The Curious Life of the Unfortunate Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  Leonard was unbearably tired and the ride home from London found him attempting to asleep amidst the idle chatter of Percival and his son. It was less of conversation than an endless barrage of complaints. The Duke wished he had not permitted the two to join him on the journey now for he found their squabbling insurmountably irritating. Father and son could argue over the mere color of the sky, it felt, and Leonard’s head was aching from the turmoil of hearing them for the past hours.

  Even as he tried to fall into a much-needed slumber, their voices continued to seep into his mind, keeping him from rest.

  “I fail to understand the pertinence of such interviews,” David complained yet again and Percival, whose patience had long ago faded, snapped at his son.

  “You will understand the pertinence when you are Viscount,” the older man retorted. “For God’s sake, David, sulk in silence if you must act like a child. Can you not see the Duke is trying to rest?”

  David’s scowl deepened and Leonard could see that the boy cared little for his host’s desire for sleep. If anything at all, the journey to London had only added to his disdain of the Duke. Leonard was beginning to wonder if he would ever win the boy over but it was less likely with each passing day. To his relief, however, David did finally stop his woe-filled discussion and Leonard was left to sleep as the coach headed for Brookside.

  He was looking forward to seeing Elizabeth after their trip and although they had not been parted long, he did feel as if they had been separated for weeks. He considered how it would strike him once she left for Gordon in only a few days but he refused to dwell on the future. He held fast to the idea that perhaps the Viscount might extend his visit or perhaps entertain leaving his children at Brookside for a time. Leonard had not made the suggestion yet but he would when they returned.

  Herbert will appreciate the extra time with Frances, undoubtedly. I will be doing all a favor by suggesting it.

  Without the men’s voices in his ear, Leonard finally slept, a soft smile on his lips but it faded quickly when the slumber fell around him. He was plagued by a terrible nightmare instantaneously.

  In the dream, he saw Elizabeth, her lovely amber eyes wide with fear, her hands extended toward him.

  “Help me, Leonard!” she called desperately. “Help me!”

  “Where are you?” Leonard gasped, whirling about to take in the darkness of his surroundings but there was nothing but an inky blackness which suctioned him into nothingness.

  “Help me!” she cried again and he moved toward her but she disappeared, leaving him alone in the night-like surroundings, unsure of what else to do. Catherine appeared then, her face pale and terrified.

  “You must return home at once!” she pleaded. “Something terrible has occurred!”

  “What?” he choked. “What has happened?”

  “You will never forgive me,” Catherine sobbed. “Never, never, never…”

  “Catherine, speak sense! What has happened?”

  Yet Catherine provided him nothing more than that, her face twisted as tears pooled her eyes and she turned to gesture behind her. Frances stood at her back and the Duke gasped.

  “Has something happened to Frances? To Elizabeth?”

  “You must hurry, Leo! You are already too late!”

  He woke with a rough start and his company jolted in surprise, both in the throes of half-sleep themselves. The light of dawn had filtered through the windows of the coach and Leonard realized he was covered in a film of light sweat over his forehead.

  “Duke?” Percival asked questioningly. “Are you well?”

  Slowly, Leonard looked about, attempting to grasp his bearings.

  It was only a dream, he assured himself. There is no need for panic.

  Yet no matter how rational he attempted to be, he could not shake the vividness of the vision. His skin still prickled at the memory of his sister’s expression, Elizabeth’s voice echoing in his mind.

  “Are you ill?” David demanded, exasperation coloring his words. “What is the matter?”

  “How far have we traveled in my sleep?” he heard himself ask.

  “We are but an hour from Pembroke,” the Viscount offered. “You appear as if you have seen a ghost, Duke. Should we order the driver to stop?”

  “Certainly not,” Leonard replied shortly. “If anything, he must travel faster. Something is amiss in Brookside.”

  Father and son eyed him with curiosity although the dubiousness in David’s eyes was apparent.

  “How can you know such a thing?” the boy scoffed but Leonard did not care how strange it sounded to them—he was certain his premonition was correct. With each hoofbeat, his dread mounted and he wondered what horrors might await him.

  “Duke? Explain yourself,” Percival exclaimed. “You cannot simply make such an announcement without justification.”

  Leonard suddenly wished he had not spoken so boldly, not without proof. If he was correct, he could do little about any matter until they arrived at Brookside and there was hardly a need to cause a panic among his companions—nor did he wish for their scorn.

  “I fear I had a dream,” Leonard offered, forcing a sheepish expression upon his face. “Forgive me, Lord Gordon. My mind is unclear. Do return to sleep. It has been a busy day for us all.”

  Percival eyed him speculatively but to Leonard’s relief, he did not press the matter.

  “A dream,” David scoffed, settling back against the seats. “Next you will be reading tea leaves.”

  “David!” Percival snapped, his face flushing with embarrassment. “Mind your tongue!”

  “It is quite all right,” Leonard interrupted, not willing to put up with another round of father/son bickering, especially not when his nerves were on the verge of breaking. The Duke was growing accustomed to David’s sullenness and borderline disrespectful manner. He did not much care for it but knowing David would be returning home soon did ease his annoyance toward the Viscount’s boy.

  “What did you dream?” Percival asked and again, Leonard was struck by regret for having brought forth the subject.

  “It was nothing,” he assured the Viscount, smiling warmly. “I have all but forgotten it now.”

  Percival opened his mouth to respond but reconsidered and returned the Duke’s grin.

  “It has been a trying day,” he agreed instead. “It is a small wonder that you are finding sleep fitful.”

  “I will welcome my own bedchambers,” Leonard conceded but he knew that more than that, he would feel much more at peace when he set eyes on his sister and Elizabeth. He did not wish to alert the Viscount which was why he made no mention of the dream but silently, Leonard urged the horses home with greater speed. He could not shake the foreboding which consumed him.

  “What in God’s name is happening?” Percival cried as the coach finally made its way up the laneway toward the manor house. Both David and Leonard leaned forward for a better look at what had caused the exclamation from Percival.

  Dozens of carriages flanked the house as people milled about, their rigid postures visible even from the distance. Leonard could not see their expressions but the atmosphere was undeniably fraught with tension. The men did not wait for the coachman to open the door, each of them spilling to the ground, seemingly atop one another.

  The cold hand of dawn had reached out to shadow the area in a hazy grey light and it took Leonard half a minute to locate a familiar face among the strangers who stood about, speaking in terse, low voices.

  “Jacob!” he bellowed when his eyes fell upon the butler. “What has happened? Who are these people?”

  “Your Grace! You have returned!”

  “Where is Catherine?” Leonard demanded. “Miss Follett? Miss Elizabeth?”

  Jacob’s face was a mask of despair and Leonard’s stomach lurched dangerously. Her lips did part but no sound emitted.

  “Speak, man!” Leonard barked, his manners forsaken.

  “LEO!”

  He spun as Catherine burs
t from the house, relief flooding every crevice of his body.

  “Catherine! Oh, praise the Lord! What is the meaning of this?”

  They embraced and he stood back to study her face, gesturing at the crowd he did not know. Streaks on her cheeks indicated that she had been crying and the concern resurfaced in his gut. Before he could demand to know again what had occurred, Percival spoke.

  “Where are my daughters?”

  Catherine hung her head and chills raced through Leonard. A silence hung above them, heavy with the unknown.

  “Catherine! Answer Lord Gordon. What in God’s name happened here?”

  “Frances is asleep,” she mumbled, unable to meet their eyes.

  “Asleep?” Percival repeated. “How could she possibly be at rest when there is a bloody circus in the courtyard? That is not the daughter I know. Is she ill?”

  “Oh, Lord Gordon, forgive me—I did everything I could!”

  “Catherine, keep your wits together,” Leonard ordered her. “Calm yourself and speak. Why is Frances asleep? Where is Elizabeth?”

  “What have you people done?” David growled, approaching the group with fire in his eyes. “Who are these strangers among us?”

  “Your Grace, please come inside. I shall fetch you a drink,” Jacob offered but Leonard waved him aside.

  “David, see to your sister,” Percival barked but David did not move, his gaze fixed on Catherine. Daggers emanated from his eyes, it felt, but Catherine had dissolved into a fresh batch of tears, her voice caught in the sobs.

  “We will never learn anything at this rate!” Percival growled. “Where is Elizabeth?”

  He spun to confront Jacob and Leonard did the same. It was clear that Catherine was far too upset to explain.

  “Jacob, I will not ask again.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” he mumbled, stepping back as though she feared she might be struck in her idle response. “Miss Follett sleeps because she has been sedated.”

  “What? For what reason?” Percival howled. “David, see to her at once!”

  “I will go when I know—”

  “You will do as you are told!” Percival yelled, cutting his son off in mid-protest. “She does not handle sedation well as you are aware. Go, at once before she wakes and flies into a fit from which she will never recover.”

  David glared at his father defiantly but there was a glimmer of concession in his hazel irises. Without another word, he moved toward the house, muttering profanities unbecoming to his status.

  “Speak!” Percival ordered Jacob again. “Why have you sedated my daughter?”

  “She did not,” Dr. Graham announced. “I did.”

  The appearance of another body did not help alleviate Leonard’s confusion in the least.

  “If I have to ask again, someone will pay!” the Duke howled. “I demand answers, now!”

  “Miss Follett was beside herself when they returned from the Smitherson affair,” Jacob offered, sensing Leonard’s ire. “I sent for him to ease her suffering.”

  “Why was she having a fit? Did something occur at the party?” Leonard demanded, consciously aware that Elizabeth still had not materialized. He was also aware of the stares and murmurs which the townspeople gave him. He did not understand any of it.

  “Catherine, what happened at the gala?”

  Hastily, his sister wiped the mess of tears from her face and struggled to regain her composure.

  “Elizabeth wished to leave almost immediately,” she breathed, her words escaping in short rasps. “She feared that there would be a confrontation with Priscilla again and that it would upset Frances. But I daresay, Leo, Lord Cooke stared at her like he wished to make a meal of her. It was repulsive.”

  Leonard’s own breaths were shaky.

  Both Cooke and Priscilla were in attendance? Had I known, I would never have permitted them to go!

  “Was there an incident, then?” Percival asked. “Out with it! Has Elizabeth been harmed?”

  “We left as soon as she suggested it, Leo, Lord Gordon, I swear. We did not go seeking trouble but…”

  She trailed off.

  “Finish at once, Catherine!”

  “We had only just left when the coach was robbed by highwaymen.”

  “WHAT?” both men hollered.

  “Highwaymen? In Pembroke? Unheard of, Catherine! Are you certain?” Leonard choked. It sounded a jest but there was clearly nothing amusing about whatever was happening as dawn struggled through the sky.

  “I am,” she moaned. “They took all of our jewels and even Frances’ fine headdress. She was hysterical the entire time, no matter what Elizabeth said to calm her. I have never seen Frances so upset. She was fit to be tied, sincerely.”

  Leonard sighed heavily and shook his head.

  “Dear God. Was anyone hurt?” His mind was on the terrible dream he had had in the coach, the memory of Elizabeth reaching out to him.

  “Jasper was struck and we were bound together and left in the dark night alone,” Catherine rushed on. “I was blindfolded as was Frances and at one moment, she, too, was struck when she would not stop screaming!”

  “Oh ballocks,” Percival swore. “I must go to her.”

  “I have examined her,” Dr. Graham assured the distraught Viscount. “But for her temperament, she is unhurt. I daresay she was more frightened than hurt.”

  “Still, I must—” Percival began to say but Catherine was having none of it.

  “Wait!” Catherine cried. “Please, allow me to finish.”

  They stared at her expectantly but Leonard was relieved to learn that no one was seriously injured.

  Where is Elizabeth? At her sister’s side, undoubtedly.

  Leonard found himself looking about for Jasper, the coachman and his mother but through the throng of people and his fuzzy mind, it was impossible for him to focus.

  “We were found two hours later by another coach chancing by,” Catherine continued. “The Earl of Vester and his wife. They were returning from the Smitherson’s gala. She was ill and —”

  “Kindly get to the point, Lady Catherine,” Percival snapped and Catherine nodded. Like Leonard, she could see his words were not borne from anger with her but by worry for his daughters.

  “When they untied us, I realized my worst fear was confirmed…”

  “What fear?” the men chorused, their eyes wide in fear.

  “Elizabeth…” she whispered. “Elizabeth…”

  Again, she faltered and Leonard deigned to strike some sense into her but he held back, his head growing dizzy with the implications.

  “What did they do to her? Catherine, is she dead?”

  Catherine’s face paled more if possible and she stared at him miserably.

  “I do not know,” she sobbed. “I only know that after I was blindfolded, I heard a scuffle ensue. I believe she fought against them as they tried to tie her and then there was only silence. I called out to her, as did Jasper but there was no response.”

  “Where is she now?” Percival yelled. “What do you mean you do not know if she is dead?”

  “She was nowhere near where they left us. We searched thoroughly and called for help immediately. I found only her shoe in the ditch and spots of blood. But she was nowhere to be found.”

  Black spots danced before Leonard’s eyes and he stared at the Viscount who returned his look dumbly.

  “We must go back and search for her again,” Leonard heard himself say although he did not recall forming the words. “If she is out there, I will not have her picked apart by…”

  He could not finish his atrocious thought, the image of Elizabeth being eaten by scavengers, causing bile to bubble in his gut.

  “No, Leo,” Catherine insisted. “She is not there. I would wager my own life upon it. Look around you—there is no chance that this many people could have missed her.”

  “If she is not there, then where is she?” Percival snapped. “She must be—”

  He abruptly stopped speak
ing, the realization striking him at the same moment it hit Leonard.

  “They took her!”

  The idea was unfathomable. There was only one reason why highwaymen would take a comely woman instead of leaving her with her peers.

  “Oh…”

  Leonard fell backward, certain his heart would fail him at the idea that his beautiful Elizabeth was being defiled as they stood about doing nothing.

  “We must find these men!” Percival barked, his complexion nearly grey with sick. “What did they look like? Who could they be?”