Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  Carter glanced to his brother. What he would share would affect Law and Arabella, and it grieved him to remind his brother of a long, unspoken feud. “In truth, I hold no knowledge of import regarding Mrs. Warren beyond what I have previously shared. I have, however, discovered a troubling fact regarding Mr. Monroe. This particular point was what drove me to Derbyshire. I knew nothing of Mrs. Warren’s disappearance until I rode into Linton Park at dawn.”

  “Just tell us,” Lexford said irritably. “We are losing precious time, as well as daylight.”

  Carter nodded curtly. “Pennington disclosed Mr. Monroe’s family included the Dymonds in Cornwall and likely those in Staffordshire.” A shocked silence followed.

  Law asked in disbelief, “As in Hugh Dymond?” His brother made an expressive shudder.

  Carter spoke honestly to his brother. “It has come to my attention Pennington rejected Viscount Ransing’s bid to join our ranks, but when Pennington’s attention to the duchess drew him away from London, Lord Sidmouth and the Duke of Portland installed Monroe as my assistant.”

  The implications were plain, and no one spoke the assumptions. However, Blakehell appeared unconvinced: His eyebrows sailed upward toward the baron’s receding hairline. “You are saying your brother’s university feud with Hugh Dymond has translated into some sort of traitorous plot? This is too bizarre, Carter. You have erred.”

  An awkward silence ensued until Charleton cleared his throat. “Mayhap not so bizarre, Blakehell.”

  “Would you kindly explain, Your Lordship?” Kerrington asked suspiciously.

  Charleton glanced nervously about the group. “Last evening, Lucinda and I shared her father’s private papers. In those, my niece read something in her father’s military records, which brought on extreme sentimentality on Lucinda’s part.” Carter thought the earl’s description of Mrs. Warren in error, but he held his tongue. “After my dearest girl returned to her quarters, I broke my promise to her: I finished reading Roderick’s papers. I would not have Lucinda injured again unnecessarily. I mean to keep her from harm.”

  The marquis suggested encouragingly, “And something in Colonel Rightnour’s papers refers to Hugh Dymond?”

  “In fact, they do. “ Again, the earl paused before explaining, “It is of great importance my niece’s reputation is maintained. I would not wish what I share to become common knowledge.”

  Kerrington assured, “We want only to save the lady and return Mrs. Warren to your care.”

  The earl nodded curtly. Charleton’s clear, straight gaze met the others, daring each man to dispute his words. “In Roderick’s papers there are references to my brother discovering a deep secret regarding Captain Warren. Roderick wrote of Warren being part of a group bringing European artwork and pottery from the plundered war cities to England. Many of the pieces were quite rare. Roderick concealed his discovery to protect Lucinda’s reputation.”

  Carter’s attention piqued with the mention of stolen European artwork. The thought of solving more than one investigation thrilled him. “And Hugh Dymond held connections to Captain Warren?”

  “The viscount’s name is mentioned among several others. The only one on the list of which I had a previous acquaintance was Cyrus Woodstone, whose father is a well known Member of Parliament for Dorset.”

  Kerrington looked at Carter sharply, and Carter suspected Lord Worthing knew more of Carter’s investigation than the viscount pretended. He said, “Now that we have a glimmer into what we are stumbling, I suggest we remount. Lexford is correct: We have lost our momentum.”

  Without another word, seven men retrieved their horses. Mounting, they waited for Carter’s orders. Although he was the youngest, they had placed their combined faiths in his ability to lead. “Mr. Beauchamp, if you would take up the trail, we will follow; but as we become closer, I will assume the role. Whoever has Mrs. Warren has named me as his enemy, and I do not mean to disappoint the lady’s assailant.”

  Kerrington guided his mount to come abreast of Carter’s horse. “Is there anything else you wish to share?” Their pace had slowed as they reached the first plateau. Their group followed the wagon’s trail, which meant whoever had taken Mrs. Warren would soon make a decision: A wagon could not traverse the passes of Dark Peak. Mrs. Warren’s abductor would choose either to abandon the lady or to abandon his chosen transportation.

  “I hold my own conclusions, but you know the gist of what has happened.” He glanced behind him to where the others studied the landscape for possible clues. “Have you a theory?”

  Kerrington adjusted his seat as his horse began to climb once more. “I was just considering how easy this trail is to follow. I am not one who prefers ‘easy.’”

  Carter bit back his reply: He did not enjoy the feeling of having no control over the lady’s rescue. “I am certain the marquis and Lexford have taken notice, but not the others.” He glanced to where Mr. Beauchamp leaned low upon his horse to search the ground. “So, we are likely riding into some sort of trap.”

  “Yes,” Kerrington commiserated. “Yet, at the moment, we hold little choice. Mrs. Warren’s life is in danger.”

  Carter’s self-chastisement and indignation had arrived. “The lady knows peril because I thought myself superior to Viscount Ransing, and I practiced petty foolishness upon the man,” he hissed.

  Kerrington scowled, “This situation has roots deep in the past. If what the earl shared proves true, Ransing has been involved in nefarious dealings for many years; his using the feud between him and your brother is purely a ruse– an excuse to even the balance when the viscount has clearly lost his reason.”

  Carter lowered his head. It appalled him to think his actions had cost Mrs. Warren her freedom. “I should not have taunted Ransing with my superiority. It was a shallow endeavor. I used my power with the Realm to make Ransing pay for his arrogance.” He sucked in a sharp breath of self-anger.

  Kerrington shook off Carter’s self-censure. “You cannot permit the negative thoughts to ride with you, or you will know failure.” It bothered Carter that Kerrington paused for emphasis. Carter did not require more responsibility heaped upon his shoulders; he felt weighed down by his duties. “Do you recall day when Wellston and I pulled you from the battlefield watch to join the Realm?”

  It struck him as supremely ironic Kerrington chose to remind him of his young, impetuous self. “How could I not?” Carter replied dejectedly. “I have not had a day’s peace since.”

  Kerrington mustered a wan smile. “I cursed Pennington that day as much as you,” the viscount admitted. “I had argued vehemently we did not require a seventh man, and even if we did, Kimbolt had brought us Lucifer Hill. Wellston argued you were too young–you had barely reached your majority, and you were so green.”

  Carter gritted his teeth. He had been a damn fine junior officer; he had proved that particular fact at Waterloo. He hoped if he made some clever remark, perhaps Kerrington would abandon this line of conversation. “It is pleasant to discover in hindsight I was not a welcomed addition to such an elite group.” It was irreverent to encounter the truth now that they rode together into what was likely an ambush.

  “Nonsense,” Lord Worthing declared. “It had nothing to do with you personally; it was just the tediousness of having to open our operations to yet another stranger; and at the time, your record had shown you a passionate soldier, but not a particularly adept military strategist.” Carter grudgingly recognized his sometimes angry, self-destructive self in Kerrington’s description. “I had already spent a lifetime tempering Fowler’s hastiness, and I could not imagine beginning anew with you.”

  A frown of alarm and regret creased Carter’s brow. “Then why did you change your mind? You were never one blindly to follow nonsensical orders.”

  Kerrington urged his horse forward. “It was Pennington. Our own ‘Shepherd of lost souls’ who convinced me you were the Realm’s future. He said you possessed the innate insight to lead England against those who could cor
rupt it to its core. In truth, I thought Pennington had lost his reason, but now I thoroughly agree. Without men of your caliber, Lowery, this country is doomed.”

  Their progress had slowed to a crawl, and Lucinda wondered where her abductor meant to take her. Although it remained stiflingly hot, the temperature inside the box had cooled somewhat. She was miserably cramped and miserably stuffy and miserably regretful. Everything in her life had been turned upon its ear, and now that she knew for certain she loved Carter Lowery she would likely die.

  The horses whined from the strain of pulling the wagon, and Lucinda braced herself against the obvious incline, which would follow. Her journey had been one of straining to stay in place against gravity’s pull upon her position, and Lucinda held no doubt they approached the Dark Peaks behind Blake’s Run. During her confinement, she had examined everything she knew of the baronet and of her late husband, but not one connection showed itself. It was extremely frustrating for if she could discover the “tie,” Lucinda might be able to use it to bargain for her release.

  Suddenly, the wagon’s forward movement halted, and Lucinda’s heartbeat increased in anticipation. She waited, part in panic and part in relief, for her release from her wooden cell, but no sound came from the outside world. She strained to hear her abductor’s approach; yet, only silence reigned. Within seconds, realization arrived: She was alone and locked in a box with no means of escape.

  Although Carter had warned her to take precautions, she had admittedly not thought it possible for danger to strike a second time in so few hours, and so Arabella had made her way around the orangery toward the dowager house, where she meant to unpack more of the trunks she had sent over previously as a means to distract her heart from the disarray of her friend’s abduction. She had convinced herself if she went about her normal duties, everything would return to how it should be. Her thoughts remained deeply seated upon the situation between Carter and Mrs. Warren, and she prayed for the search party’s success. The couple, obviously, affected each other, but Bella easily recognized the gulf between them. “Very much as it was between Lawrence and me.”

  Lucinda Warren had been systematically abused by her late husband, the woman’s self-confidence chipped away by a man who thought only of his own comforts. Lawrence had explained what Law had termed to be Carter’s growing interest in the woman and how truly unsuited they were for each other. “I fear my brother’s heart will know disappointment,” Law had declared as he sat Bella upon his lap. “He is young; yet, I have held the hope of Carter finally knowing love. He has always harbored the idea the baron does not recognize his worth. It would do Carter well to know the love of a woman fiercely loyal to him, and him alone.”

  “In the same manner, I am with you?” Bella had teased as she pulled her body closer to his.

  Law’s hands had skimmed her hips, lifting her center to his erection. “Exactly,” he had rasped. “Such a woman can change a man’s stars.”

  Remembrance of what had followed brought a flush to Bella’s cheeks. She paused to stare blindly at the back lawns and to imagine her husband striding toward her. He was always so confident–so assured of his role in his family and in Society. Bella held no doubt he could have claimed any woman he wished. The fact Lawrence Lowery had chosen her never ceased to amaze Bella, and she thanked God daily for bringing them together. “Come home safely,” she said on a sigh.

  It was the last thing she recalled before the terracotta squares leading to the orangery had come up to meet her fall. She had slammed hard against the tiles, and even the cool surface of the bricks had offered no comfort. A groan. A hand across her mouth. A cloth about her eyes. It had all happened so quickly, Bella had had little time to react. Someone swept her from the floor and had thrown her roughly over his shoulder.

  Unable to see her attacker, Bella had fought for escape, but whoever had grabbed her had had an accomplice, who had quickly bound her hands and legs, turning her into a living sack. She resented how the second man had fondled her ankles as he tied them together; however, she ignored the intrusion and listened to the whispered exchange between the men.

  “Hurry, before someone comes looking for her.”

  “She is a wild one, more passionate than her cousin.”

  Which cousin? Bella wondered. She had cousins in England’s southwest shires, those generations residing within the Earl of Vaughn’s reach, as well as those in Staffordshire, an extension of Lord Graham’s family. All were less impetuous than she.

  The men were running. She assumed they raced from the gardens, away from any hope of her rescue. With a gag in her mouth, she could not scream for assistance, and as Bella bounced hard against her abductor’s shoulder, she knew instant fear. She prayed the man’s rough handling would not harm the child she carried. Above all else, she must protect Lawrence’s issue. Thus resolve, Bella ceased her struggle. Instead, she went limp in the man’s grasp, easing the harsh blows to her body from his jostling her roughly. Later, she would concentrate on escaping. For now, the child’s welfare took prominence.

  “Sir Carter!” Mr. Beauchamp beckoned Carter forward. Carter, along with Kerrington at his side, joined the family steward. When he and Worthing reined in their horses, the man said, “We are entering some sort of enclave, Sir, and it appears the wagon we seek has taken a turn into this horseshoe enclosure. I do not like it, Sir.”

  “Neither do I,” Carter declared. “Whomever we pursue has made no effort to conceal his trail.”

  “What do you wish us to do, Lowery?” Kerrington asked.

  His “captain’s” words still clung to Carter’s shoulders: It was time he proved himself worthy of Pennington’s respect. “I would wish to be of Thornhill’s nature and storm into the battle,” he said with a knowing nod to Kerrington. “Yet, a bit of caution is necessary. Lord Worthing, if you, Godown, and Lexford would lead the others in a circular approach, I will follow the trail to its end.”

  Kerrington did not question Carter’s decision. “As you wish. Give us a quarter hour to take up protective positions before you set out again.” Kerrington motioned Beauchamp to follow him, and within a minute, the other riders had dispersed.

  Carter would have preferred to dismount and to rest his horse, but he thought better of it. He held no idea whether he faced one culprit or several. Whether the person he followed was the infantryman, who had attacked him previously. Whether Mrs. Warren’s abductor held him in his sights. Carter would not know until he rode into the shelter’s narrow opening. Until he exposed himself to the lady’s attacker.

  Instinctively, Carter checked the pocket watch he carried in his pocket. It was the one his father had presented him on Carter’s eighteenth birthday. A very ornate timepiece, the baron had explained had once belonged to Nigel Lowery, Carter’s irascible grandfather. According to the baron, Carter’s appearance had been a profound relief to Niall Lowery, who had bemoaned the need for a spare after three successive female births. Carter had carried it every day since; in his reasoning, it was a symbol of his connection to the Lowery family, perhaps even a symbol of Niall Lowery’s love for his second son. “Ten more minutes,” he said to remind himself of the task at hand.

  “Dear God,” he said reverently aloud, “in your eternal goodness, protect those who ride with me and share your benevolence with Mrs. Warren. I failed her in Belgium, but with your permission, on this day, I mean to fulfill that long ago promise to the lady.” Returning the watch to an inside pocket, Carter’s eyes scanned the open trail. The idea he could be riding to his death did not frighten him. This was the life he had chosen, and Carter held no regrets. His legacy would be one of life–the lives he had saved and the lives he had changed. “It is enough,” he declared. “Even if Pennington’s prediction never proves true, I will continue on. I will do what is right for each English citizen: I will do my duty.”

  He caught the horse’s reins more firmly in his grasp and used his knees to nudge the animal forward. Retrieving his gun from the hols
ter strapped to his chest, Carter set the trigger for a quicker response. He felt very exposed, and he sat lower in the saddle to make himself a smaller target. With each tap of the horse’s hoofs against the smooth pebbles and twigs, Carter’s heart pounded out a fearful staccato. He licked his dry lips and set the horse’s pace to a gallop. “Time to free Mrs. Warren,” he said as he rode hard into the opening.

  After hearing nothing for what felt like hours, when the shot rang out, Lucinda had jumped–her body responding to the sound of the recoil. She had heard enough rifles to recognize the sound. Instinctively, she jerked her knees upward, only to have them bang against the side of the box and sending a radiating pain shooting through her already numb limbs.

  Suddenly, the box in which she rested shifted, and she fought to stay in place as the wagon beneath her tilted, pitching the box downward to slam into what she assumed was the hinged back drop. The sound of wood ripping told her the back would not hold her weight mixed with that of her enclosure. The question was what would happen if the wagon shifted again?

  A second shot brought another reaction and another tilt of the box followed by a scream and her bracing her hands against the sides of her enclosure. The box was angled some five and forty degrees, and Lucinda stiffly pushed against the box’s rear to hold herself in place.

  When a third round of gunfire ensued, Lucinda breathed through the desire to recoil. Instead, she concentrated on conjuring up an image of Carter Lowery’s beloved countenance. “Do not forget me,” she whispered as she closed her eyes to hold his image before her.

  Carter bolted from the horse and dove for protection as the dirt sprayed upward about the stallion’s legs. The animal bucked and then rose up on two legs. It pawed the air, and Carter rolled away before the stallion could strike him.

  Within seconds came answering fire, and Carter knew one of his friends had taken up the fight. Scrambling to his feet, Carter ran toward where he had seen the flash of light–where his enemy lay in wait. It had never been his way to rush heedlessly into the skirmish, but this time was different: Lucinda Warren had suffered because of him, and Carter meant to set her world aright. He owed her as much. “Never again,” he growled as he ducked behind a stand of trees. A third round of gunfire told him the others had engaged the resistance, but Carter ignored the melee. He possessed no doubt his family and friends would prevail in the altercation. He remained focused on only one task: the saving of Lucinda Warren.