Caroline and the Captain: A Regency Novella (10 page)

It was almost dawn when Nicholas entered the bedchamber. Caroline lay on her side, her long hair trailing across the pillow. She looked so small and vulnerable that he suddenly suffered an overwhelming anguish that he’d almost lost her. The realization almost brought him to his knees. He fell onto a chair and held his head in his hands, trying to compose himself. She had come to mean so much to him in such a short time, he wanted to give her the world. To keep her safe. Always.

“Nicholas?” She sat up. “Why are you sitting there? Why don’t you come to bed?”

Rising, he walked over and climbed onto the bed beside her. He lay his head on her warm soft breast. “In that moment when I thought I would lose you, that Post would….” He couldn’t say the words, but shut his eyes as she stroked his hair. “I’ve witnessed a great deal of sordidness, sadness and violence in my years away fighting, that I doubted I’d be capable of falling deeply in love. Losing George brought me low, but….” He raised his head, feeling the tears on his cheeks. “The thought of losing you was unbearable. I love you, Caroline.”

“My darling!” She trailed her fingers over his jaw, the bristles rasping beneath her touch.  “You love me?”

“Yes. You are my life.”

She hugged him. “I love you too, Nicholas. I never believed in my wildest dreams I could find such happiness with anyone.”

“My love.” He bent and kissed her slender throat as elation and relief swamped him. He wanted so much to make love to her, but was determined to be patient. “You should sleep.”

“In a little while.” She gazed up at him. “Aren’t you going to undress?”

Nicholas stood and began to remove his clothes. When he settled in the bed, she slid half over him. Her welcome warmth banished the cold. When her pert nipples pressed against his chest, he was lost. He groaned and ran his hands down over her back pulling her hard against his erection.

“Make love to me,” she whispered against his mouth.

♥

“Caroline.” Nicholas’ mouth covered hers hungrily as she ran her fingers through his silky locks. She opened her mouth, eagerly, her tongue dancing with his. His erection pressed against her stomach, hot and hard. She wanted to touch him there, and was surprised at the magnitude of her desire. She would tomorrow. Tonight, their passion drove them on with breathless urgency.

Nicholas pulled off her nightgown. Their lovemaking became a feverish clash of mouths and tongues, hands touching, grasping, stroking, wherever they could reach. His fingers tangled in her curls. He knew just how stroke her, sending delicious sensations racing through her, and a driving need. Suddenly wild and fierce, she clung to him. She had to have him inside her. “Nicholas please,” she begged.

Breathing hard, he settled his body atop hers and slid his hands under her bottom. He raised her hips and pushed into her, fast and hard. This was just what she wanted. Tonight she needed to feel alive.

Moments later, Caroline lay still feeling boneless.

“I love you, sweetheart.” Nicholas kissed her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. “Sleep, tomorrow we’ll take it slow. I want to make love to you properly.”

She stroked his jaw, tracing the rough shadow. “But that was perfect.”

He laughed. “I’ll shave in the morning.”

A whimper and scratching came from the door of the dressing room.

“Hugo! Oh, God, I forgot I put the dog next door so that Post wouldn’t hurt him. Hugo probably won’t speak to me again.”

Nicholas left the bed and opened the door. Hugo jumped up at him, barking joyfully.

“Into your bed,” Nicholas ordered. “And don’t get used to the idea. You’ll sleep in the barn tomorrow night.”

As Nicholas returned to the bed, Hugo settled down with a noisy sigh and a wistful look at his master.

Caroline laughed. “I don’t think he believes you.”

She rested her head on Nicholas’ shoulder and closed her eyes. For the first time she felt he was truly hers. That perhaps she could be the wife he wanted, needed, and most certainly deserved.

Autumn

In his office, Nicholas worked with his new secretary, Jeremy Monroe, Hugo stretched out at his feet. The improvements to the estate and his tenant farmers were well on the way to being completed. The crops had been bountiful, and now the farmers’ roofs had been repaired and made snug for the coming winter each ensuing they wouldn’t suffer the hardships of the past.

“We need George’s account books to compare this year’s yield with the last.” Nicholas rose and rifled through a cabinet. He drew out the account book, but underneath he found a leather bound journal. “What’s this?” He returned to the desk and opened it. Silence fell as he turned the pages, amazed by what he read.

Jeremy leaned forward. “Anything the matter, milord?”

Nicholas pushed back his chair. “I need to show this to Lady Debenham. I’ll be back directly.”

He found Kettle in the vestibule. “Kettle, where is my wife?”

“The Countess is on the third floor with the upstairs maids, milord.”

“What is she doing up there?”

Kettle smiled. “Lady Debenham mentioned viewing the nursery and the schoolroom.”

“Thank you, Kettle.” Nicholas ran up the stairs. When he flung open the nursery door, he found Caroline sitting in a rocking chair, an old, faded soft toy in her hands and a dreamy expression on her face.

Nicholas turned to the two maids who had paused in their work. “Please leave us.”

When the door shut, he took Caroline’s hand and drew her to her feet. “You should not be exhausting yourself. Let the maids ready the nursery for our daughter.”

“Son,” she corrected him, a hand resting on her large belly. “I’ve been imagining my handsome husband playing in this room. A small fair boy with a rascally face. We shall have a son just like you in a few months.”

“I have something to show you.” Nicholas led her over to the table and pulled out a wooden chair. “Sit.”

Caroline obliged her eyes wide. “What do you have there?”

“George’s journal.”

“Oh?”

“It’s all here, Caroline. Why George sold the jewels. His plans for the expansion of the stables to accommodate ten more horses, with rooms overhead for the staff he intended to hire. He has costed it out quite carefully and believed that the money the jewelry fetched would cover his expenses.”

But why didn’t he wait until we were married?”

“He states plainly that he wanted to do this himself. To know that he’d restored Debenham Park’s fortunes with his own hands.”

“Oh, Nicholas. I never thought George felt so strongly about that.”

“Nor I.”

“Poor George. He never got a chance to put all this in motion.”

Nicholas stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. His cheek on hers. “No. But I can.”

She turned on the seat. “Do you want to do it?”

“Not on such a large scale, perhaps. But I will begin by extending the stables.” He smiled at her. “George’s name will be displayed in big letters on a plaque over the door.”

“In gold lettering,” Caroline said. She put her hand up to his cheek. “It must be gold.”

Maggi lives with her husband a retired lawyer, in a quaint old town in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales, Australia. She has a BA in English and an MA in Creative Writing. 

When not creating stories, Maggi reads, enjoys her garden, long walks and feeding the local wildlife. Her kookaburras (Australian Kingfishers) prefer to be hand fed.

Maggi’s books and novellas are Amazon bestsellers. She has published more than 20 novels and novellas and writes in several genres, contemporary and historical romance, romantic suspense and young adult novels.

Maggi loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website.

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Sneak Peek! (With an excerpt)

The Earl and The Highwayman’s Daughter

A Regency Novella

Latest releases:

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Non-Fiction

Castle’s Customs, and Kings: True Tales by English Historical Fiction Authors

Copyright Maggi Andersen 2016

Chapter One

Kent, England

1819

Brendan Fanshaw, 6
th
Earl of Trentham, shoved a dueling pistol at his groom. Neal Pollitt eyed it, his fingers flexing around the handgrip. “You’ve had experience with pistols?” Brendan asked with a quick sidelong glance.

“Only hunting rifles.” Neal hunkered down beside Brendan. “Not in your league, milord. Never seen nothing like that shot of yours when you brought the highwayman down in full flight.”

“Served under Wellington at Waterloo. Copped a ball in my side for my pains.” Brendan reloaded his pistol, the acrid smell of gunpowder stinging his nostrils.  “Never expected to use these, though. A present from my father-in-law.”

Neal grunted, his gaze raking the dense trees of Olverston Wood. “I wonder if the other rogue has taken off.”

There was little sound bar the rustle of the wind through the leaves and the distressed whicker of the two horses. The moonlight painted the grim scene in silver and deep purple shadows, alighted on the body of one of the highwaymen spread-eagled on the ground.

When the coachman was shot and collapsed on the box, the horses bolted and dragged the carriage off the road into a ditch. With Brendan covering him, Neil unhitched the horses, which fortunately suffered no injuries. Then they took cover behind the carriage that rested on its side, and waited.

The box boy had run for his life, and disappeared into the trees. The crumpled body of the coachman lay a short distance away beside the broken wheel.  Brendan had managed to get to him, but found him dead. Cursing bitterly, he ran, hunched over, back behind the carriage. He’d expected the highwaymen to shoot at him, but the woods remained silent.

“Might be that he doesn’t want to give away his position. I doubt his finished with us,” Brendan said. “I carry all my valuables with me. He won’t like it that we’ve killed his partner and left him empty handed.”

“No, they’re a persistent lot of cutthroats, milord.”

“I prefer not to wait for them to either give up or regroup. Let’s get out of here. We’ll have to ride the horses bareback.”

“Take the bay, milord. It’s more accommodating having been ridden postilion.”

Brendan gave a tight smile. “I won’t argue, Neal, not after you won that race on Ajax for me at Newmarket.”

Spooked and nervous, the horses shied as they prepared to mount them. Brendan patted the bay’s neck and leapt onto its back. Neal fought to steady the roan as it sidled and reared, in an attempt to throw him off. Speaking soothingly, he gathered up the long rein and turned the horse’s head.

Brendan eased his horse into a canter. “We won’t return to Chatterton Hall, or Canterbury although it’s closer. That’s what the highwaymen would expect us to do. We’ll take the road to Maidstone and find a coaching inn where we can get fresh horses.”

They rode as fast as the poor light allowed. The moon played with them, lighting their way and then plunging it into darkness. Nothing other than the rustle of bushes, the bark of a fox and the clatter of their mounts’ hooves over the stony ground, pierced the quiet.

Hope of some prize must lurk in the blackguard’s heart. Was he waiting for an opportune time to attack? Brendan leaned forward, and urged the horse to go faster. The sooner they were out of this damned wood the better.

The ground thudded. A horse was hard ridden behind them. A warning shiver climbed Brendan’s neck. Shots echoed through the forest. He grunted as a flash of hot pain sliced through his shoulder. The leather slipped through his fingers as blood seeped down his hand. He gritted his teeth and tried not to slacken off the pace. He’d been confident he’d stay on the horse, but a sudden wave of dizziness hit him. He slumped over the horse’s neck, dimly aware when Neal angled his horse alongside and grabbed the bridle as the reins dropped from his slack fingers.

“Hang on there, milord. We’re almost to the end of this cursed wood. I doubt those men will follow us onto open ground. They prefer to attack where they can escape into the trees.”

Brendan bit down hard, struggling to stay conscious. It took every ounce of his strength to stay upright. The sky lightened to slate as they galloped out of the wood into clear air. On either side of the road, paddocks rolled away under the moon. The hope of escape drove him on. He tried to listen for sounds of movement, but could only hear the buzzing in his ears. His vision blurred and he feared he would faint.

Neal led his horse around a sharp bend. “Hold on milord. I see candlelight up ahead at a farmhouse. Someone’s awake.”

The last of Brendan’s strength ebbed away. He was dimly aware that Neil led the horses through the gate and pulled them up outside a wattle and daub thatched farmhouse.

He was falling. After a pair of strong arms caught him he knew no more.

♥♥♥

At the banging on the door, Eugenia jumped up from the table where she was sewing by the light of a candle. She seldom felt vulnerable here alone at night, aware that her father’s reputation would protect her. Still, the feel of the heavy pistol in her hands made her braver. She unbolted the door a crack and poked the pistol through it. “Who’s there?”

“Don’t shoot, Miss. We’re in need of help. My master’s been shot.”

A wiry-haired man stood on the step, struggling to hold up a man almost twice his size who sagged in his arms. Blood dripped down from his hand onto the step.

She opened the door wide. “Bring him inside.” He hefted the man into the room. “Lay him on the settle by the fire.”

She lit the lantern and went outside to check the road. She could see nothing beyond the arc of light, so she shut the door and eased the bolt across.

“We were set upon by highwaymen in the forest,” he explained, while laying the man down on the wooden seat.  “Milord’s been shot. I suppose it’s too much to hope there’s a surgeon in the village?”

“Only an apothecary. I know more than he does. I’ll tend to him. If it’s not too late. Help me get his coat off.”

Moving him gently, they peeled off the man’s greatcoat and dark-blue tailcoat, exposing his waistcoat and fine linen shirt beneath, soaked with blood. “His lordship, did you say?”

“Earl of Trentham.”

She took her scissors from her sewing box. “How long ago was he shot?”

“Close to an hour. If you can manage without me, I’ll put the horses in the barn. They’re a signpost to our whereabouts for anyone that’s looking.”

She nodded and cut the shirt away from the wound exposing his lordship’s well-muscled chest. He was a healthy specimen, that might stand him in good stead. The ball had passed through the soft flesh high on his shoulder and bled freely.

Eugenia poured water from the kettle on the hob into a bowl. She added cold water from a jug, soaped her hands, then dried them thoroughly. What evil was afoot this night? She feared for her father. The man came inside and shut the door behind him. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Neal Pollitt, Miss. I’m his lordship’s groom.”

“Mr. Pollitt, take this cloth and press it against the wound. I’m going to pick some herbs.”

She knew every inch of her garden even in the dark and located what she sought with little trouble. Her arms full of yarrow, Lady’s mantle, lavender and garlic, she returned to the house.    

Pollitt stood by his master’s side. “We should cauterize the wound.”

“Yes. I’ll do it if you hold him down.”

Pollitt nodded at her, admiration in his gaze.

Eugenia fetched gun powder and tapped a little into the wound. She held up the taper. “Ready?”

The groom took a firm hold of his lordship’s arms. “Do it.”

Eugenia lit the taper from the fire and touched it quickly to the gunpowder. As it ignited and flared, the injured man groaned deeply and struggled against Pollitt’s firm hold. The acrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

Eugenia winced. “Poor devil. Soothing herbs will aid him.”

She poured hot water into a bowl and added lavender. Taking a cloth, she dipped it in the bowl and wrung it out, then wiped the worst of the blood and gunpowder away gently. She continued until the wound was clean. It now bled a good deal less.

“You are close to the forest here, Miss…”

“Hawthorne.”

“Might be that the robbers will return, Miss Hawthorne. I should stay and keep guard.”

She shook her head. They wouldn’t come to her father’s house. “Are you sure they weren’t specters? My father swears blind he saw one there. That wood is said to be haunted. A highwayman was strung up there almost a hundred years ago.”

“Ghosts don’t shoot people do they? Anyway, his lordship shot one.”

She swung around and studied his face. “Was he killed?”

“Yes. Stone dead.”

She frowned. “What did he look like this highwayman?”

“I didn’t stop to see. He wore a kerchief over his face. He was young. Might you know him?”

“No,” she said with relief. Where does his lordship hail from?”

“His country seat, Lilac Park, some miles from here. Over in Surrey.”

She nodded. “I’ve heard some mention of it. The place sounds pretty. Is it?”

“Indeed it is.”

“What are you doing so far from home?”

“We were on our way home from a visit to Chatterton Hall.”

“’Tis a long way from Surrey.”

“Tis the home of his lordship’s father-in-law.”

She gazed at the big man crumpled on her settle. “His lordship’s married then?”

Pollitt shook his head. “A widower, these two years past.”

“Sad if his children are orphaned.”

“He doesn’t have children.” He stepped closer to peer at his master. “He breathes well. You don’t think he’ll die do you?”

She held his lordship’s sturdy wrist in her hand. “Gun shots are tricky, but his pulse is strong. He has a good chance I’d say.”

“You’ve never heard of Lord Trentham? He married Lord Chatterton’s daughter, Lady Anne.”

Eugenia shook her head. She didn’t listen to village gossip it was usually overblown and unreliable. She’d seen Chatterton’s daughter ride past once on a handsome chestnut, with two well-dressed men and another woman. They’d stopped at the village inn for luncheon. Lady Anne’s hair was dark beneath her hat, and she wore an exquisite habit of emerald green velvet. Eugenia had suffered a bout of envy. Not for those people and their privileged lives exactly, but just for that green velvet. The color would suit her. One day she would have a gown like that.

She ground herbs in a bowl with a mortar and pestle. When would her father see fit to return? A chill of unease snaked up her spine. She made a poultice and placed it against the man’s wound, then bound it with cloth. “There’s boysenberry wine in that jug on the shelf. Help yourself, before you brave the cold.”

“Don’t mind if I do. I’ll ride to Lilac Court and return with the carriage to take his lordship home. He’ll do better there with the family doctor.”

She shrugged. “Maybe he will. Although doctors…” She shook her head. “They’re as likely to kill you as not.”

Eugenia frowned. She was anxious to get rid of his lordship and the sooner the better, but he did look poorly. “He should not be moved tonight,” she said with some reluctance. What would her father say when he came home and found him here? She didn’t trust her father an inch.

The groom put down the tankard. “’Tis a good drop, miss. Anything more I can do before I go?”

“You can lift his lordship onto my father’s bed. He’s too tall for the settle.”

“Right you are.”

Pollitt was stronger than he looked. He heaved the unconscious man up and laid him on the bed. Lord Trentham groaned but didn’t wake. “I’ll pull off his boots, shall I?”

She nodded, caught by the earl’s handsome face. Dark lashes feathered his cheeks, his thick dark brown hair disheveled. Long powerful legs stretched over the cot. A fine figure of a man.

Pollitt pulled off a boot. “I hope he’ll be safe here if I leave. Looks like the highwayman has given up.”

“He will be,” Eugenia said firmly, determined to make it so.

When the other gleaming Hessian dropped to the floor, Pollitt headed for the door. “I’ll be off then. But I won’t return until after noon.”

“The longer he has to rest the better.”

Pollitt nodded with one last glance at his master. “I’ll return as soon as I can. And thank ’e, Miss Hawthorne.”

When the door closed behind him, Eugenia turned to her patient. She sprinkled lavender over the pillow and covered him with a blanket. He was deeply asleep. Her fingers itched to trace his brow, his fine straight nose and well-formed lips. But he was so far above her the only thing he’d want from her she’d never be prepared to give. She rose quickly and fetched her mending to keep herself busy. She would not sleep; she would listen to his breathing. He must live. Despite the differences in their station, their futures were linked in some way. She felt it in her bones.