The Stolen Diadem of a Castaway Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  It took only seconds for Beatrix to realize the door to her room remained unlocked.

  Chapter 13

  Peter rapped his knuckles against the door of his father’s quarters, then waited to be permitted to enter. His father, still wearing his formal attire from the evening before, nodded grimly when his son appeared.

  “You wished to see me, Father?” Peter asked, nodding politely to the servant who left the room when he entered.

  “Yes, yes. Have a seat. I’ve only just returned from Lord Northam’s within the past few hours, having discussed at length several gravely important matters.” The Earl lowered himself to a chair across from Peter’s and, for a moment, looked rapturously relieved to be sitting down.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Father,” Peter said kindly. “I see that you’ve not even gone to bed last evening, so take all the time you need.”

  “That’s a good lad,” his father said. “Ah, what was it I was thinking of? Yes, an offer of marriage.”

  “Really? I’m rather intrigued! However did you manage to find a wife willing to wed you when you’re already married?” Peter laughed at his own joke, but his father glowered at him darkly.

  “This is no laughing matter!” He closed his eyes briefly while his son coughed to cover his embarrassment.

  “I apologize, Father. Please, do tell me your news.”

  “The Duke of Edmonton has three daughters, all of whom are of marriageable age. His only son, as you may remember, died last winter, falling from his horse while out on the fox hunt. As it stands, with no son and no immediate nephews to inherit, not only will the Duke’s fortunes fall to his daughter’s husband, but it’s quite likely that his title and holdings will as well.”

  “How is that possible?” Peter asked, wide-eyed. “Is there not some order of succession that must be approved first?”

  “It’s some small matter that the Duke himself has already begun work on.” The Earl waved his hand as though the mere formality was inconsequential. “I spent half the night in counsel with the Duke, and we mutually agree that you would be the ideal man to take up that responsibility.”

  “Really? That’s rather astounding!” Peter answered, his mind swirling with the news. “I am most grateful that my future was at the forefront of your discussions last evening.”

  “Think nothing of it,” his father said, waving off the compliment. “After all, any auspicious match that you make is a feather in my own cap as well. And think of it, two Grain men of noble titles voting side by side in Parliament. It would only magnify my power and our family’s good fortunes!”

  Peter was silent, remembering his conversation with his good friend Callum. Was it only yesterday that they’d laughed so frivolously about cattle being hauled to market? And now, he faced not only the prospect of marriage—to a stranger, no less—but the responsibility of a dukedom in the bargain.

  “What is it, boy?” the Earl asked, frowning. “I’ve announced that you’re all but sealed up to become the next Duke of Edmonton, and you’re sitting there as though you cannot remember your lessons?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Forgive me, Father,” Peter replied absentmindedly, still concentrating on this turn of events. “Which daughter is it?”

  “What?”

  “I said, which daughter am I to marry?” he explained.

  His father’s frown only deepened. “What does that matter? Pay attention, boy! There are grave matters at hand, such as how to endear yourself fully to the Duke!”

  “But what if she’s a horse-faced, somber know-nothing? What if she has palsy? Or was badly scarred in a house fire as a child?”

  “Good Lord, what are you prattling on about?” his father shouted, slamming a meaty fist on the table. “What does it matter what your wife looks like? Your only part with her is attending the requisite social events and fathering an adequate but reserved number of children!”

  “Well, what does she think of it?” Peter asked, still thinking through his father’s words.

  “Who is she?” the Earl roared.

  “The Duke’s daughter, whichever one it may fall to for marriage. What does she think of it?”

  “What does it matter? No one gives a damn what she thinks of it! Your future is the one I’m concerned about!” His father pushed back from the table with no small amount of effort and stalked over to the window, turning his back on his son. He stared out in silent thought as he fought to keep his temper down.

  “I still think it’s only polite that someone should at least mention it to her,” Peter said quietly.

  “Get out!” his father stormed, chasing him from the table where he sat. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

  Peter hurried out into the hall and flinched when he heard the heavy door slam behind him. His mother, passing by the rooms, approached him with great concern.

  “Good heavens! What is all that about?” she asked, clinging to her son’s arm.

  “I don’t really know,” he replied absently. “But I think I’m getting married.”

  “To whom?” she demanded, her brows knitting. It was not like her to not be first to know these things, especially where her own son was concerned.

  “I don’t know, some girl. One of the spare daughters, I presume, but it could be the eldest.” Peter still wore a faraway look and as such, his mother’s concern grew deeper.

  “Peter, what are you talking about?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know,” he said again before wandering off aimlessly down the hall, still in quite a state of shock.

  Callum hurried back to his study and closed the door, falling into his chair and dropping his head to his hands. What was wrong with him? There was an alleged thief in his midst, in his very house, and he was speaking coyly with her as though she was a lady batting her eyes from behind her fan at some summer luncheon?

  Though he wouldn’t have described his guest as the rarest sort of beauty, Callum still found her undeniably bewitching. Her green eyes set against the faintest hint of bronze in her skin gave her an otherworldly appearance. Her face, framed by her mane of wild brown curls, was not easily forgotten.

  “My Lord, the constable from London has come to take your statement,” Lloyd said before allowing the man in.

  “Certainly, please.” Callum stood up and approached to greet the officer, who was now frowning at the butler.

  “My apologies, My Lord,” the tall man said, extending his hand, “but I am not a constable. I’m Detective Ian Hand, an Inspector General, and I’ve been assigned to take your statement about a recent robbery.”

  “Yes, of course,” Callum said. “Won’t you please sit?”

  The officer gave his coat to Lloyd and took a seat opposite Callum’s at his desk. He laid a small leather-bound book upon the desk and opened it to a clean page and held his pencil poised above it, prepared to write.

  “I’m impressed, but rather surprised London would send a high-level detective over my rather minor loss,” Callum began, wondering what warranted such a visit. “I have not even yet spoken with a local officer of the court about the matter as I’ve had no time.”

  “I’m sorry, My Lord, I am not here concerned only with your case,” the detective explained. “There have been a great number of incidents in the past many weeks, enough that the department has assigned me to oversee the progress in putting an end to it.”

  “Ah, well. That makes sense!” Callum said, feeling nervous for some unknown reason. “How can I help?”

  “If you would, tell me precisely where you were when the incident occurred? As well as the number and approximate ages of the men who accosted you. If you are also able to describe them, that would be most helpful.”

  The officer held his pencil at the ready while Callum thought. Something nagged at his brain, some unrecognized fear or fault. He began to retell what he could remember of the incident, though his hesitation almost made him stumble over the details.

  “Wait a moment, My Lord, but did you
say there was a woman present?” the officer asked, frowning. “What did she look like?”

  “Well, slight of build, of course, but… but I’m not sure that I got a very close look at her.” Callum paused, daring the other man to challenge his explanation.

  Behind him, Lloyd said nothing, his face as stoic as ever.

  “How old would you think she was?” Detective Hand asked, still looking down at his notebook and writing furiously.

  “Oh, I’m not sure that I could venture a guess. I don’t think I saw her clearly enough to make an estimation.”

  “But she was with the band of thieves?” Hand pressed.

  Callum shrugged his shoulders. “I at least thought she might be, but I have no way of confirming that.”

  A sudden rush of heat rose up Callum’s back and spread across his neck. He turned to his butler and said, “Lloyd, something for us to drink, if you please?”

  “Of course, My Lord.” Lloyd left to retrieve the order, and the detective continued writing.

  “Did this woman attempt to cry out for help, or call out to anyone who might be of assistance in your struggle?” Detective Hand inquired. Callum grew more and more fearful of how to answer.

  “I don’t know why she would do such a thing, I’ve already stated that there was no one nearby and no houses in the vicinity,” he replied, twisting his hands together slightly.

  “I would think it’s just human instinct. After all,” the officer added, “if she was truly an innocent bystander, the urge should have been to call for help upon seeing your distress.”

  “I cannot fathom why you are so singularly focused on some woman who chanced to be passing by,” Callum said forcefully. “I’m not very reassured about seeing my stolen property again if you care not to discover the identities of the actual thieves!”

  He paused, breathless, while the detective studied his face for a moment. The officer finally said, “Of course, My Lord. We will do all that we can to uncover these criminals and retrieve any contraband they may still possess. Perhaps you can start by describing the men, and then your missing items.”

  They spoke at length, never venturing to return to the subject of Beatrix. Callum couldn’t dispose himself of the distinct feeling that the detective knew he was hiding something, though surely even a trained man of the law would never have guessed the culprit was there on the premises.

  “I think that is all I need,” Detective Hand said, shutting his notebook and dropping it into his pocket. Lloyd appeared with his coat and assisted him in putting it on. “I’ll send word if there’s anything else I need. Good day, My Lord.”

  The butler led the detective down the stairs and out to his waiting driver while Callum moved aside the curtains and watched his departure from the window. The man’s inquiry was an unexpected problem, but not one that he could not resolve.

  Promptly at four o’clock, Peter and his mother enjoyed their tea outside. The air was still pleasantly warm but not oppressively so, and unusual though it may be, it was a favorite ritual of Lady Margaret’s to enjoy fresh air whenever the opportunity struck. Peter himself had been raised on a diet of vigorous exercise out of doors and avoidance of stuffy rooms that carried sickness.

  “So tell me what your father was so ill-tempered about this morning,” she said to her son, passing him a plate of thin breads and smoked salmon.

  “I thought I’d explained it well enough,” he answered, still obviously perplexed himself. “He’s secured some manner of a bride for me, though seems to feel as though her identity is as unimportant as last week’s news.”

  “Hmm, that is troubling. How will we know anything about her disposition, her health, or her propensity for sickly countenance if I cannot inquire as to which young lady it is?” Lady Margaret looked out over the garden and clucked to herself sadly.

  “Well now,” Peter said, looking up in surprise and lowering his voice, “here he comes now.”

  “What? Your father? That is very unusual, he prefers something small and quick, often only a plate of meats carried up to his office!” Lady Margaret affixed a broad smile on her face and said through clenched teeth, “Act as though we were not discussing it.”

  The Earl came over and waved off a servant who darted forward to pull back a chair for him. Grabbing the back of it himself, he slid it back and fell into it wearily, not bothering to come closer to the table.

  “Dearest, it’s lovely to have you join us this afternoon! But what brought you out of doors and away from your work?” Peter’s mother asked, already assembling a small plate of foods for her husband.

  “It is done!” Lord Grain announced. “The Duke sent over documents via courier around midday, and they are signed. This is the most beneficial news!”

  Peter set down his knife and pinned his father back with a stare. “Did those documents mention anyone by name? Other than myself, of course?”

  “Are you still put out about that? We went through it this morning!” the Earl said, looking ever more weary. “Yes, her name was mentioned. As I said, it is the Duke’s eldest daughter—as it should be—and her name is Lady Annemarie.”

  “Lady Annemarie?” Lady Margaret asked, her voice rising in pitch from the surprise. “You don’t mean the one who cannot abide horses or tennis? She’s not the sturdiest of girls, you know. She looks as though she might faint if the wind picked up too strongly!”

  Peter laughed, but his mother turned on him sharply. “It is not a laughing matter. The last thing you want is to come into a title in such an uncommon way only to lose it when your wife has not the strength to bear children!”

  “Can we get me married off before we plot out my children?” Peter teased. “After all, Father has worked so hard on the negotiations.”

  “Does everything have to be a game to you?” the Earl demanded, and Peter looked dutifully sheepish.

  “I’m sorry, Father, for laughing and for my consternation this morning. I know you’re only thinking of my best interests and what is best for all of us.”

  “Quite right!” his father added, reaching for more biscuits. “While you and Bellton were moping around at Northam’s ball last night—musing over the troubles of the world, no doubt—I was neck-deep in bettering your position!”

  Peter sighed. No amount of gratitude would suffice, so it was best not to prolong the effort. “Speaking of Bellton, did you hear he had an incident while leaving his family home?”

  Lady Margaret paused in filling her plate to look at her son, waiting earnestly for him to go on. Even the Earl paid closer attention.

  “Yes, he was set upon by thieves, one of whom was a young lady!” Peter explained. “He barely got away with his life but in the process, lost a very dear item his mother had only just bequeathed to him.”

  Lady Margaret pressed a hand to her mouth to hold back a cry while encouraging Peter to tell more.

  “So the young woman, who appears to have been used as a decoy by the gang of robbers, is at this very moment locked up in Bellton’s home until such time as she tells Callum the identities of the guilty men.”

  Peter’s parents looked both horrified and yet approving of the idea. Thinking his tale was complete, Peter resumed eating only to have his father ask, “But who is this woman?”

  “That’s just it, he hardly knows. Only that she called herself ‘Lady Beatrix’ because she fancies her father some sort of noble thief, if such a thing is to be believed.”

  Lord Grain dropped his knife with a loud clatter, sending it sprawling across the slate tiles of the veranda. A servant retrieved it and carried it inside to be washed while another dabbed with a cloth at the food that had fallen in the commotion.

  “Dearest? What’s the matter with you?” Lady Margaret asked, noting her husband’s suddenly pale face.

  “What?” the Earl asked blankly, his face contorting with thought. “Oh, nothing. Just… nothing.” He got up without a word and went back inside, hurrying across the veranda on quick feet.


  “Why do I feel like today has been the strangest day of my life?” Peter asked, staring after his father’s retreating form.

  “Oh no,” his mother said, laughing with mirth. “This is only the beginning. Wait until the wedding day actually approaches!”

  Chapter 14

  Before the appointed hour for dinner, Birdie and Greta returned and began to dress Beatrix. Greta brought some irons, still hot from the fire in the kitchen, and began work on Beatrix’s long hair immediately. While she styled it in an elegant yet simple way, Birdie helped Beatrix into a different gown. This one, though obviously finer, was simple as well.

  “I thought ya might like somethin’ more serviceable lookin’,” Birdie explained shyly. “I’d feel like a fool in some of the getups that these ladies have to wear, pretendin’ to be someone I ain’t. But this one, ‘tis beautiful, no?”