The Forgiven Duke (A Forgotten Castles Novel) by Jamie Carie

a tiny piece, thinking he just might die of this if the ginger didn’t work. Then it wouldn’t matter if Alexandria married that Lemon fop or not. He grimaced and turned on his side, trying to block out the ache in his heart at the thought of losing her to John Lemon.
    An hour later, he was able to sit up and sip the ginger tea Mick brought him. It was helping, a little. His stomach was not revolting, and the tea and the broth he’d drank earlier stayed down. He was beginning to feel like he just might make it through this—thanks be to God!
    A dull roaring had begun in his ears, but it was manageable and brought a ray of hope. The last time his ears had changed, he’d regained some of his hearing. The fact that bouts of vertigo actually helped his ability to hear didn’t make much sense compared to what the doctors had come up with, but just the possibility that he might someday discover a cure and even have a semblance of his hearing back made his throat ache with longing for it.
    The next day Gabriel was able to shuffle onto the deck for some fresh air. He stood blinking into the cloudless gray sky, concentrating on breathing deeply. The captain came up beside him and squinted to look up at him. “London tomorrow,” he said twice, overly enunciating the words. Gabriel just nodded and wished he would go away.
    While he was eager to get off this floating nightmare he was not eager to see the regent. Would they let him freshen up beforehand? He’d lost weight, a stone or two, and hadn’t had a shave since they’d boarded. Nor a bath. After all the sickness and cold sweats, well, he was sure he hadn’t smelled worse in his life. And his clothes. They hadn’t exactly let him pack a bag before throwing him aboard. Would they let him send for his valet and fresh clothing? What he really needed was Meade.
    Thinking of Meade made him glare at the captain. Would Meade discover what had happened to him? He knew his secretary well enough to know that he would turn over every stone trying. But when would he be able to board a ship to London? It might take weeks before he sorted it all out. “I would like to be taken to my town house to prepare for my visit with the regent. Can you at least give me that?”
    The captain looked him up and down, the decision wavering in his eyes. He gave a slow nod, then turned and marched away. Clever man. The captain knew if the regent pardoned him, a show of kindness after this ill treatment might not go unnoticed. He was hedging his bets and it was something Gabriel planned to use to his advantage.
    FIVE DAYS HE'D BEEN HOME.
    Five precious days of resting, recuperating, and reconnaissance gathering. It appeared the captain hadn’t done him any favors after all. The news hadn’t reached them yet in Dublin, but Queen Charlotte was dead. London was a black shroud of mourning—windows darkened, the people draped in black. She had died November 17, the year of our Lord 1818, at seventy-four years old in residence at one of her favorite places on earth: Kew Palace with its lovely gardens the queen had tended herself over the years.
    The old king was in deep mourning—blind, deaf, lame, and insane (at least that was the word), and fading away. No one really knew how much the king even understood about what had happened. The prince regent had been at his mother’s side and, to Gabriel’s knowledge, didn’t have any idea as to the missing manuscript and all that was going on with Alexandria.
    Gabriel paced back and forth across the rug in his elegant drawing room and pondered the possibilities. The queen’s death would certainly delay any conversation he would have with the prince regent. As sad as the queen’s death was, it might just have saved his neck.
    His butler, Hanson, appeared at the entry to the drawing room. He strode forward, leaned over the desk, and wrote on the speaking book.
    Gabriel walked over to read it. “You’ve a guest, Your Grace. The prince regent himself.” His