Devil of Montlaine (Regency Rendezvous Book 1)

by Claudy Conn

  Her brother said, “No…I don’t like that, Ness.”

  “Blaming me when I was defending…my cousin’s horse…” Randall objected.

  “If you hadn’t mentioned Shadow, hadn’t said Shadow could beat Walton’s blasted blood, damn if the whole thing isn’t your fault!” Ricky argued.

  Ness shook her head and urged her horse off into a canter as she listened to the last of their spluttering fade with the wind.

  The breeze and the speed were wonderful and just what she and Shadow both needed after walking sedately for an hour. Soon they would have to rest and water their horses, but now, the freedom of the run was something she loved.

  She slowed as she spied a sudden cluster of pines and what appeared to be a private path to an iron gate between two brick columns. She hadn’t been here since she was a child, but she remembered it well.

  The name Penrod was emblazoned upon the gate.

  She turned her mare onto the narrow path in the trees when her horse, which rarely spooked, did just that, nearly unseating her.

  Shadow’s ears flickered as Ness sat very still and scanned her surroundings.

  A face with large dark eyes loomed for a moment and Ness saw fear in those eyes. The face vanished as the person ducked and ran.

  “Hallo? I am sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Ness called after the person.

  No response.

  A sudden chill scurried up Ness’s spine and she pivoted her horse around as she chewed her upper lip and took off at a heady pace, making for the open road.

  There was something about those dark, sad eyes.

  However, it was best she return to her brother and cousin!

  Chapter Five

  Ricky frowned and stood in his stirrups to look up the incline of the road. “Where the devil did she get to?”

  Randy shrugged. “Isn’t it just like her to go and do what we expressly forbade her to do?”

  “Aye, and she has been gone a long bit. I don’t like it,” Ricky agreed.

  “We must establish some authority with her,” Randy suggested.

  Ricky snorted.

  “Well, we can’t have her doing this sort of thing. Must see that. Otherwise, we’ll end up forever banished in this Godforsaken place.”

  “Would have stopped her, had I seen her leave,” Ricky grumbled. “Look, she can’t have gone far. Let’s step up the pace.”

  “Not gone far? Do you remember when she led us into the marsh just because she wanted to explore?”

  “Yes, I do.” Rick grinned. “But that ended us up in the Mermaid Inn and that was well worth it! Spank-up good time we had there.”

  Randy took a moment to reflect. “Aye, but still, Rick, perhaps we should talk to her about…”

  “Hold!” Rick indicated with his chin that a rider was coming around the bend in the road. “Lord, girl, slow down!” he shouted at his sister.

  Ness drew her horse up, and breathing hard, put a hand to her heart. “Rick, oh Rick, the oddest thing just happened. It gave me the jitters.”

  “Where the deuce have you been?” Randy demanded at this.

  “What do you mean, it gave you the jitters? What did?” Rick asked on a frown.

  She gave them both an arched look and said, “Don’t look so out of reason cross. Only do listen. I found Penrod Tower…”

  “Did you, by God!” Randy said hopefully. “Good thing. I am just about starved to death.”

  “Shh, now. I went up the road a bit and saw a little path…”

  This time her brother interrupted her. “And, of course, you had to explore.”

  She beamed. “Of course. Now do be quiet, both of you, and listen.” She waited. “Right then. I took the path when suddenly, Shadow spooked and you know she never spooks, calmest horse ever, but she did, and in the thicket was this face, a girl, I think. No, I am certain, a girl’s face and she had these huge dark eyes…sad and frightened, I think.”

  “No doubt you startled her, you and your mad mare.” Randy chuckled.

  “Perhaps, but, even so, she took off,” Ness said thoughtfully. “One minute she was there, and the next, poof and she was gone.”

  That was enough to rattle her cousin. “I don’t like this. Vanishing girls and such. Cornwall is full of witches they say.”

  “Stop it, Randy. Witches, indeed!” Ness admonished. “I won’t allow such talk. People, good innocent people have been hurt by such horrible gossip, you know.”

  “Well…perhaps we have never encountered one, but we can’t say they do or don’t exist,” Randy pursued.

  “What there used to be were witch hunts and witch trials. There hasn’t been a witch trial in years and years. Not, I think, since Grandfather was born,” Vanessa put in thoughtfully.

  “Aye, not a legal one, Ness ‘ole girl,” stuck in her brother. “But even in London we have heard whispers about what goes on here in the wilds of Cornwall. A great many people in these parts believe in witches.”

  “We shall not be a party to such things,” Ness said resolutely. “The coach should be along any moment. I will tether Shadow at the boot and climb in with Millie. Propriety,” she grinned, “must be observed.” This made her giggle.

  Randy’s face was puckered in a frown and Rick asked, “What is the matter?”

  “Witches and vanishing girls with sad eyes, that’s what. Your sister is bound to be drawn into something and drag us along with her.”

  Ricky acknowledged the truth of this with a shake of his head. “We had better keep a sharp eye on her.”

  * * *

  Lady Penrod was a woman of many impeccable qualities. Quick wit, warm-heartedness, and understanding were among these attributes.

  To a girl of fifteen who was flushed, agitated, and in a complete tither, these assets were gold.

  “But, Lady Penrod. She saw me. I don’t know how I came to be so stupid! All I could do was stand frozen and stare at her.”

  “Hush, child. You must calm yourself,” her ladyship soothed, putting a strong arm around the girl’s shoulders and pulling her toward the settee. “Now, who saw you?”

  “I don’t know who it was. I have never seen her before anywhere in the village, but, oh my word, she was absolutely beautiful. She was riding a snow grey mare right up the wooded path that leads to your gate. Oh, my lady, what shall we do?”

  Lady Penrod put a finger to her nose. “I must think.” She had not been at Penrod when Mary of Montlaine had arrived in the dead of night. Her servants had, of course, let her in and kept her hidden, for Mary was Lady Penrod’s goddaughter and had been visiting Penrod since she was born. Her ladyship would not have accepted to have Vanessa visit had she known Mary would arrive under such dreadful circumstances, looking for shelter and discretion. Thankfully, the Penrod butler and the Montlaine butler were related and as Penrod staff were deeply loyal to her, Mary’s presence at Penrod was a secret they meant to keep.

  However, Lady Penrod mused, that too would have posed a problem, for how could she have turned away Vanessa when everyone knew she enjoyed spending the ‘Brighton Season’ at her own home in Cornwall?

  After a moment she said, “Ah, it must be Ness. This might be a problem, but not as bad as you might think.” She paced for a moment and sighed before suggesting, “Perhaps, my dearest child, it is time we sent you off to my sister’s care in London.” This suggestion didn’t ‘feel’ right, and she was sure it wasn’t when Mary threw herself at her and hugged her tightly.

  “Please do not, please, my lady,” Mary cried in distress. “I…I need to be here.”

  “I think, Mary, your brother would have agreed with me. I must think of your safety,” Lady Penrod soothed gently.

  A large tear formed in the girl’s dark eyes and spilled over. Her voice broke as she said, “I can’t…won’t believe he is dead.”

  “Is that what you were doing outside? You simply cannot keep going to Bodmin Heights. What do you expect to find there?”

  “I don’t know
. I look out to sea, oh ma’am, I know he couldn’t have survived the fall, the rolling waves of water, the treacherous jutting rocks, and yet…”

  Lady Penrod hugged her close. “No, dear, he could not have…not even your brother could have managed such a feat.”

  “But where then is his body?” Mary asked on a sob.

  “Mary, you are old enough and wise enough to know that the tide no doubt took his body. Don’t dwell on it. You must not dwell on it.” Lady Penrod stroked Mary’s face.

  “How can I not? They killed him with their lies. I can’t believe my brother, a hero who survived the war…all that time in Spain, came home to be accused of witchcraft and murder! How can such things be?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that, but, and in spite of the fact that I am a woman, I know how to get things done. I have a dear friend or two who are members with clout in the Home Office. I mean to have them look into getting this situation investigated and thereby clearing your brother’s name. This is outrageous in this day and age that villagers can swoop down and claim a man of substance is a witch and demand he be arrested. Such behavior can only bring about chaos.”

  The sitting room door opened wide and Toby, the Penrod butler’s eyebrows were up, as an indication that he was considerably distressed as he said, “I am sorry to bother you, m’lady, but we have er…guests.”

  “Rather,” her ladyship said, and clucked her tongue.

  “Invited guests, m’lady,” Toby offered on a hushed note.

  “Ah, of course,” her ladyship said, and folded her hands into one another.

  “Lady Vanessa Grey, the Lord Richard of Grey, and their cousin, Randall of Southvale. I took them to the library and had refreshments sent to them there.”

  Lady Penrod put a hand to her temple and pressed ever so lightly. “Of course, very clever of you, dear Toby. Did you tell them you were off to fetch me, yes, yes, I am sure you did. Very well.”

  She turned back to her young charge and said softly, “Mary, darling, this is going to be difficult because Ness is a curious minx and has a quick mind. She is here because she got into a bit of a scrape, and I have promised her parents to keep her out of trouble, though how I should be expected to do that, I have no notion.” She took Mary’s shoulders. “You must stay out of sight, not because she would give you away, but because she would, if she finds you hiding here, dive headlong into trying to help you. She would do battle on your behalf and then, my dear, it would be the very devil of a mess!”

  “I am so sorry, ma’am. Will you send me away? I do so hope not.” Mary’s voice was scarcely audible.

  She gave the girl a warm hug. “No, I think not…at least not yet, but from now on, be circumspect about your movements and use the cupboard passage whenever possible. We shall find a solution, I promise,” Lady Penrod said on a heavy sigh.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her ladyship waited, watching Mary press a knob that controlled a spring in the wainscoting. The half-sized door opened and Mary bent to take the hidden corridor to her own wing. Her ladyship raised her eyes heavenward as she asked for guidance, then turned to the patient Toby. “Well, Toby, old friend. Let us not keep our guests waiting any longer.”

  Chapter Six

  Down and over the ragged rocks, close to the narrow stretch of beach that lay beyond the huge boulders that jutted skyward, crouched a broad-shouldered man whose black cape whipped backward in the force of the strong sea wind.

  The Viscount of Montlaine bent in upon one knee, an elbow resting there. His other arm was relaxed at his side as he surveyed his surroundings, ready to dart for cover should anyone other than the man he was waiting for approach.

  He looked down into the small pool of water that had collected in a hollow of sand and saw his face looking back at him. His eyes were so black. This made him smile ruefully as he noted their color and his sharp brows did indeed, at that moment, appear satanic.

  How the bloody hell had he found himself in such a situation?

  That was the question of the hour, of the day, of the week since his actions or inactions brought him to this point.

  He grimaced and stood up. Much of it was his own fault. He had been careless and wayward. Perhaps he had been hard-hearted. He had been selfish and blind, even to those closest to him.

  Had it been the war? Had it changed him so much?

  Had he the chance to change the past, would he? By God, he would!

  Everyone thought him dead, but he couldn’t stay that way. He would have to find a way of clearing his name.

  He stared at the yellow wildflowers that decorated the rocky hill at his back. What had he missed? Where had he gone wrong? When had the rumors of witchcraft begun and why had he not been alert enough?

  Because, he answered himself, you were too busy drinking and whoring! Because you were riveted in the notion that life was meaningless, and that all the lives lost in the war solved nothing. You were disillusioned and full of self-loathing.

  As you are still, said that nagging voice.

  * * *

  “Ho there, Willard,” a thunderous voice touched with raillery called to the grizzled elderly man within the small confines of the gatekeeper’s cottage. “Ho there, I say. Come on, ye old dog, open up for Montlaine!”

  Willard set down his pot of hot water with a grumbling string of unintelligible words. Here now was the end of his fine day. He had just opened the gate for Lady Vanessa and her crew, but he remembered Lady Vanessa and her brother and liked them very well. Their parents always had a coin for him, and their children had been most generous in the same way when they greeted him. Aye, he liked them. The Echworths were a very different story.

  Besides that, he had just been about to settle down for his lunch and a hot toddy.

  He stuck his head out the door and saw the large black coach with the gold leafing and a coat of arms depicting the House of Montlaine. He grumbled to himself, for he disliked that the Echworths were already taking over Montlaine and all its belongings. Why, the poor viscount wasn’t even cold in his grave…as to that, there wasn’t even a grave!

  “Well, be ye coming, whiskers?” the driver atop the coach called to him.

  Willard allowed the driver a grimace. “Hold yer horses, ye resty ole man. Can’t ye see I’m coming?”

  He swung the gate wide and stood aside to watch as the driver urged his pair of bays forward.

  The driver slowed as he passed the gatekeeper and winked. “I’ll be down in a brace o’ snaps and we’ll have a cup, eh?”

  Willard relented, “Aye then, but what news of Montlaine?” He was a Penrod man, had been for most of his fifty odd years. Penrod and Montlaine went back in time for longer than he remembered, and he was staunchly loyal to tradition.

  “Sad to say, no news, old friend. Looks like his lordship has gone to his maker this time, looks like…” the driver mused on a grim note.

  “Bad times these,” noted Willard with a shake of his head.

  “Driver!” a woman’s voice within the coach called shrilly, rapping at the ceiling of the coach with a cane for emphasis. “What are you waiting for? Move on, move on.”

  “Aye, Mrs. Echworth,” the driver said as he urged his horses forward and the Montlaine coach lumbered onto Penrod land.

  * * *

  Within the carriage, Mrs. Echworth regarded her traveling companions quietly. She had goals and no one was going to interfere with those goals.

  Her eyes narrowed as she regarded her daughter. Sheila was nearing her twenty-first year, and had failed to ensnare a worthwhile prize. It was a great disappointment, but then the girl had not had the advantage of a fortune until now. Sheila, however, was being petulant and uncooperative. She simply had to make her understand that this was virtually her last chance. They needed the Montlaine money so she could give her daughter all the advantages that money could procure.

  “Sheila, darling, may I remind you that we are very much concerned about our cousin, Mary. She has be
en missing since that terrible night, and I have reason to believe that Lady Penrod might know where she is.”

  “Why should I care about Mary?” Sheila pouted and looked out the window. “I can’t wait until all this business is done and we can return to London.”

  “Look there at the lovely lawns, the magical flower beds, the elegant gazebo, and the Tower itself. Sheila, Lady Penrod could help us get invitations from…”

  “Oh, I doubt that she would be moved to do so,” the gentleman sitting across from them in the carriage interrupted her with a sneer.

  Mrs. Echworth regarded him, one brow up. “I know you have a high regard for yourself, my son, and you do, indeed, dress in a manner that does us credit…”

  “That Brummell himself would applaud my fashion,” her son interrupted again.

  “Yes, well, Orson, though you dress well and your à la Brutus yellow waves might make the ladies swoon, you have not yet procured a wealthy bride, have you? And you could have had that Belchamp chit!”

  “Indeed, you are correct, though even you would not have wished that dour little Belchamp girl on me!” he said with a shake of his head. “Besides, I am not in the petticoat line and doubt that I shall ever wed.”

  “Why not? With Belchamp’s dowry alone, we could have all been comfortable for life. Once married, son, you can go your own way,” his mother said, and turned to stare out the window. She was heartily sick of their moderate income. They had the name, and the breeding, but her husband, who had been a second son, had gambled away his trust fund and then had died in a drunken stupor. What was she to do?

  “Well, as much as we have every reason to wish Mary with her brother, Mother, I fear the girl is safely tucked within the walls of Penrod, protected by her godmother. There is little we can do,” Orson said on a heavy sigh.

  “Stop such talk, Orson. We have no reason to wish Mary ill,” his mother admonished severely. She smoothed the dark grey mourning gown she wore and avoided her son’s eye.