Regency Society Collection Part 2. Ann Lethbridge

make out the words. She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and forced herself to read on.

       I am so sorry. But I feel obliged to unload my burdens and tell the truth at last. Beauworth was innocent of any crime against his mother. Le Clere was her murderer. I have Piggot’s letter in my safe at Castlefield explaining it all. I picked it up and read it the day of the ransom and have kept it ever since. Dishonourable, I know.

       When I read of his exoneration, I couldn’t stand to think of him getting away with what he did to you. And, God help me, to me. Though I now know the truth of that, too, from young Smith. I can only blame it on some sort of madness. It has haunted me every day since. Part of the reason I returned to my regiment. A sort of atonement, I think.

       To my shame, I believe my vengeful actions drove Beauworth into the arms of the French. I can only beg your forgiveness. I pray you will find it in your heart, though I cannot blame you if you turn away.

       No matter what, I will take care of you always, if you will allow. Your loving brother, William.

      Eleanor stared at the paper. Garrick. Dead. What William had done paled in comparison. The tears that had flowed so freely at the miraculous news of William’s survival dried on her cheeks. Her mind seemed numb. The words shot as a spy reverberated like an echo in an empty vessel. He would never see his child.

      Outside, the sun shone brightly on the garden in the centre of the square; inside, the house seemed to be full of fog. She couldn’t see or feel, or hear. She wasn’t even sure she was breathing. She didn’t want to breathe.

      Her eyes burned. She’d sent her man off to war and never once told him she loved him.

      ‘What did William say?’ Somehow Sissy’s voice reached through the void. She held out the paper without looking at Sissy’s face. If she saw sympathy, she might start to scream.

      Her grip was so tight on the paper, Sissy had to force open her fingers.

      ‘Oh, no!’ Sissy’s cry of anguish came from a great distance, then the floor shifted and a strange darkness descended. It was fitting that the world should be dark, she thought, as she watched the floor come up to meet her.

      The months were passing and Eleanor moved through her life like a stranger. Only the child growing in her body held any real interest. This morning, as usual, she sat in her drawing room, waiting for Sissy to call and see how she did. No doubt Sissy would report on her progress to William, whose last letter had been full of news of Paris under the allied army of occupation. He had sounded cheerful and anxious to return home as soon as Wellington agreed to release him from his duties. While their reconciliation by letter had been wonderful, many things remained unsaid between them. It would be good to finally clear the air once he returned home.

      Nidd knocked at the door. ‘My lady?’

      ‘Yes, Nidd, what is it?’ She spoke gently. The old Yorkshire man looked thinner and more like a skeleton than ever. The loss of the Marquess had been difficult for all of the Beauworth servants.

      ‘There’s a man at the servants’ door, said he was sent by Captain Smith to help Johnson in the stables. Is it all right if I give him your permission?’

      This was the third unemployed soldier Dan Smith had sent. Starving men who had served with the Marquess in the Peninsula. Dan had insisted Garrick would want her to help them. Eleanor trusted Captain Smith, but she had found the other two men rather frightening. They were large and rough and clearly not used to serving in a gentleman’s establishment. Once or twice she had found them lounging around in doorways or outside the stables with seemingly nothing to do.

      ‘Perhaps I will speak to him first.’ She followed him back to the kitchen.

      Slouched against the doorpost, Garrick had to hold himself back when Ellie entered the kitchen. Would she know him, disguised as he was? He’d spent the last four days perfecting his disguise while his men, with Dan’s help, infiltrated her house.

      God, he’d missed her. She looked pale. Too thin, despite her blooming body. He longed to put his arms around her, hold her close, feel that soft body melding with his, run his hand over the soft swell of her belly full with their child. His child. Months he’d been without her, praying she’d wait for him. Thoughts of her had kept him alive during some of the worst days of his life.

      Forcing himself to play his part, he pushed away from the wall. ‘Look busy. ’Ere comes ’er ladyship,’ he said in a hoarse voice straight from London’s gutters.

      ‘Let’s have a little more respect from you, my lad,’ Nidd said. ‘This is the Marchioness of Beauworth. Bill Dodds, my lady.’

      Garrick gave her a sloppy salute and kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his shoulders hunched. The patch he wore over one eye covered most of one side of his face and obscured his vision. The growth on his chin formed a straggling beard and his hair, cut short by Dan, he knew showed patches of white skin.

      God, he hoped she wouldn’t know him. It would ruin all his plans. He shambled across the room and made an awkward bow.

      ‘Captain Smith suggests you help in the stables. What knowledge have you of horses?’ She sounded tense, almost afraid. He didn’t blame her. He cut a dreadful appearance.

      He kept his one eye fixed on the cap he twisted in hands he’d roughened by working in the stables at Horse Guards. ‘I looked after ’orses for the cavalry, yer ladyship.’

      ‘You are fit enough for these tasks?’ She gazed at his leg, which he favoured, giving an impression of an injury and reducing his height by leaning heavily on his hip.

      ‘Aye, milady.’

      She peered at his face, as if looking for someone she knew.

      Dammit. For all his efforts, Ellie was going to see straight through the filth. God, he loved this woman.

      He coughed, a harsh, chest-racking sound that bent him double. He hawked and looked around for somewhere to spit and decided on the sink.

      With a grimace, she turned her face away. He hated that his ploy had succeeded so well she would not look at him. But he kept on coughing.

      ‘Very well, report to Mr Johnson,’ she said.

      He breathed a sigh of relief. Le Clere might strike at any moment, but he would have to go through Garrick and his men to get to Ellie.

      Without glancing at her face, he touched his forelock and shuffled out of the door. He sensed her staring at his back. He’d have to be very careful around his clever wife.

       Chapter Twelve

      A day or so later the weather turned fine and Eleanor decided to drive out in her carriage. She was a little surprised to see the scruffy Dodds on the driver’s box when she stepped out of the door. She frowned. ‘Where is Johnson?’

      ‘’E’s got a touch of the rumytism, milady,’ the shabby Bill Dodds explained.

      Strangely, Johnson had spoken highly of Dodds’s competence, despite her initial misgivings, and so she had left things alone. ‘Well, Dodds, if you are going to drive my carriage, I would appreciate it if you would borrow Johnson’s coat.’

      ‘Er, yes, milady. Thing is, it don’t fit.’

      Eleanor grimaced. The man was far taller than Johnson, despite his slouch, and broader across the shoulders. ‘Wait here.’

      She returned with the oldest of Garrick’s greatcoats. ‘See if this fits.’

      It could have been made for the man, she thought, as he shrugged himself into it.

      ‘Thank you, milady. Right kind o’ ye.’ He grinned, a flash of white teeth through the thick beard. A strange sense of recognition flooded through her. He turned away