A Mysterious Quest of a Seductive Lady: A Regency Historical Romance Novel

by Lucinda Nelson

  “Go on.”

  “When I went to visit a few days ago, she was very busy because the family was receiving a few relatives for a couple of weeks.”

  “Do you think she is one of those relatives?” Edward questioned.

  Sarah bit her lower lip for a moment. “I think so, sir. My sister said one of them was a niece and Mrs. Crawley used to be a Clifford.”

  Well, that settled it, then.

  “I will write to the Crawleys right away. Mr. Marks, could you make sure there’s someone to deliver it as fast as possible?”

  “Of course, sir,” Mr. Marks bowed his head slightly. “I will ask Tom to saddle up the horse already.”

  “Thank you, Marks.” Edward put a hand on the older man’s shoulder and then looked at the rest of the servants. “Thanks to all of you.”

  * * *

  Never one to not go straight to the point, Edward’s letter was a brief account of the facts and how they found out she was Selina Clifford.

  Any member of the family was welcomed to arrive at any time to see her. If there wasn’t anyone with that name there, he asked for a reply so he could look for her family elsewhere.

  “Marks.” Edward gave the older man the letter. “Please, tell Tom to wait for an answer once he delivers it. Tell him to inform them it is a very sensitive matter I want sorted as fast as I can. If she’s not a guest of the Crawleys, we need to keep looking for her family.”

  “Right away, sir.” Mr. Marks bowed his head slightly. “The doctor has arrived as well, sir. Since you were writing the letter, I took the liberty of asking him to go upstairs.”

  Edward sighed in relief. “Of course, Marks. You did the right thing. Let us hope he has some good news for us.”

  Edward couldn’t stop moving, walking from one side of the room to the other like a caged cat in front of the room, not even when Mr. Marks returned from delivering the letter to Tom.

  He was thankful Selina had woken up earlier and gave her name, but it wasn’t enough. What if she had woken up just for one second and then never woke up again? He knew it was a strong possibility. Head injuries were unpredictable.

  He remembered when he was a child and a little boy his age fell while playing, hit his head and never woke up. His mother had been terrified of letting him play outside for weeks.

  The door opened and Doctor Jameson stepped out, finally stopping Edward and his nervous pacing.

  “When I got the call, I thought I would have to patch you up again, Mr. McAlister.” The Doctor offered his hand to Edward, who took it.

  “Not this time, Doc.” He smiled and let go of the older man’s hand. “What about Miss Clifford? Is she going to be fine?”

  “She will be, with some rest. She will have a strong headache though, but I think her mental state is more concerning than the physical.”

  Edward frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I was told she ran to the road? While it was dark as if she was running from something?” the doctor asked and Edward nodded. “No one does that unless something bad happened or was running from something.”

  “Do you think it is my duty to call the local authority?” Edward didn’t want to say the words, but the other two men in the hallway understood what he meant.

  “I examined her, and I am confident she wasn’t hurt in any other way other than on the head. Mrs. Jones and the maid guaranteed me. They just changed her gown. Nothing else and from a quick look, nothing seemed amiss,” Doctor Jameson said. “I can’t say someone didn’t try, but if that was the situation, nothing happened.”

  “That’s a relief,” Mr. Marks muttered and Edward nodded in agreement.

  “I would wait for her to wake up and question her before calling the local authority,” Doctor Jameson pondered. “It might not be anything we are thinking. If it is, then we should be concerned. Have you notified her family?”

  “We think she is not from here and arrived to stay with the Crawleys,” Edward told him. “I sent a letter to them a few minutes after you arrived. We will know soon enough if she’s staying there. If not, we will wait until she wakes up.”

  “Very well,” the doctor nodded. “She has a mild concussion and has to be woken every couple of hours for the next day, and hot soup would make her feel better, I am sure, as long as she doesn’t feel nauseated. If she is staying at the Crawleys, would you write me so I can see her again tomorrow? If not, I could return here.”

  “Thank you, doctor and of course, we will let you know.”

  “For the moment, there’s nothing to worry about. She will be fine.”

  “I will escort you, Doctor Jameson,” Marks suggested.

  “Put it on my bill, doctor. I was the one who scared her, after all,” Edward offered the man a hand, which he shook.

  “No problem, Mr. McAlister. Have a good night.”

  “You, too.”

  Edward watched as both men walked away before knocking on the door and opening when he heard Mrs. Jones’ voice.

  “I just spoke to the doctor,” Edward told her and his gaze went to the sleeping woman, her hair no longer in a complicated bun and curls, the red hair was loose, and it fell into waves on her shoulder. “She will be fine.”

  “Yes, he told us,” Mrs. Jones nodded. “Any luck finding out who she is?”

  He did his best to repeat the information he gathered and by the end of it, Mrs. Jones seemed to be thinking.

  “It makes sense, sir. Mrs. Crawley’s family is from London, if memory serves me right. She could be her niece; they have the same blue eyes.”

  “I hope so, Mrs. Jones,” Edward told her and then he turned to Grace, the maid. “Grace, would you mind waiting with Miss Clifford? I am sure Mrs. Jones has duties and she will send someone to relieve you soon.”

  “Not a problem, sir.” The brown curls framing her face bounced when she nodded. “The doctor gave instructions to try to wake her soon. I am fine waiting here.”

  “Thank you.” He gave a final look towards the bed and left the room. He needed something to drink.

  * * *

  In front of the fire in his study, Edward took a sip of his whiskey and could feel a headache forming. What a night.

  It was supposed to be a quick ride from the port to his home, but somehow it turned into a bit of a nightmare with him almost running over a woman with his horse.

  Deep inside, he knew it wasn’t his fault she got hurt, but the blame couldn’t be easily shaken off.

  A knock on the door made him stop drinking long enough to grant access to whomever needed and not a second later, Mr. Marks and the young stable boy he recognized as Tom, entered the study.

  The boy couldn’t be older than sixteen, dark hair and eyes, holding his hat in his hands and most likely afraid to touch anything.

  “Sir,” Marks started. “Tom delivered the letter and Miss Clifford is indeed staying with the Crawleys. They were worried sick. Apparently Miss Clifford had an altercation with her father and left without telling anyone where she was going. Her father, aunt and cousin will be arriving soon to see her.”

  “Thank you, Marks.” Edward was relieved they found her family. “And thank you, Tom. You were very fast.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the boy said, shyly.

  Another knock and Mrs. Jones entered the study, with a rare smile on her face. “She’s awake, sir.”

  Do you want to know how the story continues?

  http://lucindanelson.com/AmB011

  A Preview of my Upcoming Novel

  Chapter 1

  Normally spring was her favorite time of year. The sun felt warm on her face, the light breeze carried with it the scents of budding flowers, of grass. Tilting her head back, she witnessed the sparrows and larks flitting among the branches of the tree’s branches over her head, their chirping songs failing to warm her frozen heart.

  Mallory watched a cottontail whisking through the headstones of her family’s cemetery, pausing beside the grave of her grandfather to wash its
whiskers, combing its paws over its long ears. She sat on a chair a footman set for her, gazing at the twin headstones freshly arrived from the stonemason. Mallory read their names, not quite liking the script the mason used, but accepting it. Charles Hartford, the Marquess of Oldcastle and Eleanor Hartford, Marchioness of Oldcastle.

  Her parents.

  “I miss you both,” she said to the silent graves. “You were taken far too soon. What am I to do without you? Move on, I suppose, but that’s not as easy as it seems.”

  Wiping a single tear that tracked down her face, Mallory absently wiped it away, sniffing back any more that might fall. Her clear yet very light colored blue eyes scanned the cloudless sky, absently wondering if her parents were up there somewhere, watching over her. “I hope so. It is nice to think that you are out there, in a special place, still looking out for me.”

  Mallory turned her attention to the graves again. “I received a letter from the Dowager Countess of Merriton. An invitation to stay with her in London for a time. I think I will accept. After losing you, I expect I need a distraction. Something to take my mind off my grief.”

  Smiling, she drew a deep breath. “So I may not be back to visit for a time. But know I will be back, Mama, Papa. Farewell for now.”

  Rising, Mallory walked along the gravel path toward the huge country mansion, the footmen and her abigail, Anna, trailing behind. Her father had left her this vast estate, called Bradgate, and its incomes as well as an impressive fortune. His title, of course, had been inherited by her cousin, his nearest male relative.

  I want you to marry someday, Mallory, her father had told her several months ago. You are two and twenty years old now. If you wait much longer, you will be too old.

  Despite her father’s wishes, Mallory did not want to marry. Nor would she be forced to, as she had wealth and income in her own right, she had no need for a landed and well-heeled husband.

  A pair of footmen at the front door to her massive manor house bowed as they opened it for her. Mallory’s butler, a stiffly correct and aged gentleman named Noah Grimes, awaited her in the grand foyer. He, too, bowed, his fine white hair drifting about his head like a cloud.

  “You have a visitor, My Lady,” he intoned.

  Mallory’s brow lifted. “I do not recall inviting anyone to visit.”

  Grimes held a silver tray toward her, a single calling card lying on it. Mallory picked it up, and read it. “The Earl of Shropson?”

  “He is in the drawing room, My Lady.”

  “Very well. Please bring tea, Grimes,” Mallory said, pulling off her gloves. “Anna, you will attend me.”

  Grimes bowed and retreated from the foyer as Mallory, Anna and the footmen following, strode to the huge double doors that opened onto the elaborate and huge drawing room. Mallory never really liked the room, it was far too stiffly formal for her liking. She much preferred the library or the sunroom, places where she whiled away the hours reading.

  The footmen bowed, opening the doors for her, and Mallory strode inside. The Earl of Shropson turned from the window at her entrance, and smiled. “Lady Hartford, my condolences on the loss of your parents.”

  Mallory offered him a polite curtsey. “Thank you, My Lord.”

  Awkward, as she had never met the man before, Mallory studied him as she gestured for him to sit. She knew of him, Marcus Billingsley, an Earl who dabbled in business in London, and whom her father had once called an incompetent ass. The Earl was of medium height and stature with close cropped brown hair and unattractive eyes of nearly the same shade.

  Observing the lack of true warmth in his narrow face, and the calculation in his gaze, Mallory took an instant dislike to him. Still, she returned his smile and accepted his condolences with the graciousness her mother taught her.

  “This visit is unexpected,” Mallory commented. “What can I do for you?”

  Lord Shropson’s smile changed to a small grimace, and he looked away from her. “I understand that you are bereaved, My Lady, and it is not my intention to place you in an awkward position.”

  Confused, Mallory glanced up as Grimes entered the drawing room laden with a tea pot, cups, saucers and biscuits. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked as the butler placed the tray on a table and began to serve the tea.

  Accepting his cup, Lord Shropson took a tentative sip, then added a few drops of milk. Growing slightly impatient and annoyed at his silence, Mallory accepted her own cup with a dash of lemon, and exchanged a wry look with Anna. At last, the Earl seemed satisfied with his tea, and spoke again.

  “I came to offer you my protection as well as my condolences,” he said at last.

  Nearly spilling her tea in her astonishment, Mallory covered her shock by slowly lowering her cup to its saucer. “I did not realize I was in need of protection.”

  “You are now alone in the world, Lady Hartford,” Lord Shropson replied easily. “You have no one to look after your best interests. Your father is gone and you have no brothers.”

  Mallory stifled her sudden urge to laugh in his face. “I assure you, My Lord, I have no need for anyone to look after my best interests. My father left me well purveyed of funds and property. I do thank you for your concern, however.”

  For a brief moment, something ugly crossed his features, and Mallory stiffened upon seeing it. Then it was gone, and Lord Shropson smiled again. “But there are people who are less than gentlemen and may prey upon you. I would like to advance myself as not just your protector, but also ask if I may pay formal court to you.”

  Mallory suspected it was a good thing she did not have tea in her mouth at that moment, for she was certain she would have spewed it in all directions. Swallowing hard, she pressed her hand to her throat in a pretense of being flattered, and sought for the right words to reply.

  “Again, I thank you,” she said, trying to maintain her graciousness when she wanted to bray with laughter, “but I have no interest in being courted. Or of marrying.”

  The ugly expression crossed his countenance again, and this time lingered. Mallory’s polite smile faded, her humor vanished. Then Shropson’s smile returned, and he inclined his head in a gesture that spoke more of a man humoring an imbecile than of graciousness.

  “You may wish to reconsider that,” he said smoothly. “The world is a harsh place for a woman alone.”

  “I have my affairs well in hand,” Mallory told him with no warm expression in place. “Nor do I feel the need to marry simply for ‘protection’ as it were. I am of legal age, and answer to no one, thus I may and will choose to marry. Or not.”

  Lord Shropson nodded as though he agreed, then commented, “I do so hope you are not making a mistake by rejecting my suit. I have influence, and the ears of very powerful people at court. A marriage to me would be most suitable.”

  “Is that a threat, My Lord?” Mallory asked, her brow lifted.

  “It is what it is,” he replied, his voice urbane. “Women do not belong to themselves, they are the property of a man.”

  “And you want me as your property.” Mallory craved to stand up and order him out of her house. “Fortunately for me, I do know my rights as a single, unattached woman. And among those rights is that I cannot be married against my will. Thus, I will not marry you, and I have no need of your alleged protection.”

  Shropson’s lips thinned. “And that is your mistake.”

  Mallory shrugged, and picked up her cup to sip her cooling tea. “Mine to make, is it not?”

  “By all means, yes.” Shropson stood up. “I suggest you reconsider, and I will give you time to make the sensible decision. I will expect your answer tomorrow.”

  Mallory also stood. “You have my answer. Good day to you.”

  Lord Shropson did not bow, nor did Mallory offer him a polite curtsey. He stalked from the drawing room past the servants who did bow as he passed them, and he left without looking back. Grimes followed him out to perform his obligatory duties in seeing a guest off while Mallory gazed at Anna in st
unned amazement.

  “The fellow has quite the nerve,” she said. “Walk into my home and demand I marry him.”

  “Is he as powerful as he says he is, My Lady?” Anna asked. “Perhaps you should be worried.”

  Mallory slowly shook her head, her eyes on the distant door. “I do not believe so. From what my father told me, Shropson has very nearly made himself a laughingstock among the ton. Few respect him, and should I marry him, none would respect me, either.”

  “Perhaps then you should find a protector,” Anna advised. “I feel that you have made an enemy of that man.”

  Mallory laughed. “It’s not like I can pull one from the woodwork, Anna. Besides, my father’s name is my protection. None would dare harm the daughter of the Marquess of Oldcastle.”