The Extraordinary Tale of the Rebellious Governess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  Miss Brent smiled. “That will be lovely, Your Grace.”

  “Go now, and get what food and rest you can before Henrietta returns from her meal.”

  Miss Brent rose from her chair, and curtseyed, then departed on silent feet. After the door closed behind her, Sampson blew out a gust of breath and met James’ eyes. “Now what?”

  “This villain grows bolder,” James said. “Trying to abduct Miss Brent in broad daylight. After this, it seems you three are in greater danger than ever.”

  “I will still refuse to hide in London.”

  “I know. We must find a way to get ahead of this man, as well as your enemy, whoever he is. I have Mr. Kelley searching for Bloom, and hopefully he can capture him and bring him here for interrogation.”

  “There must be more we can do.”

  James smiled. “There might be a way to lure him in.”

  “How?”

  “We use Miss Brent as bait.”

  Chapter 23

  Miserable, Lucretia lay on her bed, wishing she could sleep for the next week or two. Then maybe she might wake to a head that did not feel as though a blacksmith had taken a hammer to it. She knew His Grace was right in that she should rest, and she certainly wanted to. However, the need to keep the Duke’s household as normal as possible outweighed her need to lie on her bed until she felt better.

  Already, Henrietta had begun repeating the staff gossip, and what they had to say alarmed Lucretia. They whispered that the attempt to shoot the Duke’s sister was not an accident as they had been told, and that strange things had been seen at night. Rumors spoke of strangers walking the hills after dark, that it was a witch that poisoned the Duke’s stallion. If they learned that her ‘illness’ was in fact an attempt to kidnap and kill her, who knows what might happen.

  Apprehensive that the enemy behind the Londoner might learn what His Grace sought to keep silent, and perhaps the staff might grow fearful enough that they would quit the Duke’s service, Lucretia knew events at the estate must remain as normal as possible in order for the Duke to capture the assassin and learn who was paying him to kill.

  A knock on her door heralded a visitor. “Come,” she called, wishing she could be left alone for a time.

  Sitting up, she found a kitchen maid bringing her a meal on a silver tray. “His Grace’s orders, mum,” the maid said, offering a mall curtsey before setting the tray on a nearby table.

  “Thank you,” Lucretia said, wondering if her stomach would permit food. She had not felt well enough to eat that morning.

  After the maid left, she took the tray into her sitting room, and set it on the table there. Sitting down, she ate as much of the bread, cheese, pickled herrings, and boiled eggs as she could. The cup contained not water, as she expected, but a concoction most likely created by Mr. Kirkwood. It tasted sweet, like honey, and soothed her upset stomach. She still had not the appetite or energy to eat everything.

  Returning to the solar, expecting to find Henrietta and Rosemary waiting for her, she instead found the Duke, staring out a window. He turned as she entered, and she immediately dipped low.

  “Miss Brent.”

  “Your Grace.”

  “Have you eaten?” he asked. “Rested?”

  “A little of both,” she replied, both puzzled at his appearance and happy to see him again. She wondered if his evident concern for her health was because he truly cared, or if it was because of the inconvenience of finding another governess if she died.

  “Most excellent,” he replied, turning from the window and striding about the solar.

  To her eyes, he seemed pensive, troubled even, and hesitant to speak. Patient, Lucretia waited, taking the time to admire his masculine body, the sleek fall of his dark hair, despite the pain in her head.

  He is too handsome for my good. But I could look at him all day long and be satisfied.

  Still he paced, his hands behind his back, and she noticed how he avoided looking at her. Have I done something wrong?

  “I came to ask a service of you, Miss Brent,” the Duke said at last. “And it is imperative that you know you have the freedom to refuse this request.”

  “Very well,” she replied. “But I think you know by now I seldom say no.”

  The Duke finally ceased pacing and turned to her, looking her full in the eye. “Before you respond, I want you to think carefully about what I ask of you.”

  “Very well, Your Grace.”

  He drew in a deep breath. “We are wondering, that is, James and I, if you would be willing to become the bait to draw this Londoner out where we might capture him. We will be in hiding, of course, thus there is little risk to your safety.”

  “Certainly. I am willing.”

  He scowled. “You did not take time to truly think about it.”

  Lucretia laughed, and daringly walked toward him, closing the distance between them. “Your Grace, what is there to think about? With you or James, or Mr. Kelley for instance, hiding nearby to spring the trap, what danger is there for me? I understand the need to find out who is behind all these attempts to kill you and Lady Henrietta. I am not afraid.”

  The Duke’s brow rose. “Perhaps you should be, Miss Brent. While I feel the risk to you is minimal, there is still some risk you could be hurt or killed.”

  “I am willing to take that risk.”

  He sighed. “I fear that your lack of fear might one day get you into trouble, Miss Brent.”

  “I do not think so. I am what I am.”

  “Very well. We will not start until you have recovered fully. So please, get your rest. I will send Mr. Kirkwood to you twice a day to examine you. If you have need of anything, I am at your disposal.”

  “You are most kind, Your Grace.”

  “I fear the better word is desperate, Miss Brent,” His Grace said, but he smiled as he spoke. “I would never place you in harm’s way if I had other choices.”

  “I understand that. I am just glad I can serve in some small way.”

  “In some small way? It appears to me you have gone above and beyond the duties of a governess.”

  The door behind Lucretia opened, and Henrietta, followed by Rosemary, entered the solar. They both curtsied, and the girl gazed at her brother with surprise. “What are you doing here, Sampson?” she asked, planting her small hands on her hips and frowning.

  The Duke glanced around the solar. “Is this not my house? Am I not entitled to visit each room as I wish?”

  Henrietta marched forward to claim her usual chair and the pile of books stacked next to it. “Are you following Luce? You are always taking her away from me.”

  Lucretia smothered her giggle as the Duke eyed his sister with an annoyance that appeared feigned to her. His lips trembled as though he fought hard not to grin.

  “As I pay and feed and put a roof over Miss Brent’s head,” he stated, “she is my employee more than she is yours. However, if you want, you may pay for her keep.”

  Henrietta opened a book. “No.”

  “No?”

  “She is my governess and my friend. This is our time to be together. You can visit Luce later.”

  Evidently cowed by his small sister, the Duke inclined his head to Henrietta, then walked stiffly toward the door. Passing Lucretia, he paused for a brief moment, and said out of the side of his mouth, “She is bloody jealous.”

  Lucretia bent low in order to hide her smile and stifle another bubble of laughter that threatened to burst loose. Behind her, the door opened and closed as he left, casting a waft of sandalwood to tease her nostrils.

  * * *

  Two days later, Mr. Kirkwood declared Lucretia fully recovered and able to assist in the capture of Isaac Bloom. After breakfast, yet before her duties with Lady Henrietta began, she sat in the Duke’s study with the Duke, James, and Mr. Kirkwood.

  “Now, Miss Brent,” James said, cocking a hip on His Grace’s desk as the Duke sat behind it. “We believe this fellow is in the hills watching the estate through
a spyglass. He knows the patterns of the staff, and will also be concerned with any breaks from the routines.”

  “I understand, sir,” she said.

  “Now, we do not think he will make any moves for a few days,” His Grace continued for him. “But you must appear to have picked up a new habit.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Every afternoon you will spend an hour walking in the orchard, as though taking a break from the rigors of tutoring my sister.”

  Lucretia frowned, seeing a problem with that. “But, Your Grace, he already attacked me there. Would he not assume I would be fearful of that place and avoid it?”

  James cleared his throat. “That is why we do not believe he will accept you as bait for at least several days. We are hoping that he is foolish enough to believe you are very foolish.”

  “But at least by establishing a routine,” His Grace went on, “we believe the temptation will prove too great. If you are there at the same time, every day, for the same amount of time, he will attack. Eventually.”

  “Miss Brent,” James said, removing himself from the desk and pacing about the study. “We are also hoping that his master—our enemy, if you will—is putting pressure on him to succeed in his task. His previous attack on you seemed, to us, to be an act of desperation. If this assumption is true, he will try to take you again.”

  “And we will be waiting,” added His Grace. “When he does, we will capture him.”

  Lucretia frowned slightly as she pondered their plans, trying to seek out any flaws. “But what if he chooses to merely shoot me, Your Grace? Then I am dead and he is still free.”

  His Grace nodded. “We considered that, Miss Brent. You will be among the trees, and protected. He would need to come down out of his hills to get close enough to you to shoot you. We will see him, and take him down before he can.”

  “How do you propose to hide?” she asked. “The hills are somewhat open, as is the orchard. If he is watching, surely he will see you and not move, knowing you are setting a trap for him.”

  James grinned. He glanced at the Duke. “She is a sharp one, Your Grace.”

  “Indeed, she is,” the Duke replied, smiling. “Our Londoner can see most everything on the grounds from his position, Miss Brent. We believe he is on the hill to the west of us, as that is the best vantage point to see the house, the orchard, the stable, and the grounds. However, he cannot see the roof of the house from there.”

  Lucretia’s jaw dropped. “But, Your Grace, you cannot jump from the roof of the house to the ground. I will be dead or taken by the time you, or James, got down and to the orchard.”

  The Duke did not seem offended by her outburst. Instead, he nodded, still smiling. “That is all true, Miss Brent. But there is something you do not realize about our James here.”

  She glanced from him to James and back again. “I am certain there are many things I do not know about him, Your Grace. But by your cat-with-the-cream expression, it is something quite remarkable.”

  “James is a crack shot, Miss Brent,” the Duke said, sitting back in his chair. “We have been on the roof and have evaluated the distance from there to the orchard. Naturally, you will need to be as close to the house as possible while still in it, but James believes the range is not out of his ability to take Bloom down. It is also a downward shot, so the ball will travel that much further.”

  “And wound him?” she asked, turning to James.

  The steward nodded. “Shoulder, leg, anything that might incapacitate him for a few moments. Long enough for His Grace and a few stout lads to arrive and take him into custody.”

  “But what of the secrecy of what we are doing? The household will soon find out you have a prisoner.”

  “A man we caught trying to steal my horses,” the Duke said. “The real reason is still a secret, and the staff will no doubt be as outraged at the idea of someone trying to steal a valuable Breckenridge.”

  Lucretia gazed down at her hands, trying to think of any flaw in their plans. The only one she could see might be James missing his target. “Might I have a weapon concealed on my person, Your Grace?”

  Her question obviously startled him, for his brows shot up and vanished into his hair. He glanced at James, who merely shrugged. “A pistol is rather too large to conceal, Miss Brent,” he said.

  “I realize that,” Lucretia replied, “but surely you have knives or daggers I can hide inside my sleeve.”

  “You impress me more and more, Miss Brent,” the Duke said, smiling widely. He broke into a laugh.

  “I am merely considering all angles, Your Grace,” she said, not offended by his laughter. “However, should James miss his target, or this Bloom fellow rise before you and your men arrive, I should have the means to defend myself.”

  “And you shall,” he said. “We have long daggers in the armory yet, James, do we not? Anything left over from a few generations ago?”

  “We do indeed, Your Grace,” James replied, also grinning broadly. “I will find one suitable for Miss Brent, and make certain it is properly sharpened.”

  “Any other thoughts on our plans, Miss Brent?”

  Lucretia shook her head, smiling. “If I think of any, I will let you know, Your Grace. I assume I start this day?”

  “Yes, indeed. I will find something to occupy Lady Henrietta during your hour outside, and we will explain your brief absence as your time to be alone and ponder what else to teach my sister. Or—something akin to that.”

  * * *

  Despite her vague nervousness over tempting a murderer to attack her, Lucretia enjoyed her time in the orchard. Though she dared not sit, for she may not get up in time to repel Bloom if or when he came at her, she leaned against the tree trunks, gazing out at the rolling hills. The late summer sun beat down on her, but under the shade of the heavy branches laden with ripening apples, it felt cool enough.

  Her gaze often chanced upon James on the roof, clear in her view, staring down the barrel of a blunderbuss. But she never let her eyes linger on him, nor stare at the hill to the west. She wondered how the Londoner could arrive from his hill to her location without being seen. After pondering it a while, she realized that he would believe in her daily routine, and would have hidden himself nearby long before she got there.

  The comforting weight of the dagger up her sleeve gave her confidence. James rigged an arm sheath for her, so she need not worry about slicing herself if she needed to pull it out. This was her fourth day as Bloom bait, and she knew that he would attack soon. She kept a sharp watch around her general vicinity, knowing he would most likely try to hit her on the head again. And if she were incapacitated and James missed his target…

  Unease grew within her as she wandered amidst the trees. Lucretia glanced casually around as she wandered closer to the huge house, leaving fewer trees between her and James. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, but the hairs on the back of her neck tried to stand up. I am being watched.

  In a pretense of fussing with her hair, she shot a rapid glance to the roof. James lay on his belly, his blunderbuss aimed down, right at her.

  Her instincts screamed at her to get out, to run to the house, to leave the apple grove behind. Stifling them with an effort, Lucretia felt sweat trickle down her spine that had nothing to do with the summer heat.

  He is here, I feel him, he is stalking me.

  Once more she tried to glance casually around, pretending to look at the hills. She saw nothing, yet she knew Bloom had arrived.

  The blunderbuss barked.

  A short harsh scream erupted from behind her, and Lucretia whirled. A man with shaggy blond hair lay on the ground not a foot from her, writhing in pain. His eyes met hers, then a knife appeared in his hand. His feet kicked her own out from under her, and Lucretia fell.

  Chapter 24

  Sampson watched in horror as Miss Brent fell to the ground close to Bloom. Bolting from the house, where he had taken up his position to wait for the Londoner to make his move, he r
an toward the orchard. He heard James shout something down to him, but he paid little heed. His pistol already in his hand, he cocked it as he ran, thinking he would need to kill the man in order to save Miss Brent’s life.

  Drawing closer, he witnessed Miss Brent stand up, and glance toward him. Sampson skidded to a halt beside her, staring down. The man, Bloom, lay squirming on the ground, tears of agony spilling from his eyes. Blood leaked from a tear in his trousers a few inches below his hip. A knife lay on the ground, and Sampson bent to snatch it up.