Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  “Look, it is hard for me to explain. It will take some time, so bear with me while I tell you from the beginning,” Lord Raikes said agitatedly.

  “I am listening, My Lord.”

  “I am not engaged to Emma.”

  “She called off the wedding! Finally, she has come to her senses.”

  “No, I mean the Earl is engaged to Emma, but I am not.”

  “I see, My Lord. I think . . . I think London has some fine doctors. This condition you have . . . is it from birth?” Catherine asked, nervously inching her way towards the door.

  “What? . . . Oh, you think I am mad! On the contrary, I am as sane as you are. I am trying to tell you that I am not the Earl. I am not Richard Hamilton.”

  Catherine’s eyes scrunched up in confusion. She searched his face and then asked, “Can you try and explain this any better?”

  “Yes, I am trying. Look, I am not the Earl, I am the marquis’s eldest son, William Raikes. I am Richard Hamilton’s friend. We grew up together, and after my education was complete, I went travelling. I became an author and recently returned to England since my father is ill.”

  He glanced at her to see how she was taking it. She looked like she believed not a word.

  He continued his narrative, explaining how the Earl had sent him a letter requesting him to join the farce, how over the coming days things had become convoluted as his interest in her increased.

  “I wanted you to know because I could not bear another day of seeing you suffer under the misconception that I was a rake, playing with your feelings as well as Emma’s. I implore you to believe me.”

  Catherine eyed him distrustfully. “So the Earl is the gardener, and you are his friend pretending to be the Earl? I find the whole thing too fantastical to believe. Is there any proof?”

  “Emma will tell you that it is the truth.”

  “But why did she not tell me in the beginning?”

  “She was afraid you may tell the Duke.”

  “I still might.”

  “Please, can you not keep it quiet for a few more days? If not for me then do it for Emma’s sake. It is only a matter of another week. It is a harmless charade, and they mean no harm.”

  “I will think about it,” she said, pulling her robe closer together. “Now it is late. Can you please return to your rooms?”

  His heart felt lighter now that the entire secret was out. He stared at Catherine, who stood nervously shifting from foot to foot. Her wary eyes were shimmering blue, reminding him of a lake he used to visit with his father as a child.

  He knew if he stayed a moment longer, he would kiss her.

  They would both regret it later, he for rushing her and her for kissing him. He eyed her face framed by a riot of golden curls and decided to stay a moment longer.

  She clutched the lapels of her robe tighter wondering why he wasn’t leaving her room. She needed time to think, to come to terms with the fact that Lord Raikes was not Emma’s fiancé. He was single, available and perfectly acceptable as a suitor.

  More importantly, she was madly attracted to him.

  She stared at his handsome face, and the emotion in his dark eyes arrested her.

  The tick-tock of the clock on the mantelpiece faded, and her head swam as she unconsciously swayed towards him.

  “Oh, I do not think so. I have a lot more to say,” he finally answered her.

  His husky voice seemed to break her trance.

  “You do?” she squeaked, backing away towards the door.

  “We still haven’t discussed us.”

  “Us?” Her heart thundered in her ribs, and her eyes strayed to his lips.

  He smiled in response and said, “You and me and what we are to do about this attraction we feel towards each other.”

  “You are mistaken, I feel no such thing,” she said, panicking at the look in his eyes.

  He put his hands up on the door to imprison her as he spoke, “Then I think it was time I proved it to you.”

  “What . . . what do you mean?” she asked breathlessly as the scent of him enveloped her, and her eyes fluttered close.

  Instead of replying he bent down to kiss her.

  He kissed her rhythmically and insistently, until she opened up under him. He groaned in satisfaction when her lips parted. He pulled her closer, running his hands through her silky hair. She moaned in response, and he abruptly stopped.

  His breathing was ragged as he asked, “Do you deny the attraction?”

  Her cheeks turned pink, and she nodded.

  He grinned, pulling her flush against him.

  She felt as if she were on fire. She arched closer, and her head tilted up, her lips parting for another kiss.

  He touched her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, tracing the outline, but refusing to kiss her.

  She whimpered in frustration, and he whispered, “Admit it, Catherine, do you want me to kiss you?”

  She swayed closer, her head feeling dizzy. He was no longer her cousin’s fiancé; he had never been. She could kiss him, she had every right to kiss him and then . . . sanity intruded. She was in her bedroom with a man, wearing only her nightgown. She stared at him, growing frightened of the intensity in his face.

  She pushed him away, and taken by surprise he fell back.

  “Please leave,” she whispered.

  He looked at the fear in her face and cursed inwardly. He had not meant to scare her. She had to be wooed gently.

  He gave her an apologetic smile as he left to return to his rooms.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Duke heard his valet murmuring above him. He dismissed it as a dream, but then he heard the louder voice of Pickering calling out to him.

  He irritably opened his eyes, “What’s the matter? It’s early, and I have another hour of sleep left.”

  “Your Grace,” Pickering spoke up from behind the valet, “it’s an emergency.”

  The Duke glanced at the tensed faces in front of him and frowned. He had never before been woken up by any of his household staff. He sat up and waited for his valet to hand him the robe.

  The valet stared at the Duke’s outstretched hand in confusion.

  Pickering leapt into action, handing him the robe instead, and then ran to fill the basin with cold water.

  The Duke glanced at the trembling valet in concern. Something was very wrong.

  “Pickering, get my clothes ready and send Davy down to the kitchens. He looks like he could do with a cup of tea,” the Duke said, moving towards the basin and splashing his face with cold water.

  He needed to keep calm and ensure that no one in the household panicked. He understood from Pickering’s barely restrained agitation that the news was bad.

  He gave himself a few selfish seconds to get his emotions under control. Catherine was fine, he chanted over and over. His daughter was safe.

  He forcefully banished his morbid thoughts and finally turned to ask Pickering why he had been woken up at such an unearthly hour.

  “Your Grace, the maid who attends to the fires in the morning always goes to Lady Babbage’s room first, since she wakes up before anyone else in the house. A few minutes ago she entered the room as usual and found her dead,” Pickering replied.

  “Found who dead?” he asked, confused.

  “Lady Babbage, sir.”

  His eyes snapped open. He stared at the anxious faces in front of him. For a moment, he thought it was a horrible joke, the next he dismissed the idea.

  Perhaps the maid had been mistaken, and his sister had merely been taken ill.

  “Come with me,” he ordered, striding out in his robe.

  He walked towards his sister’s room, and with each step his heart steadied as it began to sink in that Catherine was fine.

  He stopped outside the door and felt relieved. He could face anything, but if anything had happened to his daughter, he would have gone to pieces.

  As for his sister . . . he paused to examine his feelings. After his wife’s
death, his biggest fear had been losing Catherine. He spent his days worrying about her welfare, whereas he had always assumed his sister would be alright.

  His hand trembled as concern for his sister overwhelmed him. He steeled himself and knocked on the door. No one answered.

  His trembling increased; his hand pushed the door, and it opened easily and silently on well-oiled hinges.

  His eyes shot to the bed at the centre of the room.

  Lady Babbage was lying on her front, deathly still. A large butcher’s knife protruded out from the middle of her back.

  He leaned against the doorpost in shock. His mind seemed to go numb, and then slowly his brain started taking in the details of the scene. He noticed the blood seeping through the white sheets and the brutal violence with which the knife was embedded in his sister’s back.

  He also realised that his grief would have to wait. Someone must have committed the murder, and that person was still in the house.

  “Get everyone to assemble in the library within half an hour. I don’t care if you have to throw buckets of water to wake them. Pickering, I need to see you before anyone else, so let someone else wake the household members. I want a report from you.” The Duke mentioned two more names who he wanted to join the family.

  Pickering looked taken aback at the request but left to do as he was bid.

  The Duke changed quickly and had a brief conference with his butler.

  Another half an hour had gone by, before a stranger was shown into the library. By the time he had finished briefing the newcomer, the household started entering the room. A few looked annoyed at being dragged out of bed at six in the morning whilst others looked curious and worried.

  Mrs Barker was the first to arrive. She sat down nervously on one of the few chairs provided.

  He assured her that he would announce everything once everyone was present.

  Mr Barker came soon after and angrily demanded the reason for being unceremoniously woken up like this.

  Catherine and Emma came running in before the Duke could finish soothing Mr Barker.

  Prudence and Lord Raikes entered together. Prudence looked ill, while Lord Raikes was expressionless.

  “Now you can tell us, we are all here,” Mr Barker said irritably.

  “The Duchess has not yet arrived, and I am expecting two more people to join us.”

  Everyone assumed one of the two to be Lady Babbage.

  The Duchess strode in yawning, wearing a long white filmy robe. She had not bothered to change her night dress.

  No one spared her a glance, each wondering what this great news was. From the solemn look on the Duke’s face they knew it would not be pleasant.

  They sent curious glances at the tall, reed-thin man standing beside the Duke. No one had seen him before. His hair was shocking white and his face heavily lined. His dark beetle eyes raked over all those present, dwelling long enough on each one to have them squirming uncomfortably.

  They wondered what an outsider was doing in their midst, and they were further amazed to find the head gardener enter the room along with another strange man. Emma knew him to be the under-gardener, Joe.

  The Duke stood up and came to stand in front of the desk. He looked around the room and said, “Now that everyone is present, I can begin.”

  “Father, Lady Babbage is not here yet,” Catherine spoke up.

  Mr Barker shot her annoyed look. He wanted to go back to bed.

  “This is why I have called you here. It is about Lady Babbage. There is no easy way to say this, so I must simply say it. My sister . . . she died this morning.”

  A collective gasp went around the room.

  The Duke watched the faces as they digested the news. He was unhappy to note that most looked relieved, Prudence being the most transparent.

  “There is more, which is why I invited Mr Nutters to join me this morning. He arrived last night and was staying at the village inn. He had an appointment with me this afternoon, but the urgency and the nature of the situation forced me to request his presence early. He is a private detective in London,” the Duke said, indicating the man standing to his right.

  Mr Nutters bowed formally and smiled the smile of a shark baiting its prey.

  This time the shock was slow in coming. It took them a moment to realise what the need for a detective was in such a situation.

  “I see you have come to the obvious conclusion. She did not die a natural death but was brutally murdered.”

  “Is there no mistake, uncle?” Emma asked.

  “No, she was stabbed,” he said shortly.

  Catherine burst into tears and turned to bury her face into Lord Raikes’ shoulder. Apart from Lord Raikes, no one gave the gesture a second thought. Their minds were whirling as they tried to assimilate the facts.

  “I am the Duke, and hence the magistrate as well in this surrounding area. It is up to me to find the culprit.” His eyes turned cold as he scanned the faces in front of him.

  He continued, “Unfortunately, the murderer is one of the people present in this room.”

  “But it could be the servants!” Mr Barker said angrily.

  “No, it is not. The passage from the servants’ room was locked last night on my behest. I also had a man placed among the servants, for a month ago something was stolen from my study. I wanted to make sure it did not happen again.”

  “You cannot seriously think one of us murdered her? You have your family present as well. You cannot think to blame them?” asked Mr Barker.

  “I am the law, and hence I have to be impartial and suspect everyone. I will not favour members of my family above any guests present.”

  He paused to let that sink in, and then continued, “Emma, please escort the women to the breakfast room. I would like to interview the Earl first,” he said, looking at Lord Raikes, “and the head gardener. The rest of you will not be allowed to leave this house until the matter is resolved satisfactorily. Please wait until you are called.”

  Mr Barker started arguing again, but Prudence caught hold of her father’s arm and dragged him out. The rest left quickly, each wanting some time to reflect.

  Emma sent a last nervous glance at the head gardener before exiting the room.

  The Duke waited until the door was closed before speaking. “Now, Mr Nutters will remain here during the questioning and aid me with his expertise. I hope the two of you have no objections to my asking a few crucial things?”

  Richard and Lord Raikes shook their heads.

  “Why don’t you take a seat, Lord Hamilton?” the Duke asked, pulling out a piece of paper from his desk.

  Lord Raikes moved to take a seat when the Duke looked up and said with a hint of a smile, “You, too . . . Lord Raikes.”

  The Earl glanced at him in shock, while Lord Raikes looked resigned as he sat.

  “You knew? How?” The Earl asked.

  “Please, give me an account of your nightly proceedings. After that, I will answer all your questions.”

  The Earl paused, wondering how he could admit that he had been in Emma’s rooms. He decided to edit a great deal as he spoke, “We had reason to believe that Lady Babbage was blackmailing Prudence,” he started cautiously. The Duke remained expressionless, so he continued, “Emma and I knew that your sister was planning to leave a note in Prudence’s work basket to arrange a time and place for them to meet. We had planned to steal that note last night. We believed she would write enough in the note to implicate herself. We wanted to bring the proof to you before accusing her.”

  The Duke nodded and gestured for him to continue.

  “We searched for it, but failed to locate it. Then I went to Lord Raikes’ room and fell asleep on the couch, since the door to the servant’s room was locked. I woke when Pickering knocked on William’s door. I hid in the closet to avoid being discovered and then snuck back into the kitchen. I was then informed that you had requested my presence in the library, so here I am.”

  The Duke looked though
tful and said, “Can you tell me from the very beginning everything that happened which made you believe my sister was blackmailing Prudence?”

  The Earl did not want to divulge Prudence’s secret, but he knew he had no choice. This was a matter of murder and no longer time to play games. So he outlined the events that led up to their search.

  “Thank you for your edited version of events. I know where you truly spent your night. Now, Lord Raikes, let us have your explanation for last night’s activities.”

  “Your Grace, I am sure you are already aware of them, but I will tell you as truthfully as I can. I went to meet Emma and the Earl . . . in Emma’s room,” Lord Raikes threw an apologetic look at his friend as he said it. He knew the Duke was fully aware of their activities; hence, lying to him could not be a good idea. “I then begged them to allow me to tell Catherine everything due to my growing regard for her. I went back to my room to find Prudence lying in my bed. You can guess how she was dressed and why she was there. Before I could get over my shock, Catherine came to my door and misunderstood the situation. I then went to her room and explained everything as best as I could. I was thrown out within half an hour. I fell asleep soon after.”

  “Did either of you see anyone in the hallway?”

  “Mr and Mrs Barker,” the Earl said.

  The Duke waited until Nutters had scratched that information down on paper.

  “Did they see you or speak to you?”

  “No, Emma saw Mrs Barker’s departing back. She seemed to be in a hurry. We quickly moved towards the staircase when Mr Barker sped by us. He must have seen us, though he ignored our presence,” the Earl replied.

  The Duke thoughtfully tapped his lips with his fingers. He eyed the two men, debating on how best to handle the situation. He sighed. The murder was far more important than the indiscretions committed by the lovers. He finally contented himself with, “I have already sent for one special license this morning, and I will request for another as soon as possible. Both of you have compromised two young women. Hence, you will be married as soon as this is resolved. Lord Raikes, it is up to you to convince Catherine. It will not benefit me to lose my temper over such ungentlemanly acts, but I can only seek to improve the situation.”