Beastly Lords Collection Books 1 - 3: A Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Sydney Jane Baily

  “Very well,” he said. “A story?” He steepled his fingers a moment in front of him as if considering.

  All the while, Jenny’s sense of dread increased, bringing on a racing heart. In turn, her skin felt clammy as she broke out into a light sheen of perspiration.

  “A few months back, I took a trip to the country to visit family members who’d fallen upon particularly dire straits.” Ned paused dramatically. “Financially, if you take my meaning.”

  With her soup spoon still clenched in one hand, Jenny stared down at the tablecloth in front of her plate and bit her lower lip against the physical discomfort she was experiencing.

  “While I was there, I witnessed the strangest courtship imaginable.”

  “Do tell,” said a voice from farther down the table.

  “Speak up,” said another.

  “I will,” Ned said. “What do you make of a young woman with no title and no dowry visiting a wealthy nobleman’s house?”

  Jenny nearly gasped her dismay aloud.

  “Is this a riddle?” asked another.

  “What if I told you she went day after day unchaperoned to sit in his bedchamber?”

  A few other people around her did, indeed, gasp. Jenny took the opportunity to draw in a few breaths, as deeply as she could, given her tight corset. However, there was nothing she could do to tamp down either Ned’s tale or the steadily rising nausea.

  Warming to the attention he was receiving, Ned stood and actually paced down the length of the table.

  “Moreover,” he said, “though this young woman was fair of face and form, the nobleman barely knew of her existence. At first.”

  “How can that be, if she was in his bedroom?” their hostess asked.

  “This earl—oh, forgive me,” Ned said, as if his slipping of any hint of the man’s identity had been a mistake. “This nobleman was plainly touched in the upper works.” He tapped the side of his own head.

  “Gracious,” exclaimed a woman.

  Jenny could not raise her eyes. Were people already looking at her? Did they know?

  “Still, this woman went to him to provide aid and comfort.”

  “I wouldn’t mind that type of aid and comfort,” said the lecherous fool to her right. A few men chuckled.

  “In fact,” continued Ned, “her services were in high demand around the entire township.”

  Another few gasps ensued, and the elderly Lord Chantel-Weiss, who until then had remained silent and let his wife run her party, exclaimed, “Here, now, I say, Darrow. Is this appropriate dinner talk?”

  “Forgive me, my lord,” Ned said, his tone placating as he walked around the end of the table behind the hostess, who was grinning and obviously enjoying the tale immensely.

  “Perhaps some here have misunderstood my meaning, but this young woman was in service to the nobleman … as a bookkeeper, of all things.”

  “Stranger and stranger,” someone intoned.

  Jenny grabbed for her water with her free hand and nearly knocked over her wine glass.

  “This lady,” Ned continued, now looking directly at her, “nearly penniless, ironically had a mind for numbers and began to balance the ledgers for the whole village. She became the most dreaded of the sex, a masculine one.”

  “Oh, dear, dear,” said Lady Chantel-Weiss.

  “Yes! It is true. However, she ended up being of special assistance to the despairing earl.”

  Another gasp, and this time, Jenny was certain she felt their gazes upon her. Flexing her fingers, she dropped her forgotten spoon, which clattered onto the bowl and spattered creamy bisque across the white tablecloth.

  Ned walked farther around the table as he talked, coming eventually to stand almost directly behind Jenny’s chair.

  “In fact, as if in this topsy-turvy tale, the woman were the famed fairytale prince and the earl were the sleeping beauty, somehow this ordinary girl awakened him from his deep stupor and, miracle of miracles, dear friends, he married her. Or thus she claims.”

  Jenny pushed her chair back, nearly knocking Ned off his feet as she did. The bile had reached her throat, but she would not add to her humiliation by retching here in the Chantel-Weiss’s formal dining room while select members of the ton gaped at her.

  And she certainly wouldn’t give credence nor respond to Ned’s awful tale, not while Simon was unable to defend himself from the pathetic portrait her cousin had painted of the earl as a drooling imbecile and her as a gold-digging Cyprian.

  Why she had ever agreed to go to this gathering when Maggie was at another infernal ball and her mother was home with Eleanor, Jenny did not know.

  Practically stumbling on the doorsill as the floor wavered beneath her feet, she fled the room without offering her apologies to her hosts. The murmurs of incredulity and horrified whispers mixed with the tittering of delight followed her into the hallway.

  Ned was an utter scoundrel, and he would be sorry when or if Simon returned!

  Reaching the water closet, Jenny retched into the bowl. A few minutes later, with the contents of her stomach completely vacated by violent heaving, Jenny stared miserably at her disheveled reflection in the looking glass. Then she dabbed at her mouth with a cloth.

  For the first time, she was sorry that, as a married woman, she didn’t need a chaperone. At this moment, she would have liked the company of one such as Lord Cambrey who would have taken Ned Darrow in hand, most likely by the throat, and righted the situation. If that were possible.

  On second thought, it might have led to a duel at sunrise.

  She knew one thing. There would be no more events for her, let people think what they may. Showing or not, she decided it was past time for her confinement.

  *

  “There is nothing else.” Simon could not keep the harsh tone from his voice. They had been over the dream ad nauseum. He could no longer stand to recount the soft surface, the strange lack of vermin, the noxious guard approaching, and then his own hands desperately trying to strangle the man.

  “What if you don’t strangle the guard?” Herr Doktor questioned.

  “I have to,” Simon snapped, “before he—” He halted, feeling sweat break out upon his skin.

  “Before he what?” Holtzenhelm demanded quickly. “No, don’t pause. Say it.”

  “Before he kills Toby.”

  “Your cousin has already been slain. You cannot save him by killing the guard.”

  Simon frowned.

  “Think, man,” the bespectacled man encouraged him. “You have said many times Toby is alive in the cell with you. In real life, you know your cousin is dead. What need for you to strangle the guard?”

  “To save him,” Simon repeated stubbornly, as the words came to him. “I need to save him.”

  “I see,” Holtzenhelm said. “I see at last.”

  Jumping to his feet, Simon paced. He knew he understood deep down, but he feared voicing the conclusion. If he said it, if he accepted it, then there would be no remedy. No way to help …

  The doctor said it for him. “You cannot bring back your cousin by slaying the guard. Not in real life and not by doing so in your dream. You are driven to do it by guilt.”

  Simon stared out the window at the frigid January day. Everything covered in snow and ice shone brightly like crystals in the watery winter sun. Like Jenny’s eyes.

  “I should have protected him.”

  “Did he not feel the same about you?”

  Simon could only shrug.

  “Most likely, he did.” Holtzenhelm spoke calmly as if they were not discussing Simon’s absolute failure. “If you had asked for water and been made an example of, then he would have—”

  Simon interrupted him. “He would have returned home to his family. As he should have.”

  “There are no shoulds in life. None at all. Do you hear me? Do you understand?”

  But Simon shook his head.

  Holtzenhelm sighed. “You have a family now, too, do you not? A wife awaiting you s
omewhere. Perhaps children of your own someday. Why not for you, such a life?”

  “I could have saved him. I should have.”

  To his surprise, the short man slammed his hand on the desk with great force, making Simon turn around.

  “No!” the doctor insisted. “You have told me how your cousin died. You could not have saved him.”

  “By killing the guard,” Simon blurted.

  “So you think. And now, you are doomed to do it over and over again unless you heed me. You cannot save him. You cannot.”

  Simon let the words echo in his brain. How could he accept that?

  “I am a humble man who has read a lot. Will you listen to me?”

  Simon nodded.

  “I am speaking for your cousin now, as a man who knows and understands other men. I absolve you of your guilt.”

  Staring at the doctor, Simon took in his words and was speechless.

  “You cannot,” he whispered at last.

  “Yes, I can. Why not me? On behalf of your cousin, I absolve you.”

  Simon felt the tears prick at the back of his eyes, felt them tingle in his nose. Good God!

  “Do you want to have a life with your countess?”

  He stared at Herr Doktor. “Of course. That is why I’m here.”

  “Then you now have three keys you must use to unlock yourself from this nightmare of misplaced guilt. One, when you feel the dirt beneath you is not hard. Two, when you notice the absence of rats that would be swarming if you were truly in the cell. And three, when you see Tobias is alive, you know you are dreaming. For he is dead, irrevocably so, and you must realize there is no point in killing the guard.”

  “Then what do I do?” Was that his voice, sounding broken and tremulous?

  “You wake up. You examine the facts in the dream and then you wake up.”

  Simon felt a sliver of hope. Could it work? If he accepted Toby’s death, could he be freed from the nightmare of trying to save him.

  “Furthermore,” Holtzenhelm continued. “I believe the dream will fade from your sleeping mind as your waking mind accepts you could not save your cousin. Do you accept that?”

  Simon frowned. Lay down the heavy mantle of guilt and blame? The utter loss of letting go of his cousin at last—it seemed callous, even dishonorable.

  “I don’t know,” he confessed.

  To his amazement, the man smiled. “Do not worry. We can certainly discuss the issues that plague your mind in the waking hours far more easily than those hidden while you sleep. I promise you, now we shall make some progress.”

  Feeling heartened by Holtzenhelm’s apparent confidence, Simon took his seat once more. Perhaps by releasing Toby, he would be able to reclaim Jenny.

  *

  “Lord Cambrey to see you, my lady,” the admiral said, hovering in the doorway of the drawing room.

  Binkley had arrived after Christmas, like a late gift from St. Nick, explaining that his lordship had left orders for him to serve the countess at the townhouse when the busy Season began.

  Jenny considered her husband’s thoughtful arrangements. Apparently, Simon had known he would not be back before the new year. What other preparations, she wondered, had he made for his long absence? Had he foreseen being away only months or years?

  Jenny had not gone out in a week, nor received any visitors, mainly because none had come calling. But Cambrey was now a firm friend, as well as being her only link to Simon and the only one who knew he was not simply away on business.

  “Please, Mr. Binkley, show him in.”

  When Cambrey strode into the room a moment later, his smile said it all, causing her a rush of excitement. And hope. Rising to her feet, she could barely contain her tears.

  “You’ve heard from Simon!”

  “Yes, I have.” Pulling from his pocket what appeared to be a single sheet of paper, he handed it directly to her.

  “May I?” she asked politely, reaching out to take it, aware her hand was trembling. “It is not too personal?”

  Was that a flash of pity crossing Cambrey’s face? She hoped not. Not from him, too.

  “He’s your husband and since it is all about you, no, there is nothing too personal. Though he might have my hide for boots if he knew I was showing it to you rather than summarizing the message.”

  She offered him a grateful smile before looking down at the letter in her hand. Simon had touched this very parchment. And there was his familiar writing. Only because Cambrey was watching her did she resist raising the paper to her nose to see if some scent of him still clung to it. Foolish woman!

  “Salutations, Cam, and good news. I am greatly improved. The doctor I found has me working literally day and night, even whilst I sleep, to sort out the disorder of my mind. I know you are looking after my Jenny. I miss her more than words can say.

  For that reason, and for my unforgiveable behavior toward her, I haven’t written my lady. I still have no definitive words to tell her of a favorable outcome, but I am, for the first time, hopeful. Thus, I beseech you to go directly to her upon receipt of this letter and tell her, barring any unforeseen incident, I hope to return to Britain by month’s end. I will come directly to London.”

  Jenny gasped when she read the ending.

  “He’s coming back!” She shared a happy glance with his friend.

  “And greatly improved,” Cambrey added.

  She dismissed that with a wave of the letter. “He was perfectly fine as he was,” she stated, unable to hold back the tears.

  When Lord Cambrey handed her a kerchief, she dabbed at her eyes.

  “I needed no improved Simon. However, if he is happier, then everything we have gone through has been worth it.”

  Cambrey gazed at her, his eyes soft. “You truly are a rare gem, Lady Lindsey.”

  Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, she tried to smile. “As is my sister,” she teased.

  Strangely, however, his smile died and his expression grew shadowed.

  “We can expect the wayward Simon within weeks,” Cambrey surmised. “And the ton that has declared him lost, demented, even a fugitive from the reality of the present, they can eat their words with a large helping of crow.”

  The many things the ton were saying quite distracted her from how he’d sidestepped her remark about Maggie. Had society truly decided the Earl of Lindsey was such a lost cause?

  Sending up a silent prayer for his quick return, she only worried it would be too late for her to attend any of the Season’s events with her lord by her side. With her shape changing weekly, propriety would soon dictate she remain secluded.

  “Why are you looking suddenly so exasperated?”

  He didn’t know of her condition, nor was it appropriate to inform him.

  “I am merely impatient to lay eyes on him. And I want to shake him for leaving without telling me anything.”

  “Understandable.”

  “My manners have failed me. I should have offered you something when you arrived. Will you stay? Maggie should be home any moment. She went riding with Eleanor.”

  Instead of the mention of her sister acting as enticement, Cambrey looked mildly alarmed.

  “My apologies, but I must be off. Thank you for your offer. Give my regards to your mother.”

  And in a brisk tattoo of his heeled boots on the floor, he left.

  As soon as she saw her sister, she would ask her the cause of Lord Cambrey’s strange behavior.

  For the moment, though, she would read and reread Simon’s letter, probably a hundred times. And as she sat again upon the sofa, Jenny finally brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. Was there a lingering scent of Simon’s shaving tonic or was that merely the smell of the inside of Cambrey’s pocket?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Arriving on English soil after days of travel from Germany to the French coast, Simon admitted to a mixture of relief and trepidation. He’d been delayed in Calais by a storm that made passage impossible for a day. Then the choppy w
aters had caused their usually brief voyage to take nearly twice as long.

  After a late-afternoon landing in Dover, he eschewed the offering of accommodations at the King’s Head Inn and left at once by coach and six to London. He was exceedingly grateful his wife was not in Sheffield but, rather within a day-and-a-half reach in London.

  Now that he was so close, the months of separation had shrunk down to an unbearable few hours and miles.

  With his late start, the coach service reached only the port city of Rochester before halting for the night. Exhausted from the previous days of journeying followed by hours in the swaying coach, Simon fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.

  As had happened for the last two weeks, when the dream came, he faced it with confidence, his mind trained to determine the falsity of it. In fact, the dream did not come nightly anymore. When it did, as Holtzenhelm had instructed him, he recognized the signs of its falsity, let go of his guilt over Toby, and awakened peacefully.

  Early the next morning, he was ready to leave even before the innkeeper was prepared to serve breakfast. He would reclaim his Jenny as soon as the horses’ hooves traversed the miles still between them.

  *

  Jenny waited on pins and needles, as her mother would say. Each day slipped endlessly into the next. Still no Simon, and she grew weary of rushing to the front windows every time she heard the horses and wheels of a carriage draw close. Yet he had promised in his letter to Cambrey that he would arrive, and as the end of the month approached, her excitement grew.

  Surely, today was the day, she told herself each day. Her nausea was somewhat abated and still she didn’t show more signs of her condition other than fuller breasts and perhaps slightly rounder cheeks. She couldn’t wait to tell Simon her good news.

  However, when the new moon heralded the first days of February, and the glad tidings of the holidays and the new year celebrations were behind her, the crushing disappointment turned her disposition bitter.

  Perhaps her husband had changed his mind about returning or perhaps he had gone to Belton first, bypassing London altogether. She had no way of knowing. She only knew the waiting was driving her mad.