Caroline and the Captain: A Regency Novella

by Maggi Andersen

  His dark brows rose. “When there was so little money?”

  “I put them in order, for when we married. The neediest were to be paid first.”

  He accepted that with a nod. “Do you know what this urgent bill was that forced George to sell the jewels?”

  She shook her head. “He wouldn’t tell me. Apparently, it was something that would not wait until we married.”

  “No clue at all?”

  “He saw another horse he wished to buy at Tattersalls. It might have been that.”

  “Even a fine stallion is not that expensive.” Nicholas ran long fingers through his hair, displacing a lock which fell onto his brow. It made him look younger, more boyish. Until he firmed his jaw. “And hardly a priority.”

  She frowned, wanting to stand up for George when he couldn’t himself. “He planned to breed horses. It was a way to pay off the debts.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Poor George. It takes a considerable amount of money to set up a breeding program. And a considerable amount of time also.” He looked defeated. “It would take years in fact.”

  “I imagine so. I would have assisted him, of course.”

  Nicholas stared at her, surprised. “You wanted to help him?”

  “Yes. As I told you we shared an interest in horses.”

  He was extremely attractive when he smiled. It softened his features. “George was filled with harebrained schemes. And he was most persuasive wasn’t he? It was impossible to deny him.” His approving glance swept over her from the violet flowers on her straw bonnet to her primrose cambric muslin and grey half boots. “You look so delicate. Forgive me, but I imagined you would prefer embroidering or the other things women like to do. Not mucking out the stables.”

  She frowned. “You have yet to know me.”

  A gleam of interest lit his eyes. “I very much look forward to that.”

  Heat stole into her cheeks. He made her feel guilty and selfish.

  Nicholas patted the seat. “You did not mind leaning against my shoulder last night. We have a long journey. Why don’t you come and sit next to me?”

  “I…was tired last night. I am perfectly comfortable, thank you.”

  His gaze sharpened. “My God, Caroline. Was it violent? Did he force himself on you? Who is the bounder? Tell me, I’ll deal with him. If he’s punished, you might put this behind you.”

  A flash of loneliness stabbed at her and she was consumed with shame. “I told you I wouldn’t speak of it, Nicholas.”

  He sat back, folded his arms and studied her, his gaze enigmatic. “I hope you do decide to tell me, Caroline. It’s not good to live with such misery. And I for one would like to get on with our life together.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nicholas was glad to be home. There was something about spring that made a man hopeful, despite making no headway with his perplexing bride. The spring had not yet tired of spreading its magic through the gardens with a magnificent display of flowering plants and trees. He left his bride to her maid, and sought Holmes to change into riding clothes.

  An hour later, he and Caroline arrived at the stables, to be greeted by Hugo.

  “George’s dog has certainly taken to you,” Caroline said. As Hugo licked Nicholas’ hand.

  “Yes, he’d been missing George. I trust I’ll make a decent substitute.”

  She smiled warmly. “I’m sure you will.” She turned to the stallion, thrusting his big head over the stall.

  “You’ll ride Crown Ruler?” She stroked the nose of the handsome chestnut stallion. Her face clouded. “George had only just bought him but he quickly became his favorite.”

  Nicholas signaled the groom to saddle him. “I still can’t understand it. George was more at home on a horse than anyone. Have you thought of anything more?”

  “George had ridden on ahead of me. He wanted a gallop, and my mare was in foal. He must have misjudged a jump and the horse’s hooves struck the top of the wall. It unseated him and he fell.”

  “I can’t believe that of George,” he said thoughtfully. “Could something have distracted him?”

  “I hadn’t thought…I don’t know.”

  “I know the general area, but show me exactly where it happened.”

  Nicholas dismissed the groom and helped Caroline mount her black mare, enjoying her soft curves beneath the indigo velvet of her habit. She took the reins in her gloved hands, with confidence and poise. The color suited her; but she was not just decorative, she had a fine seat on a horse. It occurred to him that he would not have wanted a wife who didn’t enjoy the country and riding as much as he. It gave him hope that with these things in common, he and Caroline might grow closer, become friends and lovers before long.

  They rode into the park, silently covering the miles to open ground with fields beyond. When Caroline reined in near a dry-stone wall that divided two paddocks, Nicholas followed suit, his chest tightening. He had avoided coming here, hoping with time it would hurt less. But the anguish still cut through him like a knife.

  She turned in the saddle, her face pale and distressed. Raising her gloved hand, she pointed. “He was found on the far side of that wall.”

  “George put his horse over that wall practically every day of his life,” Nicholas said, puzzled. “He could have done it with his eyes closed.” He dismounted and went to assist her down. Then he threw the reins of both horses over a bush.

  Beyond the wall there was a copse of trees with a bare, rocky patch of stunted grass at its edge, on the opposite side ten yards away stood a sturdy oak. “Where exactly did you find him?”

  Caroline pointed at the edge of the trees. “I found George over there,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “But why there? If he fell while jumping, he’d be closer to the wall. He strode over and crouched down to examine the ground. “George had head injuries. There’s nothing here that he could have struck his head on.”

  Her eyes darkened. “It was thought that he might have caught his foot in the stirrup…”

  “Not George!”

  “Or he might not have died instantly.”

  He tightened his jaw. “You mean he crawled….”

  “That’s what the magistrate thought,” she whispered.

  He straightened. “Was the horse examined afterward?”

  “Crown Ruler was nervous and in a lather, but seemed fine physically when I found him. The groom couldn’t find any injuries.”

  Nicholas bent to make a thorough examination of Crown Ruler’s legs. He stroked carefully over the knees, feeling each flexor tendon and sesamoid. He studied the horse’s hooves and the hind legs. Then shook his head. “No scars. I doubt he’s suffered an injury.”

  He wandered over to the oak tree. The sunlight glittered on something in the oak’s trunk. “What on earth…?” He removed his army knife from a pocket and leveraged the bark, splintering bits away. Flattened metal dropped into his hand.

  “It’s a ball from a pistol, not a hunting rifle. What is it doing here?” he said, his voice roughened with disbelief.

  “Let me see.” She hurried over to him and took his hand, staring at the flattened object in his palm. She shook her head, her eyes filled with confusion. “I don’t understand. Could it have been there for years?”

  “This type hasn’t been around that long and from the shiny look of it, this happened recently.” He studied her, his brows raised. “I very much doubt he did fall from his horse.” He turned around. “Looks like a shot came from those trees, missed him and hit the oak. After he heard the shot he must have dismounted and headed to those trees to investigate. Someone evidently crept up on him and struck him over the head with something. That copse of trees would have provided good cover for the killer.” He stared at her. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear the shot.”

  Her gaze sought his. “But I didn’t.”

  He wanted to believe her. After all what reason would she have to lie? “Think carefully.” He came to stand beside h
er.

  She placed a hand to her head and swayed. “I feel dizzy.”

  “I’m sorry to put you through this, sweetheart,” Nicholas said aware of how hard this must be for her. He scooped her up, and set her down in the shade of the copse of elms. “It’s warm in the sun, and you must be tired after the trip. This could have waited.”

  “No. I’m sorry.” She rubbed her arms. “I’m usually stronger than this. It’s just the memory—finding him here.”

  Was this an attempt at obfuscation? Surely she must have heard the shot? He crouched beside her. “Don’t apologize. I’ve been thoughtless. It must be distressing. We won’t stay long.” He rose to pace the area. “There are a lot of rocks strewn about near the wall. Perhaps the killer used a rock to hit George. If so, it might be here somewhere.”

  He went back and began overturning stones and rocks in his search.

  Caroline watched him, then climbed to her feet, and began to look around as Nicholas moved further away.

  He turned his attention to the other side of the wall. But there was nothing. Straightening, he shook his head. “Maybe we’re wrong. I suppose he could have been hit with anything even the butt of a pistol. But not that gun—too small.”

  She emerged from behind a tree holding a jagged rock in both her hands. “Nicholas! Come and look at this.”

  He liked hearing his given name on her lips. It was as if they were working together. He vaulted the wall and walked over to her, more to humor her, for she was too far away from where George was found for it to relevant. And then she raised her head and he caught her expression. A mixture of astonishment and distress darkened her eyes.

  “What have you got there. Let me see.”

  “There’s a stain on this rock.” She placed it in his hands as if it burned her. “The tree trunk must have sheltered it from the rain.”

  Nicholas turned it over, and drew a deep breath. “Blood, and bits of dark hair. Looks to be George’s,” he said his voice bitter.

  She lifted serious grey eyes to his. “I feared it might be.”

  “The killer must have tossed it there to hide it. It didn’t get there on its own. It’s several yards from where George was found. This proves it. Someone struck him down.” Anger made his voice tight, as he fought to come to terms with what had happened—and tried to make sense of it.

  “I don’t understand.” Caroline’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Why would anyone want to do such a thing to George of all people?”

  “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.” He pulled off his cravat and wrapped it around the rock, then tucked it into the satchel attached to his saddle. He looked up at the lowering sun. “We don’t have that much daylight left. We must get back to the house. I need to send for the magistrate.”

  He placed his hands on Caroline’s slim waist and hoisted her into the saddle.

  “Ride on ahead, Nicholas.” She took up the reins and adjusted her skirts around the pommel. “You will be much faster alone.”

  He nodded, leapt onto his horse and soon had Crown Ruler at full gallop. The magnificent horse covered the ground effortlessly. At the stable yard, Nicholas dismounted and tossed the reins to the groom. He gave the horse a pat. “My brother was a great judge of horseflesh,” he said to the groom.

  “Aye, he was that milord.”

  Nicholas was approaching the front door when he saw Caroline trotting along the gravel to the stable yard. He left the groom to help her down and ran into the house, startling Kettle. “Fetch the footman, Kettle. I need him to take a note to the magistrate.”

  He ran to the library and seated at the desk, dashed off a note. He’d sent his footman scurrying off with it, when Caroline hurried in. Breathless from running, she sank onto the sofa and pulled off her gloves. “What sort of gun do you think it was?”

  He turned the ball over in his hand. “A small one. Nothing a man would ordinarily have used. A lady’s boxlock flintlock is my guess.”

  Caroline’s eyes widened as she searched his. “You think a woman did it?”

  “Who knows?” Nicholas’ gut tightened with fury. “You neither saw nor heard anything?”

  She dropped her gaze to the gloves in her hands. “Only the birds.”

  He turned his chair to view her. “The birds?”

  “A flock of them went squawking into the sky.” She widened her eyes. “Oh!”

  He came to sit beside her, and removed the gloves she scrunched up in her nervous fingers, tossing them onto a table. “Take a deep breath and cast your mind back.”

  “When I saw the birds I thought of Father. He was holding a shooting party that day.”

  His glance sharpened. “So you probably heard several shots. And you wouldn’t have taken much notice of one more.”

  “No,” she whispered, her face pale.

  Nicholas rose. “I think we both need a brandy.”

  Two hours later, the magistrate arrived. A man in his fifties with a ruddy face, he expressed surprise, but stated bluntly that as Nicholas’ brother wasn’t shot, he remained doubtful. The ball or indeed the rock was not, in themselves, evidence of foul play. He would send the Parish constable tomorrow to question the staff.

  “A waste of time,” Nicholas said after he’d gone. “The servants are loyal. They’ve been with the family for years and they all liked George.”

  “They did. Everyone did.” She frowned; her eyes reddened, and sat quietly with her handkerchief in her lap, sipping the brandy. “He had no enemies.”

  “He had at least one.” Nicholas leaned back in the leather chair and placed a booted foot over his other knee.

  “I wish I could tell you more. George rode like the fury. I was way behind him.”

  “It’s probably just as well you were, or you might have been killed too.” He turned over the piece of metal in his hand. “A small pistol wouldn’t make a great deal of noise. Perhaps that was why it was used.”

  He leapt up and walked to the drinks tray on the mahogany sideboard. “Another?”

  “Please.” She held out her glass. “I hope I don’t get tipsy. I’m not used to spirits.”

  He took the crystal glass from her hand, distracted for a moment by her soft, red-rimmed eyes. Her vulnerability struck a chord in him and he tamped down the desire to enfold her in his arms. “Just half a glass. You’re shocked. Spirits are what the doctor would have ordered.” Pouring the drinks, Nicholas contemplated the bitter truth. It was indisputable. Someone had wanted George dead. But who and why?

  ♥♥♥

  From her position on the sofa, Caroline cast Nicholas an anxious glance. He sat in an armchair looking so troubled that she wanted to go to him. She hated to see him look so alone. But what if he suspected her? Would he rebuff any sign of comfort she offered?

  He rubbed his temples. “Do you have a headache?” she asked.

  “Yes, a little.”

  “Here, let me help you.” She put down her glass. Light-headed from the spirits, she moved behind him. She had often done this for her father. Nicholas rested his head in her hands as she rubbed the smooth skin and the hair at his nape. She moved down to his shoulder blades applying pressure to the areas she’d discovered worked for her father. She leaned over him and massaged his temples, and toward the crown of his head, enjoying the sensation of his thick, straight hair beneath her fingers. Strange, how she didn’t fear this man.

  “Mm. That feels good.” He closed his eyes and leaned back.

  Caroline moved around and studied his handsome face his hard thigh pressing against hers.

  She liked the way his nostrils flared like a thoroughbred horse when he was angry. She enjoyed his male smell and the woody fragrance of his soap, and found herself longing to bury her nose in his sun-kissed locks.

  He put a hand up and encircled her wrist. “You have a nice touch.”

  “My father gets headaches.” She swallowed, instinctively trying to back away.

  He swiveled and in a moment he’d pulled her
into his lap and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You’re a cuddly armful, Lady Debenham.”

  She was shocked by the swiftness of his action and his hard body beneath her. He looked down at her, a gleam in his dark brown eyes. He was angry and grief stricken and probably not thinking clearly. A rash move now might put an end to the patience and decency he had afforded her to date. She didn’t want an argument which would make things awkward between them. Not now, when she knew him to be so low. When she wanted to work with him, not against him.

  “Let me go, Nicholas,” she said in a mild tone.

  “Why?” He bent his head his breath warm on her ear.

  “Because I don’t like it.” She fought for breath, having discovered the ridge of his erection pressing against her bottom. His strength made her aware of his power over her. It thrust her back to that day in the meadow. Her throat tightened and she feared she’d lose the rigid control she’d kept over herself.

  Nicholas traced a finger over her lips, restraining her but with such a light hold. “When the time comes, know that I’ll be gentle, sweetheart.”

  He bent to kiss her neck, his hand cupping a breast.

  Caroline stilled and her chest heaved beneath his fingers.

  He raised her chin with a forefinger and unhappy brown eyes looked into hers. “You’re afraid of me.” He tipped her out of his lap and went to stand by the fireplace resting a booted foot on the empty grate.

  Caroline bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Nicholas, I did warn you.”

  His brows met in a frown. “And I thought I made it clear that I have no intention of living this way.”

  “Yes, you did state it plainly. I hoped you might be reasonable.”

  He raked his hands through his hair. “Reasonable?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve already said you’re sorry, blast it, Caroline. It doesn’t help.”

  She grasped her fingers. “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

  He came to sit beside her on the sofa, but didn’t move toward her. “You have to tell me what lies behind this fear.”