Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two

by Mary Lancaster

  He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. Coming to the house was useful. Sparks of recollection, illuminated as though by lightning, flashed through his memory. Adam relayed all of it to Ridgeway as it came to him.

  Ridgeway shook his head. “Something doesn’t add up.”

  “I don’t know what else to tell you; we’ve been through it twice.”

  “I know. The fault isn’t yours. We’ll go through it one more time and I’ll parrot back to you what you’ve said to me. It’s clear there’s something I’m not seeing.”

  It was the last thing Adam felt like doing but he trudged down the ladder and they crossed to the attic room where Harold had been held.

  “Olivia handed you the key,” said Ridgeway. “While she lit the lamps, you opened this door.”

  Adam nodded.

  “When you went in, you found him with his hands bound together. Bound behind?”

  Adam shook his head. “No, in front.”

  Ridgeway went meticulously through each step until they were back on the roof once more.

  “How long would you say it was between Lieutenant Bickmore leaving you and when you saw him being shot at?”

  “No more than a minute or two, why?”

  His question was ignored, and annoyance started to bubble in Adam.

  “Did you see Bickmore’s body after he was shot?” Ridgeway asked.

  This time Adam didn’t hide his irritation. “No, he was shot and he went down. After that, I was too busy trying to stop Dunbar from killing me and Olivia.”

  Ridgeway glanced over the edge to the grass below. There was a shadow in the lawn.

  “Dunbar certainly left an impression anyway.”

  “What the hell are you driving at?”

  “What I’m saying is Bickmore didn’t. There was no body, no blood. We searched the house and immediate grounds and the woods surrounding for good measure in case he’d crawled away. There was no trace of the lieutenant at all.”

  Adam was aware he was staring down at where he’d last seen Harold, but couldn’t stop himself. He shook his head slowly and, despite his head for heights, began to feel vertiginous. He returned to the hatch and looked down to the ladder into the room below. He ignored the rungs and straddled the ladder’s side rails to slide to the floor below.

  “You’re wrong,” he called back up to Ridgeway. “Your men weren’t thorough enough. They’ve made a mistake. If Harold was injured, he could still get away and your men might have missed him.”

  The older man joined him. “We weren’t so late getting here that we didn’t round up three of Wilkinson’s men in the house. If Bickmore was wounded and got away, he would have sought treatment. My men have spoken to every doctor, barber and midwife in the county. No one has presented with a gunshot wound. And he’s not lying dead anywhere around here, we’ve covered every inch.”

  “So what is it you’re suggesting?” Adam had to ask the question, but he was also afraid he knew the answer. He waited for Ridgeway to give voice to niggling doubts he himself had been ignoring ever since Olivia raised them.

  He knew what he saw when the second shot rang out. He knew Harold Bickmore. And yet…

  “There’s more, if you’re ready to hear it.”

  Adam squeezed his eyes shut. “Go on.”

  “I’ve spoken to the captain of the Andromeda. It returned to port with a dozen men in the brig. They’ll face a court martial for attempted mutiny at sea. At the least three of the men have told the same story about being angry at your treatment. They’ve refused to name the instigator and, since I’ve vouched for you, there’s only one other man it can be.”

  Adam scoffed. “If you and Captain Sinclair suspected Harold, why wasn’t he arrested?”

  “Because Harold Bickmore hasn’t been part of the Royal Navy since April. He resigned his commission the day after you quit. There’s a reward for his arrest.”

  Ridgeway frowned at his reaction. “You didn’t know, did you?”

  Adam’s head was still spinning despite being down off the roof. He gave Ridgeway a look of contempt and half-stumbled down the main staircase to stride out on the lawn to the spot between two garden beds where he saw Harold fall.

  A few moments later, he heard Ridgeway behind him.

  “C’est la guerre,” he said.

  That’s war. That much French Adam did know.

  “There’s still much to learn. Both here and at the cottage we found an absolute trove of documents my wife will ask your Miss Collins to help translate for us. And we’re confident Wilkinson and his gang will talk. They usually do in the end.”

  Ridgeway dropped a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “This is as large as our victories get, Lieutenant – accept them as they come and move on.”

  Adam raised his head heavenwards toward the trees still in their full summer glory.

  “I’ll see you back in the house.”

  Ridgeway nodded in acknowledgement and walked away.

  Adam knew he should go back to the house, too, and move forward with his life the best he could. But the fact he had so utterly mistaken about Harold made him wonder what else he was wrong about.

  He recalled the years he and Harold spent at sea – as comrades-in-arms and, despite their difference in wealth and class, friends, too. He thought he knew the man as well as he knew himself. What did that say about Adam Hardacre’s judgment? How could be possibly trust his instincts on anything?

  His Miss Collins…Ridgeway was much more certain about that fact than he was at this particular moment.

  Olivia.

  He’d barely had two minutes alone with her since their ordeal.

  He loved her more than life itself. It was worth the risk to open his heart and share it with another. He would ask her to marry him, if she’d have him.

  And there was one more piece of his past to be resolved before he could move on, and he needed Olivia by his side to do it.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Olivia politely declined the offer of company. She needed time alone.

  She wandered through the hedgerows until she reached the formal gardens. The sweet scent of gardenias drew her in. How had she never before appreciated the deep green glossy leaves and the soft and waxy folds of the flowers? And the merry pink of the carnations and the orange hues of the marigolds, too – not to mention the spring of the lawn under foot?

  She was alive and safe. Adam was safe, too.

  Never would she underestimate the miracle she had been given.

  The gravel settled under foot as she found a path to follow which led to a lake where two white swans swam serenely, barely causing a ripple on its mirror-like surface. Across the other side of the water was a summer house. That’s where she wanted to be.

  The lake was large enough to row on and the Ridgeways had the means to do it. A little rowboat lay upside down on its gunwales on the little jetty, useless to her without assistance. Never mind, she saw where the path turned through the meadow grasses, and followed where it beckoned until she had reached her destination.

  The arbor was freshly whitewashed and inside was a daybed covered by a canvas. She removed it to expose the cushions of purple, pinks and gold.

  If she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of darkness and violence, so she kept them open and watched the bulrushes at the edge of the lake sway gently in the breeze.

  The warmth of the afternoon sun touched her shoulders, warming her, reminding her that a new day was a new beginning, new every morning.

  Part of a Sunday homily recalled itself.

  It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not.

  They are new every morning: great is Thy faithfulness.

  Olivia smiled, her resolve unshakable.

  Yes, she was ready for the new beginning.

  Across the lake and up the path, an approaching figure caught her eye.

  She remained where she was. Adam would find her. He would always find her.r />
  *

  Adam was told that Olivia had gone for a walk in the grounds, so he went in search of her.

  He tried to set aside all of his questions and doubts about Harold and other members of the Society. Yet the feeling of betrayal was raw. Adam was a man who valued control, but he’d learned the harsh lesson that there would always be things he was powerless to prevent.

  But should that stop him from living? From sharing his life and his love with Olivia?

  How foolish he had been to think he could walk away from Ridgeway and his King’s Rogues.

  It was part of who he was now, as indelible as the tattoo on his right hand. Would Olivia accept him as he was?

  He followed a gravel path through formal gardens. Hedged borders stood as battlements against the encroaching grass discharging the duty of protecting the exotic flowers within.

  Adam glanced in one of the manicured garden beds as he passed and spotted a plant out of place, a weed, though he knew little of gardening to be sure.

  It was nature’s way of saying that order was a fleeting thing and vigilance was required to maintain it.

  There was much work to do to. Fitzgerald’s office had been raided by some of Ridgeway’s men this morning. The trove of documents they expected to find would hopefully reveal more.

  How long had Harold been involved in this conspiracy? How far did its tentacles reach? What was so important about him that the Society thought it was worth risking everything to bring him to France?

  To have these answers, he would have to find Harold. And he would. By God, he would.

  The only question was whether Olivia would stand at his side to do it.

  Adam walked through the gate pillars which led out to the lawn beyond, the glint of water drawing him to it. Somehow, he knew Olivia would be there.

  He reached the lake and walked to the end of the jetty. Across the water was a summer house and that’s where Olivia was.

  The doubts emerged from the depths. Did he intrude? Did she want him at all?

  The woman across the lake gave him no clue.

  The shortest distance was across the lake. Adam righted the small rowboat on the jetty beside him and set it in the water and retrieved the oars which had been underneath. Once settled in the boat, he pushed himself away from land and began to row.

  The swans called to one another. Dogs barked in the distance. The dipping of the oars created their own music but there was no hail or acknowledgment as he made his way to his destination.

  Although his thoughts were only on Olivia, Adam kept his eyes on the receding jetty, using it to guide his course.

  How apt, that as he moved away from the past, his attention remained fixed on it. The jetty he could see, along with all his mistakes and regrets – Harold, Constance, Christopher…

  The future he moved toward was something he could not see, but he took it on faith that it would be there, that she would be there at the end of it.

  He tied the boat to a smaller jetty that served the summer house and approached Olivia on the large daybed cautiously.

  It had been two days since their ordeal. Adam found himself searching her brown eyes for clues as to how she felt.

  “It’s going to be a long trip if you don’t speak to me,” she said.

  He wondered at the words a moment until recalling that he had said the words to her one rainy day at Ponsnowyth.

  God, that seemed a lifetime ago.

  “I should think that after yesterday,” he answered, “well, the day before yesterday – you’d hardly entertain the idea of speaking to me at all.”

  A smile emerged, telling him that he recalled the meeting correctly. Olivia shifted on her seat in silent invitation for him to join her. Adam grabbed hold of it like a drowning man.

  He sat beside her, searching her face. There were bruises. A visceral rage welled. Olivia calmed him with a touch.

  “They’re only minor hurts, they will fade with time,” she told him. “It’s the ones we cannot see which concern me, like Harold.”

  “You know the extent of his betrayal?”

  “Lady Abigail told me what Sir Daniel believes, and I had my own suspicions.”

  “Which I should have listened to,” said Adam bitterly.

  Olivia reached out and touched his hand, shaking her head as she did so. “He was your friend.”

  “That is why his betrayal is so bitter to me.” Adam took her hand and held it. “I can’t let it go, Olivia. I have to follow this through to the end. It means that I live the life of a spy. What that means for us, I cannot say. I never want secrets to come between us, but I can’t involve you in this, not after what happened at the boat house.”

  Olivia returned a squeeze.

  “I’m already involved, whether you like it or not,” she said. Olivia move closer until their thighs touched. Adam folded her into an embrace.

  “Besides, you’re no longer the only spy in the family.”

  “What?”

  Adam pulled back until he could see Olivia’s face properly. Her expression might have been sober but for a twitch of her lips that hinted at a smile.

  “Sir Daniel may have his rogues, but Lady Abigail has her league of lady spies,” she said.

  Adam closed his eyes and groaned. Olivia giggled.

  “I love you and I know what I’m getting involved with,” she whispered close to his ear. It tickled, raising a run of gooseflesh down his neck and along his arm. “I’ve been involved ever since that day you kissed me at the priory ruins.”

  He hauled her onto his lap, using his lips on her face, her neck, her hair, to reveal his heart, as he could not do in words. She returned his kisses just as ardently.

  Adam held on to Olivia while he shifted his position until he lay on the daybed with the woman he loved more than life draped over him.

  “Then there is only one thing left to say.”

  Olivia placed her hands on his shoulders, supporting her weight to look at him.

  “Oh, don’t tell me that you forbid me from working alongside you and the Ridgeways.”

  Adam ran his fingers up her sun-warmed back, through her hair. He shook his head and allowed himself to smile. Although he was confident of the answer, the question still had to be asked.

  “Olivia Collins, I love you. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes. Absolutely yes.”

  Olivia may have said more after that, but Adam was too filled with joy to take in more. He kissed her deeply. The press of her body on his waking desire. His hands roamed over her form. In the late afternoon summer sun, they found their new beginning together.

  Epilogue

  Early October 1804

  Adam walked down the long hallway in dress uniform, a tricorn under his arm rather than the bosun’s hat of his old rank.

  The lieutenant’s uniform and rank was his, but no one would know it outside these select few.

  What a difference a few months made.

  The commendation promised to him meant little. Adam was a man who sought only justice. He wanted his due and nothing more, but Ridgeway, walking beside him with Olivia and Abigail behind, insisted on using his favor to find out this one thing.

  It was not the boardroom of the Naval Office they approached, but the library, where the records of the Pendragon would be made available to Adam.

  The clerk rose from his seat and shook him by the hand and Ridgeway’s as well.

  Just four months ago, Adam had learned he was a father. He tried to imagine the man his son had grown into. How much like him would he be when – if – he found him? How much like Constance?

  “Sir Daniel, Lieutenant Hardacre,” said the clerk, a young man aged about twenty, the same age as his son. “I’ve drawn all the records I could find for a Christopher Hardacre and his service. I’m afraid I’ve come to an impasse, sirs.

  “It’s been no easy task getting this far. The last record we have for the person was a sign-on for wages on the Pendragon. I believe you al
ready know that?”

  Adam nodded.

  The clerk continued, “She was a merchant ship.”

  “Was?”

  “I…uh…well, perhaps you should read everything here directly, sir.”

  Adam took the proffered seat at the desk and willed his stomach to settle. He glanced over and saw the concerned faces of Olivia and Lady Abigail.

  Sir Daniel and his wife exchanged a subtle look and withdrew from the room.

  Olivia placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Do you want to be alone?” she asked.

  Adam could only muster a curt shake his head. He let out an unsteady breath.

  “No, it’s only right that you be here. If not for you, I’d have never known of Christopher’s existence at all. In a way, you gave him life as much as if you had been his own mother. If the report is…bad…then at least we can mourn him together.”

  The clerk had bookmarked several pages in the volume. The first revealed the specifications of the ship in neatly written columns of blue ink. Adam read them through, the numbers forming the shape of the vessel in his mind. It was not at all a prestigious or heavily-armed ship but good enough for a merchantman in the waters of the Mediterranean.

  The next page showed the crew manifest. There were seventy-five in total and, among the last to sign on, was the tentative hand of Christopher John Hardacre (cabin boy).

  The details of what happened to the Pendragon were sketchy at best. The ship was still burning when a Spanish ship encountered it. Only a dozen lives were saved; the same number of corpses were recovered.

  The survivors told of a raid by a Barbary Coast xebec which boarded them with hundreds of men. The crew fought; many died. The most valuable of their cargo was taken.

  Adam paused, gathering his thoughts. Life at sea was a dangerous business. He, perhaps, knew that better than anyone. And yet, if anyone had cared about the sailors aboard the ship, that was more than a decade ago. Time had passed, the mourners gone.