A Noble Pursuit: A Regency Romance (Regency Brides: A Promise of Love Book 3)
A Noble Pursuit: A Regency Romance
Laura Beers
A Noble Pursuit: A Regency Romance
By: Laura Beers
Text copyright © 2020 by Laura Beers
Cover art copyright © 2020 by Laura Beers
Cover art by Blue Water Books
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, copied, or transmitted without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
More Romance From Laura Beers
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
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About the Author
More Romance From Laura Beers
The Beckett Files
Regency Spy Romances
Saving Shadow
A Peculiar Courtship
To Love a Spy
A Tangled Ruse
A Deceptive Bargain
The Baron’s Daughter
The Unfortunate Debutante
Prologue
Canada, 1813
Lord Dudley Beauchamp reluctantly opened his right eye with a great effort. Immediately, the thought of closing it and returning to the darkness was too appealing to resist. His whole body ached, and his head pounded fiercely.
“He’s stirring,” someone said from next to him.
He heard booted steps coming closer.
“Lieutenant Beauchamp,” the familiar voice of the ship’s surgeon started, “how are you feeling?”
Dudley groaned as he shifted slightly on the uncomfortable bed, attempting to ignore the scratchy straw poking through the thin mattress covering.
“Like death,” he responded hoarsely.
“That’s to be expected,” Mr. Barnet replied. “You were dealt quite a blow.”
Raising one hand to his head, Dudley attempted to open his eyes again, but only succeeded on the right side, as his left was covered with bandaging.
“What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
Dudley shook his head and immediately regretted the action. His headache had intensified since he woke up.
The short, red-haired surgeon sat down on the chair next to the bed. “The Americans captured the Penance.”
“They did?” He dropped his hand back to his side. “I was sure that schooner could outrun any ship the Americans have.”
Barnet nodded.
Dudley dreaded the answer to his next question, but he asked anyway.
“And the crew?”
“The casualties were many,” Barnet said, lowering his gaze.
“How many?”
“Fifty-six men killed and ninety-four wounded,” Barnet admitted, bringing his gaze back up.
Dudley felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. “That many?”
“Aye,” the surgeon confirmed.
“And what of Captain Monroe?”
Barnet winced. “Dead.”
Dead.
Tears burned in Dudley’s eyes as he let the horrific news sink in. Many of his friends, his comrades, had perished. Yet, he was alive. How was that possible?
“You’re not without injury,” Barnet said as if reading his thoughts. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly three days now.”
“Three days?”
“Aye,” Barnet confirmed. “Do you recall the explosion that injured you? The cannonball took out the main mast and blasted you nearly the length of the ship. I thought you were dead for sure.”
Dudley attempted to recall the memory, but his mind felt befuddled and heavy. “I don’t remember the blast.”
“I’m not surprised,” the ship surgeon reasoned. “Your body experienced a terrible physical injury.”
A lanky boy walked over with a bucket of water in his hands. He lowered it down next to the bed. “Would you care for some water, sir?”
“I would, lad,” Dudley said as he started to sit up.
“Be careful, lieutenant,” Barnet warned as he helped him.
Once Dudley was sitting up on the straw mattress, the boy handed him a ladle full of water, which he swallowed in a few gulps.
“Thank you,” he said, extending the ladle back to the boy.
“Do you mind if I look at your wounds?” the surgeon asked as he pulled the chair closer to the bed.
“Suit yourself.”
Barnet reached out and started unwrapping the bandage from the left side of his face. “The blast burned the area around your left eye. It will heal in time, but you’ll have some scarring.”
“I can handle a scar,” he grumbled.
“This is going to be more than a minor scar,” Barnet told him. “Your skin and eye have been badly burned.”
The surgeon stepped back with the bandage in his hand, his alert eyes watching Dudley closely. “Are you able to see out of your left eye?”
Dudley closed his right eye and attempted to open his left eye. When he finally managed to open it, he couldn’t focus on anything.
“Everything is blurry.”
“That’s disconcerting, but not surprising.” Barnet reached up and touched near his left eye. “Can you feel that?”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Just as I suspected,” the surgeon said. “This area is numb. I don’t know if it will regain feeling again.” He held up the bandages. “Allow me to put these bandages back on. That will allow your eye to rest.”
As Barnet placed the bandage over his left eye, Dudley’s good eye scanned the crude one-room structure with its dirt floor. Along one wall, two small windows provided the only source of light in the room.
“Where are we?”
“Not sure,” Barnet informed him. “All I know is that we’re waiting on a prisoner exchange.”
“When is that supposed to happen?”
Barnet shrugged. “Again, I am not sure. The Americans haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information.”
Blasted Americans.
“Frankly, if I hadn’t revealed that you were the brother of the Marquess of Northampton—”
Dudley spoke over him, his voice taking on an edge. “Why would you reveal that?”
“Because,” Barnet began, giving him an exasperated look, “if I hadn’t confessed that, the Americans would have been content to allow you to die of your wounds aboard the schooner. I had no choice.”
Dudley grunted in response.
Barnet lifted his brow. “I believe a ‘thank you’ is in order. I have been tending your wounds since the attack.”
I would rather have died, Dudley thought. He rose from the bed, feeling immense relief that his headache was starting to subside. Stepping over to one of the windows, he looked out. He could see American soldiers standing guard outside the door.
So much for attempting an escape.
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“I know what you’re thinking,” Barnet said, coming to stand next to him, “and it won’t work. There are too many American soldiers milling around outside.”
Dudley ran a hand through his tousled hair. “I can’t very well just sit around and wait for the Americans to decide my fate.”
“That’s exactly what you’ll do,” Barnet asserted.
Before he could reply, the door was flung open, and a tall man with a long, thin face ducked into the room. He wore an American uniform. His blue coat had broad lapels trimmed with gold lace. His white trousers were less than spotless, but still contrasted sharply with the coat. He carried a bicorn hat in his left hand. Looking at Dudley, his face was expressionless, giving nothing away.
“Lord Dudley Beauchamp, I presume.”
“You presume correctly,” he answered, seeing no reason to deny it. “However, I prefer that you disregard my title and address me simply as lieutenant.”
The man nodded approvingly. “Captain Fitzwilliam has agreed to the terms of your release. I’m here to escort you to the HMS Victorious.”
“Just my release?” he asked with an indignant huff.
“Of course,” the man replied, placing the black hat back on his head, “you’re the only one of the crew that warrants a ransom, being a lord and all.”
“May I ask what will happen to the remaining members of my crew?”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with their welfare,” the man replied in an irritated tone. “Another prisoner exchange has already been scheduled for later this month.”
“I would prefer to stay with my crew—”
The soldier cut him off. “Nonsense. You’re injured and will report to the Victorious immediately.” His eyes perused the length of him, disapprovingly. “Would you care to ready yourself, lieutenant?”
Glancing down, Dudley saw that he was dressed only in a light, collarless, white shirt and white trousers. He turned towards Barnet and was pleased to see him holding up his dark blue uniform jacket and black bicorne hat.
Barnet gave him a knowing look. “I assumed you would need these.”
“Thank you,” Dudley acknowledged as he accepted the proffered clothes.
The soldier spun back towards the door. “Come. It’s time you go home, milord,” he said dryly.
Home.
Absolutely not. He wasn’t going home. He was going to stay and fight these blasted Americans until his last dying breath.
1
Two months later
Dudley knew he was scowling, but, frankly, he didn’t care. He felt miserable, and he wanted everyone to know it. He’d been forced to attend the ball his brother, Everett, the Marquess of Northampton, was holding in honor of his return to Society. He scoffed. What a waste of an evening.
He wore a high-cut black coat with tails, a green brocade vest, black knickers, and white hose. The green jabot around his neck felt tight and restrictive. His scowl deepened as he leaned his shoulder against the column in the lavish ballroom, watching as the men and women made fools of themselves as they danced the cotillion. They were dancing the night away while their countrymen were dying on the Peninsula and in America.
How he wished he was still fighting those American blackguards! But he had been relieved of duty and thanked for his service. Honorably discharged. The Admiral had cited the loss of vision in his left eye as the reason he was unfit for service.
Dudley adjusted the black eye patch. His vision wasn’t completely gone in that eye, but he couldn’t seem to get it to focus. The doctor recommended keeping it covered until his eye healed, if his eye healed. He had serious reservations about that. It had already been two months, and he’d seen no change in his vision. When he attempted to go without his eye patch, he developed terrible headaches.
A servant walked past him with a tray of glasses filled with champagne. He reached out and took one. At least he could drink and forget this night ever happened. He downed it in one gulp.
Dudley watched as a few women bravely glanced his way, but they always averted their gaze when he caught their eye. There were no coy looks; only ones laced with pity and disgust. It mattered not, he told himself. He had no intention of dancing this evening, with any woman. He was just biding his time until he could leave this blasted ball.
His blond-haired friend, Evan, the Viscount of Ludlow, approached him, winding his way through the hordes of people.
“I’ve come to inform you that your scowl is frightening the ladies.”
“Go to the devil,” he muttered, gripping the glass tighter in his hand.
Evan grinned. “I would prefer not to.” He came to stand next to him. “Why the perpetual scowl?”
“I don’t want to be here.”
Evan bobbed his head. “I see. That is a problem, since Everett is hosting this ball in your honor.”
“I never asked for a ball.”
“And yet, you got one,” his friend said in an amused tone.
Dudley’s eye scanned the golden chandelier that hung from the center of the domed ceiling. Thousands of glittering candles lit the room, making it deucedly warm in the rectangular ballroom.
He tugged at his jabot. “Balls are frivolous.”
“Balls are enjoyable,” Evan countered, “especially when you dance with a pretty lady.”
He huffed. “I don’t dance.”
Evan shook his head. “That’s not a true statement, my friend,” he challenged. “You used to attend balls every time you were on holiday from the Royal Navy. As I recall, you danced nearly every set.”
Dudley clenched his jaw. “Times have changed.”
“That they have,” Evan replied with a reflective glance.
The music came to a stop, and the men escorted their dance partners off the floor. Dudley watched as the men turned to the ladies with enamored looks on their faces. What fools! Dancing, flirting… none of that mattered. If Napoleon’s campaign succeeded, then all of Europe would be under his rule.
Evan turned to face him. “Have you considered my offer to join me when I travel to my estate in Felixstowe?”
“I have, and my answer is no.”
“I think you should reconsider,” Evan pressed. “I only plan to be there for a fortnight.”
“My answer is still no.”
“Pray tell, what pressing problems are keeping you in London?” Evan asked with a knowing look on his face.
Dudley didn’t have an answer. He had no foreseeable engagements, nor did he want any. Truth be told, he spent the majority of his time in his bedchamber, alone. That’s how he preferred it. Before he could turn down his friend’s offer again, his brother, Everett, and his lovely wife, Madalene, approached them.
“Why aren’t you dancing, brother?” Everett asked, smiling.
Dudley frowned. “I don’t see a point.”
Not deterred by his lack of enthusiasm, his brother continued. “Madalene and I just finished the cotillion.”
“Good for you,” he muttered.
Ignoring his response, Everett turned his attention towards Evan. “How are you enjoying the ball?”
“Quite well,” Evan answered. “I’ve already secured Lady Marian for the dinner dance.”
A smile came to Madalene’s lips. “Lady Marian is a lovely choice.”
“I thought so, as well,” Evan replied.
Another servant walked by with a tray of champagne glasses. Dudley traded his empty glass for a filled one. He downed the drink in one gulp and placed that empty glass back on the tray.
“Careful, brother,” Everett warned. “You don’t want to become inebriated at your own ball.”
“Does it matter?” he asked.
Everett cast him a disapproving look. “Madalene worked hard to prepare this ball for you. You could at least attempt to enjoy it.”
“I never asked for a ball.” He tossed his hands in the air. “I never asked for any of this. It’s too much.”
Hurt flashed in Madalene’s e
yes as she slipped her hand out of Everett’s arm. “If you will excuse me, I believe I just heard my friend, Penelope, being announced.”
“Wait, Madalene,” Dudley said, feeling a twinge of guilt for his rudeness. “I’m sorry for being such a jackanape. You truly outdid yourself planning this ball.”
Madalene gave him a weak smile. “Thank you for that, Dudley,” she murmured before she disappeared into the crowd.
Everett watched his wife walk away before he turned his heated gaze back towards Dudley. “I should challenge you to a duel for insulting my wife.”
“I didn’t mean to insult her,” he countered. “Besides, I believe I made my intentions known before you insisted that I needed a ball to reenter Society.”
“Be that as it may—”
Dudley interrupted him. “No. I have no intention of enjoying this ball.”
“Why not?” Everett questioned. “Are you so opposed to having fun?”
Evan interjected, “I’m still attempting to convince Dudley to join me for a holiday at my estate in Felixstowe.”
“You should go,” Everett said decisively.
“No,” Dudley replied. “I have no desire to go to Felixstowe.”
Everett sighed. “I think it would be good for you.”
“And why is that?”
Taking a step closer to him, Everett lowered his voice.
“You’ve been sulking around the townhouse for over a month. You haven’t even visited the gardens.”
“I have not been sulking,” Dudley defended, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just saw no reason to tarry outside.”
“Mother mentioned you spend a great deal of time in your bedchamber, and you turn away visitors.”