A Duke Under Her Spell: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  The man had seemed to be quite familiar with her home the way he had strutted through the croft without hesitation or misstep. It was as if he had expected her to be gone, as if he had known she should not have been in residence.

  Lord Enfield would have had to have been watching me or had someone watching me for years to have known everything he knew about me and my family. Perhaps it was he or one of his servants or one of my brothers?

  The thought of her own blood doing such a thing chilled her to her bones. He is not above rape. Theft would be a small matter to the likes of him, but what could he have possibly wanted? Marybeth looked down at the ring on her finger and took it off. She fought the urge to sling it into the fire, but instead laid it on the table. If it is the ring he wants, he can have it, but if it were would he not have taken more care to search my jewelry instead of tossing it across the room in such a fashion? Marybeth picked the ring back up and studied it.

  The ring was of no consequence in form and worth. There was nothing extraordinary about it. A token of gratitude from a brother to his sister. That was truly the beginning and end of its value. Marybeth concluded that it was highly unlikely to have been a search for the tiny gem. I own naught else of value to anyone. I cannot fathom the man’s nefarious ends. What possible motive could he have had to violate the sanctity of my home? Marybeth’s heart flared with anger as she placed the ring back on her finger.

  Pounding her fist against the table’s hard wooden surface, Marybeth vowed that should the man return she would get her answers. Next time I shall be prepared. Next time he shall answer to me, even if at my knife point.

  * * *

  Felix roused himself from slumber at the sound of his mother’s voice calling his name. Her fever had broken in the night and they had both finally been able to get some rest. Now it was morning and time to move on toward home. Light filtered in through the curtains, falling in stripes of warmth across his face as he sat sleeping in the chair beside his mother’s bed. Opening his eyes at her call, he found that the maid had brought food to break the fast before they set out on the remainder of their journey.

  “How are you feeling, Mother?” he asked, reaching out to touch her forehead to ensure that the fever had not returned.

  “Weak and tired, but better in other regards,” she answered honestly, her wan smile telling him of the misery she hid beneath.

  “We will be home soon,” he promised, rising to kiss her cheek. He walked over to the breakfast tray and taking the hot water provided he mixed her more of the tea she had drank in the night. “Here, drink this to be sure that your fever remains at bay. It would not do for you to suffer more than is necessary.”

  “Thank you, my son. Without you, I would good and truly lost.”

  “Without Miss Wright, I fear we might be just that.”

  “As do I,” the Dowager Duchess admitted, a sadness in her eyes. “You and Mrs. Snow try your very best…” she began.

  “But it is not with the same skill or healing touch that is solely possessed of our much-cherished healer.”

  “Nay, I fear it is not.”

  Felix smiled sadly at his mother. “I swear to do all within my power to bring her back, Mother. The moment we arrive at Arkley Hall, I will set out for her forest croft and bring her back to you.”

  “We cannot force the girl against her will.”

  “Nay, but I can make her to see reason.”

  “I sincerely hope so, my dear, for all of our sakes.”

  After breakfast, Felix carried his mother back out to the waiting carriage and climbing in next to her set out for home. Their time in Bath had not gone as he had hoped or planned, and he was anxious to seek out answers to the many questions that plagued his mind and heart. Chief of these being to ascertain the real reason why Marybeth had left them thus.

  They rode all day and arrived back at Arkley Hall as dusk fell across the land. Felix carried his mother inside and up the stairs to her bedchamber. “Please do not leave whilst it is dark. Wait until the morn to ascertain what has become of our dear Miss Wright. There is no moon at present, and I do not wish to see you come to harm in the pitch black of the night,” the Dowager Duchess requested.

  “I cannot wait, Mother. I must know what has transpired to cause her to leave us thus. After the initial shock faded, along with the anger that came with it, I realized that there is no possible scenario in which Miss Wright would have done so without serious harm or collusion. Something has happened other than our argument at the ball and I plan to find it out. I will be leaving immediately for the croft.”

  “I care for the girl as well, Felix, but I cannot lose you. A moonless night is no safe time for travel, as you well know. Your father and I taught you better than to be foolhardy with your own life. It is most likely as she says in the letter and naught more.”

  “I must seek her out, foolhardy or nay.”

  The Dowager Duchess shook her head in dismay, but there was nothing she could do to stop him. “Please return to me safe, with both life and limb intact.”

  “I will do my utmost; of that you can be certain.” He kissed his mother farewell and left her in the capable hands of the Arkley Hall household staff.

  The butler, Mr. Wheatly, met him in the hall. “How may I be of service, Your Grace? You have returned to us much sooner than expected. Was something amiss in Bath? I see that Miss Wright has not returned with you. Is she unwell? Has something become her?” he asked in concern.

  “She has left us, Mr. Wheatly, with nary a suitable explanation. I am off to ascertain her whereabouts and to bring her back safely here to Arkley Hall where she belongs. How is Oliver Singer? Is he improved?”

  “Slowly, but surely, Your Grace. He has been moved to his own bed. Oliver is a strong lad. In time I am quite certain that he will return to his former self.” The butler’s brow wrinkled in question. “If I may say so, Your Grace, it seems quite unlike Miss Wright to leave a patient thus. I cannot imagine she would willingly leave the Dowager Duchess in such a state.”

  “Yes, I have thought much the same myself, Mr. Wheatly. I assume that you have not seen her here?”

  “Nay, she has not returned to Arkley Hall, Your Grace. I cannot imagine her leaving Oliver without looking in upon him, but she has not done so to my knowledge.”

  “Let us go and ask him.” Felix and Mr. Wheatly walked together to Oliver’s room in the servants’ quarters. They found the wounded groom being tended to hand and foot by the young kitchen maid, Betty. The girl blushed and curtsied upon seeing the Duke. She had been startled by his presence when he had entered.

  “Your Grace,” she murmured lowering her eyes to the floor.

  “Your Grace,” Oliver greeted, tugging on his forelock in replacement of a bow. “What can I do to be of service?”

  “Naught but rest, Oliver. I simply came to speak with you about Miss Wright.”

  Oliver looked past him in the doorway to search for his friend. “Marybeth? Where is she? Is she well?” His face crease in concern as he studied the look on Felix’s face. Felix wondered if the misery he felt was as evident on the outside as it was so keenly felt on the inside.

  “She has left us,” Felix answered handing Oliver the note that Marybeth had left him.

  Oliver scanned the page, then looked up at Felix. “I do not know what has transpired between you, but I know Marybeth. She would not leave the Dowager Duchess before having completed her treatment. She made an agreement with you and she never breaks her agreements. Once she has given word to do a thing, she does it and naught but God himself could keep her from it. I fear something sinister lies behind the creation of this letter.”

  “As I too suspect,” Felix agreed, frowning.

  “She would also not have left me without stopping to say goodbye and to look in on my recovery.”

  “I am going out to the croft now to seek answers.”

  “I will go with you,” Oliver stated attempting to stand up from the bed but fell b
ack down, too wobbly to maintain an upright position.

  “You are still healing from the attack. You must lie still and allow your body to heal. I will report back to you anything I might learn upon my return home.”

  “I will anxiously await your news,” Oliver answered, allowing Betty and Mr. Wheatly to aid him in getting situated back beneath the covers.

  Felix nodded and left the room. It was disconcerting to know that Marybeth had not stopped to look in on Oliver. Such a lack of action told him that something was very wrong. His mind whirled with all of the possibilities. He thought of everything from Lady Cordelia’s actions to the possible involvement of Lord Enfield. Walking out to the stables, he had his horse saddled, and then rode out for the croft.

  He rode into the forest with only the dim light of the stars to guide his way. As he crossed over into the tree line, the path became nearly indiscernible. He had always been blessed with excellent night vision, but even he struggled on a moonless night such as the one he rode through now.

  A short distance into the woods Felix stopped to allow his eyes to adjust. As he sat something hit him from behind. A sharp pain splintered through his skull as he lost consciousness and fell from his horse to the ground. The last thing he remembered seeing were the soles of a mud-covered boot coming down to stomp on his face.

  Chapter 28

  Marybeth stayed awake the remainder of the night. The intruder’s presence had been seared into her mind and she had a hard time in letting go of her fear. She was alone and she felt every agonizing moment of it. She spent all the next day cleaning the croft from top to bottom in an attempt to erase any and all memory of the invasion into her much beloved home. However, no matter how much she scrubbed it still felt tainted, just as the forest had felt after she had learned the truth of her mother.

  Her thoughts turned to the Dowager Duchess and Oliver. She hoped that they were safe and comfortable. Guilt for leaving them as she had overwhelmed her, but she had had no choice. She would not risk the Duke’s life. The Earl of Bredon had been quite specific in instructions.

  Felix will most likely have announced his engagement to the lovely Lady Cordelia by now. A cruel choice to be sure. He deserves better than such a fate.

  Shaking her head to clear it of such agonizing thoughts, Marybeth returned to her cleaning efforts. By the time she was done, she doubted that the croft had ever been so clean. In her attempts to scrub away the man’s negative presence and her own fear with it, she had nearly worn grooves in the furniture and flooring. That night, Marybeth made sure to bar the door and went to bed with her sheathed knife under her pillow. She was not about to be caught unawares for a second time.

  The next morning, she was awakened to a beating sound on her door. Marybeth groggily made her way to the door, fear quickening her heartbeat and clearing the fog from her brain. “Marybeth!” Alexander’s voice called from the other side of the door. “Marybeth!”

  “What do you want?” Marybeth called through the thick wood of the door.

  “It is Stephen! He has taken a turn for the worse and you are needed at Enfield to save his life. Without your aid he will surely die!”

  Marybeth removed the bar from the door and opened it to find the worried face of her older brother on the other side. “Has the wound become inflamed? Has he a fever?”

  “Yes,” Alexander answered, his eyes fervent as he took her hand in his. “I know that you have cause to hate our father, but I beg of you, please save our brother. Stephen has never harmed anyone. It is not within his nature to be cruel. He may be our father’s son and heir, but he does not have one jot of our father’s nature within him. Please, Marybeth.”

  Marybeth stood frozen in indecision for a brief moment, her fear overpowering her healer’s heart, but in the end, she was unable to resist the need to help. She could no more have left her brother to die than she could have Oliver. Helping people was so engrained a part of her being, that she could not deny its pull had her very life depended upon it, and where Lord Enfield was concerned it very well might.

  Packing her supplies, Marybeth followed Alexander out to his horse and allowed him to lift her up into the saddle behind him. Marybeth wrapped her arms around his middle so as not to fall off. Her medicinal bag of herbs was slung over her shoulder and beat against her back with every step of the horse. She hoped that Lord Enfield would not be present upon her arrival to his home, but she highly doubted that she would be so fortunate.

  Upon their arrival at Enfield, Alexander leapt from the back of his horse, throwing the reins to a waiting groomsman and lifted Marybeth from the saddle. “Stephen is this way. Follow me,” Alexander instructed, taking her hand in his and leading her into the house.

  The house was magnificent, combining the old and new together into a masterpiece of color and texture. Armor lined the walls of the entrance hall. The stairs were covered in portraits of long dead lords and their ladies. Marybeth shivered at a particularly haunting portrait of a man with coal black eyes that peered down at her with hatred gleaming in their depths. If the artist had captured the man’s true nature, Marybeth found herself to be quite relieved that he was dead.

  Alexander led Marybeth down a long corridor and opened the door at the farthest end. “Stephen,” Alexander greeted, releasing Marybeth’s hand. “I have brought our sister, the healer. She will see you to rights.”

  “I will do my best,” Marybeth promised coming around to examine Stephen. It was clear from a single glance that he was burning with fever. Sweat dripped from his brow as he moaned in discomfort. His eyes were glazed over, and he was barely coherent. “Why did you not send for me sooner?” she asked Alexander.

  “When we discovered your origins, we did not wish to cause you anymore harm or discomfort than you had already endure at the hands of our family. We are not as our father was. We were blessed to have a loving mother to show us the true ways of a gentleman,” Alexander explained. “When it became clear that Stephen was growing worse, I came looking for you at Arkley Hall, but was told that you had gone to Bath.”

  “How did you know that I had returned?” Marybeth asked suspiciously.

  “I did not know. I had come to your croft in hopes of finding something to aid Stephen, herbs and such.”

  “Were you in my croft the night before last?”

  “Nay, I was here. Why do you ask?”

  “Someone broke into my home and ransacked it looking for something. I know not who.”

  “That is most disconcerting. Were you harmed?”

  “Nay, I hid and escaped notice.”

  Alexander nodded. “I am glad to hear it but am concerned for your future safety. Perhaps…” he began but was cut off by Marybeth’s refusal of aid.

  “I do not wish for anything from anyone,” she stated clearly so as not to have left it open to interpretation, then turned to helping Stephen. “Now let us see what can be done for you,” she stated with a smile of reassurance for her patient. No matter what was going on inside of her own mind she did her very best to provide those she cared for with a smile and a gentle touch. Turning to Alexander she requested the necessary supplies that she would need, including hot water. “Is Lord Enfield in?”

  “Nay, he is not. Do you need him?”

  “Most certainly not! I simply wished to know for my own peace of mind.”

  “That is understandable,” Alexander conceded, he bowed ever so slightly as if in apology, then went to order the servants to bring the proper supplies for Stephen’s care. He returned and stood over Marybeth watching her examine Stephen’s wounds. “It looks bad,” he murmured, concern for his brother tinging his voice.

  “Indeed, it does,” Marybeth agreed quietly. “Have you been doing as I instructed?”

  “Of course,” Alexander nodded his head in affirmation. “We would not dare to do otherwise and risk our brother.” Alexander’s love for Stephen was clear in his tone. The fear in his eyes at the thought of losing his brother was genuine.

/>   He is not at all as his father is… as our father is, she corrected herself, disgusted at the thought of Lord Enfield’s blood flowing through her own veins.

  A shuffle at the doorway notified them that the servants had brought her requested items. Marybeth set to work attempting to save Stephen’s life, blocking out all else around her in order to overcome her own fear and insecurities about being in her father’s house. When she had finally finished with cleansing the wound, she looked up to find all of the brothers standing at the foot of the bed watching her.

  “Will he live?” one of them asked, his eyes boring into hers searching for answers.

  “I will do my best,” she promised, “but only time and care will reveal whether he lives. It is good that he has all of you to look after him.” Alexander extended her the cup of willow bark tea that he had made while she worked on cleansing Stephen’s wounds. She pressed it to Stephen’s lips and attempted to get as much of it into him as was possible given his fevered state. He fought her in his delirium and Alexander moved around to hold him steady while she poured the tea down Stephen’s throat.