Caroline and the Captain: A Regency Novella

by Maggi Andersen

  “I’m not crying because I’m unhappy,” she rushed to reassure him.

  “I’m relieved to hear it.” Smiling, he wiped the tears from her cheeks with a corner of the sheet.

  She wasn’t sure why she cried. She’d expected this to be horrible, and a chore at best, not something so profoundly wonderful. How extraordinary, but when he’d entered her, it was as if they’d become one. She was ridiculously proud of herself. And then she was unsure.

  “Did you enjoy it too, Nicholas?”

  He smiled and eased her damp locks away from her face. “More than I can say.”

  Nicholas stroked her hair gently until her sobs subsided, then kissed away the tears on her cheeks. “You’ve been through so much, my brave love. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

  With a brief kiss on her lips, he jumped up. “Deuce it! I must dress. The constable will have arrived. Join us when you’re dressed.”

  He threw on his clothes and was gone before she could drag her lethargic body from the bed.

  So that was making love. The violent act she’d experienced had faded into the past. Nicholas’ thoughtful lovemaking had in some measure healed her. With the carpet soft beneath her bare feet, she went to stare into the mirror. Did she look different? She certainly felt it. Serene and more womanly.

  How extraordinary, that in such a short time, Nicholas had filled her mind and her senses. She ran her hands over her belly and trembled as if she could still feel him on her skin. His scent assailed her nostrils and she felt a sensual awareness of her body. She recalled the need in his eyes and how his pleasant voice turned husky with desire. She’d expected to feel powerless, but instead, she’d been filled with a feminine sense of power. She’d welcomed the heady weight of his body on hers. He’d made her feel desired, wanted and safe. Might he one day come to love her?

  She would always be grateful that Nicholas had reduced her memory of that awful day to something she could bear, and perhaps in time banish entirely. But now she wanted so much she almost feared fate. He would go after Post and not give up until he’d rid the world of him. That was the man she had married. Fate could not be so cruel as to take him from her now, surely. Not now, when she had found the man of her dreams, the one she wanted to spend her life with.

  ♥♥♥

  Nicholas paused on the stairs, wanting to go back and hold Caroline in his arms. To have to leave her now possibly for a week or more was painful after he’d discovered how perfect they were together. How quickly his feelings for her had become something more. He wanted to shield her from the dangers of the world. But to do that, he first must find and destroy the man who had killed George. Only then would they find peace. It was unlikely Post would return to Debenham Park, but Nicholas wished he’d been firmer with Caroline and insisted she go to her parents’ home. He hoped she would obey him and stay indoors.

  Chapter Eleven

  On the way to London in his carriage, Nicholas and Holmes made their plans, such as they were, to track down Post. It was hard for Nicholas to believe that George had hired a man like Post to manage the estate. Surely, he could not present such a false front, given his subsequent depraved behavior. Poor George, showing his trusting side again.

  The metropolis suffered under a damp, grey fog. Halos of lamplight did little to penetrate the veil of mist that curled, serpentine-like, around the hunched bodies brave enough to venture outdoors. Not wishing to use his own vehicle in this weather, Nicholas was forced to pay a reluctant jarvie double his fare to take him and Holmes to Bow Street.

  In the magistrate’s court, he learned more about Peter Phillips, an able and tenacious runner of exceptional intelligence, good at catching even the most daring of criminals. He’d been working undercover for some months and no one knew where he was.

  Nicholas talked to another Runner who had seen Post around town, flashing money about in the gaming hells. He’d disappeared before Phillips could apprehend him. The runner had gone after Post and had thus far failed to report back.

  Accompanied by his faithful batman Holmes, Nicholas followed Phillips’ trail to Field Lane, where Post had been seen visiting the pawnshops and places of trade. They trolled the shops learning nothing more, and moved on to where thieves gathered in the stink of Shoe Lane. Nicholas checked his pistol and tucked it into his breeches beneath his coat while Holmes, a handy fellow to have at your back, did the same.

  Moments later, three men lurched from the shadows and followed behind them down the street. Nicholas brought his pistol out into plain sight and swiveled to eyeball them and Holmes followed suit.

  With a glance at the guns, and the trained stance adopted by them both, the three men vanished like rats in a drain.

  A prostitute in a soiled gown sidled up to Nicholas. “Too busy love.” He tossed her a coin and she shrugged her thin shoulders and moved on.

  They walked to the Thames River where the hulks lay full of prisoners. Nicholas talked to the guards, but again, came away empty handed.

  The afternoon was spent fruitlessly searching all the likely, and some unlikely places Post might be holed up in, and it became increasingly evident that he’d disappeared from London–unless he was lying low somewhere in the back alleys of Seven Dials– with Phillips after him.

  Despondent, they returned to Berkley Square, where Nicholas stripped off for a bath. Holmes tut-tutted over his clothing. “Carries the stink of the Thames and worse, they do.” He shook his head mournfully. “At least on the battlefields I knew how to deal with dirt and blood.”

  Deeply frustrated with the wasted hours, Nicholas, his hair curling damply over his forehead after his bath, settled in the drawing room with a whiskey and contemplated his next move. He must find out more about Post and what motivated him. This might lead to a clue as to where he might be hiding out. He had brought the flattened ball he’d dug out of the tree. Tomorrow, he would visit Manton’s and other gun shops to learn whether there was any record of Post purchasing a small boxlock flintlock. There couldn’t be too many men who would buy one. He would also visit Bow Street again, to see if there was any record of Post’s prior crimes. A man like him could have been in Newgate at some time. He was sure to have some sort of criminal history, although he realized that these records might not be helpful. So much needed to be done, and the longer he was away from Caroline the more he would worry about her. Their brief coupling teased at him in his quiet moments. They’d had so little time together. He’d never expected to have such a beguiling wife. And the more he’d got to know her, the more he liked her, and he swore to avenge her.

  His black-clad butler scratched at the door and entered with a haughty look of disapproval. “A gentleman has called to see you, my lord.” He faltered over the word gentleman, which made Nicholas smile.

  “Who is it, Baines?”

  “A Mr. Quinn. Says he’s from Bow Street, My lord.”

  “Ah good. Show him in.”

  Impatient for news, Nicholas strode across the Turkey carpet to greet the man as soon as he walked through the door.

  Quinn eyed the luxurious room nervously and held his hat, which the butler had failed to take from him, against his shabby, brown coat. “My lord, I have received a hastily written missive from Phillips. He has followed his target toward St Albans. I’ve sent a note to Ye Old Fighting Cock, the inn where he plans to stay and advised him of your brother’s death.”

  Nicholas went cold. There was no time now to check on Post. St Albans was only a little more than a half day’s ride from Debenham Park. He must assume the worst that Post is headed for his home and move quickly.

  When Quinn had left, Nicholas raced upstairs. He found his batman attending to his clothes. “We must leave immediately for St Albans, Holmes.”

  Before they departed, Nicholas sat down and wrote a short note to Caroline, urging her to remain indoors and keep the doors locked. He sent a footman in the carriage to deliver it.

  ♥♥♥

  Caroline filled
in the days while Nicholas was gone getting to know her new home. She’d spent a good deal of time here alone with George once they’d become engaged. But not as the mistress of the house. She interviewed the housekeeper, a brisk competent woman, she’d not met before. Nor had she met Cook, who proved to be a jolly woman, round-faced with a large bosom that jiggled when she laughed. Cook kept her kitchen spotless and controlled the young, pink-cheeked country girls who served as kitchen and scullery maids, in a pleasant, no-nonsense manner. Caroline had spent hours wandering the corridors while glancing in at the many bedchambers on the upper floors. Most had dust sheets covering the furniture. The house was older and more rambling than her parent’s home and felt dreadfully empty without Nicholas. Hugo padded faithfully behind her. Nicholas had insisted the dog guard her. He was to sleep in her bedchamber whilst he was gone.

  Despite Hugo curled up in his new basket, Caroline felt terribly alone in her wing of the house, and slept badly. The butler and footman resided in another wing, and the housekeeper, cook and maids had rooms in the attics. After two nights with little sleep, she’d been tempted to return to her parents, but resisted. Explaining why she felt the need to go home would prove too difficult, and she’d spent too many years keeping secrets from them.

  At luncheon the next day, a footman from their London house brought a message from Nicholas. She hurried into the library to read it. It was hastily written—he must have been about to leave, stating he was on Post’s trail. Post was last seen in St. Albans. Caroline paused, that was only twenty miles away. Would he come home soon? But if Nicholas was close then Post was too. She must take extra care in case the villain decided to return to Debenham Park. Nicholas had signed the letter simply with his given name. Nothing more. Why should she expect endearments? She was being entirely unreasonable. But Post…her throat tightened…Post would be mad to come back here. He was well known in the area and surely would realize that if he were recognized he would be arrested.

  She gazed out at the perfect spring weather. Opening a window, she breathed the sweet air. While she found the days long and tedious she intended to keep her promise to Nicholas not to leave the house. An attempt to read by the library fire, failed. She couldn’t concentrate on anything except Post and the threat he represented to her and Nicholas.

  Chapter Twelve

  Reaching St Alban’s in the afternoon, they led their horses into the local stables, and asked directions to the inn they were seeking. The Ye Olde Fighting Cock, was a whitewashed building near the river.

  Nicholas strode into the tap room. “You have a gentleman here by the name of Phillips?” he asked the innkeeper.

  “I do. He’s in the parlor.”

  Phillips rose from his position beside the fireplace and tapped his pipe into the empty grate. He was a wiry man with a red moustache. “I got the message from Bow Street and waited for you, milord,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ve come on a wild goose chase. Post is no longer here in St. Albans. He left in the early hours of this morning.”

  Nicholas frowned. “Didn’t you try to follow him?”

  Phillips raised his dark bushy brows. “I heard that the earl was dead. I don’t work for nothing, milord. I trust you’ll pay me what I’m owed.”

  “You now work for me, Phillips. And you’ll be paid handsomely.”

  Phillips grinned, showing a wide gap in his teeth. “Then we should get started.”

  “I first want words with the innkeeper.” Nicholas walked back to the entry.

  “Post told me he was leaving today, milord,” the innkeeper said. “But he slipped out early without paying his bill, the rogue. Better not come back here again.”

  “Then I suppose you didn’t learn in which direction he’d gone?”

  “No milord. Said a previous employer owed him money and he was going to collect it.”

  “Think carefully, fellow, this is of great importance,” Nicholas said. “Did he give a clue as to who that was?”

  He scratched his head. “Can’t recall. But I got the impression it was no more than a day’s ride away.”

  At the stables, Post’s direction was confirmed by the stable boy who saw him ride off. When they were mounted on fresh horses, Nicholas cast a sharp glance at Holmes. “Let’s make haste. He’s headed for Debenham Park.”

  “But surely he wouldn’t want to show his face near there,” Holmes said.

  Nicholas tightened his jaw. “Only God knows what drives that madman.”

  They galloped their horses along a road that would take them right through Debenham Village, but even if they pushed their mounts, it would be dark before they got there.

  ♥♥♥

  When dusk fell, Caroline picked at her dinner. She should try to eat, Cook was a gem who took great pride in her dishes and tonight, the forcemeat stuffing in the fish was superb. But since Nicholas’ letter suggested Post wasn’t far away, every mouthful tasted like dust. She fed tidbits to the dog, so at least some of the meal disappeared from the plate.

  Caroline rose from the table and sent the footman, Harold, with a message of praise to Cook, adding her apology for her poor appetite. She couldn’t believe how much she missed Nicholas, as if she’d known him for years. Although in truth, they’d spent very little time together. While the brothers were very different, there was a family resemblance. She saw something of George in Nicholas at times, especially when on horseback. Both were superb horsemen. Nicholas appeared to have a more curious mind, he exhibited an interest in many things, especially politics, and perhaps due to his years in the army, he was more orderly and disciplined. George often came up with money-making schemes which seemed entirely unrealistic to her. Breeding race horses would have been the best of them. He would have enjoyed that had he lived. She felt deeply saddened that her friend was no longer with them, but she now knew that marrying him would have been a terrible mistake.

  Caroline had planned to have her maid sleep on a tablet in her room. But Mary had developed a cold, and preferred to sleep in her own bed upstairs. And she didn’t like dogs. So once Caroline was ready for bed she dismissed her. As she ordered the dog into his bed, she paused. Had she reminded Kettle to check all the door and window locks? He was always scrupulously careful with his allotted tasks, but she’d failed to impress upon him the importance of being particularly thorough tonight, with Post not far away. She left her bedchamber in her dressing gown carrying a candle, and slipped down the stairs to the study, where the window lock was stiff and not always properly closed.

  The window was locked, but as she closed the curtains, she thought she saw movement in the garden. Perhaps a trick of light. She must not start jumping at shadows.

  Hugo sat up in his bed when she entered. “Good dog.” Climbing beneath the covers, she blew out the candle and lay in the dark watching the bright moonlight peek through a gap in the curtains. The room was cast in menacing shadows. Annoyed with herself, she tried to sleep. It didn’t work.

  She threw back the bedclothes and left the bed. Padding across the carpet, she tugged the curtains closed. Hugo sat up and whined. She gave him a pat. “It’s all right boy.”

  A thud sounded somewhere below. Hadn’t Kettle gone to bed? It was very late for any servants to be about. Her chest tightened. Outside her bedchamber, the stairs creaked. Telling herself she was being ridiculous, she scurried back to bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

  Minutes passed without a whisper of sound. She tried to still her pounding heart as she settled on her side and closed her eyes.

  She was suddenly wide awake as a scraping noise penetrated the darkness. A shiver rushed down her spine. The locked door rattled and banged as someone tried to force it open.

  Hugo barked and ran to the door.

  Leaping from the bed, Caroline looked around desperately to find something to barricade the door. There was nothing. She snatched up a heavy silver candlestick as the door burst open, crashing against the wall. A man’s shape appeared partly obscured in the
dark. “We meet again,” Post said. He grabbed her before she could turn and run. Caroline raised the candlestick, but Post knocked it out of her hands.

  Hugo showed his teeth, he leapt at Post, the fur on the back of his neck rising. “Shut the dog away or I’ll shoot him.” Post took a kick at Hugo, but the dog danced out of reach.

  Not wanting the dog hurt, she pulled Hugo to the dressing room and shut the door. As Hugo whined and scratched on the door, she tried to evade Post and run out into the corridor, but he was right behind her.

  “Still a tasty handful,” he said, as his arm encircled her throat. “I relive those tender moments with you, even after all this time.”

  Caroline struggled to breathe as Posts’ rancid body odor made her gag. She was back in that field with him grunting on top of her. Her legs threatened to give way, her heart beating so loud in her ears she could hardly hear his words.

  “I’m going to take my hand away. If you scream, I’ll shoot you and anyone who comes to help you.” The cold metal of a gun nudged the back of her head.

  She nodded, a dreadful rage masking her fear. This man had killed George and had ruined her life.

  He released her and she spun around with an angry gasp. Without taking his eyes off her, Post pulled the curtains open and moonlight flooded into the room. Still the same Post with greasy hair and a scrubby beard. His hard eyes were shadows in his thin face.

  “How dare you come here, after what you’ve done?”

  “And what is that?”

  “As if you didn’t know. You are a monster. Why did you kill George?” She almost spat out the words.

  “He deserved to die. He put the law on me.”

  She stared at him with loathing. “You stole from him!”

  “When the newspaper said he sold the family jewels, I felt sure they’d be a cache of money here.”