The Misplaced Heir: Regency Romance

By Joan Vincent

It could be considered a comedy of errors if it wasn’t so serious! Love at first sight – then a parting without even being introduced. A sister, Grace, with a baby left destitute – but the baby is the heir to a marquessate! It seems inevitable that Merry, currently using the title of the Marquess of Brookhall, and looking for his missing cousin and real holder of the title, would also be Beth’s lost love and greatest enemy! Can he convince Beth he’s not the blackguard she now believes? Can her heart be so wrong about a man?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belgrave House
• Release date: Oct 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9781947812574

Joan Vincent

Joan Vincent lives with her husband in Kansas. Her hobbies include sewing for and playing with her young grandchildren, crocheting, quilting, and flower arranging. Her husband claims her favorite hobby/passion is filling an ever-increasing number of bookcases with books on all facets of 18-19th century English, French, and Spanish life and politics. Her previously published books are available at Regency Reads.

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Chapter 1

Trowbridge England, January 26, 1812

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Now make certain you keep the brick I’ll send to the carriage ‘neath your feet, Mrs. Chumbers admonished the slender young lady before her, with all the authority garnered during years with the family. She adjusted the velvet bonnet covering her former mistress’s raven black curls. And keep the scarf Miss Ann gave you tight about you.

Beth Richards flashed a subdued smile at the concerned woman who was valiantly holding back her tears. I will.

The ample figure of the cook, Mama Rosa to all, edged around Mrs. Chumbers and drew Miss Richards into a crushing hug. Releasing the young woman, she pushed a cloth-covered basket into Beth’s hands.

There be a few loaves, some cheese, and a few apples. Eyes brimming with tears, the cook agitatedly wrung her crisp white apron. Oh, miss, what shall we do with you gone?

Now, Mama Rosa and Mrs. Chumbers, you must not take on so. Beth forced back her own tears. Memories of the motherly figures who had taken care of her all her life filled her heart. Father would have said, ‘When something has to be done, do it with a willing heart and so double your merits from the doing,’ Beth reminded them, and found her own spirits bolstered.

Aye, many’s the time we’ve heard that, Mrs. Chumbers nodded. A fine man your father was. If only he hadn’t been taken just when—

Let’s not speak of that. Beth tried to mask the painful memory of her father’s death five years past. ’Tis been a time ago and we have been fortunate. I leave with a much freer mind knowing you both have found good positions. Mr. and Mrs. Lyons will treat you well.

Five years past, Mrs. Lyons had appeared in the Richards’ parlour unannounced. That day Beth Richards’ father had been newly laid in the ground. The news of his indebtedness, of the bleakness of the future, was just dawning.

The tall, raw-boned woman with a narrow face wore an over-large poke bonnet which emphasized her long nose. The bonnet’s three-foot-long ostrich feather bobbed wildly. It brought the first hint of a smile since their father’s death to the Richards sisters’ lips.

What an unusual disguise for an angel, Beth thought as she smiled to herself. And Aunt Lyons’ voice. How unlike any heavenly tone. What was it she said?

Your age? Mrs. Lyons’ gravelly tone demanded of Beth’s older sister, Grace.

S—seven and ten years, she answered in quavering breath, taking a tighter grip on Beth’s hand as the two stood before the imposing figure.

And you? The ostrich feather bobbed at Beth.

Five and ten, she answered firmly, refusing to let her trembling show in her voice.

I saw Mr. Sheppley leave as I arrived. Has he told you—? Mrs. Lyons cleared her throat, wriggling her long nose, mumbling to herself and removing her gloves. Looking up, she studied the sisters, some of her stiffness vanishing. My manners are wanting again. I have such a time remembering the ways of the gentry. Well never mind that, I—my husband and I—extend our condolences. Your father was an excellent man, even if a bit foolish.

Mrs. Lyons met Beth’s angry gaze. The chit dares to glare a challenge even in her present dire circumstances. You needn’t bristle, young woman. Mrs. Lyons appraised Beth quickly, noting the average height, her slenderness, the fine complexion, high but delicate cheekbones and extra-ordinary violet eyes. A young miss to send many a young man over his traces. The older woman looked at Grace. She judged her attractively formed with her blue eyes set in a fine-featured face, framed by wisps of rich brown hair, but lacking the spark of spirit her sister possessed.

Turning back to the younger, Mrs. Lyons nodded. You are Beth, are you not? I recall your father once saying it was a marvel your nature fell so far from your gentle name. But— her nod kept Beth from speaking, he went on to say it was his error in naming and not yours in being.

The ring of her father in the words pricked tears to the young woman’s eyes. She saw his smile, heard him say it. Confusion and grief, barely battled into submission since his sudden death of an apoplexy, threatened to overwhelm her. Only by concentrating on Grace, and on the need to be strong for her meek sister, enabled Beth to keep her composure. With a determined flick of her shoulders, she raised her chin.

Father said you had the looks and manners of an alehouse man. The steady gaze of the other forced Beth to lower her eyes and she added guiltily, but the heart of as true a woman as he had ever had the pleasure to know.

You have his spirit, Mrs. Lyons approved softly.

Beth looked up to find a smile awaiting her.

With my looks I cannot fly into the boughs at such words, Mrs. Lyons told her. Besides, I could never take offense at anything your father said of me. He was far too good to my husband and me. Too generous too far too many. She sighed, straightening her bony shoulders. Have you been told you are to lose the house?

Grace covered her face with her hands and dissolved into tears.

Wrapping an arm protectively about her, Beth glared at this strange tormentor.

I mean to help you both. Mrs. Lyons face crinkled with concern. And a ‘drat for a draught’ affair I’m making of it, but I only know one way to go about matters. Answer my question, Miss Beth.

Mr—Mr. Sheppley says all we have must be sold to meet Father’s debts.

Is there to be naught for you?

Mr. Sheppley told us we would be lucky to have a pence between us. That we will have to live on the parish.

Nonsense. Have you no family to take you in?

We have an uncle—my mother’s brother who lives in London, Beth told her. But we have never seen him. He is older than Papa and may not even be among the living.

Papa said we must never ask Uncle Tobias for anything, burst from Grace, then she dissolved into another bout of tears.

That is true, Beth admitted, but—

There shall be no need to go against your father’s wishes, Mrs. Lyons intoned imperiously. I have a solution that shall suit you both. You, Grace, shall go to Gloucester and serve as a companion to Mrs. Herbert. I assure you she is of the gentility, and you shall enjoy being with her, for she is of a habit to entertain frequently and goes about all that social falderal.

Grace sniffed and looked to her sister.

But Grace cannot go among strangers, Beth protested.

I assure you the people she would find at the parish workhouse would seem far stranger and definitely more dangerous, Mrs. Lyons said matter-of-factly. Do you have another answer, Miss Richards?

Daunting eyes stared at Beth. No, but I—

Grace? Mrs. Lyons asked gently. After receiving a tentative nod, she turned to Beth. You are to come live with me. I have three young daughters who should put your mind and spirit to work quite well. You are a bit young for a governess but then they are not now of an age to need one. It shall suit well. She smiled, pleased with herself.

But what of Mrs. Chumbers and Mama Rosa? They have been with us ever so long. Since before I was born, Beth said. Where shall they go? We cannot abandon them, she finished adamantly.

So like your father, clucked Mrs. Lyons. Ahh, well, let me think a moment. She stared at her large-knuckled hands.Suddenly her eyes widened. Our cook has occasionally commented about retiring and going to help with her grandchildren. This could be the solution. I shall hire your cook if she’s willing to be the undercook for a time. She drew on her gloves. And your Mrs. Chumbers as well. Yes, that will do. Be ready to leave at nine tomorrow morning." The large ostrich feather bobbing wildly as she nodded her own agreement and then left as quickly as she had come.

Miss Beth? Miss Beth, what are you thinking? Mrs. Chumbers gave the young woman’s hand a gentle squeeze. If you think you are taking a chill, ’haps you ought to put off leaving.

I dare not. Beth shook free of the reverie. Grace would not have asked me to come if she had not been in desperate need.

Mrs. Lyons thought she ought not to wed that young sprig, Mama Rosa sighed. Said it would lead to naught but bad.

Beth ignored the oft-heard warning. She settled the basket’s handle in the crook of her arm. I must take leave of the girls. All is done but for that. Do take care of yourselves. Hugging Mrs. Chumbers, she sniffed, And do not go giving Miss Ann too many of your apple tarts. Beth brushed Mama Rosa’s cheek with a kiss and hurried into the main hall. She set her basket near the door beside her waiting portmanteau. The clatter of three pair of unladylike feet on the grand staircase behind her summoned a smile and tears.

As five-year-old Ann ran forward and tugged at Beth’s skirts, the young girls piped in hurt tones, You didn’t mean to go without saying good-bye?

Beth turned about and stooped down, scooping the child up in her arms. I would never do that.

Standing hand in hand at the bottom of the stairs, Amathis and Bernice Lyons gazed at her sorrowfully.

You look very nice this morn, she smiled.

Amathis loosed a sob and dashed forward followed by Bernice, who surrendered the dignity of her eight years to tears. "We do not, for Ama spilled milk on her skirt and I have gotten ink on my lace," Bernice sniffed. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

Hush now, both will wash out. Beth led them to the steps and sat down with Ann on her lap. She drew the girls close, one on each side. You would not want your mother to think me a failure?

"N—no, Miss Beth," they answered as she dried their tears.

Then remember to be good for your new governess. But think of me as oft as I think of you. Beth enveloped all three girls into a farewell hug.

Mr. Lyons is ready to take you to the coach crossing, Mrs. Lyons’ voice called above them. She waddled down the stairs. An advanced state of pregnancy forestalled her accompanying Beth. They had argued over a maid going in her place, but in the end she had conceded to Beth’s wish to do as Grace asked.

I am ready, Beth answered. She stood and put Ann down as her mother joined them.

We shall miss you, Mrs. Lyons said brusquely. She thrust a packet into Beth’s hands.

But you have already been too generous, the young woman protested.

’Tis but the address of your uncle in London and the direction of the Marquess of Brookhall should you decide to do something about Grace’s situation. Both men should have been bearded in their dens long ago. Anger sparked in her eyes. I really do not like you going alone—

You know I cannot delay, Beth interrupted. Grace’s note sounded quite desperate.

Mrs. Lyons studied the young woman’s upturned face. Black ringlets curled against rosy cheeks and fierce determination shone in her stunning lavender eyes.

What a beauty, she thought and worried anew about Beth travelling alone. The dire ring to Grace’s note argued against that. Beth had to go at once. Mrs. Lyons cleared her throat.

Beth, remember not to speak with anyone unless properly introduced. Avoid any man who makes improper advances, she repeated part of a lecture already given. Stay close to the innkeeper’s wife whenever the coach halts.

Beth imagined clinging to an old woman’s skirts and chuckled.

Now do not laugh. I am in earnest. Mrs. Lyons twitted one of Beth’s curls. You are a taking young chit so heed my warning.

With a jaunty wave Beth touch the decorative end of the four-inch pin secured in her bonnet that Mrs. Lyons had insisted she take as a means of protection. I shall skewer anyone who tries to take liberties.

Be certain you do. Mrs. Lyons wry smile quickly faded. Write the moment you reach Gloucester, she said tersely.

I will and—and thank you for all you have done for us.

Was nothing but what we owed your father for helping us. Remember, you and Grace are always welcome in our home. Welcome as daughters. Now go. Mr. Lyons went out a short time ago and you know he does not like to keep his horses standing in this cold, she said brusquely.

Her hauteur failed to fool Beth. She had learned that this woman was at her stiffest when her emotions were deepest. Thank you so much, she breathed and embraced a startled Mrs. Lyons, planting a kiss to her cheek.

A chorus of sad farewells followed Beth as she ran to the door, snatched up her portmanteau and basket, and hurried out.

Mr. Lyons handed Beth into the landau. You’d best get your lap robe about you, Beth, he told her, his breath frosting in the cold air. Wouldn’t do for you to take sick. How would you nurse your sister? He nodded approvingly as she tugged the beaver robe about her knees and drew her fur-lined pelisse tightly about her to ward off the cold.

Wellington is finally winning in the Peninsula, Mr. Lyons began his favourite topic as he settled beside Beth. "He captured a major city in Spain in January. Ciudad Rodrigo, I believe the Times said. Perhaps this year of 1812 will see an improvement in our situation with Napoleon at last. Perceval may pull us out of this war yet." A glance at his wide-eyed companion silenced him.

Do continue Uncle, Beth prompted when she realized he was no longer speaking.

You are far more interested in your—no doubt you think it an adventure. Marvels what they’ve done with coaches and the roads. It will be a two-day journey from Trowbridge to Gloucester.

I was surprised and relieved to learn I would arrive so quickly, Beth admitted. The only time I travelled was with Aunt Lyons when we came home with her.

Mr. Lyons studied the eager upturned face. Black ringlets curled across rosy cheeks; excitement flickered in the lavender eyes. What a beauty she has become, he thought. The alarm he had subdued when Beth had insisted on the trip roared free. After several false starts, he cleared his throat.

Beth, the world you are going to is not as sheltered as our home. There are gentlemen, well, they are not gentlemen at all, but the sort of men a young lady must avoid. Do not speak with anyone you have not been properly introduced to and avoid any man who makes improper advances. Stay close to the innkeeper’s wife whenever the coach halts.

Beth smiled broadly at hearing the words a second time.

Now don’t laugh—I am in earnest on this point. You are a taking young thing and will lead some man a merry chase. Mr. Lyons patted her hand. I have embarrassed you. Forgive me but do heed my warning. Take care and write the moment you find Grace.

I will Uncle Lyons and—and thank you for all you have done to help us since Father died.

’Twas nothing, Beth. Nothing but what we owed him for helping us when we were in need.

A comfortable silence descended as the closed landau carried them through the narrow streets of Trowbridge, now beginning to fill in the half-haze of early morn. Beth glanced at Mr. Lyons’ kindly visage. She would miss the security he and his wife had wrapped the orphaned sistersin from the day they had entered their home. Grace had spent only a few weeks before going on to Gloucester but it gave them time to grieve and to feel safe.

How odd it still seemed that such an unlikely pair had taken an interest in their welfare. Before her father’s death she had met them briefly and promptly forgotten both. Her friends’ mothers had oft mentioned them as upstarts and as common tradesmen made brazen by pounds Sterling. She had once mentioned this to her father and had been sharply rebuked. His belief had always been that one’s position in society should be determined by deeds and not by birth even though he was of genteel family, an earl he refused to discuss being somewhere in the family tree. The Lyons had amply proven this belief just as the Marquess of Brookhall had shown it true by his quite opposite treatment of Grace.

Beth quieted her fear for Grace’s present well-being with thoughts of three years past when her sister had first written of meeting the Honourable Charles Strand at a soiree given by Mrs. Herbert. The picture painted of Mr. Strand had been glorious, referring to him as a true Adonis and revealing the unwritten sentiment that she was totally