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

by Linfield, Emma

  “I…” Jacob struggled for the right words, as nervous energy thrummed through his veins.

  “You do not understand why I am doing this?” Owen scowled, lifting the musket and aiming the barrel at Jacob’s chest. “I would have thought it would be obvious to you, by now? You refuse to leave, so you must be removed. This title is mine. This land is mine. It should never have been offered to you. You are no son of my father. As I alluded earlier, I would not have had to go to these lengths if you had returned to London. The title itself is of no consequence to me, but the land—this land—and the ruling of it all, is of every consequence to me.”

  “Why, Owen? Why not work together, as brothers? Why must you seek to remove me?” Jacob hissed, as fury and fear mingled within him.

  “Because you are a problem. I have many complicated plans afoot, and you would never agree to be part of them.”

  Jacob remembered the attack on the ball and hoped it might give him leverage. At the very least, he prayed it might purchase him some more time to persuade Owen not to use that rifle on him.

  “Allow me a moment,” he pleaded. “There is to be an attack on the house tomorrow, during Mother’s ball. The Ribbonmen have it planned. Please, Brother, let us work together to prevent this. I urge you to reconsider your actions. All you have to do is put that musket down, and I will forget everything that has been said. I will not attempt to belittle your leadership here. I will listen and I will learn from you, so we may be able to work in unity with one another.”

  Owen barked a cold laugh. “And where have you heard of this, pray tell?”

  “I would prefer to protect their identity, but I have it on good authority that this plot is very real,” Jacob replied, raising his hands in a gesture of submission.

  “Of course it is real.” Owen peered down the sight. “I constructed the plot myself.”

  Jacob’s heart almost stopped. “What?”

  “I constructed the plot, as a way to rid us of the Ribbonmen, once and for all. I have been their leader for a long while, without them even realizing it. I have been feeding them funds, to distract them, and have offered to grant them a gift of muskets so they will be armed for the fight to come—at Mother’s ball, as you stated.” He grinned eerily. “Of course, the muskets will not fire. I have seen to it myself. But it will look as if they intended to cause harm. I already have men waiting, who are loyal to the cause of unification. They will apprehend the Ribbonmen. By this time next week, they will all be on transportation ships, on their merry way to Australia.”

  “No… that cannot be. It is not possible!” Jacob exclaimed.

  “I assure you, it is very possible, and is already in motion,” Owen replied.

  “But why would you do that?” Jacob was incredulous.

  “To rid my lands of those who seek to destroy it, of course. Although, I have a grander image in mind. Once the Irish hear that a revolution has been quelled, this time with armed men, they will fall more easily in line.” Owen shifted the musket against his shoulder. “A new Ireland will rise, united with Britain, as it ought to be. And I will represent the fresh blood that will bring it to greatness.”

  “You adore the Irish. Why would you try to bring them further suffering?” Jacob could not fathom it.

  “I must be cruel to be kind, in the greater scheme of things,” Owen said. “It is the same with you. I must be cruel to be kind. I must kill you in order to see my plans come to light, so that these lands may flourish, and you do not bring shame on our name.”

  Jacob shook his head. “You do not have to do this. You do not have to kill me.”

  “To make it all the sweeter, when Mr. Price is apprehended for the crime of your murder, I will have rid these lands of him, too. And with his daughter being such a frail creature, I do not imagine it will be long before she follows him into the dirt. He has been a thorn in my side for a fair while, and I shall be relieved to have it extracted for good.”

  Alicia…

  “Think for a moment, Owen. I am your brother. Remember that. We share the same mother. As children, we played together.” Jacob knew he needed to keep talking, while he came up with a way to stop his brother. “Tell me, who sat at your bedside and read to you when you could not go out of doors? Who put blankets around your shoulders in the winter? Who took your hand and led you from the house in secret, when Mother forbade it, so we could ride across these fields? Have you forgotten all that?”

  Owen laughed. “No, but you are forgetting something.”

  “What is that?”

  “We are not children anymore.”

  Jacob tugged on another thread of thought. “Then think of this. Do you know how I came to be given life?”

  “Mother fancied some other gentleman, I imagine.” Owen’s lips curled into a grimace of disgust.

  “No, she did not. She was never disloyal to Father. She was attacked and brutalized and dishonored. That is why Father did not cast her out, nor me. That is why he sent me away, because it wounded him to look upon me, and remember what terrible deeds had been done to his beloved wife. But that is also why he chose to love me, because he knew my birth was not Mother’s fault, and that it was not my fault, either.” Jacob held his nerve. “He was a good man, despite some mistakes. What would he think of you, if he could see you now?”

  Owen hesitated. “Did she tell you that?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  Owen fell silent for a moment, shifting the butt of his musket again. “It does not matter. It is too late to change my mind now.”

  “No, Brother, it is not. There is still time. Put the musket down and I will pretend as though this never happened,” Jacob urged.

  “I might have found the will to do that, after what you have just said,” Owen replied slowly. “But you encouraged me to this point, and letting you live will not solve the bigger problem of your presence.”

  “Encouraged you?” Jacob spluttered. “How have I encouraged you?”

  “You said it would be your word against mine, if I tried to denounce you. And I do not want to bring my mother’s reputation into disrepute—you were correct about that. Especially now.” Owen shrugged. “She will grieve you, I am sure, but this is the only way that I may have what is rightfully mine, without your interference. You have only yourself to blame.”

  “Owen, no!” Jacob cried.

  “I am sorry, Brother.” He flicked back the flintlock. “I wish you had gone back to London.”

  In a blur of panic that hammered in Jacob’s heart, a shot rang out.

  Chapter 42

  “Jacob!” Alicia screamed, unable to keep his given name from hurtling from her tongue. She ran with all her might to close the distance between them, with Tom bringing up the rear. He held his musket in his hand, a faint sliver of smoke rising from the end of the barrel.

  Jacob stumbled slightly and braced himself against the wall. He glanced down at his chest, patting it frantically with his palm. Alicia reached him as his gaze shot up toward his brother, who was staring down at his own chest. A bud of dark red sat dead-center, with petals of the same scarlet unfurling across his white shirt. He staggered backward, dropping the musket to the ground with a clatter.

  “Alicia?” Jacob looked at her in bafflement, squinting as though he did not quite believe she was there. He, too, had dispensed with formality in his apparent surprise.

  “Captain, are you hurt?” Tom slung his musket over his shoulder.

  Jacob shook his head. “No… I do not believe I am. Though, how can that be? I heard the shot.” He glanced at his brother and turned deathly pale. “Owen? Owen?” He rushed forward, catching his brother in his arms at the precise moment that Owen’s knees buckled.

  “I am sorry, Captain,” Tom said quietly.

  “What did you do?” Jacob twisted his head around and looked to his old friend. “Tom, what did you do?”

  “He was about to fire, Sir. It was you or him. I had to make the choice.” Tom hung his head. “I am
sorry. Truly, I am. I had no other option.”

  “He would have killed you,” Alicia agreed. “Tom saved you.”

  Jacob grasped his brother to him, rocking him as gentle as a babe. “Forgive me, Owen.”

  Owen laughed, a splash of blood spattering onto his chin, as a thin stream trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Forgive you?”

  “Yes, forgive me. I did not mean for you to be injured.” Jacob looked back at Tom. “Send for a physician immediately!”

  “Yes, Sir.” Tom shot a grim glance at Alicia, before he disappeared into the darkness.

  Alicia watched Jacob and his brother. She already knew that there would be little point in fetching the physician, for Lord Owen would surely be dead by the time help came. Truthfully, she did not quite understand Jacob’s desire to save him, for Lord Owen would not have spared him the same consideration, had he managed to fire his own musket.

  It is the same as Da and I, she realized. Her father had behaved atrociously toward her, for much of her life, but it had not changed the love she carried for him in her heart. It must have been a similar emotion for Jacob. Lord Owen had wanted him dead, and had forged a plot with the Ribbonmen, but he would always be Jacob’s little brother. That sort of bond did not simply disappear, just because one person had taken a dark path in life.

  “Stay with me, Owen,” Jacob pleaded. “The physician is coming. Just stay with me.”

  “Why?” Lord Owen croaked.

  “Because you are my brother,” he answered.

  Lord Owen coughed, adding to the trickle of blood that meandered down his chin and to the ground. “I wanted… you dead.”

  “That does not mean I wanted you dead.” Jacob held him closer, breaking Alicia’s heart. He sounded so sad and vulnerable.

  “Looks like… you get… to keep your… title, after… all.” Lord Owen mustered a smile, though his eyes were unfocused.

  “Damn the title!” Jacob muttered. “There is more to life than lands and titles, Owen. Why could you not have seen that? Why could you not have been satisfied?”

  Lord Owen winced, his eyes squeezing shut. “I… wanted more.”

  “Oh Owen.” Jacob clutched him desperately. “Just hold on.”

  “I… do not… feel so… well.” Lord Owen gripped his brother back, coughing violently into Jacob’s shirt. “I am… cold.”

  Alicia took her shawl from around her shoulders and placed it around Lord Owen. She knew death. Death was as an old friend to her. Through many a winter, she had been certain that it would come for her, though it had always changed its mind. Still, she had witnessed enough suffering in the village to know when death was near. It had a scent and a sensation—a prickle on the back of the neck, and a faint hint of metal and firewood and lavender. In that moment, she felt the telltale prickle and smelled that faint aroma on the air.

  “Will… you tell… Mother?” Lord Owen rasped.

  Jacob shook his head. “No, of course not.”

  “That is… good. I do not… want her thinking… ill of me.”

  “Owen, why did you have to do this? Why did you have to be so foolish?” Jacob buried his face in his brother’s shoulder.

  “I am… sorry, Brother.” Lord Owen rattled out a cough.

  “Save your apologies for later, when you are recovered,” Jacob murmured.

  Oh Jacob… Alicia could hardly bring herself to look. It was much too sad. He had to know that his brother would not survive this. He had to know that death was on its way.

  “I do not… think I am… going to survive… this,” Lord Owen replied.

  “Of course you are,” Jacob told him. As he rocked his brother in his arms, Alicia noticed that Lord Owen’s arms had gone limp. They dragged back to his sides, with no life spurring them into movement any longer.

  She reached out and touched Jacob on the back of the neck. “He has gone, Jacob.”

  He peered up at her through tearful eyes. “No. No, he has not. He will rally.”

  “He has gone, Jacob,” she repeated, rubbing the nape of his neck tenderly.

  Jacob pulled away from his brother slightly. Sure enough, Lord Owen’s eyes stared upward in a vacant gaze. A small hint of a smile turned up the corners of his lips, and somehow, he looked as though he were at peace.

  Tugging his sleeve down over his hand, Jacob wiped the blood away from Lord Owen’s mouth and leaned down to kiss his brother on the forehead. A moment later, he collapsed in a fit of sobs, hugging his brother with an intense grief that made Alicia feel as though she were looking in on something so very private.

  “You must not blame Tom, Jacob,” she said quietly, still rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I do not blame Tom,” Jacob wept. “I blame myself.”

  “You must not do that, either.”

  He glanced at her. “How can I not? I ought to have returned to London, the first time he mentioned it. I do not belong here. I have never belonged here. Why did I think I could run this house, when he already had control of the reins?”

  “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but he was to lead the Ribbonmen in the attack tomorrow. He was not the man you thought he was, though that does not mean you can’t love him, nor grieve for him.” She held his gaze, her tone soft.

  “I know what he was. He told me what he had planned, but he was not doing it for the benefit of the Ribbonmen. He intended to have them all apprehended, so they might be tried and transported,” Jacob whispered. “And I know that he wanted me dead, but I love him all the same, and I will miss him all the same.”

  “Of course you will,” she murmured, letting what Jacob had said sink in. The Ribbonmen had been fooled by the very kind of person they sought revenge against. For her part, she could not shed a tear for Lord Owen, but she could understand why Jacob had to. And she did not disapprove of him for it.

  Though I am mighty glad you are not dead, Jacob. I do not know what I would have done if I had lost you. She did not say it out loud, for it did not seem like the right moment. So, she simply allowed herself to feel that gratitude in silence, as the lantern sputtered out and left the trio in pitch darkness.

  In those stretching shadows, she felt a firm hand take hers and hold it tight, making her heart swell. Though she knew she could never hope to marry Jacob, she found her heart hoping it all the same. And in his touch, she felt her desires echoed back, in loving reciprocation.

  Chapter 43

  A week passed. As the dust settled on the traumatic events that had taken the life of Owen, Ravencliff returned to a state of relative normality. The dairy needed to be tended to, as did the fields and the manor itself. It did not have the luxury of time to let it grieve.

  Those within, however, had no choice but to face some harsh truths and try to find a way to proceed in their conflicted sorrow. Which was how Jacob came to find Alicia, seated upon a bench outside the mausoleum in the estate’s private churchyard. His mother had mentioned that he might find her there.

  “Mother said you had come to the house, but I could not find you. I wondered where you had gone,” he said, startling her out of a private reverie.

  “I needed the fresh air,” she replied. “And I wanted to have a moment with my mother.”

  “What does she have to say?” He sat down beside her, keeping a polite distance.

  Her head dipped to her chin. “She isn’t saying much.”

  “Is it a comfort to you, to be near her?”

  She nodded slowly. “Very much so. I’ve missed her, even though I hardly knew her.” She looked up at him. “What of your brother?”

  “I have tried not to think about him too much,” Jacob admitted, though it was not entirely the truth. When he had not been thinking of Alicia, and the warmth he felt in his heart for her, he had been thinking of Owen. And the brotherhood they would never share.

  “It doesn’t do you any dishonor to think of him, you know,” Alicia said. “He was your brother. Just because he turned out to have some evil in him, th
at doesn’t mean you have to immediately stop caring for him.”

  He shifted awkwardly. “If I allow myself to think of him kindly, and what might have been if he had not sought to destroy me, it will overwhelm me.”

  “That does you no dishonor, either.” She cast her eyes downward. “But, if you ever need to speak about him with someone, I don’t mind listening.”

  “Thank you,” he breathed, knowing he may need to accept that offer. It reminded him of another offer he needed to relay to her—one of the main reasons he had sought her out, upon hearing that she had come to the manor.