The Defiant Governess of Rosenhill Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  “I am sorry for your loss,” Eliza empathized.

  “You are all too familiar with the pain of loss,” Miss Fielding acknowledged. “Before your parents’ deaths, your father sent many letters to mine over the years of their separation. Among these are letters mentioning his work with a Mr. Pritchard. They believed the late Duke of Rosenhill, your father, Your Grace,” she stated meeting Arthur’s eyes in apology, “to be a criminal of the highest order.”

  “Unfortunately, they were right,” Arthur remarked.

  Miss Fielding nodded her head in agreement. “They were conducting investigations into the late Duke’s life and business dealings at the time of the fire that took your parents’ lives, Miss Bolton. Your father wrote to mine that he feared he had been found out. My father long suspected that it was the late Duke who took your parents’ lives.”

  Chapter 25

  Eliza sat very still as a wide range of emotions flitted across her face. “Everyone assumed the fire was brought about by the work he did in London before coming here.”

  “That is what they were supposed to think,” the voice of Ludlow Finch, the Marquess of Denlington, interjected. Everyone looked up to find him leaning against the library doorframe smiling smugly. “I am surprised Arthur did not tell you.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Eliza questioned indignantly. “If Arthur had known his father was responsible for killing my parents, he would have told me.”

  “Apparently not,” Denlington pointedly stared at Arthur as if daring him to deny it. “‘Oh! What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.’” The Marquess chuckled at Arthur’s obvious discomfort.

  Hearing Sir Walter Scott’s words spouted from Denlington’s mouth like venomous adders of discontent made the hairs on the back of Duncan’s neck stand up. The man was definitely up to something, and there was no possible way that it would be beneficial to any of them. Duncan looked from Arthur to Eliza and could feel the tension in the room mounting to explosive levels. Someone was going to be hurt, and Duncan greatly feared it would be Eliza.

  “Denlington,” Arthur growled in warning. Duncan could tell his control was slipping.

  “Miss Bolton, I fear you have trusted yourself to a den of liars and scoundrels. It was Hugh who ordered the deaths of your parents, sure as I am standing here, and Arthur has always known it to be so. Your father was his tutor at the time, and Arthur witnessed the angry fight between both of your fathers first hand. He heard his father threaten yours.” Denlington’s eyes glittered with glee at being the one to tell her.

  “That cannot be true. He would have told me.” Eliza turned her eyes toward Arthur. Duncan could see the guilt within their depths from where he sat. “Arthur?” she questioned. Hurt and betrayal played across her face in waves of anguish.

  “Eliza, I am so very sorry,” Arthur began, but Eliza would not hear it.

  “You stood there and allowed me to fall in love with you knowing full well that your father murdered my parents and you didn’t think it was right to tell me? How could you have been so selfish?” Eliza angrily questioned.

  “I didn’t have proof,” Arthur tried to explain.

  “You go about the county making amends to everyone your father has ever wronged, but you could not bring yourself to tell me this?” Eliza angrily stood up and swiftly walked towards the library door.

  “Eliza?” Arthur rose to go after her, but Duncan stood and stopped him. Eliza pushed past the Marquess and disappeared from sight.

  “Give her time, Arthur. If you go after her now there will be naught but words spoken in anger, words that cannot be unspoken,” Duncan cautioned.

  Arthur’s shoulders slouched in defeat as he sat back down upon the settee. He turned his angry gaze to Denlington and growled, “Remove yourself from my house immediately.”

  “I was just on my way out,” Denlington smiled and bowed. He turned to leave then paused to look back over his shoulder. “You should have joined me, Arthur.”

  Arthur leaned forward and glared at the Marquess. He looked as if he wished to beat the man senseless but was saved from doing something regrettable by the Marquess’ hasty exit.

  “I am sorry to have caused you such strife, Your Grace. I was unaware of you and Miss Bolton’s romantic entanglements,” Miss Fielding stated, looking uncomfortable with the turn of events. “I felt that such information was best delivered in person and I wished to bring you the correspondence between my father and the two men you mentioned in your letter.”

  “None of this is your fault, Miss Fielding. Please continue,” Arthur encouraged.

  “After the death of Mr. and Mrs. Bolton, Mr. Pritchard applied to the Bow Street Runners. My father thought it was best if Mr. Pritchard remained here and continued his investigations into the Duke. My father died before he was able to bring yours to justice,” Miss Fielding explained.

  “How did he die?” Arthur inquired.

  “He was killed in the line of duty,” Miss Fielding answered. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she dashed them away and continue. “I continued the correspondence with Mr. Pritchard after my father’s passing. When your father died, Mr. Pritchard’s letters stopped. I am unsure as to what occurred, but am hoping to ascertain the cause while I am here.”

  “Such investigative work is unusual for a woman,” Arthur noted.

  “It is unheard of, actually, but this was my father’s life’s work, and though I hold no official capacity within the Bow Street Runners, I plan to continue in his stead,” Miss Fielding announced. A fiery light in her eyes heralded her determination.

  “Perhaps we could join forces,” Arthur thought aloud. “You see, there have been three attempts on my life in the last month, and I believe it is connected to my father’s past.”

  “That is most grave,” Miss Fielding noted, frowning. “What evidence have you been able to compile thus far?”

  “The first attempt resulted in a horrific carriage crash on the road between Durton and Rosenhill that resulted in the death of one of Rosenhill’s drivers,” Duncan began.

  “A good man,” Arthur nodded solemnly.

  Duncan nodded his agreement. “The carriage had been tampered with. It is unclear whether it happened at Rosenhill before departure or at Durton prior to his return. The second attempt was an assassin sent in the dark of night with a knife to murder him in his bed. The third occurred that same night via a marksman.”

  “I am no longer certain that the incident in the village with some of my father’s old ruffians is not part of the scheme,” Arthur added.

  “I concur,” Duncan stated. “He was attacked and stabbed in the village prior to the carriage accident.”

  “It is nothing short of a miracle that you are not dead, Your Grace. I cannot imagine how you managed to escape so many attempts on your life,” Miss Fielding remarked, shaking her head in awe of his survival.

  “He almost didn’t,” Duncan informed her. He would never forget, for as long as he lived, how close he had come to losing his dearest friend. Life would have been a cold and lonely affair without him.

  “It is clear that though man may wish you dead, the Almighty does not,” Miss Fielding noted. “Anything else?”

  “There have been some ill wishes left upon our doorstep. My father used to leave a dead crow with a white arrow through its breast as a calling card for his enemies. We have received two of these left at Durton during my time of recovery from the carriage accident,” Arthur added.

  “Are you aware of anyone else who might use a similar calling card?” she asked.

  “No, I am not,” Arthur shook his head.

  “Nor am I,” she replied. “I have studied all of my father’s past cases and have come across none that do. Your father was a unique and cunning man, from all accounts. As intelligent as Daniel Bolton was, he did not stand a chance against a criminal mastermind such as the late Duke. In all of the correspondence that Mr. Bolton and Mr. Pritchard wrote, they were never once able to prov
ide solid evidence of your father’s crimes.”

  “I have his ledgers. You are welcome to look at them if you think it would make a difference, but I caution you that I would expect the greatest of discretion on your part to not reveal any of the names within them outside of myself, the Duke of Durton, or Miss Bolton. Lives depend upon it,” Arthur warned.

  “You have my word, Your Grace. I will be the epitome of discretion,” Miss Fielding swore.

  Arthur nodded and arose to retrieve the ledgers from a locked drawer in his desk. He walked back over and handed them to Miss Fielding. She withdrew a bundle of letters from her purse and gave them to him in exchange. The three of them sat and quietly poured over their respective documents. Occasionally Arthur or Duncan would point out a specific line within the letters to bring it to the other’s attention.

  Hours passed. Breakfast came and went, but they did not move. Mr. Danvers kept them supplied with food and drink. Occasionally Arthur’s eyes would stray to the door, and Duncan knew he was waiting for Eliza to return, but she did not. When they had finished reading the letters, Duncan and Arthur stood up and stretched their limbs. “It has to be one of Father’s men. It is the only solution left to us. Perhaps one of them who was responsible for delivering Father’s calling cards of death.”

  “I see from your notations here within the ledgers that you have made financial remunerations to your father’s victims. That was a brave and selfless act, Your Grace. Most noblemen would not have deemed to do such a thing.” Miss Fielding looked at him with obvious respect and admiration. “You are most certainly not your father.”

  “No, I am not my father,” Arthur replied. “I thank you for your kind words, Miss Fielding; however, I fear I have fallen short of the mark where Miss Bolton is concerned. I believe I will go and look in on her. Perhaps she will join us for luncheon as we plan our next move.”

  “I know you love her Arthur, and I hate to see her suffer as much as you, but if you push her without allowing her adequate time to come to her own conclusions about the matter, then you could do further damage,” Duncan warned. “She is strong-minded and in pain, but if given time, she will come to the realization that you are not to blame in this situation.”

  Arthur stood for a moment as if he were thinking about what Duncan had said. “I hear your words and know them to be true, but I cannot leave her to suffer alone.”

  “Even if you are the current cause of her pain?” Duncan pointed out.

  “Even then,” Arthur answered and left the library.

  “For what it matters, I believe you to be right,” Miss Fielding interjected having observed the exchange.

  “Thank you, but it does not do them a bit of good,” Duncan replied, frowning after Arthur’s retreating back.

  “Can I assume the lines of men’s initials with outgoing payment amounts next to their names were employed by the late duke?” Miss Fielding asked while turning the ledger in her hands around so that Duncan might see the pages.

  “That is our belief,” Duncan nodded. “Unfortunately, with initials and not given names, it will be difficult to ascertain who they are.”

  “I would very much like to ask them a few questions,” Miss Fielding remarked turning the ledger back around to stare at the names. “Starting with this fellow.” She pointed to the page and Duncan came around to see who she had referred to. “One of the dates here coincides with the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Bolton.”

  “M.D.” The name had the largest monetary value on the page. “He would have had to have done the late Duke a great many services to have earned that amount,” Duncan murmured.

  “Indeed,” Miss Fielding agreed. “I would go so far as to say it was the going price for murder or the like.”

  Duncan frowned. It would make sense for the duke to have had a single man upon whom he depended greatly. Every nobleman had one. “A marksman or arsonist perhaps.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Miss Fielding replied. “If we can ascertain the identity of this M.D. fellow, then I believe we will be well on our way to discovering the truths you seek.” She snapped the ledger shut. “I need to see a copy of the parish records.”

  “There must be hundreds of men and women bearing those initials. It would be impossible to narrow down the identity you seek from so little information,” Duncan argued.

  “Ah, but we must start somewhere. If we ascertain those within the parish who bear the initials M.D. who would have been old enough to commit such a criminal act against an entire family at the time of the Bolton’s demise, then that will give us a list of names to start our inquiries. Chances are that if he has perpetrated such a heinous act, then he has committed other crimes and may have been brought before the magistrate. His skills as a marksman almost certainly identify him as a soldier. My guess would be from the Napoleonic Wars.”

  Duncan was stunned into silence. He had never in all his days met a woman with such keen intellect. She is a marvel! He looked at her with new appreciation. “I will inform Arthur, and we can leave immediately. For the sake of Arthur’s safety, I feel would be best if he remained here at Rosenhill, but chances are he will ignore my advice and demand to accompany us.”

  “I cannot say I would not do the same were I in his place,” Miss Fielding admitted.

  “I am the same,” Duncan agreed. “But it is different when the life in danger is that of a beloved friend or member of one’s family.”

  “Indeed,” Miss Fielding answered. “I will go and request our horses, while you do your best to persuade His Grace to remain safely within the confines of Rosenhill. I wish you good fortune.”

  “I will need it,” Duncan remarked, then left the library in search of Arthur. He found him silently standing outside of Eliza’s room. “Did she refuse to speak with you?”

  “Once I arrived I began to doubt the wisdom of disturbing her. Your words tempered my fervor to speak with her, and I reasoned that perhaps you were right. Time may be best,” Arthur replied.

  “Given time, she will calm and see reason,” Duncan agreed. “Miss Fielding and I are going to speak with Reverend Summers about going over the parish records. She has found something of worth to investigate within the ledgers pertaining to your father’s hired men.”

  “Let us depart immediately,” Arthur turned and began walking towards the stairs.

  “I feared you would say such. I truly believe it to be best that you should remain here, safe, at Rosenhill,” Duncan attempted to persuade him.

  “And you knew what my answer would be before you ever approached,” Arthur retorted.

  “That I did,” Duncan shook his head, then followed Arthur down the stairs. They met Miss Fielding at the front of the house where three groomsmen held their horses. “You knew I would fail, didn’t you?” Duncan asked her, taking in Arthur’s saddled horse.

  “I suspected,” she answered smiling.

  Duncan smiled back at her, rolled his eyes at Arthur, then the trio mounted their horses and headed out. The three grooms followed behind a mounted guard armed with pistols. Duncan was glad to see his friend had put such precautions into place. The three rode side by side toward the village in companionable silence each with their own thoughts of recent events. Duncan knew that Arthur’s thoughts were just as consumed by Eliza back in the manor house as they were attempting to catch the man who had tried to kill him.

  Miss Fielding was the first to break the silence. “Would it be possible to speak with the men who stabbed you? You said you thought they had once worked for your father.”

  “I am not certain, but I do know of a place where they have lain in wait twice in the past. Perhaps a nighttime excursion would produce some results,” Arthur answered.

  “One in which you are not present,” Duncan demanded.

  “How else will you identify the culprits who stabbed me?” Arthur asked.

  Duncan growled his displeasure unable to argue with such logic. “If you are killed, Arthur, so help me…”

  A
rthur chuckled. “What will you do?”

  Duncan grumbled under his breath for a moment before answering. “Save you,” he admitted.

  “That is what I thought,” Arthur smiled.

  “You seem most cavalier about your own wellbeing, Your Grace, but you have shown a great deal of care for others as your father’s ledger suggests. I advise caution if you wish to continue helping others. You cannot assist anyone from the grave,” Miss Fielding replied.

  “It is not that I am cavalier with my life, Miss Fielding. I simply refuse to allow evil men to dictate my life,” Arthur explained.