A Duke Under Her Spell: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  “I drive right past there on my way to the market. I would be glad to take you the rest of the way.” The farmer appeared to be a kind older man and so Marybeth accepted.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “You look tired. You may lie down upon the sacks of potatoes in the back of the wagon if you wish. I have been known to do so myself from time to time and find them to be tolerably comfortable.”

  “Thank you. You are most kind.”

  “Not at all. You remind me of my own dear sweet Peg, God rest her.” The man glanced up at the sky as if he were directly conversing with the deity in question.

  “Peg?”

  “My daughter. She died of pneumonia when she was about your age.”

  “I am most sorrowful for your loss,” Marybeth commiserated. “I just recently lost my grandmother. Is your wife still living?”

  “No, she died shortly after our Peg. Your parents?” the farmer asked. Marybeth shook her head in answer. “’Tis sorry I am to hear it, lass. We make quite a pair of sad ones do we not,” he noted companionably.

  “I suppose we do,” she agreed.

  After everything that she had been through it felt good to talk to someone so kind and amiable. Taking the farmer’s advice, she crawled back into the wagon and laid down upon the stack of potato sacks. The farmer’s dog, a border collie, crawled back and laid down beside her as if it could sense her pain and wished to ease it by its presence. Marybeth wrapped her arms around the dog burying her face in his fur and allowed herself to drift to sleep. Her last thought was of Felix.

  * * *

  Felix returned to the townhouse exhausted but determined in what was to be his next course of action. He had decided to declare his love to Marybeth and seek her hand in marriage if she would have him after the fool he had been. Knowing how such a decision would affect his mother’s sensibilities he determined to make it right with her first before speaking with Marybeth.

  After entering the house, he climbed the stairs up to his mother’s bedchamber and opened the door. He found her sitting up, tears streaming down her face, clutching a piece of ink stained paper. “What is it, Mother?” he asked rushing forward to take her hand in his. “What has happened?”

  “She has left us,” his mother sobbed.

  Believing her to be speaking of Lady Cordelia, Felix sighed and patted her hand in comfort. “I am sorry, Mother. I know how much you care for her, but I truly believe it to be for the best.”

  “How could you say such a thing?!” the Dowager Duchess demanded of him.

  “She is not the person we all believed her to be. I do not wish to disparage anyone’s character, but you must take my word on the matter. Lady Cordelia Weatherton is not suited to be the next Duchess of Arkley.”

  “I am not speaking of Lady Cordelia! I am speaking of Marybeth!” His mother thrust the piece of paper into his hand. “She has left us!”

  “What?” he asked in confusion.

  “Read it for yourself,” she commanded. “I am sorry that I read your letter, but the maid brought it up to me by mistake.”

  Felix opened the letter and scanned the page. As he read the words his heart felt as if it stopped. Everything in his world came to a terrible screeching halt and his knees gave way. He sat down hard on the edge of the bed and the paper floated from his fingers to the floor. “She is gone,” he whispered, devastated by the loss of his heart’s one and only desire. “She is gone.”

  Chapter 26

  “Lass… Lass…” The farmer shook Marybeth awake. “You’re home, lass.” She had traveled with the farmer for two days and had slept a good portion of both. The weight of her sorrow too heavy for her to bear, she had surrendered to unconsciousness as an escape. The farmer had not minded and had allowed her to do as she wished. “Arkley Forest,” he announced with a grand gesture of the arm, proud of himself for delivering her safely.

  Marybeth smiled at the kind man and pulled a bundle of herbs from her medicine bag. “Grind this into your tea each night and it will ease the pain in your joints so that you sleep better.” On their journey she had learned that the farmer suffered terribly and had not slept well in years.

  “I thank you, lass. A kind gesture to be sure.”

  “Not nearly as kind as you seeing me home. I cannot thank you enough, Mr. FitzGibbons.”

  “Please call me Ralph. You remind me too much of my daughter to stand on such formalities.”

  “Very well, Ralph. I thank you.” Marybeth climbed down off of the wagon, gave the dog one last pat on the head, then began walking through the forest in the direction of her croft. The dog barked from behind her in farewell and she wished she could have brought him along for company. The solitary existence that had once been her greatest joy, now lay before her like a gaping hole in the ground ready to suck her in and swallow her whole.

  She looked down at her brother’s ring upon her finger and wondered how Stephen was healing. She hoped that with her return to the croft that Lord Enfield would leave her alone. She feared what she might do to him were he to seek her out again. She was not quite sure why she wore the ring. It was difficult for her to sort through the myriad of emotions that she felt about having brothers, a family, and yet every part of it was clouded by the method of her conception.

  My brothers may be all I have left in this world other than Oliver. Oliver! The thought of her childhood friend gave her pause as she realized that she would never be able to return to Arkley Hall to ensure that his wound healed properly. I hope someone has the forethought of mind to tell him that I have returned home. She knew that it was unlikely that the Duke would have a single kind word to say to her after the letter that she had written to him, but perhaps he would at least tell Oliver.

  Marybeth continued walking and thinking of all that she had lost and gained over the last weeks. The forest had always brought her comfort, but now as she walked into its depths, she felt nothing but the silence and loneliness that surrounded her. She thought of her mother taking her own life and wondered if after her attack it had felt as if the forest had turned on her. The place that had once been her mother’s cathedral, her safe place, had been turned into a terrible nightmare.

  As Marybeth looked around her now it was hard for her not to see the trees through her mother’s eyes. How she must have hated the very earth she walked upon for not swallowing her up and keeping her safe. Shivering, Marybeth attempted to think more positive thoughts. If she was to continue to live in the forest, she could not allow herself to become its prisoner. She needed to return to being its friend.

  Marybeth trekked through the forest for some time until she finally reached her croft. As she walked through the door, she took in the home that she had known her entire life, now covered in a thin layer of dust, and broke down into tears. Everyone she had ever loved was gone, either dead, or simply beyond her reach.

  Unable to bear the thought of cleaning the house at that exact moment, she traipsed through the main room to her bedroom, shook the blankets out to ensure there were no animals in them, and then crawled into bed where she cried herself to sleep.

  * * *

  Felix spent the ride home in stony silence, while his mother slept lying down upon the seat across from him. The carriage bumped along through the English countryside with little regard to his shattered heart. The letter Marybeth had written him was jammed into his vest pocket. It felt as it were burning a hole through the fabric straight to his heart. She had left him, swearing that she did not love him and that she could not spend another moment of immeasurable suffering in his world.

  Felix had grown up with parents that truly loved each other and would have done anything for each other. He had seen firsthand what true love looked like and he thought he had found it for himself, but he could not have been more wrong. Not only had she abandoned him, but she had not cared enough to stay and see the Dowager Duchess’s treatments through. She had acted as if she did not care whether his mother lived or died and that was what
had broken his heart the most.

  I have never been more wrong about a person in my entire life. How could my sense of judgement have failed me so completely? I was ready to pledge my life to Marybeth and yet she did not care enough to save my mother’s. I do not understand. I do not understand any of this.

  Clenching his hands into fists, he stared out of the window, but saw nothing, lost in his own misery. A gentle rain began to fall as darker clouds loomed in the distance. Time passed and the wind picked up as the sky grew dark overhead. The rain began to pour down in revenging torrents. The horses grew skittish and the driver beat in the roof of the carriage. “We will have to stop at the nearest inn, Your Grace. The horses cannot continue on in this.”

  “Very well,” Felix answered loud enough for the driver to hear. Murmuring to himself he added, “I am in no hurry to return home to further misery.” Felix knew he would have to speak with Oliver upon his return and he was not looking forward to it. He hoped that the young man had gained enough strength to take the news of his friend’s betrayal.

  It is a hard thing to learn that someone you loved and trusted is not who you thought they were.

  He was not normally one to sulk or to shy away from his responsibilities, but he was hurt and angry in such a way that he had never been before, and it had taken its toll on his mental state. He hoped that a good night’s sleep would help him to return to some semblance of his normal self. When the coach reached the inn, Felix dismounted and then lifted his mother out of the carriage. She moaned in discomfort and Felix frowned in concern. He placed his cheek on her forehead. Fever.

  Carrying her to her room, he laid her down upon the bed. Mrs. Snow brought in the bag of medicinals that Marybeth had left for her and Felix began mixing the herbs just as he had seen her do so many times before. The strong odor from the garlic made his eyes water and he reached up to brush a tear away only to find his cheeks soaked with tears, and not from the garlic.

  She should be here doing this. She is the only one who can save Mother. I do not believe her capable of walking away and abandoning us. This is not her.

  Felix continued with his preparations as swiftly as he could, remembering each ingredient and the quantity of each used. Once he had administered the garlic concoction, then he began making the willow bark tea that Marybeth had always given the Dowager Duchess to control her pain and fever. He was fairly certain that he over honeyed the tea, but his mother did not complain. She took her medicine, patted his hand in gratitude, and then fell back to sleep.

  Taking a seat in the chair next to the bed, Felix watched over his mother. The Dowager Duchess slept fitfully, moaning and tossing as she slept. Felix’s heart went out to her. He longed to take away her suffering and vowed to return to Arkley Forest and shake some sense into Marybeth’s thick head.

  I will not allow her to abandon us thus. It is one thing not to love me. It is another thing entirely to abandon an ailing woman in need. Marybeth simply would not do so. There is something else going on here. There is something greatly amiss.

  A thought occurred to Felix that Lady Cordelia might have had something to do with Marybeth’s strange behavior. He wondered if perhaps they had encountered each other after the ball and exchanged words. Still, he could not imagine even that would cause a healer like Marybeth to abandon a patient. Felix’s anger began to fade, and he began to worry more about what must have happened to cause her to flee.

  He felt ashamed for his prior thoughts of anger and had to fight the urge to mount a horse immediately and go after her in the storm. Instead, he kept busy caring for his mother and planning what he would say when he saw Marybeth again.

  Perhaps an apology would be a good place to start. I am a weak man for doubting her as I have, but it is difficult to see reason when you have a letter such as the one she left in your hand and no other explanation.

  His mother moaned his father’s name in her sleep, causing Felix a moment of alarm. Arthur… Arthur…

  “Mother?” Felix reached out and brushed the hair from her face. A sheen of sweat lay upon her forehead, causing the wispy black tendrils to stick to her skin. Since her illness, tiny strands of silver had begun to weave their way through her ebony locks. Felix sighed and shook his head. He wished his father was there with them. He had always known what to do about any given situation and though he had prepared Felix well for many things in life, there was no way to prepare for what was happening to them now.

  Mother’s fever has returned. We cannot do this without Marybeth. Felix left the room to request more water for tea. He was not sure how much he was allowed to give her on top of what he had already administered, but it was clear that the first dose was not working, or at the very least not well enough.

  Did I mix it wrong? Felix found himself doubting everything about the care he was providing his mother. His normally sure manner was slipping under the tumultuous storm of uncertainty within brought on by Marybeth’s abandonment and his mother’s failing health. He knew that had it not been for Marybeth, his mother would have most likely died by now. Shaking his head, Felix squared his shoulders and determined to fight.

  I will not allow Mother to die, no matter what it takes.

  Chapter 27

  Marybeth awoke to the sound of rustling footsteps within her croft. She opened her eyes and listened quietly in hopes that she had been mistaken. She desperately wished that the events of the last days had been naught but a dream. The footsteps came again, leaving no doubt that there was indeed an intruder. Marybeth scrambled from her bed and tiptoed over to the door that separated her room from the rest of the croft. She peeked through a crack in the wood to find a dark figure moving about.

  Frightened, she was not quite sure what to do. On the one hand, she could confront the intruder and demand that they reveal their intentions. On the other hand, she very much wished to become as invisible as the air around her. The figure dug through Marybeth’s possessions, searching for something, for what she knew naught. The intruder moved toward the bedroom door silhouetted by the firelight, his form clearly masculine.

  Marybeth looked about her for a place to hide and hurriedly scrambled under the bed. The door creaked open and two muddy boots appeared in front of her. She attempted to quiet her breathing so as not to give her position away. Her heart raced within her chest and she felt dizzy with fright. Thoughts of what had happened to her mother flew through her mind. Her palms sweat. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood up as a shiver passed down her spine.

  The man moved around the room, but Marybeth was unable to see anything above the ankle of his boots. Her books and clothing fell to the floor in disarray. Whatever he was looking for, he cared not for the condition in which he left her croft when he was done. The man must have run out of things to toss about because all went still.

  She held her breath in anticipation of seeing his face appear beside hers upon the floor. What shall I do? What shall I do? she fretted silently. Please do not look under the bed. She prayed, shivering in fear with naught but her scattered belongings between herself and the faceless intruder. She was more afraid now than she had ever been with the ghostly figure at Arkley Hall. At least at Arkley she had not been alone. Here she could die, and it would be weeks before anyone discovered her body.

  Moments passed as Marybeth’s lungs began to burn from holding in her breath, then the boots moved away from her. The man walked out of her bedroom and through the croft’s front door. Hoofbeats heralded the man’s departure. Marybeth let out her breath in a rush of relief, as tears poured down her cheeks. Rising from beneath the bed she walked to the door and closed it, barring it from the inside. She had been so tired and overwhelmed by heartbreak that she had forgotten to bar the door.

  How could I have been so foolish!? I could have been killed because of my own stupidity!

  Marybeth put some water on to heat to make herself a cup of soothing tea. Her mind raced with all of the possible reasons the intruder could have had
for ransacking her home. She searched the croft to see if anything had been taken, picking up her discarded belongings as she went. She found nothing to be missing.

  It was not a robbery then, she thought to herself as she picked up what little bit of money and jewelry her grandmother had left her from the floor, where it had been slung into a corner. The deliberate nature of the man’s search, the way in which he had gone through all of her chests and drawers without taking anything, made it clear he was searching for something specific and had not found it.

  What was he looking for? Who was he? Was he in league with the intruder at Arkley Hall? Or Lord Enfield? It cannot be the Earl of Bredon because I left him in Bath and did exactly as he instructed. He would have no cause to be here nor would he have had time to send word to anyone about me. Or would he? Her mind swirled with the possibilities. A random stranger perhaps? She shook her head at the unlikely nature of her last thought.