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

by Abigail Agar

“Odd for someone like you to be here at all,” the young man said. There was a pause before he continued, “It takes a long time to find bodies, especially the ones that are more badly burned.”

  Gregory could see the ash and smut that decorated the young man’s clothing and face. A group of men came by, and one of them clapped the young man on the back and said, “Ready to go back in?”

  The young man nodded and said to Gregory, “Feel free to hop to it, your Lordship.” The men guffawed and turned to go to the building with the young man in tow.

  Gregory did not get offended easily at the indifference to his title, but he still bristled at the distaste that the people here seemed to treat him with. He stepped into a bakery across the street.

  “Your Lordship, it is an honour,” the old baker gasped. “Can I get you a cake or some honey bread?”

  Gregory waved off the man’s offer. “I’m actually here enquiring about the fire.”

  “The fire, Lord?” The baker’s brows furrowed together. “No need to worry about that. They’ll have it sorted soon enough. The boys are just getting the remains so the families can have their dead. They’ll probably start tearing it down soon.”

  Gregory frowned and looked at the building across from the baker’s. The factory sat like a stark skeleton on the corner where one street met another. “The building does not concern me. Have there been any guardsmen to check into it?”

  “Doubtful the guards will worry over us, Lord,” the baker said with a shake of his head. The man seemed confused as to Gregory’s motive. “Do you own some property near here?” The man asked the question as he tried to reason out what Gregory had to do with the burned building.

  Gregory was doubtful the baker would give him any information. “Yes,” Gregory said, but he did not elaborate. To compensate the man for his time, Gregory laid some coins on the counter which the man profusely thanked him for as Gregory left.

  He would have been better off coming in disguise, Gregory realized. He had thought that perhaps a noble checking on his property would be a reasonable excuse to make enquiries. However, the locals appeared to be wary at best and hostile at worst towards their betters.

  Now his cover was blown since the young spokesman had seen him the day before. The young man had clearly recognized him. Gregory sighed in dissatisfaction. He walked towards the street where he had left his horse with a young girl.

  The little girl looked up with a smile as Gregory approached. Her dark hair showed that she was not used to frequent baths, and her face was smudged with what could have been any number of things. “For your worry,” Gregory said as he held out two coins to the girl. She took them with more enthusiasm than Gregory had ever seen. He could not help smiling as the girl raced off down the street that Gregory had just arrived from.

  ***

  “Whatcha suppose he’s up to?” Roger said gruffly after the dandy nobleman had taken his leave.

  Jules shrugged. “Checking property, perhaps,” Jules said with distaste. “That’s all the ranks of his sort care about.”

  They sat down heavily on the curb. Since before dawn, they had been sifting through the debris. There were still names unaccounted for, but the men had grown weary. David walked up dusting off his breeches and spat, “Would be nice to see a guardsman.”

  “They would just give you a fine for the effort of coming to look at you,” Roger said as he shook the ash from his red locks.

  Jules shook her head. “There’s no need to be so distraught over such as guards. What I’d love to know is where were the insurance’s watermen? No fire brigades seen yet, and we all know there was no way that Marcus didn’t have that place insured.”

  The men all nodded. Roger agreed, “I remember seeing the badge on the building.”

  “Aye,” called another Irishman down the way. “I saw the fire mark too. It was just by that lantern post by Roger’s head.

  There was a chorus of agreement from the men. Jules too was certain that something had gone terribly wrong. There had to be a reason the watermen did not come. Were they not called? “Speaking of the Devil, has anyone seen Marcus?” Marcus Lambert was the owner and operator of the factory in question.

  The men all fell silent. Roger scratched his head. “I saw him at the baker’s yesterday morning, can’t say I saw him again after that.”

  “Didn’t see him at the pub, either,” another local named Finnegan added. “He’s almost always there going on about his money.”

  Jules sighed. There definitely was something off about the fire.

  ***

  “Did you see what they were saying in the paper?” Jules’ mother asked as Jules came in from working all day to clear the rubble.

  Jules wiped her forearm across her ash-smeared forehead. “I’m certain it will not be helpful,” she said with a tired sigh.

  “The implication was that the fire was set deliberately. Why would anyone want to burn down that old place?” Mrs Kelley shook her head. “Makes little sense, and I can see no one that would benefit.”

  Jules was too tired to contemplate any of it, and she just grunted as she went to find her old mattress upstairs. She collapsed unceremoniously onto the mattress that had at one time been her grandmother’s. Jules just did remember to take off her cap before she gave herself up to sleep.

  ***

  “Sounds like the Luddites to me,” Maxwell Chapman said definitively. He rapped his knuckles on the wooden table in the Gentleman’s Club as if he were presiding over a court. Maxwell was a nobleman in his own right, as the son of the Duke of Rutherford, but he had chosen to dedicate himself to a life on the judge’s chair.

  Gregory shook his head. “I fail to see how it would benefit anyone to burn down a building filled mostly with women and children,” he said with disgust.

  “You obviously have not met any of the activists that claim to be trying to protect the jobs and security of the working class,” Maxwell said. “Why to them the only negative is if their jobs get hurt in the process.”

  Gregory sighed at his old friend, “Some of the people the Luddites advocate for worked in that very factory. Besides, I went down there and perceived the damage. The only ones there were the local tradesmen and artisan guilds. Not a guardsman in sight.”

  “Why would there be?” Maxwell lifted his shoulders dismissively. “The insurance companies are bound to keep the fires in check, not the guards.”

  While the answer did not sit well with Gregory, he knew that the guards only did what they had to do. Few would go beyond the normal calls of duty, especially for the kinds of people who worked and lived in the section of the city where the factory had been.

  Chapter 2

  Fredrick held the newspaper in his hand. “Going out to investigate?” he asked Gregory as his brother came downstairs dressed incognito in the white shirt and breeches.

  “Found out,” Gregory said in amusement. “I feel like there has to be something else there.”

  Fredrick nodded. “There might very well be,” he agreed. “There’s another story about the factory fire in the newspaper today.”

  “You seem more interested in that fire than you have in anything since you returned home. What makes it so intriguing?” Gregory sat down on one of the soft cushioned chairs in the foyer of their home in one of the more affluent sections of the city which was dominated by homes fit for the upper echelon of society.

  Fred did not respond right away, and when he finally did respond it was with a furrowed brow. “I cannot say that I know what fascinates me so about it. I saw so many things on the battlefield that I deemed unjust, that when I see something now that I do not agree with, I feel a compulsion to do something about it.”

  “In that, we are two of a kind, my brother,” Gregory said with feeling. “I wished so long to take your place but was impotent to do so. Now I wish to make something of the position I have. What is the point of all of this if I cannot do a little good in this world, after all?”

  F
redrick scoffed, “I thought you were more interested in evading the marriage altar.”

  “You have been talking to our cousin, I see,” Gregory said with amusement, but he did not deny the charge.

  There was a twinkle in Fred’s eyes that Gregory had not seen in some time. “Mother’s schemes can grow a bit tedious,” Fred said with joviality.

  “Come with me into the city,” Gregory pleaded. “See how the world has changed in your absence.”

  Fred shrugged off the idea. “I would rather keep some of my delusions in place for my own sanity, dear brother,” he said with a shake of his head.

  Gregory could not really disagree with that. It was easier not to look too closely than to peer at all the cracks under their very feet. Still, Gregory sighed. “One day we might not have the luxury of looking away, but until that time, I humbly hope the curtain stays drawn tight for you.”

  ***

  Jules walked briskly along Dauphin Street. There was a gathering of tradesmen and artisans, and she very much intended to be there. With no warning, she felt a hand grab her arm and pull her into a small alley between the buildings. “Get your hands off of me,” Jules growled as she lashed out at the person.

  “Calm yourself,” Gregory said as he dodged the blow the young man lashed out with. A struggle ensued which caused Jules’ hat to get knocked off. As it fell to the ground, Gregory stared in shock at the young man whose hair fell around his face. “You’re a woman,” Gregory whispered in disbelief.

  Jules shoved the man and pushed him away from her. “What are you doing?” Jules demanded the answer with all the bravado she had left. The man had guessed her gender, but she might still be able to play it off as simply feminine features. Lots of men had softer appearances.

  Gregory stared at the young ma—woman. “I was just going to ask you if you had learned anything else about the fire.”

  “What sort of game are you playing?” Jules had had enough of the nobleman playing rogue. “Is this what nobles do for sport when they can’t hunt down foxes?”

  The dark-haired youth stared back at Gregory defiantly. There had been no denial. There was no protest. The confidence in her face was overwhelming, and if Gregory had not been certain of her gender, he might have wavered in his opinion of her being of the gentler sex. However, his finger had brushed against what felt like a binding, and it did not feel like the kind of binding to shrink one’s waist.

  “Not all nobles are blind to the ills of our time,” Gregory said with a sigh as he let go of the youth and stepped back to look at the young woman. She was shorter than Gregory, much shorter. Her head only came to his chin. Yet, she did not give an inch in his presence.

  Jules sneered at the noble. “Is that so? It would suit you more to be in the House of Lords pushing for the things needed to change them, would it not?”

  “Truthfully, I can stand my peers little better than you can,” Gregory admitted. “Not everyone takes on their title willingly.”

  Jules laughed. She could not help it. “You talk as if you know suffering or sacrifice. That’s a trite thing coming from one such as you. Whatever you are playing at, I have no time for it. I have a gathering to be attending.”

  “If it is the one near the Easton Square, then I would delay,” Gregory advised. “I heard a rumour of a raid this eve.”

  Jules’ face was livid. “I have to go.” She shoved past the infuriating nobleman. He was swiftly following her, his blond hair standing out too much with its cleanness. He struck too striking a figure. “Stop following me,” Jules growled at the man.

  “Put your cap back on,” Gregory said as he caught up with the young woman. She snatched the cap from his hand and swiftly put her hair back under it with no inclination to thank Gregory for the reminder.

  She really was quite fetching, Gregory admired. Her single-minded determination made her all the more interesting to him. He had never had a passion such as the one that seemed to be infused into the short female body of the artisan.

  “What’s your name?” Gregory asked the question before he really thought about what he was asking.

  The dark eyes of the artisan looked around at him for the briefest second. Gregory thought it likely that she would ignore his request, but she said, “Jules.”

  “That’s an interesting name,” Gregory remarked. Their legs moved swiftly over the cobblestones of the street. Jules seemed very intent on reaching her fellow artisans to warn them of the raid.

  Jules muttered, “My father gave me the name.”

  “Is he the one who helped you assume this identity then?” Gregory thought about it and found it not such a far-fetched idea. He had heard of similar things taking place in all tiers of society.

  Jules whirled around on him. “And if he was? What do you think we would have done when my father died? We have no male relatives to speak of. Do you think that strangers would have taken pity on us?”

  Gregory shrugged as he too swung to a stop. “I would say that he was a wise and brave man then. He clearly had a lot of faith in you.”

  Jules seemed to be hung up by Gregory’s words as she stared at him in disbelief. “That almost sounded like approval.”

  “It is, in a way,” Gregory agreed. “If you think that I enjoy the idea of women taking on such responsibility, then you would be wrong. However, I have seen what workhouses can do to families, and I would not wish that on any person.”

  The next moment, there were shouts from up ahead. “The boys,” Jules muttered and took off at a run. Gregory swiftly caught up with her. Jules felt herself being lifted and pulled back around the corner of a building as a wagon clacked by. “Let go of me,” Jules howled.

  “Getting arrested will not benefit anyone,” Gregory said swiftly as he clamped his hand over her mouth. To his surprise, the young woman bit him. In shock, Gregory let her go. As Jules took off again, Gregory cursed his luck and ran after the young woman.

  Jules ran out into the open, and a guardsman that Gregory recognized grabbed the young woman. Gregory sighed as a guard put his hand on his shoulder. The tradesmen who had not scattered quickly enough were being loaded into wagons.

  “Duke St Claire,” the guardsman holding Jules said as he realized who his fellow guard was holding. “Let him go. He’s not with the tradesmen.”

  The guard holding Gregory let him go and apologized profusely, which Gregory waved off dismissively. He caught the look that Jules gave him. He called out to the guardsman holding the disguised woman, “Just a moment. Edgar, was it?” When the guard nodded with a pleased smile that Gregory had remembered him, Gregory continued, “The young man is with me.”

  Edgar released Jules who narrowed her eyes at Gregory. Gregory could see the protest forming in the young woman’s face, so he took her by the arm. “I trust that you will not speak of me being here?” Gregory asked Edgar.

  The guardsman nodded eagerly. “I never saw you, My Lord.”

  “Good man,” Gregory said with a nod of approval at the man. “It would not do for anyone to learn of what Lord Chapman and I are conspiring just yet.”

  Edgar agreed with a salute, “Of course, My Lord.”

  Gregory slapped the guard on the back and unceremoniously pulled Jules back around the corner of the building and away from the commotion of the square. Jules hissed at Gregory, “Let me go. I should be with my friends. What do you mean involving me in whatever it is you are doing?”

  “What I am doing is keeping you out of jail. I think that the guards might be very interested to find a lovely young woman in their cells. Not to mention your so-called friends,” Gregory said as he held onto the young woman to keep her from rushing back to where she felt her obligation was. “You have more sense of duty than most men I know,” Gregory said with a shake of his head.