A Lady for the Forsaken Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “And which way did these bandits go?” he asked.

  The boy indicated the woods, and he nodded at his steward. Prescott immediately went to secure the perimeter, making sure that the bandits were indeed gone, while Hugh knelt beside the man.

  “Can you stand up, sir? I have a carriage that can take you to your destination if you so wish.”

  The man opened his mouth to speak, but one look from his son was enough to silence him. What kind of relationship existed between the son and father? One look and the man was silenced.

  “That would be wonderful, sir. We were on our way to a lodging house in the direction that you came from. I would be obliged if you could take us there. If it will be no trouble to you,” he added.

  Hugh was struck again by the intensity of the boy’s eyes and the delicate features of his face. Was it normal for a boy to be this beautiful? Hugh was due at Grosvenor House, but something within him wanted to help these people.

  “Prescott!” he called out. “Help me lift this man to his feet.”

  Prescott returned, and the driver jumped down from the carriage and came to assist them, lifting the big man with some difficulty. Hugh left them to it and turned his attention onto the other travellers. The woman spoke little, having eyes only for her husband, but the boy was moving around, collecting what looked like their belongings and picking up the weapons.

  “What do you expect to do with those weapons?” he asked.

  The boy jerked his head up, obviously disturbed at being watched.

  “Dispose of them, sir. I cannot leave them lying around for anyone to come and take them. What if the bandits are lying low, just waiting to strike again? Without their weapons, they are a lot less menacing.”

  The boy made sense. Hugh walked to the boy, his gait uneven, and helped retrieve the last few weapons, placing them in an open white sheet. A sheet to carry their belongings? Perhaps they are poor people who cannot afford good travelling luggage. Hugh continued to observe the boy as they worked swiftly, marvelling at his graceful movements. He couldn’t remember being this graceful when he was a young lad. When they both bent down to retrieve the last pistol, their hands touched, and Hugh felt a frisson of electricity go through him. The boy must have experienced it as well because he snatched his hand to his chest and quickly walked away to pick up a knife behind him. What is wrong with me? What was it about the boy that unsettled him? Hugh found that he didn’t like it one bit and endeavoured not to touch him again. Once all the weapons were collected, they made their way to the carriage.

  “What is your name, boy?” Hugh asked.

  “My – my name?” he stammered.

  “I believe that was what I said.”

  The boy looked down, frowning. Surely, asking for a name is not such a difficult question?

  “George, My Lord, my name is George.”

  The boy sounded as though he was testing the name. Hugh watched him carefully as he asked his next question.

  “And your parents? I wish to address them properly.”

  The boy – George – looked down again. Hugh found this suspicious, but he said nothing. George finally looked up again.

  “Marguerite and Cardross Wickham.”

  He knew of the name Wickham, but he doubted that they were the same lot of people. He asked anyway.

  “I know of the Wickhams – they live somewhere around these parts. Well, at least their main house is here, I believe. Are you in any way related?”

  “No!” he shouted but then composed himself. “No, My Lord. Different family tree altogether.”

  He found the boy’s accent intriguing; it had something foreign about it, but he couldn’t place his finger on just what it was. He tried to engage the young boy in further conversation, but he seemed to prevaricate quite a bit. He had no additional opportunity to find out about George because they had reached the carriage. The father was in the carriage already and took up most of the one side, making it difficult for anyone to fit in that space. George appeared to pick up on the predicament they were in and opted to sit on the outside with Prescott and the driver. Hugh was disappointed, but he squashed that feeling and helped the mother climb into the carriage before following after her. The driver managed to turn the carriage around without any mishaps, going back in the direction that they had come from. The Huntingtons would just need to wait a little while longer.

  *****

  Grosvenor House was in an uproar. Madelene’s disappearance had just been discovered, and the Master of the house was beside himself.

  “What shall we do, Wife?” he wailed. “The Earl is well on his way! What shall we tell him!”

  “Oh, do be quiet!” Cornelia scolded. “How am I to think with all that crying?”

  Harry clutched his head and moaned, muttering that all sorts of calamities were about to descend upon him. She gave her husband a withering glance, resenting his weakened state. If not for his money, I would have never married this weak-chinned man! Cornelia paced their bedchamber, her mind turning with possible solutions. She was sure that she had put enough of the sleeping potion into the girl’s soup, but it seemed that the girl did not drink her soup. I should have just locked her up when I had the chance!

  “We’ll just have to go after her and bring her back, by force if necessary!”

  Harry looked up with hope, but it disappeared when he considered the circumstances.

  “It’s no use, Wife. Jenkins informed me that Giles is also gone – the man is as big as a house. How will we take Madelene from their midst?”

  Cornelia gave a yell of frustration, throwing a small vial of perfume against the wall. She was positively incensed. She watched as the liquid seeped into the carpet, the stain spreading by the second.

  “Cornelia! Wife, what is the use of destroying such a dearly priced fragrance? It was not so long ago that I gave it to you! Do you know that I bought it from Floris?”

  Cornelia rounded on her husband. “The very same one that you gave Bella, your current courtesan?”

  Harry’s face turned white. “I’m afraid that I do not know what you are talking about.”

  Cornelia laughed, a sound that she knew could send chills down the spine of whomever she directed it towards. Her husband had never seen this side of her before, and the fact that she was aware of his private affairs must have been worrisome for him.

  “Do you believe me to be a naïve wife that remains closeted in the country while her husband carries on like a young man in London? Louisa Bellamy was only too eager to report about your double life in London!”

  Cornelia watched as the wheels in her husband’s head turned. Realisation dawned, followed by two red spots on his cheek.

  “I am the man of the house! Who are you to question me? You are just a woman! You seem to have forgotten your position, Wife.”

  She applauded his bravado, but she had the upper hand.

  Cornelia narrowed her eyes. “Well then, if you are such a man, then fix this mess!”

  With that said, she flounced out of the room, leaving her husband to his misery.

  *****

  What am I going to do? Harry had no way of paying off his debt right at that moment, for his next shipment from France would only arrive in two months’ time.

  “It’s hopeless, it’s all hopeless.”

  There was no telling what the Earl would do once he found out that Madelene had fled. And now it seemed that Cornelia knew of Bella. It was all that Patrick Bellamy’s fault! He had seen him exit the townhouse where he had put Bella. The man must have informed his wife, and of course, Louisa would have told Cornelia.

  “What rotten luck!”

  He might as well tie a noose around his neck and be done with it, but he would never have the courage to do so. What was he going to do?

  *****

  The carriage ride was a quiet one. Neither of his two passengers wished to speak, but Hugh had questions that he wanted to ask. Mr Wickham had fallen asleep and was quietly snor
ing, exhausted from his terrible ordeal. Mrs Wickham had steadfastly continued to look out of the window, unwilling to make eye contact. What an odd family. It struck him as interesting that George did not look like either of his parents. Hugh had glimpsed a golden mop of curls under his hat, surprised that his hair had been allowed to grow so long. It was not uncommon for a young boy still in the nursery room to possess such a hairstyle, but George was well past those years.

  “Mrs Wickham?” he said.

  No answer. The woman wasn’t deaf, that much he could tell. Maybe she’s just too engrossed in her thoughts. They had just been assaulted by bandits – she could be experiencing trauma. He made as though he was thrown off balance by the carriage and lurched forward. This was effective in drawing her attention as she automatically put her hands out, expecting to stop him from falling. Of course, this was unnecessary, but she did not need to know that. He noted that the movement had not woken up the sleeping bear.

  “My Lord!” she said. “Are you quite alright?”

  He righted himself, trying not to smile. Once he returned to his seat, he turned his body to face the woman.

  “Yes, perfectly fine, Mrs Wickham.”

  She tilted her head, momentarily confused.

  “Mrs Wickham?” she asked.

  It was his turn to frown. Was the woman so shaken up that she did not remember her own name? Or maybe it wasn’t her name. The spy in him suddenly kicked into high gear, and he observed her.

  “Your son told me your names – I hope that you do not mind?”

  Comprehension dawned on her face. “Oh, I see. Not at all, My Lord, I do not mind at all. But you seem to have me at a disadvantage for I do not know your name.”

  “Formally, I am known as the Earl of Scarborough.”

  He was surprised to see fear enter into her eyes. She lifted a trembling hand towards her mouth and pushed her back into the seat. It was as if she knew him, but this was the first time that he had seen such cold fear enter someone’s eyes at the mere mention of his name. He got the feeling that there was something else going on.

  “Mrs Wickham? Has something happened?”

  Several emotions passed over her face. She tried to speak, but it came out as a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again.

  “Nothing, My Lord, nothing at all. I just had the strangest of notions, and it affected me. The Earl of Scarborough? I believe that I have not heard of that name before.”

  Hugh did not want to have a high opinion of himself, but he doubted that she could not have heard of him before. He was well-known, notoriously so.

  “I have picked up a strange accent from your son, Mrs Wickham, and I find that yours is different as well. Am I correct in saying that you are French?”

  She smiled. “You have a good ear, My Lord. Many people do not pick up on my slight accent – I fear that being away from my home country these twenty years has masked it.”

  “Your husband is most certainly an Englishman, but as I have mentioned before, your son’s accent is strange.”

  The carriage came to a stop, and he saw relief enter into her eyes.

  “We have stopped, My Lord. Could we be at our destination?”

  She stuck her head out of the carriage, seemingly happy to no longer be answering his questions. He glanced at the sleeping man. The man is awake, but he will not open his eyes. Hugh had noticed that his breathing had changed halfway through the questions posed to his wife, but the man had continued to feign sleep. It was strange behaviour and highly suspicious. The young boy came around to the door and opened it.

  “Mother, Father, we have arrived.”

  Well, it certainly was not the usual way of doing things, but Hugh said nothing. His steward should have opened his door and addressed him first as per his rank – this young man apparently did not understand the social customs of the day. He was indeed eager to have them leave the carriage.

  “We have indeed,” Hugh remarked. “George, if you would ask the driver to assist us with your father.”

  George nodded and disappeared for a moment, reappearing with both Prescott and the driver. Mr Wickham chose that moment to show his wakefulness by opening his eyes and looking around.

  “Crickey, have we arrived at the lodging house already? It appears that I was more fatigued than I thought.”

  He gasped when he tried to move his hurt knee.

  “Mon amour!” cried Mrs Wickham. “Please, do be careful!”

  She had moved to his side and tried to help him up.

  “Do not put too much pressure on your knee, Mr Wickham. If you could stand on your good leg, we can help you down the carriage.”

  The man nodded and tried to get up again, this time favouring his bad knee. The men helped him out and leaned him against the exterior of the carriage.

  “We cannot thank you enough, My Lord,” George said. “We will take it from here.”

  Hugh noticed that their belongings were already on the ground, ready to be moved into the lodging house.

  “Wait just a moment, young man,” he said and turned to Prescott. “Please go into the lodging house and secure enough rooms for our guests and I.”

  Prescott disappeared into the lodging house with only slightly raised eyebrows. His steward would not question him about his choice of lodging and his decision to pay for their new acquaintances as well. He would not challenge his Master in front of strangers, but once they were alone, Hugh would hear all about it.

  “Do you mean to stay here as well, Lord Scarborough?” Mrs Wickham asked.

  He heard a gasp come from George, and he sharply glanced in the young man’s direction.

  “Is something the matter, George?”

  George’s eyes were stricken with fear. A slender hand went to his neck, and he looked as though he might bolt. Mrs Wickham quickly went forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Dear, Lord Scarborough is speaking to you.”

  He saw them exchange a look that had him nodding. The fear did not leave his eyes, but he was able to respond.

  “My apologies, My Lord. Please, take no notice of me.”

  George busied himself with their belongings, making eye contact with no one. Prescott returned, keys in his hand.

  “My Lord, I have secured the rooms. Shall I prepare your room for you?”

  Hugh shook his head. He still needed to pay a visit to Grosvenor House and would rather do so now than later.

  “Not yet, Prescott. However, I am sure that the Wickhams must be tired from their ordeal and will want to rest.”

  Mrs Wickham nodded. “You are all too right, Lord Scarborough. My husband needs his rest. We wish to thank you for your goodness, My Lord. Not many people in your position would have stopped to help a few strangers.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” George added. “Allow us to reimburse you for the rooms.”

  Hugh held up his hand. “There is no need, young man. Please, go in and rest. I will return by dinner.”