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

by Linfield, Emma

  She nodded. “It shames me to say it, but yes. Having this house under the Woodworth rule, and reigning over the Irish here, was supposed to be my victory over those who damaged me. Instead, it has become my prison. I cannot escape the things I have done, nor the people I have hurt in turn. I long to leave here, in the hopes that it may give me some peace of mind, at last.”

  “Perhaps, if we were to make reparations to the Price family, that may offer you some of that peace you desire?” Jacob suggested.

  His mother looked at him. “Do you think it might?”

  “There is no harm in trying, and if you still do not feel content to be here, then I will make arrangements for you to return to London whenever you desire it. I may not be able to go with you, but my acquaintances there will take good care of you,” he told her.

  “You have become an excellent young gentleman, Jacob.” She lifted her hand to his face and held it for a moment. “I am sorry that your welcome home has not quite been what you imagined.”

  He laughed drily. “I am used to conflict, as you know, though I prefer it to be the sort of conflict I am familiar with: cannons, the sea, ships, sailors. This sort is taking much longer to figure out.”

  “I hope you and Owen can find a way to forge a truce.” She sighed and leaned in to place a kiss upon Jacob’s brow.

  “It is all I have hoped for, though he will have to find it in himself to be more amenable if that is ever to happen. I fear he may actually hate me.” Jacob lowered his gaze, his mind racing.

  Perhaps, it would be better if I were to abdicate from this position and hand the title to Owen. It does not belong to me. This house and this country are alien to me. I am little more than an outsider—another unworthy Englishman, come to claim a title that does not belong to me. Although, in a somewhat bitter twist of fate, he realized that he was more Irish than his brother, who thought of himself as Irish.

  “He does not hate you,” his mother assured. “He is angry, that is all. After your father’s illness, he became, in essence, the Duke of these lands. He has grown accustomed to the way it feels, and I suppose he is in turmoil about what is the right course of action. Your father never wanted you to be cut from the inheritance or the heirdom. I imagine Owen has some anger regarding that, as well.”

  “Because he ought to be the legitimate heir?”

  His mother smiled kindly. “By blood, yes. But by love and heart, no. Not once did your father suggest taking the dukedom from you. Many a time, he talked of you returning and taking your rightful place. This title was always supposed to be yours, regardless of your true heritage. Owen must come to terms with that, and everything it entails, but you must also give him time to be at peace with that.”

  “If only he did not make it so hard,” Jacob muttered.

  “I know.” She brushed her fingertips across his brow, to neaten up the unruly curls that fell over his forehead.

  “Speaking of my brother. Do you know where I might find him? There is something I must discuss with him urgently.” He had almost forgotten about the imminence of tomorrow’s attack on the ball. He could not say anything of it to his mother, for it would be too late to turn everyone back around. Many of them would be resting for the night, before their final travel to Ravencliff, at this very moment. And, if he were to mention it to her, it would only send her into a wild panic. After the tears and turbulence she had already endured, he did not want to add to it.

  She snuffled into her handkerchief. “He said he wanted to look over the fence in one of the fields.”

  “At this hour?”

  She chuckled sadly. “I imagine he simply wanted to take some air, and that seemed the perfect distraction. Your brother does not do anything without a purpose. He could not have said that he was going for a walk. That is not in his nature.”

  “Then I will attempt to find him out there.” Jacob stood up and leaned to kiss his mother’s cheek. Her arms shot out and pulled him into a tight embrace, prompting him to put his own arms around her. She had been through so much. More than he had ever previously realized. Yes, she had made some terrible decisions regarding the purchase of this house, but who could honestly look into a mirror, and call themselves perfect? He knew he could not, and he could not judge her too harshly, now that he better understood her reasoning.

  Reparations will be made, and though it will not bring back what the Prices lost, it may go some way toward healing the rift that tore my family and theirs asunder. He released his mother and kissed her cheek again.

  “Will you be well, if I leave you alone?” he asked.

  She smiled. “I will, Darling. I have much to think about, and I believe some quiet contemplation would serve me well.”

  “I will look in on you when I return from speaking with Owen,” he promised, before turning on his heel and heading out of the study.

  On his way out of the house, he picked up a lantern, so he might have some light to see by. Stepping back into the cold night air, he was surprised to find that he felt much calmer. In truth, it was as though a missing piece of himself had been slotted back into place, removing a heavy weight from his shoulders at the same time.

  At least, in this present state of greater ease, he would have the right demeanor to speak to his brother. And, perhaps, that would stop their conversation from coming to blows.

  Chapter 40

  Alicia and Tom arrived at the manor, the horse frothing at the mouth as they finally pulled to a halt in the path beside the kitchen garden. Alicia knew it well; it was the very place where her father had struck her that first time.

  Tom jumped down first, before helping Alicia to the ground. She did not refuse his aid. Though she may have been a hardy-mannered individual, her weakly body had always been in conflict with that.

  “Wait here and I will find the Captain,” Tom urged, but Alicia shook her head.

  “I will not wait while he may be in danger.”

  Tom gave a shadow of a smirk. “As you please, Miss Price.”

  Together, they ran through the gate and into the kitchen garden, the scent of the herbs wafting through the cold air and enveloping Alicia’s senses. It seemed difficult to believe that Mistress Marigold, who had shown her a maternal, stern sort of kindness, could have been the very person who had sought to kill Jacob. In truth, she did not know what might become of Mistress Marigold and Meghan now, but she pushed the notion away. That was not important now. Only Jacob’s safety was important.

  She went first, bursting through the back door to the kitchens. As expected, the room beyond was still abuzz with life, a few of the workers pummeling bread to bake for the morning. A few startled gasps went up, making them stop in their endeavors.

  “Alicia? What might you be doing here?” one asked, with a curious stare. “I thought you’d gone from this place?”

  “Never mind that,” Alicia replied sharply. “Where is His Grace and where is Lord Owen?”

  The young woman shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “You haven’t seen them?” Alicia pressed.

  “Why would I have done? They don’t come down here too often.”

  Another of the bakers raised a floury hand. “Last I saw His Grace, he were down there in the wine cellar with Lord Owen. Next thing I know, they’re coming up the stairs with Mistress Marigold and Meghan, though I don’t rightly know what happened after that.”

  “So, no one has seen or heard of where His Grace and his brother might be?” Alicia heaved out a sigh of exasperation.

  Tom leaned toward her ear. “Do not fret, Miss Price. We will find the Captain.”

  Realizing it was useless to linger here any longer, Alicia pressed on through the kitchens, ignoring the protests of the bakers. Tom followed at her side, the two of them walking quickly until they were in the manor proper. There did not seem to be a single soul around, which smarted of suspicion to Alicia. In her brief time working in this household, there had always been someone around.

  They pressed o
n, until a familiar figure gave Alicia cause to pause. The Duchess of Woodworth was coming toward them, though she did not appear to have seen them yet, given the shadows that stretched from the glow of the flickering sconces. She looked pale, her eyes rimmed with red, as though she had recently been crying.

  What have you to cry about? Alicia felt bitterness bristle in her breast. Are you sorry because you were found out?

  “Your Grace?” Alicia called out.

  The Duchess elicited a startled scream. “Who goes there?”

  Alicia stepped into the light, so the Duchess might see her better. Immediately, though it did not seem possible, the Duchess’ face paled further, her mouth falling open in an expression of shock.

  “Miss Price,” the Duchess gasped. “Are you real, or are you a ghost, come to haunt me?”

  “I am quite real,” Alicia replied. She did not know what had come over the Duchess, to make her speak so strangely. Why would Alicia be a ghost? After all, the Duchess knew perfectly well that she was alive.

  “I was not sure. I had just been thinking of you, so I wondered if my mind might be playing some tomfoolery on me,” she said, in a faraway voice.

  Alicia frowned. “You were thinking of me?”

  “Yes, I was. I have thought about you often in the years that have passed, though not nearly so much as I have this night.” The Duchess clasped a hand to her chest. “Was it you who told my son about this house? Was it you who told him of your mother’s identity?”

  “He had a right to know,” Alicia shot back. To her surprise, the Duchess did not seem enraged. Instead, she looked almost relieved.

  “You are quite right, Miss Price. He did deserve to know. And you deserved better than the life you have been made to lead, because of me.” Her voice caught in her throat. “I ought to have been kinder. You are my niece, and I should have treated you as such. I have been so consumed by bitterness, for so many years, that I could not see the harm I had caused.”

  Alicia stood in silence, not knowing what to say.

  “I have spoken with my son,” the Duchess continued. “I believe he has a desire to make reparations for the damage that I inflicted on your family, and though it has taken some thought, I have come to the same conclusion.”

  “Reparations?” Tom stepped in, using his voice where Alicia could not.

  “I cannot give back what I had my husband take, but I, along with my son, can ensure that your father receives the full sum of what was owed.” The Duchess offered a nervous smile. “And more, to recompense you for the years you have spent in destitution.”

  Alicia jolted herself out of her stunned reverie. “We can discuss that later. At this present moment, it’s imperative that we find both of your sons immediately.”

  “My sons?” The Duchess furrowed her brow. “Why do you need to find them?”

  Alicia and Tom exchanged a glance. “We believe they may be in some danger, Your Grace,” Tom answered. “A threat has been made, and we would have them both informed, so that they can decide what to do about the matter.”

  The Duchess clutched at her throat. “A threat? What sort of threat?”

  “It is nothing you need concern yourself with. It can be remedied, but we must find His Grace and Lord Owen, this very instant,” Tom replied. Alicia admired his diplomacy, for if he had told her the stark truth—that her youngest son had attempted to take the life of her eldest—all chaos might have broken loose.

  The Duchess eyed Tom. “Owen went to look over the fence in the far field, and Jacob went after him.”

  “At this hour?” Tom rubbed his chin in anxious thought.

  “That is what Jacob said.” The Duchess toyed with the necklace at her throat, twisting it.

  “Stay within the house, Your Grace. If your sons are out there, we will seek to bring them back shortly,” Tom said, his calm voice hiding the tangible fear that bristled between him and Alicia.

  “Is something the matter?” The Duchess stared in wide-eyed confusion.

  Tom smiled politely. “Nothing that cannot be resolved, Your Grace. Please, do stay within the house, and I will call upon you, with your sons, when we return.”

  Tom turned and Alicia followed, the two of them keeping to a slow, even pace until they reached a crossroads of corridors. Choosing the one that would more quickly lead them outside, they broke into a sprint, running as though their lives depended on it. Even in her frailty, she would race to Jacob until her legs gave out. For it was not her life that depended on this… it was his.

  Chapter 41

  Jacob staggered across the uneven ground, the pool of lamplight swaying wildly ahead of him. It did not do much to help him see in the darkness, but the moonlight helped somewhat, highlighting the edges of the terrain with silver.

  He did not know how his brother had managed to come this way without some light to see by, but he could not see the telltale glow of any lamp or lantern up ahead, and he knew he could not be far from the stone wall that he had so ignorantly insisted on being repaired. Still, he pressed on.

  A short while later, he reached that selfsame stone wall and paused to catch his breath. He shone his lantern upon it and saw that he was in the exact spot where the gap had formerly been. Fresh stones stood out against the aged ones, wedged together in a feat of remarkable construction. The process of building dry stone walls would always amaze him. By rights, they should not have been able to stand, yet they stood through decade after decade, through sheer force of will and pressure.

  Much like the old castle. He could not see the ruins from here. The decaying, collapsing corpse of that once mighty structure had always clung to his mind. In childhood, before he had been sent away, he remembered he and his brother playing amongst the broken walls and the remains of grand turrets, pretending they were ancient warriors, battling for the right to marry the fair maiden.

  I suppose little has changed, aside from the maiden… He mustered a wry grin. His brother had been the weaker party back then, always defeated in their imaginary wars. Jacob could not count the number of times that someone had been sent by their mother to find them and urge them to cease their exploits for the sake of Owen’s health.

  Jacob realized, standing there in the cold night breeze, with the bronze of his lamp fighting off the silvery glow of the moonlight, that he had missed so much of his brother’s life. No one had expected Owen to live very long, but he had defied all odds, and risen through the hardship of his feeble health to become a formidable man. Now, there was little about Owen that would have suggested he had ever been sickly.

  A rustle nearby made Jacob’s head snap to the side. “Owen? Is that you?”

  “Brother.” Owen stepped out of the darkness and into the lantern’s illumination. A streak of dirt marked his cheek like a scar, his hair ruffled by the unruly wind. But it was the wild-eyed stare, coming from Owen’s eyes, that left Jacob feeling slightly uneasy.

  “I hoped I might speak with you, unless you are intent on taking this entire wall down with your bare hands?” Jacob ignored the unsettled sensation. This was his brother. What harm could possibly befall him, in Owen’s presence?

  Owen smirked. “And what was it you wanted to speak to me about? If it’s that notion of reparations, you can spare yourself the trouble. And if it is to do with your true birth, you can spare yourself the trouble with that, too. I have come to the conclusion that it does not matter anymore.”

  “You have?” Jacob raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “I have learned, in my life, that if you want something badly enough, all you have to do is take it,” Owen said. “Tell me, Brother, do you recognize this?” From behind his back, he produced a musket. Jacob did, indeed, recognize it. It was the same musket that had shot Elias dead.

  “I do,” Jacob replied, as the feeling of uneasiness turned into outright dread.

  “It belongs to Mr. Price, though you know that already.”

  Jacob clenched his fists. “But Mr. Price was not the man w
ho tried to shoot us.”

  Owen chuckled. “Oh, I am well aware of that. You see, I gave the order to Mr. Price to bring this musket to the house and leave it by the stable. Mistress Marigold collected it, under the instruction that I would lead you out to the stables, where she might seize the moment to remove you from our lives. Naturally, I did not expect us to quarrel and come to blows, which complicated matters somewhat. Mistress Marigold did her best, though at least she did not miss and hit me instead.”

  Jacob’s gut wrenched. “You meant to kill me?”

  “I did, as I do now,” he replied casually. “Although, I have decided that I must take matters into my own hands, as no one else can be entrusted with the task. When you are found, they will also find Mr. Price’s musket nearby, and he will be accused of your murder. I will ensure it.”