Reckless in Innocence ~ A Free Historical Romance story ~ Part Thirty-six

Reckless in Innocence

for my Historical Romance readers ❤ © Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark, this should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane Lark

Reckless in Innocence

(an early Jane Lark story that is not at all associated with the Marlow Intrigues)

~ Read the earlier parts listed in the index

Chapter Fourteen

Marcus

“Marcus…” Jason’s shoulder rested against the embrasure of the open French-door which led onto the terrace. The night was cold for late September. The air was near freezing and damp with mist. Marcus turned away and uncaring of the cold leant his hands on the balustrade where he had once stood with Elizabeth watching the deer. Now he faced the fog, looking out into pitch black.

“What are you doing?” Jason’s footsteps crossed the terrace towards Marcus.

“I cannot sleep. If the night was clear I would not wait for dawn, I would go to her now, but it is too dark to see within a foot from my face and too far to ride with a lantern.”

“There are but a few hours until the cock crows. Those hours can make little difference.”

“Then why does it feel as though they do? Why does it feel as if I must reach her with all speed or I may never see her again?”

Jason sighed, his hand resting on Marcus’s shoulder, “We will find her, and when she is safe and well, you will have a lifetime to repent.”

Marcus laughed bitterly. “I wish now that I had never heard her father’s words. I should have known that she was not involved. I would have known if I had stopped to think. What a fool I have been, an arrogant self-centred bloody fool.” He shook his head. “And I am not like our father. I have spent my life believing that I am, living under the damned curse of it. But I am not. I enjoy it here at Larchfield. There is more fulfilment working in the stables here than there has ever been for me in the pursuits of town. I see now what a shallow life I led.” Marcus looked over his shoulder and smiled at Jason, then turned and rested a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “And you have known this for years. You and Angela have had this treasure for years and hidden it from me.”

Jason smiled. “We have never hidden it from you. You have always been too blinkered to see. And, dear brother,” Jason tapped his arm, then let go, “you have no idea of the full measure of it yet, you have merely peeked into the treasure chest.”

“We ought to at least try to sleep,” Marcus answered. “I intend to ride at a fast pace tomorrow. We shall find her if I have to knock on every bloody door in London.”

“Very well, but promise me one thing, Marcus, before we retire for the night?”

Marcus nodded.

“You will never tell Angela how much she is worth? She would take horrendous advantage of me.”

Marcus laughed.

* * *

Encouraging his horse on at an urgent walk, with a tap of his heels, Marcus guided the animal into the stables of his town house, Jason riding beside him. As a groom caught the bridle of his mare, Marcus leaned forward and slid his leg across the saddle, then dropped with a leap to the ground. He began calling orders to the staff the moment his feet touched the cobbled yard. “My stallion is at Limpsfield, at the Bell Inn.” They had changed horses twice on the ride from Larchfield. “Send someone to collect him as soon as you can. I would have him returned to my stable by tomorrow. Our mounts are from the Crown at Mitcham. Let them rest and take them back. The groomsman at the Crown will direct you to the horses that need to be returned to Limpsfield.”

He and Jason had kept the pace throughout their journey and even now Marcus only intended to grasp some refreshment quickly then saddle a fresh horse and set out again.

“Where will we start?” Jason swung down from the stallion he had acquired from the small inn at Mitcham.

Rubbing his hand over his face, Marcus fought the weariness of fatigue from lack of sleep. “I suppose that we should start at the beginning, at her parents’ home.”

“I have spoken to the neighbours. They have said that they know nothing of her whereabouts,” Jason responded.

Marcus could still not quite grasp the effort his brother had already put into worrying over and searching for Elizabeth. Marcus should have looked himself. She had not, not answered that day he’d called after he’d seen her mother, she had already been gone. Her maid had come to him for help the day before too. He’d wilfully ignored all the signs of trouble. It was that thought which had been on his heels all the way to town. He should have started looking for her then. During their desperate ride back to town he’d sworn he would find her, yet here in London the task seemed so hopeless. They had been riding through streets and houses for over half an hour since entering London, Elizabeth could be in any one of them.

“Has her parents’ house been cleared?” Marcus called as he headed for some quick refreshment.

“It had not, but it could be by now.”

“Then that is where we start,” Marcus hollered across the stable yard, the heels of his boots echoing on the cobble with the haste of his steps.

Only an hour later they arrived at the humble residence in which Elizabeth had lived. A cart, hitched to two solid working horses, stood in front of the house and it was piled high with goods. Marcus drew his horse to a halt, dismounted and tied his reins to the railings as Jason did the same. The door to the Derwents’ former home was wide open and two men were busy lifting out the sofa on which Marcus had spent several hours of his life in recent months. It felt wrong, very wrong to see Elizabeth’s life in pieces upon the pavement.

“Have you seen anything of the family?” Marcus questioned a labourer walking from the cart back towards the house. When the man did not stop, Marcus followed him onto the steps leading to the front door.

“Not as I know, Sir. They had cleared out before the bailiffs knocked the door in. Left all this stuff, though. It isn’t my job to care about the families. If a fool spends more money than he’s got, then it isn’t my problem now, is it, sir?”

“No, no, it is not, but I was a friend of the daughter. I am looking for the daughter, not the man. She has been missing since her father was taken to jail. As you will understand, I am sure, I am worried about her disappearance and concerned in case anything ill has befallen her, if there is any news?”

“As I said, sir, I don’t know nothin’ about the families.”

“Then may we search the house? There may be something that will suggest where she has gone.”

Marcus stepped sideways, he’d damn well search it whether the man agreed or not.

The labourer glanced back at his colleagues who were loading the cart. “Do you agree with that, Bill?” He called to one of the men.

Marcus waited, knowing that the job would be easier done with consent.

The labourer turned back and walked a couple of steps towards the cart. “This gent is looking for the daughter who was ‘ere. He’s after a forwarding address. He wishes to look for himself, Bill?”

The man, dressed in a long grey coat, who’d been organising the loading of the cart stopped what he was doing and walked towards them. “The majority of the rooms is empty, mister.”

“The young woman’s bedchamber?”

“All the bedchambers ‘ave been cleared.”

“What of the man’s office? A letter, an address book, anything that may give me a clue? There may be friends of whom I am unaware. It would give me somewhere to begin my search, if nothing more.”

“The office has not yet been cleared.” The supervisor’s eyes narrowed and his chin dimpled as his lips pursed.

Marcus reached into his pocket and withdrew some coins. “Here.” He also deliberately identified himself, as he held out his hand towards the man. “Marcus Campbell, Duke of Tay. I am a close friend of Miss Elizabeth Derwent. I must search the office and I would rather do it with your agreement.”

The man mumbled something and took the money. Then shrugged. “Take the address book, Y’ur Grace. If you can find it. It ‘as no value to us.”

“Thank you, good man.” Relief swelled in Marcus’s voice, as it also swelled in his chest, and without hesitation he climbed the steps, two at a time, with Jason in pursuit, heading for her father’s office.

Marcus slid the desk drawers open, looking for obvious signs of communication, flicking through papers. When he saw nothing of interest he slammed each draw shut.

Nothing. There was nothing that gave them any information. He sat back in her father’s chair staring at Jason, and then his gaze fell to the desk as he tried to think of what to do. Some sheets of paper lay on top of the desk. He ran the tips of his fingers across a blotting paper. His eyes were drawn to the line of a P and he thought he saw from that the outline of Percy. Had Elizabeth sat in this seat and written to Percy again?

“Jason, look at this.” Marcus pointed at the marks. “Do you see what I see?”

Jason leaned forwarded and then nodded. “It looks like Percy.”

Picking up the page, Marcus folded it and thrust it into his inside pocket, rising from the seat. He was unable to speak. Had she begged the man he had warned her away from to save her? His steps were heavy but swift as he left the house and returned to his saddle. He had to find her. Percy had no conscience and Percy knew that she carried Marcus’s child. Had he decided to use Elizabeth to take revenge on Marcus’s family? Marcus felt sick – this was all his fault.

Their next stop was Percy’s town house.

“Lord Percy is not at home, Your Grace.” The pompous butler intoned.

“And the woman, Miss Derwent?” Marcus did not hesitate in facing the subject. If she was here, then he would know it, and he would not be denied access.

The butler’s face twisted into an expression of confusion.

She was not here. Marcus could see it immediately from the man’s surprise. He had no idea who Marcus was speaking of.

“Do you know where I may find him?” Marcus challenged the butler, without giving him chance to answer his previous question. He had no time to waste.

“I am sorry, Your Grace, he did not give me any particular direction. I know that he is commonly in White’s at this hour.”

“Do you expect him home this evening?” It suddenly occurred to him that Percy may have put Elizabeth up elsewhere. If he intended to make her his mistress then perhaps he had taken rooms for her.

“I am uncertain, Your Grace. He did not arrive home last evening. I have had no word from him today.”

That was enough. That was all he would glean from this man. Turning away, Marcus forgot to even offer a word of thanks in his haste. Percy had her, certainly… but where?

Their next stop was White’s, where Marcus slid a coin into the hand of the porter. But again there had been no sign of Percy for a couple of days.

Frustrated, Marcus turned away, his face reflecting the turmoil that spun in his head. Was Percy with her now? Marcus’s heart hit like a hammer in his chest just at the thought. Where? Running his palm across his face to brush away the fatigue, Marcus walked out of White’s, Jason followed, his feet striking the stairs behind Marcus.

Marcus glanced back at his brother.“I am glad you are accompanying me. I cannot say I would like fear as my only a companion. I have no idea where he may have taken her.”

Marcus lifted himself into the saddle. Jason set a foot in his stirrup, gripped the saddle and pulled himself up. “I have an idea, Marcus.”

Marcus turned his horse and looked at the routes they could take from here, uncertain which direction to turn, or where to go. “Speak,” he said to Jason, he had no ideas himself.

Flexing his fingers, Jason pulled on his leather gloves. “I know Lord Percy’s man of business. If Percy had rented property recently, he would know.”

“You are a genius, Jason,” Marcus exclaimed. “Which way do we head?”

And so another half hour on and Marcus was hammering on the door of the solicitors’ office, his eyes turning to the brass plaque embossed with the names Barriclough, Coulport and Preacher. He had been knocking for at least ten minutes without reply, and there was no sign of life within. They had a way to reach her, and the information was barred from them by a single door. The side of his fist struck the wood one last time.

“I would say that Barriclough, Coulport and Preacher have gone home.” Jason quipped beside him, touching Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus faced his brother. “It will not be too long before its dark.” Jason raised his eyebrows in implication.

Marcus laughed uneasily at that, the tension inside him overflowing. “And what; you fancy theft?” God, the idea was tempting. He looked back at the offices before turning his gaze to Jason again, actually considering it.

“What are our other choices? We can find a magistrate, tell him the story and seek legal access to the building. But I would be loath to do that. Coulport knows Angela’s story. He has kept it quiet, yet if we bring in a magistrate then the truth may come out and the information would be open to the vultures of the ton. Elizabeth’s situation would be equal fodder for the gossips. I would put neither woman through that if there is any other choice. Or we can wait until morning and approach Coulport ourselves. He would speak, I am sure, but not without persuasion, and it will take time to encourage him to talk.”

Jason fell silent. Marcus understood the unspoken question and knew his brother’s desire. He nodded. They would wait a couple of hours, until it was dark enough to break into the solicitor’s office, and then they would damn well do it. A peer of the bloody realm would play common thief. He’d do it for Elizabeth. He’d do anything for Elizabeth now he knew she was genuine and he had been a fool.

“Let us go home. I am in need of a change of clothes and a wash.”

“A meal would not go amiss,” Jason added.

To be continued…

If you cannot wait until next week for more of Jane Lark’s writing there’s plenty to read right now, and do nt miss your chance for the great Magical Weddings summer reading box set, containing my supper sexy story The Jealous Love of a Scoundrel 99c or 99p

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The Marlow Intrigues

The Lost Love of Soldier ~ The Prequel #1 ~ A Christmas Elopement began it all

The Illicit Love of a Courtesan #2

Capturing The Love of an Earl ~ A Free Novella #2.5

The Passionate Love of a Rake #3

The Desperate Love of a Lord ~ A second Free Novella #3.5

The Scandalous Love of a Lord #4

The Dangerous Love of a Rogue #5

The Secret Love of a Gentleman #6

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Go to the index

For

the story of the real courtesan who inspired The Illicit Love of a Courtesan,
another free short story, about characters from book #2, A Lord’s Scandalous Love,
the prequel excerpts for book #3 The Scandalous Love of a Duke

Jane Lark is a writer of authentic, passionate and emotional Historical and New Adult Romance stories, and the author of a No.1 bestselling Historical Romance novel in America, ‘The Illicit Love of a Courtesan’.Click here to find out more about Jane’s books, and see Jane’s website www.janelark.co.uk to learn more about Jane. Or click ‘like’ on Jane’s Facebook page to see photo’s and learn historical facts from the Georgian, Regency and Victorian eras, which Jane publishes there. You can also follow Jane on twitter at @janelark

Brief Stories from the Battle of Waterloo ~ Marshal Ney and the impact of combat on men

The tour guide I attended the bicentenary of The Battle of Waterloo with told us lots of facts about the movement of the armies, and Wellington’s and Napoleon’s tactics for the battle, but as always when I research history, what I was fascinated by were the personal stories he mentioned, and the quotes he shared from eyewitness accounts.

On the first day our tour guide said that he believed Marshal Ney was suffering with combat stress – what we call today, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He said he’d tell us later why, but on the last morning he still hadn’t mentioned it, and so when we were in the museum at Waterloo beneath The Lion Mount, I asked him why he thought that, what were the specific things which made him think it? He went on to explain…

The Lion Mount was built by King William I of Holland in 1820 to commemorate the part his son The Prince of Orange played in the period leading up to and during The Battle of Waterloo, it was built on the spot where The Prince was shot in the shoulder. He survived the battle.

Inside the circular building is what the museum calls a panorama, a 360 degree painting, which you stand in the middle of, so that you get a greater sense of the battle, as around you the noise of battle, which I am sure does not replicate even one thousandth of the noise which must have gone on at Waterloo, makes you feel like you are there too – as models below the painting represent the bodies of men and horses who have fallen on the battleground and in the sunken road.

The tour guide, Nick Lipscome, a respected military historian, who knows Wellington’s descendants and is widely published on the subject of the battles in the Regency period pointed at the image of a man with red hair. “Look at him..”

The man in the centre on the dark horse is Marshal Ney. Ney had fought with and for Napoleon for years, and he’d been in some gruesome battles. In the Battle of Bautzen, fought against the Russians and the Prussians, in 1812, he’d faced some very fierce fighting and been wounded in the neck, and in earlier efforts against the Russians he’d endured starvation with his men and freezing temperatures and had to withdraw. He was wounded two more times after this.

Another thing which the guide told us was that the cavalry men were very hard to control, they often suffered with surges of blood lust, because they fought on Adrenalin rushes, charging their unwilling horses on as they used their swords indiscriminately, hacking and slashing at men. (This explained to me why the English cavalry, as I recorded in The Lost Love of a Soldier, beat back the battalion they had been sent in to fight but then galloped on to the French cannons to attack the gunners right at the far back of the French line, only for every man to be killed.) Wellington once said the cavalry ‘were always galloping into anything.’

Ney led a large group of cavalry, and they were known as the best in Europe.

In 1813 Napoleon’s success faded, and although Ney continued as Napoleon’s Marshal into early 1814, in April 1814 it was Ney who became the voice calling for war to be over, and for Napoleon to abdicate. When Louis XVIII returned to Paris, Ney promised his allegiance to the crown, and for his part in bringing King Louis to the throne, he was made a peer. When Napoleon then escaped the island of Elba, Ney said he would “bring Napoleon back alive in an iron cage,” and he put together a force to stop Napoleon’s march on Paris. Ney renegade on his intent to capture Napoleon, however, and instead joined Napoleon’s forces.

As one of the few Marshals Napoleon had at his disposal Ney became Napoleon’s right hand man during the battle, and when Napoleon withdrew from the field to rest, because he felt ill, Ney was left to manage the battle. He called his men to charge against the English infantry, and he persistently repeated the order, charging his men against the squares the allied army formed, even though there was little hope of penetrating the squares. (I’ll talk more about that in another post)

An eyewitness account of this period in the battle describes, ‘horses hooves sinking into men’s breasts and breaking bones, stroke following stroke, slaying men and splattering brains and blood, screams and the the crash of steal becoming the music of the field, drum and pipe silenced. Swing after swing of sword, as dead bodies became the pillows of those who were dying.’

So why in the face of such bravery would my tour guide, an ex colonel, say he believed that Ney was suffering combat stress. “Look at him…” He had taken off his hat. He had red hair. He rode at the front of his men. It would have been obvious to the men on the field who he was and they would have wanted to kill the man who gave the orders. It was a valuable tactic in battle; many junior officers died for that reason. So the commanders of high rank did not fight on the field. High rank commanders are at the back, because from there they can see the whole battle and order their army like chess pieces, which is what Napoleon and Wellington were doing. Instead Ney was at the front, and five times his horse was shot, and five times he got up, grabbed another horse and continued to lead the charge.

Why?

Because he had a death wish…

I imagine the pain in his mind was so great, and his personal battle against the wounds in his memories so strong, that he just wished it to end. In April 1814 he had searched for relief from it with peace. In June 1815 he searched for relief from it through death.

He received that relief in December 1815 when he was shot for treason in Paris on the 7th December. He could have even potentially avoided that death, as his lawyer claimed he could not be tried in France, because his place of birth had been taken over by Prussia after Waterloo, effectively officially making Ney Prussian, but Ney interrupted the lawyer, perhaps he still did not wish to be saved. “I am French and I will remain French.”

I gave Paul, in my story The Lost Love of a Soldier, a level of combat fatigue, because I knew men must have felt it then, so it was interesting to hear a military man confirm that. Only Paul, my fictional character, seeks to escape his pain through the love and innocence of young woman whose beauty and mild nature provide comfort to his soul…

If you would like to read my fictional story set around the lead up to the Battle of Waterloo, then now is the time to do it, Harper Collins have put on some amazing deals this month to commemorate the battle. In one country the deal only lasts two weeks, though, I have not put the amounts as they are different in different countries, just click on the cover of The Lost Love of a Soldier in the side bar to find out your great cut price deal.

If you would like to see all the pictures and videos of Waterloo 200 which I will share on my Facebook page, click Like on the Jane Lark Facebook link in the right-hand column.

Look at all the book covers in the side bar to see the fictional stories I write… especially the limited time offer for Magical Weddings, which contains my story,

The Jealous Love of a Scoundrel