Regency Hearts Boxed Set

by Jennifer Monroe

  What would it be like to be married to Neil? He had assured her that he had changed, that he was not like his brother had been. Yet, could she trust him?

  Could she not?

  When she asked him about the time that would be necessary to prepare for the marriage ceremony, he had said it would be no issue.

  “I will procure a vicar and prepare the necessary paperwork in time,” he had said. “There are ways around the laws.”

  Despite her words, she faltered. The fact the man could do as he stated was not an issue; men in his position could move mountains, so that was not the reason. The fact of the matter was that she would once again marry for something other than love. Did she not deserve happiness after all she had endured?

  A timid knock on the sitting room door brought her back to the present. Regardless of what she wished, she would go through with the wedding. She would endure this, and worse, if it meant that her son remained with her.

  “Come!” she called as she took a seat on the sofa.

  Her lady’s maid entered and bobbed her a quick, but low, curtsy. “You wished to speak with me?”

  “I did,” Caroline replied. “Come in and close the door behind you. I wish to ask you a few questions, and we do not need any straining ears listening.”

  The woman did as she was told and returned to her place in front of Caroline.

  “You worked for my husband for many years, did you not?” Caroline asked.

  “Yes. Nearly fifteen years now. Before I was your lady’s maid, I worked in the kitchen as an undercook.”

  “You know of what transpired over the past two weeks?” she asked. It was an absurd question, she knew, but it played into her plan. “With my son, that is?”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Margaret said with wide eyes. Then she shook her head sadly. “Poor Miss Lindston was in tears about it. She still feels guilty. She’s afraid to return; she’s at her parents’, she is.”

  “Yes, I am aware of her whereabouts. What I would like to know is what you can tell me about Philip Butler.”

  This made Margaret pause. “What do you mean?” The innocence the woman showed could not have been feigned. No, she had not been involved, Caroline was certain of it. However, the woman would know the staff intimately.

  “When Mr. Butler first arrived, I saw him only a few times. What I would like to know was what you observed about the man. Where did he eat? With whom did he speak on a regular basis? Did he seem close to any one person over another?”

  Margaret scrunched her brow as she looked to the floor between them. “Well, since the beginning, he was quiet, but he always kept busy. When others talked with one another—that is to say when they gossiped—he took no part in it.” She paused for a moment and tilted her head. “Well, unless it was about Lord Hayward. I mean His Grace’s brother.” Her eyes shot up at Caroline, wide and fearful. “I don’t mean to speak poorly of anyone, Your Grace!”

  Caroline studied the woman for a moment. She was hiding something. “You have my word that anything you tell me is in the strictest of confidence. Not only that, but I promise not to be angry with you for whatever it is you tell me.”

  Margaret seemed to battle inside until she gave a firm nod. “See, when His Grace was…you know…unkind to you, I could feel anger rising in Mr. Butler. I…” Her cheeks reddened significantly. “I believe he cares for you. I’ve seen the looks he gives you, and those looks aren’t for a servant typically has for his mistress.”

  Caroline stood and moved to the fireplace. What she wished to do was pace, but she could not be seen as agitated by one of the servants. That much she had learned from Reginald.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Margaret said, looking to the floor once again.

  So, Caroline had not learned her lessons as well as she thought. Much the better, as far as she was concerned. A lofty mistress could take a deep fall if she put herself too high above those around her.

  Caroline walked over and put a hand on Margaret’s shoulder. “You have not upset me,” she said with a smile. “There is no need to worry.”

  Margaret sighed with clear relief and Caroline returned her seat.

  What was it about this man that had Caroline unable to create a clear thought? “I still care for him, though I should not,” she whispered.

  “Beg your pardon?” the maid asked, shock clear in her tone, though she tried to cover it.

  Caroline laughed. Her words had not been for Margaret’s ears, but now that they were out, she could not retrieve them. “Let me explain,” she said. “But first, please, take a seat. My neck is cramping from looking up at you.”

  The poor maid was uncertain what to do, but she sat meekly in the chair across from Caroline, her hands wringing in her lap.

  “You have been good to me during my time here,” Caroline explained. When Margaret went to speak, more than likely in worry judging by the look on her face, Caroline stopped her. “I am going nowhere.” This made the maid relax. “I have no one with whom I can confide, and you have been the closest to a friend I have had since I arrived. Therefore, I will tell what I have been through these past days.”

  Having a confidante brought a sense of relief as Caroline told Margaret everything, beginning with the journey to St. Thomas in search of Oliver to the secrecy Philip had maintained to leaving Chudleigh with Neil and finishing with the arrival of Mr. Thompson.

  “So you see, my hand has been forced into marrying Neil this coming Saturday.”

  “Blimey!” Margaret breathed. “Oh, I’m sorry! It just came out.”

  Caroline laughed. “No, it is good to hear someone with an honest response that matches my own.”

  “But that’s six days away,” the maid said with a frown. “Quick if you ask me.”

  “If I do not do this, they will take my son away.”

  Margaret glanced around the room, as if in search of those listening ears, and upon finding none, she leaned in and whispered, “If you wish me to be honest, I don’t believe Lord Hayward. Forgive me for saying so, for I know you’re to marry him and all, but I’ve seen his ways. That woman, Miss French? No, you said her name was not French. Mullens. That’s what you said. Anyway, I think the two of them are in league together if I had my guess.”

  “Did you see them speaking together at any time?” Caroline asked.

  The woman shook her head. “No, nothing like that. It’s just a feeling I have here.” She tapped her chest. “And the way he looked at her was…immoral.”

  Caroline sighed heavily. “I must admit, I found it all odd myself.” Then she remembered something the man had told her. “Though, Neil was held for ransom, as well. Then he stopped Miss Mullens from strangling me. Yet, deep inside, I find that I cannot stop believing that Philip was the honorable party in all this. Am I that much of a horrible person? Or am I too blinded by my own desires to see the truth?”

  “No, Your Grace,” Margaret said kindly. “Follow your heart. I’ll say this, though. I know nothing of the ton or the laws of marriage—and forgive me for speaking poorly of those of your station—but it doesn’t seem right they can just take away a woman’s child. Not like that, at least.”

  Caroline shook her head. Although Margaret’s words had eased her somewhat, some of what the woman said only added to the confusion. Neil appearing where she would never have expected. Philip not sending her letter to the Duke of Ravens. Miss Mullens’s involvement. All of it sent her mind in a whirl. What she hoped was that the whirl was not part of a whirlpool in the middle of a vast ocean, for the chances of her not living through that were much too great.

  Margaret patted Caroline’s hand. “It will work itself out in the end, just you wait and see.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Caroline replied.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sunlight blinded Philip as he opened his eyes, the pain in his side that had run rampant before dulled to a low ache. His fever had broken the day before, and for the first time in some time
he could think clearly. He struggled to sit up in bed when a voice came to him.

  “You’re awake!”

  Philip turned to a portly man who he assumed to be the innkeeper due to the apron he wore. Had they met when he and Caroline arrived? If so, Philip had no recollection of it. As a matter of fact, there was little he remembered since the night that ruffian had stabbed him.

  “That I am,” Philip said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat still for a moment, drinking in the pain that came with moving until it subsided enough for him to move once more. “Tell me, how many days since my friend left?”

  “Friend?” the man asked. “Oh, your wife? She left three days gone now, My Lord.” The man’s voice was shaky, and he wrung his hands in front of him like a boy who stood before his mother when he was caught dipping a finger in the blueberry pie.

  Philip glanced over at his clothes and saw the unopened letter. Had Caroline seen it? He truly hoped she had not.

  “You-you’re paid up and all if you’re worried about that. Paid up ‘til Sunday.”

  With a grunt, Philip said, “Thank you, but I will be leaving today. Now, or at least once I am dressed.” He pulled himself into a standing position. The pain was not as bad this time, but it still stalled him for several moments before he was able to walk to the chair where he began to don his clothing. It was a slow task; gingerly was the only course to take at the moment.

  “Well…that is…I…”

  Philip stopped with his foot halfway in a boot. “Out with it, Man. What is wrong with you? You seem a grouse who has realized a fox is on its tail.”

  “Well, My Lord, there is a problem. Now, I want you to know I had nothing to do with it.”

  Patience was wearing thin. “Speak!” Philip said, wincing as a shot of pain flashed through him.

  The man glanced at the door. His fingers were turning white from the tightness of the apron strings around them. “It’s just that there are some men from the watch here to see you.”

  “Men from the watch?” Philip asked. “And what have they said?”

  “A woman was found murdered. They’re inquiring about her with people in the area.”

  So, they have not found that man Pete’s body, he thought. Then he chuckled inside. If they had, it was highly unlikely the watch would have been involved. Aloud, and with as much nonchalance as he could muster, he said, “And what has this to do with me?”

  With a shifting of his feet, the innkeeper replied, “They been tellin’ people to watch out for a man such as yourself—gravely injured in some way and actin’ suspicious.” Philip raised an eyebrow at him, and the man quickly added, “Not that I’m thinkin’ you’re actin’ suspicious, of course, but they gave a description almost exact to you.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Could be many men that’ve stayed at my inn, to be honest, but I thought I’d let you know regardless.”

  Philip nodded. “You have not told them I am here?”

  The man shook his head. “No, My Lord. I…I don’t trust ‘em. There’s not been any reason for me to think you’d be a murderer, and they didn’t say nothing ‘bout a woman being involved. Well, except the one who was murdered.”

  Philip would have laughed if the situation had not been so serious. This man did not believe him to be a murderer, and yet he thought these men were searching for him. It made no sense. Then again, what reputation would an inn have if it harbored murderers? Perhaps the man was attempting to save face. “How many?” Philip asked as he stomped on the second boot.

  “Two.”

  Philip reached into his pocket and produced two five-pound notes. “Fill a bag with provisions for three days,” he said as he donned his coat. “Have it ready, as well as my horse.”

  The man stared at the notes. “But this is much more than I need in payment for that.”

  With a smile, Philip patted the man’s shoulder. “Then let us say that the other note is for your friendship.”

  “But, My Lord,” the innkeeper said nervously, “I don’t think they mean you to leave.”

  Philip ignored him. “Have it ready,” he repeated. “I’ll be gone within the hour. Mark my words.”

  As he made his way through the inn, Philip rifled in his mind for a tale that would be worth telling. He had told many over the last few years, and he hoped he had one that would convince these men to see things his way.

  Opening the front door of the inn, he was not surprised when two men stepped in front of him.

  “Gentlemen,” he said in a cordial tone, “I am pleased you are here. Please, let us talk, for there is much I would like to say.”

  ***

  Convincing the watchmen to see things his way had taken much more time, and a few more mugs of ale, than Philip had anticipated. His plan had been to be on the road by midday, but it was already well past three by the time the two men left the inn.

  Pity I could not convince them to come with me, he thought as he threw the pack the innkeeper had given him on the back of his horse, tying it tightly with a rope. The man had been very generous, adding much more than Philip would need.

  In all reality, it should take him a day to return to Blackwood Estates, but with evening creeping up on him, he could not risk a nighttime ride. He would be forced to sleep on the ground, and just the thought made his side ache. Luckily, the innkeeper had also included a bottle of whiskey. If anything could dull the pain, that certainly would. Extra dressings and a small jar of the vile poultice from the healer had also been included. Philip would have to send a hefty thank you to both when all of this was over.

  He was glad he had decided to take his time on his journey home, for no matter how hard he tried to grip his legs in an attempt to ride out the trotting of his horse, each jog sent pain throughout his body. A bottle of some sort of brown liquid had also been placed in the bag, another gift from the healing woman, with a note stating that it was to help with the pain but also cautioning him from consuming too much. Apparently, it could force him to sleep, something he could not take the time to do. And if he was forced to sleep, then waking would be that much more difficult, and he could be easily set upon by brigands if he was unable to wake at even the loudest of sounds.

  What his body needed was more time to heal, but he had to get to Caroline, to explain the truth to her, to explain why he had lied and about the things he had done. Only the thoughts of her kept him atop his horse, for each jolt of pain had him grasping the pommel of the saddle until the pain subsided.

  When he stopped beside a small creek to bed down for the night, he removed the now soiled dressings, washed the wound with fresh water, and then poured a portion of the whiskey over the now clean lesion, making him clench his teeth to keep from crying out. However, once it was redressed with fresh linen, the result was much more comfortable. Whether or not that would hold the following day, he did not know, but either way, he would not allow his injury to keep him away from Caroline.

  The whiskey helped more than cleanse his wound. As sleep came to him—with a hope it would not be as heavy as the odious brown liquid—his dreams went to the woman who had stolen his heart.

  Caroline waited for him, her arms open wide, ready to take him into her embrace. It was a relief to finally tell her the truth, to share about his past so he could become the man he was meant to be for her.

  Yet, rather than accepting him, she pushed him away, angry that he lied. The love he had seen in her eyes dissipated, replaced by a hatred that made him take a step back.

  “Why would you lie to me?” she demanded. “I learned the truth when I went to find Oliver.”

  “What truth?” he asked, confusion warring inside him. How could she have already known?”

  “That it was you who had conspired with Miss Mullens to kidnap Oliver and take him from me!”

  Philip shot up in an instant. Why had he dreamed such a thing? And then from deep inside his mind, he remembered her whispering this to him at the inn.

  The sun cast a pink ti
nt to the sky as it peeked over the horizon. It was time to be on his way, but he had to right the wrongs he had committed.

  After redressing his wound, he mounted his horse once again. The ride was less painful this day, for which he was relieved; he was not sure he could have handled much more. Perhaps the poultice was some sort of miracle cure. Or maybe it was the whiskey—both inside and out—that had helped with his healing. Whatever it was that had helped him, he was thankful for it.

  Several hours passed before he rode up to the massive stone pillars that flanked either side of the entrance leading to the large estate, and he urged his horse forward down the drive. In front of the house he came to a stop. Although he had never been here before, he knew of its location; everyone who lived in the region did, for it was one of the larger, more impressive houses in the area. Four tall columns lined the front of the house, holding a triangular roof, reminiscent of the Greek ruins he had read about once.

  A young stablehand ran out, and Philip tossed him the reins. “I will not be long, but he has had a long journey. Would you see he is rubbed down and awarded a bit of oats?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” the lackey said with a quick bow before rushing off to do what had been asked of him.

  The door opened and a man stepped out, an odd smile on his face. “May I help you?” he asked as he watched the stablehand walk away with the horse. More than likely he wondered how a complete stranger would take it upon himself to order around a servant of someone such as he.

  “Lord Franklin Mullens?” he asked.

  The man narrowed his eyes; Philip had not offered him a bow. “I am he,” he replied. “And who are you?”

  “I am someone who is interested in certain business dealings of which you have been a part. Not only yours but those you have made with Lord Neil Blackwood.”

  The man sniffed. “My affairs are no concern of yours,” he said in a harsh tone. “Now be off…Wait, I know you.” He studied Philip for a moment before raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Are you not the Duchess of Browning’s gardener?”