An Officer, Not a Gentleman: A Traditional Regency Romance (Brethren in Arms Book 3)

by Elizabeth Johns

  The next day, it was not too difficult to escape. The Duchess was distracted with her daughter in the nursery, and the Duke was from home. She even took her maid, Maria, with her for propriety’s sake, though what her old nursemaid from Spain could do to protect her, Bridget was sure she did not know. Nonetheless, they were in London now, where all the rules were different. Not that she was greatly concerned with her reputation after the events of the last few weeks; she was not exactly a prime catch on the marriage mart.

  No one answered the front door again when they arrived, and no one answered at the servant’s entrance. Bridget had already decided to try the door from the mews if they found the house abandoned again. She had even bought a tool to pick the lock if she could make sense of how it worked.

  Maria said little as they made their way around the row of houses to the back alley that led to the gardens. Fortunately, the gate latch was open and they were able to get as far as that without a struggle.

  The flowers and beds looked well tended, and some ripe vegetables were plump and waiting to be picked.

  “They cannot have been gone long.” Maria said what Bridget was thinking. “Do you think maybe they went on holiday?”

  “I hope it is something so simple. Father would not have cast them off. He would have provided for them in the will.” Where is it, though? she asked herself.

  They climbed down the steps to the door on the ground floor and it was locked as well. Bridget let out a sigh and pulled a jemmy from her reticule.

  “Never tell me you mean to break in?” Maria asked in outrage.

  “What choice do I have? I am the legal owner as next of kin,” Bridget argued, though she wondered if she could still be arrested since nothing has been settled. Never before would she have considered such a thing, but she was desperate.

  “I think you should leave this up to Mr. O’Neill and the Duke. They will make certain you do not go without.” Maria continued to protest.

  “You may wait at the front if you do not wish to help,” Bridget snapped, losing patience with her long-time maid.

  Tobin probably would have known how to do this, Bridget thought testily as she poked and jiggled and jammed the tools this way and that. The latch did not budge as she felt perspiration trickle down her back and under her bonnet. It was hard work, breaking and entering.

  “The window is open, Miss Bridget,” Maria said with some satisfaction, having waited nearby admiring Bridget’s handiwork.

  “Well met, Maria,” Bridget said, tempted to give the maid a hug. “Give me a lift, will you? Then I will go in and undo the latch on the door for you.”

  Maria looked horrified, but was much too old and short to consider climbing in herself. Bridget shrugged. She had already lost her dignity that day.

  Once inside, the house looked as though it had been abandoned in a hurry. There was food in the larder and a few dishes in the sink. Bridget went on into the butler’s and housekeeper’s rooms on the same floor. A few personal effects and clothes were gone, according to Maria, but not everything.

  “Perhaps they did go away for a short visit somewhere,” Bridget said hopefully.

  “It is not like Mrs. Brown to leave things untidy, though,” Maria remarked.

  “Let us go upstairs. I have little hope of finding anything since Waverley did not, but it is worth looking.” Bridget took the first floor and Maria went to the second. At first, everything appeared normal, but when she entered her father’s study, it had been ransacked. Pictures had been thrown off the walls, drawers were opened and papers scattered everywhere, and the carpets had been pulled up. Bridget stood still, looking around in disbelief before realizing she was trembling with fear.

  “Miss Bridget!” Maria yelled from the floor above. “Come quickly! Someone has robbed the house!”

  Bridget stepped out into the entrance hall and looked up. “Yes, I can see that down here as well. I believe we should go through the house together,” Bridget suggested with surprising calm. She had a strong suspicion her cousin had been responsible for this. But what had he been looking for that Waverley would not have found?

  Maria hurried back down the stairs. “I think we should go and fetch Mr. O’Neill. I do not feel safe here alone.”

  “We are not alone, Maria. We have each other. Besides, we broke in as well. I imagine Mr. and Mrs. Brown probably came home and found the house this way and left in a fright.”

  “Would they not have told someone? This does not make sense.” The maid was frowning.

  Bridget did not feel like explaining her cousin’s motives at the moment and kept quiet. She walked through the entire house, looking at what had been ransacked but leaving things as they were. She agreed with Maria that she would like to bring Tobin and perhaps the Duke back, with the solicitors, to see what had been done.

  Luckily, she found a key in Patrick’s possessions and put it in her reticule so she would not have to break into what was rightfully hers. Some of her keepsakes were still in her bedroom, plus a few things she had inherited from her mother.

  Besides the study, the most damage had been done to her father’s bedchamber. Again, the pictures had been taken off the walls, possibly in a search for something hidden there. The mattress was overturned and all of the drawers had been emptied.

  “What were they looking for, I wonder?” Bridget asked aloud. “If Riordan was looking for something here, then he must not have the will either.” The few small jewels of her mother’s were in Bridget’s belongings back at Waverley Place. She frowned. Had Riordan found what he wanted—what she wanted? At least some kind of clue would be nice. A chill crept over her as she realized this disturbance very likely meant he was in London. He must be desperate indeed if he were stooping to such measures to make certain she did not find the will. Where would her father have kept it? Nothing made sense to Bridget any more. Her father was hardly a wealthy man!

  The only room that appeared untouched was her mother’s. Bridget could not stop herself from walking inside to capture the essence of her mother and the hint of rose water that still lingered there.

  A small miniature of Mama with Father sat on the dressing table, along with a bottle of scent and her hairbrush. Bridget drew her finger across the surface, wishing she could have a few more moments with her mother. She would know what to do.

  A few tears escaped down Bridget’s cheek as grief and anger and a longing so painful she could hardly bear it wrenched at her insides. It would be easier to join them than suffer alone. She walked to the wardrobe which held a few of her mother’s clothes that Bridget could not bear to part with. The smell of lavender used to keep the moths away rushed at her as the doors opened. Twenty-two years. How could she have been gone so long? In some ways it felt like yesterday, but in others not; it was hard to remember her voice. Soon, it would be like that with Father and Patrick. She could not help but wonder why had she been left behind as she tenderly fingered the blue silk gown, the tattered lace now yellowed. That had been her mother’s wedding dress. Bridget used to dream of wearing it herself, one day. She swallowed a huge sob that escaped and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Miss Bridget? I think someone is coming!” Maria whispered. Bridget was rooted to the spot for a second before hurrying quietly down the servants’ stairs to try to see who dared, grabbing a Brown Bess from the boot room as she went. Her nerves were worn thin, and she had had enough of Riordan.

  Chapter 17

  Tobin felt like a doll being played with by a little girl. In reality, he was first turned this way and that at London’s finest tailor, Weston, and then his feet were scrutinized at its finest boot maker, Hoby. His father had made them both appointments to be outfitted in the latest fashions since they were presenting Tobin to Society. He kept reminding Wrexford that he was not a débutante just out of the schoolroom. Tobin even went so far as to mention he was still an officer in His Majesty’s Army and had uniforms to wear when he went out and about. All of his prote
stations fell on deaf ears.

  Tobin was only enduring this for Bridget, and she would not be attending most Society events due to her mourning. Thinking of his betrothed, he wondered what she was doing this morning. He would call at Waverley Place as soon as he was done with this nonsense.

  He thought of Bridget and how sad she had looked. He wanted to bring a smile back to her beautiful face. Waverley had gone off to see his solicitor with his secretary. Tobin had intended to go as well, but Wrexford had thought his wardrobe a dire emergency. Tobin now looked at the man in question with growing affection. It surprised him, since he had perfected the art of hating him from the age of five.

  Frankly, Bridget’s stubbornness also surprised Tobin. She had been so open about their friendship and wanting to marry him before. As a gentleman’s daughter, she was more than an eligible match for him. Was there more to her change of heart than that weak excuse? He hated the direction of his thoughts.

  Then he was dragged off to White’s Gentlemen’s Club, the likes of whose doors Tobin had never thought to darken. Wrexford proceeded to introduce him to all his cronies and they were invited to have a light luncheon with them. Tobin was trying to be polite, but his mind was elsewhere. He was unused to gentlemanly ways. He preferred to be busy.

  Many of the gentlemen wished to hear details of Waterloo; it was still something of a fantastical story to many of them. Tobin told some abbreviated tales to a captive audience before they thankfully moved on to the grouse hunting to be had in Scotland. All Tobin could think about was Bridget and how upset she had been last night.

  “Why are you scowling, son?” Wrexford asked.

  Tobin looked up. “I beg your pardon. I am worried about Bridget.”

  Wrexford laughed and spoke to his friends. “He has not been away from his betrothed for twelve hours and he is already pining for her. She is quite a pretty thing, I confess. My son has done well for himself.”

  The men all laughed and ribbed him good-naturedly about young love.

  Tobin left with an extra spring in his step, and stopped to purchase some flowers for her from the seller on the corner. It was a little ridiculous how excited he was to see Bridget. However, when he arrived at Waverley Place, he was disappointed to find Bridget had gone out. However, the Duke had returned from seeing the solicitor and was in his study, Timmons informed him.

  “Excellent. Thank you, Timmons. I will show myself in.”

  Tobin knocked on the door even though it was open. The Duke looked up. “Tobin, come on in. You know you have no need for formality here. You look exhausted.”

  “I would rather move camp than go shopping on Bond Street, any day.”

  Waverley chuckled. “Poor Tobin. Help yourself to a drink and have a seat. Is something amiss?”

  “Nothing other than Wrexford insisting I be decked out like a bloody Tulip.”

  Waverley laughed and then laughed some more. He only stopped when Tobin glared at him.

  “Did you not mention you are still in the army?”

  “He thinks I will sell out. I have not made up my mind on that yet. Where is Miss Murphy?”

  “She only told Meg she had some business to attend to, but that was early this morning. She took her maid with her.”

  Tobin frowned. Her maid was but a small, elderly Spanish lady. “What did the solicitor have to say?”

  “He had no knowledge of the house being shut up or the servants being sent away. He did not see any difficulty in Miss Murphy inhabiting the house until the court ruling.”

  “Something is not right, and she cannot stay there with only her maid,” Tobin remarked.

  “I agree, so I put Jamison on it.” Jamison was the Duke’s London man of business and could ferret out a rat from the bowels of London’s sewers faster than a flood.

  “Perhaps we should go and look over the house. Do you think she could have gone back there?” Tobin continued to worry.

  “I am sure I could not say, but it seems a reasonable place to start. I still have the key from when I went before. I forgot to give it back to the Browns.”

  Waverley sent word to the Duchess and then the men were on their way. They walked since it was only a few streets away and it was a beautiful day.

  Waverley knocked at the front door and there was no answer.

  “Perhaps I was mistaken,” Tobin said.

  The Duke took out the key. “Should we check and see if anything is wrong? Just to satisfy Miss Murphy?”

  “I suppose it cannot hurt,” Tobin agreed. Waverley unlocked the door and allowed Tobin to enter first. The first thing he saw was the barrel of a gun pointed at him. On instinct, he lurched at Waverley to protect him as a loud boom shook the house.

  “Tobin!” Bridget screamed from somewhere through a fog in his brain. Suddenly he was in the middle of a battle, deep in a muddy trench with heavy smoke and the sound of muskets and cannon sounding all around him.

  Someone was shaking him and holding him down and he began to fight back, kicking and punching.

  “Tobin!” A familiar voice sounded.

  “Get down, your Grace!” he shouted back as he felt around for his own rifle. It must be somewhere nearby. He was struggling for breath and sweat was pouring into his eyes.

  Then a gush of cold water poured over him. He opened his eyes, blinking, and stared into the faces of Bridget and the Duke.

  “What happened”? he asked, somewhat embarrassed to be lying on the floor in a strange place, drenched with water.

  “My gun misfired, and thankfully hit the wall instead of you,” Bridget said meekly. “Are you harmed? I am so terribly sorry!”

  “I thought we were back at Cuidad Rodrigo. The Frogs were shooting at us,” he explained as he tried to get his bearings and calm his breathing.

  Bridget sat back on the floor and put her hands to her eyes. She was crying.

  “I thought you were Riordan. The house has been ransacked.”

  Tobin sat up and put his arms around her. “Fret not, lass. I know you did not mean to do it. Sometimes I have nightmares where I am back in the heat of a fire-fight. I expect the sound of the gun startled me.”

  She was nodding. “It sometimes happened to Papa and Patrick, too. I could have killed you!”

  “Hush, lass. Everything is well,” he whispered as he rocked her. He noticed Waverley and the maid leave discreetly. “You said the house had been ransacked? Do you think it was your cousin?”

  “Who else could it have been? The main damage was in Father’s study and his chambers. He must have been looking for the will. There are no jewels to be found here. There are few enough of those in my jewellery box at Waverley Place.”

  “And there is no sign of your butler or housekeeper?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It does look as though they left in a hurry. Perhaps the intruder startled them. That is why I think it was Rory. He might have known there was a spare key in the flower pot. Not that it is a great hiding place. It was there for Patrick when he came home late.”

  Tobin stood up and helped her to her feet.

  “Have you been searching through everything? Is anything missing?”

  “Not that I can see. I should straighten everything back as it should be. Perhaps, if I take Father’s papers with me, I might find something to help.”

  “Waverley mentioned his man of business was trying to see if the general had a solicitor here in London. It is a common practice, apparently. Jamison discovered your dowry account had been emptied.”

  “I cannot believe it was Father or Patrick. In Father’s last conversation with me, he made a point of saying I had been provided for.”

  “They both loved you dearly, lass. It was not they,” Tobin said as he helped her gather the papers and set the study back to rights. Waverley and the maid came back downstairs.

  “We have straightened the general’s chamber,” Waverley said. “Have you found anything in here?”

  “Nothing other than a lot of accounts an
d letters. Bridget wants to take them back to sort through them. I just need to replace the pictures and drawers and we can leave.”

  Waverley and Maria began to help them straighten the study. Bridget sat down at the desk, stacking the papers and placing them into a satchel. Tobin replaced the drawers and as he jostled the last one, a false bottom opened up.

  Bridget gasped. “I thought those only existed in novels. Is anything inside?”

  Tobin felt around, fearing she was to be disappointed until his finger caught on a small piece of paper and he pulled it out.

  “I do not think this is a will,” he said as he handed it to her.

  “No,” she agreed. “But there is a name of a solicitor.”

  That night, the Duchess had invited Wrexford and Tobin to dine with them. Bridget was still having great difficulty reconciling the fact that she had shot at Tobin and sent him into a horrible panic. How could she have mistaken Tobin for Riordan?

  Wrexford and the Duke and Duchess were conversing amiably about Tobin’s possibility of becoming the heir, but Tobin was very quiet as the servants placed the food à la français on the table so they could serve themselves.

  “What is wrong, Tobin?” Bridget asked.

  “I feel like a fish out of water,” he admitted.

  “You do not have to do any of this,” she assured him, taking his hand under the table and giving it a squeeze.

  “I do,” he argued.

  “I would be perfectly happy to return to the army when you are convalesced. We do not have to make any other decisions now.”

  He glanced at her gratefully. “If you agree to marry me,” he reminded her in a dry tone.

  “Yes, if I agree to marry you.” She wanted nothing more, but was becoming more and more certain it was the wrong thing to do. “You can always return to the army, with or without me.”