The Extraordinary Tale of the Rebellious Governess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  Lucretia followed the Duke up the broad staircase, passing servants who bowed or curtseyed to him. James waited for them inside the study, pacing the pleasant, book-lined room with long, impatient strides. As they entered, he stopped and bowed low. “Your Grace.”

  “We got your message,” the Duke said. “Miss Brent, please have a seat. Did something happen in the town, James?”

  Lucretia sat in the chair the Duke indicated with his gesture, but he himself did not sit. Nor did James. The steward nodded, his craggy face tense.

  “Indeed, yes, Your Grace,” he said. “Pray bear with me as I speak of the events in the order in which they occurred.”

  “I saw my sister,” the Duke said, his emerald eyes narrowed. “Whatever happened did not affect her?”

  “Not at all. We entered the town and Her Ladyship desired to get out of the carriage and walk amid the shops, looking at the wares. Thus, we walked for a time, and I, and the footmen, were with her. She was in no danger.”

  “Good.”

  “As I had a prearranged meeting with John Kelley, he watched for me, and found me. I left Her Ladyship with the footmen long enough to hear what he had to say.”

  “And what is that?” His Grace asked.

  “He discovered our Londoner’s name, Isaac Bloom. He is of average height with a pock-marked face, blondish hair, small blue eyes, and is mealy-mouthed. He rides a rangy bay with three white stockings and a narrow blaze.”

  “Now we know what to watch for,” The Duke said, his hands behind his back as he listened to James. “This is good information.”

  “Mr. Kelley has tried to get close to him in taverns, to get him to talk, but the man is wary. He departs almost immediately.”

  “Does Mr. Kelley know where Bloom is staying?”

  “He apparently is not staying in Tewksbury, or in any other village in the area. Most perplexing.”

  “We might need to make more drastic measures to catch him then,” the Duke said, frowning. “We may need Mr. Kelley to knock him on the head and drag him here.”

  “With the rest of the news I must tell Your Grace, then that truly might be our best option.”

  Lucretia felt startled by the quick and fierce glance James shot her, forcing an uneasy feeling to bolt through her. Why would he look at me like that? But she sat silent, waiting for him to finish his tale without interrupting. His Grace, too, caught the glance, and raised his brow questioningly.

  “After my meeting with Mr. Kelley,” James continued, his tone growing harder, “I returned to Her Ladyship, who had not even noticed I left her side for a few moments. We walked a bit more, then I saw Bloom. He was watching us quite intently and stared hard at Her Ladyship.”

  The Duke growled low in his throat, his hands clenched into his fists, and his face dark with rage. “I trust you tried to catch him?” he said, his voice thick.

  “Indeed, I chased after him, Your Grace,” James said. “However, he ran faster than I, and he escaped me. As he fled, something dropped from his pocket. This.”

  From his own pocket, James pulled a piece of paper and handed it to the Duke. His Grace unfolded it, then stared at it. His jaw slackened. Slowly, he turned to stare at Lucretia. Growing more and more uncomfortable under the stares of the two men, her hand went to her throat.

  “Your Grace?” she asked. “What is it?”

  “I suppose you should take a look.”

  Folding it back up, the Duke handed her the paper. With confused glances at the two of them, Lucretia unfolded it and stared down. Her blood grew cold, and her heart all but skipped a beat. Fear etched its way down her spine. Oh, my God.

  It was a drawing of her face.

  Well-drawn, it was quite detailed, and displayed her features with prominent precision. Whoever drew it, knew her face intimately in order to obtain such detail. She glanced up at the two men, confusion adding to her fear. Their expressions were equally hard, grim.

  “Wha—what does this mean? Your Grace?”

  “I fear, Miss Brent, that this means you are also on our assassin’s list of targets. Whoever wants me and my sister dead has now decided to slay you, as well. I feared this might happen, that my enemy would seek your life as well.”

  “But—why?”

  “It appears our assassin’s master has discovered you were responsible for thwarting the attempt to kill Her Ladyship,” James said, his tone cold. “Now he may be out for revenge, or has some other motive. But His Grace is correct, you have become a target.”

  “Should I send you away, Miss Brent?” the Duke asked.

  Lucretia bolted to her feet. “Absolutely not. I will not hide.”

  “Perhaps it might be wise,” James said, pacing again, “to send Lady Henrietta and Miss Brent to your house in London. Until we catch this fellow.”

  “No, please,” Lucretia begged. “Do not send Lady Henrietta and myself from here.”

  The Duke stared hard at her, as though weighing the decision to remove her from harm’s way, or keep her in the house with Henrietta.

  “Your Grace,” Lucretia said, her voice growing more firm. “If we are in London, word might get back to whomever is behind this. We are just as vulnerable in London as we are here at the Breckenridge estate.”

  While James shook his head, the Duke continued to stare at Lucretia. “You may be right, Miss Brent.”

  “Your Grace,” James protested, but the Duke held up his hand, silencing him.

  “I cannot protect them sufficiently if they are in London,” he said. “I would feel better if I could see them as opposed to worrying about what might be happening in the city.”

  “Thank you,” Lucretia said, relieved.

  “Please do not thank me, Miss Brent,” he said heavily. “I may be making a terrible mistake in not sending you both to London. If you were to get hurt or killed—”

  His voice faltered as though some unseen emotion caught at his throat. He shunted his eyes away from her and paced the room again, his hands clasped behind his back. James eyed him curiously, then spoke.

  “The groom, Jack Hopper, spends his nights patrolling the grounds,” he said. “Thus far he has seen nothing.”

  “But that means little,” the Duke said. “Our enemy may be biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike again. My question is, how does our enemy know Miss Brent’s face so well he drew it for this man, Bloom?”

  “As it is unlikely he has been in this house, Your Grace,” James answered, “it is my thought he has been watching this house through a spyglass. Thus, he studied all his intended targets and is able to describe them to Bloom.”

  The Duke nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose. The hills around here are high enough to hide a watcher.”

  He turned to James. “How many pistols do we have on hand?”

  James frowned, thinking. “I believe we have ten in the old armory. Plus, about a dozen blunderbusses.”

  “Good. I want Miss Brent to have a dragon with her in my sister’s chambers. Loaded and primed. She has become a decent marksman this day. I also want you to keep one in your quarters, James. I must insist both of you keep them hidden from the staff.”

  Lucretia nodded in time with James. “Of course, Your Grace,” she said.

  “James, I will need you to meet Mr. Kelley again,” the Duke went on, still pacing. “He is to find this Londoner, and do whatever he has to in order to catch him. No longer are we interested in just gathering information.”

  “I understand.”

  “If we can get him here, we can perhaps persuade him to talk, and tell us who brought him from London to attempt to kill us. If I must, I will pay him to talk.”

  “I will leave for Tewksbury at dawn, Your Grace.”

  The Duke paused in his pacing and gazed at Lucretia. “Are you ready to die, Miss Brent?”

  Chapter 21

  Sampson watched Miss Brent carefully after asking the question. Oddly, she smiled as though knowing exactly what he meant when he ask
ed it. She stood with her hands folded in front of her, and once again he admired her courage and fiery spirit.

  I do not believe I have ever met a woman quite like her.

  “Indeed, I am, Your Grace,” she replied. “As should every good Christian. However, I do believe that we shall overcome this enemy before he is able to harm anyone. Including myself and Lady Henrietta.”

  “I do hope you are right, Miss Brent. I fear we are fighting a shadow.”

  “A shadow must have a source,” she replied. “We will find it.”

  James suddenly smiled. “Wisdom as well as beauty. Miss Brent, I will bring a pistol to your quarters in one hour’s time.”

  “I will be there, sir.”

  “By your leave then, Your Grace?”

  “Yes, of course.” Sampson glanced at his pocket watch. “I must dress for supper now. Miss Brent, will you be so good as to inform Lady Henrietta that I expect her to be prompt for supper this evening. Last night she was fifteen minutes late. I fear her abigail permits her too much freedom these days.”

  “Certainly.”

  Miss Brent curtseyed low, then departed the study. After she closed the door quietly behind her, Sampson eyed James. “Tell me, am I wrong to keep them here?”

  James shrugged. “The risks for staying and for going are equal, in my opinion. Until this fiend is captured or stopped, you all are in danger. If you were to send them to London, I would advise you stay there with them. For your own safety.”

  “No,” Sampson replied, pacing again. “I will not hide in London, James.”

  “So you see? Miss Brent was equally adamant about remaining here with you. She will not be torn from your side.”

  Sampson paced three more steps before the insinuation in James’ words caught hold. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly that, lad. I believe the lass is quite fond of you.” He smiled. “I am beginning to believe her feelings might actually be reciprocated.”

  Sampson shook his head, but he could not deny James’ words without lying. “I am not certain of what I feel,” he said slowly. “I like her? Well, yes. She has many qualities I would not expect from an orphan of the London streets. Do not say it, I know they are good qualities, exceptional qualities, and any man would be eager to court her.”

  “But?”

  Sampson stopped pacing to stare at his old friend. “But? What?”

  “I expect you had more to say regarding those qualities and were about to say something foolish regarding them.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, ‘they are the assets of a potential duchess, except she is of low birth.’ That kind of foolishness.”

  Sampson flopped into his chair with a sigh. “Is it not true?”

  “Which part?”

  “Are you deliberately trying to goad me, old man? If so, you are succeeding.”

  James leaned against the desk and folded his arms across his chest. “I am trying to point out to you that Miss Brent has everything you need in a future duchess except noble birth. And that you would deny your attraction for her for no other reason than her lowly station. And that is foolishness.”

  “What makes you think I am attracted to her?”

  “Do not play me for the fool, lad. I have eyes, and I know how to use them. I have known you since you were very small, and I know you. No matter how many young heiresses have thrown their hearts at your feet, never have I seen your eyes light up when you look at a woman. Until now.”

  Sampson studied his hands. “Let us, for argument’s sake, say you are right. How can I marry a commoner?”

  “You take her to London and marry her in front of the Bishop. Afterwards, you throw a lavish party, take your new bride to Brighton for your honeymoon, and then live a happily-ever-after life.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “Is it not?”

  “No, James.” Sampson rose from his chair, and paced again, but he could not look at the other man. “My peers will laugh me out of Parliament if I marry the girl.”

  “So sure, are you? Let me recall …” James lowered his head and frowning, pondering. “Did the Marquess of Avondale not marry a French goose girl a few years ago? Oh, and the Viscount of Marchland married that lass, what was she? Yes, yes, a miner’s daughter from Wales. And—”

  “I think you made your point.”

  “I hope so. I feared I would be forced to run through every marriage of every member of Parliament.”

  Sampson actually found himself smiling. “I expect you approve of Miss Brent as a match.”

  “How may heiresses have you taught to shoot a dragon?”

  “Well, whatever attraction I may or may not have for Miss Brent, any courtship will have to wait until after we find out who is trying to kill me. And Henrietta, as well as Miss Brent.”

  “I believe I can agree on that, lad.”

  “Good. Then I must change for supper, and you have pistols to obtain from the old armory.”

  James bowed low. “Your Grace.”

  The steward held the door for Sampson as he headed out of his study and toward his chambers. Though Sampson wanted to deny the truth of what James said to him, he could not. Aristocrats all over the kingdom married beneath their stations and England still marched on. He knew that he liked Miss Brent more than he wanted to admit, even to himself, yet did he like her enough to court her?

  Yes, I do. But that must wait until after this crisis has passed.

  Martin awaited him, ready to assist him in washing and changing, an almost silent man who spoke only when necessary. He had served Sampson for five years, and Sampson could not see him as a traitor. Until the attempts to kill him had been halted, he did not want to entrust his secrets beyond those who already knew them.

  Thus clothed in formal evening wear, Sampson strode quickly toward the dining room. He had barely reached the doors when Thomas hurried toward him, his normally placid face a mask of distress. “Your Grace,” he called.

  “Yes?”

  “I am so sorry to disturb you, but I have received a message from the gardener. It appears Miss Brent is unconscious in the garden.”

  Chapter 22

  “Find James,” Sampson told Thomas. “Tell him to come to the garden.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “And fetch Charles Kirkwood.”

  “At once, Your Grace.”

  Sampson hurried through the house toward the garden. Inwardly, he accused himself of being the cause of Miss Brent coming to harm.

  I should have assigned someone to watch over her. Why have I not?

  Because he never truly believed, until James found the picture of her, that she could come to harm under his roof. Now it appeared she had.

  A small crowd of servants gathered in a circle, talking amidst themselves. Sampson forced his way through them, though they parted hastily once they recognized him. Miss Brent lay on the grass, her face deathly pale, her eyes closed. Kneeling beside her, Sampson rested his fingers against her throat. She still had a pulse. Holding his hand near her nose, he felt her steady breath on his skin.

  Gazing up at the faces staring down, he demanded, “Who found her?”

  The old gardener shuffled forward, his cap in his hands, bowing. “Was me that found her, Yer Grace.”

  “Did you see what happened?”

  “Nay, Yer Grace.”

  Sampson glanced around at the others. “Anyone see what might have caused her to faint?”

  All he received were shaken heads and fearful expressions. James pushed his way through the small crowd. “Everyone get back to your duties,” he snapped as he reached Sampson’s side. “Go, now.”

  Muttering under their collective breath, the grooms and servants backed away, still staring at the form on the grass as they retreated to the stable or to the house. Within minutes, only Sampson and James remained with Miss Brent. “Is she alive?” James asked.

  “Yes. I cannot see what is wrong,” Sampson said, examining M
iss Brent as best he could without moving her. “There is no blood, no wound I can see.”

  “Could our man have planted another poisoned needle?”

  Sampson’s jaw dropped. “Oh, no.”

  James lifted her into a half-seated position, her back against his chest. “Check her arms, lad.”

  Without disturbing her clothing, Sampson examined her arms and shoulders for any scratches or cuts in her sleeves. He found nothing. Picking up her hands, he inspected them closely. “Nothing.”