The Stolen Diadem of a Castaway Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  “You shall take it,” he shot back with a playful grin, “else I’ll have the maids sneak in and hide it all among your belongings.”

  “Ha! That is where you’re wrong,” she answered triumphantly. “I have no belongings! Check mate!”

  Lord Bellton grew quiet and looked away before muttering, “I took the liberty of having some pieces made.” At the look of horror on Beatrix’s face, he quickly added, “But it was only in order to provide more work for a woman in dire need of income! Does that count for nothing?”

  Beatrix gritted her teeth to keep from answering. After all, Birdie and Greta had already told her of the woman whose handiwork provided her with lodgings and food. Though she liked not the idea of extravagant attire, she was far more pleased that someone such as Lord Bellton had gone to such lengths to demonstrate charity to another.

  “I suppose I must allow it, if it served another soul,” she admitted hesitantly, “but that does not mean you must go out of your way to spend any more.”

  “Never,” he replied, holding up his hand solemnly. “I shall not spend another penny… except that which I intend to send to your home as a monthly allowance to ensure your continued well-being.”

  Beatrix looked at him in horror, unable to tell if this was a further jest. “You better had not dare!” she insisted. “I shall not only fling the coins into the nearest bog, but I shall horsewhip the rider who delivers them!”

  Lord Bellton laughed good-naturedly, which only vexed Beatrix slightly. His expression turned very serious, though, and she wondered what that could imply.

  “I find myself at a loss,” he said, averting his eyes from her face. “I would very much like to see you again, but I know not how to expect such a thing.”

  “Because I might rebuke your intentions?” Beatrix asked. “Or because you’re fearful of how you might be received in my family’s quarters?”

  “Both, I must admit. Though I have discovered that my feelings for you are able to overcome any fear of the unknown. At least, I strive to be such a man after having met you.”

  “As much as I might enjoy seeing you again, I too am struggling with visions of you seated at the table in my lowly home, my father glaring at the fine cut of your coat and its delicate cloth,” she said without a hint of pettiness or ridicule. “I’m afraid our two worlds may not be suited to collide in this way.”

  “But you would otherwise wish to see me again?” Lord Bellton asked hopefully. “Were you of noble birth or were I a… a… a blacksmith’s apprentice, you would consider that request?”

  “Indeed, I think I would,” she answered, blushing slightly. “But as that is not the case, it isn’t an issue that either of us need worry ourselves over.”

  Lord Bellton smiled brightly, reaching to take her hand in his. Beatrix allowed it, shivering slightly both at the touch and the memory of his lips on hers only hours before.

  “I know there must be a way,” he said firmly, his eyes gaining an intensity that she had not seen in him before. “I need only consider what such a request might mean for you and your family.”

  “Or even what that could mean for you,” she finished softly. “You are requesting… what, exactly? A continued friendship? An occasional visit when there are no others near who would condemn you for keeping up an acquaintanceship with a commoner, one of my very dubious background?”

  “I think that I don’t care what others might say,” Lord Bellton replied. “I do know that the thought of your leaving this house and never returning causes me a kind of pain I’ve never experienced. As much as I want to, I don’t know how to put aside our very different places in the world, though, as this is such a new frontier for me.”

  “It looks as though you’re about to find out,” Beatrix said, looking up at the door where the butler had entered, followed by two very well-dressed men.

  Chapter 20

  “My Lord, I’m sorry to disturb your meal,” Lloyd said in a rather pointed voice, “but the Earl of Weavington and his son, the Viscount of Dewham, have just arrived and insist upon an urgent audience.”

  “I’ll excuse myself now,” Beatrix said. Lord Bellton opened his mouth to protest but she shook her head. “I’m feeling very tired as of now, if it’s all right I’ll simply ask Birdie to bring me a tray. Thank you for the offer of dining together.”

  Without waiting for anyone to reply, Beatrix strode from the room with her head high. She nodded slightly at the two men as she passed, but said nothing by way of greeting due to the way the elder man moved back in contempt lest she walk too close.

  “Gentlemen? I trust something is currently aflame for you to have interrupted our dinner?” Callum said, frowning slightly at the perceived insult.

  “Was that her?” the Earl asked, looking back over his shoulder in the direction Beatrix had already left.

  “Was that who?” Callum asked, looking from the Earl to Peter and back again. “My dear friend who’d been invited to dine, you mean? Why yes, it was. Now I’m afraid my invitation has been thwarted and my guest treated rather discourteously.”

  “You know who I mean, Bellton!” the Earl said, glowering darkly. “It has come to my attention that a thief has taken up residence in your house. How can that be?”

  “Oh dear, I’m afraid you are terribly misinformed,” Callum said, standing up and crossing the room to ensure the door was fully closed. “My guest has been in my home for several days, and I can assure you, nothing has gone missing.”

  “But… but my son told me…” The Earl stopped and cast an irritated glance at Peter.

  “Ah, Peter. My very good friend who flits around his conversations without a care in the world.” Callum looked over at his friend, who sheepishly hung his head and mumbled a reply.

  “I wasn’t meaning to tell him, Callum,” Peter answered, his humiliation at the moment clear on his face. “I was only sharing a mindless bit of news from the ton with my parents. I don’t know what he’s going on about, but he’s acted as though this is a crime against the Crown itself!”

  “I hold no grudge against you, Peter. Except for the fact that my guest has seen fit to excuse herself to her chambers and my dinner will now be cold. That, I assure you, is unforgiveable, and you will make it up to me by having me over soon!” Callum smiled at his friend, well aware of how the Earl could behave.

  “But who is this woman?” Weavington insisted, growing impatient.

  “This woman?” Callum said, still not inviting the men to be seated, though he returned to his chair and gestured for the servant to bring his food. “Why, she’s none other than… someone you shouldn’t trouble yourself over.”

  “Of course I should trouble myself! My son’s best friend and confidant takes up with some strange commoner and goes so far as to entertain her in his house, and you don’t think that will reflect badly upon Peter? The ink is barely dry on his marriage contract, one that stands to increase his wealth and position exponentially! I cannot risk it by having his closest companions throwing good sense and propriety to the wind!”

  Weavington managed to catch his breath after a few seconds’ respite, while Callum sat calmly appraising the man’s outburst. Was he seriously expected to choose his social activities based upon how it would help Peter?

  “I see,” Callum replied. “My behavior is reflecting poorly on your son’s chances at snagging a loaded bride. Peter, have you learned her name yet, or is your father keeping that from you still?”

  “I… I don’t… That is, I mean…” Peter stammered, looking between the two men he respected most and not knowing how to respond.

  “Never mind, Peter. It was an unfair question only intended to upset you. I apologize,” Callum said. “But know that from here on, my friendships, my business dealings, why, even my favorite pastime or favorite drink at a favorite pub are no one’s concern but my own.”

  “You should know well by now that it is not so,” Weavington said, still glaring. “Everything you do and say impacts
others, whether directly or through the ton’s vicious gossip. If this comes back on my son in any way, I’ll see that you pay dearly for it!”

  Weavington turned on his heel to storm from the room, but stopped at the doorway. “Peter! Come on!”

  “I think I shall stay here, Father,” Peter replied. He pointed to Callum and said, “I have some mending to do now.”

  With a roar of contempt and a frustrated wave of his hand, Weavington left and slammed the door behind him. Peter looked to his friend and began to apologize, but Callum stopped him.

  “Say nothing,” he interrupted wearily. “I know your father means to only see to your future. It is a fate that I avoided by inheriting a title other than my father’s and not having to remain in his household.”

  “You’ve not only done that, you’re to be a duke when the unfortunate day of your father’s passing occurs,” Peter said, scoffing at his situation. “It is something my father has desired for so long he can taste its richness… or rather, the lack of it tastes like sand in his mouth at all times.”

  “I am sorry for you,” Callum said.

  “You? Apologizing to me after the situation I’ve put you in? Again, I have no notion as to why my father is determined you’ll not remain acquainted with this… friend of yours.” Peter shook his head. “He’s been frothing at the mouth ever since I first mentioned it.”

  “I will admit that it is a strange friendship borne out of a most unusual circumstance,” Callum said, “but likewise, it is my strange friendship, no one else’s. I will not be told with whom I should associate, I don’t care who is implicated for it.”

  All the way back to her room, Beatrix chastised herself for being so gullible, for being such a romantic fool. What had she expected? That a marquess would cast aside his fortune and title in order to win her heart? Yet, Lord Bellton had done almost that very thing. It was the untimely appearance of some of his peers that prevented their conversation from advancing in a dangerous direction.

  She made it to her chambers and fought her way carefully out of her gown—one of apparently several that the good nobleman sought to send her home with—and plucked the pins carefully from her hair, letting it fall in curly waves from where Greta had deftly styled it.

  Striding across the room to the wardrobe, Beatrix offered up a silent but fervent prayer that her own clothes, simple yet sufficient, had been put into the pile. She sifted through several layers of new garments before thankfully locating her simple blouse and long skirts at the bottom. They had been cleaned, along with her apron, and Beatrix wasted no time donning the garments that more appropriately suited her.

  Chancing to walk past the window, the sky outside now darkened, her reflection made Beatrix stop. Even in the distorted view of herself from the glass, she looked out of place in the ornate room. The light of the lamps shining against the lead glass gave her an otherworldly glow, as though she were a specter of some sort, come to haunt the mansion.

  “I do not belong here… now, or ever,” she whispered at her skewed face. “This is not the sort of place where I could ever be received.”

  Her macabre reflection only served to remind her that she had been playing at high class life these past two days, a pretender wearing a pretty costume. Nothing more. It had been an interesting diversion, to be sure, but through it all, she was only “Lady” Beatrix, daughter of a known criminal.

  Beatrix searched the dressing table for the folded papers that Birdie had provided. Though they were rendered by hand and hard to follow, they would serve. She intended to be away from this place—away from the likes of Lord Bellton’s associates, with their fancy ways and sneers of disdain—as soon as possible.

  “I shall be on foot for at least two days,” Beatrix surmised, studying the drawings and trying to decipher the names of the towns and villages between here and her father’s house. “I shall not beg for my food and lodgings, but will endeavor to work for them instead.”

  She checked the time on the beautiful mantel clock that sat above the fireplace in her bedroom. Eight-thirty, according to its tiny machinery. It was a terribly late hour to be embarking on the journey home, but Beatrix didn’t wish to remain any longer. The sooner she struck out for home, the sooner this would be behind her.

  A movement behind her caused Beatrix to turn suddenly, startled. “Oh! You gave me a fright!”

  “Apologies, miss. But ya didnaw hear us knock? We waited, knowin’ ya had not eaten yet,” Greta said, shuffling her feet nervously at what seemed like an inexcusable intrusion.

  Beatrix’s expression softened slightly as she beckoned to the maids. “Yes, I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.”

  “Anyways, we brought ya yer supper…” Birdie said, eyeing Beatrix’s garments up and down. “Yer not thinkin’ to leave now, are ya? At this time of the night?”

  “Oh miss, you cannot! You’ll get lost, or attacked upon the road!” Greta echoed, her face clouding over tearfully.

  “I shall be fine,” Beatrix assured them. “I must go… now, I’m afraid.”

  “Please, miss! Please, only wait til mornin’!” Birdie cried. “We’ll wake ya before the rest of the household, if ya want. Just wait til sunrise, or near to it!”

  Beatrix pondered their fearful requests, and saw how it vexed them. Waking before the rest of the household would still allow her to be gone before Lord Bellton knew of it. Better yet, before either of his guests knew it.

  “All right. I’ll wait, but you must promise to speak of my departure to no one. And promise me that you’ll tell me as soon as it’s safe to leave but before anyone should know that I’m gone!” she said sternly. “I have a long way to travel and do not wish to be delayed by anyone here.”

  “Oh no, miss. We will naw let that happen!” Greta insisted. “We’ll have ya out the door before anyone notices.”

  “Thank you, Greta. That is a great relief to me,” Beatrix said warmly. “But come, help me eat this supper. I cannot possibly have it all myself!”

  Birdie and Greta exchanged a scandalized glance, unsure of whether or not Beatrix was serious. They waited until she portioned them out their own pieces of bread, slathered them generously with fresh butter, and held them out.

  “Come now! I don’t bite!” she said, laughing. The girls darted forward and took the food, but they waited to indulge in it until Beatrix helped herself.

  “Miss, pardon my asking, but do ya think the master favors ya some?” Birdie asked as they sat together and ate.

  Beatrix winced, but tried to keep a pleasant air about her. “I wouldn’t think so, no. Why would he? We’re not of the same class, and I’ve only known him but a matter of days. We also did not set out on the proper footing, if you remember!”

  Birdie giggled, but Greta nudged her sharply. “Well, don’t think less of us fer sayin’ so, but down in the kitchens there’s talk of that exact thing.”

  “What?” Beatrix said, forcing back the memory of her conversation with Lord Bellton only a half an hour ago. “No, I’m sure it’s nothing more than silly rumors and invented stories. It wouldn’t be fitting for someone like the Marquess to take a liking to a commoner like me, remember?”

  They continued eating in silence, Birdie and Greta catching one another’s eye when they thought Beatrix wasn’t looking. For her part, Beatrix’s mind raced. However could she manage to keep these tales from spreading farther than this household? The very fact of her dubious family name made any attention unwanted, especially if it came in the form of gossip among the nobles of the region.

  “Well, goodnight miss,” Greta said, urging Birdie to rise after they had all eaten their fill and talked for the better part of an hour. “We’ll rouse you in the mornin’ in plenty of time.”

  Beatrix bade them goodnight and readied herself for bed. Hopefully it would be an early time on the morrow in which she needed to be up and about, so this evening hour was ideal. To her dismay, upon finally climbing into bed and pulling the covers close, Beatrix w
as unable to fall asleep.

  Her thoughts kept returning to the Marquess. He’d all but confessed his love for her, and though she’d managed to politely temper his advances, she found in the darkened room that she no longer wished to. He was fair of face, to be sure, but that sort of feature mattered not to her. All Beatrix longed for in a companion was a genuine love for fellow man and a kind heart that saw injustice and remedied it.

  “The Marquess was surely neither of those things when we met,” she thought, “but now… I find him a much-changed man from my first impression of him.”

  There was another pressing matter, though, one that Beatrix could blithely ignore during the daytime whilst occupied. At night, however, with nothing but the shadows to disturb her thoughts, she was reminded that her father would murder any man who’d treated her in this way. She would be blessed if Prince Aaron did not seek out Lord Bellton and kill him as a matter of principle. Introducing him into her carefully guarded life would be the death of him, she was sure of it.