The Lady and the Earl (Seabrook Family Saga) (18 page)

Amelia tried to climb out of bed, but her legs shook and would not hold
her weight. She leaned back into the pillows and grimaced at the pounding pain
inside her head. “What is wrong with me?”

“Wait one minute.” Wentworth hurried out of the room and immediately
came back with Sebastian, Bella, Emma, and her mother. They surrounded her bed,
each talking at once. Amelia could not understand anything being said. Why were
they behaving oddly? Why did they all have dark circles beneath their eyes? Had
something terrible happened?

“Please, stop,” Amelia said as her breathing increased in panic. “Could
someone explain what happened? Last night we were all attending a ball at the
Sheffields’. Yet today I’m in bed and feeling strange. Where is Captain
Rycroft?”

No one made a sound. The room became eerily quiet. “What? What is it?”
Amelia asked as she fought the panic attack threatening to overtake her.

“I want to speak to my daughter alone,” her mother said as she shooed
everyone out of the room. Before her mother shut the door she whispered
something to Wentworth that Amelia could not hear.

“Now,” her mother said as she sat down on the edge of her bed, “what
year do you think it is?”

“What do you mean, what year is it? It is 1816. William and Emma
recently got married. I am betrothed to Captain Rycroft, and we are currently
planning our wedding.”

“Oh, dear,” her mother cried out as she dabbed her eyes with her lace handkerchief.
“You do not remember Olivia, or the Earl of Bridgeton?”

She suddenly felt pain so intense it stabbed clear through to her
brain. Amelia thought her head would burst. “What is wrong with me? Why are you
asking me about people I don’t know? And where is Captain Rycroft?” Amelia shouted,
or at least she wanted to shout––if her head and voice would allow her to do
so.

“Do not fret, daughter,” her mother said as she hastily vacated the
room, leaving Amelia to panic more than ever. Amelia knew her mother and knew
she worried about something. It showed on her face and in her eyes. Her mother
also looked frail and old. “Oh dear,” Amelia whispered, was her mother ill?

Amelia had expected her mother to come right back. Instead the family
physician came in with his brown leather bag packed with medical paraphernalia.

“Lady Amelia, how are you feeling today?” the doctor asked as he
listened to her heart with his cold metal instrument.

“I do not know. Perhaps you can tell me.”

After the gentle doctor lifted, twisted, and examined her arms and
legs, he stood at the foot of her bed. His brows were drawn and his lips tight.
His expression did not help calm her accelerated heart.

“There is no easy way to tell you this. You have suffered a serious
trauma. Your brain does not remember what happened. You have lost nearly two
years. It is 1818.”

“What? What do you mean?” Amelia struggled to sit up. It took three
tries, but she finally sat on the edge of the bed, her feet dangling off the
side. “That is impossible. I remember what I did last night.”

“I am sorry, Countess, but you have been unconscious for five days,
,
”
the doctor said.

“Unconscious for five days…How is that possible?” Amelia asked as she
wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off the chill that crept up her spine
and spread throughout her body. “I am not a Countess. Why did you call me
that?”

She glanced at her left hand, at her ring finger, and found a sparkling
emerald and diamond ring. Where had that come from? Bile rose up her throat,
causing her to gag.

The kind physician wiped her mouth with a cloth. “I am sorry. I will
send in your brother, the duke, to speak with you. Good day, my lady. I will
look in on you tomorrow,” the doctor said as he left the room.

Why all the secrecy? “Oh, dear God,” Amelia murmured. Could what the
doctor said be true? Did she somehow lose almost two years of her life?

Amelia could hear loud voices in the hallway again. She could tell by
their tone they were arguing. Her chamber door opened and in came Emma and
Bella.

“Thank God, you’re finally awake,” Emma said as she climbed up on one
side of the bed and Bella on the other. Just like they spent many nights doing,
Amelia remembered. How she loved to sit at night and gossip and laugh with
them.

“How are you?” Emma asked.

“I’m a little hungry and thirsty. Can you send for a tray?”

“Oh, dear, how awful of us,” Bella said. She stepped into the hall,
said something, and came right back onto the bed. “A servant should be here
momentarily with a tray.”

“Thanks,” Amelia said, looking back and forth between Emma and Bella.
Why were they stressed? Their rigid posture attested to it. “Would you both
please tell me what is happening? Not knowing is worse than knowing. Please
have mercy on me.”

Both women looked at her with wide eyes.

“All right,” Bella said slowly. “The doctor told us to explain what
happened and then give you little bits of the past. Which he hoped would
trigger a full recovery of your memory.”  She fidgeted with the ribbons of
her sash. “You nearly drowned and spent five days unconscious. Now you do not
remember the past two years.”

Amelia’s stomach clenched up tight at what she heard. The physician and
her mother explained she had memory loss, but not how she had come to obtain
it. “Drowned how and where?” It didn’t make sense, she never went into the
water.

“Well,” Emma interjected, “in the little stream on the edge of this
estate. Someone tried to…well…to…”

“To what?” Amelia interrupted in hopes of hurrying along the
conversation because her head and heart hurt. “Someone tried to what? Please
tell me, the suspense is killing me.”

Bella spoke up. “We think the Earl of Bridgeton tried to kill you.”

“Mother mentioned this Earl of Bridgeton. I don’t know him. Who is he
and what does he have to do with me?” Amelia rubbed her chest in hopes of
soothing her insides.

“You must remember our neighbor in Dover,” Bella answered. “The recluse
who keeps to himself and nobody ever sees. The one rumored to have murdered his
brother and his brother’s pregnant wife.”

Amelia’s head ached as she tried to understand what Bella said. “Are
you trying to tell me the recluse is the Earl of Bridgeton. Once again I ask
what that has to do with me.”

“What does that have to do with you?” Emma repeated her face pale as flour.
“Well, there is no easy way to say this.”

“Please, just say it,” Amelia pleaded. She did not think she could take
any more of this. The room was beginning to spin circles around her.

“You
are
the Countess of Bridgeton,” Emma patted her hand
gently.

“I married the Earl of Bridgton?” Amelia closed her eyes to stop the
room from spinning. It made it worse. “I married a man I do not know, even
though I am betrothed to Captain Rycroft?”

“Yes. Only you
did
know the earl. You wanted to marry him. You
loved him,” Bella chimed in.

“What about Captain Rycroft? I love him!”

Both Bella and Emma hugged her close.

“There is no easy way to tell you this. You never married Captain
Rycroft,” Bella said softly. “Days before your wedding, he died in a hunting
accident.”

“He…?” Amelia’s lips quivered. Tears clogged her throat making it
impossible to say more.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Emma said. “How dreadfully unfair you had to live
through it not just the first time…but twice.”

“Please, I want to be alone,” Amelia whispered with heaviness in her
heart. Tears leaked from her eyes as she tried to digest the information Bella
and Emma told her.
Daniel was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead,
her mind screamed.
She tunneled beneath her covers burying her head.

As Daniel’s
face flashed before her eyes, Amelia began to sob. Her sobs intensified. They
violently shook her body until she could not take the pain any longer and fell
into a troubled sleep.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

For seven days William sat in his filthy cell in the bowels of hell.
The slop they fed him was not worthy of a pig. As he moved his hands over his
stomach, he could count each rib. His hands moved up to his face only to
encounter sunken cheeks and protruding cheekbones.

“Bloody hell,” he swore. “I must resemble death. Where the hell is
Spencer?”

William slowly paced the room. His muscles pulled tight, his bones
creaking. How did one survive this place for long?

He had received a short missive from Spencer stating he had traveled to
Dover. Why had he not returned with news of Amelia? Now his heart constricted
and his head ached. William curled up on the hard, lumpy, smelly mattress and
pondered his future. There were two roads in his future. Neither one was
pleasant. The first one had him stuck in this hellhole until starvation or
disease took him, or, bless someone’s heart, he visited the gallows and hung.

The other road he envisioned twisted and turned through the
countryside. Lavender scented the air. The sun’s rays warmed his face and at
the end of the winding road was his salvation. Amelia stood with arms out in
welcome.

 
Amelia.
Would he ever see her again? He needed to see her,
if only for a moment. Even if he went to the gallows, he wanted to see her once
more to know she was healthy and fine. He didn’t care about living anymore. He
only cared about Amelia.

***

For the third day in a row, Spencer had been turned away from the
Wentworth country estate. For the love of God, how did he report back to his
cousin? He could not travel back to Newgate without word of Lady Amelia.
Thinking of Newgate sent an icy shiver up his spine. That first day he visited
his cousin, it had taken all his willpower to act casual. He worried for
William. He prayed daily for his cousin’s freedom and for Trenton’s demise.

All Spencer had wanted to do was run from there, and the nightmare it
represented, and kiss the ground outside. He would never take his freedom for
granted again.

Instead of getting on his horse and riding back to William’s estate,
Spencer snuck around the back of the estate and entered the servants’ door. If he
could find Lady Isabella and beg her help, explain all about Trenton, then
maybe she could help him with the stubborn duke.

 Spencer had never told a soul about what had transpired between
Geoffrey, William, and Katherine. He would utter the words this day. This time
Spencer would not watch William suffer for someone else’s crimes. More was at
stake than ever before.

He sneaked down hallways and up staircases trying to find Lady
Isabella. As he turned a corner he caught a glimpse of blond hair and a peach skirt.
His pulse sped up as he quietly hurried down the hallway. The female person in
question slipped behind a closed door. It could have been the duchess or Lady
Bella as they both possessed blond hair. He would have to take his chances and
follow her behind the closed door because William’s life was at stake.

Spencer slowly opened the door a crack and peered inside. His breathing
slowed at the sight of Lady Bella. Another occupied the bedchamber with her
though. Lady Amelia sat, propped up by pillows, in a large four-poster bed.
From his vantage point, Spencer thought she looked pale and tired. At the sound
of footsteps in the distance, Spencer hurried inside the room. He shut the door
quietly and put his finger up to silence Bella and Amelia when both ladies
gasped.

“Please. Have mercy on me,” he said as he approached the bed on wobbly
legs. “Bridgeton is beside himself with worry about his Countess.”

“Mr. Spencer,” Lady Bella spoke softly, “you should not be here. If
Wentworth finds you he will have you arrested.”

"Indeed, let him try,” Spencer said as he stood at the foot of the
bed and tried to understand the shocked and confused look on Lady Amelia’s face.
“Lady Amelia, he reached for her hands, but hesitated when he saw her draw back
in panic. “Please tell Wentworth, Bridgeton did not try to kill you. Please, I
beg of you. He loves you.”

“Bella, who is this gentleman?” Lady Amelia asked as her eyes darted back
and forth between his and Lady Bella’s.

“Who?”
Spencer queried in confusion. “I am your husband’s
cousin.”

“Mr. Spencer,” Lady Bella said as she took his arm and led him to a
quiet corner of the room, speaking in a hushed tone, “my sister does not
remember the past two years. When she woke up two days ago, after being
unconscious for five, she believed she was still engaged to Captain Rycroft.”

Spencer glanced back to Lady Amelia and a knot formed in the pit of his
stomach. “What do you mean she does not remember?”

“Mr. Spencer,” Lady Bella said with sympathetic eyes, “please keep your
voice down. Someone tried to kill my sister by drowning her. We found her
unconscious, floating in the stream that separates this property with
Bridgeton’s. She remained unconscious for five days. She now believes it is
1816. The doctor said we must be patient.”

“Will she regain her memory?” Spencer asked around the newly formed
lump in his throat.

“The doctor does not know. We have been telling her bits and pieces of
her life.” Lady Bella leaned in close. “She does not even know she has a
daughter. Poor Olivia. Just when they were becoming mother and daughter.”

 Spencer’s stomach clenched at the dire situation. He had expected
to find Lady Amelia well, and, by this time tomorrow, he had hoped William
would be a free man. “You must listen to me,” Spencer pleaded. “William did not
do this. Nor did he murder his brother or his brother’s wife. Sir Phillip
Trenton, Lady Katherine’s brother, committed the crimes. We’ve been trying to
prove this but have been unsuccessful. Trust me, we will prevail. I must speak
with Wentworth. I have much more to explain. And I beg you, please help me.”

“What are you doing in my home?” Wentworth bellowed from behind
Spencer’s back. Spencer had been so intent on explaining things to Lady Bella
he had not heard the door open.

“Wentworth,” Spencer fought back the fear threatening to overtake him
as he faced the stone-faced duke. “I have come to plead my cousin’s case. Could
I have a private word with you, Your Grace?”

“No.”

“Wentworth,” Lady Bella said, “please listen to what Mr. Spencer has to
say. It might help Amelia.”

“Follow me,” Wentworth snapped as he exited the room at a fast pace.

Spencer quickly caught up and followed the duke down the hallway, down
a staircase, and down another hallway until they entered a large study.
Wentworth sat down at his desk and pointed to an empty chair. “Sit down and
make this quick. I have things to attend to.

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to act casual as he
sat in the upholstered armchair.

“Your Grace. First, let me say how sorry I am about what happened to
Lady Amelia. It is tragic that someone would want her dead. That someone,
however, is not Bridgeton.” Spencer went on to explain about the relationship
between Geoffrey, Katherine, and William, telling him of the suspicious carriage
accident that had taken the lives of Katherine’s parents and how they believed
Trenton was responsible. “I am quite confident, when Lady Amelia regains her
memory, she will exonerate her husband and confirm Trenton’s guilt.”

“Am I to understand Bridgeton hired Mr. Smythe, a Bow Street Runner, to
look into this?” the duke asked.

“Yes. When Bridgeton first came to London he approached Smythe. Smythe
didn’t find the proof we had hoped for. I understand you also hired him to
prove my cousin’s guilt.”

“Yes. He has found nothing to confirm that Bridgeton or anyone else
committed the attack on my sister. I have an idea of someone else who might
want to do her harm though,” Wentworth said as he rose from his chair and
strolled to the sideboard. He filled two glasses with amber liquid and placed
one in Spencer’s hand. “Until the truth is known, however, your cousin will
stay right where he is.”

Spencer downed the contents of the glass and welcomed the burn as it
went down his throat and spread to his stomach. “Who is this person? And why
should Bridgeton stay in Newgate?”

“I am not at liberty to answer either question.”

“Why?” Spencer questioned. “My cousin’s life is at stake.”

“So is my sister’s. And I will not jeopardize that. Whoever is
responsible will be back to complete the job. I’m quite certain Amelia saw her
attacker. Word is out that she survived but can’t remember the details of her
attack. Whoever committed this crime cannot risk her getting her memory back,
therefore, I assume he will try again,” Wentworth said. “Now, I have much to
do. My valet, who is right outside the door, will see you out.”

***

“It took you long enough,” William said in a raspy voice to Spencer as
the guard let his cousin into his cell.

“Traveling back and forth from London to the countryside does take
time,” Spencer replied as he removed a handkerchief from the pocket of his
perfectly tailored greatcoat and placed it over his mouth and nose. “I did not
think it possible, but this place smells worse than the last time I visited.”

William shrugged his shoulders. “You get used to it.”

“I do not believe that for a minute.” Spencer gagged. “Don’t they empty
the chamber pots?”

Once again William shrugged. “Occasionally. Now please tell me about
Amelia.”Spencer explained all that had transpired since their last meeting.

“Wentworth thinks if it wasn’t me, then there’s a possibility someone
other than Trenton tried to kill my wife?” William said. Damn his foggy brain.
The longer he stayed in this dungeon, the worse his mind functioned.

“Yes,” Spencer answered, “but he would not give me a name. Do you have
any idea who would want to kill Lady Amelia and hope to pin the murder on you?”

“Who indeed?” William pondered. “The only one, besides Trenton, whom
I’ve had words with is Yarmouth. Do you think he would?”
Damn.
That
night he found Amelia and Yarmouth in the gardens at the Northborough’s
masquerade ball would forever be embedded in his mind. “It’s possible. He does enjoy
inflicting pain. And his pride had been hurt when Amelia broke her betrothal to
him. Is Smythe looking into this?”

“I visited Smythe when I arrived in town late yesterday,” Spencer said
as he tried not to touch anything in the filthy cell. William almost laughed
because he was as dirty as his cell and all the other occupants of Newgate.
“Smythe confirmed he was looking into Yarmouth, but he would not discuss any of
his findings with me.”

“Well, of course he would not,” William said as he sank down onto his
smelly cot, leaning against the sticky wall. “I need to get out of here. I do
not know how much longer I can take this place. During the day people come and
go, and every time I hear someone’s footsteps coming down the hall, my hearts
races and I hope and pray they have come to free me. When they don’t, I wonder
how my heart continues to beat.”

William looked up to see his cousin watching with a grim expression
before he continued in a shaky voice.

“At night, wails and screams reverberate down the halls, and I worry
that in time, I could be the one making those inhumane sounds. When I do sleep,
which is not often, I picture Amelia on our wedding day, beautiful and happy.
Soon the images turn to seeing her face down and dead in the water. I do not
want to sleep. I’m afraid. I do not want to give up hope that Amelia and I will
be reunited, but it is hard in this place to have any optimism.”

“I wish I had better news for you,” Spencer said as he reluctantly
signaled the guard standing outside the cell. “If I find out anything, I’ll
send word tomorrow.”

William went from sitting on his filthy cot to lying down and closing
his eyes. Even as exhaustion settled in his bones, he did not want to sleep.
Did not want to have the same nightmare, seeing his beloved, Amelia, dead. But
he knew he needed to sleep in order to keep up his strength. Amelia needed him.
And bloody hell, he planned on being there for her.
Somehow.

The thought that Yarmouth might have attempted to kill Amelia––and that
it might not have been Trenton––had William’s heart pounding out of control. He
knew Trenton, but he didn’t know Yarmouth or what the man was capable of.
Either way, or more correctly, no matter who wanted Amelia dead, they would
strike again, for she’d seen her attacker. And William planned on being there
to kill the bastard. But how, how did he get out of this sewer?

Never in all his life had he felt helpless to protect the ones he
loved.