The Duke's Heartbreaking Secret: Historical Regency Romance

by Kate Carteret

  “Now wait, where are you going? Please do not leave me here like this when you are all upset. I shall be worrying about you all afternoon.” He smiled up at her and she took a seat once more.

  “Your Grace, I am a very busy woman. Now I would sit here until day turned into night if I thought it would get me anywhere. If I thought that you would not only listen to me but take my words on board, I would never sleep again. But I know you well enough to know that you will have to come to this yourself. I know you are stubborn, and you will not be pushed. In the end, I have to trust that the Lord will guide you to the right answer. I know if I push you, you will push back. Forgive me for such words, Your Grace, but I have known you your entire life.”

  “And you have helped me through every part of that life, Mrs Arklow. You must never seek forgiveness for speaking your mind to me. Not you of all people.”

  “I appreciate that understanding.” She said and rose finally. “And I am not leaving you upset, truly. I am leaving you to come to your own conclusions in your own time.” She said and smiled, laying a hand briefly on his shoulder, patting him once, before turning to leave the room.

  Giles leaned back in the armchair and sighed loudly. If Mrs Arklow knew that he was in love with Anabelle Brock, then he really and truly must be.

  If only he could be as sure as that fine old lady seemed to be that the prize was worth the risk.

  Chapter Twenty

  “This is a surprise, Your Grace!” Lord Newfield said when Giles was presented by the butler in the drawing room.

  “Indeed, it is.” Constance said, her hand flying to her hair as if she feared a stray strand might ruin her chances of a happy life filled with yet more privilege.

  “And I would beg you both forgive me for intruding upon you without notice of any kind. I just have something I would discuss with you if you have the time.”

  “Of course. Do settle in a chair, Your Grace.” Lord Newfield was up on his feet and ushering Giles into a seat. “Tea.” He barked at his butler like a Jack Russel Terrier.

  “Well, how kind.” Giles said, not wanting to make any attempts at cynical goading that day.

  He had gone out to Newfield Hall with a purpose and he knew he must not lose sight of it. He had made his mind up to be honest with the Newfields. Honest in a way which would undoubtedly tell them both that a proposal of marriage would soon be on its way.

  Despite Mrs Arklow’s best efforts, Giles had not been able to think of a life of love spent with Anabelle Brock without going on to picture her lying dead on her sick bed as he had seen his mother just hours after his beloved sisters had been born. And in trying to change the image, he had seen Anabelle laying in the drawing room contorted with a look of surprise in her wide, dead eyes after succumbing to the very same heart failure which had carried his father so unexpectedly into the afterlife.

  And the worst of all, he imagined her limp and lifeless body laid out on a bright, sunlit lawn, her clothing and hair soaked and clinging to her; her dead lungs full of water, never to draw breath again.

  In the end, he knew he could not do it. He loved Anabelle Brock, he knew he did, but if he made his life with her, if he ever felt her body next to his in the heat of night, he would never, ever recover from her loss.

  If he knew her touch, truly knew it, he would never be able to live without it. All he could do was live with the memory of his unrequited love for her. His longing, as hard as it would be, would be nothing compared to the inevitable loss.

  And so, after all Mrs Arklow’s words and love, he had ridden out to Newfield the following day with the intention of carrying out the plan as he had long ago decided upon.

  He would marry Constance, sire an heir, and live in null contentment. A life of numbness was the best chance for peace that Giles Saville would ever have and after a savage night imagining the woman he loved dying in so many ways, he knew that he would seize that chance now with both hands.

  “You had something you wished to discuss, Your Grace?” Lord Newfield prompted, unable to keep his anticipation to himself.

  Perhaps the round, red-faced fool expected a proposal was about to come this moment.

  “As you both know, my sister Lucy has been unwell for some time. She felt unwell in the Spring after a garden party and I have, as I have told you before, waited patiently for her recovery.” He began, dreading the moment when he would tell them both the awful truth.

  “Yes, and it must have been a great strain on you all these months, Your Grace.” Lord Newfield interjected.

  “Indeed, it has been, although I am starting to think that the strain may soon lift.”

  “That is good news indeed, Your Grace. Your sister continues to improve?” Constance said hopefully, and Giles tried hard to take the sentiment at face value.

  It would do no good now to see his future wife’s jealousy of his sister’s companion.

  “She does continue to improve, although I am certain that there is much work to be done. And that is why I have come here today. It is going to be important for me to spend a good deal of time with my sister in the coming days and weeks. I realize that you might view my absence negatively if I do not properly explain it.”

  “I see.” Lord Newfield said uncertainly, as if he was not entirely sure that the Duke was not finding some gentle way to let them both down.

  “You might find it unusual that I am taking it upon myself to help my sister recover. But I must tell you now that her malady of the last months has not been a physical one.” His mouth went dry.

  He had finally said it, although he knew that he would have further explaining to do.

  “Oh?” Lord Newfield said and seemed a little upended.

  “My sister has been tormented of late for reasons I cannot get the bottom. It is true to say that she has suffered a little mental infirmity these last months and I have kept such information to myself for what I hope are obvious reasons.”

  “Oh yes, of course. No, I understand entirely.” Lord Newfield seemed suddenly very reasonable, much more reasonable than Giles would have ever imagined him to be. “And you must rest assured that your confidence will not be broken from this house, Sir. Neither my daughter nor I shall mention a word of it abroad. I hope you have no worries on that count.”

  “I have no concerns, Lord Newfield, although I thank you for saying it. I appreciate your words.”

  “Do you think your sister will make a recovery, Your Grace?” Constance said with a gentleness he had not suspected her of previously.

  “I would like to say yes, but I do not think it wise to make claims about the future. The truth is that she might not recover and so I would always have concerns about her. She would always feature greatly when I am apportioning my time.” He looked directly at Constance to see if she understood that if Lucy did not recover, Constance would always play second fiddle.

  “Of course, of course.” She said gently but he saw a flash of something in her eyes, exactly what he had expected to see if he was honest; jealousy.

  “You must do whatever you need to do, Your Grace.” Lord Newfield said, and Giles wondered if his reasonable behavior was simply a facet of him now having something which aligned their two families.

  That shared knowledge, that confidence. Lord Newfield clearly understood what that would mean for the future. The Duke of Westward would not tell such private business to a Baron and his daughter unless he fully intended that the two families be joined one day. And Giles, for his part, tried not to be angry that there was something in Lucy’s pain and suffering that was agreeable to the Newfields.

  “Of course, you must.” Constance said, recovering herself. “But what does the doctor say? What does your physician think is the best course of action to take now for Lady Lucy?”

  “The doctor is not greatly involved, Miss Newfield, largely because his first suggestion to me so many months ago was to have my sister placed an asylum.” He saw Lord Newfield’s eyes widen. “But my sister is simply q
uiet and withdrawn and confused, she is not raving and screaming and tearing out her hair. To be in such an awful place would not help her.”

  “No indeed.” Lord Newfield cleverly agreed.

  “And I am bound to say that the greatest strides have been made in the last few months. Ever since Miss Brock arrived, Lucy has improved daily. I will not suffer the interference of my physician again, not whilst there is a hope that Miss Brock might reach her.”

  “Quite so.” Lord Newfield said but Constance remained silent.

  At that moment, two maids arrived carrying tea trays. Giles groaned inwardly, he knew he was not hungry enough to make inroads into the enormous amount of food which had been brought in. If only it was a simple affair, just tea and bread and butter as he might enjoy at home.

  But no, Lord Newfield’s staff were well prepared, bringing in plates and plates of cakes, pastries, fruit, and yes, a little bread-and-butter.

  Their conversation fell silent by necessity as the maids worked setting out plates and carefully pouring tea and handing round. Lord Newfield watched his staff like a hawk, waiting poised and ready for them to make a mistake that he could fall upon.

  But Constance was otherwise engaged, her mind clearly working ten to the dozen. As she stared at a plate of cakes, he could see the annoyance in her eyes.

  The very mention of Anabelle had been enough to change her from the confident young woman who had only moments ago been certain that life was going to go just exactly as she had planned it, into a woman who was certain she would always live under the shadow of another.

  Giles knew that he had never done or said anything which would give his feelings for Anabelle away to Constance, and yet she seemed to know it by some feminine instinct.

  Perhaps, just as Mrs Arklow had done, Constance had listened and watched, had seen little signs on his face when he had spoken of his sister’s companion. For surely this was more than the simple jealousy that one beautiful woman had for another.

  But Giles could not concentrate on that now. He had made his dreadful decision and he would have to live with it. He did not want to waste time contemplating Constance’s feelings on the matter, nor could he worry about how he would manage as a married man to have the woman he truly loved living in the same house.

  But neither could he think about dismissing Anabelle in the end when Lucy was finally well again.

  He could not think of a loving life with her and he could not think of any life without her. He was stuck and there was nothing he could do to resolve his feelings one way or the other. All Giles could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other, walking slowly towards a future that would hopefully, by design, be at least vaguely content.

  “Of course, I do not mean to suggest that we shall not meet at all during the next weeks.” Giles said brightly the moment the maids had left the room. “In fact, you must come to tea on Friday afternoon and allow me to return this wonderful hospitality.” He said and reached for one of the pastries that he did not have a shred of appetite for.

  “Yes, of course, that is a very fine idea.” Lord Newfield said and looked at his daughter, surreptitiously raising his eyebrows at her, unable to hide his little sense of triumph.

  “I shall look forward to it greatly, Your Grace.” Constance said, recovering her equanimity somewhat.

  But even as he studied her, Giles knew that behind her little blue eyes lay thoughts of the young woman who had undoubtedly come to be a thorn in her side. Still, that was the beauty of setting your sights on a woman you did not love; what she thought or did not think did not matter at all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Anabelle’s low mood had hardly repaired at all in the days which followed. She could not think of the Duke without feeling that dark loss creep over her. His increasing appearances in Lucy’s chamber to sit with them both and talk had certainly not made things any easier.

  Anabelle had thought such devastating feelings of love were nothing more than a device used in romantic novels to tear at the reader’s heart and give them a glimpse into everything they had yet to experience in life. She had never believed how very real such feelings could be.

  “Anabelle, I am a little cold.” Lucy said as the two walked arm in arm along the path to the woodlands towards the west of the estate.

  It was a grey and cloudy day with no hint of even the tiniest patch of pale blue sky. There was no risk of the sun coming out suddenly and upsetting Lucy’s mood. The consequence was, of course, a very obvious drop in temperature.

  “Then we shall go back inside, my dear.” Anabelle said with a smile and patted Lucy’s hand as it rested in the crook of her arm. “Your cheeks are already bright pink and chilled.”

  “No, you must not come in just because I am ready to go.” Lucy said gently. “And without me, you will be able to walk over to the lake. I know how much you like to stand there, Mrs Arklow told me.”

  “But I am happy to be with you, my dear. I do not need to go to the lake.”

  “I will not have you come back inside just because I am bound for my chamber once more.” Lucy said and Anabelle realised that she was a very different young woman from the one she had met three months before.

  “I do not like to leave you alone, my dear.”

  “I know you do not, Anabelle, but I am getting better every day and I assure you that I will manage to make my way back into the house and up to my chamber without incident.” Lucy laughed. “I can already see the concern in your eyes, Anabelle. I thank you for it, truly I do. I know I am not yet mended, in many ways I am still so lost for I cannot remember. But there is a brightness to me sometimes, the idea that I will be well. I will fight this monster in the end and I will win.”

  “Goodness, your speech will make me cry.” Anabelle said and cleared her throat. “I could not be prouder of you, my dear.”

  “And I could not be more grateful to you, Anabelle. You have given me space to move, to breathe. I have been overwhelmed by your care of me, and I cannot tell you what a difference it has made. I love my brother dearly, more than anybody on earth. And Mrs Arklow is truly like a mother to me. But their pain has been unbearable for I know how deep it runs. I believe that your coming here has saved me. Or if it has not yet saved me, your presence surely will in the end.”

  “Your brother is so determined to help you now.”

  “And I am stronger now, I am better able to cope with his grief. And I see his grief lifting. At least in terms of myself, at any rate.” Lucy said and did not elaborate further.

  Anabelle knew that she could not ask for it was clearly information that should not be drawn out of a person; whatever it was could only be freely given.

  “I am glad.” Anabelle said, at something of a loss for words.

  Lucy gently drew her arm free and tilted her chin to look up at the sky. She studied the clouds for several moments, so small next Anabelle.

  “I wonder if I will always find grey skies so comforting? I wonder if I will ever be thrilled to see the sunshine again?”

  “You must have faith, Lucy. You must look at how far you have come and know that you have the strength to keep going.”

  “I shall, Anabelle.” She lowered her head and looked directly into Anabelle’s eyes before reaching up to gently kiss her cheek. “Now go to your lake, my dear. Enjoy your brisk walk and keep warm. I shall go back inside and patiently wait for dear Mrs Arklow and her tray of tea.” And with that, Lucy was gone.

  Anabelle stared after her, unable to take her eyes off her until she was safely back inside the hall.

  She wondered if she really ought to keep going, to walk all the way to the lake and back. She had missed her walks these last days when she had silently wallowed in self-pity sitting by the fire in Lucy’s chamber reading paragraph after paragraph, chapter after chapter, until she could bear to read no more.

  Anabelle drew in a deep breath of autumn air, feeling it cold and tingling in her windpipe and lungs. She blew it out again
slowly, watching the steamy plume rise away from her mouth and off into the atmosphere. And then she turned and walked, almost marching, until she felt warm again. Warm and alive.

  By the time she reached the lake, Anabelle was greatly out of breath. Her cheeks felt warm despite the coldness of the day, and her bonnet felt a little oppressive. She knew if she took it off, her head would cool down too quickly and she would risk making herself unwell. And so, she stood at the lake and allowed her temperature to lower gradually until she was at one with her surroundings and shivering just a little once more.

  She had been standing there for no more than ten minutes when her attention was drawn to the driveway a little above her. There was a gap in the trees at that point and she could see that a carriage had drawn to a halt there.

  She looked up curiously and heard two horses snorting loudly, plumes of steam rising away from them just as they had risen away from her. Anabelle wondered that she had not heard the carriage approaching until it had finally appeared and realised just how lost in her own thoughts she had been in the last days.

  She was nowhere near as alert as she ordinarily was, and she watched mutely as the driver jumped down and opened the door of the carriage, helping down a small, neat, blonde woman whose gleaming ringlets were instantly recognizable.

  It was Miss Newfield.

  The young woman began to walk towards her, leaving her companion behind to look out of the window rather blankly. Anabelle recognised the woman who remained in the carriage as the one who had accompanied Miss Newfield so long ago when she had first seen her, when she had first been treated to one of her aggressive stares.

  But her attention was drawn away from the onlooker and fixed firmly back on Miss Newfield as she marched towards her. And march was the word, for her walk was so brisk and determined that she seemed almost to bounce she made her way along. Her ringlets flew this way and that and, whilst Anabelle immediately realised that the posture was intended to be intimidating, she could not help but think that the young woman looked completely ridiculous.