Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “I have no desire to marry Lady Beatrice or any other woman! You are all a damn nuisance!”

  “Then be happy I have not accepted your gracious proposal. And in the future, I would suggest that a simple refusal would be just as effective in expressing your distaste for women as killing them.”

  “I have not killed anyone. I told you that. Damn it, it ought to be obvious to you!”

  “The only things obvious to me are that you have a regrettable temper and are conceited enough to believe I would enjoy being engaged to you. Now, this discussion is at an end.”

  Archer, who had been lounging on a settee, bestirred himself to snort after her last statement. “My ward is utterly correct. Besides, the solution to her dilemma is beautifully simple.” He turned to Oriana. “She has obviously been visiting you, niece. You two discovered you had much in common during the ball, so you invited her to stay for a few days, as your guest.”

  “But, I—” Nathaniel said.

  Archer waved impatiently. “Of course, this does not address your situation. Although I should think you would be relieved that the tally of your victims remains at two and not three.”

  “My victims? My victims! Has no one listened to a word I have said? As far as I can discern, the only victim here is me! I am hounded by these damn women day and night, and as if that was not enough, they are accusing me of having killed two of them. And has this deterred any of them? No. No, it has not. In fact, if you want to know the truth, I think being branded a murderer is almost as attractive to females as being a duke. All I can say is: I applaud the spirit of the man who had the nerve to do them in!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Libel and indictable slander.—Libels upon individuals are malicious defamatory expressions, writings, pictures, &c., tending to blacken the character and expose them to public hatred, contempt, and ridicule. — Constable’s Pocket Guide

  Nathaniel glanced around at his family. They were all staring at him.

  His sister, Oriana, recovered first. “I am sure whoever he is, the murderer would be pleased to hear you say you appreciate his efforts. Nonetheless, perhaps Miss Haywood would like to go home?”

  Archer stood. “Of course.”

  “I will ask Lansbury to bring the coach around,” Nathaniel said.

  Charlotte glared at him. He returned her gaze with a directness that made her drop her eyes to her lap. Her hands nervously plucked at the coarse threads of her dress.

  Oriana gazed at her husband and shook her head, infinitesimally.

  Dacy took his cue and stood, “I think it would be best to use our carriage for Miss Haywood,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Charlotte replied.

  Nathaniel turned on his heel and walked down the stairs before he said anything further that might cut away what little ground remained beneath his feet. His footing with Charlotte was precarious enough.

  He couldn’t understand how he had handled the situation so poorly. Where had his customary savoir faire gone? Love must have addled what remained of his wits.

  When he heard a soft step behind him, he turned to find Archer’s brown eyes appraising him. “That was, without a doubt, the worst proposal I have ever been privileged to witness.”

  “Despite what you might think, having an audience does not improve a man’s performance.”

  “Then it might have been wiser to wait until you were in a more private situation.”

  “Do you think I don’t realize that?” Nathaniel rounded on him. “In fact, if it was not for your positively brilliant suggestion that I propose to Miss Haywood, and the subsequent plan to kidnap her in order to earn her gratitude after our noble rescue, I would not be in this appalling situation.”

  “I fail to see how my simple suggestions are to blame for your failures,” Archer said mildly.

  “You—never mind.” Nathaniel sighed.

  “At least your friend appears to be adept at finding things. Perhaps he will be able to locate whoever has murdered these poor women.”

  “I certainly hope so, or you are likely to be the next Duke of Peckham.”

  Archer laughed. “Hardly. However, have you stopped to consider why these specific ladies suffered their accidents?”

  “Yes. I have considered little else over the last few weeks.” Except when he was worrying about Charlotte.

  While they spoke, Lansbury finally brought the carriage to the front door. Nathaniel and Archer climbed inside, settling back into the gloomy depths—though not before the interior was thoroughly checked. The coach smelled strongly of wet leather and lye and heavy swaths of waxed cotton covered the seats.

  Death seemed to sit in the shadows around them, perfuming the air with rottenness. Nathaniel felt trapped in a nightmare from which he could not extricate himself.

  When the carriage door closed, Archer continued. “I find this impossible to believe—I have known you since you were a babe—but might someone wish to see you suffer?”

  “Other than Miss Haywood?” Nathaniel bit off a sharp laugh. “No—yes—I am sure there are some who dislike me.” He glanced out the window. “Politics….”

  “But can you think of any in particular? Any who would hate you enough to hope you would hang as a murderer?”

  “No one. Have you considered that whoever is killing these women just does not like them?”

  “I have. However, I cannot believe that two young females, who were both less than one-and-twenty years of age, would have had the time to make such deadly enemies. Or that two would make the same enemy. The odds are against it.”

  “I consider the odds to be against someone killing two women just to see me hang.”

  “Then what possible reason can this madman have?”

  “The hell of it is, I cannot imagine.” But something— some idea—tickled the back of Nathaniel’s mind. He scratched his shoulder and gazed at the crowded streets.

  He needed time to think.

  The only person who would immediately profit if he hung—assuming the Crown did not make the title and entailed properties forfeit—was John Archer. Archer was the fourth boy fathered by the last Duke of Peckham, and Archer had been the one who proposed these ridiculous schemes. But no matter how he tried, Nathaniel could not truly believe his uncle randomly selected and killed two women, despite his love for convoluted schemes.

  And Archer had obtained the assistance of Cheery. Surely, he would not have done that if he hoped his nephew would hang for murder. Nathaniel dismissed his doubts and tried to concentrate on the wisp of an idea hanging at the back of his mind.

  When they finally arrived at the Archer residence, his uncle stepped down lightly and turned back to Nathaniel. “Never fear, nevvy. We will find our way out of this tangle. Your friend, Mr. Gaunt, is remarkably perspicacious. I have no doubt he will find the man responsible for these crimes. In the meantime, strive to look a little less like a hounded ruffian if you wish to woo Miss Haywood.”

  “I have given up there.” Nathaniel tapped his long fingers on the window frame. Despite his words, his mind raced over ways to catch her attention. Flowers. Poetry. Another kidnapping…. “Frankly, I am relieved things turned out as they did. I cannot for the life of me imagine how galling it would be to become engaged to such a woman.”

  “Particularly since you love her.” Archer sighed. “I suppose I will have to bend my mind toward another plan.”

  “Good God, no! Absolutely, not! Do not, under any circumstances, even consider anything involving either Miss Haywood or me in another scheme. Is that clear?”

  Archer laughed. “Get some rest, nevvy, your nerves are shattered. By morning, the cards on the table will be reshuffled. We will see what hand can be dealt, then.” Still grinning, Archer sprang up the stairs and disappeared into his house.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A constable is not authorized to enter any house or premises, for the purpose of seeing for nuisances… — Constable’s Pocket Guide

  Nathani
el shook his head and briefly considered staying in front of the Archer townhouse until Charlotte arrived. When he glanced at his watch, he thought better of it. It was almost one in the morning. Not particularly late, considering that many of the balls he attended did not end until after three, but Charlotte was probably still hysterical after her recent experiences. She needed quiet to recover.

  He pounded on the roof of his carriage to signal Lansbury to continue home. Upon their arrival, he strode into the hallway to find his entire staff lounging around, yawning and awaiting further orders.

  “Send them to bed, Michael,” Nathaniel said. “Miss Haywood has been found.” He thought about the impromptu story Archer had devised and smiled grimly before adding, “She was visiting my sister. They neglected to mention it to anyone, I am afraid.”

  “All this for naught, then?” Michael asked, waving at the rest of the men staring dazedly at Nathaniel.

  He shook his head and handed his hat to the butler. “It appears that way. The important point to remember is that Miss Haywood is safe.” Some of his insouciance returned. He smiled. “And I commend your readiness to continue our search. Thank you all.” They’d all get bonuses in the morning—it was the least he could do.

  There were a few grumbles about the loss of what could have been a fine adventure. However with the exception of Michael, they soon wandered away, bones creaking and hands covering their yawning mouths.

  “You will want me to check your bedroom, then?” Michael asked.

  Nathaniel’s grin faltered. “Yes, but be quick. I am exhausted.”

  Michael didn’t take long in searching his quarters and Nathaniel was soon stretched out in bed. His muscles ached from tension, but his mind would not rest. Over and over again, he pictured Lady Anne and Miss Suzanne Mooreland. Their eyes stared at him, dull and hopeless.

  And who had kidnapped Charlotte? Was it really Red? Did he truly have the effrontery to hide her in Dacy’s attic?

  He rolled over, jerking the quilt strait. However, despite his worries, the events eventually took their toll. Near dawn, he managed to fall asleep and the next morning, his mood lifted when he saw the early paper, delivered to his chambers along with his morning chocolate and roll.

  Heiress Found! The headlines blazoned the news across the front page.

  The American Heiress missing for the last week has been located at last. She was never missing at all! It seems Miss Haywood has been staying in comfort at the home of Lord Dacy and his wife, the sister of the Duke of Peckham. This must be a great relief to all of our readers, who have been fearful that this young lady may have been the third victim of the madman still unidentified and free in our proud city.

  Public outrage over his continued freedom increases daily. We fear for the fate of our fair daughters if he should remain loose and strike again. Even our famous Bow Street runners have been ineffectual in preserving our safety. We can only pray for a rapid detainment and subsequent trial of the monster….

  While it was comforting to know Charlotte was safe at the Archer’s residence, it annoyed him that the newspapers still considered him to be a depraved killer.

  There had to be some evidence to support Nathaniel’s protestations of innocence. He—or Cheery—had to find it soon, or he wouldn’t retain his freedom much longer. The newspapers were correct on that score.

  Of late, Nathaniel had studiously avoided many of his favorite haunts. Meeting the father of either murdered girl meant a confrontation and challenge. And if they refrained from that action, the grieving families still had one more avenue to explore if Nathaniel could not find the murderer: they could demand that Nathaniel face the House of Lords based upon the evidence already available. His blood-soaked clothing and the fact that Miss Mooreland was found in his carriage, when combined with Bolton’s claims of having seen Nathaniel running through the garden at the time of Lady Anne’s death, would be sufficient to see him hang.

  He had to do something. However, the nascent idea lingering in the back of his mind stubbornly refused to spring to life.

  After dressing, Nathaniel called for his curricle. He had to get out of the house. Despite yesterday, he also wanted to see Charlotte. He had to explain and obtain her forgiveness, or at least her understanding.

  If she had recovered, she might even be convinced to go on a drive through the cool morning mist. The sun shone for the first time in days, and it was perfect weather for a leisurely drive. He could make her understand that she should marry him if he could just speak to her alone.

  When he arrived at the Archers, he was lead upstairs to a sitting room and told to wait. The house was strangely hushed. Nathaniel’s stomach clenched. Had something else gone wrong? Was someone ill?

  Archer joined him before Nathaniel decided to try to find Charlotte.

  “What’s wrong?” Nathaniel asked.

  Archer took a seat. “That is an interesting question. We had a letter yesterday from Charleston, South Carolina.”

  “Does this have to do with Charlotte?”

  “Yes. When she arrived, I sent word to some men I trust to verify her estates. Since I am responsible for managing her inheritance, I wanted to understand the condition and productivity of her land and investments. From Westover’s records, her income appeared to be steadily declining.”

  A cold feeling poured through Nathaniel. “Is she poor?”

  Archer shook his head. “Not precisely. Not poor, but certainly not as well off as we had been led to believe. It seems the estate manager had been selling off parcels of land over the last eight years. I am unable to determine what became of the money he must have received in return for the property. He is now missing. There is little left except a rather large, drafty house in the town of Charleston and a few investments. We would not have received word so quickly if a man had not already been on the way. Some old friends of the family sent him when they saw the state of her farmlands.”

  “How bad is it?” All he could think about was Charlotte’s face when she spoke about Egypt and her determination to travel to Cairo. Would she even be able to afford the boat fare?

  “From my calculations, she is not precisely a pauper, but her inheritance as it stands today is roughly one third what it was eight years ago. I am afraid her previous guardians were not particularly astute men.”

  “Damn it!” Nathaniel stood up and paced. “Does she know?”

  “Yes. I discussed it with her this morning after she expressed her intentions to leave immediately for Cairo. I explained I will do my best to invest what remains, but I recommended against any plans to spend large amounts for any purpose until we can complete a review of her finances.”

  “Thank you,” Nathaniel said, threading his fingers through his hair. “Did she…did she agree to stay?”

  “For a while.”

  “Excellent. That gives me a chance—” Nathaniel stopped abruptly. He was despicable to feel such relief and near happiness at the news that Miss Haywood had lost most of her fortune.

  However, her misfortunes did grant him time to make amends.

  If they couldn’t repair her fortunes, then he would offer to fund a brief trip for her, under certain conditions. While he wasn’t a killer, he wasn’t above a little blackmail.

  Charlotte could go to Cairo after she married him. She might not love him, and might, in fact loathe him, but he’d settle for that if she’d marry him.

  His love would be enough for the both of them.

  And perhaps she would agree if he pointed out that they’d at least have moderately intelligent children. She was bluestocking enough to appreciate that aspect of his proposal. Although after the last few days, he wasn’t sure he could convince her of that, either.

  “Now, nevvy, I have been thinking about your prospects with regard to my ward. Despite the hardship of losing her fortune, it might—”

  “Be quiet. I don’t need any more suggestions, if you don’t mind. I refuse to see her loss of fortune as a possible advanta
ge.” He was lying, but the last thing he wanted was any more interference from John Archer.

  “Of course. She would be pleased to hear you say that.”

  “That fails to reassure me. Did she—did she mention me at all?”

  Archer laughed, looking rather Puckish and sly. “I am not one to listen to idle, female prattle.”

  “She did, then. Is she furious?”

  “No. Not precisely furious, but it was not to our advantage when we found her in Oriana’s attic. She rather assumed that you kidnapped her and kept her there in order to convince her to marry you.”

  “And why would she think that?”

  “Circumstantial evidence.”

  “Which in this case, is partially true. Except we failed utterly and were not the ones who actually kidnapped her. Have you any idea who that bastard might have been?”

  “None at all, but I am sure Mr. Gaunt will figure it out. He was here this morning before visiting the Dacy residence again to question the staff. I gather he also spoke to Miss Haywood’s new footman, Tom Henry, for what that information is worth.”

  “Well, I wish him luck.” Nathaniel didn’t understand why Charlotte claimed never to have seen Red Smythe before, but Red didn’t look like the kind of man who would go haring off to kidnap an heiress on his own, assuming he had been involved at all.

  Red Smythe definitely had a partner giving him instructions. Unfortunately, getting information on the identity of that man would not be easy. If Nathaniel read him right, Red would keep his mouth shut. His face was scarred from taking punches, so a few questions wouldn’t rattle him, particularly since Charlotte had illogically chosen to defend him.

  “May I speak with Charlotte?”

  Archer considered it, and then nodded. He rang for a maid and asked the girl to fetch both Lady Victoria and Miss Haywood.