The Captain of Her Betrayed Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  Jules laughed, “Might’ve been.”

  “You really should be careful, Julia,” her mother warned. “It’s bad enough that you insist on keeping this ridiculous pretense up, but with the guards arresting people without regard, I worry so about you. I thought when your father died that you would put this all aside and look for a husband perhaps.”

  Jules walked back out of the kitchen and shook her head at her mother. “Father needed an apprentice, Mother. And after he died, we needed the money. I’m doing what Father trained me to do. What is the point of having a skill if it doesn’t benefit my family?”

  “You should have a family of your own by now,” her mother said.

  Jules dropped down into a rickety wooden chair near her mother. “And where is Georgette? And Tally? They are off working, aren’t they?” When her mother did not respond, Julia continued, “They are just little girls. Tally is barely six.”

  “You started working when you were younger than that,” her mother said, but Julia could see the worry in her eyes.

  Julia nodded and agreed, “Yes, I did. I held reins for riders out on the street while they did their errands. I even carried bundles across town for people.” She sighed. “I saw them an hour ago. They are still helping till the garden for that wealthy widower on Blackston Street.”

  There was a sigh of relief from the mother as she smiled. “I’m glad they’ve you to watch out for them, Jules.”

  Jules eyed her mother and the bags under the woman’s eyes. The skin on her fingers was bleeding again from her work, but her mother never complained. At fifteen, her mother had married Jules’ father. Her father, Ralph Kelley had a bright future, and they set out on their adventure into the rising middle class.

  Mrs Kelley eyed her daughter. “What are you thinking about?”

  “How you and Papa should have had a good life,” Jules said. “When he died, there were no male relatives to keep control of our property; I felt outraged. Because of a matter of birth, we lost all we had. That’s why when we moved here I kept the persona of father’s son alive, Mum. If I hadn’t, there’s no telling what would have happened.”

  Mrs Kelley nodded. “You are a brave and noble soul, Julia. I’m sorry. I meant Jules,” her mother said as she smiled over at her daughter.” Mrs Kelley looked back down at her work and then said, “It is a rather charming name, even for a girl.”

  “It has rather grown on me,” Jules admitted. “Besides, it is all Papa ever called me, and it reminds me of him. I miss him.”

  Mrs Kelley nodded sadly. “I do too. He was a good man.”

  “A man that none of us seem likely to forget soon. You could have remarried after all. It’s acceptable to avoid poverty,” Jules said thoughtfully.

  Mrs Kelley scoffed, “Isn’t a man alive could match your father.”

  “Maybe not,” Jules said softly. Her mind went back to the strange herder she had met today. “I met a stranger today.”

  Her mother looked over at her curiously. “What’s so odd about that?”

  “He claimed to be a herder, but his hands weren’t calloused. Then when he left, I saw him head toward the city’s centre.” Jules propped her elbows up on her knees. “Do you think he’s a guardsman?”

  Mrs Kelley shook her head. “I wouldn’t think they’d have the head for disguise and such.” Mrs Kelley frowned and added, “Might want to be careful, though. There have been rumours of raids and arrests. Could be someone looking for evidence of libel to stick all you masons in chains.”

  “Don’t worry, Mum. I’m always careful,” Jules promised. “Better get back to work. I’ll check on the girls when I get a chance.” Jules tucked her hair under her cap and gave her mother a wave goodbye.

  ***

  The music swirled through Mallory Hall like the smoke that drifted on the air from the cigars the men were gathered smoking. Lady Mallory preferred the smoke to be kept in the garden, but there always seemed to be a knot of men who had not yet suffered the wrath that the Lady of Mallory bestowed upon those who broke her rules.

  Gregory had learned a long time ago to steer clear of such behaviour in Mallory Hall, and he bypassed the men who gave him nods as he passed. As he turned to go towards the garden, a slender hand halted him with gentle pressure on his arm. Gregory turned towards the person already aware of who it would be.

  “Yolanda Greyson, my you have grown,” Gregory said as he turned to face the petite young woman. Her strawberry blonde hair had been curled and pinned so that Gregory thought it a wonder that she could hold her head up straight.

  “Your Grace, I’m honoured that you remember me,” the young woman said with breathy enthusiasm.

  Gregory started to suggest that she loosen her corset so she could speak properly but bit down on the remark. Instead, he smiled and said, “Who could forget such a lovely girl.” He made sure to emphasize the girl part. He had no interest in the child as a woman.

  Yolanda was the daughter of a wealthy merchant, sugar cane if Gregory remembered her father’s occupation correctly, but the man had been bestowed an honorary title which made his attendance to such affairs, unfortunately, a standard event. As if the man had been summoned by Gregory’s thoughts, Yolanda’s father appeared at her elbow.

  Sir Greyson grinned happily at Gregory. The short man’s pudgy fingers were practically dancing as if he was counting money. “Your Grace, I’m so happy that you’ve shown such interest in my daughter. She’s been very well educated, but not too haughtily.”

  Gregory fought the urge to shove the man and his daughter out of his way. The merchant was clearly intent on listing the benefits and charms of his daughter as if to tempt Gregory into purchasing the girl. It might have worked with his sugar cane import, but it did nothing to make the girl appear more interesting to Gregory.

  “Boris,” Gregory said cheerily as his cousin walked over. “You are just the man I wanted to see!”

  Boris raised a bushy eyebrow in suspicion. “I am?”

  “Yes, I need to speak to you on an urgent matter.” Gregory turned an apologetic smile towards the father and daughter duo he had been speaking with. “I know that a man of your stature understands that business can’t wait,” Gregory said to Sir Greyson. To Yolanda, Gregory gave a bow and offered, “I certainly hope you enjoy yourself.”

  Yolanda gave him a smile which she hid behind her gloved hand. Gregory grabbed Boris’ arm and led the man away forthright. Gregory only halted when they were hidden from sight by the columns. “Mercy on you, good Boris,” Gregory said with feeling.

  Boris chuckled. “Running from the matrimonial yoke again, Cousin?”

  “As fast as a mule who has had the whip one too many times,” Gregory agreed heartily. It was then that Gregory took in his cousin’s appearance. “Boris, you shaved.”

  Boris tapped his chin. “By the King’s name, someone has stolen my beard,” Boris said with dramatic flair.

  “You are still an awful actor,” Gregory said as he clapped his hand on Boris’ shoulder. “Tell me that you have not been enchanted by a foul potion.”

  Boris’ curly eyebrows furrowed until they almost touched his curly locks. “Your tongue always holds such clever mockery, but in all seriousness, I am courting a young lady.”

  “What young lady have you caged with your lion’s gaze?” Gregory leaned his elbow against the column as he watched his cousin intently.

  Drawing himself up, Boris said proudly, “I’m courting the youngest daughter of the Marquis of Dorchire.”

  “Is that the one with the freckles? Or the one with the prominent front teeth?” Gregory asked the question earnestly. He never could keep track of the Marquis’ daughters. The man had seven of them after all, and they looked exceptionally alike.

  Boris groaned, “She has freckles, Gregory. Honestly, you should think of your position more than you do. You carry on as if you are still a boy running through the gardens and stealing fruit.”

  “If only I were,” Gregory lament
ed.

  Boris was a good two inches taller than even Gregory who stood six feet tall, and he looked every bit of it and then some when the man drew himself up to his full height. Gregory patted his cousin on the shoulder again amicably. Boris relented a bit in his stance. “You should think of heirs,” Boris said gently. “Or will you leave that to Fred?”

  Fredrick was Gregory’s younger brother. Gregory had been set to join the war, but when their father died, Gregory took over the title, and Fredrick took Gregory’s place on the battlefield. Gregory sighed, “Fred is still recovering. I think the fairer set is not on his mind at the moment.”

  “I had heard that he was injured,” Boris said sadly. “I do hope he is well enough to join us on an outing or at least for a visit soon. I would very much like to catch up with him. You will tell him that, will you not?”

  Gregory nodded. “Of course I will.”

  ***

  “Jules,” David Larkin called as he came over to where Jules was making sure the walls of the shop they were building were level. Jules raised her eyes up to the man. She and David were junior masons together before Jules got promoted. David panted, “There’s been a fire.”

  Everyone seemed to be running the next moment. It was as if the whole of the human population was swarming towards the light that flickered in the predawn hours. All the tradesmen and women that were close enough rushed to help, but at the building they were pushed back by the heat.

  Jules stared open-mouthed and filled with frustration. Try as they might to rush into the building, the flames pushed them back. No help seemed to be coming, but there was the commotion of running feet. Buckets and water flew between hands. Jules could not see where they were getting the water from.

  A woman’s cry near Jules made her turn her head towards the ailing woman. The woman sat miserably leaning against a post with another woman’s arms around her as if holding the wailing woman back from the fire. “My Bonnie!” the woman wailed over and over.

  Jules understood. The factory had employed children. Jules swallowed down her fear and ran toward the fire again. The fire burst out a window. Jules and two men scattered to avoid the flying glass. “We can’t get in,” one of the men shouted.

  “Just help with the water,” Jules shouted. “It’s too far gone. We need to keep it from spreading to the other buildings.” She felt defeated, but there was no reason to get others killed.

  ***

  The breakfast was spread out over the small, intimate table that his mother liked to eat at in the morning. Lady St Claire had a very dear affection for the roses in her garden and liked to dine among them whenever possible. Gregory looked out through the glass doors that opened onto a stone terrace where his mother’s breakfast table was set up.

  As Gregory opened the door to go out into the garden, his mother looked around at him. She was a short woman, full of figure and of fire, as Gregory’s father had always said. “Morning, Mother,” Gregory said amicably as he came over and pulled out a chair for himself.

  “And to you, son of mine,” Lady St Claire said in amusement. “Did you run into that merchant and his daughter?”

  Gregory gave his mother a look of dismay. “I certainly hope that you have not been encouraging Greyson and his offspring with their schemes,” Gregory said as he picked up a plum off the fruit bowl set to one side.

  “I would not say that,” Lady St Claire said with a wry grin. “No. I simply have stated to the merchant that I would very much like to see you happily wedded. If he took that as an endorsement, then that is on his shoulders.”

  There was no point in arguing over the details of what she said. The woman was used to the twisting tongues of the courtesans and ambassadors of the court. She could talk herself out of anything if she were given enough room to manoeuvre. Gregory ate his fruit in silence. His mother seemed content with that arrangement as well as she went back to looking over her garden.

  The door from the living area that opened onto the terrace burst open with enough force to rattle the glass in the wooden frame. Lady St Claire put her hand over her heart. “Fredrick St Claire, you are going to break that door. It was a gift from the French ambassador,” Lady St Claire said sternly.

  Fredrick did not look abashed at the scolding, instead he came over to the table unsteadily. He had not yet gotten the knack of walking on the wooden leg that he had been fitted with, and he refused to use the crutches even when at home. “Thought you might be interested in this,” Fred said as he dropped a newspaper onto the table near Gregory before slumping down in a chair.

  Gregory picked up the newspaper. He had thought it would be another of those horrible gossip papers that spread all sort of rumours about anyone of any importance. Gregory had found himself in a few over the years.

  Instead of the gossip rag, Gregory found it was the daily newspaper. There were an account and a depiction of a fire at a factory over near where Gregory had been the day before. His thoughts flicked to the spokesman briefly. “What a horrible thing,” Gregory said as he pushed the newspaper away.

  “Horrible thing? Children died,” Fred spat. “What’s worse is there’s a clamour already that it was set deliberately.”

  Lady St Claire gave a strangled cry of distress. “Can we please not talk about such things while breaking our fast?”

  Fred grew silent, but he stared at Gregory with a glare. Gregory nodded and tapped the paper. “I might see what I can learn about all this while I am out today,” he said lightly.

  “You will do no such thing,” Lady St Claire said then she added, “I am sorry to treat you like a child, but you have to take your responsibilities seriously.

  Gregory agreed, “I know, and that is exactly why I need to know the truth.” He sighed, “I promise to be careful, but I have to satisfy my curiosity on this.” With his mother somewhat distracted, Gregory turned to his brother, “Fred you should take a jaunt with me and get out of this stuffy house.”

  “You know that I cannot do that,” Fred said as he folded his arms across his chest defiantly. Although he was two years Gregory’s junior, one would have thought him much older with the deep lines that etched across his face in the early morning sun.

  Gregory reached across the table and grasped his brother’s arm. “Are you truly unable, or are you merely adopting an attitude of ineptitude to keep from facing the world outside?”

  “Leave me be about it,” Fred warned as the man shoved to his feet.

  After Fred had made his exit, Gregory took his leave of his mother’s breakfast table. He went back upstairs, and instead of putting on his commoner’s disguise, he pulled on his travelling coat. The sun was bright and shining without giving any clue to the fact that a tragedy had occurred the night before.

  ***

  The street the fire had happened on was one filled with small businesses and residencies. The buildings had smut on them from the smoke of the fire, and everywhere lay bits of ashes or burned wood. Gregory stepped over a piece of debris, wary of the sharp nails sticking out of it.

  The rancid scent of smoke filled the air, and Gregory pulled a handkerchief out of his coat pocket to hold over his mouth and nose. He looked around at a sound and saw movement from the burned-out building. Three youths were carrying a bundle out wrapped in a blanket. Bile rose in Gregory’s mouth. He had not realized that the bodies of the workers were inside still.

  “Not something a Lordly sort sees every day,” a voice said behind Gregory causing Gregory to turn abruptly to face the speaker. The young man from the day before stared at Gregory with an air of distrust.

  Gregory coughed to clear the smoke scent from his nostrils. “Yes, I guess I thought they would have the bodies moved by now.”