Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  She turned the page, taking in the paragraph of warning at the top. If ingested, Yarrow could cause excessive bouts of extended sleep. She smiled slightly. All the more reason to administer it to William. Once he was on the mend, it was generally difficult to keep him abed. Yarrow was never to be administered to a woman with child, however, as the result may be to miscarry.

  Cecilia stared down at the warning. Why, Missus Everly had specifically recommended Lanora drink an infusion of yarrow. Cecilia reread the words. Had Missus Everly known?

  She shook her head. Impossible. As questionable as Robert found Everly, that sweet little woman would never have knowingly given Lanora such terrible advice. She must simply have mistaken the herb. Fortunately for all involved, Lanora hadn’t attempted the remedy.

  There was a rustle in the hallway. She looked up as her hostess, Dame Parson, bustled into the vast library. With a scrap of ribbon, Cecilia marked her place. A servant with a tray followed Dame Parson in. Taking in her hostess’s cheerful mien, Cecilia smiled.

  “I beg your pardon for the interruption, my lady, but a very persistent messenger tracked you to my home. The man had the audacity to demand my word that I’d see this letter in your hands.” Her expression turned indulgent. “It’s from the duke. A man in love, is he not, to instill such insistence into his servant?”

  Though she knew Robert wasn’t a man in love, happiness still shot through Cecilia. She set the book aside and stood, eager for word from him.

  “Odd, though, for him to mistaken your new title,” Dame Parson rattled on. “He’s so newly wed, of course, it hasn’t sunk into his mind. That’s the way of men, even dukes.”

  “Mistake my title?” Cecilia frowned. She crossed the room on hurried feet to meet her hostess and the servant halfway.

  “Well, yes, but I’m sure your letter back will set him straight, my lady.” Dame Parson beamed at her.

  Cecilia plucked the letter from the proffered tray, afraid to examine it for the source of Dame Parson’s criticism. The servant bowed and retreated. Cecilia’s hostess remained where she was, clearly curious.

  “I am so terribly rude to ask as much, but may I have a moment’s privacy to read the duke’s letter?” Cecilia asked.

  “Oh, certainly, dear. Forgive an old woman her nosiness. A letter between man and wife is none of my business, to be sure.” Dame Parson turned and bustled back out of the room. She closed the doors, which had stood open, behind her.

  Alone, Cecilia finally permitted her gaze to settle on the tight script. The letter was addressed to Lady Cecilia Greydrake, Dowager Marchioness of Westlock. The salutation made her hands shake. She cracked the seal, unmistakably Robert’s, and unfolded the thick vellum.

  Now that I have stood beside my late wife’s grave once more, I realize there was never a place for you in my life. I’m having our union annulled.

  My apologies,

  Robert Hadler, Duke of Solworth

  Cecilia stared down at the page. Apologies? His apologies?

  Droplets splashed onto the words before she even realized she was crying. Cecilia drew in a torn sounding breath. How could he? Why would he? This was…

  Impossible. Too impossible.

  She yanked out her kerchief and applied it vigorously to her eyes and cheeks, then blotted at the page. Sucking in another, slower breath, she tried to force her mind to think. Hand shaking, she turned the letter over, then over again.

  The stationary was Robert’s. The shattered seal had been. The handwriting and signature, were as well.

  She sucked in another rattling lungful of air. The pressure of her lungs expanding pushed against the pain in her chest. Those few lines, those harsh, evil words, they could not be true. Robert would not do this to her.

  Would he?

  He’d insisted often enough that he did not love her, could only ever love his late wife. Now he was back there with so many memories of her. What had he of Cecilia? One dance. A few kisses and a tearful confession. A single carriage ride.

  Cecilia squared her shoulders. Yes, they had those things. They weren’t much, but they were a beginning. More than he could have with his late wife. Besides, he longed for an heir. He would need someone to beget one with. Why not her? She would simply go to him and remind him.

  Her gaze dropped to the letter again. Her shoulders slumped. Remind him of what? That he didn’t truly love her?

  Cecilia wrapped her arms around herself. The pain in her chest grew by the moment. She looked around the beautiful, empty library, Robert’s wedding gift to her. Her attention settled on Culpeper's book.

  Grace. She’d known not to let Lanora have yarrow. She’d disliked Edmond Everly, and Missus Everly. Mister Porter, as well. Yet, Grace had said she was happy Cecilia and Robert had found love. Was she correct again, in that statement, as she always was?

  Certainly, on the one side, for Cecilia couldn’t deny her feelings. She was in love with Robert. To pretend otherwise with the pain squeezing her heart like a vice was ludicrous. And since she was in love with him, Cecilia knew precisely what she must do.

  She marched to the library doors and flung them open. The corridor without was empty. What began as a hurried tread toward the front of the home soon devolved into a run. Cecilia sped through the halls and burst into the foyer. Forgoing hat and gloves, she pushed past the startled butler and into the street. Fortunately, the Solworth carriage waited nearby, though the driver slept on his perch. Cecilia roused him and demanded to be taken home, to Robert’s.

  When they arrived, Cecilia entered the Solworth London house with the same flurry of activity in which she’d departed Dame Parson’s. She roused the staff, ordered her trunk packed, the horses changed and the carriage made ready for a journey. Whatever Robert’s reasons were for sending the letter, Cecilia was going to his ducal estate. If Robert wished to annul their union, he was going to have to look her in the eyes and explain himself first. Then, maybe, she would permit him to.

  Cecilia paced the lovely blue and cream carpet in the room she’d been given while her maids bustled about, packing. At every other turn, her gaze locked on the door that adjoined her room to Robert’s. She bit her lip, frowning.

  That room. That’s where she’d expected to spend her wedding night. In Robert’s arms and in his bed. Not, as she had, alone and bereft in the chamber in which she paced. If he thought she was going to let him walk away without fulfilment of the promise in his kisses, he was mad. And a fool. A mad, silly, ridiculous, fool of a man.

  She realized she’d gone still, fists balled at her sides. She glared at the closed door. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the worried look the two maids exchanged. As their efforts to pack her trunk didn’t slow, she ignored their concern, and their sympathy.

  A knock on her bedroom door caused Cecilia to jump. She whirled to face the solid wood, calling, “What is it?”

  The door cracked open to reveal another maid. “Grace… that is, Miss Birkchester is here to see you, my lady, and she’s brought a child with her. I asked her to wait in the front parlor, but--”

  “But I didn’t,” Grace finished for the girl as she shoved the door the rest of the way open. “Cecilia, you have this whole house in an uproar. Whatever are you doing?”

  Grace entered, Dodger on her heels. He glared at the maid, likely for calling him a child. He wore his street clothes, not William’s livery, but he held his hat in his hands. Vaguely, it amused her he would doff the crumpled and patched garment out of politeness but had obviously refused to turn it over to the butler.

  Cecilia drew in a settling breath. “I’m going after Robert.”

  Grace nodded, as if expecting as much. She looked about the room, then over her shoulder at the third maid. “Jane, Sally, Betty, could you excuse us please?”

  Cecilia clenched her fists tighter. For some reason, Grace’s innocent reminder that she’d spent more time in Solworth House and knew the staff far better than Cecilia did rankled. “They’re packing
.”

  Grace shrugged. “I’ll help you finish.”

  Cecilia would have protested, but the girls were already slipping from the room. They didn’t even glance at her for permission. Cecilia resisted the urge to stomp her foot and insist they return. “What do you want, Grace?”

  Grace’s assessing look heated Cecilia’s cheeks. “Dodger came to me with some information I thought you should have. I’m not sure if it matters more or less, with you leaving London.”

  Cecilia turned to the boy, who stood near the door, examining the room. If she’d been thinking clearly, she would have realized Grace had brought him for a reason. “What information?”

  Dodger left off looking about and stepped forward. He stood at attention like a miniature soldier. “I’ve been following you, your ladyship, mostly for fun, as his lordship and her ladyship Lady Lanora ain’t been going out, but also on account of his lordship didn’t say as I should stop now you’re married and all.”

  “Haven’t been going out,” Grace corrected.

  Dodger rolled his eyes ceilingward.

  Cecilia ignored the exchange as she digested that information. “I see. What, then, have you found while following me?”

  “Remember that fellow, Mister Porter, what kidnapped his lordship and who I said’s a villain?”

  Cecilia nodded, her mouth going dry. “Why?”

  Dodger jerked his chin toward the front of the house. “He’s been following you.”

  “That’s impossible. You said the constabulary took him away. He was found with a gun in his hand and the coachman murdered at his feet. He’s to be hung.” Had Porter, indeed, written the letter received on her wedding day? Why lure Robert so far from London, and then remain to follow her?

  “I know that, your ladyship, but someone got him out, and he’s been tailing you.”

  “Do you think he means to kidnap me?” If the man thought Robert worth a shipment of Egyptian treasure, he might assume Cecilia was worth the same, and far less trouble, as well.

  Dogger twisted his already rumpled hat in his hands. “I don’t mean to alarm you, your ladyship, but Porter ain’t no kidnapper.”

  “Isn’t any kidnapper,” Grace said.

  “But, he kidnapped Robert,” Cecilia said, unsure what significance Dodger’s qualification could have.

  “Aye, but that’s not, ah, what people pay him to do.”

  Cecilia’s brows drew together. “What do people pay him to do?”

  Dodger cast Grace a worried look.

  “She needs to know so she can decide what to do,” Grace said.

  Another surge of annoyance shot through Cecilia. If Grace already knew what Dodger was going to say, why were they dragging this out? “Out with it.”

  “He kills people,” Dodger said. “He takes money to kill people. I ain’t never heard of him kidnapping but the once with Lord Robert, and I ai--”

  Grace’s elbow shot out to poke his shoulder.

  “Ow.” Dodger rubbed his shoulder and glared at Grace.

  “What Dodger is trying to say, in his lamentable fashion, is that you’re being followed about London by a murderer for hire.” Grace’s face was white, but her words firm.

  Cecilia took a step backward and sank down on the edge of the bed. “Why?”

  Both faces across from her swayed side to side as they shook their heads.

  Cecilia swallowed. Why was a paid killer following her? What should she do? Go to the watch? Would they believe her? Porter would hardly be stupid enough to follow her in.

  “I’m sorry to upset you, your ladyship,” Dodger said. “I didn’t know who else to tell. Her ladyship, Lady Lanora, said I ain’t--”

  “You aren’t,” Grace put in.

  “…to tell his lordship anything important until she says he’s better and he sure looks lot better today, but he’s not real better yet, and that Porter almost got him last time.” Dodger twisted his hat tighter, his look beseeching.

  “Which wouldn’t have happened if I’d gone to the watch,” Grace added. “I still don’t understand why you insisted I take the note to Lord William or how he ended up injured. He’s a marquess, skilled swordsman or no, not a man of Lord Lefthook’s ilk.”

  Dodger cast Grace a quick, alarmed look before aiming a wince at Cecilia.

  “You did the right thing, telling Grace,” Cecilia murmured, because she knew the boy worried both for her and for William’s secret—as well he should, for Grace hit near the mark with her complaint.

  Cecilia pressed her lips into a tight line. If Porter was a known murderer, why would he turn kidnapper? Had murdering not been paying well or had someone put him up to the task? If the latter, who would hire a murderer to safeguard Robert for weeks while they waited for his ransom?

  “No one,” Cecilia murmured. “When you hire a killer, you hire him for one reason.” She surged to her feet. “They’re going to kill Robert.” The words burst from her with startling certainty.

  “I beg your pardon?” Grace asked.

  Cecilia hurried to her desk. “The note, the reason Robert left, it was a trick.” She scrambled through the papers, then pulled the note free. She turned to take it to Grace, and nearly jumped out of her skin to find Grace right behind her.

  “Sorry,” Grace said.

  Cecilia pressed the crumpled page into her hands. “Oh dear. He’s been gone for days already. Oh no.”

  Grace looked up from the page. “You didn’t tell us about this.”

  “We didn’t want to upset William and Lanora.” Cecilia’s body started trembling. She exerted rigid control. Now was not the time for weakness. She pulled the new note from her pocket and held it out to Grace. “This arrived not hours ago.”

  Grace’s gaze darted over the page. “That’s ridiculous,” she declared. “He loves you. I’d wager even more than he loved her.”

  Warmth shot through Cecilia at Grace’s words. “You see why I’m going?”

  Grace nodded. “And I’m going with you.”

  “And me.” Dodger straightened to his full height, not even reaching Cecilia’s chin, and shoved his hat down onto his head. “Someone has to look out for your ladyships.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Keeping a tight rein on his impatience after days of playing Missus Everly’s charade, Robert slid his pawn forward a space. It wasn’t a move calculated to win the game. He could have done that an hour ago. His goal was to prolong the match. So long as he kept Everly talking, Robert held hope for learning something useful that afternoon, though Everly’s view of recent events was decidedly skewed.

  “Any notion what your mother will request next?” Robert kept his tone mild, as if only vaguely curious. In truth, after signing over his London home that morning, he’d nothing more to give Everly. His fear was that Missus Everly may very well know as much. Though she was careful to lure him onward with the notion that once he’d signed everything over she would let him go, Robert had no illusions about his usefulness to her once her son had everything.

  “No notion,” Everly said. He slid his remaining knight right into the path of Robert’s queen. “I hadn’t realized you had all you did. Mighty good of you to sign it all over to me.”

  “You do realize I only did so under duress?” Robert couldn’t keep the hard edge from his tone.

  In the nearby grate, the fire crackled. Missus Everly’s burly footmen looked over from their positions about the room. The two there, and the other six, were amazingly diligent. He wondered where she’d gotten them, and how much they were paid.

  Everly glanced up. “Come now, you didn’t have to sign a thing.”

  “Your mother threatened me at pistol point to write Cecilia and has similarly threatened a member of my staff every day since.” Robert tried to keep the strain from his voice. “Do you think the possible murder of an innocent is not a point of duress?”

  Everly chuckled. “It’s not my fault you believe she’d shoot. Come now, Hadler, you can’t really see my mot
her killing someone, can you?”

  Robert clamped his mouth closed over a blistering reply. A good judge of men, he knew two things. One was that Missus Everly would not only shoot, but was eager for the chance to show him as much, and to see blood spill. The other was that Everly had a son’s willful blindness for the evils of his mother.

  Everly leaned back in his chair, balancing the carved wooden frame on two back legs. “Nice place, too, this. I can’t believe I own it now.” He looked about the parlor in which they played, an ornate confection of blue and silver that Livonia had loved. “Would be nicer with staff. It’s terrible Mother still has the servants locked in the cellar. All else aside, these buffoons can hardly assemble a sandwich.” He gestured to the footmen.

  The two stationed in the room gave no reaction to Everly’s words. Robert ground his teeth. There had to be a way to free his people and himself. He was guarded at all times, but that wasn’t the real trouble. Though he was relatively sure he could reach Cecilia before any note Missus Everly sent to Porter, it was what Everly’s mother swore to do to his staff should he flee that kept Robert there.

  “It’s your move, Hadler,” Everly prompted.

  Robert toppled Everly’s knight.

  “I should have seen that,” Everly muttered, features suffused with chagrin. He slid a bishop across the board to take one of Robert’s pawns, leaving his king completely exposed.

  “Listen to me, Everly.” As he spoke, Robert leaned forward to catch the younger man’s attention. “Your mother will have me killed soon. I know you don’t want that on your hands. You don’t want to become duke that way.”

  Everly shook his head. “You’ve gone a bit daft, haven’t you, Hadler?”

  “She’ll likely send me off somewhere,” Robert persisted. “She won’t want to do it anywhere there might be witnesses, or where evidence could be found later. She’ll choose the woods, or a deserted roadway. Mark my words, Everly.”