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

by Hanna Hamilton

  “No, I cannot,” she thought with finality, a tear slipping from her eye and blotting the pillow beneath her head. “I would rather live a solitary and meaningless life than be responsible for his fate.”

  Chapter 21

  As promised, Birdie knocked gently at the bedroom door well before the sun had risen. She needn’t have troubled herself, though, as Beatrix was already awake and prepared to leave. She opened the door to find a hearty breakfast awaiting her, as well as a wrapped parcel of more victuals to carry her on her way. The maid had even located a wine skin that she’d emptied and filled with water for the long trip.

  “Yer sure ya know the way?” Birdie asked for the third time. “Ya won’t be gettin’ lost now, will ya, miss?”

  “I don’t rightly know, Birdie,” Beatrix answered with a concerned frown, “but I’ll do my best. I should think your directions will prove quite useful and accurate. I hope that it will not take me long upon the road to see a familiar sight.”

  “Ya should drop breadcrumbs like the children in the fairy story!” Birdie said, covering her mouth with her hand shyly as she laughed. “Then ya could find yer way back to us… and back to the master at that.”

  “Birdie,” Beatrix warned with a wry smile, “we’re not to discuss that, remember? No one ever needs speak of it again!”

  “I know,” the maid answered with a sigh, “but I cannaw help but hope that you might be someday the mistress of this household! It would do our hearts well to have ya here and to serve ya!”

  “We must not pine for that which we cannot have,” Beatrix said, taking Birdie’s hands in her own and pressing them lightly. “But I must go now. Thank you again for everything, and please give my best to Greta.”

  Beatrix slipped out of her room and down the stairs on silent feet, feeling her way along the bannister until she reached a room of windows. The early morning light was just beginning to brighten the space, and her eyes quickly adjusted to the room to let her see.

  “Some thief you’d make,” Beatrix thought ruefully as she paused in a hall, narrowly avoiding colliding with an ancient vase on a mahogany stand. “Father would be less than pleased with this escape!”

  Eventually, Beatrix was able to make her way outside via the servants’ entrance. The small courtyard behind the kitchen led directly to the stables, and for a moment, she thought longingly of the stolen moment within those walls with Lord Bellton, the shock of it still sending a shiver through her. She shook it off in disgust, chastising herself for her silly, girlish daydreams.

  “It’s an early hour for a ride,” a voice behind her said, “but I suppose I can be troubled for an adventure if you wish.”

  Beatrix whirled around to face Lord Bellton, her heart racing from the fright of seeing someone outside.

  “You!” she exclaimed before looking around and lowering her voice. “You frightened me!”

  “I would apologize most sincerely if I were not convinced your intention was to leave without saying goodbye,” he answered, leaning against the side of the house.

  “How did you know I would be out here at this hour?” Beatrix demanded, looking around for any sign that he had an accomplice.

  “Surely you don’t think that my servants are all partial to you rather than me,” Lord Bellton joked, his eyes lighting up with a hint of mischief. “While you do seem to have charmed most of them—and even turned a few against me, not that I did not deserve it—some of the more loyal members of my household warned me that you might be plotting to run home.”

  Lord Bellton sauntered closer and smiled down at Beatrix. “Not that I could blame you, of course. Although it pains me greatly to know you would set out on foot without a word rather than accept my offer of a carriage and coachman to see you safely.”

  “I thought only that the walk might do me good,” Beatrix answered playfully. “It’s been awfully dull being sequestered inside these past many days. Besides…” She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the makeshift map. “… I have excellent directions that are certain to get me lost and mired in a bog without anyone to help me. It’s just the sort of adventure I crave!”

  Lord Bellton laughed, turning the page in her hand to inspect it more closely. He frowned shortly after, saying, “I’m afraid this is not even close to where we met on the road.”

  “And how would you know that?” she demanded, certain that this was some sort of trick to force her hand.

  “Because my father still lives at the residence I’d left that day. Remember?”

  “Ah yes. I’d forgotten,” Beatrix admitted shyly. “And you’d been traveling from his home following the loss of your mother.”

  “That’s right. I’d made that journey many times these past number of years, and this map is in the entirely wrong direction.” Lord Bellton folded it and handed it back to her. “And I assure you, I do not only say that so you might be persuaded. Instead, it is my fervent hope that you’ll let my coachman escort your home. I would wish to accompany you as well, if it pleases you.”

  “It would please me very much,” she said after a lengthy pause, “but it is unwise, I’m afraid.”

  “Because of our different stations? And the gossip you fear may befall us?” he pressed, shaking his head.

  “No, because my father will kill you the moment he lays eyes upon you. Should he challenge you to a duel,” Beatrix explained with a quiver in her voice, “there cannot be a good outcome. He will either die at the end of your pistol or he will kill you and then be arrested for it.”

  “Then I shall simply endeavor to appeal to his good-nature and convince him that I am… in love with his daughter,” Lord Bellton said, his earlier air of merriment gone. It had been replaced by a far more serious countenance, one that Beatrix could not dispute.

  “It is most unwise, sir,” she managed to whisper, but he took her hands and held them tightly. “I… I cannot see how this ends well…”

  “Then think not of the ending. Only keep your eyes affixed on our beginning,” he answered softly.

  He leaned closer to her and for a moment Beatrix anticipated another heavenly kiss, similar to the stolen moments in the stable. Her breath caught and her heart began to race in anticipation, even as her mind warred with her emotions.

  The sound of thundering footsteps approaching the courtyard caused them to move apart, putting a proper distance between them. Beatrix followed Lord Bellton’s gaze to where a horse and rider approached, both of them seemingly disappointed at the reappearance of the Earl of Weavington.

  “Good morning to you, Bellton,” the older man called out as he slowed his horse, intent on ignoring Beatrix. “You’re up and about awfully early.”

  “That I am, Weavington. I have business to attend to, even at this early morning hour. I assume you’ve come for Peter?”

  “No, though I’m sure he’ll be along shortly. I’ve come to continue our conversation last night, as well as propose a business arrangement,” the older man said, climbing down from the saddle with great difficulty. A stable hand rushed forward with a stool to help the Earl down, but the man waved him off.

  “What sort of business arrangement might that be?” Lord Bellton asked, coming closer to Beatrix almost protectively.

  “I spent last evening writing some letters on your behalf. I understand that conundrum you must be in, facing the loss of your best friend to marriage and inheritance, so I’ve sought to find you a suitable wife of your own.” The older man cast a quick glance at Beatrix, and she couldn’t help but notice that he seemed somewhat triumphant.

  “And that is once again my cue to depart,” she said, turning to Lord Bellton with a sympathetic but determined look. “Thank you for your hospitality as of late, but I must take my leave.”

  “Wait! Please don’t leave yet, wait but a little,” Lord Bellton called desperately, turning and shooting a look of pure rage at the Earl. “Let me at least have a carriage arranged.”

  He waved to a stable hand and g
estured towards the carriage house, smiling with relief when the lad nodded in understanding and hurried to obey. Beatrix was already leaving the courtyard, striding with great purpose that would put the house and all its noble dealings behind her.

  “Beatrix… Lady Beatrix! Please, wait a moment,” Lord Bellton called out, but she did not slow her stride.

  Beatrix could still feel the burning gaze of the pompous old man behind them, the one who’d intentionally broached the subject of marriage in front of her as though she were a stoic servant who made a point of paying no heed to the affairs of their “betters.” No, it was better that she leave Lord Bellton to his guests and move on.

  “Please wait,” he said breathlessly. “I beg you, do not depart this way. If you must go, it will take only moments for the carriage to be ready.”

  Beatrix stopped and looked at him, his eyes pleading with her to change her mind. She felt her resolve begin to wane and for only a moment, she wondered what it would be like to cause extreme vaporous distress to someone like that Earl. She had only made up her mind to delay when a shout of alarm and a guttural scream of pain sounded from the stables.

  Callum grasped Beatrix’s hand in his and together they ran back up the stones to the courtyard. Passing the Earl, who stood immoveable and open-mouthed in shock, they hurried into the carriage house adjacent to the stable. There, pinned beneath the wheels of one of the carriages, the old coachman lay on the ground, his face deathly pale from the agony.

  “Please, My Lord! My leg!” he managed to gasp, reaching futilely for his limb. Callum snapped to, calling out orders to others nearby to lift the carriage off the unfortunate man.

  “Wait! It must be done slowly!” Beatrix cried out.

  “What? But why?” Callum asked, already reaching for a handhold on the rear of the carriage.

  “If you move it too quickly, the blood flow will race. His heart might be overwhelmed and if there is an open wound, he may bleed to death. You must lift it slowly!” Beatrix took off her apron and held it at the ready, crouching down beside the poor man before nodding at the others.

  Together, Callum and the servants did as Beatrix had instructed. She kept a hand at the man’s wrist to feel for his heartbeat while watching the upper portion of the man’s leg. As she’d feared, a dark pool of blood instantly began to fan out from a wound beneath the layers of clothing.

  Beatrix pressed her apron to the wound and quickly tied the strings around his leg to help staunch the flow. Behind her, Weavington fretted in a most ungracious manner.

  “Bellton, get that girl out of there and send someone for the physician! Who knows where her hands have been as of late, her kind are not known for cleanliness,” the man wheezed.

  “Would someone please get him out of here?” Callum roared to no one in particular. The stablemaster muttered a very insincere “begging yer pardon, my lord” before shoving the Earl out of the carriage house rather roughly. Relieved, Callum asked, “What must we do now, Lady Beatrix?”

  “I need a number of supplies,” she answered, her voice shaking slightly. “First, I hate to admit that windbag was correct. I must have fresh water to wash my hands. Then someone hurry to tell the kitchen to heat more water in the largest clean kettle, burn some needles in a flame and rinse them under clean water, ensure there are a large number of strips of cloth for bandages, and then send someone to the gardens. He may require yarrow, nettle, or shepherd’s purse, any of those will suffice to help with the bleeding. Also, feverfew to help prevent infection.”

  “Go, men!” Callum shouted, sending more servants about their tasks. “How shall we move him?”

  “When they return, we’ll need a sturdy beam or a table upended to place him on. We can carry him inside that way,” Beatrix said. “It would be best to ensure his room is near the kitchen for now, at least until we have him out of danger!”

  “Of course, whatever you require,” Callum replied. “I will send for the physician, but it will be a great amount of time before he might return. There is none closer than a half a day’s ride from here. If you can help this poor man at all, you will have my undying gratitude!”

  Beatrix nodded absently as she lifted the edge of her apron to inspect the poor man’s injury. A bright crimson bloom spread out from the point where the wheel had done the most harm. She pressed her apron back firmly and held it tightly until the servants might return to carry him inside.

  “Astounding,” Callum mumbled under his breath. He’d yet to meet a lady who could appear so calm in the face of such a harrowing turn of events. Any number of Beatrix’s “betters” would have fainted like useless little birds at the sight of so much blood, at the cries of another man’s excruciating pain. But not she.

  As the blood began to stain Beatrix’s hands, she only appeared more resolute that they should save this man. Callum watched her issue more orders with defiance of the tragedy, yet still keeping her wits about her and a civil tone in her voice. Together, everyone ported the older man onto a nearby bench and carried him into the house, Beatrix still holding fast to his injured leg.

  “This should serve!” she said, pointing to the first of the servant’s rooms off the kitchen. Of course, thought Callum, she’d lived in one of these very rooms for two days. She would know where to take him.

  They waited as a maid stripped the used linens from the bed and laid out freshly laundered ones, then they delicately placed the driver on the bed. After demanding a pair of scissors and a cover to protect the driver’s modesty, Beatrix set to work cutting away the fabric of the man’s trouser leg.

  The sight below the cloth nearly caused Callum to be sick. What looked surely to be pieces of bone appeared through the gash, but Beatrix merely washed around them as though they were nothing more than fallen flower petals.

  “Someone must fetch this man something for his pain,” Beatrix stated firmly. “Have you any willow bark? Any morphine or laudanum?”

  “Why, I… I don’t know,” Callum stammered. “I can inquire of the housekeeper.” He hurried from the room and returned with the older woman, Mrs. Powell, who held aloft a brown glass bottle and a small spoon.

  “Here miss, this will help him greatly,” the older woman said, dosing out a spoonful and holding it, waiting for Beatrix’s approval.

  “All right, he can have it,” she said, squinting slightly while reading the bottle’s label. “But we mustn’t permit him to fall asleep from its effects. We will have no way of knowing if it is merely the dosage or weakness from blood loss.”

  “Very good, miss. I shall stay beside him myself,” Mrs. Powell replied.

  Beatrix lifted the apron once more and frowned. “The bleeding still has not assuaged. How long did you say it will take for the physician to arrive?”

  “If we’re very fortunate, sometime this evening,” Callum answered quietly. The worry was evident in his voice.

  “I’m afraid I shall have to sew this, despite the bone not yet set. It won’t matter if he fails to mend properly if he dies in the next hour. Should he need to, the physician can reopen the wound to tend the bone.” Beatrix looked around, then asked, “Do we have the needles and thread?”

  Callum once again left the room, and in his absence, another man filled the doorway.

  “What in the blazes? What happened to that poor man?” he shouted, causing Mrs. Powell to turn to him sharply. Before she could answer, Callum returned.

  “Peter! What are you doing here?” He held out a small tray with boiled needles and new thread to Beatrix.

  “I heard some shouting and then father came inside, raging furiously about no manners and servants who don’t know their place, or something. I truly was not paying him any mind. But this, this must be what he meant!” Peter looked in horror at the injured man, recoiling slightly when Beatrix threaded a needle and removed her makeshift bandage.

  The man winced in spite of the medication as Beatrix’s first stitches went in, both Callum and Peter fighting back the urge to tur
n away. Rather than witness the poor driver’s intense suffering, Callum kept his attention instead on Beatrix. The look of sheer determination on her face coupled with the confidence of knowing what to do added a new layer to the enchantment she held over him.

  Whatever it takes, I will make her mine. Those who dare oppose can be damned!

  Chapter 22

  When Beatrix emerged from the room several hours later, the physician still had not arrived. She was empty inside from the effort of tending to him and from the fear that she might not have done enough. Tending to her father’s men in times of extreme crisis was one thing, but daring to assist one of the Marquess’s servants was another matter.

  She leaned against the wall outside the room and let her head fall back, closing her eyes and continuing to wipe at her hands. She’d washed them several times, but the heat of the man’s blood still seemed to seep into her fingers no matter how hard she’d scrubbed.