The magistrate seemed unimpressed by the new allegations and his face showed it. Abigail feared that her father—her father!—had just exposed himself for nothing. She could not stop looking at him. Her mother’s hand was digging into her shoulder. She might have permanent scars from how tightly she was holding on.
“That is not all.” The new voice had the whole court craning their necks to see who was speaking.
Abigail turned in time to see Percival’s eyebrow cock in surprise as his cousin walked down the aisle to the front of the court. The word of a gentleman would certainly hold more weight than that of a criminal.
“A few weeks ago, I sought my mother out at the Northcott townhouse. I entered the house without announcing myself because I knew there was no butler in residence at the time to let me in. I walked up the stairs to put down my bag and was taken aback to hear voices from my mother’s chambers. One was male and one was female and curiosity pulled me to see who they were. Imagine my shock when I beheld my mother, in flagrante with no other than the Earl of Huntington.”
There was shouting in the courtroom at this. Reginald stood next to Abigail’s chair, a smile on his face as he looked down at her.
“In spite of the circumstances, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He murmured quietly.
Abigail simply stared.
Henry continued to speak. “Much worse was in store for me because I heard them plotting the demise of the Duchess should their dastardly plot to frame her not work.”
Lady Stanley got to her feet. “Henry!”
He turned to face her. “I am sorry, Mother, but I could not just let this go on.”
The magistrate sighed. “Evidently, there has been a fair bit of chicanery going on here and in light of this new evidence, I have to declare the accused innocent of all charges.
Abigail slumped in relief.
“However, arrest Reginald Sinclair on the charge of murder.”
The guards got to their feet to catch the brigand and only then did they all notice that he had disappeared into thin air, using the commotion that followed the shocking declarations to slip away unnoticed.
Abigail got to her feet, turning to Percival, who reached her in two steps, enveloping her in his arms.
“Percival,” she whispered.
“I know, my dear. Hold on to me. I will take care of you.”
Epilogue
Eight Months and Two Weeks Later
Abigail clutched at her mother’s arm with a grip as strong as iron. “Aaah! It hurts, Mama, make it stop.”
“Shh, my darling. Just a little more. Push just a little more. His head is almost out.”
“I can’t, Mama! I can’t.”
“You can, darling. And you will. Your child is depending on you.”
Abigail let out a loud, piercing wail.
Percival paced the hallways restlessly while Philip and Reggie Sinclair watched him with amusement. “The baby is killing her.”
Reggie snorted derisively. “No one who is dying could possibly scream that loud.”
“We should have had a sawbones in residence. This is a terrible risk.”
Philip sighed, rolling his eyes. “Madame Shelby is a very capable midwife.”
“Then why is Abigail screaming so loudly?”
“Perhaps it has something to do with her pushing a baby out of her body.”
Both Reggie and Philip snickered with amusement at Philip’s comment. Percival turned around to glare at them.
“If you cannot take this seriously, perhaps you should leave.” He growled.
“And miss the birth of my first grandchild? You must be dicked in the nob.”
A beaming Joan emerged from the bedchamber. “The baby is here. It’s a boy!”
A cheer went up in the hallway and Reggie promptly began to pass out cigars. At the end of the hall, the servants hovered anxiously, equally hungry for news.
“It’s a boy!” Joan said louder so that they could hear. A cheer went up and they disappeared to notify the kitchens.
“Can I see them?” Percival asked.
“Of course. Come with me.”
Percival followed her with trepidation, his heart pounding triple-time. Abigail lay crumpled on the bed, her hair every which way, face wet with sweat, and her night rail askew. She looked absolutely beautiful, her face radiant as she stared down at a little bundle in her arms.
She looked up as she heard his footsteps, fairly beaming at him.
“Look. It’s our son.”
Percival went to his knees in worship, staring from the boy to his mother, unable to fathom that one human being could contain so much love and not absolutely combust with joy.
“Our son…” he repeated, reverently reaching out a finger to touch his downy head. He made a sound and Percival jumped, snatching his finger back.
“Is he all right?”
Abigail laughed with joy. “He is perfectly fine. Would you like to hold him?”
Percival looked uncertainly up at Joan, not sure that this was a good idea at all.
“Go on.” She urged with soft eyes overflowing with tears, and Percival reached out carefully to take hold of his son.
“What shall we call him?” Abigail asked as Percival stared down in fascination at the small human being in his arms.
“We shall name him Edward for my father,” he replied, soft and sure.
The End?
Extended Epilogue
Eager to know more on how Abigail and Percival’s relationship evolved? Then enjoy this free complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple.
Simply TAP HERE to read it now for FREE! or use this link: http://oliviabennet.com/4t31 directly in your browser.
I guarantee you, that you won’t be disappointed ♥
But before you go, turn the page for an extra sweet treat from me…
Wicked Temptations for the Seduced Duchess
About the Book
Because ultimately, love is stronger than any feud known to man.
Rebellious and willful, Lydia Bradford grows up listening to her father, Duke of Greenwick, recite stories about their feud with the Summerhills. When a striking young man suddenly lands on their doorstep, she is immediately enticed.
An obscure aggressor is out for his blood and Edward Godwin is running for his life. Waking up after a fierce attack, he finds himself in an unfamiliar manor. Unable to recall that he is, in fact, the Duke of Summerhill, he finds work there as a stable boy.
With his life threatened by the minute and his family looking for him, all clues lead to a mysterious woman who claims to be Edward’s secret lover...but that is only part of the riddle.
Forgotten but never undone, an olden mistake returns from the grave to torment them, making Lydia and Edward realize they are on borrowed time.
Chapter 1
I am being hunted like a common fox in the brush.
Edward dragged in harsh breaths as he forced the horse onwards. Darkness crept in shadowed tendrils from the horizon, where the sun was in the throes of its daily death. An inky haze swept across the sky, whilst the last bolds of blood-red and bronzed-orange sunset sparked up like dying embers.
He did not stop even as light was fading. He could never stop, not whilst the hunt was upon him.
He had noticed the rider on his path to Summerhill Hall, which now belonged to him. Indeed, the rider had stood between him and his home. There had been no choice but to ride away.
After his father’s tragic demise to the grip of this winter’s pneumonia, the full weight of the dukedom now rested on his shoulders. No easy task, made all the more difficult by the pursuit of an unknown enemy.
For his own part, he had never wanted the dukedom for himself. He lacked the maturity and the desire for responsibility, wishing it had fallen to his younger brother, James, instead. All he wanted was to hunt and gamble and indulge in the exploits of any young man. James had always been the one who sought power, and yet peerage dictated that the title
should fall to the eldest…him, in this case.
Edward stared ahead, trying to pick out the shadow that lurked in front of the gates to Summerhill Hall. He had just returned from London, to find this figure waiting. Edward did not venture into the city much, but necessity had prompted him to pay a visit to an old debtor in London, whom he owed after an ill-fated game of whist. The rider did not seem to have good intentions. Fearing he might be apprehended, Edward turned his horse and headed through the countryside in a grip of terror.
The Summerhills were not well-liked, but Edward himself had not done anything to inspire ire in anyone he knew. Not that he could remember, anyway. And yet, he sensed that this rider intended to do him great harm.
In his brief glimpses at his assailant, he had noticed pistols flashing beneath the rider’s long, black coat. His would-be enemy wore a cloth over the lower part of his face to hide him from sight. That only increased Edward’s terror, for who would bother to mask themselves unless they meant ill will upon him?
“Faster, Silver!” he urged.
Edward dug his heels in and urged his silver gelding down an endless labyrinth of country roads. He had not passed anyone for at least an hour, though he feared it would do him no good, even if another rider were to come his way. If he stopped, even for a moment, he knew it might give his pursuer the chance needed to end Edward with one of those pistols. Wearing a mask, his attacker did not need to fear witnesses. “He wore a mask of black,” they would say. “I could not make him out clearly.”
I am riding for my life.
It was a stark and horrifying realization, but one he could not ignore. Worse still, Edward was not armed. If the rider caught up to him, he had no means of defending himself, save for his own bare hands. How far they would get him, he did not know, for he was not a born pugilist like his brother. He could fight when necessary, but he had always lacked the skill to win.
He rode endlessly, until complete darkness flooded the countryside. He could barely pick out the road ahead of him though Silver kept him on course.
To either side of him, vast, black fields stretched away to the limits of his view. The pale glow of the crescent moon barely cast any illumination upon his surroundings. How he longed for a full moon to light his way.
With every beat of his horse’s hooves, he heard it echoed in the distance by the thunder of his assailant. He was not relenting, and neither could Edward. One tumble, one misstep, and he would be done for.
Stay steady, Silver. For both of our sakes.
He charged onwards as the night’s cold air whipped at his cheeks. He could feel his horse tiring beneath him, its mouth frothing, and steam rising from the beast’s hide as it galloped on dutifully. Silver would not stop until he fell to the ground, but Edward worried how much longer the beast could keep up such a speed.
Then again, if his horse was struggling, his pursuer’s animal had to be too.
Who are you?
He turned over his shoulder once more but could see nothing in the darkness behind him. All he could hear were the hooves that echoed constantly, matching the rapid beat of his heart. He did not know why he was being trailed like prey, and he did not want to find out.
As he rode, he thought of all the enemies made by his father and grandfather but could not come up with any suitable adversary. After the shady past that had followed his grandfather, Francis Godwin, through and into old age, the ton had all but forgotten about the Summerhill dynasty. They had forgotten the unpleasantness with Alexandra Bradford, the Duchess of Greenwick, and shunned the Summerhills in favor of the elite who had not displayed such disgraceful behavior.
It had affected his late father when he had gone in pursuit of a wife, but he had married well enough with the daughter of a Scottish Earl. News of the Summerhills had not reached so far north, and Edward knew he would do well enough for himself, when the time came for him to find a suitable lady.
He was handsome, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes, and a dusting of quaint freckles across his nose and cheeks. Plus, he had a tall height that many ladies admired. He was not as broad as some gentlemen, but he had encountered enough flirtation from fine ladies not to worry too much. Besides, he was in no rush to marry.
Spotting a fork in the road, Edward turned his horse down it and felt the change in the ground’s texture beneath his horse’s hooves. The hard-packed earth had given way to the spongy quagmire of oversaturated mud. Still, he pressed on, though he could no longer hear the beat of hooves behind him.
He was not foolish enough to believe that the silence meant anything. His pursuer’s horse could simply be stuck in the mud, trudging slowly through it to avoid his steed rolling an ankle.
Gradually, the sludgy ground gave way to a smoother road, but Edward did not want to risk exposure on the open road any longer. Gripping the reins, he turned Silver into the nearby woods and edged his steed through the snatching undergrowth. A crack behind him startled the beast, prompting it to take off at a sudden pace. He lurched and did everything he could to keep his seat, but the horse would not be brought back under control.
“Slowly!” he hissed, but the whites of the horse’s eyes were showing. It whinnied and galloped through the shadowed trees.
He was instantly reminded of a similar incident, five years ago, when he had lost his beloved sister to this very kind of event. An image of her cold, dead body surged into his mind unbidden, and sudden tears sprang to his eyes.
In all the years since, he had never been allowed to forget his part in her death. He had not been directly responsible for the accident that took her life, but he had not been able to stop it. In the eyes of his father and grandfather, God rest their souls, he had been wholly responsible for her loss. That guilt had plagued him ever since and would not be dispelled.
Edward fought to regain control of his horse, but the beast would not listen to instruction. He knew his pursuer could be anywhere in the shadows, waiting for him to stumble, but what could he do? He could not urge Silver to calm down.
From the darkness, something lashed at his throat and caught him full in the chest. He was moving so fast that he barely had time to grasp for the reins before the low-hanging branch swiped him out of the saddle. He hit the ground with such a bone-shaking thud that the world began to spin. His head smacked into something hard, sending a spike of pain through his skull.
As he tried to rise, he fought to keep hold of consciousness. A second later, as he fell back into the undergrowth, he heard a second set of hooves pass close by, charging after a spooked Silver.
The beat of the hooves did not stop, making him realize they did not know he had been unseated from his horse. Whoever they were, they would follow Silver until they saw that the beast no longer had a rider.
He struggled to get up, but searing pain kept him fixed to the cold, wet undergrowth. His eyelids grew heavy, blocking out the faint glow of the crescent moon above. He tried to keep his gaze on the stars, but the deep shadows of oblivion approached with an oily stealth. He blinked twice, but could not clear the dark haze that filled his line of sight.
When he could no longer steady himself, he slipped into unconsciousness. He sank into the darkness, certain he would not wake again.
This was it. He bemoaned that this was the end of days for him.
At eight-and-twenty, his life was over.
Chapter 2
“Is that…is that a man?”
Fiona cowered behind Mrs. Benton, the cook. She was Mrs. Benton’s latest assistant, and they’d come out to forage for mushrooms for the evening meal. It was pure chance that they had stumbled across a body at the edge of the neighboring woodland; the male body splayed out between the trunks of two horse chestnut trees.
“Keep your distance,” Mrs. Benton warned. “He might be a highwayman, come to attack us unawares. Sneaky devils.”
Fiona peered at him. “He’s not moving, Mrs. Benton.”
“That don’t mean he has good intentions. You’d do well
to learn that now, before it finds you in hot water.”
“Maybe he needs help. He doesn’t look too good.”
Mrs. Benton frowned. “Mayhap you’re right, but you’re not to go getting involved. Leave it to me. I’ll soon brain the chap with me basket, if he should try ought funny.”
The plump, older woman stepped forward and poked the body with her foot. The man groaned out loud. His eyes fluttered, but they did not open. Spurred on, Mrs. Benton poked him again, eliciting the same response.
“You. Wake up.” She knelt and prodded him in the ribs.
He opened his eyes fully this time. “Where…am I?” he wheezed.
“Mind yer own business.”
“Who…are you?” He eyed the two women curiously.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Mrs. Benton folded her arms across her ample bosom and narrowed her eyes at him. She did not like strangers at the best of times but finding one on the border of Greenwick Abbey was infinitely more unsettling.
Secret Confessions of the Enticing Duchess: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 29
