The Duke's Heartbreaking Secret: Historical Regency Romance

by Kate Carteret

  The driver, having slowed the barouche further still, turned the horses off the road and Anabelle looked out of the window to see where they were heading.

  They were passing through an enormous set of open wrought-iron gates. She turned her head to look back at them and could see they were set in dense foliage and tall trees. This was an estate, surely, and probably a very fine one if the ornate gates were anything to go by.

  Anabelle kept her face to the window, expecting to see a house at any moment. But there were meadows, lakes, and more woodland, all of which seemed to roll on for several miles more.

  “We are almost there.” Mr Ridley-Smythe said.

  Anabelle nodded her response without looking at him. The barouche was climbing a little and she could hear the horses snorting their little complaints. But the land dropped away soon enough, and the barouche sped up again quite naturally.

  And there, coming into view so suddenly it took her breath away, was the largest mansion she had ever seen. The hall was vast, and it was easy to see from that distance that it was of three stories, undoubtedly with attics and basements to boot.

  The main hall was large with prominent walls at either end. As they dropped down on the driveway, Anabelle could see the wings of the hall extending out behind it like long arms. And the surrounding buildings were too numerous to take in, although she quickly identified a large stable block and a chapel.

  She could see that wide, immaculate pathways snaked away from the hall and off into the distance, disappearing into the woodlands beyond. In that moment, she thought a person could live out their entire life in such a place without ever leaving and never once want for space or variety.

  This was the home of someone very grand indeed and, in that moment, she was certain this must the home of the Duke of Westward. She had never seen him but knew of him as the most titled and powerful man for several counties across.

  The reason for such secrecy was suddenly very, very clear.

  Chapter Five

  “And so now I may tell you, Miss Brock, that you are about to meet the Duke of Westward.” Mr Ridley-Smythe said in a curiously proud voice.

  Of course, the Duke of Westward would undoubtedly be his most auspicious client, even though he could not flout secrecy and promises and boast of the association to his other acquaintances.

  “I realize that, Mr Ridley-Smythe.” She said and gave him a withering look.

  But her sarcasm was very quickly set aside when the driver helped her down from the barouche to leave her standing on the wide gravel apron in front of the immense hall. As breathtaking as it had been from afar, it was rather intimidating close up.

  It seemed so tall as she stood and looked up; so tall that she felt like an ant, small and insignificant. The bright sunshine was reflected in the myriad windows and she had to squint to have any hope of looking up at them comfortably.

  But her study of so grand a frontage was quickly cut short when she heard footsteps ahead of her and looked across to see a butler standing in the open doorway.

  He looked so immaculate, not a hair out of place, and even his expression did not wander where it ought not to go. He did not smile, he did not frown, he looked neither approving nor disapproving. He looked like a blank canvas waiting to have the portrait of a man painted upon it.

  “I daresay this is something of a shock, my dear.” Mr Ridley-Smythe said with more kindness than he had shown her thus far. “But perhaps that is a good thing. Perhaps that does not give you time to fret about the meeting to come. The Duke is a fair man, Miss Brock, and one who would not seek to make you nervous.”

  “I see.” Anabelle said, not knowing what else she could possibly say.

  “Well, shall we?” He said and swept a hand out in front of him to indicate that she should go first.

  “Good morning.” The Butler said in the determinedly clipped tones of the lower-middle-classes.

  “Good morning.” Anabelle said and gave him a steady smile.

  “If you will both follow me, His Grace is waiting for you in his study.”

  “Thank you.” Anabelle said quietly, her mouth so dry she felt as if her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth, making speech something of a trial.

  If she had been made breathless by the first sight of the building, she was made more so by the sheer size and opulence of the entrance hall.

  Its ceiling was so high that she quickly realised that the entrance hall breached the first floor of the building and was, in fact, at double height.

  The area was wonderfully light, benefiting from two rows of full height windows, one on top of the other. The invading sunlight gleamed on the immaculately kept marble chequerboard floor tiles, black and white with the occasional floral depiction in gold.

  The size of the entrance hall alone was a source of amazement to her. She had been in ballrooms which were not much larger than this, although it was true to say that they were in much smaller establishments.

  The stairs were wide and covered in a rich red carpet. They did not sweep, rather they led straight up to the floor above, disappearing through a great stone archway which gave her the impression that a person making their way up the stairs was almost making their way into another world altogether.

  The newel post and stair rails were ornate and gilded, and she could see that the stonemasons who had worked in that very place so many years ago had truly been blessed with skill. There were perfect cherubs set into the archway at the top of the stairs and her mouth fell open as she looked up in wonder.

  There were beautiful mottled pale pink granite columns with pure white busts depicting dead-eyed dukes of years gone by. There were golden candle sconces on every wall and Anabelle knew that if she lived to be a hundred years old, she would never see such an impressive sight again.

  The butler’s heels clipped as he smartly made his way across the chequerboard floor with Anabelle and Mr Ridley-Smythe following silently in his wake.

  They seemed to walk a very long way heading out towards the back of Westward Hall, taking this corridor and that until she hardly knew which way she was facing anymore. Anabelle was grateful that the entrance hall had been so breathtakingly opulent and beautiful, for it had easily diverted her fears from her mind, if only for a few minutes. Even by the time they had reached what she presumed was the door to the Duke’s study, her fears were still running to catch up.

  “Mr Ridley-Smythe and Miss Brock, Your Grace.” The butler said smartly after knocking the door and immediately opening it.

  “Thank you, Standish.” Came a deep voice from within.

  “I shall have tea sent.” The butler went on.

  “Yes, but leave it half an hour, Standish.” The Duke went on as the butler nodded his head firmly in an abbreviated bow before turning to leave.

  “Do come in.” The Duke said, finally rising from behind his desk.

  Anabelle had barely fixed her sights upon him in his seat before realizing what a tall man he was as he rose. She had never met a man of such consequence in her life and she felt truly awestruck in that moment, forgetting entirely her very reason for being there.

  She could not take her eyes from him, not even to look about the room that she was in. It didn’t take long for her to realize that he was a very impressive man indeed, at least to look at.

  She could see that he wore cream breeches beneath a thick and neatly tailored tailcoat in dark blue with a waistcoat to match over a brilliantly white shirt. The necktie rose high, almost meeting his chin, although it was not too elaborate.

  His hair was thick and so dark that it was almost black. Almost, but not quite. She could see the first signs of a little greying at the temples, but she was certain that he was young enough for it to be a little premature.

  His beard was as dark as his hair, being neatly clipped and suiting him very well. And despite the distance between them at that moment, she could see that his eyes were a rich hazel. All in all, the man standing before her was very h
andsome indeed. He was the sort of handsome young man that young women dream of being wooed by.

  “You are Miss Brock?” He said firmly as Anabelle advanced into the room.

  “Yes, Your Grace. I am Anabelle Brock.” She said and inclined her head graciously.

  She had been raised well and she knew how to behave in first introductions.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Brock.” He said in such a flat tone that she could hardly tell if he meant what he said. “Mr Ridley-Smythe has appraised you of the circumstances here at Westward Hall?”

  “Only the very bare bones, Your Grace.” Mr Ridley-Smythe spoke before Anabelle had a chance, leaving her a little openmouthed.

  “Well, take a seat.” He said to them both and nodded at the two chairs which had been set in front of his desk.

  Once Anabelle was seated, the Duke took his seat also and leaned his elbows on the desk. She was inappropriately reminded of Mr Ridley-Smythe’s shiny elbows, although she suspected that the Duke’s own clothes were not so abused.

  “I believe you have already signed the first of the papers with respect to the required discretion?” When he spoke, the Duke looked directly into her eyes.

  If he had not been quite so handsome and imposing, she might not have struggled to hold her own gaze steady. But she knew that she must, for she was certain in that moment that the Duke of Westward was trying to peer into her very character, using her eyes as doorways.

  “I have, Your Grace.” She said, biting back the little annoyance she had felt at the time of signing in the employment registry office.

  “Very good. And I shall be asking you to sign another in a moment. Whether you choose to remain here or not, discretion is not negotiable.”

  “I understand.” She said, feeling aggrieved by the idea that he instantly mistrusted her.

  “You may or may not have already perceived that the young lady who is in want of a companion in my household is a relative. She is my sister, in fact.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Anabelle said and nodded.

  “She has been unwell these last six months, although it is true to say that my sister has always been a rather withdrawn and nervous young woman.”

  “I am sorry to hear it, Your Grace.” Anabelle said genuinely, believing that she could see a little pain in those fine hazel eyes.

  “She has not always been as she is now.” He said, pausing for so long that Anabelle wondered if he would ever continue. “I do not know what caused her current state, Miss Brock, but I hold onto hope that there is something that might be done to lift her out of it.”

  “Was it brought on by an illness, Your Grace?” She asked gently and was surprised to see that he looked pleased by the question.

  “Your interest does you credit in this case, Miss Brock. Do you already have some experience in these matters?”

  “Not entirely, Your Grace. Nothing that would yet seem to fit your sister’s circumstances.” She said, feeling a little embarrassed and knowing that she ought not to say too much until she knew more.

  “I am not sure if it was brought on by an illness or not. I had taken my sister to a garden party in the Spring and, at first, thought that it had been a little cold for her and that I had kept her out too long. She took to her bed and was very quiet and I thought that it was, as you have already suggested, a physical malady. But she has made very little sense in the time which has passed since that day and I have long since believed that the current state was not precipitated by a physical element of any kind.”

  “I see.” Anabelle said, knowing that she already had more questions but deciding to keep them to herself for a while.

  “I understand that you will not have been given a great deal of information before coming here and I have no doubt that your own mind has raced with what it is that might confront you here.” He said, still staring directly into her eyes as if Mr Ridley-Smythe were not there in the room at all. “But let me tell you here and now that my sister is not raving in any way. She is not loud, she is not violent, she is not disturbing.”

  “I am comforted by that, I must admit, Your Grace.” She said, getting the distinct impression that nothing but the truth would do.

  “Your honesty does you credit too, Miss Brock. Already I am of a mind that you would do very well indeed for this particular task.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” She said, feeling truly relieved that the young woman in question was not the tortured soul of her wilder imaginings.

  “If you choose to accept this position you would spend a good deal of your time with my sister. There will be little by way of free days, Miss Brock, although I would be certain to give you an afternoon off here and there so that you might visit your family.”

  “There is no need, Your Grace. I do not have anybody I wish to visit.”

  “You have no family at all?”

  “I have a cousin, Your Grace.” She said and felt certain that she would now have to answer some questions herself.

  “Your parents?” He said firmly, although she could sense some kindness there in his tone.

  “My mother died a long time ago and my father passed but three months ago.”

  “And it is not possible for you to live with your cousin?”

  “It is not possible for me to live with my cousin, Your Grace. I left his house early this morning before the sun was up and I do not intend to ever go back.” She hoped that he would not quiz her further and was relieved when she quickly saw that she had already said enough.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and she had no doubt that he had perceived the source of her discontent.

  Anabelle could feel her cheeks reddening and knew that she was telling her story without saying another word.

  “And had your father not been able to provide for you in any way?” He went on and, although she felt a little humiliated by it, she knew that he was just determining what sort of person was coming into his home.

  “I was raised well, Your Grace, by a good man. I was educated and I lived with some privilege. Enough privilege that I have never had to make my way in the world before.” She said, wishing that Mr Ridley-Smythe would just evaporate.

  It was hard enough to give her explanation to one person, never mind having an audience.

  “I see.” The Duke said in a tone which suggested she must continue.

  “My mother passed away when I was just thirteen years of age and I watched helplessly as my father was almost swallowed by his grief. He could find solace only in drinking and gambling, anything to take away his pain. But there was a dreadful consequence to it, insofar as our home was sold upon his death to pay his debts. But I have sixty pounds a year, although I cannot receive it.”

  “And why can you not receive your sixty pounds a year?”

  “Because my cousin has taken it and declares that I shall not have it. I told him that I would leave, and he said that I would have to do so without a penny. In that manner I believe he thought that I would simply stay.”

  “But you have not.” The Duke said solemnly and yet she wondered if she could see a little admiration in his eyes for her courage.

  “I could not.”

  “And your cousin does not know where you are?”

  “He does not, Your Grace, and I would be glad if he never found it out.”

  “Are you telling me that he is your legal guardian?” The Duke narrowed his gaze and looked suddenly disconcerted.

  “I am one-and-twenty, Your Grace, and I do not have legal guardian. But my cousin is an unpleasant man and I fear him. And so, you see, I would not like him to find me.”

  “Then it would appear that we both have a secret, Miss Brock. We both know something about the other that it would be better not to have known abroad.”

  “I do not intend to break your confidence, Your Grace.” Anabelle said and regretted that she had been unable to hide the annoyance in her voice.

  “You must understand that you really cannot break my confidence.
I would protect my sister with my life and warn you now that if you make any details known to anybody outside of this house, you will be sorry for it. I will crush you.” He said and looked at her with such coldness suddenly that her eyes widened.

  “You will never have cause to crush me, Your Grace.” Anabelle said defiantly, angry with herself for giving him just a moment of her fear.

  “Then you will never have cause to return to your cousin’s house, Miss Brock.” The Duke said and leaned back into his chair. “You have brought your things with you?”

  “Yes, I have all I possess in Mr Ridley-Smythe’s barouche.” She said, reeling from his sudden change of both countenance and conversation.

  “And you have decided to accept the position?” He went on.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Anabelle said, knowing that it was the only decision she could possibly make.

  Even so, she had to admit that she did feel a little better. Notwithstanding his threat to crush her, Anabelle was somehow more settled. His sister had been described as somebody she could likely cope with if she put her mind to it and spent the effort. She was not a poor creature to be chained, her hair wild, her eyes wide.

  Perhaps she was even a young woman who could, in the end, be helped. But that was all in the future, was it not?

  She was aware of the Duke opening a drawer in the large mahogany desk and removing some papers. He began to sort through them and lay them out and she realised immediately that this was yet another round of papers to be signed that would legally mute her.

  She did not care about it, however, for she would never have spoken of the Duke’s personal troubles to anybody anyway. And since she had not one friend left in the world from the time before her father had ruined them, there was nobody to tell.

  As the Duke looked through the papers in front of him, Anabelle looked around the room. As a study, it was the largest one she had ever seen. It was paneled in oak of the same color as in Mr Ridley-Smythe’s office, and yet the ceilings were so high and the space so large that it did not seem at all oppressive.