The Mysteries of A Lady's Heart: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Abby Ayles

  She stayed back a moment whilst her mother exited the carriage in a cloud of amber silk. Then she herself stepped out onto the folding step, resting a moment there as the footman steadied Lady Holden.

  It was at that moment of pause that Cecilia glanced up and caught a glimpse of a man riding along the lane crosswise to the party.

  She only saw him for a moment, and then caught a few glimpses of his form through windows in the ivy hedge. He seemed so tall and free.

  Free… That was the real draw, she realized, stepping down onto the pebbled path with the assistance of the now unengaged footman.

  If only someone like that would ride into all this charade and take her away to a place where all her father’s debts and her mother’s expectations couldn’t reach her.

  “Lady Holden!” she heard above her, and looked up in time to see Lady Sinclair in the greeting line at the door. Her voice came faintly over the sound of the revelers. “It’s so good to see you, and out of mourning as well.”

  “Well, it is a new season, though I try to remain decorous of course,” Lady Holden said as they approached.

  “Is Miss Prescott here?”

  “Of course, I’m chaperoning her revels this evening. May I ask, who is in attendance?”

  “The Duke of Belshire’s son is here, and a few noteworthy Mormonts, I believe. You should see the train on Lady Dowding’s dress, it’s woven with imported silk, I’m told.”

  “Isn’t all silk imported these days?”

  “Well, we are certainly delighted to have you in attendance, my lady.”

  Cecilia walked up the stairs, steeling herself for the lights and laughter within.

  The idea of a handsome prince was a little fanciful, even for her. She thought how her father would have teased her.

  “It’s all those books you read,” he had always said when he was alive. “You’ve got worlds of nonsense at home in your head.”

  Reality is nothing like fantasy, she thought, pushing the man on the horse and the freedom he symbolized from her mind.

  She took a breath, and went to join her mother on the stairs.

  Chapter 2

  Robert Fanning lowered his quill to the paper and paused for a moment before drawing a thin line and shifting the page across the desk to Mrs. Norris, who sat shivering on the opposite side.

  “Do you require a cloak, Madame?” he asked kindly.

  She shook her head, and he went on to point out the line at the base of the page.

  “If you will sign your name here, Mrs. Norris, we will take your petition before the court. I looked at your documents, and it seems you have a legitimate claim that your employer has withheld proper wages.”

  The cook was elderly, and frail. She’d come in with hardly any hope left, on the chance that the rumors about Fanning & Parnum helping the destitute were true.

  “But what about peers of the realm? The Lord Bartnam is well-connected.” Her hands shook on the wool of her shawl. “He told me he would drag me into ruin if I told of his misdeeds.”

  Robert felt a twinge of anger at the other man’s blatant misuse of his power.

  “It will be necessary to connect you with a barrister of good social standing in the court, but I’ve a few who owe me a favor. He won’t appear in the Court of Chancery, but I’ve good hope we can negotiate a settlement outside the courtroom.”

  “You’ve nothing to bargain with.”

  “I have his good standing in society and the threat of the community getting wind of his mismanagement. For a man of his vanity, it should be enough.”

  Mrs. Norris looked up with hope in her weary eyes.

  “You think I will get my wages?”

  “I think I can get you what you’re owed, and more. You have kept diligent documentation, Mrs. Norris.”

  Robert came out from around the desk and helped his client to her feet. “I’d like to see you back in a week to finalize the case. Would you like me to send the carriage?”

  She shook her head.

  “I can get a ride with the grocer again.”

  “Send notice if that changes and we’d be happy to help.”

  He helped her down the stairs, one at a time, and then into the carriage, tucking a fur blanket around her knees.

  “Thank you, Lord Lothmire,” she said. “Your kindness is much appreciated.”

  “You have nothing more to worry about under my care,” he said gently, stepping away from the carriage and closing the door.

  When he climbed the stairs back into the office, he met his partner, Roger Parnum, on the stairs.

  “You get the cook settled?”

  “Mrs. Norris’ case is something we can handle, I think.”

  The older man frowned.

  “Robert, you know she won’t be able to give us a high percentage of the profits. Just because you’re set for the future doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t need to earn our daily bread.”

  Robert knew he was referring to the recent death of Charles Fanning, Robert’s older brother. The unfortunate sickness that stole Charles had inadvertently left Robert with the title of Earl of Lothmire, and an impressive sum of money.

  “Cases like this win the trust of the people, and give us a good position in court,” Robert said. “It’s good for business, and you can’t tell me your business hasn’t been prospering since you added ‘Fanning’ to the awning.”

  “Don’t let your ego be too significant, my dear Earl,” Roger said, feigning insult. “Why a wealthy man such as yourself would ever put himself through solicitors’ studies is beyond me.”

  Robert smiled, following Roger into the top floor of the office and gathering the papers he’d left strewn on the desk.

  “I wasn’t planning to be an heir.”

  “That’s right,” his partner said, seating himself in one of the low Sheraton chairs and pulling out his pipe. “Just a hardworking lad who stumbled upon a fortune.”

  Robert fell quiet. It was a familiar avenue of jest with his partner ever since Charles’ death, and at times it grated on him.

  He loved the law, and even with his new title and money he knew he would keep advising.

  Roger Farnum knew it as well, and despite his bluster and feigned jealousy, Robert new the other man was glad for his aid.

  “What’s this?” he said, picking up a small missive stamped with the Duke of Belshire’s seal. It was shuffled beneath some of Mrs. Norris’ papers.

  “Oh, your man brought that in earlier. Said it was important — urgent, perhaps — but we had so much to do with the Norris case and then the indictment hearing before that.”

  Robert reached for a letter opener while his friend rambled on.

  “Really, Robert. I ask you to look over case files and you are lackadaisical at best. Here you have a letter from this family friend—”

  “—Godfather—”

  “—and you’re on the edge of your seat.”

  “There has been some unpleasant business,” Robert mused out loud, scanning the letter as he went.

  It read that the Duke’s son, a man Robert had known his whole life by the name of Gerard Mormont, Marquess of Malbrook, had fallen into a bit of trouble. It did not specify what kind.

  Robert bristled as he read. Gerard had been a thorn in his side since the two were boys.

  The Duke had taken to Robert from the start, holding his industrious nature up in contrast to Gerard’s laziness many a time. The Duke went out of his way to invite Robert on trips and teach him the necessary skills to succeed in the world of business, and that clearly infuriated Gerard.

  Robert remembered one time when the boys were but eleven and twelve years of age, respectively, when Gerard had been so filled with jealousy after Robert was invited to join a hunting trip, that he loosed a shot into the Duke’s prime hound and ever afterward blamed Robert for the offense.

  Robert, unwilling to further fuel the fires of jealousy, had kept silent and accepted his punishment bravely.

 
; “Gerard will grow wise with time,” the Duke always said.

  But luxury and title had worked a toxic effect on the young man, and as each year passed, he grew more spoiled and reckless.

  The Duke’s hand in this most recent missive was heavy with the pressure of anxiety, and his words were unmistakably urgent.

  “I must be away at once.”

  “My friend, surely this is not a fortuitous time? Rest the night and leave in the morning.”

  “No, they are in London at their townhouse. I will go directly.”

  “What could be the matter?”

  Robert had ridden to the Marquess’ aid before, for a financial squabble that had threatened the family with unpleasant gossip. He suspected it would be something similar, but didn’t trust his partner with the details.

  “It’s a private matter, I’m afraid. You will of course press no further, Mr. Parnum?”

  “Of course.”

  The other man rang the bell, waving his hand dismissively at the doorman who appeared.

  “Please bring Lord Lothmire’s coat and hat, and bring round his horse. He has to leave at once on urgent business.”

  ***

  As he neared the Belshire townhouse, Robert thought foremost of the Duke.

  He felt a great debt to his godfather. Even before Charles’s death, the old man had been there for both boys, raising them like his very own sons.

  He’d provided them references and opportunities to train and grow in their talents, and after Charles’s death, the Duke had been there to help Robert shoulder the burden of becoming a new Earl, and all that entailed.

  A short distance from the townhouse, he passed the stately Sinclairs’ manor, fully alight with music and laughter and twinkling lights.

  He’d heard of the dance, but hadn’t any desire to attend. It was one of the many fripperies of the opening of the season, and he’d had his fill of simpering maids and insistent parents.

  Still, he glanced in at the gate as he rode by… and there, in a small pool of lantern light, he caught sight of a brown-haired girl dressed in a slip of silver-grey cloth. Her foot was descending from the carriage - her slender arms were white against the dark vehicle.

  She looked like the North Star in a sea of meaningless constellations.

  For a moment, he thought about turning his horse down that pathway and arriving, unsuitably attired as he was, at that ball he’d so despised moments before. Then, he remembered the Duke, his work, and his own new title.

  Life was too complicated for North Stars at present. He rode on.

  He left his horse at the foot of the townhouse stairs and bid the boy there take it back to the stables. He entered the house with a heavy heart.

  “Lord Lothmire, what a surprise.” The butler let him in, and showed him to the library where the Duke was sitting by the fire, his back to the door.

  “Your Grace,” Robert said, his voice low.

  “You came.” The Duke of Belshire rose quickly, his once-handsome face now racked with worry. “I wasn’t sure you could get away.”

  “Anything for you.”

  “You see, there seems to be a bit of… trouble,” the Duke went straight to the point, “and I had hoped you’d be able to bring it to a swift and silent end.”

  “What is the matter?”

  The Duke cast a glance at the two footmen positioned against the wall. He lowered his voice even further.

  “It is a peculiar thing, but I’m afraid it needs to be handled rather discreetly. Would you mind…?”

  He motioned to a slip of paper and a quill lying nearby.

  Robert nodded agreement, and the older man moved past him and scribbled a few words on the slip of paper. He turned, holding it fast in his fingers.

  “It is about Gerard. I don’t want you to think less of him,” he seemed reluctant to part with the note in his hand.

  Robert thought it would be hard, after everything he’d experienced at the hands of Gerard as a boy, and later as a young man, to think less of Gerard than he already did.

  “Your Grace, I only wish to help. It is not for me to have an opinion one way or the other.”

  This at last put the Duke’s mind at ease, and he extended the paper with trembling fingers.

  Robert took it and read it with an increasingly sinking heart.

  “I see.”

  “The matter must be settled fast. You see there is a timeline on the thing.”

  Robert tucked the note into his pocket.

  “I will arrange it on the morrow if it is at all possible.”

  The Duke sank bank into the chair as though he’d recently survived a great trial. He waved indistinctly at the farthest footman, and the man brought him two glasses of sherry. The Duke offered one to Robert, and he took it.

  “There’s only one thing for it,” the old man said, drinking deeply and staring into the flames. “We have to get him into a respectable marriage.”

  “Marriage may not solve this particular problem,” Robert said quietly.

  “It has to. I demanded it of him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He is agreeable enough. He does not think he has done any wrong.”

  The old man glanced at the drink in Robert’s hand. “He’s at the Sinclairs’ now. I told him he had to find a wife this season, and his solution was to go to the nearest ball in search of her.”

  “It’s not a terrible plan.”

  “He needs to find a respectable lady.” The man looked up with sudden eagerness. “Could you go and make sure he settles on a woman of good standing?”

  “Tonight? I would not be expected.”

  “You are the Earl of Lothmire. You are always expected.”

  “The Marquess has never been much moved by my opinion, Your Grace.” Robert set the sherry aside, bowing. “But if it would put your mind at ease...”

  “It would indeed.”

  Robert took his leave, his thoughts weighted with sober review.

  Chapter 3

  The lights and corridors of the Sinclairs’ manor were disorienting, and reminded Cecilia of the first overwhelming ball she’d attended as a much younger girl.

  Now, it all seemed a bit gaudy, and she navigated the platitudes and proper bows and curtsies like a woman trapped in a dream.

  “Miss Prescott, how lovely to have you in attendance this evening, and what a pleasant evening to open the season.”

  It was a young man her mother had introduced; she couldn’t at first remember his name, but knew she’d met him two seasons ago at one of the closing balls. Fredricks, was it?

  “It is a lovely night,” she agreed.

  “I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing.”

  “You are kind.”

  “May I prevail upon you for a dance later? It would be my honor.”

  Cecilia looked at the man’s face. He seemed pleasant enough, but vacant, like an unwritten book.

  The thought of walking to the dance floor on his arm, talking harmlessly about the weather and the latest harmless gossip, and pretending interest the whole time seemed an interminable torture.

  And yet, she knew the luxury of denying dances did not belong to recently ruined young women with inherited debts.

  “A dance would be lovely.” She bowed her head ever so slightly, turning at the tinkling laughter of a young woman behind her.

  “Miss Prescott, I presume?”

  The woman was tall and lithe, with sparkling blue eyes and shimmering blond hair. Her gown was elegant, fashioned of white silk and trimmed with pearls.

  “You presume correctly.”

  Cecilia felt the honorable Mr. Fredricks melt away from view, and turned her full attention on the vision before her.

  “Lady Sinclair told me to find you and befriend you at once. I’m Lady Lucy Mormont.”

  Recognition hit Cecilia in a wave and she blushed. “Of course. Your father is the Duke of Belshire.”

  “Indeed. My grand connection until I m
arried my dear Italian count, but I wouldn’t trade my Carino for a host of Papa’s admirers.”

  It was all a bit forward for Cecilia, but despite herself she felt a wry affection for the woman before her.