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

by Hanna Hamilton

  “No, that’s not true,” Lady Miriam whispered. Her thoughts turned bitter as they always did when she thought of the baby she’d lost shortly after her birth.

  While Miriam herself fought valiantly to recover from the terrible ordeal of a difficult birth—nearly losing her life in the process—the tiny babe had succumbed to a fever. Miriam had awoken several days following the child’s birth to find that the nameless child had not only died, but had already been buried in the churchyard without once being held in her mother’s arms.

  “Here we are, My Lady!” the housekeeper said eagerly, rolling in a low table piled with covered dishes. “It smells absolutely heavenly, don’t you think?”

  “Of course, I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Lady Miriam replied, forcing a smile.

  “Now remember, Cook takes it very hard when you send back your supper. Try to eat it all, else she’ll worry that you were displeased,” the older lady said kindly.

  “I will try,” Lady Miriam answered with determination. “I simply don’t have the taste for anything much these days.”

  “Perhaps if we asked Cook to make you more sweets? I know she’s a wonderful hand at baking delicate cakes and pastries. Would those sound good, My Lady?”

  Lady Miriam knew the housekeeper was talking down to her somewhat, speaking to her almost as though she were a child. But she also knew it was only out of concern for her well-being and her emotional state, and that the housekeeper—who’d been with her for a great many years—feared for her health.

  “That might be nice,” Lady Miriam agreed quietly, “perhaps something with strawberries and that delicate cream she makes?”

  “I’ll inform her immediately!” the housekeeper exclaimed. “She’ll be so pleased to hear that you’ve requested one of her special dishes!”

  She hurried from the sitting room, leaving Lady Miriam to look with mild disdain at the cart filled with food. She knew she had to make an effort to eat, but this latest news from her brother stripped her of even her usually small appetite.

  A letter. I must write to my brother right away. He mustn’t be allowed to alter all of my plans and upend my household without knowing what he’s done.

  Miriam lifted the bowl of soup over to her desk and then drew out a sheet of paper to write a letter. Her brother would expect a certain tone to her response, and would expect the reply very quickly.

  My dear brother,

  I have received your wonderful news and am beside myself with joy.

  I had the greatest hope all these years that Peter would live here at Florsham upon reaching the age of inheritance, since I have no heirs myself. But of course, he must seize upon this most auspicious opportunity to marry and assume the dukedom.

  However, due to the state of my immediate family, I find myself at a loss over how to proceed with my late husband’s holdings as he has no direct heirs and—as you well know—has named your son in his will. I do hope you’ll impart some advice as to what I should do.

  Lady Miriam read the letter over a second time, signed it, and finished all of her dinner before ringing for the butler to post her letter in the morning.

  “Cooke, this is the right way?” Pencot asked for the hundredth time in only a matter of hours. “Yer sure of it?”

  “Aye, sir,” he answered, seemingly still certain but then again, there was no way to tell when it came to his addled mind. He might as well be certain it was noon when the sun was barely above the horizon.

  Pencot sighed. “I believes ya, it’s just that we’ve been riding for over a day. There’s no way ya ran this far, boy!”

  “Oh, but I did! I told ya, I slept in the ditch one night and I got up early in the morning to follow after ‘em.” Cooke smiled reassuringly. Suddenly, his expression brightened. “Look! I remember it now. Thar’s where I stole some eggs from a farm to eat somethin’ before I kept runnin’! ‘Tis only another hour to the fancy house, right ‘ere on this same road.””

  “Excellent work! Then perhaps we must hurry back and tell Prince Aaron. In any case, we shouldn’t linger long here in case anyone remembers ya, eh?” Pencot said, feeling somewhat relieved now that something was familiar to the young man.

  “Oh, ‘tis good thinkin’. Yer always lookin’ out for me, Pencot. I thank ya dearly for it, ya know,” Cooke said somberly. “I know I’m not one ‘o Prince Aaron’s smart fellows. I’m only here so I can knock down a door or trample a fancy man who do naw pay up.”

  “Tis untrue, Cooke!” Pencot protested, though he knew the poor man was right. Still, there was no sense letting on that it was an accurate assessment. “Yer quite valuable to the whole operation. Why, I’d naw be surprised if Prince Aaron couldnaw get along without ya. After all, look what ya did here! If naw for you, none of us would know where to even go lookin’ fer Lady Beatrix.”

  “I ‘spose yer right,” Cooke admitted sheepishly, “but I cannaw help but feel like everyone else is always knowin’ stuff and I’m just left standin’ around like a dull boy. I wish I was smart like you and Aaron.”

  “Ya don’t need to worry yerself about bein’ smart when yer as strong as an ox and as loyal as the best breed of dog. Prince Aaron and the lot of us, why… we’d all be taken up by the coppers long ago if not for yer brute strength and yer bravery! Now, let’s keep a good eye out to make sure we ain’t spotted.”

  Cooke nodded. “Probably best to keep quiet too, then.”

  “Aye, it is,” Pencot said, looking at him pointedly.

  “Do ya think someone might hear us from here?”

  “Aye, I do. So let’s be quiet. All right?” Pencot held a finger to his lips and shushed the man. Cooke returned the gesture, but frowned.

  “I wonder why peoples put their finger to they mouths to show yer to be quiet,” he said out loud. Pencot shook his head.

  “Cooke, ya have to be quiet now. All right?”

  “Oh aye. I forgot. That’s all. I’m always forgettin’ stuff, ain’t I? I donaw mean to, I just can’t seem to hold on to a thought fer too long. This one time—”

  “Cooke! Now. You must be silent NOW.” Pencot glared at him, jerking his head to show they were rounding the curve dangerously close to the farm. Cooke had already admitted to stealing from their place once before.

  “Oh. Right,” Cooke whispered, his eyes widening fearfully. He took a breath as though to say something else but Pencot walloped him on the shoulder soundly. “Right. No talkin’ now.”

  They trotted on purposefully, attempting to appear as two men traveling with intention. When they finally managed to put the farm behind them, Cooke turned to Pencot with a smile but the older man shook his head.

  “I’m not sure it’s safe. The farmer… why, he could have… well, he might have spies out in the wood! There could be men comin’ after us right this very minute. We’d best keep quiet for some time to come. All right?”

  Beatrix took extra care preparing for dinner that evening. Birdie had already brought her a gown the likes of which she had never seen, not even in a shop when she’d been to London once or twice. Its lace was so delicate she almost didn’t trust herself to slip it on without tearing it, and its rows of silk ribbon roses shimmered faintly when she held it towards the light.

  Why are you so skittish? Beatrix thought, brushing out her hair gently before Greta would come to style it. This is only another meal, and after this evening, this will all be a memory.

  Still, Beatrix was perplexed to find that her heart was torn. She desperately wanted to be away from this place so that she could return to her father. He must be standing on his ear at her lengthy absence! But at the same time, she grieved slightly for what she stood to lose. A man she considered her equal in wit and concern was a rarity, one that Beatrix knew she might never chance to encounter again.

  “Miss? Are ya ready for us?” Greta asked, opening the door slightly.

  “Do come in!” she answered, jumping slightly at the sound of the maid’s voice.

  Greta and B
irdie entered, each carrying a covered tray. While Greta set about curling the loose tendrils of Beatrix’s long hair with her hot irons, Birdie helped her into her gown and began hemming its long, layered skirts.

  “Aye, there’s not much I must do for it,” Birdie said, eyeing it with an appraising glance. “It does fit ya like it was sewn for ya just this mornin’!”

  “Where did the Marquess acquire it?” Beatrix chanced to ask, hoping she sounded merely curious.

  “Gaw, had it made for ya by a local woman,” the younger maid answered, speaking around the pins in her mouth. “She’s made all yer clothes since ya been here.”

  “So he knew that I would be staying for a long time?” Beatrix asked, frowning at this new revelation.

  “Oh no, miss. The lady does work fast,” Greta interrupted, pulling back several handfuls of hair to form a crown of braids that wound round Beatrix’s head, starting at her temples. “She’s a lonely sort of woman, worked in a fancy shop in London before her family all took ill. Now, she lives nearby in a cottage His Lordship owns. Charges her nothin’, he does! But she insists on making his clothes and anythin’ that the servants might require, so long as he sends her the cloth.”

  “I suppose that is rather generous of him,” she answered, envisioning the agreement between a marquess and a seamstress.

  “Terribly so,” Birdie said solemnly. “That is his way, though. I don’t suppose ya would know that about him, not after the way ya been treated.”

  Birdie reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out several small papers. She held them out to Beatrix, but looked sheepish as she offered them.

  “I know that master’s sendin’ you go on yer way now, but I wanted ya to know that Greta and me, we did as we promised. We found out that way for ya, even though we don’t know where ya come from. But the footmen who was with the master that day, they knew where ya come from. This is the way home.”

  Beatrix took it and looked at the crude map scribbled in pencil, the oddly formed letters that would carry her back to where she belonged. Her breath caught for a moment as she realized what a tremendous gift this truly was.

  “I cannot thank you enough for this kindness,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “Think nothin’ of it,” Greta said firmly. “Ya been so nice and tender with us, lowly servants though we are, but you’ve also been one who’s made the master see things in a different way. ‘Twas a good lesson for him!”

  When at last she was ready, Beatrix thanked the maids once again for all they had done for her. She knew she may never see them again, but their kindness would never be forgotten.

  Beatrix followed silently behind them as she made her way to the dining room. As she peered in the open door, the glow of candles scattered throughout the room took her breath away. At the far end of the impossibly long table, the Marquess paced back and forth, seemingly lost in thought. He looked up sharply when he sensed her standing there, and his expression immediately grew to one of expectant happiness.

  “You look simply stunning,” he said, rushing forward and offering her his arm.

  Beatrix thanked him as she linked her hand through his elbow and followed as he led them to their seats. Waving off the servant, he held the chair for her himself, then took his place adjoining her as he’d done the first time they’d dined together.

  “It seems too strange that this should be our last meal together,” the Marquess began, “our last conversation, perhaps!”

  “Yes,” Beatrix agreed thoughtfully, “I’ve said as much in my mind countless times today.”

  “Whatever shall I do without someone criticizing my every thought and utterance?” Lord Bellton asked, a mischievous smile showing that he was only speaking in jest.

  “I should think it would be a nice change from the past few days,” Beatrix joked back drily, “though I should think you’d be used to it from all of your fellow members of the peerage.”

  “Ha! They should be so lucky as to best me in a game of wits!” he answered, laughing heartily. “Til now, I had not met my equal!”

  Beatrix smiled at the compliment, aware that Lord Bellton was being overly generous. Perhaps he did only wish to make their final evening pleasant, though she could not help but hope that he was also a changed man.

  “In a more serious vein,” Lord Bellton began, his joyful expression faltering a bit, “I’d like to speak to you of your future.”

  “My future? What of it?” she asked politely, genuinely perplexed.

  “Well, I want to help ensure that you have no need of continuing in the employ of known thieves, to start with.” He noted her immediate look of defense and clarified, “What I mean is, only for your safety and protection. I mean no offense whatsoever towards your family, I am only concerned for your well-being.”

  “Most interesting,” Beatrix replied, feeling hesitant about the Marquess’s intentions, “as only a few days ago my well-being was the farthest thing from your mind.”

  Lord Bellton nodded, holding his hands before him in a gesture of peace. “That is all too true, I’m afraid. But you have opened my eyes to the plight of those less fortunate than I. Where I was a callous brute upon our first meeting, I am now overly concerned with what may befall you in the future. I ask that you allow me to aid you in avoiding any more criminal works.”

  Beatrix remained quiet, warring within herself for an acceptable response. Her instinct was to lash out, to once again have to educate this self-centered, pompous, posh individual, but she also heard the tremor of hope in his voice. Lord Bellton was truly attempting to do something noble in his offer of assistance, and she could not dismiss the effort.

  “Your gesture is both kind and appreciated,” she replied, measuring her words. “However, I assure you, it is also unnecessary. I intend to return home, seek out your property, and do my utmost to bring my father’s men to a more acceptable livelihood.”

  “But how can you accomplish it?” Lord Bellton pressed. “At least, you will need some sort of funds to carry all of you through until employment is attained. I aim to assist you with that.”

  “Really, you don’t need to do so—”

  “Please allow me the indulgence of insisting that I do!” he said, his tone and expression nearing tears. “Think of it merely as just compensation.” Beatrix looked confused, so Lord Bellton continued, “Imagine that you were a simple farmer who’d been walking that day, and my actions caused your horse to go lame. Would I not owe you a fair compensation under the law? Or if you were employed as a dairy maid or a washer woman and my men startled you until you… you, I don’t know, fell from the road and were injured. Would I not be expected to provide you with your full wages until you were recovered?”

  “I should think so,” Beatrix agreed reluctantly. “Only explain to me this, am I a washer woman now or a lame horse? Your example did not make it clear.”

  “I am not toying with you, I promise,” he said, trying to avoid becoming impatient. “I am admitting that I am fully at fault for my actions and therefore owe you compensation. It is funds that I beseech you to accept so that you may begin anew without fearing for your provisions.”

  Beatrix sighed, but finally shrugged her shoulders in resignation. “I shall accept, but only if it eases your conscience. Not out of obligation. If you are much changed by this incident and for having spent time in my company, then that is all the reward I require. That, and helping to ensure that your peers take a better understanding of the plight of the common man as well.”

  “I will do my utmost to ensure they gain some new understanding,” he promised her. “But now, as to the amount…”

  Lord Bellton gestured to his servant, who retrieved a tray from the sideboard and brought it near. He took from it a small chest and opened it to remove a purse.

  “I can never repair the grievous insult I inflicted upon you in my ignorance and prejudice,” he began solemnly, “but I hope that this small token is enough to assure you that I
am sincere.”

  Beatrix took it when he held it out to her, and her eyes instantly went wide. The weight of it nearly brought her hand down on the table before she could recover.

  “Absolutely not,” she said, dumping the small bag back beside the Marquess’s plate. “That is far too great a sum, I do not even have to inspect the contents to know that!”

  “You don’t know. That purse may very well contain six pennies and a lot of rocks!” Lord Bellton teased, pushing it back towards her.

  “I’m no fool, you know,” Beatrix said, crossing her arms before her to avoid taking it. “I know quite well how much a lame horse and a dairy maid are worth, and it’s not a pile of rocks. I shall not take such a costly amount!”