Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  “And then what?”

  “We shall find a suitable home for the baby, and then when you are rested enough we shall return here to Ivy Manor.”

  “A suitable home?” Catherine knew that she was not in a position to argue.

  A suitable home very likely meant a Lancashire orphanage, even if her aunt was intent upon finding a good one. But the idea of it made her heart ache; how could any child that belonged to Catherine and Thomas end up in an orphanage? Descended from Earls and Dukes, her child would be abandoned into a life of uncertainty.

  And yet she knew that she could not bring the child home, there was no question of that. In truth, Catherine knew that she was lucky not to be turned out altogether. Although she had come to know Celia and Charles very well and was sure that they had warmed to her and thought a good deal of her, she could not have expected such kindly treatment. But they had been kind, extraordinarily kind.

  She knew she could not repay them by demanding that she keep her child. Wherever she went in the world now, surely that was not possible anyway? A young woman with no husband and a child would be a pariah, even if she were the daughter of an Earl. Perhaps even more particularly because she was the daughter of an Earl, for society had greater expectations of moral fortitude in somebody of her station.

  She had no means by which to show her gratitude to her aunt and uncle for their understanding, except than to go along with their plan to the very letter and to do so without complaint. After all, Catherine knew that she had relinquished her right to any complaint in this world, even if she had only ever acted out of love.

  To society, that was not a good enough reason; it was never a good enough reason, no matter how sad the story.

  “Yes, we shall find somewhere suitable. But I think it would be best if we do that in Lancashire, not Derbyshire, for your own sake, my dear.”

  “Yes, yes of course,” Catherine said, determined to go along with every part of it. “I do not know how to thank you and Uncle Charles; really I do not. But can Uncle Charles really spend so much time away from Ivy Manor when he has his own matters of business to attend to here?”

  “Charles will not be coming with us, Catherine. It will just be dear Agnes and us.”

  “Mrs Price knows of my disgrace?” Catherine said a little helplessly.

  “Your condition, Catherine, not your disgrace,” Celia said firmly. “And no, she does not yet know it. But let me assure you that she is the most discreet of women. I have trusted her with confidences of my own and been glad to do so these last twenty years. And she will be invaluable when your time comes, Catherine, for she has helped to birth children before and knows exactly what to do. Not to mention the fact that she is extremely efficient in all things and will have the lay of the land in Lytham long before we do. She is much more forthright than I am, and I imagine that it would be Agnes who takes the child to its new home.”

  “Whatever you think is for the best, Aunt Celia. I am in your hands, and glad to be so, for I could not have imagined anybody treating me with the understanding that you have.”

  “Well, if you agree to it all, I shall start to make plans. I daresay it will be two or three weeks before we can set off for Lytham, for we shall need to get our own little story in place. Agnes will undoubtedly find us some very suitable lodgings, and everything will be well, in the end, you will see.”

  And Celia had been right; everything had fallen into place. Her Uncle Charles had been wonderful, treating her with kindness and concern and not one moment’s scorn or ridicule. Agnes had shown no sign of being shocked or horrified; rather she had busied herself with the practicalities of their journey and their stay, never once treating Catherine any differently than she had before.

  Catherine leaned forward and checked the fastening of her packed trunk, looking around the small chamber for the last time. She would miss the little place, and yet she did not want to hasten her return. After all, the next time she slept in this bed, everything would have changed. She would be a mother, albeit a mother with no child, and she would be altogether different.

  With a sigh, Catherine rose and walked out of the tiny room without looking back, determined to find her Uncle Charles, throw her arms around his neck, and thank him once again before bidding him farewell for the next four months.

  Chapter 13

  Thomas continued to ignore his brother’s existence for the next few months, despite the fact that he had seen some great changes in him. Pierce no longer seemed to seek his father’s approval in everything he did, and it had struck Thomas that he had lost interest in a good deal of life’s activities.

  Penrose Carlton, for his part, seemed not to have noticed the change in either of his sons. He paid Thomas no more heed than he had ever done, often reminding him of the time he had described himself and Catherine as the afterthoughts.

  But what had been surprising to Thomas was the fact that their father had not noticed the great change in Pierce either. He had not seen the cessation of the arrogance and self-satisfaction that Pierce had worn like a suit of armour for so long.

  But even though Thomas had recognized changes in his brother, even understood that what he was witnessing was largely remorse, still, he could not forgive him. His own pain was so great and showed no sign of abating. It had been eight months or more, but his heart felt as raw as it had done on the morning he had kissed his beloved Catherine goodbye forever and darted away from the Barford estate before the sun came up.

  How they had cried as they embraced, becoming soaked in each other’s tears. Thomas had known almost from the first that he had loved Catherine Ambrose, but he had never realized until the moment of their parting just how much.

  Those last, terrible moments were all that Thomas could see when Pierce tried to speak with him. It did not matter that Pierce had motives other than to hurt his brother because, in the end, that was all Pierce had achieved. Had he kept quiet, it was likely that neither the Duke nor the Earl would have been any the wiser.

  And so it was that Thomas, heading out once more to Stromlyn Lake, found himself pursued by the brother who would simply not give up.

  “Thomas, I wish you would not go to Stromlyn Lake every day. You will never mend if you do not change things.” Pierce was talking sense, whether or not he had a right to speak it.

  “I shall do as I choose. It is none of your affair.”

  “I do not ask for nor expect your forgiveness, Thomas, but can we at least try to be friends? If only a little?”

  “You were never keen to be my friend before.” Thomas walked into the stable to see if his horse was any closer to being saddled.

  Pierce followed him in, and it was clear that one of the stable hands was saddling his horse also. Thomas let go an angry snort, thinking it likely that Pierce was going to follow him again. It was something he attempted from time to time in a bid to have Thomas speak to him.

  Well, Thomas would show him. The moment his own horse was suitably saddled, Thomas would tear off out of the estate and leave his brother far behind.

  Why would he not let it be?

  “We have been friends in the past, Thomas. When we were boys we …”

  “We are not boys now.” Thomas cut him off.

  “I know,” Pierce said and fell silent as he looked helplessly around him.

  Thomas knew that cutting Pierce off like that would interrupt his flow of speech. It would be some moments before he would be able to come up with something more suitable to say, for he did not have Thomas’ own quick wit and intelligence.

  Over the years, Thomas had used that to his advantage when the brothers were arguing, and yet now he felt a stab of guilt over it as he stood in the stables staring at him. Pierce had spent the better part of eight months trying to atone for what he had done, and Thomas had fended off every attempt.

  But still, Thomas could not let go of his resentment, and seeing that his horse was ready, he scrambled up onto his back and charged out of the stable, lea
ving Pierce to stare after him open-mouthed.

  Thomas did not slow his horse at all, cantering through the estate and out into the countryside beyond. He tore down the track which headed in the direction of the lake, the breeze lifting his thick red-brown hair as he went.

  It was the fastest he had ridden for some time, and there was something so freeing in it that he did not want to ever slow down again. But his horse was blowing hard, and Thomas had already begun to regret forcing the poor creature to run hard without warning and maintain it.

  And so, Thomas slowed his horse to a comfortable trot, and now that it was safe to do so, he turned his head to look back the way he had come.

  When he saw Pierce taking a shortcut through the fields instead of following him along the track, Thomas let out a noisy sigh.

  “For God’s sake, go home,” he said, heard by none but his horse. “Just leave me to my anger.”

  Thomas considered setting off again at speed but suddenly realized there was no point. Pierce was not going to give up.

  Thomas turned back to concentrate on his trotting horse when a feeling of dread seemed to take him over. Something was wrong. Pierce was cutting through walled fields, and he was going far too fast. If he did not slow, he would come upon the high dry-stone wall at the top of the first field, and there was no telling what his horse would do. But no, surely Pierce knew what he was heading towards.

  Thomas, feeling a dreadful cold prickling at the back of his neck, stopped his horse altogether and turned him around to face back towards his approaching brother.

  Pierce was still flying along, and Thomas, forgetting all that stood between them at that moment, began to shout and wave his arms. He wanted so desperately to warn his brother that he was almost frozen in fear.

  Pierce showed no sign of slowing down, and Thomas could only watch helplessly from the track that ran alongside the field. With the wall too high and no run-up for his horse from the track that would give them any hope of clearing it, there was little else Thomas could do but yell and wave his arms.

  When tragedy struck, the world seemed to slow down horribly. Thomas watched with horror as Pierce’s horse balked some distance before the wall, as Thomas had suspected it would.

  Pierce was thrown so easily from the saddle that the whole thing seemed quite graceful in the beginning; the horse had stopped dead, and Pierce kept going. He arced through the air, and Thomas prayed that he would clear the wall.

  But Pierce lost the grace and height very quickly, and the world seemed to speed up once again as he was smashed, head first, against the wall.

  Thomas cried out, and seeing no way to get his horse into the field, jumped down from its back and clambered over the wall himself. He dropped down on the other side, landing heavily and twisting his ankle painfully. He half ran, half limped his way across the field, crying out to his brother as he went.

  “Pierce! Pierce!” He called again and again, never once receiving an answer.

  Before he was but halfway across the field, Thomas was drenched in sweat. His shirt clung to him, and he swiped sweat from his eyes with the cuff of the old brown tailcoat he always wore for riding.

  When he reached Pierce, he could see that he was motionless. His breathing was laboured and sporadic, and Thomas felt like a child again, a young boy who did not know what to do.

  Fear overtook him, and tears filled his eyes as he looked helplessly down at his brother. He dropped to his knees and touched his white face but could get no response whatsoever.

  Knowing that he could not just stay there staring and hoping Pierce would come around, Thomas rose and snatched the reins of his brother’s horse. Struggling harder than he had ever done in his life, Thomas pulled Pierce up finally and laid him face down over the horse’s saddle. There was no other way to manage it, and that was all there was to it.

  If he left Pierce there, he would die without a doubt. More than anything, Thomas wanted to get him back to Shawcross and make him comfortable whilst the physician was sent for.

  At first, he walked on foot, leading his brother’s horse slowly along. But he could not bear the slowness, feeling the valuable, vital minutes slipping away, so he clambered up awkwardly behind Pierce’s drooping, horribly still body.

  It was near to impossible to ride the horse from so far back, but Thomas leaned forward, straining every muscle in his body, and managed to get the poor frightened creature moving again.

  Still, he could not go fast, for fear that Pierce would be dislodged and slide off the saddle, but it was certainly quicker than walking alongside had been.

  “We will be home soon, Pierce. You just hold on, alright? Do you hear me? You just hold on.” Thomas heard his voice crack as the emotions seized him once again. The weight of the last months seemed to almost crush him, but in a very different way.

  It was not the pain of losing Catherine this time, but the loss of the last eight months with a brother who had tried time and time again to apologize. If only he had known where it would all end up, Thomas knew he would have done things differently. But that was the wonderfully vile thing about hindsight; it had perfect vision.

  Suddenly, Thomas had an image of the two of them playing with bows and arrows that the old stable master had made for them. The arrows were purposefully blunt and harmless, but that had not lessened the boys’ excitement at all as they chased each other all over the estate, inexpertly loosing off the round-ended arrows in all directions.

  They had played until it was almost dark, and their governess was fractious with agitation. It was one of those childhood days that was so wonderful and seemed to go on forever. A day that would always stand out, even when they were old men.

  They had been friends.

  Before their mother had died and their father’s concentrated influence had changed Pierce into a proud young man who followed his father blindly into arrogance, they had been friends.

  But Thomas realized that even after that time, they had never particularly been enemies. They had aggravated one another and mistrusted one another on occasion, it was true.

  But that had not been the sum total of their relationship as young men. There had still been laughter, although it was true that it was very occasional, and they had continued to attend events together and converse without too much trouble, especially when out of their father’s company. They just were not as close as they had been. Without their mother’s countering influence, Pierce had been allowed to develop as his father would have him. But was that really Pierce’s fault? After all, he was the heir and could hardly escape the determined attention of their father.

  Perhaps being the afterthought had been a far luckier position.

  By the time Thomas reached the front of Shawcross Hall, he felt utterly shattered. He called out for help, his voice coming in ragged gasps, and was quickly joined by several of his father’s footmen and a host of young men from the stables.

  His father marched down the great stone steps of the hall and surveyed the scene there coolly. Thomas studied his face for a moment and could see nothing there; not fear, not love, nothing.

  “What is all this?” he said in his customary bluff manner.

  “Pierce was thrown from his horse,” Thomas said and fought hard against tears again; they would do him no good in the face of his father. “He hit a wall hard. He is very badly hurt.” Thomas looked back to where the footmen were gently trying to lift Pierce from the agitated horse.

  “Damn fool, what was he playing at? He needs to be more careful,” the Duke went on.

  “Father, did you not hear me? Pierce is very badly hurt.” He turned away from his father and approached one of the stable hands. “Please, will you ride into the village and call upon Doctor Harper. Tell him what has happened and that we need him immediately.”