother muttered, adjusting a strand of hair. “In front of your friends, I must add.”

  “Never mind that, Mother.” He raked in a shallow breath. “I am going to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly. Do you understand?”

  She pursed her lips. “Honestly, what has happened to you? Has someone come and replaced my son with someone else, in the space of an evening?”

  “Do you understand, Mother?” he repeated, more firmly this time.

  She reeled back in alarm. “Why… yes, I understand. Though, I cannot see what the urgency might be.”

  “Was my father’s sister—my aunt—the wife of Mr. Price?” He gripped the edge of his seat until his knuckles whitened, in a vain attempt to control his emotions. “Is Miss Alicia Price your niece?”

  The Duchess’ mouth fell open, her eyes glittering with sudden panic. “How do you know that?”

  “So, it is true?”

  “I-I did not say that!” she cried, gulping.

  “You asked how I knew that, which means it must be true. Is it? I want to hear it from your lips.”

  The Duchess toyed with her silk gloves, shifting awkwardly in her seat. “Y-yes… y-yes, it is true.”

  “And is it true that my father tricked Mr. Price into selling this house to him?” Jacob’s lip twitched, and he had to force it not to curl into a sour grimace.

  “I do not know the nature of their deal,” she replied, staring down into her lap. “That was your father’s business, not mine.”

  “But you persuaded him to buy this house, did you not? You saw it when you visited his sister, and you decided you wanted it. Is that not true?” He gripped the edge of his chair harder.

  “I urged him to buy it from his sister’s husband so that wastrel would not bring it to ruin, like his family line brought that castle on the hill to ruin!” she shot back. “I had your father contemplate purchasing it, so that his sister would not be without a roof over her head when that wretched man finally showed his true nature. It was to be her refuge, but then she had those blasted children! It took years after they were born for me to persuade your father to agree to make the deal. Years longer than it should have done.”

  Jacob froze. “Then you were the one to persuade him? You urged him to take this place from a father and his children, who had lost their wife and mother. How can you say you were doing it for his sister, when you still proceeded in urging Father to make the deal, after she was dead? And then you did not give Mr. Price what he was owed!”

  “He did not deserve a penny. And I wanted to have it as payment. I wanted to see him brought low,” the Duchess spat, tears brimming. “I wanted him to suffer, as he made my husband’s family suffer when he whisked her off to this awful country.”

  “He did not kill her, Mother!” Jacob cried. “She died in childbirth.”

  “Which she would not have had to endure, if it were not for that ingrate.” His mother jittered with fury, faint splotches of scarlet burning through her cheeks.

  “It is all true… it is all true,” Jacob breathed, his head spinning. No wonder his mother longed to be taken back to London. This house must have held so many ghosts for her, which haunted her daily. Mr. Price, Alicia, her husband’s sister—everyone who had been affected by her decision. And, with her husband gone too, there was nobody else here that she could blame but herself.

  “What does it matter?” The Duchess softened her voice. “I had your father purchase this house for you and your brother, also, so you might become titled gentlemen with a fine house, even if it is in this sorry isle. You deserved it far more than that sickly waif and her crooked brother. That girl is certainly nothing like her mother. She is entirely her father’s daughter. She would have brought this house to ruin, too, given half the chance.”

  Jacob shook his head. “You do not get to speak of them like that, Mother. You are the one who did wrong here, not them. You took everything from them, and yet you wail about the threat on your doorstep. Do you ever stop to think that you were the one who brought that threat here?”

  “They did not deserve it!” the Duchess screamed.

  “That was not for you to decide,” he snapped in reply.

  “I am English. Of course it was for me to decide. Your father would never have done it without a little coaxing and look what it bought for you. You are a duke. An English duke. Your brother is a lord. An English lord. You ought to be grateful instead of shouting at me with such vulgarity.” Her body shook with rage, no doubt pent up after all these years of keeping such a torrid secret.

  “How can I be grateful, knowing where it all came from?” Jacob gaped in disbelief.

  “Your brother does not mind.”

  “Does Owen know of this?”

  The Duchess withdrew into herself. “No… but, if he did, he would understand.”

  “Would he, now? We are speaking of the same man, are we not? Owen believes himself to be as Irish as the stable-hands, and the farmers, and the tenants, and the cooks, and the maids, and the—”

  “Enough!” the Duchess barked. “Owen is not Irish, nor will he ever be.”

  “Nor is he the Duke here,” Jacob reminded her coldly. “Once I have dealt with more immediate business, regarding the ball tomorrow, I will see what I can do to make reparations for your actions. If that means paying Mr. Price the sum he was truly owed, then so be it. I cannot give this title and these lands back, but I can certainly make the person it was taken from comfortable.”

  Just then, the door flew open and Owen exploded into the room. “You will do no such thing, Jacob. You have no right!”

  “I have every right,” Jacob replied automatically, ignoring the fright that Owen had given him, entering so abruptly.

  “Mr. Price is no leader. Mother is right—he would have brought this house to ruin and embarrassed this nation, and our family. I do not like the manner in which it came into our hands, but it is ours now, and we must seek to unify Ireland with
the rest of Britain. Mr. Price would have resisted that. He would have fought it,” Owen raged.

  Jacob shook his head. “I cannot believe I am hearing this, from you of all people. You, who hates that land has been taken from the Irish and given to the English. You, who think you are Irish.”

  “I know what Ireland needs. It needs men of substance and intelligence, who understand how to make their lands flourish, not drunken miscreants like Mr. Price,” Owen retorted. “Or men such as yourself, who have no idea how this nation works, or these lands.”

  Jacob held his ground. “I will make reparations to Mr. Price for what was taken from him.”

  “You will not. Again, you have no right!” Owen spat.

  “I am the Duke. If I do not have the right, then who does?” Jacob fired back.

  The Duchess went as white as a sheet. “Owen, do not. I beg of you.”

  “Do not what?” Jacob frowned.

  “I am the only one with any right to these lands and titles.” Owen’s voice turned eerily calm, a small smirk turning up the corners of his lips.

  “Owen, please,” the Duchess begged.

  “What are you talking about?” Jacob looked to his mother and brother, as a cold and stabbing shiver crept up the nerves of his spine.

  Owen’s smirk widened into an icy grin. “You are not our father’s son.”

  “Owen, no!” the Duchess yelped, as though wounded.

  “What nonsense is this?” Jacob remarked. “Another attempt to defy me, or to denigrate me?”

  Owen shook his head. “No. It is simply the truth. You are not my father’s son. You are not the rightful heir. I only discovered it a few years ago, after hearing Mother and Father discuss it. I stayed quiet, for your sake. I thought you would never return here permanently, so it did not matter to me.” He scowled with pure venom in his eyes. “But then, you just had to come back and ruin everything. So, it only seems right that I tell you the truth, before you take any more steps to destroy what I have built.”

  Jacob felt as though the ground beneath his chair was churning, ready to swallow him up. “Mother? That is not true, is it? Tell me it is not.”

  “Why do you think you were sent away in the first place?” Owen continued, ignoring his desperate mother. “My father suspected you were not his, but he did not want to punish you for our mother’s actions. He vowed to treat you as his own, but he could not have you near, in case you found out, or he treated you differently without realizing.”

  “Owen…” the Duchess sobbed. “Owen, how could you?”

  “No, Mother, how could you?” Owen glared at her.

  Jacob swallowed the bile that rose up his throat. “Mother? This cannot be true.”

  “It is,” Owen replied.

  “Let her speak!” Jacob shouted, black spots dancing in his vision. A cold sweat tickled at the back of his neck, threatening to bring unconsciousness with it.

  “Jacob… I am… I am sorry… I am so very sorry,” his mother whimpered. She did not need to say anything more. Her tone, her apology, everything… it told him exactly what he did not want to hear. That it was true. All of it.

  He got up shakily. “I need some air.”

  “Maybe English air would suit you better.” Owen launched another jab, twisting the proverbial knife.

  “I would not congratulate yourself, if I were you,” Jacob hissed, balling his hands into fists to stop him toppling over the edge. “No one knows of this, except for you, me, and our mother. If you try and usurp me, it will be your word against mine.”

  Owen paused, anger glinting in his gaze. “Mine will triumph.”

  “I would not be so sure of that. Mother’s reputation will be forfeit if you breathe a word. I do not think even you can be that cruel.” In order to prevent another fight from breaking out, Jacob pushed past his younger brother and exited the study. He listened for the sound of his brother following, but the hallway behind him remained blissfully quiet. There might have been a whisper of a sob, or that may have been his mind playing tricks on him. Either way, he did not turn back around.

  Indeed, he did not stop walking until he reached the outbuilding where he had ordered Mistress Marigold and Meghan to be incarcerated. He was not sure why he had made his way here. Perhaps he needed something more urgent to distract his mind. After all, they still had tomorrow’s attack to contend with.

  Though who can I ask for help now? His brother would not be willing. Then again, with the imminent attack being a threat to this house, maybe Owen would be more amenable to putting personal gripes aside for the sake of one night.

  Before he could push away his own grief and pain and anger, however, he wanted to speak to these two women. If they could just give him the name of the shooter, or give him some indication as to whom it might have been, then he might not have to bow and scrape for his brother’s help.

  I know it is not Mr. Price. Alicia has told me no lies thus far, and if she believes her father’s tale… then so must I. She is the only one who has been honest with me. I cannot refuse to believe her now.

  “Your Grace.” The first guard of two bowed to him as he approached.

  “I have come to speak with the ladies within,” Jacob said.

  The two guards exchanged a confused look. “They are no longer here, Your Grace,” the second guard replied.

  Jacob knitted his brow, equally confused. “Pardon?”

  “They’re not here anymore, Your Grace,” the first guard repeated. “We were told to stay here until morning, but Mistress Marigold and Meghan aren’t here.”

  “Then where are they?” Jacob pressed.

  “His Lordship ordered them to be transported. A carriage came for them a half hour ago.” The second guard shifted uncomfortably.

  “And where did he order them to be transported to?” Jacob was fast losing patience.

  “I don’t know, Your Grace. We just let them out when the carriage came, as per our orders,” the first guard said.

  Jacob had to bite his tongue. “Then there is no use in you being here.”

  “What, Your Grace?” The second guard frowned.

  “There is no use in you being here, as there are no prisoners for you to guard. You are dismissed,” he rasped, fury surging through his veins, white hot.

  The guards wasted no time in hurrying away. Alone in the courtyard, in front of the outbuilding, it took every ounce of willpower that Jacob possessed not to howl at the moon like a rabid wolf. Owen had taken away his chance of discovering the shooter, no doubt to seize the glory for himself and make himself appear to be the more capable brother. Perhaps Owen already knew of the attack, and wanted to prevent it himself, so everyone would laud him and adore him, and think Jacob the useless figurehead. He had already taken steps toward that, when he interrogated the two women in the secrecy of the wine cellar, without informing Jacob.

  Oh yes, Jacob had been thwarted again.

  No more… It was time for Jacob to assert his authority, once and for all.

  Chapter 38

  Alicia held vigil over her father, though her mind was far from the cottage, and along the road to where the manor lay. She wondered how Jacob fared, confronting his mother for the truth. It could not have been easy for him, she knew, but she hoped he had the courage to discover that with every word she had spoken, she had been honest.

  Tom had returned half an hour ago and returned to his post outside the cottage. He had not been able to find the physician, who appeared to be out of the village on some business.

  “Alicia?” her father murmured, half-asleep, half-awake.

  “What is it, Da?” She turned her attention to him.

  “I am sorry, you know. I’m sorry I lost our home. I’m sorry I’ve not treated you as I ought to have done. I’ve no excuse for it.” He blinked slowly. “I should have taken you and Adam far from here, then he might be alive, and you might not have been dragged into all this.”

  She smiled sadly. “We can’t change aught now, Da.
There is no use in thinking of what could have been, and what might have been.”

  “Even so, when you get to my age, pet, you start to think about your life. You look at every turn you took and wonder if you should have gone a different way. You’ll understand when you get older.” He cleared his throat.

  “Perhaps I will,” she said softly. “Anyway, you ought to get some rest.”

  He snorted. “I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

  “I mean it, Da. You could have died tonight, and you need to take to your bed, so you don’t make it worse.”