Falling for the Heartbroken Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  They fell to the floor, rolling this way and that until Bruce was on top of Atwater, choking him with one hand and reaching down into his boot with the other.

  Olivia saw the glimmer of a knife being drawn. She had to do something. She looked around the tiny room frantically. The moth-eaten blanket lay on the floor. She picked it up and manoeuvred herself behind him. His arm was rising to drive the knife into the Duke’s neck.

  Olivia caught Bruce’s head in the blanket, tightening it around his neck and pulling back as hard as she could. The knife fell to the dirt floor giving Atwater just enough time to push up and to the side, gaining positional advantage over Bruce.

  Atwater’s fist crashed into the man’s jaw again and again, the Duke’s breath coming in ragged grunts.

  Finally, it was over. Atwater bound Bruce’s hands and waited for the soldiers who were on their way.

  *******

  Charlotte ran into the alley. She was panicking. Her plan was backfiring. But she had to get her baby out of the third floor room inside the hotel. She made a sharp left, unaware that she was being observed, and ran to the front of the hotel. She flew in the door, past the desk, and up the stairs.

  She was a few feet from the door. She hurried inside and closed it behind her. She rested her forehead for one moment against the door to gather her wits, and then she went to her child. The little boy looked very much like his father. He had nothing of Charlotte. He was dark with the curly hair of a cherub, dark eyes and dimples. He was a chubby, healthy baby.

  Charlotte gently lifted the boy from the cradle. He gurgled and cooed. “Mama.” He was the only being that she had ever really loved. Originally, when he’d been born she’d intended to use him for her own means. To further her own goals in getting rich. She’d wanted much for herself, and she went about obtaining it by any means necessary. But her goals had changed.

  She wanted money and security for her child. This little angel had softened a part of Charlotte Evans. She cared not what became of her. Every ill deed she exacted was to somehow further her little Robert’s chances in life.

  “Mama’s here, my angel. She held the tiny boy close. “I’ll never let anything hurt you, my love.” She straightened at a sound behind her, and slowly, she turned.

  “So. It’s my guess you didn’t expect me, My Lady.” Phoebe stood in the middle of the room backed up by Jorge, Colonel Drake, and a young lieutenant.

  Charlotte’s face tightened as if she’d just eaten a lemon. Her baby was in her arms. There was no way she was going to take any chance of harming him. She kissed the infant tenderly. “Mama loves you very much, Robert. Always remember.” She placed the boy back in the cradle and slowly turned back to the other four in the room. To attempt escape was useless.

  She stood still while the Colonel and Lieutenant bound her hands. Phoebe did not look at her. She’d seen the tenderness that Charlotte bore for her child. The idea of separating them was painful to her, and her heart went out to Charlotte then.

  As the soldiers were about to pass through the door with Charlotte, Phoebe said, “Wait!”

  They turned to look at her, the soldiers questioning, “Your Grace?”

  “May we be alone for a moment?”

  Jorge, who’d begun playing with the infant, picked the baby up, and the three men went into the hall to wait until Phoebe called them back.

  “What is this? You mean to really drag me through the mud of this, do you? You mean to have it in all the papers and the topic of gossip for the ton to revel in. Go on. Tell me what you have in store for me, Your Grace.”

  “I, myself, have nothing in store for you, Charlotte. You’ve acted in a vile manner towards me and others. But I want it all to be over. So no, I will not have it in the papers or even spoken about once it’s all said and done.”

  “Then what? Why ask to speak to me alone? Surely you don’t want the others hearing the malicious plans of the Duchess of Atwater.”

  “I want to tell you that I will do everything in my power to see to it that your boy is well taken care of. He will have the best tutors and the finest clothes. He will eat good food and spend his summers in the country. He will be safe. And he will never know the truth of his mother’s travesties. He will have everything you’ve wished for yourself, and now that you wish for him. And he will never be told the truth about his mother. He will be told how she loved him more than she ever loved anyone. And he will be told that you died when he was one year old.”

  Charlotte blinked twice. “Why would you do that for me?”

  “Because, in spite of your wickedness, you are a mother who truly and clearly loves her child. Why should he suffer for your transgressions? I will not let it happen.”

  “I see. So you want me beholden to you.”

  “No. I simply don’t want to see an innocent child suffer for the misdeeds of others, most notably his mother.”

  Charlotte squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I suppose you want gratitude from me, then. You want me to tell you how selfless you are, how giving and wonderful.”

  “I do not. I only wish to give a little boy a fair chance. This has nothing to do with me … or you for that matter. But as women, I think we can agree that your child should not suffer for deeds not of his doing.”

  Charlotte said nothing, but in her eyes, Phoebe glimpsed a tiny spark of light.

  The men in the hallway were growing impatient. Their shuffling came to the ears of both the women who were caught in a mutual gaze that spoke of many things.

  Charlotte dipped her head ever so slightly. Her chin quivered, and she curtsied as best as she could with her hands bound behind her. “Your Grace.”

  Chapter 20

  Olivia left Atwater with Bruce in the cellar. The man had been knocked out by the Duke, and he wanted to avoid any chance that the thug would escape. She went into the hotel to retrieve the baby from the third floor room.

  Smothers was at the desk. He hadn’t been able to get his early night after all. His father was passed out in the back room behind the desk, so the boy was on duty after all. He ate some bread and cheese in a vain attempt to sober up.

  “Has anyone come in, Mr Smothers.”

  “No, but they’ve certainly gone out.” The boy laughed at his private joke.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw some men earlier, or maybe it was one, but he took a rug from the cellar. If I’d known thieves wanted to store things down there, I would have charged a fee. A small fee. But a fee. Why should my father’s establishment …”

  “Mr Smothers, this is a lovely story indeed. But I must go.” Olivia made a dash for the stairs before he began to talk again.

  She was about to enter the staircase when she heard noise from above. There were people coming down.

  “Oh, Colonel Drake. His Grace said you would be coming.”

  “Where is His Grace.”

  “In the cellar, Colonel. He’s holding a prisoner. Your Grace. Oh, thank God. How did you get away from Bruce?”

  “He was drunk. He never tied my hands because I was unconscious. But I’d come to as he was carrying me up the steps. I feigned that I was still knocked out. When he leaned forward to tell the hackney driver where to go, I was able to slip out. It was dark out, so he didn’t realize the door to the vehicle opened just enough to rescue me.”

  “He must have found you were gone at some point. He came back here. He got into a scuffle with His Grace in the cellar. He is lying, unconscious and bound, waiting for the Colonel and Lieutenant to take him to the jail.”

  “His Grace is here?”

  “He is.” Phoebe looked up at the sound of her husband’s voice and ran to him.

  “Robert.” She threw her arms around his neck. “My darling.” She burst into sobs. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  “I’m here now, my love. You are safe.”

  The Lieutenant took Olivia by the arm and escorted her out to the same carriage Charlotte waited i
n. Bruce, by now awake and quite sobered up was taken to the unmarked carriage as well. The Colonel sat on the bench with the driver while Lieutenant Stone stayed inside the vehicle with the prisoners.

  Tom rode back to Regent Street with Atwater’s and Jorge’s mounts. Jorge had little baby Robert with him. He hailed a hackney for himself and one for the Duke and Phoebe. They left Covent Garden with the intention of regrouping at the townhouse.

  *******

  Atwater kept his arm protectively around his wife in the confines of the hackney. He’d been worried sick about her. He didn’t know what he would have done if any real harm had come to her.

  “My love. Thank God you’re safe.” He pulled her closer to him and kissed the top of her head.

  “I knew you’d find me, love.” Phoebe snuggled her husband. “I knew you would.

  *******

  When they got back to the house, Mary rushed Phoebe upstairs for a bath before the doctor looked at her. The room had been cleaned of the morning’s misgivings, and a cheery fire warmed it. Steaming water once again waited in the bathtub to soothe Phoebe.

  “Are you well, My Lady?”

  Phoebe was reclined in the tub, eyes closed. She cracked one eye. “My Lady?”

  “Oh, my goodness. This has been such a strange day, Phoebe. I forgot who or what anything was.”

  “Yes. I was not treated like a lady. I slept under a moth-eaten piece of fabric that served as a blanket. I ran through the streets of London in a servant’s frock, and I fraternized with vermin. Most distasteful indeed.”

  “I’m so sorry, Phoebe.”

  “I’m happy to be alive. I’m glad that Charlotte Evans is in jail, and I’m glad we’ve rescued her son before anything bad happened to him.”

  “Do you mean to keep the child, Phoebe?”

  “It is not my plan, but if it needs be, it needs be, I suppose. I certainly will pay for his upbringing, wherever it is.”

  “I have some news to share with you, Phoebe.” Mary moved the stool she occupied a bit closer to the tub. She took Phoebe’s hand.

  “Mary. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing, but I believe you should be aware of something before you go back downstairs.”

  “La! So mysterious. What is it?”

  “Lady Judith has come home, Phoebe.”

  “Lady Judith? What are you talking about?”

  “The real Lady Judith.”

  “I don’t understand, Mary. Are you speaking of my husband’s cousin?”

  “I am. Lady Judith was sold as a slave to the proprietors of the inn in Seville where she’d stayed with Charlotte while in Spain.”

  “Sold? How do you mean? Mary, this is all so, so much.”

  “I agree with you, Phoebe. But Lady Judith informed us that, well, she was given to the couple in lieu of the room fee. No actual money changed hands, but the deal was for Judith to be a house slave for the innkeeper.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Just before Charlotte, as Judith, arrived in London.”

  “I do believe Charlotte Evans to be crazy,” Phoebe blurted out, and then quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

  Mary giggled despite the depth of the conversation. “I believe you may be right, Phoebe.”

  “So. What now?”

  “There will be a trial. Charlotte will be tried on charges relating to what she’s done that can be proven. It cannot be proven that she killed the father of her child, even though it looks like she did. But your kidnap, impersonating Lady Judith, and her threats promise to keep her in prison for a good long time. At least that’s what Tom said.”

  “And Olivia? What’s to become of her?”

  “She acted under duress from Charlotte. She was threatened with death. Olivia was afraid of her. She will, of course, spend a little time in jail, but it really depends on you, Your Grace. Do you want to press charges?”

  Phoebe sighed. “No, I don’t. Olivia gave me the opportunity to escape by leaving the door to my cellar prison unlocked. She’s young and brash, but I don’t believe her to be a thief or a murderess. I don’t think she’s cut from that kind of cloth.”

  “What kind of cloth would you say she’s cut from, Phoebe? I mean she showed up at each of our weddings with the intention to alarm us or, at the very least, to make us extremely uncomfortable.”

  “Her act of being at each of our weddings was forced by Charlotte, I’ve no doubt. And Olivia’s behaviour at both was more akin to that of a sassy, naughty girl than anything. You know? La. Nasty schoolgirl behaviour. There was never any danger involved. No, I don’t want to press charges against her.”

  “You are a kinder woman than I, Phoebe.”

  “It’s not kindness, per se. You see, Olivia only wanted to be raised up, much as you had been. She was inspired by Charlotte, not realizing that what Charlotte was doing had far reaching and negative consequences. And she was afraid to leave the odd partnership they’d forged. Charlotte had actually threatened her with murder on more than one occasion.”

  “No! I suppose that sort of threat could get many to do a great deal of things they would never do otherwise.”

  “And Mary, Charlotte had given the task of my murder to Olivia. When Olivia told her she thought that was going too far, Charlotte told her she had to do it. Or she, herself, would be the next to die.”

  “I had no idea.” Mary clasped her hands together in front of her heart.

  “That was when Olivia got the idea to rescue me.”

  “And thank the Good Lord she did.

  Phoebe nodded. “Yes, and she not only saved my life. His Grace told me that Bruce, the current paramour of Charlotte, came very near to killing him. If it weren’t for Olivia, my husband would be dead.”

  “I’m thankful it all worked out as it did, Phoebe.” Mary assisted her out of the bathtub, and there was a knock at the door to the chamber. Mary went to answer it as Phoebe donned a chemise. Mary let Abigail into the room.

  “The doctor is here, Your Grace. His Grace would like to know if you’d prefer to stay in your chamber afterwards for some light supper. Or do you prefer to come down to the library?”

  “I will come down. Thank you, Abby. Are you well, dear? Let me look at you.”

  Abby walked into the room and over to Phoebe. “Oh la! Abby! That’s a frightful bump. And the bruises! What says the doctor about it?” She put a finger under Abby’s chin and tilted her face towards the light.

  “I am fine, Your Grace. I will appear somewhat unsightly for a few days, but then I’ll be good as new. Mrs Crabtree has made up an ointment that will aid in the healing.”

  “Oh, my dear, you do not look unsightly, but I insist that you take the next few days off. Rest, go riding, read. Whatever you’d like to do. But I won’t have you on your feet assisting me. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, but who will assist you?”

  “You let me worry about that. I’ve just spent about twelve hours in a rat infested, cold and damp cellar. You need not worry about me, dear.”