The Trouble with Saving a Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  “Oliver,” she called out. He rushed over to her, surveying the bush as she had. “I think perhaps you fell from a horse. It looks as though this bush has been trampled by a horse.”

  Oliver grunted and squatted on the ground, carefully checking the surroundings.

  “There are hoof marks here. However, who knows if they are old or new. I am certain riders come through here often.”

  “Indeed, they do,” she confirmed.

  “I am not certain there is anything here that will be of further assistance to me. I supposed I will have to rely on the note your Father sent to Lord Alderbridge. And my own ability to recall my memories.”

  “I am sorry, Oliver, truly I am.”

  He shrugged in resignation.

  “It is quite all right, Seraphina. Although the expedition proved fruitless, it allowed me to be near you, and that in itself provides me much comfort.”

  She took his hand once more and allowed him to lean his forehead against hers.

  “Now, let us return you to the Castle in time for breakfast. But first, promise me we will see one another again? I do not care that it has to be in secret.”

  She thought for a moment and then smiled.

  “Each night, I walk Mobsley around the Castle grounds for his evening walk. Usually Mrs. Robstard, our old governess, accompanies me. But since Cynthia is home, I will ask her. That way, I can sneak away, and she can cover for us. At least for a little while.”

  The excitement she felt at this prospect was alarming.

  I am reveling far too much in the adventure of this clandestine affair. I am allowing myself to feel too much. Even though he vows to ensure we can be together, there is, in reality, no way can it happen.

  The pain, if their friendship and their closeness was discovered and put to an end, would be immeasurable.

  She shook her head, forcing the thought from her mind. There was no point in worrying about what might be. No, she would simply enjoy what they had, and what was building between them.

  She felt herself breaking into a smile as they walked together back toward the Castle. They had walked only a few steps when suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she spotted something odd. She stopped and turned and when she saw what was stuck in a tree just beyond, her blood froze. She let go of Oliver’s hand and clasped her hands in front of her mouth to keep from screaming.

  Chapter 23

  “Why was this man, Patterson, not given an extension on his payments? He was in good standing up until then,” Liam said while going through Harry’s ledger.

  He sat across from his cousin, clutching a glass of brandy and glared.

  “Why are you looking through my books, Liam?”

  Liam glanced up and smirked. “They are, I believe the ledgers of the estate of Emberborough, not the personal property of one Harry Keswick.”

  “Fine, look all you want. But perhaps questions should be directed toward the Mr. Preston, estate steward.”

  Liam slapped the big book shut. “The steward who has been ill for weeks now, if not months? What is the matter Harry, I thought you were so proud of being in charge of the estate in Lysander’s absence? You told Mrs. Thornton as much.”

  Harry groaned at the memory of his behavior at the inn.

  “Stop, reminding me of it, please. I am ever so mortified by my actions. I never…you know me, I never behave in such a manner.”

  Liam shut the book with a bang.

  “I know you are struggling with the absence of your brother. I know how much you love him. But Harry, you cannot act in such a manner in public. People will talk. In fact, there are already rumors that Lysander is not really in London.”

  Harry looked up, surprised. “There are?”

  “Evidently, the London house has been seen empty but for servants. Word spread.”

  Harry groaned. “Mother will be furious when she finds out her plan of diversion failed.”

  Liam shrugged and re-opened the ledger. “Perhaps it would be for the best to simply admit what has happened. Should Lysander not return, we will be accused of hiding his disappearance. It will look bad for the family.”

  Harry watched as his cousin went through the pages of the ledger. “What are you looking for?”

  “The other man Mrs. Thornton mentioned, who was also sent off his farm. She didn’t recall his name. Daltron? Dawson?”

  The mentioned of the name Dawson made Harry’s stomach turn with dread. He wetted his lips and cleared his throat.

  “Lucas Dawson. You need look no further. He was put off his farm not long ago. He’s habitual gambler. Couldn’t pay.”

  Liam looked up from the ledger. “Who put him off the farm? Lysander? It is hard to imagine.”

  Harry rose and walked the length of the room, stopping in front of the painting of his great-grandfather. “Of course not Lysander. Mr. Preston. Once again, these questions should be directed toward the steward.” Harry was aware of the venom in his voice when he spoke of the steward.

  “You do not care for him much, do you? Mr. Preston?”

  Harry shrugged. It was not as if anyone ever cared about his opinion before. But now, once there was trouble, he was being questioned. He didn’t appreciate it.

  “I have never cared for him, as you well know.”

  He paused and looked up at the portrait. “You know Mother believed at times that Mr. Preston was a spy, sent by the Camdens to sow discontent.”

  Liam sighed and Harry turned just in time to see his cousin roll his eyes.

  “Roll your eyes all you want. I believe Mother might be right.”

  “A spy? Mr. Preston has worked here for decades. No major trouble has been caused in all that time and your Father was always fond of him.”

  Harry felt anger rising within him again. “Not that we know of. But you are now finding a possible connection between these farmers and Lysander’s disappearance. Or so you seem to think. Who’s to say that wasn’t the Camdens’ plan all along?”

  Liam’s eyes widened and Harry waved an arm dismissively in his direction. He sat in the armchair, facing away from Liam.

  To his dismay, his cousin could not let the matter slide and sat down across from him, legs crossed. He looked at the portraits of their grandfather, which hung next to the one of their great-grandfather, the Earl of Swift.

  “At times, you remind me a great deal of our Grandfather, Francis,” Liam said. Harry could hear the disdain in his voice but ignored it.

  “I consider it a compliment. Grandfather was a strong man, a respected man. He took his duties seriously. And it is only because of these awful people, the Camdens, that he has not received the respect he deserves. They tarnished his reputation.”

  Liam exhaled with some force.

  “He tarnished his own reputation. This feud is utterly silly and always has been. And when Lysander is back, he will certainly put an end to it all.”

  Harry shook his head. “Never. Not as long as I am here to talk sense into him. These people stole our family legacy. They stole our home.”

  “They did not steal anything from us. Vallant Castle was never the home of the Keswicks’, nor was it meant to be.”

  “If you believe that, then you do not know the whole story.”

  Surely, if Liam did, he would not hold such a preposterous opinion. Then again, Lysander knew the whole story, and he insisted on mending fences with the Camden family.

  “I know the story as well as anyone. I heard it from our Grandfather, and I heard it from my Father, as well as your parents. Although my Father always took a different view on the matter.”

  “That is because your Father did not stand to inherit Vallant Castle nor its lands. We did. We were robbed of it all by that louse, the Earl of Swift and his descendants.”

  Harry got up and paced the room. He knew the story so well he could recount it in his sleep.

  “Surely, Liam, you know this.”

  Liam shook his head. “What I know is that once upon a time, Queen
Anne voiced a desire to have a home in Cheshire. She commissioned her most-trusted confidants to find land and build her a castle for her pleasure. Our Great-Grandfather, the Earl of Swift and his friend, the Marquess of Borough.” Liam nodded toward the portrait of the two.

  “Our Great-Grandfather should have seen what a deceitful louse his so-called best friend, the Marquess of Borough, was.”

  Liam let his head roll back and he shook his head.

  “There is plenty of blame to go around. We both know that Queen Anne ran out of money to fund the project. We both know that the Marquess funded most of the remaining construction, with the understanding that the Castle would be his to use after the Queen passed.”

  Harry shook his head. “That is where you are wrong. The understanding was that our Great-Grandfather would be just as entitled to the Castle as the Marquess.”

  Liam shrugged and rose, turning so he was face to face with the portrait of their great-grandfather. Harry followed his gaze. They were standing before a portion of Vallant Castle which had already been completed.

  “Let us not argue as our ancestors have. It is this which caused this feud to begin with…their failure to clearly spell out what was to become of the Castle upon the Queen’s passing.”

  Harry rose and stood next to Liam.

  “The arrangement seemed clear enough. Upon the death of Queen Anne, the Castle was to go back to the two men to do with as they pleased.”

  Liam sighed and shook his head.

  “That is what the Earl of Swift believed, and it is what our Grandfather and your Father believed. As my Father told me, in reality, the Castle was to go to the Marquess, given that he funded the project. Our Great-Grandfather, while a great help to the Marquess, did not invest much in the Castle, and thus was not entitled to it.”

  Harry stomped one foot and balled his hands into fists. “He found the grounds, he arranged for the former owners to sell the grounds in the first place. And he designed the entire castle. He should have had rights to it.”

  “He did, Harry. The Marquess was going to sell the Castle and share the profits with him. But our Great-Grandfather grew greedy.”

  “He did not,” Harry’s voice rose. “He simply wanted to live in the Castle with his family. The Marquess already had a stately home, more than one, in fact.”

  Was it really so unreasonable to demand to live in a castle that would not stand if not for the grand designs of the Earl of Swift? Was his ancestor so wrong to claim it? Was his grandfather, or his father? Harry thought not. Indeed, if Lysander did not return, he fully intended to find a way to get what was his. That, if nothing else, would earn him his mother’s respect, he was sure of it.

  “Well, as we both know, the privy council found that the Marquess was the rightful owner of the Castle. And our Great-Grandfather did walk away with a large sum in compensation. Compensation which bought not only Norwood Hall, but also your family’s London home, as well as your estate in Scotland. That should have been the end of it.”

  Harry shook his head. Nobody in the family, including his brother, were fond of the estate in Scotland. In fact, their aunt, the sister of his and Liam’s fathers, lived there now. He had not been there since he was a small child. As for Norwood, it was a lovely home that was certain. But it was no Vallant Castle.

  “It was not fair.”

  “Of course, it was. And our Grandfather should have let it go then,” Liam argued. His voice was steady, even. Harry forced himself to breathe deep and remain calm. It bothered him how easily vexed he had become.

  “He did what he thought was right,” he said as calmly as he could.

  “And he paid for it with a finger.”

  Harry grunted as he looked at the portrait of his grandfather once more. His right hand was hidden behind his back. While it looked like a stately posture, the family knew that in reality, it was hiding his mangled hand. He had lost it in a duel with George Camden, the first Duke of Oxshire, son of the Marquess of Borough.

  “Another reason Lysander’s quest for a truce is a mistake.”

  Liam shook his head. “All involved in the duel are long dead and ever since it has been nothing but petty attempts to one-up the other family. Such as the silly business with the snuff box.”

  Harry smiled. Some years ago, his father had stolen a snuff box with an inscription from Queen Anne right from under the Duke of Oxshire’s nose. It had been his pride and joy and he’d displayed it on his desk with glee.

  “For someone who maintains he wishes to end the feud, Lysander sure is taken with that snuff box. He carries it with him in pocket at all times. And he doesn’t even snuff.”

  Liam smirked at him. “Has he never told you why?”

  Harry frowned and shook his head.

  “He keeps it with so he can return it to the Duke of Oxshire, as a peace offering when they meet. In the meantime, it is filled with comfit, instead of snuff.”

  Harry rolled his eyes. Yet, he was not surprised. Lysander had long spoken of his desire to end the feud. And it was just like his brother to put comfit in a snuff box. Lysander loved comfit as much as he despised snuff.

  The thought of his brother casually flicking a comfit into his mouth made him smile yet filled him with dread. He found himself so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized Liam was still talking.

  “…and the current Duke seems rather amenable to a permanent truce. Perhaps it would be wise for you to try and see it Lysander’s way. Harry, this cannot go on.”

  Harry dropped his head against the back of the chair he’d taken a seat in.

  “I am exhausted, Liam. By it all. Worry about Lysander, worry about Mother, worry about the feud. I cannot take much more. I simply wish to go to sleep and wake with it all resolved.”

  He sighed, feeling a resignation that had come on suddenly. This state of uncertainty could not go on for much longer. Not knowing if Lysander was going to return, was going to be missing forever, was a weight that was beginning to crush him.

  Harry was about to excuse himself for the night when a knock on the door roused both his and Liam’s attention. Their under butler, Mr. Greggs entered, carrying a tray with a letter.

  “A messenger, My Lord,” he addressed Liam who got up and took the letter. He frowned when he picked it up.

  “A note from my contact in Cheshire,” he said and broke the seal.

  With bated breath, Harry watched as his cousin unfolded the letter.

  Chapter 24

  Oliver stood beside her; his gaze fixed on the sight in front of them which had caused her to scream. His blood ran cold as he saw what had frightened her so.

  There, ahead of them, buried deep in the bark of a tree, was an arrow. It still shook from the speed with which it had fit the tree. He scanned the area. Was there a hunt in progress? Surely not, not so close to the road where people were walking and riding day and night.

  “Oliver….” she said quietly, looking around, her eyes wide, “nobody hunts in this—” She got no further, for another arrow flew past them, missing Oliver’s shoulder narrowly. Quickly, he threw his arm over her and pushed down.

  “We must go! Now!” he said and rushed forward, keeping her under his arm as much as possible. Another arrow followed, the hissing of it flying past rang in his ear and for a moment, he stopped, reminded of something. Of a moment just like this, not long ago.

  It does not matter; these flashes do not matter now. I must get us to safety.

  The two ran along the stream, keeping their heads down as much as possible. Another arrow landed right beside Seraphina, who yelped with shock.

  “You are hurt? Did it hurt you?” Oliver gasped and stopped for a moment.

  “No, no, it missed me. Oliver, we must go.” She grabbed his hand and yanked him forward.

  They ran through the stream, water splashing as they went. They’d almost made it to the other side when–

  “Faith!” Seraphina yelped and he lost his grip on her as she fell. Her fa
ce landed on the hard, gritty ground on the other side of the stream, while her legs splashed into the water, drenching her skirt.

  Oliver bent over, glancing back as he did to see if he could spot their assailant. When he saw nothing, he looped his arms under her armpits and helped her right herself. As he pulled her to her feet, she winced and hopped on her right foot, grabbing her left ankle with her hand.

  “It is twisted, I shan’t be able to run,” her voice was full of panic. “Go, Oliver. Run.”