Regency Scandals and Scoundrels: A Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Scarlett Scott

  “Do you mock me?” asked Jane suspiciously. Her expression softened. “William, I only want the best for you.”

  “Never with ill-intent,” Will said, laughter in his voice. “And, I understand.”

  In a few moments, she, too, was chuckling and the sound carried on the soft winds. Jane was never surly, in spite of her candor regarding society matters and what she believed to be Will’s wrong choices. Will might never say so aloud, but he valued her companionship. She was a delightful mixture of quick thinking and kindness, and reminded him of his father in her mannerisms.

  He adored her because she rarely accepted his foibles and would not budge from his side, despite his constant refusals to acquiesce to her wish that he attend some kind of soiree.

  Early in her arrival, Will had felt differently. He was so bitter and mulish that he could not wrap his mind around the idea of having her as even a temporary guest. There was little, he felt, that he could offer her by way of company. Little that he could offer to anyone by way of company. He was still making his way around the manor almost like a mole, able to see to some extent, but relying on his other senses as well as his recovering sight.

  But Jane had not come to either be company or demand his. She came because of his taciturn letters and marked disappearance from the ton’s usual circuit. Before Salamanca, Lord Ainsworth was of note, perhaps a bit quiet for some, but ultimately handsome, intelligent, and diverting.

  It was a pity, they said, about his brothers and his poor mother. Then later, his father.

  However, after he was sent home and the bandages had been removed from his face for good, Will found it excruciating to even consider easing himself back into society’s games. While he might be able to count on many people’s senses of decency and decorum to keep them polite in his presence, he could not control their thoughts or their words about his misfortune. This was repugnant enough to make him a recluse. There was also the chance of running into Diana at some ball or another, and news that she had thrown him over might work in his favor by making those who learned about it more sympathetic to his plight. Or it might not. It was hard to say.

  Jane had refused to leave after a fortnight had passed, which was when he expressed his desire that she should resume her life in London amongst the ton and the city’s bustle.

  She just stoutly replied, “Do not be ridiculous,” and poured herself a brandy from his personal decanter.

  If it was only for her sake and someone, anyone, could guarantee that there would be no consequences for him, he might have considered attending a ball or another gathering. He could see her point, that isolation was not necessarily the best condition under which to live one’s life, but he also could not make her understand what it was like to be utterly changed in such an obvious fashion.

  Although his initial anger at his misfortune had ebbed, Will knew that he would no longer be considered whole by the vast majority of people and it was not the same as being an amputee. Faces were so intimate that a marred one provoked visceral reactions.

  And it was no secret that, even though he was the youngest son and therefore commanded the least amount of family resources, he had once been considered the most attractive son.

  Any reentry of his into the ton would be saturated by tragedy and morbid curiosity.

  Will had no desire to be subjected to misplaced pity or the interest of those who merely wanted to look upon him as a caricature of his former self.

  While he knew that he was already the subject of a rumor or two thanks to Lady Jane’s constant monitoring of the ton’s pet subjects of conversation, he preferred solitude and keeping his peace. The rumors about him were not so horrible, either, especially compared to the ones circulating around Lord Malliston.

  At least I didn’t have a wife before I left, thought Will. They said he’d killed her upon his return.

  No, the rumors concerning Lord Ainsworth were tame by comparison: some claimed he was mute, some said he had lost both of his eyes and his entire nose, and some conjectured that the impact to his head left him simple—such a shame that a brilliant physician’s career had to end. He didn’t know this firsthand, but when Will had pressed, Peter related what he could, being outside the ton. Jane filled in some of the gaps, though she was reluctant to do so. What she would not speak of, his small handful of friends wrote of.

  Further, although he was somewhat uninitiated in the finer ways of the ton as a youngest son, Will was wise enough to know that an appearance at anyone’s ball meant that he was willing to host one in return. He was decidedly not.

  His manor, Blackbrook, was his home, his sanctuary, and Will would have no party of people intruding upon it. He preferred his privacy above all else, including his aunt’s finer feelings. He believed privacy was his protection and since he had money and resources enough, he did not need to seek out another betrothal. And if he was lonely, it was a small price to pay for being left to his own devices. He still had a few friends, but he corresponded with them via letters and no one seemed keen to pressure him into adopting a lifestyle he had only just been accepting before he left England.

  Yes, Jane was doomed to suffer disappointment in the matter of seeing her darling William at a ball.

  He believed he had never disappointed her before, so perhaps he was owed this one instance after a peaceful childhood and upstanding university career. Bram and Samuel, on the other hand, had often driven her to fits that could only be described as apoplectic.

  The problem was, there was no woman in Will’s acquaintance who was more dogged than his aunt. As she had tonight and the night before, and the night before that, she returned to him for another round of the same discussion. He appreciated that she cared and tried to recall the fact when she pushed him too hard. Jane was one of the very few people in his life who did not stare at him, did not minutely recoil when he came near, and, overall, did not treat him any differently than they had before.

  Granted, there were not many people in his life, now. He just assumed that was how everyone would be because a few had behaved in that fashion. It was enough for him to conjecture.

  When Jane first saw him, his sight was much worse and he knew he could not see her exact expression. So, he could not fully credit the thought that she was not shocked. Shock, in and of itself, did not bother him anyway. He had been shocked, after all. But her low voice never faltered, and she kissed him on the cheek—and became the first and only person to do so with his new face. Her alacrity to accept her nephew’s new and rather alarming circumstances was only matched by Peter’s calm acceptance and Will’s valet’s warm manner, neither of which had shifted at all.

  His constant squabbles with Jane were, in truth, the more endearing parts of their nightly walks around the estate and down into its nearest village, Brookfield.

  For the moment, she held fast to her thoughts, allowing silence to reign.

  Will knew better than to revel in the victory of the moment. Jane always found it in her petite body to attack again. She rivaled most generals that way.

  Together, they continued on their walk, guided only by the full moon and the lanterns and sconces along walls and in arches here and there. Brookfield was a bustling village of predominately farmers and traders, and Will was still uncomfortable with the idea of being a liege lord to so many. His father had been remarkably good at it.

  Though Will ensured that Brookfield’s residents never lacked a thing, they had not seen him since his return. He had engaged the services of a steward who worked tirelessly. Milton Benedict was, according to his references, a thorough and fastidious man. Thus far, Will had no complaints with him. But if he’d had his preference, his father’s old steward, who’d been ancient even when Will was a boy, would have been managing the estate still. With old Rufus at the helm, the estate ran like clockwork. While Will was abroad, he’d retired to the country. Old age seemed to have caught up with him at last. Resigned to the idea of picking a new steward without the advice of either his f
ather or brothers, though had they been alive he wouldn’t have been in the situation, Will sent out discreet missives to those he trusted and Benedict’s name was mentioned by two parties.

  Benedict was content to act on Will’s behalf in the village and the estate at large. Will saw no one in Brookfield and firmly maintained that this arrangement should satisfy everyone.

  Unfortunately, Jane brought him news that people were starting to grumble about it. They had only just been getting used to him before he left, and everyone knew that the older Ainsworth lads were wild and untethered—Will had not quite proven himself to be any different from his brothers simply by omission. Because he had been such a solitary child, few in the village had established a prior rapport with him until he became a doctor.

  If the mild-mannered doctor-turned-duke had impressed anyone before his departure, it was still not enough to stop them from wondering why he did not give more of himself to them, now.

  He had treated many of their ailments, but he did not feel that he was a favorite of the people as his father had been.

  Will knew that this had most to do with his reluctance to show himself, now.

  He had tried, and his naked face hadn’t even been exposed at first. Not in Brookfield, but in London.

  Really, he didn’t know what he’d expected, and it was true that he couldn’t see his own face. But in London, it was inevitable that someone other than Peter, who’d taken up the role of his companion while he could not see, would witness him. His townhouse in the city was manned by staff that, although impacted by their duke’s state, was sensible enough not to remark upon it.

  The doctor who came to the townhouse was not one that either Peter or Will knew personally, though he had been highly recommended to Peter upon their return to London. Peter reasoned that although he could look after Will on his own—and Will would have preferred it that way—it was important to seek a second opinion on his course of treatment. Dr. Hartwright was quite shaken by Will’s state, and kept dropping his implements while he was trying to examine him.

  Peter later told Will, reluctantly, that their fellow physician’s hands were shaking. That was why he’d kept dropping everything.

  At the time, Will had not quite noticed, firstly, because he could not see and, secondly, because the opiates had blunted his hearing, his other senses. It was all like being blanketed in a warm fog and about as uncomfortable, but it was the only thing that combatted the pain.

  And the new carriage driver who’d taken him from London to Brookfield was not subtle in concealing his unease. Stalwart as ever, Peter managed him with a steady tone and calm insistence.

  But there was a wobble in the driver’s mumbled “Your Grace” that belied badly shaken nerves.

  It gradually became apparent to Will as they rode to Brookfield that the extent of his bandages frightened onlookers and even a doctor could not handle the state of his visage.

  He decided that it would be better to lock himself away to spare everyone the fright and discomfort.

  But if only all the villagers knew that their duke took a nightly walk around the village with his aunt, perhaps they’d all take a seat at their windows to catch a glimpse of him, Will thought.

  He would certainly be the first to profess that he had never truly wanted this title or its inheritance to begin with. Indeed, he’d never expected it and cultivated plans to enter a profession. He recalled settling on studying to become a physician, not just a surgeon, but a man of learning and science, and how naturally it all had come to him.

  For four years, he had been almost deliriously happy in his chosen path, feeling as though he had earned every honor he possessed. He treated the villagers of Brookfield, and then mostly worked amongst the poor in London. It was only after Bram had died that he returned to the estate, somber in the realization that he was the last heir of his family. Luckily, he was a quick learner, and he had spent enough time around his father and his brothers’ tutors to have a working knowledge of how everything had to be managed. It was daunting, but he had taken to it.

  Then came the call to arms, the summons that was to change his life even further than the deaths of his brothers, mother, and father had.

  Will was driven away from his introspection by a sound echoing softly through the darkness.

  “Did you hear that, William?” Jane said, grabbing his arm.

  The duke stilled as his aunt did. His hearing was still the most heightened of his senses, and he didn’t have to strain to hear the noise again.

  It was a tiny sound, a whimper of pain coming from ahead.

  “It could be an animal,” he muttered. Carefully, he began to walk toward it. It sounds like a kitten. We are near the brook, and it’s possible that someone’s cat had a litter they didn’t want. Despite all the horrible things he had seen in his time, the idea saddened him.

  “Do be careful,” said Jane.

  She was, though, at his side even as he began to navigate the slight slope to the brook that gave the village its name. He found it easiest to navigate using the soles and tips of his boots, gingerly nudging what he surmised was rock, then dirt, then detritus. The water was low and gurgled gently.

  The mysterious noise came again, rising slightly over the sound of the brook. Will estimated where it was coming from, took a few strides, and thought he could just make out a prone form on the ground. Perhaps not a kitten, then.

  “Aunt, could you… I need light.”

  Jane dashed off, presumably to the tavern that bordered this stretch of the brook before it became a proper stream, and he dared not go too much further toward the shadow lingering on the damp soil. If it was a person, which he suspected it was, he could just end up doing them an injury if he accidentally stepped the wrong way and tripped.

  I never thought I’d have to consider such things.

  He was thankful that he only honestly did when it was so dark, because there had been a time when he assumed he would remain fully blind.

  When Jane returned in the space of a minute or so, he was crouched carefully by the figure. As she clambered down the gentle incline toward him, the lantern light solved the mystery for both of them.

  “Goodness gracious, it is a girl!” Jane said.

  Will hissed a little with sympathy. She looked all of seventeen. Small of stature, she was huddled into a tight ball, both her hands curled against her chest. But for the heavy rise and fall of her chest, and the small utterances of pain escaping her pale lips, Will might have thought she was dead. Her arms were bare and the light revealed wicked, red welts forming on them, as well as her throat. Her lips were nearing blue as she shook fiercely.

  Quickly, he removed his coat and bundled it around her. It was not an especially cold night, but Will made an educated guess that she could be in shock. And judging by her very slight frame, she was not getting enough to eat. In combination, those factors could turn one’s blood very cold, indeed.

  “Do you know her?” he asked his aunt.

  Jane just shook her head, staring wide-eyed at the poor girl.

  “Describe her to me. I want to compare what I think I see to what you see.”

  “Welts. Horrible ones. Her lips are bloodless. Beyond that, I do not see anything else,” said Jane slowly.

  Though his first instinct was to rouse his steward from bed to attend to this matter by summoning some other doctor, Will could not be certain that the girl was not in peril without examining her. To examine her properly, he needed more light. And if she was truly injured, somehow, he needed to be examining her and administering to her somewhere far cleaner than the side of a brook.

  All of his previous training plainly dictated that he save the injured first and ask other questions later.

  Regardless, his new self protested against the unwelcome idea of tending to anybody. He thought it over quickly, but intensely, and decided that he could not live with himself if he chose to delegate this task to someone with less acumen.

  The girl di
d not have to remain with him forever, after all.

  What has happened to you, Will? Time was, you’d never be conflicted when there was someone to treat.

  He shoved that aside to contemplate later, and looked at Jane with resignation. “We cannot leave her here, and I would be no physician if I did not see to her recovery to the best extent possible.”

  For a flash, his aunt seemed deeply proud of him. “I agree.”

  “Keep hold of that lantern. We shall return it tomorrow.” He knew that as a member of his family and a more liked one than him, at that, Jane had most likely been given the lantern without many questions.

  With a sigh, he bent over and carefully took the girl into his arms, supporting her shoulders and neck against his body, keeping her legs over the crook of his arm. A small protest escaped her, but she did not regain consciousness. She weighed only a trifle and the effort of carrying her was nothing at all, which was rather shocking seeing as Will was not in his best physical state.

  “There’s nothing for it… I think we have to return to the manor.”

  “But that could be disastrous for her reputation,” said Jane with a frown, thinking. “She would be alone. Surely we could simply use a room in the—”

  Will cut across her. “You may serve as her chaperone. I have no equipment here, and I have no way of knowing how clean any of these establishments keep themselves.”

  “Brookfield would only keep the best,” insisted Jane. “And it’s hardly appropriate for a stranger to chaperone a young girl.”

  “I do not mean to insult the village, Aunt,” said Will tiredly. “I’m just stating facts.” Not every man of his profession believed cleanliness was so important, but he did himself and had seen firsthand the negative results of disregarding it. Infection. Disease. Botched recoveries. “Now, stop. I understand your concerns over her reputation, but we shall endeavor to keep it intact. Remember that, at the moment, she does need help and we have no idea who she is.”