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

by Linfield, Emma

  Sampson’s body turned toward her, and more space opened between himself and George. Lucretia acted instantly. “Sampson!” she screamed, and threw the pistol toward him.

  In the same moment, George whirled. Sampson caught the small pistol, but George flung himself at Lucretia. He seized her around her neck and shoulders, his arm across her throat. She did not know where he pulled it from, but suddenly she felt the warm blade of a knife against her vulnerable neck. She froze, her mind gibbering in panic, not daring to move a muscle. Sampson cocked the hammer back, and pointed it straight at George.

  “I will kill her,” he snarled. “Put the pistol down, Sampson.”

  Lucretia met Sampson’s eyes. In them she recognized a calm determination, an assurance that he somehow conveyed to her. As though he spoke aloud, she read his words in his eyes. Fear nothing, my love. I am here.

  “Put it down!” George screamed.

  Sampson fired.

  Lucretia felt the jolt in George’s body. He sagged against her, the knife and his arm falling away from her neck. Forced to grab hold of the desk in order to not be dragged down with him, Lucretia turned and looked down as George fell at her feet.

  A small round hole appeared between his eyes, and a tiny dribble of blood tricked down the side of his nose. Lucretia stared down at him, shaking with reaction, unable to believe what had just happened. She did not look up as Sampson put his arms around her.

  “Is he—” Lucretia began, trembling. She could not look away from that small dark hole.It stared at her like an accusing eye as horror filled her soul. “Is he—?”

  “Yes,” Sampson said gently, turning her away from the sight. He pressed her face into his shoulder, his hand caressing her hair. “He is dead.”

  “Oh, God.”

  Lucretia wept. She had not cried tears since she was a small child, yet she wept like a child now. Lucretia felt sick, as though evil had invaded her soul. She felt she could never wash this blood from her hands. She did not take his life, but she sent a weapon into the hands of the man who did. It did not matter that she was not guilty – a man died here, and she had a hand in his death. True, he was going to kill Sampson, the man she loved, and Henrietta, as well as innocents under Sampson’s care.

  But he was a man, and he died at her feet.

  “You saved my life,” he murmured against her hair. “You saved many lives this day.”

  “I—I—no.”

  “Yes, you did. By throwing me that pistol, you saved my life, your own, Henrietta’s. That does not make you evil. Your soul is clean, my love. You are innocent.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Sampson tilted her face back, gazing deep, lovingly, into her teary eyes. Forced to gaze into them, Lucretia found love eternal, hope and a bit of wan humor in his green depths. “I owe you a huge debt, Lucretia. And I love you with all my heart and soul.”

  Lucretia’s lips trembled, but she managed a faint smile. Running her hands up his chest, she wrapped them around his neck. His fingers rubbed up and down her back, soothing her fears, calming her soul. “As I love you, my brave Sampson. You saved my life, and for that I am in your debt. Forever.”

  A grin creased his lips. “So where does that leave us, eh? You save my life, I save yours – where does it end?”

  With her hands behind his head, she pulled his face to hers. “It does not matter, for it will never end. Ever.”

  Epilogue

  The weeks passed, and the household returned to normal, such as it was. Sampson knew the staff all gossiped about himself and Lucretia, but John Kelley’s finger on the household’s pulse informed him that the news of their love had been well received among everyone in the household. Lucretia was well-liked by the servants, and her help in curing the sick had not been lost on them. Her obvious devotion to the Duke and Lady Henrietta made her quite popular among the simple servants.

  Although all his horses returned from their jaunt to the old castle unharmed and safe, Sampson could not quite stop himself from checking on them every day. As he walked toward the stable, he caught sight of a rider with two horses cantering up the road toward him. James. Sampson halted, waiting for him.

  “Just as you thought,” James said, reining in and sliding from his saddle to bow. “Your hack was at the Gillinghamshire stables.”

  Sampson rubbed the black gelding’s face. “Did you also find the evidence?”

  James nodded, reaching into his pocket. From it, he pulled a small leather bag. “Henbane,” he said, his voice hushed. “Lots of it in his private study. Tomorrow, I will go to the miller in Tewksbury, and ask a few questions. I believe I know what I will find.”

  Sampson stared at the bag, then turned his face away. “That the miller was paid handsomely to add that to his flour shipments headed toward my house.”

  “That,” James said, nodding, “or if I believe his denials, a way for the Baron to have included this in shipments of flour headed toward your house without his knowing. He may be innocent, you know.”

  “Like Bloom?” Sampson sneered. “Bloom finally admitted to his gaolers that George paid him to kill Henrietta and then Lucretia. I received a letter from the courts.”

  “Will he hang?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Did you find anything else?” Sampson asked. “There’s still the question of the needle in the hedge.”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” James answered. “A bottle in his desk with a packet of needles. And a knife with apple fragments on it.”

  “Don’t tell me.” Sampson turned his head away. “He poisoned The Iron Knight, too. It was not just colic. His jealousy ran that far?”

  James set his hand on Sampson’s shoulder. “I know you, lad. You are feeling guilty for things you had no control over. The Baron chose evil and murder over love and acceptance. That is not your fault.”

  “Perhaps not. But I lost not just a friend, but a brother I never knew I had.” Sampson swallowed hard, and tried to smile. “It hurts.”

  “Pain is acceptable.” James shot him a fierce glance from his hard eyes. “Guilt is not.”

  Sampson nodded, then headed toward the stable again, James leading both horses.

  “So when will you do it?” James asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Do not play ignorant with me, lad. I know you too well. When are you planning to ask Miss Brent to marry you?”

  “You do know me too well,” Sampson replied, a smile tugging his mouth. “I am trying to plan the right moment.”

  “There is no such thing. Ask her, then get married. I have an itch to see wee ones running about underfoot.”

  “All right, old man.” Sampson stopped, gazing at his friend and steward. “I am a bit nervous. I have been – worrying about it.”

  “What’s to worry? The lass adores you.”

  “She might say no.”

  James rolled his eyes. “You know very little about women, lad. Ask her or, by God, I will.”

  * * *

  Sampson fingered the ring in his pocket, his nervousness knowing no bounds. His palms sweated, his gut felt as though a family of active squirrels had set up permanent residence. He wanted this moment to perfect, but what was perfect? The right setting, the right people around, Lucretia saying,“Yes.” He thought that perhaps the orchard, now hung with bright red apples ripe for picking, might be the best location. It was Lucretia’s favorite place.

  Though she insisted on remaining Henrietta’s governess, despite her new status among the servants, he knew she still walked among the trees after lunch. Feeling slightly foolish, Sampson lurked out of sight of the house, waiting for her. He worried this one beautiful autumn day would be the one she decided to remain inside, though he realized she could never resist coming here when the weather was good.

  Here she comes.

  Sampson ducked behind a thick trunk, peeking out, to watch as Lucretia gazed up at the pristine blue sky as she walked slowly toward the orchard. Give
n the cooler temperatures, she wore a woolen shawl over her shoulders and arms, her red-gold hair flaming fire under the sunlight. Caught in the light breeze, it enveloped her like a mantle.

  Sampson let her approach until she was within a few yards of him, then stepped out, clear of the tree. She started in surprise, then smiled.

  “Sampson. What are you doing here? I thought you went to Tewksbury.”

  His tongue froze in his mouth. He tried to get words past the dust that seemed to cling to his mouth and throat. Understanding the confusion in her eyes, he had to do something. Frantic, panicking, he pulled the ring from his pocket. As though that was the trigger than calmed his nerves, Sampson smiled at her.

  “I came to ask you a question.”

  Lucretia did not see anything, as he clamped his hand down tight, keeping the ring hidden in his palm. “If it is about Henrietta, she is doing well at her studies. She does not complain about her history lessons as much as she did.”

  “It is not about Henrietta.”

  Lucretia stepped closer. “You can ask me anything. Sampson.Are you all right? You look – worried.”

  “I am fine, my love,” Sampson replied, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Will you marry me?”

  Lucretia’s jaw slackened. Her mouth formed an O of surprise, her eyes wide. “I—what? Will I—?”

  “Would it help if I knelt?’

  Sampson dropped to his knee, gazing up into her eyes, his hands enclosing hers. “I love you, Luce. Will you marry me, and spend the rest of your life with me?”

  “You—you called me Luce.”

  Sampson grinned up into her face, waiting, patient. Lucretia stared down at him, as though unable to believe what was happening. As the truth dawned on her, slicing through her confusion and shock, she finally got her mouth to working properly. Taking her hands from his, she held his face within them, and kissed him slowly, lovingly.

  “Yes, my dear Duke, my Sampson, I will marry you. You are mine, and I am yours, forever and always.”

  He rose from his knee, and took her left hand. “I am yours, Luce, as you are mine. Forever and always.”

  He slid the ring onto her left hand, smiling down at her. “I love you, Luce, my darling, my greatest joy.”

  Lucretia reached up and enclosed her arms around his neck. “Sampson. My heart’s blood, the love of my life. I will marry you, and we will spend our days together in bliss.”

  * * *

  Sampson, with Lucretia’s happy consent, thought it appropriate to hold the wedding at the Breckenridge estate. Though he secretly wished for a small ceremony, his social status as a peer of the realm demanded a huge wedding with hundreds of guests. The Bishop of Bath and Wells would officiate, and the Prince Regent himself planned to attend.

  Guests had been arriving from all over the realm for weeks, and Sampson, his fiancé Lucretia at his side, hosted lavish parties in preparation for the wedding of the year. When the beautiful spring morning in May dawned, Sampson dressed carefully with Martin’s help, oddly not the least bit nervous on his wedding day.

  “You look incredible,” Oliver said, entering his private quarters unannounced.

  Sampson eyed his best man. “So do you. Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I will ever be, I suppose. Do you know His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, was asking me about George last night?”

  “I expected he would,” Sampson replied, checking over his formal black attire as Martin used a brush to flick off invisible specks from his coat. “He spoke to me at length about him, as well.”

  “What will happen to George’s estates? Have you any idea?”

  “No. And I do not plan to continue discussing it on my wedding day. Come on. It is time to go.”

  In front of the hundreds in the huge chapel, all peers of the kingdom, Sampson waited for his bride with Oliver at his side. At Lucretia’s insistence, Mrs. Marsh and some of the orphans from London also attended, their travel expenses paid for by her generous fiancé. The Bishop tersely gave them both his instructions, then stood in front of the watching crowd, his crozier tall on his head, as he waited expectantly for the bride to arrive. At last the doors opened at the rear of the chapel, and Lucretia entered.

  Lady Henrietta walked slowly in front of her. Lucretia smiled as she sedately paced down the aisle, meeting Sampson’s adoring gaze. She wore the purest white, her veil and gown beaded with seed pearls, while two of Sampson’s young cousins bore her heavy train behind her.

  Sampson exchanged a swift smile with her as Henrietta took her place to Lucretia’s left, and Oliver took his place at Sampson’s right. “Please kneel,” the Bishop intoned.

  Sampson helped Lucretia to kneel without disturbing her gown, then did so himself. He barely listened as the Bishop droned on about God, marriage, and fruitful lives, his head filled with the scent of Lucretia’s perfume, his plans for the future, his joy and happiness.

  I am marrying for the best reason on earth – not for wealth, or status, or land. I am marrying for love.

  At long last the Bishop bade them rise, blessed them with a prayer, and asked them to recite their vows to one another. Sampson spoke his without a flaw, though Lucretia stumbled over a word or two. He grinned at her face flushing pink, clear through her veil. He glanced up as the Bishop intoned.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

  Sampson lifted the veil from her face, and bent to kiss her soft lips. He might have continued save for the applause the resounded through the chapel.

  “I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “Forever and always.”

  “Forever and always, my dearest love, my heart’s blood.”

  The End?

  Extended Epilogue

  Eager to know more on how Lucretia’s and Sampson’s relationship evolved? Then enjoy this free complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple.

  Simply TAP HERE to read it now for FREE! or use this link: http://emmalinfield.com/lfsg directly in your browser.

  I guarantee you, that you won’t be disappointed ♥

  But before you go, turn the page for an extra sweet treat from me…

  The Perilous Quest of he Rejected Duchess

  About the Book

  First one fails, the other goes awry...Whatever the cost, the Duke must die…

  The broken pocket watch she tries to steal from a nobleman proves to be the ticket to a new life for Miss Regina Buxton, the fair daughter of a blacksmith and a master in the art of daggers. Against all odds, she finds employment as a maid in the Duke of Lyndon’s household.

  Benjamin Allen, the dashing Duke of Lyndon, is enamored by the new servant and her enigmatic aura and intrigued by her mysterious past. But when an attempt against his life is made, all clues lead to her.

  On a quest to prove her innocence and save the Duke of Lyndon, Regina has only ten days to unmask the true monster before he makes his final move.

  Prologue

  Regina Buxton sat in her father’s blacksmith shop manning the bellows as he worked the fiery coals in readiness for his newest creation. The orange glow reflected in his dark brown eyes and glistened in his hair, black as a raven’s wing with silver rivulets flowing through it. His features were so dear to her, yet nothing like her own. Mark Smith was not Regina’s father by birth, for he had taken her in as a babe upon the death of her parents. He was, however, most certainly her father in every way that mattered. Mark’s love for her had been a shining beacon in her otherwise dark existence.

  “That is enough,” her father admonished. She had gotten distracted watching him work the metal and blown the bellows one too many times.

  “Apologies, Father,” Regina backed away to watch from a bench in the corner.

  “‘Tis nothing,” he brushed the offense aside.

  Swinging her legs back and forth in the space beneath the bench, Regina’s thoughts turned once more to her paternity. “Tell me again the story of how I came to b
e with you?”

  “Well now.” Mark smiled. Regina could tell by the far-away look in his eyes that he was thinking back to twelve years before. “I will never forget the day I met your father. He and your mother had just arrived from Buxton to take up his new posting as the parish minister.”

  “Why is my surname the same as the town in which my parents once lived?” Regina knew the answer but wished to hear it again.