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

by Bridget Barton

  “Yes, I see what you mean. That it was somehow easier then for your father to send Garrett Winstanley to come and collect you. And if my grandmother had not wished it, had she still been alive, then I am sure not even the Duke could have got past her.”

  “I am inclined to agree with that,” he said and shuddered again. “I do not think my father would have been a match for her at all.”

  “Then my grandmother must surely have known the identity of your mother. And she must have known that the Duchess was not at all aware of her husband’s indiscretion, and she could perhaps have held the Duke at bay with such knowledge.”

  “And I am sure that it would have worked entirely, for I know that he had never intended to hurt his wife with his affair. As Mrs Thistlethwaite tells me, there was a lot of sadness in my father’s life and marriage, and it seems quite human that he sought solace elsewhere.”

  “Mrs Thistlethwaite?” Georgina said, loud enough to draw attention from two ladies taking tea clear across the other side of the room. “Oh, sorry,” she said and flushed.

  “Yes, forgive me; I should have mentioned it earlier. I had a heartfelt conversation with Mrs Thistlethwaite yesterday afternoon, for I have always known she could not have believed the story of my childhood illnesses for a moment.”

  “And she did not?”

  “No, of course not. But she is as faithful to the Duchy of Calder now as she has ever been, and she was so firm in begging me to forget the whole thing that I am confident that she will never speak of it to anybody.”

  “But what passed between you?” Georgina said, full of curiosity.

  “Well, if we can leave your poor dear cousin another twenty minutes in the haberdashery, I will tell you,” he said with a laugh and then gently reached out to touch her hand.

  Chapter 17

  It was a fine, warm day for walking, and there was every sign that summer would arrive in Devonshire at any moment. And Emerson was pleased not only for his own sake but for the sake of Georgina’s health, given that she was still supposed to be convalescing.

  Still, it was clear that Felix Allencourt could not have objected to the idea of his young relation taking a walk along the seafront, for Georgina had responded to Emerson’s brief note almost immediately and declared that she would, indeed, meet him by the Rowley pavilion at eleven o’clock.

  Emerson was early, extraordinarily early, and he had already walked some way down the promenade before turning to make his way back towards the pavilion once more. In truth, he was beginning to feel a little conspicuous, exactly like a young man waiting for a young woman; a young man who was so nervous that he had arrived with an hour to spare.

  Of course, nobody was really paying him any particular attention. Despite being the Duke of Calder, he was so little-known in Devonshire that he was able to stride around the little village of Rowley without drawing any attention to himself. No doubt as the years went by, and he became more established in his role, more and more people would recognize him, and he would not find it such an easy thing to go about in blessed anonymity.

  Emerson really was nervous, though, that much was true. And he knew that his nerves were certainly not connected with his discovery, the revelation of which was ostensibly the purpose of their meeting.

  No, Emerson was coming to think a great deal of Georgina. Not that he had not always thought a good deal of her, but he was beginning to see her very differently. He was truly beginning to take notice of the woman his old friend had become and, with the fear of discovery all gone, and everything known between them, Emerson had been able to relax enough to see her with fresh eyes.

  She really was very beautiful, with her fine pale hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her skin was a blemish-free pale peach-cream, and it seemed to glow with health, despite her recent malady. There was a straightforwardness in her manner of dress which reminded him a little of how she had been as a child.

  Georgina Jeffries had never been keen on the overly fussy gowns or hairstyles, always choosing simplicity over ostentation. He remembered well how the cook or housekeeper at Ashdown Manor would try now and again to straighten a ribbon or smooth ringlets as the young Georgina flew past them on her way to the stables or the gardens. And he remembered equally well how Georgina had ducked away from them, intent upon whatever plan she had and having no time to be beautified in preparation for it.

  He laughed to himself as he turned to stare out to sea, tilting his chin so that he might feel the warmth of the sun on his face. Georgina had not changed a great deal in some respects, although it was true to say that she no longer needed her hair smoothed by a passing member of the household staff. Still, she maintained that same simplicity, only now it served to highlight her very real beauty.

  Georgina Jeffries was the sort of woman who did not need anything extra to recommend her; no feathers, no floral combs, no heavy silver pendants. Her gowns were simply cut, never too revealing, and never too concealing. Whilst they did not particularly hide her curves, her gowns did not draw attention to them either.

  Smiling to himself, Emerson raised a hand to his own unruly hair. His father had provided him with his own valet from the moment he had first arrived at Calder Hall. He had been attended by three different valets over the last decade, and none of them could tame his hair entirely, even when a barber had done much to thin it out.

  Still, his hair notwithstanding, Emerson knew that he had come a very long way from being Samuel White. He had come to appreciate the finer things in life; smart and well-made clothing, good horses, plentiful food. And yet he had never forgotten that he had once lived a life that was never meant to end in such things.

  He had been a servant, a houseboy. He had been motherless, occasionally unkempt, and entirely illiterate. And now he was the Duke of Calder.

  He had taken to his studies as a duck takes to water when Garrett Winstanley had first begun to tutor him. Of course, by the time he left Ashdown Manor, he had not been entirely illiterate, perhaps just semi-illiterate. After all, Georgina had done her best to help him learn, despite the fact that she had done so in secrecy. She had tried hard to be patient as he had stumbled over his letters, the two of them sitting on a fallen tree trunk in the woodland on the edge of her father’s estate.

  The whole business of Georgina trying to teach him to read had been so steeped in secrecy and had been so by necessity, that it had made it very difficult to be consistent. But that had not deterred Georgina in the slightest, and she was always determined and enthusiastic in her tutoring of him, even when it seemed likely that there would always be several weeks between lessons.

  Emerson smiled when he remembered how impressed Garrett Winstanley had been to realize that the scruffy little servant boy he had taken into his home already knew his alphabet, even if he was not entirely sure what to do with it.

  “What a clever boy you are, Emerson,” Garrett had said when the young boy, so unsure of his surroundings and uncertain of the new people in his world that he was desperately keen to please, had written out the alphabet from A to Z. “So much of the work has already been done for me. Tell me, who taught you to write the alphabet, Emerson?”

  “Georgie did,” he had replied and was surprised that Mr Winstanley did not seem to know who he was talking about. “Georgie who lives at the Manor with Lord and Lady Jeffries.”

  “Oh, I see. Their daughter, I presume?”

  “Yes, and my friend,” young Samuel White had said vehemently.

  “You understand that you are to have no contact with your friend?” Mr Winstanley went on cautiously.

  “But why?” Despite his fear and uncertainty, he could not simply accept the loss of Georgie without a word.

  “Because she is part of your old life, Emerson. She is from a time when you were Samuel, a very different boy. And there is no going back to that time, for you are destined for much greater things. You may not believe me now, young man, but you will one day be the head of a very great estate, and that esta
te would fit Ashdown Manor inside its boundary walls many, many times over. You are beyond that life now; better than that life.”

  “But how can I be the head of a great estate?”

  “That is all to come, Emerson. Goodness me, but you are inquisitive.” Mr Winstanley had reached out and ruffled his thick hair. “In the meantime, you must simply accept things as they are. It is for the best, that much I can promise you.”

  “Yes, Mr Winstanley,” he had said, keen to appease Mr Winstanley without giving up on Georgie.

  However, he really had no idea how to maintain his friendship with Georgie. For one thing, he was not entirely sure exactly where he was or even how far away it was from Ashdown Manor. And whilst he knew his alphabet, he was certainly not yet in a position to be able to write a letter to his dear friend and tell her what had happened.

  Perhaps Mr Winstanley would get his wish by default; the bright young boy quickly realized that he had no means at his disposal to contact Georgina Jeffries at all.

  “When you grow into your new life, you will quickly forget the old one. Perhaps you should start now, forget your little friend, forget the people you once worked with. The art of forgetting will serve you very well in your new life, young man.”

  “Yes, Mr Winstanley,” he said, silently swearing in his heart that he would never forget Georgie for as long as he lived.

  And he never had forgotten her. However life had moved on, however many of the lies that seemed to form the basis of his existence had permeated the walls of his mind and almost made themselves the truth, Georgie was the one thing to remain constant.

  It was true that he had not thought of her every day, for every moment of his life after leaving Ashdown Manor seemed to have been so fully crammed with incident and activity, but he had never entirely dismissed her from his thoughts.

  He had often wondered if she was still in Hertfordshire and what she had thought when he had so suddenly disappeared. But they had been childish thoughts and imaginings, even when he had become a fully-grown man, because all he had to refer to were the images of them as children, with children’s faces and children’s feelings and actions.

  But they were not children anymore, and the image of Georgie in his mind had been firmly supplanted by the beautiful woman she had become. And he had begun to think of her almost constantly; her hair, her eyes, her smile. How clever she still was, how ready she still was to help him.

  Although his feelings were still a little confused, he knew that he felt more for Georgina Jeffries than the simple relief of an old friendship regained. When he had touched her hand in the tea room, he had felt something stir within him. The feel of her soft skin and the way she had not retracted her hand at all had excited him a little, given him hope.

  But hope of what? Was it not simply the case that he was grateful to her? The only woman in the world who knew who he used to be, the only one who still remembered.

  “I thought that was you,” said a bright and breathless Georgina. “Although you are a little distance from the pavilion, are you not?” she said and laughed.

  “Forgive me, I was a little early and decided to walk for a while until you arrived. But I had fully intended to be back at the pavilion before eleven o’clock.” He gave her an apologetic wince.

  “You need not look like that, Sammy. It is not yet eleven; in fact, it is only ten minutes to the hour. I was also early.”

  Emerson liked the idea that Georgina was early. He secretly hoped that it was because she was as keen to see him as he had been to see her. But, of course, he knew that she might merely be keen to hear all that he had discovered about Cornwall. After all, the mystery of his life and origins was nothing if not engaging.

  “Ah, so you are keen to hear all that my attorney has discovered from his Cornish inquiries?” Emerson said in an amusingly tantalizing fashion.

  “I most certainly am,” she said brightly, and he felt his small fears confirmed.

  It really was nothing more than curiosity on her part, albeit a kind and helpful sort of curiosity.

  “Well, shall we walk as we talk?” he said and held out his arm for her to take.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Her hand on the inside of his upper arm felt wonderful to him. As they set off, Georgina turned to smile at him, and he found himself more mesmerized by her beauty than ever.

  Georgina was wearing a dark blue gown that suited her pale colouring very well. Her thick tresses had been turned into a bun on the back of her head, with great long wavy strands framing her face and dancing across her collarbone.

  “Well, my new attorney would seem to be a very efficient man,” he began, trying to dismiss the feelings before they could entirely interfere with his train of thought. “And has already made a great many inquiries regarding the current Earl of Wighton and his family.”

  “I daresay the Earl of Wighton, Beatrice’s husband, is long gone. After all, her early letters to my grandmother suggested a twenty-year difference in their ages.”

  “Quite so, and he has been gone for some time, I believe.” Emerson gave a fleeting smile. “And without an heir of his own, the estate passed to his nephew.”

  “So, Beatrice and Lord Wighton never had children?” Georgina said, speaking almost to herself.

  “Not so, I believe there was a daughter, although my attorney has yet to discover her whereabouts. Still, given time, I think he could likely discover just about anything; he is awfully good.”

  “I wonder if it helps us at all though, Sammy,” Georgina said, turning bright blue eyes up to his own.

  The bright sunshine seemed to dance in those eyes just as it did in the reflection of the still, blue sea.

  “I think it does help us.”

  “Yes, I suppose that the current Earl of Wighton could tell us something. Of course, it would be a little difficult to come up with a reason for asking in the first place.” She chewed thoughtfully at her bottom lip. “But I am sure we will think of something. Perhaps I could find some way to get there and simply tell him that my late grandmother and his late aunt were once such great friends. Perhaps that would do it.”

  “His late aunt?” Emerson said and narrowed his gaze.

  “Yes, his late aunt.” She laughed and shook her head as if he was being silly. “Beatrice Montgomery, remember?”

  “Yes, yes I remember,” he said and laughed when he realized that she had made an assumption. “But she is not his late aunt, Georgie. Beatrice Ellington, or Montgomery, or the Dowager Countess of Wighton, is still very much alive.”

  “Goodness me,” Georgina said so loudly that a young woman who was clearly a governess with two small children turned her head sharply to look in her direction. “Goodness me,” she said again, only this time in a whisper.

  “Forgive me, I ought to have mentioned that from the very first.” Emerson laughed and idly watched as the governess continued away from them along the promenade, her two charges walking smartly by her sides.

  “Presumably she still lives on her husband’s estate? Her nephew’s estate, I should say. Probably in the dower house if her nephew is married.”

  “All that my attorney has discovered thus far is that Beatrice is still alive and living on the Wighton estate. Beyond that we have nothing. I do not know what sort of condition she is in, or what sort of man her nephew is. I daresay any move we make now is fully reliant upon the good nature or otherwise of the current Earl of Wighton.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” Georgina said, and he could not help smiling when he saw the look of interest and excitement on her face.

  “I think there is a little more digging to be done before we make a firm plan, Georgie, but I thought you would like to know just what had been discovered so far.”

  “Oh yes, it is all most encouraging,” she said, and she squeezed his arm a little. “It is another line of inquiry that might well lead us to your origins, Sammy.”

  “For good or for ill,” he said solemnly, and when it look
ed as if Georgina was about to object, he went on in a much brighter tone, “oh yes, and I should like to invite you to my early summer ball. Mrs Thistlethwaite is arranging the whole thing, of course, and you will doubtless receive a proper invitation in time. But I had decided I would like to invite you for myself.”

  “I should very much like to attend, Sammy.” She smiled at him warmly, her generous rosy lips drawing his eye and quickening his heartbeat. “How quickly time is flying, I can hardly believe that it is almost summer already.”

  And in a few short words, Emerson was reminded that Georgina’s stay at Winton House was a temporary one which would undoubtedly soon come to an end.

  Chapter 18

  “I must say, I am looking forward to the Duke’s ball,” Fleur said and seemed strangely flustered.