A Duke Under Her Spell: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  Marybeth stayed by Stephen’s side all day and all night waiting for the fever to break. She did everything within her power to save him, but alas in the end it was not enough. In the wee small hours before the dawn, Stephen slipped away, leaving her to mourn the brother she had never been allowed to know. He died with his brothers ringing the bed, each having said goodbye the best they could given his unconscious state.

  Alexander stepped forward, tears in his eyes and laid an arm around Marybeth’s shoulders, pulling her into a teary embrace. Marybeth cried out all of her fear and loss into her brother’s shirtfront. “You fought well and for that I thank you.”

  “I only wish it had been enough,” she whispered, swiping at the tears on her cheeks.

  “As do we all, but ye are a healer, not God. Whether a man lives, or dies is not always within your power to give.”

  “’Tis true, as much as I regret it. I should go,” Marybeth whispered pushing herself away from his comforting arms. His tender brotherly affection had been a pleasant surprise for her.

  “That is probably best, before Father returns. He is not an understanding man and he will not take losing his heir well.”

  “Now you are the heir of Enfield.”

  Alexander nodded sadly. “And a more reluctant heir there never was,” he admitted. Marybeth squeezed his arm in sympathy and then set to gathering her supplies. She did not wish to be present when Lord Enfield returned. “Shall I escort you home?” Alexander offered. “I do not care for the notion of what you told me transpired in your croft. A woman should not live alone in the forest without protection. Will you not be returning to Arkley Hall?”

  “No, I shall not be returning there. As much as it frightens me, I must return to life as it once was. I will find my own way home. You should be here with your family.”

  “Our family,” Alexander reminded gently.

  One of the other brothers stepped forward. Marybeth thought his name was Thomas. He pulled a pistol from the side table drawer and handed it Marybeth. “It was Stephen’s. He would want you to have it.”

  Alexander nodded in agreement and pulled out a small bag with required supplies to fire it. “Should your intruder resurface, do not hesitate to use it.”

  “Should you need do so come and find one of us. We will help you to properly dispose of the body,” Thomas advised.

  “Should I not simply alert the magistrate?” Marybeth asked in surprise.

  “No, dear sister, Thomas is right. You should not go to the magistrate. As you are aware, it could be one of our own father’s men, and that would not go well for you should he find out,” Alexander warned.

  “How is one to go on like this?” Marybeth asked, not knowing where to turn or who to trust after everything that had happened.

  “We will keep Father from you as best we can. When he has departed this world and I am Lord of Enfield, I want you to know that there will always be a place for you here with us. You are our sister, no matter the means of your birth. Illegitimate or nay, in our eyes you are a Lady of Enfield and shall be treated as such if we have any say in the matter at all. Should you choose to marry, we will see that you are able to make an advantageous match.”

  “Nay, I shall never wed,” Marybeth shook her head. She moved forward and placed a kiss on each of her brothers’ cheeks, kissed Stephen’s now cool forehead, and then left Enfield and all of its entanglements behind. She prayed that Lord Enfield would not come after her seeking vengeance for her inability to save his son and heir. She did not believe for one moment that being his daughter would save her from his wrath.

  Marybeth walked through the forest in the dawn’s early light until she was certain that she had left the Enfield Estate behind her. Once back onto Arkley soil she sat down on a fallen log and cried. She took the pistol Thomas had given her out of her bag and stared down at it. She was amazed at the love and acceptance they had shown her. She was greatly relieved that they were nothing like their father.

  She imagined holding the pistol to Lord Enfield’s head and pulling the trigger, but the thought of shedding another’s blood chilled her to the bone. Shivering she accidently dropped the pistol on the ground. Bending over she picked it up and dusted the soil from its barrel.

  As she sat back up a large hand came around and grasped her mouth pulling her head back against the muscled wall of a man’s chest. Marybeth struggled, attempting to bring the pistol up and aim it behind her. The man wrenched the gun from her hands and cracked her on the back of the head with it. “No!” She cried out in protest as the world went black.

  Chapter 29

  Felix returned to consciousness with a splitting pain coursing through his skull. He groaned, reaching up to assess the damage that had been done to his head. He opened his eyes and the world blurred around him. It was dark and the ground beneath him was covered in large flat stones. His hand came away covered in blood. He was not sure of the extent of the damage and prayed that his skull had not been fractured.

  Attempting to sit up, the world spun around him and he clenched his fists against the stone as he rocked up onto his knees. Taking a moment to allow his head to settle, he tried again and managed to stagger to his feet. He stumbled forward to the wall and peered through the doorway. Blackleigh Castle… Why am I here? Who has done this? What do they want? Questions tumbled through his mind as swiftly as water rolling down a hill.

  He steeled himself for whatever violence might ensue next. His captors would not get the better of him a second time. Felix grabbed a rock from a broken piece of wall and made his way into the next room. He wondered how long he had lain unconscious and whether enough time had passed for any of his men to begin looking for him. He crossed the room to the next and peered around the opposite doorway. There were no other means of escape, but to continue on.

  Felix entered the room and crossed it unhindered. He began to wonder whether anyone had been left to guard him at all or if it had all been a matter of mischief. He had not been robbed as his pocket watch was still in his vest pocket. He had not been tied up so as to keep him from moving about freely. He found the entire ordeal to be perplexing.

  The next room Felix came to held his captors. From the doorway he could see several ways of exiting the castle but could not reach any of them without drawing notice. It was within this very room that the hidden tunnel had come out from Arkley Hall. He had hoped to take it back home. Felix studied the backs of the men standing around the hole in the floor discussing something quietly.

  Perhaps I can make it while their backs are turned? Felix took a step forward in hopes of skimming along the walls unnoticed but was brought up short by the sound of a cocking pistol.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Your Grace,” a sinister voice greeted from behind him. “Put the rock down or die.”

  Felix contemplated his options but decided to do as instructed. He turned to face his attacker. “Why am I not surprised that it is you? What is it that you want?”

  “Why, the treasure of course.”

  “There is no treasure. ‘Tis naught but folly to think otherwise.”

  “I do not believe you. My family has searched for the treasure for centuries, ever since that witch took it from us, and it falls to me to find it now. It is a matter of honor and you are going to help me find it.”

  “How does one find a treasure that does not exist?” Felix staggered back as he was struck across the face.

  “You will aid me in my quest, or you will die by my hand, as will the little witch you are so fond of.”

  Felix’s heart raced in his chest. “You will not touch Marybeth.”

  “That, Your Grace, is up to you.”

  * * *

  Marybeth awoke, her head bobbing against the muscled back of a very large man. He carried her through the forest as if she weighed nothing at all. His strides were smooth and regular in spite of the bulk he carried flung over his shoulder. Marybeth began kicking and wriggling the moment she regained her senses. “
Put me down this instant!” she demanded loudly.

  The man did not answer but kept walking. Marybeth continued to struggle and fight her captor for all she was worth, but he took no note of her efforts. She was little more than a flea on his back. She searched about his person for the pistol her brother had given her but came up empty. Where did he put it? Marybeth lay over his shoulder panting in fear and exhaustion.

  “Put me down!” As soon as she was able to catch her breath she began screaming at the top of her lungs for help. She knew out in the forest it was unlikely that anyone would hear her and come to her rescue, but she also knew that she had to try. “Help me! Help me please!” Her screams echoed off of the trees, but no one came rushing to her aid.

  Panting frantically for breath, as her assailant’s shoulder dug into her middle and her head beat against his back, Marybeth felt the darkness begin overtaking her once more. As the forest faded from view behind a curtain of black haze Marybeth’s last thought was of the mother she had never had a chance to know.

  I will see you soon, Mother.

  * * *

  Oliver Singer sat in his bed and worried about the extended absence of the Duke and Marybeth. “They have been gone much longer than His Grace anticipated. Did he not say that he planned to bring her straight back to Arkley Hall?” he asked of Mr. Wheatly.

  “Yes, His Grace did say that he intended to return with Miss Wright forthwith,” the butler affirmed. “I, too, have reservations about the amount of time that has passed. I believe it might behoove us to send a man into the forest to make some inquiries.”

  “I will go,” Oliver volunteered attempting to rise from his bed.

  “Oliver you cannot!” Betty rushed forward to ease him back onto his pillows.

  “What I cannot do is stand by while the Duke and Marybeth are missing,” Oliver argued, refusing to lay back again. “I would never forgive myself if something nefarious befell them and I was not there to render them aid.”

  “I feel much the same way, my boy,” Mr. Wheatly admitted. He was fretting, pacing the floor while anxiously ringing his hands.

  “Neither one of you are in any fit state to be galloping about the forest,” Betty chastised, her hands on her hips. “I will not allow it.”

  “Someone must go. If not Oliver and I, then who?” Mr. Wheatly asked in frustration. “Who else could be trusted explicitly with their safety and be discreet if it is not danger but romantic inclinations that keeps them hence.”

  Oliver grinned at the butler’s words and comical expression as he spoke. “The latter being the preferable condition in which to find them.”

  “Yes, but most indelicate,” Mr. Wheatly admonished.

  Oliver attempted to stand once more to Betty’s dismay. This time he managed to stay upright while hanging on to the wall. “You are quite right, Mr. Wheatly. It would indeed be best if it were we and not another who found them, if such were the case. Perhaps we could employ the use of the small wheeled chariot that His Grace created for Her Grace when she felt strong enough to join him in riding?”

  “Ah, yes! Perfect! I will go and speak with Her Grace about its use immediately.” Mr. Wheatly scrambled from the room in order to request permission.

  “You should not be sojourning forth in your condition,” Betty argued. “I am sure that the Duke and Marybeth are quite well.”

  “The Duke would have returned by now. Of that I have no doubt. Something has gone amiss and I cannot sit by and wait for answers. I must go and that is the end of it.”

  Betty crossed her arms in a huff at his sharp tone and sat down in a chair in the corner. Oliver sighed and sat back down on the bed motioning for her to join him. Betty stood up and moved over to sit next to him. Oliver took her hand in his and kissed the back of it tenderly. Betty’s face softened and she interlaced her fingers with his.

  “I am sorry,” he murmured wrapping his arm around her shoulder so that she might lay her head upon his chest. “I did not mean to be harsh with you, but I have made up my mind. These are two of the most important people in my life and I am not going to leave their safety to chance.”

  “I understand, but you are the most important person to me, and it is only your safety that I am concerned with.”

  Oliver smiled at her admittance and squeezed her shoulders affectionately. “I am glad to hear it,” he murmured bending his head to kiss her.

  The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted the tender moment. Oliver looked up to find Mr. Wheatly standing in the doorway averting his eyes to the ceiling. Oliver chuckled. “Yes, Mr. Wheatly?”

  “The Dowager Duchess has given her consent for the use of her horse drawn wheeled chair.”

  “Excellent,” Oliver attempted to stand back up with the aid of both Mr. Wheatly and Betty.

  “I do not see how you can be of aid to anyone in the state that you are in,” Betty grumbled.

  “I simply need to get my bearings and then all will be well,” Oliver insisted.

  “Even so, I shall be going with you,” Mr. Wheatly replied.

  “I will be glad of the company,” Oliver grunted as he attempted to walk across the room of his own accord without aid from either of them.

  Mr. Wheatly offered a steadying hand to him as Oliver washed his body, then changed his clothes. It felt good to wash away the remains of his bedridden state and throw off the confining shackles of his bedroom. The pair of them made their way to the servants’ back entrance where a groomsman awaited them with a horse. Oliver crawled into the contraption that the Duke had made for his mother, while Mr. Wheatly climbed onto the seat behind him. Each man was armed with one of the Duke’s pistols.

  “I feel as an invalid,” Oliver grumbled, frowning.

  “You are an invalid,” Mr. Wheatly reminded him as he clucked to the horse and they took off toward the forest.

  As they crossed over into the tree line, Oliver kept a wary eye out along the way for any sign of the Duke or Marybeth. He could not shake the feeling that something terrible had happened to them. His head pounded, blurring his vision and he blinked repeatedly in an effort to clear it. No amount of pain was going to keep him from finding them.

  Scanning the forest floor, he noted the number of hoof prints in the dirt. The flash of metal caught his attention and he directed Mr. Wheatly over to the place in question. Climbing down, the butler picked up the shiny object and handed it to Oliver. “It appears to be the button to a gentleman’s jacket,” Mr. Wheatly observed. “I do not believe it to be the Duke’s, however, as it is not his style.”

  “Indeed,” Oliver agreed, nodding his head. He looked around to see if there were any other signs of the Duke but found none. “Let us proceed to the croft.”

  Agreeing, Mr. Wheatly climbed back up and they set off once more. The butler maneuvered the contraption through the trees with relative ease, however the ride jostled Oliver around quite a bit. He gritted his teeth and did his best to hold his head steady as they bounced along the forest floor. The closer they drew to the croft, the more his worry grew. He could not think of any reason other than the threat of life that would make Marybeth abandon his and the Dowager Duchess’s care.

  When they reached Marybeth’s croft, they both climbed out of the horse drawn contraption. Not seeing the Duke’s horse anywhere, they entered through the front door. The croft had been freshly cleaned from top to bottom. There was not a fire in the hearth, but someone had used it recently. Oliver moved toward the bedroom door and knocked. He did not wish to walk in on an indelicate situation.

  “Marybeth!” he called out through the closed door, but there was no reply. “Marybeth, I am coming in,” he warned easing the door open.

  Oliver entered the bedroom only to find it empty. He opened her wardrobe and found all of her clothing, save one dress, still inside. So she did return from Bath. Why did she not come to Arkley Hall? His head swayed and he grasped the edge of the armoire to steady himself.

  “Did you find anything?” M
r. Wheatly enquired, entering the bedroom behind him.

  “She has been here recently, but not within the last two to three days. Her medicinal bag is gone,” he answered indicating the peg on the wall where it normally hung when not in use, “but she did not take any of her clothes other than the dress on her back.”

  “Could she have been summoned to aid someone?” Mr. Wheatly suggested.

  “It would have to have been severe for her to abandon both her croft and Arkley Hall over for so long.”

  “Lord Enfield’s second son, Alexander, came by the estate looking for Marybeth while she was away in Bath. I turned him away. Do you think perhaps she has gone to Enfield?” Mr. Wheatly offered.