A Secret Deal With The Devilish Baron (Historical Regency)

by Lucy Langton

  Did he even deserve a chaste girl? He could not reckon how many ladies he had crossed. He patronised ladies of the night and had forcefully taken the innocence of Rebecca, the daughter of the venerable of the Anglican communion, an action he did in the past and later regretted. He could not fathom how he managed to live such a fierce life even though he had a good heart. It was as a result of his past, he knew.

  He was letting his guard down for Isabel. Her beauty was second to none. Perhaps, he wouldn’t have lived such a ruthless life had he met her earlier on. He was going to try his best not to allow his loins reason for him again. However, he was not going to let her go. He was going to do everything within his power to make her his.

  Suddenly, he remembered that he needed to do something outside. So, he opened the door of his chambers and stepped out, overshadowed by the beauty of the morning.

  ***

  The Montgomery siblings decided to have a walk through the estate, allowing George to appreciate the beauty of nature and also to have a simple walk with his sister, something he always longed to do, only that his sister never had any time for him.

  Before then, Isabel had taken permission from Lord Gregory and Lady Beatrice to show her brother around the estate.

  “That’s the horses.” She pointed towards the stable.

  “I could see my horse. Behold how it stares at me.” George waved at his stallion.

  “It recognised the owner,” Isabel said, both of them chuckling at that statement. The breeze was whirring hard, pushing her hair towards the right side of her face, with her gown swaying this way and that. She occasionally straightened out the hair and arranged it the proper way.

  “So, how do you see your temporary home?” George asked his sister.

  “Oh, so interesting. I love everyone, especially Lady Beatrice,” she cheerfully replied.

  “Lady Beatrice or Lord William?” her brother asked her.

  She was taken aback as she asked, “What do you mean, I pray you?”

  “Nay! Nothing, I mean.” He chuckled. “Anyway, I’m really glad that you are finding here very interesting. Can we sit on that large stone and talk?”

  “Don’t you want to explore the woods? It’s very beautiful as you can see.”

  “Not at all. No harm meant, though. I prefer sitting by the brook and admiring the waters as they glide through the stones. Can you see that beautiful bird drinking water?”

  “That’s a nightingale,” Isabel said. “I used to mistake it for a robin.”

  “They look alike, only that you need to look very closely before you notice the difference,” George said while both of them sat quietly on a big stone, careful not to disturb the little bird drinking water.

  “Father used to say that a nightingale is like a plain book outside, but so interesting once you open it,” Isabel said. Immediately, another one began to sing on a tree not far from their sitting position, oblivious to its environment.

  “Just like that one,” George said, pointing at it. “Because of their almost plain feathers, one would barely get interested in them until he hears them sing.”

  “Exactly! Common nightingales are called Lucina. I think they are the ones that sing both night and day.”

  “I guess that is one, then,” George said. Before his sister could say something, he added smiling, “You used to remind me of the nightingale.”

  Surprised, she asked how.

  “You have always been an amazing personality. So gentle, yet a brave, courageous, and strong woman. I admire your strength and wisdom.”

  “Wow! Thank you, brother.”

  “I have a confession to make,” George said. Isabel’s heart skipped in split seconds. “Nay! Not what you think, girl.”

  They both laughed softly as he tapped her lightly on the hand.

  “I have a collection of poems and stories I wrote about you.”

  “Pray, you don’t mean it.”

  “I’m serious. They’re very interesting. You have been such a great sister. I know I misbehaved. I acted ignorantly by drinking and gambling, thinking that was a way out, not knowing the harm I caused for myself,” he said, handing a piece of writing to his sister.

  Isabel was shocked to the marrows as she went through it. Her brother had poured encomiums on her, reminding her of how special she was and how lucky he was to have her as a sister. She never believed her eyes as a teardrop fell from her eyes onto the script.

  “It’s OK, dear. You have always been my friend; I know you didn’t know I loved you so deeply.”

  The nightingale by the brook flew away and joined the one by the lofty tree. Both of them flew further into the forest, leaving the Montgomery siblings all alone.

  “Brother, look!” Isabel screamed, pointing towards a reptile, gliding out of the stone they sat on. Perhaps, it was resting and was disturbed by their presence.

  George looked towards the direction she was pointing as she scampered. He saw a long brownish object. Very beautiful and innocent looking. If one didn’t know what it was, one could actually pick it up and cuddle it. But it was a snake. There hasn’t been anywhere on record where snakes are innocent.

  “That is an adder!” George said while both of them walked away for safety. “It is harmless unless provoked. It loves a cool environment, just as you and I.”

  “Do you liken us to snakes?” Isabel asked as they walked towards the estate.

  “Not so, My Lady. You are a beautiful lady. I only meant that both of us also like a cool environment as well.”

  She nodded. A few steps away was the Baron, probably taking a walk. She got a glimpse of his huge frame; her heart skipped, and if one could look into her eyes, sparks of light emanated from them. She ignored the feeling growing inside her, though a herculean task, and asked her brother, “How is Aunt Mariam?”

  “She is doing fine. She sent her greetings.”

  “And you never told me?” she teased him.

  They both laughed, walking back to the Gregorian abode, feeling better and grateful for the little time they shared.

  ***

  In the evening...

  “My Lord, I am extremely grateful for the pardon granted to me over the estate. I must admit to the careless demeanour I exhibited, which led to my losing my inheritance. I must confess that I didn’t deserve the grace. It’s such an honour, My Lord.” That was George to the Baron as they walked towards the stable. His sister was right beside him, clinging to his left arm, while Williams was on his right. He stopped and faced George, focusing more on the figure by his left hand.

  “You are one of the humblest lads I’ve come across in this province,” Lord William said to George, extending a hand of appreciation towards him.

  “It’s an honour, My Lord. I must confess that I was sceptical about her general situation in the estate, which was one of the reasons why I came to observe things myself. However, I commend you for taking good care of her. You are a good man.”

  His sister smiled, conscious of the presence of the Baron.

  “I’m glad you came around to dwell with us. Better still, I’m glad for your sister who took up the challenge. For the first time, Lady Beatrice smiled at me yesterday, courtesy of the lady beside you.”

  “That was a great observation, My Lord,” Isabel said to him, lowering her face to avoid his gaze.

  He giggled, shaking the right hand of George. “I hope to see you again. It was great interacting as friends for the first time.”

  “I hope so too. Take care of My Lady, please,” George reminded him. Turning to his sister, he gave her a warm hug. Coincidentally, the stable boy brought his horse, clean and ready to be mounted upon.

  They all exchanged pleasantries for the last time as George saddled his horse and headed back home, a happy man.

  Chapter 15

  George got home late in the night. It had been a very hectic day for him, coupled with the fact that the journey was stressful and long. He didn’t need to stress himself much, for
which reason he went straight to his bedchamber. He removed his shoes, then his coat and breeches. He bared himself and went straight to the bathroom, where he washed away the stress of the day.

  He got inside, wore his pajamas, and laid down. The sleep was such a precious one that he never woke up again, except when nature called, until morning. He got up and went straight to the kitchen. He boiled water in the kettle and made a mug of black coffee, took it to his bedchamber, and sipped it slowly, savouring every flavour.

  There was a light knock on the door, and George invited the person in. It was Richard, the housekeeper. He handed him a letter signed by Aunt Mariam. He thanked him and waited for him to close the door before opening the letter. His eyes were filled with tears as he read each word.

  Aunt Mariam had left!

  He was frustrated and disappointed at the same time. What could have made her leave? Why would she choose to go that way? She knew what calamity had befallen them not long before. She knew how it had been difficult for them to cope. She knew that she was the mother they could see, having lost their biological mother to the cold hands of death. Why could she not, at least, wait to say goodbye to him and Isabel? He didn’t even know how to relay such a painful message to his sister. She was so fond of Aunt Mariam and had been longing for the day she would carry her train as her bridesmaid. Now, she was gone! No address was given to trace her whereabouts!

  He dropped the paper on the bed and paid enough attention to the water flowing down his eyes in torrents. As he wept, he felt pain in his heart and wished it was not true. But it was unarguably true.

  It was at that moment that he realised why she had encouraged him to go and visit Isabel earlier than planned. He never knew it was a way of sending him out before escaping. There was nothing else he could do than to wonder why she had not deemed it necessary to let him know why she was leaving. He slowly consoled himself and wiped his face, leaving everything pending when he would figure out what happened or probably, meet her, and she would explain to him by herself. He only wished and prayed that the reason would be a positive one.

  ***

  After breakfast, Lady Beatrice laid on the bed a while before going over to the bookshelf. She brought out different books on poetry and finally settled on one. It was a collection of Anna Bradstreet’s poetries. Anna was the first female poet and was immortalised because of her contributions to the world of poetry. Lady Beatrice went through her biography for the first time since the book laid in the shelf and was stunned at her rich profile.

  “Anne Dudley Bradstreet (1612-1672) was the first poet to be published in the British North American colonies. Her first poetry collection was The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up, which was originally published in 1650. It had critical acclaim in both the Old and the New World.

  Her publications were made possible as she was highly educated for her time, having studied history, languages, and literature. Both Anne’s father and her husband were involved in the founding of Harvard in 1636, and her sons Simon and Samuel attended the university. There is now a gate dedicated to her, The Bradstreet Gate, in recognition of her being the first published poet...

  Lady Beatrice instantly loved Anna and was awed at what the woman could achieve in her short stay on Earth. For the first time, she had a deep thought over her life. She knew she was deteriorating in that cocoon of a room she was hidden in, but how was she going to leave, snap out of the walls? She sniffled back tears as they welled up in her eyes, but not without a drop landing on the face of Anna Bradstreet. The film spread immediately to the other parts, subsequently, covering the whole face.

  Beatrice smiled. A dry smile. However, the smile was going to play a great role in her recovery. That was the second time she had smiled since she was twelve.

  There was a rap on the door. Then, a second one. And a third. She urged the person to come in, knowing who it could be. Luckily, it was the person she expected to see.

  Isabel smiled at her, and she smiled back. She could see that the drapes at the window had been shifted to the left, and the room was fully illuminated, unlike the day she made her debut appearance there. She went closer and looked at the book in Lady Beatrice’s hand.

  “Anna Bradstreet,” Lady Beatrice said.

  Isabel nodded.

  “Do you know her?” Lady Beatrice asked innocently.

  “Yes, I do. Though scarcely. I know she was a poet. Nothing more. George knows her better because he’s into poetry as well.”

  “That’s good. Does he equally write?”

  Isabel nodded.

  Lady Beatrice was astonished. That meant she herself could write. Perhaps, she would try to do so one day.

  “Do you write?” Isabel asked, sitting beside her.

  She shook her head.

  “Why?” Isabel demanded.

  “I have not made any attempt before.”

  “Why have you not made any attempt yet? What does it take to do so?” Isabel queried her. They both giggled as she realised how mean the questions sounded.

  “Anyway, I think I could do so one day. What do you think, Isabel?”

  That was the first time she had addressed Isabel by her name. She was used to calling her Miss Montgomery.

  “You know that adage that says, ‘a day begins a story’?” Isabel asked her, and she responded with a nod. “I think that adage was referring to you.”

  They both laughed again. This time around, Beatrice laughed harder than before.

  “But how do I start? Perhaps, you have an idea.”

  “You can start anywhere!” Isabel replied matter-of-factly.

  “Like?” That was Beatrice.

  “My Lady, do you know you could write about anything? Your bed, your books, your house, your...” She paused before adding, “... brother.” She didn’t know what she thought about her brother and didn’t want to hurt her feelings by any means. As a matter-of-fact, her mission was to help her condition.

  “OK. Now, I understand. Can I write about you?”

  “Why not,” Isabel answered before realising she meant her. She wondered what she could write about her. The previous day, her brother astonished her. This day was Lady Beatrice’s turn.

  “What are you thinking about?” Lady Beatrice asked her, snapping her out of her thoughts.

  “Nothing, My Lady. I was thinking you could also write about nature. I mean, the breeze, the brooks, stones, birds...” She remembered the nightingale of the previous day and added, “You can write about the nightingale too. It’s a very beautiful and special bird.”

  “I don’t know much about it. In fact, I have only seen it in drawings.”

  “Pray, My Lady, how would you know it, except you come outside? It lives in the forest; it doesn’t compact itself in a secluded room like yours. Would you not like to admire the beauty of nature? You could watch the waters flow, the birds chirp incessantly, the horses gallop, the winds blow past the trees causing the leaves to wave their hands at you and so many beautiful works of nature out there.”

  Beatrice nodded in satisfaction, urging Isabel to continue.

  “Look at the great artists. They love the outer world, even though most of them are indoor persons. However, they come outside, behold the beauty of nature and then, go inside to draw.”