Miss Marleigh's Pirate Lord (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 1)

by Mindy Burbidge Strunk

  “Why do you care if he sees a doctor? He is obviously a scoundrel.”

  Abigail placed a hand on his arm as she exited the carriage. She closed the door when Harry came for another trunk.

  She waited until Harry was on top of the carriage, unlatching a trunk, before she spoke. “The noise you heard was Clara shooting him in the leg. Should he die, she would be responsible." She looked him in the eye. "Any other questions?"

  "Plenty," Timmons muttered, but then clamped his mouth shut. He helped Clara and Hannah from the carriage before climbing in and looking the man over. Timmons pulled the rug back over the Captain. "Miss Marleigh, you and Miss Martindale should go into the inn and get settled. I will see to the carriage." His eyes flicked to Harry before returning back to Abigail.

  Abigail nodded, allowing Harry to proceed them into the inn.

  “Come, Clara.” After taking a few steps, Abigail turned back. "Oh, Timmons…"

  He looked up at her.

  "I shall be looking in on the gentleman once he is settled and a doctor has seen to his wounds."

  "Gentleman." Timmons scoffed. "I know you well enough, miss, to have realized as much. I will inform you once he is settled."

  Abigail offered Timmons a smile, then softened her voice. "Thank you, Timmons."

  Chapter 3

  Alex's head lolled to the left and then to the right, pounding with each movement. His shoulder burned—he remembered the skirmish on board the Destiny—but his leg also ached. When had that happened?

  He tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t cooperate, instead remaining firmly shut.

  "Try not to move too much. You don't want to open up your stitches."

  The voice did not sound familiar and caused Alex's pulse to accelerate. He tried again to open his eyes, this time forcing them open. Cracking one and then the other, he saw an older gentleman hovering over him.

  "There now. Not to worry. You are going to be well in no time." The man looked towards the door and hollered. "Maryanne. Maryanne, please bring up the broth. The patient has awakened."

  Alex squinted, taking in the room around him. The room was modest in size and furnishings, white the dominate color. Only the blanket and the wooden furniture broke up the monotony of the walls and sheets. It seemed clean enough, but Alex had no idea where he was, which disturbed him more than dirt would have. He pushed himself up but dropped back to the bed in pain.

  "Don't try to get up yet. You’ve lost a lot of blood. If we can get some food in you, you will be feeling better in no time, I dare say. You were lucky the balls missed major arteries." His voice held little kindness, only cautious professionalism.

  Balls? Arteries? What was the man gabbing about? Alex closed his eyes and took in slow deep breaths until the pain ebbed. He opened his eyes again. "Where am I? Who are you?" The last thing he remembered was watching the ladies he had abducted argue about how to deal with him. Alex's voice was scratchy and weak.

  The man stared down at him. He put a hand to Alex's head. "I think your fever has broken."

  Alex reached up and grasped the man’s wrist firmly. "You didn't answer my questions." Even with the raspiness, Alex heard the growl in his voice.

  "Oh, yes. My apologies. I am Doctor Jenkins and you are in my home." Fear replaced the caution in the doctor’s gaze. His eyes flicked from Alex's face to his hand, still tightly clenched around the doctor’s wrist. "I am surprised at your strength—after what you have been through."

  Alex slowly released his grip and the doctor pulled his hand away, flexing his fingers several times.

  "How did I come to be here?"

  The doctor raised a brow. "The coachman of a young lady brought you in. He said his mistress was most anxious about your welfare and directed him to bring you here." He looked to the door again, but his eyes flicked back to the bed quickly. Alex recognized the look. Most people were not comfortable leaving his type unwatched.

  "It seems she found you on the side of the road, near death, just outside of the village." Doctor Jenkins stood up and walked to the doorway. Poking his head out, he hollered gruffly down the hallway before he returned to his seat. "Had she not picked you up, you would surely have died. Between the two wounds, you’ve lost a lot of blood."

  "Two wounds?" How had he sustained the second injury?

  "Yes. One in the shoulder, the other in your thigh." The doctor scratched his head. "It is curious, though. The ball in your leg seems more recent than the wound in your shoulder. The first ball went straight through your shoulder—the fates were smiling on you. Although, looking at your other scars…" Doctor Jenkins’s brows rose.

  Alex snorted. "I've never heard one called lucky for being shot twice." He pushed the pounding in his head away so he could think. "Which village did you say I am in, exactly?"

  "Arundel. You were quite unconscious when the coachman brought you in."

  Alex remembered enough to know the coachman had told quite the bouncer, obviously trying to keep his mistress’s reputation intact.

  Arundel was a larger village than Alex had hoped. It was likely Andrews and his crew could trace him here. Perhaps he should travel on to Leeds. Leeds? Why should he choose Leeds, of all places?

  Alex shook his head and instantly regretted the action. "Did the coachman leave his name? Or the name of his employer? I should like to send a note with my thanks." He pushed himself up, gritting his teeth until the pain subsided.

  “You shouldn’t try to get up yet. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  Alex glared at Doctor Jenkins. “I’ve been in worse condition than this, sir. And I really need to be on my way.”

  The doctor shook his head and sighed. "The coachman was not forth coming with information, nor was his mistress when she came to check in on you. Not that I blame her. It's not proper, injured or not, for a young lady to be in a carriage with a strange man. Fortunately, you were close to town. They left money to cover your expenses, but that is all."

  “How am I to repay the debt?” Alex felt his frustrations rising. So much in his life felt beyond his control. A situation he loathed to be in. He needed to contact Sir Richard, immediately.

  "I need to get a message to London. It is urgent. Is there a rider in the area? Someone who is trustworthy and fast?"

  "Let me think." Doctor Jenkins scratched his chin. "I know just the boy."

  “Never you mind. I shall go myself.” Alex twisted and dropped his feet to the floor beside the bed. The room began to spin. He placed his hands next to his seat on the pallet, waiting for the dizziness to stop. He pushed himself up to standing and his leg gave out, dropping Alex to the ground like a sack of wheat.

  The doctor grumbled about headstrong nodcocks as he helped hoist Alex back into the bed. “You’ll not be ready to walk for days yet.”

  Alex growled back. “I haven’t got days to waste.”

  An older woman entered the room carrying a tray. Her eyes darted about, as if she suspected pirates to be lurking in the morning shadows. She placed the tray on the side of the bed, leaning in closer to the doctor. "I don't like this, Jasper."

  The doctor smiled up at her and patted her hand. "Not to worry, sister. Our guest means us no harm, isn't that right Mr.…." He raised expectant eyes to Alex.

  What name should he give them? Using his pirate name would give Andrews a trail to follow, however, he doubted too many men came through this town with gunshot wounds, so using his family name was just as risky, and could compromise his family’s safety.

  "Cutler." He looked up at the woman, noting the fear in her eyes. After all these years, he still could not ignore the look. "Your brother is correct. I intend you no harm. Rather, I am in your debt for taking me in. Most wouldn't have even considered it. I will leave as soon as I am able." He smiled, but it served only to increase the fear on her face. Had he transformed so completely into his charade?

  The woman wrung her hands together. "Well, it was not my decision to help you, so you needn't thank me.
"

  Doctor Jenkins stood and led his sister to the door. "I don't believe telling the man you would have let him die is the best way to ensure our safety. Now please, go fetch young Mr. Tilley, but do not utter a word about our guest to anyone." His voice was low, but the room was small enough, Alex was able to hear every word. It brought a hint of a smile to his lips. This doctor was shrewd.

  "I should never! Imagine what should happen if people discovered what we have sheltered in our home." She poked her brother in the chest. "It could ruin you."

  "I will worry about that, Maryanne. Just go fetch Tilley." Doctor Jenkins gave his sister a little push and she scurried from the room. He retook his seat and moved to spoon some broth into Alex's mouth, but Alex shook his head.

  "If I could sit up, I believe I can feed myself."

  The doctor nodded and moved to help Alex sit up. Grudgingly, Alex accepted Doctor Jenkins’s hand, scooting his back up against the headboard. His brow broke out in perspiration. Since when had it become so taxing just to sit up in bed?

  Alex lifted the tray with shaky arms, but Doctor Jenkins took it from Alex and placed it on his lap.

  "You need not hover over me, doctor. I am sure I will recover."

  The doctor eyed him. "Yes, I believe you will."

  He is worried to leave me alone. He believes I shall sneak up from behind and kill them both.

  Alex looked around the room. His cabin on board the Destiny was more lavishly decorated than his current surroundings. And it was certain the booty from their last raid was more than this man had ever set eyes on. The good doctor had nothing to fear, but Alex did not believe explaining such circumstances would alleviate the doctor's fears. The familiar twist formed in his stomach and he pushed the soup away.

  Doctor Jenkins moved it back to the front of the tray. "You must eat, or you won’t get your strength back." He picked up the spoon, but Alex took it out of his hand. "I will have you know, Maryanne is known for her cooking. It is quite delicious." Was that a smile hovering at the corners of the good doctor’s lips?

  Alex lifted the spoon to his lips, the rich smell of the broth wafting to his nose. His stomach rumbled. Alex looked at Doctor Jenkins. "Can I trust she did not poison it? I get the sense she doesn't care for me."

  The doctor now smiled, but friendly was still not a term Alex would use to describe the old man. "She may bluster about, but she is harmless." His head nodded toward Alex. "Now, eat."

  Alex put the spoon in his mouth and a low moan followed his swallow. "I have never eaten such delicious broth. And my last cook was French."

  The sister appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Tilley is in the parlor. What do you need him for?"

  "I need him to deliver a message to London, as quickly as possible." Doctor Jenkins leaned toward the side table, grasping some paper and a quill.

  "Who do you even know in London, much less one who demands a missive at this moment?" She placed her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing.

  “That is all, Maryanne.” The doctor handed the paper over.

  Alex pushed the bowl back on his tray and scribbled out a note to Sir Richard.

  A gasp sounded from the doorway. "That is the good paper, Jasper!"

  The doctor waved his sister away.

  Alex folded the note and looked around for his satchel. "I had a bag with me. Where is it?" His voice became frantic.

  The doctor rose and retrieved it off the dresser nearby. Alex swallowed hard as his heart slowed. He withdrew a ring from the bag. "Might you have some wax?"

  After heating the stick, the doctor passed it to Alex; he rubbed it over the paper and pressed his ring into the red puddle.

  Flipping it over, he scrawled a name and directions on the front. Alex handed it over to the doctor. "Please tell him to wait for a response. And make haste. This is very important." Alex withdrew a one-pound note and handed it to the doctor. "Tell him there are two more of these if he is back before tea tomorrow."

  Miss Jenkins huffed from the doorway. "That is neigh onto impossible."

  "Not for Tilley, it isn't." The doctor left the room to give the instructions to the rider.

  Alex continued eating his soup. "This is delicious. Thank you for sharing."

  From the corner of his eye he saw Miss Jenkins slide toward the bureau and grasp the candlestick in her hand. She quickly tucked it behind her skirts as she stood guard by the doorway.

  Chapter 4

  The carriage rolled along, taking them ever farther away from Arundel and Captain Stringham. Abigail breathed deeply. Why did she feel guilty for leaving him behind?

  "You are not mooning over that dreadful man, are you Abi?" Clara's irritated voice penetrated Abigail's thoughts.

  She scowled at her cousin. "No. When have you ever known me to moon over anything, Clara? I do not moon." Abigail's insistence seemed to contradict her words.

  Clara raised a brow.

  Abigail looked out the window of the carriage as they pulled through an arched entrance and into the courtyard of a large house. The door opened and Harry's head appeared. The ladies had vowed not to breathe a word of the previous day's events to anyone, especially Harry. While Abigail did not know Hannah well, she trusted her cousin's maid to keep her word.

  Clara was handed out first, followed by Abigail and then Hannah. They all stared up at the beautiful building in front of them. While this house did not have the grandeur of Somerstone, the location of the last house party she had attended, it was very beautiful and held a great deal of promise.

  Abigail grunted softly. She had thought the same thing of Somerstone, only to watch several ladies find matches, while Abigail had left without an offer. Her time was running out. She needed this house party to be a success and provide her with a match.

  "There is no use standing about, gawking." Abigail squared her shoulders and moved toward the front door. “Let’s go inside.”

  Hannah and Harry headed around the side, in search of the servant's entrance.

  Abigail knocked on the door and an older man answered. "Good afternoon."

  Abigail dipped her head and handed her card to the butler. Clara did the same.

  "Ah, welcome to Havencrest, Miss Marleigh. Miss Martindale. I am Morton, the butler." He opened the door wide and motioned them into the house.

  They walked into a small entryway. A set of stairs flanked one side of the small room. Arched doorways dotted the entry, leading to halls branching off in all directions.

  Morton took the ladies’ spencers and bonnets and placed them on a long table pushed up against the wall. He called a small maid forward. "If you will follow Mary, she will show you to your chambers. I hope you enjoy your stay at Havencrest." The butler bowed and moved back to the table. Picking up their outer clothing, he disappeared through one of the many arches.

  Mary handed Abigail and Clara a stack of linens with a candle perched on top. Abigail looked from her pile to Clara. Both candles were already burned down, neither longer than Abigail’s middle finger.

  “These are the candles for the remainder of your stay."

  Clara looked at the stub of wax. "What do you mean for the remainder of our stay? Surely, this is not the only candle we are to receive."

  Mary smiled tightly. No doubt they were not the first guests to pose such questions. "Indeed, it is, miss. Mrs. Garvey was very clear in her instructions."

  Clara opened her mouth to speak, but Abigail placed a hand upon her arm and shook her head. “Thank you, Mary. We will try to be most prudent with our candle usage.”

  The maid nodded and lead them toward the staircase.

  Abigail fingered the linens in her arms and whispered to Clara. "It is different than Somerstone. Lady Du'Breven spared no expense on her guests at that party."

  Clara grumbled under her breath until they stopped in front of a door. The maid motioned to one side of the hall. "Miss Marleigh, this will be your room." Then the maid twisted and pointed to the door across the hall. "And this will b
e yours, Miss Martindale. Ring if you should need anything."

  Clara looked at her candle and opened her mouth. The maid shook her head. "Except for candles, Miss. Your trunks should already be inside. And your maid has been made aware of your room locations. Enjoy your stay at Havencrest." She curtsied and walked quickly away.

  "Enjoy our stay in the dark, she means." Clara huffed as she turned the candle over in her hands. "I have never…" Her voice trailed off as she walked into her room.

  Abigail stayed leaned against the door frame of Clara’s chambers.

  "Well, at least our chambers are pleasant enough. But why have candelabras if you are only allowed a single candle?" Irritation vibrated in her voice.

  Abigail turned away and pushed into her room, immediately liking the feel of it. The walls were painted a light gray, while the coverlet and chairs were in darker shades of charcoal and slate. The curtains at the window were of a thin white fabric, making the view outside appear as something out of a children's tale.

  Abigail sat in the window seat, pushing aside the curtain, and looked through the glass. The church and its yard lay to one side and the formal gardens to the other. Yes, this would do nicely. She pulled her legs up underneath her, tucking her dress around her half boots.

  In the distance, where the formal gardens ended, a planned wilderness took over, stretching far out into the countryside. It was rough and unkempt, but it was every bit as beautiful as the neatly manicured garden beneath her window. The man, Captain Stringham, from the carriage came to her mind. He was also untamed and wild, yet if he were clean shaven and dressed as a gentleman, she believed he would be quite handsome. Abigail would never admit such thoughts out loud, but in a different time and place, she could easily see herself forming an attachment to him.

  She shook her head. That was only her rebellion against her uncle speaking. She knew nothing about Captain Stringham, except he was a pirate. And that was not something to recommend him. Likely, he was no better than Sir Charles.