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

by Hanna Hamilton

  The Duke stopped, looked away for a moment, then simply left.

  “How very strange!” Beatrix thought, looking after the man with a bewildered eye. “I don’t understand a word of his meaning, though he seems to think I should!”

  The sound of fresh footsteps—softer this time, and hesitant—pittered in the hallway. Beatrix turned to look and saw Greta and Birdie peeking from around the corner. Birdie gestured to her frantically while Greta pressed a fingertip to her mouth to caution her to be silent.

  Almost at once, both of the maids dropped into awkward curtsies, and Beatrix wondered anew what was going on in this household.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, My Lady, but there’s visitors for ya downstairs!” Greta said nervously.

  “Visitors? For me?” Beatrix asked.

  “Aye, and please donaw be cross with us!” Birdie cried. “We did naw know ya was a lady until these two fellows told us! And here we been callin ya ‘miss’ and actin’ too familiar with ya!”

  “What? Oh no!” Beatrix said, smiling with relief though instantly eager to hurry out to see these visitors. “I’m no lady, I assure you. These two must be… associates of my father’s. It’s simply a game between us all, they only call me that because he’s their employer.”

  Greta instantly looked relieved, though Birdie still looked uncertain. “They said we wasn’t to tell anyone they was here, except you. Come this way, we’ll show ya where they are!”

  Beatrix hurried after them on quick, silent feet, slinking down the servants’ stairs with awe. However do they manage to climb these rickety wooden slats, their arms laden with trays or washing? She clung to the walls on either side of the narrow staircase, dashing to keep up.

  The maids led her outside into the late afternoon sun, but the courtyard behind the kitchens was empty. Beatrix turned in a circle, looking beyond to the stables and the carriage house, but did not see anyone. She looked to Birdie and Greta, who only shrugged, before she heard a hissing whisper come from behind the shrubbery.

  “Psst! Lady Beatrix!” the raspy voice insisted. “Tis us!”

  Beatrix peered around the foliage, looking for any sign of the voice, then leapt back in surprise when Pencot and Cooke stood up at precisely the same moment. She smiled, wishing it would be seemly to fall into their arms and hold them close for a moment.

  “Why, what are you doing here?” she cried, smiling with relief. “Come to rescue me, have you?”

  “Quite so, Lady Beatrix!” Pencot said. “We’ve managed to bring another horse so ya can ride with us.”

  “Well done,” she said, clapping her hands. “I’m no prisoner, but I didn’t need to add to my worries by stealing a horse in order to leave. Wait but a moment while I pay my respects inside, and then we’ll be off.”

  “But… do you know about your da?” Cooke asked hesitantly.

  Beatrix nodded. “That I do. It is most terrible, but if we leave straight away, perhaps we can speak on his behalf! Only let me say my goodbyes first!”

  Pencot and Cooke agreed to wait outside until Beatrix returned. Inside, she moved briskly through the house—surprised at how well she knew it after such a short time there—and made her way to Lord Bellton’s chambers.

  Seeing no sign of Lloyd or Barclay, she risked knocking at the door. It was quiet for a time, so long that she wondered if the Marquess was resting once again. As she thought to perhaps leave a letter for him, a muffled voice from within called out.

  “Enter,” the man said. Beatrix listened for a moment longer, trying to discern whether someone else was in the room.

  Instead, when she opened the door, she was taken aback by the look of numb anger on the Marquess’s face. Usually so endearing and prone to laughter, now he looked very severe. He was wholly unlike himself.

  “I hope I am not intruding,” she began softly, unnerved when Callum didn’t look at her. “Is something wrong? Are you in pain or feeling ill?”

  “No, I’m fine,” he responded evenly.

  “Oh. Well, I have managed to secure means to leave here—without having to inconvenience you with the request to borrow a horse, that is.” She waited for him to smile or register a response, but he did not.

  “Very good then. Have a pleasant journey.” He looked away to the window, effectively dismissing her from his presence.

  Beatrix could not help but feel wounded by the indifference to her departure. She came closer and sat in the chair near the bedside.

  “What has happened? Mere moments ago, you were professing your never-ending love and devotion to me, threatening to throw away your fortune on my behalf. Now you are no more saddened by my leaving as you would be if the rat catcher came ‘round to empty the traps.”

  Callum was silent, still looking to the window. Beatrix noted the grimace on his face, the twitch in his jaw that told her he was desperate to say something. Only he did not speak, neither to explain nor to refute her sentiment.

  “I see,” she said quietly. “Your father pays you a visit, and I am immediately unwelcomed here. Tell me, was he more upset by your brush with death or by my presence? You are still not assured of recovering from your wound, but he has already taken his leave. That tells me the answer right there.”

  “It’s not as you think,” he began, but Beatrix would not hear of any excuses.

  “Tell me, did he threaten to have you cut from the will? Have your annual salary taken from you? Did he remind you that you have a bevy of cousins scattered about the countryside who would be grateful to inherit in your stead and be willing to bend to his will?”

  “You do not know him,” Callum snapped in a harsher tone than Beatrix had ever heard him use.

  “Nor do I ever care to,” she answered evenly, undisturbed by his outburst. “It should come to me as no surprise that a man who would leave you to the care of others at only four years old should brush into the room, observe that you were gravely injured, yet only concern himself with rumors that you’d taken a commoner into your house.”

  The Marquess opened his mouth to reply, but he said nothing. Still refusing to meet her gaze, he ignored Beatrix’s assessment.

  “Well then, thankfully there are those who truly care about my happiness and well-being, and they have come for me,” Beatrix said firmly. “I would wish you a quick recovery, but I am no longer in charge of whether you live or die.”

  She stormed from the Marquess’s chambers and let the door close sharply behind her. Beatrix thought to make her way outside before she could succumb to tears of grief, but surprisingly, there were none. She felt no sadness all of a sudden, only the smug realization that she had been right about Callum all along.

  “Let us go quickly,” Beatrix said when Pencot and Cooke met her behind the house with their horses. “Hopefully, we will arrive in time to benefit my father.”

  “What shall I do with this then, Lady Beatrix?” Pencot asked, holding out a leather satchel in one hand.

  “What is it?” Beatrix asked, taking it from him and looking inside. Her breath caught at the sight of the twists and twirls of silver filigree, along with bands of silver inlaid with small pearls.

  “It fell from the man’s horse during our scuffle that day,” Pencot explained quietly. “After he rode off with ya, I picked it up, hoping it might prove useful for finding ya. Now that we’ve found ya, we might return it to him in hope that he’ll put all this behind him.”

  Beatrix sighed. After all she’d endured here, all that had transpired had been the result of a simple misunderstanding, an accident of mere faulty knot tying. She looked over her shoulder and thought to take it upstairs and fling it at the useless Marquess, but she changed her mind.

  “We should perhaps bring it with us. If the judge learns that we did not have any part in its disappearance, but rather explain how it came to be lost to Lord Bellton, perhaps he will be more understanding.” Beatrix looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, “We can bring it back this way as we ride for home.”


  “Right smart, that is!” Pencot agreed, nodding over at Cooke to get in the saddle. “I’ve gotten something of a map from those inside. Let’s be off.”

  Beatrix threaded her arm and head through the satchel’s long strap, fitting it across her body, then climbed up in the saddle, arranging her unfortunate skirt as best she could. What had she said only days ago about the dangers and scandals a lady might face? She shook her head to clear the memory of that ride… and of Callum’s marvelous kiss afterward.

  The trio rode on for the better part of an hour before stopping to consult for directions at a nearby inn. With only thirty minutes more to go, they set out, intent on reaching Chelmsford before morning.

  Chapter 28

  “Arise! Arise, sir!” the butler whispered urgently, clearly uncomfortable at being in these chambers when Peter was sleeping. “Your lady mother requests you.”

  Peter sat up in bed and blinked the sleep from his eyes. He looked to the window and saw that the faintest hint of sunlight shone above the horizon.

  “Is something the matter?” he asked before yawning. “What is the need at this early hour?”

  “I know not, sir. Only that she has asked for you. She waits downstairs in the study with your father.” The butler moved about the room, opening the curtains and allowing the thin light of day in. He lit a lamp as well, and waited.

  “Oh, no I can manage,” Peter said in understanding. “Surely they don’t expect full dress at this hour?”

  “I cannot say, sir, only your father is in full dress and your mother as well.”

  “Well, they’ve seen me in my night clothes and robe before, and I daresay they’ll see it again,” Peter said, flinging back the covers and sliding his arms into the robe the butler held out.

  He followed down the stairs in a foul mood, grumpy from lack of sleep. The hard riding of the day before followed by his parents’ disappearance from the evening meal—unusual, as his mother insisted they dine together, often with several guests—had left him unsettled, to say the least, and now this.

  “Whatever is the matter, Mother?” Peter asked when he entered the drawing room, intentionally ignoring his father. “Why did you need to wake me?”

  “Son, it’s the most wonderful news!” Lady Margaret replied, but Peter could tell that her smile was forced and so was her tone. “We’re to travel to the Duke’s house today and then to the chapel at Wiltmore. You’re to marry Lady Annemarie this afternoon!”

  “What?” Peter asked, his mind still fogged from the sudden awakening. “Today? Her family permits it?”

  “It’s all signed, there’s no reason for delay,” his father said gruffly, attempting to sound enthused. “I may be heading to oversee some workings abroad, and the Duke agreed there was little need for delay as you are of the lesser station in the match.”

  “Huh,” Peter said, his expression blank. “I suppose I should get dressed then.”

  His father fought back a look of consternation, but his mother was the one to say, “Yes. Do so. And pack several cases, we’ve arranged for you to travel to our estate by the coast for a couple’s voyage following the ceremony. You’ll be gone for a matter of weeks.”

  “Weeks? I’m supposed to pack for a journey of several weeks, and with my new wife?” Peter scoffed. “If I did not know better, I’d say you were rushing things just a tad. It’s as though you fear my bride will reject me if she isn’t wed this very day!”

  His parents exchanged a look of nervous fear, and it did not escape Peter’s notice. He looked at them each in turn, and waited silently for an explanation that he feared would not be coming.

  “Son, don’t be silly. Lady Annemarie is absolutely overjoyed,” his mother assured him, smiling. “What young lady would not be? Isn’t that right?”

  The Earl coughed soundly and said, “Yes, yes. There is only a need for urgency because of my pending travels. I’ve sent word to the Duke, and he is in agreement.”

  “Agreement? You mean there’s been some hesitancy on Lady Annemarie’s part, and her father wants this to move forward before she can find a boy’s attire and strike out for the docks?” Peter laughed at his own joke. “I wonder, how amusing would it be if she went masquerading as a lad on your very ship, Father!”

  “Peter,” the Earl replied, his voice a low growl of warning. “Do as you were bid. Go now.”

  “And what of Lord Bellton?” Peter asked, pinning his father back with an accusing glare.

  “What of him?” his father demanded.

  “Are we to celebrate my nuptials today while his fate is not even known? Is he to slip away and die while we pass around little plates of wedding cake? Or worse, recover fully and demand to know why he was excluded from the day of bliss?”

  “Son, that is of no matter right now,” his mother began, but Peter shot her a look of rage.

  “I rather think it is, considering that Father is the one who shot him.” Peter turned his attention back to his father, who was now a ghostly pale. “Yes, I managed to learn as much from a stable hand before we departed from Bellton. And if Father does not wish for me to explain this urgency to the Duke, then perhaps he will enlighten me as to what he was arguing about when he fired that pistol.”

  “Peter! How dare you even suggest—” Lady Marjorie began, but her son silenced her with a single look.

  “Suggest? I’m not suggesting anything, Mother. I’m stating it rather plainly,” he said, returning his accusing glare at his father. “I’m saying that Father shot Lord Bellton in his attempt to silence another man, and I would love to know why that is. Moreover, you can guarantee that I shall not be riding anywhere near the Duke of Edmonton’s house until we have returned to Bellton, ensured that my closest friend is all right, and then sought to right the wrongs of another man being accused.”

  Peter walked with purpose across the drawing room, then turned at the door to add, “I know you both must think me rather simple. Do not bother protesting, Mother, it is plain in the way I’m spoken to. But I assure you, there is far more going on in my mind than attending balls and going on hunts. I am a person who cares a great deal for others, and I do not take kindly to having anyone—least of all myself—used to further this family’s cause.”

  “You will watch your tongue,” his father shouted, “or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, Father? What is it you think you can do in your position now that your conniving and backstabbing have made me a duke? No, I fear that I’m now the only responsible party in this house,” Peter said almost sadly. “I will marry Lady Annemarie only because it is the right thing to do, and I will strive to be a good husband to her despite what must be her extreme reluctance to marry me. But that is only if the pair of you get a move on, we have a stop to make at Bellton along the way.”

  Somehow, the light of day did not feel any more hopeful than the shroud of darkness had the night before. Still, Beatrix was determined to plead her father’s case to whomever it required. She crawled from the hay where she and her fellow riders had spent the night behind a small church, being careful to avoid making a sound.

  After climbing down from the loft, Beatrix sought a fresh pail of water, grateful for the nearby well. She drew a pail and slathered her face and hands as best she could after drinking her fill. She startled briefly when an old woman emerged from the side of the stone church, but the woman only waved to her.

  “Here, I saw the three of ya come in during the night,” the woman said, moving her broom to the other hand and holding out a tied parcel. “The vicar said to tie you up some bread and cheese.”

  “I am most grateful to you!” Beatrix said, her shoulders sagging in relief. “But I have no means to pay you for your trouble.”

  “Tsk! We wouldn’t hear of it. After all, there’s been talk all over the village since yesterday, so I know what ya must be here for. You’ll need that coin for yer task!” The woman smiled sympathetically. “The judge is naw known for mercy, after all, but he is known to commute
a sentence if the price is right.”

  “Oh dear. That is unwelcome news,” Beatrix replied. “But I thank you all the same.”

  She hurried back to the small barn and woke Pencot and Cooke. “Here, I’ve got something for us to eat and a pail of fresh water. We must hurry.”

  “Lady Beatrix, we must not be out at this hour,” Pencot said, looking out through a space between two boards. Cooke nodded sagely. “There are too many people about, too many who might recognize us as belonging to Prince Aaron.”

  “So? I’m not ashamed of my father!” she retorted, giving in to her feelings for the moment.

  “Aye, but ‘twill be better for him if we wait a while. Look, see how there are already people coming to church? Besides, the judge might as well be one of those parishioners. We’d not find him no ways.”