A Lady for the Forsaken Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “Oi, open up!” he shouted.

  A light bulb went off in Pringle’s head. He quickly picked up a heavy stone and crept up behind the man, knocking him on the back of the head. As expected, the man crumpled to the ground. Pringle hoisted the man up, placing him across his shoulders. The man was tall and slender, and although Pringle was shorter, he was considerably wider than the Earl. They walked closer to the gate, Pringle stumbled slightly as his boot got stuck under the root of the massive tree that hung over the gate.

  “Curses!”

  He yanked his boot out, nearly tipping over with the Earl. Pringle managed to right himself again, and adjusted the unconscious man on his shoulders.

  “Hellooo! I have your master here! He’s just been thumped on the head! Open up!”

  The man, despite his slender frame, was quickly beginning to become heavy. Pringle had underestimated his bulk. He shouted again.

  “Your master is hurt! Lord Scarborough is hurt! Come quickly!”

  Pringle hoped that was the man’s name – he couldn’t remember if he had heard correctly at the Inn. To his relief, someone came running towards him and opened the gate.

  “My Lord! What has happened to him?” the man asked.

  “Some fella thumped him on the head. I saw it happen, I did. He’s lucky I came walking this way. Scared them away, I did. Almost robbed the man.”

  The man felt the back of his master’s head and likely felt a knot there.

  “Help me to bring him inside.”

  Together they carried the Earl to the front door, but Pringle would go no further.

  “I’m afraid that I must be going. Will it be alright if I return in the morning? I would like to see how the Earl is faring.”

  Pringle held his breath, hoping that the answer would be yes.

  “Of course. My master will be pleased to meet the man who saved him from these robbers. How many did you say there were?”

  “I fought off four of them, sir. Dreadful young men, they were. Don’t know what the world is coming to.”

  He shook his head for extra effect and glanced at the man beneath his lashes. Pringle heard a commotion at the door, and he started to back away.

  “Dreadful, yes. Please, return tomorrow. We will be expecting you.”

  The door opened, revealing the very travellers that had been on Pringle’s mind since meeting them. He was thankful that he was in the shadows, for they might have recognised him.

  “My Lord!” he heard the young woman exclaim.

  How did I not tell that that was a woman? Might have saved me some trouble had I just snatched her when I still had the chance. But she had held me at gunpoint, the wench! There would have been no possible way to grab her at the time.

  The big man picked up the Earl with little trouble, the rest of the crowd following behind him. No one noticed that he was there. Pringle slunk away into the darkness, overjoyed by the fact that he had just found a way into the mansion.

  “I’ll get you my sweet, mark my words. You are going to make me one happy and rich man, you are.”

  *****

  Hugh woke up with his head pounding. He could hear people talking around him, but he only recognised one voice. He struggled to open his eyes, but when he did, he shut them again. The sunlight was far too bright for his aching head.

  “Prescott? What is going on?”

  “My Lord!” his steward exclaimed. “You’re awake!”

  He tried to sit up, but a gentle hand pushed him back.

  “You need to lie back, My Lord. Doctor’s orders.”

  Hugh didn’t recognise the voice. He tried to open his eyes again, this time succeeding in cracking them open slightly. Hugh encountered the worried gaze of the most striking blue eyes that he had ever seen.

  “Who are you?”

  The person drew back, and he got a better look at who the eyes belonged to. A boy? But the gentle hands and the voice did not match. Granted, the boy was fine looking. Too feminine to be a boy. A hazy memory came to mind. There was something about the boy, but Hugh just couldn’t remember what it was.

  His steward came back into view, his worried gaze making Hugh worry himself.

  “My Lord, do you not recognise this boy? His name is George – we met them some three days ago.”

  Hugh remembered going to the countryside and meeting people, but he just couldn’t remember more than that.

  “I’m afraid that I cannot remember much right now, Prescott.”

  His steward turned to the side. “Doctor? Is this normal?”

  A man came forward and checked his eyes, slipping his hand behind his head. Hugh hissed as the doctor’s probing hands touched a particularly delicate spot on his head.

  “I’m afraid that the Earl has temporary amnesia, but do not worry, he will recover in time to come. Until then, keep him hydrated and no vigorous exercise, mind you. That includes horse riding.”

  “Yes,” Prescott said. “Yes, of course. Thank you for coming, Doctor Stourbridge. We will send for you should there be any changes. Allow me to walk you out.”

  Prescott saw the doctor out, leaving the young man alone with him. His head was bowed, hands clasped before him. Why is he wearing a hat indoors? It struck him as odd. His beaver hat seemed worse for wear, its brown colour faded around the rim. It looked a tad squashed as well, as though it had been forcibly pressed down upon his head. Hugh could just about see what looked like golden curls beneath the hat. While some men certainly sported cropped curls, he could not see these curls being classed as a man’s hairstyle. Besides, he doesn’t even have sideburns. Surely he’s old enough to have grown some by now?

  “George?” Hugh said. “Prescott said that your name is George.”

  The boy whipped his head up. “Yes, My Lord. George Wickham.”

  “How old are you, George?”

  His eyes darted to the side, looking around the room as if searching for the answer. Odd behaviour.

  “Uh, six and ten, Your Lordship,” he finally answered.

  “Old enough to grow sideburns,” Hugh muttered to himself.

  He certainly was tall enough, but his face was too smooth, too rosy, and simply too feminine to be a young man of that age.

  “Sorry, My Lord? I’m afraid that I did not hear you.”

  And his voice has been purposefully deepened. The voice held a fake quality to it, something that a younger boy would do in jest. Or perhaps a woman? A memory surfaced, but it was once again too hazy to decipher. Hugh struggled to bring the memory into focus, but he only succeeded in causing himself pain. He yelled as something akin to a sharp object seemed to rip through his head. Hugh gripped his head tightly, willing the pain to subside. The young man hurried to his bed.

  “My Lord!” George cried. “Has something happened? Shall I call the doctor back?”

  Hugh could feel the palm of the boy’s hand on his brow, smooth and without a callus. This wasn’t odd among the gentry, but the clothing he wore denoted one part of the working class. Hugh’s trained mind picked up on all of these details, storing them to memory to expand upon later. However, right now, he needed rest.

  “No, no. I do not need the doctor, just some rest. Draw the curtains, George, I find the light too bright to take.”

  The young man walked to the large windows, his movements graceful and light. He drew the curtains closed, bringing the much-needed darkness to Hugh’s bedchamber. He returned to Hugh’s bedside, his features no longer visible in the darkened room.

  “Is there anything else that I might do for Your Lordship?”

  You could tell me why I have the strangest notion that you are not all that you appear to be. But, of course, Hugh said nothing of the sort.

  “No, you may leave, George. I need some rest.”

  The young man left him, quietly shutting the door. Several questions rose in Hugh’s mind, but more pointedly was the need to know who had hit him on the back of his head, and why. Hugh was not so foolish enough as to have cause
d this injury himself. His only conclusion was that someone else had done it. Hugh’s eyes grew heavy as his mind worked, and when he finally slipped into sleep, a memory of a man standing at Scarborough gates was the last thing he thought about.

  Madelene descended the stairs, intent on finding Maria. They couldn’t possibly leave within the next week when the Earl, or Hugh, as she had secretly come to call him, was injured.

  “He has done so much for us; we cannot just leave him in his hour of need.”

  As she came to the last step, she noticed a man standing a few steps away from her near the front door. His back was turned to her, but there was something about the man that was uncomfortably familiar. The first pinpricks of alarm started to suffuse her body with adrenaline. Madelene simply knew that there was something dangerous about this man, and she had yet to see his face. Should I leave or stay and wait for him to reveal himself?

  While she was still contemplating on her plan of action, Prescott appeared and approached the man. They disappeared around the corner; however, judging from the sound of their footsteps, they did not go too far. Prescott knows him? Perhaps her instincts had been wrong. Doubt still held onto her, so instead of leaving, she crept closer to the men, staying close to the wall. Prescott was talking to him, but she couldn’t quite catch what was being said. She crept closer until she came to the edge of the wall – one step closer, and she would be discovered.

  “Mr Facet, I’m afraid that Lord Scarborough cannot see you at this present time,” she heard Prescott say. “However, I will speak of this matter to him this day. Please call tomorrow, perhaps around midday, and I will inform you of my master’s decision.”

  “Yes, sir, I will do that,” the man said. “Sorry to hear that My Lord is still unwell. Nasty hit that, nasty indeed.”

  Madelene knew that voice, but it was somehow different. I need to see his face! Taking a deep breath, she took a chance and peeked around the corner. The scene that met her both alarmed and puzzled her. Prescott was shaking the hands of a smiling man, his yellowed teeth glistening with spittle. She watched as he slicked his hair back with his free hand, patting the spot that appeared thinner. He’s balding. Madelene noticed that the man’s eyes were darting around the room as if looking for something. Or taking note of what is in the house. His clean-shaven skin revealed pockmarks, giving him a rough appearance. His sideburns are too long. Surely no one feels the need to have them travel along the jawline? He didn’t look like anyone that she knew, but his eyes held a piercing darkness that transported her to a mere few days ago. Another man had looked at her in the same way, promising revenge should their paths meet again. Madelene believed that no two eyes were alike, but could this be the bandit? Prescott opened the door for the man, and he took his leave. However, he turned back and gave a short bow in her direction. Madelene grabbed her throat. He had seen her! The man looked up and smiled, putting on his hat before bidding Prescott farewell once more and disappearing from view. She ran to the large windows and looked outside, watching the man walk down the driveway and towards the gate. As if he knew that she was watching him, he turned around and tipped his hat to her, and then continued his march to the entrance with a swing in his step.

  “George? What are you doing by the window?” Prescott asked.

  Madelene jumped, clutching her chest in absolute fright.

  “Oh, Prescott,” she said, her voice too high. She lowered her voice. “I’m just looking out the window – do you not think it a lovely view?”

  Prescott lifted his brow. “Are you quite alright, young man? You appear to be somewhat ... disturbed.”

  Yes, she was feeling disturbed, and if her suspicions were right, then she would likely become far worse.

  “Yes, yes, perfectly alright. Do you by any chance know where Ma – I mean my mother is? I wish to speak to her about a small matter.”

  That was too close. Imagine if I had said Maria? Prescott would surely think that something is suspicious.

  “I believe she was in the kitchen. Your mother has settled into her role of housekeeper rather well. Your father is still nursing his knee – it was unfortunate of him to pick my lord up with his injured knee, but I daresay that he will soon be able to take up his butler duties quite soon.”

  That was perhaps the longest sentence Prescott had spoken to her since their first meeting. Frankly, Madelene was surprised. The steward had always appeared to be suspicious of her, but this day had brought on a brand new attitude. Perhaps he has warmed up to me.

  “My parents are hard workers, sir. I expect that they will do exemplary work for my lord. If you will excuse me, I must speak with my mother.”

  Prescott held out his hand, effectively stopping her.

  “One moment, George.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Lord Scarborough, he is a generous man, but he is also fair. He expects honesty and trustworthiness from his employees.”

  Is Prescott trying to warn me?

  “As any employer should expect from his employees, sir. If I may take your leave?”

  Madelene wanted to speak to Maria desperately, and it no longer just had to do with the Earl. It seemed that they had a more significant danger looming over their heads. If that man turned out to be who she believed him to be, then they were in danger.

  “One more thing,” he said. “I believe it necessary to start your job today. Nielsen is simply too overworked to handle both the grounds as well as the stables. You may speak to your mother once you have completed your duties. Follow me, please.”

  Prescott turned away and walked down the hallway, his movements tense and brisk. Madelene had no option but to follow him, confused by his behaviour. He led her through the back door and towards the stables, passing what seemed to be vegetable patches on either side. As they neared the smell of hay and warm horses, she hoped that she would be able to look after the horses as she was expected to. Madelene needed to stay just a little longer, and she knew that the length of her stay depended on the authenticity of her disguise. George, you had better do as you are expected to.

  *****

  Prescott figured that if he spent some time with the boy, or rather, the imposter, he might be able to gauge whether or not he was dangerous. Or should I say she? This was all becoming rather confusing for him. As far as Prescott was concerned, girls were girls, and boys were boys. There certainly should not be any crossing over of any sort. It had taken him considerably longer to pick up the oddity that was George Wickham. But now I am quite sure that he may, in fact, be a girl. No, a woman. He had awaited his Master’s return, hoping to speak with him about their imposter, but instead, his Master had returned injured. Hit on the back of the head. Prescott glanced to the side, studying the imposter. Could this be my Master’s attacker? No, I do not see this slight person doing such damage, especially if he is indeed a she. And the man and woman that have accompanied him, what if they are not his true parents? Could they have attacked Lord Scarborough? No, the woman was nursing her husband throughout the night. And from the interaction between the three of them, there seems to be honest affection. But what if they had arranged the attack? What would be their motive? Prescott’s thoughts continued to swirl around in his head, his mind no less clear than when he had retired to his bed in the early hours of the morning. His sleep had been fretful as he had not been able to calm himself. His Master had been attacked, and yet he had not been there to help him. Lord Scarborough had left without so much as a forewarning, merely stating that he would be attending Madame Lavelle’s establishment. It was pure providence that Mr Facet had been present during the attack, but what was the man doing near the gates at that hour?