The Duke's Heartbreaking Secret: Historical Regency Romance

by Kate Carteret

  The paneling was lined with shelved alcoves, all of them full of books. More books than there had been in the library of her father’s house. She idly wondered how many books there must be in the library of Westward Hall itself.

  “It is time to read through these papers and sign them, Miss Brock.” He said and turned the papers around, gently pushing them across the desk towards her.

  Although she read every word, Anabelle hardly took in any of it. She understood that it was all a most elaborate way of telling her that there would be grave consequences to any indiscretion, certainly nothing that she did not already perceive very clearly.

  But she gave enough time that the Duke would be comfortable that she had read every word before she reached out for the pen, which she hurriedly dipped into the ink pot before signing each of the papers.

  “Thank you, Miss Brock.” The Duke said, taking the pen from her and sliding the papers back towards himself.

  “Perhaps it is time for me to leave you, Your Grace.” Mr Ridley-Smythe said sycophantically.

  “Yes, perhaps it is.” The Duke said and nodded at him. “I will send somebody down with your payment within the week.” The Duke rose to his feet and strode across the room to the fireplace where he pulled one of the bell ropes.

  “Very well, Your Grace.” The man said, his eyes seeming to light up at the prospect of being paid at last for the job he likely thought he would never get off his books.

  Anabelle remained seated, not really knowing what it was she ought to do next. The butler arrived in quick time, ready to escort Mr Ridley-Smythe out.

  “Standish, could you please take our guest back to his barouche.” The Duke began and then held up his hands to stop them leaving. “Oh yes, and if you could have one of the footmen remove Miss Brock’s luggage from the barouche and have it taken up to her room.”

  “Certainly, Your Grace.” The butler said. “And the tea?” He went on.

  “Perhaps we shall leave that for now. Mrs Arklow can arrange something for Miss Brock once she gets settled. Thank you, Standish.”

  “Your Grace.” Mr Standish bowed and patiently waited for Mr Ridley-Smythe to be ready to leave.

  “Thank you kindly, Your Grace. And if there should be anything that I can help you with in the future, please do not hesitate.” Mr Ridley-Smythe bowed so deeply that Anabelle imagined him grazing his nose along the floorboards.

  Still, she was relieved that her belongings would be taken directly to her room and that the Duke would not see how it was she had fled from her cousin’s house in the middle of the night. The cloth bags made her look very poor indeed and she wondered if the staff of Westward Hall would find anything in that to gossip about.

  But she was poor. She had nothing, not even her sixty pounds a year. It was time to concentrate on the life ahead of her, not mourn the loss of the life she had once had.

  “Miss Brock.” The Duke said the moment they were alone. He sat down again behind his desk, only this time he smiled a little. “It strikes me that you have had rather an eventful morning; probably an eventful night too.” He cleared his throat. “I have arranged with the housekeeper that you may spend today settling in and coming to terms with the layout of the building. Mrs Arklow is a fine woman and she will tend to you very well. You will meet Lucy tomorrow when I have had a little time to prepare her for this change and you have rested and are ready for the challenge ahead.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. That is very kind of you.” She said and finally had to turn her attention upon the top of the mahogany desk.

  His fine hazel eyes were suddenly too much for her, too intense, and she thought that he must surely have decided by now whether or not he could trust her.

  “Do you have any questions before I call for Mrs Arklow?”

  “Not at the moment, Your Grace. Thank you.”

  “Very well.” He said and rose from his seat once again to cross the room and pull one of the bell ropes.

  Chapter Six

  When the housekeeper arrived, she smiled so warmly at Anabelle that she could not help but feel relieved. There was something maternal about the woman, even dressed in such an austere and high-necked gown, her steel hair tied back neatly in a bun.

  “Mrs Arklow, could you take Miss Brock to her chamber and perhaps, if you have time today, give her a tour of the place so that she might find her way around a little easier?”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs Arklow inclined her head. “Miss Brock, come with me.” She held out her arm almost as if she was going to take Anabelle’s hand, although she did not.

  Anabelle bowed her head at the Duke and he gave her the briefest of reassuring smiles before releasing them.

  “My dear young woman, have you slept?” Mrs Arklow said, getting straight to the heart of Anabelle’s bone-deep fatigue.

  “Goodness, you are very perceptive, Mrs Arklow. The truth is that I have not slept since the night before last. And even then, I did not sleep well.”

  “I will take you up to your chamber first so that you might just sit in peace for a few minutes whilst I arrange some tea and something to eat.” Mrs Arklow walked at a rather surprising pace for a woman who must surely be almost sixty.

  Anabelle felt almost as if she would have to break into a run to keep up, but she did her best with legs that grew more tired by the second. She knew that her fears, whilst not entirely gone, were far fewer than previously and that this had undoubtedly allowed her body to relax somewhat and finally feel its own exhaustion.

  “Oh, that is very kind of you.” Anabelle said as Mrs Arklow led her back through the beautiful entrance hall to the ramrod-straight staircase.

  When she reached the top, Anabelle could not help but look up to the underside of the great stone arch above her.

  “Westward Hall is very impressive, is it not?” Mrs Arklow said good-naturedly.

  “Mrs Arklow, I have never been inside such a place.” Anabelle said truthfully. “My father’s house would have fit easily inside the entrance hall alone.”

  “It will seem rather daunting at first, but you will soon learn that there is some common sense to the layout. It is large, but it is simply done, and you will know your way around much sooner than you might imagine.”

  “I do hope so.” Anabelle gave a self-deprecating laugh.

  The two women walked through a wide corridor, so wide that the occasional high-backed chair and table bearing vases of flowers did not impede their progress at all.

  “His Grace has instructed that you have the chamber next door to Lady Lucy’s. That way it will be easier to keep an eye on her and if there are any problems in the night, you might hear her.”

  “My goodness, I had not really expected to be sleeping above stairs.” Anabelle said truthfully.

  “You must remember, my dear, that you are not one of the servants.”

  “Mrs Arklow, I do not have any airs and I would hope that the servants would not view me as such.” Anabelle said, feeling a new fear begin to make itself known.

  Now that she was feeling a little more settled, there was room for her to worry about being neither fish nor fowl. She had long since known it to be the plight of governesses everywhere; to not be fully accepted by either the staff or the family. She had to remind herself that, so far at any rate, she was safe from all that had forced her to run from Brockett House. It would have to be enough for the time being.

  “You will find the servants to be very pleasant, Miss Brock, you need have no concerns about that. His Grace has always run a very pleasant household as his father did before him and some of the jealousies and antics that you might experience elsewhere really do not exist here. And if they did, I am in charge of the maids and can set anything straight. If you have any concerns at all about anything, you must come to me, Miss Brock.”

  “Oh, how kind you are.” Anabelle said, and her voice wavered very obviously as her eyes filled quite unexpectedly with tears.

  “Now then, my dear.”
Mrs Arklow said and gently took her arm. “You must not upset yourself, really.” She opened a door at the very end of the long corridor before it turned toward the west wing of the building.

  “I suppose I am rather more overcome than upset. Perhaps a little overwhelmed.” Anabelle sniffed and reached into the pocket of her gown for a handkerchief.

  “Come inside.” Mrs Arklow led her into the room and closed the door behind them. “There, you may have a little weep now if it will make you feel better, my dear.” The housekeeper smiled at her in such a reassuring way that Anabelle did, indeed, cry.

  As her tears fell, Mrs Arklow led her to a very prettily covered and comfortable high-backed armchair at the side of a wide and well-stocked fireplace. Anabelle sat down and covered her face with her handkerchief as she waited for the emotion to subside.

  “Forgive me, Mrs Arklow.” She said and tried to laugh.

  “There is nothing to forgive. I cannot imagine how you must have worried these last days about what you might be walking into here at Westward Hall. And that Ridley-Smith, or Smythe, as he calls himself, is so pompous and full of his own self-importance that he likely made the whole thing sound so much more dramatic and intimidating than it really is.”

  “He is certainly not a comforting man.” Anabelle said and laughed at the housekeeper’s determined mispronunciation of the man’s name. “And yes, with his attitude, he did give me much to fear.”

  “And now that you are here and realize that you are not in some dreadful place, some asylum, to have your relief overcome you is perfectly understandable.”

  “Your understanding means a good deal, Mrs Arklow. You have made an otherwise stressful day much easier for me.”

  “And perhaps it will be easier still when you have had a hot drink and some bread-and-butter.” Mrs Arklow laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I shall leave you to get the rest of your tears out and I will return with a tray in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Anabelle said and hoped that her stomach would be strong enough to eat by the time that good woman returned.

  Mrs Arklow left the room and Anabelle took the opportunity to give her nose the sort of fulsome blow that one could not possibly manage in company. She felt instantly better, much more clear-headed, and she realised that her tears had begun to dry already.

  Now that her little flash of emotion was drawing to a close, curiosity began to take its place. She leaned back in the wonderfully comfortable armchair and looked around her new home, her own private space.

  The room was light and bright and much larger than the chamber she had once enjoyed in her father’s house. The walls had been decorated with wallpaper rather than simply painted, and the paper was white with delicate thin grey stripes on it. It looked clean and bright against the darkly varnished wooden floorboards.

  There was a large rectangular rug which covered the area between the bed and the fireplace. It sported a very pleasant and delicate oriental design and was in such a pale beige that she made a mental note to be very careful how she trod in the future.

  The bed itself was a four-poster with a brilliant white canopy and very pretty broderie anglaise curtains tied back with thin cords. The bed linen was white also and there were numerous well-stuffed feather pillows at the headboard.

  It looked so clean and fresh that she had a sudden yearning to be tucked down comfortably inside, safe, warm, and fast asleep.

  There were paintings hanging on every wall with watercolors and oil paintings of local landscapes adding gentle contrast to the pale room.

  If this really was to be her chamber, it would be the most comfortable, sumptuous place she had ever rested her head.

  Her eyes were drawn to her two large cloth bags at the end of the bed and she hurriedly got up from her chair and crossed the room. She would quickly hang her few garments in the tall oak wardrobe and put her nightgown and undergarments away in the chest of drawers before Mrs Arklow came back.

  But before she had emptied the first of the bags, the housekeeper returned with a tray.

  “Goodness, you have all day to see to that, my dear.” Mrs Arklow said as she hurried into the room and set the tray down on a little writing desk under the window. “You need not see to it immediately.”

  “The room looks so pretty, Mrs Arklow, that I wanted to have these dreadful bags put away.” Anabelle felt embarrassed. “I was travelling on foot this morning, in truth, and could not have packed my things in a proper trunk in the ordinary way.”

  “That is nothing for you to worry about.” Mrs Arklow said in a bid to ease Anabelle’s discomfort. “Did you have far to walk?” She made an attempt to change the subject whilst Anabelle continued to hastily unpack and hang her things.

  “I had some miles from my cousin’s house to Mr Ridley-Smith’s employment registry.” She said, remembering to use Mrs Arklow’s version of the man’s name, much to Mrs Arklow’s enjoyment.

  “And your cousin did not help you?” The housekeeper was gently prodding and Anabelle realised that if she was to truly make a friend here in this house, she should perhaps be open and honest.

  “I had not lived in my cousin’s house for long if I am entirely honest. Only these last three months since my father passed away. My cousin had no idea that I was leaving him this morning. The truth is that I left before the sun was up. I ran away, so to speak.”

  “Then you must have had very good reason, my dear.”

  “I did have good reason. My cousin is not a good man and I had no friend in that house to turn to. I had to make a choice between the struggle to keep myself safe in that house, and the fear of stepping into the unknown.”

  “No wonder you are overwhelmed, Miss Brock. And no wonder you have not slept. Dear child, once you have eaten and had this wonderful hot tea, I insist that you put yourself to bed for a little while. It is not yet midday and we have plenty of time to settle in and look around this afternoon. But I would not have you do it whilst you are so obviously exhausted.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Arklow.” Anabelle had finished unpacking and folded the cloth bags before neatly stowing them in the bottom drawer and out of sight.

  “Right, sit yourself down again.” Mrs Arklow instructed before arranging the nightstand and tray in front of the armchair and pulling the writing desk’s chair around so that she might join her. “I thought this room was ready but now I can see that it lacks one or two essential items.” She chattered away almost to herself.

  “Oh no, it is wonderful.” Anabelle said with feeling.

  “Perhaps, but I think you need another comfortable armchair and a low table for taking tea. And when you are up to taking some fresh air, I will show you the part of one of the gardens where the gardener allows us to snip little blooms for our flower vases.”

  “I am not sure when I will be allowed to go out. The Duke said that he would not be able to afford me too much time off.”

  “He does not always express himself as well as he might.” Mrs Arklow said with the sort of laugh which spoke volumes about her care for her master. “But I can assure you that he did not mean that you would be a prisoner. We will arrange things between us and I will see to it that you are free every day to have some time to yourself, a little walk about the grounds if you care for such things.”

  “Oh yes, I do.” Anabelle said with feeling. “And they do look like such lovely grounds. So vast.”

  “It could take you several hours to walk from one side of the Westward estate to the other. If you are dawdling, it could truly take you all day.” Mrs Arklow chuckled. “Now, eat some of this bread-and-butter.” She said and arranged some on a small plate which she handed to Anabelle.

  The bread was thickly cut and the butter so fresh and creamy that the first bite felt like heaven. Anabelle realised then just how hungry she was and just how long it had been since she had eaten.

  She had foregone her evening meal the night before claiming herself to have a headache, which was actually true. And so
, the last time she had eaten had been nothing more than a piece of cake at afternoon tea and she wondered how it was she had managed such an anxious day on an empty stomach.

  Anabelle ate so many slices of bread-and-butter that she hardly realised she had fallen silent. But Mrs Arklow said nothing, sitting companionably with her whilst she ate.

  “Forgive me, I did not realize how hungry I was.” Anabelle said and her cheeks flushed.

  “There is nothing to forgive, Miss Brock. And the cook will be very pleased to hear how well you like her bread.” Mrs Arklow laughed. “She bakes it fresh every day.”

  “It really was a treat, Mrs Arklow.”

  “Are you ready for a little rest now?” The housekeeper asked gently.

  “Would you not just stay a little while longer? After all, you have not finished your tea.” Anabelle said, knowing that she wanted to keep hold of her at least for a few minutes.

  “You have some questions.” Mrs Arklow said and it was a statement, not a question.

  “Do you mind very much? I was so overawed in the Duke’s presence and I did not like to poke and prod too much.” She said honestly.

  “Not at all, I do not mind a bit.”

  “The Duke has been made very sad by his sister’s illness, has he not?” Anabelle began cautiously.

  “Very sad indeed, Miss Brock. We are all made very sad by Lady Lucy’s malady. She has always been a quiet girl, a little nervous. But never anything like this.”

  “And what form does it take?”

  “She is very quiet, for the most part. But she is pale and thin, and she hardly speaks. And when she does speak, nothing she says seems to make sense. It is as if her thoughts were so disarranged that she can no longer make herself understood. And often she is afraid, truly afraid, although there might be none other than myself or her dear brother with her, people she knows and trusts. But she cannot be coaxed out of her fear, her eyes are sometimes so wide and dark, and she trembles until she cannot eat or drink.”