Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  “Lord Stokeworth, my love. He was poisoned at the hands of that snake,” said The Duke, giving a dry chuckle at Abigail’s shocked expression. “Don’t tell me you be needing a pipe too, my love,” he said, bursting into laughter.

  “What in heaven’s is that to mean, Edmund?” blurted out Abigail.

  “Nothing, my love,” he said, “Nothing at all. Shall we retire to bed?”

  “Aye, we shall. You’ll be leaving for London on the morrow?” she asked, crawling into bed.

  “At first light, rather,” he said, following suit. Turning over, he gently kissed Abigail and put a tender hand on her navel. “Ye are the most important thing in my life, my love. Ye and the child you carry.”

  “As are you,” she whispered, kissing him back.

  Chapter 4

  Pip had stood outside the doors of the master chambers, patiently awaiting any order that he might receive. It was then that he had heard the Lord Duke inform the Duchess about how the man that was responsible for the murder of his father, the man whose actions had left him an orphan, with no one in the world that he could call family, had been released. Pip had been assured that the King’s justice would be done. That the Earl Harold would be adequately punished for his sins. And yet, the man was roaming free. The thought had filled Pip with a repulsion that he couldn’t throw off. He had retched into a privy after hearing the news. He felt anger, sorrow, disappointment, but the greatest of all, he felt fear.

  A few hours later, he sat on the eastern wall of the castle, looking up at the dark sky lit by stars shining as bright as a torch. A silent grumbling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t had supper. He was too nauseous at the time to even think of eating. Nurse Daisy, who he now shared quarters with, had insisted that he at least have a few mouthfuls of the lamb stew and rice that had been served, but he had politely declined. She hadn’t questioned any further and had left him be. That was what he liked about the nurse; she was never intrusive.

  “Why am I so afraid?” he whispered to himself, grabbing a small stone from the top of the wall.

  The Earl had scared him from the very moment that Pip had laid eyes on him. With his slick smile and the smoothness of his speech, he reminded Pip of a slithering snake. He half expected the man to have a forked tongue. To him, the Earl was nothing more than pure evil. His confidence unnerved Pip; how he seemed to know whatever one was thinking, and how he was always one step ahead. The Earl was powerful, that was certain. But why did the man scare him so much that he left him retching at the thought of him. Was he truly this weak?

  “Why?” Pip screamed in frustration, chucking the small stone he clutched in his hands as far off to the east as he could.

  “Oye, Pip!” came the voice of the gatekeeper, Mont from the base of the wall, “be that ye on the wall?”

  “Aye,” he called back, “It be me!”

  “Well then, get ye ruddy self down the wall this minute, eh? And stop makin’ a ruckus, lad. Ye go’n’ wake the whole bliddy castle!”

  Pip sighed and proceeded to slowly slide off the wall, carefully placing his feet on the footholds he had made out for himself. Finally dropping the last few feet to the ground, he looked up at Mont, who almost always carried a strong smell of ale with him wherever he went. The man held a lantern in his hand as he looked the boy up and down.

  “What in the bliddy hell were ye doin’ up the wall, lad?” he asked, grabbing Pip gruffly by the shoulder.

  “What do you mean? I always climb the wall,” he said, surprised.

  “Aye. But not ever after the sun be down,” he said, “what is it that be botherin’ ye, me lad?”

  “Nothing at all,” he said, looking at his feet.

  The gatekeeper paused and looked at him keenly. After a few minutes, he said, “I knew ye father, lad. He was a true friend o’ mine.”

  “Was he?” said Pip, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  “Aye,” he said, “he was the on’y one awake at dawn when I would open the gates. Had to be at the stables, y’know. He would always stop and help me drag the bliddy huge gates open. In return, I’d let him break into me ale drum.” The man chuckled heartily, exposing a row of blackened, rotting teeth, “Good man, yer father,” he continued, “ye should be proud o’ him. Ain’t never seen no one as brave as him before the axe. I know I’d be pissin’ me breeches. Sad day, that was. When that Earl Harold did what he did. I cried for three days, lad.”

  The sound of the Earl’s name brought the nausea back as Pip grasped the wall to steady himself. He suddenly went weak in the knees as Harold’s face floated in front of his eyes. He wanted to be brave, to hate him rather than fear him, but for all his attempts to hold himself together, he could not.

  “What be the matter, lad?” exclaimed Mont, rushing forward to steady him, “Ye feelin’ sick?”

  “Nay, nay,” said Pip, waving him away and straightening up, “I be fine.”

  “Ye should be,” said Mont, “livin’ with nurse Daisy and all.”

  “Aye,” said Pip, “I be headin’ on my way now, Mont. Thank you.”

  “No need to thank me, lad,” said Mont gruffly, “just head up to your quarters and retire for the night, eh? ’Tis getting late.”

  “I shall,” said Pip, walking away.

  Pip walked towards the main doors of the castle, deep in thought. He dreamed of confronting the Earl and seeking justice for his father, but the thought of the man left him hazy. He couldn’t possibly face him. Clenching his fists in frustration, he walked up to his quarters and entered the dimly lit room quietly.

  “Where have ye been?” asked Nurse Daisy, lying in a cot in the corner of the room.

  “Just took a walk.”

  “There’s a tonic on that table there, boy, for a dreamless sleep. Take it. Ye been talkin’ in your sleep,” with that, she rolled over, now facing away from Pip.

  Pip liked how Nurse Daisy was never one to pry into his affairs. She left him to his own thoughts and actions, often counselling him, but never more than that. Pip walked over to the table and grabbed the small bottle of tonic. He stared at the mixture for a bit, putting it under the one candle that lit the room. Popping open the bottle, he hastily gulped it down and crawled into his own cot. He would get over this fear of his and seek justice for his father, he vowed. He owed the old man that much, at least, he thought as he slowly sank into his dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Samuel Cooper stared at the silk underside of his four-poster in deep thought. The night grew older by the moment, and he had an early morning ahead of him, but he could not silence his thoughts enough for him to sleep. The events of the previous day boggled and infuriated him. He had been at Aldrich for two weeks now, ever since the Earl had been taken into custody and sent to London. The Earl had decreed him to be his representative to the castle, a thought that delighted Samuel extremely. For two weeks, he had enjoyed all the comforts that came with a castle. He ate the best food, drank the richest wine, wore the silkiest clothes, and slept in the most comfortable of beds.

  However, now that he thought about it, no matter of the castle had been brought to him. He had received no letters, no messenger had brought him any messages, and no issue had been raised to him. He was the Earl’s representative, yet he was given little to no importance, respect, and power of the castle. Just that morning, he had taken a stroll down to the courtyard and had found the commander of the Aldrich guard, Sir Warren Landing, calling for a celebration.

  “What be you celebrating, good sir?” he had called out.

  “Nothing that concerns you,” had been the cold reply. “The Earl has been released from custody. He will be joining us soon.”

  “Surely, that concerns me, sir,” Samuel had replied, “I am the Earl’s official representative in this castle. Why was I not informed of this first?”

  “Aye, you are the Earl’s official representative,” said the commander, chuckling. He had then walked away, without granting Samuel a se
cond glance.

  The brief dialogue had left Samuel baffled and enraged. He had let the subject go and had retired to his chambers for lunch. After finishing up, he had called for a messenger boy and had sent a summons for Sir Warren. However, the boy had returned minutes later, claiming that the commander had declined the request.

  “It was no request, boy!” Samuel had exclaimed. “It was a summons. Did you not phrase it so, you imbecile? Out of my sight now!”

  “I did, sir,” the boy had called, running for the door, “I did, but that was what the commander responded with!”

  Later that day, when the same chambermaid he despised was serving him his tea, Samuel had asked her who had the ultimate authority in the castle. Whose commands was she bound to adhere to. The wench had chuckled and then replied with, “Whose do you think?”

  “Answer the question, wench,” he had commanded.

  The girl finished pouring the tea and backed away towards the door. “The Commander of the Guard, Sir Warren Landing. He has the last and only say on the matters of the castle until the Earl returns.” With that, she had darted way, leaving no opportunity for more questions. Samuel had flung away the tea in anger. Was his status as the Earl’s representative a mere sham to keep him at bay? The messenger boy had served his dinner to him, who knew nothing of the managing of the castle.

  Now, looking up at the four-poster, Samuel greatly questioned his status as the Earl’s lieutenant. He had been promised respect, castles, and comfort. He had gotten one of them, but the other two seemed impossibly out of reach. The Earl had been released, and he would be returning to the castle soon. Where would he stand then?

  He had done everything that the Earl had asked for, even risking his life to infiltrate the castle of Northumberland at the Earl’s orders. And yet, he was highly dissatisfied at his treatment. Now that he recalled, even when he gave his report to the Earl, he had been treated rather disdainfully. But no matter, he would ask the Earl when he returned. The Earl valued him. He was Harold’s loyal servant. The Earl needed him. He remembered that’s what he had said to him in his cell. Silencing his troubling thoughts with these words of comfort, he closed his eyes, praying for sleep.

  Chapter 6

  “Lord Walder has asked for mulled wine, ma’am,” said Will Turner to a chambermaid standing outside the kitchen.

  “Has he now?” said the maid, ruffling his hair. “Well then, you go back to the Lord, and I’ll bring some up, eh?”

  Will nodded once and started walking towards the Lord’s chambers. The Palace of Westminster looked over the city of London in all its glory. The city’s lights shone brightly in the dark, making it look like a sea of stars below the stars. The noise and hustle of the city had long died down, the only ones up and about at this hour were night guards, drunkards, and on the western side of the city, women of a questionable nature and the men seeking them out.

  Will had lived in London his whole life but had never been beyond five streets down from the palace. He was born in the castle, to a chambermaid and a cook and had been raised here as well. Appointed a messenger boy at the ripe age of ten, he had learned how to read and write and even taken lessons in history when he had the time. His parents were very proud, claiming that he would grow up to be a fine, young gentleman who would serve the Crown and the Kingdom well.

  Approaching the doors of the Lord’s chambers, he made to knock but paused when he heard voices coming from inside the room. Looking around to see if the coast was clear, Will pressed his ear against the door, trying his best to listen. It was illegal to listen into the private conversations in the palace; however, the murder of his beloved Lord Stokeworth had left him distraught, and he was bound to unearth whatever treachery was at play within the castle. He could hear Lord Walder’s muffled voice through the door as he talked to someone.

  “Woodworth, I spoke to Harold just this morning,” he said, “the plan will go on as decided.”

  “My Lord, we must rethink this,” said Lord Jonah Woodworth, for it was another Lord of the House that Lord Walder was conversing with. “To condemn an innocent and to let a criminal roam free is a sin in the eyes of the Crown and the Church! The honour and integrity of the oaths we took when we embraced this office are surely not so cheap as to be sold for a few sacks of gold!”

  “You quiet down, man!” exclaimed Lord Walder in an angry tone. “Are you in your senses? What is the meaning of this? Do you want more gold?”

  “No, My Lord,” said Lord Woodworth. “I want the satisfaction of sleeping soundly without having my guilty conscience weighing down on me every night. I want to preserve my honour and the honour of my forefathers who have passed down this office for generations. What would they say if they saw me selling my soul for gold? No, My Lord, not for all the gold in the world.”

  “Damn your honour,” said Lord Walder in a frustrated tone, “does your life mean nothing to you? Would you serve the same fate as Stokeworth?”

  “If I must die, My Lord, I shall die knowing that I have no sin weighing me down. I would happily share the same fate.”

  “And what of your children, My Lord? Would you have them share the same fate as well?” said Lord Walder in a dangerously calm tone.

  “My children?” asked Lord Woodworth. “My children play no role in this madness; why would they be involved?”

  “You see, Woodworth, I am well aware of men like you and how far you can go for your honour and righteousness. Bah! I know how to secure my position, Woodworth; you would do well to learn.”

  “You dare threaten my family?” raged the Lord.

  “Nay. I make no threats; this is merely a warning, my friend,” said Lord Walder in the same calm tone. “You better pay heed to it.”

  “Will!” came a voice from behind the boy, startling him, “What do ye think yer doing?”

  Will jumped back from the door and turned to see the chambermaid carrying a tray laden with a glass pitcher of wine and some cups. She was looking at him with a startled expression. Will paled, realising that he had been caught red-handed. He was so immersed in the conversation that he had paid no attention to his surroundings. He suddenly realised that his ear hurt because of how hard he was pressing it into the wooden door.

  “Nothing, ma’am,” exclaimed Will. “Nothing at all.”

  “Good, then,” said the maid in a firm tone, “nothing won’t land you in trouble. Stick to nothing, boy, or we could have a big issue on our hands. Now knock on that door for me; my hands be full.”

  “Aye!” said Will and proceeded to lightly knock on the door.

  After a few moments of silence, Lord Walder called “Enter,” and Will gently pushed the door open. The maid entered the chambers, closing the door behind her with a gentle prod of her heel, but not before Will could get a glimpse of the two occupants of the room. Lord Walder sat on his chair, a triumphant look on his face while Lord Woodworth stood next to the window, looking out over the city of London. The twinkling lights of the city illuminated his face and gave it a golden glow as a small tear slowly rolled down his face.

  Chapter 7

  Tobias stood in the courtyard of Northumberland, looking up at the towers of the castle. There was nothing special about Northumberland; it was an average looking castle, not too big either. But to Tobias, it was the most beautiful castle in the world; this was the first place that a young Tobias could truly call home. He had grown up in the castle after the great Duke of Northumberland, Edmund’s father, took him under his wing and brought him down here from London. Tobias thought of that day as the best day of his life, despite the fact that he had lost his father that same day.

  He had had a difficult childhood. His mother died when he was very young, in childbirth. His father could not handle the sorrow of seeing the one woman he loved succumb to death in such a horrifying manner, and he resorted to alcoholism to numb his pain. They were never well off, but they did get by. His father was a smith and built like one. He was a strong man, with muscles h
oned by spending hours and hours bending metal into horseshoes, chain links, and even the occasional shields and armour. Tobias admired him; admired him for his strength and his confidence. Seeing him break after the death of his wife was something Tobias could never forget.

  After the tragedy, his father was always drunk, leaving a young Tobias to fend for himself on the harsh streets of the city of London. They lost money, fast. With no source of income and his father spending what little they had on cheap bottles of liquor, days went by when he didn’t have a bite to eat.

  One night, Tobias had returned home from a day of begging for food to a large crowd gathered outside their dingy apartment. Rushing forward, he saw his father lying in the street, dead, run down by a horse. The man’s horse who his father had tumbled in front of in a drunken stupor was none other than the Duke of Northumberland’s own commander of guard. The Duke had immediately offered to take him after finding out that he had no family who would claim him. For the next six years, Tobias had served as the Duke’s messenger boy and had graciously pledged his loyalty to House Arundel. He also slowly developed a very deep friendship with the Duke’s young son, Edmund, who was just two years older than him. Very quickly, he had become a part of the family. He became especially close to the old Duke when Edmund left for Scotland to study Law. Now, twenty years later, the castle was still his home.