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

by Abigail Agar

  Lord Linfield gaped at her for a moment, seemingly ill-prepared to be spoken to in such a manner. But in response, Bess lifted her chin with defiance. “You hired me to help you, didn’t you?” she asked.

  “Certainly. I didn’t hire you to belittle me,” Lord Linfield said.

  But a spark behind his eyes hinted at his cleverness, at his teasing her directly back. Bess shifted, drawing her eyes to the horizon. They were walking through the grounds at Lord Linfield’s estate, with Richard and Lady Margaret, Bess’s friend from the shelter, marching along behind them. Bess had had to ask for Lady Margaret’s assistance, as Irene was bogged down at the newspaper and couldn’t accompany Bess to Lord Linfield’s estate. “Besides, it’s such a bore there,” Irene had sighed, her hair all frizzy and wild as she toiled over a stack of papers. “What a bore, isn’t it, that we must be constantly monitored? And you, at 28 years old! Practically a hag!”

  But the rules of propriety had to be upheld. Besides, having Lady Margaret or Irene with her made Lady Elizabeth far more certain of herself. If she was alone with Lord Linfield, she felt apt to float away from her own thoughts, fearful and unsure what she might blare out. For it was absolutely true that she was frequently awash with feelings for him. Feelings she couldn’t completely monitor.

  It was better to be his instructor. Better to uphold this level over him.

  “Do it again,” she said, her nostrils flared.

  Lord Linfield sighed heavily. He shot his hand into his pocket and drew out a slip of paper, the paper on which Bess had strummed up yet another speech. Bess knew he hadn’t bothered to memorise it completely, as she’d instructed, and this made her heart shimmer with a strange mix of anger and happiness. He needed her. God, he needed her more than he could possibly translate—not with money or words. At least, Bess liked to think so.

  Lord Linfield began to speak once more, muttering and fumbling over words. Bess again shuddered, shaking her head.

  “Slower. Slower.” She sighed. “It’s simply impossible to make you listen, isn’t it?”

  “Again with the insults!” Lord Linfield complained. “It’s not as though you have to stand up in front of a hundred people in central London and exhibit your opinions, do you? I’d like to see you up there, Lady Elizabeth. Like to see you take the stage.”

  “I’d do it gladly, if only to uphold my belief in the Judgement of Death Act,” Bess said, her eyes flashing.

  Nathaniel paused for a long moment. Bess recognised that she’d hit a rough patch with him. Since their arrangement, they hadn’t yet discussed anything regarding the Judgement of Death Act—not the fact that he was staunchly opposed, and not the fact that she needed him to be “for” it if they were going to continue their arrangement. Lord Linfield folded up the page of his speech, blinking at her. Lady Margaret, somewhere behind, let out a small, low gasp. Bess had told Lady Margaret about the situation with Lord Linfield, and Lady Margaret had told Bess she thought her to be one of the bravest women she’d known in her life.

  “A woman running for Parliament,” Lord Linfield said, his voice filled with irony. “How very strange to think of that. It’s almost as ridiculous as a woman, say, writing for the newspaper. A working woman. What will the world consider next?”

  Bess’s lips crept into a smile. But just as she began to speak, they heard a strange howling from somewhere just to the right—perhaps fifteen or so trees deep into the woods. Bess smacked her hand over her chest, her eyes wide. “What on earth?”

  Lord Linfield turned quickly, his motions agile. “My goodness, that sounds like Barney,” he whispered before rushing forward and diving between the trees.

  Bess didn’t wait to follow him. She tore directly at his heels, listening as the whine from the forest escalated, growing tighter and more insistent. She stumbled slightly in the forest underbrush, nearly knocking her head against a tree branch. Lord Linfield was quick, his long legs easing through the fog.

  “Bess! Wait!” Lady Margaret cried somewhere behind her. “Please, be careful!”

  But Bess sensed alertness in Nathaniel, something that told her that this whine was cause for serious alarm. She remembered mention of a dog, a dog that had Nathaniel’s entire heart. A dog named Barney. Bess wouldn’t be able to live with it if something had happened to him.

  Seconds later, Nathaniel dropped to his knees. Bess stumbled forward, nearly falling into Nathaniel. She hadn’t realised she could possibly run that quickly. She fell to the side, against a tree, huffing. There, before them, was a gorgeous hunting dog—with long white and black and brown hair, a tender, snivelling nose, and bright blue eyes that turned around and around anxiously.

  Blood spurted up along one of the back paws and legs. Bess looked closer, noting that his leg had been latched by a horrific-looking hunting trap. It gleamed in the sunlight, torturous and spiked.

  “My goodness!” Bess whispered, her voice harsh. “Who on earth would put a hunting trap so close to your home?”

  But Nathaniel was too flustered to answer. His eyebrows stitched tight over his eyes as he drew his hand over the dog’s quivering body. “It’s all right, my boy,” he murmured. “We’ll get you out of this in no time. You’ll be fine. You’ll be absolutely fine.”

  Nathaniel’s massive hands stretched the hunting trap open, a motion that made him grunt and close his eyes. The split second that he released the dog’s leg, the dog sprung up and then collapsed on the other side of a dead tree branch splayed across the ground. Lord Linfield tried to close the hunting trap, but as he did it, a spike stitched itself into his finger. Blood sprung up across his skin and then drew a long line along his arm.

  But it seemed that Nathaniel didn’t notice it, didn’t feel the pain. He erupted back to his feet and walked towards the dog, which let out a whine once more. He drew his arms beneath the dog, lifting him into his arms. Then, he turned around to discover Bess, watching. He seemed shocked to see her, as if she was an animal in the woods. His mouth parted. Blood continued to drip down his arm from his cut. It seemed to be much thicker than Bess had initially assumed.

  “He’s hurt,” Nathaniel said simply as if this wasn’t already clear.

  “So are you,” Bess murmured. She reached down and tore a piece of fabric from the bottom of her dress. Then, she moved forward slowly, her eyes upon the gash on Lord Linfield’s finger. She touched his skin softly, tenderly, knowing that this was strange—this touching. But it had to be done.

  “We’ll just wrap it until we can get you inside,” she said.

  Lord Linfield winced as she tied up the fabric. Immediately, the fabric grew dark red and damp with his blood. “I have to get him out of the forest,” Lord Linfield said, speaking of the dog at their feet. “You’re correct in wondering who would put a trap so close to the house. I can’t imagine anything worse. I’m grateful it didn’t capture a child, but …” He trailed off, gasping for breath.

  Bess was awash with a sudden feeling that Lord Linfield was very close to crying. She stomped back, providing space for Lord Linfield to sweep his legs over the underbrush and chaos of the forest floor. Now, Bess could hear the wailing cries of Lady Margaret, calling for her.

  “Lady Elizabeth! Please! Where on earth are you?” she cried.

  Bess felt it was improper to call out to Lady Margaret at this time, to allow her words to echo through the trees. She felt it would shift the beautiful, subtle nature of the woods. That whatever intimacy—was that truly the word?—she and Lord Linfield were currently sharing would be lost the moment she fell in with Lady Margaret and Richard.

  As they moved quickly through the trees, Bess was struck with the agility of Lord Linfield: tall, muscular, moving faster still than he’d moved when they’d first found the dog. Every bit of him seemed taut and anxious. And still, the dog in his arms let out long, cooing whines. Every few steps, Lady Elizabeth could hear Lord Linfield muttering to the dog, telling him, “It’s going to be all right, old boy. I promise you. You’ll
have your favourite meal. Your best spot by the fire. No sleeping anywhere else tonight. You’ll be safe. Comfortable.”

  Lord Linfield burst out from the trees with Bess hobbling just behind. Lady Margaret looked absolutely stricken with fear. All the blood had drained from her face. Her eyes raced from Lord Linfield and the injured dog, to Bess, and back again. Her hands clapped over her mouth.

  “My goodness!” she cried. “What on earth has happened?”

  “No time to explain, Lady Margaret,” Lord Linfield said, rushing past her.

  Bess paused at Lady Margaret, watching as Lord Linfield cantered closer to the mansion. She felt a hesitation, matched with a strange longing.

  “Perhaps it’s best for us to go,” Lady Margaret murmured.

  But just as Bess was planning to agree with her—to turn her torn skirts back towards the carriage house and return to her London home, Lord Linfield turned abruptly back towards her. His eyes found hers instantly and were like daggers.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked her, and only her, not the others.

  Bess understood: somehow, throughout the currency of whatever strange business relationship or friendship, she was needed by his side while he worked through the issue of his injured animal. She reached for her skirts and drew them up, darting along to be at his side. And once she was, Lord Linfield nodded firmly before clearing his throat. “Good. It’s time,” he said.

  The next hours involved a flurry of activity. Lord Linfield made a makeshift emergency bed for the dog in his own bedroom, splaying poor Barney over white bed sheets and wrapping the wound with towels. The dog’s leg was completely broken, hanging off in a strange direction. Lord Linfield scowled as he tried to stop the bleeding. But it was clear that the bone would need to be set, and Lord Linfield admitted that he wasn’t the proper man for the job. To the side, Lady Elizabeth and Lady Margaret looked on—both apt to run frequently to the kitchen for pots of hot water, or tea, or, in harder moments, whisky.

  Richard took it upon himself to ride a fast horse to a nearby doctor, who returned thirty minutes later with his medicine bag. The doctor used careful, tender fingers to set the bone of the dog’s leg and then wrap the leg in a cast. Lord Linfield remained perched on the side of the bed, looking over his dog. Occasionally, he turned his eyes towards Bess, seemingly looking for approval. Bess didn’t know what for.

  It was remarkable, feeling so trusted by Lord Linfield. For the first time in years, Bess felt more like a woman, like a woman who’d always planned on becoming a mother. Although her volunteer work stretched her emotionally and fulfilled her on several levels, she had strange flashes of yearning for a life she couldn’t quite understand. A life in which she and a husband might have to remain up all night watching over a sick child. A life that involved incredible amounts of fear, matched with incredible amounts of love.

  After the dog’s leg was set, Richard led the doctor back downstairs. Lord Linfield again turned his attention to Lady Elizabeth. The sun had shifted fully beneath the skyline, casting them in darkness. With anxious motions, Lady Margaret moved to light a candle in the corner. The light was eerie.

  “Don’t you think we should begin to return home, Lady Elizabeth?” Lady Margaret cooed, sounding like a child.

  For whatever reason, Bess felt no inclination to respond to her. Instead, she held onto Lord Linfield’s gaze waiting for something to happen.

  “Thank you for your help today,” he said, his voice low and scratchy and alluring.

  Lady Elizabeth stirred in the little chair she’d propped up near the dog. She drew her hand towards the dog’s belly, stroking her fingers over and over the soft fur. “I would do anything for animals,” she murmured. “Animals and children. They’re the only pure things in this world.”

  “Barney is my last link to my old life, I think,” Lord Linfield said.

  As if on cue, Barney let out another whine, a heavy sigh that made his belly collapse in on itself. He looked pathetic and strange, his eyes wet.

  “I’ve never seen him look like this,” Lord Linfield continued. “I can’t imagine what I would do without him. I used to spend entire days with him, without another soul. And I still sometimes find the time. Wandering through the woods with him. Watching him dig around with his nose.”

  “You’ll have so many more times like that,” Bess murmured. “He’s going to heal so nicely.”

  She felt another urge to reach forth and draw her hand across Lord Linfield’s. She swallowed sharply, and then turned her eyes back to the dog. She remembered the early days of courting Conner, how her body had felt all fizzy and strange. Her thoughts had shot from ear to ear, uninhibited. Sometimes, she’d felt a burning desire to toss herself against his chest and kiss him, wholly and completely on the mouth. These weren’t fantasies fit for a woman like her. Not a woman of her class, certainly.

  “Well, I have to admit,” Lord Nathaniel said. “Today really did take a turn, didn’t it? From my lacklustre speechmaking, to … Well. Thank you, anyway. You’ll be paid for your services, absolutely.”

  His voice remained intimate, although he seemed to be trying to force them away from this strange in-between of emotion and words unsaid. He cleared his throat, and then rose up from the bed. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing words regarding my upcoming speech over the next days. Words from a mysterious writer, L.B.”

  “A fine writer, that L.B.,” Bess said, chuckling.

  “Although perhaps a bit high on himself sometimes,” Lord Linfield teased. “Although I can’t say it’s not warranted, for it completely is. If I had the skills of that brilliant writer, I’m not sure what I would do with it. Surely I would take over the world.”

  “I’m sure L.B. wants little more than to write, and write often, and write well,” Bess said.

  They approached the staircase and marched down. Their footsteps echoed through the foyer before them, solidifying the emptiness of the massive house around them. Behind them, Lady Margaret stumbled slightly on a step and let out a small groan.

  At the door, Lord Linfield’s eyes shone, speaking a language Bess could only slightly understand. “I hope you’ll consider coming to help me again with my oration,” he said. “I’m certain that only a few lessons won’t get me to that Parliament seat.”

  “It’s my pleasure to assist you,” Bess said. She gave him a slight smirk. “No matter how difficult you can be, on occasion, Lord Linfield.”

  Again, the air grew taut between them. But Lady Margaret was anxious to retreat from the mighty house. She slid towards the door, opened the knob, and bowed her head towards Lord Linfield. “It really was a pleasure,” she stammered, her voice high-pitched like a child’s. “Good evening, Lord Linfield. We must bid our leave.”

  Once back in the carriage, Bess could feel Lady Margaret’s curious eyes turning towards her—nearly burning through her with curiosity. But she kept her face focused forward, her eyebrows low. The events of the day had made her head fill with questions that had no answers. It made her dream in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to in years.

  And when she returned home, slipped beneath her sheets, listened to the cantering of horses outside, the carriages clacking past in the night, she still felt lost in a daydream.

  Chapter 18

  A few days after Lord Linfield’s next speech, he planned to meet his friend Everett in downtown London for lunch. Lord Linfield was now a recognisable figure throughout the city, known far and wide as a man looking to slot himself into his father’s previous position at Parliament. Known to be a handsome man. A man to raise the emotions of the people in the crowd at his speeches.

  A man the people could trust.

  Lord Linfield arrived at the restaurant he and Everett had arranged for, a little place that served hearty stews and thick, German breads filled with seeds and nuts, along with hefty pints of beer. As younger boys, he and Everett had once drunk in that restaurant from noon until night, having to hold onto one another’s shoulders
to ensure they didn’t fall down on their route to their carriages.