Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  “At your service, ma’am,” he chimed.

  “Glad you’re here, my boy,” she eagerly responded. “What I’m about to tell you now is the work you’ve got to do. But bear in mind, boy, if this does not stay between just us two, I’ll cut from your twopence.”

  “Ma’am, you have nothing to fear for. My ole man has taught me well about service.”

  “Well, then, you must make your way to the mansion of the Duke and keep an eye for visitors. All I must know is the purpose of his arrival, and that can only be deciphered from the company he chooses.”

  “I understand, ma’am; I’ll get to work tomorrow. A tonic wouldn’t mind being sold in a new street,” Pip remarked as he winked at her.

  Abigail smiled once more and said, “If you manage to overhear any conversation, marmalade might just await you with the loaf.”

  Pip saluted jokingly, and the soldier’s sense of purpose shone in his eyes as he turned around and strode away.

  Over the next few days, he performed his task efficiently but to little avail for Abigail. Reports from the mansion were mostly uneventful; most visitors were turned away on account of the Duke’s absence, business or sickness. Hardly anyone was allowed in, and the only frequent messengers were those from the village, reporting on official matters. With such limited information, she was unable to decipher what the Duke planned or what his motives were. The conflict between her love for him and the anger she felt at the wrongful death of her father kept her ceaselessly restless.

  Chapter 8

  The days drudged on for the Duke whose hopes had been lowering. From Northumberland to Liverpool to London his travels had done little to benefit him. And even now, aware as he was of her presence in London, he had no way of reaching out to her, and his morose began to get the better of him. He refused to keep company, and only thoughts of Abigail ever dominated his mind. His collection of books did little to distract him, and all conversations seemed redundant. His despair had left him agitated, and even the housekeepers began to fear his presence.

  He often sat in the parlour, looking out through the windows on the streets as if holding onto a vain, kindling hope that he might have the fortune of seeing her as she passed by. His tea would grow cold and eyelids heavy as he looked on with the hope that would be senseless to the mind of the rational but befitting to the heart of the lover. He observed faces carefully; if any could lead him to his destination, his Abigail. He held this vain hope very dear to his heart; it was all the motivation he had left.

  It was an unprecedented result of this seemingly futile hope that he noticed the frequent presence of a hawker boy selling tonics. His curious eyes and eager presence around his mansion had caught the eye of the Duke who began to find it peculiar, even threatening. It could possibly have been the plan of the Earl to have him trailed. Suddenly, outraged by the thought of all that the Earl had unrightfully taken from him and the hopeless situation that he had landed him, the Duke made his way out in a furious temper and lifted the boy by the collar, “Who are you, and what are you doing around my house?” he demanded in a haste and with such a thundering bellow that the boy felt immediately inclined to answer honestly, for greater fears than those of his twopence overcame him.

  “I, I, I, I did not, Sir, intend to –” he tried to answer as his voice and body shook.

  “I asked who you are and what you are doing here,” the Duke roared one more.

  “The lady sent me, Sir. I, I didn’t mean to hurt; I did nothing, nothing, Sir.”

  “What lady,” he demanded once more.

  “From the bread shop, Sir. Abigail, Abigail, I presume.”

  Having heard the words he had been longing so long, his grip eased suddenly, and his face relaxed. He looked at the child’s quivering body once more and ran a hand over his head, “Tell me, boy, what did she say to thee?”

  “She was only curious as to the purpose of your stay in London, Sir.”

  The Duke suddenly felt a gleam of hope as he realised that Abigail’s interest might not have been feigned after all, and it was quite possible that something else was holding her back. If he was to reach her, this boy was his only chance. But merely going up to her would not do; she had proven herself to be an expert at getting away. His honesty and love would have to reach her before he could.

  “Listen, boy … you will return here before the break of dawn tomorrow to take a letter from me to her bakery before she has a chance to get there. You will be fairly rewarded.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The Duke then hastily made his way back inside to his desk and got hold of his quill. He had now the chance that he had been seeking so long; he could finally make his way back to Abigail. If he were to win her back, this letter would need to have the magic of a charmer. He sat down to inscribe what may be his most important letter ever.

  Chapter 9

  “Hail!” shouted Samuel Cooper at the closed gates of his master’s estate.

  “Who goes there?”

  Samuel smiled at the familiar voice. “It is I, Samuel Cooper,” he shouted, “Open the gates, Marcus, you dim-witted fool!”

  “I be no dim-witted fool, lackey,” Samuel could hear the smile in his voice, “back up so I may let your unworthy hide in.”

  Samuel was almost giddy with the prospect of gaining his master’s approval by delivering his message. He had done what he had been tasked to do. He had found that foul wench. Oh, how his master would be pleased, he thought as he paced impatiently outside the humongous gates creaking open. The sky was still a dull grey and the air chilly and remorseless. A soft pale gleam had only started to appear from the east. His horse whinnied pitifully, panting and shuddering.

  “Make haste, you drunkard,” he called out, “I have no patience for your lolly gagging.”

  “’Tis be hard work, lackey,” Marcus grunted, “and what be your business to wake me up from my slumber at such an early hour?”

  “Rode all night, didn’t I?” Samuel exclaimed proudly, suddenly aware of his own tired and battered self.

  The gate finally creaked open wide enough for Samuel to nudge his thoroughbred into a reluctant walk through it. He looked around at the proud estate that was his master’s home and by extension, his. The grey stone and green ivy all seemed to welcome him and the great iron gate seemed too anxious to let him in. Beyond the gates, he could see a few lights from chambers; the housemaids had begun rising, and the stable boy was already at work. Soon they would all stir, and he would be running to his commands, for he was the Earl’s right-hand man. He slid off the horse as Marcus approached.

  “Rode all night? Ye be bonkers, lackey?” Marcus said, patting the horse he had just dismounted. “Ye horse be lookin’ more like old man Tim’s mule.” He laughed at his own joke and looked him up and down, “The rider be lookin’ somewhat the worse for wear as well.” He smiled a yellow stained smile.

  Samuel chose not to answer. “Where is the Lord Earl?”

  “Asleep, of course.”

  Samuel looked up at the Earl’s tower. He would sleep till dawn, at the least. His feelings of jubilance and pride at the prospect of gaining the Earl’s favour threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t help smiling; it was finally coming together for him.

  “Where be ye lost?” Marcus chuckled again. “The Lord Earl won’t be up until dawn; how about a cup of ale … what’dya say?”

  Samuel looked him over. Marcus sure made good company on a night of cheap debauchery with the stable lads in the local brothel or even over a pitcher of ale on a late night of jokes and swapping stories taller than the highest apple tree in the estate’s orchard. But he made sure not to be seen with the likes of him by the Earl or any other royal or highborn guest that visited the estate. He was better than these lowly servants. He was the Earl’s right-hand man, his flag bearer, his representative, and his trusted advisor. It didn’t do for him to mix with such lot.

  He gave Marcus a dull smile, “Maybe some other time, Marcus. I have a c
raving for some strong cider right now. I’ll be heading to the kitchens until the Earl wakes up. Take the horse to the stables, will you?”

  With that, he walked onwards to the castle without a backward glance. Entering through the vastly decorated wooden doors, he ran into one of the chambermaids in the entrance hall. “Hey, you! Get me a cup of hot cider and be hasty about it.”

  She looked at him with distaste, “Samuel Cooper, the Earl awaits you. He saw you through the window of his chambers.”

  “He’s awake?”

  “Couldn’t have seen you if he was asleep, now could he?” She sneered at him.

  Blood ran to his cheeks as anger flooded him. “You be courteous, you foul wench. How dare you speak to me in such a manner?” He grabbed the hilt of his dagger and was glad to see her flinch.

  She recovered and deliberately straightened up. “Yes, he’s awake.”

  “Yes, he’s awake, sir.”

  “You’re no sir,” she muttered as she darted away.

  “You wretched tramp,” he called at her, but she quickly turned into the passageway leading to the kitchen. He thought of pursuing her but hated to keep the Lord Earl waiting. Especially when he had such news to give him. He would just deal with her after he had gained the favour of the Earl, just as he would deal with all those disrespectful people who occasionally forgot their place.

  He hastily proceeded towards the staircase leading to the Lord’s chambers. Feeling suddenly excited, he took two steps at a time and finally crossed the stretch up to the room and knocked thrice.

  “Enter,” came the dignified voice of the Earl.

  Samuel opened the door and slipped inside. His master was standing at the hearth, warming his hands against a roaring fire. He bowed, “My Lord,” he drooled in greeting.

  “I heard you rode in like a madman, Samuel. I reckon you have news?” the Earl said, turning around.

  “Yes, My Lord,” said Samuel, nodding vigorously, “I do have news.”

  “Don’t idle about then, Samuel. Say what you have to say.”

  “My Lord, I travelled to London as you bid me to, and that rake of a Duke soon followed. But, My Lord Earl, you will be pleased to know that it was I, your humble servant who found Abigail while the Duke failed.” Samuel finished with a smile.

  “Excellent job, Samuel!” exclaimed the Earl, “Where is she? Did you bring her with you?”

  “Well, no, My Lord. I couldn’t have. I had but enough money for one horse. She ought to be still at the bakery at which I found her,” stammered Samuel, confused. To his surprise, the Earl laughed. “My Lord?” he inquired, inching forward.

  “Samuel, you mean to tell me that you found her and left her where she is, knowing very well that that addle-brained swine of a Duke is in the same city?” The Earl smiled dangerously.

  Samuel went pale. “Well, My Lord Earl, you see …” he stammered.

  “You numbskull! You fool!” the Earl raged. He grabbed a candelabrum and flung it across the room at Samuel who ducked to avoid the projectile. He hissed as hot candle wax splattered across his face and hands.

  “My Lord, I shall go right now. This very instant. I shall bring her back.” Samuel inched towards the door.

  “Yes, you shall go, you dim-witted ape of a man. And take seven men with you. Bring her back under any circumstances. Do whatever you may have to; worry not about the King’s law, I shall handle that.” The Earl looked at Samuel like a lion looks at a sheep, “Careful that you don’t fail me a second time, Samuel.”

  “Of course, My Lord Earl.” Samuel scrambled towards the door and darted out.

  Chapter 10

  “Excuse me, sir? Would you care to buy one of these?” Pip inquired of a kindly looking postman going about his work at the crack of dawn, showing him a handful of glass bottles.

  The postman looked down at the scruffily dressed boy, tossed him a penny, shoved a letter in a post box and hurriedly went on his way. Pip sighed. At dawn, he was told to be here, and at dawn he was. The Duke, on the other hand, had missed their appointment. He sat on a low fence, clutching the pitiful bottles that were his livelihood, to his chest. The sun shone lazily from the east, giving everything an orange glow. “The sun ain’t up yet,” his old man would say and chuckle. Pip smiled and started humming to himself.

  He had just finished a jolly tune that his father had taught him when the door of the Duke’s house creaked open and the Duke stepped out, wearing the same attire from the day before. Squinting in the dull glow of the early morning sun, he looked up and down the street, searching for Pip. The boy jumped off the fence, putting his handful of glass bottles on the road and walked towards the Duke’s door. Seeing him, the Duke smiled and ushered him forward.

  Pip approached the Duke, bowed low and said, “Good morning to you, good Sir.”

  “Look up, boy,” came the reply, curt but not unkind.

  As Pip looked up at him, the Duke realised that the boy feared him, and why wouldn’t he? Given how the Duke had threatened him earlier. With that realisation, the Duke smiled at the street boy.

  “You have nothing to fear from me, boy,” he said kindly, smiling down at Pip.

  “At your service, Sir,” said Pip, a bit hesitant.

  The Duke paused for a moment. “Are you hungry, boy?” he asked.

  Pip looked at him, unsure of what to say.

  “Wait here,” the Duke said and disappeared inside his dimly lit mansion.

  Pip didn’t have to wait long as the Duke reappeared, carrying a loaf of bread and some marmalade in a clear glass jar. He thrust them into his hands and said, “Here.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” said Pip, smiling hesitantly.

  The Duke smiled back. “Now, my boy,” he said, suddenly serious, “do you know what you have to do?”

  “Yes, Sir. Take a letter to the bakery before Miss Abigail gets there.”

  “Exactly, boy. Now take it straight there; do not wait around, and make haste,” he produced a letter from an inner pocket, “Deliver this well, and you’ll be rewarded with more than a loaf of bread and some marmalade.”

  “Yes, Sir!” said Pip, giving him a salute. He then darted away, carefully pocketing the letter as he did. The Duke watched him go and felt a flicker of hope.

  “I hope this letter finds you well, Abigail,” he said to himself as he walked up to his study, yawning as he went.

  Chapter 11

  Tobias Harding woke up to the sun glaring at him through his chambers’ open window. Thoughts of his Master’s misery had plagued him from the moment he had departed. It pained him to see a man of such noble breeding and sound judgement wander hither and thither for a woman with no advantages of rank, lineage, or breeding. Try as hard as he could, the visage of the Duke’s despondent countenance would not cease to appear before him. His conflated thoughts placed him at odds with himself; he could not decide between what he considered right and what his Master believed would give him great pleasure.

  As the sun drew on, and morning shone brighter, it began to seem clearer to Tobias. What was right would be of no use if it grieved the man he revered the most. As he put on his coat and boots, the decision seemed to him clearer than ever; it was only right that the man who had served the well-being of all those he was acquainted with have someone return him the favour. If there was some happiness that he could reclaim, it was his duty as a loyal servant that he must not hinder him in finding it.

  He had made the decision; as soon as he had rounded up the day’s work, he would ride straight to London and accompany his Master in fulfilling the purpose that had so engulfed his mind and enterprise. It would be more suited to his purpose if he rode to the mines instead of his usual walk; he would continue to London from there as soon as the sun set. His journey was as ridden with frenzied thoughts as his morning had been. Focusing on the work seemed a more toilsome task than the work itself.

  “Well, hello there, guv’nor.”

  A voice behind him shook Tobias to consciousne
ss. It was Martin, the mine’s caretaker.

  “Greetings. Just the lad I had been meaning to see. How goes the work about here? How many sacks are we in for today?”

  Not a moment had passed since the words had been uttered than his mind lost its way in the snare of his thoughts. He could see Martin’s lips move and words inevitably formed, but all he could hear were the sighs of the Duke.

  “Oh, fate. Oh, Abigail,” Tobias impulsively let out a sigh.

  “Abigail, the miner’s daughter? Heard she’s gone missing. Everyone’s been talking. Orphancy is too great a burden to carry.”