The Duke's Christmas Vow: Regency Romance

by Arietta Richmond

  “I did not need your assistance, Lady Charity.”

  The words were hissed, and the venom in them shocked Charity – and drove her uncharacteristically, to respond sharply.

  “Oh dear, Lady Anne, are you sure, it looked remarkably like you were lost – or at least that is what I heard you tell the Duke. You would not, of course, have lied to your host, would you?”

  Lady Anne fixed her with that deadly glare again, and almost hissed, before swallowing sharply, and responding in a voice as treacle sweet as possible.

  “Of course I would not do such a shocking thing! You must have misheard me, Lady Charity.”

  Charity did not deign to respond, simply indicating the door to the room where the necessary was located, and allowing Lady Anne to enter before her.

  As she did, she glanced back down the hallway, to see Lady Chilwinth slipping back into the parlour – but not before she had looked at Charity with a baleful glare. It seemed that Lady Chilwinth had been on her way to ‘discover’ her daughter and the Duke.

  She felt oddly pleased with herself, even though she knew that she had just made enemies – for Charity was not prone to courage, or to challenging others. That sense of pride in herself, for doing what was right even though she found it difficult, stayed with her for the rest of the day.

  She noted, as the day became evening and she sat through dinner and the gathering in the parlour afterwards, that the Duke carefully avoided Lady Anne, and spent most of his time with his gentlemen friends.

  *****

  Rafe had, for the first moment when he had looked up from his desk as the door clicked open, felt a surge of positively gut-wrenching terror. As far as he knew, there was no one else anywhere near, and now, here was Lady Anne walking into his study. Then, just as he was considering simply bodily ejecting her at speed, and slamming the door shut, he saw Lady Charity beyond her, in the hallway.

  His first thought, even as he asked Lady Anne what she was doing, was to wonder if Lady Charity would scream, and call compromise, if she was assisting Lady Anne in what seemed a very obvious attempt to trap him – but he was rapidly disabused of that notion. Lady Charity met his eyes – her violet ones wide and filled with a keen understanding of the situation.

  Perhaps he was not doomed after all. Then, with very clear intention, Lady Charity knocked a side table against the wall. Lady Anne spun to look, her expression in that moment revealing all he needed to know of her plan. When Lady Anne turned back, she had schooled that expression.

  Her words had been ingenuous at best – a poor attempt at prevarication – but Lady Charity had saved him, speaking up in a manner which left Lady Anne with no choice, making leverage of the poor excuse that Lady Anne had given.

  Once the woman was out of the room, he had shut and locked the door, then sagged against it with relief.

  His mother had been right to warn him of that one.

  He would have to be far, far more careful than he had been. He had not expected such a blatant attempt, so soon, and he was quite certain that there would be other tries, perhaps far more subtle. It made it almost worth choosing one of the young women as fast as possible, just to remove the potential for one he disliked trapping him.

  With that thought, came the image of Lady Charity, and her intelligent, concerned violet eyes. He remembered his thoughts, after his last discussion with his mother – might she be a suitable choice? Might the quiet, violet eyed woman be the wife he needed? He could not know – he had barely spoken to her…. yet… he obviously needed to do so again, preferably without others listening. And, if they were alone, without anyone else knowing - or the choice would be taken from him – not by Lady Charity, for he did not suspect her of any intent to trap him – but by anyone else who might discover them alone together.

  Why did society’s rules have to make this whole process so difficult?

  *****

  The following morning dawned clear, crisp, and cold, with a sharp frost coating everything in a sparkling lace of ice.

  Charity woke with the dawn – not that dawn was especially early, in midwinter - and looked out of her window, finding delight in the glittering landscape. Overhead, a flock of seabirds wheeled, their cries coming to her on the light breeze. It was a perfect morning for a walk.

  She called for Maggie, dressed warmly, took up her basket, and slipped down the servants’ stairs to escape the house unseen by any guests. Not, she thought, that most of them were likely to rise for another few hours anyway, not if they kept the usual hours of the ton.

  She relaxed once she was past the stables, and away down the lane, although she was sorely tempted to slip into the stables first, just to talk to the horses. Riding was something she loved, and she missed her mare, Kestrel, when they were away – but today, going into the stables carried too much risk of being seen, and that would prevent her from having this walk, alone.

  She hoped that those seabirds had been kind enough to shed some feathers for her – or perhaps she would find more prosaic specimens caught on the hedge, or lying, frost drenched, under the trees at the edge of the fields further on. She needed more feathers – perhaps even a visit to the Oakmoor home farm to seek out chicken feathers would be worth it. Some types of chicken had truly stunning feathers, especially the roosters. If she did that, of course, she would have to take Maggie with her, for propriety.

  The lane yielded no feathers until well past the bend where she had first met the Duke, but when she did find some, it was an excellent find – a cluster of feathers of varying size, scattered in the way that suggested a bird had met its fate at the teeth of a fox. She gathered them up, smoothing them and settling them carefully into her basket – even the tiny downy ones.

  Once she was sure that she had them all, she went on, discovering a stile which allowed access through the hedge, and onto the long rolling fields which ran down to the sea cliffs. She climbed it, and studied the land ahead - she had not intended to walk so far, yet the thought of the view from those cliffs drew her. She set off, studying the ground as she went, as ever, on the hunt for feathers.

  *****

  Rafe had risen early, and set out to walk – he needed to clear his head with the crisp morning air, to escape the cloying scents of too much perfume which seemed to have filled the house, and to have a space in which he might be alone, without risk of being manipulated into a trap by Lady Anne. He was quite, quite certain that she would still be abed for some hours.

  He took his usual path, past the far end of the formal garden, down the lane towards the home farm, and then out onto the fields, and down to the cliffs. Above him, the gulls soared, wheeling and diving as always. As he stepped away from the lane, something bright caught his eye.

  A feather.

  Caught on a scraggly low bush.

  He bent, and carefully extracted it from the twigs, then tucked it into the front of his coat, where his waistcoat might hold it flat and protected. He smiled at his own whimsy – what was he going to do with that feather? The image of Lady Charity rose in his mind, and he shook his head – would he give it to her? But that would look far too much like he was favouring her. He walked on, with it still tucked against his heart. Perhaps, later…

  Ahead, the glow of the sun rising lit the edge of the cliffs, and made the fields before him seem paved in gold. Whimsy definitely had taken hold in his thoughts this morning! He squinted slightly against the glare of the sun as it slipped above the line of the cliffs – was that something out of place? For there seemed to be a silhouette, lit by that glare, where he knew, for a certainty, that there were no trees.

  He walked faster, curious now, and as the sun rose a little higher, no longer casting sharp stars of glare off the cliff edge, he realised that the silhouette was a person, walking, as he was, towards the cliffs. A woman, in fact, coming from the direction of the stile at the end of the stables’ lane. He studied her as he walked, for something about her seemed familiar. Then, she paused, and bent to the grou
nd, as if she was picking up something. As she did, he noticed the small basket over her arm.

  A smile covered his face – it was Lady Charity, he was almost certain – and she had just stopped to pick up a feather. He kept walking, feeling unaccountably more cheerful than he had moments before. He came up with her, when they were but scant yards from the cliff edge.

  “Good morning, Lady Charity.”

  She started, and spun towards him.

  “Your Grace! I did not hear you approaching.”

  “I did not plan to catch you unawares… but now that we are here, shall we take the last few steps, and watch the morning sun over the sea? I always find it a soothing sight.”

  She blushed, and nodded, then stepped forward. He moved beside her, fascinated, yet again. She had not simpered, or gushed at him about the view, or anything else he might have expected.

  Soon, they stood close to the edge, the beach below them, where the waves tumbled stones, and the sun cast a path of light towards them across the sea. She spoke, hesitantly, and he turned to regard her.

  “Your Grace… yes, it is beautiful. I like to come out early, by myself, scandalously improper as that is. For the early morning is peaceful, and does not require me to engage in pointless social conversation. Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t… I…”

  She stopped and her faced reddened further.

  “Do not worry, I am not offended – for I understood that you did not refer to our conversation here. And I agree with you, with respect to pointless social conversation. There are moments when I think that the majority of my houseguests have not a thought in their heads beyond the weather, and the best colour for a bonnet - and whether they might become my Duchess, by fair means or foul. Thank you for what you did for me, yesterday. Without your intervention, I have no doubt that I would have been faced with Lady Chilwinth, crying ‘compromise’, within minutes.”

  “Indeed you would have been – for I saw her, after you had closed the door, slipping back into the parlour – she was but moments away from the door of your study.”

  “Then I am doubly grateful to you, Lady Charity.”

  She blushed again as he met her eyes. Such beautiful eyes. So expressive. He was caught for a moment, entranced.

  “You need not thank me, Your Grace – I did only what any reasonable person would do. In truth, I had heard Lady Anne and Lady Chilwinth whispering, earlier, discussing the fact that, as you had not shown any preference for Lady Anne, they would take more drastic action. I was horrified, but I had no way to warn you. So, when Lady Anne slipped from the parlour, not long after you had left the room, I made an excuse to leave the room also, and followed her. I had the most dreadful feeling…”

  “And you were correct. Without your quick thinking, I would by now most likely have been forced into a betrothal with Lady Anne. Which is almost the worst fate that I can imagine.”

  He perhaps should not have been so blunt about that, he realised, as the words left his mouth, yet with this woman, absolute honesty seemed right – and she did not appear shocked at all by what he had said. Oddly, she looked a little surprised, and a small frown marred her brow.

  “I would have thought…”

  She stopped, and looked away, as if embarrassed to have spoken.

  “What would you have thought, Lady Charity?”

  Those violet eyes met his again.

  “May I be blunt, Your Grace?”

  “Of course, Lady Charity. In general, I prefer honesty and forthrightness to insinuation and simpering.”

  She blinked, this time truly looking shocked.

  “Your Grace, I would have thought that a lady such as Lady Anne – but one who was not attempting to trap you – with her good breeding, polished appearance and accomplishments, would have been exactly what a Duke would look for, in his Duchess.”

  Her words startled a laugh from him, and she almost flinched at the sound. He reached out, without conscious thought, to touch her arm in reassurance.

  “I do believe that my mother would agree with that statement. But I do not. If I must marry, and get an heir, I would like to marry a woman I can talk to, of far more than weather and fashion. A woman who I might actually like, or even love, and who might care for me, as a person, not just for the title and wealth that marrying me would bring her. My mother would call me a hopeless romantic for those words, and decry me as impractical. Yet still, that is how I feel.”

  Chapter Five

  Charity felt almost dizzy.

  The Duke’s words resonated within her, deep into her bones, for they rang with truth and sincerity. He truly felt as he had just described. But the fact that he was unimpressed with the likes of Lady Anne did not make him more likely to be impressed with Charity, she reminded herself.

  She was plain, and awkward, she blurted out her thoughts entirely too easily – she would make a dreadful Duchess. And, anyway, whilst the Duke seemed very comfortable talking to her, she was sure that he saw her as a sort of friend, rather than as a woman to consider for his wife. His manner contained nothing of courtship at all.

  But, she realised, she would be happy to have this man as a friend, even if that was all that she might have. Perhaps, if he often walked early… they might meet again, here, where they could talk, without being overheard? Which thought reminded her that she was alone with him, unchaperoned.

  “Your Grace… that is most… unusual of you. But… I must ask – are you not concerned about me – about us being here, alone, together?”

  He turned those deep brown eyes on her again, and his lips curved into a smile

  “Lady Charity, it is usually a lady who feels concerned about being found alone with a gentleman, concerned about her reputation. So I should ask you the same – are you not concerned?”

  Charity felt her cheeks heat yet again – somehow, he made her blush, without ever making her feel belittled.

  “I… Your Grace, I find that I have no fear of you. I find you an honourable man, and I trust that you will do nothing improper. And… I will admit that I enjoy speaking with you, at least here, when I need not worry about how anyone else will interpret my words.”

  “Thank you for your faith in me, Lady Charity. In return, I offer my belief in you – I trust that you have no plans to entrap me, and that you will speak honestly with me, without guile or deceit. And that is something which I greatly appreciate.”

  It was true, Charity thought – she had no plans to entrap him – even though her mother desperately hoped that he might pay her attention. Which seemed very, very unlikely, after this conversation. It felt as if she had just been offered friendship, with the caveat that it could never become anything more.

  “Thank you for believing me honest, Your Grace. I must admit that my mother has often despaired of my directness, for I find it most difficult to speak in the manner of much of the ton, with layers of meaning and implication. It is refreshing to meet someone who values that directness.”

  He met her eyes again, and she felt herself drowning in his gaze. He smiled, and he was so very handsome when he did – she could understand the desire of every young woman at this house party, to tempt him.

  “Despite our agreement on such matters, Lady Charity, I feel that you have raised a very good point. The morning is moving on apace, and we are out here, in rather plain view of anyone who should gaze across the fields towards the cliffs. Our unchaperoned state would definitely cause some drama, should we be seen. Therefore, I suggest that we both proceed back towards the house, by separate paths – I would suggest that, as you came via the stables’ lane, you go back via the home farm lane, and I do the opposite. That way, should anyone notice us coming back, we will arrive from different directions.”

  “That sounds most sensible, Your Grace.”

  He took her hand for a moment, and Charity felt her heart pound hard within her breast as he bowed over it, elegantly.

  “I have enjoyed our little moment of peace, Lady Charity. Should I hap
pen to come upon you another day, out walking in the very early morning, I believe that would be most pleasing. For now, farewell.”

  He turned and walked away, leaving Charity a little stunned, and considering his words. Had he… had he really just suggested… Yes, she rather thought that he had.

  Despite her belief that he intended only friendship, the thought made her happier than she had felt for years.

  *****

  Rafe took his time about going back – his mother could be as annoyed as she wished, but he would not spoil the morning by hurrying. He walked the longer path, not via the stile into the lane, but around the copse of trees where the lane ended, and along the fields on the other side until he reached the far side of the stables’ buildings. By the time he arrived there, another three feathers had joined the first, tucked under his waistcoat.

  He wondered idly what Lady Charity did with feathers – and why being aware of her interest in them made him notice every single one that he passed. He supposed that her purpose was irrelevant, so long as she obtained pleasure from collecting them. He discovered that he wanted to present her with the ones he had found, to see if her face lit with that smile of happiness he had seen for a few moments as she watched the sun on the sea.

  But how he might achieve such a thing was a question for which he had no answer.

  He walked through the main stable, pausing to greet his stallion, Valiant, on his way through. The grooms paid him no heed, being used to his wanderings, and knowing that, if he required anything of them, he would ask. The scent of horses and leather surrounded him, and he was hard pressed to make himself leave it, to return to the house, and the perfumes which he had come to think of as the scent of greed and opportunism.

  But he had his duty, he was a man of his word, and there was no escaping it – he had made a vow.

  As he strode into the house, the pressure of the small bundle of feathers against his heart was oddly reassuring.