Saving Lord Whitton's Daughter: A Regency Romance Novel

by Susan Tietjen

  Lady Katherine was thrilled to show off Whitton’s restoration—which was excellent—to the threesome, but Bethany was more impressed by how the improvements had heartened her mother.

  They retired to the parlor, where Mr. Drew—his thin but ceremonious self garbed in the finest clothes he’d worn in years—brought them tea, his faded hazel eyes twinkling at Bethany with unexpected vigor. Bethany couldn’t help smiling at the man who had served them faithfully all her life and who seemed pleased that Whitton’s plight, and his own, had been relieved.

  Lady Katherine quizzed her guests regarding their goings-on. Leaving the harrowing confrontation with her attackers and her damaged room unmentioned, Bethany made a point of divulging the budding relationship between Lord Scarbreigh and Lady Camille.

  “I’m excited for you, darling,” Lady Katherine oozed. “He’s a frightfully gorgeous man, quite the humorist, and I’ve believed for years he was sweet on you.”

  Lady Camille flushed and bowed her head in embarrassment.

  “He’ll be over the top when he learns you’re coming to London, Cam,” Bethany teased. “Rather than having to walk you around duck ponds or lift you over horse droppings in the meadows, he can drag you off to one rout after another.”

  Lady Camille rolled her eyes in repugnance but replied, “At least we’ll have a great deal more fun this time, I’m sure.”

  Bethany’s stomach dipped at the reminder of their season last year. Considering the break-in at Moorewood made it worse.

  “Goodness, we’ll have a veritable cavalcade headed for Towne,” the dowager countess observed. “The four of us will ride in one carriage; we’ll require a second vehicle for our ladies’ maids, Mr. Treadwell, and the footmen; and we’ll need a wagon for our trunks and for our purchases on our return trip.”

  “I shall ride my horse, my lady,” Locke demurred, adding that the Ladies’ horses would be tethered to the carriages, avoiding the need for riders.

  “Well, we’ll still make quite the spectacle. I do hope you’ve brought at least some of your good jewelry with you, Lady Bethany. We’ll need to match your new wardrobe to it, you know,” she said.

  Bethany sighed, having agreed to Locke’s request to add all her jewelry and baubles to her trunks to secure them in his strong box in his townhouse basement. She just couldn’t imagine the tediousness of having to match dresses to all of them.

  * * *

  Mr. Drew came to announce the unexpected arrival of additional guests. Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas entered, grinning warmly at their welcomes and kissing the ladies’ cheeks.

  “What brings you here?” Mr. Nicolas inquired, laughing when Bethany turned the same question against him and his twin.

  “Good fortune brings us,” Lord Matthew replied, his gaze locking with the earl’s. “We’ve just left London for home and thought we’d visit our beloved aunt.”

  “And we’re staying the night with Aunt Kathrine before heading to Towne,” Lady Camille commented.

  “You must stay the night, too,” Lady Katherine insisted. “It’s been too long since we’ve all been together.”

  The twins accepted immediately, and a pleasant morning became a day full of enjoyment. Following supper, the women took their needlework to the sitting room while the men went to share a cozy chat and glasses of port in Whitton’s drawing room.

  * * *

  The men relished the chance to share information not meant for the ladies’ ears, but the twins were horrified to learn of the details of the vandalism of Lady Bethany’s room.

  “Thus your hasty note to meet you here,” Mr. Nicolas noted.

  “This isn’t good. Glad you’re taking her to Towne for a bit. Maybe throw the dogs off the scent.”

  “It’s my hope. Besides, she needs association with family, while giving you two more time to ferret out clues to her pursuers.”

  Nothing had been discovered since the last time they’d spoken.

  Their discussion then turned to Locke’s latest trip to France in his never-ending search for clues to the conspiracy surrounding Bonaparte.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t break your ankle jumping out of that window,” Lord Matthew said, his face puckered into a worried frown, when Locke was finished.

  “Preferable to getting shot by a jealous husband,” Locke replied, adjusting the routine cold compress Treadwell had delivered.

  “Can’t argue that point,” Mr. Nicolas said, sipping his port. “Despite his not actually have anything to be jealous about. Ran this one too close, Locke. You’re getting desperate for answers, but you mustn’t toss more than a year’s worth of hard work into the cesspit. You could have met with your French connection somewhere other than in her private rooms and spared yourself injury. We’ve done all we can in London. Let us help you with the rest, take some pressure off you.”

  Locke scoffed. “Identical twins draw curiosity like horse dung draws flies.”

  “Lovely image,” Lord Matthew replied. “Need I remind you our cords were cut at birth? We’re not only capable of working independently, we’re most useful that way. We often dress alike, pretend to be one of us, and in essence visit two places at once. The sum of the intelligence we gather is often better than double, you see.”

  “It’s true we’re running out of time, Locke,” Mr. Nicolas insisted. “But your hurried travels across the channel will eventually cause questions, if they haven’t already, especially if you keep resorting to petty thievery or shameful scams with some of the Grand Ladies of Paris solely to garner information. How long can you keep it up? Particularly with individuals familiar with each other? In due course, you’ll run across someone you recognize or who recognizes you.”

  “I did,” Locke said, his expression growing serious. “I’d no idea my fine French Lady, from whom I was receiving this latest message, visits London upon occasion and recognized me. Doesn’t matter she’s on our side. Should she give me away accidentally, it could ruin everything.” And could get him killed, he thought.

  “It could. Give us leave; we’ll do whatever you need.”

  “Lord Hannaford would burn me at the stake if anything happened to you because of me.”

  “Nonsense. Father’s no stranger to the risks involved with foreign surveillance,” Lord Matthew said dismissively. “You know as well as we do that he and Lord Whitton were into it thick as thieves until Mum became ill two years ago.”

  “How did he and Lord Whitton do this and keep their wives in the dark?” Locke muttered, more to himself than to the twins.

  Lord Matthew’s mouth curled into a commiserative smile. “We’ve often teased Lady Camille and Lady Bethany that they were switched at birth. Aunt Katherine stayed in Towne as much as possible, our sister’s fondest wish since childhood. Left Uncle John to his own devices. But Mum was the provincial one like Lady Bethany and both curious as cats. Kept Father on his tiptoes. When we joined the Service, Father and Lord Whitton frequently sympathized with each other over it. Could have been caught out at any time but thankfully weren’t.”

  Mr. Nicolas’s brows knitted together with worry. “Locke, do I sense that you’re regretting your alliance with our dear cousin?”

  “It’s been harder than I’d expected. I didn’t worry about her finding me out; I travel late at night. With subordinates positioned as servants, I’ve better protection than most men could hope for, and that applies to Bethany as well. It never dawned on me she’d accomplish every task I gave her so well. The manor’s coming along beautifully, my tenants praise her, she’s an enviable horsewoman—I’m convinced my horses prefer her—and she keeps my books better than I.”

  “And she’s uniquely charming.” Mr. Nicolas grinned.

  “We did try to warn you,” Lord Matthew tossed in, growing more concerned.

  “Answer me true. Did the two of you have ulterior motives in bringing us together?”

  “No,” Mr. Nicolas insisted.

  “Exactly the opposite,” Lord Matthew said
. “Neither of you wanted emotional entanglements, seemed a perfect arrangement. Marc, we know your display for Scarbreigh was pretense, but it does seem you’re rather … friendly.”

  Locke raised his brows in dispute. “On the surface perhaps, but something’s wrong. Sometimes she’s reacted strangely when I’ve touched her—and please refrain from making more of that than I mean. I’m not in the mood for your teasing. She’s pushed me away, as if I’ve injured her. She understood her part in our arrangement. To keep the ladies of the ton distanced from me, she might have to pretend affection for me. She did help convince Scarbreigh, yet, despite knowing our agreement, she’s panicked at things to which she oughtn’t.”

  It wasn’t his imagination that the twins’ grew unusually quiet. They did know something, but their closed expressions meant they wouldn’t admit it. He pressed his lips flat in annoyance.

  “Bethany’s a complicated creature,” Lord Matthew finally conceded. “She makes friends easily, but not close friends. Has always been like that. Tends to keep people at a distance ’til she trusts them. It’s been worse since her brothers and Uncle John died. She’s afraid of losing the people she cares about.”

  “Can’t say she cares about me, but it wouldn’t serve well to have her suddenly slap me if I kiss her fingers at a dance at Almack’s. Imagine what sort of contretemps that would create.”

  The twins’ countenances darkened but they offered no further explanations. Locke sighed deeply and came to his feet. “The ladies will want to retire early to prepare for our trip tomorrow. Still don’t understand why females find a day’s drive so exhausting, but if I don’t want feminine vapors or a world of complaint, we’d best let them retire soon.”

  * * *

  Bethany had thought London actually sounded exciting when Lord Locke proposed the idea to her. But now, thankfully after arriving without incident, as they clattered along the cobblestone streets late Friday afternoon to the earl’s townhouse, the edge of uneasiness clutched her in its vice-like grip. August sweltered, and she kept her perfumed kerchief pressed to her nose to ward off the stench of the streets. The carriages—Lord Locke’s bearing the ladies and Whitton’s taking the servants—inched their way through London’s crowds, hawkers and beggars soliciting their coins, and horsemen and drays pushing alongside them.

  Lord Locke rode Polly behind his vehicle, flanking Raven, who was tethered to the rear of it. Two geldings from Whitton, tied to the servants’ carriage, were brought for Lady Katherine and Lady Camille.

  Lady Camille leaned out the window, her face flushed with excitement, and Lady Katherine couldn’t hide her smile of enthusiasm. Would her mother seek old friends right away? No doubt Lady Camille would wait with bated breath for Scarbreigh’s response to her missive, sent the moment she received Lord Locke’s invitation.

  Locke’s townhouse stood in Kensington, not far from St. James Park—or anything else of import in London. Located in one the most enviable neighborhoods in the city, it lacked none of the prevailing comforts or charm, either. It seemed strange to Bethany, to imagine Locke probably spent more time here than at any of his other properties, close to Westminster and all of London’s various offices, his gentlemen’s clubs, and refined shops and entertainments. To her, Moorewood was Lord Locke, and encountering this prosperous and elegant place felt almost akin to meeting a mistress.

  Bethany scolded herself at the inappropriate sentiment, but the privileges and responsibilities of her position overwhelmed Bethany as the butler, footmen, maids, cooks and various servants were brought to be inspected by Lord Locke and his guests. Despite Bethany’s father having also been an earl, Lord Whitton’s fortunes had been more modest, and Bethany had never experienced such opulence. Their own London townhouse had been a fraction the size of this one, positioned east of the Thames, and possessed a similarly modest staff.

  “Follow me, my ladies,” a cherubic young housemaid finally urged, directing the ladies and their maids up a grand spiral staircase. Those stairs surrounded a dazzling crystal chandelier and were flanked by elegantly carved and gilded railing, walls dressed in rare paintings, embellished with sconces, and rising to the third floor where the finest rooms were situated.

  Lady Katherine’s and Lady Camille’s rooms sat opposite Lord Locke’s and Lady Bethany’s. Bethany was amazed by the elegant rugs and furnishings in her room, and the brocade and lace curtains that framed an amazing view of the city. Melissa stood gaping at the sculpted ceiling of the late Lady Locke’s bedchamber and murmured that she was thrilled to have a small room of her own attached directly to Bethany’s. She wouldn’t have to hurry from the downstairs servants’ quarters to see to her mistress.

  “It’s grand, Beth,” Lady Camille murmured, her brow furrowed. “Mine is nearly as amazing. But if you and Lady Katherine don’t mind, I’d like to take advantage of it. I’ve another headache and wish to lie down for a while.”

  “As would I,” Lady Katherine said, her own face lined with exhaustion. “Never have liked traveling.”

  The cook wouldn’t likely serve supper until the more fashionably later hours of evening, and none of them expected to receive guests or invitations yet. The trip had taken a toll even on Bethany, and she agreed the suggestion sounded wonderful.

  She stretched out on her elaborate bed, grateful to abate the stiffness from hours bouncing over potholes in a cramped vehicle. She envied Locke’s riding to town on horseback. She’d have preferred to have done the same.

  She smiled, however, when she envisioned the thrill of riding Raven around town. What would some of those noble maidens who’d played impertinent with her since her coming-out think when they saw her on board such a fine animal? How would they react to her riding alongside the Earl of Locke? She supposed such spiteful conjecture was unworthy of her, but she couldn’t help it, even if her relationship with her husband wasn’t what others would be led to believe.

  She drifted to sleep, drawn into a dream where her marriage was genuine, and where she danced with grace in her husband’s arms, his dark blue eyes radiant with affection.

  CHAPTER 16

  “We should be grateful he at least gave us a few hours to settle in,” Bethany murmured as she joined Lord Locke in journeying downstairs.

  “That’s one way to look at it,” Locke said, chuckling. “Scarbreigh always seems to know how to walk to the edge of impropriety without stepping over it.”

  Bethany laughed in agreement. “Mum is a bit miffed at him, said we need our rest and to tell him she’s indisposed for the remainder of the day.”

  Looking over her shoulder as footsteps hurried up behind her, she said, “Lady Camille. Your nap must have repaired your headache. You look lovely.”

  Cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, Lady Camille said, “Thank you, Cousin. I do feel better.”

  “Especially with Lord Scarbreigh waiting for you downstairs?”

  Camille grinned in response.

  The marquess was strolling around the townhouse’s atrium, examining the artwork and statuary that graced the walls and gleaming tables, when they arrived. Mr. Treadwell watched him with casual attentiveness.

  “Ah, Locke. Lady Bethany. Welcome back to civilization. Please forgive my interruption without giving you warning.” Scarbreigh took note of the earl’s limp as he offered his hand. “Whatever happened to you?”

  “A trifling bit of clumsiness. Nothing serious. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  Scarbreigh looked upward, his twinkling blue eyes watching Bethany’s cousin make her way down the stairs. “Lady Camille,” he said. “I apologize for not being able to wait to see you. It’s been too long.”

  Bethany sighed as the couple went through the appropriate rituals of meeting each other, Lady Camille resplendent in her best day dress and glowing smile.

  “I’ve a special invitation,” Scarbreigh finally admitted. “To a recital tonight at the Carlton House.”

  Bethany was as dazed by the offer as Lady Cami
lle. She’d set foot in that famous near-palace but twice in her life. A musical presentation held there would be suitable to the Prince Regent himself.

  They were quick to agree, Scarbreigh insisting on bringing his barouche around at seven-thirty to collect them. “I’ve a new pair of silver grays I’d love you to see, Locke, and the carriage is near-new, should be perfect for the ladies’ comfort.”

  “Sounds first-rate,” Locke conceded. “Will you join us for a cup of tea and a visit?”

  “No, no. I must return home to prepare myself, and I’ve already inconvenienced you by showing up uninvited.”

  A quick round of gratitude and farewells saw the marquess off.

  Locke sent orders to the cook to prepare supper immediately. “I hope you don’t mind, ladies. I hate eating late, despite what our London friends consider fashionable. The light refreshments at the recital will do nothing to appease a man’s appetite.”

  Lady Camille was too dreamy-eyed to care, but Bethany agreed wholeheartedly. Sitting through a recital with a hungry stomach, snacking on sweetmeats and orgeat afterward, and then taking an elaborate supper at home near midnight was hardly her definition of sensibility.

  Lady Camille suddenly soared out of her reverie to full awareness. “Excuse me, Lady Bethany, Lord Locke, I must run upstairs and have Melissa help me ready myself. I can’t be late.” She turned to barrel up the stairs, skirts in hand to keep from tripping, and Bethany couldn’t help laughing at her.

  “Are females always so giddy when they set their cap for a man?”

  “Only if they’re in love,” Bethany replied then wished she hadn’t. It drew Locke’s dark blue eyes to hers, his gaze searching her face.

  “My father once warned me love is hard to come by,” he murmured. “Something to be treasured if once found. Wasn’t sure I understood what he meant. Hard to imagine trifling with something so ... dangerous.”

  “Don’t most men feel that way about romance?” she asked. “I assume that’s why you’ve avoided it.”