“Might I ask whom you lost, Miss Edgington?”
Jenny swallowed the ache in her throat and lifted her chin just a little in an attempt to remain quite stoic about the matter. “My parents were killed during a fire that took place eighteen months ago,” she replied, a stab of pain rifling through her heart as she spoke of that dreadful event. “They were gone for a short respite to a relative’s home and the fire took over the house as they slept. I lost my parents and my uncle in one day.”
A gentle hand touched her arm, but Jenny could not look across at Mrs. Blaine for fear that she would break down into tears.
“Goodness,” Mrs. Blaine murmured, sounding deeply sorrowful. “That must be a difficult burden to bear, Miss Edgington.”
“It can be,” she admitted, glad that she had not let a single tear fall. “I loved my parents dearly but, as I have said, I needed to find a new situation in order to support myself. Their house – my home – now contains new tenants who can make better use of the house and the small grounds that are with it, and I have decided to stay here as long as I can.”
Mrs. Blaine laughed softly. “So, you must remain here regardless of how difficult you find it, Miss Edgington,” she said, making Jenny smile in spite of the anguish in her soul. “The children will not be able to chase you away since you have nowhere else to return.”
“That is precisely it,” Jenny replied, good-naturedly, her lips curving into a small smile as Mrs. Blaine let go of her arm. “But, I suppose I am also inclined towards helping them with their grief since I am all too aware of what that feels like and what it can do to one’s heart.”
“Then I am sure that, in time, the children will be grateful for your presence and your determination to remain,” Mrs. Blaine said, practically. “You will be joining us for dinner this evening, I hope?”
Jenny, who had found herself invited below stairs to dine with the staff, even though she was not meant to due to her rank as a governess, nodded eagerly. A solidarity had grown between the staff and herself, and so, in that way, it had seemed quite natural to dine with them all instead of eating her meals alone.
“Very good,” Mrs. Blaine said, with a small sigh. “I’d best get on.”
“And I should take them inside for their schooling,” Jenny replied, decisively, determined to, at the very least, attempt to teach the children something. They had been so unruly the last few days that she had been quite unable to do anything more than simply contain them.
“I wish you luck,” Mrs. Blaine murmured, with another rueful smile. “They won’t want to come indoors, not on a day like this.”
“And yet they must,” Jenny replied, leaving Mrs. Blaine’s company and stepping out into the cool spring air. The day was fine, but it was still early spring, which meant that there was a chilliness to the air that made Jenny shiver. The children were red-cheeked and, to her eyes, appeared quite happy with their antics, and she found herself wondering if it would be best to leave them to do so instead of insisting that they come inside. Hesitating, she paused for a moment and let her mind consider all matters, her eyes lingering on John who was looking at her with a small smile etched onto his youthful face.
“Ouch!”
Her arm began to burn like fire as Jenny jerked away from the source of the pain. Turning quickly, she realized that it was Mary, who was now grinning at her as though this was something she ought to find rather funny.
“What did you do, Mary?” Jenny protested, pulling up the sleeve of her gown and staring, horrified, at the marks of Mary’s teeth that now appeared to be embedded in her skin. “Why did you bite me?” The child had appeared out of nowhere as Jenny had been thinking about what she was to do, and with no provocation whatsoever, had bitten Jenny, hard. A small spot of blood appeared at one end of the mark, making Jenny realize that Mary had broken the skin. She would need to wash her wound at once.
John began laughing, and Jenny, frustrated and sore, turned away from her charges and hurried back towards the house. Catching a footman’s attention, she begged him to watch John and Mary until she returned, hastily making her way below stairs so that she might wash the wound.
“Are you quite certain, Mr. Thomas?”
Mrs. Blaine was staring wide-eyed at the butler as Jenny entered the kitchens, her color a little pale.
“Quite certain, Mrs. Blaine,” Mr. Thomas replied, clearing his throat. “Ah, Miss Edgington. It seems that we are to have the master back at this estate very soon.”
Jenny, who was beginning to wash her arm and wincing at the sting, turned her head to look at the butler. It took a moment or two for the words to sink into her mind, but once she realized what it was he had said, she felt her heart quicken with a sudden fright.
“What are we to do?” Mrs. Blaine wailed, wringing her hands. “If he has been discharged, then –”
“Discharged?” Jenny interrupted, surprised. “I thought he was in the army.”
“They are sending him home,” Mr. Thomas replied, heavily. “This note states that we are to expect him back at the estate within the month since he has been discharged of his duties.”
A flicker of doubt rose in Jenny’s mind. What would the Duke of Carrington’s demeanor be like? Would he too be lost in sorrow and pain, unable to consider others in any way as his children did? Would he be glad to have returned?
“If he has been discharged, then does that mean that he is coming home willingly?” she asked, suddenly caught by a sudden thought. “Or is it that he has been sent home due to….” She trailed off, not wanting to suggest that the Duke had been thrown from the army ranks due to his own foolish behavior.
“The latter, most likely, Miss Edgington,” Mr. Thomas said, with a shake of his head. “I think we must all begin to prepare ourselves for a significant change.”
Mrs. Blaine was wringing her hands, her eyes a little wider than before as she looked at Jenny. “What sort of change, Mr. Thomas?” she asked, looking back at him and leaving Jenny with a deep, unsettling feeling. “Change for the better, do you think?”
There came a moment or two of silence as the butler considered the question. Jenny felt her nerves growing taunt, her anxiety beginning to rise within her.
“I think that, whilst we find our current situation particularly difficult, Mrs. Blaine,” the butler began, slowly, “we must begin to prepare ourselves for the fact that things may become even more trying. The master may be struggling in his own way and we must do all we can to support him.”
Mrs. Blaine let out a long, soft groan, turning her head away as her shoulders slumped. It was not what she’d wanted to hear and, as Jenny considered this also, she felt her own heart grow weary with the thought that there might be even more difficulty waiting for them when the master returned.
“We must do what we can, I suppose,” she said, looking down at her arm and the marks left behind by Mary. “And mayhap we will all be pleasantly surprised.” She looked up at the butler and the housekeeper again, trying to put a smile on her face but failing entirely. “It may be that the children improve with the return of their father. It may yet become a happy household.”
From the looks on Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Blaine’s faces, Jenny knew that they felt no such hope – and, if she were she honest with herself, then neither did she. Instead, she felt nothing but a steadily growing anxiety over the Duke’s return.
Chapter Three
To be strong-armed onto a boat was one thing, but to be told that he was to have no more brandy was quite another. Stephen glared at the man who had kept the brandy from him – one of the two men from the army who were to remain at his side at all times.
“We are just coming into shore, Your Grace,” the second man said, coming towards him. “Are you able to stand?”
“I am more than able to stand,” Stephen retorted, his words blurring together as he attempted to rise from his bunk, only to find that the boat rose up in a great swell and practically knocked him off his feet. He fell back in
to his bunk, closing his eyes in pain as his head hit the wall.
“The waves are still quite ridiculous,” he stated, pushing himself up into a sitting position with an effort. “I thought you said we were coming into shore.” His bleary eyes narrowed as he looked at the two men who shared a glance with each other.
“There are no waves at the present, Lord Carrington,” the first man said, with what sounded like a very heavy sigh. “You have, again, drunk a little too much, it seems.”
“I have not.”
Stephen felt his anger flare and he attempted to point one long finger in the direction of the first man, as though he had been gravely insulted by the suggestion that he was not of sound mind.
“I have only had a small glass, and thereafter, you refused to give me any more,” he stated, ferociously. “Although why you would deny a Duke such a thing, I cannot say.” He hoped that his words might be enough to convince them to allow him a little more brandy but the two men remained entirely impassive. Apparently, his title and status as a Duke held no sway over them.
“As I said, Your Grace, we are just coming into shore.” The first man began to pick up a few of Stephen’s things which he had not put into his trunk, having decided not to make any effort to aid them in their desire to have him safely to shore and on his way back to the estate. “Peters will help you to the deck.”
Peters, whom Stephen realized was the name of the second man – he had not been much good with names during this voyage since he was very often in his cups, and when he was not, had been nursing a very painful head – came closer to him and grasped his arm firmly, pulling him to his feet.
Stephen growled and made to wrench his arm from Peter’s firm grip, only for the floor to move under his feet and make him stumble slightly as he tried to remain standing.
“It is this way, Your Grace.”
Peter’s expression held no sympathy, no understanding. Instead, it was lined with frustration and irritation which Stephen knew would be directed solely towards him. He had not made this journey easy for any of them. He had drunk and gambled and done whatever he could to try and prevent himself from thinking about what would be waiting for him back in England. Even now, he could feel himself shrink back from setting foot on England’s shores, wanting to remain on board the ship despite the stink and the stench and the cramped quarters that came with it. Perhaps, if he could go back to India, they might reconsider. He could tell them that all was well, that his estate was in hand and he was now free to return back to the army.
A groan escaped his mouth as he was pulled towards the small steps that would lead to the deck. There was no hope of returning to the army, not now. He knew that all too well. They were determined to be rid of him, and so, therefore, he must go without complaint. He had done wrong in losing his temper and striking out at Lieutenant Fitchley, and therefore, there would not be an easy way back. As much as he did not wish it, as much as he did not want to face it, Stephen knew that there was no other choice for him but to return home.
“The fresh air should do you good.”
Stephen braced himself and climbed the stairs without too much difficulty, although at one point, Peters had to push hard at his back in order to keep him steady. Nausea climbed up his throat as he finally reached the deck, feeling the cold, salty air hit him across the face. Behind him, Peters drew in a long, loud breath and sighed contentedly.
“There we are now, Lord Carrington,” he said, slapping Stephen hard on the back before urging him forward to stand closer to the rail so as to take in the sights. “There is England. We have returned.”
There was a joy in Peter’s voice that Stephen did not feel. He did not want to be here. He did not want to set foot in England, nor did he want to go back to his estate and see his children again. It was not something that brought him any pleasure. Instead, it brought fear and dread with it, his mind begging him for a way to clear out the thoughts and memories from it.
If only I could have had that brandy.
Stephen could feel his mind becoming clearer by the minute and he hated that the fog of liquor that had surrounded him was already dissipating.
“We shall get something to drink the moment we disembark,” Peters said, firmly. “You need something in you to sober you up. We do not have any intentions of allowing you to cast up your accounts in the carriage, Your Grace.”
This was said with a slightly mocking tone and, as much as Stephen wanted to say something to put the man in his place, to remind him of who he was, there came no immediate response to his mind. Instead, he simply held onto the rail and let his jaw set, aware that his anger was quickly fading away, back to the fear that now knotted his stomach.
He hated himself for that. He did not want to be afraid, did not want to let himself feel scared about returning home, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to rid himself of it.
“We are home.”
Peters’ sigh caught Stephen’s attention and he glanced across at the officer, seeing the small smile lighting his features and realizing that, for most of those aboard the ship, this was the end of what had been a very long and arduous journey. They were glad to be here, glad to be home. But he could bring up no feelings of happiness nor delight. Instead, there was such a cloying panic, knowing that soon, he would have to face his demons once again.
“London has not changed.”
Stephen closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the places he knew so well.
“Do you see it different, Your Grace?”
“I do not care,” Stephen replied, gruffly, not wanting to engage with either man in conversation. He was battling with his own tumultuous emotions and did not have time to listen or respond to their remarks.
Setting his feet back on England’s soil had been more difficult than he had anticipated. He had stood on the board that had taken him from the ship to dry land and had been entirely unable to take a step from that board onto the ground.
He had forced a good many others to wait as he had looked down at the ground and felt his heart hammering furiously in his chest. There had been shouts of frustration and angry words being directed at him, but they had all faded away as though they came from some distance away. It had been too much of a step to take, too much to even consider doing – and then before he could protest or think on it any longer, Peters had given him a shove and he had stumbled off the board, almost falling on his face into the dirt.
The raucous laughter behind him had grated on his already taut nerves and he had wanted to shout furiously up into Peters’ face. But as his heart had been beating so furiously and his face had been burning with such mortification, he had found himself unable to say a single thing.
Neither Peters nor Higgins – which was the name of the other officer, apparently – seemed to know nor care what it was he felt about returning home. They were simply enjoying being back amongst those they knew, already talking delightedly about what they would do now that they were back in London. Stephen felt no such joy. There was nothing for him here. Even though his estate was less than half a day’s ride from London, he would not return here willingly. There were too many ghosts ready to pull him into the darkness.
“There’s that old place!” he heard Higgins exclaim and, much to his own frustration, Stephen opened his eyes and looked directly out of the window.
His heart ripped from his chest and flung itself from him. His breath caught, his agony burning hot as it tore him apart. There was Almacks. That was what Higgins had been speaking of. Almacks, the very place where he had first met Martha. He could still see her now, walking into the room with almost an ethereal air about her. The beauty of her eyes and the gentleness of her manner had captured his heart in only a few moments, pulling him towards her with such a fervency that he had been unable to do anything else.
How desperately he had gone from one friend to the next in the hope of finding someone who could introduce him to her! Thankfully, he had soon found someone to do so a
nd from that very moment, he had known that she was to be his wife.
And now here he was, returning to England without her.
“Hyde Park’s the place to go if you want to be seen,” Peters commented, clearly unaware of just how distressed Stephen was. “It’ll be busy in a few hours’ time – not that we’ll be here.”
Higgins chuckled, and Stephen flinched. The sound was entirely at odds with all that he was feeling and it gnawed away at him, making his pain all the worse.
“We can return tomorrow,” Higgins suggested. Peters made a sound of agreement. “We don’t have to report to anyone until two days from now. No reason why we can’t enjoy ourselves a little.”
Stephen let out a groan and put his head in his hands.
“You shouldn’t have had so much brandy last night, Lord Carrington,” Peters stated, without even a trace of sympathy in his words. “I thought someone with your habits would know full well the consequences of drinking too much.”
Stephen squeezed his eyes closed tightly, biting back his first, sharp response. “I need something,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I can’t go on to the estate like this.”
Again, Higgins chuckled, and Stephen winced.
“We’ll be stopping at an inn soon enough,” he said, jovially. “I know your estate is only half a day’s ride but we’ll not make it there before dark. We’ll stop somewhere soon enough and then rise early in the morning so you’re back with your children within the first few hours of the morning.”
This all sounded quite pleasing to them, Stephen supposed, lifting his head but keeping one hand over his eyes. Peters and Higgins were just doing as they had been directed. And to them, a warm meal, cozy bed and another day to do as they pleased once they had placed him home, must seem quite wonderful. He, on the other hand, could think of nothing worse. He did not want to go home. He did not want to see his children. He did not want to be constantly reminded about all that had gone before.
A New Home for the Duke: A Regency Romance: The Returned Lords of Grosvenor Square (Book 4) Page 3