Honor and Redemption (Regency Love Book 4) Read online

  Honor and Redemption

  Regency Love Book Four

  M.A. Nichols

  Copyright © 2019 by M.A. Nichols

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  www.ma-nichols.com

  Books by M.A. Nichols

  The Villainy Consultant Series

  Geoffrey P. Ward’s Guide to Villainy

  Geoffrey P. Ward’s Guide to Questing

  Magic Slippers: A Novella

  Regency Love Series

  Flame and Ember

  A True Gentleman

  The Shameless Flirt

  Honor and Redemption

  Shadow Army Trilogy

  Smoke and Shadow

  Blood Magic

  A Dark Destiny

  Prologue

  Oxford

  Fall 1820

  Climbing up top, Patrick Lennox took his seat behind the coachman, sliding over to make room for his brother on the passengers’ bench. He cast his eyes upwards and felt a swell of gratitude for the clear skies and unseasonably warm temperature. Patrick only hoped the weather would hold for the entirety of the journey home; the last time, they’d met with a deluge that had frozen his bones through, and he did not fancy repeating that miserable affair.

  “It’s a fine day for a drive,” said Kelly, taking his seat beside Patrick. “Far better atop than stuffed into the coach with the rest.”

  He nodded. “It bodes well for the state of the roads. It’s unlikely that we will be delayed.”

  A glint entered Kelly’s eyes, and Patrick awaited the teasing words that always accompanied such looks. “I will make certain the driver does not spare the whip. I would hate to deprive you of seeing your sweet Miss Eloise a moment longer than necessary.”

  Patrick gave no reply, for there was none to give. Denying it would only encourage Kelly; they both knew where his heart lay, and the anticipation of their reunion had it thumping a rapid beat.

  Finishing its preparations, the coach took off from the inn’s courtyard, and Patrick found himself quite pleased with his situation. Though the wind did cut at times, theirs was the best vantage point with which to witness the glory of the passing fields and golden landscape. But most of all, it allowed for more entertaining possibilities than were to be found inside the vehicle.

  As their family coachman had decreed that the boys needed far more practice with the simpler curricles and gigs before he would allow them to work with a four-in-hand team, their journey to and from university provided the only opportunity to do so. All the fellows at Oxford had stories of their heroic adventures along the rough and tumble roadways, and Kelly and Patrick yearned to be given charge of a coach, as well.

  The driver set the horses on a merry pace, and from the man’s demeanor, Patrick thought this journey a lost cause. He had traveled enough to recognize which coachmen took their positions seriously, and this one had all the makings of such a one; there was no stench of spirits about him, and he kept the horses at a hurried but prudent speed.

  However, Patrick’s grim assessment proved flawed, for after only an hour of travel, the coachman glanced over his shoulder at the pair. “You two look like a fine pair of gentlemen with a good head about you. Would either of you like to take the reins for a few miles?”

  While he kept one hand firmly on the ribbons, the other he offered up in clear invitation, and Patrick and Kelly were quick to drop a guinea into the outstretched palm. Pocketing the coins, the coachman motioned for Kelly to climb onto the front seat, and Patrick watched with an envious gaze as his brother was handed the reins and given a few curt instructions.

  The horses slowed, and Kelly gave a great “gee-up,” flicking the reins at the beasts, but the foursome continued to lag, their pace dropping to a walk. He shook the bits of leather, but the team had no intention of following Kelly’s commands.

  “What is going on up there?” cried a passenger from inside the coach. “Why have we slowed?”

  “A bit of muddy road is all, sir!” called the coachman with a smile at the young men. “We’ll be along shortly.”

  “I must arrive in Harrington by nightfall!” came the reply, and they heard the coach window shut once more.

  “You’re making a muck of it,” said Patrick, leaning over Kelly’s shoulder to reach for the reins.

  His brother pulled away. “I am not. They are simply being stubborn.”

  “Give them a bit of the whip,” said the coachman as he slouched in his seat. “That’ll straighten them out.”

  With a nod, Kelly grabbed it, but the end knotted up in one of the harnesses, rendering it useless.

  “You’re tangling the reins,” said Patrick, pointing to the ribbons all twisted together in Kelly’s hands. “The horses can tell you’re a novice.”

  Shifting his grip, Kelly straightened the bits of leather, but the horses would not budge from their sluggish pace, and the coachman appeared utterly unconcerned.

  “You’re a natural,” mumbled the driver with a lazy smile. “As good as any novice as I’ve seen.”

  “May I have a go?” asked Patrick, leaning forward until he was hanging over into the driver’s seat.

  Kelly leaned away, causing the horses to list to one side. “It’s only been a couple of miles. You’ll have time enough later.”

  “We’ve got an inn coming up presently,” said the coachman, jabbing a thumb at the distance. “We can change drivers then.”

  “But I want to drive now,” said Patrick with a groan. “I’ll let you have extra time after the stop.”

  Kelly’s eyebrows rose. “Five miles?”

  “Two.”

  Narrowing his eyes at the horses, Kelly pursed his lips as he contemplated the offer before handing the reins over. Patrick did not bother shifting seats. As is, he was hanging over the railing between his bench and the driver’s seat which gave him space enough to manage, and he could not wait another moment.

  Taking the straps in his hands, he mimicked the coachman’s grip, carefully positioning the ribbons between his fingers. When comfortable, Patrick gave the reins a nudge, calling out for the horses to get a move on. And they did. Though nowhere near the pace the coachman had set, Patrick was quite pleased with the fact that it was not much slower.

  “How did you get them to do that?” asked Kelly, and Patrick pointed out a few techniques he had gleaned from watching drivers. With another flick, he increased the speed once more, and it was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

  “Faster!” Kelly shouted, and Patrick grinned at him. With another flick, he pushed the horses to greater speeds.

  The coachman tapped Patrick’s arm, motioning to the right lead horse, whose ears were pricked and at attention. The foursome tugged at their leads, but Patrick kept a firm hand on them.

  “Give the reins over,” said the coachman.

  “I have it.”

  The coachman reached for the ribbons, but Patrick held fast as everything changed.

  To recount it, he could not have said for certain the precise order in which it happened, but one of the horses shied away from the road. Connected to the other three, it tugged the others along, causing the coach to lurch. The horses wrenched away from each other, fighting to get free of their harnesses, and Patrick pulled on the reins, struggling to keep the creatures in hand.

  The
coachman shouted at Patrick, but the ribbons tangled in his fingers, as the horses jumped and danced along the roadway. Grabbing Patrick’s hands and the reins all in one, the coachman yanked, but two of them snapped clean off, leaving limp bits of leather to tangle in the harnesses and hooves.

  Horses and passengers screamed, and Patrick fought to free himself while balanced on his belly across the back of the coachman’s seat. The coach shuddered and tipped side to side, and Kelly grabbed Patrick, holding him in place as they wobbled. Patrick’s hands came free of the reins as the coach lurched, listing into the ditch. Leaning the opposite direction, they tried to right it, but there was nothing to be done. Gravity’s pull was too strong, and the coach toppled onto its side.

  Patrick leapt free and landed with a painful twist of his knee. He screamed but forced himself to stay upright to get clear of the vehicle as it slid across the ground.

  “Kelly!” Patrick shouted when it came to a halt, but the groans from inside the coach drew his attention.

  Limping to the bottom side, he found the coachman already there, bruised and bloodied and trying to get the frantic horses under control; the beasts reared and kicked as they fought their harnesses, each other, and the driver. The other passengers were climbing free, but Patrick didn’t see his brother.

  “Kelly?” Leaning against the coach, Patrick hobbled around it, shouting for his brother.

  And then Patrick saw a foot.

  Sticking out from under the front end of the coach was a misshapen pair of legs. With another shout, Patrick ignored the throbbing pain in his knee and ran to where his brother lay pinned beneath the edge of the carriage.

  Patrick shoved against the coach, but it was no use. He could not lift the hulking thing, and the horses and harnesses were in no fit state to help. Shouting for the gentlemen of the party, he gathered them around, but even their combined strength could not budge it.

  “Move!” he screamed at the wreckage, pushing until his muscles shook. Even after the others quit, he kept shoving, not relenting until the last of his energy was spent, and he collapsed onto the ground beside his brother.

  Patrick’s heart pounded in his chest as he searched for anything he could do, but someone had already gone for help. He listened to Kelly’s agonized whimpers, unable to give him even a bit of comfort, for his brother’s body was so mangled that Patrick dared not touch him.

  “Hang in there, Kelly. Help is coming.”

  His brother’s eyes fluttered open, but they were filled with mindless pain. Droplets of blood dripped from his lips, falling onto the grass, and Patrick hovered over him, wishing for anything to relieve Kelly’s suffering; his own chest tightened at the wheezing, gurgling sound of his brother’s breath.

  “Hang in there,” whispered Patrick, kneeling beside his brother while the rest of the party kept their distance from the dark scene.

  “Help is coming,” he repeated as the minutes stretched on.

  Kelly did not speak. He hardly moved. Lying there beneath the carnage, he simply moaned as his blood seeped into the ground. Patrick clung to that uneven, halting sound and the flutter of his eyelids. But the breaths came slower. The twitches grew weaker. And Patrick could do nothing but watch.

  It was not a peaceful passing, and Patrick felt every painful moment as his brother’s soul passed from this world to the next.

  ***

  The sun beat down on Patrick’s back. The last vestiges of summer were out in full glory, painting the world in a wash of golden light that mocked the solemn day. Standing beside the freshly turned earth, he stared at his brother’s grave. The others had left after the vicar spoke his final words, but Patrick was in no mood to face the mournful gathering at home.

  Tipping the bottle up, Patrick took a deep swig, reveling in the burn of the spirits as it coursed down his throat. The pain brought with it a blessed numbness that wrapped his mind and heart in a downy cushion. Staring at the stone slab that marked his brother’s final resting place, Patrick’s muddled thoughts dredged up a convoluted mess of memories. The good and bad all mixed together to fill his mind with thoughts of Kelly.

  But the drink helped.

  “Patrick?”

  He did not have to look to know who was calling for him. Even in his inebriated state, Patrick recognized her voice, and just the sound of it filled his heart with warmth and peace. For as long as he had known her, Eloise Kingsley had a gift for calming his soul, but he did not deserve such happy sentiments.

  “Leave me be,” mumbled Patrick, taking another pull from the bottle.

  Her hand brushed his arm, giving a sympathetic squeeze, which only made his heart twist in his chest. He did not deserve the sympathy. The sorrowful looks. The kind words. His was not some shared grief. He was the author of his brother’s destruction, and everyone was behaving as though a bit of empathy would erase that fact.

  Patrick had killed Kelly.

  Through the drunken haze, he heard his brother’s final breaths and saw the mangled twist of Kelly’s body. Ignoring the fierce pain the liquid brought, he downed another gulp from the bottle. If he could not erase the memories, he could only hope to make himself so pickled that he would not care.

  “Patrick, please stop,” said Eloise. “I am worried about you.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” he mumbled, fighting to get the words out. He turned to look at her but stumbled. “I’m just honoring my mother’s family with a proper Irish wake.”

  “Patrick—”

  “Leave me be.”

  “Patrick, please!” Through the fog, Eloise’s face came into view; her cheeks were pale though her eyes were red, and tears clung to her lashes. She reached for the bottle, but Patrick yanked it away.

  “Leave me be!” He shoved her with more force than intended, and Eloise stumbled, barely keeping her feet. The last rational vestiges of his mind screamed at him for his behavior, but with a few more drinks, he silenced them.

  “Please, Patrick.” Eloise’s words were broken as she fought against a new bout of tears, but Patrick refused to listen.

  “Leave, Eloise. I don’t want you.” The words came out stilted and slurred, but they came out, and some part of Patrick’s mind recognized the fresh pain they inspired, but he could not make sense of the world around him any longer.

  The better son had died. There was no fighting that fact. Even in his drunken stupor, Patrick saw the truth for what it was. By negligence, he had killed his brother. His family’s grief was still fresh from the loss of his father and little sister, and he had wounded them all over again with his thoughtless actions. His mother’s sobs echoed through the house late into the night. Because of him.

  Patrick fought to keep his balance, but his drunken limbs couldn’t keep him upright, and he fell onto the fresh grave. Broken, he lay there, watching the precious liquid leak from the bottle into the ground, and with a wobbly hand, he grabbed it by the neck, clutching it to his chest and closed his eyes to the world.

  Chapter 1

  London

  Six Years Later

  Batting her fan, Eloise Andrews fought to disperse the perspiration beading at her neck and temple; the ballroom was roasting. For all her girlish dreams of the fancy balls in London, Eloise had never thought that they would be quite so pungent, but the conflagration of candles around her filled the air with the scent of melting wax and tallow and mixed with the natural aroma of the overheated dancers.

  Eloise wished the Felthams would be more circumspect with their guest list, for such an overabundance was bound to detract from the evening. Though the dancers had space, it was a tight fit. Each step and turn would need to be done carefully to keep from colliding on the dance floor. To say nothing of the onlookers who were crushed to the sides.

  “Isn’t that the loveliest lace you have ever seen?” asked Susie, tapping Eloise’s arm to draw her attention to a gown. “I must get an introduction and discover where the lady purchased it.”

  “I wonder if it is Fre
nch,” said Maria. “There is something in the pattern that makes me think it is French. What is your opinion, Eloise?”

  Staring at the bits adorning the lady’s décolletage and sleeves, Eloise had not the slightest inkling as to its origin or why it mattered.

  “I am certain you are right, Maria,” said Susie with a smile. “You have such a good eye for lace and fabrics.”

  Eloise had nothing to add, so she smiled as well, allowing the others to make of it what they would.

  “And look at the drape of that skirt,” said Maria, pointing to another lady in a green gown. “I am positively envious! I must see if Madame Toulouse will fashion one for me.”

  Shaking her head, Eloise’s eyes scanned the crowds. “You have a Season’s worth of new gowns. Do you need another?”

  Maria gaped with mock effrontery. “You are beyond the pale, Miss Eloise Andrews! There is always a need for more. Besides, it is my job to spend frivolously so that my parents are quite happy to be rid of me when I marry.”

  Eloise fought back the smile those words elicited, though she could not keep it from her tone as she asked, “Is that so?”

  Maria gave her most winning smile. “Of course. I cannot have them being too upset when I leave them, you know.”

  “Then your motives are purely charitable?” asked Eloise with a raised eyebrow.

  Clasping her hands behind her, Maria gave a demure shrug.

  “Then that is most kind of you,” said Susie, her expression the picture of earnestness.

  Both Eloise and Maria broke into laughter.

  “Dear Susie, she was speaking in jest,” said Eloise.

  The girl blinked at her friends, her eyes fluttering rapidly as her mind worked through that revelation. Then breaking into a grin, she laughed alongside the others.

  “And what have you found to occupy yourself these past few days?” asked Eloise.

  Susie wrinkled her nose. “I swear, Mama has been running me ragged with visits, but it is rarely anyone of interest. Her set never has any decent gossip.”