Three Rogues and Their Ladies - A Regency Trilogy

by G. G. Vandagriff

  “What is it?”

  “I was sworn to silence, but I think the circumstances override my promise.”

  “Go on.” Caro turned from the window to face her fully.

  “Ned is the patron and organizer of this orphanage. It is one of two that he owns and administrates. The other is in Cornwall.”

  “Ned?” She could not take the meaning of the words. “This is his orphanage?”

  “Yes. Does that not surprise you?”

  “It does. Vastly.” Clenching her fists, she said, “Oh, how I have wronged him. How many times have I accused him of being thoughtless, uncaring of others' feelings? And all the while, he was doing something so entirely wonderful. And he never breathed a word.” She was silent as she let this new vision of her beloved build itself into the old. “Did you speak to him of our melodrama?”

  “Yes. On the way back to London from the house party. You must realize, my love, that that is the last time I saw Ned. I have no idea what transpired between you after that time.”

  Caro sighed and turned her head to look out of the window again. “He came to the fête. He apologized for his behavior at the house party. We danced, and oh . . . Elise, it was such a magical night!” She felt tears glisten in her eyes and kept them fixed on a cart of sheep skins sitting below the window. “He promised to speak to my father in the morning.”

  “So you are betrothed?”

  “No.” Caro explained the letter from the Viscountess and the subsequent misunderstandings. “I did not know until you told me what transpired with Lady Sarah. I dismissed him when he returned from her. He had been gone over two weeks! It seemed to me that his love for her was still stronger than what he felt for me. It was the second time he had broken my heart, and I was not willing to give him a third chance. But it is broken again just the same.”

  “I understand, Caro.” Her friend walked over and put a warm hand on her shoulder. “But all is not lost. Remember, my own duke nearly died. The newspapers were in error that time. In fact, for over a month, I lived with the false certainty of his death while dwelling with my aunt in Yorkshire.

  “I expect a letter from Peter as soon as may be,” Elise continued. “It could be that Ned was only missing, not drowned.”

  Caro rose. “I am afraid to hope.”

  “I know how it must hurt to keep that door open instead of slamming it shut. Particularly when you have already been hurt so deeply.” She put both her hands on Caro’s shoulders. “But think what Ned would want. He loves these little boys, even if they are full of high jinks. Whether he is dead or alive, I am certain that he would want you to try to do this play for them. I know it will not be easy, but Violet and I have already been teaching them their lines. They are so excited, you cannot imagine!”

  Caro did as she was bid. Like a sleepwalker, she conducted the auditions, chose the most promising of the aspirants for the roles of the evil Mr. Sparks, the clever brothers Andy and Duff, and their absent-minded Uncle Scroggins. She then separated the remainder into two groups of spooks, one for the tower room and one for the library.

  Though her heart was heavy and her mind often elsewhere, she reminded herself that she was doing this for Ned. Gradually, she began to feel a reluctant affection for the young lads themselves. They were roughly seven parts bluster and bravado to three parts neediness. Though she sensed they would not accept outright demonstrations of affection, they responded hungrily to the gruff male accolades laid upon them by Lord William, who was proving his weight in gold.

  Violet was busy with yards of butcher paper and charcoal, designing rough sets of staircases, hidden passages, and a tower room, all adorned with bats and spider webs. Elise had taken up her needle and was stitching costumes for the human characters. Sheets were to be used for the spooks.

  Two afternoons after they had commenced this activity, an express letter arrived for the duchess from her husband. After reading it, she handed it to Caro.

  Sunshine,

  Jack has joined me. We have made a study of the tides on the day Ned went out and have determined the most likely spots for him to have been carried ashore. There was a bad storm. It is possible that he is injured. We have divided up the possible beaches, and Ned’s tenants are joining us in a search beginning at dawn tomorrow. Do not despair. Ned is a tough old bird.

  All my love, R

  Caro felt calmer with the receipt of this letter. At least something was being done. She redoubled her own efforts at coaching the neophyte actors, hoping that this would somehow score her divine points with Providence, who would repay her by leading the searchers to Ned.

  The following day brought Kate to join her. Caro was more grateful to see her friend than she could have imagined.

  Together, they took a walk away from the gloom of the orphanage, leaving the rehearsals to Lord William and Violet. Walking through the stone arches of the market hall with its colorful woolen wares spread and hung for sale, Caro said, “I’m trying to be hopeful, but the truth is I blame myself for the whole business. If I had not had such an excess of pride, I would have listened to Beverley when he last visited me. Did you know that Lady Sarah is to be wed to Somerset?”

  “No! How did that come to happen?”

  “I have not a clue, but doubtless Beverley came to Wiltshire to explain that and a good many other things. If we had become affianced as he wished, he would not have been out alone on his boat. He would have been somewhere with me, in Wiltshire or in Cornwall.”

  “How do you know you would not have gone sailing with him? Come Caro, such ruminations are pointless.”

  “I cannot bear to think of him dying, thinking that I did not return his love!”

  “You are becoming far too melodramatic, my dear. This is what comes of being a playwright!” She put an arm across Caro’s shoulders. They stopped at a stall, and Kate lingered over a stack of lovely, gossamer-like woven shawls. “Umm. Lamb’s wool.”

  Leaving them, she turned abruptly back to Caro. “But let us for one moment consider Ned’s state of mind when he left Wiltshire last. If you had been indifferent to him or had not returned his regard, you would not have refused to speak to him with such virulence. Your attitude actually showed strong feeling.”

  “Did he speak to you of it?” Caro asked.

  “He did to Jack. And you know how protective Jack is of you. He was rather hard on Ned. He advised him to leave you alone for a time and put his luck to the touch again in the Little Season.”

  “I shall not go to London now.”

  “Chin up, my girl. We cannot give up hope. You have not considered that he may have been lying injured somewhere and some kindly soul could have taken him in.” Kate picked up a baby sweater and looked at it longingly before continuing. “Ned is very modest about his rank. Jack is forever chivvying him about it. I doubt those boys in the orphanage even realize he is an aristocrat, never mind a duke.

  “What I am telling you is that he would not want to put anyone about fussing over him if they took him in out of the goodness of their hearts. And I seriously doubt that many of the cottagers along the coast read articles in the London newspapers about dukes lost at sea.”

  “Are you as hopeful as you sound, or are you just acting a part, Kate?”

  “I take my cue in this from Jack. He has every confidence in Ned’s ability to preserve himself. They were at school together, you know.”

  “How I hate that phrase,” Caro remarked. “I declare the upper classes of England are built upon it.”

  “Well, it does seem to account for a great many things we will never understand about men and their friendships. Now, is Lord William still pursuing you?”

  “I think he knows better than to try his luck while I am mourning the possible death of someone else. What do you think about his chances with Violet?”

  Kate’s eyes showed a speculative gleam. “Admirable. I think they would do very nicely together. We must see that they are thrown together as often as may be.”
/>   Yes. Having Kate with her was definitely what Caro needed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  IN WHICH OUR HERO IS HAUNTED

  His grace, the fifth duke of Beverley still remained ignorant of his identity as he recuperated from a lengthy immersion in the Irish Sea. Gradually, he learned the story of his rescue. The red-vested individual who was married to Ned’s nurse in the mob cap was none other than Mr. O’Hara, fisherman and lighthouse keeper on the south end of the Irish coast. He and his mates had found a delirious man clinging to a bit of wreckage, swept by an odd current into their fishing preserve. From his crazed speech, they pronounced him to be English, which meant that he had been carried by various currents a very long way indeed.

  This account of his rescue gave him only two clues: he was an Englishman, and he had been sailing. The closest bit of English coast to where he was found was Wales, but there was no trace of Welsh in his speech. He also had no idea the size of his craft or whether or not he had sailed alone or with a crew.

  He was almost certain that he had a wife. She was a lively sprite, dancing through his dreams with soft golden eyes that sometimes sparkled, and waist-length golden hair. At least he hoped she was his wife, and not some lightskirt he had taken up with.

  When next he slept, the girl-woman of the golden hair visited him again, but this time she did not signal light-heartedness. She was sitting on a wall of some kind, her lap full of flowers. The look she sent him was one of great sadness. It pierced him so deeply that he came awake. The room around him was once again bathed in light. But now it had the aspect of a hospital. He was ill. He must recover!

  She was mourning him. She thought him dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  IN WHICH THE PLAY IS THE THING

  After two weeks at the orphanage had passed—during which time Caro’s heart had grown increasingly heavy—opening night for “The Horrible Haunting of Cranberry Manor” had arrived. The boys’ enthusiasm was screwed up to fever pitch, their high spirits evidenced by a surfeit of juvenile humor involving hoots, hollers, shoving, and whistling. Violet, who possessed younger brothers, was surprisingly adept at settling them, aided by the physical strength of Lord William when necessary.

  Violet’s sets were sufficiently harrowing, Elise had exhibited a dab hand at needle work, producing suitable costumes for the main characters, while Kate had organized the gathering of donated sheets and the cutting of eye holes. Lord William had proved himself to be good with the youngsters, especially during rehearsals.

  The whole effort, Caro realized, was in the nature of a blessing, not only to the boys, but to her. How she would have passed the time otherwise, she could not have said. She was never wholly present to the task, but her efforts, when added to those of Lord William, were sufficient.

  It was a great comfort to her to have Kate near. She felt her friend’s empathy, but also appreciated her brisk efficiency. Kate always seemed to know the right thing to do or say. Elise and Violet were endlessly kind, but their kindness was too much like pity, making clear their thoughts that Caro’s vigil was useless.

  When the time finally came, Caro stepped around the makeshift curtain that designated the stage area. She was gratified to see such a large crowd.—children and adults, young and old. Even better, these villagers knew their manners and applauded as she stepped forward.

  “Thank you all for coming tonight. We hope you will enjoy this performance of 'The Horrible Haunting of Cranberry Manor.' The boys will be exerting their best efforts to frighten you witless, I am warning you!”

  Caro proceeded to name the main characters and list all those who would be performing supporting roles as ghosts, demons, and ghouls.

  “I would also like to thank those without whose help this production would not be taking place—the duchess of Ruisdell, the marchioness of Northbrooke, Miss Violet Archer, and Lord William Seaton.

  “And now, let the play begin!”

  After a few muffled giggles at the start, the boys outdid themselves and had a wonderful time. The ghouls and demons were particularly effective and grew even more so as the audience responded with screams and gasps of horror. In the end, they were all locked up in the steamer trunk, and the heroes, as well as the audience, breathed a collective sigh of relief. The young lads’ inheritance was safe from the dastardly Mr. Scroggins.

  After the play received rousing applause, the space was cleared of chairs and refreshments, organized by Kate, were served. Sustained by the success of her effort, Caro remained cheerfully cordial until the last guest had departed and the boys had been sent to bed, full to bursting with fruit tarts and lemonade.

  That night at the inn, in the room she shared with Kate and Violet, she undressed slowly. Violet and Lord William were below in a private parlor with the duchess, but Caro and Kate had come upstairs.

  A peculiar feeling had come over her, as though she felt Ned close to her, approving what she had done. Kate had ordered her a bath. Before Caro got into the water, her friend handed her a small parcel wrapped in ribbon.

  “Rose bath salts! How thoughtful, Kate. Thank you.”

  “You deserve them. You did a splendid thing for those boys. It went off very well, I thought.”

  Stepping into the steaming water, Caro said, “I know that Ned will return to this place. What would happen to it otherwise?”

  “That is an interesting question. Not that I do not think he will not be found, eventually.”

  Caro sponged herself, thinking about her beloved. Suddenly, for no reason she could name, she felt so full of hope, she thought she might burst.

  “I love Ned. I’ve loved him since the first time he kissed my hand and looked into my eyes. It sounds positively bird-witted, I know. But there was an immediate recognition inside me, as though I had been looking for just him.”

  She thought some more, taking an internal survey.

  “Oddly, my feelings for him have only grown stronger over time, even though there was a time when I did not like him very much, if you can understand that.”

  “Believe me, I can. None better. But what are you trying to tell me?”

  “That play tonight was not just for the boys. It was an expression of faith on my part. It was for Ned. I cannot imagine loving anyone else. He is larger than life. And while I have been overwrought and worried and anxious, tonight I feel different. Kate, I truly believe he is alive.”

  Her friend’s brow furrowed in obvious concern. “I sincerely hope you are right.”

  Caro knew she should feel foolish, but she did not. Sitting in the steaming tub, with the scent of roses all around her, having accomplished something rather grand for Ned’s orphans, all felt suddenly well. The link she had felt with the fifth duke of Beverley had survived through heartbreak, anger, humiliation, hurt pride, and now catastrophe. And, when she allowed her heart to be calm, it was still there.

  * * *

  The following day, Jack and Ruisdell returned. Caro’s peace of mind was sorely tried by their news. They had combed the shores and communities inland as far north as Wales. No one had taken in a half-drowned sailor. No dead body had been recovered either.

  “However, Caro, I must be straight with you,” Jack said as they took tea in the Warp and Woof. “The prevailing current was out into the sea, not back to the coast. Because of that storm.”

  “I know it seems quite odd and perhaps very silly,” Caro told him and the assorted company. “But I am not giving up. I think he is trying to find his way back to me.”

  “Caro . . .”

  “Shhh, Jack,” said Kate.

  “I would not for the world hurt you, dear Caro,” Jack continued. “But I do not feel there is much hope.”

  “Maybe not,” Caro said. “But you cannot deprive me of the little there is.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  IN WHICH OUR HERO WORKS

  AT HIS NEW PROFESSION

  Two Months Later

  November in Ireland was bitter, especially when
working out of doors. Ned’s gloves and coat were thin, but as soon as he began to muck out the stalls, he warmed up. His breath escaped in clouds of steam, and the lazy autumn sun rose above the mist.

  He knew in part of his blighted brain that he had never had to work this hard in his life. In fact, the white ring around his little finger showed evidence of some kind of signet ring that had either been taken from his unconscious body or lost at sea. Ned deduced from this that he was most likely an aristocrat.

  However working was far better than starving. And he was lucky to have his place here at the O’Connor Racing Stables. For some reason, he had not lost his knowledge of horses, and O’Connor’s was a large operation with first class stock patronized by the aristocratic English racehorse owners.

  After the first month, he had been given the additional job of caring for six of the mares that were breeding. He enjoyed it. It gave Ned satisfaction to lavish attention on the precious horses in his charge. They became his family.

  Julia was affectionate, always greeting him with a morning nuzzle. He fed her first because she always let him get close to her and smooth over her bulging sides. Her warmth radiated through his coat and gloves. Daphne and Chloe had more aristocratic attitudes and needed to be pandered to before submitting to overtures of friendship. But when properly courted, they showed their appreciation of his attentions by low whinnies, especially when he curried them. Mariah was the oldest of the bunch and seemed to be the least spirited. He tried to show her sympathy, giving her extra attention, to make her life of endless breeding a bit more endurable. Persephone was his favorite. She was an Arabian with such a beautiful neck and head, she just about made him weep. Her emotions seemed human, and they ran the gamut from joy and friskiness to discouragement when she spent the day with her head down.

  He talked to her. “Persephone, I wish you could meet my actual family. I have a wife who is as pretty as anyone could wish, with hair of gold to her waist. She’s a frisky one, and saucy, too. I imagine she gives me a run for my money. Just like you would.”