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

by Abigail Agar

  The memories seemed particularly lonely.

  “It’s your fault, you know,” Bess stammered, glancing back towards Conner’s name. “I was a young girl, and I put my entire trust in you. How could I not? I thought you were special. Handsome and smart and alive. I thought your ideas were brilliant. But now, I know I can put trust in only my own mind.”

  As she spoke, she recognised the distance between her current and her former self. She felt herself stretched out over decades, continually living with the decisions she made in the here and now. And, with a jolt, she realised that if she didn’t do something about Lord Linfield, she would regret it until the day she died.

  “One has to seize one’s life,” she murmured, positioning the mum directly beneath Conner’s name. “One has to fight for what one wants. And honestly, darling, you were never going to be the one I wanted. Not after I grew up a bit. Not after I learned who I was.”

  Bess stood from the grave, making her hands into fists. She felt the skin growing scabbed from the chill. But she turned back towards the London streets, feeling a fresh affirmation of self. Why shouldn’t she demand what she wanted? Why shouldn’t she face Society? They’d strung her up in every way, except the literal version. She’d been through enough.

  And now, she had to fight back.

  Otherwise, she was as good as dead.

  Chapter 26

  Nathaniel didn’t hear from Lady Elizabeth throughout much of the early part of the week. He was expecting a speech from her, and when it arrived—articulate, whip-smart as ever, he toiled over the words, trying to deduce if there was some sort of secret message within. Something that told him his feelings for her were matched.

  Wednesday evening, Nathaniel met with Everett for a drink after a rather dull, rather tense dinner with his mother. Lady Eloise had insisted, several times, that he inform her more about his apparent “love interest.” To her incredible disdain, he refuted her words, telling her that she needed to “leave well enough alone.”

  “I’m joining Parliament. I’ll be every bit the man my father was,” Nathaniel said, his eyebrows low. “I just can’t promise those grandchildren you so yearn for, and I’m sorry for it. Perhaps I’m not the sort of man to father children. Perhaps I don’t have the love for it.”

  At that, he’d shot up from his chair at the dinner table, dropped his napkin across his half-eaten beef, and strutted from the room. In his mother’s eyes, he saw anxiety, fear, and sadness at the state of Nathaniel’s life. She so wanted him to have a partner, nearly as much as he, himself, wanted Lady Elizabeth to be that partner.

  Everett appeared at his home that evening, stretching his fingers across his coat to flick off the rain. “Only a few weeks till Christmas, my boy, and it seems that every day gets darker and bleaker,” he said, although his smile was wide and almost childlike. “You’re looking rather doom and gloom, aren’t you?”

  Nathaniel struggled not to roll his eyes. He led Everett up the steps to his father’s study and perched on the edge of the desk, watching as Everett helped himself to the selection of whiskies. He shrugged one of the tops off and poured both of them thick drinks, making his eyebrows bob up and down. “You’ll never guess what I did,” he offered.

  “No, I suppose I won’t,” Nathaniel said, lending a heavy sigh.

  “Well, I won’t tell you if you act like that,” Everett said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like someone’s killed your dog. How is old Barney, anyway?”

  “He’s fine,” Nathaniel said, scratching the top of his neck where the curls coiled towards his shirt. He needed a haircut. “You can’t imagine how worried I was when he was injured, but he’s already walking about, despite the cast. Veterinarian says he should be right as rain by spring.”

  Everett tapped his glass into Nathaniel’s, toasting Barney’s health. But moments later, Everett burst into his tale—one of love and loss, one of confusion and passion.

  “I remembered the way you were looking at Lady Elizabeth, Lord Linfield,” Everett began. “And don’t confuse, it’s just simply that I was struck with the realisation that, well. We have this single life to live. And I was managing to only half-live without her.”

  Of course, Nathaniel knew Everett was speaking of his great lost love, the painter. He peered at Everett, conscious that the man had rosy pink cheeks, and that he spoke with more energy and life.

  “I walked up to the door, like some kind of fool. It was the middle of the day, perhaps three in the afternoon. And when the maid arrived, she looked at me with these rueful eyes. Of course, I introduced myself as Lord Everett Beauchamp, and the maid immediately scrambled into action. A lord was calling, and all that. Especially a member of Parliament. She retrieved Nelle immediately. Nelle appeared at the top of the stairs, that blonde-haired beauty toddler upon her hips. And when her eyes met with mine, it was clear immediately that she hadn’t forgotten me. Not for a moment.”

  Lord Linfield felt his mind hazy, lost. He sipped the whisky, feeling it burn the back of his throat. Everett continued the story, saying that he and Nelle had spoken for hours about what had happened to them the previous several years; the young girl had taken an immediate liking to him and had even perched upon his lap for a while until she’d fallen asleep on his chest.

  “Somehow, it felt that we were a family already, as if we were spending the afternoon together after many years of doing just that. Even the little girl, in my arms … It felt precisely right.”

  Nathaniel gaped at him, conscious that Everett had leapt for what he’d wanted and retrieved it, whilst Nathaniel had made the leap (asking Lady Elizabeth to come to dinner, to meet his mother—in essence, to be with him) and come up dry.

  “And you?” Everett asked, his eyes shifting downward. “I don’t imagine it will be long before the pair of you figure out your love for one another.”

  “It’s simply too difficult, Everett.” Nathaniel shrugged. “She gave me the backstory of her father, of her ex-fiancé. It’s rather messy, and she’s turned her back on Society for good. She sees no purpose in it. And, if I’m being quite honest, I don’t, either.”

  “Then it’s perfect,” Everett said, although his smile faltered slightly. “If you’re on the same page. If you see the world with this light …”

  “It’s simply that she wants to continue her work at the paper, to volunteer at the homeless shelter, to exist in a way that helps people. She could never sit back and be my—my Countess …” Nathaniel stumbled over his words, feeling his heart ache all over again. “It simply doesn’t matter.”

  “Ask her,” Everett said, his voice soft.

  “I already have,” Nathaniel murmured before turning towards the window.

  That had to be the end of the conversation. It had to end Nathaniel’s racing mind and heart. And that weekend, when he darted up the steps of the podium and made his speech, he was very conscious that Lady Elizabeth was no longer in the crowd. He scanned through the faces, each eager and scrunching forward, trying to hear everything Lady Elizabeth had so expertly written for him.

  Sure enough, when the paper was printed, the political analysis was written by another writer, and not L.B. Nathaniel swung through the pages, hunting for her familiar, poetic words.

  That’s when his breath faltered. For, there, beneath the title of one of the largest essays the paper had ever printed, was the name Lady Elizabeth Byrd.

  Her full name.

  Nathaniel didn’t have time to do anything about it, to head to her home and question her about why she’d decided to stop hiding from Society. For, that evening, Nathaniel was hosting a dinner with several of his father’s old friends from Parliament, including his mother and Lord Everett Beauchamp. Already, the men were arriving downstairs, tossing their coats to the maid and exchanging vague pleasantries. Everett entered just after the older men and sounded boastful and loud, speaking over the top of them in a jocular way. Each of their voices rang out, echoing.

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nbsp; God, how Lord Linfield longed to be far away from there. To dash across the shoddy cobblestones of Lady Elizabeth’s foggy neighbourhood and find her there. He imagined wrapping his arms around her, inhaling her lips. He imagined that she would tell him that her reason for revealing herself was him, all him. “I’m ready for you,” he imagined she would say. “I’m ready for whatever we are to each other. Even if that means we’ve fallen in love.”

  “Good evening, gentlemen!” he cried.

  But today, Nathaniel was meant to bolster his position at Parliament, to enhance these relationships that his father had once maintained. He couldn’t very well kick them from his estate, not after the maids and cooks had toiled over the stoves the previous few hours, simmering a perfect feast for the white-haired men of Parliament.

  Nathaniel appeared on the steps. He felt regal, tall, his muscles pulsing with vitality after what he’d just read. As he joined the men in the foyer, he shook each of their hands and flashed that near-perfect smile—knowing that he was every bit the poster boy they’d longed to join Parliament for years.

  “That was some speech,” Lord Waldron said to him, gripping his hand with extra force. “I’ve been watching your incredible improvements, Nathaniel. I mean, of course, Lord Linfield. Apologies. You must understand, that was your father, to us. But we’ll make the transition rather smoothly, I imagine.”

  “Yes. The new and fresh Lord Linfield.” This was from his mother, who appeared in the doorway after exiting her sitting room. She was wearing a rather regal-looking dark blue gown, with a neckline stitched all the way up to her chin. She bowed her head to the gentlemen, then curtsied, as they all in turn bowed their heads and trotted up to greet her.

  “My goodness, Lady Linfield,” Lord Binford said, shaking his head. “You were always quite a sight to see.”

  Nathaniel’s mother always knew how to handle a social situation, no matter how awkward. She lifted her chin, tilted her head and said, “Shall we sojourn to the dinner table? It’s nearly time.”

  Nathaniel recognised he was an anxious mess. He simply couldn’t banish Lady Elizabeth from his mind. Every conversation, he yearned to interject with the wisdom he’d learned from Lady Elizabeth. He wanted to dissect the reasons for why she’d had to open up the homeless shelter for children in her neighbourhood; he wanted to curse the fine foods they were eating, as it meant that so much of the rest of England hadn’t such luck.

  But he found himself grinning, laughing at the proper times, “working the system” in a way that his mother appreciated. By the time the second course came, he was in the midst of listening to Lord Waldron speak about how he’d saved several thousand pounds twenty years before, after he’d found himself in the midst of someone attempting to swindle him.

  At this, Lord Linfield lowered his head towards Lord Waldron, peering at him, incredulous. “Twenty years ago, you say?”

  For the story rang so close to the one he’d heard regarding Lady Elizabeth, her father, and her ex-fiancé, he couldn’t help questioning it.

  “Yes, twenty years,” Lord Waldron said. He scoffed. “Although, perhaps you heard about the little situation I found myself caught up in a few years ago. My goodness, that was nasty business, wasn’t it Lord Binford?”

  Nathaniel’s eyes swept toward Everett’s. Their eyes burned. Lord Waldron cackled, making his stomach shake.

  “Although, I can assure you. Whatever it was that swindler took from me, I made sure that I got it back. Lord what’s his name—what was his name again, Lord Binford?” Lord Waldron asked.

  “Wasn’t it Byrd?” Lord Binford asked, arching his brow. “It must have been Byrd. Thomas Byrd. The 8th Baron Conway.” He chortled, making his stomach shake.

  Nathaniel was conscious that as Lord Binford’s belly quaked, it showed the stain from the gravy of the first course over and over again just above the table. The image was horrendous. He blinked several times, waiting for Lord Binford to stop laughing.

  “That’s right,” Lord Waldron said, snapping his fingers. “That idiot and his future son-in-law. You know, I watched him hang. Gorgeous occasion. The sun was shining over us all.”

  Immediately, Nathaniel shot up from his chair. It rolled back behind him, toppling against the wooden floorboards. He coughed, unable to believe the ridiculous nature with which they spoke about other people’s lives—other people’s deaths. He huffed, breathing heavily. Everyone turned their faces towards him, gaping. Lady Eloise looked particularly worried.

  “Darling,” she murmured, dabbing her napkin across her lips. “What’s gotten into you? Are you quite all right?”

  Nathaniel’s hands were in obvious fists. He looked raucous and strange, every bit the part of an angry schoolboy. He was conscious that he wasn’t representing his father well at this moment, but he wasn’t entirely sure he cared.

  If both Lord Linfields believed in anything, it had to be love. It had to be the greater good. It couldn’t be joking about someone’s murder and someone’s abandonment over the second and third courses of an immaculate dinner. Nathaniel didn’t feel overzealous for it just for Lady Elizabeth’s benefit; rather, he felt sure that his own father wouldn’t have stood for such talk.

  “Goodness, I couldn’t have imagined men like you at Parliament,” Nathaniel blurted, unable to halt the speed of his tongue. “Speaking of Lord Thomas Byrd and his ex-son-in-law. I must tell you. There is a sincere hypocrisy of the peer-privilege system. There is a sincere problem at the heart of the judgemental sphere, one that ensures that people like Sir Thomas Byrd run away from their crimes—and one that ensures people like Conner Graves hang for them. If you can’t possibly see that joking—joking!—about something like this is wrong, in its own right, then I don’t know who you think you are. These are and were men who wronged you. I understand that. But if we don’t fix the system right now, these men will continue to get away with their wrongs, yes. But also, men who do very little wrong will continue to hang for it. How can you sit back in those chairs and imbibe MY wine, take in MY food, and feel that you’re so high and mighty? Why on earth have you allowed so much wrong to exist in this world, without fixing it?”

  Nathaniel hadn’t caught himself before tossing himself forward, telling these people precisely what he thought of them. And in response, they all gaped at him, completely aghast.

  “Excuse me, son, but I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of receiving such pompous description of my actions …” Lord Waldron began, his voice scratchy and deep.

  Nathaniel huffed, searching for his breath. He brought his massive hand across his chest, bowed his chin. His tongue tipped along his teeth, hunting for an apology. But he wasn’t sure it was entirely worth it.

  It was his mother’s quick burst to the right, her quick rise from her chair that pulled Nathaniel from his reverie.

  “Darling, excuse me … What on earth are you doing here?” his mother said. Her eyes peered somewhere beyond Nathaniel’s shoulder.

  At this, Nathaniel whirled around. He gaped at the image of Lady Elizabeth Byrd, standing in the doorway of the dining room. She wore a gorgeous dark-green gown, a black cape swept across her shoulders. Her eyes glittered with questions, with fear, with intrigue. They stared at him hungrily, marvelling at him.

  It was then that Nathaniel realised: she’d heard everything. She’d come into the foyer, listened to the old blustery men and their opinions of her father and her ex-fiancé.

  And beyond that, she’d heard Nathaniel as he’d reared back, poised to stand up for her.

  Her eyes were heavy with love for him. Her lips were thick, quivering slightly as if she was on the verge of saying everything she’d always wanted to say. Every person at the table looked first at Nathaniel, then at Lady Elizabeth, a zillion questions in the air above them. Nathaniel stretched his arm out towards Lady Elizabeth, sensing he needed to make some sort of introduction.

  “Presenting the daughter of Sir Thomas Byrd, the 8th Baron Conway,” he began.
/>   He felt the air dissipate from the room.