Saving Lord Whitton's Daughter: A Regency Romance Novel

by Susan Tietjen

  Everyone accepted right off, the countess his designated guide.

  * * *

  Bethany still wasn’t sure what to make of Lord Locke. On their ride he was most attentive to her mother and Lady Camille, and his camaraderie with the twins was enviable. With her, however, he kept his distance. Never impolite but as if he were uncomfortable in her presence. Truly, their conversations remained so superficial, Bethany had the distinct impression the man didn’t want to know much about her.

  Or perhaps he didn’t want her to know much about him.

  Preparations for the wedding took over, Bethany far too busy to further dissect her fiancé’s conduct, but the more time she spent with Marcus Ashburn, the more certain she became that he presented a practiced face to her, the face of a consummate actor.

  Oddly enough, in time she also became grateful for it. When he let his personable self show, he was far too amiable and definitely far too handsome. Without such suspicions, she had no doubt she could have fallen in love with the man in an instant, definitely not an option.

  Thus, her reservations kept her emotions at bay, which also served to protect her from the consequences of trusting too blindly.

  * * *

  Bethany had no idea how she tolerated being rushed her through everything Lady Katherine deemed essential for the wedding. A major sticking point came when her mother sat down with her to go over their brief guest list: a few old friends to come from London, several neighbors summering at their country estates and the three Camerfield siblings were about the extent of it.

  “I do have a special request,” the countess said, her face pinched with dread. “I know you won’t like it, and if you cannot abide it, I understand. I’ve another friend I wish to offer an invitation. Not only are her connections superior, you must also realize that she is the sort it would be unwise to insult by not inviting her.”

  “Then why can you not invite her?” Bethany asked, worried about the answer.

  “Because the lady in question is the Dowager Lady Scarbreigh. Lord Scarbreigh’s mother. To snub her would suggest that the mishap between you and the marquess was significant. She will not want his name besmirched.”

  Just hearing the marquess’s name distressed Bethany. Still, this was only his mother. “If you feel it’s necessary then of course she should come,” she replied.

  Lady Katherine sighed. “She’s getting older, Beth. She rarely travels out of London these days. She’s terrified of highwaymen or accidents along the way. She’ll likely insist on bringing his lordship with her.”

  “Oh, Mum—”

  “I understand you’re embarrassed by what happened. But you cannot allow a misunderstanding to discount a friendship that has lasted most of your life. He did nothing wrong, after all. You just didn’t appreciate it. I’m certain he’s a forgiving man. If he’s not, he’ll not come. Perhaps if we send him a separate invitation, and you include an apology, it will set things to rights.”

  Bethany agreed with her mother on all counts but could hardly imagine doing any such thing. Not even for the sake of Scarbreigh’s reputation, which she doubted she could sully. If Lady Camille’s sweet face had not spirited its way into her thoughts, she wouldn’t have considered it.

  Her cousin had long admired the marquess, and Bethany truly believed that Scarbreigh was fond of Lady Camille. She was also convinced that in honor of her father and brothers, and to rescue Bethany and Lady Katherine from penury, he’d been trying to play the hero when he proposed to her. She really ought to feel more charitable toward him.

  Besides, left to their own devices, Lady Camille and Scarbreigh might well make a match, and if they did, Bethany would have to learn to deal with the marquess’s presence at all and sundry holidays, family gatherings and other pursuits anyway.

  Swallowing her pride, she said a prayer, collected pen and ink and a most precious piece of paper and did exactly as her mother had asked.

  * * *

  If one believed the gossipmongers, the marriage of Lady Bethany Montgomery, Lord Whitton’s daughter, to Lord Marcus Ashburn, the Earl of Locke—and other sundry titles—was to be hailed as one of the most unexpected events of the year. With so few invited, it also amused Bethany that it would forever remain a mystery to most of the ton.

  The garden was exquisite—thanks to ten days’ determined care from its reemployed gardeners. Bethany’s dress was lovely despite its hasty creation, and the late-afternoon ceremony as brief and concise as Lord Locke had requested. Everyone played their parts without mishap, even the weather, which was comfortably warm and clear. Although Lady Katherine couldn’t be dissuaded from encouraging their guests to remain for as long as they liked, at least there weren’t very many of them and Bethany even liked some of them.

  Among them were childhood friends, most already married, who offered sincere well-wishing, which made up for those who’d attended for less kindly reasons. Some came mostly to bear witness that Lord Whitton’s “unsociable” daughter, the one who’d taken only one season in London and left it early last year, had truly captured one of the Uncatchables. She wouldn’t have minded their prying if they’d kept their attitudes to themselves. Quite the contrary. If she didn’t overhear snide remarks as she passed by them, she earned jealous glares and whispered slights.

  “Is this why you temper your attention to Lord Scarbreigh?” Bethany asked Lady Camille at one point. “I fear I won’t leave here in one piece.”

  Lady Camille stifled laughter with her lace kerchief. “Oh, heavens, it can’t be that bad.” Then she blinked when she saw the silent challenge Bethany threw her way. “Goodness, I had no idea. No, dear. I don’t seek Lord Scarbreigh’s attention because he’s not interested in me. If he’d come today, I must confess I might not mind the use of my own claws to get close to him.”

  Bethany gasped. “Are you serious? I for one will never understand the sentiment.” Then the truth of the matter saddened her. “I’m sorry for your sake that Scarbreigh and his esteemed mother didn’t attend. The Dowager Lady Scarbreigh wrote that she wouldn’t miss it.”

  Then she heard Mr. Drew announce someone in the distance and saw two people amble into the garden. Her heart plummeted to her toes.

  “Oh, dear. Well, it seems I’ve spoken too soon. Beware, Cousin, the subjects of our discussion have made a late arrival.”

  “What?” Lady Camille stiffened.

  “Lord Scarbreigh and his mother are making their rounds and shall soon be in our presence. Please take advantage of the sacrifice I made to get them here.”

  Lady Camille took a quick look over her shoulder then turned back, cheeks pinking. “Beth, that’s beneath you.”

  Bethany couldn’t help laughing. “It is, and I do apologize. Please make the best of it. I’m certain he’s soft on you.”

  “I do not believe it…but you know I would welcome it if it were true. Are they close to us? Oh, Bethany, what shall I do?”

  Bethany smiled. “Just be yourself, my dear. You’re one of the most beautiful women here. And stay away from the punch. You know you cannot handle your spirits, and you’ll want your head about you.”

  Bethany’s brief nod had Lady Camille turning to observe their approaching guests, Scarbreigh trailing his mother at a good distance as guests hailed him.

  “Lady Camille,” the Dowager Countess mewed, bussing Lady Camille’s cheeks and then turning to Bethany. The amused sparkle in her eye belied the elderly woman’s slight, frail figure.

  “Lady Locke. You have no idea the stir you’ve caused in London,” she said, kissing her as well. “And you have no idea how disheartened I am to have missed the ceremony. Please accept my humblest apologies. Carriage horse threw a shoe and it took three hours to fix it. And lest any of these snarling cats, who look for the worst in all of us, dare to suggest this is not the truth, please remember I’ve known your family and loved your esteemed mother a good part of my life. I would never slight you.”

  “Thank you, my lady,”
Bethany replied, humbled by her unexpected kindness.

  Still, her smile faded as Kirkwood Bannister, the man she’d known since childhood as Kirk, the Marquess of Scarbreigh, nodded and bowed his way past the other guests, his sky-blue eyes fastened to Lady Camille’s soft gray ones. He was a tall man, slender in comparison to Lord Locke’s powerful build but equally as handsome in his own right, his titian hair styled a-la-Brutus.

  When he arrived and after removing his right-hand glove, he offered Bethany his hand and a bow in congratulations. “My humblest best wishes, my dear,” he said in that winning voice that stole the ladies’ hearts. “Becoming Lady Locke appears to suit you. You’re not only lovely, you seem contented.”

  Bethany’s cheeks warmed even more. “You’re too kind, my lord, especially … under the circumstances.”

  A wry smile tweaked the corners of his mouth. “A bit of a spectacle, was it not?” He ran his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “Should have seen the bruises. At least you didn’t break it.” He glanced at Lady Camille and back at Bethany. “I appreciate your written apology, Lady Bethany. It meant a lot to both me and to Lady Scarbreigh. I ask for my own forgiveness. Had your esteemed mother informed me that Lord Locke was in the wings, I would never have approached you.”

  Bethany let out a soft breath that eased the tension inside her. “He wasn’t, my lord. He arrived to address my mother shortly after you and I set out for our morning ride.”

  “Ah.” Scarbreigh’s brows rose high. “And was waiting for you when you returned?”

  “Yes.”

  “That must have been awkward.”

  “Terribly. And my last hope for redeeming my father’s estate.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have admitted such a thing, but it suggested the arrangement had been based on need, not on some quality in the earl that Scarbreigh lacked.

  Scarbreigh glanced over her shoulder toward Lord Locke, surrounded by a few of their guests.

  “He was one of the most Uncatchable of all the Uncatchables, you know. Quite a feather in your cap, my dear. Marc—er—Locke is an old school chum of mine, although I haven’t seen much of him for the last year or so. Didn’t matter that he and Lord Christian were older than the twins and Mr. Collin and I. They were always up to some diversion or another and taking us along with them.”

  Bethany could hardly imagine it. Lord Locke a young man, engaged in merriment? The idea amused her.

  “But thankfully you survived it,” she said.

  His smile widened. “Quite well, actually.”

  “And now if you’d only settle down, find a wife and get an heir,” interjected Lady Scarbreigh, dampening his humor. Then turning her sharp eyes on Bethany and, with a hint of disapproval, she said, “I was quite surprised by the haste of your marriage, my dear. Count me a relic, but it’s most irregular, especially if one does not post banns.”

  Bethany blushed with embarrassment. Did the dowager think they were forced into marriage? Lady Katherine had feared far too many people would draw the same conclusion.

  “My lord was kind enough to schedule the marriage before having to go to the Continent for business. Otherwise, we couldn’t have done so until December.”

  The dowager’s brows rose in understanding. “Not acceptable, considering your mother’s financial affairs—but please don’t tell her I was gauche enough to say so. Well, I’m assuming Lord Locke has at least planned a decent wedding trip for you. A voyage to France is certainly possible now, with the war ended. It’s an important step in building a marriage, you know. Getting to know each other. I wish you the best.”

  Bethany worked hard to steady her smile. Let the nosey old woman think Bethany was going with Lord Locke to Europe. Let everyone think it. No one but Bethany and the family knew the truth, and her puzzling husband had asked them to keep the couple’s destination to themselves for now. His excuse had been his concern for Bethany and Lady Camille, who would be at Moorewood without him. Thieves, highwaymen and kidnappers weren’t uncommon in the country, after all.

  She hadn’t taken it seriously until now. Lady Scarbreigh had just given her more than one reason to keep the truth private.

  “Well, my lord, my ladies,” she said to the marquess, his mother, and Lady Camille. “Please make yourselves comfortable. I hope you’ll have a pleasant visit. If you’ll excuse me, I fear I must continue circulating among my guests.”

  “Of course, my dear,” Lady Scarbreigh said, but she slanted a sly look toward her son.

  Seemingly oblivious, the marquess offered his hand to Lady Camille, his blue eyes twinkling. When she took it, he placed an-air kiss above her fingers.

  “Lady Camille. You are beyond lovely today. I would be the luckiest man in the world if you’d agree to walk with me.”

  Bethany was thunderstruck when Lady Scarbreigh’s lips pursed into a self-satisfied smirk, her eyes bright with triumph. She had to press her own lips tight to avoid laughing out loud. To think, the old woman had not come to the wedding to congratulate an old friend’s daughter so much as she had come to turn her spurned son’s head in another direction.

  It brightened Bethany’s day immeasurably to realize that Lady Camille had another advocate in the war to win Lord Scarbreigh’s heart. Now if only the new Lady Locke didn’t dread having to meet with that small cluster of guests not far from the beverage table.

  * * *

  Locke watched the exchange between Lord Scarbreigh and Lady Bethany, surprised at how much he disliked like it.

  He oughtn’t to have any opinion about their relationship. He’d certainly never had any rivalry with Kirkwood Bannister in their lives. Until now, he’d wondered if the man would ever settle on any one female. He seemed to enjoy admiring all of them. Just knowing, however, that the friend of his salad days had offered to marry Lady Bethany annoyed him.

  He had to remind himself that not only had the marquess’s offer been refused, he had to deal with the embarrassment of being forced to the wedding by his domineering mother. Locke rather liked the Dowager Lady Scarbreigh; she accomplished things that few among the peerage could. He just couldn’t imagine her hard-heartedness in making her son come here today.

  Something moved in the corner of his eye and he turned to see Mr. Nicolas hurrying toward him, a hint of alarm on his face.

  “Sorry for the interruption, my lord. We’ve a problem,” he murmured. A quick jerk of his head had Locke following his lead out of the garden. The earl managed to do so while masking his concern with a bored look.

  Once safely away from the gathering, Mr. Nicolas muttered as they headed toward Whitton’s stable, “I promise the interruption was warranted.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “An attack on one of the horses.”

  “What?”

  “Please see for yourself.”

  Locke was grateful the driveway to the stables had lamps to chase off the eerie shadows of falling night. Lord Matthew joined them halfway to the stable, and then they met Jason at the doors, a blood-stained rag in his hand.

  “Didn’t like disturbin’ ya, m’lord,” Jason said, his face drawn, “but I s’posed you’d wanna know right off.”

  He scurried bow-legged and stoop-shouldered to a stall near the back of the building, the others following. Locke’s jaw tightened in anger when he entered the stall and saw the gaping wound and the look of misery in the poor beast’s eyes.

  ‘“Elped Lord Scarbreigh’s coachman take care of ‘is lordship’s team and afterward thought I’d feed the ‘orses a bit early. Got back ‘ere and this is what I found. Couldn’t ‘ave ‘appened long ago, but I can’t see ‘ow anyone coulda got in ‘ere without one of us seein’ ‘im.”

  Blood oozed from the black gelding’s neck in clotting rivulets and down his left foreleg, settling into a pool in the straw. Now that Lord Locke had seen the evidence, Jason pressed the cloth to the wound and murmured encouragement to the groaning horse.

  “Found Shadow like ya see ‘im, and then I turned
and….” He nodded to the right, toward the wall near the door. “Saw that.” A dagger was driven through an old rag into the wood. A note was scrawled on the rag, ink and blood mingling together and muddying some of the words.

  Locke yanked the knife out and examined the message, his own blood turning cold upon surmising it was addressed to his bride.

  Time you give us what we want. Do so, no harm to you. Don’t, you die. Leave note nailed to willow tree on the lane before leaving today. Don’t matter you’re an earl’s daughter. Will find you wherever you go.

  “There’s something else, Locke,” Lord Matthew said. “Jason needed to clean Shadow’s stall today. You know Shadow is Raven’s half-brother and agree he looks a lot like the stallion. This was Raven’s stall.”

  Locke’s jaw tightened. “You think this knife was meant for Lady Bethany’s stallion.” That would have devastated his bride.

  All three men shrugged but suspicion lurked in their eyes.

  “Lady Bethany has to know,” he muttered. “This was the last of her horses to be taken to Moorewood. Is it necessary to tell her about the note?”

  “No,” Mr. Nicolas responded, glancing at Lord Matthew. “I think it’s best we don’t.”

  Locke nodded. “Good. I’d as soon not o’rset her. She has enough to deal with under the circumstances.”

  “I also think you shouldn’t wait too much longer to leave for Moorewood,” said Lord Matthew.

  “I agree. I’d like to avoid both the attention with our departure and the danger of traveling in full dark. Jason, do all you can to save Shadow.”

  “It’s serious but he’ll live, m’lord,” the servant said.

  Locke thanked him and then gave the twins a nod. They hurried with him from the stable into the yard.

  “Guess we have our proof, Marc,” Lord Matthew muttered, reaching for the note. He perused it and handed it to Mr. Nicolas who read it and shook his head in disgust.

  “Not only proof that Lady Bethany is in danger,” Mr. Nicholas said. “But also evidence concerning her conspirators.”