Falling for the Earl (Regency Romance) (Regency Lords Book 5) (7 page)

Mrs Alexander took the letter from her daughter and pulled her into her arms. “We must pray for Lord Beckton’s safe return, my dear,” she said. “And we must trust that he is safe and well where he is at present. We cannot give up hope.”

Phoebe listened numbly. The words did little to lift her spirits. She had not realised, until this moment, that she loved Alden Haddington with her whole heart. And if he were to be—lost in France—she would never be able to tell him so. She wept bitter tears into her mother’s bosom.

EIGHT

“This was the last place the boy remembers seeing his lordship,” the detective told Lord Wiltshire. “This is where the scuffle occurred.”

Lady Iris had asked for Lord Wiltshire’s help in locating her nephew, and he in turn had hired a detective to do some investigating. After a month, they had finally arrived in Marseilles, and the Viscount looked like every other downtrodden man in the town. No one would mistake him for an aristocrat, which was exactly how he wanted it to be. But he was an experienced former officer in His Majesty’s army, and he knew how to defend himself if need be.

“What else do we know?” Lord Wiltshire asked, his expression grim.

“I’ve asked around, and the word is that an Englishman was seen wandering round with a wound to the head. He had been severely beaten and stripped of his clothing, and he had had no money or papers. He was in danger of being caught and imprisoned. The man I spoke to said they decided to hide him until someone came to find him. They hoped to get a bit of coin for his safe return.”

“I’ll pay them whatever they ask for within reason,” Lord Wiltshire said. “Where is he?”

The detective led him to the door of a ramshackle building next to what appeared to be the town dump and ducked inside. The foul odours that assaulted his nostrils made Lord Wiltshire gag, but he put a hand over his nose and followed the man to the back of the space where he saw his friend lying, watched over by a bedraggled old man with no teeth.

The Earl was emaciated, caked with mud, bloodstained, and barely conscious. Lord Wiltshire felt a tightness in his chest from the mixture of relief and rage that he suppressed. There would be time for anger later. Now he needed to get him out and to the ship before the watch began its rounds.

“How will we get him to the ship without calling attention to ourselves?’ he asked.

“Have you ever been drunk, my lord?” the detective asked with a faint smile on his face.

Lord Wiltshire nodded, understanding the idea immediately. It was not the best plan, but it would have to do. They had only a few hours before the ship weighed anchor, and he had no intention of being left behind. And Lord knows Lord Beckton looked bad enough to be inebriated beyond the ability to walk on his own. He looked worse for wear. The old man guarding him looked up expectantly, not leaving his spot. Lord Wiltshire understood.

“How much?” he asked, and when the man named a price, he pulled off the filthy rag he wore around his head and withdrew the paper the man asked for, and a few extra, before returning the money to its ingenious hiding place.

The old man moved aside, and Lord Wiltshire and the detective manoeuvred Lord Beckton into position between them.

“
Merci, camarade
,” he said, and stepped away.

The journey back to the ship was torturous, and fraught with danger. They clung to the shadows as much as possible, dragging Lord Beckton’s feet through the slick mud of the flooded streets. It had stopped raining for a while, but it was starting up again, which made the going more treacherous.

Thankfully, they managed to make it back to the ship, safely and with twenty minutes to spare. They were shown to the captain’s cabin at once. Thankfully, the bad weather that had accompanied them on their trip to France had blown over, and they had smooth sailing back to England.

By the time they landed in Southampton, they had all rested, Lord Beckton had been cleaned up, and dressed in clothes that were now too large for him. They hung on his frame, and Lord Wiltshire felt the tightness of emotion in his chest returning. On the way across the channel, Lord Beckton had awakened, but he had been delirious, and Lord Wiltshire was glad when he passed out again. Never had the Viscount been so relieved to see the coastline of southern England.

The first thing they did was to find an inn and get the Earl cleaned up. His fever had calmed down, but there was no doctor in near vicinity of the village inn. Lord Wiltshire, hired a carriage and decided to set without pause a race for London. The city would have the best physicians. After a two day carriage ride they got the Earl back to the townhouse in London, where his aunt gave way to tears at the sight of her nephew. Lord Beckton was carried up to his bedchamber, and Lord Wiltshire stayed for a few days to be there when he finally awoke from his fever.

The Earl woke up confused. He remembered nothing. He didn’t know who he was, where he was, who his aunt was...nothing and no one was familiar to him. The doctor had told Lord Wiltshire that he might not remember much when he awoke, but this was beyond what they had expected. When he was called back to Lord Beckton’s side, the physician told them that the blow to the head was the most likely cause of his amnesia. He advised them to surround him with the things he loved, feed him well, and allow him as much exercise as he could tolerate.

“When his brain is ready to start up again, it will,” he told them. “Until then, there’s really nothing else that we can do for him.”

What sounded like it would only take a couple of days, has still not happened two weeks later.

“There must be something we can do other than sit about and wait for him to remember who he is, Lord Wiltshire,” Lady Iris said a week after the doctor’s fifth visit. Her frustration mirrored Lord Wiltshire’s own.

“He said we should surround him with the things he loves, did he not?” The Viscount asked suddenly, a gleam in his eye.

“He did, and we have,” the Earl’s aunt replied. “Everything he loves is here.”

“Not quite everything, my lady,” Lord Wiltshire said, and when she turned puzzled eyes to his face, he explained, “Miss Alexander is not here.”

***

“Send us word as soon as you arrive, Phoebe,” her father said.

“Yes, Papa,” she said, “I will.”

She waved to her parents until they were out of sight, and then she closed her eyes and prayed. Lord Beckton still did not remember anything. It had been a month since his return home and his aunt had sent for her. Her heart soared, even though she knew that he was still not completely whole, but he was alive, and she would do everything she could to see that he got back to full health.

The carriage ride took two days from Derbyshire, with an overnight stay in Bedford. When she finally arrived, late in the evening, Lady Iris had her escorted to her bedchamber at once.

“I will send up some supper for you, dear girl,” she told her.

Phoebe thought she might be too tired and excited to eat, but when the food arrived, she thanked the maid and set to, eating everything that had been placed on the tray for her. Then she sat down to begin a letter to her parents which she would finish after she had seen Lord Beckton.

Next morning, a maid woke her, helped her dress and get ready for breakfast, and then she took the letter she had begun and went down to the dining room. Lady Iris was already there, and as she went over to greet her, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw him, and her heart broke. He was thinner than he had been, and a scar now marred his left cheek. He spoke to her quietly, without a trace of recognition.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said. “I do not have the pleasure of your acquaintance. I am Lord Beckton, or so I’m told. I have no recollections of my own.”

His voice was strong, his tone friendly, and Phoebe saw him as he was when relaxed and unselfconscious.

“Good morning, my lord,” she replied. “I am Miss Phoebe Alexander, your…friend.”

Thus started one of the most challenging weeks in Phoebe’s life. The Earl remembered nothing, but she remembered everything. Especially the night at the opera. The night he had made her pulse beat like no other. He had kindled her affections and now his eyes shone with pleasant interest and nothing else.

Soon Phoebe started to despair. It had been a week since her arrival, and Lord Beckton seemed no closer to remembering anything. What could she do to help him? They were walking in the garden, and the Earl was telling her about the new roses he had planted.

“They’re beautiful,” she said. “You have a green thumb, it seems. Have you always enjoyed gardening?”

He stopped walking and turned to her. “I don’t remember. But last night I had a dream.” He looked at her as if waiting for her to give him permission.

“What was the dream about?” she asked, quaking inside.

“We were dancing,” he said, “and I asked you what you would say if I asked you to marry me.” He looked at her closely. “That was a vastly strange dream, don’t you think?”

Phoebe tried to control the trembling that immediately overtook her. “It was,” she agreed, “but it wasn’t a dream, my lord.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night before you had to leave for France, we danced, and you asked me that question.”

“And what was your answer?” he wanted to know. He was tense now, and she could tell she had his full attention. He seemed to be hanging on her very words.

“I didn’t have a chance to answer you, because the dance ended.”

He inhaled deeply, and resumed his walking. Phoebe walked beside him, staying silent, not knowing how to help him. When they had made another turn about the garden, he stopped again and said, “I have loved you for a long time, haven’t I?” he asked with a frown. “Since your debut. You’re my Phoebe.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Yes, but I didn’t know that until your aunt told me.”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, and then he said, “I’m sorry, Miss Alexander. I never meant to hurt you by forgetting you. Will you forgive me?”

Phoebe sniffed, and dabbed at her nose and eyes with her handkerchief. “I will, if you will call me Phoebe again,” she replied with a tremulous smile.

He turned to her fully and took hold of her hand. “So, what would your answer have been to my question, Phoebe?”

She did not pretend not to know what he meant. “I believe it would have been yes, my lord.” She blushed when he raised her hand to his lips.

EPILOGUE

Lord Beckton’s memory returned slowly. Phoebe returned to her parents’ home, and he visited her there, and proposed to her, gifting her with a beautiful emerald.

“To match your eyes, my love,” he told her.

When December came, he invited her family for Christmas. During that time, her mother and his aunt planned their wedding. Neither of them cared what was done. They were happy getting to know each other, and when the last puzzle piece of the gap in his memory was filled, Lord Beckton held a ball to celebrate. He announced his engagement at the ball, and accepted everyone’s hearty congratulations.

On the evening before his wedding Lord Wiltshire, who was to be his best man, reminded him of the time when they had both despaired of his ever getting the woman of his dreams. They were having a last drink in his study before retiring for the night.

“It has been a long and difficult year, for sure,” Lord Beckton agreed, “but I am happy now. I have a most estimable prize in Phoebe, and I will do everything to ensure her happiness.” He looked at his friend and added, “Now all that remains is for you to let go of your past, and embrace the future with a bride of your own. Maybe with that wood nymph you mentioned?”

“Let’s get you married first before we start planning my own imprisonment,” Lord Wiltshire laughed.

Lord Beckton laughed with him, but the next night in their bedchamber, as he kissed his wife full on the mouth and tasted her sweet essence, he knew that he had not been imprisoned, he had been liberated. And he would revel in his newfound freedom for the rest of his life.

THE END

BONUS CHAPTER 1:

–

THE EARL AND the GIRL FROM THE ABBEY

ONE

Miss Beatrice Seton looked so forlorn that, despite herself, her aunt felt a smile begin to tilt the stern set of her lips. Beatrice saw it too and her expression changed immediately. “You see, Auntie, you do understand! You know that I’m simply not suitable for the order.”

“Reverend Mother,” the Abbess chided her niece gently.

“You must remember to call me by my title child.”

“But there’s no one here but you and me, Aunty Jane. You know that I always remember when I’m with the other novices or the sisters.” Beatrice replied with a shrug. Then she leaned in eagerly and continued the conversation that had started several weeks ago.

“Auntie Jane, you do understand, don’t you? I want to live in the world, not closed off from it. I want to fall in love and marry, I want children. What’s wrong with that?” Beatrice’s brown eyes were intent with the ardour of youth for claiming what it regarded as its due. She was young and although she had no awareness of her beauty, the Abbess knew that Beatrice was a lovely girl who could, if she were out in Society, have held her own with the belles of London.

The Abbess sighed. They were in her study, a simple but well-furnished room which reflected both her religious vocation and the family wealth that she had brought with her when she chose to leave the life of affluence and worldliness in favour of the convent. Now, years later, she was the Abbess of Boxley Abbey, a position she had held for over twenty years.

“Your mother’s dying wish was for me to protect you and keep you safe,” she said. “She fled France during the Terror so that you would be safe. I cannot forget my promise to her.” The Abbess recalled those terrifying years and the uncertainty that had clouded their lives. She had been a sister at St. Margeaux convent in France, but back then, not even the religious houses were safe from the rage of the public.