Healing Lord Barton: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 9) Read online

  His Majesty’s Hounds – Book 9

  Sweet and Clean Regency Romance

  Arietta Richmond

  Dreamstone Publishing © 2017

  www.dreamstonepublishing.com

  Copyright © 2017 Dreamstone Publishing and Arietta Richmond

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this work may be copied without the author’s permission.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-925499-78-0

  This story is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Some actual historical events and locations of the period may be referenced in passing.

  Books by Arietta Richmond

  His Majesty’s Hounds

  Claiming the Heart of a Duke

  Intriguing the Viscount

  Giving a Heart of Lace

  (a prequel to Winning the Merchant Earl)

  Being Lady Harriet’s Hero

  Enchanting the Duke

  Redeeming the Marquess

  Finding the Duke’s Heir

  Winning the Merchant Earl

  Healing Lord Barton

  Kissing the Duke of Hearts (coming soon)

  Loving the Bitter Baron (coming soon)

  Rescuing the Countess (coming soon)

  Attracting the Spymaster (coming soon)

  Restoring the Earl’s Honour (coming soon)

  The Derbyshire Set

  A Gift of Love (Prequel short story)

  A Devil’s Bargain (Prequel short story - coming soon)

  The Earl’s Unexpected Bride

  The Captain’s Compromised Heiress

  The Viscount’s Unsuitable Affair

  The Derbyshire Set, Omnibus Edition, Volume 1

  (contains the first three books in a single volume.)

  The Count’s Impetuous Seduction

  The Rake’s Unlikely Redemption

  The Marquess’ Scandalous Mistress

  The Derbyshire Set, Omnibus Edition, Volume 2

  (contains the second three books in a single volume.)

  A Remembered Face (Bonus short story – coming soon)

  The Marchioness’ Second Chance (coming soon)

  Lady Theodora’s Christmas Wish

  A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion (coming soon)

  The Duke’s Improper Love (coming soon)

  Other Books

  The Scottish Governess (coming soon)

  The Earl’s Reluctant Fiancée (coming soon)

  The Crew of the Seadragon’s Soul Series,

  (coming soon - a set of 10 linked novels)

  For everyone who had the grace to be patient while this book, and every other book that I have written, was coming into existence, who provided cups of tea, and food, when the writing would not let me go, and endured countless times being asked for opinions.

  For the readers who inspire me to continue writing, by buying my books! Especially for those of you who have taken the time to email me, or to leave reviews, and tell me what you love about these books, and what you’d like to see more of – thank you – I’m listening, I promise to write more about your favourite characters.

  For my growing team of beta readers and advance reviewers – it’s thanks to you that others can enjoy these books in the best presentation possible!

  And for all the writers of Regency Historical Romance, whose books I read, who inspired me to write in this fascinating period.

  Disclaimer

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Here is Your Preview of Kissing the Duke of Hearts

  Chapter One

  Books in The His Majesty’s Hounds Series

  Books in The Derbyshire Set Series

  Regency Collections with Other Authors

  Lady Sybilla Barrington looked out of the carriage window at the imposing sight before her. The unseasonably cold summer had faded into a chill autumn, and the leaves had turned colour early. The scarp before her rose stark against a grey sky as the day faded into evening, and the harsh grey slash of rock cutting into the steep hillside looked the colour of old bone in the last of the day’s light.

  Beneath it, built hard against the scarp, the aged stone of Greyscar Keep appeared as solid and unyielding as the rocks that loomed ominously above it. The last pink toned rays of the sun caught glints off the windows, making them seem red. For a moment, it was as if the house were bathed in blood.

  The carriage hit a bump in the road, and Miss Millpost’s gentle snores ceased as she started from sleep to look out the window.

  “Well I never! If that’s where we’re going, I’m not sure about this at all!”

  “It is rather… imposing… isn’t it?”

  “Ominous is the word I’d use, my girl. Did you really actually choose this place, having been here before?”

  “I did. I must say, it looks even more dramatic than I remembered it.”

  Miss Millpost gave a snort of disapproval, and looked away from the window. Mina, Sybilla’s maid, had taken one look out the window and looked away, shivering and pulling her carriage blanket tightly about her.

  Sybilla could not drag her eyes away. She watched as the waning sunlight seemed to slide down the windows, allowing them to darken one by one, as if the blood was running out of the place. She shook her head, chiding herself for her whimsy – her plotting and planning her novel was obviously affecting her perceptions! Writing a gothic novel was one thing – seeing such things in the real world was another entirely.

  Still, it was enough to give anyone the shivers, when seen in such a light. She remembered her mother’s expression when she had suggested Greyscar Keep as a location for her writing. But then, the Dowager Duchess of Melton had always disliked this house, so perhaps she was biased.

  Sybilla had only visited Greyscar Keep a few times in her life, the last many years ago. But it had left a strong impression on her young mind. An impression enhanced by her mother’s dislike of it. She remembered it as a brooding pile of stone, with magnificent views across the surrounding countryside, and the sense of its age palpable in every part of it. She had, of course, been certain that there must be hidden passages, ancient treasures and dark secrets in abundance.

  Now, at 20, and generally accorded a sensible young woman, she found herself still rather enamoured of the idea.

  Which made it the perfect place to write her novel.

  It had, however, taken her three months to convince her mother and brother of that fact.

  At 20, most people of their acquaintance looked at her sadly, pitying her for not yet being married.

  She had, perhaps, brought it upon herself, at least to some degree. First, her father and brother had been killed in a terrible carriage accident – an accident which she could not but feel was at least partly her fault. She pushed that thought aside. She would not dwell on it now.

  A year of formal mourning had been a welcome escape
from the Season that her mother had planned for her. Then the war had ended, Hunter had finally come home, now bearing the title of Duke, and this year’s Season, he had been the focus of the ton’s attention, as the most eligible man in London.

  She had not been in the least sorry to be eclipsed by her brother – especially as he had, in the end, chosen to marry her dear friend and neighbour, Lady Nerissa Loughbridge. But her mother was not quite so happy – she had hoped that Sybilla would find a suitor to her taste and be married by now as well.

  Instead, whilst her younger sister Alyse was eagerly awaiting her Season next year, all that Sybilla wanted was somewhere quiet – somewhere that she could write her novel, ride good horses, and not ever have to speak of Balls and potential husbands again.

  Let her mother fuss over Alyse, not her.

  She had worn them down with persistence. She had consulted her brother Charles, who managed Hunter’s estates for him, about which estates might best suit her plan to lock herself away to write. He had suggested Greyscar Keep jokingly, for if she wanted to write a gothic novel to rival those of Mrs Radcliffe, surely the best place to do so was in a gothic monstrosity of a house. He had been shocked when she had taken him seriously, and exclaimed with delight.

  With a location chosen, she had needed one further thing, beyond her siblings’ support, to convince her mother to allow it. A chaperone. And when she had almost given up on finding a suitable solution to that issue, one had rather magically presented itself.

  Gerald Otford, Baron Tillingford, one of Hunter’s closest friends, from his days as a member of the military unit which had been referred to as ‘His Majesty’s Hounds’, had sent a letter to all of the Hounds. In it, he spoke about an older lady, who had been companion to the Lady who had just married a friend of his. With her charge now married, Miss Millpost was attempting to settle into a genteel retirement in her cottage in the village of Casterfield Downs.

  Except, as Baron Tillingford had pointed out, she was not very settled at all. She was an intelligent woman who liked a challenge, who liked conversation, and who was, apparently, finding a quiet life in a small village rather more dull than suited her. Baron Tillingford had suggested that she would likely be delighted to take up new occupation, should they know of any opportunities which might suit her.

  Sybilla thought that she sounded perfect, and had written to her immediately.

  Their exchange of letters had resulted in Miss Millpost agreeing to take the position. Sybilla’s mother had, at first, been doubtful, but Baron Tillingford’s assurances had settled her to the idea.

  Miss Millpost was very astute, an excellent chess player, well read in a number of languages, and a woman of distinct opinions. Sybilla found her amusing, and kind, under a gruff surface. She was also, Sybilla had discovered, passingly fond of a glass or two of madeira.

  Gravel crunched under the wheels as they passed through the gates and onto the Greyscar Keep drive. The last of the sunlight was gone, leaving only the ghostlight of dusk as a pale blush above the scarp. The house itself was plunged in shadow.

  Sybilla shivered, wondering if anyone was here. They had sent messages, warning the minimal staff who maintained the place of their impending arrival – but she could see no light. They made the last turn onto the curve of drive immediately in front of the house, and the carriage drew to a stop. The groom they had brought with them jumped down, and opened the carriage door. Simultaneously, a loud ominous creak echoed into the quiet night, and a person, followed by a huge distorted shadow thrown from the single small lantern that they carried, stepped out of the main door of the building.

  Mina squeaked. Miss Millpost gave her a disgusted look. Sybilla had to agree with Mina in a way – this was not the most pleasant welcome. She shook that thought aside, determined to be positive – this was certainly going to provide her with a sufficiency of atmospheric detail for her novel!

  She led them towards the man at the door.

  “Lady Sybilla?”

  “Yes.”

  “Welcome to Greyscar Keep. I am Mr Westby, the butler. Please come this way. Mrs Westby, who is the housekeeper, has your rooms prepared.”

  The flickering light of the lantern made his face look ghoulish, but his words, at least, were ordinary. Leaving their groom and coachman to bring in the luggage, Sybilla, Miss Millpost and Mina followed Mr Westby through the door.

  Inside, the entryway was as big as Sybilla remembered, hugely vaulted with a curving staircase going up two floors. The cold marble of the floor echoed with their footsteps, and the shadows seemed to push back against the feeble light of the lantern, as if trying to swallow it.

  Mrs Westby was waiting.

  “Follow me please, and I will show you to your rooms. Dinner will be served in one hour, in the dining room.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Westby.”

  They followed. The old stone walls seemed rougher than usual, as the light from the lantern emphasised every bump and hollow, and the seemingly ancient paintings on the walls looked down on them dourly. Their rooms adjoined each other, and were decorated in a style a century out of date. But at least there were warm fires in the grates, and the beds appeared to have adequate blankets.

  Settling in, Sybilla wondered how she would ever find the dining room – the halls had seemed different from her memory, somehow.

  There was a tap on the door between her dressing room and Mina’s room. When she opened it, she found Mina twisting her hands nervously.

  “Oh, Lady Sybilla, why did we come here? Are you sure that this place isn’t haunted?”

  “Nonsense Mina. It’s just large, old, and no-one has been here for years, except a few staff. Don’t let your imagination run away with you. I’m sure you’ll feel better after dinner.”

  “Yes, Lady Sybilla.”

  Mina did not sound convinced.

  “Come and sit by my fire a bit, then you can help me freshen up before dinner.”

  Mina scurried in and dropped onto a stool near the fire, looking relieved to be with someone else.

  ~~~~~

  Miss Millpost was not impressed. She had expected a decent country house, not this monstrous pile of stone. It looked most likely to be haunted… she shivered. Miss Millpost did not like the idea of ghosts, not at all. The living – now there she knew little fear, but the dead, that gave her pause.

  She had to hope that the place had some redeeming features. If it did, she had not seen them yet. She followed Mrs Westby down the hall, behind Lady Sybilla and that silly maid Mina. The weak flickering lantern light cast odd shadows, and drew glints of light from strange objects.

  Curiously, she tried to peer in through the doors they passed, those that were open, at least. One room caught her attention, and she suddenly wished to halt Mrs Westby to get a better look – but the lantern continued down the corridor, taking the light with it. Still, she was certain that what she had glimpsed was a library. And one with an enormous number of books, or so it had seemed in that quick look that the light had afforded.

  Perhaps the place would not be so bad after all. Many things could be forgiven for a good library.

  She hurried to catch up, not at all liking the possibility of being left without light in these corridors.

  ~~~~~

  A resounding crash echoed through the halls of Dartworth Abbey. Lord Barton Seddon jerked in his chair, and curled forward into a tight ball against the desk, shaking violently. Under his breath, he muttered quietly, over and over.

  “Not a battlefield, not a battlefield, not cannon shot, not cannon shot. Home safe, home safe.”

  It was intended for his own ears only. After a few minutes, his breathing settled, and the shaking eased. Still muttering to himself, he forced his muscles to unclamp, and uncurled himself, back to a normal sitting position. When there were no further loud noises, he cautiously reached out and poured himself a small glass of brandy. He sipped it slowly, letting it spread warmth through him.

  He coul
d do this. If there weren’t too many more crashes.

  Moments later there was a gentle tap on the door. Graves was a good man. The Butler had quickly recognised that Lord Barton was not comfortable with loud noises and sudden movements, and had adapted his approach, without ever saying a word about it. Bart was utterly grateful for the man’s courtesy.

  “Enter.”

  My Lord, Mr Tideswell is here – shall I show him in?”

  “Yes, thank you Graves. And have Cook send up some tea, if you would.”

  Graves nodded, and closed the door, giving Bart a chance to swallow the last of the brandy and put the glass aside. The shakes were, blessedly, gone. Pray that Tideswell had good news about Gallowbridge House. If the owner would sell, Bart would move there as fast as possible, and supervise the renovations from there. Whilst supervising the work for Oliver Kentworthy, Marquess of Dartworth, he had initially lived in the gatekeeper’s house, until enough of the Abbey had been restored for it to be habitable properly. It had been far quieter there, if rather small.

  He was not sure how much more of the unexpected noises he could take, yet he was certain that there would be more. Workmen could not restore a centuries old building without dropping the occasional beam or large stone block.

  Still, even with the noise, it was far better to be here than living in his family’s home. Hawkford Park contained his father, and his brothers, and was, as a consequence, also full of expectations about how Bart should behave – expectations which he could not meet, and was no longer willing to even try to meet.

  Oliver’s offer of a lengthy stay at Dartworth Abbey, and free use of its stables and fields to begin his horse breeding enterprise, had been a godsend. Here, at least, he did not have to explain himself every day, nor was there anyone to sneer at his weakness.

  Graves tapped on the door again, and showed Mr Tideswell in.

  “Mrs Westby has just been telling me all about the district. There are quite a few impressive estates nearby. Mind you, she has some rather… distinct… opinions about some of the local nobility. A bit more than I would expect from a Housekeeper. Still – she has been here many years.”