Saving The Lord’s Title (The Regency Renegades - Beauty and Titles) (A Regency Romance Story)

by Jasmine Ashford

  “You didn't hear what I said?”

  “I--” he brushed his hair out his eyes.

  “Aaron, what's happening?” Harold demanded.

  Aaron sighed, touching his ear.

  “Just that last knock on the head. The world has been quieter ever since.”

  “Your hearing has been damaged?” Harold asked. He knew that knocks on the head could affect all sorts of things, it wasn't uncommon. However, if Aaron's hearing was damaged, on top of the fact that the panel would know of his affliction by tomorrow, there was no future left for him in the Navy.

  “Maybe it will come back,” Aaron replied. “It's not so bad.”

  “Did you tell the doctor?”

  “What's the point?” Aaron asked. “They think I'm dying, that this fever will kill me before tonight, and what difference does it make?”

  Harold sighed.

  “What a mess we've gotten ourselves into.”

  “What are they asking you, at court?” Aaron asked. Harold gulped.

  “They...are....they know, that you had a fit, or they will. Wesley and I didn't collaborate stories too well, it seems. The hand print on the captain's chest...could have been caused by your hands when you flailed. They will see no blame in them.”

  Aaron's eyes narrowed.

  “Except they won't believe that for an instant,” Aaron replied. “I'm happy to take the blame, Harold, but they will see right through that.”

  “Aaron,” Harold exclaimed. “I'm not trying to have you take the blame. I'm simply saying...it's a plausible explanation.”

  “But not the truth.”

  “No,” Harold sighed. “Not quite. But if it comes to it...”

  “If they ask you,” Aaron said. “Did you push Captain Willcock into the hold?”

  Harold set his jaw.

  “Are you asking me that now?”

  “I am not,” Aaron replied, his jaw set.

  “Then I will answer it when the time comes,” Harold said. “I will not lie to the panel out and out.”

  “And throw away a promising career?” Aaron asked. “Your marriage to my sister? Your life?”

  “You don't know that it will come to that,” Harold replied.

  “Where's Wesley?” Aaron tried to change the subject. “How is Wesley?”

  “Shaken,” Harold sat back a bit. “He's got a hero complex about him that he's going to rush in and be a martyr. I won't let that happen, of course.”

  “No, nor will I,” Aaron replied, his blue eyes dark today. “Is Lola at the theater?”

  “She is,” Harold answered. “He's gone to see her, and then we're going back to the house, to await instruction. If they decide not to recall us, we will appear at nine am tomorrow”

  “Nine in the morning,” Aaron repeated. “Of course.”

  “But---” Harold didn't want him to worry. Even with the explanation from Aaron, the nurse's reaction worried him. “Don't concern yourself with it. You are not on trial, because you are ill and meant to recover. You and I will walk out of here, as brothers, in less than a week.”

  “We were always brothers,” Aaron smiled. “From the moment we met. Your marriage to my sister is just a formality. But you will take care of her, won't you?”

  “Of course I will,” Harold said. “So will you. Don't speak of such things.”

  “Mmm,” Aaron said. “I'm rather tired, Harold, if you don't mind.”

  “Of course,” Harold replied, although this confused him. In the twenty years he had known Aaron, he had never known him to want to be alone. It was a trait he was known for, and it used to annoy Harold in the beginning. Eventually, he got used to being just as comfortable alone as with Aaron by his side. The fact that his friend now wanted to be alone, was odd.

  Harold didn't press it, though, standing to leave.

  “I'll see you tomorrow, perhaps before I am recalled.”

  “Yes,” Aaron said. “When you go home...if you could get a message to Lola, to visit before the morning?”

  “I can,” Harold said. “Any particular message?”

  “She's the only one who hasn't come yet,” Aaron replied. “Make her feel guilty about it.”

  “Aaron,” Harold rolled his eyes, but promised to obey his wishes. Even in this grim moment, his best friend could always make him smile.

  He ended up stopping at the theater on his way home, leaving a message at the box office for Lola to visit. He didn't want to interrupt her if she was still working, or if she was with Wesley. Besides, he was eager to get home to Annabelle.

  By the time the great mansion came into sight, he felt the day hit him like a tidal wave.

  Was this how twenty years of service was going to end?

  Where did one draw the line when it came to death? Yes, he had killed one man. However, he had saved dozens more in that act. The captain would have killed them all in the end, he told himself.

  Except he didn't know that. He didn't even know that the captain was trying to hurt Aaron.

  All he knew was that he made what he thought was the best choice in the moment.

  “You're back,” Annabelle threw her arms around him as soon as he stepped in the door. “I was so worried. The hours were ticking by and I kept imagining worse case scenarios.”

  “Not yet,” Harold reveled in her touch, taking a deep breath. She was his sanctuary. “Not yet.”

  “Do they know?” she asked. “No, of course they don't know. If they knew, you wouldn't be here. I even went down to the navy headquarters an hour ago. I saw some men going in, but you weren't there, they told me.”

  “An hour ago, I was with your brother,” he said. “Who did you see going in?”

  “The doctor, Morin,” she replied. “And Mr. Doren.”

  “W-what?” Harold answered. “For questioning?”

  “I don't know.” she said. “I just nodded to them. Why would they question them? They aren't officers.”

  “No,” Harold closed his eyes. “But I have a feeling I know exactly why they are questioning them.”

  Annabelle felt fear in the pit of her stomach.

  “Are they against you?” she asked. “Of course they are. They are both the captain's---”

  “Annabelle---” he put a finger to her lips. “It doesn't matter tonight. Tonight is ours.”

  “What if it is our last night?” her eyes filled with tears. “What then?”

  “Then,” Harold took a deep breath. “We should make the best of it, don't you think?”

  “I---” Annabelle tried not to cry. She wiped away her tears, taking a deep breath. “Yes, of course we shall.”

  “Excellent,” Harold replied. “Let me get changed, and then we can relax by the fire.”

  “I'll have it stoked,” she said, as they parted ways in the grand hallway.

  Once alone in his room, Harold sat on the bed, going over the possibilities.

  Doren would tell them anything to save his Captain's name. Morin would tell them all about Aaron, in great detail. He would also tell them how the captain yelled about being pushed before he died.

  Annabelle was right; this could be their last night.

  He folded his clothes neatly, changing for dinner, and trying not to let the negative thoughts enter his mind.

  In reality, he was completely distracted; he could barely button his suit jacket. His last night in this beautiful place, his last night at dinner.

  His last sunset and sunrise, possibly.

  He would marry Annabelle now if it meant not soiling her name and denying her the wedding she wanted.

  There was a little chance out of all of this mess, and he knew it. He had to maintain hope that they would see the captain as the way he was at the end, of out his mind. Harold had saved the ship, which is what a Captain was supposed to do. Surely, they couldn't fault him for that.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE PLAN

  THE PLAN

  “We have to be quick,” Lola said to Wesley. She had spe
nt the afternoon lost in the matinee performance. They hadn't expected her back at work quite so soon, but she was happy to play a minor role, anything to keep her mind off what was happening. Now, she had three hours before she had to report back to the theater, and it seemed there was a lot to do. “We have to go to there, do it, and then I have to visit Aaron before I get back into costume.”

  “It technically should all be possible,” Wesley answered, his hand grasped into hers. “Providing he is available.”

  “Let's hope so,” Lola pushed open the doors to the giant church.

  It had been a quick decision, as soon as she saw his face. Things were grim; the trial was not going well. The two of them needed to make a choice, if they ever wanted a chance at happiness. They had once planned for a grand wedding, perhaps ten years down the line, when they were prepared to retire from their chaotic lifestyles. They would get married in the grandest church in Ireland, he would resume control of his mansion, and she would be Lady Rippon.

  She hadn't expected to be Lady Rippon today, or even this year. She didn't expect Wesley's life to be threatened.

  “Are you sure about this?” He asked, as they went in search of the priest. Lola noted there was an altar boy at the front, so their concern about witnesses was taken care of. “You know that if I...am convicted, your name...”

  “My name,” she shook her head. “I am an actress, Wesley. Shouldn't you be worried about your title?”

  “I am about as concerned about the future of my title as you are about your reputation,” he said. “But---”

  “I have always said that I would love you no matter what the circumstances,” she promised him. “No matter what happens tomorrow, I will love you.”

  “Can I help you?” the priest approached them, confused. He had never seen either of them in this parish before, and they were not dressed like the other strangers who came to the church looking for help.

  “Yes,” Lola said. “We'd like to be married.”

  “Uh---” the priest replied, confused. “Now?”

  “Now would be fine,” Lola answered, smoothly. “Or in ten minutes, if you'd like to finish up.”

  “Can I ask the ---reason?”

  “We've been engaged for far too long,” Wesley answered. “It's time to set that right.”

  “Is there---another reason?” the priest asked, looking between the two of them.

  “You mean am I with child?” Lola asked, shocking him. “No, not that I know of. If you don't mind?”

  “Of—course,” the priest led them to the front. He snapped his fingers for the altar boy, who came over. “Your names.”

  “Wesley, Earl of Rippon,” Wesley spoke up. “And Miss Lola Montclair.”

  “The actress?” the priest said, in shock. “And you are an Earl?”

  “Is there an extra fee for judgment?” Lola asked, sweetly, passing over a cloth bag of coins. Wesley smirked. She was always going to be braver than he was, when it came to speaking. He may come up with the smartest things to say, but she was the one that gave them life.

  It was because of moments like this that he knew he was right to marry her. They were puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly. They made up for each other’s shortcomings, and one ended where the other began. It was perfect.

  “Please join hands,” the priest said, once he had recorded their names. The altar boy stood at his side, and the priest cleared his throat. Wesley was in his navy uniform, which hadn't been cleaned yet. Lola was in comfortable street clothes, not unlike the outfit she had worn when they first met. There was no one else in the church, no one taking away from their moment. This was the way she wanted it all along, she realized.

  “Dearly Beloved---” the priest began, and Lola cleared her throat.

  “Could you just skip to the part where we say our vows?” she asked. The priest looked startled by this.

  “Um--- of course,” he said, turning the page. “Miss Lola Montclair--- Will you have this man to be your husband, to live together with him in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto him as long as you both shall live?”

  “I do,” she said. She had heard these words half a hundred times before, mostly in lines on stage. She had thought she'd be desensitized to them, but they hit her in the heart with a whoosh of love.

  “Earl Wesley Rippon, will you have this woman to be your wife, to live together with her in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto her as long as you both shall live?”

  “I do,” Wesley replied, looking straight into her eyes. He meant it without a shadow of doubt.

  “Do you uh....have rings?” the priest asked.

  “Just his signet ring,” Lola held up her hand, which she already wore it on. “Do we need rings? I'm just going to take it off a million times for the shows anyways. Is it required?”

  “Uh---no,” the priest answered. “Not necessarily.”

  “Excellent,” Lola said. “So...what's the next part?”

  “I ...” the priest was thrown off by her candid speech. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  “Oh, good,” Lola turned to Wesley, who laid a gentle kiss on her lips. Happiness filled her chest as she hugged him tightly. “That's it then. Till death do us part.”

  “Till death do us part,” he replied, knowing it could be tomorrow “Lady Rippon.”

  “I guess I am now,” she said, a wide smile on her face. “Or would you like to be Mr. Montclair?”

  He laughed out loud at that, holding her close.

  “I love you, Lola. Shall we tell the others?”

  “Can you keep the secret for a few hours?” she asked. “I have to see Aaron and then get back to the theater.”

  “I can manage that,” he replied. “I should go back to the Manor...just in case.”

  “I'll see you soon, husband,” she went in for one last kiss before they thanked the priest, and parted ways. It wasn't how she imagined her wedding day to go. Nevertheless, it was perfect, somehow. It wasn't about the biggest amount of pomp and circumstance possible. It was about her, and him, and their hearts.

  The next time they would be in that church was for Annabelle's wedding, which she hoped was very soon. For now, though, that time seemed a very long time away, considering what they had to get through.

  “Hello, I'm here to see Lord Bamber.” she said, at the hospital, with a little curtsy to charm them. “You can tell him the famed Lola Montclair is calling.”

  “Right this way, Miss Montclair,” said the nurse on duty. “You may take as long as you like, but please...he is not very well.”

  “I understand,” said Lola, as she entered the room. She had been prepared to see him recovering, but the sight of him made her gasp.

  He was pale, and drenched in sweat, his eyes closed, and his chest half heaving.

  “Are you going to have a fit?” she asked, alert right away. He didn't answer, and she put a hand to his shoulder. “Aaron?”

  “Wha?” he opened his eyes. “Lola. What a surprise.”

  “Surprise?” she asked him. “You asked me to come here and I made a ruckus coming in.”

  “Of course,” he sat up a bit more.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked “Are you going to have a fit? You look dreadful.”

  “Hopefully,” he took a heaving breath. “It usually breaks all of this. But I think I still have an hour or two.”

  “With such an early warning system, you think the rest of us could have more notice,” she said.

  “Well, I hope to have some time,” he took her hand. “I need your help, my dearest friend.”

  “For what?” Lola's eyes narrowed.

  “Did Wesley tell you what is happening at the trial?” he asked. “If Harold tells the truth, he dies. IF Wesley martyrs himself, the na
vy loses the greatest mind they have ever had. And here I am, with everyone thinking I’m dying.”

  “Are you?”

  “Listen,” he drew her a bit closer. “Listen to what I have to say.”

  For half an hour, she listened. For half an hour, she sat in shock, in horror and then in awe, as he spoke.

  “Are you out of your mind?” she asked, when he was done.

  “Very possibly,” he replied. “But I need you to do this for me. It's the best way.”

  “Who else knows?

  “No one else can know,” he said. “They will give it away. No one else can keep their face as yours is, Lola.”

  “But the pain you will cause...”

  “Lola,” he said. “It will all be worth it.”

  “Aye,” she leaned back. “Fine, I will help you. But you are in my debt.”

  “And what does Miss Lola Montclair want from me?” he teased. She raised an eyebrow.

  “That is Lady Lola Rippon, sir,” she said, and he smiled.

  “Oh, my. When did you achieve this?” he asked.

  “Just now, after the show,” she answered. “It seemed the thing to do, given the circumstances.”

  “Well, congratulations,” he said. “I applaud you. The poor man was getting desperate.”

  “Mmm,” she replied. “This thing of yours...it's going to take a lot of work.”

  “Better get started then,” he said, and she sighed, rising.

  “I will see you in the morning, Mr. Bamber,” she said. “For the last time.”

  “For the last time,” he responded, meeting her eyes. “You have always been a dear friend, Lola. Worthy of the title you have earned.”

  “Why don't you wait until tomorrow before you say that?” she responded, curtsying to him.

  “God speed,” he answered, as she left.

  He watched the door close and then took a giant deep breath, staring at the wall. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

  It was the only way he could imagine things turning out at all well, in this situation. Even if there was initial pain, they would understand. They had to.

  No greater love hath a man than he who laid down his life for a friend, the quote came back to him, as he remembered the years at sea. It was worth it, without a doubt. These wonderful people who surrounded him, they had been nothing but kind to him. So many would have dismissed him for his health, for his sometime inappropriate humor, for his lack of ability to take anything seriously. His friends, his family, they had always stood by his side. Now, it was his turn to stand by theirs.