Saving Lord Whitton's Daughter: A Regency Romance Novel

by Susan Tietjen

  Bethany’s head spun with what she was hearing. They were all part of the Secret Service? Locke? The twins? Even Mr. Treadwell? It made sense in a dubious way but it was hard to digest. Scarbreigh’s trembling became volcanic and Bethany feared he’d lose control and fire his pistol. Feared he’d kill her, either by accident or in retribution, and then shoot Locke.

  “The renowned Lord Locke. My dear friend since my youth,” the marquess spat, his face twisted with hatred. “I cannot believe I spared you. I insisted two of my men detain you safely at the fair, so that they and two others could get to Bethany. If everything had gone according to plan, we’d have left that night, rather than enduring this disgusting scene now. Had I known what you were, I’d have paid them extra to cut out your heart. You’ve always wanted whatever I’ve wanted or had, haven’t you, Locke? Every woman for whom I’ve set my cap, you’ve lured from me. And you didn’t even want them. That’s why you married Lady Bethany, to undermine me. I meant what I said. I’ll kill her before I let you have her.”

  “You’re daft!” Locke snapped. “I never wanted any woman until I married Lady Bethany, which didn’t happen until after she’d refused you. I wish I’d caught you out before that night at Almack’s last April. I could have stopped you before you did what you did to her. Perhaps my lady will find a way to forgive you,” he added, “but as for me, it will take a lifetime. You offered to marry her so that you wouldn’t have to kidnap her, didn’t you? And when that didn’t work, you tried several ways to get to her. Even proposing to Lady Camille was part of the plan. You hoped your engagement would lower everyone’s guard and give you access to Lady Bethany that you hadn’t gotten any other way.”

  Bethany sagged under the weight of such ugliness. Scarbreigh stumbled as he held on to her.

  “How could you, Scarbreigh?” she cried. “We all grew up with you, shared our homes and our lives with you. How could you treat our family so vilely? We all loved you.”

  “Liar. You’re all liars. So is that pig-headed fop to whom our frivolous countrymen want to hand the crown when the king takes to his grave. George the Fourth? George the Fool, you mean. He’ll ruin us. Mark my words. It won’t matter, though. We’ve a second, more valuable objective. To see that Napoleon rises again. I may have failed at my part. The others will not.”

  “And we’ll do our best to stop them, but your part is over,” Locke replied. “Now you can only make things worse for yourself. Let’s get you downstairs, get everything in order, and get some sleep before we head off to London when the sun rises.”

  Scarbreigh looked over his shoulder at the window and Bethany saw fear darken Locke’s face.

  “You can’t seriously think about jumping. We’re nearly three floors high, Scarbreigh, and the ground below is rock-hard and strewn with gravel. Doubt you’d survive it and certainly not without broken bones.”

  Ignoring all of them, Scarbreigh hauled Bethany with him as he stepped backward onto the trunk. Bethany stumbled and floundered, but the marquess dragged her up in front of him. She said a litany of prayers, unsure if any of them were heard.

  “Shoot me if you must, but I can’t let you do it, Scarbreigh,” Locke shouted before he charged towards the marquess, his fists doubled.

  “Locke! Don’t!” Bethany screamed.

  The pistol’s weight left her and a loud crack had all of the observers ducking or leaping away, the women screeching. Lord Locke stopped in his tracks not two feet away, a cloud of dust, straw, and chipped wood bursting at his feet. Rage flashed in his eyes.

  Scarbreigh leveled his aim more surely this time. Growling with fury, Bethany bucked her head against his chin, but he struck her hard in the shoulder with the pistol’s grip and again pointed at Locke.

  “Kirk, stop,” Bethany begged. “I’ll go with you. They won’t hurt you as long as you hang on to me.”

  Locke shook his head in disagreement, but Scarbreigh’s hold loosened a fraction.

  “Please, Scarbreigh,” Locke begged. “At least let us all go downstairs, where we can talk it out.”

  “You cannot tempt me, old friend. But as for you? She cannot love a man who is dead.”

  Time stood still for Bethany as Scarbreigh’s body tightened, as the gun’s muzzle lifted. Her breath left her at knowing the marquess intended to kill Locke. No! She couldn’t allow it, whatever the consequences to her. The anguish on Locke’s face told her that he knew what she would do.

  “NO!” she roared, shoving backwards and throwing the marquess off-balance.

  “No!” Locke cried.

  Scarbreigh lost control and the gun fired overhead, then he dropped it as he stumbled into the open window, his right arm wind-milling. His feet tangled with Bethany’s, tripping her, and she fell backward into him. Locke leaped toward her, hands outstretched. Their fingertips met, but Scarbreigh threw both arms around her waist and fell, taking Bethany with him.

  * * *

  Bethany shrieked, clawing the air, and in a moment of unbelievable providence, caught the window’s frame with both hands. She cried out again as Scarbreigh’s weight wrenched her back and shoulders and the window sill cut into her hands.

  “Bethany!” Locke shouted, lunging forward and throwing his arms around her to hold her up. A rush of bodies followed, Lord Matthew grabbing Bethany’s right wrist, Mr. Nicolas the left, Mr. Treadwell bringing the lantern to shed light on the scene, and far too many offering help they could not give.

  She sobbed, agonized at having her body stretched to its breaking point, the men trying to lift her up and Scarbreigh dragging her down. She felt Scarbreigh slipping down her body, his grasp at her waist dropping to her hips and then to her knees. If he didn’t let go, his weight could tear her arms from her shoulders or break her spine.

  Gritting her teeth, she looked down to see Scarbreigh losing his battle and sliding to her ankles. The insane irony drifted into her mind that the man who’d ordered her kidnapping was now clinging to the legs and feet his men had tortured and defaced with scars. His gaze met hers, and even in the flickering lantern light, she saw the fear in his eyes. He didn’t want to die; he was simply desperate enough to hope he could somehow pull off his escape. And in his delusion, he thought he could take Bethany with him.

  Searing pain lanced through her. She could take no more. She knew he realized what she was about to do the instant the panic flamed across his face. Then she jerked her right foot free, her slipper fluttering to the ground, and left him to grapple for the other foot ... and fail.

  * * *

  The bile rose to Bethany’s throat at Scarbreigh’s shout of horror and the sickening crunch of bones as he hit the ground. Then hands drew her inside the loft, voices drowning out her every thought. People everywhere asked her questions as they laid her down on the floor. Boots thundered on the ladder as men scampered downstairs to the yard.

  “Lady Bethany, look at me,” Locke insisted, cupping her face between his hands. “Stay awake, darling.”

  Her head swam and agony lanced through her, every muscle aching, her left shoulder a river of pain.

  “Mr. Treadwell, do your magic, please,” Locke insisted, and the butler—was that what he was?—came to check her body, testing joints, moving muscles that screamed in agony.

  “Only twists and strains, my lord, sir,” Treadwell replied at last. “She’ll be terribly sore a good while, but nothing’s broken.”

  Bethany heard tears, not her own. Then Lady Camille pressed her cheek to Bethany’s. Whispers fluttered against her ear, her cousin’s pleas for forgiveness.

  “I took care of you after they tortured you. How could Scarbreigh order them to do what they did to you?” Lady Camille sobbed. “I feel as if I betrayed you just caring for him.”

  “No, dearest,” Bethany murmured weakly, resting a hand on her cousin’s shoulder. “He made you love him, as he made everyone believe in him. It’s he who betrayed all of us and I who am ashamed I never confessed my doubts to you or to anyone else.”


  Her vision faded as footsteps approached. Lady Camille moved aside as Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas came to stroke her arms and encourage her. Someone reported that Scarbreigh was dead.

  “Landed on a rock and broke his neck,” an unfamiliar voice said, and Bethany couldn’t deny the additional irony. Scarbreigh would have been hanged as a traitor, and the hangman’s noose would have done no less.

  Then what seemed like hundreds of hands lifted her, carefully handing her from person to person down the ladder, and then Locke bore her, cradled in his arms, to the manor. He was as gentle as she imagined anyone could be, but the pain overwhelmed her and unconsciousness brought her blessed relief from the misery of both body and soul.

  * * *

  Dawn drew the nightmares of the early morning hours into vivid, undeniable focus. This had not been just one of Bethany’s horrific nightmares. Lord Scarbreigh was dead.

  The manor came alive with what seemed an army of people coming and going, making preparations for London, grabbing carriages and horses, and a wagon bearing Lord Scarbreigh’s shrouded body. Lady Katherine and Lady Camille insisted on spending the day at Bethany’s bedside. Their faces were gray with shock and grief. Bethany was grateful for the laudanum Mr. Treadwell gave her to manage both sorrow and pain.

  Not long after full sunrise, Locke came to beg her forgiveness for having to leave. He and the twins must report to their superiors, in person, the outcome of their confrontation with Scarbreigh, and then he would be home as soon as he was given leave.

  The twins pressed farewell kisses to the ladies’ cheeks, while Mr. Treadwell, Mrs. Ford, Mrs. Callen and Melissa all pledged to watch over their mistress in their absence. Sleep took Bethany away again.

  When late afternoon stretched its fingers through her window, Bethany came awake feeling the quiet of her surroundings blanketing her in unfamiliar and precious peace. The monster who’d killed her father and brothers and done unspeakable things to her was gone, his minions captured, and none of them could ever do anything to her again. It was as if Providence had opened a window and let in the sunlight.

  The thought so liberated her that she dared rise from her bed and walk gingerly around her room. Lady Katherine protested, but Bethany said she was getting stiffer by the minute lying there. She was admittedly miserable, but she’d had worse injuries on horseback and refused to let them keep her bedridden.

  Insisting on taking supper in the dining room, Bethany was grateful to have her cousin and mother to lean on when each step downstairs jarred muscles and vertebrae that had been cruelly abused.

  Mrs. Ford’s offering was as simple as Bethany had hoped, the cook’s fluttering concern endearing. Mrs. Callen brought cold compresses and cushions, and Mr. Treadwell and Melissa fussed over her precisely enough to remind her she did not have to deal with all of this alone.

  But mostly the three women chose to reminisce about better times and better memories, and shed the tears that needed release.

  CHAPTER 25

  Moorewood’s carriage rounded a corner in the blush of late evening, bearing Locke and the twins back to Moorewood. Five and a half days they’d been gone, and the scrapes, bruises, and strained muscles from pulling Lady Bethany inside the loft did not enjoy the vehicle’s bouncing. Locke could only imagine how Lady Bethany felt.

  “Wish you weren’t leaving us,” Lord Matthew said at last. They’d spoken little during their trip from London, when Locke had announced the decision he’d made. “Can’t imagine doing this job without you.”

  “I’ll still be around, just in a different capacity.”

  “Not the same,” Mr. Nicolas replied. “Scarbreigh wasn’t your fault, Locke. You needn’t feel guilty.”

  “I don’t. It’s a miserably ugly revelation to learn a man I believed was a cherished friend was a traitor and to have to return him to his mother with a broken neck. Never mind having to explain the particulars surrounding his death to our superiors.” He sighed and shook his head. “But I didn’t create the monster. It was his choice. Truthfully, it all centers on Lady Bethany. I was so worried about her, I didn’t stay focused on the evidence, which put her in greater danger. The reason we’re cautioned to abstain from emotional entanglements, after all. How our fathers did it, I don’t know, but I can’t.”

  “But—”

  “I can’t and I won’t. Do you understand she was willing to die for me? Do you know how that makes me feel? Besides, she knows everything. I can’t hide it from her now, and she’d worry too much about me when I’m gone. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, which would likely work best if I didn’t get myself killed.”

  Sighing deeply, Mr. Nicolas shifted in his seat. “By now I’d think you know Lady Bethany’s made of sturdier stuff than that. She might not like being your excuse for abandoning what you’ve done so admirably for so many years.”

  Locke sent him a cutting look that had his cheeks reddening. “And she might appreciate reassurance that what she suffered in this disaster won’t ever happen again, at least not because of me. It was reprehensible. That you two didn’t tell me the truth about her still infuriates me. If I’d dealt with her wrong, I might have lost her, and of that I couldn’t have forgiven you.”

  Shamefaced, the twins focused on something outside opposite windows.

  The carriage slowed as they passed the stables and rumbled into the yard.

  “Ah, Lady Bethany and Lady Camille await us on the front porch,” he said. “It appears your carriage is ready. Let’s make this as uncomplicated as possible, shall we?”

  The twins disembarked, pulling their jackets around them in the cool autumn evening. They greeted their sister and Lady Bethany, then went to oversee the movement of their baggage from one coach to the other. Lady Bethany came to gingerly clasp the hands Locke held out to her. He pressed a tender kiss to her cheek, and they whispered their greetings in each other’s ears. Locke was glad to see that though Lady Bethany’s smile was weary and touched with sadness, the light in her alluring green eyes shown as brightly as ever.

  “Lady Whitton?” he queried.

  “She went home as she’d planned, the day after you left for London.”

  “She knows everything that happened?”

  “Everything but the worst of what happened to me. Still, she knows I was kidnapped and why, and she’s understandably distraught by her unintentional part in it. I’m glad she wasn’t there to see what happened with Scarbreigh. I imagine if witnessing his treason hadn’t caused her heart to fail, she would have shot him herself.”

  Locke’s chuckle was grim. He turned to examine Lady Camille, her pale face and reddened eyes attesting to the depth of her mourning, and yet improved from when they’d parted five days ago.

  “My lord,” she murmured, offering a courtly curtsy when he greeted her. “How fared the proceedings?”

  He swallowed hard against the knot in his throat, certain Scarbreigh’s betrayal of England was nothing compared to what he’d done to this gentle, lovely woman.

  “As we expected, Lady Camille,” he replied, adopting her formality because he sensed she needed to hide behind it to maintain her composure. “His mother’s expectedly devastated, but she admitted that her son had changed through the years, had grown unsettled and secretive, criticizing the Prince Regent and bringing friends to his country estate who often extolled Napoleon’s virtues. They’d fought over it more than once.”

  “He lost his titles, did he not?”

  “Yes, I fear so. The Dowager Lady Scarbreigh must relinquish the family properties, and she’ll suffer the consequences of Scarbreigh’s offenses for the rest of her life. At least she has a sister who’s offered her a place in her husband’s dowager house. She’s a tough old bird, if you’ll pardon my language, my lady. I believe she’ll manage. But how are you?”

  Lady Camille cast him a thin smile. “Relieved to hear it’s over, sad for Lady Scarbreigh but glad she has recourse, and determined to survive, even if at the mo
ment it doesn’t seem possible.”

  “My condolences for your loss in all its facets.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I only pray we can learn to forgive him.”

  Locke nodded his understanding and walked slowly towards the Hannaford coach. He pushed aside his darker feelings and offered his hand to the twins in conciliation. To be forgiven, one must forgive; and he loved these two men, also like brothers. He treasured their kinship and refused to let Lord Scarbreigh’s memory take anything more from him than the man himself already had done.

  * * *

  “Please visit often, Cam,” Bethany begged, sad to see her go but aware it was necessary. “Locke will leave again soon, and you know I don’t relish the idea of living here alone.”

  Lady Camille nodded. “I promise, Beth, but for now I need some time to myself. Please don’t fret for me. I’ve sensed forever something was wrong, and I confess I’ve had a bitter seed of jealousy inside me since the day Scarbreigh proposed to you. Not towards you. Towards him. There’s something ignominious about being considered second best, and while I was willing to swallow my pride and do whatever I must to win his heart, I feared I’d never have all of him.”

  “Oh, Cam, I’m so sorry,” Bethany said, grief and guilt aching inside her. “He didn’t deserve you, you know. He didn’t want me, not really, just the information he thought I had. And to prove he could dominate me. That was always our relationship. You must keep in mind that the man we all loved wouldn’t have done what he did in his right mind. I care deepest about the implications the affair will have for you.”

  Lady Camille smiled with sadness. “It will be hard to face our peers when the trials begin and the truth comes out. Some will doubt me, no matter what I say. When I’m ready to reenter to society, I hope you’ll go with me.”

  “Without hesitation.”

  “You’re alright?”

  Bethany nodded, gingerly flexing her arms and her tender hands and wrists. “They’re healing well enough,” she said, and they were, but she could not say the same about her heart. That would take much longer.