The masked baron, p.1
The Masked Baron, page 1
Cover image: Historical Woman in Tunnel of Trees © Jaroslaw Blaminsky / Trevillion Images.
Interior image: Seamless Damask Wallpaper stock illustration © NataliiaKucherenko / istockphoto.com.
Cover design by Christina Marcano © 2020 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2020 by Anneka Walker
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
First Printing: March 2020
ISBN 978-1-52441-225-8
To my dad and brothers—
Because guys can like Regency romance too.
Acknowledgments
I wrote this story before I learned much about the craft of writing. It has evolved over the years into something I can be quite proud of, but only because of my support team. I want to thank Rees, Mark, Heidi, Shawna, Heather, Meagan, and Emily for supporting me and reading this during its roughest beginnings. I also want to thank Taylor, Rachel, Esther, Kasey, and my local critique group for all their valuable feedback. The amazing team at Covenant believed in this story, and my editor, Kami, whipped it into shape. Kami’s edits make me giddy—she’s that good. My husband patiently listened to all the different versions of the first chapter, and my kids clapped when it was accepted for publication. My family’s support is everything to me.
And my list would not be complete without thanking my Father in Heaven for giving me the time, abilities, and opportunities to share what I love with others.
Chapter 1
Corbridge, England, 1813
Andalin stared at the sketch of the Dark Rider. Papa had bought it for five pence on one of his trips and pinned it to the shelf of their small lending library. All those who frequented their shop stopped and commented on the crude image of the infamous baron turned highwayman. Andalin memorized all the tidbits they shared. Then the customers left like always, on to exciting places Andalin could only dream about.
She picked up her duster, knowing work still needed to be done, and trailed it along the few ribbons and things purchased from a haberdashery at the nearby market town only to be resold here. Various sizes of salt-glazed vases lined one wall, opposite the odds and ends. Instead of giving her pride in Papa’s trade, they seemed to press against her, trapping her in the small room for yet another day.
Andalin’s senses dulled, and her mind wandered to the stories of the Dark Rider. The man terrorized the villages of Northumberland, so she should certainly be grateful Corbridge had been spared thus far. She imagined the Dark Rider storming Papa’s shop and stealing her away, only for a rich duke to swoop in and rescue her. Of course, love would spiral from the heroic act, but the greater good would surely be in saving Papa from insolvency.
A heavy sigh escaped her lungs, only to catch on her lips when a shadow passed outside the door. It was silly for her to jump to conclusions, but suddenly she wished Mr. Young, Papa’s elderly assistant, was not absent—especially with Papa out peddling his wares in a nearby town.
The door swung open, and Mr. Crow sauntered in. He was not as intimidating as the Dark Rider was presumed to be, but Mr. Crow carried an air of domineering importance. Andalin was never easy in his presence.
“Good afternoon,” Mr. Crow said, dipping his head as if she were some great lady. He wore his new suit, she noticed—one of several he’d gone all the way to London to have made and fitted. He looked the part of a real gentleman, and despite what others whispered about him, he acted the part too.
She released her pent-up breath, but her muscles remained tense. “Is there anything in particular you came to purchase, sir?”
“I’m here for a pleasure call,” Mr. Crow said, oblivious to Andalin’s wary posture.
In the back of her mind she heard the voices of her neighbors contradicting Papa’s opinions and urging her to encourage Mr. Crow’s attentions. “Oh?”
“You must have heard I’ve a second carriage now, Miss Durante. My pub here and my new inn in Tyndale are thriving.”
“Yes, I heard.” Andalin busied herself with dusting again, intrigued despite her better judgment. Mr. Crow was tall, broad, and generally considered handsome. He wore his wavy curls combed forward, with long sideburns, in the Titus fashion he said was all the rage amongst high Society.
Mr. Crow cleared his throat and checked the door again to ensure they were alone. “I’m looking to buy an estate, and I need a wife to help me maneuver through the social circles. I could have anyone, anyone at all. Do you take my meaning?”
Andalin’s heart pounded both from nerves and disbelief, but she kept her face impassive. “You require a wife.”
“Yes.” Mr. Crow’s lips curled with pleasure. “I am a generous man, willing to condescend for the right woman. Miss Durante, I’d like to offer for your hand.”
Andalin lowered her gaze and fingered the handle on her feather duster. She did not love Mr. Crow, but he was the most important man she knew, and he flattered her vanity. Marrying him meant a life outside the store and a new world of possibilities. If she wanted to leave the store, marriage seemed the only solution. “My father would not like it.”
“Your father is an imbecile.”
Andalin could not hold back her annoyance. “My father is nothing of the sort.” Papa always cautioned her to hold her tongue, but surely she must defend his name. “He doesn’t care for you, and that is all.”
“Forget him. I will speak to him. I only wanted you to adjust to the idea before our wedding.”
She did not like how he assumed there would be a wedding. At the same time, she could hardly believe he would choose her for his wife. Indeed, if the thought did not turn her stomach, she might consider it. “You don’t want me. I am a lowly tradesman’s daughter, a nothing in this world.”
“That may be true now, but I shall have you.” His tone changed from persuasive to forceful. “You are too refined for this life, and I shall show you off as the prize you were meant to be. I will buy you gowns and jewels, and every man will look at me with envy.”
Andalin took a step back against several bolts of cloth. Mr. Crow’s eyes gleamed with insatiable hunger. Entertaining any thought of accepting such a proposal now seemed ludicrous. She remembered Mr. Young saying he would return from his deliveries before dinner, but that was a few hours away yet. Mrs. Young usually looked in on Andalin, but the woman was feeling poorly today. To be alone with Mr. Crow now seemed as formidable as any highwayman.
Mr. Crow closed the gap between them and then lifted his large hand to her face. She held her breath as he ran his thick fingers against her cheek. “Soon, my little dove, I will take you away from all of this.”
***
Greenhead Village, Northumberland, England
Ellison watched from his place on the main floor through an open window smeared with dust as Hezekiah Durante rode up to Thirlwall Castle. The middle-aged man wore plain clothes rumpled from travel, and the hair beneath his hat was peppered with gray. He tied up his horse and lifted his hand to knock when the rotting door of Thirlwall swung in on its own. Ellison’s lips twitched in humor.
Lord Kerrigan’s generosity in temporarily extending the use of his castle did not include the upkeep of the place. Apparently, his friend possessed too many holdings to oversee all of them with equal attention. Traces of vermin and decaying masonry testified that a vacant house never fared well. Even Ellison’s own neglected home, Braitwood Hall, had not fallen into such extensive disrepair. However, he would not complain about the conditions of Thirlwall Castle when it provided the ideal secluded meeting place.
Ellison closed the glass pane and made his way to his guest. He’d spent many years tracking down Mr. Durante, and finally he would have answers. He noiselessly stepped into the foyer, startling the poor tradesman when he turned and saw Ellison.
Mr. Durante’s eyes widened. “The Dark Rider,” he said breathlessly.
Ellison smiled menacingly. He hated that name. “One and the same. And I am to assume you are Mr. Durante?”
The man removed his hat and gave a curt bow. Oddly enough, his face did not register fear—just wariness. Everyone in England believed Ellison to be the baron-turned-villain. “I am surprised, even impressed, you came.”
Mr. Durante’s grim expression did not falter. “Your business proposal interested me.”
“As it should, if you have any love for money. Follow me, and we shall discuss the details.” Ellison led the way to the earl’s table, where he’d brought fare from the local inn for them to dine on. “Please, you’ve had a hard ride. Eat while we talk.”
Mr. Durante’s eyes gave him away—he couldn’t believe Ellison did not just strike him a blow and rob him for all he had, which wasn’t much, based on Ellison’s inquiries. He could have laughed, but he needed to lure Mr. Durante into a feeling of security. The man watched El lison sit before taking a seat himself. Ellison pushed over the plate of battered chicken legs and a bottle of Madeira brandy-wine.
“I am serious about wanting to invest in your salt-glazed stoneware. Your designs are unique and beautiful. I heard the Duke of Northumberland has several of your vases on display at his home in Alnwick.”
“A craftsman must know his market.”
“And a good craftsman knows that in a rural location with little resources, a deal with me could set him up for the rest of his life.”
Mr. Durante picked at the food, clearly wanting to expedite his business. “I don’t have a love for money like you’ve suggested. It’s a necessity.”
“Oh? Beyond just bread and a roof overhead?”
“My family—”
“Oh yes, your daughter is quite the beauty, I hear.”
Mr. Durante’s calm demeanor faltered, and he clenched his jaw. “How did you hear of my daughter?”
Ellison’s patience waned, and he yearned to pelt the man with all the questions he’d collected for the last decade. He pulled out his knife and sharpener from his boot and began pushing the blade against the stone. He’d found this activity aided him when bargaining. And while he did not want to overly intimidate Mr. Durante, he did want the man to respect the power that came from Ellison’s position.
“I didn’t plan to share all my cards, Mr. Durante, but you must understand I know everything there is to know about you. I know your circumstances are drastically reduced from the inheritance you would have received had you not abandoned your family.” The color drained from Mr. Durante’s face, but Ellison pressed on. “I know your daughter is all you have left and you would do anything to give her the life you once had. Oh, you’ve tried well enough. She’s as well-read as a Cambridge graduate, and her speech is as refined as that of the gentry, but she’s still a poor little tradesman’s daughter without a dowry or a future.”
“What do you want from me?” Mr. Durante asked, pushing to his feet.
Ellison touched the blade of his knife gently with his hand, testing its sharpness. A trickle of blood was enough to satisfy him. “Believe it or not, I am the kind of man you want on your side. This”—Ellison held up the knife—“is a harmless tactic to uphold my reputation and no more. If you are capable of trusting me, we can help each other.” He flipped the knife around so the handle faced Mr. Durante. “Here. If you agree to work with me, you must be on your guard.”
Mr. Durante stared at him for a long moment, not moving to accept the proffered gift. “You are not the only one who did his research before this meeting. Your knowledge of Andalin surprised me, but only that. I could share a few secrets of yours, if I was so inclined.”
Ellison raised his brow with impressed wonder. “Excellent. I think this equal footing will serve us well.”
Mr. Durante’s lips turned up into a half smile, and he finally accepted the knife. “What are your terms?”
Chapter 2
On the road northwest of Corbridge
Papa had returned from his trip only to tell Andalin he was leaving once more—this time with her. There had been no explanation, no questions asked—only time enough to pack her few possessions and absolutely no books. Their destination was Braitwood Hall, the lair of the infamous Dark Rider. Something awful must have happened to cause Papa to act so out of character.
They fled like wanted criminals in the dim light of the late evening in a wagon rattling from their hurried pace.
The small village of Corbridge, which functioned as a simple midpoint on the map for travelers, was the only home Andalin had ever known. All the memories of her mother pulled her back, while the dream of setting course to a new, exciting place beckoned her forward. Never had she been invited on a single trip. Never had she left Corbridge.
She had no reason to fear she would not return. Papa traveled a great deal, usually leaving her in the care of Mr. and Mrs. Young. However, Papa’s odd behavior told Andalin this trip would be different than she imagined. This was likely not the best time to bring up the proposal she’d received from Mr. Crow.
“Oh, look. The ocean. I have always wanted to see it,” Andalin said in jest, pointing to the River Tyne flowing near the section of road they traveled. Papa’s mouth did not so much as twitch in humor. He radiated tension, which pained her more than the jolts in the road. Only after many hours spent bouncing along in their wagon did Papa begin to relax and desire conversation.
“Would you like to be a lady, Andalin?” Papa took in her profile and then turned his attention back to driving the horses.
The question seemed rather peculiar. Andalin wrinkled her nose at the image her mind conjured. “A lady would not appreciate the finer points of travel by wagon.”
Still no smile.
“Very well,” Andalin said. “I will admit I sometimes dream of being a fine lady with fancy dresses and food I do not prepare myself.”
Papa was a hard worker and was ambitious. She was proud of the way he provided for her and for Mama, when she was alive.
“I have always wanted more for my girl.” He finally smiled at her, softening the worry lines on his tanned face for a moment.
She smiled back, hoping to warm his mood. “Lest you think I am unhappy, let me assure you that as a shopkeeper’s daughter, I have plenty of prospects. I am a bookkeeper, maid, cook, and a well-read student of history, geography, and”—Andalin gave a laugh—“gothic novels. A lady could never have the diverse opportunities I do.” She gave Papa a sidelong glance. “Why would you ask such a silly question?”
“Oh, no matter. I started thinking on it when I arranged my meeting with Lord Cadogen.”
Andalin shivered. “The highwayman, you mean. I hardly think he should be our destination.”
Papa seemed vexed. “He is hardly a criminal.”
“Do not pretend you are unaware of the rumors,” Andalin argued. “It’s enough to cause Marybeth’s father to hide their valuables in a different place every night. And Edith’s parents refuse to travel the main road out of town. Why, even children like Saber and Lily know the stories of the Dark Rider.” Andalin had often been amused by the little ones who shadowed her around the store, talking of the Dark Rider and playacting the stories they’d heard.
“We talked about that name.” Papa shook his head. “It is not proper. He is a baron and deserves to be called by his title. You are not like the other girls from Corbridge. You were raised with better manners.”
She knew she was different only because her mother had been a fine lady before marrying Papa. Her mama had insisted against the slang of the lower class and encouraged Andalin’s studies. “I promise I will use the utmost deference when we are in his presence. I only seek to caution you and beg you reconsider selling your wares to a man who feels he is above the law. It is not safe.”
Papa paused before finally admitting, “When I met Lord Cadogen, he offered me an arrangement I cannot ignore.” He turned and glanced behind him as if he could see some evil force all the way back in Corbridge. “Now, more than ever, it’s important I take him up on it.”
She waited for him to explain their hurried escape, but when he didn’t, her mind conjured up several plausible reasons—their lack of money the most likely motivator.
A rock in the road caused her to bounce and come down hard. She wondered what it would be like to travel in a comfortable closed carriage. Her underside was sore, and each dip in the road jarred her bones. She shoved her loose black curls back inside her mobcap and tied her bonnet tighter.
Papa took his eyes off the dirt road to see how she managed. “We’ll be there soon enough.”
Squinting at the endless path, Andalin shook her head. “You must be mistaken. Thornton Way is a full day ahead of us. Did you not see the sign for the town?”
Papa wiped his sweaty brow beneath his cap with a handkerchief before returning it to his pocket. “We’re taking the shortcut through the Black Forest.”
Fear broke her composure. “It’ll be dark soon! There are thieves and murderers who lurk in the trees. You cannot be serious!” A quick nod of his head doubled the panic she felt. It was the final straw. “You drag me from my home with nary a word, you insist on meeting the Dark Rider, and now we must endanger ourselves in the forest. What is going on?”
