Lord Castleford’s Fortunate Folly
By: Tabetha Waite
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2019 Tabetha Waite
Cover art design by Sweet 'N Spicy Designs
Table of Content
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
About the Author
FORTUNE FAVOURS MISS GOLD
Also by Tabetha Waite
Ways of Love Historical Romance Series
How it All Began for the Baron (Christmas prequel novella)
Why the Earl is After the Girl
Where the Viscount Met His Match
When a Duke Pursues a Lady
Who the Marquess Dares to Desire
Anthologies
Yuletide Happily Ever Afters (Christmas Regency)
Moonlight, Monsters Magic (erotic paranormal)
Heyer Society (non-fiction essays)
Nine Ladies Dancing 2018 (*Limited Release* Christmas set)
Second Chance Love (Regency Romance)
Novellas
Twelve Gifts by Christmas (Yuletide Happily Ever Afters)
Lord Castleford’s Fortunate Folly (Fortunes of Fate)
This book is dedicated to my fellow readers/authors who grew up in the 80s, and who also have a lovely fascination with the Regency era. I hope you enjoy my Dirty Dancing/Poldark inspired mash up!
Chapter One
Cornwall, England
Spring 1816
Lord Jonathan Castleford knew he’d made a mistake the moment he turned his mount onto the road to Cornwall. But no, that wasn’t right. In truth, the folly in his judgment had happened long before now — about two weeks ago in London, to be exact.
The error had happened the moment he’d allowed the Marquess of Shropshire to lead him on this wild goose chase. He’d assumed, as the man was the heir to a respected dukedom, that Nelson might have some sense of honor. Unfortunately, the moment the young heir hit the card tables, another man seemed to take his place, and any lingering intelligence disappeared. It was due to this rather unlucky hand at faro, with an exorbitant amount of funds at play that had landed Nelson in a difficult issue of payment with Jonathan. He offered, in exchange for his debts, a “prosperous” tin mine somewhere in the wilds of the Cornish coast.
“Just go and take a look at it,” the young heir had nearly pleaded, shoving the deed into Jonathan’s hands. His expression had been that of a recalcitrant child who was trying to cover up some misdeeds. “If you don’t see that it’s just as flourishing as I’ve claimed—” He’d swallowed. “—come to my townhouse and I’ll pay you every single pound that I owe.”
Jonathan’s dark eyebrows had risen slightly. Perhaps there was hope for the man after all. “Very well,” he’d conceded with a heavy sigh. Instantly, Nelson’s face had flooded with relief.
So here he was — shivering inside his clothes as the breeze coming off of the coast whipped around his greatcoat. Jonathan desperately hoped that it wouldn’t rain, as he didn’t relish the thought of getting drenched before he reached his destination. As it was, the ground was a soggy, muddy mess due to earlier rains, which made for slow, grueling travel by horseback.
He ground his teeth as his mount’s hooves slipped in the sludge, and took Nelson’s name in vain — and not for the first time. In truth, he was actually starting to wonder who was the bigger fool in this situation.
As he crested the top of a hill, Jonathan reined his mount to a stop. He crossed his arms over the pommel of his saddle and observed the scene before him. A traveling fair of some sort effectively blocked the road. Two wagons stood slightly off to the side, but it was the third wagon, its wheel mired down in the mud that caused him to sigh. Three men were doing their best to push the sunken conveyance out of the bog, but in spite of all their best efforts, they weren’t having much luck.
And that was before the first, fat drop of rain hit the brim of his hat.
He gave a snort and shook his head. He supposed this was his punishment for being talked into such a quest in the first place. As he urged his mount forward, he told himself that it didn’t matter if he was about to be soaked. If nothing else, perhaps it would wash away the mud splatter that was about to coat his brand new Hessians.
***
Nearly a half hour later, amid groans, and the pouring rain that had ensued, Jonathan and the other men finally managed to free the stuck wheel. As it rolled free of the muck, Jonathan bent over and put his hands on his knees. He was breathing heavily, and sweat coated his brow, but it always made him feel good on the inside to do something for his fellow man. As the younger son of the Earl of Vellerman, he had little to recommend him. His older brother, Edward, was the one who would make a difference as the heir, taking his place in Parliament and fighting for the rights and issues of England.
The most Jonathan could do as the spare was free a wagon from the Cornish bog. Then again, he didn’t have the responsibility of a title to contend with either. He had a bit more freedom, which was what he liked. He didn’t want any strings that tied him down. No restrictions. Even the occasional mistresses were few and far between.
A dark-skinned man came over and clapped Jonathan on the back. “Come on, stranger. I think you’ve earned a drink.”
Jonathan straightened and offered the man a grin. “I believe I will take you up on that offer.”
As Jonathan was led over to where a tent had been set up for a temporary shelter, he glanced at one of the wagons and was taken aback to see that he was under close scrutiny by a rather intriguing woman. She stood, framed by a set of purple curtains, her honey-gold skin striking against the gloom of the day. She didn’t appear to be that old, yet she stood slightly hunched as if the weight of the world was a constant cloak around her shoulders. But then, it was her gray-blue eyes that truly captured his attention, as they assessed him quite boldly.
“Who is that?” he found himself asking.
His companion didn’t even turn around, although a small smile played about his mouth. “That is Madame Zeta. She is our fortune teller.”
“I see.” Jonathan contemplated this with a wry twist of his lips. He had never been one to fall prey to such practices. He was entirely too sensible.
Jonathan stood in the tent around a modest campfire that had been started and chatted with a few of the men for a time. Along with the promised drink, he was offered some bread and soup, which he accepted with gratitude. After a while, he started to feel more human. Outside, even the rain had slackened. He knew he should be heading out soon, if he was to make it to his friend’s house before nightfall. If there could be any sort of miracle on this Godforsaken journey, it was that Sir Elliot Marwood lived nearby in the village of Killigarth. Jonathan would never understand why his comrade from Eton had chosen to take up residence with his family in such a remote location of England, but in this instance, it was a blessing in disguise.
“I would have a word before you depart, Englishman.”
Jonathan turned at the sound of the strong female voice, surprised to find that it was Madame Zeta. She stood right next to him, although he hadn’t even heard her approach.
Jonathan offered a polite, but refusing smile. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t really believe in tarot cards and palm reading…”
“Then perhaps your destiny will be more intrig
uing?” With that, she turned to walk away.
Jonathan knew that he had little choice but to follow or appear rude. Not until she started to climb into her wagon did she pause briefly and put a hand to her mid-section.
He frowned. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she said curtly, before disappearing behind the curtains.
Jonathan shrugged before he followed her inside. The interior was comfortably furnished in shades of purple and gold. Candles flickered from various points about the room, giving it a mystical sort of glow. It was exactly what he might have imagined a fortune teller’s lodgings to look like. “So where’s the crystal ball?” he teased.
Madame Zeta merely took a seat on a cushion across from him, her gray-blue eyes direct. She didn’t appear amused. “Have you ever heard of the Path of Life?”
Jonathan winced inwardly as he sat down across from her in an effort to humor whatever it was she was about to say. “I have not.”
She lifted a leather cord from around her neck, revealing a gold medallion dangling from the end of the length. The intertwined design reflected the light in the room and seemed to shine with a magic of its own…
He blinked. Much more of this and he would start to see green fairies that weren’t there. He didn’t think that he’d drunk absinthe recently, but who knew what he’d really been drinking in that tent.
“You were brought to me for a reason, Englishman,” Madame Zeta announced as she trailed a finger along each curve of the symbol in her palm. “You will find that sometimes our paths are intertwined on this journey through life. Sometimes the road to self-discovery takes much travail, but how we prosper depends on our determination to succeed.” She tucked the medallion back beneath her clothing with a certain amount of reverence that didn’t go unnoticed by Jonathan. She brought forth a white handkerchief with the same symbol embroidered in gold thread in the center and handed it to him. “This is for you… to remember that whatever it is you may seek, you shall find it if you will only be true to yourself.”
Jonathan rubbed his thumb over the symbol with a light frown. Again, he was struck with the oddest sensation. He looked back at Madame Zeta and said in all sincerity, “Thank you.”
She gave a brief nod, her gaze suddenly distant. “I have known many men like you, Englishman. I believe that you are pure of heart. Don’t make me regret my decision to put a measure of faith in you.”
A lump suddenly clogged his throat, and Jonathan swallowed hard against it. “I promise.”
Chapter Two
“Agnes, really, must you be so shamelessly flirtatious?” Miss Fanny Grouseman reprimanded her sister.
They stood in the middle of the bustling village of Polperro selling their garden vegetables in the outdoor farmer’s market. It had been a rather prosperous day thus far, although the sky was still gray and overcast with the threat of more rain.
Her younger sister sniffed haughtily and grinned once again at the attractive man in uniform who passed by with a smirk. She crossed her arms defiantly. “Just because you are such a stick-in-the-mud, doesn’t mean that the rest of us should shrivel up and die.”
Fanny barely refrained from rolling her eyes at her sister’s dramatics. “I suppose it doesn’t matter to you that this particular man is a revenue officer, here to put a stop to all smuggling, the very thing that keeps Polperro afloat after the war and the increase in taxes?”
Agnes tossed her free-flowing brown hair. “He’s only doing his job. Besides,” she shrugged. “Perhaps it’s time the villagers ceased such illegal activities.”
Fanny clenched her fists in an effort to hold back her temper. “You seem to forget where those fancy adornments you enjoy so much come from.”
Agnes turned and glared at her. “I’m not feeling well. I think I shall go home and lie down.” With that, she flounced off.
A resigned sigh slipped out. Being the oldest of three sisters carried a lot of responsibility for Fanny. Agnes was only fifteen, but already she was more high-spirited than either Fanny or their middle sister Lilah had been at that age. If their mother didn’t tighten their leash on her, she was bound to make an error in judgment that would shame the entire family.
As it stood, smuggling was common knowledge among the locals, as most of the men assisted in the offshore trade, including their father. However, since the accident a few years ago where a Customs officer was killed on The Lottery, resulting in a crewman being tried and executed for murder, the Crown had effectively increased their patrol in an effort to cease all imports coming in from the island of Guernsey and beyond. These days they had to be even more discreet when it came to bringing goods onto Cornish shores. One misstep could see more than just her father sent to the Old Bailey.
“That’s quite a scowl,” a masculine voice drawled.
Fanny glanced up to see Sir Elliot Marwood standing before her vegetable cart. A reluctant smile touched her mouth. As the squire of Polperro and the local magistrate, he was just in his dealings when it came to smuggling. In truth, he had testified on behalf of the character of more than one resident. He had become as much a benefactor for the village as Zephaniah Job, the banker and self-elected leader for Polperro’s flourishing side income.
“Siblings.” Fanny shrugged.
“Ah.” Sir Elliot smiled more broadly, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can sympathize with that. It’s one reason I wished to leave London, to spare my wife from my sisters and stoic elder brother.”
Fanny couldn’t imagine someone of Sir Elliot’s kind nature being related to anyone less worthy, but she didn’t remark upon it. Instead, she gestured to her cart. “Would you care for some watercress today? Or radishes, perhaps?”
His gaze turned serious. “I’m afraid I’m here on a rather important matter. Might you relay a message to your father?”
“Of course.” Fanny clasped her hands together nervously.
“I have an old school friend coming into town,” Sir Elliot said evenly, “He’s due to arrive this evening. He doesn’t know about our…dealings in the village, and I believe it would be in our best interests if it remains that way. I’ve already spoken to Zephaniah about our need for discretion, as there’s a shipment due to arrive in a fortnight.”
“I will make sure your concern is expressed to my father,” Fanny said. She wasn’t the only one who knew that strangers were a danger when it came to Polperro’s networking at Talland Bay.
The slight lines that had touched his forehead now dissipated. “Very good, Miss Grouseman. I will escort my friend around the village tomorrow, so that you will be able to put a face with the name. After that, I have a plan in place that I believe will keep him occupied for the duration of his stay.” He touched a hand to his hat in farewell. “I hope that the rest of your day is prosperous.”
Fanny bit her lip. After Sir Elliot’s caution, she realized that Agnes was no longer her most pressing problem.
***
Jonathan didn’t even have to knock. As he was walking up the front steps, the door to Killigarth Manor was opened by a stone-faced English butler. The servant bowed reverently and stepped back for him to enter. Jonathan winced as his boots actually squished as he walked inside. The infernal rain may have finally ceased, but he feared his Hessians were ruined beyond repair at this point. Even the butler glanced at the puddle he left on the carpet with a slightly raised brow.
“Ah, Jonathan, you’ve arrived at last.” He glanced up to see Elliot grimace at his dripping appearance. “I see you’ve already encountered our fine Cornish weather.”
Jonathan handed over his greatcoat to the butler, relieved when it felt as if two stone worth of sodden material was lifted from his shoulders. He rolled his arms and neck to relieve the kinks and replied dryly, “I hope you have some decent French brandy at hand.”
Elliot winked. “I wouldn’t stock anything but the best.” A footman suddenly appeared. “Frank will show you to your rooms. He will stand in as a valet whil
e you’re in residence. Once you are settled in and more comfortable, come and join me in the study. I’ll have a glass waiting for you. Shall we say, thirty minutes?”
Jonathan grimaced. “Make it five.”
***
It actually took about a quarter hour for Jonathan to return, and while he still shivered, at least his clothes were dry. He took a seat in a chair by the roaring fire, and after a bit of civil conversation — and a half empty glass of liquor in his stomach — he was almost content.
“Better?” Elliot teased as he sat across from him.
“Infinitely.” Jonathan sighed as he leaned his head back against the chair. He closed his eyes temporarily, before he lifted his head and regarded his former school comrade. “I’ll never understand why you chose to willingly live here. I would imagine the Highlands of Scotland are more populated than this dreadful place.”
Elliot merely chuckled. “You know I’ve always preferred the country to city life.”
“Country, yes,” Jonathan concurred. “But not geographic isolation.” He shook his head. “Then again, you’ve saved me the trouble of renting rooms at one of the local inns, and for that I’m grateful. God only knows what sort of hovel I might have been subjected to, not to mention the locals.”
Elliot rolled his eyes. “We may not be in London, but I assure you, the villagers of Polperro are quite respectable.” He paused. “To prove it, I thought we might make a brief stop there tomorrow on the way to visit your tin mine in St. Austell.”
Jonathan drained the rest of his brandy, and said mockingly, “I can’t wait.”
“Since you are so thrilled with the prospect—” Elliot’s lips twitched. “—I thought to hold a ball in your honor.”
Jonathan winced. “Please, don’t.”
Elliot smiled. “I’m afraid the plans are already in motion. Besides, I wouldn’t dare deprive Evelyn of the opportunity to host such an event. She was rather pleased when I told her you were coming. I don’t believe she’s seen you since we were last in London. Not since the wedding, at least.”
Lord Castleford's Fortunate Folly (Fortunes 0f Fate Book 2) Page 1
