Phoebe Fisher

By Victoria Chatham

Her fortune attracts many suitors, but when they discover Phoebe Fisher’s one notable and outstanding flaw, they depart as quickly as they arrive. Phoebe despairs ever finding someone who will love her just as she is.

Returning to his family home after an absence of ten years, Andrew Fitzgibbon is devastated to find his only relative deceased, the house derelict and the estate almost bankrupt. Without the funds to support it, the title he inherits is worthless. He needs a fortune. Phoebe has one. Reluctant to offer marriage to a young lady simply for her wealth, Andrew finds her intriguing and suggests a solution that might suit them both.

Phoebe agrees, but Andrew’s past may cloud their new life together. Will it make or break them? Will their marriage of convenience become a love match, or will Phoebe never know what it is to love and be loved?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Jun 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9780228622413

Victoria Chatham

Being born in Bristol, England, Victoria Chatham grew up in an area rife with the elegance of Regency architecture. This, along with the novels of Georgette Heyer, engendered in her an abiding interest in the period with its style and manners and is one where she feels most at home.Apart from her writing, Victoria is an avid reader of anything that catches her interest, but especially Regency romance. She also teaches introductory creative writing. Her love of horses gets her away from her computer to volunteer at Spruce Meadows, a world class equestrian centre near Calgary, Alberta, where she currently lives.

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PHOEBE FISHER

Those Regency Belles, Book 3

VICTORIA CHATHAM

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9780228622413

Kindle 9780228622420

PDF 9780228622437

Print ISBNs

BWL Print 9780228622444

LSI Print 9780228622451

Amazon Print 9780228622468

Copyright 2022 by Victoria Chatham

Cover art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Dedication

To my friend Mary Davidge.

Chapter One

May 1816

Halting his weary horse, Andrew Fitzgibbon stared in disbelief at his old home.

One leaf of the intricately patterned wrought iron entrance gate swung half-open. Its partner, removed from its hinges, lay against the opposite pillar. Beyond the gates, weeds sprouted through the gravelled drive, thriving on patches of animal droppings.

Windows, whose glass panes should have gleamed in the late afternoon sun, were missing, or boarded up, leaving an empty-eyed edifice beneath the steep gabled roof.

Andrew’s jaw tightened. Blood pounded in his ears. His throat constricted against the urge to shout in protest at the ruin before him. He closed his fingers in a vice-like grip on the reins but curbed the instinct to spur his horse forward. The beast was too tired even to bother grazing on the long grass at the roadside.

With a sigh, Andrew dismounted and led the foot-sore animal forward.

It didn’t look like Uncle Vernon, or anyone was in residence. As he drew closer, it became abundantly clear that the house was as derelict as it looked. He didn’t even attempt to pull the bell at the front entrance but turned the door handle and, not surprisingly, found it locked.

Andrew stepped back and looked up at the red brick frontage of the house he had known so well. What had happened here? Had Vernon abandoned Rosemount Court and taken himself off to live in the London house as he had often threatened?

Andrew walked along the front of the house, his feet dragging as if echoing his heartache. Rounding the corner, hoping to see any signs of life, he sighed when he found none. The upper windows fronting the long gallery were in the same condition as those at the front of the house. He peered through the kitchen windows but cobwebs and fly dirt obscured his view. Shaking his head disconsolately, he continued past the kitchen porch. Maybe someone would be in the stable yard. He entered it beneath an ornate arch bearing the Fitzgibbon crest, but the silence of the once busy yard deafened him.

The horse lifted its head, its nostrils fluttering as if sensing the previous occupants. Mindful of its needs, Andrew led it towards the old stone trough set against the wall of the stable block. A sheen of green scum covered the water’s surface, and he scooped it aside with his cupped hand. The horse dipped its head, lipped the water, and then swallowed great, thirsty gulps.

That’s enough, my fine fellow, Andrew said when he judged the horse had drunk enough. When I’ve found a stall for you, you can have some more.

He tethered his mount to a sturdy iron ring set in the wall and entered the closest doorway. Vernon had stabled his matched greys and several hunters here, but the stalls were now empty, dusty, and bare. In the hay barn behind the stable block, Andrew found straw bales stacked against one wall and hay on the opposite wall.

He removed his coat and picked up a pitchfork propped beside a chaff cutter. His arms and shoulders warmed with activity as he forked a good amount of straw into the nearest stall and pitched hay into the manger before returning for his horse. He was startled to find a burly figure with a threatening expression in his narrowed eyes waiting for him. A black, rough-coated dog crouched at his heels, its hackles raised from the scruff of its neck to its tail, watching silently.

And what do you think you’re up to? the fellow asked gruffly.

Stabling my horse, Mr. Pike, Andrew replied. If you don’t mind, that is.

The man tipped his hat back, scratched his head, and then smiled broadly, showing a set of tobacco-stained and much-worn teeth.

Well, Lord love us, if it’s not Master Andrew. Although, rightly speaking, I should say my lord.

Andrew stopped at that. Does that mean my Uncle Vernon is dead?

Aye, nearly three years ago now. That Mr. Baldwin, your uncle’s man of business, did his best to track you down but couldn’t find hide nor hair of you. He’ll be mighty pleased to see you safe and sound.

Andrew unbuckled the girth and stripped the saddle from his horse. Well, I wouldn’t have been easy to find, for His Majesty’s Royal Navy kept me constantly on the move.

So that’s what happened to you, Master Andrew. Pike stood aside as Andrew led the horse into the stable. The dog brushed past him, its nose down, tail waving as it followed a scent into the hay barn.

You know how furious I was that Uncle Vernon would not listen to my ideas. He much preferred his gambling and women. Andrew paused as he took off the horse’s bridle. It seemed best that I leave, that the farther away I was, the better. At least you listened to me. Had we forged ahead and implemented my schemes to improve the estate, with or without his approval, I doubt Rosemount would be as it is now.

Aye. Pike nodded towards the house. You’ve come home to a right mess, Master Andrew, and no mistake. Most of the furniture and fittings in the house have gone, but you’re welcome to come and room with me while we sort out something more suitable for you.

Thank you, Mr. Pike. I’ll be happy to. Andrew looked at the man he had known for most of his life. You know, I never forgot you nor how kind you always were to me.

The older man flushed with pleasure at the praise and turned away with a casual wave of his hand.

Perhaps we should drink to my homecoming, Andrew called. Might there be a bottle or two left in the cellar?

Nah, your uncle drank that dry, but come you by here and have some supper with me, and I’ll find something to fill a glass.

Andrew watched his horse for a moment, relieved when it nosed the hay and began to munch on it. Carrying the saddle and bridle to the tack room, now bare of every item a well-dressed horse might need, he placed the equipment beside another, much-worn set. The place once hummed with the activity of grooms and stable boys, the air heavy with the smell of leather and linseed oil. He found a couple of water buckets, filled one at the trough, and placed it at the stall entrance. Lastly, he set the breast bar to prevent the horse from wandering and left it in peace.

He exited the stable yard beneath the rear archway and made his way to Matthew Pike’s cottage. It nestled beneath a stone-tiled roof with dormer windows for the two rooms above a parlour and kitchen. Smoke drifted from the chimney, and the door stood open in welcome, but the dog sat squarely in the doorway with his lip lifted and a low growl rumbling in his throat.

Mr. Pike, I don’t think your dog is pleased to see me, Andrew called.

Pike appeared behind the dog and ordered it outside. Don’t you worry about, Scruff, Master Andrew. He’s just doing his job.

Andrew nodded, not sure he agreed with that sentiment, and followed Pike into the kitchen, where he’d set the table with bread and cheese and a jug of cider. A cold ham hock sat on a platter with a carving knife and fork beside it.

Sit you down and help yourself, Pike said, indicating the spread. It’s too simple for a celebratory supper, but the cider’s fresh.

This is splendid, Andrew assured him as he settled on a chair. Can you tell me more about Uncle Vernon?

Ah, that was a bad business, Master Andrew. Pike shook his head. Too bad your uncle wouldn’t listen to reason. First to you all those years ago, then Mr. Baldwin and the doctor. Even when his friends stopped calling and drifted away to other venues, nothing got through to him. For the last few years, I can’t remember a time when he was sober. His valet, that poor excuse for a man, found him dead in bed, came and fetched me, then scarpered. Same with the butler, housekeeper, and cook. They turned off all the maids and footmen, and then later, I had to let the gardeners go. Turned out none were paid the last quarter and had no hopes of seeing coin at the end of the next quarter, either. Not sure that they didn’t help themselves to some knick-knacks from about the house into the bargain.

Well, Andrew carved himself a thick slice of ham, he left a considerable mess behind, didn’t he?

And now, if you’re to turn Rosemount about again, you’ll need a small fortune. Have you got one?

Andrew’s mouth twisted into a sour expression. No, Mr. Pike. It’s pockets to let for me. I shall have to see Mr. Baldwin soon to discover exactly where the estate stands and what suggestions he might have.

Pike collected the plates and cutlery and stacked them in the stone sink when they finished eating. If you don’t mind, Master Andrew, I’ll be off to my bed as soon as I’ve stowed the vittles.

Not at all. Andrew pushed his chair back and stood. I’ll head up myself. I think tomorrow will be a long day.

* * *

Despite the comfort of the bedroom Pike made available to him, Andrew woke with a thick head and heavy heart. He put down the state of his head to one too many tankards of cider, his heart—well, that would recover in time. At least he would not have to watch Vernon drink himself into oblivion and collapse across the dining room table anymore.

Andrew rolled out of bed and made his way to the stable, where the horse eagerly greeted him. He forked fresh hay into the manger, cleaned the stall, and then looked around for some grooming tools. He found a brush missing half its bristles and a hoof pick, and then Pike appeared in the doorway with Scruff at his heels.

That’s a sad old nag, he commented.

He was the best I could afford. At least the coper included the saddle and bridle for the price I paid. The ride from Bristol would have been grim without it. I was hoping to ride into Gloucester today to see Giles Baldwin, but I think this fellow needs another day or two to recover.

Let him finish his feed, and then I’ll turn him out in the paddock, Pike said. In the meantime, you can use my cob, ride or drive, whichever you like.

It’s been a long time since I’ve driven a horse, Andrew admitted, so I think I’ll ride.

Pike strode off to catch his cob. When Andrew had splashed his face and ran his wet hands through his hair, Pike returned with a sturdy bay horse. Andrew fetched the newer saddle and bridle from the tack room and quickly saddled his fresh mount.

You’ll be back in time for supper? Pike asked.

That I’m not sure of, Andrew said. Don’t wait on me but wish me luck.

Pike waved as Andrew rode off. He followed the old roads and byways he’d known so well in the way boys up to mischief do. White hawthorn blossom feathered the hedgerows while catkins still swayed from the hazel twigs. Bluebells and celandines peeked from the hedge bottoms. He followed the Bristol road into the city, passing the infirmary and the city jail. Rising high above the old Roman city, Gloucester cathedral’s four impressive pinnacles, one at each corner of the square tower, seemed to welcome him.

He stabled the cob at The Bell in Southgate Street, where an ostler stabled it amongst the teams awaiting the next London mail coach. It was only a short walk from there to Giles Baldwin’s place of business on Westgate Street. He immediately recognized the bow window frontage and the black-painted door even though it had been several years since his last visit. He paused a moment, trying to recollect why he had been there. A vague image of Vernon’s bulk disappearing through the doorway came into his mind. He reached for the ornate brass handle, but before turning it, the door opened, and he almost collided with the gentleman making his exit.

Pardon me. Andrew raised his hat and stepped aside for the gentleman to pass him.

A young lady followed, tilting her head as if glancing at him as she passed by. Andrew could not be entirely sure because of the blue-tinted spectacles she wore, but the quirk of a smile on her sweetly shaped lips hinted at awareness and, perhaps, an appreciation of him. He watched the pair walk off along the street, noting the young lady had no trouble keeping up with the gentleman.

There was a sturdiness about her frame and a sway to her hips he found appealing and slightly mesmerizing. He shook himself. It was too long since he had been in the company of any woman, but he liked the style of this one. She glanced over her shoulder, and Andrew cursed under his breath that she noticed his observation of her. Blushing, he hurried into Giles Baldwin’s office.

A spotty-faced clerk looked up and quickly stood as he entered.

Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?

Is Mr. Baldwin available? Andrew asked, unsure if Baldwin would remember him or even have time to see him. If he is, could you tell him that Andrew Fitzgibbon would like to see him?

He need not have worried. As soon as he gave the clerk his name, Andrew heard the scrape of a chair followed by heavy footsteps, and then Giles Baldwin emerged from an inner office. He had always been a big man, but the years had not been kind to him. He was stouter than ever, his face more florid with heavy jowls, and what little hair remained created a band of fuzz around his head.

Where have you been? he bellowed, coming forward with his meaty hand outstretched to greet Andrew. I have sent enquiries to every imaginable port and station known to man with no trace of you. Come in, come in.

He pulled a chair forward and invited Andrew to sit, then lowered his bulk into a cavernous wood-framed, hand-dyed leather chair behind an equally expansive desk.

You have a lot to answer for, young man, leaving as you did. All I could discover was that you joined His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Seems you survived in one piece then.

Thank you, yes, Andrew replied wryly. Although my return home is far from what I imagined.

I expect the state Rosemount is in came as more of a shock to you than the demise of your uncle.

Andrew sighed and shook his head. I cannot believe Vernon let it go so badly.

Aye, well. Your uncle was not himself towards the end, being too sunk in debt and despair to pay attention to anyone. But you, my boy, have arrived home in the nick of time.

You think so? Andrew sat back. From what Pike tells me, the estate funds are slim to none.

And you didn’t come home covered in glory?

Far from it. I have one guinea and some odd coins to my name, and that is it. Not exactly a fortune with which to revive Rosemount.

Well, now. I think I can help you with that. Giles rubbed his chin, then yelled, Herbert, bring me the Fitzgibbon ledger.

Herbert pushed his chair aside with a noisy clatter in his hurry to do his employer's bidding. The thump of something heavy landing on the floor, followed by a loud expletive, reached their ears.

Language, Herbert. Giles raised his eyebrows and glared at the youth as he placed the ledger on the desk.

Herbert, red-faced, apologized and quickly returned to his table.

Too soft-hearted, that’s what I am, Giles muttered as he pulled the ledger towards him and flipped it open. Should never have let the boy’s mother wheedle a job out of me for that young rapscallion.

Andrew waited while Giles perused the ledger, running his finger down one of the columns and constantly referring to previous pages. Finally, nodding as if satisfied with what he saw, he looked up.

The rents are due at the end of this month, he said. I have allowed some discounts to the cottagers for the upkeep of those properties, but not the farmers. They pay in full. Mr. Pike makes the collections and delivers them to me. I had to order the sale of many household effects to meet the overheads when Vernon died. Funny though, Giles paused, there weren’t that many small pieces like clocks and ornaments. I remember two suits of armour in the entrance hall, too, but they were gone.

Pike told me that Vernon had not paid the servants before he died. Maybe they saw an opportunity to sell the armour and share the proceeds.

Giles shook his head. Unlikely. Anyone other than an antique dealer would have trouble selling such things. More likely is that Vernon sold them himself to pay for his gambling debts. Now, Giles returned his attention