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

by Sydney Jane Baily

  She watched her sister’s eyes widen.

  “I know,” Maggie nodded. “I think it’s the first time I’ve said it aloud. Believe it or not, I don’t think we even said it to each other when he proposed.”

  The carriage came to a halt.

  “I think you should rectify it at once,” Eleanor advised as they heard the Lindsey driver jump down from his seat. “As soon as you see your fiancé, run into his arms and tell him how you feel.”

  That wasn’t how things were done, was it? Still, it seemed like sound advice. However, when Cyril admitted them to the front hall of the house, which would someday soon become Maggie’s home, John was not there to greet them. She and Eleanor stood under the splendid dome vaulting gracefully over the large staircase, and Maggie wondered a moment what to do next.

  “I will inform Lord Cambrey you have arrived,” Cyril intoned and disappeared upstairs.

  Puzzled, Maggie bit her lower lip. Apparently, even after a few more weeks of convalescence and the removal of his arm cast as he’d mentioned in his last letter, John chose to remain upstairs during the day.

  Solid, quick footsteps heralded the approach of Mrs. Markle from the back of the house. With her impressively calm demeanor and assured capability, she was the reason Maggie didn’t fear the role of Lady Cambrey. Of course, there was also John’s mother who could run things for as long as she wanted as far as Maggie was concerned.

  “Good to see you back again, Miss Blackwood,” the housekeeper said, bobbing into a shallow curtsey.

  Maggie and Eleanor both curtsied in return, causing Mrs. Markle to look aghast. Then Eleanor giggled and broke the awkward moment.

  “This is my youngest sister, Eleanor. I’m sorry,” Maggie explained, “we’re not used to such deference at home. Neither of us have titles, you see.”

  “Of course, miss, but you mustn’t show that type of courtesy to your staff regardless, if you don’t mind my saying. You must have their respect or lose control of the household.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Markle,” Maggie said. “I’m sure with your help, I’ll muddle though. And with Lady Cambrey’s, too, of course.”

  “Oh, Lady Cambrey!” Without elaborating on her exclamation, the housekeeper added, “And here I am keeping you in the hall. Come into the parlor, and I’ll fetch you both some refreshments. Any preferences? Tea or coffee?”

  When both the girls were in the parlor, Mrs. Markle added, “Or wine?” though the disapproving look on her face was enough to make Maggie shake her head emphatically.

  Glancing at Eleanor, Maggie said, “Tea would be lovely.”

  “Of course, miss.”

  She was nearly at the door when Maggie stopped her.

  “Is there something amiss with Lady Cambrey?”

  “No, dear, but I think she has plans to travel with her sister after your marriage, and so, as you said, we shall muddle through together.” She sped off, undoubtedly with a hundred things to do to run the house.

  “I can’t possibly sit again now,” Eleanor said, stretching her arms overheard, “and I don’t really want tea. Could we not take a walk first?”

  Maggie hesitated. John might appear while she was traipsing about, and she very much wanted to see him.

  “Why don’t you explore a little, and I’ll wait to see what the butler says.”

  Her sister needed no further invitation, dashing past Maggie, not even hesitating at the doorway. It was a good thing she’d already contacted Beryl’s parents about getting the girls together. For she could imagine Eleanor none too happy after the newness had worn off in a few days. John’s aunt and uncle would either send Beryl to Turvey House or invite Eleanor to go to their close-by estate.

  Cyril appeared in the doorway. “His lordship will see you now, miss. Shall I take you up?”

  “Thank you, no,” Maggie said. “I know the way.” What’s more, now they were engaged, she could be alone with him in any room of the house without anyone judging her.

  Feeling the butterflies in her stomach take flight, she climbed the stairs toward the man she would marry. The closer she got, however, the less nervous she felt. When she reached his door, which would become their door in a matter of months, she barely scraped her knuckles across it in a half-hearted knock before pushing it open.

  Entering, she stopped in her tracks. The lamps were lit, but the room still seemed dim and smelled stale. Sitting in a chair with the curtains drawn behind him was John Angsley.

  She knew that for certain, but only because she had studied his face for so many minutes, it surely added up to hours of her time over the past year. Otherwise, she might not have known him at first glance.

  Gaunt was the word which came to mind. Below his eyes, dark smudges lay above hollowed cheeks covered in a scraggly beard that hung over his strong jawline. His sensuous mouth was no more! Instead, his lips seemed thinner and drawn. His hair had been left to grow long and hung in greasy tendrils around his face.

  Taking all this in, she finally said, “I’m here.”

  “Sorry for not standing,” he said in the same way as he had before she left. His voice was different, though.

  She hated to declare it weaker, but it was.

  “You don’t have to keep saying that,” she reminded him, offering him what she hoped was a cheerful smile.

  “Come here, beautiful lady.”

  Running to him, she crouched beside his chair, resting her hands on his lap. He took her face in his hands.

  “Let me simply look at you. My Margaret. I have missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. Thank you for your letters. I read and reread every one.”

  At this nearness, Maggie could see how lusterless were his usually gorgeous hazel eyes.

  “Initially, I dictated them to Gray,” he confessed, “then I got the cast off my arm and found I could easily write again.”

  She’d known when he was writing privately by the more amorous tone of the later letters. Then they’d stopped.

  Taking his right hand from her cheek, she held it before her, running her fingers up along his mended arm.

  “I know,” John said, “it’s a bit scrawny, but until I have the use of my leg again, there’s not much I can do about it. I can’t show up at the pugilist’s club in my pushchair.”

  Her brain instantly began to think of options. “I’m sure we can do something to help you work your muscles, even one arm. Perhaps lifting a sack of flour.”

  Instead of looking pleased at the suggestion, his face tensed. She thought she saw a flash of anger, but then his expression changed quickly to sadness.

  “I need more time. I’m sorry I’ve changed.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was to make him feel badly.

  “No, don’t apologize. None of what’s happened to you is your fault. I’m very happy to be back here with you. I’ve brought Eleanor to enliven the place.”

  He offered her a wan smile, then yawned.

  “You look tired,” she said without thinking, only to see his hurt expression again.

  “I don’t sleep well.”

  Nodding, she wondered how much he would let her help him. She knew she couldn’t sit by idly while he seemed defeated. Later, she would speak with Lady Cambrey, finding it difficult to believe his loving mother had let him slip into this state.

  Pasting on a cheerful smile, she asked, “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

  John shook his head.

  “Do you normally go downstairs?”

  “When I feel like eating, I usually eat up here. Gray often eats with me, but he’s not on the estate at present.”

  “I see. Well, I don’t want you eating alone up here. Will you come downstairs tonight, and dine with me and my sister?”

  His gaze slipped from hers to contemplate the air beside her, and then he shrugged.

  “I’m not certain, Margaret. Most probably not.”

  She didn’t like his apathetic response, having expected him to feel as excited as she
did about their reunion.

  “Do you want to come down now instead? I can get Cyril and your valet to help you downstairs and into your—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “I don’t think I will. My valet got me propped up here to visit with you, but I don’t have any aspirations to go downstairs. It’s an awful lot of bother, don’t you think, only so I can to sit in my pushchair like an old man.”

  “John, please,” Maggie began, hearing a tone in her voice she didn’t like. Desperation. Exasperation. How she wished Simon were there. What John needed was his best friend to knock some sense into him.

  “Please, will you let me get you brought downstairs? I’m convinced you will feel better. When was the last time you went outside of this room?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not important. I’ll come downstairs tomorrow and see Eleanor and visit like a proper lord of the manor. You’ve come quite late today. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Shocked, she sat back upon her heels.

  “Are you dismissing me after I’ve come all this way?”

  Laughing, he sounded like the old John for a moment.

  “No, of course not. You can stay with me for as long as you like. All night if you wish, though it might not set a good example for your sister. You’ve had a long journey, though, and I’m sure you don’t want her to eat alone on her first night.”

  “You’re right. When is Mr. O’Connor returning?”

  “Why?”

  She could hardly tell him she felt as though she needed assistance in dealing with him, her listless fiancé.

  “Eleanor enjoys the outdoors. If he were here, he could show her the estate.” God help her, she’d been in John’s presence a mere few minutes and she was already lying to him.

  This was not going how she’d hoped or dreamed. Could it be Eleanor’s idea was correct?

  “John, I love you.”

  His eyes opened wide. When his face broke out into a delighted smile, she felt her heart swell. He was hers, and she would help him to recover.

  “I love you, too,” he said softly.

  “Good. Tomorrow, I shall get you all sorted out,” she declared. “We’ll get you into a hot bath and wash your hair, maybe get your valet to take the scissors to it, and you’ll feel like a new man.”

  “What’s wrong with the old one?” His tone was brusque.

  Maggie started to smile, assuming he was making a jest. However, when his expression shuttered closed, she hurried to reassure him.

  “Nothing at all. I only want to make you feel better.”

  “I see.” He nodded. “And you think shearing me like a sheep and bathing me like a helpless babe will do that?” His tone had switched from morose to irritated.

  “I don’t know,” she confessed.

  “No, you can’t conceivably know what this has been like. Rather like a trip to hell from which I haven’t yet returned, and with no assurance I ever will.”

  He offered her a brittle smile, picking up her hands from where they rested in his lap to squeeze them gently.

  “And to think it all happened because I came to your home to get some answers after seeing you with the infernally smug and perfect Westing.”

  Standing up, Maggie tried to pull her hands from his, but he only gripped them more tightly.

  “Are you blaming me?” Her heartbeat pulsed loudly in her ears.

  He stared at her in silence for a long moment.

  “Of course not, my darling. Nonetheless, I don’t think any of your ridiculous notions of my taking a bath or getting my hair cut will help in the slightest.”

  This was not her John Angsley. Not one bit. He was a gentleman, not someone who belittled others.

  Swallowing, she stood there, refusing to be baited into saying something rash. Finally, he released her hands.

  “There is unfortunately only one thing which makes me feel better.”

  He patted his pocket, and she knew to what he referred. Why, he was practically taunting her with his use of laudanum. If she hadn’t spent many days traveling, if she weren’t feeling heartsick, and if John seemed as if he were the smallest bit desirous of changing his situation, Maggie would take up the mantle of that terrible battle immediately.

  However, she knew it wasn’t the right time.

  “I can tell you’re out of sorts tonight. You’re right, it is late, and I’ve had a long journey. I’m not myself, either. I’ll eat downstairs with Eleanor and your mother.”

  Turning away, Maggie had to swallow the ball of sadness that was stuck in her throat. As she reached the door, she turned and added, “I’ll make sure to get a tray of delicious food sent up to you. I hope you’ll be able to eat it.”

  When he said nothing, simply nodding, she wanted to tell him he looked as if he’d missed more than one meal, far too many, in fact. Quite obviously, such a remark would not be received well. No more than any of her others had.

  So much for running into his arms and declaring her love for him. Youthful Eleanor had been mistaken with her advice.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cam watched her go and a surge of anger raced through him. Margaret could walk out of his room easily and freely, while he needed to ring the bell and have help to get downstairs. With one man, Cam could do it, but it hurt his leg as he had to hop while holding the cast off the floor. Two men made it far easier, but then he felt like an infant.

  He had noticed, too, how everyone handled him more easily as he’d lost weight. But, dammit, his appetite was almost nonexistent, and his stomach hurt most of the time. Not as badly as when he’d tried to stop taking the opium tincture, so he didn’t complain. He simply chose not to eat until he felt absolutely lightheaded with hunger.

  As in the days following his accident, Cam never looked in a mirror anymore. He already knew he wouldn’t like what he saw. Seeing the expression on Margaret’s face confirmed it.

  She’d arrived to find a sickly, skinny shell-of-the-man she used to know. On top of that, he’d been rude.

  Taking a sip of laudanum, he relaxed. If she did send up a tray, he would try to eat the meal, every bite. For her sake.

  *

  By the time Mrs. Mackle announced dinner, Maggie had regained her composure enough to venture into the dining room with a calm expression, eager to see Lady Cambrey. Having discovered Eleanor on the veranda beforehand, they entered the spacious room together, only to find it deserted.

  A moment later, a maid hurried. She curtsied low. Glancing at Eleanor, who looked back at her, both sisters refrained from returning it.

  “Pardon me, miss,” the maid directed herself to Maggie, “but Lady Cambrey awaits you in the smaller dining room, where you ate your breakfast when you was ’ere before.”

  “Thank you. It’s Polly, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, miss. Shall I lead you there?”

  “I know the way. Thank you. We’ll go directly. Will you take a tray of food up to his lordship immediately?”

  “Yes, miss. We do every day and every night, miss.” Another curtsey for each of them, and she disappeared.

  “Imagine when you’re a countess,” Eleanor said. “My lady this and my lady that. What a nuisance!”

  “Shh,” Maggie warned her. “Make sure you ‘my lady’ and curtsey when you see John’s mother again. Besides, Jenny has adjusted well.”

  They started down the hallway, then took a right to reach the dining room in the east wing.

  “Jenny being Jenny seems to have everyone calling her by her given name. From the stable boy to the chambermaid. ‘Far more pleasant for everyone’ she told me, but you know it’s her practical side,” Eleanor added. “She said they’re all simply speaking plainly to each other now.”

  “I don’t think Lady Cambrey would appreciate if her servants started calling me Maggie or, God forbid, Mags.”

  As Eleanor laughed softly, they entered the room. Maggie noted her sister’s laughter died even as her own smile fled her lips. The woman who stood before the
m looked nearly as changed as her son. For Eleanor, who hadn’t seen Lady Cambrey since they’d been in London before Jenny’s baby was born, the difference must be even more shocking.

  Her normally good-natured expression had been replaced with a taut, unsmiling visage. If Maggie didn’t know better, she’d say John’s mother had aged years in the few weeks since she’d seen her. Now, the woman stood ringing her hands and frowning, even while trying to appear welcoming.

  Deciding not to stand on ceremony, with only the briefest of curtsies, Maggie rushed forward to give her future mother-in-law a comforting embrace. For a moment, Lady Cambrey stiffened, then, as Maggie patted her back, the woman seemed to relax.

  As they parted, Maggie stared into her eyes and saw such worry, undoubtedly mirroring her own.

  “I hope you don’t mind we’re eating in here,” Lady Cambrey said, still holding onto Maggie’s hand, gripping it like a lifeline. “I don’t like being in the formal dining room on my own and, thus, have got out of the habit. Tonight, Mrs. Mackle assumed we’d be in here.”

  “It’s fine,” Maggie stated. “You remember my sister Eleanor,” she said, gesturing for her to come forward.

  “Of course. Nice to see you again, dear girl.”

  Eleanor dropped into a deep curtsey, murmuring words of greeting.

  “Shall we sit?” their hostess asked.

  After they were settled, with a glass of wine before each of them, Lady Cambrey, despite her pinched appearance, began with the niceties. “Tell me all about your long journey.”

  Maggie took a deep breath. She hadn’t told Eleanor much when they’d met upon the veranda—the very spot where she’d become engaged to John—but her younger sister had seen she was shaken to her core. At this moment, when both the Angsley family members seemed to be in such distress, Maggie couldn’t pretend not to notice and chat about her trip like a woolly-headed ninny.

  Deciding to be blunt, she said, “John is obviously in great discomfort and hasn’t been eating. Do you think we should call for his physician?”