The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  Now, after seeing his father buried in the ground, Lord Linfield felt incredibly differently. How could he not?

  Theodore spoke first. His speech was one of conservative values, of upholding the memories of the past and not giving in to any “devilish ideas” about the future. Lord Linfield watched the crowd’s reaction to Theodore’s words, watched them try to hide their yawns and their whispers to one another. It was clear that Theodore didn’t invigorate them. Not the way Lady Elizabeth’s words surely would.

  At least, they would do wonders. If he could only say them correctly. With certainty.

  And he wasn’t entirely sure he could.

  Theodore stepped away from the podium about ten minutes later, to a spattering of applause. Lord Linfield took his place, towering over the crowd. The applause roared for a full ten seconds (something Nathaniel attributed to his father’s memory, rather than his admittedly horrific speeches and standings in the polls). As they clapped, Nathaniel peered over their heads before finally stumbling over Lady Elizabeth.

  There she was: her cheeks bright red from the chill and her hat a bit crooked over her russet curls. She was scribbling upon a pad of paper, taking notes about Theodore’s speech, perhaps. Lord Linfield held his eyes upon her for a long moment until her eyelashes batted up and she spotted him, too. They held one another’s gaze for a moment before Lord Linfield heard a screeching whisper to the right of him. “Is he ever going to begin?” the voice demanded.

  “Good afternoon,” Nathaniel began. He was surprised to find that his voice sounded smooth and certain, despite the anxiety growing in his chest. He reached into his pocket and drew out the speech before splaying the pages across the podium. “It’s a pleasure to be speaking to you today. Perhaps you’ve been privy to the information that I’ve had a few—shall we say—ill-conceived speeches. I’d like to believe this one will be different.”

  Was this really him? He felt suddenly smooth, suave, as if the audience was rapt with attention. He even heard a few people chuckling at his joke.

  Lord Linfield returned his eyes to Lady Elizabeth’s prose. He began to articulate her rather beautiful sentences. The first few went well, until he flipped the page. Then, he discovered that he hadn’t arranged the pages in the proper order! He flubbed his words, shoved his eyebrows tighter over his eyes.

  “I’m terribly sorry. It seems that,” he began, stuttering. He returned his gaze back to the crowd but was unable to find Lady Elizabeth there.

  “What has gotten into him?” a voice hissed from the other side of the stage.

  “He really gets off on being good-looking,” another voice said. “It’s the only reason he’ll get this spot. I’m sure of it.”

  Nathaniel’s nostrils flared. Again, he hunted for Lady Elizabeth as he swished through his pages. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, sputtering. “It seems that I, um. Anyway, as I was saying about taxation. We really need a proper—”

  “Get off the stage!” a voice called. “We don’t need to hear you rambling any longer!”

  “I thought you said you’d be better!” another voice said. “You promised us that, but you can’t deliver? What else are you going to attempt to deliver? Can we possibly trust you?”

  Nathaniel took a heavy step away from the podium. He felt awash with rage, at both the crowd and himself. His voice boomed across the crowd, showing his distaste.

  “People of London, if you’re going to belittle a man, a single man …”

  “Oh, come off it, Lord Linfield!” someone cried, picking fun at him.

  Lord Linfield rushed away from the podium, crunching up the pages of Lady Elizabeth’s speech. He’d embarrassed himself; he’d belittled her perfectly-crafted words. And shame made his shoulders slump forward.

  He was an imbecile, in the eyes of the people of London.

  And he knew he was an idiot in the eyes of Lady Elizabeth, as well.

  He couldn’t possibly have that. He couldn’t stand to allow himself to be seen in such a manner. With a jolt of passion, he reminded himself who he was: the son of his father, the Lord Jonah Linfield, the 6th Earl of Darmouth.

  He was so much more than this flubbing lunatic on the stage.

  Suddenly, the rage made him spin back towards the podium. He crossed the board, gripped the podium, and peered out across the crowd. “Attention,” he said. He reached back into his pocket, grabbing the notes Lady Elizabeth had made for him. He turned to a random page and began to spew the words, trying his darnedest to articulate. And, to his disbelief, he landed most of the words. The crowd was hushed before him, seemingly eating up his every word. And when he finished that page, he turned to another random one—knowing full-well they were out of order, at this point, and not caring at all.

  Five minutes later, he finished, out of breath yet thrilled. And when he looked up, the crowd responded in turn: applauding him without jeering. Their faces were stoic, more sure of him than they’d been before.

  Had he done it? Had he finally orchestrated a proper speech?

  He marched from the stage, crumpling up the pages of the speech once more and slipping them into his pocket. When he reached the ground, several people reached up and grabbed his shoulder, shaking him back and forth. “Terribly wonderful to see you today, Lord Linfield,” one man said, his voice jocular. “Truly your father’s son.”

  Nathaniel realised he’d forgotten to check in on Lady Elizabeth before he’d exited the stage. He thanked the gentleman and then turned his face back towards the crowd, looking for her hat. But she’d been lost to the sea of them, overshadowed. Already, another speaker was taking the stage.

  “My boy, that was quite a show,” a voice said from behind him.

  Nathaniel spun quickly, discovering one of his father’s oldest, best friends—the immaculately dressed Lord Henry Stevenson, a man whose estate was only about a five-minute carriage drive from Lord Linfield’s own. Nathaniel shot his hand out to shake Henry’s, giving the man a broad smile. He supposed he hadn’t seen him since his father’s funeral. But he shoved away those memories, choosing to stay in his current high.

  “Thank you for saying so. It truly means a great deal, coming from you,” Lord Linfield said.

  Henry stuck a cigar between his flat cheeks and offered one to Nathaniel. Nathaniel accepted, leaning close to draw the tip of it to Henry’s flashing match.

  “You know, son, I’ve been meaning to make a call on you,” Henry said.

  “Oh?” Nathaniel puffed at his cigar, drawing the air tight into his lungs.

  “We’ll be holding a dinner and ball a fortnight from now, you see,” Henry continued. “And perhaps your mother has told you, I have two daughters in the current Season.”

  “Ah, the Season,” Nathaniel said, forcing himself to grin. “You sound like my mother.”

  “Lord Linfield, my boy, you know a man is only as good as his wife,” Henry said. “At least, that’s what my Lady always reminds me.”

  “Absolutely, sir,” Lord Linfield said.

  People continued to grab Nathaniel’s shoulder, shaking him with excitement. Lord Linfield turned his head around, trying to greet each of them, but failing. It was all moving too quickly.

  “I believe it’s high time you met my eldest, Tiffany,” Lord Henry said, his eyes growing bleary behind the smoke. “I know your father would have been thrilled at the prospect of our families joining. And what’s the hurt? Having your face at one of my balls—the new face of the Tory party? I simply can’t imagine a better advertisement, for either you or my family. Please. Say you’ll come.”

  Lord Linfield had seen Lady Tiffany before, had even felt a tug at his heart for her beauty. But as he nodded to Lord Henry—agreeing that it was, indeed, a proper idea—he couldn’t help thinking back to Lady Elizabeth, standing somewhere in the crowd with her pen in hand. Lady Elizabeth, who’d written the words he’d mucked up.

  Lady Elizabeth, a woman who would never appear at any of these balls or dinners.
r />   He wondered why.

  “That’s my boy,” Lord Henry said, his voice growing bouncier. “Looking forward to seeing your handsome face there. A twin to your father, although I’m sure you hear it all the time. Could have been born at the same time.”

  Chapter 11

  Lord Linfield felt as though he was floating through time. He felt high from the compliments, from the pats on the back, from the affirmation that he truly was “his father’s son.” When he spotted Richard after the speeches concluded for the afternoon, Richard himself bowed his head and agreed that he’d done absolutely miraculously. He didn’t mention the flub at the beginning, the way the crowd had turned their back before turning fully around. Perhaps it would go unremembered. Perhaps it was like a bad dream.

  That evening, Lord Linfield walked towards the dinner table, and couldn’t help hearing Richard speaking in dull tones to his mother. He paused at the doorway, careful to keep his shadow out of view, and leaned his head against the wall to listen.

  “Really, Lady Eloise, you must know. He was a good deal stronger today than previous speeches. I really think he’s coming into his own,” Richard said.

  Lord Linfield rolled his eyes towards the back of his head, feeling a glimmer of shame. So, Richard had been reporting back the events of each speech to his mother—his mother who hadn’t attended a single speech, thinking it, instead, a man’s afternoon out?

  “I really think he’d do better attending to the Season,” his mother murmured. “I can’t handle the fact of him, single and alone when I leave this world.”

  “You mustn’t think that way,” Richard affirmed. “You know our Nathaniel. I, for the previous few years, and you—well.”

  “Since his birth,” Lady Eloise said, almost scoffing.

  “Precisely. He was never going to be content with just any life. He was always going to want something much bigger,” Richard said.

  Lord Linfield felt a bit deflated knowing that his mother still scorned the idea of his run to Parliament. But it lit a fire beneath him, one he transferred to the dinner table. He talked endlessly about the speech, about the afternoon he had, even offering the small tidbit regarding the upcoming ball. This, of course, made his mother’s cheeks glow pink with happiness.

  But the next day, everything felt deflated, weak, when he received the morning paper from The Rising Sun. Richard slipped it onto his desk, his face looking like a soggy piece of wrapping. Lord Linfield frowned, tilting his head.

  “What are you looking at me like that for?” he asked.

  Richard tapped his finger on the paper, making it rustle. “I didn’t want to bring this to you. But I believe you need to know.” He paused for a moment, seeming incredulous about Nathaniel’s scrunched frown. “It’s our L.B. It seems she’s back at it again.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lord Linfield demanded, anxiety making his heart patter wildly. “Lady Elizabeth, our L.B.? She’s my speechwriter, now. How on earth could she …”

  He shuffled to the Political Opinion section, poring over the page with wide eyes. He read it, and then he reread it, before crumpling the paper up into a tight ball and seething.

  “I had high hopes when I attended Lord Linfield’s speech yesterday afternoon,” the article began. “I believe he is of high moral compass, that his opinions are sound and his heart is true. However, I must affirm to you all, that upon that stage, he’s nothing but a blubbering fool. He began the speech fumbling with the pages of his speech, appearing to lose his place before storming off the stage. When the crowd began to jeer him, he returned—more enraged than ever before. This rage burned through him, making him spit out random feelings and thoughts to the crowd. While it did seem that many of these thoughts were well-formulated, he seemed to jump from one thought to another—one page to another—without any sort of real conclusion. I found myself aghast, watching the crowd fall in love with him. For, in my mind, he seemed an illiterate fool. As I said, I don’t believe him to be this. Truly. He seems strong of mind. Strong of heart. But does he have it in him to work for Parliament, where he’ll be asked to speak quite frequently, present his opinions in a way that will make his countrymen trust him wholly and completely? I think, well, rather not. In fact, at the next speech—provided they allow him behind a podium again—I, myself, will give him an award if he can make it through the speech without flubbing it. Name your prize, Lord Nathaniel Linfield. I am a man of my word.”

  “What on earth is she playing at?” Nathaniel scoffed. “And what is she on about, calling herself a man? What idiocy. What a horrific woman.”

  “It seems she hasn’t given up her pen name. Her career,” Richard said, shuffling his feet. “It seems she—”

  But Nathaniel cut him off, standing quickly and pacing back and forth. “She can’t think she will get away with this. I already sent the first cheque to her. She’s already cashed it. I know for a fact that she’s profiting from this arrangement, perhaps far more than I.”

  “Now, you said it yourself. It was a remarkable speech,” Richard said, almost as if he was coaxing him.

  “No. This is absolutely ridiculous. The crowd was practically eating out of my hand at the end of the speech. They loved me, Richard. And now, what will they remember? They’ll remember what little miss L.B. wrote in her stupid essay,” Nathaniel said, scoffing.

  Silence hung heavy in the room. Nathaniel’s eyes burned towards the door. His feet itched. He imagined Lady Elizabeth at her desk at The Rising Sun, perfectly pleased with herself and her perfect little words. He couldn’t let her get away with this.

  “Richard, I’ll be going to town,” he said. He shot towards the door, his strides long and firm.

  “Sir, I don’t want you to do anything that might ruin your reputation,” Richard said, following up behind him.

  “Richard, you know as well as I do that I have to put her in her place. If I’m going to be paying her. Perhaps she—perhaps she wrote this horrific speech just to put me in my place. Suppose she starts writing worse and worse speeches, only so she can write these essays about me? I can’t handle it, Richard. I must put a stop to it.”

  Within twenty minutes, Lord Linfield and Richard were aboard the carriage, tilting back and forth as the horses’ hooves scuttled across the cobblestones. It was a strangely sunny day, and the sun was foreign, too bright over Lord Linfield’s eyes. He blinked several times, leaning forward upon his fist.

  The carriage dropped Lord Linfield and Richard a few blocks away from The Rising Sun. Lord Linfield told the carriage boy to remain there, poised to rush away after he gave Lady Elizabeth a piece of his mind. He’d planned to spend the afternoon in the woods with Barney, a bit of a prize to himself for his “grand achievement” the previous afternoon. Now, he wasn’t entirely sure he deserved it.

  Lord Linfield marched towards the front door of The Rising Sun. At the outside, through the glass, he watched Lady Elizabeth swirling her quill across the paper before her. To her right, the other writers worked with tired, sloth-like hands at their desks. And, in the separate office, Irene was arched over a selection of pages, slashing through several words and seemingly mumbling to herself.

  Just as Lord Linfield reached for the handle of the door, preparing to storm in, Lady Elizabeth spotted him. Her face turned to a frown. Immediately, she shot to her feet and bounded towards the door, shaking her head.

  Behind him, Richard muttered to himself, voicing both of their confusions. Lord Linfield bumbled back, moving towards the side of the building as Lady Elizabeth moved into the sun. With her nostrils flared, she closed the door tightly behind her, checking back at the other employees.