Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  When the sun rose that morning, the servants woke up one by one and went about their daily duties. A pair of maids made their way up to the Duke’s chambers, but Alfred quickly redirected them, asserting that the Duke was not to be disturbed that morning. The maids nodded and hurried away, meeting the other servants in the kitchen, where they discussed the sounds of pleasurable lovemaking they had heard all night long.

  As the sun rose higher into the sky, bathing the chamber in warm golden light, the Duke opened his eyes and caught the beautiful sight of a naked Abigail by his side, her skin illuminated by the rays of the sun. He turned on his side and gazed upon his beautiful bride to be, amazed at the simple sight of her sleeping soundly in his bed. He smiled to himself and wondered just how much time he could spend admiring Abigail’s beauty without growing tired of it and decided that he could stay there and stare at her forever.

  Abigail stirred in her sleep, and the Duke pulled her close, holding her against his strong bare chest and letting his hands move down her petite back to the swell of her hips. He closed his eyes and slowly fell back asleep, content on knowing that he had all the time in the world to lay in bed with the beautiful woman by his side. Abigail turned on her side, pressing her backside against the Duke’s groin as she shifted in her sleep, and the Duke smiled widely to himself, more than happy with the new sleeping position. He put his arm around her stomach and closed his eyes, drifting happily off to sleep.

  Book 3

  Introduction

  Abigail kept walking behind the man as he led her through the foyer and out the doors of the castle. Walking into the courtyard, an odd sight greeted her. All the people of Northumberland stood in a circle, looking on at something. Dread filled the air as people turned away or looked down, not being able to bear what was happening. Worried, Abigail darted past her guard and rushed forward.

  “My Lady!” cried the stable master when he saw her, “Help him, My Lady, help him!”

  Abigail has just seen three months of peace and tranquillity with her beloved Edmund when an unexpected foe suddenly threatens her and everything she holds dear. Meanwhile, the city of London falls into deep political unrest as an intricate web of lies, corruption, and murder weaves through the capital of one of the biggest Kingdoms in history. Everything leading back to one man.

  Chapter 1

  Samuel Cooper sat on his bumpy cot in a long and narrow cell, looking through a barred window set high in the wall. Craning his neck forward, he could see a small triangle of azure blue sky. The noise of the hustle and bustle of the busy city of London filled his ears as he sighed. Thoughts of aimless wandering and the delicious aromas of patisseries on Regent Street were enough to have him lean closer and closer towards the obscure sight of London. He was suddenly startled out of his reverie by the clinking sound of a tray of food set down for him by a jailer with a dagger. He grunted and backed out of the cell. Samuel hungrily reached out for the meagre supper of half an onion, a wedge of cheese, and some bread. He cursed the Duke with every bite he took. Oh, how he had dreamed of castles and wines and beautiful maidens until that rake of a Duke and his filthy, wicked wench stepped in. Samuel Cooper longed for revenge. He had spent three months in a military prison in the centre of London on the charge of treachery against the crown while all he did was be loyal to his Lord Earl. The Earl who now rotted in a cold grave while he rotted in a cold cell.

  “Curse that Duke,” he muttered to himself, “curse him right down to his filthy bones, that good for nothing–”

  His train of thought was interrupted by a sudden commotion in the hall. A man argued in a loud voice, “You can’t go in there. The visiting hours are over.”

  “Really? Will you be the one to die stopping me, Captain?” cut in a smooth, sneering voice.

  “No … but the rules and the King Regent himself sentenced—” stammered the man in a subdued voice.

  “I’ll handle the King Regent, Captain,” said the smooth voice, “now unlock this door.”

  There was a jingle of keys outside Samuel’s door, and a moment later, the door clicked open. Samuel looked up into the face of someone oddly familiar. The tall, stone-faced yet handsome man was elegantly dressed with a long cape trailing behind him. On the left of his chest was the coat of arms of the house Blakemore, and on the right, the Crown’s. Recognition dawned on Samuel as the man looked down at him with a small, sly smile on his face. It was the old Earl’s younger brother.

  “Lord Harold,” muttered Samuel, his voiced filled with venom, “I’d offer you a seat and refreshments, but I do believe that this sturdy bed and this stale bread won’t be up to your exalted status.”

  “Why so bitter, Samuel?” inquired Harold Blakemore in a silky voice. “Am I not the brother of your much adored liege lord?”

  “Forgive the audacity, Sire, but where were you when that liege lord was being trampled by that Duke Edmund?”

  “My brother knew not of his own limitations. Taking on a Duke. Bah!” he exclaimed. “He was bound to fail.” Lord Harold smiled at Samuel, “But let it not be said that a Blakemore stood by while his own blood was ridiculed to such grave and obscene extents. The pride of my forefathers violently gushes through my veins, refusing to be silenced. We shall have our revenge, Samuel. But I will need your assistance.”

  “Revenge, you say?” Samuel raised an eyebrow, “On that Duke? What be it to you, My Lord? You had but no love for your brother. Why the desire to avenge him?”

  “Now, Now, Samuel. I had love for my brother,” the Lord drawled, “but I had more love for our family’s heritage that we lost to that Duke of Northumberland. I shall have it back.”

  “Aye, you get your heritage back,” muttered Samuel, “what be it to me?”

  “Do you not desire freedom?”

  “I have me three meals a day, a bed to lay my back on, and a roof over my head,” said Samuel, turning away, “I have no need for freedom.”

  “No, but you desire it,” said the Earl, “as you desire riches, castles, and women. I can give you all of it. You know of the Duke. You know of his schemes. Help me, and I shall help you.”

  Samuel looked towards the Earl, a new gleam in his eyes. “If that be true, My Lord, my life is yours to command,” he said as he walked towards the Earl, got on one knee and kissed his hand.

  A few minutes later, the Earl exited the jail and smiled to himself. He had nothing but pity for men like Samuel Cooper, but he needed them, too. Samuel knew of the Duke’s treacherous ways and could be an asset in the battle to come. He looked up at the sky and let out the smallest of chuckles. He would get what was his right and more. He would have it all.

  Chapter 2

  What a beautiful morning it had been, wondered Pip as he sat on a rickety chair outside the chambers of the Lord Duke of Northumberland. Even in the city, Pip had made a habit of waking up before dawn struck and getting some early pennies in at the hands of the countless postmen and a lamp extinguisher or two roaming London’s wretched and narrow streets in the early hours of the day. Even bakers were more generous at that hour, handing him bread after a single pitiful glance. But he had seldom seen the sunrise, and never as clear and fresh as in the countryside of Northumberland. He had been too busy clanking tiny glass bottles filled with whatever and selling them to folk who didn’t know any better.

  Now, he had made a ritual of spending the first few minutes of the day perched on the eastern wall of the castle, looking at the sunrise with wonder in his eyes. His father would occasionally say that he would go blind if he stared at the sun like that. The old man was the only family he had as well as being a downright excellent stable hand. The Duke had been happy to take him in. His father had occasionally called him out for his sun gazing, but he hadn’t paid any heed. He hadn’t missed a single one.

  “Pip!” came a powerful voice from inside the Duke’s chambers, “I need ye, enter at once!”

  Pip jumped and immediately darted towards the door. Knocking twice, he entered witho
ut waiting for permission. “At your service, Lord Duke!” he exclaimed.

  The Duke rushed out of the privy, a dishevelled look on his face, “No time for pleasantries this morning, Pip, rush to the apothecary this instant and ask for Nurse Daisy; Abigail has been retching like someone with cholera, Heaven forbid.”

  Pip heard a dreadful sound from the privy as his Duchess hurled out God knows what. Pip shuddered, gave the Duke a nod, and darted off, running as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. Years of running from soldiers, stray dogs, and dreadful baker women in the tapered streets of London had made him quick footed and thus, an excellent messenger boy for the castle. He could get messages from one end of the castle to another within seconds, a feat he could boast of for hours. Jumping off the last few steps of the main staircase and startling a chambermaid in the process, he finally reached the small apothecary.

  Panting, he stood in the open doorway and said, “The Duke has asked for Nurse Daisy. Duchess Abigail is sick again.”

  Inside the small, potent smelling room, a middle-aged Nurse Daisy was bent over a piece of parchment sprawled out on the table. She looked up at Pip. “Well, of course she’s sick, boy!” she exclaimed, “She is with child. Morning sickness is very common at this stage, it is known.”

  “But can you not do something to stop it, ma’am nurse?” inquired Pip, looking apprehensive, “The Duchess be retching pretty bad, ma’am.”

  The nurse walked over to him and ruffled his hair, “Worried about your lovely Duchess, eh boy?” she sighed and chuckled. “With you and the Duke fretting over her so much, she hardly gets but a moment to breathe. She can handle her own, you know?” said the nurse, bending over a casket in the corner of the brightly lit room, “She be fierce.” With that, the nurse turned around and presented Pip with a small bottle of clear liquid.

  “What be that, ma’am nurse?” asked Pip.

  “That, my boy, be a tonic. It should help your dear Duchess. Works darn fine, came in this morning from the city, too.” She smiled at Pip. “Not like your magic elixir, boy. This here is fine city grade medicine.”

  Pip blushed and nodded, carefully grabbing the small bottle, “Thank you, ma’am nurse. You got some of that sweet syrup too, ma’am?” he asked with a hungry expression.

  The nurse looked at him sternly, “Aye, I did. And I put it right next to the rat poison, didn’t I? Might’ve just mixed the bottles up,” she said, looking towards a shelf on the other side of the room. “Now if someone were wanting some sweet syrup and grabbed the poison, we might have a problem.” She glanced at Pip with narrowed eyes who gulped hesitantly, “Hurry along now, boy,” she said, “wouldn’t want the Duke fretting too much, now would we?”

  “Aye!” exclaimed the boy and dashed off.

  Nurse Daisy smiled to herself in his wake. “What a lad,” she muttered to herself and turned away.

  Chapter 3

  “Lord Stokeworth demands your presence in his chambers, sir,” called a messenger boy from the door.

  Tobias Harding looked up at the boy, no more than thirteen years of age. “I be no sir, boy. What is your name?”

  “Will,” said the boy, “Will Turner.”

  Tobias got up and walked over to the boy and put one hand on his head. “I was a messenger boy meself, once. And now look where I am. You be loyal to your masters, my boy, serve them well, eh?”

  “Aye!” exclaimed the boy.

  Tobias exited the hall where he had been waiting for the House of the Lords to adjourn their session in the Palace of Westminster, London. The Duke had sent him there as his official representative. Duke Edmund had been summoned to the city by none other than the Prince Regent but had sent back a formal apology at the hands of Tobias. The Prince had been surprisingly patient and had given Tobias the same welcome that would have been worthy of a nobleman. He had been given a small chamber in the Prince’s own palace to rest his bones from a day of riding and had now been called to the Palace of Westminster for some official business that he knew not of.

  Despite the undeserved courtesy, Tobias had not enjoyed the stay. He was a man of efficiency who had no patience for idle formalities. He had implored that he be informed of whatever official business the crown had with Duke Edmund so he could be on his way, but the Prince’s hospitality had been forced upon him. He sighed to himself as he walked through a brightly lit hallway. The sun shone through massive glass windows on one side, with a spectacular view of the River Thames while a huge orchard stretched beyond the other side of the hallway. He could see the whole city of London in all its might and glory, sprawled carelessly on the landscape.

  Approaching the door to Lord Stokeworth’s chamber, he knocked twice and then entered as he heard an affirmative bellow. The room was warm, with a bright red fire crackling in the fireplace. Before him stood the Lord himself, dressed in immaculate robes of gold and white, sipping from a glass chalice. His huge white moustache stained slightly red from the wine he was drinking.

  “Ah, Tobias Harding,” he boomed, “it has been a while, young man.”

  “Lord Stokeworth,” said Tobias, nodding in greeting.

  “Would you like a drink?” asked the man.

  “No, My Lord, thank you.”

  “Ah, very well. Have a seat, Tobias,” the Lord said, pointing to an empty chair.

  “Certainly,” said Tobias, gracefully sitting down. The Lord’s face turned serious.

  “I know you are not fond of formalities, Tobias,” he said as Tobias smiled; this was a man who did not partake in idle formalities either. Tobias respected him for that. “So I shall get right to it,” he continued, “the crown needs the Duke of Northumberland’s assistance.”

  “For what, My Lord?”

  “That wretched Napoleon, Tobias,” the man sighed, “he has himself a dream of establishing a French empire … as if the French are capable of such a feat. And the first country the daft Frenchman wants to conquer happens to be our very Kingdom. The House has been in session all morning, Tobias. Word has come in from the American continent. Word of war. Those Americans have no respect whatsoever for our trade routes. The Crown fears it might just have two wars on its hands as summer comes along.”

  “The situation be dire, My Lord,” said Tobias, “but where might the House of Arundell be required? What services do we have to offer?” asked Tobias, dreading the answer.

  “A rider rode in from the coast, Tobias. We need men down at the channel. The Duke of Wellington was injured in battle two days ago. The army has been fighting without a royal commander.”

  “My Lord, with all due respect,” muttered Tobias, knowing perfectly well what the Lord was asking for, “The Duke has just married, naught more than three months ago. And the Duchess, My Lord, the Duchess is with child, surely …”

  “Surely, we thought of other alternatives, Tobias,” said the Lord sternly, “we have no one else to turn to but the Duke. I, myself, looked for other options for I was well aware of the situation at Northumberland. Have you no faith in me, Tobias?”

  “Of course I do, My Lord, but—”

  “Very well, Tobias,” said the Lord, waving an arm. “Get the message to the Duke. He must take his full force of all able-bodied men to the channel as soon as he can. He shall take command of the royal army in place of Lord Wellington until the man has recovered adequately.” Lord Stokeworth produced a small scroll of parchment with the Crown’s seal, “Here is the Royal decree confirming the order. Pass this on to the Duke for me, along with my best wishes and words of felicitation on his unborn child. May the child be the carrier of the family blood and name.”

  “Of course, My Lord,” muttered Tobias as he walked out of the chambers, a distraught look on his face. He almost ran into a tall man dressed in black robes and supporting a golden cape. “My apologies, good sir, I was unaware of my surroundings …” Tobias cut short, looking at the man who now stood before him. “You, Lord Blakemore. What are you doing here?”

  “An Earl in the
Palace of Westminster is not an odd sight, now is it, Tobias Harding?” Harold Blakemore drawled in his silky smooth voice.

  “Of course not, My Lord,” said Tobias in a dignified voice. “My apologies for my insolence.” He gave a curt bow and walked around the Earl, heading for the main exit.

  “Do you carry news of the Duke Edmund being assigned to the royal battalion on the channel?” inquired the Earl from behind him. Tobias stopped in his tracks and looked around to face the man.