The Duke's Heartbreaking Secret: Historical Regency Romance

by Kate Carteret

  Lucy was quietly content enough to be left in her room drinking her milk whilst Anabelle was absent.

  She thought it was likely a good thing that she did not have a meeting at eight o’clock with the Duke, for it was almost that now and she would not have been able to make it. As much as she was already coming to enjoy that little time with the handsome man that she was so attracted to, Lucy was her priority.

  As she raced along the corridor and down the stairs, Anabelle was already wondering what she ought to bring back for Lucy to eat. She needed to return quickly before Lucy had decided that she was no longer hungry, so whatever she decided upon must be simply made. Probably bread-and-butter or a slice of pound cake.

  She was just charging down the last few steps when she looked up, realizing that Mr Standish was bringing the Duke’s guests through the entrance hall.

  He had not told her exactly how his time would be spent that evening when he had declared the day before that they would not be able to meet at eight o’clock as normal, but she had gathered that he likely had company. She had even tortured herself a little with the idea that it would be the beautiful little porcelain doll.

  And as she slowed her pace to something a little more sedate as she took the last few steps, Anabelle could see that she had been right. For there, staring back at her with what could only be described as anger, was that same young woman.

  This time, the woman was in company with an older man and Anabelle was certain that it could only be her father.

  And the father turned to look at her too, himself with a very open expression of disdain. What a dreadful pair they were to stare at her like that. Perhaps they had already perceived that she was not a member of the family, but still there was no need for this silent animosity.

  Anabelle, annoyed by such pointless spite, did not look away from the young woman who continued to glare at her. Instead she returned her stare, although she did so without any expression whatsoever. In the end, the young woman was forced to turn her head away, doing so in such a vehement manner that her ringlets bobbed and swayed like those of an angry child.

  As they continued past her, Anabelle turned to watch their departing backs. The father was in his middle fifties, or at least he certainly looked as if he was, with a balding head and a thickened middle. His clothing was well cut and of the highest quality, and yet still it did not fit him quite right. Perhaps a man of that shape would never look well in anything, however good his tailor.

  The young woman, however, was perfection from head to toe. Her gown was such a dark indigo it reminded Anabelle of anthracite, and the long white gloves she wore with it were in such stark contrast that it lent her an air of drama.

  Anabelle could see that the dress was cut in the latest fashion with a neckline that could only have been designed to tempt.

  Turning away from the pair, Anabelle wondered how greatly Giles Saville, the Duke of Westward, was tempted by such a delectable creature. Probably entirely, and why would he not be?

  The woman’s father had an air of opulent living and the porcelain doll had no doubt been raised with the utmost care. A woman so well bred and beautiful was exactly the sort of woman who would be chosen by a handsome Duke.

  How silly she had been to imagine that he would ever have any real regard for her. A young woman so plainly dressed and from circumstances so much lower than his own. What a fool she was for allowing such dreams to persist. It was fantasy and nothing more and she knew that she would have to fight hard to control it.

  Turning her attention back to Lucy and that poor young woman’s need to be fed, Anabelle quickened her pace once more and raced away down the servants’ staircase to the kitchen.

  By the time she had returned to Lucy, she had done all she could to push thoughts of the Duke and the beautiful young woman from her mind. That life that was not for her. Such romances were for others, not for Anabelle.

  And when Lucy ate every single slice of bread-and-butter before settling down to sleep, Anabelle was reminded of that purpose she had carved out for herself in life. She was reminded that things had already turned out far better than she could ever have hoped for that dark night when she had darted through Brockett House and across its grounds to make her escape.

  She must not allow the dreams of her heart to ruin everything she had achieved. She must not let it undermine the safety and security she had found.

  When she retired to her own chamber, it was to find a small tray with a cup of warm milk which Miriam must have left there for her earlier. She reached out to touch the cup and found that it was almost cold.

  Still, it was kind of Miriam to leave it, not to mention the fact that her fire had been stoked and the room was wonderfully warm. And so, before getting herself ready for bed, Anabelle decided that she would sit by the fire for a while, drink the cooling milk, and think about all she had learned that day.

  In her first three meetings with the Duke, Anabelle had had very little to report to him. She had been gentle in her questioning of Lucy whenever the girl had uttered one of her little phrases.

  But today had been the first day in which Anabelle felt she had truly made some progress of note and she was certain that her meeting with the Duke, had it gone ahead that evening, would have been a good deal longer than half an hour.

  Earlier that day, Lucy had been overtaken by that little look of fear which Anabelle was coming to recognise so well.

  “What is it, Lucy?” Anabelle had knelt in front of Lucy as she sat in her armchair and had taken both her hands. “You may tell me anything.”

  “I do not like the man who frightens me.” Lucy had said in a small and fearful voice.

  “Lucy, where is the man now?”

  “He is in here.” Lucy said and tapped her temple mercifully lightly.

  “Has he always been in there?”

  “I think so.” Lucy said, her eyes darting about the room as if she was not convinced that they were alone. “But I had forgotten him.”

  “Where did you see him first?”

  “I do not like the man, he frightens me.” Lucy said, and Anabelle could sense her growing upset.

  Perhaps she would just carry on a little while longer, if only for Lucy’s sake.

  “Did he begin in your head, Lucy, or did you see him somewhere?”

  “It was in the garden and he frightened me.”

  “Was it one of the gardens here at Westward?”

  “No, we were at a party. A garden party.” Lucy said, and Anabelle could hardly breathe.

  She felt a little surge of excitement; this was further than they had ever come before.

  “When did you go to the garden party?”

  “A little while ago. Giles said it was too cold. He says that garden parties should only be held in the Summer, for Spring is not warm enough.”

  “What were you wearing?” Anabelle smiled up at her. “I imagine that it was something very beautiful.”

  “It was a gown I like very much, Anabelle. It is ivory, and it has tiny little green flowers on it.” She said, and Anabelle already recognised the gown she spoke of.

  “So, this is a garden party that you went to recently?”

  “I suppose so.” Lucy said and looked a little unsure of herself. “But I was such a little girl.”

  “You were a little girl at the garden party?” Anabelle said and began to feel confused.

  Something was not quite right. Lucy was describing herself as a young woman and also as a child. Perhaps she had two separate events conflated in some way.

  “But I was wearing my ivory gown.” Lucy narrowed her gaze as if she was deep in thought; she also looked confused.

  “Was the man at the garden party?”

  “Yes, he was. He frightened me. And then he hid for a long time.” She said and tapped her head again. “But he is trying to get out now. He is going to get me at last.”

  “Did the man hurt you, Lucy?”

  “He frightened me.” Lucy said
before suddenly covering her eyes with her hands and shaking her head. “I want him to go away. I want him to get out.” Lucy became so upset that Anabelle knew she could not go on.

  It had taken some time to calm her and Anabelle was truly relieved now that Lucy had eaten her bread-and-butter happily before going to sleep. At least she had not done the poor woman any irreparable damage with her questioning.

  Anabelle took a sip of the cool milk and stared into the flames. As far as she could see, Lucy was confusing two garden parties; two garden parties that had taken place years apart.

  Perhaps there was some link between the two parties, although perhaps it was nothing more complicated than the water barrel that the Duke had seen on the afternoon that Lucy had become so unwell.

  Could it really be as simple as that? That Lucy had set eyes on a water barrel ten years after her sister had drowned in one? But nobody knew what she had seen on that day, nobody had been able to get anything out of her.

  And then there was the man; the man who had been there all along. Where did he fit into it all? Was he connected to the garden parties truly or was he another confusion of time and placement?

  Another thought occurred to Anabelle and it was not a pleasing one. What if the drowning of Jennifer Saville had not been an accident? What if this frightening man of mysterious origin had something to do with it all? Would that not account in some way for Lucy’s fear of him?

  The idea made her shudder and Anabelle wanted to turn away from it, but she knew that she could not. She had to consider it if she was to have any hope of helping Lucy; her own disquiet would have to take second place.

  Anabelle tried to imagine an old oak water barrel. A disused beer barrel of the type utilized by gardeners up and down the country to collect rainwater. She rose to her feet with her eyes closed holding out a hand to indicate height. Such barrels were quite tall, surely as tall as Anabelle’s own waistline. And Anabelle was not a short woman.

  She opened her eyes and looked at her outstretched hand. Lucy was so small, such a tiny little woman. She would undoubtedly have been a very small and delicate little girl. She wondered if her twin sister had been as little. If she had, it would not have been in easy thing for her to climb her way into a water barrel.

  Anabelle shuddered again. Could she really have struck upon something here? Was she tiptoeing silently into the truth at last?

  If she was, it was going to be very much harder than she thought to find this mystery man and pull him out of Lucy’s head. She would have to discuss it with the Duke at length before she took any further steps, she was sure of it.

  She would give Lucy a break the following day. She would read to her and soothe her and let her be. And then she would meet with the Duke at eight o’clock in the evening and tell him everything that had occurred to her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lucy had coped well the next day, seeming to have almost forgotten the upset of the day before and the deep questioning that Anabelle had applied. It gave Anabelle hope that she was, finally, heading down the right path and that there might soon be a breakthrough.

  But she still had a hurdle ahead of her and she knew it. As much as she was looking forward to sitting in the Duke’s study with him, the two of them by the fire as they discussed Lucy’s progress, she was certainly not looking forward to the idea of suggesting to the Duke that the death of his little sister so many years ago might not have been an accident.

  In many ways it seemed to her that every move she might make would do something to cause pain to either the Duke or Lucy. Every question that had to be asked by necessity could only cause memories to resurface, the swirling of old feelings, such deep upset.

  But if she was to help Lucy, what else was she to do?

  Anabelle and Lucy had spent the day well, going out in the morning into a very grey and somewhat cold day to walk and look at the beautiful autumn leaves. And then an afternoon spent reading, Lucy’s attention drawn fully as Anabelle read to her.

  Lucy had eaten well and, by the time she settled down into bed in the early evening, she was clearly tired. But it was not the exhaustion of so many nights without sleep as it ordinarily was, but the pleasant fatigue of a day spent well.

  By the time she was making her way through the long corridor to the Duke’s study, Anabelle felt nervous but optimistic. She had rehearsed a good deal of what she planned to say beforehand, knowing that she must put the thing as carefully as possible.

  “Ah, Miss Brock, do come in.” The Duke said and smiled at her as he opened the door and ushered her into the room. “I hope you and Lucy have had a good day. My apologies for not being able to come in and spend time with my sister as I had hoped. I am afraid I had a good deal of Duchy business to attend with my attorney.”

  “Not at all, Your Grace.” Anabelle said, not sure how to respond to a Duke apologizing to her. “We have had a very good day today, a very quiet day for Lucy. We have walked and read and I have not asked her anything. She is having a well-deserved break from trying to remember.”

  “Take a seat, Miss Brock.” He indicated the armchair by the fire again. “I have taken the liberty of pouring you a small glass of sherry.” He looked a little awkwardly at the low oak table between the two armchairs.

  There were two glasses of sherry set out, something which Anabelle had not been expecting at all. It gave her a little jolt of excitement, the idea that he might even have been looking forward to seeing her just a little.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” She said, hardly daring to give away the pleasure in her voice.

  “It is a cold evening and I daresay you have had a very long day.” He said a little abruptly as if he was now regretting that little show of friendliness. “But you were saying, Miss Brock, that Lucy has enjoyed a calm day today?”

  “Yes, I have let her rest today. She has worked so hard in the last days trying to remember and I do believe we had something of a breakthrough yesterday.”

  “Indeed?” He said and instantly returned to his attentive and confident self, his mild embarrassment at his overly warm reception of her all gone. “Then what a day for me to have been already engaged on another matter! It seems I have missed out.”

  “I would not wish to raise your hopes too high, Your Grace, and there are some things which Lucy mentioned yesterday which I shall need some help deciphering.”

  “I will help if I can.” He said and nodded.

  Anabelle smiled and reached for the sherry at last. She took the smallest sip to lubricate her throat and could sense him watching her. He turned his head to look at the fire when she set her glass down again and Anabelle was then able to study him for the briefest moment.

  He was wearing black again, this time with a pale blue waistcoat, and the austerity of such an outfit only served to make him look more handsome. His frame, so broad and lean all at once, seemed to fill the cerise velvet of the armchair, his shoulders meeting the high wing backs on either side.

  “More and more, Your Grace, your sister has talked of a man who frightens her. It has taken some time, but she has managed to tell me that he currently resides in her head and she knows that.”

  “In her head?” The Duke said and seemed to sag. “One place she cannot escape from.”

  “I know.” Anabelle gently agreed with him. “But I am beginning to suspect that this figure is not simply one of her imagination. I am quite convinced now that this is a person she has seen before.”

  “Somebody of our acquaintance has frightened my sister? But when?”

  “I cannot say for certain that it is somebody of your acquaintance, Your Grace. And I cannot say when it was that she was so frightened either. She talks of a garden party, but it seems to me that she has made one garden party out of two.” She paused when the Duke tilted his head to one side in confusion. “Forgive me, she talks of one garden party, Your Grace, but one moment it is from the point of view of a grown woman and the next it is from the point of view of a little girl.�
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  “You are sure?”

  “Yes, she perfectly describes wearing a gown that I have seen her wear here at Westward Hall. An ivory gown with little green flowers on it.” Anabelle raised her eyebrows in question and the Duke closed his eyes for a moment to give it some thought.

  “She was wearing that gown the last time we were out in society. It was the afternoon of the Earl of Sotheby’s Spring Garden party. The day she finally let go of reason.”

  “That is good, Your Grace.” Anabelle said nodding in hopes of providing him with at least a little reassurance. “Then we can be sure that, whilst muddled, her thinking is not entirely incorrect.”

  “I see.” He said and reached for his own sherry glass.

  As he did so, Anabelle looked at his hands. The sherry glass seemed so small in his large hand. She looked at the tanned skin and found herself wondering how well her own small hand might fit in his.

  “She has also mentioned that this man, the frightening man, was at the garden party. Although I cannot learn if he was at a garden party when she was a little girl or if she was at the most recent garden party in the Spring.”

  “I wish I knew who this man was.”

  “And forgive me, Your Grace, but she talks often of her sister, almost as if she is still here. But she very quickly remembers that she is not, and I have often found that the look of fear in her eyes generally follows. It is as if to remember her sister’s passing is frightening in some way and I cannot help but think that there might be a connection.”

  “You mean that she might have this most recent garden party confused with the garden party we were at when my sister died?” He said slowly and without expression.

  “I think it is a distinct possibility.” Anabelle said, but wanted to raise the tempo just a little by involving him more. “Your Grace, where the two garden parties held in the same place, at the home of the Earl of Sotheby?”

  “No, that is not your link, I am afraid. The garden party at which tragedy struck ten years ago was at the home of Lord Morton.”