But something told her that was not true. For if he were as cruel as the rumors stated Sir Charles to be, wouldn't Captain Stringham have harmed them? He’d had plenty of opportunity, before Clara shot him, to do any number of things to them. And yet, he had not. Even though he had smiled very little, she could not believe him to be mean or ill-tempered. True, she had felt fearful in the beginning, but after the initial shock of finding him had subsided? She would not say she felt at ease, exactly, but neither had she felt frightened of Captain Stringham.
Abigail leaned her head against the window, its coolness relieving the heat on her cheeks.
Clara knocked and entered the room without waiting for a response. She carried a package wrapped in brown paper.
"What is that you have?" Abigail asked, only mildly interested.
Clara removed a book from its brown paper wrapper.
Abigail glanced over. "Did you not lecture me, only yesterday, on the evils of reading? I believe you greatly opposed it."
Clara sighed, giving Abigail a bland look. "I found this book of poetry when I was looking for you. I thought it may prove useful in finding both of us a love match.” She clutched the book to her chest, closing her eyes. "We are sure to find lovely things we can say to the gentleman at the house party, which will make them fall madly in love with us."
Abigail puffed out a guffaw and returned her gaze to the scenery out her window. Clara opened the book and began reading poems on love.
Abigail glanced at her cousin. At times she was truly beyond the pale. Still, she was Abigail’s dearest friend. Since her parents’ deaths, Abigail had very much needed a friend and confidant. Clara had filled the role.
"I am not sure your plan will work, but come.” Abigail stood. “Let's go and discover who else is in attendance. There are bound to be many eligible gentlemen in attendance. And I should like to see if Sir Richard and Lady Cartwright have arrived."
Clara clasped her hands at her chest. "Oh, yes. And we can make a list of eligible gentlemen. As we come to know them, we can either cross them off, or add them to a shorter list of possibilities."
Abigail breathed in deeply. It wasn’t what she had in mind, but she would not argue the point. After all, what harm could a list do?
Chapter 5
“You are not well enough to travel. You will pull out your stitches.” Doctor Jenkins glared at Alex as he pushed out of the bedroom.
“I have to go. I am only going a short distance. Now get out of my way.” Alex limped awkwardly down the narrow hallway, holding his hands out to the side, using the walls for support. He stepped out into the morning sunlight. “Where can I procure a horse?”
The doctor continued to scowl at Alex but pointed down the main road toward the eastern boarder of the village.
Pressing several notes into the doctor’s hand, Alex nodded. “Thank you for your help, doctor. I do appreciate what you’ve done.”
“A lot of good it will do when you open the wounds before you reach the next village.” The doctor looked down into his hand, his mouth slightly a gap.
“Good day, Doctor Jenkins. Should anyone come looking for me, it would be safer for both of us if you feign ignorance about knowing me.”
The doctor nodded as he turned and walked back into his house.
The messenger had returned before tea, as promised, bringing with him news that Sir Richard was not in London, but rather visiting friends in Brighton. As the town was only a half-day’s ride away, Alex had wanted to set out as soon as possible.
Now hours later as he neared the estate where Sir Richard was reported to be staying, Alex leaned forward in his saddle. The ride had been more difficult than he had anticipated.
With a light head, Alex turned his horse down the gravel drive of Havencrest, the estate of Mr. and Mrs. Garvey.
He fell, more than dismounted from his horse, before handing it off to a boy in the stable yard. Alex leaned heavily on a stick he had procured from the side of the road, as he walked on wobbly legs to the front door.
The butler opened the door wide, giving Alex's borrowed clothes a thorough evaluation. The bath and the shave had helped him look less like his unsavory charade and more like a man with ill-fitting clothes and little fashion sense.
"I am looking for Sir Richard Cartwright. I was told he is attending a house party here."
The butler turned his nose up slightly. "I shall see if Sir Richard is one of our guests. Do you have a card?"
Alex glowered inwardly. Society was not something he had missed in his six years away. "I do not have one. Perhaps you could inform him Lord Alexander Bellingham desires to speak with him? It is quite urgent."
The butler nodded and gave Alex one last appraising look. "Follow me, sir."
Alex found himself deposited in a sparsely furnished parlor. From the mis-matched and worn furniture, he assumed this was where the unwelcomed guests waited to be turned away.
The door opened and the butler walked into the room. He handed Alex a folder paper, then backed up several steps.
Alex instantly recognized Sir Richard’s slanted scrawl. Meet me at St. Ann's Well, near the pump room at four. RC
Alex folded the paper and tucked it into the small pocket which he withdrew his pocket watch from. He flipped open the case, checking the time. He had two hours before he was to meet Sir Richard. Perhaps he could use the time to visit a tailor.
Alex nodded to the butler. "Thank you."
The butler moved toward the door, looking over his shoulder to assure himself Alex was following.
As the front door closed behind him, Alex looked toward the stables. His leg shook and his shoulder burned, almost as if they were telling him they could not do another ride. But no one told Alex what to do; not even his own body. He pushed aside the pain and mounted the horse the boy brought to him.
Alex felt scarcely better with his hair cut neatly above his ears. His clothes would not be ready for a day or two, but there had been a waistcoat and tailcoat on display which had fit adequately. The tailor had been willing to sell them—for a price. He’d also found a much needed walking stick.
He had just hobbled around the pump room for a second time when he heard someone call his name. Turning around, Alex saw Sir Richard walking toward him.
"Bellingham, what are you doing here?" The First Lord of the Admiralty's brow creased.
"I sent a messenger to London, but he returned with news you were in Brighton. I was only a half-day’s ride away. It wasn’t worth the risk of sending another messenger. We need to speak."
Sir Richard eyed Alex's clothes and face. “You need to spend more time in the sun, my friend.
Alex reached up to his bare chin. “Yes, the paleness of my newly shaved face is a stark contrast, I know. But I did see a tailor in town, while I waited for our meeting. The clothes will not be ready until tomorrow, at the earliest. At that, it will only be a few pieces." Alex’s shoulders sagged. His plan to blend into the society looked less and less plausible.
Sir Richard’s eyes dropped to Alex's limp cravat. The man said so much without uttering a single word. He would make a great pirate captain.
Alex let out a deep sigh. "I couldn’t very well bring my valet from the Destiny with me, now could I?”
"No. I should guess not." Sir Richard put his finger to his lips.
Alex relaxed a fraction. "I can't continue this charade any longer, Sir. Circumstances have changed."
"Yes, I know. I am very sorry for your loss."
Alex squinted at the man. How did he know what had happened? It had only been a few days.
"As much as I hate to lose you and your information, your mother and sister need you more."
What? Why should his mother and sister need him? They had Patrick to look after them.
"What have my mother and sister to do with all this?" Alex felt as though he had entered in the middle of a conversation.
"For now, I think your plan to blend into society is the best course
. I am attending a house party not far from here. I suggest we find you a valet and get you up to snuff." He walked around Alex assessing him. "I will speak to Mr. Garvey. He will be more than happy to include you in the invitation."
Alex snorted. "Even I remember that is not proper etiquette."
Sir Richard tsked. "The Garvey’s will be delighted to have the Earl of Grayson attend their party. Trust me. All will be well."
"Patrick is in Brighton as well?" While the thought of seeing his brother again excited Alex, it also caused his stomach to clench. He had not seen his family in more than six years. Did he really want their first meeting to be in such a public setting?
Sir Richard frowned. "I thought you had heard—thought that was why you are here."
Alex shook his head slightly. Had he spent so much time at sea he did not even understand a proper conversation?
"Your brother, the Earl, died four months ago. You are now the Earl of Grayson."
If Sir Richard had said he was carrying Medusa's head in a satchel, Alex would not have been more surprised. "What? But how?"
“Fell from his horse and was trampled.” Sir Richard grimaced, his eyes showing sadness. "I am sorry, Bellingham…er, Grayson. I thought you knew."
Alex rocked back slightly. Patrick, dead? How could this be?
Sir Richard moved a step closer, leaning into Alex slightly. "I know this information must come as a shock, but if that is not why you are here…?"
Alex felt as if he were in a dream. He stroked his chin, already missing his beard. The problems with his crew lost some of their importance. "My…my crew. They know who I am. They are coming after me. I barely made it out of Portsmouth." Alex sagged against the wall. Bending over, he placed his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.
Guilt burned in his stomach. He had missed his brother’s funeral. For months his mother had been responsible for the estate and tenants. All because Alex had been sailing around the world, pretending to be something he was not. And for what? Had he really provided any information which would help rid the world of Dennison and his band? Indeed, about the only thing he had learned was the task was near impossible. Even if they were to be rid of Dennison, another was ready to take his place—the replacement likely worse than the original.
Alex stood up. "If what you say is true, I should not be spending my days at a house party. My mother and sister are in need of me. I shall return to Shelbourne Hall immediately."
Sir Richard put a hand on Alex’s arm. "If you are, indeed, compromised, Shelbourne is the last place you should be."
“They do not know my true identity. Only that I have been passing along information.”
Sir Richard looked grim. “But when they learn of who you really are, they will look for you in Berkshire.”
Alex's eyes widened. "All the more reason to go. I can't risk they will do something to my family."
Sir Richard shook his head. "Your mother and sister are not at Shelbourne. They are attending a house party in Yorkshire and then traveling on to Derbyshire." He nodded his head absently. "They will be quite safe for now. Which is more than I can say for you." He looked at Alex with concerned eyes. "If they find you, Bellingham, you are as good as dead."
Alex chuckled mirthlessly. "I will hang for certain."
Sir Richard clapped him on the back. "All the more reason to get you looking as you should." He eyed Alex. "My valet can serve you until we can find a man for the job. Perhaps the Earl of Grayson can convince the tailor to hurry things along as well, get him to move your order to the top of his list. We can't have you moving about town looking,” he gave Alex’s clothes another glance and winced, “like this."
Alex nodded, a knot forming in his stomach. Society. He had not been among the ton in so long. Did he even remember how to act? It was not as if there was the same etiquette on a pirate ship as in the parlors of the ton. He swallowed hard. "And what then?"
Sir Richard smiled. "And then we introduce you to our hosts." He put his finger back to his lips. "We will need to have my valet see to you first. No one will believe a man of your station does not have his own."
"What about Donaldson, Patrick's valet?"
Sir Richard shook his head. "When you brother died and they were unable to locate you, he was forced to find employment elsewhere."
"How do you know so much of the intimacies of my family, sir?" Alex felt even more distanced from his family.
"I felt it my duty to watch over them on your behalf, until you returned."
The knot moved from Alex's stomach to his throat. He put a hand on the man's shoulder and squeezed. "Thank you, sir. I am in your debt."
"Pon rep, it is England that is in your debt." He smiled widely at Alex. "Now, Bellingham, shall we transform you into Lord Grayson and hide you in plain sight?"
Alex shook his head. "Why do I feel as though I am trading in one charade for another?”
Chapter 6
Abigail sat with Mr. Cavanaugh on one side of her and Mr. Jennings on the other.
She reached for her spoon as she glanced around the table. Clara sat opposite, with two gentlemen on either side of her, neither of their names did Abigail remember.
Clara motioned with her eyes to Mr. Cavanaugh and Mr. Jennings and then made a small writing motion with her hand. Her brows raised slightly, and a small grin formed on her lips.
Abigail took in a slow breath and looked to the heavens for patience. Was this not something they could discuss in the privacy of their own chambers? At times Clara's youth was more obvious than at others.
Pulling the bowl closer to her, Abigail dipped her spoon into the soup. It appeared a bit thin, but Abigail was not a culinary expert. She brought the spoon to her lips, tipping the soup into her mouth. Her lips immediately turned down in distaste. It was unmistakably watered down. The cream was barely discernible. She moved the spoon about the bowl but found hardly any vegetables or fish. Even her uncle, with all his stinginess toward she and her brothers, ate better than this.
Abigail glanced down the table, noticing several expressions that matched her own.
She focused her eyes back on her bowl and forced herself to eat another spoonful.
Mr. Cavanaugh leaned over and whispered, "Mrs. Garvey is known for her miserly entertaining. I dare-say this is only the beginning."
Abigail straightened and smiled at the gentleman. "I had heard rumors, but I didn't believe they could possibly be true. If people know this of her, why do so many attend her parties?"
Mr. Cavanaugh laughed quietly. "It is not her party, rather it is her husband's, which should explain a great deal. He is the one who invites all of society to descend upon their home. And then, as you can see, he disappears and leaves the entertaining to his wife."
Abigail chuckled. "Then I ask again, why do people attend, if they know this to be his penchant?" She gagged down another spoonful of soup, grateful for the meager serving she had been given.
"It is due, almost entirely, to Mr. Garvey’s associations. It is assumed he is off with the Prince Regent tonight, which is why he is not here. In years past, he has arranged for the party to be invited to the Royal Pavilion for a ball." He lifted his spoon full of soup, and tipped it sideways, allowing the soup to dribble back into the bowl. "People will put up with this for the chance to go to the Royal Palace."
Abigail pushed her bowl away. "And what of you? Are you eager to attend a ball at the Royal Palace?"
Mr. Cavanaugh smiled. "My motivations are less grand. I find it is nice to get away and enjoy the seaside. Though, I should not turn down an invitation to the Royal Palace should the offer be extended." His nose crinkled at the small piece of mutton the footman placed in front of him. "Not every meal will be like this; at least, I hope it will not. Mr. Garvey should join us for some meals. And those you can expect to be quite the opposite of this."
Abigail poked at the meat with her fork. It was not only small, but had no sauce to accompany it, leaving a sickly-looking gr
ay mass on her plate. Even the three small carrots accompanying it looked sad and limp.
Abigail quickly cut up the food on her plate and shoved a forkful into her mouth. She would never have guessed she would miss the offerings her uncle had provided.
As she chewed, she looked about the table. Lord Nathaniel and Mr. Williamson were on the opposite side of the table, but closer to the hostess. She sat with her face pinched into a scowl, glaring at the guests at her table.
Lord Nathaniel dipped his head at Abigail when he noticed her gaze. Abigail smiled then ducked her head, moving her food about her plate. She made a mental note to add him to the list.
Abigail sat on the settee next to Clara. Several young ladies sat across from them, each talking politely. Abigail hated these first few days of a party, before she was comfortable with the other guests. She recognized several people from the Somerstone party. Miss Barton had been in attendance there, but Abigail had not spent much time with her. Miss Barton had befriended other members at that party, leaving Abigail with only the barest hint of a connection with her.
The door of the parlor opened, and the men entered to join the ladies. Every eye in the room turned, mothers and daughters alike, evaluating the men as they walked in.
"I think it best if we separate and give the gentlemen the opportunity to seek us out." Clara stood and moved to the opposite side of the room.
Abigail sighed at the dramatics, but watched with veiled anticipation as the men streamed into the room. There seemed an endless supply of them. While Abigail had not been formally introduced to everyone, she was aware of most of them.
Except…
Abigail’s brow creased as a gentleman walked in beside Sir Richard. Her breath hitched. The man was dashing, but there was something vaguely familiar about him. Abigail stared, trying to place him, when Mr. Jennings came and sat down next to her. He leaned in closely, as if sharing a secret.
"Miss Marleigh, how are you this evening?"
Abigail looked over to him, pulling her attention away from the gentleman with Sir Richard. "Very well, Mr. Jennings." Her stomach growled loudly, as if to inform on her lie.
Miss Marleigh's Pirate Lord (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 1) Page 4
