Dukes to Fall in Love With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  “Yes, just tell me,” Fleur said.

  “You must forgive me for the length of this tale, but it is necessary to begin many years ago when I was a child for you to understand the full thing.”

  “Yes, alright.”

  “When I was a girl, there was a young boy who lived at Ashdown Manor. He was not a part of the family, rather he was a servant. He sometimes worked in the stables and sometimes in the kitchen, not having a particular role because of his youth. I do not know when he first came into our home, except that I always remember him being there.”

  “What was his name?” Fleur said quietly.

  “His name was Samuel White. I always called him Sammy because our cook, Mrs Townley, always called him Sammy. We were great friends, Fleur.”

  “Oh, how very lovely,” Fleur said genuinely. “But that is the way with children, is it not? They do not see the divisions.”

  “No, they do not. And I most certainly did not see any divisions between myself and Sammy. We were quite isolated at Ashdown Manor, and I did not have any other friends but Sammy. My mother and father did not make any complaint about it, and I am sure that my mother was simply pleased that I was not made lonely by my isolation. My grandmother had the strongest objections to it all, always seeking to disrupt any game that Sammy and I were playing. She was most intent that we should not be friends, and she never wasted an opportunity to remind us both that Sammy was nothing more than a servant.”

  “I am bound to say that your grandmother would appear to have been extraordinarily harsh. I do not wish to offend, but I cannot imagine great Aunt Belle ever having behaved in such a way.”

  “You do not offend me at all, and you are quite right. I can hardly believe that my grandmother and great Aunt Belle were sisters, they are so very different. It is true that both would seem possessed of a disposition to speak their minds freely, but it is the contents of those minds that strike me as so very different.”

  “Does Sammy still work at Ashdown Manor now?”

  “No, he has not been there for many, many years. He disappeared quite suddenly when he was eleven years old and I but nine. It was never properly explained to me where he went or why, he simply was not there one day, and I never saw him again.”

  “Could he not have run away?”

  “Yes, I was certainly told that that was the most likely explanation.”

  “By your grandmother?”

  “No, my mother and father. By that time, my grandmother had already passed away, just a few weeks before.”

  “But do you have any reason to think that Sammy did not run away? That something else became of him?”

  “I do now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Fleur, I am as certain as I can be that I have seen Sammy again. He is a fully-grown man now, obviously, and there have been the changes which come along with such growth. But I was certain that I had seen the man somewhere before, that I knew him. And now I am sure.”

  “But where? Do you mean here in Devonshire?”

  “Yes, although I am bound to say that you will think me a little deranged when I tell you the identity of the man I suspect of being my old friend.”

  “You must not leave me in suspense a moment longer, cousin, you must tell me.”

  “I firmly believe that the Duke of Calder, Emerson Lockhart, is my old friend and former servant, Samuel White,” Georgina said and winced a little, realizing just how ridiculous it sounded out loud.

  “The Duke of Calder?” Fleur said, her mouth remaining open when she had finished speaking.

  “I know, I know. I realize that this sounds perfectly ridiculous, and you must think me the most dreadfully fanciful person on the earth, but I truly believe it.”

  “But why do you believe it? Is it some scar or mark of youth that is still carried by the man? What has convinced you so absolutely?”

  “It was something he said.”

  “But what?”

  “When we went to afternoon tea at Calder Hall, I once again had that curious feeling that I knew the Duke from somewhere but could not quite place him. In truth, I have had it at every meeting, although I have dismissed it time and again. But as we were leaving Calder Hall, as we were descending the stone steps, I dropped one of my gloves out of the pocket of my cloak, and the Duke stooped down to retrieve it. He called me by name quite by instinct, I believe, and that was when I knew.”

  “He called you by name? What do you mean?”

  “He called me Georgie,” Georgina said significantly.

  “Georgie?”

  “Yes, I think it slipped out before he had thought about it.”

  “Yes, I must admit, that is very informal indeed. Even if he had called you Georgina, I would have thought it a little remiss in terms of manners. But to shorten your name on top of it all seems a little too familiar.”

  “Yes.”

  “But perhaps it is because he has been thinking of you in those terms, my dear. I think it is very clear that the Duke has been interested in you from the moment you met. And you know that I have said it more than once, for I have seen it. But might his slip of the tongue not simply be because he has been thinking of you so much of late? And perhaps that is how he thinks of you in his mind, already a woman who returns his feelings, one whom he is free to address by her first name.”

  “But Fleur, nobody else in this world has ever called me Georgie.”

  “You mean …?”

  “Yes, as a child, Samuel White always called me Georgie. I called him Sammy, and he called me Georgie. Nobody else, not even my parents, ever called me Georgie. It was only him.”

  “But where did Sammy come from? Did your family never tell you?”

  “No, as I said, he was always there. I always remember him; it was as if we grew up together, although not entirely together if you see what I mean.”

  “But what did the other servants say of Sammy’s own parents? Could he possibly have been the product of an indiscretion below stairs? Was there any woman there who paid particular attention to him that you might look at now and come to suspect as motherly attention?”

  “Mrs Townley was very fond of him, but I am bound to say that she was too old to have been his mother. He used to spend a good deal of time in the stables with Havers, the stable master, but I cannot say that the man seemed particularly affectionate towards him, so not a suspect as the father either.”

  “But surely there were maids young enough to be his mother?”

  “There were maids aplenty of just the right age, but my grandmother would never have allowed it. Any unmarried young woman below stairs would have been ejected from the household the minute that my grandmother became aware of her condition. And I can say so without any doubts, for I knew my grandmother to be just such a person.”

  “Then it seems that he came from nowhere,” Fleur said vaguely and distantly. “Although he must have had a mother of his own at some point.”

  “There is something I remember, something which has come back to me these last two nights as I have lain awake trying to remember everything I can about Sammy and our old life.”

  “What is that?”

  “It is a memory from many years ago, and so I cannot claim it to be absolutely true. Really, it is so peculiar that it might well be nothing more than a dream I had as a child. Still, I shall recount it to you anyway.” Georgina paused for breath. “When I was very little, I remember standing at the door of Ashdown Manor almost hiding behind my mother’s skirts. There was a woman pacing backwards and forwards in the grounds, just a few feet away from the front of the house. She was young and very pale, and so frail that she has stood out in my memory all these years later. She was wearing an ivory gown and had such pale skin and hair that she seemed almost like a ghost, a spirit of some kind, wandering back and forth desperately.”

  “Goodness me, who was she?” Fleur said, sitting almost on the edge of the window seat in anticipation.

  “I do not know
who she was, and I do not remember her speaking at all. She just paced backwards and forwards with a look of the greatest sadness on her face that it affects me even now. And then I have a recollection of my grandmother taking her by the arm and walking her away, almost as if intent to eject the young woman from the grounds of Ashdown Manor herself.”

  “And did she? I mean, did your grandmother eject her?”

  “I can only imagine that she did, for she walked her smartly away, and the young woman seemed just too pale and defeated to object to it all. Of course, I might be adding to things with the benefit of adult eyes, so you must forgive me.”

  “And what happened then?”

  “My mother gently closed the door, and I remember looking up at her. I am certain that she said something along the lines of never mind, my dear. And that was it; that is all that I can remember.”

  “Do you think it significant in some way, this curious visitation?”

  “I think it must be, for why else would my mind turn to that old image after so many years?”

  “But you said yourself that the vision of this young woman might be nothing more than a dream of your childhood.”

  “That is quite so, and so you see how confusing this all is.”

  “Georgina, you are such a sensible woman that I cannot think that you have made this up. I truly believe that you believe the Duke of Calder is your old friend, Samuel White. But I do not know how to get to the bottom of it all without risking a great upset with the man.”

  “I think I must speak to him, though, Fleur.”

  “I hate to say it, but I think you must speak to him also,” Fleur said with a sigh. “Because I do not think that you will be able to rest until you have. But you must be so very careful how you word it all, my dear, for he is still a Duke of the realm, and he might very well not be the Sammy White of your childhood. You must take great care not to accuse him outright of being a servant in disguise.”

  “I know, I have thought and thought about what I might say and have come up with nothing. But I know that I must approach him; you are right that I will not rest until I know.

  “When are you going to see him?”

  “I think I must go as soon as possible. I think I must go before I lose my nerve.”

  “Then we must come up with some plan or other. Obviously, you do not want the rest of the family to hear of any of this or even suspect you of making your way to Calder Hall at all. So, I think that we must plan a day in Rowley, and then you must travel post-chaise to Calder Hall. I will wait for you in the tea room in the town, and my father’s driver will be none the wiser that the two of us have gone our separate ways for the afternoon.”

  “Oh, that is very clever indeed, Fleur,” Georgina said in admiration, realizing that there was more to keeping a secret than simply asking her cousin to hold it close.

  “Then we shall make arrangements for tomorrow, what do you say?”

  “I think that is a very fine idea, Fleur, and I thank you for helping me.”

  As terrified as Georgina was by the prospect of confronting the Duke of Calder with what she knew, or thought she knew, still, Georgina knew it must be done and was grateful to Fleur that it would come to pass much sooner than she had expected.

  Chapter 10

  Emerson Lockhart had not moved from Calder Hall once since the afternoon tea at which he had given himself away. At least he thought he had given himself away, for he was certain that he had seen recognition in her eyes.

  How could he have been so stupid? How could he have allowed something of that nature to happen? When Georgina had dropped her glove, and he had retrieved it, it was suddenly the most natural thing in the world to call out to her in the way that he had always done when they were children.

  Perhaps it was because they had spent such a comfortable, convivial afternoon; an afternoon in which he had felt more at ease in his role of Duke than he had done in the entire proceeding months that had led him to drop his guard.

  The presence of Georgina Jeffries was comforting, even though it had become clear to him that she did not know who he was. Every time he saw her, he felt like Sammy again. Not as rough nor as cheeky as the boy he had once been, but as comfortable in his own skin as that child was. It was as if the pretense was all gone and things were back to how they were; he knew who he was when he was in her company. He was Sammy White. He knew himself. It did not matter then that he was a servant, for it had never mattered to Georgina Jeffries, his one and only friend.

  Perhaps that was why he had let his old childhood name for her slip so casually from his lips. Perhaps he had wanted to be Sammy again, to divest himself of the identity he now had, the identity he was sure was not his own.

  Perhaps he had wanted her to know him, to remember him, and that deep in his heart, he did not care what consequences came of it. Maybe all he wanted was a friend in this world again, one he did not have to lie to, one he did not feel so uncomfortable with on account of perpetually trying to remember a story that was not his whilst remaining vigilant that he did not slip up and reveal something of the truth.

  But, Georgina Jeffries was not Georgie anymore. She was a grown woman, the daughter of a baron, one who might well decide that something should be done about the impostor who was calling himself the Duke of Calder. A great many changes could befall a person in that transition from child to adult and, whilst he thought her a very fine young lady indeed, Emerson knew that he could not say exactly that she would not be appalled by him.

  It was a very easy thing for a child to look upon a servant with warmth and familiarity and quite another for that same child to do so as an adult. By the time they had grown into adulthood, they had been subject to the teachings of their parents, the opinions of their peers, the judgements of their own class. It would take an extraordinarily strong child to resist becoming the adult that all around them would have them be.

  And yet Georgie had been strong, the strongest person he had known. In all of Ashdown Manor, the young Georgina Jeffries was the only living and breathing soul who had ever, as far as he was aware, stood up to that spiteful, fearsome old woman.

  The servants were all terrified of the old Baroness, for Elizabeth Jeffries was not known for her kindness and understanding. Quite the opposite, in fact, for she was known for her short temper and harsh judgements.

  And the young Sammy, so small and insignificant that he was often forgotten when the adult servants turned to gossip, had heard much which suggested that Elizabeth had always been the driving force in that household. Although Sammy had never met the old Baron, he largely understood that his wife had bullied him this way and that, and that it was likely a great relief to the man when he had finally passed away.

  And Sammy had seen with his own eyes, heard with his own ears, how she ruled her son, the new Baron Jeffries, with a rod of iron. She spoke to him at times as if he were a child of Sammy’s age instead of a fully-grown man, and he always wondered why it was that Lord Jeffries put up with it all. Why did he simply not tell her to be quiet?

  But that sort of cowering and toeing the line would not do for Georgie. Georgie cowered to nobody, especially when justice was at stake.

  Just as Emerson had been about to drift off once again into a comfortable past to relive some wonderful moment with his old friend, he heard the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel outside. He rose from his seat and crossed the immense drawing room to one of the large windows and peered out.

  There was a post carriage outside, and yet it had already been that morning. He studied it with interest and confusion for a moment until he saw the driver jump down and open the door to help down none other than Georgina Jeffries herself.

  By instinct, almost as if he had been scalded with boiling water, Emerson stepped back from the window. And then, almost as quickly as he had stepped away, he stepped back again, unable to take his eyes from her as she made her way to the front of the house.

  So, she really had known him. The mo
ment had come.

  As Emerson waited for his guest to be shown in, he could not settle at all. His nerves were suddenly on high alert, his whole body feeling taut and ill at ease. It was certainly too early in the afternoon for him to be found nursing a glass of brandy in the drawing room. And yet it might have done much to steady him.

  Hastening to the drinks cabinet, all the while listening intently for the sound of footsteps, Emerson took the stopper from the decanter, poured out a large helping of brandy, and quickly stoppered the bottle again.

  He took a deep breath and drank the fiery brandy down in two large gulps before returning the glass and then racing back across the drawing room to take his seat by the fireplace.