Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  Atwater and Tom looked at each other in disbelief.

  “And then?” Atwater could barely breathe. All of the strange occurrences of the last weeks might begin to make some sense.

  “Lady Judith came back, alone, from her travels. Olivia has seen her, but Lady Judith hasn’t seen Olivia. And …”

  “And?” the two men said in unison.

  “Olivia told me that Lady Judith, the lady who began the awful rumour about you, Your Grace.” Mary sighed and looked again from one to the other of the men. “Olivia said that Lady Judith is none other than Charlotte Evans.”

  “You mean to say that Charlotte Evans has appropriated Lady Judith Barton’s identity?” Tom queried.

  “Yes, My Lord. That is what Olivia said.”

  *******

  When the carriage reached the house, both men and Mary went inside through the hall. Robert ran up the servants’ stairs to reach the drawing room he knew Phoebe would receive the Duke in.

  The door to the room was closed. He knocked once and opened it to find Carlisle with his body pressed against Phoebe’s. Her back was against the wall, and her head was turned as far to the side as she could get it. It appeared Carlisle was so engrossed in stealing a kiss from the lady he didn’t hear Robert enter.

  Atwater stepped up behind Carlisle, wrinkling his nose at the reek of brandy emanating from the Duke. He put both hands on Carlisle’s back and tore the beast away from Phoebe. The force of the pull caused the Duke to stumble backwards. Phoebe stood stock still as her rescuer shielded her from Carlisle using his own body.

  “Jush wha do you think you’re doing barging in here like thish? Into my home.” The Duke slurred his words.

  “You’d do well to keep your hands from my fiancée, Carlisle. I’m here to save her from your grubby paws.” He motioned for Tom to come into the room to get Phoebe. “Get her to Regent Street. Mary too. Have Dan take a circuitous route. One he doesn’t usually take. I don’t want anyone to see us, if you follow my meaning,” he said under his breath.

  “I do, Your Grace.”

  “And will you stop calling me Your Grace?”

  Tom bowed his head, and never one to resist a joke, said, “As you wish, Your Grace,” while ushering Phoebe from the room.

  Alone with Carlisle, Atwater knew it was no use to try and reason with the man. He was very drunk and would most likely be passed out soon. To help him along, Robert proposed a toast, to which he knew the Duke would assent.

  Atwater poured two brandies and, as on the night at Pinebrook Manor, he added granules of belladonna to one glass. He handed the glass to Carlisle and the two drank.

  Atwater manoeuvred the Duke to the settee and helped him sit, all the while keeping a one sided conversation about nothing. Five minutes later, he left the room, went out through the hall, and hailed a hackney. He would come back tomorrow and deal with Duke Carlisle.

  Chapter 8

  In the cab, Atwater thought much about what Mary had told Tom and himself. If Charlotte Evans was indeed an imposter who’d taken over Lady Judith’s identity, much could be explained.

  Her near obsessive desire to be a Duchess for one. Her insistence on his marrying her, at least after the death of his brother. And her constant talk of him, for better or for worse, to any and every one who would listen.

  Atwater had found Judith’s behaviour embarrassing. But he’d figured that once married with a child or two, she would calm down. He didn’t remember his Judith to be cold and calculating. Indeed, his Judith would not have behaved the way the current Lady Judith did. There were many unanswered questions since Lady Judith had come back to London. And now, possibly, all the questions were about to be answered.

  His Judith. His mind went back to her. The Judith of three years before. The Judith who’d cried and asked him to wait for her to come back. The Judith who’d rejected him before her journey and then stopped writing.

  She’d been alone in Spain, with no one but her lady’s maid. She’d been ill. And then she’d come home, to London, just as he had been moving away from his feelings for her.

  She’d come back. Finally. In his heart he’d forgiven her. He’d dared to hope that they could rekindle their love. Then she denied him again. She wanted to move up in society. But she slandered him. He couldn’t believe she’d taken it to such an extreme.

  Atwater had come to terms with the situation. Then, when Judith had denied him again and made a play for his brother, Atwater knew it was over. She didn’t want him. And quite frankly, he didn’t want her.

  The question remained in his mind, though. Had something unforeseen or illicit taken place in Spain? Charlotte Evans had discovered she could imitate Judith without detection. But the people she came across during her travels were unknown to the lady. It would be entirely possible to hoodwink someone Judith had never met before.

  Still, she’d come to London. If the current Lady Judith was indeed Charlotte Evans, it took a certain boldness to look into the eyes of those Judith was supposed to have known since childhood.

  After the deaths of his father and brother, Judith had rallied around Atwater. She was the good cousin. The comforting shoulder. And she’d made it clear that she wanted him back. Then for some reason, a sense of duty, or maybe to stop tongues from wagging, he’d decided to marry her. Or was the real reason that he’d hoped to find his Judith again?

  His mind turned to Phoebe. He knew she thought ill of him. She had believed the imposter Judith from the very start. That was upsetting to him, but still he couldn’t let Phoebe be taken away to Scotland.

  If there was a chance the maid from the house on St James was telling the truth, Atwater knew he couldn’t let Phoebe go to Scotland. And even if what the maid from the Bennington townhouse said was not true, he wouldn’t let Phoebe go to Scotland.

  If the lady who was claiming to be his cousin, Lady Judith, was truthful or lying, Atwater realized it didn’t matter. He was in love with Phoebe. He knew that now.

  “Regent Street, Your Grace.” The cab driver hopped down from the box and opened the door for Atwater.

  “Thank you, good man.” Robert smiled and handed the man payment for the ride and a little extra.

  “Why, thank you, Your Grace. This’ll buy the wife some flowers and a flagon of wine. I thank you, Your Grace.” And the driver bowed.

  Atwater put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “And I thank you, sir.” He walked towards the hall feeling the good blessings the man was sending his way. He hoped they worked.

  *******

  The library was Atwater’s favourite room in the house. Tom knew this, and Atwater was sure that’s where he would be with Phoebe and Mary. He strode down the hall and into the opulent room which seemed to boast no actual walls. There were shelved books from floor to ceiling, and in the candlelight there were many eerie shadows.

  He went straight to Phoebe. “My Lady. Are you well?”

  Phoebe’s face showed the strain of the last weeks. Her blue eyes were not as bright as usual, and they hovered over dark shadows underlying them. The bones of her cheeks jutted out, giving her the appearance of an otherworldly being. Her figure had become thinner. He thought she needed to be in the country where she could escape some of the strain she’d been enduring.

  Phoebe looked up into Atwater’s eyes. “I’m fine, Your Grace.” And then she fainted in his arms.

  “My Lady.” Mary went to the couple. “Your Grace, is there a bedchamber we may use? I fear my mistress is exhausted.”

  “Yes, Mary. Follow me.” He lifted Phoebe as if she weighed no more than a feather and started for the stairs. Tom, for his part, remained in the library and poured himself another cognac.

  They entered the bedchamber. It was cosy and cheerful, with a huge four poster bed against the opposite wall, a sizeable fireplace, a chaise and a vanity. A narrow hall led to the sitting room beyond. Atwater placed Phoebe gently on the bed.

  “Mary, I’ll leave you now. If you are in need of anythin
g, please see Terence. He has access to everything. He will get you what you need. There are items in the clothes press that you are both welcome to use. Tomorrow, I plan to go to Wimpole Street and see to Duke Carlisle.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. And have you given any thought to the story of Lady Judith?”

  “I’ve given it as much thought as has been possible to give it since you shared it.”

  “I meant not to worry you, Your Grace. But, I knew you planned on marrying the lady. Forgive my audacity, but I thought you should know.”

  Atwater looked long and hard at Mary. “There is no possibility that I wouldn’t know you had your mistress’s, mine, or even Tom’s best welfare in mind, Mary.” He noticed she looked down when he mentioned Tom. “My trust in you and your loyalty is sincere and strong. Never fear.”

  “I thank you heartily, Your Grace.”

  “Now, put your mistress to bed, please. I’ll have Terence ask Cook to have some supper brought up for you. Then you shall stay in this chamber with Lady Phoebe. I can have another bed brought into the room.”

  “Oh no, Your Grace. I wouldn’t hear of it. I’ll eat in the servants’ hall. I can sleep on the chaise. I do so often at Wimpole Street.”

  Atwater smiled. “Very well then. Sleep on the chaise, but I’ll still have supper sent up. I’d prefer if Lady Phoebe weren’t left alone. Mind you eat something before you go to sleep.”

  “Very good, Your Grace. Thank you.” She curtsied.

  “Thank you, Mary.”

  Atwater left the room and headed back down to the library.

  “How is everything, Robert?”

  “I suppose everything is under control for the moment. A lying lady’s maid posing as a lady, a Duke who’s clearly lost his mind to drink. His plan was to kidnap Phoebe and keep her prisoner at his family’s ancestral castle in the Highlands. It’s lucky Mary alerted us.”

  “Yes, it is. But you can’t keep her here, Robert. No chaperone? Tonight is one thing. One night can be kept quiet. But you know the ton. They’ll tear Phoebe to shreds if she stays here for longer than a night with no elderly female chaperone.”

  “She’ll be returned to Wimpole Street as soon as possible, but not until Carlisle has left. I’ll visit him tomorrow morning to explain that Phoebe will be my wife. I’ll make it clear his attentions towards her are undesirable.”

  “That’s where I come in and buy the Wimpole Street house, with your permission of course, Your Grace. I’ve a need to break away from my family for a while. And I’ve always fancied that townhouse.”

  “You could rent the house. I don’t know if my future wife wants to sell.” Atwater laughed.

  “Robert!” Tom slapped his friend on the back.

  Atwater looked at Tom.

  “Do you really plan to marry Lady Phoebe?”

  “Yes. Tom. If she’ll have me. To the dogs with convention and the ton and the gossip mongers. I’m going to follow my heart. And whether Lady Judith is real or not, I don’t wish to make her my wife. Actually, I don’t wish to be anywhere near her.”

  “But what if Judith starts another rumour?”

  “She can do whatever she pleases. I no longer care. And as for the ton, I’ve never cared for their approval. It was difficult to weather their contempt, but it was somewhat different when my father was living. I am Duke Atwater now ... I have no need to explain myself, or my actions, to the ton. They can all go to the Devil.”

  “Here. Here. Your Grace.” Tom applauded him, and Robert bowed low with a flourish.

  “Shall we have a cigar, Tom?” Atwater opened his smoking cabinet.

  “Let us, Your Grace. And while we’re baring our souls, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. Your devil-may-care attitude has emboldened me to share a matter of the heart with you.”

  *******

  Phoebe woke in the late morning. Bright sunshine was streaming in the windows. For an instant, she didn’t know where she was and feared she might be in Edinburgh. She looked towards the chaise for Mary, and seeing her nowhere, fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She remembered coming to Regent Street in the dead of night. She’d slept well, but she was still thoroughly exhausted. She aimed to have a bath when she was back at Wimpole Street in the afternoon.

  The thought of Wimpole Street made her nervous. Would Carlisle be gone? She didn’t want to go back there if he was still in residence. But she couldn’t stay here, at Lord Robert’s home. Not even with Mary. Mary was a servant, not an elderly lady relative acting as chaperone. The ton would be scandalized if word got out. And word would get out. There had to be at least one other female member of the peerage on the premises for the arrangement to be acceptable. But that meant she couldn’t go home either ... not if Carlisle was there. Phoebe decided that if gossip was to be had, she’d rather her name linked with Duke Atwater than with Duke Carlisle.

  The clattering of hooves, down on the street, came to her ears, and the door burst open. Mary brought in a pot of chocolate and some dainty biscuits.

  “Good morning, My Lady. I hope you have some appetite.” She smiled.

  “I do. At least I feel as if I could eat and not worry about it coming back up.”

  “Very good, My Lady.” The maid placed the tray on the bed and poured a cup of chocolate.

  “Thank you, Mary.”

  “You’re most welcome, My Lady.”

  “Is His Grace about?”

  “His Grace is on the way to Wimpole Street to tell Duke Carlisle that you are his betrothed. He’s going to tell the Duke that he must go back to Scotland today. He’s going to tell Duke Carlisle to leave you alone or beware of the consequences.”

  “No! Why ever would he do that? If anyone were to hear, the ton, you know. They’d spread the word far and wide. He’s taking a chance telling Carlisle such a fib. I would hate to see him in more trouble than he is. Why is he being so kind to us?”

  “Perhaps His Grace wants to protect you, My Lady. Perhaps he has feelings for you.”

  “Nonsense. He’s going to marry Lady Judith.”

  “My Lady, do you forget all that we spoke of yesterday?”

  “No, I do not. And I expressed to you that I want to speak to Olivia. Have you been able to get a message to her? Can she come to Wimpole Street at dinnertime?”

  “My Lady, I’ve been unable to get in touch with her. It requires me to leave the house and walk to St James’ Square. I cannot be seen coming or going from here.”

  “Oh Mary, I’m sorry. I’m putting pressure on you. I’m just so confused. I don’t know who knows who, who loves who or who hates who. Or, for that matter, who is who. But I would like to talk with Olivia. In fact, I’d like her to address both His Grace and myself.”

  “My Lady, I believe His Grace Lord Robert is summoning Olivia as well.”

  “And you really stand in her corner, Mary? She’s not making up a story with some, some ulterior motive?”

  “No My Lady. Olivia is quite trustworthy.”

  “In a few days, when we are both caught up with our rest, we will speak to her. You and I.”

  “Very good, My Lady.

  *******

  Atwater walked through the front door of Wimpole Street. He found Carlisle where he’d left him in the drawing room. A dank smell surrounded him, and Atwater realized that the Duke had wet himself due to inebriation. The belladonna probably hadn’t helped. Atwater smiled to himself wryly. He would find Carlisle’s man who could get the Duke cleaned up. Atwater could come back later.