Quintet: Regency Short Stories

By Beth Andrews

These short stories, full of mystery, intrigue, and romance, offer their own unique slant on the Regency era and feature an assortment of rogues, naval officers, aristocrats and heiresses:

• The Gooseberry Fool: Bored and restless, Mark is offered a potentially dangerous mission. He must contact a mysterious British spy who has important information on Napoleon's plans for invasion. In a remote mansion, he must identify his contact amongst a slew of characters who may not be what they seem. Can he separate friend from foe?
• The Abducted Heiress: Young Tom Northcote, on his way home late one night, investigates a suspicious carriage leaving an abandoned house and rescues a young heiress, Madelyn Honeywick. Taking her home with him, he and his older brother James concoct a plan to make everything right. Success may come at the point of a sword, and Madelyn may never receive her inheritance, but James has other plans for their beautiful guest.
• Beyond the Garden Gate: A garden . . . a duel . . . a chilling legend. Charlotte waits for more than 20 years to meet Michael, her true love. But it takes Michael a little time to recognize that she is indeed the woman of his dreams. Can their love transcend time?
• One Night in May: Jaded and bored, a wealthy nobleman visits his newly won property, surprised to learn that someone still lives there. The beautiful unmarried sister of the former owner knows this man by reputation and has loved him from afar for years. In this laugh-out-loud funny story, she manages to confuse him thoroughly and trick him into taking uncharacteristic and life-changing actions.
• A Shadow on the Soul: When tragedy strikes the Strathairn family at Kildragon Castle, John and Lydia Savidge are asked to investigate. The lady of the castle has confessed to murdering her young son and his teacher, inexplicably. Her husband doesn’t believe her, since she was a loving mother and had no reason to murder either one. While interviewing witnesses, they discover another death and suspect a connection. Can Lydia discover the truth?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belgrave House
• Release date: Oct 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781947812406

Book preview

The Gooseberry Fool

A re you in want of a little adventure?

It was an odd question, and Captain Mark Penroth was slightly surprised at it, coming from his old friend, Admiral Duncannon. He eyed the other man curiously, wondering what lay behind his words.

Are you in the way of providing me with any? he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Perhaps more than you require. The admiral’s lips twitched, but he remained comfortably ensconced in a large chair as he watched the captain through slightly closed eyelids. I know that you are on half-pay at the moment, without a ship, and things must be rather dull for you with your sister and her family in Hampshire.

Deadly. Mark’s tone was droll but sincere.

Would you object to spending Christmas with a set of strangers in Kent?

This was indeed an unusual suggestion, and not at all what Mark had expected. Not that he had known what to expect, but this hardly seemed like the stuff of adventure.

That, he said with some hesitancy, depends on the family and the nature of my undertaking.

The admiral shifted in his chair, placed his hands together before him in the semblance of a church steeple, and peered over them as he began to explain.

We—that is, His Majesty’s government—have a…an…agent, who has made several forays into France under various disguises, and who has obtained valuable information on certain plans which Buonaparte may have for an invasion.

Mark leaned forward, now listening intently. Here was something at last! It seemed that the agent in question was staying with a family in Kent over the Christmas holiday. The only thing now required was someone to whom he could relay the relevant information, who could then pass it on to the necessary authorities.

I am honored—and indeed flattered—that you would consider me for such an important commission, Mark said when the other man paused briefly in his narration.

I had thought of someone like Frank Austen, but considered that a single man would be better suited for this. He gave Mark a direct but compelling look. There are few men in whom I have so much confidence, or whom I feel I can trust so completely.

Thank you, sir.

So, are you game, then? His friend smiled, knowing what the answer would be.

Most assuredly, sir! Mark returned the smile, feeling the prickling of excitement as he contemplated the prospect before him. And who is the gentleman from whom I’m charged with collecting this vital information?

That, the admiral answered, smiling yet more broadly, I do not know.

What! Now Mark was truly astonished. You do not know the identity of this hero?

The smile turned to a chuckle.

Indeed, my boy, only the very highest authority knows who the fellow is. For his own safety, it is necessary that very few people know anything about him.

How, then, will I recognize him when I get there? Mark demanded.

Ah! His friend had obviously been waiting for this question. He has contrived a code—a phrase—which will identify him to you.

A phrase? Mark was more mystified than ever.

In the Indies, the palms are swaying in the sunshine.

I beg your pardon? Had his old friend suddenly lost his mind?

That is the phrase which he will employ to make himself known to you, Admiral Duncannon replied blithely.

In the Indies, Mark repeated slowly, the palms are swaying in the sunshine.

When you hear those words, his companion added, you will know that you have identified the person who will pass the required information on to you—either by speech or in a coded message.

I suppose it is unlikely that anyone else would ever use that exact phrase for any other purpose, Mark agreed.

I must warn you, however, that there may be an element of danger involved.

Danger? Mark’s attention was well and truly caught.

Some months ago we sent a man up to the same house in the guise of a new servant. He was to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity, as we have heard rumors of Boney’s agents operating in that part of the country.

Did this man find anything? Mark enquired.

Apparently.

Apparently? Mark repeated.

He disappeared within a fortnight, and has not been seen since.

It was not with the greatest alacrity that Mark approached the front entrance to Claremont House. It was a pretentious residence, large and imposing, though not overly ornate, and he wondered what sort of persons the owners might be. Of course he had not yet met the owners, Sir Horace and Lady Knottworthy. Admiral Duncannon had provided a somewhat flimsy, cock-and-bull story for Mark to excuse his presence at a small house party, declaring that he was a good lad only recently recovered from an injury at the Battle of St. Domingue and was much in need of a period of rest and jollity before retiring to the home of his sister and brother-in-law and beginning the search for his own establishment. This story was not entirely fictitious, though somewhat exaggerated, and Mark arrived feeling remarkably uncomfortable but determined to carry out his orders as speedily and covertly as possible.

He was admitted by the middle-aged and somewhat foreboding-looking butler, Dawes, who was polite to a fault but cast occasionally suspicious glances at him. This was only natural in any small country village, and even more so under the unusual circumstances of his visit, so Mark did not take it personally.

He was quickly ushered into a large, cheerful-looking drawing room which consisted of an assortment of expensive but mismatched furniture, a number of large windows giving a view of the somewhat desiccated grounds outside, and a roaring fire which made the whole at once cheerful and blessedly warm. What made him pause on the threshold, however, was the intense scrutiny to which he was being subjected by the motley collection of guests who were all assembled there in preparation for dinner—which was to be served almost directly.

Ah! Captain Penroth! A rotund gentleman of the middle years separated himself from the others and came forward before Mark could speak. We had despaired of you reaching us tonight.

Please forgive my tardiness, sir, Mark began, essaying a bow to Sir Horace, his venerable host. The roads were a trifle rough to plow through in such weather, and a wrong direction threw me quite off course and added to my delay.

Think nothing of it, my boy. Sir Horace was quite unflustered and almost too accommodating. You are here in time for dinner, which is what really matters.

But I am hardly in a condition to sit down with you all, Mark protested. I am sadly in need of a wash and change of clothes.

Nonsense!

His objections were brushed aside, and nothing seemed likely to change his host’s opinion that such formalities were mere trifles—especially at Christmas—and not worthy of further consideration. As the other guests supported their host’s position, there was little that Mark could do but accede to the general opinion and join them at the table, while feeling all too self-conscious about his dress and his general shabbiness.

As they made their way to the dining room, he was introduced to his fellow companions in a casual and most improper manner, trying to commit their names to memory and to gather from their demeanor which was likely to be his contact in this home.

Knottworthy himself hardly seemed an auspicious candidate, being hearty and almost bumptious in his manner. Where brains were concerned, he seemed a star of very low magnitude indeed. Also, it was hardly credible that a man in his position could make extended sorties into France without his absence being noted by the surrounding families. His wife was a somewhat vague woman, completely overshadowed by her boisterous husband and apparently content to be so.

The other male members of their party were definitely more promising. There was Mr. Charles Denton, a handsome young man who Mark judged to be somewhere about the age of five-and-twenty, and who looked and acted the part of a figure from a