The Duke's Christmas Vow: Regency Romance

by Arietta Richmond

  He bowed, pleased, and stepped away, calling to a nearby groom to bring Valiant out and saddle him. No matter what his mother might think, it would be worth it, if he could bring that sort of smile to Lady Charity’s face again.

  *****

  Charity watched him walk away as the mare lipped at her bonnet ribbons, hay scented breath blowing tendrils of her hair about. Absently, she gently pushed the mare away.

  “No, Sage, you may not eat my bonnet, even if it is woven of straw!”

  She walked slowly down the aisle of stalls again, back towards where Maggie waited at the door. Just outside that door, a groom held the chestnut stallion he had just led out, and the Duke stepped up to him, then swung effortlessly to the saddle. She envied him – envied the freedom that men had, to move about in breeches, to so easily ride whenever they wished to, no chaperone required.

  Not that she found sidesaddle tiresome – far from it – for she was most comfortable doing almost anything that way – when that is the way you have always ridden, it is completely natural – but… she would not, ever, admit to anyone that she was curious about what riding astride might feel like…

  She shook her head – it was time to walk across the fields, to let the sharp morning air clear her head and to steel herself for the day ahead. She could not, absolutely could not, allow the hope of a possible riding habit, and a ride, to grow too large, or she would be all the more devastated if it did not come to pass. She stopped beside Maggie.

  “I’ll just walk out along the lane a bit, then maybe on the fields – but I won’t be long – I’ve spent longer here than I should have.”

  “As you wish, Lady Charity. I think that the Duke must like you. He certainly smiled at you, whatever he said!”

  “Oh Maggie, don’t read anything into it. We just talked about horses, and he asked me if I enjoyed riding – that’s all.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing that you do, then, my Lady.”

  They stepped out onto the gravel of the stableyard as the Duke rode away down the lane. Charity set off in his wake, her eyes following him, her heart wishing that she was beside him, riding away from all of the complexity of dealing with Lady Anne, and the other young women.

  Maggie went across to the kitchen-garden gate, and back towards the house.

  Chapter Seven

  Later that morning, Charity went downstairs, considering how best to deal with the day. Perhaps if she kept a book with her, and simply sat quietly and read, the other women would leave her alone. She asked a passing maid for the direction of the library, and the maid led her there immediately.

  The Oakmoor Chase library was huge – bigger than any that Charity had ever before been in, and when the maid led her through the door, she stopped, stunned, taking in the vast collection of books before her.

  “Good morning, Lady Charity.”

  She spun towards the voice – it was the Duke. He had done it again, startling her, appearing where she did not expect him to be.

  “Good morning, Your Grace.”

  “Are you seeking a book to read, Lady Charity?”

  “I am, Your Grace. I find myself tired of the ladies’ conversation.”

  She knew that he would understand what she meant, and that belief was confirmed when he smiled.

  “Then by all means feel free to select any book you wish to read. I can sympathise with your… tiredness… when it comes to the conversation we have experienced of late.”

  Behind her, the maid still stood in the doorway, ensuring that propriety was served, for which Charity was most grateful.

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I am… rather overwhelmed by the number of books you have here!”

  “My father, and my grandfather, collected books obsessively, and I have continued to add to the collection. If you prefer novels, you will find them on the shelves just past the window. I will leave you to browse.”

  With that, he turned towards the door, and the maid stepped back out ahead of him. Charity was already moving towards the shelves he had indicated, wondering just how many stories there might be, here, which she had not read. She heard the door close, and a deep silence surrounded her. there was only the gentle crackle of the fire in the grate, and the delightful scent of books.

  Near an hour later, when the clock on the mantel struck one, she shook herself out of her absorption in the novel in her hands, and turned towards the door, tucking the book into the pockets of her day gown. Her mother would be annoyed – she should have been in the parlour long since. She crossed the room, and as she neared the door, something bright caught her eye, lying on the rich deep piled rug.

  It was a feather. A beautiful iridescent feather, in reds and green gold shimmer, the like of which one found on the best roosters.

  She bent to pick it up, running its soft length through her fingers. She was quite sure that it had not been there when she had entered the room. So – where had it come from?

  Carefully, she tucked it into her pocket, settling it between the pages of the book, so that it would be held flat. All the while, she considered that question – where could it possibly have come from? Feathers did not just appear, by magic, on the perfectly maintained carpet of a room in a Ducal residence. Or, she thought, remembering the feather on the window ledge in the gallery, anywhere else in a house like this. Someone must have dropped it – accidentally? Or on purpose?

  Which led to the question – who?

  And there was only one possible answer, given that she was certain that it had not been there when she entered the room.

  The Duke.

  Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry – for… why would the Duke be carrying a feather, and why would he leave it here? Perhaps… so that Charity would find it?

  If that was the case, it left her confounded. Yet… no one else here, except the Duke, her mother and Maggie, knew that she collected feathers. That he might care enough – that he had even remembered… warmth filled her, and a seed of deeply foolish hope took root in her heart.

  *****

  Rafe had waved the maid out ahead of him, then, as he turned to pull the door closed, he slipped a hand into his waistcoat, and pulled out the first feather his fingers came into contact with, and dropped it to the floor.

  There were now ten feathers in a small bundle, tucked away on his person – ten feathers gathered over the days since he had first plucked that white feather from the hedge. He was a fool, but he simply could not help himself. It was like a child’s game – he could not publicly give them to her, but he could leave them where she would find them.

  Would she suspect? And, did it matter if she did?

  He found that he didn’t care. If the feathers made her happy, then he would continue to play this game. And, after nuncheon had been served for those who partook in such things, he would take his mother aside, and ask about the riding habit.

  *****

  The conversation in the parlour had been tedious, and he wished that he might have stayed in the library with Lady Charity, but, finally, everyone was beginning to settle into activities for the afternoon. He went to his mother, and spoke quietly to her, asking that she accompany him to his study. She raised an eyebrow, obviously curious, but said nothing as she moved towards the door.

  As they left the room, Lady Charity entered it, and her face flushed when she saw him. Had she found it? He could not ask. Then she was past them, and the door closed on her. He did not speak until they reached his study.

  “Well, Rafael, what is it that you wish to speak to me of, which requires privacy?”

  He swallowed, knowing that his next words would create a strong reaction.

  “I… have a request to make of you, Mother.”

  “A request? How interesting – please, do explain.”

  Rafe took a deep breath – he had committed to this, and he would do it, even knowing what his mother would think.

  “I… I want you to loan Lady Charity one of your riding habits. I have discovered
that she likes to ride, but has not brought a riding habit with her. You are not so dissimilar in size… I… I have invited her to ride with me – with a groom attending, of course, for propriety’s sake.”

  For a moment, his mother met his eyes, her face a picture of stunned surprise, then her normally controlled manner slipped back into place.

  “I take it that I should not enquire too closely into how you came by the information that she rides, and that she does not have a habit with her? Or into just when you might have been in a position to offer this invitation – which I assume, no one else knows about?”

  Rafe felt suddenly just as he had as a boy, when she had caught him doing things he really should not.

  “Indeed, I would prefer that you did not make those enquiries.”

  She studied him, and he thought, for a moment, that she would refuse his request – but she did not. Instead, a broad smile lit her face.

  “There is hope yet, just when I had begun to despair. Yes, I will take her aside quietly, when everyone goes up to change for dinner, and find a habit which might fit her – either one of mine, or one of Mercy’s which is still here.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  She waved the thanks away, and Rafe could tell that, just as he had expected, she had concluded that he had developed some true interest in Lady Charity. He paused, considering that – had he? He was shocked to discover that he no longer knew the answer to that question.

  “Go back to your guests, Rafael – I will be back down shortly, after I set Mina looking through my old habits, and bringing them out.”

  He bowed, and left the room, feeling most pleased with the way that had gone – even if she was as likely to interrogate him about it later.

  *****

  Charity spent the afternoon in the parlour, mostly staying close to her mother, and avoiding any conversation with the other young women. Lady Anne cast her the occasional venomous glance, but, whilst she was near her mother, made no attempt to approach. They stood not far from the fire, and after a short while, the Duke returned to the room, and circulated amongst the guests, scrupulously avoiding spending too long with any one woman.

  Charity watched him from under lowered lashes, unable to help herself, fascinated by how easily he seemed to navigate the treacherous waters of social conversation. He seemed almost a different man from the one she had spoken with so honestly, on the fields, or in the stable. Eventually, he came to them, in his rounds of the room. He greeted her mother, and bowed to her, the picture of propriety, then leant casually against the end of the mantel as her mother expounded on how much she was enjoying the house party.

  Charity made noises of agreement when required, and he caught her eye, his filled with amusement – she knew, instantly, that he was quite aware that she was simply ‘being good’ for her mother. She looked away, blushing.

  He finished that snippet of conversation, then bowed, saying that he must move on, and speak to others. He turned, and appeared to bump the arrangement of dried flowers which graced the mantel – he reached up, settling it back into place, and moved away. For once, Charity’s eyes did not follow him. They were, instead, fixed on that flower arrangement – amongst which there now resided a feather – a feather which, most definitely, had not been there before.

  It was him, she was sure, he had just, by some sleight of hand, put that feather there, even as she watched! But… she had no idea how she might retrieve it. She would manage, somehow – even if she needed to creep down here in the depths of the night.

  As she contemplated that, the Duchess approached them. Around them, others were leaving the room, going up to change for dinner, and to rest a little before the evening’s entertainments. Her mother spoke to the Duchess for a moment, then went to another of the older ladies to accompany her to the conservatory, where they had previously agreed to spend some time before going up. Charity had cried off from that, insisting that she would prefer to retire to her rooms, and rest there.

  As she went to curtsey, and take her leave of the Duchess, the older woman put a hand on her arm to still her.

  “Lady Charity, might I ask you to accompany me? I believe that you are in need of a riding habit?”

  Charity regarded her, startled, then gave a nod.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Then do come with me now, so that we might address that need.” The Duchess led her from the room, and along a hall away from the main stairs to a smaller staircase. “These stairs lead directly to the family apartments – so much easier than winding through the upper halls.”

  They went up, and Charity looked about her, fascinated by this insight into the private life of the Duke and his family. The portraits which lined the upper hall they emerged into were older, and of more intimate family settings, the furniture surrounding them also older, and burnished to a rich sheen. They stopped before a large door, and the Duchess pushed it open.

  “Mina!”

  A maid scurried out when the Duchess called.

  “Yes, Your Grace. I have four possible options laid out in the dressing room.” Her gaze turned to Charity. “If you would come this way, my Lady?”

  Charity went forward, and the Duchess accompanied her. In the dressing room, which was larger than her own bedroom at home, there were four riding habits, each laid out over a clothes-stand. They were made of beautiful fabrics – fine woven wools, rich velvets, and the like. They were far richer than the plain but serviceable habit which lay in her armoire at home.

  The maid assisted her to remove her gown, and then to try on each of the habits in turn. All could be said to fit her, but one did so far better than the others. It was made in the finest woven wool that Charity had ever seen, with a jacket in the military style, the lapels of which were velvet. The whole was in shades of a deep burgundy, which, when she viewed herself in the mirror, seemed to make the deep red of her hair glow.

  She had never worn something so wonderful before.

  The Duchess regarded her, then turned to some shelves, and came back with a hat – a hat which used the same velvet in its trim, and was dressed with but two feathers, pinned in place with a sparkling diamond brooch. The feathers were white, and the effect, against the dark velvet, was stunning.

  “There, Lady Charity – that will suit nicely. I do believe that it fits you perfectly. It was my daughter’s – but it never suited her half as well as it suits you – which is why she left it here when she married. If you like it, please keep it – it will be my pleasure to know that it will be used, after all these years. Now let us get you back into your day gown. Mina will pack this up, and deliver it to your maid whilst we are all at dinner.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace… it is beautiful, you shouldn’t…”

  “Of course I should. Now don’t quibble dear girl – just go and get ready for dinner.”

  Charity allowed herself to be dressed again, and obediently went out along the corridors back to her guest suite. But the image of herself, when seen in that mirror, stayed with her. She had looked, just for that moment, like a completely different person.

  *****

  The Duchess watched Lady Charity as she left the room, her face thoughtful. It seemed that her son had an excellent eye for a woman’s figure! And, she suspected, also for a woman’s character. If Lady Charity Pemberton was the one he ended up choosing, she would not be at all displeased.

  She turned back into the dressing room, and as Mina packed the habit carefully into a clothing box, she selected gloves, a scarf, a necklace, and a bracelet, all of which went with the habit perfectly. If her son had singled out this young woman, if he cared enough to arrange a habit for her, then the Duchess would make certain that she shone. Not just as herself, but in a manner which utterly outdid every other young woman present.

  For, even as it appeared her son did, she liked Lady Charity – which was more than she could say for any of the other young ladies at the house party.

  *****

  Ra
fe found dinner tedious, especially as he was seated next to Lady Anne. When everyone retired to the parlour for cards, rather than the gentleman and ladies going to separate rooms, he was very glad to rise from the table. And to remain as far from Lady Anne as he possibly could, from then on.

  Once in the parlour, his eyes went to the dried flower arrangement, and he grinned. The feather was gone. Casually, he walked over to the fireplace and leant against the mantel – which coincidentally placed him barely a foot from where Lady Charity stood with her mother, who chattered away to Baroness Delfanning. Barely turning towards him, Lady Charity spoke very softly.

  “Your mother has provided a riding habit. Might we… tomorrow morning?”

  “Definitely. At dawn.”

  His voice was equally soft.

  Chapter Eight

  Charity stepped into the warmth of the stables, her breath causing plumes of mist before her after the chill air of outside. She was nervous – not about riding, but about what the Duke would think, when he saw her in the beautiful habit – which had arrived in her room with not just the wonderful hat, but with gloves, jewellery, and a scarf too. The Duchess was very generous – Charity would not have been able to afford such an ensemble in the normal course of things.

  She smoothed her fingers over the fabric, and walked towards where the Duke was just leading Sage out of her stall. She was already saddled and bridled.

  “Good morning, Your Grace.”

  He looked up, realising that she was there only when she spoke. His eyes widened.

  “Mother has done well. That suits you perfectly.”

  Charity smiled, relief flooding her.

  He looked pleased, and his words felt genuine – that was not flattery, for the sake of it, but a simple statement of fact, as he saw it.

  With this man, she realised, she need never fear for lies and empty words – he spoke honestly with her, as he had promised, that day out on the cliffs.