Lord Rose Reid and the Lost Lady Read online

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  Dedication

  Copyright

  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

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  EPILOGUE

  Chapter 1

  OTHER BOOKS BY EM TAYLOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lord Rose-Reid and the Lost Lady

  The Contrary Fairy Tales: Book 3

  Em Taylor

  I dedicate this book to my books buddies. Special mention has to go to my travelling companions and signing buddies Suzie, Lesley and Joanne. I’d also like to dedicate this book to a new friend who I met in London this year, who no matter how busy she is, she always seems to have time to give advice or just to cheer me on. You rock, Jo. To the rest of my friends, you know I love you and I couldn’t do this without you.

  To Helen, Joyce and my mum. You know why you’re mentioned here. Thank you.

  Lord Reid and the Lost Lady Copyright © 2018 by Em Taylor. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Em Taylor

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Em Taylor

  Visit my website at www.emtaylor.co,u

  Prologue

  December 6th, 1816

  “Reid, are you coming?”

  Jason Rose-Reid, heir to the earldom of Ashgate looked up from his brandy, pulled himself from his wool-gathering and looked at Isaac Waterstone.

  “Coming where?”

  “Cedric Onslow’s betrothal ball.” Jason scrunched up his nose and looked around. Most of his friends were on their feet and looked as if they were getting ready to leave.

  “Cedric Onslow? Really? The man’s an arse.”

  “True, but we all wish to see this poor chit that shall be leg-shackled to him.”

  Christ, men were as bad as women when it came to gossip in the ton. Damned poor girl. Imagine being leg-shackled to that dandy. Jason shuddered. Seeing the chit accepting her fate felt as if he would be attending an execution complete with blood-splattered knitting. He did not have the stomach for it. Not tonight.

  “I think I am for home.”

  “Are you sure? Should be a grand squeeze and Cedric will make sure the betting at the card tables are high stakes.”

  “Yes, just what I need. To see my friends end up in debtor’s prison. No, I shall pass. But thank you for the kind offer.”

  “Are you well, old chap? You seem rather down in the mouth.”

  Jason waved him away. “Fine. Probably just need some beauty sleep.”

  “Well you always were an ugly bastard, Reid,” said Waterstone, guffawing at his own joke. That was rather rich, given that Waterstone was the illegitimate son of an earl and was lucky to be accepted into society. Jason smiled at him indulgently though.

  When the masses wandered out of Brooks’ gentlemen’s club, Jason turned to Sanders, who was the only one left.

  “Pay no heed to Waterstone, Reid. He has been here since this morning and has drunk nothing but wine. He must be completely foxed.”

  “I seldom pay heed to anyone. Honestly, I am struggling with a bad case of melancholy, I think. I suspect the weather this year has not helped. I should like to get out of town. The Christmas Season holds no pull.”

  “Not even for the fillies?”

  “They are probably a good reason to leave.”

  “What happened with Lady Caroline? Should you and she not be leg-shackled by now? I heard she married that Indian fellow.”

  “She did. The ton was scandalised. But they had a love match, and I was merely her cover while she and this chap embarked on a torrid affair.”

  “So you and she never…” He let that hang in the air.

  “I assumed she was an innocent. I do not debauch innocents.”

  “That is very honourable.”

  “So I am told. But I am the one left having been cuckolded and looking a fool and she… well, I do not suppose she will be seen in many Mayfair drawing rooms any time soon.”

  “I cannot imagine she will be, Reid. You had a lucky escape. And no one is judging you for her misbehaviour.”

  No one except him. He should have seen what was going on. Should he not? He felt like a damned fool. This was why he needed to get away from London—to lick his wounds.

  He did not want to go home. He hated home. His mother would not let him do anything—though he should be doing it all—and as for his father… Good God. The man was fading away to a shadow.

  “Reid, I asked where you would go?”

  Jason looked at his acquaintance. “I am not sure. Maybe I shall head for Cumberland and visit Whitsnow. I have not seen him since last year. The terrible weather over the summer meant he stayed at his family seat. So I may just head north.”

  “It sounds boring as hell.”

  So did another soiree where he had to make polite conversation with some debutante’s mother. At least he and Whitsnow could go out riding if the weather was not too bad. Of course, they could ride in Hyde Park but it really was rather small and once you had galloped along Rotten Row once or twice, there was not much thrill left.

  No, heading to Cumberland seemed like a perfectly sensible idea to him now that he thought on it.

  “It sounds like my best plan in a long time. Riding, fresh air, and perhaps the odd village assembly. I might even try fishing again.”

  “Not in the winter.”

  “Ah yes, good point. Perhaps not. No matter, the country is bracing and good for the soul.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “Well, we shall have to agree to differ. I shall go tomorrow.”

  Now he had decided, he was rather excited about the plan. Shame it would take six or seven days in a carriage to get there. He could ride of course, but that would require taking only a small bag. The other option was to ride and have a carriage with his belongings and his valet brought behind him. He would consider the matter on his way home.

  He downed the rest of his brandy, thanked Sanders for his company and left with a spring in his step he had not had for months. The country air was just what he required.

  Chapter 1

  January 8th, 1817

  Sophia Rutherford had known coming to the Rutherford estate would be a short reprieve. She had prepared for the arrival of Nigel Benson, or at least she thought she had. But as the carriage drew up the long private road to the Rutherford manor house, Sophia’s bravery deserted her. Oh she did not worry for her own safety. He did not care about her. She was a mere woman.

  Nigel Benson wanted Oscar Rutherford, Tenth Viscount Rutherford dead. He wanted to kill the helpless babe that lay asleep in her arms. And as she looked down at him blowing a sleepy milky bubble, she knew she did not have the confidence for this showdown. There was time. She h
ad a bag packed and she had left it in the stable just in case. Riding with a babe in her arms would be tricky but she would manage for his sake.

  She grabbed a large shawl and a greatcoat that had been her husband’s. It was roomy and warm and was better than any silly pelisse she owned.

  She arrived at the stable breathless and in time to hear shouts from outside the front door of the manor. She would have to be quick.

  “Jack, help me.”

  Jack, the stable lad, hurried around the stall she was in and stared at her. He was about fourteen, scrawny and she knew he had a tendre for her. She hated taking advantage of it.

  “What are you doin’ ma’am?”

  “Running away. I need your help.”

  “But it’s snowing again, my lady.”

  “I care not, Jack. Mr Benson will hurt Oscar. I need to go.”

  “I will defend you, my lady.”

  She gave him a tight smile. “That is very brave of you Jack, but he has two carriages of men.”

  “He cannot kill His Lordship in front of witnesses.”

  “He will kill him in a way that looks like it was an accident, or my fault. I do not know Jack, but Oscar is in danger. I know it. Please. I shall put him in this shawl and you must tie it around my back so I can ride with him.”

  “I see.”

  When she showed him what she wanted done, the young lad looked impressed at the baby sling they had fashioned.

  “The late Viscount described the Indian women using these slings when he was travelling. I remember him talking about them. It is actually quite comfortable. Now help me on with His Lordship’s great coat.”

  Soon she was ready to go and Jack had the horse saddled.

  “Where are you going?”

  “If I told you, then they could beat the information out of you. Worry not, Jack. I shall keep Oscar and myself safe.”

  “How will you get on your mount without a mounting block?”

  “Needs must when the Devil rides, Jack. I shall find a way.”

  She would not tell him her plan was to ride but six miles to the Whitsnow estate and beg the mercy of the Earl to hide her and her babe. She had no idea whether the older brother of her friend would help. He could be a churlish, annoying creature, but she believed him also to be an honourable man.

  “Go through the woods then, ma’am so they cannot follow your horse’s hoof prints.”

  “That is wise advice. Thank you, Jack.”

  “I shall lead you as far as the trees then walk back through over the horse’s hoof prints. It may confuse them.”

  They moved silently, Sophia checking no one from the manor had noticed them. It was a very short distance from the stable to the trees but once under cover, Sophia had been aware of holding her breath and let it out slowly through pursed lips.

  Jack bowed and wished her well. His eyes shone with unshed tears.

  “Thank you. When Oscar and I return, you shall be handsomely rewarded for your efforts today. Just remember that you have not seen me today at all.”

  “Aye, my lady. Take care and good luck.”

  “Thank you.” And she rode off, skirting around the edges of Oscar’s estate so she would eventually come out onto fields between the two estates.

  “The dower house is probably warmer given the weather,” Jason commented as he sipped his coffee and looked at his friend.

  “If you are trying to make me feel better Lord Rose-Reid, then you are failing miserably,” remarked Whitsnow, his best friend since they had shared a room on their very first night at Eton College. Of course, at that point his friend had still been simply Lord Robert Beresford, while Jason had not changed his courtesy title. How had he been so unlucky with names? He had been given an unusual first name—apparently it was biblical, but it was an obscure biblical name. It had been mentioned once in a New Testament epistle. Jason did not even know which one. There was also a Jason in Greek mythology. Had he been named after that Jason, he might have been slightly happier about the unusual name. But sadly not. His masters at Eton had all smirked when they had called him by name. After all Rose-Reid sounded like a girl’s given and family name rather than a hyphenated family name. Therefore as soon as he was old enough to choose for himself, he had stated he would be called Reid. Simple and elegant, he thought.

  “A chap can but try,” Jason said glancing again at the grey sky outside the window.

  “Now that the Twelfth Night is past, what are we going to do with ourselves?” asked Whitsnow, leaning over and refilling his coffee. “I cannot even begin to start fixing the roof of the manor until the snow thaws and we are rather stuck here.”

  “Yes, I came here for excitement and all you gave me was Christmas in your dower house and a fever.”

  “That is exciting. Besides, it is hardly my fault if the roof of my manor caved in. And you recovered quickly from your bout of fever. Five days. My horse has a less hardy constitution.”

  “You are responsible for the upkeep of your own home, you blaggard. What if it had been your sister sleeping in that bed when the snow landed on top of her?”

  “Just as well I married her off to Beattie then, is it not?”

  “From what I hear, she married herself off. You were a mere passenger, dear boy.”

  “I allowed the marriage to take place.”

  “They were married in Gretna Green. You have no jurisdiction there, my lord.”

  “Were you always this pedantic when we were at Eton, Reid?”

  “I was worse, if you recall. I have mellowed with age.”

  “You are annoying me now. Did you not say something about going for a walk?”

  “It is snowing.”

  “Good God man, a little snow never killed anyone. Put on a great coat and you shall be fine.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me, Whitsnow? Do you have plans to tumble a maid?”

  Whitsnow gave him a wry smile. “The last time I made a mess on my own doorstep, I was seventeen. My father found out and I felt the wrong end of his fist. No, Reid, I do not tumble the servants and I have no current mistress.”

  “Should you not be considering a wife?”

  “Should you not?”

  “I have been wondering that. I was considering it this past Season but you must have heard how that turned out.”

  “No. I saw Emily this year, but that was it. And she was at first mad with me and then only had cow-eyes for Beattie. It was rather nauseating if I am honest.”

  “I thought you would be a born romantic, Whitsnow.”

  “Really, Reid, you have met me, have you not? You should know me for the cynical, weary, care-worn aristocrat that I am.”

  “I thought there may be a soft heart underneath your outer-shell of fashionable ennui.”

  “It is not an air of fashionable ennui. I am not Cedric Onslow.”

  “Oh that reminds me. The fellow got engaged. He must be married now.”

  “Have you not read the papers? They got papers through to us a few days ago. I read the gossip columns. Cedric was apparently ill and Hartsmere’s heir, Cindermaine, pretended to be him. He has been living as a servant in his father’s household for years. Well, apparently he ran off and married Onslow’s betrothed and they had just set up home together when Hartsmere died and Cindermaine succeeded to the title.”

  “Devil take it. It sounds like a Drury Lane play rather than a real life happening in Mayfair.”

  “Yea it does. But now Hartsmere is the half-brother of the Onslow brothers.”

  “Godfrey Onslow is not a bad chap, apart from his choice of clothes.”

  Jason sat back and looked at his friend. Something caught his attention out of the window. Movement. It was snowing. Not so heavy now but definitely still snowing. He stood and moved towards the window.

  “What is it?” asked Whitsnow.

  “Probably nothing. Honestly, Whitsnow, why is your dower house among the trees? When the snow melts you could end up with another roof caving
in.”

  “I did not build it, old chap. It has been here since time immemorial.”

  There it was again. More movement. Was it a deer? No, it was a horse.

  “I am going out.”

  “Out where? It’s snowing.”

  “It was you who said I should go for a walk.”

  “Aye, I did but…”

  Jason did not wait to hear further protests. He pulled on his coat and his greatcoat and headed towards the door. The butler came hurrying up.

  “My lord, may I help?”

  “No thank you, Lang. I have my coat and gloves. I shall be back soon.”

  The butler opened the door and Jason headed out into the snow. It was deeper than he had anticipated and his boots sank into it. Snowflakes covered him pretty quickly and he wondered if he would even see any tracks. But the depth of the snow meant that the tracks were not easily covered. He had not walked far when he found the beast standing as though it was unsure what to do. Surely it was not alone. So where was its rider?

  “Good afternoon girl, how are you? Where is your master or mistress?”

  The horse looked at him as he approached, but just as he reached for its reins, it pranced sideways, then seemed to realise it could not prance well in the snow. It let out a disgruntled neigh.

  He caught the reigns and started to walk the mare back along her hoof prints. It was then that something occurred to Jason. He looked back at the horse and at the saddle in particular. A side-saddle. So, its rider had been a woman. And the horse had a bag attached to the saddle. It must be someone on a journey somewhere. A woman would never survive out in this weather. Unless the horse had come far on its own, but why?

  He passed the dower house again and continued on, scouring the area for any signs of the horse’s owner. He must have gone nearly half a mile when he saw it.