Saving Lord Whitton's Daughter: A Regency Romance Novel

by Susan Tietjen

  Saving Lord Whitton’s Daughter

  A Regency Romance Novel

  Susan Tietjen

  Sunbright Press

  Crescent City, CA

  Copyright © 2016 by Susan Tietjen

  Cover Art by Steven Novak at Novakillustrations

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Susan Tietjen/ Sunbright Press

  Crescent City, CA

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Saving Lord Whitton’s Daughter/Susan Tietjen. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-0-9904892-1-4

  LCCN: 2016907314

  Table of Contents

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING

  WHAT ELSE HAS SUSAN WRITTEN?

  DEDICATION

  This book is first dedicated to my mother, who was ever the believer in my father and in true love.

  Second, it is dedicated to those who believe in protecting the defenseless, and in risking everything they have and are for those they love.

  Susan

  “’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

  Alfred Lord Tennyson

  CHAPTER 1

  The Whitton Country Estate, Kent County, England

  June 12, 1814

  The day was far too beautiful to be one of the worst in Lady Bethany Montgomery’s life, but it seemed destiny had sealed her fate. Her riding boots felt leaden as she forced herself up the front steps to the manor and through the open doorway.

  Over her shoulder, Bethany took one last glance at extraordinarily clear, blue skies and the lush meadowlands of her late father’s Kent estate. With no male heirs, Whitton now belonged to her mother and would pass to Bethany if anything was left to inherit, although she had little faith in the prospect, especially after this morning’s ordeal. Then the butler closed the door behind her, cutting her off from escape.

  “Lady Whitton awaits you in the study, my lady,” the butler said, his seamed face as close to expressive as she’d ever seen it. Sad, he was. And for good reason.

  His demeanor meant the few servants remaining at Whitton knew what had happened that morning. They also knew the scolding she was about to receive—and what it would mean to all of them.

  “Thank you, Mr. Drew.” She relinquished her quirt, riding hat and gloves to the man. “Lady Camille is due here in a quarter of an hour. Please make her comfortable in the morning room when she arrives.”

  Mr. Drew gave a half-nod, but he avoided her gaze, suggesting her mother, Lady Katherine, had given him instructions that would override her request. She sighed, wanting to believe matters couldn’t get any worse than they already were.

  Steeling her nerves for the inevitable, she strode down the hallway to the study’s door.

  Before she could grasp the knob, the door flew open. She stepped back, surprised to see her twin cousins staring back at her. Neither of the young men’s identical sets of gray eyes or handsome faces was lit by their usual devil-may-care grins. Without a word, Lord Matthew pushed his way into the hall, herding her ahead of him, a finger to his lips. Mr. Nicolas, his younger brother by a mere seven minutes, pulled the door shut behind them and together the threesome stepped lightly to the other end of the hall, where they could talk.

  “You heard what happened, I suppose?” she whispered.

  “We were here when Scarbreigh returned to the manor,” Lord Matthew replied.

  Bethany winced. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t deal with him well, but—”

  “No you didn’t,” Mr. Nicolas interjected. “Refusing marriage is one thing, Lady Bethany. Punching the Marquess of Scarbreigh in the nose is quite another.”

  Reddening in embarrassment, she said, “But he … he tried to kiss me. I realize he meant no ill will. We all grew up with Scarbreigh and love him dearly. But he’s impetuous to a fault, and he caught me by surprise. You know that that never bodes well for me. And … and you know why.” She searched their countenances for some scrap of compassion.

  They at least sighed their concession.

  “And I recognize our esteemed Kirkwood Bannister often presumes too much,” Mr. Nicolas acknowledged. “Perhaps he deserved it. But his offer was sincere, you know, and would have saved you and your mother from ruin.”

  Bethany made an unladylike face. “Certainly it would. I couldn't have hoped for better. His friendship. His financial standing. His title. He even offered to allow me to maintain possession of the Whitton estate. But you and Lady Camille understand why I feel the way I do about marriage. Let Mum think I avoid the beau monde because I’m determined to find love and have failed at it. I care deeply about the estate’s financial affairs, but under the circumstances I’ve no right to marry, even if I could bear the demands of a husband—and I couldn’t. It would be unfair to both of us and a nightmare for me.”

  Lord Matthew said, “Hmmm. But Scarbreigh is Scarbreigh. He’s an old, treasured friend. He’d not only never hurt you, but if he understood the circumstances, he’d probably be most compassionate about it. Perhaps if you’d let us explain it to him—”

  “No!” Bethany hissed. “You promised not to discuss it with anyone. If word ever got out—” She paused, the very thought leaving her winded. “Besides, I cannot love Scarbreigh. Not that way. He’s too much like a brother.”

  She caught the quick look that passed between her cousins and her fences went up. Were they just testing her resolve? Did they not want her to marry Scarbreigh after all?

  Mr. Nicolas said, “We’re most sympathetic, Bethany, but what about Aunt Katherine? Your mother will suffer the consequences of your decision, too.”

  “I understand that all too well,” she murmured. And prayed daily that things weren’t as dire as she feared.

  Mr. Nicolas shrugged. “In truth, we’re not in favor of Scarbreigh’s suit. Just wanted to make sure you’ve no regrets about refusing him. Lady Camille agrees with us. Scarbreigh really isn’t suitable for you.”

  Bethany harrumphed at this statement. “Your sister wants the Marquess of Scarbreigh for herself. Has for a long time, if you hadn’t noticed. And she’s welcome to him if you want my opinion.”

  Mr. Matthew sighed. “Right. Well, then we’re off, Lady Bethany. We’ll catch Lady Camille on the way, take her home with us and leave you to talk to Lady Katherine. I appreciate your reservations and until now have supported them. But please be advised Mr. Bradbury left your mother not ten minutes ago. He didn’t come here with either good news or alone. I—we—must warn you serious things are af
oot and hope you’ll consider some advice.”

  Bethany swallowed her anxiety. The estate’s solicitor rarely brought good tidings.

  Lord Matthew rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I love that you’ve endured the trials you’ve had without losing your faith, Lady Bethany. It proves that you know you can trust in the Almighty. That he won’t fail you. So please open your mind to what Aunt Katherine has to tell you. It’s important. It won’t be easy, but some good might come of it, if you allow it. Send for us if you need us.”

  Then they left her in the shadowy hall that had once been decorated with precious trappings, paintings, and sconces. The majority were gone now, sold off to pay the estate’s expenses. Naught but a miracle could replace them.

  Gathering her courage, Bethany returned to the study, twisted the doorknob and stepped inside. That courage wilted, however, when she set eyes on her fair-haired mother. Pacing the room, the Dowager Lady Whitton’s usually lovely Grecian features were drawn into unbecoming lines of worry. At the sound of Bethany’s entrance she came up short, pale blue eyes widening.

  “Lady Bethany!” she intoned, hastening to collect Bethany’s hands in her own. “Thank you for coming from the stables so quickly. We haven’t much time to talk.”

  Bethany followed her mother to the sofa and sat beside her, apprehension constricting her chest.

  “Well,” the dowager countess said, straightening her skirts nervously. “I heard what happened this morning, and I must say, my dear, that you do find extraordinary ways to discourage suitors.”

  Had Lady Camille said such a thing, Bethany would have laughed, but the worry lines and exhaustion on her mother’s face meant she’d intended no jest.

  “I’m sorry, Mum. Lord Scarbreigh admitted he asked your permission for my hand yesterday. If you’d forewarned me I’d have told you it wouldn’t work. I—I’m simply not, well, attracted to him. He’s far too impetuous, and a gossipmonger, and he’s more like an annoying brother than were my own brothers.”

  Lady Katherine winced at such candidness. Forcing her fingers to stop pinching her skirts, she sighed. “I understand. I love the boy, but I’ve always imagined you needed a stronger hand.”

  “Well, I don’t want a schoolmaster for a husband, either, Mum.”

  “I understand that, too, daughter. You’ve never tolerated restraint well. Lord Whitton was unduly lax with you, and look what good it’s done us. Yet despite your unconventional ways, you’ve received two offers of marriage in the two months since we stepped out of mourning—three if you count today. All three gentlemen were rich enough to set our circumstances right for the rest of our lives. You, however, took none of them seriously. And don’t recount their many flaws, please. I’m tired of hearing them. There are no perfect people in the world.”

  “That doesn’t justify wedding someone entirely inappropriate. You and father—”

  “Undertook an arranged marriage like most in our class.”

  “But you loved him,” Bethany said, beginning to feel desperate. She’d run out of excuses and none of them mattered except the truth, to which her mother wasn’t privy.

  “I’d hardly seen your father before the offer came. Neither of us wanted the marriage.”

  “But you—”

  “Were fortunate, but we also determined to make the best of it. I adored your father, and he’d have laid down his life for me. Nevertheless, we grew to love each other, Beth. Which takes time and patience.”

  “And risk. What if it hadn’t worked?”

  “As I stated, we were committed to make the best of it. And so must you.”

  Bethany felt her cheeks pale at the realization of what she meant. It was one thing to imagine the end of one’s freedom. It was something else to look it in the face.

  “I’ve tried, Mum, I really have. I just need more time—”

  “Time? There is none. Are you determined not to face the truth? I told you in February that Whitton’s reserves had grown dangerously low. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s the twelfth day of June. If you’d wanted the prerogative to say yea or nay regarding whom you married, you should have taken it more seriously long ago.”

  More seriously? She’d taken all of the proposals more seriously than offers of death. And still she couldn’t force herself to accept any of them.

  Lady Katherine sighed and came to her feet, and despite the warmth of the day, Bethany felt icy dread spread from her cheeks to the rest of her frame. Shuddering, she looked towards the fireplace, presently empty, as had been most of the fireplaces all winter and into spring. This room, one of the smallest on the ground floor, was easiest to keep comfortable and, unable to provide wood for most of the other chambers, they’d spent the bulk of their days here. That thought, and the despair on her mother’s face, made Bethany again swallow hard.

  “Mr. Bradbury delivered the gravest of news today, my darling. Two weeks ago and again last week he warned me that our funds are near exhaustion. As of today, he has recommended letting everyone but the most necessary servants go—”

  Bethany’s jaw dropped. “You can’t,” she declared. “We can’t manage an entire estate without help.”

  Lady Katherine stared at Bethany as if she were daft. “I wasn’t finished with what I was telling you. We cannot manage it at all. Whitton is set to go up for auction this weekend—”

  “No! It mustn’t!”

  “Unless....”

  The word hung in the air, a momentary reprieve laced with barbs. Bethany blinked back the tears stinging her eyes.

  “Unless what?” she dared ask.

  “Mr. Bradbury arrived with a gentleman this morning, one who was disappointed to hear Lord Scarbreigh had requested permission to address you first. In all honesty, I told him I expected exactly what happened and encouraged his patience.”

  Shock overwhelmed Bethany. Hot, miasmic, it rose from her toes to her throat, choking her. “You’ve accepted this man’s offer, haven’t you? How could you? Especially when you’d already consented to Scarbreigh’s proposal.”

  “I hadn’t. I told Scarbreigh he was welcome to try but expected you’d refuse him. And if you must know, he reported the entire incident in detail, with a kerchief pressed to his bloodied nostril.”

  “Oh, Mum.” Bethany bowed her head in embarrassment. “He tried to kiss me against my will. I—I overreacted, but it was inappropriate of him.”

  Lady Katherine laughed dryly. “I hardly think telling you he cares for you and will provide well for you all the days of your life, then offering you a kiss qualifies as forced affection. You had a chaperone with you; Jason would have intervened if he’d seen a problem. Still, it’s over. We can’t change it. I’ve accepted the offer presented this morning, and you’ll have no choice. Unless you wish us both turned out.”

  “Why can Lord Hannaford not take over the estate? My uncle’s a good man, a kind one, and surely your sister doesn’t wish us to starve.”

  “We’ve discussed this before.” Lady Katherine’s cheeks reddened in mild anger. “Your father’s fortune—and therefore his capacity for debt—have always been greater than my brother-in-law’s. Lord Hannaford would need to sell Whitton, too, along with your beloved horses, to pay those debts. My sister would give us a place in Hannaford’s Dower House, if it came to it, but with her health so poor, we cannot place that burden on Lord Glen’s shoulders.”

  Bethany spun around, throwing caution to the wind. “Why can’t you remarry, Mum? You’re a beautiful woman. You’re fond of the pomp of the nobility—”

  “Stop.” Lady Katherine’s order, quiet but terse, left Bethany gaping. She gripped Bethany’s hands tight. “Choices do not exist without consequences. You must marry now, while Whitton’s properties, even as entailed as they are, offer us some small advantage. Once it’s gone, that advantage is lost. I understand you and your spirit, Bethany. That’s why I’m giving you the last word in this, but not until you’ve met this gentleman. I’m barely acquainted with him,
but the twins are his good friends, and Mr. Bradbury says he’s one of the most respected, sought-after bachelors in England. He’s also remained one of the least available. He prefers his country estates, as you prefer ours, and makes only rare appearances at London’s soirées.

  “Meet him. Hear his offer. Judge him for yourself. But please remember that while I’ll give you the very thing other English parents would not give, the right to accept or reject him, should you refuse, we’ll lose our home by week’s end.”

  It felt as if her lifeblood had suddenly drained out of her. Whitton would be gone? Along with her precious horses? She couldn’t let that happen. But how could she go through with this?

  “Who is he?” she heard herself say.

  “Lord Marcus Ashburn, the Earl of Locke. He has three estates here in Kent alone, and who knows how many others. His favored estate is Moorewood, just a few hours’ drive northeast of Whitton.”

  The Earl of Locke? Bethany recoiled. His name sounded as forbidding as Newgate Prison.

  “What sort of man is he?”

  “I’ve little acquaintance with him, although Mr. Bradbury and the twins speak highly of him. It seems your brothers knew him as well. Having the opportunity to meet him while you were engaged in bloodying Lord Scarbreigh’s nose, I must say that he’s at the very least impressive.”

  “Impressive? Does that mean he’s as old as dust and as big as a barn?”

  Lady Katherine pressed her lips together in annoyance. “No, dear. He’s quite—” She paused. “I’ll say no more. You’ll meet him for yourself.”

  Bethany shrank inside. “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Now? What do you mean now?”

  “I mean he’s waiting in the morning room and wants audience with you immediately. He has an appointment at noon and insisted I not even bother with sending you upstairs to wash up and change clothes. Mr. Drew has refreshments for us, and we mustn’t keep the earl waiting any longer.”