The Earl's Betrothal

by Tuft, Karen

  He picked his way carefully over roots and fallen branches, doing everything he could to keep his movements from jarring Amelia. The coachman sprang into action at his arrival and quickly opened the carriage door. Inside, Phillip had set up a pallet spread with soft quilts that spanned between the carriage seats along the far side.

  “Let me help you lay her down,” Kit said.

  “I am not letting go of her,” Anthony said.

  “Do you think that is best?”

  “I will be better able to absorb the jarring motion of the carriage. The pallet will not. Slide it toward the center of the carriage, will you?” With the pallet moved to the center of the carriage, he wouldn’t have to worry about Amelia bumping against a wall and hurting herself further.

  Kit nodded and shifted the pallet forward several inches, and then he and Jane climbed in and maneuvered into their seats, leaving plenty of room for Anthony and Amelia.

  “Take us to Ashworth House,” Anthony instructed the coachman. He wanted Amelia under his own roof, where he and his family could see to her care. If Lady Walmsley wished to join them there, fine, but Amelia would be with him.

  “I will see to your mount,” Phillip said to Anthony as he jumped onto Kit’s horse. He had left his own behind when he had returned with the carriage.

  “Thank you, Phil. And thank you for finding me.”

  “Glad to be of service. Same holds, should you need us in future,” he said with a look. “There are wrongs to be addressed.”

  “Indeed,” Anthony said. He eased himself into the carriage with Amelia and stared grimly at Kit, who nodded in agreement, aware they couldn’t talk with the maid present.

  But they both knew the attack on Amelia had been at the hands of the Duke of Marwood. And despite being one of the highest peers of the realm, the blackguard would pay. Anthony would make certain of it.

  Chapter 17

  “Good heavens, what has happened?” Anthony’s mother cried when they burst through the front doors of Ashworth House. “Gibbs, tell Mrs. Brewster to bring hot water and rags. Quickly!”

  Anthony did not stop to answer; he climbed the staircase as swiftly and smoothly as he could, a swollen-eyed Jane trailing behind, followed by his mother, as he hurried to put Amelia in the bedchamber next to his.

  “Pull down the bedcover,” he barked at a wide-eyed chambermaid hovering nearby. She scrambled into action, and when she had completed the task, he carefully lifted Amelia from his shoulder and laid her facedown on the mattress. Despite his care, the slightest movement was still more than she could bear, and she cried out.

  “All will be well, love,” he said softly to her, stroking her forehead and placing a gentle kiss there. “I will make sure of it.”

  Mrs. Brewster arrived with a basin of steaming water and clean rags. She gasped when she saw Amelia’s back. “Why, she has been . . .”

  “Whipped. Yes,” Anthony said in a clipped voice.

  His mother looked at him with stricken eyes. “But who?”

  He only stared at her.

  “I cannot believe—”

  “Believe it,” he said.

  “Oh, my poor girl,” she said. “Jane, run and get scissors. Quickly. Mrs. Brewster, send word to Dr. Wilcox. Tell him it is urgent. Anthony, you must leave the room.”

  “Gibbs has already called for the doctor,” Mrs. Brewster said, pulling out her own pair of scissors from the rags she had brought.

  “I am not leaving her,” Anthony declared.

  “She is in capable hands now,” his mother said. “You must leave her to us. It is improper for you to be here. Go!”

  He stalked out of the room.

  The removal of Amelia’s clothing would be a delicate task, requiring them to cut away the shredded remnants of her dress and undergarments, which were stuck to her skin with dried blood. They would also need to search carefully for any bits of cloth imbedded in the open wounds from the force of the whip. That was what worried Anthony the most. He had seen arms and legs and lives lost from poorly cleaned wounds and the resulting infections. He would not allow that to happen to Amelia.

  Dr. Wilcox arrived, bag in tow, and was barely able to utter a word before Anthony had shoved him into Amelia’s bedchamber.

  Anthony paced back and forth. He sat, drumming his fingers on his thigh. He rose, his stomach churning. He could barely breathe, his lungs were so constricted from fear and anxiety.

  What a delightful discovery to find the great Earl of Halford shackled to a trollop of uncertain parentage.

  Leave be, Captain, and let us have a little fun.

  His body fairly vibrated with rage and frustration. He threw himself into the chair again.

  He started when someone placed a hand on his shoulder. It was his father. “What is wrong? What’s going on?” he asked as Jane dashed back with scissors and more clean hot water and rags.

  “Amelia was attacked,” Anthony said.

  “Attacked? What do you mean?”

  “Whipped like an animal in Hyde Park.”

  His father dropped heavily into a nearby chair, a look of incredulity on his face as the chambermaid left the bedroom with Amelia’s destroyed garments.

  Anthony rose and paced some more, dragging his hands through his hair until it stood on end. His eyes burned with unshed tears. “How long until that doctor is finished in there?” he growled.

  “As long as is required to take care of her properly,” his father replied. “Sit down, Halford. You are making me dizzy.”

  Anthony slammed into the chair.

  “How bad is it?” the marquess asked in a quiet voice.

  “At least a half dozen lashes, maybe more. This is Marwood’s doing.”

  “Marwood?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Even after his display last night, I can scarcely believe he would do something like this. Are you sure?”

  “Sure enough. He blames Amelia for the failed betrothal between Lady Elizabeth and me. I will know for certain soon.”

  Kit and Phillip had volunteered to go around to the gentlemen’s clubs, making discreet inquiries. While Anthony was confident the Duke of Marwood was the beast who had attacked Amelia, his lofty position in society required that Anthony have evidence before acting.

  “I have known the duke since we were boys at Eton,” his father mused aloud. “He always had a temper as a lad, but I could never imagine him putting a whip to one of his horses, let alone a person.”

  “Do not doubt it, Father,” Anthony said. “Amelia is suffering because of it, and he will be held accountable one way or another.”

  “Be careful, Halford,” his father said. “You are dealing with a duke here, one who has powerful allies.”

  “Allies who would support a vicious attack on a woman?”

  “Some would, I am sorry to say. It is the way things are in our world, unfortunately. You must think before you act.”

  Sitting was driving Anthony mad, so he lurched out of his chair to pace again. The more he paced, however, the more enraged he became. Kit and Phillip were taking too long getting back to him, and as for the infernal doctor . . .

  “That doctor should be through by now,” he said impatiently. “Unless the man is incompetent.”

  “Dr. Wilcox knows what he is about, lad,” his father said. “He was an army doc in Canada before returning to Town. Knows his way around all sorts of wounds: gunshots, saber, probably even seen the likes of this a time or two over in the Americas. Wild place, the Americas, from all I have heard.”

  Anthony crossed his arms and glared at the door. “I am going in,” he finally said. “Americas or not.”

  He reached for the doorknob only to have it open just enough for his mother to slip out and shut it again. “I need to see Amelia,” he said.

  “You must wait a few minutes more, dear,” she sai
d. “The doctor gave her laudanum, poor thing, so she could have some relief from the pain and he could work more easily. He is applying salve and a few light bandages now, and when she is properly covered, you may look in on her. Oh, Ashworth, her poor back!” she exclaimed to Anthony’s father. “I cried at the sight of it.”

  “I am not waiting,” Anthony said. “I want to see what that beast did to her. I want to be a witness of his cruelty.” Before Lady Ashworth could object, Anthony yanked the bedroom door open and went inside.

  Dr. Wilcox and Jane both looked up from their patient, Jane’s eyes large and startled, the doctor irritated at the interruption. “What do you want?” he asked in a gruff, low voice.

  Anthony didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He stood frozen at the door.

  Amelia lay prone on the bed, the blankets drawn up to cover her legs and hips, her back bared for the doctor’s ministrations. Her pale skin was crisscrossed with hot red welts, some of which still oozed blood. Jane was carefully dabbing away any blood as it pooled while the doctor gently applied the salve.

  She would have scars after this.

  Images stole into his mind, nightmarish images, and he squeezed his eyes shut and fought off his nausea. Fought for control. He would not allow himself any weakness now.

  Amelia’s entire body trembled in agony despite the laudanum, and Anthony moved to her side, bringing the chair that stood next to the wall with him. He sat and cupped the back of her head with his hand, threading his fingers lightly through her silky curls. “You are safe, my love. You are going to be fine. You are so very brave,” he said to her over and over as the doctor finished applying the salve, wiped his hands, and began laying large cloth bandages on her back and shoulders. Even that slight pressure made her shudder and moan, and Anthony wanted to scream.

  Finally the doctor gestured for Anthony to follow him out to the hallway, where Anthony’s mother and father were waiting, leaving Jane to tend to Amelia. “I told the maid in there how to change the dressings, and there is more salve and laudanum on the table by the bed. I have done all I can for today. I will check in on her tomorrow, but call me right away if the young lady becomes fevered.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Anthony’s mother said.

  Dr. Wilcox shook his head. “I have treated a few cases like this, mostly sailors getting flogged for one reason or another. But they are men who spend their life at sea with skin tough as leather, not tender and white like the young lady in there. The salve should help reduce scarring. Terrible pity.”

  Anthony watched him go and then returned to Amelia’s side. “I need to leave for a while, love,” he whispered. “Important business to attend to with the Duke of Marwood.”

  Her hand fluttered at his words, though she didn’t open her eyes, and he laid his own hand on top of it.

  “He is going to pay for what he did to you,” Anthony vowed softly. “I swear it. I will not be stopped like I was at Badajoz.”

  He kissed her forehead, and then he made his way silently past his concerned parents, grabbed his hat, and stalked out of the house.

  * * *

  Anthony was still saddling Bucephalus when Lucas entered the stable. “Wherever you think you are going, I am going with you,” Lucas said and hauled his own saddle from its rack.

  Anthony didn’t respond; he was too focused on what he planned to say when he encountered the Duke of Marwood.

  “I have a vested interest in keeping you alive, considering all the work I did the first time. It was quite a challenge too—finding a woman willing to take you in after what had just happened to her city, stitching you up, nursing you through deliriums when you were fevered, bathing you, helping you with the chamber pot—”

  “I get your point.”

  “What do you intend to do?”

  “What do you think? Amelia was whipped—whipped—in Hyde Park, no less. I intend to find the blackguard who did this to her and hold him accountable; that is what I intend to do.” He grabbed the reins and led Bucephalus out into the mews.

  Lucas followed with his own horse. “This is not Badajoz, Tony,” he said. “And you are not merely disciplining one of your men.”

  “You are correct. This is not Badajoz,” Anthony said. “That was war, and despite my best efforts, my men acted with depravity. I was unable to protect”—he choked on the word—“protect the woman they attacked, and I was not able to foresee Marwood’s actions and protect Amelia either. But I can get justice for her. And I will do just that.”

  “Be sure it is justice you are seeking, Tony,” Lucas said as they mounted their horses. “You are dealing with a duke here.”

  “You sound like my father, Lucas. But what of Amelia, pray tell? She is innocent of any wrongdoing, and yet she is suffering horribly. I am determined, Lucas. Marwood will pay for what he has done.”

  “If that is the case, then I am your man in this endeavor,” Lucas replied.

  When they exited the mews, they saw Kit and Phillip approaching. “It took some doing, but we found him,” Kit said when he and his brother came abreast. “He is not at White’s, as we had presumed. He is at a gaming establishment where the stakes are much higher, although the quality of the patrons is decidedly lower.”

  The establishment in question was located in a house on Pall Mall, and they went directly there. “I shall stay with the horses,” Phillip said. “Prime horseflesh is too much of a temptation for the people who patronize this type of gaming den.”

  It was not difficult for them to gain entrance, considering who they were. They proceeded down a hallway and entered a large room, its many tables filled with gentlemen and even a few women who had the desire to wager heavily. The room was smoky, the atmosphere intense.

  “There he is,” Kit whispered, pointing with a jerk of his head.

  The Duke of Marwood sat at a table near the back of the room.

  Anthony strolled in that direction. “Your Grace,” he said in a mocking tone when he arrived at the table where the duke was playing. The pot in the center of the table was a large one, and the duke tore his eyes away from the cards in his hand to glare at Anthony.

  “I am busy,” he said, returning his attention to his cards and indicating to the dealer to give him another.

  “You only have to answer one question,” Anthony said smoothly. Kit and Lucas stood on either side of him. “Did you yourself set the whip to my fiancée this afternoon, or did you order some lackey to do it for you?”

  A hush went around the room. No one moved, although several eyes turned to look at the duke, awaiting his response. The smoke was acrid and burned Anthony’s eyes and brought images of cannon and musket smoke to mind.

  “I believe it is your turn, Lawton,” the duke said.

  Baron Lawton, a portly man of dubious character who was seated to the duke’s right, jumped in his seat before hastily playing a card.

  The duke then proceeded to take his time before selecting a card to play from his own hand.

  Anthony gritted his teeth against the urge to beat the man here and now. The room was deathly silent now, as everyone had stopped to watch the scene before them. “I would have you answer my question, Marwood.”

  The duke casually reached into his pocket, retrieving his snuffbox, then deliberately took his time taking a pinch of snuff in each nostril. “Have you nothing better to do than spend your time annoying those of higher rank?” he said blandly, snapping the snuffbox closed and putting it back in his pocket.

  “Leave be, Halford,” someone said. “There’s money to be made here tonight, and you’re getting in the way of it.”

  “I would be only too happy to oblige,” Anthony replied, “if the esteemed duke here would act like a man and answer the question.”

  “Enough of this,” the Duke of Marwood said, rolling his eyes in affected boredom. “I wanted the pleasure for myself and the
assurance of a job thoroughly done.”

  “It is as I thought,” Anthony said. “And thank you for your candor at last.” He stepped closer to the duke. “Name your second,” he said.

  The so-called ladies in the room gasped.

  The duke rose to his feet. “Don’t be a fool, you insolent cub. I will not be taken to task over the likes of an illegitimate nobody simply because she has caught your fancy.”

  “The young lady of whom you speak,” Anthony said in a low, menacing voice, “is my fiancée and of finer quality and character than you will ever be. I shall meet you tomorrow at dawn, and your friends here”—he gestured around the room—“will witness your lack of honor should you decide not to show. Name your second.”

  The Duke of Marwood glanced around the table. When no one spoke up, Lawton grumbled, “I’ll be your second, I s’pose.”

  “I will be speaking to you later,” Kit told the baron, “as I shall be acting as the Earl of Halford’s second.”

  “Until dawn tomorrow, then,” Anthony said to the duke. He turned on his heel and left as the silence turned to murmurs. When they were finally outside, Anthony placed his hands on the side of the building and took a deep gulp of air.

  “Unless you would rather act as Anthony’s second,” Kit said to Lucas behind Anthony.

  “Heaven forbid,” Lucas replied. “I will not make the arrangements for Tony to put his life in jeopardy. My job is to pick up the pieces after the fact.”

  “Understood,” Kit said. “Marwood is a decent shot, Tony. I’ve a few acquaintances who have gone on the hunt with him. You need to know what you are up against. I doubt the duke will accept fault and delope.”

  Anthony pushed himself away from the wall and turned. “I am not expecting him to delope. And I am a capable shot myself.” Anthony had made sure of it while on the Peninsula. A man could rely on others to stay alive only so much in a war.

  “You are a crack shot,” Lucas said. “But challenging the duke to a duel, Tony? What were you thinking?”