by Sahara Kelly
The Landlocked Baron
The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington
Book One
Sahara Kelly
Content © Sahara Kelly, April 2017
Cover Art © Sahara Kelly, 2017, for
P and N Graphics, LLC
Dedication
To the readers who encourage all of us writers, myself in particular…thank you once again, and may this book make you smile. I hope you can enjoy an afternoon in the past with these folks; a little vacation from everyday life. And to my friends and family, as always, my gratitude for your love and support.
A word of thanks to the writers who form not only a part of my life, but a community of like-minded crazies. Love you all for sharing the ups and downs, the days of no words and the days of thousands of words. The agony of deadlines and the delight of great reviews. We write our stories alone, bringing characters to life on our monitors (or in some cases, our handwritten pages); a solitary experience—not unlike giving birth in an empty room. Knowing that although there’s nobody beside us, there are so many in similar rooms, experiencing similar emotions…well, that truly is priceless. Thank you again to all you writers—a unique family of eccentrics and wonderfully different folks who find joy in telling stories! You inspire me!
Author’s Note
I have taken a few liberties with some genuine Regency figures in this story, for purposes of the plot. I don’t wish to spoil anything here at the beginning of the book, so at the end I will elaborate more fully on the identities of some of the characters. Suffice it to say that there was a Lady Bessborough. She lived a wildly colorful life, had many affairs—one with an intimate of the Prince’s, playwright and politician Richard Brinsley Sheridan—and she also gave birth to a couple of illegitimate children. She even engineered the marriage of her legitimate daughter to one of her own younger admirers. That daughter attained her own notorious reputation during the Regency… the young elfin beauty who became Lady Caroline Lamb. More details will be revealed at the end of this book.
Also…apologies to those who sail. I am not a sailor (an Englishwoman who loves the ocean but hates the sea, as they say) thus my descriptions of voyages on smaller vessels is probably going to make real mariners shriek with horror. Please keep in mind that I write fiction. That is one of the joys of my life. Sailing isn’t. I’ll do a lot of things for my art, but going out on a small boat isn’t one of them.
Any errors in this work are entirely my own—so I must apologize in advance to the French for mangling their beautifully fluid tongue.
THE ROYAL DECREE…
“And in October, the year of Our Lord 1661, our Sovereign Monarch Charles II did award to the Barons of the Realm the Distinction of a Coronet. Such Attribute may now be included upon Crests, and Coats of Arms, according to the wishes of the Most Noble and Right Honorable Family. The Coronet shall be distinguished by Six Short Points, each featuring a round Ball at their tips, henceforth to be known as Pearls…”
…AND THE RIDLINGTONS
A Baron’s coronet is distinguished by its six points, which are known in heraldic terms as “pearls”. So it was fortuitously convenient that Jack Holbury, Baron of Ridlington, produced six offspring during his lifetime. It took three wives for him to get there, but at the birth of the sixth child, the Ton immediately dubbed his family “The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington” and then promptly forgot about them.
His first wife, Margaret, gave birth to Edmund, Simon and Letitia. They were followed by second wife Mary’s children, the twins Richard and Kitty, and the final addition—Hecate—was born to third wife Moira. The Baron outlived his wives by nearly two decades, ruling the Ridlington household with the iron hand of a stern father, while managing to almost completely ignore the unusual brood he had sired.
Whether his children lived up to their sobriquet remains to be seen...
Chapter One
The weather matched the mood of the morning, thought Edmund Ridlington, as he marched with his brothers and sisters behind the cortège. Dreary, cold and deuced unpleasant.
At least everyone had shown up to say their final farewells to their father, although the amount of grief visible upon such a sad occasion had been minimal. Edmund couldn’t blame them. The old man had been a bastard of the first order. And that was being generous.
This procession was a mark of respect for the position, more than the holder. Faithful retainers, who seldom received any kind of acknowledgement for their loyal service, followed the family. It was their duty and they did it, as they had over anywhere from forty years—Chidwell, the butler—to six months—Delilah, the new under housemaid.
He, Edmund, knew their names. His father had never bothered to learn them.
Many of the local residents had also bundled themselves up to attend this final goodbye. Some had known the old Baron from his youth to his deathbed. Others were just curious about the man who rode through them with his nose in the air, disdaining all contact unless absolutely necessary.
Was anyone there today because they were saddened at his passing? Were any of the mourners grieving out of love?
Edmund doubted it. If Jack Ridlington’s children loathed him, then there was little chance that anyone else would find him possessed of redeeming qualities. He might have had some, years ago, but once he’d worked his way through three wives and sired six children, the only qualities left were those of stern discipline and a heart as cold as Arctic ice.
The four black horses plodded down the lane, pulling the hearse. Ridlington Vale considered itself an up and coming center of commerce, and the undertaker had made much of his new vehicle. Today, it was gleaming from black roof through brass lanterns and all the way to the brass trimmed wheels. The folding top was latched to prevent the worst of the drizzle from reaching the solid oak coffin; a concept which struck Edmund as ironic. He fought back a smile as he considered the absurdity of keeping a coffin dry…and then burying it in wet ground for eternity.
One had to admire the unusual oddities of life. And death too, of course.
A damp breeze gusted the drizzle at his exposed face, pinpricks of cold water, lashing at his skin and every now and again bearing the well-remembered tang of the ocean. It was less than a mile away, but invisible on this particular morning, lying beneath the cliffs that were shrouded with low clouds and fog.
Some days, when the sky was clear, the sea ran like a multi-hued ribbon along the horizon, beckoning with deep blues and greens, dancing with white crests and sparkling in the light. Edmund found himself thinking of it as the ‘laughing ocean’ at those times, a whimsical notion that was quite unlike him. But he knew it was the seaman who responded that way, the sailor who had discovered a passion for the sea at a very young age.
Now there would be no more days spent listening to the snap of sails or the splash of a bow through those laughing waters. It was all gone for good. Because now, Captain Edmund Holbury had ceased to exit, replaced as of five days ago by Edmund Holbury, Baron Ridlington.
The ache of that specific loss—the awareness that his life was no longer his own—had begun as he laid his father’s hand down for the last time, and accepted that death had finally claimed Jack, Baron Ridlington.
The Baron was dead, long live the Baron.
Feeling very alone beside the carriage, Edmund glanced around behind him. Simon and Letitia were following in his wake, arm in arm, looking as much like their mother as he had resembled his father. Only a couple of years separated all three of them, but Edmund always felt that there had to have been at least a decade somewhere that some
one had overlooked. He’d grown up, but sometimes wondered if his two direct siblings had skipped that stage and would go directly from happy-go-lucky youth into old age.
He knew that on the other side of the hearse he’d find the twins, Richard and Kitty, and with them would be Hecate, the youngest Ridlington.
Five brothers and sisters now looking to him to lead them. How the hell he was going to do that, he had no earthly notion. A ship full of sailors he could command with ease. A house full of siblings? God help him.
“Edmund,” called a low voice from behind him. “I think we’ve picked up more guests.” Simon was gesturing to a carriage a dozen or so yards away, as Edmund turned to look.
“Who are they, d’you know?” He couldn’t make out a crest or anything that would distinguish the newcomers.
“I believe it may be Lady Gertrude Fincham and her family.” Letitia answered, her mouth turning down at the corners. “Just what we need to complete the utterly dismal tone of this day.
Edmund shrugged. “Can’t turn ‘em away. We will have to make the best of it, all right?” He gazed at the two of them. “I’m relying on you. I don’t recall meeting these people, so if you would make an introduction at some appropriate moment, I’d be grateful.”
“I will, but you won’t.” Simon flashed him an unrepentant grin. “All starch and stone.”
Sighing, Edmund trudged on, hoping they were nearly at the private Ridlington cemetery. Why it had to be miles from the Chase he could only imagine. Although it was quite likely that the living had no wish to be in close proximity to their departed ancestors. In this particular case, he agreed with them. He had no wish to be close to the remains of his father…he’d run away to sea rather than live in the same house while the old man was alive. So it was best he be interred a goodly distance from his surviving family. Come to think of it, the grave probably ought to be a few feet deeper than everyone else’s, as well.
Jerked from these maudlin thoughts by the slowing of the hearse, Edmund realized that they had arrived at last.
The wind gusted now, free to sweep over the grasses and the low shrubs on the hill facing the sea, and strong enough to lift the clouds, Edmund could see his beloved ocean, grey and angry, with spume flying from the crests of the waves. It would be a challenging day to sail, but oh what a sensation—to master the elements and feel a deck heaving beneath one’s feet, a ship flying at top speed, propelled by nature’s breath and rolling through water as salty as Amphitrite’s tears.
There were a few moments of confusion as everyone assumed their places, either around the freshly-dug grave or as pallbearers around the hearse. The roof was lowered and Edmund, Richard and Simon were joined by three men from Ridlington Vale. The blacksmith, he of the massively muscled arms, assumed control when it came to easing the coffin from its position across the seats of the carriage. Two tenant farmers completed the ranks and all six men managed to grasp the large brass handles and lift the coffin free.
After a bit of awkward shifting and shuffling, it came to rest on their shoulders and the slow progress to the final interment began.
On that walk to the open grave, with the body of his father resting heavily on one shoulder, Edmund took a moment to whisper a brief prayer. “Please, God, don’t let me be like him. Let me be a better man in all ways.”
As if in answer to his words, the wind picked up and a savage gust blew upward from the ocean, crashing into the cliffs and roaring over the top to stagger the pallbearers with its force. One farmer stumbled, Richard tried to take the weight from him—and failed. Simon shouted a warning, but it was already too late. Edmund collapsed to one knee as the load shifted almost completely onto his upper body, and the handle slipped from his grasp.
The coffin slid and dropped—smashing into the side of Edmund’s head.
His last thought before he lost consciousness was one of ironic amusement. The old man had one final bit of nastiness left in him.
Typical.
*~~*~~*
Light shone behind his eyelids, and unwillingly they parted, only to close again. Quickly and firmly. “I am dead.”
A low chuckle greeted his words. “No you’re not, Lord Ridlington.”
“Yes I am. I’m inside a hearse, therefore I am dead. I’d hoped that heaven would be a spry schooner on a perfect sea, but I suppose that was an absurd notion. Death is a hearse.” He risked a quick glance and then closed his eyes once more. “And an angel.”
The laugh turned husky, a sound that charmed Edmund, even in his deathly state.
“I can assure you, my Lord, nothing could be further than the truth. I’m no angel and you are certainly not dead, but conversing quite normally.”
“Inside a hearse.”
“Well, yes. After you were knocked unconscious, it made sense to transport you back to Ridlington Chase at the earliest possible moment. This conveyance was conveniently at hand.”
Edmund thought about that for a moment. Or took a brief nap. He wasn’t quite sure which, since things were still a bit fuzzy. He resurfaced. “Who are you? I don’t know you. Are you sure you’re not an angel? And I’m not dead?”
“Yes, I’m sure you are not dead. Yes, I’m sure I’m not an angel and no, you don’t know me. I am Lady Fincham’s companion. I have had that honor for almost a year, but you and I had not—up to this point—met.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“That you’re Lady Fincham’s companion. I’m told she’s not…er…convivial.”
“Now, now, my Lord. That’s neither here nor there. You must rest until we can get you into your own chambers and summon a physician.”
“Nonsense.” Edmund struggled to move, but found himself restrained by a firm hand placed against his chest. “I am quite well. It would take more than a hit on the head to render me incapable…”
“Of course it would. I’m sure your shipmates referred to you as Iron Head Ridlington.”
He lay back down, realizing that moving wasn’t perhaps such a good idea. The world had swum around him quite energetically. “I was Holbury then. Captain Holbury.” It came out as more of a whine than a statement. He added an afterthought. “And how you knew of my former career, I have no idea.”
“As far as your earlier profession, I think most of the county knows about the naval hero who has just become their Baron.” She placed a hand on his forehead. “I would venture a guess that your former crew was not cognizant of the hardness of your skull, my Lord. Otherwise I can think of no more appropriate appellation.” She removed her hand.
“Good God, woman. I think you just complimented and insulted me in the same breath.” He squinted to try and bring her face into focus, but she remained far enough away to prevent that from happening. The shadows inside the hearse didn’t help either.
“’Twas not my intention, sir. I do apologize. However, I am glad your conversation is rational, since it would bear out your stated assumption that you have taken no serious injury.”
Her voice sounded distinctly smug. Edmund could think of no useful response. “Humph.”
“And there’s Lady Fincham again.”
“What?”
“She makes exactly that sound when she has been utterly defeated in an argument but refuses to admit it.”
Edmund sighed. “Who the devil are you, woman? Perhaps I am, in fact, dead. And you are a demon tormenting me. Which would also explain this damnable headache…” He closed his eyes as a throb of pain shook him.
“I assure you, my Lord. You are quite alive. Unfortunately, the pain, though reinforcing your continued existence, is likely to be a nuisance for a while.” The cool palm returned to his forehead and he found it oddly soothing. “I believe your physician will be able to provide a little something to ease your discomfort.”
He struggled to stay awake, but the sensation of cool fingers stroking his skin was so pleasant… ”Damn m’father. Couldn’t just die. He had to hurt me on the way out…�
��
As he slid into sleep, the hand left his head. And the woman to whom it belonged stared down at the strong face, relaxed now as rest began the healing process. He was a striking man, she realized, with dark hair and eyes and thick full brows that were probably quite intimidating if folded into a frown and directed at some hapless deck hand. He had the build of a man who was unafraid of physical labor and she could imagine him striding the decks and running a massive warship without any difficulty.
And yet his father had hurt him.
She wondered how.
Chapter Two
Everything at Ridlington Chase seemed to be at sixes and sevens.
The formal post-funeral luncheon had been held, but the guests had not stayed longer than absolutely necessary, making it known that since the new Baron was indisposed they felt it inappropriate for them to linger.
Thus by half past two, Simon, Letitia, Richard, Kitty and Hecate were alone in the drawing room, watching a fire struggle in the fireplace and—in the case of the ladies—draped in blankets.
“It’s as cold as the grave in this house,” complained Kitty, tucking her feet beneath her skirts and drawing a blanket tighter around her knees
“Always has been, always will be,” added her twin with a shiver.
“Richard, you’ve always felt the cold,” said Letitia. “That’s nothing new. And perhaps Edmund will see to upgrading the old place a bit. Making it more habitable.”
“For whom, Letty?” Simon turned from his position next to the hearth, poker in his hand. “Who will be living here besides Edmund and the girls?”
“He has a point,” said Kitty. “Of course Simon has his rectory. Richard and I will be on our way to town after the final business of burying Papa is wrapped up, and Letitia and Hecate will be the only two left.”