The Lost Love of a Stunning Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “But what if, well, there are those who know me now. Those who recognise me as the Duke’s fiancée.”

  “The captain maintains confidentiality. Blackmore has only good words for him.”

  The women were just approaching the docks and could see the tall masts of the ship they were to board rising up into the dusky sky.

  “I cannot believe I will see my true love again. I cannot believe I am to be free.”

  A voice spoke out of the dim fog. “Then, by all means dear heart, do not believe it.”

  Mimi gasped. It was a voice she knew. It was the voice of Duke Hertford.

  Chapter 20

  It was dawn. Lieutenant Warren paced the deck of the ship, stopped and looked out over the horizon. It would be at least another week until he reached Liverpool. He’d decided to take advantage of the service on the new Black Ball Line to England when he’d gone up to New York City to do some banking.

  His rice plantation, Warren Hall outside of Savannah, was doing quite well. He’d altered the name as there was no pine forest near the lush and balmy landscape by the sea. He was happy and content.

  In a stroke of unprecedented luck, Richard had discovered that Americans liked to play cards. Not only did they enjoy the play, they were also wagering men.

  Richard was nearly as clever with card games as he was an accomplished horseman. He missed his Tilley and had decided, while in New York, to go back to England and retrieve her. She had grown to a three-year-old filly, and he wished for her companionship. He now had the means to move the horse to his new home.

  His new home. He nearly laughed when he thought about the night he won his plantation in a card game at Blackmore’s place. The man Richard had played with was incensed that he should be losing. He wagered the horse he had ridden to the gathering of men Blackmore liked to entertain on a weekly basis.

  When Richard had finally accepted the horse and a signed paper proving he hadn’t stolen the animal, he had begged the other man to stop his wagers. The gambling had to stop. Richard had looked to Blackmore who, as host, said all was finished.

  The men, by this time, had all had some brandy. The losing card player had accosted Richard, insisting he play one more round. His choice, his terms. He would not let up, so Richard had jovially called the game and jokingly set the wager at twenty thousand American dollars.

  His opponent did not have twenty thousand dollars at hand. But he did have a plantation. A run-down rice plantation that had been doing poorly for more than two years. The man was losing money on it.

  Richard had chuckled at the time. “Well alright, my man. My twenty thousand dollars against your rice plantation. I dare say it sounds as if you will get the better end of it if you win.” And they’d all laughed, adding to the idea, in Richard’s mind, that the game was a farce.

  Twenty minutes later, Richard was a plantation owner. An actual member of the planter class in America.

  He’d insisted again, and again, that he’d been joking on the terms of the wager. He’d told the gentleman in question that there was no need for him to part with his land.

  But the man had stood firm. He’d made his wager as a gentleman and, by God, he would keep it as only a gentleman could.

  There was nothing Richard could do but accept. The gentleman had decided that he would like to go and see the frontier in Louisiana. He felt free for the first time in years. He’d never wanted to be a planter. He’d taken over the farm when his father had died, and he’d been convinced that the farm had done poorly because his heart wasn’t in it.

  That had been nine months ago, and for Richard, the plantation was proving to be a financial boon. And the house, after being painted and the grounds nearby landscaped, waited patiently for the wife and children Richard planned to fill it with.

  A brisk wind blew through his hair. He looked out over the ocean once again. He could see the thin line of darkness at the horizon that was England. From high in the eagle’s nest, he heard one of the mates call out “Land, ho.” And he thought about a girl in a white muslin frock walking along the seaside.

  *******

  “Well, well, well. Who do we have here? Out for a morning stroll, are you, Mimi? You must be feeling better.”

  Mimi’s eyes told Camille to walk away. Camille would never make the ship if she stayed to try and help Mimi explain what was going on. Mimi turned quickly and moved away from Camille. She took a step towards Hertford.

  “I have nothing to say, Your Grace.”

  The Duke seemed not to notice Camille as he said, “Hmm. Very well then. Come along. The carriage is over there.”

  Mimi looked and saw Bobby, the young footman. He looked down when her eyes met his, and she knew he had not kept the secret. She wanted to cry. She’d come so close to getting away. Now the Duke would never let her out of his sight.

  She sighed softly with resignation and walked towards the carriage.

  Camille didn’t move. She watched as Mimi was assisted into the carriage by William, the second footman. She became aware of the Duke’s eyes on her.

  “You’d do well to get going, girl. I am acquainted with Captain O’Malley. It would be a shame, indeed, if he were to refuse your passage, wouldn’t you say?”

  With her gaze on the road, Camille’s eyes narrowed. Thankfully, he didn’t have a good view of her face due to the predawn light and the wide brim of her bonnet. She curtsied lightly. “Yes, Your Grace.” She turned and walked towards the water and the ship quickly and without another look at the carriage.

  Mimi watched her friend disappear into the fog then looked straight ahead as the Duke entered the carriage.

  “So, my dear. Do you care to explain what you were doing, down here by the piers, practically in the dead of night?”

  She turned towards him then, her bonnet falling from her head and catching to her throat by its velvet ties. “I was assisting my friend, Your Grace. I should have thought to ask you. So now, you choose to prolong my discomfiture by questioning me as if I am some sort of criminal?”

  He snorted. “Hardly, Mimi. We will go back to Temple Abbey and speak no more about it but to say that you will not leave the Abbey without me for any reason. Ever. Until you become my wife, you are to be my lovely prisoner.”

  “Why do you do this? You can have any woman. Why do you hold me to my promise? I knew not what I was agreeing to when you asked me for my hand.”

  “Shush, now, Mimi. Our wedding will be moved up to mid-April. Let us see, I like the fourteenth for the happy event. The banns have been read twice. Once more on this coming Sunday, and then the glorious day will be upon us.”

  She stared at him with wild eyes, fighting to keep control of her emotions. She looked down. “As you wish, Your Grace.” It was over. She had no choice now. She’d forgotten that the Duke had the reputation for taking whatever he wanted no matter the consequences. She knew he wanted her to be his wife and the mother of his children. And the fact that she’d tried to get away from him had only seemed to fan the flames of his ardour. In a flash of intuition, Mimi decided to use his desire in her favour.

  His voice broke into her thoughts. “You must be hungry. Let us go to Lynn’s on Fleet Street. I have a strong hankering for oysters. It’s a shame you have only that plain morning frock, but the point here is sustenance, not the current fashions. At least in this case.”

  “Surely Your Grace would prefer if I were dressed presentably?”

  He looked her up and down. “No. You’ll do as you are, my dear. Maybe once the ton sees you in your maid’s dress you will think twice before disobeying me again.”

  “Please, Your Grace. Do not allow me to be embarrassed. I … I don’t know what came over me. It must have been the last remaining traces of the fever I fought with so much difficulty,” she lied.

  “Very well, Mimi. If you tell me what you were doing at the piers, I will save you the embarrassment of being seen in public looking like a simple housemaid or worse.”

  She
knew it was wrong, but it was the only way to save herself from forever being scorned by the social elite. She lied again. She told the Duke that she had been ill and had stayed the night with Camille on Jermyn Street. Her friend was afraid to go to the docks alone. So Mimi had offered to accompany her. Then Mimi planned to get a hackney and go back to Temple Abbey alone.

  “And what of Jones? Your maid told me Jones accompanied you to the dress shop yesterday morning.”

  “Y … yes. Jones accompanied me. I sent him home last evening. Did he not arrive at the Abbey?”

  “No. He did not.” The Duke sat back as if to wait for her explanation.

  Mimi gazed into Hertford’s eyes. She knew she had to trick him. She had to reassure him. She was to be the one who would bear his son. The son who would be the Duke’s heir. Now that she had lost her only chance at escape, she must tread carefully.

  According to the protocol of the haut ton, the Duke could never leave her. It would prove his ruin. It was the sort of thing that just wasn’t done. For a man to abandon a woman who was his betrothed was social anathema. But, Mimi was aware that the Duke could leave her and then lie about it. He’d lied about that young seamstress, after all. The poor girl had almost been ruined.

  If it came down to it, Hertford could say Mimi had disappeared. Why he could do even worse. Her imagination began running away from her. What if? No, she couldn’t even think it. But the fact remained. The fact that scared Mimi more than spending her life as the Duchess of Hertford.

  Duke Hertford, if he so desired it, could literally kill her. And no one would be the wiser. At this very moment, no one knew where Mimi was except for Camille who was boarding a ship never to return. The thought made her shiver.

  “Are you cold?” Hertford asked with uncharacteristic concern in his voice. The Duke removed his overcoat and placed it over Mimi’s body like a blanket. He put his arm around her small shoulders and pulled her close.

  Mimi murmured a quiet thank you and glanced out the window of the coach. The mists had cleared, and she could see the three tall masts of the ship Camille was on. They glided slowly over the bay on the way to the ocean. And America.

  *******

  The United States

  Early Summer 1817

  After six weeks of gorgeous weather and favourable winds, The Caroline arrived at the port of Savannah. Camille was beside herself. The air was balmy with lovely breezes playing across the deck of the ship.

  There were trees with large separated leaves, that grew only at the top, dotting the terrain. One storey buildings in pastel shades sat under the bright sun. It was beautiful, and Camille couldn’t wait to get onto the shore.

  She’d had enough of sea travel and could not imagine what she might have resorted to had the voyage taken any longer. She’d been sick often, what with the waves and the advancement of her condition. She was almost eight months with child, and there had been a couple of times on the journey in which she thought the little one might come early. She placed her hands on her belly and continued looking at all the activity taking place on the piers.

  There were many men along the docks, loading and unloading ships, pulling away wagons laden with all kinds of bounty. The men were dark skinned, and their sweat shone on their shirtless backs. Everywhere she looked, the dark-skinned men were busy with this and with that.

  She was fascinated at the sight, and when Captain O’Malley came to her to assist her into a lifeboat that would take her to shore, she asked him who the men were.

  “Well, Mrs Blackmore, they would be slaves from the plantations. They come to pick up goods for their masters or to work the day for a wage which they then hand over to their masters when they get home in the evening.”

  “Slaves?”

  “There’s much you don’t know about this new country you’ve sailed the ocean to inhabit. Oh, look, Mrs Blackmore. Your husband.”

  Camille saw Blackmore making his way towards the dock the dinghy was approaching. The Captain and one of the dark-skinned slaves helped Camille up onto the pier.

  “Camille!” Blackmore’s pace quickened, and in no time he had scooped her up into his arms rocking her and whispering sweet words into her ear. Then he set her down and turned to the Captain. “O’Malley, I thank you greatly for delivering this precious cargo to my hands.”

  “It is my pleasure, Blackmore. Your wife is a skilled card player. I’ve lost many a fictitious ship or house to her.”

  Camille laughed. “It’s true. The Captain says that a woman aboard ship is bad luck! I suppose I proved him right!”

  The men joined in her laughter, and after a few more minutes of small talk, Camille’s small travel bag was brought to her. The Captain bowed to Camille and shook Blackmore’s hand.

  “I wish you all the best in your new home, Mrs Blackmore. It was lovely to have you aboard.” O’Malley smiled at the couple then made his way back to the lifeboats in the shallow water off the dock.

  Blackmore turned to his wife. “My darling. It is so wonderful that you are really here. Let me pinch myself to know I am not dreaming as I have dreamt this moment many times.” He walked her to his carriage, a lovely open affair with a billowy top that could be pulled over them if the sun was too bright or the weather didn’t hold. Hitched to it was a pair of lovely chestnut mares with long black manes and tails like something a London gentleman would possess.

  He helped Camille into the vehicle and walked around the back to the other side. Once he was on the seat, he snapped the reins, and they were off.

  Camille was overcome with excitement. Everything was so foreign in this new land she’d travelled to. She would spend the rest of her life in this warm exotic place. She looped her arm through Blackmore’s.

  “I love you, my husband. I am so glad to be here.”

  “Say no more as each and every emotion you are experiencing crowds my heart.”

  Camille smiled. “Will it be long? Until we get home?” It felt good to be going home to a house that was to truly be her own home, not a room on the top floor of someone else’s.

  “It won’t be long. You must be tired. We’ll be there soon, dear.”

  “Thank you, darling.” Camille rested her head on his shoulder for a moment then lifted it abruptly.

  “What is it, Camille? What has happened?”

  “I need to tell you something. I feel it’s important, and I want to tell you about it before we get to the house. I know Richard Warren is staying there. This matter concerns him, but I’m not at liberty to share it with him.”

  “Your talk makes it sound like there’s been a scandal. Has there been? Is it about Mimi Hancock?”

  “It’s about Mimi, but it’s not scandalous. Merely unfortunate. And as I’ve said, I don’t want to divulge any of it to Richard until I hear from Mimi. I intend to write her this evening.”

  “But my dear. Richard is no longer at the house. He has acquired his own plantation. He calls it Warren Hall. It’s very near to where we are right now.”

  “So he lives in a grand house now? Just as you do?”

  “Just as we do, Camille, my love. But he is not there currently.

  “Where is he? Travelling? Where is there to go? More to the point, why would anyone ever want to leave this place? It is near to paradise by the looks and feel of it.” She tilted her head back to feel the sun’s rays on her face.

  “Richard has sailed to London, Camille. He wants to give it another chance with Mimi.”

  “London? Oh dear.”

  “What is it, Camille? Is there something wrong? Is Mimi well?”

  “Oh, she is quite well. But she was to be married at the end of May. To Duke Hertford.”

  Blackmore said not a word and drove the rest of the way in silence.

  Chapter 21

  Isleworth

  Spring 1817

  Mimi and Hertford arrived at Temple Abbey just in time for breakfast with Marie. Mimi couldn’t find a reason as to why the Duke had decided against emb
arrassing her at Lynn’s. He seemed to have had an unexplainable wave of sensitivity. Mimi was warmed somewhat by it and wondered what it was that had caused it. She had no intention of trusting it. She knew the Duke could turn nasty and surly in a heartbeat. It was impossible to decipher it until it happened. And by then, one was ensnared.

  She sipped her tea and waited for her very soon-to-be husband to speak. She was basking in the silence of his recent tenderness and had no wish to shatter the feeling.

  “Tomorrow morning, I shall accompany you and your mother,” he gestured towards Marie, “to Bond Street. You will speak with Mrs Limonseaux about your trousseau. Spare no expense. There will be a series of balls in honour of our marriage, and I want you to bedazzle. We will show the ton what a lady you really are. Marie, you should have some things as well.”